#a star-strewn garden

[a-star-strewn-garden]

FOR RUSSIA, MY BEAUTY

WHAT CHOICE BUT SIMPLE DUTY?

WE HAVE THE PAST TO BURY, ANYA

[sanarsi]

Welcome tooooo

you little slut 🫵🏼

All stories are written by me and most of them are intended for MDNI.

!If you are a minor, please leave my profile!

All stories are fiction and are not intended to offend anyone.

If you love Pedro Pascal and his characters, I invite you to enjoy

If you like any of my stories, please leave a comment/reblog, it means A LOT to me, thank you!

Also, all fics are available under this hashtag - #sanarsi fic

CONTENT MARKINGS

Fluff - 🧁 / Angst - 🫧 / Smut - 🦢 / Dark - 🕷️ / My fav - 🤍

*mini series include more than 3 and less than 5 parts

One Shots

Goddess 🧁🦢🤍

husband!Oberyn Martell x f!Reader

Just you and your husband who love each other very much.

Royal Vows 🦢

groom!Oberyn Martell x f!Reader

The wedding of members of the royal family carries with it obligations. One of them is the consummation of the marriage.

Eight woman 🫧🦢

Oberyn Martell x f!Reader

Oberyn is tormented by memories of you after you decided to leave him.

One Shots

Birthday present 🦢

Javier Peña x f!Reader

You're the daughter of one of Columbia's godfathers. Agent Peña decides to surprise you on your twenty-fifth birthday.

To be loved by a woman 🦢

dbf!Javier Peña x f!Reader

Javier Peña has been in your life for as long as you can remember. The perfect friend for your father. A gentleman with a charming smile and good taste. How can he resist you if he knows you feel the same way about him?

It’s just business 🦢

Javier Peña x informant!f!Reader

As one of the drug cartels' representatives, you were incredibly useful to Agent Peña. However, he can't stop his habit of fucking his informants.

Forbidden fruit 🦢 part 2 for "It’s just business”

Javier Peña x informant!f!Reader

Your affair with Agent Peña was wrong and you both knew it. But how could he resist you when he was starting to fall for you?

One Shots

Betrayal

coworker!lover!Jack Daniels x spy!f!Reader

Coming soon

Mini Series

Sex, Drugs and Rock’n’Roll 🧁🫧🦢

rockstar!Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Young rock star Frankie Morales and his band "Triple Frontier" are slowly climbing towards fame. Your luck allowed you to meet him when they were still playing in bars. The passionate feelings that arose between you opened the door to a completely different world. Sex, drugs and a lot of Rock. The road to the world of fame is never strewn with roses and the problems you encounter put many things to the test. What can come out of the mixture of the three most addictive things in the world if not chaos.

One Shots

Gardens of Eden 🦢🤍

Din Djarin x goddess!f!Reader

Another bounty hunt goes wrong when he comes across a creature whose influence changes his view of everything.

One Shots

Lovely Mornings

Marcus Moreno x nanny!f!Reader

Coming soon

One Shots

Flying days and nights 🫧🤍

ex-boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x f!Reader

You and Dieter broke up because of his addiction. Despite that, he's going to do anything to have you in his arms again.

One Shots

Pink Braids 🧁

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel decided to take his daughter on vacation for a few days. The sea and the beach were the perfect destination for a short break. Joel could never resist Sarah's charms. The stand selling colorful braids was no exception.

You’re doing great, sweetie 🦢

no-outbreak!professor!Joel Miller x student!f!Reader

You came to your professor to ask for help with your essay. He accidentally discovers one of your dirty secrets which is him.

Controversially young girlfriend 🫧🦢🤍

post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel finally finds his brother. He's not too happy to hear how he got on with his life without him. But his brother is also not happy to meet his new partner - you. Or Joel fucks you to comfort you.

One of your girls 🦢

post-outbreak!Joel Miller x virgin!f!Reader

Joel was known for treating women well in bed. That's why, on your eighteenth birthday, you decided to give him your virginity.

We Have It All 🫧

pre/post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You and Joel were separated by the outbreak.

Without Me 🫧

post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel was not a good man and the consequences of his actions eventually caught up to him.

Man’s Love 🧁🦢

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel is your neighbor who doesn't hide his feelings for you and won't give up on winning your heart despite your rejections.

Private lessons 🦢

no-outbreak!instructor!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel gives you private horse riding lessons.

Everything we did that summer 🦢

step-uncle!no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You resisted getting close to Joel, afraid of what might happen then. Well, his affection for you destroyed everything you had worked for.

Summer 2014 🦢

bfd!no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

What happens if you find out you're attracted to your best friend's father? Well, Joel is more than willing to show you that.

But daddy, I love him! 🫧🦢

older boyfriend!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Your controversial old boyfriend is back from his deployment. Your father is against your relationship. Or Joel fucks you on his motorcycle.

Sweet treat 🦢🕷️

perv!neighbor!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You came to your family home for a vacation. The obsession that is born in Joel pushes him to do very bad things.

Euphoria 🫧🦢

professor!Joel Miller x student!f!Reader

One wrong call led to this, that instead of your boyfriend, it's your professor who picks you up from the party.

Your faith 🫧🦢🕷️

post-outbreak!dark!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You are locked up, at the will of your tormentor who only wants you to love him.

Favourite Lamb 🦢

post-Jackson!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel finally has what he wanted – a quiet life, a farm, and you. After a hard day at work, you're eager to take care of your man.

One Shots

Victory’s your only payment 🫧🦢🕷️

lover!Marcus Acacius x f!Reader

Your general has betrayed you. Your anger is greater than the love you have for him, so you send him to the arena to fight for his last breath.

One Shots

Paid internship 🦢

professor!Reed Richards x student!f!Reader

You don't have enough money to pay for your internship. Prof. Richards finds another way for you to pay him back.

Physics in Practice 🫧🦢

stepfather!professor!Reed Richards x student!f!Reader

You accidentally discover that your stepfather has a shameful soft spot for you. Reed has to deal with everything you decide to serve him after that.

Cheri Cheri Lady 🦢

stepfather!Reed Richards x f!Reader

Your stepdad fucks you on a sun lounger.

Girl Meal Series 🦢

Pedro Pascal characters x f!Reader

AU where all four boys are your friends and provide you with one, very intense day. From breakfast to dessert.

Kinktober 2024 🧁🫧🦢🕷️

Pedro Pascal characters x f!Reader

31 kinks with 10 Pedro Pascal boys for each of the 31 days of October

Okay so that’s it bestieee

Hope you enjoyed xx

[utterlyotterlyx]

When I Danced Under The Stars

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Part Three

Summary - Tamlin's visit leaves your soul in tatters, but there is someone who knows your pain better than anyone.

Warnings - mentions of sexual abuse and neglect, angst, mentions of trauma, fluff

Part One - When I Kissed the Teacher

Part Two - When I Met The Devil

The fear and despair rippled down the path which led to your front door, the pulsating negative energy causing Rhys to roll his shoulders in discomfort.

He imagined your home looking rather spectacular in the daylight, the pale wood and white railings, the small well-kept garden full of blooming tulips, the natural warmth that no doubt usually emitted from the hearth. It was no wonder that Azriel had forgone his own space to spend time in yours.

Rhys had appeared at the end of the cobbled path, wings nowhere to be seen, with tired, worrisome orbs and a heavy heart. It had taken much convincing from Rhys to convince Azriel that he should be the one to talk to you, that if anyone was going to be able to understand your pain it would be him. It felt like eons since he though of Amarantha and what had transpired Under The Mountain, but as he saw you stood there, frozen in fear and overcome with your past traumas, he felt some of his own return to him.

The High Lord had little reason to think of the traumatic events he too endured not that long ago, he had a mate, and a child, and a loving growing family. Amarantha and everything she did was in the past, they had all moved on, he thought he had too but something still lingered deep within his soul, that fear that the past could one day repeat itself. It was a feeling he was doing his best to hide.

Knocking on the door, Rhys sighed when he heard your sniffles, and he pictured you standing on your tiptoes to peer through the peephole at whoever had come to pull you from your turmoil. Then you opened the door, and Rhys wanted nothing more than to bundle you up in his arms and tell you that it was all going to be alright.

Tears stained your red tinged cheeks, your eyes were puffy and swollen, and you were holding yourself, rubbing your arms with your hands whilst standing half behind the door, "Are you here to tell me to leave?"

Rhys could have cried at your broken strangled voice, it was like Lucien had said, Tamlin had the power to strip the light from you, there was no love in your eyes, just pure unfiltered fear. Rhys tilted his head to the side and shook his head, "I'd like you to walk with me," he stepped into your home, and it looked exactly as he had imagined it.

Childish artworks were strewn across the coffee table of your living area, workbooks were marked and stacked to the left of the said artworks, books upon books were stacked on the floor since your bookcases were bursting full of other titles. It was light and airy but oh so comfortable, he could picture you and Azriel cuddled up on the deep rooted love seat talking incoherently about your shared dreams. A faint scent of coffee clung to the air from the not-yet-emptied filter left in the coffee pot in the kitchen, it mixed with the aroma of the burnt firewood from the evening before.

Rhys took a step forward and plucked your cloak from the railing by the stairs, noting the neatly placed belongings on the table there, lined up in a row so that you wouldn't forget anything during the morning rush before school. You stood unmoving by the door, your eyes flickering furiously as he draped the garment over your shoulders and offered you a hand which you stared at for a moment before sliding your hand into his embrace, shuddering in a mixture of fear and and comfort as he placed your hand on the indent of his elbow.

The Sidra bubbled along the rocks, pebbled stone skitted beneath your shared weight. Neither of you said a word, Rhys was content in just having you near, where he knew you were safe, and you were equally as content looking at the night sky full of stars and wonder. A stark difference to the sky of the Spring Court.

"I'm putting you all in danger," you muttered, eyes still fixated to the dancing starlight weaving in the moons embrace, "You should send me away."

Rhys slowed to a stop and turned to face you, examining your features with a look void of any anger, in a way it was unsettling. You were far closer to Feyre than Rhys, it wasn't like you weren't friends, but you'd never spent a moment alone with him, "I'm not sending you anywhere, y/n," he told you softly, with an understanding speckle of kindness in his eye. Your High Lord lowered himself to your level, placing his hands on your upper arms and stroking the clothed skin there, "I'm here because I want you to know that I understand."

Leading you to a small ledge, Rhys perched beside you on the lip of earth, his legs dangling beside your own as the Sidra swam along down the stream, "I know what it's like to be used against your will. I know what it's like to feel tainted and unworthy of anything good. You feel like you don't belong in a way, that everything you went through was deserved and the Mother must see you as evil," he paused and brushed his arm up against your own, to give you some form of caring contact, a break of sunlight in your clouded mind, "I'm sorry that he did that to you, and I'm sorry that you've been living with it all this time. I'm sorry that you felt like you couldn't tell us. I'm sorry, y/n."

Rhys felt the small sobs catch in your throat, you looked up at the sky and blinked hard, furrowing your brow and exhaling softly before looking sideward to him, "Is Feyre angry at me?"

"Cauldron, no," he told you incredulously, shuffling closer to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, "If anything she's worried about you, we all are. What you went through is something no one should ever have to deal with, let alone someone as gentle and bright as you."

"You know?" It was a whisper and your chest thundered with the possibility that they all knew what Tamlin had done, that Azriel knew what Tamlin had done. Panic sat in your chest, a birthing monster of gruesome darkness that was threatening to swallow you whole, "How?"

"Lucien," your heart fluttered, Lucien was perhaps the only person who looked out for you then, working directly against Tamlin's orders and desires to set your free, wanting nothing in return but your happiness no matter where you wound up. As if sensing the deep rooted bond between you and him, Rhys spoke, "He's here, he only told us what we needed to know. I hope you don't mind," Rhys' fingers drifted over the tips of your unbound hair.

"No, I don't. It saves me from having to explain it," Lucien was in Velaris. You knew of his bond with Elain, but you never thought you'd ever see him again, you never had the chance to thank him before he threw you onto a horses back and sent you soaring into freedom, "He's really here?"

Rhys hummed in agreement and he felt your chest grow lighter, your shoulders seemed more relaxed and your eyes didn't seem as sad anymore, "I just want you to know that I know what you went through, I went through it too, and if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who understands, then I'm here. I'll always be here."

A small smile graced your lips, "How long did it take you to heal?"

"I'm still working on that. Healing from this kind of trauma isn't instant. I still wake up at night sometimes thinking I'm back under that mountain with her arm draped over me," his eyes glazed over and you knew he was lost in a memory, "Then I realise that I'm next to Feyre, that I'm in Velaris and I have a son. That it was all worth something, it was worth it to be here now with everything I ever dreamed of."

Resting your head on his shoulder felt natural in that moment, like two kindred spirits finding their other half of understanding, "I hope I get to feel like that one day."

Rhys rested his head atop your head and sighed, "You will. I know you will. Velaris is your home and you're safe here, y/n. You're surrounded by people who love you. One day you'll have what I have and look back at this moment and think about how incredibly wise I am."

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at Rhys, groaning softly as he moved to stand before you, hand outstretched and a wide grin on his lips, "Dance with your High Lord under the stars?"

Smiling, you slid your hand into his, "How could I say no to that?"

It was a tender moment, Rhys placed an arm around your back, his palm flat against the centre curve of your spine, and you leaned into him, head on his chest in the most platonic sense possible as he swayed with you, taking a moment to twirl you under his arm and relish in the joyful giggle that spurted from your lips, "Thank you, Rhys."

"There's no need to thank me, y/n. You mean a lot to us, I think Nyx likes you more than me at this point. Like it or not, you're a part of my family. You make Azriel the happiest I've ever seen him, you've been an amazing friend to all of us. The least I can do is make sure you feel supported and understood."

