#and an irishman all walk into a bar

[mythawolf]

I apologise for the sideways image, in which a Dutchwoman, an Englishwoman, and an Irishman in ww2 all wonder how the victim's spleen got there.

(Idk if dirty great is something that has been used in Ireland... Ever lol)

[leo-muscle]

Kings of the World: Caribbean Waves

Kai knew he was far above the rest. Born into money and power, he got everything he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. Women, cars, planes, food... all at the drop of a dime. He dressed in designer suits, which he constantly bragged about the price of. He wanted the whole world to bow to him, and worship the very ground he walked on.

This leads to Kai's 22nd birthday party, taking place in the Bahamas. He had invited five of his wealthiest friends, the only people he deemed worthy of associating with. They had spent the entire month on Kai's father's dime with women, watersports, booze, and dice, all leading up to one final drinking night on Kai's actual day of birth aboard his luxury yacht, moored to a private island. The party was too much: strippers dotted the decks, fireworks went off every half hour, loud music floated about, and poker chips poured like honey. Kai himself sat at the head table with his five rich friends.

"Here's to one more year of life!" Kai cheered, his voice slurring.

"Hear, hear!" His friends replied, and they all chugged down their liquor like it was water.

"Alright, guys, I've got the next round coming!" Kai shouted, as he dashed back to the bar... only something was amiss.

The scantily-dressed barwoman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, an absolute giant of an irishman stood behind the bar, dancing to the beat of the music. He wore no shirt, just a bowtie with a nametag reading "Dom," and short shorts, accentuating his enormous muscles. An easy smile sat on his face, accented by the enormous emerald earring in his right ear. Just by being in the room with the man, Kai felt a need to compete with him.

"Where's Chrissy?" Kai asked, a simmer of anger in his voice.

"Ach, she was feeling a tad ill, so she came to fetch me." The bartender replied in a soothing Irish accent. "Watcha looking for tonight?"

"Something powerful and special." Kai said. "You'd know a thing or two about that."

The bartender's smile twitched. "I think I got just the thing for a birthday boy like you. Little something from back home, you aught to enjoy it."

The bartender turned around, and started pouring a variety of liquors into a shaker, then dancing to mix it all up. Kai couldn't stop looking at his ass: while Kai was incredibly straight, he could easily tell that this man had a great, bouncy bubble butt. His pecs too were incredible, the girls should be all over him-- why weren't they?

The bartender brought the shaker right up to his enormous left pec, opened it up, and dumped something in it that Kai couldn't see. He then presented the drink into a tall tankard. It was a sparkling emerald green, unlike any drink Kai had seen before.

"What is this shit?" Kai groaned.

"Special recipe of mine. You'll learn to make it yourself, someday."

"As if. People make my drinks, not the other way around."

Kai took a big swing of the emerald drink, chugging it all in one go. Instantly, he could feel his insides bubbling.

"Did you poison me?!" Kai screamed, but was inaudible over the clamor of the party.

"Nope." The bartender said. "Enjoy." And with that, he vanished.

Kai ran to the restroom as his muscles began burning and pulsing with new strength. He could barely make it to the bathroom before he began to shake, shiver, moan, and grow.

As Kai grew, a single thought entered his head.

My behavior is not suited for a King.

----------

Kai's friends were starting to wonder where their leader had gone, when suddenly, a single text appeared on their phones.

Kai: Everyone, come down to the island. There's someone you need to meet.

The group stumbled to the beach, where a single man awaited them, carrying four drinks with him. He was enormous, seven feet tall, and was a stunning example of peak masculinity. He was clearly from the islands around here: his beautiful, dark skin reflected the setting sun perfectly, while saltwater trickled through his tight curls, mustache, and goatee. His gigantic, bouncy, fuckable pecs sat atop a tight muscle gut, indented with the turtle-shell pattern of abs. His biceps outsized his head, and were crisscrossed with a pattern of veins showing his strength. His legs would have been incredibly oversized on any other man, but on him, they were glorious, perfect cylinders striated with pure strength, able to cut through water with ease. His ass was a perfect breeding site for any cock able to work its way past his thick muscle cheeks. An inviting aroma of saltwater and musk wafted from him, beckoning the boys over. It assaulted their nostrils, the scent unimpeded by clothes, for this beach hunk wore only a speedo and a necklace of purest silver. It smelled divine, and although these boys were straight before, this musk was worth far more than any feeble heterosexuality. They almost climbed over each other to get closer to the man.

"Now, now," The beach hunk said. "We can take me in some other time; I'm not the important one here. What is important, is you."

"What do you mean?" One of the rich boys asked. "You're perfect!"

"And you can be too." The beach hunk replied. "You boys want a drink?"

"Yes?" Another rich boy said.

"I made them myself," The beach hunk said, gesturing to the drinks in his hands. They gleamed a pure silver, like liquid mercury.

"From this big boy down here." He continued, patting the massive cock straining to break free of his speedo.

By this point, every single boy had a raging-hard on. They needed to know what this man tasted like. They dashed over to the beach hunk, and each grabbed a glass from the man's enormous hands, and drank the whole thing in one gulp each.

Instantly, their bodies expanded. Their thighs grew from twigs to tree trunks, laced with power. Their arms mirrored their King's, bursting with strength the size of coconuts. Their abs, one by one, popped into existence, forming tight eight-packs on all of their cores.

Soon, one boy started noticing how hot his neighbor was getting. While the beach hunk was a true being of masculinity, his friend was definitely becoming capable of rivaling him. He reached over to his friend's chest, and touched his nipple--

And suddenly, his friend's chest ballooned past almost every letter of the alphabet with mass, growing larger and darker and more sensitive, until his pecs were just as bouncy and voluptuous as his King's.

"B-bro..." He moaned. "I... I need you to touch them..."

His fellow transformee showed no slowness as he latched his rapidly-expanding hands onto his friend's enormous muscle tits, pawing and kneading the muscle and nipple. His friend moaned with pleasure. How could his chest feel so good?

The other two had noticed what their friends were doing, and immediately joined in. One began worshipping another's ass, while the final one began giving his friend a blowjob. Soon, their asses and dicks had all expanded into pillars and beautiful mounds of dark flesh, sensitive and plush, perfect for kneading. The friends grew closer and closer together, their hair darkening and tightening as they went, until they had all become a massive literal clusterfuck. Each man was sucking a nipple, taking a dick, fucking an ass, all in the most intense pleasure any of them had ever felt in their life.

Though, eventually, it was all too much. They felt their load coming right from their new enormous bull balls... and they just couldn't hold it any longer. In a burst of cum, they all released each other, panting on the sand in their beautiful new forms.

King Kai knew his new boys would make great citizens of his kingdom, but there was still much work to be done. He would go about this subtly, with his own line of drinks laced with kingly fluid. Soon, the islands would be peaceful, and everyone would live freely and without strife.

[tinyshyteacup]

TW: cussing, kidnapping, mentions of death, surprise wives, Abel’s age weirdness

Part 23

Scotch and Screams - Part 24

The air in the was suffocating, the days in lockdown at the clubhouse had been suffocating.

Not because of the people—you’d grown used to the chaos, the constant hum of movement, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes clinging to leather.

But because every time the doors opened, you expected more bad news.

Expected another fight.

Another bloodstain on someone's shirt.

The Sons were gathered around the bar, murmuring in tight, clipped voices, the weight of the altercation hanging over them like a storm.

Gemma, Tara and some prospect where out on a supply run, they'd been gone a while.

You where trying to ignore the gnawing sense of unease in your gut.

Chibs had kept close, a steady presence at your side, but even he had been on edge. His knee bounced, fingers drumming absently against his thigh as he sat beside you on the worn-out couch.

Then Clay’s phone rang.

And everything changed.

Clay’s face had darkened the moment he answered, his voice tight as he listened. You couldn’t hear what was being said, but the look he gave Jax after hanging up made your stomach turn to ice.

"We got a problem."

The room fell silent.

You barely heard the details as Clay and Jax spoke—something about a dead prospect, something about an Irishman.

But then—

"He took Abel."

The world tilted.

Jax’s face was stone.

Clay’s was unreadable.

Chibs stiffened beside you, his entire body going rigid.

You turned to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at you.

His eyes were locked on Jax, something dark flickering beneath the surface.

Jax was moving, the rest of SAMCRO followed.

Chibs swore under his breath, shoving a hand through his hair before standing abruptly, squeezing your hand in a brief, touch before letting go.

Bikes roared out of the lot like animals uncaged.

You didn’t know the details.

Didn’t understand everything.

But one thing clawed at you—why the hell would some random Irishman take Abel?

The kid was barely old enough to walk, let alone be some sort of pawn in whatever twisted game this man was playing.

You couldn’t make sense of it. Abel was Jax’s world—no one, especially not some Irish stranger, would just take him and expect to walk away without a price.

That wee boy with the blonde mop and his Dad's eyes.

"Jesus Christ"

Your mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. Was this personal? Did it have something to do with the Sons? Or was it something else entirely?

The more you tried to make sense of it, the less you understood.

Then—

"Oh, god"

The prospect — had the Irishman killed him ?

You didn’t know what happened to him, but you didn’t have to. Whatever it was, it wasn’t fair.

Your stomach churned, that sinking feeling of helplessness creeping in.

You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Abel might face at the hands of someone who didn’t give a damn about him— or worse— the hands of a murderer.

All you could feel was a sharp rise of bile from the depths of your guts.

The ride to Clay and Gemma’s place was quieter than usual.

Chibs had insisted on coming with you, and you were grateful for it.

The world was unsteady in the aftermath of everything—the lockdown, the ambush, Abel’s kidnapping.

You still hadn’t seen Gemma.

Hadn’t spoken to her.

And the unease in your gut had only grown heavier with each passing minute.

As you pulled up to the house, Clay was already outside, cigarette in hand. He looked tired. Older.

Not that he ever looked young, but something about him now seemed worn down.

Chibs stepped off his bike, a hand on your lower back as you walked toward Clay.

"Where’s Gemma?" you asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

Clay exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

"She’s on the lam."

You blinked.

"What?"

Clay glanced at Chibs before looking back at you.

"She’s gone. Had to get her outta town."

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"Why the hell—"

"Ain’t your problem, sweetheart."

Clay didn't hesitate.

Chibs scoffed.

"Bollocks," he muttered, shaking his head. "Don't treat her like a idiot, Brother. She’s been livin’ here. She’s got a right to know."

Clay’s jaw twitched, but after a moment, he relented.

"They’re pinning murder on her."

Your breath caught.

"What, who ?"

"Edmond Hayes and Zobelle’s bitch of a daughter. Somebody offed them. And now, ATF—they’re sayin’ it was Gemma."

You staggered slightly, your mind reeling.

Zobelle’s daughter.

You didn’t know much about her, except for your visit to the store, but you knew enough to understand why this was serious.

"Jesus Christ," Chibs muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You looked at him, heart pounding.

"She didn’t do it, right?"

Clay didn’t answer immediately.

And that was answer enough.

You felt sick again.

"Where did she go?" you asked quietly.

"Doesn’t matter," Clay said firmly. "She’s safe."

Safe.

The word felt hollow.

Chibs’ hand found yours again, fingers wrapping around your palm. He didn’t speak, but the weight of his grip was reassuring.

Solid.

Real.

You looked up at him, searching his face.

Chibs exhaled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

"C'mon mo chridhe, let's get yer shite unpacked."

The next few days had been a haze, the house felt empty without Gemma, Clay barely spoke to you and when he did, it was sharp, worried.

Understandably.

SAMCRO moved in and out like silent guards, muttering to Clay, voices harsh.

You'd tried to help out at Teller-Morrow but it had been Gemma's baby, and her filing skills while meticulous, where unique at best.

You weren’t expecting to hear the low rumble of Chibs bike, not tonight, not with everything the way it was.

Abel gone.

Gemma gone.

Not when Chibs was still healing, still covered in bruises that hadn’t fully faded.

But when his bike pulled up outside Gemma’s house, you knew something was different.

He was leaning against the handlebars, casual, but his eyes lit up when he saw you.

"C'mere, mo chridhe," he said, holding out your helmet for you. "Got somethin’ planned."

"Filip—"

"Hop on, or yer gonna make me think ye don’t want to spend time with me." He smirked

You huffed but didn’t argue, taking the helmet and climbing onto the back of his bike.

The engine roared beneath you, and as you wrapped your arms around him, Chibs glanced back, smirk softening just slightly.

Chibs took you out of town.

The highway stretched long and open beneath you, the wind in your hair as he guided the bike toward the outskirts of Charming.

Eventually, he pulled into a small, tucked-away diner—one you’d never noticed before.

It was quiet.

Cozy.

A little rundown, but warm, with the kind of old-school charm that felt untouched by the chaos of the world outside.

The waitress greeted Chibs like an old friend, and you realized he’d been here before.

"Aye, sweetheart, what’s good today?" he asked, accent rolling smooth and easy.

