#Done with wooden queues

[rebelwrites]

IM HERE FOR THE FLASH FIC!!

I’ve been craving some Jax Teller. I need something tender and sweet, but in character. Something to make me feel safe and wanted, but not simply desired. Idc what you write or how you do it because I know it’s going to be 👌

You Aren’t Meant To Be Back Until Christmas Eve

Jax Teller x Reader

This is a flash fic so it hasn’t been edited. It’s also good to be back writing again 🥺

It was the week leading up to Christmas and to say you were rushed off your feet was a complete understatement. This was your favorite time of year, even though your stress levels were through the roof, you practically lived off coffee and energy drinks and hardly saw your boyfriend Jax. You knew he understood why you were so absent in the run up to the festive season, the small bakery had queues running down the street from mid October.

Leaning against the stainless steel counter, you took a deep breath looking at the stack of cookie trays that were cooling waiting to be iced ready for the morning rush. Your body ached to where all you wanted to do was sink into a scalding hot bath, not moving until the hot water eased your aching muscles.

The sound of your phone echoing around the industrial supplied kitchen pulled you from any thoughts, you knew it would be Jax, it always was this time of night. No matter what time you were working he would always drop you a call to see how you were getting on, even when he was on runs with the club he would always make a point of calling you. Brushing the flour on the front of your jeans you grabbed your phone, quickly answering the call before pressing the device against your ear.

“Is it a late one again Darlin’?” Your boyfriend hummed, you could hear the tiredness hanging from his words, this last run for the club must have taken more of a toll on him this time.

“I think I’m still gonna be here come opening,” you sighed, letting your gaze fall to the countertop. “Don’t get me wrong I love Christmas and the bakery but I just want to spend time with you.”

“The money is nice as well,” he chuckled, causing the corners of your lips to tug into a small smile. You knew how much the bakery meant to not only Jax but the club too. This was one of the first legitimate businesses that was set up, Jax surprised you one day by showing the vacant lot and the new sign he had designed, from that day the “From Anarchy, With Love” bakery was born.

“How was the run?” You asked, pulling the phone away from you ear, putting in on speaker so you could be free to move around the kitchen.

“Long as fuck,” he groaned, you knew he would be running he hand across his face as he spoke. “I am so fuckin’ done with the muling, it is just getting more risky with each run,” he mumbled, with each word he spoke you could hear the pain in his voice.

Before he could carry on the sound of someone pounding at the front door gained my full attention. “Hold on baby, I swear someone is trying to put their fist through the front door of the bakery,” you huffed in annoyance. It was probably one customer trying their luck to see if they could get their order early. But that didn’t stop you from reaching into the cupboard by the doorway of the kitchen, grabbing my hand gun, flicking the safety off before tucking it into the bank of my jeans. One thing was for sure when it came to being Teller’s old lady, you was never without protection, whether this was in the form of a 9mm, a member of the club or Jax.

As you moved through the building, the knocking got louder and more persistent. “Bloody hell, don’t punch my door in, it never hurt you,” you scoffed, fishing the keys out of the pocket of Jax’s hoodie.

You felt myself fumbling with all the locks, once again thanks to Jax being over protective, soon enough the door was finally unlocked and the moment you pulled the heavy wooden door you dropped the set of keys on the floor as you saw your boyfriend leaving against the brick entrance.

“Hey Darlin’,” he hummed, quickly closing the gap between the two of you, engulfing you into his arms. The feeling of his muscular arms wrapping around your body caused all the stress to dissolve. “Fuck, I missed you,” he whispered against your hair, guiding you further into the shop before kicking the door closed with his foot.

“You aren’t meant to be back until Christmas eve,” you breathed, pulling back slightly so you could take in the look of your tired man. Somehow you freed one of your arms, allowing you to reach up brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Not that I am complaining nevertheless, what happened Jaxy?”

The fact you were greeted with a moment of silence told you everything, you knew things were rocky with Clay, no one knew the toll that everything was taking on the blond nuzzling his face into your shoulder. He wouldn’t let the outside world see him like this, but with you he felt he could let the walls come crumbling down, allowing him to process all the emotions he was feeling, and he knew his feelings would be taken seriously.

“Clay is going off on one again, his hands are getting worse and he has gone behind all of our back and the club is now in a deep hole with the cartel,” he had a wobble in his tone as he spoke, he was angry about the whole situation and I couldn’t blame him, I would be to. “I just needed my girl.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at his words, to the world he was the vice president of a violent club but behind closed doors he was just a puppy wanting love.

“I know you need to work so I can’t take you to the Christmas market I know you want to go to but I have brought take out,” he hummed, holding up the plastic carrier bag you had completely missed when he first came into the bakery, “and I thought we could spend the night icing them amazing cookie, like we did when we were getting this place ready for the opening.”

Tears threatened to spill over your lash line, you had never been with someone who would abandon everything just because they wanted to spend time with you, even if that meant that they would be working till the sun came up.

“You know I want the cookies to be edible and sellable right?” You smirked, cocking your brow at him.

“Shut up and get your ass in that kitchen, Darlin’”

@chibsytelford @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @withmyteeth @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @princess76179 @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @princess76179 @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @lmao-liz @babypink224221 @daddysgirl2857 @bravo-four-seal-team @garbinge @pedrohoe04 @littlekittymeow @nichia88-blog @zozebo

#sons of anarchy #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine

[ml-nolan]

Coffee in bed with Dreamling

You got it! T-rating for this one.

--

When his eyes open, Hob is greeted by high ceilings swirling with kaleidoscopic clouds. It takes no time at all for him to remember where he is. Dream has done a lot to make him feel comfortable and safe in The Dreaming.

"Hello, Hob."

That includes making sure to be at his side every time he wakes in this behemoth of a bed. Sometimes Dream takes the time to lie down beside him, with or without clothes, depending on whether he feels like seduction is necessary. It usually isn't with Hob—he's pretty much game at any time. 

Today though, Dream is perched on the side of the bed, close enough to run his fingers through Hob's hair. It's nice that there's sort of a middle ground for physical affection these days. In the beginning it was a bit hot-and-cold, with Dream either demanding to be ravished or fully disappearing for days on end. But the joy of having been friends first is that, eventually, they both missed sharing the simpler, less heated moments. 

"Is there anything you require this morning, Hob Gadling?"

"Hmmm…" This isn't a question he ever waves off. He's never understood why people play coy little games to be polite. He knows that here in The Dreaming, he can pretty much have whatever he wants. Why not take advantage of that? "Don't suppose you could get us a cup of coffee."

Dream snorts of the very idea that there would be something he couldn't provide. It's subtle, but very cute. Not that Hob would dare tell him that (well, not right now, anyway).

"How would you prefer it?"

"Just a regular cup of joe, a little cream, no sugar." 

Hob can't say it's not delightful to be waited on by a king. To be indulged, more like. With the hint of a smile, Dream goes very still, and then there is a cup in his hand. It's gorgeous in an artisanal sort of way, with starbursts of gold leaf where cracks used to be. He hands it to Hob, its temperature cool enough to hold in his hands.

"Where'd you get this one?" Hob says, pushing himself up to sit against the cool wooden headboard. The coffee is perfect—roasted but not burnt, creamy but not too thick.

"From the dream of a cafe owner who lives in a seaside village," Dream says.

"Uh oh. So does that mean I've stolen some poor sod's coffee?"

Dream turns his head ever so slightly, which he always does when Hob says something that he thinks is silly.

"This dreamer is much like you," Dream says, voice colored with affection. "He is resourceful enough to make the best of the unexpected."

Hob sets his cup on the stone window ledge beside the bed. "Uh oh. I'm not going to lose you to him, am I?"

Anyone would clock the smile on Dream's face now. He shakes his head. "You are still singular to me, Hob Gadling. I would have no one else. Besides," his expression drifts slightly, "his existing partner figures heavily in his dreams. I would be loath to interfere."

With a thoughtful sound, Hob scoots closer to Dream, straining up to kiss him. Obligingly, Dream leans into it to meet him halfway, letting his soft, cool lips linger on Hob's. There's a flutter in Hob's stomach, the same way there always is when he wakes up under Dream's attentive gaze.

They break from the kiss. "How long will that coffee stay warm?" Hob jerks his head toward where he'd left the gilded cup on the windowsill.

Dream's eyes flash, darkening from sea green into that clear black sky. He sets a hand on Hob's chest and eases him onto his back.

"As long as is necessary."

--

This piece was brought to you by these Soft Prompts. I've got a lot of great ones in the queue, but please feel free to send an ask for Sandman, The Magnus Archives, or Malevolent ships (or any of my OCs)!

#yay we're back with ficlets! #my head has finally cleared enough! #finally! #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #soft prompts

[bitchlessdino]

chan- your personal knight/guard. been by your side since what feels like practically forever and has protected you against pretty much everything. You both are close but despite knowing him for so many years and being so close you realise you don’t actually know that much about him so on a walk maybe you’re just asking him random questions about him and learning more about him as a person. Somehow the conversations moved from something like his favourite colour to why he’s not settled down and without missing a beat he’s already answered because of you. Queue a love confession from your knight/guard that you reciprocate.

On a regular basis struggling with cheol and chan rot but today felt fluffy- idk i just think chan would be so sweet as your guard like him being super protective like ‘don’t pick that flower it might be poisonous let me check it’ and it’s like a dandelion or somet 😭

anyways just wanted to leave this with you and express how much I love your work!! I hope you have a good rest of your day or evening and genuinely thank you for taking the time to write on here, i truly appreciate the fact you take time out of your own day to read peoples requests and write whatever comes to mind <33

Pairing: royal!reader x bodyguard!chan

Genre: fluff

Word count: 3.1k

tags: royal au, overprotective chan, yearning, childhood au, love confessions, misunderstandings

author note: I forget how much fun fluff can be and I thought this concept was so cute also to the person requesting. I hope you like it. I love taking requests, including this one and i apprecate your kind words so much. we could all use your positivity. 💕

You remember when you first met Chan. He was the son of the Head of security that would tend to your father's every public and private safety. In a land ruled by a monarchy, these things were just necessary. You’ve been taught about the value you hold simply because of your bloodline and how you were the most precious there is, you must be protected and guarded at all costs. That’s where Chan came in.

He always claimed to be destined to take on a job much like his father, promising to protect you until the end of your days. That was a huge proclamation for an 8-year-old. He carried a wooden sword wherever he went and always had that big goofy smile on his face. It was his life goal to be strong and dependable like his father, and you believed he one day would.

That was the first and last time you saw him until he was officially appointed your personal bodyguard when he turned 18 years old. You were taking etiquette classes and studying scholarly journals of your country’s history, he trained day and night, mastering every possible martial art to exceed expectations as a protector. He was much different when he returned to you, and much stronger as well. He did not disappoint, but the light in his eyes as a child seemed to have faded, leaving a solemn shell of a man who lives to serve his master.

“Chan!”

He responds promptly. He stands by your side in an instant in proper attire, fit for both professional settings and in case he needs to be active, and meets your eyes. “Yes, your highness.”

“Bake with me.”

He blinks, “Your Highness. Would you not rather have the chefs bake something for you if sweets are what you desire?”

You stare back at him pointedly, crossing your arms, “Are you talking back to me?”

His gaze perks up at the accusation, immediately shaking his head, “No, your high—“

You laugh, doubling over at his panicked expression. “Just kidding. I wanted us to bond! No better bonding than creating delectable pastries. No objections.”

“Yes, your highness.”

He was there whenever you needed him. He never told you ‘no’ and he always did what you told him to. All done with a stone face. He took his duty seriously. He was far from who he used to be, which was probably a given, it had been around a decade. That’s when you executed a plan of action to peel away those layers, hoping to find the cute boy that childishly wanted to blindly protect you. 

It was over time you saw progress, seeing him smile at every comment or the little mistakes you couldn’t help but make (you swear to him you’re normally more graceful than that) when he thinks you aren’t looking. You loved that: making him laugh. He has a beautiful smile. And the more you spent time with him, the more it feels he knows you, even bringing things you need without you even having to ask, but what was it you know about him?

“Chan.”

Right on the dot as always. “Yes, your highness.”

“Walk around the garden with me.” You take his hand before he can even answer and had him trodding beside you out of the palace.

“Please slow down, your highness.”

You practically dragged him, it was necessary given the Palace’s size.

“There is very little daylight left. We must make the most of our day. This is a royal order!” You playfully command.

“It is 3 pm, your highness!”

“Royal order!”

You walk side by side with him taking in the air, the freshly cut grass, and hearing the birds sing their sweet melody. Calling it a beautiful afternoon was an understatement. Even after living in the place you call home for so long, there is more that surprises you. “Doesn’t the sky look extra blue today, Chan?”

He softly grins. “It does, your highness.”

You turn your head, watching the smile slip out of view, “Speaking of which, what is your favorite color, Chan?”

He thinks for a moment. “Blue, actually, your highness.”

You offer him a wide grin. “That suits you very well. I’m glad I know that. How was it that you’ve protected me for so long and I never knew that?”

Chan is quiet at that, not sure how to answer.

“My favorite color is green, or was it purple?” You cross your arms in thought, a single finger tapping against your cheek, “Last week it was pink.”

“It should be yellow, your highness. You decided to wear the yellow two-piece today.”

You look down at your attire and confirm his statement, seeing the pretty outfit you properly picked out the day before with Chan. You twirl, watching how the sun reflects off the expensive fabric, “You’re right. Looks like you know me better than I know myself again, but of course.”

His eyes fill with concern. “Does that make you uncomfortable, your highness?”

“No. Not necessarily. It just feels very one-sided. You know so much about me, but I feel like I know so little about you.” You skip ahead of him and you hear his footsteps catching up.

“I apologize, your highness. I never believed it was necessary information.”