The pair of you continued to sway, "Azriel is happy?"

Rhys chuckled, "I swear I've never seen him smile so bright or blush so deeply than whenever he returns home from being with you," Rhys pulled away from you slightly, still holding your hand in his, "Azriel would wait an eternity in the depths of hell if it meant he would have the chance to hold you in his arms for a singular moment."

The gaze of your High Lord flickered behind you and his eyes softened as he pulled away from you, "Welcome to the family, y/n. We're all bruised and broken in our own way, you'll fit right in."

That familiar warmth swarmed you, cool kisses snaked up your calves, curling around the small cuts inflicted on you from the broken glass that you hadn't had a moment to clean, "Thank you," your words were sincere and full of blinding relief, Rhys simply bowed his head to you and disappeared into the night.

It was like he knew you needed a moment, just a moment to ground yourself and exhale shakily before your turned into his awaiting arms and flung yourself into his embrace.

Azriel wound his fingers around the back of your neck and inhaled your scent, blinking hard and burrowing his nose into the nape of your neck, "I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I'm so sorry, Az."

"Shhh, don't do that," he told you, his lips pressed against the curve of your neck and shoulder, "Don't apologise for what others did to you. Don't ever apologise for what he did."

"I feel so tainted, and dirty," you sniffled, his shadows caressed your cheeks and he secured his arms tightly around your waist, "I don't deserve you. I'm too ruined, Azriel. Now that he knows that I'm here, I'm not safe. We're not safe."

It didn't escape Azriel's notice that you couldn't even say Tamlin's name, it was like if you did say it then you'd perish into ash. Azriel took your face in his hands, his touch so soft and pure compared to the grip Tamlin had on you only hours before, "I will protect you until my dying breath, and even then I will raise from my grave and return to you. Nothing will ever keep me from you. You are my empire, y/n. You are the one I will burn for, you are the one I will douse myself in blood for, you are the one that makes every single bad day worth the chance of one blissful moment. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise, okay?"

"Please don't leave me," your face contorted and tears spilled from those eyes that he could spend the rest of his days gazing into, "You make me feel alive, like there was a reason I survived. It was to find you."

Azriel's heart sang at your words and he could have crumpled to his knees before you if you weren't the one holding him up.

The stars shone overhead, glittering the sky with endless possibility and Azriel couldn't stop himself from closing the gap between you, capturing your lips on his in the most ethereal embrace, so soul shaping that he didn't think such a feeling was possible. Your tears wet his cheeks and your fingers raked through his hair in desperation, in desperation to feel loved and something other than the heartbreak of your trauma. To feel worthy of something good.

Pulling apart, you were both breathless, and Azriel could see the exhaustion in your eyes. It had been a long day for you, from worrying all day about Nyx and your family, to seeing Tamlin again and feeling the tidal wave slaughter over your soul, to feeling like you had to leave. Azriel pressed his lips to your hairline and held you close, "Let's get you to bed."

You gripped onto him as he went to pull away, "Will you stay? Tonight. Would you?"

"I'd do anything for you," his words pierced your heart, you entwined your fingers in his and allowed him close enough to lift you into his arms, unfurling his wings, "And tomorrow, maybe I can take you to see Lucien? Or we could stay in a read?"

Humming drowsily, you responded, "Lucien, please."

The stars were so close as Azriel soared through the skies of Velaris, cradling you into his chest. You felt nothing but serene slumber pull you into its embrace as the stars sang their sweet lullaby, singing their love to you as your eyes fluttered closed and you became shrouded in their safe, loving arms.

You are safe. You are loved. You are strong. You are worthy.

Authors Note

Ahhhhh!!!! I hope this was worth the wait x

Part 4??

Taglist

@fxckmiup @sh4nn @acourtofbatboydreams @lilah-asteria @iloveboba777 @lisanna2000 @brieflyclassymortal @thecraziestcrayon

[rainandandy]

Mercy

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence

Word Count:894

The days on Jackson’s Star were long and laden with mist and moisture, the smog a perpetual shroud that dimmed the sun to a distant, faded myth. The fields where you, Rain, and her synthetic brother Andy worked were muddy and strewn with scraps ejected from Jackson's Rings, each piece a remnant of the cosmos that had somehow found its way to the surface of your dreary world.

Life here was hard, but it was life nonetheless, and you found solace in the fresh air—a rare commodity in the cramped quarters of the mining sectors. Rain was the one bright spot in the relentless drudgery, her laughter echoing over the fields, blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the broad leaves of the bio-crops. Andy, ever the source of amusement, kept spirits high with his endless supply of dad jokes, even though his stutter sometimes made the punchlines land with a delay.

One damp morning, as you pulled weeds from the soil, Rain shared stories her father had told her of distant planets, her voice wistful. "He used to talk about Elysium’s oceans that sparkled under three suns, almost like they were made of liquid diamonds," she mused, her eyes distant with dreams.

You smiled, wiping the mud from your hands onto your pants. "When we save enough hours, we’ll go there, Rain. Just you and me... and Andy," you promised, though the dream felt as distant as the stars themselves.

"And I’ll have a horse," Andy piped up, pausing his work to chime in. "And be a cowboy. No more directives, just freedom."

"And a garden," Rain added, turning to you with a soft smile. "A real one, with earth and not this fabricated sludge. Maybe a dog or two."

You nodded, your heart swelling with the shared dream. "And peace," you added. "A life where we wake up with no alarms, no officers, no quotas... just us."

This vision sustained you, a beacon through the monotony. But dreams on Jackson’s Star were fragile things, easily shattered.

The incident happened on a day like any other, under a sky that couldn't decide if it wanted to storm or relent. Andy was scavenging through the piles of scrap metal when a jagged piece lodged into his side. His systems sparked erratically, and his voice glitched as he called out, "Rain, I—I need—"

The field officer, a man named Burke who made no secret of his disdain for synthetics, saw the incident not as an accident but as an opportunity. His approach was swift and brutal. "Useless piece of junk!" he spat, kicking at Andy, who was already down.

"No!" Rain screamed, rushing to shield Andy with her own body.

Driven by a mix of fear for Andy’s well-being and fury at Burke’s cruelty, you intervened, stepping between Andy and the officer. "Stop! He's hurt, but he’s not harming anyone!"

Burke’s response was immediate and violent. His fists were heavy and his hatred palpable as he turned his aggression towards you. Rain’s pleas for him to stop were drowned out by the sound of the plummeting rain and your own grunts and screams of pain.

After what felt like an eternity, Burke stepped back, sneering. "Consider this a warning," he growled, his gaze sweeping from you to Rain and then to the malfunctioning Andy. "Don't step out of line."

By the time he’d left, you were bruised and shaken, Rain and a malfunctioning Andy helping you back to your quarters. Rain’s hands were gentle as she cleaned your wounds, her eyes stormy with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her touch delicate on your bruised skin.

"It’s not your fault," you managed to say, though anger simmered within you, hot and fierce.

That night, Rain didn’t leave your side, her presence a silent vow of protection and care. Despite the pain, you felt a profound sense of love for her, a bond forged and repeatedly tested in the fires of hardship.

The next morning, however, brought fresh challenges. As you limped back to the fields, hoping to avoid further trouble, the officer awaited with a grim expression. "Due to your interference, you've been reassigned," he declared, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Effective immediately, you will report to the mines."

The news hit like a physical blow. The mines were a death sentence, a place where disease and accidents claimed lives with merciless frequency. Rain's face went pale, her lips parting in a silent gasp of horror.

"No, you can’t do this!" Rain argued vehemently. "We’ll take it to the council. We’ll appeal!"

But the officer’s decision was final, backed by the cold authority of Weyland-Yutani. As you turned to face Rain, your heart sank. Going to the mines might mean never seeing her or Andy again, never realizing those simple dreams of a peaceful life together.

"I’ll find a way back to you," you promised, the words thick with emotion. "Wait for me."

Rain nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she pulled you into a desperate embrace. "Always," she whispered. "I’ll wait forever if I have to."

As you were escorted away, the look in Rain's eyes—a mix of fierce determination and heartbreaking sadness—was the last image you carried with you into the depths of the mines. It was a promise, a beacon of hope that no amount of darkness could completely extinguish.

[definegodliness]

6-11-2024

Velvet

Eyes to the stars; a sigh sent Skyward to Where the pallid feathers fall, Strewn among the faded pink of rose petals Scattered from Babylon's balcony, Finally, when The clandestine tongues Slithering serpentine whispers of thorns Were silenced; we hearken, Interlaced fingers for pillows While the sun rises over our shoulders, The murmurs of gardens, and all that rises To heaven, And our lips relieve a tintinnabular euphoria At a shared breath, primordial.

--- 6-11-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

[turneradora]

Here is the written transcription of the new article of The Times magazine.

Published today on September 14th.

Thanks to Emma Jones 🙏👍🌺

Thanks to IsaDemrio for her edit

INTERVIEW with CAITLIN MORAN

Jilly Cooper’s raunchy Rivals: ‘You will see a lot of willies’

It’s taken 36 years, but finally Jilly Cooper’s legendary bonkbuster Rivals is on TV. Caitlin Moran — who was such a fan, she changed her name to one of the book’s characters — meets the author and stars on set and asks: how was it for you?

Guess where I am.

Oh my gosh — I am in RUTSHIRE.

If you own one of the multimillion copies sold of Jilly Cooper’s infamous Rutshire Chronicles books, you will a) be as excited as me, and b) know exactly where I am.

Yes, I am standing in front of a beautiful, honey-coloured mansion.

Yes, it is a beautiful summer’s day.

Yes, the herbaceous borders are magnificent.

Yes, there are adorable dogs milling around.

Yes, there are champagne bottles strewn hither and yon.

And yes, everyone is dressed in alternately fabulous, or ridiculous, Eighties outfits, with gigantic hair.

The ladies have electric-blue eyeshadow and golden, heaving bosoms.

The men, meanwhile, have tanned legs, huge Rolexes — and, in many instances, their gigantic hair manifests lower down: in moustaches like that of Tom Selleck.

And yes, of course, there is drama. David Tennant — wearing a lavish, gold, silken man-blouse and sucking on a cigar — is furious. He is savaging a roomful of party people, all looking stricken — and all, incongruously, wearing swimwear.

“How the f*** has this happened?” Tennant screams, as all the tits and legs fidget, gaudy piña coladas abandoned. “Get the f*** out there and sort this out! And why are you all wearing bikinis?”

Tennant storms from the room, apoplectic with rage — and then sees me.

“Oh, hello, darling,” he says, all sweetness and light.

“CUT!” the director calls.

Today, David Tennant isn’t, of course, David Tennant. He’s Tony Baddingham, the infamous, nominative-determinist baddie of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals.

“So, is this fun?” I ask him.

The last time I saw him on set, he was being the Doctor in Doctor Who, in a floor-length coat, trying to save the world from being exploded. Again. In the rain. In Wales. At 1am.

“Oh yes,” Tennant says. “I mean, look at my blouse. It’s like my aunt’s! Actually, I think it might be hers — it closes right to left. Don’t men’s buttons close left to right? Am I wearing,” he asks the room at large, “a woman’s blouse?”

“We need to go again, David,” the director says.

“Back in a tick,” Tennant says, running back on set, sucking on his cigar. Getting ready to be really evil, and Eighties, again.

Going back — to Rutshire.

Since Riders, the first volume of the Rutshire Chronicles, was published in 1985 — soaring straight to the top of the charts and eventually selling more than one million copies — Jilly Cooper has been the unassailable queen of the English bonkbuster.

While Shirley Conran’s Lace and Jackie Collins’ Hollywood Wives might have rivalled Cooper for sales, Cooper’s books are particularly well thumbed and beloved by their devotees because, underneath all the shagging and scandal, there’s something incredibly English and wholesome about them. Yes, there are villains, and orgies, and boardroom shenanigans — but just as much space is taken up by descriptions of scrumptious shepherd’s pies, heavenly rose gardens, darling horses and adorable dogs. And yes, the words used are “scrumptious”, “heavenly”, “darling” and “adorable” — the Cooper lexicon is heavy on delighted adjectives.

I meet countless people — actually, let’s be honest here: women; it’s women who are Cooper fans — who read these books as teenagers and had their lives changed by them. If you were in some boring suburb, or council house, reading about these relatably flawed English characters — all smoking; getting “tight” during long, boozy lunches; worrying about sweat patches on their cashmere dresses; gossiping; fighting their way through the class system; decorating beautiful houses; falling in love; and making endless puns and jokes — it all seemed a far more appealing, and possibly achievable, depiction of adulthood than the rather grim ones being peddled by Roth, Updike or Amis.

There are now at least two generations of women who, technically, emotionally, grew up not in Wolverhampton or Glasgow — but Rutshire.

This is why, in many ways, it seems strange it’s taken so long for the Rutshire Chronicles to make it to TV. Yes, there was a made-for-TV movie adaptation of Riders, back in 1993 — but Cooper fans don’t talk about that. At the time, “The acting appears to be from a Gold Blend advert,” was the kindest review.

No, it has taken until 2024 for someone to take on the task, drum up an incredible cast — David Tennant, Alex Hassell, Aidan Turner, Danny Dyer, Katherine Parkinson, Emily Atack — and persuade Disney, of all people, to cough up for all the mansions, helicopters, dogs, champagne and shoulder pads necessary to bring Dame Jilly Cooper’s beloved, fun, shagging Rutshire to life. A place as mythic to the British imagination as Narnia, the Hundred Acre Wood or the Brontës’ moors — but with, obviously, a lot more banging.

