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#the shadowy horses
kestrellady · 1 year
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November Reading Wrap Up
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Books I Actually Rated Surprisingly none this month.
Stand Out Books from November The Book of the City of Ladies by Christine de Pizan, Translated by Earl Jeffrey Richards Originally written in 1405, many of this book's central arguments are still being made today. While the book feels incredibly "modern" (thanks in part, I think, to a very readable translation), many of the arguments are steeped in religious philosophy and occasionally argue for a status quo that would be unacceptable to most modern readers. A good read if you're interested in women and religion or feminism through history.
The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2022 edited by Rebecca Roanhorse I really enjoyed this collection of short stories. Particular standouts: "Colors of the Immortal Palette" by Caroline M. Yoachim, who writes beautifully about being between worlds culturally and mortally. "The Red Mother" by Elizabeth Bear, which I want a whole series about this protagonist. "Broad Dutty Water: A Sunken Story" by Nalo Hopkinson which envisions a world under water from climate change and how humans continue to survive.
The Shadowy Horses by Susanna Kearsley I've thoroughly enjoyed most of Kearsley's works and this was no exception. They usually have an element of magic or time bending and this one involves the ghost of a Roman centurion and a lost legion. The romance felt like it progressed naturally and it was nice to see attention to detail with the archaeology.
What I'm Reading Now I'm in the middle of so many things because I keep having to read what needs to go back to the library. I've got Latchkey by Nicole Kornher-Stace, which is shaping up to be an interesting sequel to Archivist Wasp, Hex by Thomas Olde Heuvelt, which is a fascinating premise but I'm not holding out a lot of faith that he'll stick the landing, and One for All by Lillie Lainoff, which is a very solid YA novel so far. I've also just started With Golden Visions Bright Before Them by Will Bagley, which is a non-fiction discussion of the California Gold Rush. This is book two in Bagley's Overland West series, which will unfortunately not be completed due to the author's death. I read the first book, So Rugged and Mountainous when I worked at the Gateway Arch as background research and loved the writing style and deep dive into the time period, so I've been excited to finally pick the second one up. I'm also in the middle of the manga series Liselotte and Witch's Forest by Natsuki Takaya, who also did Fruits Basket, a classic shoujo manga and personal favorite. It's super cute!
What I'm Looking Forward to Next Month So many recently published sequels that I've got on hold! N.K. Jemisin's The World We Make, Freya Marske's A Restless Truth, Cherie Priest's Flight Risk, and Sue Lynn Tan's Heart of the Sun Warrior! The next volume of the Mieruko-chan manga just came out and I can't wait for the library to get it.
Reading Challenges I finished r/Fantasy's Book Bingo! I'll do a post at some point with all the prompts and the books I read for them. I've only got two left for Book Riot's Read Harder, which is good because they'll be announcing next year's any day now. I'm reading One for All for 23. a book by a disabled author, and I've settled on Beauty by Sheri S. Tepper for 20. an award-winning book from the year you were born. I've also got No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai on hold as I try to read through all the works that inspired characters in Bungo Stray Dogs.
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vertigosuite · 11 days
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JOHN: The head of the family ain't here.
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bitten-fruit · 1 month
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price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat
girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡
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18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words
John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.
Here’s part 2!
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Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.
Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.
His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.
Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.
But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.
Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.
But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.
He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;
“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”
Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.
“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”
It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.
You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.
Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.
Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.
One, two, three, four…
At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.
There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.
With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”
Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.
“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.
“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”
A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”
“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”
You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”
With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”
“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.
He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”
You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”
Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.
With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.
“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.
He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.
“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.
But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.
Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.
As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.
Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.
“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”
Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.
“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.
“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”
Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”
“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”
Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”
Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”
He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”
Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.
He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.
So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.
“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”
Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.
“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.
You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.
“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”
“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.
You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”
Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.
He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.
Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.
But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.
“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”
“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”
You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”
“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.
So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.
But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.
“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.
You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.
“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”
You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.
“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”
Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.
“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.
You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”
That was a step over the line.
You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.
And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.
He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.
“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.
A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.
He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.
You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.
“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.
With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”
Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.
And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.
“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”
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rodolfoparras · 2 months
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Cw: 18+, blowjobs, anal play, old man price, mythological world, ritual sacrifice, virgin! Price, bottom!price, centaur!male reader
For @lieutnt 🫶🏻
Thinking about old man Price who lives in a little town terrorized by what’s known as an evil creature. In order to keep the creature at bay the towns people sacrifice a virgin every year.
However throughout the years the population has decreased so there’s just one virgin left and it’s Price, but he’s a man, and an old one at that.
But he willingly agrees to the ordeal because he doesn’t have anyone left - no friends no family so might as well end his misery.
The towns people prepare him in the best way they can; they groom him and feed him whatever he wishes to eat, all while he pretends that they aren’t setting him up for his death sentence.
The day finally comes when he is to be sacrificed and he is absolutely terrified. What if the creature thinks they’re mocking it by bringing an old man?
But Price tries to tell himself that this - death- is what he wanted in the first place so he shouldn’t have a reason to be scared.
But he can feel himself shake as he approaches the place where he is to be sacrificed. It is a dense wooded area with a small lake laying nearby, along with that it’s eerily quiet but Price sits down on his designated spot and waits for the creature to come.
He waits and waits, hears his heart beating in his chest, fingers nervously fiddling with the grass under him
All of a sudden he hears steps, that sound something akin to galloping and he freezes in place, doesn’t even dare breathe as he hears the creature approach him.
The steps come to a halt and he feels someone’s hot breath washing over his skin, can smell an earthy scent surrounding him, can even see a shadowy figure reflected onto the grassy field.
His eyes squeeze shut, fingers clutching onto tufts of grass while he silently wishes goodbye to whoever might hear or see him now.
But instead of meeting his demise he’s being flipped around and met with the sight of a man, no half man half horse. This must be the creature that’s been terrorizing his town but you don’t look anything like what he’d imagined and you certainly don’t act anything like it, when you gently cupping his cheek, eyes trailing over him as if taking him in before a contented hum escapes your lips.
Slowly but surely you’re stripping the clothes off of him, before laying him on a tree stub- the stub used for sacrifice, all while keeping a gentle hoof beneath him, essentially cushioning him from the rough surface.
He feels exposed like this, cold air caressing his bare skin and raising goosebumps all over his body.
But he doesn’t feel scared, not when you’re gentle as ever as you drag your hands over his rib cage, down to his hips before stopping at his thighs, big strong hands firmly pinning him to the stub.
You don’t say anything, maybe you don’t even know how to speak but Price likes to think that maybe you’re admiring him, that you aren’t as disgusted as he thought you’d be at having an old splayed out in front of you.
He doesn’t get to dwell on it any longer before he feels your long wet tongue languidly dragging along his shaft, and Price cries out, so loud he scares the birds that had been resting in the trees nearby. The small animals swiftly fly away as you drag your tongue across his slit, before suckling on his tip.
Your mouth is hot and ever so eager as you suck on his dick, a mess of slick and spit collecting on his skin, eagerly devorouing him like he’d devoured his last meal and Price looses himself in the feeling.
He thought that he’d be here to please but instead you’re the one buried between his thighs, taking care of this old man and he could almost cry- from pleasure - from relief and he does, fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as he claws at the stub beneath him.
“Please, please-“ he pleads, hands desperately reaching out as he feels you pull away from his cock.
But within seconds he’s being flipped around on the stub, ass in the air, head buried in the ground as he feels cold wet fingers caress his spine.
“Please, take me please,” he’s not even aware what he’s saying anymore mind hazy and lost in please and eager oh so eager for more “please,” he cries out into the sky, looking up at what appears to be blurry stars in his teary eyes .
You grant him his wish, working one- two- three fingers inside of him, but it’s not enough, even with the pleasant burn and strech that comes with it. He needs more, starts clawing at your hooves in desperation while muttering the words “please take me please take me,”
But you ignore his please, continuing to scissor your fingers inside of him, stretching him til he starts feeling empty even with four thick digits fucking into him,
For a second Price thinks you won’t accept him as your offering, maybe you’d gone this far and decided he wasn’t worth it and he almost breaks down right then and there, mind distraught while also hazy with pleasure, desperately fucking himself back on your fingers, and chasing whatever crumbs of pleasure you’re willing to give him.
But just as he’s about to tip over the edge you pull away but only to line up your cockhead with his entrance, before you push inside of him.
You had accepted his offering.
You had accepted him.
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semisolidmind · 9 months
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I dunno if someone else did it, but I think this meme fit's with the Twice as Bad au:
Tripataka, with sandy, pigsy, and the horse behind him: Uhm... Whatcha got there?
Reader, with two, tall shadowy monky demons behind her: ....A pair of husband's.
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it's gonna be a long trip
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hisui-dreamer · 2 months
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where the light is dim
Pairing: Malleus Draconia x gn!reader
Synopsis: everyone's wandered off in the festival, and you can't even find a familiar face
Tags: poetic themes, fluff, diasomnia shenanigans
Word count: 436
Notes: happy chinese new year everyone🧧🏮🎆!! this was heavily inspired by a chinese poem that takes place on new years (which i attempted a translation of below hehe), and plus it's the year of the dragon, so now we have mal mal festival time (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)
Masterlist
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The east wind blows breezes a thousand blossoming trees,
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The stars, like rain, descend like a gentle breeze.
Bejewelled carriages and fine horses leave a fragrant trail on the road,
Phoenix flutes resound in the wind, the jade lantern’s light flows,
All night, the fish and dragon lanterns dance.
Maidens adorned with gold, extravagant pins in their hair,
Smiling shyly, fragrance lingering in the air.
In the crowd, searching countless times,
Suddenly, turning my head,
There stands the one, where the light is dim.
―青玉案・元夕 辛棄疾
The street pulses with energy, vibrant and bustling beneath a canopy of scarlet lanterns that sway gently in the evening breeze. Each lantern, adorned with intricate designs and tassels, casts a warm, inviting glow that bathes the cobblestone pavement below in a rich crimson hue.