The waitress smirked, flipping her notepad open. "Meatloaf's fresh. That’s about it."

Chibs looked at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. "What d’you think, lass? Meatloaf for dinner?"

You shrugged. "Why not?"

So you ate Meatloaf.

And talked.

And for the first time since the lockdown, you felt normal.

Felt like maybe, just maybe, you could exist outside the world of gunfights and club politics.

But Filip—

He wasn’t done.

Because after the plates were cleared and the coffee was refilled, his expression shifted.

Turned serious.

Chibs leaned back in the booth, hands clasped loosely in front of him.

"You trust me, aye?" he asked, voice low.

You frowned slightly, caught off guard. "Of course Scotsman"

He exhaled slowly, nodding to himself.

"A lot’s happened, lass," he said. "Ye’ve seen more than ye should’ve. And I reckon it’s time we talk about that."

Your stomach twisted. "Filip I—"

He held up a hand. "Just listen, mo chridhe."

The use of the Gaelic softened you, and you swallowed hard, nodding.

Chibs’ gaze held yours, steady and unwavering.

"I know ye thought the club’s just leather jackets, brotherhood and mechanics" he said. "And I know ye don’t deserve to see the rest."

Your fingers curled against the table.

"Filip, I really—"

"Lass."

His voice was gentle, but firm.

"You need to understand what I am," he said. "What SAMCRO are."

The weight of his words settled over you like a stone.

You knew there were things left unsaid,  Gemma had told you alot, but it had all been light, easy.

There where things you'd seen, things you chose not to ask about.

But now—

Now, Chibs was giving you a choice.

You could keep pretending.

Or you could listen.

After a long beat, you exhaled shakily. "Tell me."

Chibs nodded, gaze flickering with something unreadable.

Then, he told you.

Not everything.

Not the worst of it.

But enough.

Enough to make your chest tighten.

Enough to make your fingers tremble slightly against your coffee cup.

And when he was done—

When the words hung between you like a storm cloud—

He reached across the table, covering your hand with his.

"I won’t lie to ye, lass," he murmured. "This life… it ain’t easy."

You swallowed hard, staring at his fingers wrapped around yours.

"But I’ll tell ye this," he continued. "I won’t let it touch ye. Not if I can help it."

Your throat felt tight. "You can’t promise that, after the kidna—"

Chibs exhaled through his nose, a wry, humorless smirk tugging at his lips.

"Aye," he admitted. "But I can promise to keep ye close."

He squeezed your hand, voice softening.

He told you he had "one more stop" before heading back to Gemma’s, you didn’t question it.

Didn’t ask where you were going as he guided his bike off the highway, taking a winding backroad up into the hills.

Didn’t ask why he seemed quieter than usual, his fingers flexing slightly on the handlebars like he was steadying himself.

You just held onto him.

Trusted him.

And when he finally pulled over—

When he parked beneath a sky full of stars, the quiet hum of the night stretching out around you—

You realized why.

It was beautiful.

A little clearing, overlooking Charming.

The town lights flickered softly in the distance, but up here, it felt like another world.

Like the chaos didn’t reach this far.

Chibs swung his leg off the bike, glancing back at you with a smirk. "Not bad, aye?"

You smiled, sliding off as well. "Not bad at all."

His eyes lingered on you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression.

Then, with a small grunt, he reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses.

"Figured we could use a drink," he said, setting them down on a nearby rock before sinking down next to them.

You hesitated for half a second before joining him.

The ground was cool beneath you, but Chibs was warm.

And when he poured the scotch, handing you a glass, his fingers brushed yours—

For a while, you just sat there.

Drinking.

Talking.

Letting the night settle around you like a well-worn jacket.

Chibs told you stories.

Some funny, some ridiculous—like the time Tig got drunk and tried to teach a stray dog how to ride a motorcycle.

But there were softer moments, too.

Moments where his voice dropped lower, where he told you about growing up in Glasgow, moving to Ireland, about the things he missed, the things he didn’t.

And you listened.

This wasn’t the Chibs everyone else saw.

This wasn’t the quick-witted Scotsman, always ready with a smirk or a sharp comment.

This was —could you call him—your Filip?

Did that fit ?

You felt something tighten in your chest at the realization that he was letting you see him.

Letting you in.

At some point, the scotch was forgotten.

You’d shifted closer without realizing it.

Chibs’ gaze flickered.

Dropped to your lips.

Then back to your eyes.

And just like that—

You knew what he was planning.

Your heart pounded as he lifted a hand, fingers brushing against your cheek, rough and calloused but gentle.

"Ye alright, lass?" he murmured, voice lower now, huskier.

You nodded.

Barely.

He let out a slow breath, thumb tracing over your cheekbone.

"Tell me if ye don’t want this ?"

For a second—just a second—you could only stare at him.

Could only feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the steady weight of his hand against your cheek.

And God, you wanted this.

Wanted him.

But then—

A sharp memory surfaced, uninvited.

The hospital.

Fiona Larkin standing beside his bed.

The way her eyes had locked onto you, assessing, guarded.

The way she’d spoken—I'm his Wife—like she had a claim you had no right to question.

It hit you like a slap.

Your stomach twisted.

And suddenly, everything felt too much.

The closeness.

The warmth.

The possibility.

Your breath came uneven as you pulled back slightly, breaking the moment.

Chibs’ brows furrowed. "Lass?"

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I prefer my partners unmarried."

For a second, he didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Then, his expression shifted.

Understanding.

A flicker of something pained.

His hand dropped from your cheek, but he didn’t move away entirely.

"Yer talkin’ about Fiona."

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded.

"Filip, I know it’s not simple. I know that for you getting a divorce isn’t just… signing a piece of paper. But I have boundaries. And I can’t—" You exhaled, shaking your head.

"I won’t really be yours while you're still married to someone else."

Something flickered in his eyes.

Not hurt.

Not rejection.

Just a slow, quiet acceptance.

Like he’d expected this.

Like maybe, deep down, he respected it.

He let out a long breath, glancing away for a moment, tongue running over his bottom lip before he looked back at you.

"Yer a good woman, ye know that?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something soft.

You swallowed.

"It’s not about being ‘good.’ It’s about knowing where I stand."

"Fiona an’ me—there’s nothin’ there anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time." Chibs said, voice low.

Your fingers tightened in your lap. "But legally—"

"Legally," he cut in gently, "we’re still married. Aye."

The words felt like a weight.

Because they were true.

Because no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise—

No matter how much you wanted to pretend that the way he looked at you, the way he treated you, was different—

There was still a tie there.

Chibs ran a hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly.

"Yer right," he admitted.

You blinked, surprised at how quickly he’d agreed.

"I am?"

"Aye." He huffed a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Can’t ask ye to give me somethin’ when I’ve still got one foot in the past."

Your fingers curled at your sides.

"I just need to know that if I let myself fall into this with you, it’s real. That you’re—" You hesitated. "Free."

Chibs’ gaze sharpened.

Then, after a long pause—

"I won’t lie to ye, lass," he said finally, "I should’ve sorted that shite out a long time ago. But Fiona an’ me, we’ve been done for years. She’s in Belfast, got her own life. An’ I…" He exhaled. "I’m here."

Your throat tightened.

Because you believed him.

Of course you did.

But believing and accepting were two different things.

Chibs seemed to sense that hesitation.

His jaw clenched, eyes dark as he reached for your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"If ye need time, I’ll give ye time," he murmured. "If ye need space, I’ll give ye that too. Fuck, mo chridhe I'll find a way to get the damn divorce. But I need ye to know somethin’, lass."

Your breath caught.

"I want ye."

A pause.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then, quieter—

"But only if ye want me back."

[starlightsreigns]

serial lover | j. uso

chap. one: new flame

summary: jordyn will tell you she's a levelheaded person, but that's a lie. she caught at crossroads, and she doesn’t want to choose.

warnings: 18+, smut. mdni

word count: 3.4K

author's note: welcome to serial lover: the series! haven't stopped thinking about this storyline for MONTHS. truly was the best couple of weeks in my entire life. so, this was birthed from missing seeing these two interact on tv. sorry for the lowercase, it's my bad habit. also can't decide if I should post part two to this... let me know.

baby try a new thing, let’s spark a new flame

Jordyn wasn’t an insatiable person and neither was she jealous. let’s just make that clear. she was cool, levelheaded, and had the biggest crush on the strongest woman she knows: rhea ripley. it was a given. the crush that she had on rhea had made her a jealous, petty, and slightly unhinged person. she couldn’t help it. Jordyn knew that the relationship with dominik wasn’t a real one, but one played for the cameras. but, it didn’t make it easier seeing the pair always hanging out with each other - yes, they’re friends, again she wasn’t as level-headed as she used to be. it wasn’t just dominik, everyone hung onto every word that came out of The Eradicator's mouth, not that she didn’t completely understand. 

celebration for night one of WrestleMania was in full swing at a private club downtown. the place was filled to the brim with superstars, both the WWE kind and the Hollywood kind. replays of the matches filled TV screens and she found herself entranced by the one playing the ending of Rhea’s match against Becky. She watched as Rhea hoisted Becky’s legs up for the pin that solidified her continued reign as champion. she groaned internally as she turned, forcing herself to think pure, innocent thoughts. 

why was she here? she had her own match that she needed to be focused on. yet, when her eyes fell on rhea near the bar, it all clicked. of course, she’d be wherever the australian woman was, even if that meant a lack of sleep leading into wrestlemania sunday. 

“jordyn, come take shots with us!” naomi waved her over. 

rhea’s eyes fell on Jordyn, flickering on as she watched her walks towards naomi, jade, and bianca. she straightened out her shoulders, taking peeks at Jordyn while pretending to be listening to the conversation that was happening between the rest of her faction. Damian noticed it first and bumped shoulders with Finn who only snorted. 

“i should go buy Jordyn a drink,” finn started, watching rhea closely for her reaction. “see if she’s interested in getting to know this irishman a lil better.”

“fuck off, balor.” rhea shot him a looking before glancing at Jordyn again. “i’m gonna go talk to her.” she muttered to no one in particular. 

dominik applauded, “good luck!” 

as the foursome downed a shot, bianca was standing in front of Jordyn smiled, and pulled her closer. without saying a word she wiped some of Jordyn’s smudged lipstick of and fixed her hair discreetly as she watched in confusion. 

“rhea is walking towards us, acting normal you fool.” she smiled through the words. 

Jordyn almost went rigged before relaxing her shoulders. she set the shot glass down and pretended to be engrossed in the fake conversation that jade had thankfully started. rhea though had feigned in confidence for a moment, pausing at the bar behind them. she took a deep breath before finally making it to them. 

“do you mind if i steal Jordyn from you?” she asked no one in particular. 

few places were crowded with people, but rhea had scooped out a spot in the farthest corner for them to sit. Jordyn sat near the wall, crossing her long leg as rhea situated herself. their thighs were slightly pressed together, but neither one of them dared to move. 

“how are you?” rhea asked. 

Jordyn smiled, “you’re asking me how i am after you just opened wrestlemania? are you kidding?” she playfully punched rhea’s arm. “i’m whatever, how are you ms.champ?” 

rhea’s cheek reddened. she shrugged her shoulder in contemplation, “it’s unbelievable.” 

“i think you were fucking awesome, i would’ve bet money on you if it wouldn’t cost me my job.” 

the women laughed for a moment before falling into a comfortable silence. some nerves sat in both of their stomachs. Jordyn looked over to where her friends were standing. jade, who was the newest to the group and newest to finding out about Jordyn’s crush, widened her eyes in a do something kind of way. 

“how’s the celebration, you know, with your crew?” Jordyn motioned to where the rest of the judgement day sat trying to pretend like they were watching them. “priest hasn’t looked away, am i keeping you from something?” 

“nothing at all,” rhea respond without looking away from Jordyn. “they’re just.. you know.” 

Jordyn nodded slowly, “are you okay? you seem quieter than usual.”

it took everything rhea to find a response. she finally glanced around the room. she took in the fact that the other three women were also watching them before glancing at her stablemates. she turned her attention back to Jordyn who was studying her. 

“your girls are staring too,” she responded finally. 

a laugh passed Jordyn’s glossed lips, “yeah, they’re my cheerleaders.” 

“cheerleaders?” rhea questioned, slightly moving in closer to Jordyn, closing more space that they didn’t even have. “in what way?” 

Jordyn uncrossed her leg to turn slightly towards rhea. she searched her eyes trying to figure out if this was her opportunity to just tell the woman what she was feeling. fuck it, she was going to throw caution to the wind and get it all out in the open. they were being watched by their friends and when she caught a glimpse of dominik walking up the girls, it confirmed that maybe rhea felt the same way. 

“you know, when they see me talking to someone i find very attractive, they always want to see me win.” Jordyn spoke softly, her eyes flickering to rhea’s lips before meeting her eyes. “they know i like you, so they’re on the sideline waiting to see if i have enough balls to finally tell you.” 

rhea didn’t say anything for a moment, but her eyes seemed to twinkle in the darkness of the bar. she leaned in closer to Jordyn and glanced at her lips. 

