#lead paint & salt air

[marisatomay]

love a conspiracy about why people seem to be aging slower now than they did in the past and i love every explanation that isn’t a very simple “we wear sunscreen etc now”

#maybe most people aren’t smoking whole packs of cigarettes every day anymore #maybe there’s fluoride in the water and iodine in the salt and our air quality is actually better than it was for our parents/grandparents #and the paint isn’t lead based and we don’t use asbestos anymore #idk just spitballing here

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake. 

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast. 

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst. 

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed. 

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground. 

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides. 

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside. 

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers. 

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day. 

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing. 

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill. 

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless. 

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising. 

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again. 

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere. 

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile. 

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties. 

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression. 

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer. 

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question. 

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals. 

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful. 

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved. 

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar. 

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly. 

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness. 

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh. 

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you. 

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head. 

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall. 

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed. 

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

 You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine. 

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach. 

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall. 

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast. 

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go. 

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face. 

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure. 

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic. 

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips. 

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs. 

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes. 

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you. 

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee. 

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you. 

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him. 

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess. 

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics. 

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure. 

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment. 

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely. 

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches. 

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything. 

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should. 

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements. 

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet. 

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up. 

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

 You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles. 

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care. 

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture. 

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void. 

So you dance. 

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

[catfern]

salt.

pairing: cowboy!ellie williams x afab!reader (she/her pronouns used)

music: california love - 2pac etc. OR devil wears a suit and tie - colter wall (tysm angel @lissanovak)

word count: 1.7k

summary: ellie takes good money where she can get it. turns out there's a desperate runaway who will stop at nothing to fill her coin purse. well, and run away.

warnings: blood, gun use, minor injury, slight ageism towards joel, bounty hunter!ellie kinda, outlaw behaviour forrealsies

an: the start of cowboy!ellie and reader's love story <3 how i met ur mother actually. yk when u write a word so much and it doesn't look real anymore thats how i feel abt the word flower.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“is the money good?”

her eyes trace the faded ink that paints your jawline. her fingers itch in her gloves, tapping along the flimsy paper. she shifts quickly, cigarette smoke swirling and fading in the air, a sweet smell.

your father was a desperate, desperate man.

‘please, please, bring her back to me.’

‘my sweet child, my only child.’

honestly, ellie wasn’t paying much attention to the blubbering until the mention of a payout.

the drag was long, smoke settling her stomach, and spilling out from her lips in a rasp of a laugh, “yeah, it’s real good.”

this was clearly your first time running from home.

your name on her lips, nearly everyone she met was itching to tell ellie what they had seen, for a stray coin or two. you weren’t exactly quiet, rushing off with kicked up dust and curses rolling off your tongue. the easiest money they’ve ever made, joel jokes.

ellie had your photograph in her pocket, the one your father gave her. it had felt almost unlawful  to take it, your smile too intimate, your laugh too familiar. you wore the ornaments of high society, silks and velvets finding their comfort in the contours of your body, but your look was something unknown, untamed, something scarcely to be found. it was something that she deemed herself unworthy of. a sick perversion it was, to look at a capturing of you and imagine something more. she swallowed it.

“y’seen her or not?”

His eyes lingered a fraction longer on your face, the ghost of his breath circling the rim of his glass, sinking into the beer at the bottom. ellie dug her fingernails into her palms. she hated this man.

“maybe. y’got something f’me?”

“how much?”

“twenty.”

jesus. 

“ th’s higher than last time, butch.” joel’s calm, albeit tired. the rasp in his throat echoes into the jovial sounds of the saloon. the old crook chuckles, sags of skin rising and falling with his molasses, gap-toothed smile.

“business is business, old friend. consider it a family discount, jus’ for you two.”

ellie makes sure joel feels the fire of her gaze as he counts out the bills. there’s little comfort in knowing the reward is sweeter, as she watches half their year’s savings slide across the table. 

“a friend of a friend seen her in valentine. in that pretty dress too.”

her breath rots in her throat, palms itching as she takes back the photo, settles it back in her pocket. joel leads her out with a dishonest smile.

“easiest money we ever made.” it’s a mocking closing statement, before the heavy breath of horses fills a dripping silence.

you’re not far from a fallen angel, when ellie spots you. completely separate from the delicacy of your photo, now, you’re wild. your hair looks softer, less abused with pomade and twists to make stiff curls, capturing the sun and shining it like fragmented glass. a warmer, kinder glow falls on the dust of your skin, your rich silks abandoned for something looser, free. she feels a tragedy nick at her head when joel doesn’t hesitate,

“miss,” he stops you on the step of the general store, your grocery basket swinging from your arm, change echoing in the pocket of your skirt, “we’re friends of your father’s. he’s asked us t’bring you on home now.”

you weren’t smiling before, but something fell on your face that made you hard to describe. something echoes and ellie can almost watch the moment everything clicks.

“damn!-ellie!”

apples roll down the steps, abandoned. joel is old, and slow. ellie isn’t.

she’s on you before you can even breathe a getaway, her hands a rough burn against your skin as she pins you, cheek flush against the wood paneling of the store. softness forsaken, your breath is heavy, a monster slipping from your lips as you kick and bleed,

“i won’t go back-y’can’t make me! bastard!”

the blade is cold fire, foreign on your neck, “trust me flower. we can go easy,” pressure. “or hard,”

the silence between you deepens, your breath swirling together as the heat from her chest ripples on your back. this isn’t how ellie thought you’d be.

“how the fuck did you think that was gonna go, joel? ‘oh, you’re my daddy’s friends? why, of course, let me go and pack my beloved valuables and we can ride home together while i sing a tisket, a tasket for your enjoyment.’”

your voice is a rough, searing anger, as it echoes from where you’re bent over on ellie’s horse, hands tied behind your back, “cunt.”

“that ain't a very ladylike mouth you got there, darlin’.”

your father is wringing his clammy little hands on the front porch when joel and ellie’s horses are spied up the road. working himself up, he runs to meet you with a blabber of words. joel lifts you gently, much kinder than he was back in valentine, and cuts the sandpaper ropes from your wrists. your mother appears with a scowl,

“come on then. you need a bath, you’re filthy.”

it’s a walk of shame back down the road to your eyesore of a prairie home. the money feels sickeningly heavy in ellie’s hands as she watches you.

oh, she’s home. home, home, home. your father mutters in relief.

it doesn’t last long.

the second time is almost as painful as the first. tears stain the suede of joel’s jacket, a manic grip as the older man wailed and cried,

“she’s gone, again, again! please!”

they found you wandering a mountain pass, the sand of the red desert rock smeared across your cheek and dusted in your hair. you’d stolen a pony of your father’s, skittish and small, ellie almost laughed.

but fuck, you were learning to put up a good fight. even had a knife on you this time, smart girl.

but your dumb horse didn’t fight much, flying off at the first sound of a gunshot, throwing you violently into the dirt, winded and dazed. ellie shaded you from the beating sun with shit-eating grin, “howdy stranger.”

your voice is a coughing fit, “fuc-k you.”

by the fourth time, they started taking payments up front. the fifth time, your mother delivered the news, your father too bed-ridden with worry to see through the mess of tears and snot.

“back so soon, friend?” it’s mean to be a laugh, but it’s a rasp, dying wind scratching at his throat as his brow furrows.

ellie’s not interested in his dance, counting out the money and running it along the bumps of the scarred bar table, “same girl, y’seen her?”

he tuts, his voice high and mighty and too drunkenly happy, “dunno. think i forgot what i’m lookin’ for. might need t’see that photo again.”

“watch it.”

the silver of her hunting knife twinkles like a star in the warm light, the point slowly digging an edge into the aging wood. he shrinks and wisps the money up before it disappears, “last i heard she hitched a train up north. all i know, i swear.”

“always a pleasure, butch.”

the glow of your dying campfire wasn’t an easy beacon to follow from below the cliff face, smoke easing off the edge and falling into the moonlight. ellie eased her horse quietly up the incline, her eyes trailing your silhouette against the amber coals. a horse was tied to the tree you were camping under, not yours.

didn’t take you long to settle into the wild.

you were a completely different creature, something unknowable. ellie rounds the thicket on her feet, watching you. your eyes melt with the starlight, windswept and sweet in the air of the hills. you belong here.

fortunately, god makes it clear that ellie does not. the crack of the stick calls and echoes off the distance mountains, and, fuck, when did you get a revolver?

her hands are up as she steps out, cursing under her breath as her pants snag in the bush.

“you even know how to use that, sweetheart?”

your thumb clicks the safety, it echoes in the silence,

“i know well enough.”

“and what?” it’s teasing, and at some point, as ellie ponders her life down the barrel of a gun, your gun, she wonders if maybe, it’s not the right time. fuck it, “you gonna shoot me, flower? you gonna try?”

“i ain’t going back to that house, ellie.”

however tense, and full of pure hatred, her name on your lips is something god-given. she fights to revel in it.

“clearly.”

ellie steps, hoping to bridge the distance between you with something kind, something deserving of you. you panic.

blood. warm and sticky, seeping through the scratchy fabric of her shirt, the burn spreading through her body like a parasite. her hand flies to her arm, “you fucking shot me?’

had you seen blood before? had you shot someone before? your aim wasn’t guided by god, but fuck, you didn’t exactly expect it to hit her, and ellie knows.

“you’re th’one who fucking came at me!”

“i was walking!”

the ride home was horribly reminiscent of the first time you met. except, somehow, the ropes were tighter, and ellie had two guns in her saddle bag.

your mother scrubs the dried blood from your side in a cold bath, muttering about the witching hour.

you wait a few nights in restlessness, listening to your parents argue about your disobedience, before packing yet another satchel.

the outline of her jaw was lit by a dying cigarette, the soft scratch of her boots on the dirt echoing in the cicada rhythm of midnight. you watch her carefully as you drop from your window, wishing you had grabbed the shotgun this time.

“what? you hoping to cash in without actually doing any work?” 

she’s quiet, leaning against your back picket fence. flicking her cigarette down, it briefly lights the white tourniquet splitting her bicep.

“i’m real sorry about that.” it’s quiet, remorse.

she tuts, without care, “just a graze. y’have terrible aim.”

she’s watching you, enforcing a silence between you as she studies you, almost unsure. 

a sharp whistle bounces off a distant hill. you can vaguely make out the glow of a lantern, and joel.

ellie sighs, heavy, defeated.

“get your shit. don’t expect me t’carry it.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #cowboy!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x fem reader

[auras-moonstone]

Hi! Hru? I love your stories. This is my first request ever/ Could you write Ethan Landry x YN, where they used to date like in highschool but one of them moved countries, maybe Ethan for his acting career and when he comes back he has a new girlfriend but never really forgot Y/N, and maybe she’s still waiting for him? I love the idea of first love never forgotten type of fic! :)

hii, i’m doing good, hope you are too! you sent me this request ages ago i’m so sorry😫 but i actually really love this little story, hope you enjoy it too<3

‘tis the damn season — jack champion

word count: 3,225 (i did not realize it was this long i’m so sorry)

pairing: jack champion x fem!reader

summary: jack and y/n broke up before he left for la, and now that he is back in his hometown for the weekend, they decide it to call it even.

based on: dorothea and ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift

WHEN JACK HAD TO MOVE OUT OF TOWN TO PERSUE HIS ACTING CAREER, HE DECIDED TO END THINGS WITH Y/N. His schedule would be too full and there wouldn’t be enough time for a long-distance relationship. Besides, he knew it wouldn’t be fair for Y/N to adjust to his agenda.

Y/N knew she was going to wait for him, and a tiny part of her hoped he would come back to her. So she waited, but the texts and calls stopped coming, and soon she realized it had been wishful thinking.

But even though Y/N was constantly telling herself she needed to move on, she couldn’t find herself to do it. Whenever a boy would ask her out, she would decline every time. She felt her friends’ judging stares throughout every rejection—they knew what she was doing, she was holding onto her hope.

Two years after Jack left, when the pictures of him with his model girlfriend invaded her timeline, she decided she had had enough. She couldn’t be hanging onto a high school relationship, so she started saying yes instead of no.

But truth to be told, she absentmindedly kept comparing every boy to Jack and obviously that was a winless fight because none of them had his shiny smile, or his cute laugh, or perfect hair, or gorgeous deep brown eyes and above all, none made her stomach flush the way the mere thought of Jack did. In short, Y/N was fooling herself into thinking she wasn’t still caught up in Jack, pretending her heart didn’t still belong to the guy she had loved at the age of sixteen.

She wondered if he ever stopped and think about her, about the times they spent together making a lark out of the misery. Y/N didn’t think so, he had new shiny friends now, why would his thoughts be on the girl from the boring town he once used to live in?

Little did she know, his thoughts always lead to her and his hometown. He loved his job, and the people he met were not that bad, but he missed the quietness, the homey feeling that the small town gave, his real friends and Y/N. God knows he tried to get over her, but the memories of him and Y/N lingered like bad perfume and he could ran only so far from them.

As soon as Jack stepped foot in his hometown again, the familiarity embraced him like an old friend. There was this warm feeling in his heart he had missed so much.

“I’m going for a walk by the beach” he told his mom, as he exited the house.

The soft sand tickled his feet and the salt air filled his nostrils as he watched the rough waves hit the shore, making a thunderous sound so pleasing he could fall asleep to it.

He remembered the times when he and Y/N would lay there, taking in the view and letting their bodies be surrounded by the peacefulness as their intertwined hands rested in the space between their bodies.

Jack saw the silhouette of a girl sitting alone and once he was close enough, his heart dropped when he recognized her profile. “Y/N?”