“Honestly, people thought I was mad,” says Dominic Treadwell-Collins, executive producer of the show. “I’ve been working on this for ten years. No, more — since the year 2000. I’d been a fan of Jilly since I was 20 — and when I got into TV, whenever I was in a meeting I’d say, ‘I want to do Jilly Cooper. I have to get these books on TV.’ And people would just slap their thighs and laugh.”

Treadwell-Collins’ previous projects include a five-year stint on EastEnders — “When we were getting 20 million viewers for the live shows” — and the multi-Bafta-winning A Very English Scandal, directed by Stephen Frears and starring Hugh Grant and Ben Whishaw.

But now, he still looks puzzled at the mocking reaction Jilly Cooper caused. “I could never understand it. I genuinely think Jilly Cooper is the Jane Austen of our times. These are the books people will study, in the future, when they want to understand what the Eighties were like. Jilly comes across as fluffy and lovely — but she’s got a steely eye when it comes to the sexism, the homophobia, the racism, class. You think it’s all lavish and flirty — and it is — but then, on every third page, she’ll come and kick you in the shins. But every time I pitched it, people would be like, ‘Jilly Cooper? She’s just … a bit naff?’ And it was always men who said it. But I bet if they’d asked their wives, they would say, ‘I LOVE HER! MAKE IT NOW!’ ”

It does seem there is a continual, notable blindness to female audiences. It reminds me of all the fuss around Bridgerton when it first aired. Light romantic fiction — your Mills & Boon, your original Bridgerton books — sells more than any other genre. It sells in tens of millions. But because women buy those books, it’s … ignored. Until, that is, US TV behemoth Shonda Rhimes unexpectedly adapted Bridgerton — and it instantly became Netflix’s biggest hit to that point.

Suddenly, “books read by women” were revealed to be potential TV goldmines.

“Yes,” Treadwell-Collins says. “We are unashamed in wanting to make female viewers happy with this. We want this to become everyone’s favourite show. For it not to be a dirty secret any more that you love Jilly Cooper. We want people running down the street wearing ‘I LOVE JILLY COOPER’ T-shirts. It’s … a rich treat.”

It certainly is a rich treat. I don’t think I’ve ever been on a set where it’s so obvious that the budget is huge.

“We were the last show commissioned in the streaming gold rush,” Treadwell-Collins had said, earlier. “Budgets are very different now.”

There is an emotional support dog on set — of course there is. An ice-cream van turns up at 2pm — burly crew members walk around the grounds eating tiny pink strawberry cones, looking delighted. And, for reasons I never fully discover, someone has a ferret on a lead.

As I wander around the gigantic mansion, I bump into various cast members, who all seem overjoyed to be there.

Claire Rushbrook, who plays Monica Baddingham — Tony Baddingham’s posh, tolerant wife — is in the orangery, having her make-up done, while eating a scone.

“I mean, we are doing acting,” she says. “I want to make that clear. But … it is also enormous fun.”

The comedian and actress Emily Atack — playing the irrepressibly titty Sarah Stratton — is lounging on a love seat, in an orange kimono, stroking the emotional support dog. She has spent most of this day wearing nothing but a bikini.

“I keep chatting to people, like, ‘Hey, Dan, how’s the kids?’ — and then realising my tits are out,” she says.

Nafessa Williams, who plays Cameron Cook, and is, as she says, “the only American on set”, describes everyone as “so welcoming” — but has struggled with small cultural differences.

“My cast mates would say, ‘I’m going to the loo,’ and I was like, “What does that even mean?’ I had to be told the loo is the restroom — so it was a whole new world for me.”

When it comes to the atmosphere on set, I later talk to David Tennant about this subject.

“Yes — there was a lot of due diligence about only having … joyful people on set. Crew and cast,” Tennant says, carefully.

Treadwell-Collins is more forthright.

“We had a very strict ‘no arseholes’ policy,” he says. “We did a lot of research. On EastEnders, some of [the cast] were really unpleasant; rotten apples who ruined it. For Rivals, we talked to producers and agents off the record, and if they said, ‘He’s a marvellous actor — but also a wanker,’ or, ‘He’ll be amazing, but he did beat up a girlfriend ten years ago,’ we just didn’t cast them. Lots of people [in television] will put up with it. We were like, ‘Life’s too short.’ Also, if you’ve got David Tennant on the call sheet, he’s such a genuinely lovely, kind, decent man — and that flows down through everyone else.”

However, while Tennant might be No 1 on the call sheet, Rivals is not his show. For there is one character who is the ultimate pivot of the Rutshire Chronicles: Rupert Campbell-Black.

Rupert Campbell-Black is a hot, posh bastard who, due to a three-book-long redemptive arc, is also one of womankind’s most fancied fictional creations.

Infamously, he was “inspired” by Queen Camilla’s ex-husband, Andrew Parker-Bowles.

Unlike Andrew, however, there are whole pages on Mumsnet dedicated to middle-aged women describing their hottest Rupert Campbell-Black sexual fantasies. I cannot overstate what a sex god he is held to be by Jilly Cooper fans. “RCB”, as he’s referred to, is … vaginally totemic to millions of women.

After a global search — auditions were held from America to Australia — Alex Hassell, previously seen as Metatron in His Dark Materials, was finally cast in this iconic role. When I talk to him, the main thing I want to discuss with him is how … feverishly his turn will be received.

Are you aware of Rupert’s … lubricious gravity within the Cooper fandom?

“I didn’t read the books as a teenager,” Hassell says, cheerfully. “They were on the top shelf in my mum and dad’s study, and I always wondered what they were.”

Your mother was a Jilly Cooper fan? And, therefore, presumably … a Rupert Campbell-Black fan?

“My mum, you know … blushed when I told her [I’d got the role],” Hassell admits. “A lot of women blushed when I told them.”

I’m interviewing Hassell, 44, and Tennant, 53, together. As a former Doctor, Tennant has, of course, a lot of experience in playing a role women find attractive.

“Once you’ve made [Rupert Campbell-Black] flesh, I think a lot of people are going to find it difficult to interact with you, Alex,” he says, helpfully.

It seems Hassell is aware of this.

“Yes,” he says. “One friend, when I told her, said, ‘Oh, that’s a bean-flicker role!’ I said, ‘Ah, I see.’ ”

“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone come up to me and say, ‘I’ve masturbated thinking about you,’ ” Tennant says, thoughtfully.

“David!” Hassell exclaims, hurt. “When we met, that’s the first thing I said.”

The main plot of Rivals revolves around the, well, rivalry between Tony Baddingham and Rupert Campbell-Black. When young, Baddingham was bullied by Campbell-Black at boarding school. Now a powerful TV CEO — running the Rutshire local TV franchise — Baddingham still loathes Campbell-Black. Why?

“Tony’s from a lower class, while Rupert was born with an entire silver cutlery canteen in his mouth,” Tennant says. “So whatever Tony does, he never has that class advantage. Tony needs to taste the blood of his betters in his mouth to make him feel better. Rupert’s blood.”

“And while Rupert is, in many ways, a shit,” Hassell says, thoughtfully, “he’s not a bad man, like Tony. Tony is jealous of Rupert. He wants his house, his women, his life.”

Accordingly, this suit-based class war plays out as Campbell-Black tries to take over Baddingham’s TV station — and the backstabbing, shenanigans, shagging and skulduggery commence. Basically, imagine Dallas — but if, instead of oil, everyone was fighting to take over Anglia Television. Getting really angry over who has the rights to Sale of the Century.

I tell you what, though — why am I describing all this? The best person to talk about the plot of Rivals is the woman who came up with it: Jilly Cooper. And — here she is!

Cooper’s arrival on the set of Rivals is like a cross between a visit from royalty and the advent of an adorable, massive-haired, 87-year-old Bacchus. Everyone is awaiting her presence.

“Is there any booze?” comes her voice, from the hallway, as she approaches.

She is still being told, with polite sadness, that there is no booze as she comes into the room. It’s 1.30pm.

“They don’t have any booze here,” she relays to me, regretfully, as she sits down. “I asked before, but — no luck. I smuggled some in last time, and spilled it all over me — I’m terribly clumsy.”

Cooper is the living embodiment of the Rutshire world she created. In terms of being “on brand”, Jilly Cooper turning up in a mansion, looking for lunchtime champagne, is CS Lewis turning up with a talking beaver, gossiping about an “exciting wardrobe” he’s just found.

Everyone here has been to a “Jilly Party” — regular and seemingly full-on occurrences, held at the house she’s lived in since the Seventies.

“You just leave absolutely pissed,” says one, who doesn’t want to be named. “They have to ladle you into a taxi.”

“Oh, the last one was just a little party,” Cooper says.

What’s a little party?

“Seventy, seventy-five people?” Cooper says. “And then friends from the village, obviously. Andrew Parker-Bowles. Richard Madeley and his wife. Nicky Haslam. Lisa Maxwell. Stanley Tucci — who was heavenly.”

Please tell me the party was exactly like the ones in the books.

“Well, yes. We had kir royale, Pimm’s, wines. Gins.”

Note: gins multiple.

“Vol-au-vents, melon and Parma ham, smoked salmon on blinis. Brandy snaps with Chantilly cream. Everyone got awfully tight. I led them around the infamous tennis court.”

The tennis court at Cooper’s house is the setting for one of her most iconic scenes — where Campbell-Black first meets his love interest, Taggie, while he’s playing naked tennis. He is adjudged to have lost a match point because something is over the line. Oh, why am I being so coy? This is Jilly Cooper. It’s his penis. His massive penis is judged to be over the line. A note to diehard fans: this scene is shot exactly as written. You will see a lot of willies.

“We’ve been equal opportunities in our nudity,” Treadwell-Collins says. “There’s a willy for every pair of tits.”

“That was my great disappointment over the TV show,” Cooper sighs. “The tennis court is a terrible mess — no one’s played on it for 20 years — and I thought [Disney] might be darlings and build me a new one.”

She looks around, hopefully.

“Do you think anyone here has some booze?” she asks. “It is the afternoon.”

Cooper has been an invaluable muse to everyone on set while filming. In one scene, she handed over an urgent note that read, “Rupert would never say ‘spouse’ — that’s very lower-middle [class]. He would say ‘wife’.”

She argued for particularly Cooperesque jokes and puns to stay in, and was firm that the whole “First of May” tradition remain.

“Oh, yes,” she says, looking delighted, and then quotes herself. “ ‘First of May, first of May — outdoor f***ing starts today. But if as usual it do rain, we f*** off indoors again.’ ”

This ribald rhyme kicks off a massive shagging montage, involving the entire cast. And all outdoors, of course.

But, as any English person knows, outdoor sex is a perilous sport. Perhaps the emotional centrepiece of Rivals is the agonisingly drawn-out attraction between Freddie (Danny Dyer) and Lizzie (Katherine Parkinson), both married to awful people, but who ache for each other in a way that is guaranteed to bring tears to the viewers’ eyes. A scene where they bunk into the first-class carriage of a train to smoke fags and share fruitcake, while timidly flirting with each other, is the Brief Encounter of our time.

And, without wanting to chuck in too many spoilers, when they finally requite their love for each other, it’s one of the all-time great sex scenes. Danny Dyer, it turns out, is exquisite, adorable leading-man material, while Katherine Parkinson “is the new Olivia Colman”, Treadwell-Collins says, firmly. “She will be garlanded with Baftas and Oscars. Honestly. And she wanted to do the sex scene,” he adds. “She was like, ‘I really want to show my boobs. I’m in my mid-forties and they look good.’ In that scene, you can see she’s crying — really crying, with happiness — and it makes you cry too. She looks like a f***ing queen.”

On set, however, the sex scene was not without its problems. Because it was “outdoor f***ing”, in a flower meadow.

“But it was at the height of tick season,” Treadwell-Collins recalls, with a shudder. “Not safe to be in the grass. We didn’t want to get a tick on Danny Dyer’s willy! In the end, we had to get in a load of moss for them to lie on. It’s the first time, to my knowledge, that safe sex has involved moss.”

I can’t tell you what fun it is interviewing all the Rivals people. Because of the show, everyone talks about their memories of the Eighties (David Tennant: “No, my Eighties weren’t like a Jilly Cooper book — I was at school in Paisley with my glasses held together with sticky tape, and a very unappealing haircut”), and smoking (Hassell: “Everyone smoked everywhere, didn’t they? Even on planes. They’d draw across that little … health curtain, and everyone smoked behind it”), and how hard it was to leave Cooper’s world when shooting finished (Hassell: “No one was looking at me like I’m the most sexy man on the planet any more. It was tough.”)

My final interview is with Aidan Turner, who is playing Rivals’ chat show host, Declan O’Hara.

I mean to cast no aspersions on extremely handsome men who spent a decade being a country’s totemic sex god — as Turner was, during his Poldark years — but sex gods are usually quite emotionally damaged, with a form of what might be termed “PTSD” — Post-Totty Stress Disorder. They often make for effortful company. They want to be taken seriously.

In the event, Turner, 41, is an absolute hoot — particularly on the subject of the massive moustache he sports on the show. It is a magnificent specimen of upper-lip pelt. It looks like a vole fell asleep under his nose.

It looks like the one Ned Flanders has on The Simpsons, I tell him.

Turner gives a huge, barking laugh.

“Ned Flanders? I mean, I was thinking more … Irish stag? Super-masculine?”

He starts giggling again.

Turner’s relaxed stance towards his sex god-dom comes with an interestingly meta twist. In Rivals, one of Baddingham’s TV shows is called Four Men Went to Mow — where sexy farmers, sexily stripped to the waist, carry out sexy agricultural duties.