“so, if i kissed you right now, do you think our friends would get the message that we both had the balls to tell each other how we feel?” rhea’s voice was lower, darker. “will you let me kiss you?” 

“rhea,” Jordyn breathed out. “you’d be the one playing with fire.” she murmured as she allowed her hand to touch the warm skin on rhea’s torso.

finally, and after an agonizing minute, rhea leaned into kiss Jordyn. it was slow and deliberate. Jordyn sighed into the kiss and cupped her face, deepening it before they pulled away. their chest heaved as they caught their breath. 

“can i call you later?” 

“i’ll be waiting,” Jordyn answer, standing first to leave. 

she could hear the clapping coming for the judgement day boys as she walked past. her face felt hot but she stopped and gave them a bow before returning to her friends who were quick to envelop her in a group hug, playfully smacking her ass. naomi handed her a shot that they had ordered. 

“to this bitch finally having the balls!” 

they clinked their glasses and bottomed up. she stole a glance at Rhea who had made it back to her friends. they met eyes, both smiling. 

ꕀ  ꕀ  ꕀ

the night felt long, but in the best way. after several more shots, some that she took with other superstars, Jordyn knew she was drunk. her six inch heels no longer felt like needles in the soles of her feet, she felt like she could party until the sun rose. yet, as everyone started to head out, she hitched a ride back to the hotel with the twins and naomi. Jordyn rested her head in Jey’s lap, trying to keep her eyes open. Jey was kind enough to rub her arm through his own drunken state. 

“you still breathin’ ma?” jey leaned down to whisper in her ear. 

The couple in the front seat were in their own conversation leaving Jordyn and jey in their own world. she shifted around onto her back to look up at him as she nodded. he let out a little cackle at the goofy smile on her face. 

“what’s so funny, uce?” Jordyn gripped his arm that came around her stomach to support her. “you look drunk as shit.” she teased. 

Jey brought his face down closer to hers, “not as drunk as you jo, you look like them white girls outside the club.” 

“take that shit back,” she protested softly, swatting his arm. “you’re just jealous cause i can get down.” 

“nah, i’m jealous cause i ain’t taking you home with me.” he whispered with his tone turning serious. “gotta celebrate the winning twin, right?” 

Jordyn was lost for words. she stared into his eyes while she nodded, “right.” the word caught her in her throat but coming out in the tiniest of whispers. “and you want me to be the prize you won tonight?” 

“we all want different prizes, Uce still gets to be with his woman tonight.” he joked, leaning back into the seat to stare at the roof of the car. 

his comment laid thick between them. and in that moment, she completely forgot about the woman she had made out with earlier in the night. coincidentally, jey wasn’t there when it happened and she battled internally with the situation. she wasn’t in a relationship and rhea never said she wanted a relationship. it was an internal battle, and her drunken mind wanted the one thing she could have right then and there. 

Jordyn slowly moved her hand up to rest against the hem of his shirt. jey’s focus slowly fell onto her hand before her. a smirk played on his lips as she lifted the shirt to allow her cold hands to run over his warm skin. 

“i wanna celebrate jey uso.” she whispered softly, sitting up slowly so the two in the front seat wouldn’t catch on. “how do you celebrate?” 

her hands lowered from his stomach to the waistband of his joggers. she watched as Jey took a deep breath, glancing to see if his brother had noticed. he turned his face towards Jordyn, their nose barely touching. the tension was thick as her hand slowly made its way down to his growing erection. jey had seemingly held his breath when her cold hands wrapped around him, and moved at an agonizingly slow pace. 

“i got something for you,” jey muttered into her ear, inhaling when her finger slightly grazed his sensitive tip. “jo,” and it came out almost as if he was begging. 

“don’t worry about me,” Jordyn shifted closer to him, her lip close to his ear. “im gonna celebrate you, uce, maybe i'll even beg.” 

when the car turned into the parking lot, Jordyn withdrew her hand and rested her head on his shoulder, pretending to be fast asleep. she could hear naomi complain about how tired she was then jimmy making a joke about her not getting any sleep. 

“don’t worry, i’ll get her to her room, y’all go do y’all stuff.” jey ushered them off before look down at Jordyn. “c’mon, they’re gone.” 

Jordyn couldn’t contain the soft, drunk laughter that tumbled from her lips and she stumbled out of the car behind jey. he held onto her hand as they walked into the hotel. the tension from earlier returning with a vengeance. their hands gripped one another’s as they made it to the elevator, every now and then they’d sneak a glance at each and Jordyn couldn’t help but bite her lip. his simple merch shirt, gold necklace, and black joggers shouldn’t be as sexy as it was. 

when the elevator door opened, the pair rushed in. jey barely had the chance to press the floor number before Jordyn pulled him into her. her back pressed into the wall as he gripped her waist. their lips met in a hungry kiss that felt desperate. they barely pulled apart when the door opened. from there, Jordyn allowed jey to lead her to his hotel room. 

they separated when they walked into the room. Jordyn threw herself back onto the mattress, sighing in content while jey raided the bar. as the true star he was, he was in one of the fancier suites and she took a moment, even through the drunken state, to appreciate it. 

“here mama,” jey stood in front of her laid out body, situating himself between her slightly parted legs.

Jordyn sat up slowly, staring up at him through her eyelashes. she wrapped her arms around his stomach, opening her mouth and titling her head up for him to pour the dark liquor from the bottle. jey grinned as he started a light pour down her throat. He stopped when her mouth was nearly full, allowing her to swallow. it tasted like nothing but water and instantly made her go limp with a laugh. she knew she was too drunk to be drinking, and it was only going to push her closer to a blackout. 

“what’s so funny?” jey asked as he tilted the bottle back to drink. when he sat the bottle down and turned his attention back to her, she was flipped onto her stomach with her legs crossed in the air. “fuck,” 

“what?” Jordyn glanced back at him with a knowing smirk. “come lay down.” 

her descent to the ground was a little wobbly, but Jordyn watched as jey laid in the spot she once occupied. his eyes were fixated on her, never straying even when she did a meaningless spin. after a moment, she stood between his legs, running her hand up and down his thighs. 

“say you want me,” she murmured while climbing up to straddle his lap. Jordyn raked her fingers through his hair making his eyes slowly close. “say it, jey.” 

“i want you, jo.” 

Jordyn finally connected her lips to his. the kiss was hungrier than before, grinding her ass on him. She was hornier past the point of comphrension as she whined into the kiss. Jey’s eyes opened at the sound, biting down on her bottom lip causing her to whine louder. 

“Jey, i want you,” She whined as their lips pulled apart. 

That was the only thing he needed to hear. He flipped her onto the mattress, slipping his shirt over his head then helped take off her dress, tossing it over the edge of the bed. Jordyn stared up at him with hunger in her eyes. When Jey got off the bed to drop his joggers to the ground, her legs slightly pressed together in anticipation. Restless, Jordyn leaned up to pull him back on top of her, wanting to feel the warmth of skin again. 

“You real impatient, ma, do somethin’ for me,” He murmured with his lips on her neck. “Sit on my face, baby.” 

The air got caught in Jordyn’s throat at the request. She bit her lip as he massaged her ass, continuing his attack on her neck. She moaned softly, only yelping when he had slapped down on her ass cheek. Jey tapped her thigh as he lay on the bed, motioning her to take a seat. Jordyn wasn’t usually worried or self-conscious, but even through her drunkenness, she felt her heart beating out of her chest. She crawled up his body cautiously, feeling his chest under her hands. 

When she straddled his face, Jordyn licked her lips unable to move, “this is what you want?” 

Jey hooked his arms under her leg with a nod, pulling her down so she would meet his tongue. Jordyn threw her head back as he instantly started to tease and suck on her clit, wasting no time. Her juices collected on her tongue as he licked up her slit. The moans fell from her like a river as she gripped his long black hair that had fallen from the ponytail long ago. Jordyn couldn’t help it as she grinded her hips against his face, chasing the high that was so close. 

“Fuck you, jey.” Jordyn moaned, grazing the tip of her finger on his cheek. 

The feeling of his tongue on her folds started to make her legs tremble, unable to hold herself up Jordyn gripped the headboard to keep steady, making his grip on her legs tighter to his face as she squirmed. Her moans intensified, not caring who the neighbors were and if they could hear them. Jey alternated between sucking on sensitive bud and fucking her hole with his tongue. 

“Holy shit, Jey, please,” Jordyn plead. 

Her orgasm rushed over, allowing the most delicious moan that Jey’s ever heard fall from her lips. Jordyn fell limp with her breast pressed against face as she moved her heat from his face in attempt to take a breath. Jey chuckled while she was too tired to protest. He wrapped his arm around her waist and took a nipple into her mouth. 

“How you feelin’ mama?” He asked. 

Jordyn, after finally catching her breath, “fuck me,” she rolled onto her stomach on the bed, turning to look at him. “Please?” 

Jey groaned at the sight of her, watching as Jordyn arched her back. He ran his palms over her ass, smacking roughly as she gripped the sheets. 

“Don’t worry baby, ima take care of you.” her murmured as he gripped the back of her neck and pushed her cheek into the bed. 

“You takin’ too long.” Jordyn huffed then gasped when she felt his finger in her slick entrance, teasing her mercilessly. “Jey…”

Watching Jordyn squirm around made him chuckle, but finally gave into the one thing that she wanted. His tip teased her entrance, slowly pushing into her as she moaned into the mattress, squeezing her eyes shut in pleasure. Jordyn forced her eyes open to watch as Jey focused on his deep strokes that felt like they were hitting her in the stomach. 

The sound of the bed shaking mixed with the moans from Jordyn and Jey’s grunts. Her mouth felt dry and she didn’t know how much she could take before she exploded. And when she tried to crawl away for a breather, Jey tightened his grip and slammed into her. 

“Don’t go runnin’ from me now, baby, you was beggin’ for this.” Jey kissed her hip. “Say my name, Jordyn.” 

Jordyn choked out his name, feeling the lack of air in her lungs. Jey reached around to wrap a hand around her throat and bring her up against him. He kissed on her neck as Jordyn tried to breath through all the strokes. She could feel the climax in the pit of her stomach and didn’t know how to vocalize it. 

“Please, please, please.” Jordyn begged, resting her hand over his around her neck. 

“You wanna cum?” He questioned in her ear. Jordyn nodded fervently with her mouth dropped open as soft cries fell from them. “Cum for me, all over this dick.” 

It was too much to hold any longer. Jordyn came so hard she was pretty sure she died and went to Heaven and Jey could see it painted by the dumb look on her face. Yet, that didn’t stop the pounding and the sweet nothings that he whispered in her ear and she begged hom to continue. Gosh, she felt like the biggest and luckiest slut in the world. One tear and another fell down her cheek - truly the best fuck she’s had in a while. 

As Jey’s pumps turned sloppy, Jordyn found her voice again, “come in me, please.” She wasn’t sure where those words came from, but she meant it as she squeezed around him. 

“Fuck, Jordyn.” Jey bit her shoulder as he twitched inside her and moaned as he filled her deep. “So sexy.” He muttered as she sunk back into the bed. 

Their labored breaths is all they had as they laid beside each other. Jordyn turned her head to look at Jey and when they made eye contact they couldn’t help the laughs they shared. Jey pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her stomach then resting his chin in the crook of her neck. 

“Did we just do that?” Jordyn murmured, staring up at the ceiling. 

Jey hummed, “I been waitin’ years to do that.” 

“Was it everything you imagined?” she turned slightly to meet his eyes. 

“Fuck yeah,”

They didn’t say anything else until they fell asleep, completely and utterly shocked on how one night changed their entire relationship.

:) welp, this my homecoming gift after being gone for so long

[grlwtskulltattoo]

Fly Low Carrion Crow

Note: What have I done… Only attempting to combine my two favorite things, SOA and The Last Kingdom…Okay so this is definately going to be a multi part story. Too many ideas floating in my head on how this may all play out. Just hope I can do it justice. I did edit the beginning just a smidge from the preview I posted earlier. Just trying to get some background laid out. There will be drama…and a little trauma in the future, cause that how I roll…all about the drama… oh and for sure some smut in the future…can’t forget that part. Haha.

Warnings: slight assault from creepy Sven, but nothing major

Pairing: Sihtric x OC (Octavia)

Summary: We get our first introduction to the Sons of Valhalla MC. Octavia, the sister of Ragnar and Uhtred, visits a bar on the wrong side of town. (oh and I kind of suck at summaries)

Wordcount: 3k

First part of many....

Walking out from one of the dorm rooms in the back of the clubhouse, Octavia, is greeted with hoots and hollers from the bikers hanging out at the bar. Loud music is already playing, and the members of the motorcycle club are slapping back shots to celebrate another shipment of guns received with no issues. She playfully glares at the men giving her cat calls, as she grabs her leather jacket off of one of chairs near the bar. She knows they are just teasing her. Glancing towards the chapel, she sees through the window that Uhtred and Ragnar are in a deep conversation at the table. A serious look on both of their faces. She’s not sure she wants to know what that’s all about.