Her shoulders stiffened and her head raised slowly. Three emotions were painted on her face in the span of three seconds—first it was shock, then uncertainty and then realisation.

“Jack?” she asked breathlessly and the sound of her voice sent chills all over his body. It’s been four years since the last time he had heard his name coming from her sweet lips, and it felt as heartwarming as being wrapped in a cozy blanket by the fire.

“Hi… I’m back for the weekend” he smiled widely.

Her eyes dropped to focus on her favorite smile she had missed so much, the one that, even after years, was still so shiny and bright that made her insides melt.

She smiled for a few seconds, and Jack’s world lit up again. But then, something sinked in, and her face turned emotionally void. The eyes that stared back at him were cold, the kind that fogs up glasses. “I have to go to work.” her tone stung like icy skin being touched by hot water.

Jack watched her leave with an ache in his heart, feeling the coldness irradiating off her as she passed by him.

Y/N WAS GLAD THAT THERE WASN’T MUCH ACTIVITY ON THE RECORD SHOP THAT DAY. The scene at the beach left her shocked, she had imagined seeing Jack again so many times in her mind, yet the ache she had felt when he smiled at her was collosal. Did he think he could just melt her heart with that dangerous weapon he carried on his face and everything would suddenly be okay? That his excruciatingly killer grin would amend the fact that he had completely cut her off his life for four years?

What was worse was that she almost felt for it. He had caught her off guard. She never imagined he would actually come back to town. And he looked so dreamy, so Hollywood, so untouchable. The screen in where she was forced to watch his life through didn’t do him any justice. He had gotten taller, he didn’t have his cute curls anymore—instead, he had a mullet haircut that fitted him so well and made his jaw look sharper. And his shoulders and biceps? He shouldn’t be allowed to wear that black tank top he had on that day, because it showed the muscles he had gained with his intense working outs and it was pretty distracting. Unfair.

The drooling stopped when she heard the bell ring, indicating someone had just entered the shop. And in walked the superstar, with his big wide black glasses, looking magnificent. And he had the black tank top that clung to his firm chest as if it was soaked, which made Y/N sigh. You have to be strong, she said to herself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked harshly.

“I’m looking for some vinyls.” he shrugged. “Where are the ABBA albums?”

“Jeez, I don’t know, maybe on the shelf with the big A?” she rested her elbows on the counter she was sitting behind.

Jack held back a laugh “Is this how you always treat your clients? Because if then, it makes sense why this place is deserted.”

“No, this treatment is only reserved for you.” she replied with a fake smile. “And this place is always full of people. Not that you would know, because you don’t live here.”

“And the shots have been finally fired.” Jack said, putting the vinyls back in place. “You’re still mad I left town, that I left you.” he stated, getting close to her and placing his forearms on the counter, making them be eye-level.

Y/N’s eyes softened a bit. “Watching you leave had to be one of the toughest things I ever witnessed, but no. I could never ever be mad at you for following your dreams, I thought you knew that.”

He reminisced the day he told her he was leaving to LA. She had a sad smile on her face, but her eyes showed him nothing but understanding and support.

“That’s amazing, Jack. You have wanted to do this for so long, and you’re so talented. You’re going to be a stellar actor and will have lots of fans, I can picture it.”

“You think so?” he had asked with a hopeful smile, hugging her waist tightly while they sat next to each other in her bed.

“I know so.” she corrected, raising her head to make their lips brush so she could whisper, “I’ll always be your number one fan, though.”

“I love you”

“I love you too, Jack.”

“Are you still my number one fan?” Jack asked, his voice filled with nostalgia and love.

“Always.” Y/N smiled truthfully. She had watched every movie he had done, and may have shed a few tears every time he appeared on the screen. Tears of proudness from how far he had gotten and also of sadness, because she wasn’t a part of his life anymore so she couldn’t celebrate his success with him.

“Then why are you being so cold?” Jack asked, seeming genuinely lost.

“Are you really asking me that, Jack?” Y/N scoffed in disbelief. “Because you fucking stopped talking to me. You kept in touch with everyone but me, and I felt so devastated.”

“Because the more I talked to you, the more homesick I felt.” Jack confessed, looking down at their hands that were only inches away from each other. “I wanted so bad to reply to you when you reached out, I almost did every time, but I just couldn’t. It hurt too much.”

“We were best friends before we started dating, and when you cut me off your life, I lost my best friend and the boy I loved. I couldn’t move on, I felt so lonely without you.”

Jack rounded the counter and stood next to her. He wanted to pulled her into his chest and patch up the wounds with a hug. “Can we call it even for the weekend?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I don’t know if I can say goodbye to you again.” the intensity and curiosity of his eyes made her feel lightweight, and maybe that’s why the words spilled out on their own. “I still love you like the very first day.”

Jack swore he could cry from relief. She still loved him. After all those years away from each other. “God, I still love you too. You have no idea how much.”

Their foreheads were pressed together, and their lips were close enough that if they took one step forward, they would touch. “You have a girlfriend, Jack.”

Jack sighed, and cursed himself. Taking a step back, he looked her in the eyes. “We don’t have feelings for each other, I want you to know that. We are together because… I don’t know, our team says we look good on camera.”

The weight on her heart lifted, and she tried hard not to smile. “Okay, good to know.”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Or are you seeing someone?”

Y/N laughed, remembering all her date failures. “Nope”

“Have you dated someone since we broke up?” as soon as the question left his mouth, he regretted it.

“I have gone on a couple of dates, but no. I haven’t even kissed anyone- quit smiling, jackass” she poked him in the rib, making him squeak. “I’m still mad at you, but I guess we can call it even for the weekend.”

“Yeah? Will you be mine for the weekend?” Jack smirked.

Y/N gazed at his lips, totally hypnotised by them. “Rules!” she blurted out. “We need rules. No flirting, no hugging, no touching, no kissing. We are friends, okay?”

He backed her up against the counter, both arms on each side of her body, caging her in. She threw him a warning glance. “What? I’m not touching” he said innocently. “Either way, this friend thing and your rules won’t work.”

“Why? Enlighten me” Y/N frowned.

“We love each other, and we haven’t kissed in four years. Tension, babe, we can’t fight it for long”

“Those kinds of nicknames are also forbidden” Y/N said. “And speak for yourself, I’m so in control of my actions you don’t even know. I can fight the tension like a pro”

“Challenge accepted. I promise you that by the end of the weekend, when you are begging me to kiss you, I won’t mock you much”

Y/N raised on her toes, their noses almost bumping. “We both know you’ll be the one asking for that kiss first. And you’ll have to leave town defeated, cause I’m not giving in, Jack.”

Holy shit, I’m fucked, Jack thought as he stared open mouthed at the girl in front of him. Confidence was her best look and his newfound weakness.

JACK STOOD LOOKING LIKE A ZOMBIE ON THE PORCH OF HIS HOUSE, AND Y/N WAS EXACTLY HIS JUXTAPOSITION. Her eyes were a bit red, but other than that she glowed way too much for a person who was woken up at 6AM.

“What’s wrong, Hollywood? Too early for you?” Y/N joked when she arrived to the stairs of his house.

“Shut the fuck up.” he growled.

“Oh, someone’s grumpy this morning.” Y/N teased him. “Come on” she said, smiling at him as she extended her hand. “I made you brownies.”

Jack took her hand in an instant, making Y/N laugh, thinking she convinced him with the brownies. But he didn’t care about them, as long as Y/N kept smiling at him like that, he would followed her wherever she strayed.

Y/N drove the Jeep towards the beach, and Jack couldn’t even hide how mesmerised he was by the sight of the wind blowing her hair as she sang her lungs out to I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Jack couldn’t help saying, making her look at him. “I’m not even flirting, I’m just stating a fact—you are so gorgeous.”

She blushed heavily and Jack smiled proudly. The fact that she still loved him felt surreal to him. “So are you, pretty boy.”

When they arrived to the isolated beach, they set a big blanket on the floor. As they ate their breakfast, they watch the sunrise unfold in front of their eyes. Once the daylight embraced them, they looked at each other and smiled softly. It was their last day together, the next day, in the morning, Jack would be going back to LA and leave her behind once again. There was sadness lingering in the air, but none of them dared to acknowledge it and ruin the beautiful mood.

“Can I hug you?” Jack asked, the need to wrap his arms around her frame was so intense that he had caught his limbs absentmindedly reaching towards her more times than he’d like to admit.

“I said no hugging” she answered, trying to sound firm, but Y/N wanted his arms around her as much as he did.

“Yeah, but this is… a friendly hug. Friendly hugs are permitted, right?”

“Sure, whatever” she nodded, and they both let the lie slide.

She tangled her arms around his waist and settled her head on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeats. Jack’s head rested on the crook of her neck, his long eyelashes tickling her skin, and his long arms covered her whole back and squished her more against his frame, making her laugh.

“Look at you, already bending the rules. Next thing you know, you’ll be asking me to kiss you” Jack muttered.

Her heart stuttered, maybe he wasn’t wrong. But she was too proud to give up so she said, “In your dreams, Champion.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely in those.” he said, and Y/N felt the outline of his smile on her naked shoulder. How was she going to go back to being without his presence again?

ON THE AFTERNOON, Y/N WAS READY TO TAKE A MUCH NEEDED NAP WHEN SHE HEARD A TAP ON HER WINDOW. With a scowl, she opened it and met Jack’s brown eyes that gleamed innocently at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked entering the room stealthily. “Stop frowning so much, you’re going to get creases.”

“I would, but some asshole knocked on my window right when I was about to take a nap, which obviously put me in a bad mood.” Y/N crossed her arms on her chest, and Jack wanted to pinch her cheeks.

“Oh, so this asshole arrived on time for a nap, then“ Jack said, plopping himself in her bed.

“Are you out of your mind? You’re not sleeping on my bed, Champion.”

“Um, well, good luck trying to get me off this bed.” he said with a mischievous tone as he laid under the covers. “Come on, we can build a pillow wall if you want.”

Pillow walls never worked with them. Jack, in his sleep, would roll over them and lock his arms around her waist. And maybe that’s exactly why she agreed.

They both slept peacefully in each other’s arms, but then the morning came. Jack woke up happily at the sight of the girl he loved resting on his chest, but then it was like a bucket of ice cold water was dropped on him. He was leaving in a few hours.

He dragged himself out of the bed, left a note on her bedside table and with heavy steps he reached the window. He sneaked one last look, his heart breaking by having to leave the warmest bed he had ever known and the only girl he had truly loved behind.

JACK SCANNED HIS SURROUNDINGS ANXIOUSLY, WAITING FOR HIS GIRL TO ARRIVE TO SAY GOODBYE. He had left her a note saying that he understood if she didn’t want to go farewell him, yet a part of him hoped to see her one last time.

“Jack! Sorry, am I late? I overslept, and when I didn’t see you I started to freak out and just ran out of the house.” she spoke in between pants. Jack grinned, she was still in her pjs and looked extremely flushed.

“You arrived just in time” he assured her. She nodded, and they stayed silent for a few seconds. “I’m going to miss you.”

Y/N jumped into his arms “Me too, Jack. I love you.”

“I love you. And as much as I want to, I won’t ask you to wait.” Jack said, resting his back on the side of the car as he held Y/N in his arms.

“And I won’t ask you to stay.” she said. “But if you are ever tired of being known for who you know, you know you’ll always know me.”

“I’ll text you” Jack said to her. “Seriously, I’m going to text you so much, and I’m going to facetime you to show you the sets I work at, and make you practice lines with me.”

Y/N smiled in relief, and then smirked at him. “Yeah, well, as your number one fan I seriously expect those privileges.”

Jack rolled his eyes in affection before pulling a serious face. “I’m fine with being the loser.”

“What?”

He turned them around, so that she was now between the side of his car and his body. “I said, I’m fine with being the loser. Please kiss me.”

Y/N pushed him down, and years of love presented themselves in one anticipated kiss. Their lips moved as if trying to make up for the lost time, for all those years they had been concealing the overwhelming amount of mutual love they had in their bodies.

“I lost too, I said I wouldn’t give in.” she whispered breathlessly against his lips, her warm breath sent chills all over his body.

“Totally. Worth. It” Jack pecked her lips in between words, leaving her in a complete state of drunkness.

A few minutes later, the car started and Y/N watched him leave for the second time, but she was really optimistic about their relationship this time. You don’t know what you got until it’s gone, and now that they had experienced the loss, they were never letting go again.

#jack champion #jack champion x reader #jack champion x y/n #jack champion oneshot #jackchampion #jack champion imagine #jack champion fluff #jack champion fanfic #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry fic #ethan landry oneshot

[heartfullofleeches]

Imagine vanilla triplets with a thembo reader who just thinks they're dating one person

So hot-

Days like this you could truly appreciate your partner's frosty exterior. It goes without saying that dating a humanoid made of everyone's favorite frozen treat and the events leading up to your relationship were beyond bizarre, but at this point and heat you didn't really care to ask anymore questions. You laid in bed with your icy lover at your side, their fingers in your mouth and towels placed beneath them - fans centered on the both of you. Like with most things, you didn't question where they managed to find so many devices and simply appreciated their efforts to keep you and themselves warm. They were as sweet as they tasted - when they wanted to be.

With a gentle pat to your jaw, they motion for you to bite down as they sit up - kissing your cheek as their finger is severed; growing back almost immediately. "Those ice packs should be frozen by now. If you still wanna nibble on me it's best if I go grab them.

You lick the ice cream stain in the print of a kiss off your cheek, groaning at the lose of your personal cooler. "Hurry back."

A giggle.