“Of course, it is. How am I supposed to trust you if I know nothing about you?” You pointed out nonchalantly.

“I apologize again, your highness. This was careless of me.”

You turn around and let him stand beside him and push him ahead, “Nevermind that. What’s your favorite food?”

He stumbles slightly but does not let the matter phase him, used to you treating him much like a companion rather than the help, “Barbeque.”

“Favorite animal?”

“Otters.”

“Favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Chocolate.”

“Least favorite thing about me?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah ha–oh.” You tilt your head. “Nothing? Seriously?”

“There is nothing to dislike, your highness, and even if there was, I could not speak out on it. However, there isn’t.”

You blink back at him dubiously, an aggressive finger pointing at his chest, “Are you lying, Chan?”

“Not at all, your highness.”

He would have no reason to lie, you thought. And like he said, if he did, he much rather not answer. You stare at him for a little longer, scanning his frame before simply shrugging and continuing your leisure stroll.

“Hmm, alright. Favorite genre of music?”

“...girl group pop.”

Your eyes widen at that, smiling from ear to ear. “No way! Which group?”

The tips of his ears cause a hue of red, spreading all across his cheeks in an instant. “Apink…”

“Ooo, how refreshing. I would’ve never guessed.”

Chan was relieved to hear such a positive and encouraging response, feeling his hairs falter just a little bit, quite enjoying your company. “It’s very encouraging when I train. They lift my spirits.”

You chortle. “That’s quite endearing of you, Chan. I feel like I’m knowing you way better already.”

“That’s a relief, your highness.”

“What else do you like to do in your free time? You spend most of the day with me, even tend to events with me, but I have no idea what you do for fun?”

He was drawing a blank. What did he do worth mentioning? “Mmm, lots of activities. Such as…”

“Such as?” You egg on.

“Such as–-horseback riding, jousting, martial arts–”

You wave the list off. “Save the pleasantries. I mean real hobbies, ones not instilled by the palace. Things that are actually fun.”

“They are fun, you highness…But I guess I do like dancing.”

You perk up once more, strutting backward to talk while facing him, “Dancing? How lovely! You must show me how you move. This instant!”

He grows flustered, knowing they were still very close to the other guards and staff in the palace. He wasn’t sure he felt about showing off his moves this publicly. “Another time, your highness. I feel rather shy at the moment.”

“Oh, but you must, you must! What do you do? Ballroom? Contemporary? Interpretive–Wha!” You feel yourself trip over a rock, falling backward in slow motion, shutting your eyes for impact, until a strong pair of arms prevent you from collapsing.

“Your highness, are you alright?”

Feeling him pull you against his chest, you stare back into the eyes of your savior. His genuine fright and concern peek through his gaze and he grips your build extra firmly. He instinctively frowns, lips quivering anxiously, sweeping your stray hairs away from your face. You naturally melt in his embrace.

You nod, sighing a breath of relief. “I am fine, Chan. Thank you.”

“Who knows what you could’ve landed on.” His gaze scans over the bed of flowers behind you, vibrant and vivacious, “they could be poisonous for all we know.”

You allow yourself to land back on your feet, turning your gaze on the same bed of flowers. “Those are dandelions.”

Chan feels redder than a tomato in August. How is he constantly embarrassing himself, he thought to himself. “Oh. Well, better safe than sorry. Your Highness.”

You chuckle, infatuated by his thought process. “You truly are something, Lee Chan. Your significant other does not have a boring life with you around.”

“I don’t have a significant other, your highness.” 

“That's strange. I’d say you’re at the age to be married or betrothed. Why aren’t you?” You mention, decidedly walking side by side with him.

“Why, my work is the most important thing in my life. I do not have the time to commit myself to someone other than the royal family.”

You raise a brow, “Your father was married and had two kids by your age. If he could do it, I don’t see how you couldn’t.”

“Now, you’re sounding like my mother,” he jokes.

“She is a wise woman.”

He splays a bittersweet smile. “If I’m being honest, I’ve been given a few opportunities, but I don’t believe they can take the place of the person I hold in my heart. No one will.”

You clap your hands together in excitement. “So you are interested in dating? Tell, good sir. Who is the lucky lad or lass?”

“Someone far worthy than I’ll ever be and deserves more than what I can give them.”

You slightly shove him, finding such an assumption doubtful. “Oh please. You’re strong, you’re kind, you’re handsome…anyone would absolutely be ecstatic to have you.”

Chan felt warm all over, taking your words into careful consideration, “Do you truly mean that, your highness?”

“Are you doubting a royal?” You chuckle, “I do. Tell them. I am sure they would happily return your feelings.”

He halts his steps, and you quickly follow, curious about his abrupt actions, “...You ask me why I am still unwedded and untaken. How would you feel if I said you were the reason?”

“No excuses. You can’t use work as an excuse for your lack of love life.” You wag a finger at him.

“Not like that,” He takes your hand in his, bringing it up in mid-air, thumbing over the pristine skin of your knuckles, “How would you feel if I admitted the person I hold dearest to my heart is you, your Highness?”

A gust of wind takes you by surprise, the fallen flowers and leave being picked up with it and fall around you like a picture-esque scene in a movie. Your heart pounds a million times a minute, staring back in awe at his presence, overflowing with love and sincerity, and your eyes flutter from the breathlessness you feel in your chest and throat. You stare at Chan like the first time you were reunited with him, with pure unadulterated infatuation.

“Me, you say? Well, I’d say I was surprised, flabbergasted,…flattered.”

You feel the heat of your cheeks from the back of your free hand. “And inexplicably flustered.”

You release your hand from his grasp, the lingering sensation of his hand on your skin causing you to clench and release, and your heart easily audibly through your eardrums. You look towards the ground, finding it hard to meet your guard’s eyes. “Your choice of humor is rather brass.”

“Your highness–”

“It’s supper time. I must get going. I will see you back at the palace, Chan.”

You make your grand escape, clutching your frills, shielding your face from others in the palace with your arm before heading u to your room. You collapse against the bed, clutching your burning face in a silk pillow, yelling muffled songs of your fluster, reimagining the majestic look on his face when he confessed his feelings. Deep down you knew there was truth in his words, but how could you normally react to something so abrupt from someone so…admirable.

You embrace your pillow, push down your swelling heart, and smile. Tears of bliss fall to your cheeks and you can’t help but kick your feet like an excited schoolgirl.

You find yourself making glances at Chan when you reunite at the dinner. As usual, he does not have dinner with you but he stays by you for your own protection and eats afterward once you’ve finished. He’d look as solemn as he always did in front of other people. He took his job almost too seriously, sometimes even tasting your meal with a separate spoon in case it was poisoned. You used to laugh at his old-fashioned methods of work, there was technology for that sort of thing now, but you finally understand his devotion to his service. There more to meet the eyes, you realize.

When he follows you all the way up to your room for a night's rest, you part ways. You squirm in his presence, his confession fresh in your mind. “Good night, Chan.”

You are ready to run from him until he calls out to you, hesitancy in his voice. You meet his apologetic gaze, regretful of their last close encounter. He wishes you would not see him any differently, that he was simply a lowly guard and protector to you. His feelings towards you would not have changed regardless of your reaction. He knew his place and that was by your side as a human shield.

“Please take no more than a single thought at my confession today. Do not let it diminish my utmost respect and loyalty to the royal family. Have a good slumber, your highness.”

He retreats to his quarters conveniently not too far from your chambers, standing by the door, he gestures for you to enter your room and you obliged, watching his figure disappear behind your door. You fear that the air had changed between you, and perhaps not for the better. Your sleep would be anything but peaceful that night.

“Your highness, Good morning.”

He stands tall and firm with a smile as wide as a river. He holds beside him a fairly large trunk, gripping it by the handle.

You peer at his figure in worry, and earnest fear. “What is this, Chan?”

“I’ve decided to leave the palace forever. I realize my life was being wasted away taking care of someone who could never love me as much as I love them. So, I’ve taken on a lover of the same status.”

As if by magic a common lady appears, taking him by the arm and nuzzling his nose. They look in love, happy, and a sharp pain would shoot through your heart.

“No.” You chant.

“You will never see my face again. Goodbye. Your Highness.”

“Chan, no.”

The image of their silhouette gets smaller and smaller as they walk further away. You fall to your knees in desperation. “Chan please!”

You sob in your sleeves, hands reaching out to their shirking figures until you can only hear the echoes of your pleas.

“CHAN!”

You sit up from your bed, perspiration dampening your forehead and you are flushed to the touch. Clutching your sheets, you sigh a breath of relief that was only a dream. Soon after, your doors swing open, and a panicked guard in his baby blue nighttime attire runs to claim you, “Your Highness. I’m here. I’m here.”

His strong arms wrap tightly around your frame, soothing strokes to your hair, whispering to you it’d be okay. Your hands instinctively hold on to the fabric of his clothes, squeezing the flesh underneath, drinking in his soap’s scent and noticing how pleasant and just to your taste it was. “I know.”

He pulls you away to stare back at you, scanning you for any signs of danger placed upon you.

“I’m okay,” you reassure, “just a bad nightmare.”

“What foul image betrays you to cause such a reaction? I was ready to spar with whatever evil demon tried kidnapping you.”

He must’ve been still asleep, you assume. His colorful vocabulary, wakes you up delightfully.

“I am fine. I promise. Come, I’ll walk you to the door.”

You push him out of bed, meeting the exit, while your guard’s doubts seep out of him like a fountain. 

“Are you sure? Was it truly just a nightmare? Do you need new sheets? A snack to soothe you?”

“Not at all, all good, my good sir. Good night.”

You attempt to push him out completely but he holds you back from doing so, gripping the rims of the bedroom door. “I just want to assure you’re okay, your highness.”

You fall a little deep into those eyes, perceiving the truth of his word in them. It drove you insane how a simple confession could affect you this much. You brighten up your world, open your eyes, and made you feel alive, just like a person in love does. “I am. Just…don’t go anywhere. Stay right where you are.”

He gives a confused smile, his gaze softening the same way your tone does. “But your highness, you were just pushing me away a few seconds ago—“

You tug against his shirt and your lips for the first time make contact, his plush surface meeting yours seamlessly. Your hands clasp over his cheeks and neck, languidly moving them against him. You slowly process how he reciprocates, holding you to his chest tenderly, savoring your warmth, taste, and how it all excited him. The thin fabric between your body was the only thing to stop you, and the world around you simply disappeared. 

Before you both knew it, you were pulling him back into the bedroom. He’d quickly follow, doesn’t leave until the following morning, carrying out what he only imagined in his dreams, even if it was only for the night. It was the matter of his duty to keep you safe, to keep you happy. And he knew he could make you happy.

#svthub #Dino #seventeen #lee chan fluff #seventeen fluff #dino fluff #dino x reader #seventeen x reader #dino x y/n #dino x you #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen imagines #dino imagines #lee chan x you #lee chan x reader #lee chan fanfic #dino fanfic #seventeen fanfic

[cometlevi]

Levi Week - Day 1: Teashop ☕️

Tags: @leviweek2023

After the war, Levi didn’t really have a clear plan on what he wanted to do. To him, the mere idea of not having to be on guard 24/7 was absurd. It’s safe to say it took him quite some time to get used to his new life, a life of peace. Around a year and a half after the war, Levi decided to pursue one of his life long dreams. Opening a tea shop. Levi is a picky man so finding a property he liked proved to be a challenge. He would spend hours viewing potential properties but he didn’t like the majority of them, mainly due to the locations.

Eventually, he struck gold and found a gorgeous little property with a medium size front deck that overlooks the picturesque harbour. There were two large willow trees on either side of the deck, the leaves swaying along with the gentle sea breeze. The moment Levi laid eyes on the property, he couldn’t help the small smile that graced his angelic face. Sure, there was quite a bit of work to be done before the teashop was up and running but Levi was more than eager to get the renovations underway. His dream was finally coming true.

9 months later

“Hello, what could I get you?” Levi stated calmly whilst looking at the tall black haired man who stood at the counter.

“Hm, I’m not too sure…what’s better, Assam or Darjeeling?” The man asked inquisitively whilst eyeing the large display of tea leaves.

“In my opinion, I’d say Assam. It has an extremely pleasant malty taste. Darjeeling on the other hand, has a more fruity taste” Levi answers confidently.

“Ok! It’s settled then, could I please get a pot of Assam tea with two butter croissants?” The man states exuberantly.

“Of course, please take a seat inside or outside and I’ll bring your order to you when it’s ready” Levi says smoothly whilst tapping the mans order through the till.

Since Levi first opened the doors to his shop 5 months ago (Kuchel’s teashop, a name everyone in town was familiar with), business was booming to say the least. The day he first opened the shop, there were queues of people waiting to sample the infamous Captain’s wide selection of teas and pastries. Levi was overwhelmed, in a good way of course. The amount of support he had received from the local people moved him, more than he’d like to admit.

During the first week, Kuchel’s teashop had received a hugely positive influx of reviews. Everyone loved Levi’s tea and the warm, welcoming atmosphere of his teashop. But most importantly, people loved Levi. They loved how passionate he was about tea and they loved how knowledgeable he was about the numerous different types of tea he offered.

Levi was getting ready to close the teashop for the night, he had finished cleaning the tables and counters and was now restocking the large display of tea leaves as low classical music played throughout the shop.

Once he has finished the closing tasks, he walked to the storage room and grabbed his belongings, throwing on his black trench coat and hanging up his beige apron on the peg behind the door. He turned all the lights off and walked outside to lock the front doors. As he walked down the deck stairs he stopped on the middle step and looked back at his shop, a huge sense of achievement and joy filled him.

Levi smiled to himself as he looked at the wooden sign that hung above the door. The words ‘Kuchel’s teashop’ laid on the wooden sign in bold black writing. He reflected for a moment, he knew his mum would be so proud of him. That thought brought him happiness. He was finally where he wanted to be.