The air is alive with the hum of chatter and laughter, as locals and visitors alike meander through the thoroughfare, their footsteps echoing against the ancient brick walls that line the street. Vendors peddle their wares from colourful stalls, their voices competing with the lively strains of traditional music that drift from nearby taverns and teahouses.
'Where is he?' you thought to yourself, tired from the heavy ornaments painstakingly styled into your hair as you turned and turned your head to catch even a glimpse of him amidst the bustling crowd.
Malleus had invited you to a short trip to the Far East, prompted by Silver's longing to explore the lands of his childhood hero, and swiftly organized by Lilia's enthusiastic urging. You're not sure whether Lilia was aware of it or not, your travels happened to coincide with a grand local festival.
The street offers a multitude of intrigue, from mouth-watering scents from the food skewers to the delicate souvenirs hand-crafted by merchants, and it's not long before you find yourselves gradually becoming separated from the group amidst the bustling crowd. The allure of the vibrant surroundings pulls each person in a different direction, until eventually, you can no longer spot any familiar faces amidst the sea of glamorous outfits adorning the local ladies.
A whirring noise catches your attention, and you turn to the direction of the sound. Your gaze is met with the spectacle of fireworks illuminating the night sky, their explosions of brilliance painting the heavens with vibrant hues, scattering glittering sparks like diamonds. Brilliant reds, dazzling blues, and alluring golds intertwine and collide, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colour that captivates all who gaze upon it.
It's a view you want to share with him.
You weave through the crowd once again, deftly sidestepping opulent carriages and elegant ladies. Their alluring perfume mingles with the joyous melodies of the flutes, enveloping you in a whirlwind of sensation that leaves you momentarily dizzy.
A glance down a narrow alley catches your attention, and in the distance, a lone lantern flickers. Squinting to sharpen your focus, you realise you've found the very person you're looking for.
Malleus, tucked away in the shadowy corner, his focus fixed solely upon a weathered lion stone statue.
You can't help the exasperated smile that graces your lips.
Maybe you should've expected that.
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if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!
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elaemae · 2 months
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The premium version of human is here to wreak house, mfs.
Twst x Obey me!AFAB!reader
(Reader is Ob's MC)
CW:
•NO APPEARANCE SPECIFIED FOR READER.
•Poly.
•Cursing.
•Reader is referred to as "you" or they/them and even "he/him" because NRC boys refer to any living humanoid in the school as a male by default.
•Crowley.
•It's my first time writing a fanfiction, pls tell me if I should continue writing this.
(Random pic go brr—)
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What will happen when a perpetually hungry-for-cuddles and tired-of-this-shit hooman gets kidnapped by a motherfucking horse and decides (kinda? Yeah nope. This wasn't by choice.) to enroll in a school full of problematic kids and their irresponsible af headmage?
Chaos. Pure and utter chaos with a lot of high-end simping in the mix (Along with the slightly unhinged urge to commit arson and burn a bitch to crisp)
So read as [y/n] tries to run away from the school-life while trying to just get back to their goddamn harem family (God saw this thought and decided that giving y/n more harem members is the appropriate course of action), all while juggling the harsh responsibilities of being a guardian, babysitter, therapist, healer, protector, local crush and celebrity for poor Yuu and the entirety of NRC.
("Pls send help" — y/n)
• • • • •
Disclaimer: You may have been kidnapped to a whole 'nother world and you may be on the verge of a mental breakdown, but you're sure as hell gonna look hot and serve cunt while you go through all your problems.
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Prologue: 1
IMPORTANT: Mc will be referred to as they/them in this story, but in these beginning chapters a lot of people will refer to mc as a dude because y'know; NRC is an ALL BOYS school and nrc students came to expect that those in the school are all boys.(this'll change dw)
In order to avoid confusion, every time that the MC is addressed by others as he/him or more; I will color it blue. why blue? I find it easier to read.
Sample; 'He turned to them.'
The "He" in this passage is referring to MC because the character referring to them thinks that they're a guy.
REMINDER: This is Fanfiction! Not everything will be the same as canon because of this thing called the 'butterfly effect'.
• • • •
The Dorm Leaders + lilia were just about to call this Opening Ceremony over.
So close to getting out of this hall and finally being able to go on their merry ways to escort the new students back to their respective dorms before the hectic-ness of preparing for hours starts to catch up to them.
Though, things are never quite that easy in NRC.
A commotion with the students quite far from them leaves the majority of them annoyed/disgruntled. (Kalim is just confused and curious)
The headmaster rushes to check what was wrong only for a student to point out that there is an unopened coffin floating in a shadowy part of the hall.
Armed with the desire to get this shit over with and to avoid embarrassment from missing a coffin when he was going around opening them and also, with Yuu waiting near the mirror, the headmaster opens the coffin to wake the new student inside.
The dorm leaders walked closer to be able to quickly usher the new student to the dark mirror only to notice that the headmaster froze up.
"...Headmaster? Are you alright?" Azul "Boutta-do-sumthin-devious" Ashengrotto asked with faux concern.
"Ah– Ah yes! I'm alright Mr. Ashengrotto."
Crowley the bitch cleared his throat and reached inside the coffin to wake the student up.
"Hmm..."
The dorm leaders subconsciously or not, peaked inside the coffin before getting gobsmacked by the sleeping student.
Sure, the student looked quite cute ("New potential apple locked in" — Vil.) even with half of his face obstructed but what really drew their attention were the jewelries that he was wearing.
Three luxurious looking earrings on each of his ears, all unique from each other, all with a respective color and design except for that one earring with two gemstones engraved in it, orange and indigo. Seven gems, six earrings
An ornament on his forehead that looks to be a combination of a circlet and a Ferronnière made from gold, with intricate black bat-like wings surrounding the red gemstone in the middle.
And that's just the jewelry on his head.
There's also the sleek black choker with a golden sheen on his neck with a teal gemstone surrounded by small diamonds hanging in the middle.
They don't know if this guy has anymore but the jewels they can see for now is more than enough for them to make the deduction that this student has some alot of money on his hands.
No wonder the Headmaster froze up.
Azul subconsciously starts fixing up his appearance when he starts to wake up, wanting to make a good impression on a potential, rich victim client.
• • • •
"Mmh... What the hell.. Why is the bed so hard.."
You mumbled as you stirred, feeling someone lightly shaking you awake.
You opened your eyes, expecting maybe the brothers, solomon, dia, barbs, simeon or luke but you were instead met with a face obscured by a dark bird mask.
"..."
"..."
"You have two seconds to unhand me before you lose your hands." or your life. Depends on who I can summon first.
You made your voice as cold and unwelcoming as possible as the man with the bird mask squawked and backed away a bit in shock.
"H– How rude..! I'll have you know that I was only–"
"Where am I?"
You cut off the weird looking bird-man as you scanned your surroundings and moved to come out of the coffin why were you in a coffin? you were in, in fear of it closing and locking you inside.
You glance warily to the bird-man while keeping an eye on the huge number of robed individuals that you can see. are you in a cult? Damnit, did one of the Brothers' crazy cults decide to kidnap you out of jealousy again??
Especially the seven (reminder that lilia is there with the Housewardens) closest to you and bird-dude.
Some solomon-kinnie motherfucker is currently eyeing you down like he's about to sell your kidneys to the black market or something.. Hmm... Your fight or flight instincts are telling you to sell HIS kidneys instead.
*Ehem*
Burd-dude cleared his throat and addresses you.
"It seems that the teleportation magic has left you disoriented... No matter, I can forgive your offense of trying to threaten me for I am gracious!"
He then looked weirdly like a combination of preening peacock and a proud chicken.
"I repeat. Where in the unholy trinity of the three realms, am I?"
Now that raised a few eyebrows.
You feel for the necklace under your clothes that Thirteen gave you, filing the question of why you're also wearing the same robe as these people away, in your head.
While the guy that you now dub-thee as "bird-bitch" started gawking at you and going on a tangent of being disrespectful, you scan the big hall/room you're in looking for ways to escape.
• • • •
Hmm... This new student seems to be a knowledgeable individual.
Lilia kept his gaze on the student, studying how he took on a defensive stance the moment he got out of the coffin.
They need to calm this student quickly before something happens.
The student seems to be confused on why he's here and is looking for a way to get out.
If the way his eyes moved around the room in quick succession is any indicator.
Not the first time that something like this happens but add in the magicless student's appearance, he gets the feeling that something strange will happen once again.
Seeing him take out and grasp the palm-sized gemstone of a whole 'nother necklace hidden under his robe how many trinkets does this boy have??, Lilia got ready to jump in the fray should something happen.
There's a possibility that the student can use that necklace as a weapon if that was what he chose to hold in this situation and not his other shiny ornaments.
Lilia was proven right when the necklace and the gemstone glowed and formed into a fancy-looking staff that the student quickly pointed towards Crowley.
He looked at the dorm leaders around him to see if any of them will do something.
...
yeah no. If anything, they look like they're watching an amusing show. Especially Schoenheit and Kingscholar..
Though it seems more like Riddle is still assessing the situation before he brings out his infamous collar.
Haahh.. Youngsters these days..
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Chapter list | → PROLOGUE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO
Elae: Sorry if my grammar is off, English isn't my first language.
Btw, Thanks for reading this far! Hope you enjoyed it😊
Srry if my format is also off, I've only been using tumblr for a few days now...
MOST IMPORTANTLY; Should I continue reading this fanfic? I wanna know if people still read Obey mexTwst stories here...
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claypigeonpottery · 2 months
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sold
the background horses turned out nice and shadowy
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historiaxvanserra · 25 days
Text
Every Exquisite Thing | A Regency AU
Summary: The first of the season brings with it so many things; new friends, new enemies, a masquerade ball, and a rakish young gentleman with eyes like burnished gold.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (Regency AU)
Word Count: 3.1k
This is the first part of a series that had been consuming my thoughs day and night for about two weeks. We don't meet Eris yet but we get glimpses and I like what I see 👀 I just wanted to give a feel for the regency vibe and see if we're feeling it or not! Next chapter well get Eris in all his regency glory and I promise you, he's worth the wait.