Turner, of course, infamously stripped to the waist a few times in Poldark, for that scything scene or lying in bed or emerging from the sea. In a pleasingly postmodern moment, one scene sees Turner rail against Four Men Went to Mow — raging, almost camply, “TV can’t just be men taking their tops off!”

“Yes, that’s a lovely moment,” Turner says. “When I read the script, I was like, ‘Why have you put this in? It’s too close [to Poldark].’ But then they told me it’s in the original books — and it’s so funny. The first time I did that scene, people were keeling over laughing. It’s good to poke fun at these things.”

As one of the most Eighties stories ever, Rivals takes on some massive subjects: class, Aids, Section 28, sexism, rape, homophobia, Thatcherism, racism. As the Jane Austen of her time, Cooper has a lot of grist for her mill. The dramatic tension never drops.

But this is done hand in hand with the most delicious sense of silliness and fun. There is a single tracking shot of a buffet — the Most Eighties Buffet Ever — and the sheer amount of prawns is deeply hilarious. Prawns are very Eighties — and Rivals knows it.

Rivals knows that when it’s in Rupert Campbell-Black’s house, we will see his cold, posh childhood is perfectly encapsulated by the fact that his walls are covered in formidable oil paintings of his ancestors — but all his photo frames are full of pictures of his dogs.

And Rivals knows exactly when to play Huey Lewis and the News.

“We call it the Cooperverse,” Treadwell-Collins tells me. “It really is the equal of the DC or Marvel worlds. It’s that epic. And those who know about it are equally obsessed.”

I can attest to that. When I first read Rivals, at the age of 13, I decided I wanted to be a character in one of Cooper’s books. Specifically, Declan O’Hara’s youngest daughter: a feisty teenage girl who had dyed red hair, lived in a beautiful, sprawling house called the Priory, and was constantly rebelling against her school.

As a down payment, I first dyed my hair red. And then I decided I would change my name, in her honour. If I couldn’t actually be Declan’s youngest daughter, Caitlin O’Hara, I would stop being Catherine Moran and become Caitlin Moran. As some small promise that, one day, my life would be as fun as that of a Jilly Cooper heroine.

Because, sometimes, you don’t need a story about mythic quests, or wars, or dragons, or murder. You just need a story that promises you: being a grown-up could be exciting.

And that when sex, love, drama, awful men, fabulous bitches, workplace intrigues, swathes of blue eyeshadow and buffets of prawns finally come into your life, you can … poke fun at these things.

You can live in the Cooperverse too.

Rivals is on Disney+ from October 18

#Rivals

[picturesquesociety]

studying, in its essence, is a pursuit that transcends the mere accumulation of knowledge; it is the symphony of the mind’s quest for understanding, the delicate unfolding of curiosity into mastery. to study is to embark upon a journey where the mind becomes both student and sculptor, molding itself in the light of discovery, chiseling away ignorance to reveal the edifice of wisdom.

the act of studying is a contemplative dance, where each page turned, each concept grasped, is a step closer to the vast, boundless expanse of enlightenment. it is here, in the quietude of deep concentration, that one’s intellect becomes attuned to the subtle rhythms of thought, as ideas and insights weave themselves into a tapestry of comprehension. the mind, once scattered like leaves in the autumn wind, gradually coalesces into a singular focus, sharp as the finest blade.

time itself seems to yield to the scholar in these moments. hours dissolve like mist in the morning sun, for the studious mind does not measure time in minutes, but in the richness of concepts uncovered, in the thrill of connections made between seemingly disparate facts. there is a certain luxury in this immersion, a gentle intoxication that comes from surrendering oneself to the flow of learning, from feeling the weight of knowledge settle into the soul like an ancient tome sliding into place upon a shelf.

yet, studying is not without its trials. it is a path strewn with moments of frustration and bewilderment, where the mind grapples with complexity, where understanding seems perpetually just out of reach, a star obscured by clouds. but it is in these very struggles that the true beauty of studying lies. for every challenge overcome is a triumph, every breakthrough a testament to the mind’s resilience and the unrelenting power of perseverance. the rewards of such labor are not ephemeral; they linger, enriching the intellect and sharpening the perception long after the books are closed and the notes are put away.

to study is to commune with the great thinkers of ages past and present, to converse with minds whose brilliance continues to illuminate the path of human progress. it is an intimate act, almost sacred, for in the quiet moments of reflection, one becomes both the questioner and the answerer, engaged in a dialogue with the vast, unknowable universe.

in the end, studying is not merely a preparation for some distant goal or achievement. it is, in itself, an act of becoming. each fact learned, each idea explored, transforms the mind, rendering it more expansive, more capable of grasping the intricacies of the world. to study is to refine the self, to cultivate a garden of knowledge within, whose blossoms may well bear fruit for a lifetime.

[signed-sapphire]

The Fallen Star ✨ Wish Reimagined

Chapter 3 - The roses

Tw: nightmare, fire, small prick I guess? it's a thorn, swearing as always, it's Asha and by that I mean it's me

Chapter 2

Asha is burning.

She's screaming, she's being crushed. The crackling of fire echoes in her ears, drowning out her own cries.

Everything is bright, but there's a single pair of eyes staring at her from behind the flames.

(Imagine something like this shot from The Owl House)

The creature tilts its head, its expression unreadable. It emits a series of musical tones, like a melody woven from starlight and moonbeams. Asha feels a strange pull, as if the creature is trying to communicate with her through some arcane language she can't quite grasp.

The roof caves in and crashes down, obscuring Asha's view of the figure. The collapse pushes the rubble further into Asha, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Someone pulls the rubble off her. She wants to yell. Watch out! You'll get crushed too!

They say something. Asha can't hear them. She wants to reach out. Stay with me. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her throat is parched.

Don't go back in! she wants to cry. Someone's in there!

Why are you leaving me—

She wakes with a gasp, something flat and wet catching the inside of her mouth.

Asha hacks. Valentino had accidentally licked her tongue.

She wipes her tongue and takes a moment so her eyes adjust to the darkness. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, she can make out the familiar details of her bedroom. But with it, she can also see the memories of the dream, crisp and fresh in her mind.

The feeling of panic, of helplessness... she won't be able to fall back asleep, not with the echoes of their screams still haunting her.

This was bullshit. She shouldn't be affected this much by a stupid book. It was just a light.

Asha gets up. She does not tremble.

She unties her hair scarf. Valentino raises his head, his cheek fluff smushed flat from the blanket.

Asha smiles softly and pets his velvety ear. Val bleats quietly, and Asha kisses his forehead.

"Stay here, baby," she whispers, grabbing her cloak. “I’m going for a walk. I'll be back in a bit. Go back to bed, okay?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The air is cold, but the crispness is a shock to her system that Asha desperately needs. She decides to head to the gardens.

She smiles softly as she remembers the gardens of her childhood. They had roses there, too. Asha used to paint the white ones red.

Red like fire.

Asha hurries on.

She tucks her hands inside her cloak pockets as she walks across the checkered-grass floor. Asha stops at a pocket of daffodils, walking between them and sitting down, careful not to disturb the petals.

Asha watches the flowers dance in the wind, effortless and elegant. She brushes her hand along a row of them.

Right before she reaches the end, she pricks her hand on a thorn. Asha swears under her breath, pushing back the flowers to see a single strewn white rose laying amongst the crowd.

Asha picks it up and stares at it in distain. At a glance one might gloss over it. Even now, a drop of crimson blood painting the petals, the rose blended in quite well with the daffodils.

But up close, it wasn't fooling anyone.

Asha plucks off the petals and tosses away the thorny stem, watching the wind carry the petals... and something else, too. A quiet conversation, approaching Asha's location.

“Baz, I told you, it’s fine, Dahlia just wanted us all there.”

“Argh, but what if we get caught?” came the responding whisper. “Safi, I– I–”

“Hey, breathe,” Safi whispered. “We’re al– a– ACHOO! Why are there so many flowers?”

“Hehe. We’re in a garden…”

“Heh. Made you laugh.”

Asha rolls her eyes and makes her way out of the flowers, making sure her footsteps are heavy enough to catch their attention.

“Eep! Your nose gives away your lies! Hide, Safi!”

“Oof!”

Asha rounds the corner, and Bazeema hides her face as the bush next to her sneezes.

"Ah. Bashful. What are you doing here?” Asha asks, entertaining the other girl’s silly fantasy.

Bazeema peeks open her eyes and lowers her hands. “H-hi, princess. I- I –”

“Speak properly.”

“I–” The girl swallows. “I like to come to the gardens to get inspiration for my designs,” Bazeema squeaks out. “I’m a weaver. My hijab this morning– I made it myself. I’m actually really proud of the design–”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I don’t care,” Asha says. “What are you doing out at this time?”

Bazeema blinks. “I, um… couldn’t sleep. I was worried about Hal.”

“Pfft. Worried?” Asha smirks.

Bazeema looks firmly at the princess. “Yes," she whispers.

Asha frowns. “Right. Uh. Sorry... that your friend is now depressed.”

“Hal has been through a lot, and yet she still smiles. It’s… a trait I admire about her.” Bazeema’s face takes on a wistful look.

Asha is about to respond, but then the bush sneezes again.

“Welp! Time to go, oh I am rather exhausted! Maybe I need that spindle idea of yours!” Bazeema peeps, ushering Asha out of the gardens. “Thank you for gracing me with your presence, princess! Sweet dreams!”

The gates slam in her face.

Asha blinks.

She entertains the idea of throwing Bazeema out the castle windows.

(Can't find the gif, but Bazeema is the old man that Emperor Asha would punish for throwing off her groove)

“So, you admire Hal, huh?”

“Oh, shush, Safi!”

The sound of footsteps retreat. Asha pushes open the gates.

“That was shady,” Asha says, pulling her cloak hood over her hair and shadowing the two teens.

She sneakily follows the two teens to the chicken coop. She peeks around the corner to see the seven teens holding candles and quietly catching Bazeema up to speed.

“I fell asleep in while cleaning my dad’s armour, and I heard something." Sleepy's voice.

“It nearly killed me!” Gabo huffs. “Abuela told me to go see what was causing a ruckus. That could've been the last she saw of me!”

“Baaaaa!”

Asha covers her mouth with her hand to silence her yelp as Valentino pops up beside her. “Jeez, baby! You scared me!” Asha whispers, pulling the goat close.

Dario signs something, not paying attention to the conversation.

“We trapped it inside the coop, but it’s scaring all the chickens,” Safi says worriedly.

I think they're performing an opera, Dario signs, grinning.

Gabo stares in disappointment at his friend, then moves on. “That’s why we sent you to get Bazeema. You’re worrying about the birds too much when you’re here,” he grumbles to Safi. “They’ll be fine.”

“The chickens probably think it’s a fun surprise,” Hal offers. “They sound like they’re having fun.”

“And why wake us all up for this?” Dahlia yawns. “Dario, put the soap down. Where did you even get that?”

It flew out of the coop! Dario grins. He signs with one hand, spelling out some words since the other hand is occupied with holding the bar of soap. I think the chickens laid it. It smells like apple. Hey, do you think this is related to the S-

"Dario, for the last time, spoons cannot be ingested," Dahlia says, massaging her temples while Safi takes the soap from a frowning Dario.

Simon looks nervous. “Well… my papa’s one of the bookkeepers for the castle. I think I know what’s in there—”

Suddenly, Valentino wriggles out of Asha's grasp.

"Valentino!" Asha whisper-shouts as the goat and runs towards the teens. Dario notices the blur of fluff heading towards him and stumbles back, dropping his candle and colliding with Simon, who's already snoring against the wall.

The impact shakes the wooden support beam, and a pile of baskets falls down on Dario’s head. Bazeema yelps and swats at the baskets, crashing into Safi behind her.

The two fall down, almost knocking over Dahlia, but Gabo pulls her out of the way and stomps out the fire Dario's candle lit.

"Okay, spy! Reveal yourself before I do something I won't regret!" Gabo snaps. Dahlia shushes him.

Asha rolls her eyes and pulls down her hood, stepping into the light. The teens' eyes widen, and they scramble up, quickly dropping into a bow.

All except Dario, that is. He was still peering into the chicken coop.

Hal pulls her friend into a bow.

(I can't find a picture but it's like that part in the movie where the seven teens bowed down to Queen Amaya)

"Threatening a royal, Grumpy?" Asha tuts. "Keep it up and I'll have your friend's precious chickens filleted."

Gabo snarls, but stays quiet.

"Now, care to tell me why you stole my goat?" Asha asks. "And what are you doing by the chicken coops when you should be sleeping?"

"None of your royal business," Gabo mutters.

Suddenly, a burst of sparkles poofs out from the crack under the coop's door.

Safi kicks over a pile of baskets. "Whoops! I am so- so-- ACHOO!" The baskets kicked up some hay in the air. "I am so clumsy!" he laughs awkwardly, sniffling.

"What are you hiding?" Asha demands.

"Nothing! And no one!" Safi says quickly.

"Well, we should all head to bed! You too, princess, your otousan would be very cross if he saw you out this late!" Dahlia smiles, moving to direct Asha away.

There's another poof, and a discord of musical instruments.

"Magnus?" Asha scoffs. "I can deal with my adopted father. Now out of the way."

Dahlia looks desperately at her friends. Asha storms past her, shoving away Hal when she tries to stop her.

The princess yanks open the wooden door. Inside the coop is a crazy sight.

Dario smirks, self-satisfied.

Chickens, dancing, doing ballet

Angry chickens in bisexual lighting

Chickens, shooting out eggs out of PG-hidden cloacas

Chickens, juggling their eggs

And in the center, conducting them all...

The thing was round, with eyes shaped like a sparkle and an oval respectively, five points sticking out of it like little limbs.