#LeviWeek2023 #levi ackerman #teashop #attack on titan #captain levi #drabble #fluff #fluff drabble

[byhees]

caramel macchiato.

엔하이픈 정원 ・ female reader + word count 300 genre fluff coffee shop au warnings not proof-read — more

a/n. blank

would it be entirely an exaggeration to say that the entire campus was made aware of your inhumane affection towards caramel macchiatos? not quite, especially not when you were caught regularly strolling into class with a cup of the drink in hand— the very reason why you were nicknamed, either officially or likewise, “captain coffee”.

it wasn’t your intention to douse your throat with heaps of the coffee; it just came with your newly established routine of visiting the small coffee shop down the street.

what was to be faulted for that? the location was convenient, the coffee was delectable, borderline addictive, the prices were affordable enough to be sustained, and a particular employee happened to be of your type. if anything, that was jackpot.

skipping down the now-familiar pathway, the soles of your worn-out sneakers scrapped against the concrete, producing an alternative to the song that was playing out of your broken earpiece.

it was likely that the lady walking her dog across the street was accustomed to your mannerisms— the way you’d habitually brush a hand through your hair, strands dancing about lightly with the breeze, or the way you’d mindlessly fiddle with the strap of your backpack.

the bell chimed melodiously as you entered the homely establishment, already shuffling to join the queue, mind set on your order.

as you made progressive steps to the front of the wooden countertop, little peeps from odd angles were made, just to catch a tiny glimpse of the young man who was actively taking down an order— yang jungwon, the man who started this caramel macchiato fiasco. although, it was more of your nerves which started it.

in your defence, when under his lingering gaze, what else could you have done, besides blurting out the first drink printed on the menu?

however, you’d grown fond of the drink, and of the little scribbles that jungwon would draw on the back of the cup; for instance, a little “you look pretty today, ms macchiato” to tug at your heartstrings.

taglist open! @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @syrxiee2 @g4m3girl @minhosify networks! @kflixnet

#૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა ? #kflixnet #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen ff #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #enhypen jungwon #jungwon imagines #jungwon fluff #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon x you #jungwon scenarios #enha jungwon #jungwon x reader #enhypen soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #enha soft hours #enha soft thoughts #enha fluff #enha imagines #enha drabble #enha scenarios #enha fanfic #enha x reader #enhypen reactions #enha reactions

[lnfours]

Frat!tom makes sure you get home safe after a girls night out, and thinks you look adorably dorky when you're drunk

you're right, anon. say it louder!! frat!tom truly is superior. idc what anyone else says. i also got carried away again and i did something a little different idk how to describe this other than straight up fluff.

LOOK AT HIM!!!!! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING?!?!??!?!?!? IM GOING TO COMBUST.

talk frat!tom to me ;)

it was a saturday night, your friends had convinced you to take a girls night out to the sorority beings they knew girls who could get your group in, and now you were 12 shots of fireball deep and you could tell you were going to feel it tomorrow.

when you told tom your plans for the night, he wasn't mad at all. he knew the girls at kappa and knew you were in good hands, but he still vouched to come get you when it was time to call it a night. and he did, you called and said that you missed him and you wanted to cuddle, his queue that you were done for.

he walked into the party, smiling at the girls as they welcomed him inside. he was friends with a few of the girls beings they were girlfriends of his fellow frat brothers. it didn't take long for him to find you with your group, a red solo cup in your hand as you smiled and danced with them.

you made eye contact with him as he got closer, throwing your arms around him and hugging him tight,"tommy!"

god, he loved that nickname.

"hey, angel." he chuckled, hugging you back as you rocked the both of you back and forth. the smell of your shampoo and your perfume hit him in the face and it was comforting to him. it made him feel at home.

after saying hello to the group, he made small talk with your friends who weren't as wasted as you were. after a while, he leaned down to your ear.

"wanna go grab some pizza?" he asked, knowing food would convince you to walk out the door.

you scrunched your nose up,"had it last night."

"what about chinese? ice cream?" he asked, saying the first things to come to his mind.

your eyes lit up, looking up at him,"ice cream."

he chuckled,"then come on, gotta get there before it's all gone!"

you held up your pointer finger to him, letting him know to give you one more minute. he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"fine, this is how we'll do it."

he pushed in front of you, bidding an 'excuse me' to your friends as he leaned down and picked you up, putting you over his shoulder. you let out a squeal, dropping your cup on the wooden floor.

"tom! put me down!" you giggled.

he turned around to your friends, sending a small smile to them,"have a good night, ladies."

"goodnight." they both managed to laugh out as tom made his way through the party. everyone smiled and chuckled, knowing that you were the only girl tom showed this much care to. they were happy to finally see him in love with someone.

"thomas! put me down!" you yelled, not very sternly, as tom approached the car and placed you back down on your feet. you sat up straight and fixed your hair, smiling because you couldn't ever be mad at him.

"ice cream?" he asked, opening the passenger side door for you to get inside.

you closed the car door, walking over to him and smiling before wrapping your arms around his neck, his finding home on your waist. he looked down at you as you smirked up at him, nose bumping his.

"no ice cream, just you." you smiled. you didn't give him a chance to reply before you kissed him softly. he kissed you back, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek before slowly pulling away.

"i can do that," he moved away from you to open the door again, moving an arm towards the car to signal for you to get in,"your chariot awaits, princess."

"why thank you, my prince." you laughed, kissing him one last time before getting in the car as he closed the door behind you.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland blurb #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #spiderman #spider-man #spider man #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man: far from home #spider-man: no way home #tom holland fic #fic #fluff #blurb #fluff blurb #mail time #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel mcu #mcu #marvel fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction #fanfiction #tom holland fluff fic #tom holland fluff fanfiction #marvel fanfic #fanfic

[anonymouspuzzler]

ok back to your regularly scheduled Lobotos. featuring design notes, parenthood speculation, and some primo Crossover Content slash preview of some more shit you're gonna be seeing in this queue real soon

(alt text/image IDs under the cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A design sketch of Loboto standing upright with a neutral expression, wearing only black boxer shorts, missing his prosthetic arm and shower cap. His left arm is sticking straight out in a t-pose. There is a detail shot of his head in profile to the side. Next to him are design notes reading: - about 1 head taller than Sasha/Milla, nearly 2x coach - stick build, but with tummy; legs taper out at ankles - numerous stitches on head, sloppy stitches on arm stump, scar on side (stolen kidney), throw misc injuries (scars, burns etc.) where appropriate - sparse body hair; hair on head is in uneven chunks (growing unevenly around scar tissue) - avoid making feet too long, they're actually pretty tiny - extremely minimal chin; profile should always look slouched at neck/shoulders]

[Image 2 ID: An additional design sketch based on the previous image, showing how the shower cap and prosthetic layer on top of Loboto's body type; the glove on his left arm and a pair of torn-up jeans have been drawn in as well. Next to him are design notes reading: - prosthetic slightly out of proportion with real arm, a little too short - harness tightens at shoulder, possibly buckles for straps underneath, release at end of sleeve where wooden arm starts? (built to stay on tight, not for easy removal; muted pain response minimizes discomfort) - forearm & hand is fully just a pepper grinder with thin claws (leave deliberately unclear how it moves; unconscious TK?) - in close-up make bolts & stitches uneven and sloppy; done one-handed, no finesse, poss. w/non dominant hand - 3 cap patches, far left, small far right, one at top/back; covers most hair & scars - pants should always be a little too short unless implied to be specially tailored; he's too dang tall for fast fashion - all "his" clothes should be worn out, torn up, poorly/not repaired; intact clothes should be visibly stolen slash "borrowed"]

[Image 3 ID: Three drawovers of the Loboto design from the first image, showing him in different sets of clothing, labeled "alt outfit samples". The top option shows him in a baggy t-shirt that hangs off his shoulders and only reaches midway down his stomach, and drawstring-tied shorts that are baggy at the legs, cinched extremely tight at the waist, and barely cover his boxers; this set is labeled "coach". The rightmost option shows him in a bulky turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up, over which is a long sleeveless dress; this set is labeled "sasha & milla". The final, bottom-and-leftmost option shows him in his usual boots and torn-up jeans, as well as a better-fitting turtleneck with only the sleeve on his prosthetic rolled up, and an apron reaching mid-thigh with the Psychonauts logo on the top-left corner; this set is labeled "uniform".]

[Image 4-5 IDs: A two-panel black-and-white comic showcasing Puzz thinking through Loboto design options. A doodle of Puzz, wearing a t-shirt and overalls and looking thoughtful, thinks "I wonder... what IS the best way to stylize Loboto with his eyes closed?" There are three drawings of Loboto's head with his jaw hanging slightly open as he snores. In the first, there are half-moon shapes drawn in his lenses to imply closed eyes, labeled "just shaping the eye part is simple, but do you lose the 'lens' feel...?" The second shows him with his eyes looking completely normal, labeled "is it funnier if his eyes always look open?" The third shows half-moon eyes and the lens frames shaped to match, labeled "you COULD squash and stretch the lenses but that reads like eyebrows..." The second panel, labeled "SOLUTION:" in bold text, shows Loboto lying in bed asleep with his prosthetic removed and left hand draped over his chest, snoring. Rather than any of the previous eye options, he's just wearing a quilted sleep mask over his eyes, with the shape of the lenses visibly bulging underneath.]

[Image 6 ID: A two-panel comic of Loboto and Oleander, asleep next to each other in bed. Loboto is wearing a baggy t-shirt and has his prosthetic off, his left arm behind his head under the pillow, his head tilted to one side. Oleander is to his left, right arm behind him under the pillow, left arm crossed over his chest. The second panel shows Loboto's eye lenses suddenly lighting up with an audible "CLICK.", making Oleander jolt awake.]

[Image 7 ID: A real photo of a sculpted molar on a chain hanging from a big round business sign-frame, which previously made the rounds on Twitter. Drawn on top is Loboto, beaming and holding a nervous Raz over his head, shouting "RAZ GET THE TOOTH".]

[Image 8 ID: A drawing of Loboto reaching up rapturously towards a photo of a calzone. I can't explain this one.]

[Image 9 ID: A drawing of a shirtless Loboto, wearing his shower cap but not his prosthetic, sitting up sleepily in a pile of pillows. He is covered from the waist down by a thick blanket with a wavy pattern.]

[Image 10 ID: A black and white drawing of Loboto, grinning and giving a thumbs-up at the camera with his left hand, and the G-Man from Half-Life, smirking at the camera and holding his left arm at his side, shaking hands. I can't really explain this one either.]

[Image 11 ID (MAJOR PSYCHONAUTS 2 SPOILERS IN DESCRIPTION): A four-panel comic of Loboto. In the first, he is grinning nervously, left hand on his hip and right prosthetic arm gesturing vaguely, saying "Sorry, kid, can't tell ya aaanything 'bout this job"; in the background, roughly where he's gesturing, is a figment of Truman's brain case on a shelf. In the second panel, his grin has grown even more anxious, and he is shrugging up towards a lamp that resembles Gristol's crown, saying "Yeah, just. Nothin' I can say 'bout my boss." The third shows him standing on a representation of the swirling pattern outside the Astralathe, gesturing broadly with a very anxious expression, under an even larger crown-lamp and surrounded by framed posters with various telling images (an egg in a basket, the mobster tooth fairy, Maligula's eyes, a box with an arrow pointing inside, a skull with crossed-out eyes) and text ("SHHHH", "NOT YOUR REAL DAD", "HELP", "VISIT DROWNED GRULOVIA", "THEY HAVE MY KID'S ADDRESS"). Loboto, frantic, screams "LOOK AT ME HERE SAYING NOTHING *OUT LOUD* ABOUT MY BOSS". The final panel shows a confused Raz and frustrated Sasha standing nearby, both in their suits, Sasha smoking a cigarette and saying, "He's giving us nothing". Loboto, collapsed in an anguished heap on the floor, whimpers, "I'm going to die here."]

[Image 12 ID: A black-and-white drawing of Loboto, grinning and giving two thumbs-up, wearing a crop-top t-shirt reading "WORLD'S LEAST-ISH ARRESTED DAD".]

[Image 13 ID: A black-and-white drawing of Loboto leaning out of the window of a beat-up, welded-together franken-car, smiling widely and waving with his prosthetic arm. There is smoke emitting from the back, a vanity plate reading "T33TH80", and bumper stickers reading "HONK IF U HAVE TEETH" and "MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT". Standing behind the car, slouched-over and holding a suitcase in his left hand, is Dart.]

[Image 14 ID: A black-and-white drawing of Loboto speaking into a phone held in his left hand, twirling the cord in one of the fingers of his prosthetic. He says into the receiver, "Heyyy, kiddo, it's dad. Listen, you know cool pre-teen slang, don't you? Can you explain 'cringe' to me real quick? I gotta figure out if I'm being flirted with or insulted or both."]

[Image 15 ID: A sketchy black-and-white drawing of Loboto speaking on a phone, sitting backwards in a wooden chair. The phone cradle is sitting on the floor, and the cord is tangled in the fingers of Loboto's prosthetic, which is hanging over the back of the chair. He glares at the receiver and says, "Look, I know the brain's still in his head, but you didn't *specify* it had to be *removed* in the contract, so I say you owe me that bonus! C'mon, work with me here! My kid wants to go to band camp!" Phoebe, sitting in a beanbag to the left of him listening to a walkman, looks up disdainfully and corrects, "I said I wanted my tracks *on* Bandcamp, dad."]

[Image 16 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Phoebe sitting at a drumset, with Loboto lying on the floor in front of it, reading a dentistry book, head leaning against the bass drum. Phoebe is holding a drumstick in each hand and glaring down at the set, steam coming out of her ears, saying, "Ooough...!! This stupid solo's getting me so steamed!!!" Loboto replies, "Mmm, steam's fine, but no fire, sweetie, all right? Remember the hospital blocked daddy's number."]