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The townhouse that your family occupies on the main street of the Ton is unusually quiet this morning, you think. The first of the season typically brings with it an air of frivolity; the ladies in their Spring colors, gentlemen riding horse-drawn carriages through the cobblestone streets and the hum of the city beyond. A myriad of color -- lilacs and honeysuckle, dappled with the greenery that climbs along the facades of the townhouses -- a colorful oasis from the bleak gray and green of a Winter spent in the country. 
However, today, the main square, where Pryhtian’s most ancient and noble families convalesce during the fairer months, is blanketed in an oppressive palette of indigo and gray as the last of the Winter’s storms ravages the world beyond Crescent House. 
The sound of the howling wind as it rages like a great tempest through the streets rouses you from your perch on the chaise near the dying hearth. 
The street below the parlor is veiled in the shadowed hues of the storm and not a soul in town has dared brave the wrath of the elements since the dourpour began. Hail patters dismally against the window panes of your families townhouse and an ice-kissed wind crawls its way along the exposed planes of your shoulders and collarbones and in the distance you hear the distinctive draw of a carriage along the main square, near Forest House. As you near the window you observe the hail as it falls like pearls from the darkening sky onto wet, cobbled streets. 
From the oppressive darkness a carriage emerges; a considerable vehicle of polished wood, lacquered with dark emerald paint, the trim and doors are framed with delicate golden embellishments and the doors and rear bear a family crest, obscured by the gloom of the afternoon. The cart itself is drawn by four bay stallions with long, dark manes, sodden with the downpour. From the cabin steps a shadowy figure of a man, once obscured by the oppressive darkness, now illuminated by the lamplight; he’s all dressed in black, save for the white collar of a linen shirt and his long hair, curls away from his face in tousled, auburn waves. He burns most ardent against the bleak afternoon, even in the din of the oil lamps, he looks like something out of one of Feyre’s paintings. Or perhaps the formidable and brooding romantic lead of the romance novels Nesta so adores. Either way he cuts an intimidating figure in the dark streets of the main square. Tall and broad-shouldered, and rather rakish as he stalks up the steps of the townhouse opposite yours. 
From your perch overlooking the street you see him turn outward; admiring the graceful planes of his face, the aquiline nose and high-cheekbones falling to the slender cut of his waist and hips and the broad spread of his shoulders and sculpted arms. 
It occurs to you then that you have been all too obvious in your voyeurism. 
You are watching him. 
And he is watching you in return. 
The very thought elicits something in you; something dark and sentimental and terribly anxious. It is a cruel, coiling thing, in the pit of your stomach. Some ill-fated omen. A harbinger of your own downfall. The ghost at the feast, or a raven in the night that spells your undoing. Whatever it is, there is a deep sense of foreboding in you at the prospect of what this dark figure might herald in with him. 
The tolling of the city bells brings with it a flurry of movement on the street and your eyes meet his strange amber gaze across the way and he scowls. A deep furrow of a brow; the firm set of his jaw, the flex of a pale hand, before retreating into the house. 
“Come away from the window girl,” Your mother chastises in her usual cutting tone as she eyes you from her place in front of the hearth. Her gloved hand inspects the fine silk fabric of the dresses the modiste had sent to her. She holds the fabric between those fine-boned fingers and drapes each swatch over the pale skin of her slender arm with a rehearsed ease as she takes the time to scrutinize every hand-sewn seam and embroidered adornment. 
“Yes mama.” You say absentmindedly, casting one last longing glance towards the dark facade of the townhouse across the street, where the orange flicker of candlelight illuminates the window.. 
Your mother is an austere woman with a cutting sort of beauty rather unlike your own. Her eyes are cold and grey and her features, angular; feline in a way that is almost unnerving to look at. Though even in her age, she bares fine, high cheekbones, unblemished skin, and her long golden hair falls over the delicate slope of her shoulder in coiffed ringlets. She had been quite a remarkable beauty in her youth, it had been said. Now all that remains of her lost youth is an oil painting hung above the hearth-- the paint, yellowed and cracked with age-- and the legacy of her ancient and most-noble lineage. 
Her piercing gaze falls onto you again as you take a turn about the room, perching on the cushioned bench in front of the pianoforte. You run a hand over the untuned keys and in your wake dust mites filter through the stagnant air. 
That piano had once been the beating heart of this room; a symphony of high arching notes that rang through the halls of this house. 
It has not been touched since Nesta left. 
“You look drawn, my dear,” She says simply, her eyes cruel and unyielding as she looks over you and the fine silk draped over her arm, “green does so very little for your complexion.” 
She considers you for a moment longer before turning to the modiste with a quirked brow. The seamstress at least, has the good grace to look apologetically between you and your youngest sister before nodding in agreement to your mother. She murmurs that a deeper shade of green would suit you better, though your mother ignores her entirely.
“Perhaps an emerald tone would suit better” she muses to no one in particular. 
“It would make you look more…tempting” The modiste decides with a sly smile to you when your mother looses a shrill gasp. Your mother hums her disapproval once more from her spot in the armchair before turning her attention towards Feyre on the modiste’s podium as the slender woman takes her measurements for the last alterations to her gown. 
“You look beautiful Fey,” You say lightly, pulling at your own faded sage gown as you regard your youngest sister, “the silver looks exquisite on you.” Feyre smiles brightly at you from her place on the podium and pulls a few strands of her long, golden hair to frame her face. She looks as though she is wreathed in starlight in the silver gown; the high bust lays perfectly over her chest and the cuffed sleeves are trimmed with silver thread and sheer lace and accentuate the slope of her strong shoulders, the skirts fall in a swathe of silk and chiffon and the pearls and opal sewn into the skirts catch like moonglow in the blue light. She smooths the skirts with a flair of her gloved hand and admires the matching slippers that peek out from the long hem. 
“Hmm,” Your mother murmurs lowly, bringing a slender hand to her painted mouth as she assesses the garment carefully, “Yes - the silver favors you, my darling.” Your mother purses her lips once more and nods decisively at the modiste who offers a courteous bow in response. 
“I have hopes that the Lady of Autumn might name you her ‘incomparable’, afterall.” Your mother’s voice is frightfully wistful as she casts a look up to her portrait hung above the dying fire. Beside it, on the mantle Nesta’s painted face stares back impassively at you and you feel anxiety twisting within you again. Feyre laughs. A small, disbelieving thing as she thanks the modiste and exits the parlor in favor of her sketchbook. 
“She did so love Nesta when she was first presented,” You mother recalls, her eyes glassy as she sips at her cold tea with a grimace, “and your sister does so remind me of her.” 
You smile fondly at the thought of your eldest sister; painfully absent for the last few years but missed dearly. Nesta had always bore the brunt of your mother’s cruelty -- until she could bare it no more -- and then you took her place. 
“Yes mama, she will do very well at court.” You say genuinely, though your mother can’t bring herself to acknowledge you. You bite down the bitter taste of jealousy when her eyes linger on the portrait of Nesta hung along the mantel. The way her brows dip in a moment of fleeting grief for her favorite daughter. 
When she looks at you again you get the sense that looking at you now -- in the pallid light of the storm -- is like looking in a mirror. 
It is a mother’s curse you think.
A daughter’s burden. 
Breathing deeply as the modiste pins the hem of the dress you find yourself thinking of the happy recollections of your childhood; you think perhaps your mother is reminiscing on those times too. 
She had been the only daughter of an Earl somewhere on the continent once. Beautiful and graceful. Green and foolhardy. Named the incomparable of her own social season; she had dreams of an idyllic life in the countryside, summers shaded in the laughter of her many sons, and measured in the unyielding smiles of a good husband.
 Of course, as was the way of things, her girlhood ideations had been nought but that-- dreams. Dashed and divided like stardust in a vast twilight abyss. 
A series of scandals and bad investments led her to Pryhtian as the sole heir to an old name. A lamb to the slaughter by her own mother, to be the docile wife of some dull Lord, almost two decades her senior 
In time, she did the same to her own daughters.
Time is a cruel mistress; and the woman she is now is one tarnished by the years. Imposing and cynical; demanding in a way that it was impossible to please her. In your youth you recall her endless cruelty towards you all, though none more than Nesta.
Her prodigy. 
Her pride and joy. 
It was that ceaseless need for perfection that drove Nesta away in the end. 
So with the wave of her hand she gestures to you to take to the podium.
An ill-fated replacement for the daughter she lost.
Her perpetual disappointment.
The modiste is a young woman, who hails from the continent with beautiful dark hair that fell in coiled ringlets over her shoulders, she speaks to you in a low, velvet tenor and has a thick accent that distinguishes her to the natives of this land. She is favored by many of the young ladies of the Ton for her exquisite garments; each made with richly adorned and embroidered fabrics imported from her homeland. You watch impassively as she records your measurements and swatches a few scraps of fabric against your skin. The woman quickly discards the silver that Feyre had worn and opts instead for gold and offers your mother a few other options for your dresses this season; sapphire and cerulean, emerald and ruby, topaz and onyx. 
Then selects a beautiful emerald gown, trimmed with jade and adorned with matching beads and crystals that shine with the glittering darkness of some forgotten forest when the light of the storm outside refacts in their many surfaces. The modiste admires the garment as she holds it up to you; her keen eyes finding yours and smiling brightly and nodding deliberately. 
“This is the one,” She says, her accent so thick with delight that it is difficult to fully understand the words, “perhaps the Lady of Autumn might name you her favorite in your sisters place” She offers it jovially, almost in jest but your mother’s face twists nonetheless. 
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Your mother laughs cruelly as she regards you in the beautiful garment. You think perhaps that in you she sees all the things she hates about herself. Your mother takes a moment to scrutinize you; her eyes reap over every curve and divot of the skirts as they fall against you, every minute details to find fault where she can. 
It is a mothers’s curse, not to know a daughter’s pain. 