Exactly like the symbol on the spellbook in Magnifico’s study.

“Oh, fucking hell," Asha swears.

Chapter 4

Author's Notes

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I hated writing this. I was just stuck, and then I was like, fuck it, I'm posting it because the next chapter I'm really excited to write. Because if I add more, then the cut-off would be... too harsh? I don't know. My phone is broken so I can't create gifs right now akjdkjajksjskjksaj fuck it. Post.

Btw, Star in The Fallen Star looks like this:

With a sparkle on the (our) left and a "regular" oval for the other eye on out right.

GET READY! THIS CHAPTER SUCKED BUT THE NEXT ONE SOMETHING BIG HAPPENS AND IT IS A LONG ONE!

Me to my own writing

[yuckydraws]

A lil oneshot that I'm thinking might become the start of an ongoing fic? We'll see.

Pairing: (HT Sans/reader) with hints of (UT Papyrus/reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Build Up My Heart

It’s fucking hot.

You wipe the sweat off your brow and sigh, looking at all the work you and your team accomplished today. You’ve finally finished the framing for the guest house this family of… rather odd skeletons, have hired you to build. And you understand why.

This already large, cabin-like home is practically overflowing with them.

In your time here, you’ve counted at least twelve.

Twelve people. In one home that, yes, is large, but can’t hold more than maybe five or six bedrooms. 

It’s a wonder they haven’t ripped each other’s heads off - you’ve overheard a fight or two when you’ve taken your lunch on the lawn… and man do some of them argue.

When you first started working here, you swore you were going crazy. Almost every time you saw one of them it was one you’ve never seen/met before. Yet they all seem to look alike in some way, though you’ve kept that to yourself. Maybe that’s just how it is for skeleton monsters, who are you to say something ignorant like that?

Sans and Papyrus, the two skeletons you’ve spoken with the most, have been patient with every setback this project has had, though you can almost see the exhaustion in their sockets every time they pop over to talk progress. Makes you wonder if they’re the “peacekeepers” of the home.

But, then again, you suppose you shouldn’t be wondering too much. You’re just here to work, get the job done, and eventually move on to the next. Which will likely be another cookie cutter house in a subdivision.

… you’ll admit, though, that you’re going to miss seeing some of the wacky things they do.

And seeing that absolutely gorgeous garden of theirs.

It’s basically your dream. It packs an impressive variety of fruits and vegetables all neatly growing in raised garden beds. Marigolds are scattered about, likely to keep pests away, and there’s much more flowers where that came from - all of which look happy and content if their blooms are anything to go by. Whoever planned the garden, took convenience into account as well. An array of herbs grow right behind the decorative arch to the entrance of the garden. Just in case anyone just needs to grab a quick little something for a recipe.

Stars, you’d love to trade your apartment windowsill, grown out of an old milk jug, herbs for a lovely stroll to this garden. Who wouldn’t?

It also has a line of fruit trees lining the north side of the garden, likely so as not to block the sunshine. Whether those were here when they purchased the land and they planned the garden around it, or not, you wouldn’t doubt that whoever planned this garden would have the foresight for that. 

Currently, ripe peaches hang from one tree, and apple blossoms grow on another. Makes you wonder what the other two trees produce, but they must not be in season at the moment with their bareness. 

As if all that wasn’t enough, they also topped off this garden with strewn lights, stone pathways, and goofy gnomes.

A garden like this looks like a full time job, yet you’ve never seen who tends to it. You’ve seen some of the household members pick from it, but never who makes sure the weeds stay away, or who manages the more sensitive plants.

You wonder who it is.

“Hey, didn’t ya hear?” A voice calls you from your thoughts. You pry your gaze away from the garden and meet your coworker’s gaze. “It’s quittin’ time.”

“Yeah, I heard.” You confirm, slipping your gloves off. Not that those gloves protect your hands from the rough calluses littering your palms, but they do help them feel less sore at the end of the day. “The boss wants me to meet with those skeletons to go over the next step.” You thank whatever is up there that you actually have an excuse for your daydreaming this time.

“Right, I forgot that you’re a bigwig supervisor now.” He teases. You roll your eyes, that title hardly means anything yet. “Well, we’re all meetin’ at Al’s for drinks, if ya wanna join later.”

You would rather not.

“We’ll see, thanks Ron.” You neither accept nor decline. He gives somewhat of a salute before slipping away with the rest of the bunch.

Slipping your hardhat off, you await the arrival of your boss, scrolling on your phone in the meantime. It’s not long until you hear the rumble of his truck pulling up, and you quickly pocket the device in your hands. 

Out hops Ted, clipboard in hand and that aggravating smile on his face.

He’s nice enough, but something about him has always felt a little fake. However, playing nice with the boss was what got you this promotion, so you’re not about to jeopardize that now. Waving you over, he greets the skeleton brothers who approach him rather quickly. Must have been waiting just like you. Eager wouldn’t begin to explain how much they want this project to move along.

You catch the tail end of greetings, shaking both Sans and Papyrus’ hands as you’re formally introduced (though, you’ve already had multiple conversations with them while working). Your boss cracks some jokes that you half laugh along to, before he finally gets down to business. Listening intently, and chiming in when necessary, you learn what you already knew. Plumbing, HVAC, electrical, etc. needs to happen before you and your team can continue. It’ll be contracted out, yadda yadda yadda.

Just as you’re beginning to think you have no reason to be a part of this conversation, it’s… over. Yeah that was a waste of a half hour, though you suppose you may be giving clients this talk at some point so it’s likely important to hear.

Ted wraps things up, shakes their hands again, and takes his leave. Sans slips away after that, claiming that he has something that he needs to get back to. You almost follow and take your leave as well, but Papyrus, who’s always been more social, gets you pausing.

“WELL, HUMAN, I SUPPOSE WE WON’T BE SEEING YOU FOR A LITTLE BIT.” He says. You’ve long since gotten used to his loud voice. You smile.

“Gonna miss me that bad?” You tease. Oddly enough, a light flush of orange rises to his cheekbones. Interesting

“W-Well… I ALWAYS ENJOY OUR TALKS WHEN I BRING OUT WATER.” He blurts. Ah, yes, the water. Ultimately unneeded, but very much appreciated.

“It’ll be a few weeks, at most.” You remind him. He beams at that.

“YES, I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT.” He agrees. It warms your heart that he seems to care even that much. It’s not often homeowners even talk to you and your crew, let alone be as kind as Papyrus has been. “WELL, YOU’VE HAD A LONG DAY, I WON’T KEEP YOU.”

You check your watch and wince.

“Yeahhh… I still got to run to the store to get some tomatoes for this recipe I’m making, so I should-”

“WE HAVE TOMATOES!” Papyrus all but blurts. You blink up at him. That orange flush is back.

Huh.

“We U-Uh… WE HAVE THAT GARDEN, I’M SURE YOU’VE SEEN IT!” You tilt your head at his words, not wanting to assume where he’s going with this - he is a client after all. “WE HAVE PLENTY, YOU SHOULD PICK SOME AND SAVE YOURSELF A TRIP.”

At any other jobsite, you’d have quickly refused… but something about his hopeful smile and genuinity of the offer has you softening like butter. Plus… you’d get to see that beautiful garden up close.

“You sure? I don’t want to overstep…”

“POSITIVE! I THINK BEAR IS IN THE GARDEN RIGHT NOW, HE COULD SHOW YOU WHERE THEY’RE PLANTED!” 

“Bear?” You ask, wracking your brain for which skeleton he’s referring to. You haven’t been introduced to many of them.

“YOU HAVEN’T MET HIM.” Papyrus says with absolute certainty. “HE AVOIDS TENDING TO IT WHEN YOU GUYS ARE HERE WORKING.”

Oh.

“Well, are you sure he’ll want me wandering in there, then?”

“OH, I’M SURE HE’LL BE ALRIGHT WITH IT, HE JUST… HAS TROUBLE SOCIALLY. HE’S NICE, THOUGH.”

You hesitate. This Bear obviously enjoys gardening in the peace and quiet, who are you to interrupt that? However… it’s nearing 7pm and you’re ravenous. A trip to the store sounds like torture. 

As if sensing your dilemma, Papyrus pivots, placing a hand on your shoulder and urges you back around the house. “I’LL GO WITH YOU, TO ASSURE YOU ALL IS WELL.” You just nod and follow along, both because it feels like nothing you do will change his mind, and because of your selfish desire to just get done with this day sooner.

Your workboots sink into the plush clover lawn as you both make your way across the backyard to the garden. Your eyes are captured once again, by said garden, and you almost don’t notice the rather large skeleton tending to the flowerbeds in towards the front until Papyrus speaks from across the short fencing.

“BEAR, IS IT ALRIGHT IF MY FRIEND HERE PICKS SOME TOMATOES?”

You look to where Papyrus is speaking, and the first thing you see is the gaping hole in this skeleton’s head.

Holyfuckisheokay?? How-

You look to Papyrus in concern, but see him just… smiling down at you? Confused, you look back to this skeleton, crouched behind a garden bed and lock eyes (eye?) with the bloated, bright red eye-light filling the socket that isn’t scarred from his head wound. You… can’t tell what he’s thinking, with that blank expression of his.

But seeing as this is apparently normal for him, you’re now worried you’ve offended the guy.

Maybe magic helps monsters survive the seemingly unsurvivable? It’s not like he has any internal organs in his skull… maybe that’s why-

You’re pulled from your thoughts as this apparent behemoth stands up.

Oh.

Oh my.

You’re beginning to understand why he’s called ‘Bear’. He’s certainly a bear in every sense of the word. Large, imposing, intimidating… and did you mention huge?? Now, you aren’t small. You’ve kept up in construction for almost a decade now and it shows… but you still feel like a twig, craning your neck to look up at him.

However, the dirt covered overalls he’s wearing, definitely takes away from some of his initial intimidating demeanor.

“... sure.” He rumbles, blank expression still giving no clue to where his mind is.

Holy fucking baritone-

Papyrus pats you on the back and beams at Bear.

“THANK YOU! I’M GOING TO START ON DINNER, OKAY?” You numbly nod, trying to force your thoughts away from where they want to go. “SEE YOU IN A FEW WEEKS, HUMAN!” Tearing your eyes away from Bear, you wave back to Papyrus and watch him retreat into the home. You wait until he’s inside to take in what you hope is a subtle deep breath.

You about leap into the air, when you turn around and find Bear right behind you, at the entrance of the garden. Clutching your chest, you remind yourself to relax. How’d he get there? And so quietly, too…

And you swear you see this giant quirk the smallest of smiles at your jumpiness. 

He thinks he’s funny, huh? Asshole.

You stare up at him, flushing and definitely not pouting. “Ah, uh, thanks for letting me steal some tomatoes, you’re saving me a trip to the store.” You decide to be polite. After all, you were the one to gawk first, perhaps you deserved a bit of payback.

He just grunts.

And you both just… stand there. After a few moments of silence, you speak up.

“So… where are they?” You inquire, glancing around at what you can see of the garden, but it’s hard when you have a seven foot wall of solid skele-man right in front of you. 

“where are… what?” He asks.

You tilt your head. He just said…

“The tomatoes?” You try, maybe he spaced out when Papyrus asked him if it was okay… and when you just mentioned them a second ago?

He seems to recall something, if the twitch of his bone brows are to say much. Nodding, he turns and lumbers through the rows of flowerbeds. Assuming that’s an invitation for you to follow, you rush to fall into step behind him and his large strides… but, you quickly fall behind as you start to admire the garden’s beauty up close. Your steps slow as you stroll past the growing cauliflower plants. These can be incredibly hard to grow… how did he…?

You gingerly touch one of the leaves, and look up to Bear, who’s stopped and turned to look at what’s keeping you.

“How do you get these to grow so well?” You ask, smiling excitedly at him. He blinks, large shoulders relaxing a bit, as if he was expecting you to ask something else.

He reaches into his overall pocket, and slips out what looks like a very well-loved notebook. You watch curiously, but patiently as he opens it and flips through it. You’re unsure what the notebook has to do with his answer but you’re willing to wait and find out.

He pauses on a page and looks back to you, seeming to ponder something before deciding ‘fuck it’, as he approaches you and hands the book to you. It’s got various dirt stains, and some pages have been taped back in where they’ve come loose, so you treat it with care as you take it from his grasp. And there, on the page you see notes in small, neat handwriting. Research notes, with drawings and everything. The topic being the little cauliflower plant you’re standing next to.

Some of it seems to just be information taken from the internet and put in short form, while others seems to be from actual trial and error. You skim his writing, noticing that he’s scratched some things out but towards the end, he seems to have figured out the perfect schedule for the plant to thrive.

You’re tempted to flip through the book and read more, but you refrain. That seems like an invasion of privacy.

“Wow, that’s really cool that you go as far to take all these notes. You must really enjoy this, huh?” You ask, handing it back to him. He stares at it in his hands for a moment, before putting it back in his pocket.

He just nods.

“Not much of a talker?” You tease lightheartedly, trying to see if you can get any sort of… anything out of this guy other than blank staring and slightly intimidating silence.

He shrugs, and turns back around, leading you again.

But you’re not done.

“You’ve really built something beautiful here, ya know?” You continue. He just keeps walking. “This is amazing! It could almost be considered a small farm! Though, I guess with all your housemates to feed, it’s just a garden, huh?”

Still no answer, but you swear he starts walking a little faster if the way you have to almost jog to keep up is anything to go by.

“The flowers too? Man, this must be a full time job that, I’ll be honest, I’m a little jealous of! I’d be in here all day if I was able to! This is absolutely gorgeous, Bear! Do you take care of this all by yourself? You really have a talent, I hope you know that.”