“Hey, hey….where are ye off to?” Finan asks, holding his hands up to stop her.

“I’m going out with some friends… to a bar.” Octavia answers her older brother’s best-friend. She doesn’t miss the way he appraises her outfit; tight black jeans, black button down low cut sleeveless shirt and her riding boots. The darkness that comes to his eyes as he licks his lips, gives her a little thrill, even though she knows they are both off limits. She gives him a little smirk, just to tease Finan a bit.

Once he snaps out of Octavia entrancing appearance, Finan gives her a confused look as he motions to the fully stocked bar they are standing next to. “Invite yer friends here… I’m sure we can entertain them.”

“Yeah, no… I’m not bringing my friends here for all you guys to hit on. I keep my friends separate from this.” Octavia motions to the clubhouse. 

It’s bad enough one of her best friends has already expressed an interest in meeting her brother, Uhtred, but Gisela has no idea the kind of stuff they are mixed up in. Gun running, distribution, and rival clubs trying to come after them. It’s not an easy life, but it’s all they know. Her older brothers took over the MC and the business after their parents died in an accident. Their father was the founder of the club.

Finan gives her a look like he’s going to argue with her, but he stops himself. He knows he can’t win this fight, she is just as stubborn as the rest of them, and she’s not wrong. All of the men will be hitting on her friends.

“You know….we could go in the back, like old times…” Octavia bats her lashes at Finan as she places her hands on his hips drawing herself closer to him. She slowly licks her upper lip seductively before giving him a flirty smile. One of her hands creeping up his chest, smiling as she remembers his hard muscles.

Finan almost forgets that Octavia is off limits as he lets her pull his body closer to hers. The memories of them hooking up in the past quickly coming to mind. He starts to lower his face to hers to kiss her, but he growls before making contact. He forces himself out of her hold reluctantly. “Tavia… yer brothers will have me balls if we do that. Can’t take that chance.”

“That’s too bad… I was really hoping.” She teases the Irishman with her eyebrow raised. Putting on her leather jacket, she prepares to leave. “I’m going to the bar then…tell my brothers not to wait up for me.” She says as she walks towards the door.

Finan lets out a groan as he watches her walk away, having to adjust himself from the effect she has on him. “Hey…” He shouts out to her. “Be careful…things are a bit unsettled right now.” There is a darkness in his eyes as he gives her a stern look.

Octavia looks back at Finan before she walks out the door. All of the men are protective of her, with her being Ragnar and Uhtred’s little sister. “I will…” She assures him with a seriousness in her voice as she looks in his eyes. 

Even though she’s not a member of the club, she is still part of it. It’s the family business. They never tell her all the details of what they do, but she knows enough, especially when there is the potential for retaliation for something they have done. Not to mention, there is always the threats from their rivals.

Stepping outside the clubhouse, Octavia takes a deep breath of the cool evening air. The heat of the day finally wearing off. Walking over to her bike, she takes her helmet off the handlebars, before cinching it on her head. Straddling her dark red Harley, she starts the engine, then she kicks up the kickstand. Twisting the throttle she revs up the bike a little, loving the sounds coming from the exhaust. 

Loud pipes, saves lives…. She lets out a bittersweet chuckle as she remembers what her dad always said.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she sends a quick text to her friends Eadith, Gisela and Aethelflaed, letting them know she’s on her way to the bar they are meeting at.

The bar that Octavia rides to is on the other side of town. The part of town where she really shouldn’t be, but hopefully nobody recognizes her and tries to start trouble. She parks her bike and shuts off the engine. After pulling off her helmet, she shakes out her long dark brown hair, before hanging the helmet on her handlebars.

As she walks to the front door she can already hear the loud music and voices within. Glancing around outside she takes in her surroundings before heading inside to find her friends.The atmosphere in the bar reminds her of the clubhouse. Loud rock music, rough looking men, and skimpily dressed women hanging all over the men. Spotting her friends, she quickly walks over the their table, feeling a little unsettled here.

“What made you guys decide to come here? Seems a little sketchy.” Octavia asks, as she finds herself constantly scanning the bar looking for possible threats. The place makes her feel uncomfortable.

Aethelflaed gives her a sheepish look. “Erik invited me here, and I didn’t want to come alone… Here have a shot.” The dark haired woman slides over a shot glass filled with amber colored liquid.

“Erik? The guy you’ve been seeing for the past couple of weeks?” Octavia asks. “Where is he?” Her friend hasn’t said much about this new man she’s been dating.

Aethelflaed points to the man behind the bar, pouring shots and grabbing beers for the customers. When the large blond haired man notices, he gives her a wink and a soft smile. “He said we could drink for free…” Aethelflaed giggles, as she glances back over at him with a dreamy smile.

Octavia shakes her head, not too sure about her friend’s choice in men. Not that she is one to judge, given the type of men she hangs out with all the time. She’s just concerned that her friend might be a little naive to the kind of stuff he maybe tied into.

The friends fall into a comfortable conversation, laughing and joking as shot after shot is downed. Octavia tries to pace herself, not wanting to let her guard down too much. Gisela of course mentions her brother again, wanting to meet him, which Octavia brushes off that he’s been busy with the business lately. When Eadith mentions Finan, Octavia finds herself bristling a bit. She’ll always have a soft spot for the Irishman, especially since he was her first, before he joined the Sons of Valhalla with Uhtred. After which Ragnar and Uhtred forbade them from dating, not wanting to cause a riff in the club if they ever broke up.

A group of men walk into the bar, and Octavia’s keen senses take notice. Her eyes are instantly drawn to one of the men. It’s hard not to notice him with his dark half-shaved hair, and eyes that almost look mismatched. He glances in her direction and she blushes when he smiles at her, before she quickly looks away. Her friends notice the exchange and start teasing her that she should go talk to him, but Octavia shakes her head no. She didn’t come here looking for a hookup.

Focusing her attention on her friends, Octavia tries to avoid looking in the sexy man’s direction, but she can’t help stealing glances at him. She does notice that he and the other men he arrived with are hanging around the pool table talking to some of the other patrons of the bar. One of the men, wearing an eye patch gives her the creeps when he starts leering at her, making her feel uncomfortable. When she glares back at him, she finally notices the kutte he’s wearing. She glances at one of the other men whose back is to her and see the flash emblazoned on the back of the kutte. Midnight Raiders. Kjartan’s crew. Her stomach drops, as she quickly stands up.

“Shit… I have to go….I can’t stay.” She quickly says to her friends, as she grabs her coat from the back of her chair.

Her friends look at her in confusion, with disappointment on their faces. “You just got here… the night is still young.” Eadith pipes up.

Octavia knows her friends don’t really understand the danger she is in. If those men figure out that she’s the sister of Ragnar and Uhtred Ragnarson, that she’s tied to the Sons of Valhalla, they may try to harm her. She can’t help the look of disgust she gives the man with the eye patch, as he gives her a sinister smile. There has always been a suspicion amongst her brothers that the Midnight Raiders had something to do with their parents deaths, but of course they couldn’t prove anything. She just knows that they have been enemies for as long as she can remember.

“Sorry, ladies… We’ll get together another time. Somewhere else… I’ll call you, later.” Octavia takes a nervous look around the bar. Her eyes land briefly on the sexy dark-haired man, standing in the corner near the pool table. She feels a little disappointed that he’s with the enemy. She really would have been curious to get to know him, especially with how drawn to him she already feels.

Quickly striding to the door, Octavia takes a deep calming breath of air once she is outside, resting her hand on her pounding heart. If her brothers knew she was here, at a bar that is obviously controlled by the Midnight Raiders, she will be in so much trouble. They’ll start making one of the prospects babysit her, to keep her safe.

As she walks to her bike, she doesn’t realize at first that she’s being followed. When someone grabs her arm to stop her, she feels a panic enter her chest. Looking up, it’s the man with the eye patch that was leering at her. Her heart starts pounding in her chest in fear, but she does her best to hide it as she glares at the man for daring to touch her.

“Let go of me!” Her voice growls out, each word clipped.

“Where are you going, pretty lady? I thought we could spend sometime together…have some fun.” The man’s voice turns her stomach. The tone of it is almost sickly smooth.

The look in his eye as he looks down her body, sends a chill down Octavia’s spine. “Get your fucking hands off of me.” She spits out with venom in her voice. Her other hand sneaking into her jacket pocket to grip the knife she always keeps on her.

Squinting his one eye at her, he looks at Octavia as if he recognizes her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Her stomach drops at his question, and she feels a fresh wave of panic come over her. His grip on her arm tightens, as he tries to pull her closer to him. Octavia digs in her heels, as her other hand is about to pull out her knife. Before she does they are both distracted by a voice calling out.

“Sven!…Sven, let her go!”

Looking towards the door of the bar, she sees the sexy dark-haired man from earlier. The look on his face as he strides towards them would be frightening if it was directed at her, but she can tell his anger is directed at the other man.

“This is not how you treat a lady.” He growls out as he grabs Sven’s arm, squeezing until the other man releases her. “Get back inside and leave her alone.” He pushes the larger man away.

Rubbing the sore spot on her arm, Octavia watches as Sven slinks back into the bar. She releases a sigh of relief when he is no longer in sight.

“I’m sorry… did he hurt you? He’s nothing but a brute, has no idea how to treat a lady.” The sexy man says as he glares towards the door of the bar, making sure Sven is gone.

“No…I’m fine.” Octavia says softly, not wanting to draw more attention to herself.

“I can walk you to your car…make sure you’re safe.” He gives her a concerned look.

Octavia feels a little flutter in her heart that she tries to ignore. This can’t happen, she reminds herself. He is the enemy. “I…I don’t have a car.” She replies as she points to her bike in the distance.

He gives her a surprised smile as he starts to walk her to her Harley. “You ride?” He asks excitedly.

Softly nodding her head, Octavia can’t help but smile at the way his face lights up in excitement. His smile is infectious and his mesmerizing eyes are doing things to her stomach, despite her efforts to ignore it. “I’ve been riding since I was a kid…it kind of runs in the family.”

Octavia can’t help but chuckle when he haunches down to look over her bike once they reach it. Her bike is anything but stock. Her and her brothers have spent hours customizing the bike to her liking. Adding a custom exhaust, changing out the air filter cover and fuse box. There are too many details to list, but someone with a trained eye could pick up on them.

“It’s beautiful….just like its rider.” He smiles at her, with his sly little comment.

A little blush colors her cheeks at the compliment as she looks away, trying to hide the smile coming to her face. “I should really get going…”

“Oh, shit…where are my manners. My name is Sihtric…” He holds out his hand with an endearing smile on his face.

Looking Sihtric over, Octavia can’t help the smirk that comes to her face looking at his haircut. It is definitely unique, but she finds that she likes it…almost too much. She reluctantly holds out her hand, giving his a little shake. She is caught off guard when he brings her palm to his lips and leaves a light kiss. She feels her cheeks turn a shade redder, as she glances away.

“Ok…well… it was nice to meet you, Sihtric, but I really must get going…” Before you figure out who I am… 

Octavia can feel herself falling more and more under his spell. He is beyond sexy, and he seems to have a tenderness about him. She feels a war of emotions playing inside her being near him. She would love nothing more than to go home with him and see where things lead, but the risks involved are just too great.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t catch your name.” He tries to prod, not quite ready for her to leave.

Letting out a sigh, Octavia bites her lip. He definitely isn’t making this easy. “Octavia…but my friends just call me Tavia.” She avoids telling him her last name, wanting to prevent the shit-storm that will stir up.

“Tavia....I like that.” Sihtric grins at her, his smile turning a little flirty. “Any chance I can get your number?” He smoothly asks.

Yeah…no. “Sorry…I don’t give out my number to random men I just met.” She rebuffs him as she shakes her head. The more questions he asks her the more nervous she gets, she can feel her heart starting to race.

“But how will I get ahold of you? Take you out sometime?” He asks, the disappointment clear in his voice.

“You won’t. This can’t happen. You’re cute and all…..but I just can’t. Sorry…” Octavia walks with resolve to the front of her bike to grab her helmet, quickly cinching it on her head. “Thanks again for saving me back there… I appreciate it, but I have to go now.”

Starting up her bike to drown out any more attempts from Sihtric to coax more information out of her, she gives him a quick nod before straddling the seat. She backs out of the parking spot, then revs the bike a little before putting it in gear and taking off. She takes a quick glance behind her, a little sad at how forlorn Sihtric looks watching her ride away.

This is how it has to be. It would never work. He is the enemy. My brothers would kill me if I hooked up with a Midnight Raider. Gods, he is so hot though…

Sihtric stands there in stunned silence as he watches Octavia ride away. He’s never had a beautiful woman flat out refuse to give him their number, and it makes him want her all the more. She’s not like the other women he has seen, who practically throw themselves at him. Just the little bit of interaction he had with her, he can tell she’s a little sassy, and he kind of likes it. Not to mention she rides a bike, which makes her that much more sexy in his eyes.