You imagine it is also a mercy too when she looks at you like you are her own reflection. 
Her perpetual disappointment. 
After another silent moment she nods her head to the modiste and rises to her feet. The tea cup rattles and rings viscously through icy air as she sets it down and wanders towards the doors.  
“Oh Feyre darling, you look exquisite!” Your mothers voice is shrill and dripping with pride that elicits a strange sort of jealousy and you swallow down its bitter taste. In the foyer your sister glides down the marble staircase dressed in all her finery. 
Feyre has the type of beauty reminiscent of a falling star; all pale skin, that looks like porcelain, dappled with the iridescent stardust that falls from the sky around her birthday each year. Her dress is one of flowing indigo and complemented by intricate silver embroidery along the cuffs and bust, the long line of her neck is adorned with pearls and diamonds that refract in the light of the chandelier; dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky. 
She smiles brightly and her laugh echoes like birdsong around the hall as your mother takes her hand. And almost like an afterthought, your mother regards you with thinly veiled horror at the garment that clings to you like a plate of armor. 
A deep merlot gown, inlaid with rubies and pearls; that cast a bloody halo as you step into the light of the chandelier. The skirts bleed into a train made of gossamer thin spidersilk that has a metallic quality to it that makes you feel as though you are some ancient Goddess of love and war. 
Aphrodite perhaps, as deadly as she is beautiful. 
Your hands, though they tremble, bare many gold rings, each polished to the heavens so that she sees her face distorted in their many unblemished surfaces. There is a part of you that hopes craves your mothers love more than you long to insight her ire. 
But that part of you died the day Nesta went away. 
“How do you suppose you’re going to tempt a man into marrying you dressed like that,” She chastices, pulling at the skirts of your wine red dress, “you look like a common whore.”
“At least a whore is paid to abide the insipid company of boring men.” you counter under your breath as your mother strides out into the street. You catch Feyre’s eye and she smiles at you like a feral cat. 
The rest of the carriage ride is spent in solemn silence as the facade of The town hall draws ever closer. You mother’s idle gossip about one Lord of the other hardly seems the rouse you from though as you watch the world beyond this cart pass you by. 
The storm had broken sometime around midday and the tempest gave way to sunlight; soft ochre and gold as it filtered through the open windows of your father’s library, where you had spent the afternoon. Nestled into the worn armchair favored by your father and a quiet comfort when he is away. There, in the confines of your father’s study, you allow yourself to dream; of debauched gentlemen and tortured artists. Stories painted with the vivid imaginings of Gothic heroines and vast and sweeping landscapes. Of temptation and sacrifice.
It is a hobby inherited from your sister and one much discouraged by your mother. 
But as afternoon bled into night you were called away from the pages of manuscripts written in some foreign tongue. For, the Lady of Autumn’s masquerade ball marks the true commencement of the social season each year. It is a night of mystery and secrets; of dark romance and all things fanciful. 
It is the one night a year that you allow yourself to be swept up in the excitement of the season and tonight every eligible Lord and Lady will don their finery for a night of high-arching orchestral music and sweeping dances that herald in the social season. 
It is tonight of all nights where the Lady of Autumn will name the incomparable of the season; a young woman both fair and accomplished that will inspire awe and ire in equal measure. For her troubles she might hope to tempt an eligible gentleman into marriage by summer’s end. And as your mother gives Feyre one more adoring look you know that she is hoping that your sister will insight that awe tonight. 
The carriage draws to a tumultuous halt outside the doors of the grand town hall and you hear the distant laughter of courtiers. The chatter of the ladies distracts you momentarily and you catch their idle chatter; something about the new Duke and his wicked beauty. A beauty as cruel as he is, they say. Their chatter dies when they meet your eyes and they devolve into mean-spirited whispers about the poor Archeron girls and their absent sister. 
“Quickly girls, we mustn't be late.” Your mother instructs and steps from the carriage turning expectantly as you disembark from the vehicle with all the grace you can manage. Your stomach twists in knots and the anxiety is so consuming that it addles your mind. So much so that any intelligent thought you might have had seems to abandon you. 
The gardens of the town hallare saturated in the light of the last shadowed sunbeams as they are obliterated by the rapidly falling night; veins of indigo and amethyst that streak across the black. The air is heady and thick with the smell of wildflowers and wine and every now and again you catch the scent of half-burned oak and bergamot’s on the evening breeze. 
The first of the season is in full swing and the courtiers look like a jewel toned fire in their finery; swathes of ruby and topaz, dappled with emerald and carnelian. You had felt the shift in the air when the sun had begun to set in the sky; that anticipation so palpable you could taste it. It tastes like wood and wildflowers, undercut with something darker. 
You abandon yourself to the thought of it; what he might taste like. 
Hedonism; earthy and dangerous as you swallow it back. 
In an hour or two, when the stars materialize like a million quarts against the velvet abyss, the Ladies will retreat into the mazes, in twos or threes and their Lords, like hungry wolves will begin the hunt. 
A hunt that will last the season
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m2ok · 10 days
Text
I’ve never been so madly in love
Cowboy! Johnny Mactavish x bottom! M!reader
Tw: soft fluffy smut
A/N: Guys this is my first time writing smut…I think I did alright, but let me know if you have any critiques for future reference :) 
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Johnny twisted in the bonds tied around his wrists, thick rope cutting into soft skin as he wriggled about from where you had placed him on top of your horse. 
“Oh come on!” He groaned, trying with all he had to stretch the rope and break it, but to no avail. 
You ignored him, the hefty bounty you would get for his capture heavy on your mind as you made your way steadily back to your little town for which you were the sheriff of. 
Seemingly annoyed at your lack of attention, he shuffled forward as much as he could on the horse, knocking his shoulder into yours to force you to put your eyes on him. 
“Can we at least stop for the night! Wolves live near these parts and I’d rather not meet em.” He tried to reason. 
You rolled your eyes at the man as you ventured onwards, shaking your head at his pleas. 
“With the bounty on your head I wouldn’t worry about wolves. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ them take that money from me” you assured, though positive your words did little to comfort him. 
Johnny chuckled dryly, “aw sheriff, you wound me.” he mocked, struggling against the ropes halfheartedly. After a moment he sighed, once again giving up.
“Tell me honest pal, that bounty’s all worth it? All the work, risking your neck each time? For what, a few coins and a pat on the back?” He gazed ahead down the darkening trail. The trees seemed closer, though miles ahead still, shadowy figures lurking within just awaiting his arrival. 
“When was the last time you took a rest, had yourself a drink or dance with a pretty thing?” Johnny glanced sidelong at you, a hint of mischief in his eyes despite his words. 
You were tempted to ignore him once again, but you figured conversation might do you some good out on the dusty landscape. Though you wished it was with better company. 
“Dance with who? You?” You scoffed, shaking your head as you adjusted your hat so it wouldn’t cover your eyes. 
“This here’s the only work I’ve known. I’ll be damned If I let it go now,” you didn’t care much for the money nor the glory despite what you had said, the chase was the most fun part; that was what kept you going and made the job enjoyable. 
And Johnny was the only man who routinely matched your wits. Though this time proved different, this time you had finally won. It was a kind of euphoria you hadn’t felt in a long while. 
Johnny let out an obnoxious bark of laughter. “Well now sheriff, I’ll have you know I get rather frisky when I’ve had one too many. But you don’t seem the type.” His smile faded as he pondered your words. 
“Aye…I get it. The thrill of it all keeps the blood pumpin’. Nothin else quite like the open road.” He sighed wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to feel that freedom again, even if just for a night.”
The horses slowed as darkness fell. Up ahead was a small clearing, as good a spot as any to camp, and it had Johnny eying you sideways again.
 “Bet you five dollars i can wriggle outta these here ropes by mornin’. Whaddya say?” He flash a rougish grin, bright eyes watching for your reaction.
You stopped the horses as you camp upon the little plot of land, dismounting as you unpacked the little rucksack you carried. You set up a small tent with a mat on the inside for a buffer against the hard ground and some furs for warmth. 
You spent the next few minutes gathering wood for a humble fire, completely ignoring Johnny until the thing was built - then you spoke as you dusted your hands off on your worn denim. 
“I’d be a damned fool if I took that bet.” You said as you looked over at him, the mischievous glint in his eyes doing little to ease your nerves. “Reckon I won’t get much sleep tonight on account of makin’ sure you stay put.” You grumbled to yourself as you practically dragged him off of the horse, setting him in front of the fire before he could complain about being cold. 
Johnny chuckled at your wariness. “No need to fret sheriff, I ain’t goin anywhere.” He said with a wink before he shifted into a more comfortable position, eyeing the flickering flame.
“Must get lonely out here though. Never thought I’d say this, but I’d offer you some company.” His grin returned, flecks of gold in his eyes as he gazed over at you from where he sat, his eyes holding something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 
“We bounty men gotta stick together after all. Who else understands the thrill of the chase, hm?”
He leaned forward, closing in on your space as his voice turned low, “and between you and me, I’ve had my sights set on a certain lawman for a while now. Why do you think I keep letting you catch me?” He winked. 
You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm in places the fire couldn’t have reached. Damn scoundrel was playing games with your head, same as he did to escape time and time again. But part of you found yourself intrigued at his new tactic, despite your better judgment.  
You wrote off his words as deception, an attempt to get your guard down just enough so he could run off in the middle of the night with everything you owned. 
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, adjusting your pants as you turned your attention back to the fire to hide your blush; hoping he would right off your red face as a result of the fire burning bright in front of you. 
“You’re bad at hidin’ your intentions. No wonder ya get caught so often, you’re a terrible liar.” You said with a roll of your eyes, trying as hard as you could to ignore the temptation and desire slowly building in the deep pit of your stomach. 
You and Johnny had always had this strange sort of relationship. He would tell you sweet nothings, his face so honest and true you couldn’t help but believe him only for him to run off the second he saw an opportunity. Though you always crossed paths again, and he always assured he meant what he said.