"Cute.. I'll be back before you know it."

You sink into your pillow as they leave. Even with fans surrounding you at full power, life without your creamy companion was agony. Every second that ticked by felt like your skin was melting into your sheets. You'd be a puddle before they returned - which was quite ironic considering their typing. Weight settles at the end of your bed, cool air crawling up your body and skin as the weight shifts upwards. You open your eyes as cream hits your cheek - a snicker painted on your lover's lips as they lower their body to yours.

"Poor babe. Practically wasting away.... Want me to make you feel better?"

You faintly nod, exhausted of all motor functions.

"A "yes please" would've been nice."

Starting at your neck, the ice cream fiend licks up your sweaty skin under their tongue reaches your lips and presses heavy against them - a ring of white coating as the faux slips through. The shutter you feel as they sample your flesh jolts through your teeth, but you could hardly care. You taste the salt of your skin briefly before it melts into their natural flavor. It was different from you remembered. Thicker, more savory and bold with that sweet undertone. You noticed the difference before, but true to your motto you never really brought it up. You really couldn't at the time with their tongue and cream filling your mouth and throat.

You whine as they break. "Don't worry, love. I'll be back shortly with a little surprise. Tell me, cherries or sprinkles?"

"Whatever."

"Got it." With one more sweet kiss, they hop out of bed - skipping out the door. Almost as soon as they leave, the cold metal of spoon hits your bottom lip.

"Y/n? I'm making you a sundae, but I wanted to know if you'd like it before I wasted all the ingredients. Open?"

You do as told. The ice cream, again, has changed consistency. Lighter, and more delicate in flavor - blended with the syrup and natural sweeteners they threw in.

"Do you like it?...."

You raise a thumb. They cover their mouth to muffle their cries of glee.

"Ah! I'm so happy, I could cry... I'll go finish right away!"

Once again - you're alone. The sunlight bleeds through the cracks of the currents and upon your scent body. You cry, "I'm gonna die."

The light fades; the rip of duct tape sealing its fact. Cool air joins your right and you sigh in content - joined by that same air on your left. Soon enough, the cold completely envelopes you as a body settles in your lap - a head on your right arm and hands wrapped around your left.

"Wait a minute-" Your eyes peel open. Three ice cream people. One in your lap and two at your sides. The one sitting on you squeaks at your puzzled expression, hair hiding their frantic eyes and freckles you never noticed until this angle. In actuality, the speckles littered their entire body. The one to your right hand their hair braided down, and the other a wild mane. You for some reason just thought they liked to change their hair style frequently. You look to your left.

"Nilla?"

They shake their head, plucking a cherry stem off their tongue as they point over at your right. "That's Nilla. I'm Vani."

You look up. "You?"

They play with the spoon in the glass they hold. "Bean...."

"So, wait - there's three of you?"

Nilla shrugs. "We were sure you knew considering you didn't bring it up. Is this an issue with you?"

"Not really... if you guys don't have a problem with me not being able to tell the difference between your flavors."

"We're willing to look past it so long as there's no other flavors or humans in your life.

"Don't think we'll have a problem with that first one, and we'll tackle that second thing when I'm not five seconds from death."

Bean offers you their spoon. "P-please don't die! Here, eat this?"

Vani hugs your arm tighter. "I'm sure they'd prefer something more from the heart - or the tongue."

"S-stop being gross.. Y/n, which would you like more?"

Your mouth is to busy nursing another of Nilla's fingers to reply.

"Y/n!"

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere harem #Candy Yan #yandere drabble

[agustdiv1ne]

CONGRATS ON 3K ASHLEE 🥳🫶🏼✨ you’re truly amazing and here’s to many more milestones!!

right so, ik this isn’t a movie, but I was wondering if you could do something along the lines of bridgerton + beomgyu + fluff and smut please 🥹 but if it really is just movies, then titanic with the same member and genre please <3 thank you in advance <3

NOW SHOWING...

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: historical fiction, romance, fluff, smսt

wc: 4.2k

details + warnings: mdni, beomgyu and mc's characters are jack and rose adjacent but they actually have a happy ending bc i said so <3, mentions of alcohol, no established dom/sub dynamics but gyu takes the lead a bit, soft + romantic sex, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't do this!!), my big dick gyu agenda makes an appearance, light dirty talk, a little possessiveness, beomgyu calls mc: love, beautiful

note: SMILES!! TYSM <33 you are one of of my longest moots and i appreciate you and your talent so much! i've unfortunately never watched bridgerton (or else i would have used that ;-;), though i do adore titanic so i ultimately went with that ^^

you have found sunsets to be far more magnificent at high sea.

tonight brings one that is, by far, one of your most beloved from the voyage thus far: a sky flushed a deep rose, billowing clouds contrived of fairy floss drifting above your head. the horizon holds clear where the roseate hue melts into the ocean and scatters about the peaks of gentle waves. it's quite a breathtaking sight, almost too good to be true. a painting; that is what it resembles — you wish that you could reach up and brush your hands through it, watch it coat and swirl about your fingertips like smudged pigments on canvas.

leaning against the railing, you inhale a deep breath of fresh, salt-heavy air. it stings as it fills your lungs. despite the beginnings of spring, the weather has remained chilly, growing further frigid whenever the sky fades to black. now, the sun hangs low, sinking closer and closer to the sea that awaits to swallow it whole — you will be forced to return back inside soon.

sighing quietly, your mind wanders to beomgyu, the man who has won over your affections over the past five days. you wish he could be here with you to see this picturesque display. where is he right now? on one of the lower decks, perhaps? should you go find him?

does he miss you as much as you do him?

not even half a day has passed since you last saw each other, but these thoughts swirl within your brain nonetheless. busy mixing with pretentious elites and the potential suitors your mother demanded that you meet throughout the day, you hadn't found time to sneak away and meet with him despite your aching desire to. you just barely avoided your mother's watchful gaze to escape out here and finally be able to breathe.

as naïve as it may sound, you feel as though you've known the charming man your entire life. strangers with a divine connection — you ponder if you must have known beomgyu in a past life, fell for him just as you do now. your typically rational mind supplies you with grandiose ideas of running away, of fleeing this suffocating, predetermined path that you were born into. he is a breath of fresh air after all of the men that you have met who only wish to marry and mold you into a submissive, obedient housewife that they can then neglect. unlike those men — no, you think, those insolent boys, he is not hungry to further his wealth, to fasten his name to yours for the sake of status. he doesn't expect you to change yourself. rather, he takes you as you are, with all your sharp edges and imperfections, and worships you down to the marrow of your bones.

the longing to wander the entire ship until you find him strikes you square in the chest like a sack of flour, knocking the breath from your lungs. your heart aches. you want to see him. you must see him.

“i should’ve known i’d find you out here.” 

it's quite strange, how the hand of fate plays its cards. you whip your head around, and there he is, with his sun-kissed skin and wind-tousled hair, as if he had somehow heard your thoughts and rushed to meet you. the upward quirk of his lips conveys both fondness and mischief while he moves closer to you, gentle hands wrapping around your waist. you mirror his expression, relief flooding your system at his well-timed arrival. sliding your hands over his shoulders, you link your fingers together around the nape of his neck.

“gyu,” you whisper while you surge forward to embrace him, pressing your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder. he nearly stumbles, but quickly regains his balance, returning the hug. “i missed you.”

“we saw each other this morning,” he chuckles, but the way his arms tighten around you betray his true emotions. 

you deliver a light pinch to his neck in jest, mumbling against his neck, “you’re impossible.”

this simply makes him laugh harder, his chest shuddering against your own. he curls a hand under your chin to remove your face from his neck, and his chestnut-colored eyes find yours. “and you love it.”

“unfortunately, yes,” you admit with a sigh. he smiles wider at that.

a peaceful silence fills the air between you. only the sounds of the ship cutting through the sea fills your ears. turning in his hold until his back presses against your chest, you look back out to the horizon. the pink sky has faded into a muted indigo, the sun barely a semicircle along the horizon. the air has grown colder now, but the warmth that beomgyu exudes wards off the chill that runs deep beneath your skin. your place one hand atop the ones looped around your stomach, the other reaching up to play with the ends of his soft hair.

“where’d you disappear off to today?” beomgyu breaks the quiet first. he feels the way you stiffen within his hold, how your fingers stop toying with his hair, the deep breath you exhale. you can that he immediately regrets asking.

“my mother,” you begin to explain, a bitter, sour note in your voice. “she dragged me from party to party today. they weren’t even parties, really, just excuses to flaunt wealth and peacock about. it was absolutely ridiculous.”

you hear the small giggle he allows at your choice of words, and your lips turn up again. teasing, you say, “i’m glad my misery amuses you.”

“no, never,” he hastily says, oddly serious. your fingers rubbing soothing circles against his scalp is a silent confirmation that you know. a few beats of silence pass once more, your eyes trained on how the sun continues its descent below the horizon.

the ocean's maw has fully consumed the sun when he pulls you back against him, his warm breath caressing the shell of your war and causing you to shiver. the quintessentially impish lilt of his voice returns, a smirk rich on his lips.

“wanna go to a real party?”

and to a real party he takes you. a gathering on a lower deck, the tunes played by the instrument-wielding passengers brash and loud. others sing, some dance, many drink. it's as if you are walking into a brand new world, seeing colors you have never seen before. it is so disorienting yet exhilarating at the same time.

your hand enveloped in his, beomgyu guides you into the sea of noise and moving bodies with confidence towards two men who cheer his name at the sight of him. they each hold a glass of amber ale, eyes glazed over as they spot you behind their friend.

“you finally made it! thought you weren’t comin’,” the slightly taller of the two calls, his words slurred. his fox like eyes meet yours again, and he grins. “you must be the girl he’s been ravin’ about! y/n, right?”

you offer a shy nod and a polite smile, nerves apparent in the way your eyes dart across the room. next to you, beomgyu grows a bit red in the face, but holds you closer to him. how easily he picks up on your emotional state is beyond you, but appreciated.

beomgyu moves to introduce the two men, and you learn the taller one is named yeonjun. the shorter man, his eyes as round as a doe's, is named taehyun. he is far more reserved compared to the other two, but welcoming nonetheless. you converse with them for a considerable amount of time, growing more comfortable the longer you stand with them. none of them seem to care that you come from a wildly opposite walk of life as them; they treat you as a friend all the same.

the conversation soon turns to their history and how exactly they came to know beomgyu. they happened to meet while in paris, yeonjun explains, bonding over their shared heritage and quickly developing a close friendship.

“it’s a miracle we even got on this ship!” yeonjun laughs before he takes another swig of his drink. “gyu won a game of cards back at the port just before she set sail. lucky guy, ain’t he?”

“yeah,” beomgyu responds before you are able to utter a word, looking down at you with fondness coloring his gaze. “i really am.”

the two men soon depart on a search for more alcohol, leaving you and beomgyu alone. he does not take long in snatching your hand to drag you towards the makeshift dance floor.

“beomgyu, wait, i can’t—”

“c’mon!” he exclaims. “dance with me!”

he pulls you close to him as soon as you reach the space. chest to chest, hand in hand. your eyes widen, frantic.

with haste, your voice strained in order to be heard over the music, you say, “beomgyu i don’t, i don’t know this dance, i can’t do this!”

“sure you can!” he jovially yells. “just follow my lead!”

the music surges around your bodies as you begin to skip about the room. with beomgyu guiding you along to the fast-paced tempo, your apprehension melts away. you do not have to be in control, you can simply feel and allow yourself to flow along with him. you squeal as your unsuitably formal dress flutters around your legs and your heeled shoes click against the floor rhythmically. both of you laugh unabashedly, growing drunk on the excitement of it all. your heart beats erratically against your ribcage, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide you beam.

you feel more alive in this moment than you have in your entire life.

he spins you around and around until you grow dizzy. then, you are off once again, eventually joining a line of people holding hands and snaking about the room. you skip along with one hand held by a woman who speaks to you in rapid french and the other still taken by beomgyu, who attempts to translate her words, albeit poorly.

out of breath, you squeeze his hand, and he takes your hint; you break away from the line. others easily fill the void that you leave.

you stumble, giggling, and beomgyu catches you. harebrained and giddy and every cell of your body positively surging with joy, you are unable to even think your actions through before you are cupping his face in your hands and crashing your lips against his.

whoops and hollers sound around you, but the sole thing that permeates your senses is beomgyu's soft lips melding with your own. the grip of his hands upon your waist fortifies, but only enough to hold you to ensure your unchanging propinquity. hurried, ravenous, you devour each other in the middle of the crowd until you grow desperate for oxygen. pulling away, you draw a breath deep into your lungs, mouth agape just as the full force of what you did crashes into you, a strike of lightning straight to your chest.

and rather than fret, your lips split and their corners rise, and you laugh. you laugh and laugh and laugh until you collapse against beomgyu's chest. he gathers you up to his chest before you crash to the floor, holding you by your cheeks while he comprehends your wild eyes and glowing mien.

“are you alright?” he queries.

i think i may be in love with you, is what you wish could say, but you bite the words back before they escape.

instead, you ask, “come with me, please?”

he nods and allows you to pull him towards the stairs that you first entered from. mistakenly, you briefly meet eyes with yeonjun, who stands across the room with a suggestive smirk, eyebrows wiggling in your direction. though your cheeks grow warm, you continue to push forward, weaving your fingers through those of the man following close behind.

the trek to your private chambers takes far longer than expected. both of you are guilty of pulling each other into dark corners and giggling into each other's mouths at nearly every turn. the situation becomes dire once you reach the upper decks, dodging acquaintances of your mother through roundabout hallways. after what seems like hours, you reach the door of your room, swiftly unlocking it and pulling beomgyu inside.

without delay, he presses you up against the door, forearms caging you in, and crashes his lips to yours once more. gone is the nonsensical laughter and teasing touches — now all that remains is a carnal hunger, a bone-deep desperation to feel and to devour one another whole. his sly tongue sneaks into your mouth, dancing with your own before it retracts and his teeth graze your lower lip. you exhale a breathy whine, hands pawing at the rough linen of his shirt.

he pulls away to momentarily catch his breath before he blazes forward to kiss you once more. your finger pressed to his lips, however, halts his movements. questions dance in his pupils.