To say he’s intrigued by her, would be an understatement. He can’t get her out of his head.

But how can I find her?….

It takes everything inside him not to jump on his bike and follow her, but he doesn’t want to come off as a creep and freak her out. He’ll find her… Somehow. Someday…

Note: If you'd like to be tagged in this let me know. I can start a tag list.

Comments and reblogs much appreciated. :)

[wackapedia]

The Lady Of Devon

Sihtric x Reader, Finan x Reader Summary: You are a daughter of the ealdorman of Devon, you bothered Uhtred to let you join his band of merry fighters, and you live the best months of your life. Warnings: none, sad times Wordcount: 1,382

“Think about it, Sihtric, you don’t have to pay a girl if she truly loves you, eh?” You gave the Dane a raised eyebrow when he asked to borrow a few coins from you. He looks down at his ale and sighs, not wanting to hear your reprimands. “If you’re refusing me, then just say it! I don’t need to hear your sermon.” He slams his tankard against the table, startling you and Finan, sitting side by side. It is clear to the both of you that Sihtric has had enough drinks for tonight, evident in his slurred tone and rude approach.

“Maybe we should sober up a bit…” Finan reaches over to retrieve the Dane’s ale, swapping it with a mug of water, “.. before we say something we regret, aye?” “No!” Sihtric keeps his ale close to his chest. “What is she even doing here?” He glares at you, tucked in a corner of the booth. “Daughter of an ealdorman who’s done nothing significant, so now you’re pretending to be a warrior so you could be lady of Devon, when all you do is flirt with me and give me unsolicited advice?!” Sihtric raises his voice, loud enough to silence half the alehouse and turn their eyes on your booth. Finan clamps the dane’s mouth under his palm, but the damage has been done. He has said what he wanted to say. “Excuse me…” You mutter under your breath as you make your way out of the crowded room while Uhtred walks in with a couple more drinks in his hand. “Check your manners, boy.” Finan points an accusing finger at the younger Dane before leaving him with his lord as the Irishman follows you out. “I’m sorry about Sihtric, he’s just drunk and frustrated…” Finan knocks at your door, hoping to comfort you. “It’s not your doing.” You try to keep your voice stable, hiding the fact that you are crying. “What he said was true anyway…” The door creaks open, and you see the Irishman’s kind eyes searching your watery ones. “Oh, y/n..” His heart breaks as he steps in, taking in your appearance. No man should ever let you cry. “What he said was mean..” “But it’s true.” You sob into his broad chest, allowing yourself to drown in his warmth. “I’ve proven myself useless to my people; I ran away from my responsibilities; and I’ve embarrassed myself in front of him!” Everything Sihtric has accused you of is true. When your younger brother was named heir, Uhtred and his men happened to be passing by your hometown. The morning after the witan, you ran away and followed (more like bothered) Uthred until he accepted. Over the course of eight months, the exiled lord of Bebbanburg and his men treated you like family. In those months, between battles, shield walls, and Coccham, you found yourself gravitating toward Sihtric, that kind and mysterious Dane who was so fierce in battle, yet so nice, gentle, and funny when he was hanging out. You were certain he has noticed how often you prefer to sit next to him, set your bed roll next to his when you’re camping, and check on him during battles. Finan thinks Sihtric should be grateful to have your attention. It’s not everyday you have a beautiful, young, and gentle lady care for you. Unfortunately, the young Dane sets his sights on that one woman from the brothel who was very obviously ripping him off all his coin, even getting into bar fights because of her. You cry yourself to sleep that night, and Finan ever so kindly stays with you, sitting on the floor and resting his head at the edge of the bed. In the morning, Finan groans at the pain shooting up his neck from sleeping in an awkward position. Sunlight beams through the open windows of the lodge, brightly illuminating the room and the empty bed. His eyes immediately darted through where your belongings were supposed to be, only to find them void of your riding boots and your bag. The Irishman rushes out of the lodge, clocking Sihtric, who was on the way up to your room. “Is she awake?” He asks, bringing a bunch of flowers, probably for you. Finan was still too angry to give him an answer, and he was in a hurry to check the stables. This time he comes across his lord Uhtred, hastily marching back to the inn. “Where is y/n?” He bellows as Finan approaches. “Her horse is gone!” Finan snaps into action and mounts his horse, beckoning it to ride fast to catch you on your way back home. The sound of distant hoofbeats startles you on your way home. You prayed that whoever was on the way would not bring danger. “Y/n!” Finan yells as soon as he sees you miles ahead in an open field. You pull your horse to a stop as the Irishman catches up. “Y/n, If I have offended you, I apologize…” Finan sighs, still catching his breath. “You have not offended me, dear Finan.” You gave him a sad smile. “I have wasted enough of my time rebelling against my family. "It’s time for me to go home.” Finan is at a loss for words. “Please extend my gratitude to Lord Uhtred,” You begin to tear up. “And to every man and woman in Coccham. I’ve never felt so at home during my brief stay there,” You try to hold down a sob. Finan wishes to unmount his horse and take you in his arms, to tell you how loved you are, and to express all the love he’s ready to give you. “I thank you, Finan. For everything.” There was pain in your eyes as you said your thanks. You forced a smile for him, and somehow it felt like a goodbye. The Irishman watches you fade east, toward your home. Maybe your father would reconsider and appoint you as heir to Devon, or maybe he’ll arrange an advantageous marriage for you, and you’ll live the rest of your days learning to love someone. He hopes you find the happiness you deserve. The happiness he was ready to give, if only you felt the same way for him. A year has passed since your departure from Coccham. Things have become awkward between two of Uhtred’s best fighters. Finan and Sihtric would often have a random lull in their conversation, as if stopping themselves from mentioning a certain ealdorman’s daughter whenever something reminded them of her. Nonetheless, both still treat each other with respect, having each other’s backs on the battlefield and looking after each other as if they were blood brothers. Uhtred watches them and figures he should just avoid asking about her in fear of sparking something distasteful in their mending relationship. The lord of Bebbanburg now feels anxious to deliver the news to his men of King Alfred’s instruction for them to visit Devon and see how the new ealdorman is managing the land. “Where ‘east’, lord?” Sihtric asks as they journey on the road. Uhtred figures he’ll wait until one of them figures out on the way, “East.” He answers. Finan already suspects where they are headed as they move closer to Devon. The gates of the stronghold creak open as their band of ten men arrive. “Welcome to Devon, Lord!” A young man descends the stairs and greets Uhtred. The young man’s eyes shift, looking into every single man’s eyes as if looking for something or someone. Uhtred dismounts from his horse and gives the young ealdorman a firm handshake. And for the first time in almost a year, someone directly refers to you. “Did my sister choose not to come with you?” Your younger brother, now the ealdorman, inquires. Uhtred, in his surprise, twists around his band of men, carefully making eye contact with Finan and then Sihtric, who were both equally giving him an unreadable look. “Isn’t she here, lord?” Sihtric questions, remembering to show respect. “Why would she be? She left to join you a year ago…” The young ealdorman raises a curious eyebrow at the king’s men. “She left us a year ago; we thought she came home!” Finan exclaims, forgetting to show respect. There was an uneasy silence in Devon’s courtyard.

[g00seg1raffe]

A (comparatively) Brief Thought about Steve Harrington's Names

Lucky Stevie has full names in three different languages and they're all equally incriminating in different ways!

For context: Steve's parents meet just as the summer of '66 is ending, in a perfectly legitimate bar with absolutely no connection to organised crime in Chicago. They introduce themselves as Christopher (call me Chris, Christopher is shite) Harrington and Anita (but you, bello, can call me Tina) Martino. They are both lying.

See, America is it's own little world. Founded by desperate refugees and religious extremists, the USA is the New York of the western world - the perfect place to disappear, because no matter your sins, there's always someone weirder. And in this totally not shady bar in Chicago, these two strangers have a lot of sins.

Mr. Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin is what some might call a terrorist. Those 'some' are, of course, all eejits who seem to be fecking delirah with the Brits treating the Irish Free State as a colony. But Ótis and Martyna didn't raise a spineless dosser, not on tales of the shite they saw in Nazi Poland. Ciarán wants to be just like his mama, so does the only thing he can at sweet sixteen and joins the IRA. It was a grand old time - until some spanner decided to start the boarder campaign, make some things go boom, then it all goes arseways and suddenly he's a wanted man. Now he's legged it all the way out to this bar in Chicago where he can find some mostly-legal work, set himself up as someone who doesn't need to check over his shoulder every five seconds - and maybe he can take a chance on this absolute ride of an Italian who's just walked in, Jaysus -

Sig.na Alessia Stefania "Pieterina" Serafini has made a name for herself as a mafiosa. Beloved, wild, ruthless granddaughter of Don Alessio - caporegime since nineteen and well on her way to consigliere - and, right now, in molti problemi with la Cosa Nostra. So much problemi that she's been effectively smuggled into the US, like that goddamn heroin shipment that started all these problemi... ah well. She just needs to lie low for a bit (a decade) with her American cousins on the less than legal side of Chicago before she can return to her cosca and the people she actually trusts not to stab her the moment she turns her back - and maybe she can have some fun with this bello, bello Irishman who's looking her way, dannazione -

So. Discussing the evolution Mr and Mrs Harrington's relationship is gonna have to wait (though I'd love to hear from you guys) - the important thing here is the family history.

================================================

Tina's side: Alessia Stefania "Pietrina" Serafini.

Tina's father is Vincenzo Serafini and her grandfather is Alessio Serafini. Her first name is the feminine of her paternal grandfather's name. Steve's middle names are also from them.

(In case it wasn't obvious, the Serafini family are heavily involved in the Italian mafia - potentially involved in the Ciaculli massacre in '63 - and also have ties to the American mafia.)

Tina's mother is Pietra Tedesco and her grandmother is Stefania Tedesco. Her middle name - Stefania - and her son's first name - Stefano - are from her maternal grandmother. "Pietrina" is a diminutive nickname for Pietra - they're saying she's just like her mother, and since they figured this would be easy and natural enough for Steve to remember, his agreed Italian 'cover' surname is Di Pietro.

(Pietra is the feminine of her father's Petri Tedesco - which is itself the new name chosen by the German runaway Peter Thälmann. No relation to German Communist Party Leader Ernst Thälman, no sir, nothing to see here.)

So: Stefano Alessio Vincenzo Serafini - or, when he doesn't want to advertise the mafia part - Stefano Di Pietro.

Chris' side: Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin.

Chris' father is Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin, and his paternal grandparents Steafán and Keira Ó'hArrachtáin. He gets his first name from the masculine of his grandmother's name, his middle name from his father, and gave Steve his grandfather's name.

(Steafán and Keira worked their asses off their whole life to put their kids through school, ennabling Ótis to work at the Irish embassy in Poland, where he managed to smuggle a handful of refugees past the Nazis to Britain, of which his future wife, Hannia Marcinkiewicz, was one.)

Chris' mother is Anita Marcinkiewicz. He gets his middle name from her surname. Steve gets his Irish 'cover' surname from that.

(Anita and her son are very similar as teenagers and young adults - the same heady cocktail of jaded rage and a naïve sense of justice, motivating spiky teens in parallel shitty situations to commit near-suicidal acts of heroism, with similar results. Just what did Anita do? Nothing you can prove, of course...)

(Yes, Anita Marcinkiewicz and Anita Martino - a wild coincidence that kicks of conversation for our young lovers in Chicago. Not in any way manipulated by an omnipotent fangirl who wants her OCs to have something neat to make slightly awkward but unexpectedly wholesome small talk about over a Guinness and a Negroni in a bar in Chicago). (This is why Chris calls his wife Tina all the time when anyone else would get shot if she's feeling anything less than saccharine.)

So: Steofán Ciarán Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin - or, when he'd rather avoid any connection to the wanted terrorist - Steofán Ó Máirtín.

================================================

Of course, as half Irish and half Italian - or, well, 1/8 German, 2/8 Polish, 2/8 Irish and 3/8 Italian but who's counting. Aside from me -

The point is, he's Catholic as fuck. He can be non-practicing and still Catholic (bc fuckboi), he can lose his faith and still be Catholic (bc interdimensional hell monsters), he can be an atheist (bc Irish) and still be Catholic, ok - he is Italian and Irish, there's no cure.

So, yeah, he's definitely been christened. And sure, you can old give any old name to the government (fuck them anyways) as long as it suits your purposes. But your christening name is the one that God knows you by, okay, you don't want to lie to the priest and end up with the wrong name tag when you get to heaven (or if, I guess).

What I'm saying is the paperwork says Steven Otis Harrington, but some poor Father/Reverendo gets hit with Stefano Stiofán Alessio Ciarán Vincenzo Ótis Serafini Ó'hArrachtáin. Good fucking luck!