You knew it was wrong to feel this way about a man of his stature, and you hated your body for betraying your mind. The desire in you slowly turning into sick guilt at the feeling of being physically attracted to a man you were supposed to be capturing, and likely sending to his death should you turn him in. For what crimes committed you couldn’t rightly say. 
Johnny chuckled once again, not missing the slight flush creeping up your neck towards your ears. “Now now sheriff, no need to be coy. Ain’t no crime in finding a fella agreeable.”
He shifted his bound wrists, leaning ever closer so his words were for your ears alone. “And to be honest, I’ve yet to meet a man as cunning and determined as yourself. It’s…inspiring” His breath was warm against your skin, lips barely inches from your own. Fear and desire warred within - this outlaw could ruin you with a single move. And yet…out here in the whispering dark, titles and duties seemed so far away and futile. 
Johnny searched your gaze, smile fading to something hungrier, questioning. After so long chasing each other’s shadows, what would happen if one of you stopped running, just for a moment?
The fire crackled lower as stars emerged unseen above trees. Anything could happen…if you would just let it.
Your own eyes were blown wide as he leaned in ever closer, sharing the same air as you gazed into his eyes. You wanted to believe his words, and you wanted to give into your instincts. No. You couldn’t, you had to convince yourself this was just an issue of forced proximity. So pent up from a job you couldn’t catch a break from that you got hot and bothered at the sight of an attractive man. You were better than your instincts, you had to believe that. 
You cleared your throat as you leaned away from him, shaking your head as your eyebrows furrowed while a new sort of feeling filled you - hurt. You weren’t sure why this new emotion popped up, but it did. You wanted to be seen as more than just a means to an end, but you knew this life didn’t offer much of that. Everyone was always going to be more worried about their own skin, and maybe you should take their lead. 
“M’ not gonna be something you use just to get away. Nor will I be a one night stand.” You grumbled, words firm and sure as you mindlessly poked the fire with a nearby stick as a way to distract yourself from the current situation. 
Johnny sat back with a sigh, watching your restless stoking of the flames. Clearly this situation stirred more within you than you cared to show. And he understood - to give in would risk everything, for the both of you. 
“Hey now…” He said softly as his gaze turned tender “I meant no disrespect.” His tone was gentle now, earnest in the firelight. “Fact is, I’ve never met a man like you. There’s something about you that intrigues me, lawman. Something worth riskin’ it all for, if you’d have me” 
He held your gaze steadily, searching. After so long running wild, the idea of settling…It didn’t scare him half as much as he thought. Not if it was with you. 
Johnny smiled faintly. “What do you say we grab this here bounty in the morn, head into town as partners? I’m willing to turn a new leaf, if you’ll vouch for me.” 
The offer hung between you, heavy with promise. A chance at something real. It was all your call.  
You thought about your options, finally landing on something you deemed not quite illegal. With steady hands you grabbed a knife from your pocket, taking his bound hands in one of your own while the other used the blade to carefully saw through the thick rope. 
The binds fell away to the wind, and you set the knife to rest on the dirt as you gently massaged the indented skin, unwilling to let go of his warm hands just yet. 
You pulled away to look over at the small town barely a mile away, a big wooden saloon sign catching your eye. “I need a drink anyway.” You said simply as you both made the short trek over.
It was hours later when you finally got back to camp, alcohol still buzzing in your system just enough to give you confidence as you clung onto each other life life depended on it, lips clashing in a heated kiss as you moaned against him, addicted to the feeling of Johnny’s hands on your waist - desperate to keep you pressed against him. 
Johnny grinned against your lips, heart soaring like it hadn’t in years. Finally free in more ways than one, and with the most interesting man he’d ever known no less. 
“Sheriff…” he murmured, guiding you down into the soft grass as hands roamed, learning your shape in the pale moonlight. No need for words now - just sensation and freedom, two men chasing a different kind of high. 
Clothes were discarded in haste, bare flesh reveling in the cool air and fiery touches. Johnny looked down at you with hunger, a longing, he’d never allowed himself to feel fully before this night. 
“Tell me what you want darlin’,” He breathed against your neck, nipping softly at tender skin. Your hands in his hair urged him closer still, the ache inside building swiftly with the need to be inside you. 
You arched into his touch, a whine leaving your lips as his hands roamed against sensitive skin. It wasn’t often you were under someone like this, so vulnerable and splayed out for all of him to see. 
“Johnny~” You gasped, desperate for some sort of friction as you rolled your hips up to meet his own. 
“You- just want you. Please…need you to - to make me yours~” You were begging, frantic hands keeping him close as you waited with mock patience for what you wanted Hips wiggled in anticipation as you looked down to where your bodies were so nearly joined, only needing a slight push from Johnny to come together as one. 
Johnny growled low at your plea, all thoughts fleeing save the primal need to claim and be claimed in return. 
“Fuck, baby. Whatever you want~” He rumbled, grasping your hips to still them. With a slow roll of his own and careful aiming, he teased your entrance with his aching length. Your gasp spurred him onwards, sinking in to the hilt with shuddering care. 
Pausing the savor the connection, Johnny saw stars behind his eyes. You felt so unbelievably right wrapped around him, guiding his rough edges into a smooth whole. 
Bracing above, he gazed down at your blissed out expression and swore then and there - come hell or high water, nothing would rend him from your side again. You belonged to each other, body and soul, and may the devil himself try to tear you apart. 
With that vow sealed in his blood, Johnny began to move with near excruciating patience, learning your responses like familiar paths once trekked long ago. 
“Mmf~!” You moaned, words escaping you at the feeling of being filled so entirely, nearly cumming as soon as he entered, hard member pressing down in you deep enough to make you feel utterly full. 
“Fuck! so - shit - so fucking big Johnny!”  You whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him impossibly closer as you began to rock your hips in time with his thrusts, trying to urge him to go faster. 
“Please - please move I can’t- Need you to move-!” You begged, your own hard cock leaking precum against your stomach as you waited impatiently for him to bend to your pleas. 
Johnny groaned at your words, beyond thrilled you found his size so pleasing already. “Anythin’ for you, darlin’,” he grit out, pulling back slowly before snapping his hips forward in a deep thrust. 
That first rollick sent sparks shooting through his veins, your walls clasping him in exquisite heat. Johnny set a punishing pace from there, driving into your willing body like a man possessed. All that built up want and denial over your respective chases came flooding out in each meeting of skin. 
Reaching between you, he grasped your aching member, pumping in rhythm with his thrusts. Johnny wanted you unraveling completely beneath him, marked inside and out as truly his. 
“Come on now honey, let go for me,” he urged roughly, angling for that spot deep within. 
His balls drew tight with the promise of release, but Johnny wouldn’t dare finish before you. No, he was going to milk you for all you were worth before he even thought about his own release, tying your pleasure irrevocably to his own.
You gasped at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, eyes nearly rolling back as your body moved with every harsh pound into you, mind going dumb on his cock. Though you wouldn't ask for anything better, the feeling consumed you entirely, pleasure taking over everything as you felt that familiar coil in your stomach start to tighten further and further until-
With a soft cry you came, body shaking as your spend landed across both of your bodies. Your legs tightened around his waist, desperate to keep inside for a while longer, almost crying at the thought of him pulling out of you so quickly. You wanted to spend the entire night wrapped in him like this.
Johnny groaned at your reaction, grinding his hips through your release to prolong your pleasure. The way you clung to him so wantonly with shaking legs stole what little breath he had left. 
“So responsive already, darlin’. I ain’t done with you yet - don’t worry your pretty little head~” He rasped, uncaring of the mess you were creating. With sloppy rolls he rode out your aftershocks, cock throbbing at your fluttering insides. 
But you begged for more like the insatiable creature he knew you to be. Johnny wasted no time obeying, moving your legs so he could pull you up into his lap, pistoning up into that sweet spot with no mercy. His orgasm teetered on the edge, held back only by sheer force of will. Johnny latched onto your neck, sucking a sore mark to match the pulse beating erratically beneath his lips. 
“Fuck, sweetheart. Ya feel so damn good takin’ my cock. Gonna fuck another load outta you ‘fore I’m done, you hear?”
His fingers returned unbidden to your sensitive length, determined to wring every last shiver from your overstimulated form beneath the glory of the moon. Johnny wanted this night - wanted you - to last as long as fate allowed. Let the dawn take care of itself for once. 
His words did little to quell the burning lust building up inside of you once more, a whiny moan leaving you as your second orgasm of the night rippled through you, this time merely dribbling out of your tip. 
“God- fuck Johnny!” You whined “So good- so so good inside me. Can’t even can’t even think right!” You babbled, practically drooling as you held on tight to him fingernails no doubt leaving scratches along his body. 
“Need you to cum in me - nice and deep and- and make me yours~” You begged, rocking your hips against his. 
Johnny growled deep at your pleasure cries, all sense of restrain utterly vanished in the throes of lustful abandon. 
“Anythin’ you want, darlin’, gon’ fill that tight hole up just how you want,” he grit out through clenched teeth. A few final brutal thrusts was all it took, his release exploding within your clasping heat with a drawn out groan. 
Wave after wave pulsed from his cock, painting your velvety walls white inside and out. Johnny held you flush, grinding through the bliss to be certain not a drop was spared between your bodies. 
As his throes eased, Johnny pressed loving kisses to your sweat-slick brow, nose nuzzling sweetly against your own. “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he murmured, cock still twitching inside its paradise. 
Johnny adjusted your sated form to cradle properly in his lap, breath coming fast yet deep with afterglow. One hand stroked gently through your hair while the other rubbed your sated length, reluctant to part so soon. 
His sweet words clouded your brain, fuzz covering everything logical as a pleasured haze took over. 
With a weak whine you came for one final time, panting softly as he removed his hand and allowed you to just rest against him. Your body was completely lax in his arms, lingering pleasures twitching inside you still. With another whine you cuddled into him, sweat turning cold on your skin as you sought out his body heat to keep you warm. 