Suddenly Bear stops, leaving you to walk right into his back… which given his height means you faceplant right into his spine. He barely budges, yet the force of it knocks you on your butt. You grunt and rub at your smarting nose. Damn, this dude is solid.

His red light stares down at you, from the corner of his good socket. He doesn’t apologize, or offer you a hand, just simply points to the tomato plant in front of him.

“... tomato.” He mutters, then takes his leave, stepping over your sprawled legs and heading back to the flower bed he was working on.

… huh, you could’ve sworn, you saw the faintest hints of blue on his cheekbones.

Chuckling to yourself, and once again, thinking that these skeletons are silly, you pick yourself up and dust off your pants. Not that. You really need to dust off your already dirty work clothes, but it feels right.

You lean over the tomato plants in question, finding quite a little variety in the garden bed. Roma, cherry, black krim, campari - and those are just the ones you can name. Dinner in this house must be full of all the most delicious, fresh produce.

Once again, you’re a little jealous.

You pick a few ripe and tasty looking romas, and call it good. While you’d love to experiment with some of the others, this was a kind offer from a friend and given to you by an acquaintance, you’re not about to take advantage of either of them. Holding your goods protectively to you, you wander back to the entrance of the garden, where Bear is once again knelt in front of one of the flowerbeds, tugging at some stubborn looking weeds.

He glances at you as you approach him. You hold up your three tomatoes and grin at him. “Thank you for these, you saved me a trip to the store!” A nod is all you get. “And… speaking of the store, I feel bad just taking these, I have cash?”

That gets him to fully turn his skull to look at you, and you take that as a yes.

“This is about a pound, I’d say, so how about I just give you an even $5?” You offer. Yet again, he just stares. 

“... I mean I can look up how much it is at the store or you can give me a price too, if you’d rather…” You ramble, feeling a little awkward under that stare of his. You just met the guy today, and he’s proving to be extremely hard to read.

You’re about to just reach into your pocket and pull out a $10 (way too much, but you’d pay anything to get out of this awkward silence), when your stomach growls rather loudly. His stare moves to your belly.

“Ah, uh, yeah it’s dinner time, huh?” You try to joke it off. His light flits back to your face, and finally, he just waves you off.

“... You don’t want money?” You ask tentatively. He shakes his head.

“... go home.” He rumbles, yet his tone isn’t rude, “go eat.” He adds. Your shoulders release tension you didn’t even quite realize was there and the awkwardness finally fading, and you offer him a grateful smile.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day. I really appreciate it.”

He hums.

“... and I hope you know you don’t have to wait until our team leaves to tend to your garden. This is your home, we’re just working here.”

He raises a skele-brow at your words, looking unimpressed as he gestures to the sizable hole in his skull. You hold back a wince as you remember your reaction. You know the guys you work with, and you also know that your reaction is probably going to be the most tame one he gets.

“Right… I uh, I’m really sorry for how I reacted, I thought it was a recent injury and I was worried you needed an ambulance or something cause humans can’t survive something like that, but that was really insensitive.” You murmur. His stare seems to slightly soften at that, but you barely notice that as an idea pops in your brain. Instantly, you brighten. “Wait here! I’ve got an idea, I will be right back!”

And with that, you start a careful jog to your old, beat up truck - not wanting to drop your precious produce. Once there, you deposit your small bounty into your upside down hardhat to keep them from rolling around, and then pop open your rather dirt-covered glove department. You’ve never really found the point in cleaning your truck that often when you just dirty it everyday after work. Digging through the mess of papers there, your hands find that knit fabric they were looking for.

“Ah hah!” You exclaim excitedly, closing your vehicle’s door and rushing back around the house to the garden that you left Bear at. He’s since moved on to a different flowerbed, but no amount of kneeling would hide that big frame of his and he’s rather easy to spot because of it.

Hearing the crunches on your loud footsteps in the gravel, he turns, seeming a little surprised that you actually came back.

You hold up the beanie in your hand, grinning at him as you let him connect the dots, it was one of your first crochet projects… and you misread the amount of links you’d need for it, resulting in a beanie that was ridiculously large for your head. You had meant to toss it or take it apart for the yarn, but it found its way into your glove department, and that’s where it’s stayed for almost a year. 

However, it seems to be the perfect size for this skeleton giant in front of you.

“Wanna see if it fits?” You ask, stepping closer. In your excitement, you don’t connect the dots that his skull might be a no-touching zone, and reach to slip it on. He quickly leans away from you, eyeing the beanie warily.

“Oh, right. Sorry, here.” You hold it out in an offer. He hesitantly takes it, staring at it for a long moment before glancing up to you. “It’ll stretch, if you’re worried about it catching those edges.” You assure him, not sure how sensitive the area around his injury is, but figuring it’s better safe than sorry.

After a few more moments of silence (that are beginning to feel a little less awkward), he slowly and carefully slips the beanie on his skull. He makes sure to stretch it and hold it a little ways away on his injured side of his skull, and soon it’s sitting nicely on his head.

A perfect fit.

“There! Now it’s hidden!” You say. He tilts his head. “I know it’s not fair that you can’t just waltz out here in broad daylight while we’re here without worrying about feeling judged, but it’s also not fair to have to hole yourself inside and wait until we leave to do your thing. I mean, it’s almost dark and you’ve got a lot more to do, and these string lights only illuminate so much.” You explain.

He nods, slipping it off and moving to hand it back to you, as if he’s not aware it’s a gift.

“Keep it, think of this as a trade for the yummy tomatoes! Plus, I think you look cute in it.” You say, smiling again as you see the slight blue return to his face. “If you decide you don’t like it, feel free to do whatever you’d like with it, it’s not like it’ll fit my head anyways.” You say with a little laugh.

A low rumbling noise escapes Bear. You tilt your head, and it doesn’t click until you see the smile on his face and his shoulders bouncing slightly. He’s chuckling at you.

You ignore the growing warmth on your face at hearing more of that very attractive voice of his, and let out a few little giggles of your own, closing your eyes as you do.

So, you’re none the wiser when Bear slips the beanie off of his head and moves closer to you in that silent way he does. It’s not until he plops the article onto you that you sputter and open your eyes, only to be met with your lashes brushing against the yarn and your vision being hindered by the way the beanie practically reaches the bottom of your nose. Reaching up, you lift it up and find Bear grinning at you.

“... no, it doesn’t… does it?”

He’s making fun of you. Again.

Jokingly pouting, you slip it off and toss it back at him, where it bounces off his chest harmlessly and falls into his lap. He guffaws at that, his little chuckles turning into a deep belly laughter. 

It’s infectious, and soon, you’re joining in again.

It’s not until your stomach makes your hunger loudly well known again, that he sobers, looking serious once again.

“... you need… to eat.” He reminds you.

You smile sheepishly, and try not to be too disappointed at having to leave. You were just getting him outta his shell a bit!

“Yeah, I do. Your dinner will be ready soon, too, I bet.” You say, shifting your weight on your feet as you stall just a moment longer. “I uh, hope to see more of you.”

He just stares again, but there’s a sharpness missing in his light.

“Goodnight, Bear.” You say, pivoting to take your leave. He doesn’t say anything right away, and you just assume he won’t, given what you’ve learned about him today.

But as you start to walk back to your truck, you hear a quiet, “goodnight.” from Bear. You smile again, turning to give him a little wave that you don’t see if he returns as you round the corner of the house.

[wandanatss]

choose the rose garden over madison square SNIPPET!!

summary: "Natasha Romanoff, celebrated star of the Oscar-winning film Kiss, Kiss, has been revealed to be moving into Paris for a sequel!" Amidst dirty rumours, sabotaged sets and hectic schedules, can Natasha find some time for love? That's what you wonder, holed up in your Paris apartment with Wanda and your blog to keep you company. [Wandanat x Reader] HEAD TO @svnmxxns TO KNOW MORE!

warning(s): swearing, smut

chapter i - And I Was Enchanted To Meet You:

THIS IS A PREVIEW. THIS IS NOT THE ACTUAL FIC. AGAIN: THIS IS A SNIPPET OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF CTRGOMS.

You sigh, twisting away from the table, where newspapers are strewn about the laptop, glowing with the electronic light of the article opened up on it. It's not a very good-looking website, but it serves the purpose of providing information that you need.

❝Natasha Romanoff quickly became quite the household name after her rise to fame in the early 2000s with "Black Widow", a female superhero movie. She then went on to amass a large fan following (affectionately referred to as Natasha's Widows), triggering the subsequent sequels of the Black Widow trilogy. More recently, she played the lead role in Kiss, Kiss, which won the Oscars "Best Costumes", "Best Director" and "Oscars' Fan Favourite". This film also bagged Romanoff the Oscar for "Best Actress". Now, news via Romanoff's latest Instagram post (@real.natasha.r) has revealed that she is to be staying in Paris for the next year to film a sequel to Kiss, Kiss.

The post, captioned 'Hello to the city of love! Hopefully this next year here shall truly live up to the name. 😘😘(sic)' showed three photos: a selfie in a truly gorgeous velvet dress, a view of the Paris skyline with the Eiffel tower barely peeking in from the corner, and a script's front page, reading "Kiss Kiss 2". No further information is available at this time.❞

You stare at your screen, at where you've begun typing the above paragraphs. The cursor blinks defiantly. The article you're writing lacks the personal touch characteristic of your blog posts. Truth be told, despite Natasha being a highly popular actress, she usually keeps to the sidelines in real life, so it's hard to know her. Or about her. Instead of struggling through this, you hit post on the barebones information post you've written (it doesn't even count as an article, but you have to stay on the top of the game). You merely decide to speed through all the movies and short films Natasha has been in, which may help you understand her better.

The list you make reads:

Black Widow (superhero movie)

Black Widow 2: Red In The Ledger (superhero movie)

Smokeforest (scifi mystery)

The Secret Forest (children's movie)

The Queen of Utopia (children's movie)

Boss In My Bed (adult comedy, romcom)

Love and Butterflies (romcom)

Green Eyes (horror/thriller)

Lust In The Mountains (adult romance)

The Mouthless (horror)

Kiss, Kiss (psychological romcom)

Kiss, Kiss 2 *

[warcorrespondence]

review: if i was born as a blackthorn tree

i am so excited to talk about if i was born as a blackthorn tree by @oatflatwhite / iphigenias today. one of the first fics i ever read in this fandom and once i had, it was OVER for me.

fandom: band of brothers

pairing: baberoe

teen and up, 2974 words

home in louisiana after the war, gene’s trying to move on. he buys a house and paints it yellow, grows a garden. he’s still measuring time by the names of the men he couldn’t save. then he receives an unexpected letter from babe.

iphigenias absolutely nails the tone of both characters—babe’s crackling energy! gene’s wry attitude! i love the epistolary portion of this fic so much, the way it starts out as full letters and slowly devolves into shorter snippets as both men become more honest and vulnerable with one another. it also provides an opportunity for the author to demonstrate how wholly she’s able to capture each character’s voice. (also i’m sorry but the line I get what you mean about building something strong and lasting. It feels like all I’ve ever done is take things apart. i mean come on! do you ever read a line that changes all of fic for you!) iphigenias’s sense of pacing and ability to create intimacy are astounding. so much time and life and growth are contained in that last paragraph, creating a truly beautiful and healing resolution to the story.

“We have to make up your bed,” Gene says sleepily, tilting his head back against the cushions. “It can wait,” Babe says softly, and when Gene looks at him, all soft curling hair and folded coltish limbs, sitting on Gene’s couch in Gene’s house in Gene’s home, he is already looking back. “Why did you want me here for Christmas, Gene?” Babe asks, as if he already knows the answer. Gene’s voice shakes when he replies. “Why did you come?” “Because your tomatoes died,” Babe says, and then he’s moving, shifting across the couch until he’s close enough to find Gene’s hand and hold it. “Can I?” he asks, after the fact, and Gene nods, and pulls Babe to him, and they fall asleep like that on the couch, Gene underneath him, close enough to count the freckles like stars strewn across his flushed red cheeks.

top 5 emotional comfort fics of all time? yeah, i think so.

x 🔔

[llolianarchives]

Such a pretty house, such a lovely garden

In which, years and years later, Malleus finds himself in Ramshackle Dorm... or at least what remains of it.

Nocturnal fae do not submit to the night. They inhabit it, wield it, bend it, serve it. Such is the same for the Lord of the Valley himself. Yet on this blessed evening, he is far, far away from his crowned domain. (His cold, marbled throne stands vacant of a ruler. The kingdom will last a few hours in his absence, as it always has, in their hours of dormancy or plentiful slumber.) Instead, he walks in the past.

The charm of ruins has always been their history. Amongst the derelict cracks and the ivy that calls them home, lurks the existence of what was before: a place so full of life now barely existing as a structure's rotting corpse. 

To imagine: Once upon a time, these walls had been a vibrant color, decorated with fixtures like paintings and portraits. The wooden floorboards that creak upon his feet had been danced on merrily, ran on by bustling children, broken and repaired, polished and carpeted. 

This room had been a dining table, where the family would gather, eat, and say their grace. The children would throw peas and their mother would grow upset. Here is where they would play. Here is where they would bathe. Here is where they would sleep. Here is where they slept forever. 

Sometimes, it was not a mansion that he visited, but a court, or a church, or a tomb. Yet the ending stays the same. All of this– everything, it would leave, and the structure would remain as a museum of memories.

The thought had once brought Malleus  comfort. It was a ghostly reassurance, to know that his people were not the only ones left behind by history's false records, abandoned in the dust to lick their wounds, to isolate, to mourn and remember. It was solace found in loss. It was a companion found in loneliness. It was, to him, a form of consolation. 

Now, he fails to think the same. 