[johnmarstonswife]

Partners in Crime till’ the Day we Die #1

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

Chapter one: Second Chances

fandom : red dead redemption online & 2 pairing : sean macguire x f!reader word count : ~2,300 rating : mature warnings : minor coarse language, mentions of hanging and murder, opening spoilers for red dead online summary : you escape Sisika Penitentiary from your wrongful hanging with the help of a stranger— who happens to be more connected with your situation than you thought.

a/n : hey !! thank you for choosing to read my first fanfic and first chapter of this story <3 ive been absolutely OBSESSED with sean lately and starting this feeds my addiction, so i hope this does too for you ! sadly, this chapter does not feature sean yet its basically all lore and story, but stay tuned for when our favourite irishman appears 🫶

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

The air was hazy from the saw dust and various other debris flying around. The burning hot sun beamed into the gravel and unkept grass beneath your feet. Stone walls encase you as you hack into the stone pathway with no avail. Working on something which you’re not even sure what it is. Mindlessly hacking at the stone, which stays unchanging no matter how much you swing the hammer as sweat beads at your forehead. This never ending hell, was Sisika Penitentiary. An isolated island for criminals and outlaws alike.

Suddenly, a guard walks up, watching the you and the other prisoners labour with construction. The guard’s voice speaks up with conviction, “You.” He points at a prisoner sweeping the cobble, “You.” He points again at another person. Picking people out at random from the dozen of prisoners. Like some sort of wealthy widow picking out clothing in a tailor. “You with the hammer… and you, you’ll do.” He says, finger pointed at you as you stop mining. Swiping the glistening sweat off your forehead and looking up, feeling the itchy clothing of the striped uniform on your sticky skin as you listen to the guard speak— god these guard’s voices were irritating.

“We need to perform a work detail out near Tumbleweed. Come on get in.” He instructs, walking over to the caged wagon and swinging open the creaking open the metal gate. The three other prisoners swiftly make their way to the cage, climbing in and taking their seats. You follow close behind, climbing in too. You don’t really care where you’re heading, as long as you get out of this miserable place, it’ll be better than nothing.

Shutting the doors, the two guards hop on the front and whip the coach out the large steel gates, out of the massive, thick stone walls that confined you and out onto the bridge. On the way out of the island. As you and the other prisoners ride in the back, You could only think of how long this journey will be. Sisika, all the way to Tumbleweed? That’s basically across the country. But, what were you to complain? You were out. More of a chance to escape your wrongful conviction.

And you were sure right. The ride was long, but the new scenery was a welcome change of pace, finally seeing large green fields and houses other than dusty cells and unkept gardens— if you could call them that. The guards talked on about some random things you couldn’t care to listen to. The usual bickering of a guard and prisoner, and the rolling of the wheels on the dirt road, bumping slightly over a rock here and there. As well as a couple sexist comments from the guard as you physically try to not roll your eyes into the back of your head. Hopefully it’ll be over soon. Though, seeing out the bars of the cage; out at the vast, grassy, green plains of the Heartlands— it was going to be a long while. Though you already knew that, the confirmation still wasn’t pleasant.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ 𓃵𓃶𓃵𓃚 ⛰︎ ོ ༄ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

If the sun wasn’t already blazing, it was even more boiling than before and twice as much arid. Dusty green, prickly cactus and vast desert surround you and your back seems to ache from the long ride and sitting on mere wood; more than it did when you were axing at stone back at the penitentiary. This long of a ride, this landscape, and this weather? This was New Austin alright. Your dry, blistering hot, desert home. Where you grew up as a young lass. But before you could reminisce any longer, the wheels roll slow and come to a stop in the middle of the long dirt road— which seemed to go on forever past the mesas and valleys of rocky, orange desert.

“Good day gentleman.” An unfamiliar voice speaks, calm but assertive. You manage to push your head against the metal cage and peer out the side, just barely able to peer out at the older man leisurely leaning against the door of a fancy looking stagecoach blocking the road, rifle in hand. The older man warns, “Don’t do anything stupid, nobody gets shot.” As two other armed men, covering their identities with red bandanas came out the back, pointing a repeater to the guards driving the wagon at the top.

Witnessing this, your heart was racing. Is this really happening? Hope filled your body as the main man and company steps closer to the wagon that was holding you and your fellow inmates captive. Are you finally going to be set free? You thought to yourself; in any other situation, this would be terrifying, but this, oh this was just brilliant.

The older, main man asks for the guards names politely and out of courtesy— though it was not needed as armed men threatening you in the middle of the desert wouldn’t care all too much about the names of the people they’re holding at gunpoint. “Now what are your names?” He ‘asks’ in a light, non threatening tone, which was actually very threatening considering the situation. The guard that was yapping his trap the whole time lifts his hands slightly up in defence, “Jenkins, and Milliken.” He answers, gesturing to himself and to his partner in law, never putting his left hand down to ought to not get shot. The man tells them to throw their guns down and get out of their seats. They comply, stepping down with their arms up as the man continues on to threat, in a stern, but not aggressive manner. But, the words your ears basically perk up on was hearing the gentleman ask— no, demand, “Let em’ out. Now! Please.”

Yours and everyone else’s in that cage eyes glimmered with hope. Sure enough, the guards walk cautiously to the back of the wagon where the door was, fumbling his silver and brass keys, inserting the metal into the keyhole— and unlocks it. The doors fling open and the prisoners accompanying you and yourself sit your hands up to make sure you don’t get shot by these armed men. You don’t know what they are going to do with you and everyone else, or why they stopped the wagon, but sure as hell shouldn’t assume you all were safe all too soon.

“You all run away.” The same man tells the lot of you, rifle leaning on his well dressed shoulder. The bandanna-ed company behind still, pointing their guns and looking tough. You wasn’t dumb enough to find out if they were all they were worked up to be or not though. Before you or the others could get out the god forsaken cage, the man points his finger at you as he peers in. “Aside from you.” He finished, as if you were again, picked out by random.

God, you thought to yourself, your luck was just amazing. You could have been free if you just avoided eye contact. The man goes on to say how this is good fortune for all of you and tells Jenkins and Milliken to run away in a threat and dreadful glare. The two comply and start running off to who knows where into the endless desert. Before you could even get out the cage, the man talks about his payment to the two bandanna-ed, menacing men. Paying the two fifty each. Fifty each? This man must be rich. Hell, you’re either in really good hands or really bad hands if he would pay 100 American dollars just for this. He again, tells the two to get out of here and thanks them, “My employer and I appreciate your professionalism.”

A hired man replies, “All we did was stand there and look tough.” He says with a mix of surprise and confusion.

“And you did it fantastically well.” The man answers with a quip. The two hired men briskly going their ways; presumably happy. The still unnamed man who saved you and the other prisoners turns to you as you jump out the caged wagon to the dirt underneath your bare feet. Standing free, finally.

Before you could even peep a word, “Now, miss.” He starts, resting that rifle on his shoulder and walking past you in a leisurely pace. “How bout’ you pick up these guns… and we move out.” He suggests, less of a suggestion, since it’s pretty much the only thing you could do as an option. You bend down to pick up the stray, worn gun belt sitting on the dusty, dirt below, grabbing it and setting it along your hips loosely.

“My mistress is waiting for us.” He states. You look up and just nod slightly, still a little speechless on what just happened in that short span of time. Still processing it through if this situation was real or you just passed out from heatstroke.

Even if that was the case, you couldn’t care less. Taking in the sun kissing your skin, the golden star casting hot rays onto the sweat on your forehead. Shining and weaving through the strands of your— albeit, slightly weathered hair. Feeling the warm, almost comforting dirt under your feet and between your toes, and looking off into the distance. Soft hills, dunes, buttes and mesas of the desert of New Austin, welcoming a new chapter of your life. Things change now. You’re sure of it.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ོ༘₊⁺⋆.˚ 𐚁𓆈𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After peering around, the man led you to a spare scrawny horse, supposedly brought along by the stage coach that was blocking the road, which was now soon to be abandoned. He asked for you to ride with him on that horse, explaining it should only be a short ride anyway.

You both rode out further along the sandy, dry, dirt road. He began to speak as he road in a brisk canter down the dusty roads and through the slightly sandy, rocky, dry grassed terrain of New Austin— you following close behind. The air somewhat hazy with how arid it was.

“I hope you’ll forgive the secrecy. My employer particularly values discretion.” The man explains whilst he rides in front, as you follow close behind. “My name is Mr. Horley, by the way.” He introduces himself, which you were going to respond with your own greetings, but before you could say a word he trails off. “Six months at Sisika Penitentiary…” Leading you to realise he probably knows who you are already. “awaiting a hanging for a murder you did not commit.” Mr. Horley continues, which he was correct. How did he know how long you were in Sisika? How did he know your reason for being in that hell hole? So you weren’t picked at random? He was definitely not a lawman— anybody could tell you that— so who was this, ‘Mr. Horley’ and his employer?

You finally speak up, confused as you furrows your eyebrows, knitting them together whilst trying to make sense of all this. Spurring the horse below you faster to catch up to Horley, trotting beside him. “How… How do you know who I am?” You question, trying to catch his attention; examining his face and expression as for any hint or clue. He continues to look forward onto the dirt road.

“You’ll find out in a minute.” He answered collected, as you continue to follow him down the trail, the trot quickening. He soon continued, “You still seem strong, though. I mean, it doesn’t look like breaking all those rocks has left you entirely broken… in body or in spirit. I hope I am right about that.” He pauses for a moment.

“Roundin’ you folks up… and those sham trials? They were a disgrace. Made a mockery of the rule of law. I still can’t quite believe they got away with it.” Mr. Horley ranted, he knew much more about what happened to you than you thought. Talking about the trial you had attended and how during that trial you were framed for murder.

You scoff softly in amusement at his remarks, you can admit, you do agree with that statement. “Me neither.” You reply, shaking your head lightly in disbelief.

“There’s others convicted when you were, came out breathing fire.” He retells how previous people like you sought out a burning revenge at the people who wronged them, convicted them falsely and or set them up. “Maybe you’re like that, too. Guess we’ll see. Or maybe, you just want to put it all behind you, forget you were in there at all.” He says, stating what you could do since you’re out. “That would be fine, of course.” Horley resents, a hint of sarcasm laced into it.

“Yeah… we’ll see.” You nod, of course you want to get revenge. You were almost HANGED for something you did not commit. And some bastards are walking free without a care in the world. But with nothing to your name except a gun belt and prison uniform; there wasn’t much you could do— yet.

But before another word of this situation is spoken, you both arrive at a camp after that brisk ride. Turning gently, just short of a branch off to the left of the road. Approaching the fairly organised, well set up camp out in the open desert, Mr. Horley tells to hitch up the horses at the two posts on the edge of camp; doing so, climbing off the scrawny steed and landing on the sandy dirt once more. You gaze around the campsite, small patches of green grass poke out through the sandy dirt, cactus and various rocks and boulders are freckled around the surrounding vicinity, and rocky, sandy hills and valleys stand on the horizon, fading softer, and softer into the distance.

This is better than that penitentiary— that’s for sure.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 ོ ༄﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THANKS FOR READING MY FIRST FANFIC ‼️ hope you liked it because geez I haven’t written in a bit 😭😭 let me know what you think and say literally ANYTHING because I have no clue what I think of it 🙏

kind stayed up till 3am for this… 😭

[thlayli-ra]

Ficlet~

I'm so nervous leading into Bad Blood, as much as I'm so here for Punkintyre, I could use some fluff

Drew/Sheamus ....(wouldn't say no to Wade being around either)

Treat: Remembering the littlest of things — activities they like and dislike, favourite brands of stationery, go-to ice cream flavour, choice of popcorn

I'm sorry I didn't get this one out to you in time for Bad Blood but hopefully it can help with the healing process (Also, apologies, I went really self-indulgent with this one 😅)

Treat - 'Remembering the Littlest of Things'

Characters - Drew McIntyre, Sheamus, Wade Barett

Rating - Teen and up

Warnings - Typical sports banter

An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman walked into a bar.

That... sounds like the start of a joke, but honestly, it isn't. Wade Barrett, Sheamus and Drew McIntyre were heading out to their usual joint, one of those tacky ye olde English pubs that could sometimes be found if you dared to venture into the more touristy parts of the city. It didn't quite hit the same as the pubs back home in the UK and Ireland, but the owner, Big Jim*, was an ex-pat so the place had some genuine charm about it that came close enough.

Also, it was the only place in the entire US that showed the Six Nations every year so it was either there or stay at home, and at least at the pub there would be some form of atmosphere. Also Big Jim really liked his unusual patrons. 'There's never any trouble when you three are about,' he'd said once, and they had to agree, mainly because whenever any trouble did brew, they were the first ones to leap into action and put a stop to it.

It was week three of the rugby tournament, and a tense clash was looming (particularly for the throuple.) Scotland V Ireland! Normally Drew and Sheamus were as sweet and loving as can be, but when it came time for their home nations to butt heads, things could get a little... well, competitive. Ireland, as per usual, were on a winning streak and had their eyes set on a grand slam, while Scotland, by some miracle, had not fluffed up their chances in the first two weeks and were aiming for the same, or at the very least, the Triple Crown.