“Don’t leave…” You whispered, the aftermath hitting you hard, body and mind falling together. “Don’t leave me again” you begged, voice shaky as you clung onto him. 
Johnny held you tighter at your whispers, heart near bursting at the confessed sentiment. 
“Never, darlin’, I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you,” he vowed softly into your hair, peppering it with gentle kisses. His hand rose to cup your face, urging your glazed eyes to meet his own smoldering gaze. 
“You’re stuck with me now, ya hear? I’d follow you into hell itself for another taste of heaven like this.” Johnny chuckled lightly even as deep emotion welled in his chest. 
“We’ll face tomorrow together, you and me against the world. Anyone tries to tear us apart will get a bullet quicker than they can blink.” He held your eyes steadily, willing you to see the sincerity in his soul. 
“I love you, little sheriff. Now and always, till my dying day.” With that Johnny sealed the oath with a tender kiss, Pouring every unspoken feeling into action. Nothing would part you from this moment, from him, ever again if he had any say. 
Now yours completely, he guided your limp form to rest atop his chest as blankets of stars looked on. Whatever dreams may come, for tonight there was only peace in each other’s arms at long last. 
~end
As always, requests are open
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willtheweaver · 3 months
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Details below:
Mari Lwyd- Likely a holdover from Wales’s Celtic past, Mari Lwyd is a skeletal horse who goes door to door, challenging people to a duel of verses. Should the homeowner run out of poetry, they must let Mari Lwyd in and treat the specter to the best booze.
Yule Goat- This lone wanderer of Nordic origins takes the form of a goat and travels from house to house, telling rude stories, and hard truths about the people inside. The Yule goat and their ill words can be removed from the house with an offering of food and drink. Today most people will only encounter straw goat effigies, such as the Gavlebocken( which will likely not burn this year, but it is currently being devoured by birds)
Mummers- Masked vagabonds, Mummers communicate either with mumbles, or in song and rhyme. They would ‘entertain’ homeowners with music, or by playing rigged games (gambling with loaded dice is a popular option). These shadowy characters can be placated with food and drink.
Wren hunters- seeing a pattern here? Many of these figures associated with Christmas have their roots in Europe’s pagan traditions. These figures often are associated with death and darkness-two things in abundance in winter. Offerings are made in hope that they and all bad things will go away, and that brighter times will come .The wren hunters are no exception. Coming from Ireland, this would be a group of people who go out hunting for the ‘king of birds’. Afterwards, they go door to door singing and begging for a penny, and (you guessed it), food and drink.
Lord of Misrule- Enough with all the dark thoughts; this last Christmas figure is much more cheerful. Medieval and Tudor England had the tradition of appointing one individual to be in charge of the celebrations. Everyone, from the royal court to the humblest village would have a Lord of Misrule, and being appointed was a great honor (not to mention naughtily subversive in a time where the social hierarchy was strictly enforced)
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twola · 2 months
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might i add damsel in distress with reader never having seen arthur angry before and certainly never seeing him beat the shit out of anyone but witnessing it for the first time when he saves her 🤭
You slide down the back wall of the saloon, wild eyed and terrified at the scene unfolding before you. The neckline of your blouse had been torn, buttons askew and your curve of your breast barely hidden by your chemise. The curls you had pinned your hair up into fell limply and messily over your shoulders.
You could tell a bruise was going to form where he had hit you across the face when you tried to push him away. You barely got a scream out before he slammed you back against the wooden wall, one arm pinned across your collarbones and the other one moving to hike up your skirts - evidently this man hadn’t taken kindly to your flattery trying to empty his pockets. The arm against your collarbone moved south and the tearing of your pretty blouse echoed in the night, while the man’s dirty, rough hand brushed against the inside of your knee.
You readied your lungs to scream again - but before you can, your attacker was ripped from you and handily thrown across the alley between the two buildings.
As you catch your breath, you clutch at your torn shirt as you take in the scene in front of you. Indeed, your mark was thrown into the dirt by a hulking, shadowy figure that it only takes you a moment to recognize the black gambler's hat and worn leather jacket. It's Arthur, who had come along with the group into town.
Arthur strides with heavy, measured steps over to the crumbled body of the man, reaching down with one hand to grab his collar. He hoists the man partway up, his shoulders lifted off the ground, and slams his other fist across his face. You gasp at the noise the man makes, but Arthur pays no mind.
The outlaw brings his fist across the man’s face again. And again. And again. Blood bursts from his mouth and his nose cracks out of alignment. A tooth falls out of the man’s mouth as he loses consciousness.
You huddle against the wall as you watch Arthur beat this man, blood staining his knunckles as he continually slams his fist into the man’s face. You knew, obviously, that this line of work likely required this kind of skillset from Arthur, but it was a different thing entirely to see it in action. Terrifying actually.
After so many blows you’ve lost count, and are unsure if the man is dead or not, Arthur drops him to the ground, a bloody pulp, as he wipes his knuckles against his pants and turns toward you, completely nonchalant.
Arthur holds his hand out in front of him, offering it to you. You take his hand and allow him to pull you up, stumbling slightly as you try to hold your blouse up to salvage at least a bit of your dignity. Arthur immediately pulls his jacket off and lays it upon your shoulders, winding an arm around you to help you walk toward his horse. You curl into his body, large and warm and strong.
He’s gotten you up to his horse, lifting you as if you were nothing.
“Y’alright?”
You nod, still thunderstruck about what you witnessed before. His hands linger on your hips, one of his thumbs rubbing a comforting circle. How is this man the same brute that beat that other one bloody?
“Sorry you had to see that, I know you ain’t used to seeing it.”
“It- it's okay.” You mumble, pulling his jacket around you tighter, your gaze wrenched away from his, falling upon a bloody spot on the collar of his blue shirt. Your hand unconsciously moves to wipe at it, but his hand catches yours midair.
Your eyes slowly make their way back to his. Arthur’s large, rough hand places yours gently upon your thigh.
"Ain't no need for you to be gettin' any blood on you on my account."
"But it's alright for you to get bloody for me?"
He tilts his head down, his eyes hidden by that hat, and he taps your hip before letting you go. You immediately miss the warmth of his hands on you.
"Always, darlin’. ”
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diejager · 5 months
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Saloon
He swung the reins of his horse over the pole, lopping it inward to tie a knot. With a firm and comforting hand, Ghost ran a hand down the neck of his horse, a beautiful black stallion that towered over other horses. Without much thought, he strode into the saloon, the wooden doors snapping behind him as he confidently stepped in, his heeled shoes clicking on the dusty planks.
The bustling and lively room turned cold and silent, faces turned to look at him, eyes fleeting over the red skull that adorned his face and the black cloth that covered the rest of it. He held his head high, shoulders broad and back straightened, he walked with his eyes pointed forward and his hat tilted upwards.
Stopping at the bar, his leg swung around the leather stool, taking a seat and crossing his arms over the table. The place burst into actin once more, voices and chatter filling the room, chairs skidding against the floor and cups clinking together in cheers. Ghost tapped a finger on the rich wood, his brown eyes wandering over the selection of drinks on the counters.
“Evening, sir,” a prettily dressed woman swayed to his side, dressed in a corset, blouse and little petticoat. He liked how simple the workers dressed here, even as pretty as the dresses were, they were easy to move around.
“Bourbon.”
She slid him a clean glass of bourbon, the amber liquor glistening under the golden sun that shone through the windows and the candle lights from the saloon. He reached for the glass, rolling his mask over his nose and tilted the cup, the soothing burn of bourbon trickled down his throat in a familiar taste. The tang of top-shelf alcohol lingering on his tongue, the woody mixed with he soft sweetness burned his throat.
“You’re back, Ghost.”
He tossed back his head, drinking down the last drops of his drink before turning to the voice, the cup softly placed down. The light shone abasing the shadowy figure that spoke to him, but he knew who it was. The ruggedly dressed person with a pistol strapped to the hip and a hat rivalling his stared back at him - you - the reason he often came to this saloon or the ones under your name and territory.
The room never went silent or deathly still when you walked it, it rejoiced and celebrate your arrival as the owner of such fine establishments. Rather than greet you with he same stares and fear they gave him, they welcomed you, waved and smiled your way. You were a name people liked and favourably looked at with pleasant words.
Your shoes clicked as you joined him at the bar, taking the stool to his right. You smiled and waved over one of your workers, the dazzling grin you gave her as she poured you a cup, her lips moving with every tales and rumours she’s heard for the past week. He stared at you, his warm browns washing over your face, your glinting eyes, your fluttering lashes and the dusty sand that matted your sweaty cheeks and nose, your pursed and sinful lips the only part spared from the sand.
He trailed down your neck, the high collar of your shirt and down your chest, the loose bottons that you popped from the heat on your black waistcoat and white shirt. You were a beauty in the rugged and wild look, the clothes matching perfectly to who you - became - were. That richness in your voice and the way you wore yourself, but you were humble, never letting your boldness and cockiness get to your head. Which, granted, made you more tolerable than some in his group, but he favoured you terribly, an obsession with your being that he couldn’t stop.
It made his heart beat wildly in its cage, beating against his ribs. He almost flinched when you caught him admiring you, your pretty hues peering at him from the corners of your eyes. He was glad he wore a mask, hiding the rising burn on his cheeks, flushed red under the dark cloth and red skull he wore to protect his identity.
“So, tell me, Ghost,” you drawled, flashing him a crooked smile, lips rising at a corner. “What brings you to my saloon?”
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog
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alright let’s go over the junior year clues we got in the rick perry documentary thing (disclaimer: i’ve definitely missed stuff, but i think i got the big things, feel free to reblog and add with stuff that i missed though)
[at the bottom of this post I've typed out the decipherable words that plan out some combats and NPCs from Rick's screen. it's the most interesting thing but it's super long so it's at the bottom under a cut]
We get a blurry look at some minis. I’m seeing at least the PC’s minis, as well as what looks like Baxter the Gryphon.