“take me to bed,” you whisper. 

biting your lip, you watch as the gears within his brain churn as he processes your words, how his eyes grow impossibly darker once he does. the short journey to your bed is a blur in your mind. hands tug at clothes and undergarments until you lay bare beneath his own naked torso, his trousers low on his waist, though unable to hide the aching erection that strains the fabric.

he reaches up to tweak your nipple, causing you to inhale sharply. he finds great delight in how sensitive you are, his lips ravaging your neck until he locates the weak spot just beneath your ear. he bites down lightly. a shock of bliss jolts down your spine, and you squeal his name — god, how he would give away what little money he has to his name to hear that sound every day.

the combination of his lips gliding down your neck and his thumb circling your nipple renders you speechless, merely able to moan and grip the soft sheets below you as he brings you pleasure that you have never felt before. though his calloused hands against your skin feel much rougher than those of the men that your mother forces you to mingle with, he treats you gentler than any of your desperate suitors ever could. almost as if your body is made of glass, he does not press hard enough to inflict pain, nor does he force you to your knees to take him. no man you have lied with before has treated you in such a manner, putting your needs before his own. your heart pounds at the realization. you pray that he cannot hear it.

deprived of warning, his lips and fingers disappear from your skin. you whine at the sudden confiscation of pleasure.

“why did you stop?” you pant, breathless, trying to reach up to touch him. he captures your hands and links his fingers between your own. he presses your arms back against the sheet before he lets go. 

he stares down at you for a moment, eyes trailing from your heaving chest to the swollen pout upon your lips. with a ghost of a smirk, he leans down to press a chaste peck to the corner of your mouth, his forehead now pressed against yours. eyes hooded, he breathes, “patience, beautiful. i’m gonna make you feel good, i promise.” 

“hurry, then,” you plead. you feel as if you are going insane without his touch. addictive, akin to opium; you want more, you crave it.

“ah, so demanding,” he jokes, though he gives in. he allows you no time to respond as he kisses you again, leaning over you with forearm pressed into the mattress next to your head. a hand slides down your side — drawing goosebumps to your skin — to your thigh, spreading you wider for him. you inhale sharply through your nose when you feel fingers press against your soaking center, one slim, rough-skinned finger sliding slowly past your entrance. the groan he emits rumbles against your own chest. he raises his head no more than a millimeter, shuddering at the wet heat that coats his skin as he begins to thrust the digit in and out. 

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he curses, unable to help himself. clinging to him, you bite your lip at his ministrations, nearly drawing blood when he slips a second finger in, stretching your walls. his thumb finds the aching bud just above to ease the sting.

“g-gyu,” you whimper, the sound singing in his ears like wind chimes, urging him to move faster, curl his fingers against the spongy patch inside you, watching how your face contorts beneath him. he fixates on the spot. your hips involuntarily buck up into his thrusts in response, the cord within your stomach tightening. your gaze meets his, desperate, pleading. “gyu, i need, ‘m going to—”

“let go, beautiful,” he groans, grinding his cock into the crease of your thigh for relief. “you can do it, c’mon. let go for me.”

his deep-voiced encouragement sends you over the edge, warmth flooding your veins as your thighs quake around him, nails digging into his tanned skin. your eyes screw shut.

“that’s it,” he coos as you float back down to earth. he rubs soothing circles against the skin of your cheek. “my lovely girl.” 

“want you, gyu,” you beg, stomach warm from the praise. “want you inside.” 

he freezes, eyes wide. “are...are you sure?”

“i’ve never been more sure in my life,” you say. thus, his grin returns. he moves to unbutton his trousers, and you help him, grazing the hard imprint in his underwear. he hisses at the sensation, then stands from the bed to remove his remaining clothing. your mouth dries at the sight, and you gulp. he is quite well-endowed, his cock standing tall against his soft abdomen, the tip an angry crimson, the color fading as your eyes travel down the shaft. you squirm at the thought of it being inside you, stretching your walls beyond belief, pressing into every spot within you with every roll of his hips.

he settles between your thighs once again, guiding his cock against your wet folds. your poorly-veiled apprehension is not lost on him.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises, guiding the head of his cock to your awaiting entrance. “don’t wanna hurt you...you ready?”

with a deep breath, you hum in confirmation. he murmurs out a quiet “okay,” directed more towards himself than you, and shifts his hips forward. the first press brings with it a small ache. you wince, and he slows, inquiring if you are okay. 

you nod. “go slow, please.”

“of course, love,” he whispers, distracting your mind from the pain with his lips. inch by inch, he sinks deeper into your walls, soon bottoming out deep inside of you with a strained moan. he stills to allow you to adjust. as soon as you do, you’re urging him to move. he obeys, thrusts slow-paced and tender until you beg for him to quicken them. 

“yeah?” he coos. “y’want more? you, fuck — you have all of me already, s-so greedy.”

the roll of his hips sharpens, canting upward — faster, harder, deeper. all you can think to do is moan, the thoughts ricocheting in your mind now too jumbled for you to decipher and voice. a fire has ignited in your stomach, growing hotter and brighter when swings your legs over his shoulders. the angle of his thrusts causes the head of his cock to brush against a spot deep inside you, a place that has never been explored prior. a sound that is foreign to your ears tears itself from your chest, loud and unabashed.

above you, beomgyu groans. his head is thrown back, mouth agape, his hair a tousled mess atop his head. a few strands stick to his sweat-drenched forehead. a flush has traveled down and stained his chest, his abdomen flexing in exertion as he loses himself completely. his head drops down again, his eyes meeting yours, half-lidded and brimming with heady lust. you attempt to hide your face in the sheets, growing shy at the intensity of it all, but he reaches down to grip your chin, holding your gaze steady.

“watch me,” he orders. in a daze, you obey, glassy eyes barely able to comprehend the bombardment to your senses. his free hand locates your slick clit, rubbing quick circles, breath shaky as your walls flutter and tighten around him. “so good. so good for me, beautiful. no one can make you feel as good as i do, hm?”

“o-only you!” you manage to agree through your cries. he slips his thumb past your lips, and you immediately begin to suck on the digit.

“so pretty, such a good girl,” he mumbles out, half delirious. “will never get enough of you.” 

your high slams into you in a flash, your entire body quivering around him. beomgyu rapidly pulls out, ropes of his release spilling across your abdomen as he jerks himself, gasping at how your empty hole flutters around nothing. your legs drop from his shoulders, as weak as a newborn fawn's. he collapses next to you, mopping up his release with the handkerchief sitting upon your nightstand, before he pulls you to his chest, holding you like you are about to disappear into the air. he cups your cheek gently, kissing you slowly, savoring every second. when you pull away, there lies an urgency in his expression.

“run away with me,” he whispers, searching your face for something, anything. “once this ship docks in new york, run away with me.”

your chest tightens. he feels the same — oh, he feels the same. you battle back the tears beginning to form on your waterline and hold him close, reaching up to envelop the hands on your cheeks with your own and kissing him breathless.

your forehead presses to his as you respond, a watery smile painting your lips, “where would we go?”

“anywhere you’d like,” he breathes. tears form in his own eyes — hope, unbridled joy. “just say the word.”

your blooming love is not star-crossed, but auspicious, you realize while standing on the deck of the carpathia.

you had been separated from beomgyu in the sinking of the titanic that night, in the frantic crowds shoving towards the life boats and the gunshots ringing out to maintain a semblance of order. your mother had found and pushed you onto one, lowered into the sea before you were able to leap out, to search for him. you sobbed into your palms the entire night, unknowing whether he survived the sinking or not.

but now, he is across the deck before you, alive. his clothes and hair are drenched in seawater, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders — but he's alive, so very alive. he has not spotted you, his eyes pointed out to the sea where the so-called "unsinkable" ship met its watery grave. your hands begin to shake. warm, breathing, alive.

you croak out his name, tearing away from your mother in order to sprint over to him, ignoring the weakness of your limbs and the frantic protests from your mother behind you. your calls of his name amplify in volume. he spins around, and his face melts into disbelief. he races across the remaining distance between you, feet thumping against the wooden deck. arms wrap around you as the two of you meet — two souls colliding, winding and weaving around each other like threads on a loom. tears are not lost upon either of you, streaming down both of your faces as you hold each other, skin against skin as you ensure this is not a dream, or mirage.

“i love you,” you sob. “i can’t, i didn’t know if—”

he shushes you, tucking your face into his chest. “i know, love. i know. i love you, too. we’re here now, we’re together. alive.”

you choke back a whimper, crying until you can no longer. as you shift back to look at him, you find that he's smiling. a thought hits you suddenly.

“where is yeonjun? taehyun?” you ask. he squeezes you once, pointing somewhere across the deck. following his finger, you find them: beaten down, weary, but breathing. you have never been a particularly religious person, but you think that something must be watching from above, providing you such unfair luck. they wave. you wave right back.

“we floated on top of furniture until a rescue boat found us,” he explains. “we were lucky. i was half dead when we were found.”

the thought punctures your chest, but he doesn’t let your thoughts run astray for long. “it’s okay, love. you couldn’t have done anything.”

“i know, but—”

“but nothing.” a gentle smile plays on his lips. “we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“yes,” you say, your expression reflecting his. “shall we still plan to flee?”

he grins something tired yet enthusiastic. “of course, beautiful. there's no one else i'd like to see the world with more than you.”

3k event masterlist | masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt fluff #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu drabbles #txt drabbles #beomgyu scenarios #txt fanfic #3k milestone celebration #agust.nsfw #💌 — gyu

[kroosluvr]

my pipsona/pipsqueaksona ... notes under the cut

traveling artist that hitchhikes/freeloads off ships and trains and carriages etc to follow this weird compass she has that always points towards an odd direction

she appears really elegant, prim, stoic, but she's actually quite puppylike and gets really excited at a lot of things, namely art and adventure and exploration

NOTES ON HER CLOTHING UHH she wears a lot of darks to hide paint stains. the hat is mostly to keep the sun out. her hair is quite messy, tousled by the salt air, all that. also she always wears long skirts and sleeves.

spoiler alert, the compass actually... leads... to... captain gale galleon!!!111 ahaha. ahah

she doesn't know that though (i think he realizes it very quickly but doesn't say anything LMAOOO like why diminish her excitement towards the hunt am i right)

her pipsqueak form is like a lovebird or something LMAOOA as a bird she's very eeeepy and just lounges around captain's quarters snnzzing away i think.

#pipsona #cele draws #errr umm #cele sona

[arealphrooblem]

Surrender Prompt Fills #1

I love the voluntary surrender prompts by @whither-wander-whump so much I decided to attempt them all. This is the first one.

- a character doing it because they have no choice. They’re too tired to run anymore. They just want to get it over with, so they hold out their hands for the chains. What else can they do?

“Quite a merry chase you’ve led me on.”

The villain stepped out from the tree-line, looking impeccable and untouchable despite their complaints.

The hero paid them no mind, keeping their gaze on the sunset blazing before them. Their last free sunset. It spilled across the sky in brilliant pinks and golds and dark blue undertones that made the hero itch to paint.

Not that they would ever paint again. They still imagined it.

“I didn’t expect you to lead me here. Do you think I won’t attack you in a public park?”

The Hero did not bother to point out that the park was empty, that the streets had been declared unsafe while the Villain relentlessly searched for the Hero. That part of the reason for this surrender was to give innocent people their lives back.

“Can you wait until it's over?” they asked instead.

The Villain gave them a dubious look, caught off guard. And no wonder — for weeks the Hero had stayed just out of their reach, pulled so many hail marys and deus ex machinas to keep their freedom. Of course they took the hero’s surrender with a grain of salt.

But then the Villain did something surprising of their own and sat down next to Hero on the old wooden park bench.

“It is especially stunning this evening,” they offered. “I can tell you’re itching to paint it. Tell me, was it worth your freedom?”

“You’re dying to know why I stopped running, aren’t you,” the Hero said, snorting.

“I do find it rather baffling how much effort you’ve spent planning and upkeeping your escape only to stop now for no discernible reason.”

“There’s a reason.”

Hero could feel the weight of the Villain’s side-eyed stare, dissecting them, trying to break them into logical pieces.

“Are you going to elaborate or are you going to keep me in suspense?” they asked.

“Will you shut up and watch the sunset?” the hero shot back.

“You don’t actually need to be quiet to watch a sunset, there’s no auditory component to —”

Hero kicked the Villain in the shin. The Villain shut up. In fact, the Villain stayed blessedly quiet as the sky slowly darkened, the brilliant fire of the sun fading into the soft hues of the night. Even as the moon glowed into view, the Villain did not initiate any capture.

“I’m tired,” they confessed to the warm, breezy night air. “I haven’t slept more than three hours a night for weeks, I barely eat. I can’t stop and enjoy anything because I’m always moving to stay one step ahead of you. I can’t do it anymore. Don’t you get tired of chasing me?”

“I didn’t at first,” the Villain replied softly. “I liked the challenge. Now it’s tedious and exhausting.” They sighed. “I don’t sleep well either.”