(England was playing Italy the next day so nobody particularly cared about that. Sorry, Wade. And sorry, Italy!)

Things were running smoothly up to the point the players came out of the tunnel and onto the pitch. The drinks were lined up on the table (Wade, the neutral, got the first round) and the national anthems began to play. Ireland, being the visitors, went first and Sheamus got up onto his chair, hand on his heart to belt out the rallying tune of 'Ireland's Call'. Drew, not to be outdone, stood up to sing along with 'Flower of Scotland', encouraging the rest of the bar's patrons to join in the added chants during the chorus;

'And stood against them ('GAINST WHO?)

Proud Edward's Army (WANKERS!)'

(Again, sorry Wade!)

But then the whistle blew, the game was kicked-off and soon the nastiness began to creep in.

'There's no way that was a knock-on!'

'Penalty! Penalty!'

'HAHA! We're slaughtering yer boys up front, fella!'

'Pass it! Pass it to him, ye dobber!'

'Forward! Hah!'

'HE GOT IT DOWN, REF! ARE YE BLIND!'

'It was held up!'

'NO IT WISNAE!'

And just as the pressure erupted on the pitch with a brawl between an Irish prop and a Scottish second row, Drew and Sheamus got up and squared up to one another too.

'Woah there,' Wade jumped in between them to separate them both. 'Come on chaps, we're all mates here, right?'

Well, the last thing anybody needed at that point in time was an Englishman of all things stepping in and the pair immediately directed their wrath at Wade who cringed away with his palms raised. Sheamus snorted at Drew who glared in return before turning their backs on each other and stomping off to opposite ends of the pub. Wade sighed and sat back down at the now empty table.

But as the half-time whistle blowed and the pundits began to dissect the first forty minutes of the game, the two men began to calm down and regret their rash actions. Sport had a way of raising the blood pressure like few other things could, especially when there was something on the line, but they had let their emotions get out of hand.

So they each began to plan and scheme, Wade watching both of his boyfriends warily as they scuttled about the place, sometimes heading to the bar to speak to Big Jim, until finally they both sheepishly approached the table with their hands behind their backs.

Drew, the softest of the three, apologised first. 'I'm sorry for getting all riled up Sheamo,' he dipped his head with shame. 'I just get... very jittery whenever Scotland play, but that's not an excuse, so here...' and he brought out a platter from behind his back. Immediately Sheamus' eyes grew to the size of dinnerplates. 'I know how much ye love those pickled onions on the bar, and I mind you telling us how yer maw used to put them on a cocktail stick with pineapple and cheese so I asked Big Jim to cut up some cheese and find some cocktail sticks for ye. He didn't have any pineapple but he asked Debs to nip out and buy a tin and, well... here you go.' He placed the lovingly crafted platter on the table in front of the Irishman who eyed it in wonder.

'T'ank ye,' he hushed out. 'I can't believe ye even remember that story about my ma.' He took in a breath to compose himself then straightened up. 'I got you something too.' He placed a bowl of hot french fries in front of him, topped with a type of dark brown sauce. This time, it was Drew's turn to looked stunned. 'Ye know how you said you once went on a night out in Edinburgh and tried chippie chips with salt n' sauce and loved it so much ye converted to it for life and everybody in Glasgow called you a traitor for not liking salt and vinegar? Well, Big Jim and I tried to concoct something similar with brown sauce and vinegar. It took a few attempts to get it right - Debs was our taste-tester and she said the fifth one was the closest so...'

'Wow...' Drew scratched the back of his neck, a little blush forming on his cheeks. 'That's... really kind of you.'

They both locked eyes, somehow understanding the other and slowly turned to face the final member of their throuple. 'Uh, Wade...'

'Oh no, what?' The Englishman looked nervous.

'I also asked Big Jim to make you this,' Sheamus said, placing down yet another plate. 'Fruit scone with jam and cream. They didn't have quite enough cream so Debs made some more. I insisted they put the jam first then the cream second, just how you like it.'

'It's not just how I like it, that's just how it should be,' Wade argued, playfully. 'Anyone who has cream first is just plain wrong!'

'And I asked them to make you this,' Drew put down another plate. 'Cornish pasty, with the crust doing down the side, not on the top.'

'Well, yes, of course or else it's not a Cornish pasty!' Wade lightly protested, making Drew chuckle.

'I know, I know. Big Jim had Debs check them in the freezer beforehand to make sure.'

'You two are the sweetest,' Wade chuckled. 'And here,' he pushed two glasses forward,' I got the next round. 'Guinness for Sheamo (and yes, I made Big Jim wait for the head to form properly) and an alcohol free ginger beer for Drew with no ice.'

'Awww, you shouldn't have!' They sat down and accepted their drinks gladly.

'So...' Drew drummed his large fingers on the table, looking at each of their specially prepared plates in turn, 'are we all forgiven?'

Wade and Sheamus hummed, making a silly display of thinking hard but eventually smiled widely. The throuple wrapped their arms around one another in a huge bear hug, their petty difference put aside just in time to watch the final moments of the second half.

'I don't even know what the score is anymore,' Drew noted, tucking into his fries.

'What does it matter?' Sheamus shrugged, spiking a pickled onion with a cocktail stick.

'Poor Debs,' Wade sighed. 'All that hard work she put in. We need to leave her a huge tip.'

'Yeah, and Big Jim,' Drew agreed. 'After all he did cook up some pasties for me, and even made a platter that wasn't on the menu.'

'And he helped me invent a new sauce recipe,' Sheamus added. 'And even made a fresh scone when he got the jam/cream sequence wrong the first time round.'

'Um... lads.' They looked over to Wade who seemed a bit unsettled. 'Did Big Jim really go to all that effort just for the three of us?' All three pairs of hands froze inches from their mouths and all three pairs of eyes glanced across to the bar where the older man smiled broadly and threw a thumbs up at them all.

'Oh...' Drew whispered. 'That's a bit...'

'Creepy,' Wade finished off for him.

'He must really like having us as regulars,' Sheamus said.

'Maybe it's time we look for another pub,' Drew leant in and whispered.

'Except we have two more weeks of the Six Nations and no other place in town is showing it,' Sheamus pointed out.

'Ok, ok, fine!' Wade chimed in. 'We come back here for the last two weeks then never again. Agreed.'

'Agreed.'

'And we're never going to fall out over something as stupid as sports again? Right?'

'Right!'

'And hey, look,' Drew said, pointing to the screen. 'Now, we can all enjoy watching Wales getting gubbed by France!'

'YAAAAASSSSSSSS!'

And all three stood up, arm-in-arm to belt out 'La Marseillaise'. (Sorry, Wales!)

*Big Jim is a nod to Jim Hamilton, a favourite ex-rugby player of mine (yes, he's tall with dark hair, a beard and tattoos - I am aware I have a type!HAHA!)

(Also the home-made brown sauce was disgusting but Drew ate it all anyway ❤️)

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

📖 ⛵️ 🩹 + something to do with his hair? I’m obsessed with his hair and decided he should be too (I love the sailor boy now damn)

Morning Tide - Wojchek/Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, bit of drinking, the sad sailor is even sadder.

Wordcount: 2697

Summary: When his crew walks in, all of them garner your attention with their stories and toasts, but it's him who makes you leave your place behind the bar when you spot him drinking alone.

Notes: This is the second fic where I get him into bed for softness, I just can't help it 😌 Thank you for your patience! I know it's been a whiiiile since my last request, but from now on I'll be writing these at work when it's not super busy so I can keep up~ It'll be slow work, but I'd rather do that than wait for the weekends when my shifts are shorter, so as I get back into the swing of things I hope you enjoy 💗💗💗

It was a busy night tonight, all the ships seeming to come in that weekend as your work was flooded with sailors, some there for a drink, some there to borrow company, all of them there for a good time. You liked sailors, they tipped very well generally, your pockets full of coins of all shapes and sizes by the end of the nights when they crammed themselves in from wall to wall, and tonight was just as successful as the old clock outside ticked over into the early hours of the morning. 

You were washing off the bar from a rowdy spill with his crew walked in, all of them tired and downtrodden as they pushed through the doors and looked for an empty table; this wasn't new, you'd seen your fair share of sad sailors after bad hauls or near wrecks, but this was different as one of them, an Irishman with a loud voice, tried to cheer them up and bring them over to grab some drinks, his energy clearly forced even as he hopped onto the barstool and slapped down a handful of coins.

‘A round a’ pints fer the lot a’ us,’ he declared to you as the others started to join, your co-worker coming over to help fill the order now that his own patrons were heading out. You filled mug after mug of the foaming liquid, each one sliding down the bar to outstretched hands, the mood rising as they downed them all back and reminisced about good times. You smiled as you listened, getting to know them through their stories, how close they all were after many years on the seas together. Their captain had retired years ago so he could buy a cottage and let his grandson experience life on land for once, you'd learned as they raised their glasses to him for bringing them together, tears in their eyes as they grinned wide and drank it all down, cries for more getting you to cry out right along with them as you raised your arm high and hit the tap.

You loved happy sailors most of all, but one of them caught your eye as you noticed him sitting by himself, no longer with the others as he sipped at his beer and stared out the door like he was waiting for someone else to walk in. He was captivating, nothing like the other men with their loud singing and stories, and you felt something settle in next to the greed for another good tip as you signaled to your co-worker that you wanted a break. You filled up another mug and brought it over to him, his eyes glancing up at you through his bangs, his expression hardening from longing to annoyance at you disturbing him. 

‘On the house,’ you said as you pushed the drink towards him, and he eyed it before grabbing onto his current one and pulling it a little closer to himself.

He muttered something you didn't understand, and your smile faltered a little as you tried to recall the few words you'd learned from your patrons to see if you could guess what he was speaking. ‘I'm fine with this,’ he repeated in English, his tone alone warning you to go back to work and leave him be, but never in your life had you ever seen a sad sailor turn down a drink, not in all the years you'd worked there, and you looked back to the bar before grabbing onto the cold handle.

‘Mind if I sit, then?’ you asked as you pulled out the chair, and even when he shook his head slightly you still let your tired legs rest as you hit the old wood. ‘Your crewmates are having fun without you,’ you told him as you watched the condensation roll down the glass, and he looked at them before focusing on the table.

‘My crew, I'm the captain,’ he corrected you with a grumble, and you felt your cheeks redden because he certainly didn't make that obvious at all.

‘My apologies, sir,’ you quickly said, the beer offered to him again before he waved it off, he really didn't want it. ‘Well, they seem to be in good spirits now,’ you led, turning to face them as your eyes looked back at him, but he didn't notice as he stared at the door again.

‘They needed something to enjoy,’ he still agreed with you despite not looking, that forlorn expression returning as he gripped his mug a little tighter. You turned back to him, that something pushing the greed more out of the way as he took a deep drink then, your quest for tips falling to the wayside as you spun the mug back and forth a little, the foam rolling over the side and dripping down to the table.

‘Bad voyage this time, Captain?’ He glanced at you, trying to find the reason why you were still there, still trying to get him to speak, and you just flashed him your best bartender smile to get him to open up; he looked from you to his men and sighed, he was tired, weathered by too many storms, and for a moment you thought he might take the mug from you when he took another drink from his own.

‘We ran aground coming to port, hit some rocks we didn't see in the storm when we veered too far south,’ he told you seriously as he kept looking at the door, and as you followed his eyes you realized that he wasn't waiting for someone to walk in, he was gazing past the wood to watch the docks outside. ‘Been years since I took over the Demeter, she's been good to me for decades now, but the damage is too much for her… for us to pay for…’

So that explained their moods, they were here to drink the night away since they were all losing their jobs.

‘I know plenty of shipwrights, maybe I can help broker an arrangement?’ you offered, and you were a bit surprised with yourself as soon as you'd said it, since you actually wanted him to get his boat fixed, no strings attached. 

He considered it a moment, a bit of hope showing on his face, but then a resigned misery took over instead, he'd already accepted he was going to lose his ship, they all had.

‘She had a good many years, it might be time to let her rest,’ he mumbled into his mug, and you felt a genuine sadness at his loss as his crew loudly toasted to the Demeter behind you. You watched him go to take one last drink, and your hand moved on instinct as you held up your own mug in a matching toast; he stared at it before clinking your glasses together, and you could feel the sadness radiating off of him as he gulped down the final drops. When he was done he slammed down the glass and went to stand, he was done already, his hand in his pocket to count the coins he owed you, but you stopped him before holding onto his wrist and giving him a small tug in the direction of the stairs.

‘I'm not just a bartender, Captain,’ you let him know, and he eyed you before starting to pull away, ‘and… borrowed time can be anything you need it to be.’

He looked down at your hand, and you felt the way he shook as he gave the door one last glance. ‘I can hardly afford to pay my crew for their final voyage,’ he admitted softly, he was ashamed that it'd gotten this far, but you just shook your head and held on a little tighter.