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There’s some major shots of this battle. Includes a Baby mini, the Hangvan with some kind of laser canon on top, a stingray-esque monster that is likely Night Yorb (see below), something that looks like maybe an ice elemental or the crystal (see below), and some large bugs and shirtless people. Clearly set in the Red Wastes. Detailed info of the planning for this battle below.
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One of the shots had reference boards in the background. One is clearly for the Hangvan (see earlier screencaps), but the other is unclear. It looks like it includes some sort of tennis or tennis-adjacent sport.
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Confirmation that Mordred Manor is a set piece.
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Finally, one shot showed Rick’s computer screen with some critical info about planning. I’ve put what I’ve been able to decipher below the screencaps. and under a cut, as it’s very long.
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EP. 701 DEFEATING NIGHT YORB CHASE (RED WASTES) Hangvan, Night Yorb is giant flying Manta Ray thing? Rainbow road, being chased by night yorb while trying to throw crystal into portal. Crazy gun on rough [roof] that gorgug made, I can’t get a lock on it. Just need one last final thing to defeat night yorb. Red wastes, chasing the night yorb around, flying bats teleporting onto rough [roof] of van, NPC allies, Balthazar, two other cars they are in contact with, tiefling bakers or sidekicks are reveals Stormchaser twister, trying to get a lock onto it, Night Yorb is escaping the world. Maybe night yorb gets away, why didn [didn’t] you get it? And Balthazar died? Murph invented the Night Yorb. Don’t fuck with the Night Yorb. Exploded out of riz’s chest, needs to be dumb as hell. it’s the jabberwocky, it burbled, hugely terrifying, Horrifying cursed thing. Unending night for two months. Dragon sized, bigger than the Hang Van, 30’ wingspan Stars and moon. While the night yorb flies it is night and not day. Not malevolent force, but everything on earth will die Have giant ghost busters canon, Honey I shrunk the kids cannon Driver, mechanic, gunner, navigator (using SW 5e mechanics) Hang Man - Fabian motorcycle Tether is attached to night yorb, either magic or harpoon Night Yorb could out pace them. Could smash van. Cultist of the night yorb appearing on the road, mad max style ”The night yorb is our god” Red Wastes Cultists: Riding skeleton horses, classic fantasy cultists, Manta ray night yorb masks Sword and Sorcery vibes, MUSCELY, oiled, black leather, rings Shadow of Night Yorb Tether must be reeled in over 4 rounds Success Meter - 4 rounds or it escapes Pop up cultists in the middle of the road 4 maps Straight away, gully bridge crossing, rap popping up, giant portal It’s going to another world but if it gets away thats just as bad Ayada [Ayda?] thing built in. Chekov’s gun. Gun has cool helix of energy that is getting cranked in. Gun is on the back and on the hood is a binding circle that Adaine does. Cultists are making the portal. YORBIES if they catch it, it gets bound into the paint of their van Gun is gorgug’s stuff and circle is adaine 6 cultist perusing them, 4 or 5 at the portal, 1 or 2 back up Single person traps, Vulture with cactus MINIS: Night Yorb - Giant shadowy manta ray, inky black dripping, made of liquid, different underbelly, deep indigo or bone white. Made of shadows, dripping aberration, flat plane, long tail, two weird eyes coming off front on stalks. Second set of PCs TERRAIN: Red Wastes! NOTES: favorite crazy dnd monsters, beholder, [unclear word, bu…ette] Fungal Black light portal battle! Dr. Strange battle set, pseudo pods of elder pod night yorb, day glow run fragments, purple stone castle night yorb temple, floor is octopus made of shadows. Starting mid battle. [blank sections] PROJECTION: Counter here of some kind?
POTENTIAL LOCATIONS Basrar’s icecream shop? Mordred Manor Seacaster Manor [crossed out] Strong Tower Luxury Apartments SAT Prep class [screen cuts off]
EP. 704 DENTENTION [detention] STEALTH CHASE SEQUENCE/ QUIET LIBRARY/ Aguefort chase sequence? Combine sets interrupted by having to make it past a hall monitor Underwater? Books suspended floating, everything is affected by water Don’t wake daddy? Start in Library to get to Aguefort’s office Hallway Classroom Bathroom Lockerroom [blank sections] DYNAMIC ELEMENT: Water
CONCEPTS Dicks! SPIRITUAL GUARDIANS - Full service on minis, summons, etc Psycadelic fungal giant, black light, trippy, beautiful Revisiting old set [screen cuts off]
[fyi everything past this point was very blurry, so I could only decipher pieces here and there]
EP. 706 OUTDOOR CONCERT COACHELLA Music feature? Flaming [?], giant [?] [???] Fig and Gorgug on stage [???] Lighting effects, [???] Floating stage or something [???] Demons? PROJECTION: Lasers?
NPCS/ VILLAINS/ MONSTERS/ ETC. PORTER CLIFFBREAKER is secret servant of nightmare king tactical battlefield combat that [?] 2-3 times larger than PCs LED buried inside him [???] Porter was [???] basketball player [screen cuts off]
[the rest was too blurry to make out anything other than a blank section titled ROLE PLAY/ NEUTRAL BOARD and a section that seems to be for EP. 708 and says EXTRA with some blurry words after it]
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archangeldyke-all · 3 months
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Outlaw cowboy sevika who fell in love with a good woman or a woman she is partner in crimes with?
i'm done writing the big fic, so i can finally start doing requests again!! starting with this GENIUS idea tysm anon <333
men and minors dni
the parlor doors swing open, and a shadowy figure wanders into the tavern. behind the bar, you bite your lip, watching patrons scatter as the cloaked figure struts over to the bar, a jingle decorating every one of their footsteps as their spurs twirl on their boots.
they knock on the bar top to get your attention, like you haven't had your eyes trained on them since they strolled in. you grin.
"how can i help ya?" you ask, already reaching under the counter to pull out a glass and bottle of whiskey. you pour them a big glass and slide it across the bar, not moving your hand when they reach forward to grab it.
when your fingers meet, you gently brush yours against theirs, then slowly, slowly trail your fingers up their arm, before grabbing the rim of their hat and flicking it up.
there she is, you think as sevika's face is finally revealed to you. she's smiling just as wide as you are.
"got any vacancies?" she asks. you chuckle.
"fully booked, sorry miss." you tease. she snorts. "but maybe if you work for it i can arrange a place for you to sleep." you add on. sevika rolls her eyes as you grab two buckets and gesture for her to follow you. she does. she always does.
you wander out of the tavern and into the small side garden you tend to in your free time. shoving a bucket into her arms, you gesture at the well. she meanders over to it and begins pumping the spout until water comes spurting out. you watch in amusement as she gets sprayed and curses.
you walk through your rows of crops, harvesting a few ears of corn, a couple of potatoes, a handful of carrots.
your tavern/inn is located on the main street of a small shanty town in the middle of nowhere. the only people who travel through these parts are up to no good, so when you came to own the place after the previous owner died and left it in your name, you made a few policy changes.
for one thing, you don't ask questions. patrons can come in riddled with shrapnel and bleeding, their faces identical to the 'wanted' sketches that are plastered around town, and you simply turn a blind eye and serve them a hearty bowl of stew, fill 'em up with liquor, patch their wounds, and give them a bed. in exchange for your discretion, you've made plenty of shady friends, who often pay for their time spent in the tavern with stolen and smuggled goods like pretty jewelry, gold bars, or premium cuts of meats or cheeses.
the locals don't give you much trouble, too scared to piss off any of your friends, too happy with the imported rare goods they bring to town with them to complain about the occasional stand off or shootout.
you wander out of the garden, stopping by the small stables and greeting sevika's trusty mare shimmer. the horse whinnies at your appearance, tail swinging happily as you scratch her ears.
"hey, shimmer." you whisper to the horse. "here, baby." you say, hand feeding her a few carrots. "how much trouble'd she get you in this time?" you ask the horse. shimmer doesn't respond, too busy crunching on her treats.
behind you, sevika's hand wraps around your waist. you smile as she presses a kiss against your head.
"missed you." she mumbles against your temple. you laugh and gesture to the tavern.
"c'mon." you say. "i'll canoodle with you once these chores are done."
you and sevika spend the afternoon tending to the tavern. she distributes the water evenly among bedrooms, filling the wash bowls and pitchers patrons can use to hydrate and clean themselves.
you tend to the stew, chopping and stirring in your vegetables, adding a few pinches of dried garlic and onion powder to the bubbling pot of perpetual stew, stirring and tasting and adjusting until you're happy with how it tastes.
it's the slow season. travelers are rare in these parts, but even more so during the scalding hot summer. a few neighbors wander in for a quick drink, and the few patrons you have retire to their rooms once sevika's done refreshing them.
once the sun sets, the tavern is empty, except for you and sevika.
she's staring at you adoringly from across the bar, her chin propped up in her hand as she watches you sweep. you scoff at her expression.
"what kinda trouble'd you get yourself into this time, huh?" you ask. sevika chuckles.
"you didn't see it in the papers?" she asks.
"that train robbery?" you ask. sevika shrugs with a smile. you laugh. "you're gonna get caught up one of these days." you say as you begin wiping down the bar top. sevika rolls her eyes.
"you got no faith in me, darlin', it breaks my heart." she says. you laugh and turn off the oil lamps, before starting up the stairs. sevika follows behind you.
the second floor is where your patrons sleep, but you get the whole attic/third floor to yourself. it's a nice little studio space, two windows on either side, big enough to hold a double mattress and two sets of drawers, a few chests stuffed full with treasures and valuables sevika's brought back to you.
sevika sighs as she enters the space, hanging her hat and poncho up on two nails you'd slammed into the walls for her years ago, shoving off her boots and stripping down to her undergarments. you sit at your desk and watch her strip with scruitny, making sure she doesn't have any new wounds or scars. she washes herself down with a wet rag, sighing as the grime and dirt of her travels slowly washes away. once your sure she's not injured, you allow your gaze to become appreciative, taking in her muscular back and arms as they scrub her body down.
you rise from your seat and approach her, slinging your hands around her waist and tucking your chin over her shoulder. she sighs and leans back against you.