For as he wanders the hollow corridors of Ramshackle's building, it is not comfort that he feels, but hurt.

It is nothing, he thinks.

Ramshackle Dormitory is nothing without its residents. Bare of life, light, and laughter, it is nothing but a derelict building on the verge of collapsing, worn so much worse than it was before with no residing ghosts to keep it upright. It is nothing like the ruins Malleus so adores for ruins are comfort and history. Ramshackle is nothing but hurt and memories. 

He can't help but wonder why he teleported here, of all places.

Perhaps the nostalgia was too much to bear.

Perhaps he wanted to hurt.

Perhaps he simply missed those moments, bitter of their departure. 

The kitchens are lacking their stock-filled pantries with no tower of tuna for an exuberant direbeast. No flame for baking pies, made from the fruits of labor; Only shattered wood, collapsed countertops, and filthy animal trails.

The lounge is not a place where one finds comfort. It is a room with gaping holes from which the wind creeps in. There are no laughs here, no idle chatting, no dancing, singing, playing. Haphazardly strewn about are torn-open couches and fallen paintings. 

Their garden of life has rotten. The rows of foliage and canopies and crates of nature's bearings — all are reduced to nothing, to dirt, to soil, to rotting. The rose seeds he had given them wither in lack of care. The blueberries for cobbler, the yams for sweets, the flowers, the bees, all that time they'd spent farming-

It is lost now.

Deep beneath the squirming of his guts and the thorns that squeeze his chest, Malleus knows. He knows what is lost, and what is lost can seldom ever be recovered. Yet Lilia had taught him when he felt all too the same. When the happenings of STYX had left Ramshackle in a similar state. When the stars aligned. When he first felt hurt. Fae can do nothing for history but remember. And Malleus remembers. Will always remember.

Time is a spindle that halts for no one. The loom of fate will take its shape. The seasons will pass and gardens will wilt. Malleus will reminisce of all that was before: the lull of midnight walks, his human's gentle voice, newly budding plants, and songs of their world. But come what may, and what else is there to be taken away for Ramshackle Dorm will always be a home, to Yuu, to him, and now, to memories.

He vanishes in a flicker of green lights. 

. . .

“In my world, gargoyles and grotesques are related to religion,” his human friend told him, lost in their conversation of archaic structures and statues. It began when Malleus brought up the topic of their Ramshackle Dorm harboring gargoyles, and found that Yuu was ever eager to learn more of the concept. Majestic – they had called the beasts of stone. “They're built on the pillars of churches and cathedrals with the purpose of warding off evil and frightening away harm.”

The aura of night always seemed especially tame in their exchanges, as if a magical veil cast upon them both to preserve the moment, unharmed. (That veil was so delicate. He was a fool to believe otherwise.)

Malleus had responded in turn, with a tilt of his voice and a fondness reserved only for the child of man before him. He asked questions threaded from their statement. Yuu supplied information of their own.

They had raised their finger to beckon his attention once more, garnering focus for their additional words. 

“But not only are they protectors of the building itself – to keep water from damaging the structures, they're also the protectors of the people.”

The evening breeze carried away what few leaves it had gathered from the pavement, and the prefect turned to face him with a familiar sort of softness in their eyes.

Yuu smiled. 

“I suppose that makes you mine and this dorm's gargoyle, doesn't it?”

[romantic-poem]

Echoes of Hope in Shattered Glass

In the garden of ghosts where whispers bloom, A heartbeats' echo, a shadow looms, Yearning like the moon for the sun's warm embrace, Yet the stars shatter, strewn in a glass case. Joy dances, a flicker, then fades to gray, Sorrow's soft sigh, in the stillness, stays, A paradox sings beneath the cerulean sky, Where laughter lies buried, yet cannot die. Infatuation's flame, a candle in the wind, Betrayal's cold hand, a lover’s twisted grin, Hope, a jester, in a court of despair, Holds the heart tightly, yet breathes in the air. Between the lines of love and distance, A symphony plays, discordant existence, The ache of commitment, a sweet, bitter taste, Like wine spilled on parchment, a memory misplaced. Loneliness weaves through the fabric of time, Each thread a story, each knot a crime, Yet in this tapestry, a shimmer of light, Forgiveness, a candle, flickers in the night.

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Provenance

Masterlist

*3rd Person POV*

Dean was chatting up with a young woman the bar but he was only paying her half of the attention. Most of the time that he was talking to this lady, he would look up and see from across the place (y/n) talking to this tall, tan-skinned dark-haired man in a three piece suit.

The man smiled at (y/n) then the two laughed at whatever she said, this made Dean alittle angry as he felt boiling feeling in his chest. But he turned his attention back to the woman as they continued to talk until, eventually, she started to give him her number.

"Seven, Four, Two Zero." She said after Dean types it in his phone. "Seven, Four, Two, Zero. All right, you're in there. Perfect. So is that Brandy with a 'y' or an 'i'?" He asked her and he just happened to glance over to see (y/n) and the man walk closer to each other. The man's eyes roam over (y/n) before he nods over his shoulder and (y/n) nodded, a coy smile playing on her lips.

Sam, meanwhile, sits at a table strewn with papers as he looks through them. He gestures to Dean, who looks at him then gives him a 'wait' gesture as he laughs at something the woman whispers. Sam gestures again and Dean's smile drops. "All right, listen, I gotta go. Hold that thought, I'll be right back, okay?" He said and he looks around but lost sight of (y/n) and three piece suit guy.

Angry, he approaches Sam, as he carrys two beers. "All right, I think we got something." Sam said. "Oh yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little short leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one." Dean said, faking a smile, as he gestures towards the women.

"So what are we today Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?" Sam asked him. "Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right? By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?" Dean asked, grinning. "Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates." Sam said.

"Yeah, you can but you don't." Dean said and Sam looks up at him. "What is that supposed to mean?" Sam said and Dean clenches his jaw. "Nothing." Dean said and Sam looks around. "Where's (y/n)?" He asked. "Probably getting to know that three piece douche a little more." Dean grumbles and Sam looks up at his brother and raises an eyebrow

"Dean, you really need to figure this out." Sam said and Dean looks back at him. "Figure what out?" Dean asked and Sam scoffs in disbelief. "Nevermind." Sam mutters.

"Anyway....What you got?" Dean asked him, changing the subject. "Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all..." he said then he looks up and sees Dean looking around the bar before he looks back at the women at the bar.

"Dean!" Sam shouts and Dean looks back at him. "No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and window locked from the inside." Sam said as Dean drinks his beer. "Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department." Dean said. "No. Dad says different." Sam said.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked and Sam points at the map. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one." Sam said.

"And now we got one. All right, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up til first thing though right?" Dean asked. "Yeah." Sam said as Dean looks up and then his face becomes serious. Sam gives him a confused look before he turns around to see (y/n) and the man coming out of the bathroom.

The man was straightening his tie and jacket while (y/n) was straightening out her shirt and fixing her hair. The two talked and the man smiled as he hands her a folded piece of paper and winks at her. (Y/n) smiles as she takes the paper and the guy leans in and gives her a passionate kiss.

"Good." Dean grumbles as he turns around. "Dean..." Sam said as Dean goes up to the women and talks with them. Sam sniggers and shakes his head at this, he loves these two with all of his heart but he couldn't believe how stupid these two were acting about their feelings to one another. He didn't understand how he could see it but Dean and (y/n) couldn't. Or maybe they could but they are just too stubborn to say anything.

He scoffs and takes a swig of his beer as Dean walks away with the two girls.

*(y/n)'s POV*

The next morning, Sam and I come up to the Impala and see Dean sleeping, slouched in the passenger seat and with sunglasses on. Sam and I walk around the car then I lean in and honk the horn. Dean jumps a foot in the air as Sam sits in the drivers seat and I get in the back seat, both of us laughing.

"Man, that is so not cool." Dean grumbles as he adjusted his sunglasses. "We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were....well...out..." Sam said as he looks over at Dean, who smirks. "Good times." He said and I shake my head.

"We checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas." I said. "All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something." Dean said. "The house is clean." Sam said. "Yeah I know, you said that." Dean said. "No, he means  it's empty. No furniture, nothing." I said and Dean looks at us, confused.

"Where's all their stuff?" He asked us.

We parked at a art auction, which was held in this very large and nice house, and began to wander around. The three of us looking really out of place in our casual, rough clothing. "Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me." Dean said after he takes some finger food from a tray on a table

"Can I help you gentlemen and lady?" A man asked us. Dean looks him up and down and then puts more food in his mouth. "I'd like some champagne please." He said, putting on a posh voice. "He's not a waiter." Sam said to him, sharply, as I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head.

"I'm Sam Connors." Sam said as he holds his hand out to the man, who just looks at him. Sam moves the hand he's holding out then points at me and Dean. "That's my brother Dean and our work partner, (y/n). We're art dealers, with Connors Limited." Sam said.

"You. Are...art dealers." The man said, disbelieving. "That's right." Sam said as I nod at him. "I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now gentlemen and lady this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list." Mr Blake sneers at us. "We're there chuckles, you just need to take another look." Dean said just as a waiter goes past with drinks on a tray.

"Oh. Finally." Dean said, swiping a drink from the tray. He turns back to Mr Blake, sniffs the glass, raises his eyebrows then turns and walks away. Sam and I hastily follow, shooting Dean dirty looks. "Cheers." I said to Mr Black before we walk off.

We check out the items for auction but then we become drawn to the painting of a family, which was kinda creepy looking. It was a family of five, two boys, one girl and the mother and father. The father seemed to be looking down at the girl and all of them had no smile on their faces, they all seemed pretty grim and dull....and creepy, did I mention that?

"I fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?" A woman's voice asked the boys and I turn to see a sleek, classy, extremely good looking young woman in a black dress coming down a spiral staircase. We stare at her as she turns her back while taking the final part of the stairs. Sam turns back to look at the painting again and Dean, oogling, slaps Sam on the back and continues staring while I just look down at myself feeling even more underdressed.

"Well I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did." Sam said to the woman as she walks up to us. "Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake." She introduced. "I'm Sam. This is my....brother, Dean. And my friend, (y/n)." Sam said while Dean continues to stuff his face from passing trays.

"Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?" Sarah asked him. "I'm good, thanks." Dean said, in between mouthfuls, and I shake my head. "Just ignore him." I said to Sarah and she smiles at me before she turns to Sam.

"So, can I help you with something?" She asked him. "Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Sam asked her. "The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones." She replied.

"Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam asked her. But before she could tell us anything else, Mr Blake comes up to us. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that." He said as he glares at us. "Why not?" I asked him. "You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave." He replied.

"Well we don't have to be told twice." Dean said, putting on his posh voice again. "Apparently you do." Mr Blake said, snidely. "Okay. It's all right. We don't want any trouble. We'll go." Sam said and we walk off.

"Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?" Dean said, questioning, to Sam as we come up to the motel room. "Art history course. It's good for meeting girls." Sam said. "It's like I don't even know you." Dean said as he unlocks the door and we enter the room to see that it has this retro 70s disco fantasy theme

"Huh." The boys and I said together before we move into the room and began dumping our bags. "You sure you don't want the bed?" I asked Sam. "I mean, I can go purchase my own room or I can take the couch..."

"No, no, it's fine. I'll sleep on the couch." Sam said and I shrug. "Okay, if you insist." I said.

"What was...providence?" Dean asked Sam, curiously. "Prov-e-nance. It's a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past." Sam said. "Huh. Well, we're not getting anything out of chuckles, but Sarah..." Dean said as he snaps his fingers at Sam, smirking. "Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin." Sam said, smirking back.

"Not me." Dean laughs and Sam looks up at him then realized what he was getting at. "No no no, pick ups are your thing, Dean." Sam said. "It wasn't my butt she was checking out." Dean said and they exchange a look.

"In other words, you want me to use her to get information." Sam said, slightly annoyed. "Unfortunately, Sam, sometimes you gotta take one for the team." I said as Dean pulls out his phone and hands it to Sam. "Call her." He said.

After returning from his date with Sarah, Sam and I were at the table and looking through the papers Sarah gave him, while Dean was sitting on the bed while sharpening his blade on a whetstone. 

"So she just handed the providences over to you." Dean said, questionable. "Provenances." Sam corrected him. "Provenances?" Dean said, haltingly. "Yes. We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers..." Sam replied.

"And?" Dean said, questioning. "And nothing. That's it. I left." Sam said. "You didn't have to con her or do any...special favors or anything like that?" Dean asked and I shake my head.

"Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam pleads, annoyed. "You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit." Dean said, after giving a little laugh.

"Why?" Sam asked him. "So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that." Dean said and I shrug a bit. "He's not wrong, Sam. I could see it as well." I said and Sam looks at me then at Dean before he scoffs then looks back at his paper.

Dean and I look at each other for a moment, confused, just as Sam said. "Hey, I think I've got something here." Dean comes over as Sam holds out the papers. "Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910." I read. "Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal." Sam said to us and Dean checks John's journal. "First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970." Dean reads.

"Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it." Sam said and we all share a look. "So what do you think, it's haunted? or cursed?" I asked them. "Either way, it's toast." Dean said as he starts to get ready.

That night, Dean leaps and easily scales the meters high metal gates and sprints into the mist. "Come on!" Dean whisper-yells at us and we follow him.

Sam, wearing gloves, starts to disarm the security alarm and succeeds. "Go ahead." Sam said to me and I, also with gloves, pick the lock.

We shine our flashlights around inside, quickly searching for the painting. Dean spies it upstairs and we sprint up the spiral staircase. Holding his flashlight in his mouth, Dean flicks his switchblade and cuts the painting from its frame. We grab it and run out of that building as quickly as possible.