The Hero took one last long look at the fading horizon, the tiny pinpricks of stars twinkling into view, before turning towards the Villain with their hands held out.

“I suppose it’s time we finally got some rest” they said.

The Villain gave them a long, searching look. In fact, they looked more disturbed by the Hero’s obedience than victorious. Almost mournful.

Meanwhile, the Hero felt strangely at peace. The fear of discovery had haunted them, hunted them, a constant baying of hounds at the edge of their thoughts. But now the worst has happened. Now there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

“Well,” the Hero prompted. “They aren’t going to put themselves on.”

The Villain twitched, as if shaking a stray thought. Then they reached into their jacket pocket for the cuffs. Made of platinum, the cuffs looked like flat, thick bracelets, but they each contained a tracker, a tiny, hypodermic needle that injected power suppressants every twelve hours, and the ability to produce an electric shock strong enough to stop a heart beat.

The Hero did not flinch when the Villain latched the cuffs onto their wrists with a reverent tenderness they certainly did not use the first time.

“If I had any other way . . .” They said haltingly. “If I didn’t need you . . .”

The unspoken promise hung in the air between them, and despite everything the Villain had put them through, the thought behind such a promise was sincerely reassuring.

“I know,” the Hero said softly.

The Villain still held onto their wrists, thumb skating back and forth over the delicate skin at the edge of the cuff.

“Perhaps I will take you to see another sunset,” they murmured. “Perhaps I will let you paint me one.”

The Hero almost believed them. “Perhaps,” they said simply, and stood up. “Let’s go.”

The Villain threw one last look at the moon, as if they too thought it was their last time, before  guiding Hero out of the park with a hand on the small of their back.

#hero x villain #hero & villain #surrender prompts #my writing #writeblr #whump prompt

[mumms-the-word]

The Art of the Night

Day 27 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

Did I already have this scene written? Yes I absolutely did. I like Gale's romance scene but I was so disappointed when the game created a mashup of the Kama Sutra and One Thousand and One Nights and DIDN'T let us read passages from it.

So made up some passages for myself.

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

---

27. Choose any scene in the game and write it with your headcanon

---

How about the perfect night in Waterdeep? Yes…let’s imagine how it would be. The scene is this: you and I stand in the room that is the centre of my universe. The sculptures, the paintings, the walls enlivened by the spines of a thousand books. The grand piano plays the Lliirian Suites all by itself, and as we look out beyond the arches that lead to the terrace, we see the weary sun take its daily dive into the sea.

———

Dani moved to the railing of the terrace, placing her hands on the wood and leaning her weight against it. It felt as real as any she’d touched in Baldur’s Gate, worn smooth by craftsmen, time, and weather. She closed her eyes and soaked in the warmth of the setting sun and the salt of the briny sea air. Just like home…

She knew it was all illusion and fantasy, that the magic was merely tricking her mind into feeling the weight of the wood and smelling the scent of the sea. But for the moment, she wanted to exist in that illusion. After so many days surrounded by decay, the warmth and light of even a setting sun was like a balm to her spirit and body.

She felt Gale join her at the railing and she opened her eyes, turning to look at him. But his gaze was on the horizon, a deeply thoughtful, almost sorrowful expression on his face. Despite the obvious concentration it must take to make and maintain this illusion, his mind was clearly on the future and the choice he felt was all but inevitable. He gazed at the horizon like a man who knew he would never see such a sight again.

She wanted to reach out and caress his cheek, turn his face back to hers, kiss him until he forgot all his worries. But she settled, for now, with taking his hand.

He glanced down, as if surprised, and then met her gaze. He gave her a soft smile. 

“What do you think?” he asked.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I love it. I could spend every evening watching the sunset here, with you.” 

“Could you?” He seemed surprised by her words, lifting his head to gaze out over the ocean again, as if looking at it a little differently than before.

“Once all of this is over, yes. I’m a sucker for a good sunset.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to smile at her little remark, but he was lost in thought once more, his eyes scanning the world around them. Memorizing, she realized, or perfecting the memory. As though this might truly be the last night his eyes beheld the scene.

She couldn’t let him stay lost in his thoughts. She tugged on his hand, leading him back to the cushioned bench that sat off to one side. There, she sat down and patted the space beside her, inviting him to join her. He smiled faintly. 

“My favorite spot,” he said, gesturing toward her. He settled beside her, body close, shoulders brushing. “Many times, evening turned to night and back to daybreak once more while I sat here, lost in words.”

She raised her eyebrows playfully at him. “Oh? Up all night reading? I do love that rebellious streak of yours.”

He gave her a teasing, half-mischievous look. “Allow me to live dangerously while I still can.”

His words, though said with humor, made her smile falter. She didn’t want to think about that now. His possible death. Not while they were, for the moment, surrounded by the comforts of home, his home, far, far away from the Absolute.

“What sorts of books did you read?” she asked. “It can’t have all been spell tomes. At least, I hope not.”

He chuckled. “No, not all spell tomes or magical theory, though there was plenty of that as well. I’d read just about anything I could get my hands on, if it interested me. History, philosophy, literature, poetry…romance…”

He shifted to reveal a book on the side table behind him. “This,” he said, reaching for the book, “might just be all of that wrapped in one.”

Dani glanced at the cover and instantly recognized it. “Is that…?”

“The Art of the Night,” he said, running his hand over the cover. It depicted a man and a woman in sensual embrace, their bodies fluid and ethereal. Around the woman’s head was a round halo of divinity, like a thin crescent moon in the starry sky that surrounded them. “It details the first thousand nights of a newlywed king and queen. They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time-honored and newly acquired.”

His thumb idly traced the halo of divinity around the woman’s head. “The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself.”

“I’m familiar with this story,” Dani said, reaching for the book. He gave it willingly, watching as she traced a finger along the curving lines of the woman’s body.

She recalled what she knew…what she had memorized, back when she’d gotten her hands on a version of the king and queen’s story a couple of years ago. She hadn’t kept it long, because her troupe had to travel light and books were heavy, so she had only memorized a few pages to entertain her fancy when she could no longer read the physical copy. It wasn't much, but what she did remember was that this tale was more than fairy tale. It was sheer, poetic eroticism, beautiful and haunting, alluring and sensual.

She stood and wandered a step or two away, opening the book and flipping through the first few pages, her eyes skimming the text. It wasn’t precisely the same as the tale she’d read. In the margins of the text, on nearly every page, there were magic symbols and words. Each night was embellished with the markings for a spell or a ritual, accompanied by poetic instructions on how to recreate the experiences and lessons the noble couple gained in their first three years of marriage. And, more than occasionally, the pages contained diagrams of the couple in the various ways they experienced their pleasure, drawn in the same fluid, ephemeral style as the cover. 

This copy, this version, wasn’t just the tale itself, she realized. It was both the romantic, erotic tale and a magical Quarta Sune, both poetry and sex manual, mixing in magic and making the hypothetical romance of the king and queen entirely possible, if one knew how to manipulate the spells.

She turned to a passage she knew well, almost by heart. She was quiet a moment, reconnecting with the words, before she began to speak them softly, a note of fondness in her voice.

“‘That night, the king met his beloved once more in their chambers,’” she read. 

“‘Dearest one,’ said he,  ‘Gold I have given thee,  and jewels from my store;  chains for thy neck  and bands for thy wrists;  and still, thine eyes shine more brilliantly  than any treasure in my kingdom. 

‘What gem in all the realms  can be more precious than thy gaze?  What more can I give to you,  my beloved, so that you may know  the ardent depths of my heart?  What more, when thine eyes alone  make all riches seem as dull iron?’

‘Tender-hearted king,’ said the queen,  ‘I need neither gold nor gems;  my love is not so cheaply bought  nor so willingly sold.  And yet, already thou possess  that which I long for most.  Thy steady gaze, my love,  and thy faithful hand are all I ask.’”

Gale stood and joined her, brushing nearly against her back as he looked over her shoulder and spoke the next few lines softly in her ear.

“‘Come, take my hand,  and look beyond this simple visage. I will bare my soul to thee, this night,  and gaze boldly at thine. For more than bone and blood are we, but spirits merely housed in flesh.’”

Dani’s breath caught, her mind distracted by the way his breath stirred her hair, by how close his lips were to her neck. She turned her head slightly and found his dark eyes watching her. He hadn’t been reading the lines, but reciting them from memory.

She was at a loss for words. He was barely touching her and yet she felt like her entire body was slowly kindling aflame, warmth spreading from her core to her toes and the very tips of her horns. She clutched the book a little tighter, casting about for something to say.

“My, um…my copy didn’t have pictures,” she breathed. "Or spells."

He blinked, as if processing her words, and then chuckled, shaking his head. “You were missing out, then. Some of the later diagrams can be quite…fascinating.”

When he looked at her again, his smile was half-apologetic and half-admiring. “You know…I must have read that passage a thousand times, but never have I heard the words expressed so beautifully as you did now. You have a gift, Dani. You are…” 

He trailed off, his gaze slowly taking in the features of her face, lingering a moment on her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You are wonderful,” he breathed. “So wonderful I can scarcely believe any of this to be real.”

Dani didn’t know what to say to that. She felt lost in his brown-eyed gaze, trying to discern shades of deep amber from chestnut and mahogany, enchanted by the flecks of bronze that appeared in the light of the setting sun. She had never considered herself a fawning romantic, but staring into his eyes, she felt she could all too easily become one.

After several heartbeats, Gale dropped his gaze to the book, gently taking it from her hands. “Can I show you?” he asked, turning the pages. “What they mean? To experience love and pleasure in more ways than just the body?”

“You mean…like the gods do,” she said, turning to face him, the book between them. “Like you said before.”

“Precisely.” He smoothed flat the pages of the book, showing her two diagrams of hands, magic symbols and poetry surrounding the sketches. “Why confine ourselves to the pleasures of mortal flesh? It is but one stitch in a vast tapestry. Let me show you more.”

Something about the brightness in his eyes made her hesitate. He would know more than her what pleasures could exist outside the body, she supposed, and she trusted him. And yet…

As if sensing her hesitation, he closed his eyes in concentration. Dani felt herself grow lighter, floating apart from her body. The sky around them darkened and then shone with a million brilliant stars, draped with purple, blue, and red stardust shimmering in clouds and galaxies, appearing both within reach and endlessly far away. The more she turned her head to look, the more the structures and objects of Waterdeep fell away, leaving them in the expanse of beautiful, eternal space. Even their bodies were left behind. They existed now as spirits only, shining and translucent. 

“What do you think?” he asked again. “Beautiful, is it not?”

It was, but already she missed the real Gale. As a spirit, his eyes glowed with magic and she could see the stars through his body. But while the swirling galaxies and glittering stars were stunning, she missed his rich brown eyes. When she reached out to brush his arm, she found his body simultaneously tangible and intangible, as though a mere thought could allow her to phase through him completely. 

She had no doubt that if they stayed like this, Gale would reveal a hundred avenues of pleasure she had never experienced before, but her selfish little heart didn’t want to be impressed by magic. She just wanted the man himself.

“It’s our first night together, Gale,” she said. She could still sense her body, somewhere in the material plane, and focused there, reaching out to it like an anchor. Outside of the galaxy illusion, she placed her hands over his and closed the book. The visions of galaxies melted away, their spectral bodies becoming physical and visible once more, though the illusion of Waterdeep remained. “Shouldn’t we start somewhere closer to the beginning? I want to experience you first. We'll have time to try all the rest later.”

He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“Gale,” she whispered softly, pressing her hand to his chest, over his heart. Her touch silenced him in an instant, though he still looked uncertain. “I’ve never been more sure. Tonight isn’t the end for us.”

This was what she wanted, more than the beautiful illusions or spectral experiences. She felt his heart beating beneath her palm, felt the warmth of his body. She wanted more of that. More of the real, touchable Gale, with his soft brown hair and his gentle, dark eyes. She wanted to slip her hands beneath his shirt and touch his skin, feel the way his muscles twitched or tensed when her fingers grazed over them. She longed to taste his lips and feel the weight of him against her and watch his face flush and see how far that flush traveled down his neck and chest.

With her other hand, she gently slipped the book from his grip and set it on the railing. She stepped into the space between them, filling it with her body, pressing her palm more firmly against his chest. “You are what I want, Gale. The real man in front of me. Not the illusion and not the fantasy."

"But—"

"You don’t have to worry about impressing me. I’m no goddess.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, placing his hand over hers. He said it as though it were a fact, irrefutable, and with such warmth that it made her breath hitch. 

She was used to admiration, entertainer that she was. She was used to praise. She was used to flattery. But the deep sincerity of his words and the way he looked at her was new. He spun poetry from mere words without even trying, and she was always caught off balance by the beauty of it.

But then his clever smile was back, and he said, “Trust me, I would know.”

She scoffed and gave him a light shove. He swayed on his heels but didn’t budge, chuckling at her feigned irritation.

“That said…" He kept ahold of her hand, threading his fingers with hers as he lowered them away from his chest. "Will you meet me halfway?”

“Halfway?”

He snapped his fingers and the balcony and sunset shifted, bookshelf-laden walls enclosing around them once more. But rather than his study, this room was a little smaller, a large canopied bed taking up the majority of the space. Stacks of books sat precariously on beside tables and spots on the floor while a fireplace burned cheerfully on one wall, a cushy armchair angled in front of it. Dani half expected to find Tara curled up in the armchair, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what Tara might look like.

“Your bedroom?” she asked, tilting her head. "In Waterdeep?"

“Indulge me,” he said. “Unless you’d like a canopy of stars once more.”