"three weeks is too long." you mumble against your lover. sevika hums.
"i know, darlin'." she says. you take the washcloth from her and begin to scrub her back for her, occasionally kneading and massaging at the knots and tension that riddles her muscles. she melts. "i missed you." she sighs. you kiss the nape of her neck.
"i missed you too. had me worried, you know." you mumble against her. she turns in your arms to wrap her own around your waist, gently swaying the two of you back and forth as she soaks in your features.
"i've been yours for how long?" she teases. you roll your eyes. "five years now?" she asks. you smile and nod. "and you're still worried about me? you know i always come back to you darlin'." she says. you sigh and roll your eyes. "gonna give yourself an ulcer at this rate." she teases. you chuckle.
"wouldn't have to worry if you stuck around." you say.
you and sevika have had this conversation a thousand times now. she's made more than enough in her time as a bandit for the two of you to live comfortably together until the end of time.
still, she always leaves. you don't blame her, before she met you sevika spent her entire life wandering the west, all alone, never staying in one place for longer than a week.
but then, one fateful night all those years ago, she stumbled into your tavern bloodied and battered, staring at you with a sparkle in her eyes as you patched her up. and since then, she's been circling back to you after each and every one of her jobs.
the longer she's had you, the more time she puts between her heists. you'll get her to stay eventually, you just have to be patient. but patience is hard when the love of your life has such a dangerous occupation.
sevika swoops in to kiss the frown off your lips. you sigh against her and wrap your arms around her shoulders as she slowly uncinches your corset and helps you out of your layers.
when you're both naked, you guide her to the bed, plastering yourself to her side as you continue to kiss her. tears well up in your eyes as you get your hand in her hair, and she notices, pulling away with a frown.
"'s wrong darlin'?" she asks. you hide your face against her shoulder.
"what if you die out there, sev? a hundred miles away all alone in the desert... nobody'd find you until you were just bones and dust. and i'd be here waitin' for you to come home for the rest of my life." you say, your voice wobbly. sevika wraps you up in her arms and sighs against you. you reach up to gently trace the scars littering her left cheek.
"fuckin' ruining the surprise." she grumbles against you. you blink.
"what surprise?" you ask. sevika rolls her eyes and darts forward to kiss your forehead.
"the train... it was a cargo train. one of the cars was headed to a bank, padded wall to wall with cash 'n gold. enough for a hundred people." she says. you gulp and blink at her, hesitant to assume lest you get your heart broken.
"so?" you ask. sevika chuckles.
"so, i'm retiring." she says simply. "fuck do i need to keep robbin' and lootin' for if i'm already filthy rich?" she asks. you blink at her, your heart swelling, tears falling down your cheeks as you soak in her words. "plus... i met a girl i'm hopin' to settle down with." she says, smiling shyly at you.
you let out a shaky breath then launch forward, pinning sevika to the bed as she laughs and gathers you in her arms.
"are you serious?" you ask against her. she chuckles and kisses your head.
"deadly." she responds. you melt against her, clinging to her like your life depends on it. "you think you might need a new employee here?" she asks. you snort against her.
"i can figure somethin' out." you say. "gotta work on your people skills, though." you tease her through your tears. sevika laughs and smacks your ass.
"y'know..." she starts. you pick your head up from her shoulder to look at her, and she looks away, nervous. you kiss her lips and she sighs, her anxiety melting away under your touch. "i met a pastor while i was out wanderin'." she says. "said he wouldn't be opposed to marryin' two women if someone were to give his chapel some donation money." she whispers.
you study sevika for a moment as she anxiously nibbles on her lip. "you askin' me to marry you?" you ask. sevika shrugs.
"i mean... i've already given you hundreds of rings." she says. you smile.
"you have." you say. she smiles up at you.
"so?" she asks. "his chapel's a day's ride from here. figured we could go now during the slow season, make it a little vacation?" she asks. you grin and launch down to kiss her, and sevika sighs against your mouth.
"there's nothin' in this world that would make me happier, baby." you whisper against her lips. sevika grins.
"sure you won't mind bein' an outlaw's wife?" she asks. you laugh and smack her shoulder.
"a former outlaw." you correct her. she chuckles. "and no, i won't mind. 'specially when that outlaw's as handsome as you." you say. below you, sevika blushes.
"fuck off." she grunts. you laugh.
"that's no way to talk to your wife." you tease her. sevika grins.
"you're right. 'm sorry, darlin'."
taglist!
@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666
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kenandeliza · 2 months
Text
A Marvel Family Fantasy AU
A few days ago, I randomly dreamt of Drawing Billy and Tawny in a fantasy setting.
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Billy was this kid wizard and Tawny was his companion (or an animal to ride on like a horse)
Then it got me thinking, maybe in this setting, Mary could be someone of high status in this fantasy setting (since she's in a rich family in the golden age comics)
I'm inclined to think Freddy would be a captain of a ship for irony-sake but I have a feeling pirates and fantasy settings don't match well?
It's just funny for me to think of him with a peg leg xD
After further discussion with @the-brash-spud :
Warning: Too many text :>
These are the ideas we have so far (if there are quotation marks, those ideas belonged to @the-brash-spud ):
Maybe Billy and Mary were prince and princess separated by birth, (i'm not sure if its a kidnapping or the baby got lost on his own) but the wizard founded billy and trained him.
At the ripe age of (insert young age below a teenager's), The wizard decided to grant him the power of shazam to turn him into the world's mightiest Wizard!
Captain Marvel!
Wizard dies and then Billy and Tawny have adventures together, maybe helping people along the way (maybe somehow found out that Mary is his sister :p idk)
“ I think you could go angst if you made the wizard get brutally hurt in a battle to protect Billy and the rock of eternity so in a last ditch effort he transports the rock to its own pocket of existence and then giving Billy powers of shazam because its as ready as he'll be able to make the kid :) and it's his last effort for Billy to be protected even if he has to do so himself because he has failed :)) made Billy cry as Wizard turns into dust in Billy’s hands :)))”
Uncle marvel can be a con-man/thief who took pity on Billy or realiz, teaching Billy that the world isn't always honest and he's like, "Billy, don't always give money to the poor on the streets, sometimes they faked their illness to be lazy”
" Billy: "The man in the shadowy corner needs my help."
Uncle: "No, the hell he doesn't!”"
—-
How Billy Met Freddy
Billy probably met Freddy in a bar fight. How did the kid get into a bar?
Billy looked at the man exiting the pub with a bottle.
Billy: Ohh! So this is where you get refreshments here! I wonder If they have enough Milk for Tawny..
Pub sign written NO KIDS ALLOWED!"
*Billy can only read magic scrolls and not regular alphabet*
Cue him meeting Freddy (who's armwrestling with one of the people there)
(Insert Bar fight for some reason because The child decided to drink a white cocktail thinking it was milk and the fact that Billy is a Kid)
“Freddie is definitely that kid having his ass thrown out of the bar/pub/inn”
I'd like to think he and his brother are a team, prolly sailed a ship together.
“Yes, they target slave ships. Unless you wanna go different routes. Then, he is focused on certain nations' flags that have a whole lot of red in them
Also, he goes to the bars just to start bar fights over drunks being mean/nasty to the landlady. The landlady doesn't appreciate it bc now she has a broken table and four broken chairs”
Freddy faces the Captain Nazi equivalent of a pirate [Captain Arian? Like Aryan?] XD, Freddy lost his leg the same way, from his encounter with Captain Arian.
Kit (probably a necromancer or a ghost who's cursed to be bound in the ship Freddy's in, making Freddy more attached to the ship) can still summon crewmembers.
Maybe they both meet mary during the birthday ceremony parade
Maybe Mary snuck off from her family (disguise herself as a regular girl, i know, generic plot) and then meet Billy accidentally
Billy: It's my birthday today!
Mary: What a coincidence! It's mine too!
The-brash-spud: “Billy, in his innocence, thinks ,"There must be something to us sharing birthdays!" While Freddy calls him stupid, Billy tries to get a look at the princes and then cue the lung-fu panda rocket incident, but maybe something else more fitting with Freddy being pulled along”
On an unrelated note, i think Billy knew about Freddy's peg legafter either a pirate slashed it clean and Freddy just used it to bonk his head.
Billy is still screaming from the shock and immediately casted healing spells (i'd like to think everything about billy is lightning based- so yes getting struck by lightning is a healing spell for him :D) Freddy got shocked lmao
And what about boarding Tawny on the ship?
Billy:"Please???"
Freddy: "I'm not letting a tiger into my ship."
Kit who absolutely adores animals: "YES"
Freddy:"NO!”
Kit:" Does he love belly rubs??"
Billy:" yes but you have to ask him politely for his permission-”
Freddy rolled his eyes, realizing he has to clean cat fur everyday off from the furnitures.
___
How did Mary, a royalty tag along with a kid wizard and a pirate?
“Yeah, I guess forced separation would work better. Hell, go with a scenario that will allow them to have Mary with the parents' blessings as long as she's kept safe (she isn't, but that's because she is the danger herself)”
Mary and Billy: "Yay adventure"
Freddy: "Oh great, now I have to take care of two kids and a tiger in my ship!?"
*Freddy looking at Kit and the kids + a tiger playing together, kit seems happy*
Freddy: "...i guess it's alright..”
___
How Freddy and Mary found out about the wizard?
“Hmmmm, maybe Billy takes them to the rock because they were in a pickle, and unforeseen effects happen?
They got surrounded maybe?
Also I can see the aftermath
"You were raised by THE Wizard!? THE Wizard?! A Wizard of legends so often told he is recognisable even if his name was lost?!"
"Oh, his name is Shazam-" *BANG*”
____
Hopefully i could draw these AU ideas, I don't plan on making this into a story, i just like the concept that my dream gave my a few days ago and I’m just expanding it. Sorry for too many text xD
I don't mind if you want to add something to this silly lil AU, It's just a fun thing for me to do :p
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