[Image 17-18 IDs: A two-panel comic of Loboto and Phoebe. In the first, Loboto is kneeling on the ground hugging Phoebe tightly, shoulders shaking and a tear leaking out of his eye. Phoebe, dangling slightly even with Loboto crouching, grabbing at his arm with one hand, groans, "Daaaaad you're so *embarrassing*." The second panel shows Loboto, now standing with Phoebe hanging limply in his arms and looking back at him with mild irritation, staring dumbfounded at a wrecked, burning car. The speech balloons read: Loboto: "This isn't one of yours is it sweetie" Phoebe: "No one can prove anything" Loboto: "okay it's just daddy's car is still three towns over and we were gonna get a ride home from daddy's boyfriend in this car" Phoebe: "your *what,*"]

[Image 19 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Dr. Habit from Smile for Me and Loboto having an animated conversation. Puzz's anxious yet furious face is barely peeking into frame from the very bottom of the image.]

[Image 20 ID: A black-and-white illustration featuring Loboto and Phoebe alongside Habit, Putunia and Kamal from Smile for Me. Phoebe, grinning mischievously, is using pyrokinesis to light Putunia's boxing glove on fire, to her visible delight. Habit has gone into a panicked crouch at the sight, while Loboto, looking over a jar of teeth, looks over in mild surprise. Kamal is running up holding a fire extinguisher from the other side of the screen, motion-blurred and screaming.]

#anonymous puzzler art #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #caligosto loboto #phoebe love #psychonauts 2 spoilers #tw for toplessness slash suggestive #long post

[golatcxr]

More than just a roommate [Scaramouche x F!Reader] (Modern AU) Chapter 1

Genre: Slow burn, SFW, fluff, hatred turns love (enemies to lovers trope let's goooooo)

TW: mild swearing

The storyline took place when the reader and Scaramouche were both in college as the two happened to stumble across each other due to the overloaded amount of accomodation demands among the undergraduates there.

Chapter index: Masterlist

<3

You hummed happily, raising a new metal key up to your face as you observed the numer 501 written on it neatly. You took every steps with joy, after what you had gotten through that very morning, a sense of relief came to you. Despising the old apartment you used to stay in, which was too far from your college, you had been fed up with losing your only bus ride to a ridiculously overcrowded stop.

Luckily, upon finding a decent-looking place that was exclusively for students of your campus to rent, you immediately grabbed a brochure on one of the small shelves at the reception just to discover that you had struck gold. The monthly fee was reasonable enough to make you squeeze in the long queue in an instant with no hesitation.

To your expectation, there were no rooms left unattended, in fact, the number of available slots for "roommates" was very limited. You slumped down on a couch at the guests' lobby, losing hopes when the landlord approached you to announce that a slot was already assigned for you. To some extends, you thought it was because she had probably seen your exhausted and late ass every single day, what a sweet old lady. Nevertheless, you didn't mind sharing a living space with others if it were to end your sufferance living so faraway.

"You have my thanks." muttering to yourself, you knocked at the door in front of you.

You could feel your hand shake to anticipation the longer you stared at the door and the moment you unlocked it- all air had already been sucked out of you. The smell of wooden interiors greeted filled your nostril, making an utmost relaxing welcome in a comforting way. However, you spoke up just to be met by a familiar guy sitting on the couch. It was then you realized that he wasn’t pleased to see you.

“Hi -uh- I’m (Y/N), your new roommate and I’m guessing we have met somewhere before?”

The guy didn’t bat an eye at you, with his gaze fixed on the paperwork on his lap. As if you were never there for him to notice.

“How very nice of you to not remembering your History classmate.”

Now that he had said it, you suddenly remembered the jellyfish haired guy who sat at the row in front of you. Though you never pay any attention to others asides from your peers, unless you had a project assigned with them.

“My apology then, nice to meet you, and may I ask for your name again?” You reluctantly asked.

He glared at you, without even moving one bit.

“Scaramouche” – his sarcastic remark ticked you. Well, this may not go as you had expected it to be. A rude and cold roommate, that’s what you thought. Perhaps all of your luck had gone for the opportunity to live near your campus.

The awkward silence took over you both, then you decided to walk in and observe the surrounding quickly. The place was well-organized, in a minimalistic way and surprisingly tidy to your amazement. There were several mini shelves on the wall, though they were all empty. Scaramouche didn’t look like someone who would be into decorations either.

“You have a pretty nice place.” You complimented.

“Yeah and now I gotta share it.”

Rude… you thought.

“And you room is at the end of the hallway, the one on your right.” He pointed.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to him. “Mind if I take a look around the rooms?”

“As if you hadn’t been staring at everything, go.” This time, he finally looked at you with his head resting on the back of the couch, bearing the I’m-so-done-with-your-shits look on his face.

There were two bed rooms next to each other. One belonged to Scaramouche, the other one was for you, even though it seems odd that that hostile human being wanted a roommate and even prepared a room for them.

Your amusement didn’t last long until you opened you so-called bedroom and found out that it was completely empty. No bed, no desk, nothing. You cursed at you yourself to have let your expectation got so high.

.

“Overally, the place was really nice nice but my roommate is a cold, eccentric guy – and he doesn’t like me, obviously, for God knows why.”

“Pfff- It must be your luck to be surrounded by weird people GAHAHA.” The childish gangster laughed out loud then put his lolipop back in his mouth.

“Itto, you’re weird as heck too.” You rolled your eyes, silently chuckled at that “And here goes your Rainbow Aster.” You handed over the appealing beverage on a tray.

“Bean free Rainbow Aster.” Itto corrected.

“Alright alright it’s bean free.” You nodded in defeat, it was not unusual for you to have some customers like that, especially if they were your friends.

Apart from that, you found your workplace super comfortable and enjoyable.

“So- are you two familiar?” You heard yout fellow customer asking again.

“I would say yes and no, but mostly no. He seems too hostile.” You proceeded to put the equipments away. “Well I don’t wanna bother the landlord by asking for a room change and I suppose we would get along at some points, eventually. Anyways, isn’t Ayato coming with you?”

“ He had some work to take care of – oh yes, please get meone boba tea for Ayato, as per usual.”

You were about to close the shop but agreed to take one last order anyways. Ayato was an upperclassman who you looked up to a lot, unlike that certain gremlin-

After handing Itto the drink, you got out of the door and flipped the sign to “Closed” and left.

Kitsune Guuji milk shop was quite a popular name among local residents there. Having such eye-catching exterior design plus famous mouth-watering beverages and small treats that no one could resist. You worked there part-time for some decent income (temporarily) yet you loved it so much for various reasons.

Suddely, your phone beeped to the sound of a message notification:

“Remember to lock the door sweetie, and I heard that you had successfully found a place here. Tell me about it someday~”

It was the shop manager – Yae Miko.

“Certainly, ma’am.” You typed a quick reply for her on your way back to your now shared apartment.

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

Author's note: My writing was kinda different since I started this fic months ago. Thus this is just like more than half way of the initial chapter 1 I wrote on paper 💀 so like there were 6 and a half page remaining of this chapter's content but I find it rather too rushed (and I posted around 1.1k words already so yeah, not to make it too long for you guys). The editing process would not be quick so I should say this could be a very slow update, but stay tuned if you wish ❤️ thank you for your time ✨

Taglist: @beriiov @leon-to-sayaka @theonlysol @thenightsflower @stanshizuki @bunnybundle2

#scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #gi scaramouche #scaramouche #modern au #genshin scaramouche #gawd damn #fanfiction

[notyour-valentine]

Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 3 ~ Tommy Shelby x OC series

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Tommy and Charlotte meet again, where they both least expect

Note: Thank you so much for the positive feedback - Tommy has some making up to do, but will he even get to it?

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. 

Warning: Physical violence. Expect canon conforming tone and mention of violence. I am of age and so my content is created for that intended audience. If you are a minor, please leave. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Wordcount: 4881 words

Part 3

[Previously]

Before he had even fully passed the threshold, the scent of potatoes, of boiled vegetables and salty broth filled his nose. 

Thomas Shelby would never order soup or stew at a restaurant. He had had his fill in his lifetime, thin, more often than not, and stretched with all sorts of things he’d rather not think of now. But it had been better than nothing and even now there was some comfort to be found in it- simple, honest food to keep your belly full and your limbs warm. 

More than many could want. 

And these men were more than glad for it. 

“Our volunteers prepare and serve the food, which is paid for by our patrons.”

“Patrons?”, he asked, as he followed the steps of the woman past the thick old wooden tables, trying to let his eyes linger on the faces and not the stumps.  

Mrs. Wollerston was her name a woman of about fifty, who looked like he imagined every headmistress in history had ever looked, not that he had ever seen one, with thin lips, small eyes and a long black dress. 

Officially, it was under the patronage of the church, but they only sported the location.

The rest was done, as always, by uncredited women in the shadows. 

Apparently the Anglicans in London were no different than the Catholics in Birmingham when it came to that. 

“Oh yes.”, she continued, her large keychain clinking with every step. “We are lucky to have the support of an association of charitable Ladies based in London, who have taken the fundraising upon themselves.”

“No government involvement?”, he wanted to know. 

It wasn’t a bad place, no. It was clean and large, if a bit cold, but not too bad. 

For the summer.

In winter, the real problems would start. 

Mrs. Wollerston shook her head. “No, unfortunately not.”

So they let the men fight for them but don’t feed them after. 

He wasn't surprised. 

They were a sorry lot, sporting lost limbs, blinded eyes, and burned faces, some wearing little more than rags. One man had a large stick instead of a proper crutch. 

And Tommy looked at their faces.

The dead were being praised with words like “We shall remember them” but those that came back, had been forgotten. 

Poor bastards, he thought, if they had died for their king he would have treated them with more kindness. 

Alive, they were useless, a burden. 

Dead, they would have been heroes and a credit to the nation. 

“I’ll show myself around.”, he told her and turned away without waiting for a response. 

Tommy approached the large table at the back, where volunteers were handing out the food. They seemed to have been served some meat stew and sliced bread. 

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it looked decent enough. 

From the other side of the long queue, he could see two women coming from the back, one holding a jug of water, the other a cup of tea. 

For a split second he thought his mind was playing a trick on him, especially as she now had her back turned, prohibiting him from seeing her face. 

But it was still enough. 

Her hair was pulled back by a white hairband to keep it out of the way, not unsimilar to the ones the nurses wore. She was wearing an apron over a simple dark green dress. 

But her shoes, brown leather shoes looked to be brand new, polished to a shine, with not a single scratch to be seen. Her stockings were real and not drawn on, with not the slightest nick or scratch. 

Tommy knew expensive things when he saw them. 

Walking back along the queue, he followed her to where the other men were sitting, watching her do their rounds. 

By the time he got to hear her voice, there was no doubt.  

She wore no jewellery apart from small studs he only saw occasionally when the light hit it, which wasn't rare but fleeting, as she moved around quickly. 

“Good day Mr. Hubert.”, she said to the one armed man who sat in the corner of a table- 

“G’day.”, he replied.

“Would you like to have a refill on your tea?”

“Yes please.”

She then moved on to a Mr. Verser apparently, who didn’t want tea but told her that the phantom pains in his leg got worse. 

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”, she told him, before serving another veteran. 

They seemed to like her, or at least liked what they saw. 

Perhaps they knew who she was and felt flattered, or perhaps they were relieved that someone actually looked at them, and didn’t shrink away at the sight of their scars. 

Her voice, he noted, was just as bright and chirpy as he remembered it, as if she was talking to the handsome Patrick Melbourne and not the scarred Mr Vesper who had lost his cheek and ear to the flames. 

Then she saw him and for a split second her eyes widened in alarm, but then the discipline of her class reined in her emotions. 

She wouldn’t have made him want to get under her skin more if she tried. 

So he did try. 

“I don’t have a cup.”, he said, as he approached her, meeting her between two of the wooden tables that sat three men on each side. 

“Eva hands them out to the veterans.”, she explained, the essence of chilly politeness and cold professionalism. 

“I am a veteran.”, he reminded her, his hands pushed deep in his pockets.  

She looked him up and down. 

“But I don’t believe you to be a charity case, Mr. Shelby.”

He couldn't argue with that, and very nearly smirked. 

When she moved on, he followed.

“What are you doing here?”, he wanted to know, nodding around the room. 

It was no place for a lady, at least not the kind of place one would go to look for one.

“Pouring tea, as you can see.",  she explained, as she made her way towards the other desk. 

“Why?”

She built herself up to her full height and glared at him, her eyes burning in an icy fury. 

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Shelby. But I’d hate to keep everyone waiting.”

With that, she brushed him off like a piece of dust and walked away, not even bothering to storm off, which irked him more than it should. 

He was still watching her when Mrs Wollerston joined him.

“Are you satisfied, Mr. Shelby?”, she wanted to know. 

"I am considering a donation to your organisation.", He told her, seeing no need for niceties and games. 

Besides, she wanted something from him. 

"We feel honoured. A war hero like yourself-"

He inhaled sharply as the hair on the back of his neck stood and his shoulder muscles tensed. 

"I'd like to talk to some people first to get a better impression of how things work here."

The old woman's eyes widened. 

"O-oh.", She mumbled, clearly not liking the sound of that, but what could she do? It was his money after all. "Well, I would recommend-"

"Charlotte Crawley."

"The Lady C-Charlotte?", She asked, utterly baffled now. 

"Yes.", He said. "I know her and I'd like to talk to her."

I know she’s a terrible liar. 

She swallowed hard and nodded, already on her way to fetch her. 

"Actually no.", He said suddenly, "Let her finish. I'll wait."