She shook her head. If this was a true, or mostly true, reflection of Gale’s room in Waterdeep, she was in no hurry to leave. She looked around with interest, but some of the details, like the words on the spines of books, shifted and blurred beneath her vision, as though Gale didn’t want her looking too closely. 

Not matter. She wasn’t here to read anyway.

“I’m sure you’ll find the bed more than comfortable,” he said. “And, should I soon find myself a little too distracted to maintain the rest of the illusion, the bed will remain. For a few hours, at least.”

She arched an eyebrow at him and he shrugged, offering no further comment. She grinned and hopped onto the bed, flopping back with her arms spread. He was right. It was solid beneath her, not at all an illusion, and it was certainly comfortable. Better than the bedrolls on hard ground that she’d been sleeping on this past month or so.

“Oh, I could get use to this,” she said, settling right in. “You’ll have to teach me this little spell.” She lifted a hand and gestured like she was revealing words on a banner. “Conjure Bed. School of…er…”

“Conjuration,” he finished, the humor obvious in his voice. “As the name implies.”

“Right, I could have guessed that.” She propped herself up on one elbow to find him watching her again, that same fond, enchanted look he’d worn the last few days, especially tonight. She held out her hand to him, an open invitation for him to join her. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

He opened his mouth as though to answer, paused, and then shook his head fondly. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He reached out and took her hand, climbing onto the bed with her. She lay back, cradling his face in her hands as he rested part of his weight against her, gazing down at her with a look so filled with love she could only smile and stare. 

There they were, those dark eyes she loved so much. There, too, was the oddly pleasant scratch of his beard against her palms, the softness of his hair as her fingertips sank into it, the heat and weight of his body as it pressed her into the downy mattress. Exactly as she wanted it.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His smile was gentle and loving, reflecting her words before he even spoke them. “I love you, too, Meridan Zavrai.”

He bent his head to kiss her and she let the world around her fade into a hazy blur, until at last the only thing she could see, the only thing she could hear, the only thing she could touch, was Gale himself.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3ficfeb #gale #gale dekarios #my fic #oc #dani #meridan zavrai #i am not a poet don't judge me for my bad poetry #i just wanted to give 1001 nights vibes #also dani didn't vibe with the psychadelic tantric astral projection sex thing but she doesn't mind illusions so yeah #thats how we ended up here

[brittle-doughie]

hii!! i am in love your works sm and you actually inspired me to start writing for cookie run again!! so ty for that ^_^

i saw you have your reqs open and i was wondering if you can do a little thing for cauliflower and peperoncino cookie?

maybe y/n is cauliflower's lab partner and they got into a small experiment mishap that so happened to catch a jealous cookie's attention and badmouthed them infront of y/n, cauliflower and peperoncino cookie

also poly couple too?? maybe cauliflower and peperoncino cookie are in a relationship, and are interested in having y/n in their relationship!! but that one is up to you :D

Group Findings (Cauliflower Cookie and Peperoncino Cookie)

Wowie, my work actually got ya motivated? I’m flattered to hear that, my dude! Hope my work continues to be up to your expectations!

You scooped up the soil nearby the lava to place it into a container, pairing it with another container that contained soil more inland. Alright, that should be enough to give you enough data on the activity here.

You have been assigned by the lab to head out to the Dragon’s Valley in hopes of figuring out the cause of the area cooling down as of lately. The volcanic air was definitely more tolerable currently, last time you had to wait at the outpost for hours after spending just one out in the valley.

You weren’t assigned as the lead researcher though, instead, you were the lab assistant to Cauliflower Cookie, your optimistic and hyperactive research leader.

Not just her, but also her partner, Peperoncino Cookie, as protection for the research group.

He did intimidate you with his appearance at first, but Cauliflower reassured you that he’s actually a big ol’ softie once you got to know him! You weren’t sure of that until you had a one on one with him during a field experiment, with Peperoncino guarding over you as you experimented with the volcanic soil.

You initiated small talk with him, only receiving short answers from him. You figured a small joke was in order for this cookie.

Want to know the opposite of salt water? Pepper water.

You didn’t turn to face him after saying that, but you waited a little bit for his response. After a silence, you figured perhaps he wasn’t the jokes type…until you swore you heard a small laugh from him! That was good enough in your book!

It got better from that point onward, Cauliflower was happy to see her partner and her lab colleague get along so well! Peperoncino would insist on coming along with your group, when really he’ll likely be hovering around your area the most.

Cauliflower wasn’t helping at all by talking all about you to him! About the many findings you and her had made and the time spent together out in the field.

“Y/N Cookie is a great research buddy! When I was sleeping, they went ahead and collected all of the needed lava samples! They can tell me it was for the sake of our research all they want, but I knew it was because they cared!”

“Lava…were they hurt?!”

“Just a few minor burns, but nothing a little treatment from me couldn’t fix!”

Peperoncino still felt the need to head over to you to see if you were really alright. These stories from Cauliflower were really painting a picture for the man, you sounded like a cookie with a just heart if Cauliflower was rambling multiple times about you.

It made him feel something as he turned to see you in the distance..with a visibly angered cookie talking to you?

…

You were just about done studying the flora within the valley, of what you can find anyway, as well as the soil samples you had, you made your way back to the lab when you were halted in your path by a particularly upset looking cookie.

“So you’re the wise cookie who thinks they can steal all our work and make the rest of us look bad! It was bad enough that you’re paired with that weirdo, but now you’re out here trying to upstage me?!”

The lab needed the data in a timely manner, if this fella wasn’t going to do that, leave it to the cookies who can. And you would appreciate it if this cookie didn’t refer to Cauliflower as a weirdo, she’s just as capable of handling the notes and research as any cookie here. If this cookie had a problem with you, that’s fine, but the second they insulted Cauliflower, now you were taking it personally.

“You make it sound like you’ll do something, Y/N Cookie. You’ll what, Y/N, you’ll what?! I bet you couldn’t even take a punch! We all remember that time you tried to study a magma geyser, you recoiled from even the simple smoke. Ha!”

That smoke would’ve been enough to cook your dough, they’d do the same!

“Just face it. You’re nothing but a weasel, willing to take all the credit, but crumble at the slightest punch.”

You try to warn them that they do not want this fight. While looking right behind the cookie.

Unfortunately, they didn’t not pick up on this…

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I…do?”

The cookie raised their hand into the air, ready to strike you with it as they spoke, but paused when they noticed that their hand was caught by something..or someone.

The cookie turned…to see an angered Peperoncino and Cauliflower behind them.

Seeing the glaring cookies was enough for your would-be assailant to completely lose their nerve as they took steps away from them.

��Leave…them…alone…”

“You better listen to him, because I won’t stand by and let you hurt my lab buddy either!”

The cookie was wise enough to take their advice and bolted the hell out of there, leaving you to take a sigh in relief. You were going to thank the two of them before Cauliflower launched herself towards you in a hug as Peperoncino went to your side to make sure you were okay.

“I heard what you said, Y/N Cookie! It makes me happy to know you feel that way about me! That you put up with what I do…”

Cauliflower, if it was for her, you’d be willing to go through hellfire and back. For her and for science!

“Y/N Cookie…”

You knew Peperoncino would do the same for her, you wished them luck on their relationship as you started to continue the walk back to lab, leaving Cauliflower’s hold. Then you felt a strong arm grip your shoulder, it was Peperoncino!

“Y/N Cookie…wait…”

“Me and Peperoncino Cookie are quite the pair, but I can’t help but fancy you too! Peperoncino does too!”

…What? Peperoncino, was this true?

Peperoncino averted his gaze from you, but you could tell even in the hot environment that his face was heating up.

“I guess all the stories I’ve said really got to him!”

Cauliflower wh-

“We’ll understand if you don’t want to, but, it would make the both of us happy if you gave this a shot.”

“Habanero Cookie…would be excited to see you..”

You’d be returning to the lab with both cookies to your sides, Cauliflower hugging you tightly while Peperoncino had his arm around your waist.

You couldn’t stop yourself from being a red faced mess when you walked in!

…

But even with all that, the sense of urgency kept with you as your main priority was to report to the head scientist immediately.

The data you collected only confirmed your fears

Dragon’s Valley is cooling down and it’s only going to get worse soon….

#cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #crob x reader #crob #cookie run ovenbreak x reader #cr ovenbreak #cauliflower cookie #peperoncino cookie

[malice-ov-mercy]

if time is the cure, will you remember me?

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (unnamed)

Content Warnings: unrequited love, friends to strangers, angst, implied traumatic event (nothing detail or specified)

A/N: Don’t ask me how many times I’ve listened to Riptide. This is also just kind of… word vomit??? Idk. Super happy with it tho regardless. The italicized but is a flashback

Word Count: 1k

Tag List: @circle-with-me @xxrainstorm @foliosriot @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @concretenoah @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @an-insane-day @lyschko666 @calisto-thoughts @emzandthevoid @shroomfairy24 @cncohshit @dominuslunae @th4t-em0-k1d

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Lorna Shore!

Will Masterlist

Water lapped at Will’s feet, the cool water sending a trail of goosebumps up his legs. His warm, sun kissed skin fought against the chilling ocean air. He should have started the long trek back to his car a while ago, but he couldn’t pull himself away from the desolate beach. Something kept his feet firmly planted in the sand. He watched the chameleon sky, marveling despondently at the ever changing color. Bright oranges and reds painted the lingering clouds that hid the setting sun.

All day he avoided going in the water. The salt always wreaked havoc on his hair and he didn’t want to deal with it this time around—but its call now was deafening. Will couldn’t ignore it if he tried. An invisible lead pulled heavily at his heart, persuading him to answer. He trudged through the wet sand, each step feeling as if he had weights tied around his ankles.

As Will waded further out, he wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to warm the chill settling in his blood and bones. The frigid water made his teeth chatter. Shivers rippled through him, the water now up to his neck. He could taste the salty air as he inhaled a deep breath before plunging under the dark waters.

Black. That’s all that surrounded him.

Will let himself drift, floating limply wherever the ocean pulled him, freely submitting to whatever it was that called him. The abyss and nothingness surrounding him provided solace, something he sought every waking moment these days. Weightless and momentarily disconnected from reality, his thoughts wandered over the hurdles and barricades littering the folds of his brain.

“I have done everything, everything I possibly can to have you,” Will said, voice heavy with hurt. “I wore myself down to keep you safe and floating. I am so agonizingly and hopelessly in love with you and you’re just pulling me along.”

Her golden eyes fixed on his, her stare dull and emotionless. It was like he was sinking in quicksand every time he looked at her anymore. With every attempt Will made to save himself, she was quick to pull him deeper. He knew the danger lurking, he knew he was doing this to himself, that whatever blissful fabricated life with her he built up in his head was just that—a lie.

Try as he might, she wouldn’t be his and she didn’t want to be.

“What do you want me to do, Will?” Her voice was quiet, barely audible. She almost sounded sad.

“Just… let me go. Please.”

The last remaining intact pieces of Will’s heart shattered when she crashed their lips together. He sighed, desperate and pleading, his hands instantly gripping her face and pulling her closer. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. God knows he’d never taste her poisonous kiss again, so he let himself savor the bittersweet heartbreak. She was Heaven and Hell all in one, wrapping him beautifully in chains and locks that only she held the keys for.

Maybe Will had masochist tendencies with the way he always let her hurt him. Subconsciously he must if he kept crawling back and subjecting himself to her games. Perhaps the fool’s gold that inhabited her irises succeeded in their job, tricking him and making him the biggest fool of all. He hoped she couldn’t feel the slight tremble of his hands or the tears staining his cheeks.

“I love you,” she breathed against his neck, her teeth marking a path she had no right to, “but I don’t love you.”

Abruptly and to both of their surprise, Will stepped out of her grasp. She tried to reach for him, but he softly swatted her hand away. It only lasted a moment, but Will saw her façade crack.

“I love you, and I don’t want to.”

Hot air blasted full force through his car vents, the chill of the ocean lingering in his bones. Will held his hands directly over the heat source. His fingers ached with cold. He was grateful he remembered to pack extra clothes. Time both crept and sped by as he warmed up. Before he knew it, the sky had gone dark.

The sound of his phone made him jump. He didn’t recognize the number and was tempted to let it go, but something in his gut told him to answer.

“Hello?”

“Will?”

His blood ran cold. Why was she calling him?

Several years had gone by without so much as a peep, essentially ghosted and left abandoned with a gaping hole in his chest. All the work Will spent regenerating a new heart suddenly felt meaningless. He wasn’t that fool anymore, but an all too familiar constriction started squeezing his throat and heart.

Venom laced Will’s words. “What do you want?”

“I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

Her voice came through fragmented. Will regretted his harsh tone.

“What do you need?” He asked again, gentler this time.

“I—“ She trailed off, like she was trying to stay quiet. “Can you… Is there any way you can come get me?”

The crack in her already broken voice chipped away at Will’s heart. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t leave her hanging if she was in danger.

“Tell me where you are.”

Two and a half silent, dark hours proved to be enough time for Will to relive every moment he’d ever experienced with her. Head games, pain and heartbreak. The happiest memories hurt the most, however. Things he swore he’d healed from picked like vultures at old scars. He could feel wounds breaking open.

Alone on a bench she sat, a hollow, shivering shell. The smile she gave him was pathetic and weak and it certainly didn’t reach the tarnished gold of her eyes. Life seemed to not have been the kindest to her. She looked awful. In her current state, it was almost hard to believe the spell she used to have on him. His heart ached.

They didn’t speak a word as Will carefully tossed her medium sized bag in his trunk. He helped her into the passenger seat and closed the door with a little more force than intended. She watched every move he made intently up until he cranked the heater. Her body relaxed into her seat, and she let out a quiet sigh, eyes falling shut.