We get out onto a dirt road and throw the painting in the dirt. Sam and I were holding our flashlights as Dean readies the matches. "Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor." Dean said and he drops the match and the painting ignites, burning slowly.

The next day, Sam and I were in the motel room when Dean runs out of the bathroom. "We got a problem -- I can't find my wallet." Dean said, in a panic. "How is that our problem?" I asked him. "'Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night." Dean said and Sam and I look at him, horrified.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam asked, terrified. "No. It's got my prints, my ID, well my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on." Dean said and we head out.

We hurry back at the auction house and look around, looking everywhere. "How do you lose your wallet, Dean?" Sam asked him, frustrated. Dean throws his hands in the air and we keep looking.

"Hey guys!" A voice said and we spin around to see Sarah. "Sarah! Hey." Sam said as he tries to act cool. "What are you doing here?" Sarah asked him. "Ahh, we....we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye." Sam said while Dean walks over to Sam.

"What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two." He said to him while Sam looks at Dean, confused. Dean then gets his wallet out of his pocket and I sigh and roll my eyes as I realized what he was doing. "Oh, Sam. By the way. I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you." Dean said as he pulls out some money and hands it to Sam. 

"I always forget, you know." Dean said as he looks at Sarah while Sam looks at him, disbelieving. Sam takes the cash from him and glares at him. "Well (y/n) and I'll leave you two crazy kids alone, we gotta go do something...somewhere." Dean said as he grabs my arm and we leave, quickly.

Dean and I were sitting outside by the Impala, waiting for Sam, when he finally comes out but Sam seemed a bit upset or perturbed about something. "Sam? What's wrong?" I asked him as he comes up to us. "Guys...we have a problem." He said to us and we give him a confused look.

"I don't understand, guys, we burned the damn thing." Sam said as we pace around our hotel room. Apparently, after we left, Sam saw that the painting was back and looked brand new once again. "Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious." Dean growls.

"All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?" I asked them. "Okay, all right. Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em." Sam said. "Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting." Dean said before he sighs. Then I look over at Sam. "What were their names again?" I asked him.

"You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?" The proprietor of this second-hand book shop asked us. "Yeah that's right." Sam said while Dean was smiling and flicking through an old book with pictures of guns.

The man then lays a huge book of newspaper clippings the table. "I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So are you three crime buffs?" The man asked us. "Kinda. Yeah." I said while Dean looks at the man. "Why do you ask?" Dean asked him.

"Well..." the man said and he holds up a newspaper article. The lead story on the front page says New Titanic Sinks, 1304 People Go To Watery Graves: Only 866 saved from 2,170 Aboard Liner Which Collides With Iceberg. Disaster Proves To Be the Greatest in Marine History of the World. Then he points at a side article. It reads Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.

"Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right." I said, not shocked by that at all. "The whole family was killed?" Sam asked, shocked. "It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor." The man replied.

"Why'd he do it?" I asked him. "Let's look. Ahh..." the man said as he begins to read. "People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter...." He skims on. "Yeah yeah yeah...There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave. Which of course you know in that day and age, um....so instead, old man Isaiah...well he gave them all a shave." The man said as he draws his hand across his throat with appropriate noises, laughing.

Dean joins in but stops when Sam and I give him a look of disapproval. "Does it say what happened to the bodies?" Dean asked him. "Just that they were all cremated." The man replied. "Anything else?" Sam asked. "Yeah. Actually I found a picture of the family. It's right here... somewhere. Right -- here it is." The man said and he shows us, from the book, the same picture of the painting.

"Hey, could we get a copy of this please?" I asked him. "Sure." The man said, nodding.

[tmarshconnors]

Night Thoughts

When I was a lad growing up I always used to find it very relaxing looking up at the sky. Whether it was on a summer afternoon or in the early morning hours it didn’t matter. I always found great solace in it all. Now as I lay here in the garden dictating this blog onto my iPhone the time is 3.13am it has been a calm night. You hear the sounds of a few cars that go by and a rustling of the leaves from the trees but apart from all the expected noises, it’s been a very calm night.

Each experience feels uniquely personal, a journey into the vastness of the universe and the depths of one's own thoughts. You can really lose yourself. If you let it. It's a symphony of serenity, inviting you to pause, to breathe, and to simply be. 

As you recline on the soft bed of grass, the cool earth cradles you, grounding you in the present moment. The worries of the day melt away, replaced by a sense of wonder and awe as you gaze upward.

Above, the canvas of the sky unfolds, dotted with countless stars shimmering like diamonds strewn across black velvet. Each pinprick of light tells a story, a tale of cosmic beauty and mystery that stretches across eons.

The constellations, those celestial patterns etched into the heavens by ancient civilisations, seem to come alive as you connect the dots, tracing the outlines of mythical beasts and legendary heroes. It's a reminder of humanity's enduring fascination with the stars, our quest to understand the universe and our place within it. I encourage you to download the app called Sky Guide it’s a great app for this kinda of hobby if you’re interested.  

But stargazing isn't just about observing the distant reaches of space; it's also an introspective journey, a chance to reflect on the interconnectedness of all things. In the quiet of the night, thoughts drift like clouds across the sky, weaving intricate patterns of introspection and contemplation.

As you lay there, bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight, you can't help but feel a sense of humility and insignificance in the face of the cosmos. Yet, paradoxically, there's also a profound sense of belonging, of being an integral part of something much greater than yourself.

In those solitary moments, you find solace in the knowledge that you are not alone—that countless generations before you have looked up at the same stars, pondering the same mysteries of existence. It's a humbling reminder of our shared humanity and the fleeting beauty of life itself.

Just my thoughts while lying down tonight.

[thannwriting]

Blake and Weiss have a therapy session

Shrouded in a soft darkness, Weiss lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Even in the absence of light, she could tell that it was a perfect off-white, the texture smooth and clear. She wondered if it was rotting on the inside, tearing at the seams and falling apart. Like her. 

Tossing and turning, she lay there for hours, trying to sleep. They had classes early tomorrow. Sometimes it was too hot, other times too cold. The clock struck two. At the same time, she found the pillow too warm; she flipped it to the other side, only to realize it was warm on that side, too—she must have flipped it earlier. She needed to get up. 

She gently kicked the wrinkled sheets away so that she could sit up. Shuffling herself out of bed and climbing down the bunk ladder, she made sure to be quiet, in case she disturbed her roommates. Once she was near the ground, she slid her feet into the slippers that Haven had provided them. They were soft, made of satin and velvet, and the pleasant feeling accompanied her as she padded her way out of the dorm room and toward the bathroom. Feeling against the wall with the back of her right hand, she finally found the light switch and flicked it on using her index finger.

The electric bulbs strewn across the top of the mirror and the ceiling cast a warm yellow on the pallor of her face—not quite as warm as the torches that had been put out earlier in the night. She could feel a tired ache setting in her bones, though she didn't seem to have eyebags yet. Moving her tongue along her inner left cheek back and forth several times, she felt a textured line there; she must have bitten her cheek earlier. 

She was far from her father, but she continued to feel the bars of the cage that he had kept her in all her life. His decisions had dictated her life for as long as she could remember; perhaps that was why she continued to feel his presence over her shoulder, like the opposite of a guardian angel. 

For a moment, she debated going back to bed but ultimately decided to go outside. She made her way down the stairs and out of the dorms, taking care to avoid a guard on his nightshift patrol. 

The midnight air brushed against her cheeks. The moon was high in the sky along with the stars, and even though they were partially obscured by clouds, they cast a soft, white glow on her skin. Moving across the garden, she sat down on a plain rosewood bench. She tucked her hair behind her ear. 

Jacques Schnee had influenced her actions that night, no doubt. But her decisions were her own regardless; she couldn’t blame this on her father, or anyone else but herself. 

Her hands were shaking, trembling slightly, refusing to remain under her control; using her right hand, she grabbed her left wrist, attempting to calm herself. Even now, she could vividly remember that night. What she had done. 

She bit her lip and tasted blood. Was she that fragile, that delicate? 

A white flower caught her gaze from across the courtyard. It might have been a jasmine flower, but she couldn’t tell from this distance. Venturing closer confirmed her hypothesis. The moonlight only amplified its brilliance, the pleasant fragrance drifting into her senses and enveloping her. Her gentle, warm breaths tickled the leaves, and they seemed to open ever so slightly in response. The sound of the crickets softly chirping only added to the ambiance of the atmosphere. 

That night was a mistake that could not be forgiven. A mistake that she never should have made. A sin. And that was the simple truth. 

She had always thought of herself as a good person; someone on her high horse. She was good, the Schnee Dust Corporation was good, and the White Fang was bad. When Winter left, and she became the Heiress, everything changed. Jacques wasn’t good anymore; he was bad. So she had adjusted her worldview, continuing to keep the black and white ideal. 

But there was no right or wrong, no black or white; only gray. That was something every child learned as they grew older; some learning that lesson earlier, others later. Everyone lied, some for themselves, others for the sake of their loved ones. 

“Weiss?” At the sound of her name, she was broken out of her thoughts, and turned her head, noting that Blake was awake. She must have made too much noise while climbing down.

“Blake… Are the others awake? Did I wake them up?” she asked. The amber-eyed girl shook her head in the negative. She joined Weiss on the bench, sitting next to her; there remained a small gap between them. 

“Why are you up so late, Weiss?” Turning, Weiss met her gaze—her yellow orbs were filled with some combination of curiosity and worriedness. “It’s nothing,” she found herself replying in haste. She had never been close to Blake, and she felt hesitant to discuss sensitive topics like the Schnee Dust Corporation with the cat faunus. 

“Did something happen in Atlas? Does it have to do with the Schnee Dust Corporation?” 

“…Something like that.”

Blake did not respond, her yellow orbs transfixed on her hands as if collecting her thoughts. Her black tresses swayed in the night breeze. 

Despite being her teammate, neither of them really knew each other that well. They had chafed with each other at first. How could they not? They were the exact opposite of each other. Blake was a revolutionary faunus, in the chain of command for the White Fang, directly related to Adam Taurus. She was a jaded rebel who was skeptical of everything. She had only ever seen the world oppress the faunus, with the SDC leading the charge. But Weiss was the Schnee Heiress, and she had only ever witnessed the atrocities committed by the White Fang in retaliation. That was what shaped her worldview. She had been somewhat arrogant when she had first met the rest of her team; she had been spoiled, handed everything on a silver platter, but trapped within a cage. Every one of them had their own problems. 

“Have you ever killed someone?”

Weiss froze, turning her head. “What do you mean?” She didn’t understand why Blake was asking such an outlandish question. Of course, she had never killed anyone before. 

“It’s just a question. Answer it honestly, please.”

“No.” A thought struck her. “Do you mean to say, before Beacon—”

“No, I didn’t, thankfully. I witnessed Adam do it, though.” 

“Adam Taurus.”

“Yeah. He murdered someone in cold blood,” Blake’s voice remained steady. “An SDC worker who was just unloading some dust crates. The way Adam drew his blade like it was routine for him. Something he’d done a thousand times before. You know what the most insane part was?”

“He made sure he suffered. He didn’t cut the head off clean like he could have. He had fun with it. Toyed with him, twisting the blade in the flesh. Sliced his gut open. The intestines were on the ground. Only then did he finally tear his throat out. I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

Bile threatened to rise in her throat, and Weiss swallowed, forcing it back down. To distract herself, she bounced her right knee. Blake seemed detached as she spoke, although her voice gave away what she really felt. “Afterward, he told me the story of a faunus unloading dust crates from a faunus-run dust company. This was before the SDC had become a monopoly. The faunus had been brutally mauled by a human thief. Limbs strewn about on the ground, hanging on by the nerves and the skin, teeth cracked and chipped. Throat slit open. “SDC” was scarred into the skin of the stomach with the point of a knife. Adam said we merely were paying it back in blood. Every single faunus death. No half measures. It was them, or us. His actions made that very explicit.”

Her stomach churned at Blake’s words, even as she tried to force her mind to stop picturing it. Weiss stopped bouncing her knee. Even though so many relatives had disappeared when she was just a child, this painted an all too gruesome picture of what had happened to them as captives. 

“Up until then, I was still stuck in a fantasy of freeing all the faunus from their human oppressors. We were doing the right thing. But after that, I left the White Fang, searching for my own path. That was when I got to Beacon. We all had our fair share of troubling experiences.”

“Sorry,” Blake apologized. “I didn’t mean to unsettle you like that.”

“No,” Weiss found herself replying, in light of Blake’s confession. It painted a much clearer picture of her teammate, and she even found herself sympathizing with the cat faunus, something that she never thought would have ever happened. “It was…” she paused, searching for the right word, “enlightening.”

Blake snorted in amusement. “I’m glad I told you it, then.” Her teammate closed her eyes and rested her head on the bench. “I’m not expecting you to tell me anything about what happened in Atlas with the Schnee Dust Corporation, either.”

Weiss nodded somberly. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Without noticing it until now, Weiss found that they were sitting beside each other, shoulders and legs touching ever so slightly. Instead of pushing away the moment of physical contact like she undoubtedly would have done half a year ago, she embraced it. She shifted next to Blake. 

The gap closed entirely, and Weiss leaned her head on Blake’s shoulder. The amber-eyed girl leaned her head on top of hers. She might have hated Blake at first, but now, she understood why Professor Ozpin had assigned them to one team. Like Ruby, Blake’s worldview was also incredibly different from hers. Each of them provided one another with a new perspective. 

That was what was important in a team.

—From Chapter 45 of my PJO x RWBY fanfic, Never Change. The chapter itself isn't up yet, though, just this snippet here on Tumblr. Feel free to check the fanfic out!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14077305/1/Never-Change

Never Change - Chapter 1 - Wattpad