He wasn't more important than his companions who had taken more serious wounds than he had. Besides, that would give him the time to talk to them too. 

And so Tommy Shelby sat down at one of the tables among them.

All too soon the stories came back, the usual questions. 

Where were you? Under whom? How did you get it? 

He hated talking about France, even thinking about it, but he could talk with the men here. 

It was as if they all spoke a language no one else had ever learned. 

They understood the things they said and the things they didn't. 

But he made sure he wasn't talking when she was anywhere close, same way he did when Ada, Finn or Polly were around. 

And he also watched her, her smiles and her chatter, the way she was so bright around them, so caring and unafraid. 

If she was working for him and wasted that amount of time, he’d have fired her, but if she was his waitress, he would have tipped her well. 

As time passed, the room cleared bit by bit until only a few people remained and the girls started cleaning up. 

"Now would be a good time.", He told Mrs. Wollerston. 

The woman looked like sour milk in light of his instructions, but she nodded and strode over to Charlotte, telling her to come. 

And she did. 

With her shift nearly over, her hair was left a lot more untidy than he had seen before.

During the riding weekend she had been perfectly groomed like the rest of the ladies and the horses, but now a few strands had become loose and the stray hairs had freed themselves. 

And she was still wearing that apron. 

It made her look more homely, more approachable and somehow more vulnerable. Not like a great lady at all. 

"You really have waited.", She said. "I am surprised."

"So am I. To see you here."

Charlotte glanced down at her hands, which she held in front of her chest. 

"Well I am."

"Why?"

"To help of course.", She said at once. “We owe these men a great debt of gratitude.” 

He huffed and pulled out his cigarette case. 

Always these words, these fucking words. 

He had heard them more times than he could count, and would give less than the dirt under his shoes for them. He had not believed them, not once. 

It was not like he didn’t believe she meant what she said, but she couldn’t understand - how could she? How could anyone?

He brought the cigarette to his lips and let it relax the muscles on his back that had tensed without him knowing, and watched her through the smoke like it was some veil. 

But was it a veil that hid the world from her that hadn’t been lifted or one that had been placed over him after France?

She stared at him from a mask of unreadable emotion as if her likeness had already been captured by an artist, ready to hang in a family home for all eternity. 

She wouldn’t crack, not until he pushed her. 

“How did you find this place?”, he wanted to know, tapping his cigarette. 

"My aunt is one of the patrons, Lady Rosamund Painswick."

It was one of the names that had been mentioned by Mrs. Wollerston earlier, as if it had some great meaning, but he didn’t care. 

"That's her. What about you?"

Charlotte glared at him. 

"Are you always this forward?", she demanded to know. 

He stared at her for a second. 

"Yeah."

She huffed slightly. 

"I don’t want to impose, but it can come across as quite inconsiderate."

Maybe I'm forward but you are not. Not a straight answer if a distraction or a change of topic will do. 

Her hands gave her away again, only this time they weren’t tapping. Now she was clutching them together tightly to prevent just that. If she had worn dinner gloves, he wouldn’t have seen the thin white lines under her fingers. But her hands were bare now, and there wasn't even a place to hide them. 

Her voice, however, sounded unaffected as he lifted her gaze again, after almost half a minute of silence. 

“If this is some sort of display of power to make me apologise for our last encounter,”, she said sharply, “I refuse to. I stand by what I said.”

He had expected nothing less. 

“However,”, she continued, wringing her hands before pressing it to her chest, touching something under the fabric. 

“I was made aware that you are interested in becoming a donor.”

Tommy huffed in approval. 

She inhaled sharply and he could see she wasn’t exactly enjoying this conversation my her hands alone. 

“I’d hope you wouldn’t let our past differences stand in the way stand in the way of that.”

She glanced down at her hands and smoothed down the apron. 

“It wouldn’t.”, he assured her, before letting the silence take over again, not missing the slight breath of relief that went through her. 

So it really was important to her. 

It was Charlotte who broke the silence, after she had been avoiding to meet his gaze. 

“Might I ask why you wanted to see to me of all people?”, she asked impatiently. “Since you have clearly no intention of talking to me.”

That tugged at his lips once more. 

Good question indeed. 

And one he didn’t have an answer to.

When she realised he wouldn’t have  a response, she sighed. 

“Well, I hope your visit was enlightening but I do need to to get on.”

He dismissed her with a nod and got up, and taking another drag of his cigarette, watched her walk off. 

She looked almost normal now, with a simple dress and an apron, hair that wasn’t perfect, and hands that weren’t hidden in gloves. 

Like an ordinary girl. 

Tommy Shelby put the cigarette out forcefully and left without another word. 

But before he got back to his office, he stopped by the library. 

“Ada?”, he shouted, his voice booming across the arched hall.

“Ada, where are you?”

He ignored all the “Shhs!” and outraged shaking of heads as he passed, his footsteps alone louder than any conversation they might have had.

“Are you mad?”, She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest as she saw him, standing on some ladder.

“You can’t just come in here like that!”

“Well I just did, eh.”, Tommy said, offering her a hand as she climbed down. 

Ada ignored it. 

Well enough. 

“I need you to find me anything you can about the Crawley family.”

Ada pursed her lips. 

“Tommy - I don’t work for you!”, she reminded him sharply. 

“Yeah but you work for the library, so get me the stuff, just like you got me the other ones.”

“That was a favour!”, she hissed, before her features softened. “And a thank you for the house.”

A couple of books and a lot of newspapers for a house, eh? 

“Just get it for me.”, he tried. 

“Will you at least tell me why? Are they to do with-”

“No.”, he said quickly. “At least not more than any other family.”

Since they all married each other there wasn’t much to go around. 

“Crawley family,”, he repeated. “Their title is Earl of Grantham and they have a…castle in Yorkshire. I need to know about them.”

He couldn’t exactly ask May. The last time he had relied on her for that kind of information, it had ended poorly for him, although he couldn’t put that on her. 

“Earls?”, Ada gasped. “Seriously, Tommy? What kind of business do you have with an Earl now?”

He didn’t respond to that. 

After all, he didn’t know himself yet- he just…had to know.

“So get me the books and get me the newspapers. Alright?”

She stared up at him in disapproval and clicked her tongue.

“Please?”, he asked impatiently. 

“Fine. But you’re not taking them to Birmingham. You can look at them at my house.”

He could feel her disapproval as he stormed off, but that didn’t change things. 

“What are you upto Tommy?”, she called, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure himself yet. 

~

He returned to the soup kitchen nearly a week after, but that did not mean his thoughts hadn't wandered there earlier. 

Once he had arrived, he immediately scanned the room for the now familiar frame. 

And Tommy surprised himself when he realised he was glad to see her. This time it was her that helped carry the trays of those that could no longer balance properly. 

If he didn’t know, he wouldn’t have thought she was different to the girl cutting the bread, and the woman handing out tea, or the other one who took the dishes away. 

Only he knew now and he wouldn’t forget. 

… first mention in 1273 of Sir Ralph de Craule in the service of Edward I…

It was like he was staring history in the face. 

… 1539 made Viscounts Downton by Henry VIII….

But she was wearing the same apron, the same cloth on her hair, so one could have thought she was, but she wasn't. She was similar but not the same. 

…elevated to Earls of Grantham by King George III in 1772… 

As he entered, Mrs. Wollerstons rushed towards him. 

“Mr. Shelby, I feared we would have heard the last of you.”, she greeted, sweat on her brow.

“No.”, he said, only slowly turning to look at her. 

“Then have you decided?”

“Yes.”

The silence made her quiver and smile nervously. 

“I think we should sit down somewhere to discuss the details.”, he said. 

“Of course, of course, Mr. Shelby. Follow me.”

As he walked along the lines of tables, he felt a pair of eyes on him. When he reached the small door to the back, he turned and saw her looking at him. And he met her gaze for a moment, and a moment more than she seemed to be comfortable with, as she quickly averted her eyes and hurried along. 

Only then, did he enter.

It was a small office, but furnished with a lot more money than would have been necessary. The office chair was leather, the carafe looked like crystal. 

As she sat down behind the desk, he took his place in front of it, watching her put down her glasses. 

Soon she was telling him about other donors and patrons, the influence of the church and more.

“Would your donation be regular?”, she asked. “Monthly perhaps, or weekly?”

“Perhaps.”

She raised her eyebrow. 

“I will pay in cash.”, he finally said. “You’ve got the food sorted but these men also need clothes, shoes and other things like - ah - soap and cigarettes.”

“Oh the church won’t like that.”, she argued. 

Tommy fished the cigarette case out of his pocket and put one between his lips.

“I am not the church.”, he said, smoke escaping his lips. 

Wollerston's nose wrinkled, but kept her lips firmly shut. 

If money talks the world listens, eh? 

“I think that would be a possibility.”, she finally said. 

“Ah will it?”, Tommy asked, feigning surprise. 

“You see, we are usually focussed on providing the men with what they need.”

“And they need cigarettes.”

Her jaw clenched so hard, he thought it might snap.

“I presume arrangements can be made for care packages.”

He stared at her as he took another drag. 

“Including cigarettes.”

They stared at each other, but it was her that broke first. 

Obviously. 

So Tommy took the next step. 

“Make a list of content for these care packages including prices. Send it to this address.”

He placed a business card on the table. “We will review the list and make changes. Then you will know the extent and frequency of my donation.”

Mrs. Wollerston’s face was so sour, he was prepared for an amusing lecture when she opened her mouth, but then they heard a crash coming from the hall. And screaming- panicked, half mad, animalistic screaming. 

It was a sound, Tommy knew all too well. 

The cigarette slipped from his fingers and was forgotten before it hit the ground as he rushed out of the office and into the mayhem in the hall. 

A table had been toppled, spreading food, cutlery and broken dishes over the floor. 

One chair had snapped a leg and was laying shattered against the wall. 

The men had done their best to move away and give him space, their faces white with fear and their eyes wide. 

They knew what it was, as did he. There was no soldier in the world who didn’t recognise this. 

The man, who was in the middle of it wasn’t particularly tall nor strong, more a wiry build with a fallen face. He was hiding behind the toppled table, screaming on the top of his lungs, his eyes staring a thousand yards away into the distance. 

One of the men walked up to him.

“You need to stop that!”

When he touched his shoulder, the man lashed out, tackling him and slamming him against the wall. 

And Tommy clicked into action. 

He knew what needed to be done. He had done it too many times before. 

Coming up right behind, he wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders from behind and pulled him up, away from the poor sod who had gotten involved without truly knowing what to do. 

The man was thrashing and kicking violently, and he had trouble even holding onto him. 

But for now he had to get him away from the other man, as the shrill shrieking rang in his ears. 

“Oi,”, Tommy bellowed, his voice cutting through the screams. “What’s his name?”

“Wilkins.”, one responded, sending him in even a madder state.

Trying to control him was like trying to ride a mad horse and Tommy was slowly slipping of the saddle. 

“His first name!”, he roared, pushing the man towards the wall, and putting his whole weight into it.

“Harry!”, came from somewhere. 

It fucking better be Harry, Tommy thought, trapping him between his body and the wall. 

“Harry? Harry, it’s alright!”, he shouted into his ear, his nose brushing against the sweaty, greasy strands of his hair. 

“You’re not in France, you’re in England, eh? You’re back.”

He grunted as he caught a kick to his knee and loosened his grip for but a moment. While it wasn’t enough for the man to slip his grip, it was enough for him to bring them both crashing to the ground.

When he landed on top of him, it forced the air from his lungs. 

Tommy tried to turn, to get him off of him and to subdue him on the floor, but he was thrashing so violently, it was all he could do not to let go of him. At least this way only he was getting hit and not some other veteran who couldn’t properly defend themselves. 

Between his inability to properly breathe from the weight on his chest, his thrashing and the screaming, he didn’t notice until it was too late.

“Stay clear!”, he bellowed at her just as Harry Wilkins caught her with a wild arm to the shoulder, knocking her onto her back. She caught herself with her hands but wasn’t deterred for long.

This time she approached from behind both their heads and not from the side like before.

But it was the same with horses - if one approached them from where they can’t see it always ended badly. 

“I said stay clear!”, he roared, but she didn’t listen. Instead she knelt down behind his head and reached forward, taking the man’s face in between her trembling hands. 

It was like trying to catch a rabid dog, but she succeeded after a while. 

“Hush.”, she told him, clasping the sides of his head. “Hush, Harry.”

Her voice was soft and breathy, and only he and Tommy could hear.

“Hush, Harry. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Harry began to shake his head violently. 

“No. No, no, no, no. They’re coming. They’re here. I know it. They’re here soon!”

She has him talking!

That was a good sign if ever there was one. After all mad men couldn’t talk. 

“No one’s coming.”, she assured him. “You’re safe. I promise!”

Tommy felt the other man’s thrashing slow down. 

“You promise?”, he whispered, shaking violently. 

“Of course I promise, Harry. I’m right here and you are safe. We are both safe.”

“We’re safe?”, he asked. “We’re safe?”

“Yes, we are, Harry. You’re safe. I’m safe. And we are home.”

When the sobs came, Tommy let his head fall back onto the cold ground and exhaled, still holding onto the man. 

But he too could relax his grip. 

Other men came and with her, helped pick him up. 

“Come now, it’s alright.”

Another tried to help Tommy up, but he did so himself, walking to the edge of the wall and bracing himself in his knees, one hand resting against the old stone. It was the cold that calmed him. 

Fuck, he thought, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

It never got easier. 

Wiping his brow with his sleeve, he coughed. 

Even while he was still facing the wall, he could pinpoint the moment when the realisation of what he did fully hit the man as a flurry of apologies escaped his lips, mixed with hiccups sobs.

“Take him to the back.”, Mrs. Wollerston instructed. 