“Where am I taking you?” Will spoke softly.

“Anywhere.” She replied. “Just… take me away.”

He glanced at the fragile being, then started in the only direction he could think:

Home.

#will ramos x ofc #will ramos fanfiction #will ramos fanfic #will ramos fic #lorna shore fanfiction #lorna shore fanfic #lorna shore fic

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’M HERE FOR THE TEA please can we see Mama Rosehearts seeing Trey again?? You know the boy she probably blames for leading her son astray with SUGAR 😆 maybe throw in the Clover siblings or Clover parents too? Only if you want to though!

Scalding hot tea to go with those banned strawberry tarts... 👀 (Not gonna lie though, it's so funny to me that Mrs. Rosehearts may see Trey, one of THE most normal and mild-mannered dudes in the main TWST cast, as some kind of twisted degenerate that peddles an addictive white powder to her child 🤡)

While writing this, I kept thinking of the passive aggressive dinner scene in Shrek 2 (that eventually turned into a full-blown food fight) 😅 Trey can be Shrek since he's green and Mrs. Rosehearts can be Fiona's dad since they're both protective parents-- (I decided to keep it to Trey, Riddle, and Mrs. Rosehearts! The rest of the Clover family would be a lot of people to account for in one interactions.)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Trey was used to cutting cakes, not cutting tension. The vice dorm leader job description had said nothing about the latter—yet here he was, newly saddled with the responsibility.

To his right was Riddle, forcing himself to maintain impeccable posture for afternoon tea. Back straight, head up, eyes forward, as he wove a teaspoon through a cup of warm liquid. Normally, he would slightly sweeten his tea with honey—but he went without it today, only stirring on reflex.

A ha-RUMPH! sounded as Riddle set the teaspoon down on his saucer. Their guest was disapproving, as Trey had expected. He gathered his strength and muttered a silent prayer to the Great Seven.

"Tea?" Trey offered the woman to his right, teapot at the ready.

Mrs. Rosehearts tapped a dagger-like nail against her arm. She had painted them a deep crimson, the exact shade of the red velvet cakes Patisserie Clover whipped up—though with the scathing expression she wore, Trey figured the last thing she wanted to hear about was baked goods. The woman looked like she was out for his blood, rich and oh-so-red.

"Okaaay, no tea then." Trey carefully returned the teapot to its spot and reached for a plate of the least sweet item avaliable. "How about a finger sandwich? We've got all different kinds of fillings, so just pick the one you like."

Mrs. Rosehearts didn't so much as pass the poor sandwiches a glance out of pity.

"Alright, I guess that's also a negatory?"

Her icy eyes bore into Trey, silently judging him. The tension thickened, turning heftier than a filling pea soup (though he doubted she was in the mood for any food at this point).

A hand reached over and plucked a sandwich from the top of the pile, staving off some rigidity in the air.

"Thank you, Trey." Riddle offered a small smile.

"You're very welcome. Don't eat it all up in one bite now. Remember to save some for everyone else," Trey joked light-heartedly. "You've got a smoked salmon on whole wheat there. I tossed the fish in lemon juice, salt, and pepper, then mixed it with a little cream cheese, dill, and minced onion."

"Is that right? It sounds delicious and healthy," Riddle said carefully, emphasizing the final word. He delicately nibbled at the crusts--still left on--while eyeing the contents of his teacup.

The table settled back into a stiff silence. Riddle staring at his drink, his mother staring at Trey, and Trey staring at the wall behind her. If he made eye contact, would she explode?

Trey rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. His hand came away damp with perspiration. He dared to say what was on everyone's mind.

"Well, uh... This is awkward."

There was an audibly sharp intake of breath. Riddle, paralyzed. His thumb pressed down hard on his sandwich, puncturing a hole in the bread.

"You're the eldest son of the bakers," Mrs. Rosehearts declared, her first utterance as prickly as thorns. "The boy who led my Riddle astray with sugar."

She makes it sound like I was peddling something way worse than what it actually was! It was only a slice of strawberry tart...

Trey bit back his protests and tried at a smile. He and Riddle had spent hours reviewing and rehearsing their game plan for this dreaded moment. "Don't challenge her, don't instigate," his dorm leader had instructed him. "Be agreeable. Lie if you must. Whatever it takes for us to come out of this encounter unscathed."

His had confidence wavered, worry in his big eyes. A flash of fear, and Trey saw the sad little child from years before, the fat tears that had been dribbling down Riddle’s contorted face. Sobbing, apologizing, pleading.

He had tipped his head and nodded. A mere card soldier obeying his queen. The line he parroted so often was spoken once more: “Yes, dorm leader.”

Trey reached within himself for the best he could manage. "It's nice to see you again, ma'am."

"If only I could say the same!!" Mrs. Rosehearts huffed dismissively. She then snapped, quick as a whip, to Riddle, who flinched. "It’s no wonder why you came home in such a sorry state for the holidays! I suspected it for a while now, but this confirms it. You’ve been reintroduced to bad influences at school."

“That’s not exactly…” Riddle trailed off, his voice weak. His mother continued to rant, undaunted.

“NRC has its fair share of students that cause trouble,” Trey confessed, tactfully cutting in. “Still, that’s to be expected of teenage boys."

“My Riddle rarely ever behaves in such a disrespectful manner,” Mrs. Rosehearts retorted. Rarely stung like a slap to the face. “Were it not for poor choices in friendship, he would never act out.

“Why a prestigious learning institution like Night Raven College would allow such riffraff in, I’ll never understand! They only ruin it for the others. It only takes one bad seed to spoil the whole bunch.”

She didn't name names, but it was clear who she was talking about from where she directed her intense gaze.

“I don’t know about spoiled apples, but bruised ones can still be used,” Trey pointed out, eager to divert the heated topic. “They don’t look the best, but they still taste fine. Bruised apples work for lots of recipes. Salads, sauces, ciders, jams..."

The smoked salmon sandwich slipped, falling into Riddle’s untouched tea. His eyes widened. Then Trey’s slowly followed. Both of them caught the misstep, their times staggered.

The scowl on Mrs. Rosehearts deepened, her crimson lips forming an almost bloody line. “You would just love to stuff my son with more of that sugary poison, wouldn’t you? Just like you’ve filled his head with your poisonous thoughts!!”

“What? No, I wouldn’t… I haven’t—” He instinctively pivoted to providing a defense, something to placate her.

It was an ill-advised mistake.

"Young man!!" Face red, she rose from her seat, slamming both hands on the table. The fine china and silverware clattered violently. "First you feed him that horrible junk food, then you've graduated to feeding him all these untruths!! You've done quite enough damage to my son."

He had one foot in the rabbit hole now, the situation spiraling into chaos. Trey braced himself against the verbal barrage, wincing as her volume climbed higher and higher, her features distorting from rage.

A part of him wanted to cry out. To argue, to shout. But fear clawed at his throat, seizing his tongue.

"Look where hanging around you has gotten him! He comes home over the winter break spouting nonsense—nonsense he no doubt picked up from you. I thought I had done all I could to rid us of the pests buzzing around him, but clearly even those efforts haven't been enough!"

"M-Mother, please... I can explain!" Riddle insisted, jumping up. His teacup wobbled, threatening to topple over and stain the table and rug. "I implore you, don't blame Trey--"

"A mother knows what's best for her child! I'll be speaking to the headmaster about this, and there WILL be some changes around here!"

Riddle recoiled, defeated. He balled his hands into fists on his lap—to stop them from shaking.

It's happening, Trey realized. Again, it's happening...

The edges of his vision blurring, his throat closing up. A distant memory of his parents profusely apologizing to a screaming woman. Riddle huddled behind her, in tears, tugging, begging to be heard. Him, standing frozen, unable to act.

"Riddle..." Trey made to place a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, but a protective arm blocked his path. He met the livid face of Mrs. Rosehearts.

"Don't you touch a hair on my son's head.”

His hand jerked back but refused to fall limp to his side. He frowned slightly, brows furrowing in hesitation.

But he pushed himself forward and tumbled deeper down the rabbit hole.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Trey said very evenly, "I get wanting to support and protect him, I really do. That's part of my job as his vice dorm leader—but Riddle doesn’t need it all the time. He’s not the fragile flower you seem to think he is.”

He was the thorns that warded off enemies. He was the stalk, morally upright and willful. He was the roots that burrowed deep and anchored the group.

He was anything but a rose.

“Frankly, I think you sorely underestimate how strong Riddle really is,” Trey continued. He must be, if he has the courage to speak up for me when I couldn’t do the same for him. “I don’t mean just in magic either. He has the will of a queen too.”

Mrs. Rosehearts drew back, positively appalled. Her nostrils flared. "And just what are you insinuating?!"

Shock replaced the delicate discomfort on Riddle’s face. “Trey, you…”

“Ahahah… Sorry, Riddle.” He passed his friend a faint smile. “I guess I couldn’t help but meddle this time. I broke my promise to you. My bad.”

“No, don’t be.” His response was quiet, like the trace of a whisper on a breeze.

“I understand now. It’s not the school that needs changing, but you,” Mrs. Rosehearts snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger at Trey. “I’ll have you expelled from this school!! You won’t ever be put in a position where you can sink your venomous fangs into my…"

"Stop, mother...!!"

"Riddle?" Mrs. Rosehearts looked expectantly at her son. She had stiffened, the fire in her eyes now petrified to stone.

He hesitated under her gaze.

"... Hey. It's okay. You've got this," came a soft voice from beside him. From Riddle's right, his right-hand man. "No one else can speak for you but yourself."

Riddle swallowed. He tried to maintain his cool, but his words came out shaky.

"Mother, I..." He stopped and started again. "You may see Trey as a villain, someone who leads children astray from the good and morally righteous path with a house of sweets. But that's not what he is.”

Riddle remembered the scene well.

In a garden of rose hedges… Collars turned into fluttering playing cards. Then the pitch black had consumed him. A light he had reached for. The hand that had reached back. Someone calling out to him, panicked.

That person was…

"At my darkest moment, Trey was there to stop me from sinking lower than I already had. When I sought a hand in the void, it was he who reached back for me. His hand is what pulled me up when I was down.

“For that, I will always be grateful, no matter what you may think of him. He is worthy of standing by my side as Heartslabyul’s vice dorm leader. That is my decision—a decision acknowledged by all.”

His mother bristled. "You would side with this… this boy over me? Your mother? Your family?"

“I’m suggesting that raising a complaint to the headmaster wouldn’t change the circumstances. He, too, is aware of Trey’s merits as my second-in-command and would wish for him to stay.”

Riddle shared a small, knowing smile with his friend. Indeed, Crowley had been present for the debacle—and indeed, he would promote their support of one another. To save face and reputation. (“Wh-What nonsense is this!! Of course my students are well-mannered and cooperative! What would make you think anything less of them?!”)

“Clever,” Trey mouthed.

“Well, I never!!” Mrs. Rosehearts huffed, abruptly rising from her seat. “The depths of depravity know no bounds!! To think you’ve magically convinced the entire school that you’re good…!!l

“I’ll do my best to show you my good points too, ma’am,” Trey replied. He couldn’t stop a smirk from making its way onto his lips. “After all, everyone at NRC’s like a diamond in the rough. All they need’s their time to shine.“

At this, Riddle coughed into a fist to conceal choked laughter. “… Yes, one could say such a thing. Rest assured, mother; I’m in good hands. There is no learning institution more fit for me than here.”

At our Night Raven College.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #twisted wonderland interactions #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #disney twisted wonderland #Trey Clover #NRC Family Day #twst interactions #twst scenarios #twst imagines

[smurphyse]

Routine Maintenance Masterlist | Spencer Reid

Faceclaims for OCs in town!

Summary: After leaving the BAU, Spencer spends two years wandering the country in search of himself the way Gideon did. When he finally makes his way to Thunderbird, California, his car breaks down, and he meets a small-town innkeeper with an attitude and a collection of townspeople that help him see how much living he has left to do.

A.K.A., a love letter to two of my favorite albums, Routine Maintenance and We Don't Have Each Other by Aaron West & the Roaring Twenties, my favorite band The Wonder Years, and Spencer Reid, who deserves some rest.

Part 1 - Lead Paint & Salt Air

Part 2 - The Thunderbird Inn

Part 3 - Bloodied Up in a Bar Fight

Part 4 - The Ocean Grew Hands To Hold Me

Part 5 - The Ghosts of Right Now

Part 6 - I Wanted So Badly to be Brave

Part 7 - Doors I Painted Shut

Part 8 - Get Me Out of Here Alive

Part 9 - Low Tide

Part 10 - Wildflower Honey

Part 11 - Cardinals

Part 12 - Cardinals II

Want to be on this taglist? Send me an ask!