Tommy was surprised to see her get involved, but she put her arm around the man, who left the room sobbing. 

The veterans and the volunteers seemed to be in a competition about who was paler, all avoiding eye contact. After all that noise, the silence was deafening. 

But then it was Charlotte who spoke up, stepping into the middle of the room with her hands behind her back. Her heels made strange clicking sounds on the floor, echoing through the silent hall.

“Goodness.”, she said, her voice loud and surprisingly confident, even if it was a bit breathless, placing her right hand on her chest. “Why don’t you take a seat again and we will bring you all a cup of tea. I think we'd all fancy a cup.”

With a nod to the other girls they hurried to move the chairs from the toppled table to the others, before helping them sit down. 

With the adrenaline still pulsing through his body, rage began to boil in the pit of his stomach.

“You!”, Tommy snarled, storming over to her, his heart still racing. 

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back, away from the others. She was having problems keeping up, her shoes scraping on the floor as he dragged her away. 

She flinched as he pushed her against the wall. 

“That,”, he told her, hissing the words as he glared down at her “was fucking foolish!”

Her eyes widened but she didn’t look shocked. She looked angry now.

“I told you to get back and you didn’t!”

I ordered you.

She was only a foolish little girl and no match for a man that size, let alone in that state. 

Didn’t she know what could have happened? He could have her on her back in no time, could have strangled her or bashed her head in like a melon and there would have been nothing he or anyone else could have done- 

Foolish, stupid, naive- She lifted her chin to meet his eyes but at the same time he felt as if she was looking down at him.

“Indeed, I did not.”, she said, “But I’m very grateful for your assistance, Mr. Shelby.”

With that, she freed her arm and walked back to the others, her hands under her apron. 

Tommy leaned his back against the wall and lit another cigarette. 

Then he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the refill packet and the matches. 

“Oi.”, he called to get their attention, before tossing them both at a table of veterans. 

They needed them too and mumbled their thanks. 

The talks from before had vanished completely, as had the appetite. 

While the volunteers served the veterans, he glanced over at the wreckage, trying to calm his racing heart. 

The chair was firewood now, but the table only toppled. The plates were shattered, the food spread. The glasses were done for too, shattered to a thousand pieces. The food was spilled and spoiled, but it wasn’t like water and a mop couldn’t remove the stains of stew and - fuck

“Thank you very much for intervening.”, Mrs. Wollerston said, coming up behind him. 

He nodded without sparing her a second chance.

“He alright?”

“He’s shaken.”

That’s a word for it.

“Is he hurt?”, Tommy wanted to know, his eyes never leaving the floor.

“I-I don’t think so.”, she admitted. “A few bruises perhaps.”

Tommy responded with silence, letting smoke escape his lips.

“Any cuts?”, he asked. 

“No.”

Tommy nodded and dropped the cigarette to the floor, finishing it off with his shoes, a mere inches from the evidence. 

Then he walked back over to Charlotte, who had her right hand on the back of a veteran.

When she saw him, she turned, glancing at him unsure. 

Her other hand was in her apron pocket. 

“Lady Charlotte,”, he said, making sure to be polite this once. She had earned it. 

“I want to apologise for snapping at you earlier.”, he said, stretching out his hand for a handshake.

His left hand. 

She glanced at it, then at him, her own hands still concealed. 

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby.", She tried, offering him a smile. 

He glanced at her and then back at his still outstretched hand, as her eyes widened in the realisation.

“Show me.”

End of Part 3

Part 4

~

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight  @lilyevanswhore  @polishcrazyone  @zablife  @just-a-harmless-patato  @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul

#peaky blinders #downton abbey #peaky blinders / downton abbey #peaky blinders x downton abbey #peaky blinders downton abbey crossover #peaky blinders imagine #downton abbey imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #Welcome to Downton Mr Shelby #wtdms #valentineswritings #downton abbey x peaky blinders #downton abbey / peaky blinders

[hiraethhh-h]

consider pyra with a lil kitty cat

CONSIDERED. DONE. ABSOLUTELY. I AGREE.

NONNIE YOU ARE MAKING MY BRAIN WORK AT ALMOST 3AM AND IM SO TIRED TO THE POINT WHERE IM USING THE WRONG YOU'RE/YOUR. /lh /nm

BUT I LOVE PYRAMID HEAD SO I WILL FUCKING WORK FOR THAT MAN.

okay, so, pyra's making his rounds bc a new group of survivors unfortunately wound up in silent hill, so he's on his way to punish them

pyramid head does his job, but he spots a small crate near the vehicle they came from and he hears some weird ass sounds so he goes to check if there's anymore stragglers

but much to his surprise, there's a little kitten in the crate

*queue pyramid head tilt*

he's seen many creatures in silent hill, but none so... fragile as this one

pyramid head does his best to open the latch, his ofc, his hands are huge as fuck so he ends up breaking the lock. but hey, it works.

the kitten sprints out of the kennel and begins to sniff at pyramid head's boots. big man is a little startled, but he figures the creature isn't hostile so he watches it very closely

it begins to rub itself against his ankle affectionately and fucking purrs.

pyramid head is extremely confused, like there are literal question marks floating above him. at first, he picks it up by the scruff and brings it to his helmet for closer inspection, but over time, the kitten meows distastefully, so he resorts to holding it in his big ass palm

he makes his way through the darkness, deciding to retreat for once so he could figure out how to... take care of his new companion. there aren't exactly any manuals lying around silent hill on how to take care of the tiny little creature, and pyramid head himself isn't the best when it comes to figuring out other's needs...

in the end, pyramid head begins to steal from the order, looting each kill for possible sustenance

so, you end up in silent hill for whatever reason and wander into the nearby hotel bc hey, it's a hotel. it's a perfect place to seek shelter. you hear the sirens signifying the approaching darkness so you hunker down in a random room, securing the door shut behind you

imagine your surprise when you find a kitten curled up on the worn bed, meowing in confusion when it spots you

you're quick to come to the cat's aid, checking it for any wounds and whatnot because you know the darkness is all but kind to any lurking creatures

you end up cradling the kitten in your arms, the little creature purring like a madman from your soft and gentle touches.

but little did you know, that little guy was pyramid head's.

you nearly jump out of your skin when the wooden door shatters into splinters, pyramid head ducking beneath the door and speed walking into the room, ready to swing his greatsword at you

only to find you shielding the cat in your arms.

pyramid head stops and stares bc he doesn't wanna end up hurting the kitten, and he can hear the little cat's purring so it clearly likes you too...

what to do next?

now i shall pass out in bed <3

#bee.txt #bee's archives #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head x you #dead by daylight pyramid head x reader #pyramid head #dead by daylight pyramid head #silent hill pyramid head #silent hill #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #dbd x you #dbd x reader

[muzzlemouths]

Dead Mall Dare [The Golden Years]

A moment that occurs before the events of Chapter 1.

There's a showing at the Waning Lights theater, and Moon is more than happy to host the event - but things don't always go according to plan.

Wordcount: 2223

It was rare treat when the Waning Lights theater had a showing. Not just any showing, either; a special feature, Saturday Night Fever, viewed on the big screen for one night only. The event drew in crowds from surrounding counties and promised to be a truly unforgettable night.

Customarily, the theater’s very own mascot lead the scene. Moon stood just beyond the entrance, velvet rope sat aside, delighting in nothing more than gesturing the queue through the two crescented doors with a handshake and a smile that reached both corners of the mouth.

Folks piled in by the dozens and left only stragglers, concession connoisseurs and parents who did away with their children by slipping coins into their pockets and ushering them towards the mall’s plentiful list of other things to do, the candy shop and playground being notable favorites.

A particularly bratty shaver caught Moon’s attention as he was headed inside, causing him to pause at the door, ever briefly, before he returned to the outer lobby and came upon the family - mom, dad, and the wailing child, giving his parents a good deal of grief - and crouched down to his level, fitting him with a stern look. “Now what has you in such a fit?” Asked Moon, calm as a clam.

“Oh, don’t let us keep you,” the mother, shame behind her eyes, sighed with exasperation, “he’s only upset with having to miss the show.”

“He’ll miss dinner and a day without chores, too, if he doesn’t shape up,” chimed the father, looking thin in the lips.

“Is that so?” Now, Moon wasn’t a hit with the kids. He catered to the night crowd, business men with a schedule chalked full and youth on the crisp of adulthood who fancied a quieter time and fewer distractions during their visits - it was Sun who carried on conversations with the tots and blew balloons to keep the kids happy and the parents happier - but it was Moon who knew his way around the fussier ones. Though his methods were questionable.

“Well, we could let you in to see the film,” he mused, finger tapping against his lip in thought. Both parents shared a bug-eyed expression, obviously against such an idea, but Moon continued, “though I must say I’m surprised, I didn’t expect anyone your age to want anything to do with a pair cutting the rug,” he watched the boy’s face turn sour and carried on with the wave of a hand and a perfect poker smile, “and I suppose a growing boy like yourself won’t mind the kissing, either.”

His tantrum came to a grinding halt. “The…kissing?”

“Well of course!” Said Moon, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin into his palm, “This story doesn’t end before the star finds himself a pretty lady and warms her up with a kiss. Isn’t that romantic?” He waited. It didn’t take long. The child’s entire posture sank with disappointment and he turned to look up at his parents with a face of utter betrayal, “Or,” Moon called him back to attention with a hand that dipped behind the child’s ear, and away from it he pulled a silver coin - Sun’s face on one side, his own on the other - and slipped it into the boy’s hand with a wink, "you could get lost in a few games until your parents are done.”

The little boy answered with an eager nod and a polite thanks at his mother’s behest, menace easily turned moppet, and scurried off towards the arcade without further argument. Problem solved and with minimal fuss to boot. And just in time, too. Moon beckoned the couple inside right as the screen came to life, a coca-cola commercial beginning the next ten minutes of pre-film entertainment.

A few minutes in and the smell of warm butter and popcorn steam wafted through the room, paper bags worth a handful tucked into one another, pinned against stacks of Mars Men and liquorice twists and all crammed into a wide mouthed wooden box that Moon brought to every row with a flare of glamour, ensuring that each guest in their allocated seat was happy and fulfilled. Behind him the speakers sang with the melody of a brand, giddy voices chiming ‘mix it up, wrap it up, Buttercup is born!’ and boasting a king-sized cup.

It wasn’t until the intro came to an end that Moon left the crowd if only to climb the star coated stairs all the way to the projection booth to personally insure the film began smoothly. Sure enough, the booth’s worker was already having some trouble with the reel. This wasn’t unusual - the projectors weren’t what they used to be, and Waning Lights had been due for a new one since the year prior. The theater’s budget was all tied up elsewhere, management said, and Moon never found it in himself to complain. It was nothing he couldn’t fix in a pinch.

A few precise taps - clearly practiced - knocked the machine back into functioning order, and the reel slipped into its frame with ease. Static formed, then a light, and finally the screen came alive with the opening number. Moon found a chair of his own beside the projector and settled in to enjoy the movie.

Twenty-eight minutes in and things were just starting to heat up when a customer began causing a ruckus. This, too, wasn’t unusual. There were always interruptions in the theater - whispers amongst the crowd and walkouts, or the occasional pair of teenagers who thought they were being sneaky, but this was different. An uproar created from the belly of a drunkard whose vulgar speech competed for volume with the film itself.

This, of course, meant he had to go. The poor projection booth employee wearily found their way to their feet only for Moon to set a hand on their shoulder, standing himself, “I’ll take care of it,” he promises smoothly, “offer the guests more refreshments - on the house.” He waits for the affirming nod, then sets his sights on the man below.

It took all of two minutes for him to be escorted down the theater’s hall and out towards the lobby - all the while Moon soothed his angry prattles with a patient voice and a polite, but firm hand - unfortunately, they don’t entirely make it there. Not ten feet from the exit and the man whipped around, fist raised high, intent on making a scene. Moon wasn’t having any of it. “Sir, you need to leave,” he gave the man a second chance, hoping he might see reason, “you’re causing a disturbance. If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll have to–”

He caught the first throw, easily avoiding the attack. But not the second. A harsh shove against Moon’s shoulders drove him into the wall, the force of it enough to jostle a poster from its place, the wooden frame splintering open on impact.

Moon’s posture changed immediately, manners somewhat forgotten as his system recalculated an appropriate response. The situation was growing dangerous. He pulled himself away from the wall, dented where his joints met plaster, and dusted the fibers from his silicone, retaining utmost composure even now, “Sir,” his head felt funny, static snow dancing in his field of vision, but he’s nothing if not forgiving, “I’ll ask one more time before escorting you from the mall’s premises entirely. Please leave the theater and–”

Again, the man aimed his fist, rage in his eyes and steam erupting from his nostrils, not looking to play nice - but Moon was faster. He caught it by the wrist, long fingers wound in a vice hold. His world swayed and swam. A new protocol slithered into his coding when he wasn’t looking. Then there was a crunch, followed by a scream.

He doesn’t know how it happened. One minute he’s holding his own against this rowdy patron and the next, he was holding him up by a broken wrist, his fingers still bruising around the joint. Then came the security. Alerted by the pained shriek, no doubt, they marched through the theater in a pair and took the customer away by his folded arms. The man’s incessant howling turned every head in the theater, then all eyes fell to Moon, still trying to make sense of it all.

The employee, who appeared at his side a moment later, outstretched a hand to his shoulder much in the same way Moon had a few minutes prior. “Are you alright?” They asked him, thinly veiled distress in their voice, “I heard the commotion from upstairs. Did he hurt you?”

The question caught him off guard. Did the man hurt him? No, certainly not.

“I need to clear my head,” said Moon, avoiding the topic entirely, and he didn’t wait for an answer, either.

Moon recoiled from the touch without another word and strode a far ways from the exits, finding himself inside a photo booth.

With the curtain being pulled taut, he let his head fall to his hands, and a deep exhale escaped. A worrying feeling washed over him like spiders dancing on his skin, creeping along with legs like pins and needles. He found himself nauseated and dizzy, steam sweltered inside his chest and rose to form beads of sweat - that is, condensation - and a hand arrived at his mouth a second later to prevent himself from losing stomach oil.

He heaved, dry and ugly, for a full minute without interruption.

Then the curtains came away with a quickness so jarring it snapped him clear out of his daze.

Moon squinted into the sudden burst of light, and Sun stared back, a look of concern crossing his features. “Are you alright?” He asked, frantic.

His mind flashed to the employee asking that exact question and immediately he remembered his sickness. He shuddered, forcing it down as well as he could manage, for Sun’s sake, “What are you doing here?” He forced the words past gritted teeth, “Your shift doesn’t start for another five hours.”

Sun straightened his back, the action enveloping Moon in his shadow, much to his counterpart’s relief. “They said something happened,” he answered, “that there was a fight, and you got knocked around pretty bad. I was worried, so–”

“I’m fine.” He interjected, the bite making Sun stiffen. There was a broiling heat running rampant in his system, a burning under his skin. He couldn’t place it - the fire, or the source of the sickness. His gears felt like they were clogged with molasses. “I’m–I’m fine,” he tried again, with a much smoother, softer tone this time. His eyes raised, his smile plastered on with it, “Thank you for worrying. I’ve got a headache, but that’s all. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“If you’re sure…” Sun wasn’t convinced. Still, it wasn’t kind to challenge the other when he was evidently already going through it, so he let it go. For now. He paused then, thinking, then climbed fully into the booth and closed the curtain behind him. “Mind if I stay with you until then?”

“You don’t seem to be waiting for an answer either way.” Moon replied. He can’t help the way his smile relaxed into something genuine, or the way his shoulders slumped with relief as Sun crammed his way into the seat beside him. The company was nice. It eased the sickly flare somewhat.

“You know what might cheer you up?” Sun reached for the photo booth triggers, “We should take a picture! We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Sun, I don’t want to–”

“Say cheese!”

He didn’t have much time to argue. The timer clicked away and Moon, never knowing how to let him down, obliged with a roll of his eyes and a smile. Something a little silly, despite the tension boiling under his fingertips. The printer spit their photograph into his hand a minute later.

“That’s a good one,” said Sun, “we should hang it up in our room.”

Moon nodded, thumb pressed against the smooth film. He didn’t recognize the Moon in that picture.

They sat in perfect silence for some time after this. Moon with his head on Sun’s shoulder, and Sun’s head on top of his, the rays retracted where his faceplate brushed against the hat.

Eventually, Moon was able to return to his theater, but something had shifted. Something was unmistakably different. He caught the tail end of the movie and assured the other employees that he was alright as the final scene played out.

He remained in the booth until the credits rolled, shook the hand of each departing customer, and personally locked up once the last staff member made their way out. Then, finding his way to the middle seat in the center row, Moon sat and stared at a blank screen. He sat there until the mall closed and then opened, and dawn crawled over the horizon.

Sun had already made his way out for his morning shift after being reassured, once again, that he was alright. Moon found his way to their shared bedroom alone and got himself plugged in for the night. He would often dream in this state, but tonight he hoped they would stay away. He wanted nothing but stillness. An empty, boring sleep.

Maybe that would put this nervous feeling to rest.

#DMD: Golden Years #dead mall dare au #fnaf moon #moondrop #there's a thousand scenes I could have picked for the first Golden Years segment #but why hold out #when I could jump straight into showing you moon's first big experience with the glitch ;) #also i forced myself to write this entirely in past tense (for practice) and i hated it #so expect it to go back to present tense by the next drabble lmao

[phantomenby]

Did you see that?

"Where the reader gets shifted to their world and search for the boys, they get all excited and run up to them being a mega simp The boys are shocked by it and next day they go to find the reader and gets them to hang out with them. After spending so much time with them every night their friendship turns into them being all romantic."

Not sure who gave me this prompt, but so sorry for taking so long <3

"So I was thinking we could go on the carousel, and then the-" you paused, looking around you, realising your friends had vanished. "Guys?"

Looking around you could make no sight of them, your height allowing you to peek over the growing crowds when slightly on your tippy toes.

"Shit"

It had been your idea to go to Santa Cruz on your trip down the west coast, wanting to see all of the shooting locations of one of your favourite moves and to enjoy the boardwalk. Your two closest friends had come with you, though they seemed a little less pleased to be in a town known for its serial killers more than anything else.

Maybe if you stayed in one spot they could come and find you.

Walking over to the edge of the pier you hopped up to sit on the railings, feeling the cold metal press into your thighs as you held onto a lamppost beside where you were sat.

Honestly, it wasn't that surprising that they had vanished, the two of them were alot more interested in the retro stalls the town had to offer than the kiddie rides you had been gushing about on the way down. Apparently a carousel being over a hundred years old and an iconic filming location meant little in comparison to a vintage skirt, or old vinyl to add to their collection.

Though as you sat there, legs swinging to thump against the metal to the beat of the jazz rock combo playing from down the boardwalk, you realised they might have just ditched you.

Shame, you were the one with the car keys after all.

Sighing you reached into your pocket, pulling out your old samsung and turning it on. 20:17. You still had a few hours left before you would head back, but you might as well call them just to be sure.

In that moment your phone buzzed, and crackled, the screen going white then dark.

"What the fuck-"

It turned back on, beaming blinding white light at you, and you turned it away as a woman in neon pants scowled at you in irritation. Looking down at the device you inspect it, expecting to find some sort of damage to the screen, but you found nothing. It was still just as battered as ever but the screen was working fine, the buttons clicking on the side.

Only, when you looked at the top, you had no signal.

Groaning you shoved it back into your pocket, hopping down to the wooden ground and kicking it in irritation.

"Just me, myself and I," looking around you sought out something to do, figuring you might as well do what you intended to and heading towards the shiny golden carousel guiding you closer like a jewel in the night.

-

The queue was unsurprisingly long, full of children and teens dressed like punks, with the occasional double denim delinquent. Honestly, everyone you had seen so far looked quite odd.

Very, eighties-ish.

Maybe the town was still stuck in the past. It wasn't uncommon in the states, heck, some people still exist like they're in the medieval era. At least here most of them looked queer and kind in nature, not unlike the outdated towns that chased out anyone that wasn't a godfearing christian.

You sought out one of the stallions, choosing a pale blue one with a fiery red and orange mane that looked like it had been done up recently.

Climbing on you noticed all the others around you were quickly taken up by one of the cliquey groups, a rather ruggish bunch who wore mostly leather and stank of cheap beer and the beach. Some even had the signature skunk hair you remembered from the movie.

Maybe a cosplay event...

Now you understood some of your friends reluctance to be here, it really was quite a strange town.

The ride began, slow vintage tinkery music sounding from above you that crackled at it moved faster. You giggled softly, trying to contain your childish behaviour as you turned your head to look out into the crowds around you, figuring now would be a good time to get a good look for your missing compadres.

A cold hand brushed over your own, rough calloused fingers pressing to yours before sliding away. Brought out of your focus you looked back, catching a glimpse of a colourful patched jacket and mischevious green eyes meeting yours before they were pulled away from you, distracted by something else.

Your eyes focused, and frozed. Your mind trying to figure out what it was seeing.

Four familiar, tall figures, stood around the chariot a few paces in front of you.

"Holy shit..." dark eyes flitted to you, only for a second.

It was them. It was them.

The lost boys. Alex Winter, Kiefer Sutherland, Billy Wirth, and Brooke Mccarter.

They must have been the greatest replicas of the boys you had ever seen, even in all of the conventions online, their faces never matched so well.

Maybe you could get a picture with them.

Watching on you observed as the opening scene was recreated, how they fought with their well known rivals, how the security guard held back "David" with his baton and thus confirming his death.

"Christ.." you hadnt' realised how aggressive it had all been in the movie, imagining the director had toned it down and made it more chaotic. It felt a little too real.

Finally the four boys slunk off the side of the ride, and it returned its spinning motion. As you went past them you held their gazes, watching as the one dressed as Paul sent you a sly wink, while David's cosplayer send something much darker your way.

Shuddering you turned away, and for the next hour you fought not to think on them anymore.

-

Another hour passed. You had ridden the carousel twice, the ferris wheel thrice and the big dipper once before you decided you hated how it made your head spin.

Now you were stumbling around, enjoying how it was alot more bearable once most of the families had cleared out for the night.

There was still no sign of your friends.

You sighed for what must have been the millionth time that night, looking around and hoping, praying, you could get one glimpse of their dumb, brightly coloured hair.

Nothing.

Not a spec nor a crumb of their presence.

Your eyes did catch sight of something of interest. Those four boys. Now perched at the start of the pier in front of a large lodge styled building, crowing at eachother like children as they rattled their bikes.

Committed to the cause I guess. It wasn't often that a cosplayer met the look to that extent, though they could just be bikers generally, those kinds of cultish cliques did manage to survive out of the 80s.

Maybe you coul-

No.

But maybe...

Surely they wouldn't mind, they must have been used to getting asked for pictures by now.

"Oh fuck it," you began walking over, trying to move as gracefully and nonchalant as possible. Hopefully you didn't look too dumb. The two dressed as Marko and Paul hooted as your approached, wide grins spreading over their faces as you neared.

Your face must have been beet red, you could feel the intense heat reaching your cheeks.

"Whats up sugar?" 'Paul' leant forward, torso bending over the front of his bike, smiling teasingly.

"Yeah babe, see something you like," 'Marko' was stood beside him, stepping towards you.

Gathering your courage you spoke, too nervous to drag the interaction out too long, "well um, I was wondering," a hand reached forward, wrapping around your arm and pulling you closer, "I-I".

"Awe cat got your tongue?" you shook the brunette away, stepping back.

"I was wondering if I could take a picture with you, I'm a huge fan of your work," finally it was out and they were looking at you rather funny, your face was growing hotter, now realising how dumb of an idea it was, "if not that's fine I just figured-"

"Sure babe, why not," it was 'David' who had spoke, standing to walk closer to you, it wasn't until you pulled out a chunk of - something - that he paused, "the hell is that-"

There was a flash and the four vampires were stunned.

By the time they had come back to themselves you had already said a quick 'thank you' before disappearing into the crowd.

"Did you see that?" Pauls voice echoed all of their thoughts, what the hell was that and who the hell are you.

-

You were ecstatic, positively buzzing as you moved through the crowds, looking over the picture and completely dismissing how bright their eyes looked.

It was perfect, you thought you'd have to go to a real event for the movie to get a pic like this.

Now just to find your friends-

Looking up from your phone you were met with a very different sight, the crowds still packed by no longer in such old clothing. Rather everyone was dressed like they were at a summer festival, with pastel crop tops and thick-soled shoes.

"The hell-" when you turned to look back at where the boys had been you were met with an empty space, a large mark on the boardwalk designating the space for disabled patrons.

Maybe you were finally going mad.

"There you are!"

You were pulled out of your thoughts by your friend's hands on your shoulders, turning you to look at them.

"What the hell dude, you were gone for hours," they looked worried, which was odd to you considering they were the ones who ditched you, "nevermind, let's go I'm more than ready to pass out for the night."

You let them drag you along, hands held tight in theirs as you retreated to the car, only one thought left on your mind.

What an odd night.

#the lost boys #tlb #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #marko the lost boys #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #the lost boys fic #poly lost boys x reader #david tlb #the lost boys 1987

[driftingmoonmenace]

Dunno if it'll quite fit within the confines of the AU but it seems fun...

"What are you doing here?" "I got locked out of my house." "Again?"

LMAO I can definitely work with this!! (Also this turned out way longer than I expected but enjoy! ✨)

You started the long trudge from the parking lot, having parked your van closer to the entrance so at least you didn't have to walk that far to and from. Locking the van behind you like clockwork, you headed to where the bright neon lights greeted you.

Ten minutes later you found yourself all the way down to the large wooden doors that led into the Daycare. The lights were off so you knew what to expect but it was better than nothing with the predicament you were in.

Taking a deep breath you pushed open one of the doors. The soft glowing light from the huge TV screen behind the security desk gave you just enough light to see where you were going.

Almost immediately you were greeted, as if right on queue.

"What are you doing here?" Came a familiar gravelly voice from the top of one of the play structures. Though it was pitch black outside of the soft glow around the desk, you knew he was standing up there looking down at you. Like a cat poised to strike their prey, given the chance.

In the beginning it might have scared you shitless, because lets be frank, he was good at scaring you. Now the harshness was almost expected. You were back in his domain after all. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the thought. "I got locked outta my house, dude," you stated with a nonchalant shrug. Plopping down in one of the security desk chairs, you made yourself comfortable. Tempted to grab your tablet to at least give yourself an excuse of being there.

There was a brief pause.

"Again?" The acidic tone had seemed to dissipate and more so...concerned? It took you off guard but you were too exhausted to outwardly show it.

"Joey's out of town until tomorrow and I lost my house key again."

While you could have stayed in your van all night, something you'd done plenty of times in the past, you couldn't help but be drawn back to the pizzaplex. Like a siren singing their sweet song to lure you in even though danger lurked just around the corner for you.

The Daycare Attendant being the siren in this case, but heaven knows you'd actually let him know that. He already had a hard time believing you cared about him, no need to make it worse.

A faint red glow approached the desk, almost cautiously, until the figure it belonged to stood right in front of it. He was just full of surprises tonight you thought to yourself.

"You're tired."

"Yeah, I sure hope I would be." The comment came out a little too sarcastic for your taste but being this exhausted made your filter go out the window.