Cm forever tag: @thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty

#spencer reid #smurphyse #smurph writes #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #cm fandom #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/y/n #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #routine maintenance #fic: routine maintenance #spencer reid imagine

[daughter-of-sapph0]

does anyone know what the deal is with the car in myhouse.wad? it appears to be the same car that appears in multiple places, and idk if it's based off a real car but it looks like an older model probably from the 80s

so it appears outside the daycare, in the parking garage before the airport, crashed in the tree just before the gas station, and in the mirror world has station parking lot.

the last two are the most interesting. in the mirror world, the car is hastily parked right in front of the mirrored gas station, which has several areas sectioned off with police tape and blood on the floor. this may indicate that the driver died when he went inside. maybe he was hiding from the shadow archvile? also, in the place where the car would be in the non-mirrored world is only a single headlight floating in the air shining towards the shell.

speaking of the regular non-mirrored gas station, this is probably the most interesting version of the car. it appears crashed into a tree, the headlights and radio still on. the radio is actually playing a song that's called like the wind. or maybe it's blind the wind. or maybe get it in get it out... really no one knows. it's a song that most likely was played on German radio in the 80s and was recorded by a teenager onto a cassette tape, and despite a massive boom in popularity over the song, no one knows who sings it. there's an ongoing search for the so called "most mysterious song on the internet", and if you're interested I highly suggest checking out Justin Whang's videos on the subject.

but uh.. back to the car. the front windshield is shattered and there appears to be blood on the ground. although it looks like the blood leads away from the car, suggesting that the driver didn't die on impact but was just injured. this lines up with one of the journal entries where the author recounts a nightmare of being in a car crash and limping towards a nearby gas station.

so what do all the cars represent? well I don't think that they represent how Steve died. his obituary says the he died in his house, although we do have to take that with a grain of salt because they mentioned it was a joint funeral in his obituary but not Tom's.

rather I think that they represent a sort of growing trauma that has been with Steve since childhood. Steve was born in '87, meaning that he was a child in the late 80s early 90s, and probably went to day care around that time. now I know that Shrek came out in '01 and that would make Steve 14, not the age someone would be going to daycare, but maybe the Shrek painting is a teenage fear he had that he associated with childhood fear? either way, the car appears outside the day care, in a parking lot covered in fog and darkness. this is a pretty eerie sight. I'm assuming that at this time in the early 90s, the car is currently owned by one of Steve's parents, who's dropping him off at day care during a foggy night for some reason. given the mother's changed last name in the obituary, it's implied that a divorce took place between his parents. maybe Steve's home life wasnt very safe? maybe one of them dropped Steve off at a daycare overnight for safety?

the next time we see the car is in the parking garage in between the brutalist house and the airport. given the style of the airport and the fact that it has security, it's most likely after the early 2000s. Steve would probably be either a teen or an adult. if we assume that the parking garage is part of the airport, maybe we can infer that Steve drove to the airport himself. the airport itself contains two more scenes that likely represent some trauma: the bloody women's bathroom and the plane crash. the bloody bathroom could represent a fear of public bathrooms. alongside the pill bottle, I'm choosing to interpret this as a hint that Steve might be a transgender man. the plane crash probably represents a fear of flying. maybe Steve didn't want to go on this flight, but was pressured into it by his family?

the other two car scenes were already explained to be dreams as explained in the journal. I don't know what they could represent, other than maybe a sense of confusion and disorder and fear of being alone. the gas station is uncannily empty up until the final battle. it can be assumed that in these dreams, Steve now owns the old car. I'm not sure how much the mysterious song has to do with anything, and it's probably just an easter egg. it should also be noted that in the download folder, one of the pictures is a polaroid of a gas station with text at the bottom reading "unknown - stopped for directions", so maybe this event is what inspired Steve's nightmares?

I'm really skimming the surface when it comes to deconstructing this game. I think the main takeaway is that Steve probably had some trauma growing up, and that probably still affected him in his adult years, and that Tom was probably the one person who brought him happiness. like, that's probably the main point of myhouse.wad. that happiness is worth fighting for, and is possible to obtain, despite whatever you have gone through in the past.

idk. typing my thoughts at 3am instead of sleeping like a normal person

#dostxt #myhouse.wad

[supernaturalfreakout]

The Ritual

[History on Your Side—Chapter 4.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Chapter summary: You, Sam and Dean head to the woodland to cast the spirit free. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Masterlist | Read on AO3

The next evening, an hour before sunset, the three of you arrived at the haunted woodland. The November air was crisp against your skin as you followed the brothers to the site of the tomb, boots squelching as you trailed through the mud.

Sam and Dean had picked you up after spending most of the morning snoozing in their motel, in preparation for tonight's ritual.

After all of the excitement and tension of yesterday, you had only managed to get a few hours of sleep.

The brothers had left yours at around 2am this morning, after further clarifications and rehearsals of the spell, fuelled by late-night takeaway pizza. You were thankful it was a Friday.

After heated discussion, a gameplan was devised for tonight. Sam was to take the lead, reciting the spell incantations, whilst Dean would make the herbal offerings, all whilst maintaining the safety of the site. You were to help set up, but otherwise wait by the car.

You had argued that you could help Sam with the offerings, freeing up Dean to keep watch, but you were quickly shot down due to concerns for your 'safety'. You resigned to your part, exhaustion taking over, thankful that they were even allowing you to tag along at all.

You scanned the scenery vigilantly as you walked, taking note of salient landmarks, painting a mental map in your mind.

Dean had parked the Impala as close to the edge of the clearing as possible, so his "baby" could be seen at all times from the tomb site. You had been taken aback when he proposed this, unaware that "baby" was his nickname for his beloved Impala. Sam had to hold back a laughing fit as he explained that Dean wasn't referring to you.

Arriving at the tomb site, you helped Sam arrange the ingredients on a makeshift altar as Dean drew protective sigils around the perimeter, salt-loaded shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the sun started to set, the atmosphere became tense. The sky began to blend shades of orange and pink, casting elongated shadows across the clearing.

Sam's nervousness was evident in the way he watched over you- not even trying to hide it. You found his protectiveness frustratingly endearing.

Dean gave a final check to the salt sigils, his movements confident and precise, but his eyes betrayed a hint of anxiety. "Everything set?" 

Sam scanned the perimeter for any signs of disturbance. "Yeah, just about." 

Dean stepped back, finally satisfied with the protective measures. "Alright, we're as ready as we'll ever be."

As Sam walked you back to the Impala, he gave you another pep-talk about what you should do if things go awry, but then reassured you. "It should all go smoothly, it's just a ghost at the end of the day."

You raised your eyebrows. "Just a ghost?" 

Sam chuckled. "Oh, we've dealt with much worse..."

"Like those Angels and Demons you mentioned? I still need to pick your brains about that."

You wished Sam luck as he left you by the car, watching as he made his way back to Dean.

---

As the skies darkened, the moon appeared, glowing iridescent overhead. It's eerie glow highlighted the solemnity of the woodland as you settled by the Impala, feeling a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. In the distance, Sam and Dean began the ritual, Sam's mantra carrying through the air as he commenced the incantations. The wind whispered through the trees, adding an extra layer of mystery to the atmosphere.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as you watched with bated breath, unable to tear your eyes from the unfolding scene. Faint glimmers of light flickered amidst the darkness as unease settled in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, a distant rumble echoed through the woodland, sending a shiver down your spine. You strained to make sense of the sound, your heart pounding in anticipation. Before you could work out where it came from, a chilling gust of wind swept through the clearing, causing the leaves to rustle and the branches to rattle. Your thoughts raced as you crouched by the Impala, trying to discern if it was part of the ritual or an unforeseen occurrence.

In the midst of the chaos, a deafening silence descended and an uneasy sensation of being watched sent a chill down your spine. You gripped the hood of the Impala, eyes darting between the tomb and the surrounding woods as a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the air. The faint glow around the tomb intensified, casting an ethereal aura, and the ground beneath your feet trembled. Your heart raced as you waited with suspense.

Suddenly, Sam and Dean's voices rose in unison, chanting words that echoed through the night, their figures bathed in an eerie glow. They stepped forward, each carrying an offering as detailed in the Men of Letters texts. They moved closer to the tomb, their voices resonating with purpose. Sam reached out to the spirit, offering heartfelt sentiments in light of the betrayal that had bound it to this earthly realm, seeking to right the wrongs that had tethered it.

The atmosphere crackled with an intense energy as the spirit appeared with an ethereal rage that distorted its form. Its anguished cries echoed through the woods, grating on your nerves. Consumed by its torment, it lashed out violently with tendrils of spectral energy. Sam and Dean stood their ground, expertly dodging it's attacks as they continued their efforts to calm the spirit's rage. Their voices resonated stronger as they pleaded the spirit to let go and transcend to the moon, where closure finally awaited.

In a burst of radiant energy, the spirit finally relented, its anguished cries fading into a haunting whisper. A moment of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, and then, as if moved by an unseen force, the spirit began to ascend. A serene calm washed over the woodland as the spirit, enveloped in the radiant glow, gradually ascended toward the full moon.

The ritual had worked.

With the night now quiet, you took this a sign that it was now safe. You ran towards the tomb site, where Sam and Dean were standing, recovering from the ordeal.

As you were approaching, Sam looked up to meet your gaze, and he smiled wide, his expression a mixture of triumph, exhaustion and gratitude.

---

The moon cast a watchful glow across the clearing as the three of you cleared the remnants of the ritual. You glanced up, whispering a message of awe and gratitude.

Dean was practically bouncing off the walls, his energy infectious as he packed things back into the Impala. "Did you see that, huh?" he exclaimed, flashing a grin. "That's how it's done, baby!" He slammed the trunk shut, his enthusiasm reverberating in the night air.

Meanwhile, Sam was quietly content, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Thanks for all your help." He directed his gaze to you, gratitude shimmering in his eyes, his voice carrying genuine appreciation. "We honestly couldn't have done it without you."

Dean, still hyped up, threw an arm around both of you. "The night's still young, and we deserve a celebration. Let's hit a bar, have a few rounds. What d'ya say, guys?"

"Absolutely!" You chimed, unable to contain your enthusiasm. "I'm in!"

Sam nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes at Dean's excitement. "Sounds good," he agreed, his smile widening a fraction as he glanced in your direction.

Chapter 5

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural #ao3 fanfic #dean winchester #fanfic #history on your side #spn #x reader

[floridaboiler]

52 years ago today, April 4, 1971, the final episode of Hogan's Heroes aired. It ran for 168 episodes from September 17, 1965, to April 4, 1971, on the CBS network. Bob Crane starred as Colonel Robert E. Hogan, coordinating an international crew of Allied prisoners running a Special Operations group from the camp. Werner Klemperer played Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the incompetent commandant of the camp, and John Banner was the inept sergeant-of-the-guard, Hans Schultz.

Hogan's Heroes won two Emmy Awards out of twelve nominations. Both wins were for Werner Klemperer as Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role in a Comedy, in 1968 and 1969. Klemperer received nominations in the same category in 1966, 1967 and 1970. The series' other nominations were for Outstanding Comedy Series in 1966, 1967 and 1968; Bob Crane for Outstanding Continued Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role in a Comedy Series in 1966 and 1967; Nita Talbot for Outstanding Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in a Comedy in 1968; and Gordon Avil for cinematography in 1968.In December 2005, the series was listed at number 100 as part of the "Top 100 Most Unexpected Moments in TV History" by TV Guide and TV Land. The show was described as an "unlikely POW camp comedy.

Hogan's Heroes was filmed in two locations. Indoor sets were housed at Desilu Studios, later renamed as Paramount Studios for Season Four and then Cinema General Studios for Seasons Five and Six. Outdoor scenes were filmed on the 40 Acres Backlot. 40 Acres was in Culver City, in the Los Angeles metropolitan area. The studios for indoor scenes were both located in Hollywood, CA. Undoubtedly, one of the most original and curious aspects was to create the effect that there was always a snowy winter, something unusual in warm Southern California, but normal in the German winter. The actors had to wear warm clothes and frequently act like they were cold, even though it was warm for much of the year and usually hot during summer.

Although it was never snowing on the film set and the weather was apparently sunny, there was snow on the ground and building roofs, and frost on the windows. The set designers created the illusion of snow two ways: the snow during the first several seasons was made out of salt. By the fourth season, the show’s producers found a more permanent solution and lower cost, using white paint to give the illusion of snow. By the sixth and final season – with a smaller budget – most of the snow shown on the set was made out of paint.

After the series ended in 1971, the set remained standing until it was destroyed in 1974 while the final scene of Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS was filmed

The actors who played the four major German roles—Werner Klemperer (Klink), John Banner (Schultz), Leon Askin (General Burkhalter), and Howard Caine (Major Hochstetter)—were all Jewish. Furthermore, Klemperer, Banner, and Askin had all fled the Nazis during World War II (Caine, whose birth name was Cohen, was an American). Further, Robert Clary, a French Jew who played LeBeau, spent three years in a concentration camp (with an identity tattoo from the camp on his arm, "A-5714"); his parents and other family members were killed there. Likewise, Banner had been held in a (pre-war) concentration camp and his family was killed during the war. Askin was also in a pre-war French internment camp and his parents were killed at Treblinka. Other Jewish actors, including Harold Gould and Harold J. Stone, made multiple appearances playing German generals.

As a teenager, Klemperer, the son of conductor Otto Klemperer, fled Hitler's Germany with his family in 1933. During the show's production, he insisted that Hogan always win against his Nazi captors, or else he would not take the part of Klink. He defended his role by claiming, "I am an actor. If I can play Richard III, I can play a Nazi." Banner attempted to sum up the paradox of his role by saying, "Who can play Nazis better than us Jews?" Klemperer, Banner, Caine, Gould, and Askin had all spent the real Second World War serving in the U.S. Armed Forces—Banner and Askin in the U.S. Army Air Corps, Caine in the U.S. Navy, Gould with the U.S. Army, and Klemperer in a U.S. Army Entertainment Unit. But the sitcom was not the first time Klemperer had played a Nazi: in 1961, he starred as the title character in the serious drama Operation Eichmann, which also featured Banner in a supporting role. Ruta Lee, Theodore Marcuse, and Oscar Beregi, Jr. also appeared in the film, each of whom went on to make several guest appearances on Hogan’s Heroes.

https://www.facebook.com/Retrovision

#Hogan's Heroes #On this day #this date in history #This Day in History #April 4 #Series Finale