Whether Moon was offended or not, you couldn't tell, but you didn't have much time to dwell on it before you saw movement again.

Moon casually leaned down against the desk, crossing his arms out in front of him and resting his head on top to look at you. Turning his head a few clicks to the left. You could finally see his face which only showed an unamused expression. The sharp harshness that he gave you daily, again, didn't seem to be present. "Sleep."

You couldn't stop yourself from snorting at that and watched as the familiar disdainful look Moon gave you started to seep through.

"Where am I supposed to sleep exactly? To be honest with you, I'm not even sure I should be here since my shift ended over an hour ago."

There was an audible annoyed sigh and Moon pushed himself off the desk, retreating back into the dark. You were tempted to follow him, but you weren't exactly that comfortable with him yet so you stayed put. He showed back up at the desk a few minutes later with a blanket and an outstretched hand.

"I made you a spot. Come on."

This made your eyebrows raise immediately. Moon was never this nice to you. At least not that your fatigued brain could recall. Slowly standing up from the desk, you cautiously made yourself around it, almost like he'd done earlier.

You hesitantly reached your hand out to his, with his large hand overshadowing yours as he took hold, before you let yourself be slowly led into the dark.

#menace ask #chasing lights au #thank you for the prompt Certi!!! #I had a lot of fun with this!! 👀✨💖

[weshallc]

Bern's Night (part of the Crown Jewels series, Call the Midwife AU)

(Previously published on A03 and FF.net nothing new, sorry.)

Chapter One: Fair Fa' Your Honest, Sonsie Face

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang’s my arm.” Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

"Will You Recognize Me? Call My Name Or Walk On By." Don't You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds 1985

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin’, rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the North Star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his late 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one, as the incision was violently made. No one dared to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet the ceremony is over, it’s time for eating and drinking something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. "Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the kind of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face that she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London, she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar’s daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well, sort of a queue. In London, a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored and anyone who called the barmaid by name being bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready, hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those exact words.

All her life, she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea. He had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. It was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend, Valerie. I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm, a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of..?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Famous Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash. And a pint of Buckles Best. And for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

"Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights. Or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name. Most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner. Most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double. It’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when me and the wife took over. She was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one and now there were just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way, under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry, most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I’ve met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don’t mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a…”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time, none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can’t imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now, who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realising the stranger was still watching her, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks and she suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realising her arse was in the air, and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion, don't you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that? God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me. I can feel it.

#call the midwife #crown jewels au revisited #for a special day #bless her if she only knew #bern's night chapter one

[the-fiction-witch]

Please Hold while we connect you to another available servant of darkness

Media IRL X Medival

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster (Demon / Devil)

Couple Thomas X Reader (Witch)

Rating Sweet AF

Concept Ritual Summoning

I sat perched on the cotton and yarn blanket over my rigid window seat, observing out my small square windows, As the Sun gradually descended below the horizon, and the glow of the day vanished. The expansive green Moores started to fill with a dense fog rolling in laying atop the grass and daisy blooms thwarting the world from being clear to the naked eye. The sounds of the tweeting birds were hushed replaced by those of owls and foxes making their way out into the forming twilight. I eagerly watched as the moon began to rise and when I saw it wholly slip beyond the horizon I knew it was confirmed. The full circle dangled in the sky with a profound red hue. I smiled wickedly blowing out my candle and heading inside my cottage. 

The first task was simple I took my glass salt jar in hand released the cover and picked up the small wooden spade I ran a line of salt across my doorstep, and then proceeded to revive each of the lines on my windowsill. 

My second task was to change into my little red velvet dress, it reached the floor with two high slits, I set my small vile necklace around me making sure it made contact with my bare skin. 

My third task was to clear the space on my floor by pushing back my table and chairs leaving space on the wooden floor, I lifted my old black and gold telephone off the shelf and set it in the centre on top of the floorboards in its usual slightly scorched place. 

Next, I began my little song singing softly to myself as I went and took a small bird from the black cage immediately it tried to bite and peck me knowing its fate, I Knelt before the phone and grabbed my cleaver in one foul swing separating its head from its body silencing its squawks The moment I did thunder cracked across the sky and the rain began harshly. I stood and used the body like a watering can to draw my pentagram from the bird's blood with the phone sitting in the centre Once done I set the body in the upper left-hand point. I collected the other items I would need from my shelf and set them out accordingly, the top point had the lock of hair from she who fell through my curse of utter sleep, and the top right point had the coins from a dead man's pocket, The bottom right point I set the ears of the village pig even if they were not a pig before they met me, and the bottom left I filled with wine, bread, and other such I had made. All the while I sang my little song. 

By now the rain was battering the house harshly attacking every element of my cottage with lightning and thunder breaking through the sounds of rain. 

I set a black weeping candle at every point of the pentagram and lit each with a new flame from the fire letting each burn down exposing the blood-red wax within. 

And as soon as the last candle was lit the blood began to glow lighting the room as the blood turned to fire around each line all of it heating and scorching the floor and the phone until each offering burnt up and disappeared.

Suddenly with a crack of thunder, the fire went out leaving me in utter darkness. 

And the phone began to ring. 

So I smiled wickedly and picked up the phone already beyond excited.

"We apologise but the particular Demon you attempted summoning today is presently unavailable or unreachable. Do remember your ritual is very important to us and we constantly try to have demons obtainable for summon at all times. Do remember Lines will be busier during peak summoning times. Please Hold while we connect you to another available servant of darkness, the current hold time is six to nine months. You are Witch 4598274 in the queue Have a Wicked Day"   

I sighed and left the phone off the hook and went about my business waiting by the window, having my tea, fixing the fire and my plants any time I had a spare moment I would check on the phone listening to the same automated message slowly but surely as the days went by the numbers slowly went down. Until finally I got through to the main office 

"Underworld summoning department, How can I direct your ritual sumance?" 

"Hi, It's y/n. Put me through to him please"

"Ohh yes Miss" she answered and immediately it clicked through and the phone answered 

"Hello?" his voice asks

"you kept me on hold for a week." 

"Ohh fuck-" Immediately he hung up 

I set the phone down and quickly my cottage got cold but I quickly felt his arms around me holding me tight as his arms wrapped around my stomach pulling me into his body his head into my shoulder leaving a firm long kiss on my cheek "I'm sorry baby. I'm sorry" He cooes 

"What the hell's been going on down there?"

"Catastrafies, global sinning, Planning the rise of the next apocalyptic wave. I've been busy baby" he says turning me to face him "I'm sorry baby you know I've missed you, if I'd know it was you I would have made them put you straight through to me"

"Ummm you always say that"

"I mean it. I need to get the boys working on a direct phone for you. can't have my little lady waiting a week to see me" he cooes giving me a little kiss 

"Ummmmmmm" I smiled hugging him tightly and nuzzling into his chest "I love you, Thomas"

"Awwww I love you too y/n" he smiled giving my head a kiss "What were you summoning me for anyway?"

"Can't I just summon you to see you?"

"You can but you don't normally summon me unless you want something?" 

"Cuddles"

"Okay baby, cuddles."

"You'll have to get back soon won't you?" I pouted

"No. I don't have to go back till I want too. so I'm gonna stay here with you" He cooes picking my chin up to look at him rubbing his nose on my own 

"You mean it?"

"I mean it. Come on I'll make you a tea and we can cuddle up by the fire" 

#thomas #thomasbrodiesangtser #thomassangster #tbs #tbssmut #tbs sangster #thomas brodie sangster #devilish

[fatfables]

A sample section from my story, Alonzo: A Fat Fable.

Read the full story and more for free at fatfables.com

The Currywurst Incident

In school Alonzo was not the most popular kid, but he did have some friends. The worst of his greed and selfishness played out at home. In school the chubby young boy had to fit in with the others. He had to attend maths and English classes, the same as everyone else. Yes, he was always the first in line in the dinner queue. Yes, he always asked the dinner lady for one extra potato/sausage - which he normally got. And yes, he was always first up begging for seconds or even thirds. But, he was not the only kid in the school to behave like this at lunch times. And for some reason he didn’t mind the teasing from the other boys about his eating habits. Or his soft, round gut that stuck out over the top of his trousers.

The only time that he would really annoy his young friends was in sports class. Now, Alonzo was obviously not the sporting type. He would make up all sorts of excuses, and come in with all sorts of notes for the P.E. teacher to explain away why he couldn’t partake in badminton, tennis, football, or any of the other games that the majority of children liked to play.

In fact it’s probably correct to say that between the ages of about 11 and 13 Alonzo took no part in sports classes at all. He would just sit on the bench at the side of the gym hall with his potbelly resting in his lap, his two year old gym top far too small for him. It clung tightly around his soft chest and rode up on the top of his plump stomach, his soft muffin top rolling out under the sides. His gym shorts were always stretched skin tight around his bulking thighs. For some reason he had never bothered to get new gym clothes that fit. Perhaps it was because he knew deep down that he was never going to take part in any sporting activity ever again. He would just sit there every gym lesson watching intently while the other boys ran around, sweating and shouting until the back of their shorts became wet and clung to their backsides. Whilst engaging in this subconscious voyeurism he would sneakily munch on candy and chocolate bars that he had smuggled into his gym bag that morning.

As an older teenager he seemed to take joy in growing out of his new school uniform. Shirts that fit perfectly in September were bursting open and losing buttons by mid-November. Especially the lower buttons on his shirt which were popped off by his straining stomach after a particularly heavy lunch one day.

For the rest of the year he went to school every day with his soft belly sticking out the bottom of his shirt, his deep navel surrounded by layers of fat, clearly on display for everyone to see. The greedy teeanger was starting to wear his fat with pride. He could always have asked his parents to buy him some new bigger shirts. They absolutely would have done it. Though for some reason unknown to him at the time he didn't bother asking for new clothes. He thought the ones he had fitted just fine. 

One time when he was 17, on a cold January day, he ripped his school trousers open at the back whilst bending over to pick up a chip from the ground that had dropped from his little wooden takeaway fork.

This was outside the local pizzeria/kebab house that you find in every German town. Alonzo and his friends were now old enough to leave the school premises and buy their own lunch. Alonzo’s favourite was Currywurst and chips - big fat frankfurter sausages smothered in mountains of curry sauce with masses of chips on the side.

Tariq the young son of the Turkish owner knew Alonzo by name as he was just about their best customer. The good looking young Turk always made sure to give Alonzo extra sides and bonus large portions in order to keep the gluttonous teenager coming back to the restaurant everyday.

Tariq would make comments about Alonzo’s size and smile at him through his deep brown eyes, teasing him about his weight while enabling him to keep gaining fat at an exponential rate. Alonzo was blissfully unaware of any ulterior motives, he just thought that Tariq liked him.

So the chip fell on the floor, and in his haste not to waste a single gram of food, Alonzo bent down to pick it up. His wide chunky buttocks were already pushing out against the tight cloth of his tailored school trousers. The same ones he had struggled to button up that morning as he’d sucked in his huge bulging stomach. The same trousers that he was wearing with no underwear underneath, having given up on wearing boxer shorts just before Christmas. All his underwear was at least two sizes too small for him nowadays, and regardless going commando gave him a funny tingly feeling that he liked.

He liked that he was naked under those tight trousers. He liked the thought of his soft fat flesh being more open and accessible. He liked this even though his school trousers had been digging uncomfortably into his midriff all morning while he sat through two and a half hours of tedious biology lessons about the digestive system and the need to eat a balanced diet.

So as he bent over he heard a ripping noise as his tight trousers split across the seam that ran perfectly up between his two plump heavy round swollen buttcheeks. He went red in the face as his friends pointed and laughed at his fat bare ass sticking out in the middle of the busy street.

Tariq came running out of the restaurant to see what all the commotion was about. Upon seeing Alonzo’s fat naked flabby ass he stopped and smiled. Alonnzo looked up at him and met his beautiful deep brown eyes with his own blue eyes and smiled back. It was at that very moment when the two young boys looked into each other's souls that Alonzo realised that his swollen fat ass wasn’t the only thing that had caused his trousers to burst open. He was carrying the biggest boner in the front of his broken trousers. It was as clear as day for all to see. His solid young dick sticking proudly up, poking him in the underside of his heavy bloated gut.

Alonnzo laughed, Tariq laughed. The momentary shame that Alonzo had felt washed quickly away and was replaced with a real sense of pride. He was a greedy, lazy, sexy, fat fuck and he loved it!

His friends stared with amazement, completely nonplussed at the sight of their fat friend now semi-naked in the street, his arsehole and hard cock proudly on display for everyone to see. Alonzo’s belly was heaving up and down as he struggled to calm his laughter. As he regained his composure he sat his heavy bulk down on a bench by one of the tables outside the fast food place. The bench creaked under the weight of his fat naked ass. He then continued to eat his lunch with even more vigour - as if nothing strange had happened. 

As he bit greedily into a sausage Tariq pointed over the road and said  “Who are those two girls?” 

It was Alonzo’s sisters. They had seen the whole debacle and were standing with gaping mouths wide open staring at their fat embarrassing brother. Their faces pale and eyes aghast at the horrifying scene that they had just witnessed. As Alonzo took them under his gaze he smiled broadly and felt his hard cock and arsehole twitch. Fuck those evil cunts he thought to himself as he finished off the last calorific curry smothered sausage and wiped the sugary sauce off his plump greedy lips. Only Tariq noticed the brief look of sheer joy and ecstasy on Alonzo’s sweet, fat, round face.

#gainer stories #gay gainer stories #weight gain stories #male wg #gay gainer #feederism kink #fat belly #gaining fat #fat boy #big fatty #male weight gain #male gaining #male gaining story #belly gainer #bhm weight gain #gaining on purpose #gaining kink #obesity #overweight #gaining weight #feed #mutual gaining #gained weight #gaining weight on purpose #bloating