‘On the house, since you didn't want the drink,’ you offered gently, and a small bit of life came back to him as he stood. No one noticed that their captain was leaving as you signaled your co-worker again, and he just shouted for some assistance from someone else as another round was demanded.

This part of the building was for paying customers only, no one was allowed up without being escorted by a, well, escort, and it'd been a while since you'd been up there since patrons were more likely to pick one of your prettier and promiscuous fellow servers. You unlocked the first door at the top of the stairs, the captain following you in and looking around. You went to light the lamp nearby but he stopped you, he wanted it kept dark, and you were okay with that as you shut the door and walked up to him. You placed your hands on his collarbone, pushing aside his tattered sweater to touch his heaving chest, but he took your hand and simply kissed it before letting go.

‘No,’ was all he said, this wasn't the company he needed, and you nodded before climbing onto the bed and holding out the hand he'd kissed. He took it and climbed up after you, laying down and resting his head on your lap, and you brushed his windswept hair out of his eyes before getting caught slightly, it was a little too windswept.

‘Can I?’ you whispered, and he nodded before sitting up just enough for you to brush his hair carefully with your fingers.

‘She was only mine a few years,’ he confessed to you as you worked, and if you hurt him at all he never let it show. ‘I've been part of the Demeter's crew since I was a boy, picked up right off the docks of my home back in Poland, and ever since I stepped foot on that deck I knew I was home.’ He spoke so quietly, almost like he'd forgotten you were there, and you just kept brushing while he let it all out to you. ‘I knew better, but the storm was coming in stronger and the shore was in sight…’

He shuddered and you didn't say anything, just cooed comfort to him as you brushed out the last tangle and got him to lay against your chest. He was tall, curled up between your legs and still reaching the end of the bed, strong from working every day out on the sea, his facial hair scratching your arm as you kept brushing; he was intimidating, anyone else might've been too nervous to approach him based on looks alone, but you saw the real him, how much he was hurting over losing not his job or his ship but his home, and you couldn't help but press a kiss to the top of his head when he trembled again. 

You didn't know how long you stayed there with him as he told you the same stories the others reminisced about downstairs, all of them from his point of view sounding so much more full of life if that were even possible, his voice so quiet and holding even more emotion than the others as they shouted and laughed so loudly you could still hear them through the floor. He was passionate about his time on the sea even when he was telling you about not just the good times but about all the bad times as well, the voyages that went wrong, the close calls, all of them dear to him just as much as the good ones. 

The clock outside chimed loudly to signal the hour, you'd be closing soon, and you finally stopped brushing his hair as you shifted and got ready to finally speak; you stopped when you noticed that he'd dozed off, his tired eyes looking like he really needed the rest as he gently snored into your chest. You gave him another kiss, something so soft you were sure it wouldn't wake him, and he didn't even stir after so many years being rocked by the sea. You couldn't wake him, couldn't bring him back to his reality, and the longer you stayed the more you couldn't let this be the end for him.

Your co-worker unlocked the door and peeked in to look for you, obviously worried when you'd never returned, and you just placed your finger to your lips and shushed him as your captain lay there blissfully unaware. You motioned for him to come over, keeping your voice down as he leaned in. ‘Write to O'Brian, tell him I want to trade in that favour,’ you whispered, and he just nodded before running to find the quill and ink you kept in the office for end of the day tallies; you wouldn't let him give up after everything he'd been through, not when the others downstairs were counting on him.

You let him sleep for another ten minutes or so, long enough for you to almost join him, before waking yourself up and giving him a little nudge. ‘We have to close for the night, your crew might be waiting for you,’ you let him know softly, your voice still just barely above a whisper, and when he opened his eyes and gazed up at you you could've sworn he looked a little less lonely.

‘One more night to call me that, need to see if anyone needs a strong pair of hands tomorrow.’ He was still resigned to it, and you crossed your arms over his chest to keep him from leaving just yet.

‘Maybe good luck will come on the morning's tide,’ you promised as you brushed his bangs aside, and he held your hand in place, soft against his rough cheek and stubble, and for a moment the thought of him going back out there made you understand why people flooded to your bar after the boats left.

‘Maybe…’ He let go of you then so he could sit up, and he held himself so proudly you could finally see why he was made captain as he stood and looked down at you. ‘Thank you, for your time,’ he said as you also stood, the sounds of his crew heading out onto the street and calling for him the only reason you were both able to turn away from each other. You cleared your throat and gestured towards them, and you saw his eyes glance at the sea beyond the pane before he reached into his pocket and pulled out what little he had on him to hand to you.

‘I already said it was on the house,’ you reminded him quickly, but he shook his head and pressed the money into your hand. 

‘A tip,’ he explained, and then he was gone, the gold weighing you down as you looked at all the money you usually strove after during your shifts. Your fist clenched as you then raced downstairs, the letter waiting to be signed by you on the bar, and you set down the coins before going to the stash you'd been collecting the entire day. You didn't answer as you were asked what you were doing, all of the money sliding into an envelope along with your letter after you'd added more details, and the entire crew was gone when you raced out onto the dark street.

He wouldn't be up but you could at least leave him this as you slipped the packed letter under O'Brian’s door, a talented but very thirsty shipwright who frequented your bar and often built up his tab with the promise of paying you back later, since he'd known you for so long. The letter promised his tab gone and free drinks for the rest of the year if he accepted your job, as well as all the money you’d made that day along with your final tip, and you hoped he would as you walked back to the bar and saw them all still celebrating what they thought was their final night on deck on what had to be the Demeter.

‘May you find good luck with the morning's tide, Captain,’ you wished him from the doorway, and you swore you heard his voice join in with the shanties before you headed inside for the night.

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in September 2023. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #54 |  ko-fi | fic recs

—Harry/Louis—

🍁 And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 109k, famous/not famous) For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him? For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart? And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

🍂 Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, mystery) Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

🍁 Endgame by @brightgolden

(E, 38k, royal au) Where omega Crown Prince Harry Styles is trying and failing to get pregnant for four years, but all that is about to change when courtesan alpha Louis Tomlinson comes into the equation.

🍂 That Howling Infinite by @sweettartine

(E, 27k, uni) the one where Louis and Harry fall in love while reading Moby Dick.

🍁 Might've Took The Long Way by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(M, 21k, exes to lovers) Now Harry is back in town, and no matter how many times Louis tells himself they can't be together, they keep falling right back into each other.

🍂 Ace of Hearts by @allwaswell16

(E, 10k, historical) Louis Tomlinson, the alpha Duke of Yorkshire, had returned to England to stay now that he’d married and mated. But since his husband was also the omega he’d once held captive aboard his half-brother’s pirate ship, he held back from pushing Harry into parenthood. Part 3 of Ace of Spades

🍁 Feels Like Magic by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(M, 10k, Marcel) It's been two incredible years with the best boyfriend Marcel could ask for, but is his biggest fear starting to become a reality? Has it really all been too good to be true? Part 2 of Marcel

🍂 Light Up Any Room by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(E, 10k, Marcel) Marcel is a little nervous about having to give a speech at the library’s annual charity gala, but thankfully he has Louis right by his side supporting him. And later that night, Louis shows Marcel just how proud of him he is. Part 3 of Marcel

🍁 In Shining Armour of Trackie and Trainers by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 9k, famous/not famous) Online dating isn't exactly working for Harry. In fact, it couldn't really be going much worse. But then the door of the bar opens, and the pack of friends walking in parts and - that’s Louis Tomlinson.

🍂 Court Wine by @enchantedlandcoffee , red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 7k, a/b/o) after a misunderstanding during a scrabble game, Alpha Louis starts courting Omega Harry without the latter being aware of it.

🍁 I Remember (The Distances We Covered) by @lululawrence

(NR, 5k, famous/not famous) @ColleenisStylish: @LouisTomlinson my dad thinks he’s sat next to you on a train from Edinburgh right now, so if you could confirm that would be amazing. His name is Harry and he’s just had white wine and says you’re on red

🍂 U-Pop Truck Stop by @kingsofeverything

(E, 4k, truckers) After driving their big rigs all day, Harry and Louis park at the same truck stop.

🍁 Eyes so blue, Shorts so red by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(G, 2k, alien Harry) Alien Harry discovers poetry.

🍂 Tongue Tied by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(G, 1k, roommates) “I wish that I could tell Harry that I love him, instead of getting all tongue tied and chickening out.” The Irishman winked. “You never know, your wish may just come true.”

🍁 Enemies to Lovers by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 1k, poem) There's something happening at Styles' place. Louis can sense it. He's good like that.

🍂 My Muse by skipper / @skipperxao3

(NR, 1k, older Harry/Louis) My love, my life, my everything. Until the day I die, you will never cease to be my muse.

🍁 The Lovers by @reminiscingintherain

(T, 1k, tarot cards) “Come inside,” an eerie voice seemed to echo from the darkness. “Come inside, and seek your destiny.”

🍂 Are We In the Clear by asphodelknox / @iamasphodelknox

(M, 1k, historical) Louis and Harry meet across a crowded court at a time when falling in love would mean their destruction. With help from a friend, they run for their freedom.

🍁 Gaydar Lessons by @homosociallyyours

(G, 1k, girl direction) While standing around after softball practice for the company's women's softball team, Harry gets caught (and caught up) in staring at Louis as she eats a ripe, juicy peach. If only she could be certain that Louis was into women.

—Rare Pairs—

🍂 You Are A Song by @lululawrence

(NR, 3k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) To Louis, Nick felt like poetry in motion. He was a bit of chaos surrounding Louis’ otherwise monotonous days, and Louis was quickly becoming addicted.

🍁 bet on it by @nouies

(E, 2k, Louis/OMC) a fic inspired by Louis at the barricade during AFHF

🍂 you are the magic in me by @beardyboyzx

(NR, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Zayn is eight when he meets the Prince for the first time. His dad is being knighted — the King has seen the way he fought to defend his village from the enemies of the Kingdom and has decided to gift him a piece of land and a title.

[leo-muscle]

Hey, I love your stories so far :)

I'm visiting France right now, and I'm struggling feeling like I stand out. But maybe an encounter with King Dom can make me feel more at home with the locals?

The moment you got off the plane in Paris, you didn't feel like France was going to be nice to you. Each Frenchman eyed you with a look of disgruntlement, or even gave you an eye-roll and a groan of "Tourists." You wished you knew how to make them like you.

One night at a gay bar, you were nursing a drink when an enormous Irishman slid into the seat next to you. His biceps looked like they could crush your skull with ease, and all of his shirtless body was covered in a fine coat of red hair. He was beautiful.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked you.

"N-no..." You replied. "Never was, uh, never will be."

"Thanks, mate." He said. "What's a handsome man like you doing alone on a late night?"

"Uh... me?" You stammered. "The... the french don't really like me. They see me as nothing but a tourist."

"A tourist, eh?" The Irishman said. "Well, let me fix that and give you a proper greeting to the country. Come on back."

He beckoned you to the bathroom, and soon, you were on your knees in front of his monolithic cock. You worshipped and licked every inch of his gorgeous Irish sausage, while he pinched his nipple and pushed your head further onto his cock.

"Good boy..." he moaned. "You'll be a proper Frenchman when I'm done with you... ach!"

His cock exploded in your mouth, filling your insides with hot, sticky, emerald cum.

"Thank... you..." You moaned as he put his pants back on.

"It was no problem. Now, you better put that gift of yours to good use." He said, then walked out of the bathroom.

You turned to follow him, when a wave of pleasure washed over your entire body. Your muscles contracted and expanded, contracted and expanded, shredding your clothes to pieces with every pulse and twitch as they grew to match even bodybuilders in size. Experimentally, you touched your enormous bicep, and it felt as hard as any rock. Your legs had grown powerful and strong, able to kick down the feeble walls of the bathroom with ease.

Brown hair, a far cry from your normal blond, exploded from your chest, forming a light, but obvious pelt around your enormous, voluptuous pecs. You began to stroke and pet your new pelt as your pecs and abs continued expanding, tweaking your nipples as you went. Your pecs had become a tertiary sex organ, easily capable of delivering pleasure to match your cock and ass.

Speaking of, another wave of pleasure washed over your cock and ass, forcing a moan of pleasure from your thicker lips. One of your meaty paws began stroking your mediocre cock, while the other began fingering your tight hole. Slowly, with every stroke, your cock expanded and thickened, becoming a mighty pillar of masculinity, easily capable of rendering any man unable to walk for days after sex. Your ass then became thicker and bouncier with every thrust your massive, cock-sized finger gave it. It was bigger than the ass of any woman, so hypnotizing and voluptuous that even straight men would be tempted to fuck it.

As your height expanded from 5'5 to an enormous 6'3, your hair began to shorten as your beard grew. Your voice became tinged with a sexy french accent, perfect for you to whisper sweet nothings in the ears of men as you pounded them. Your mind filled with knowledge of the French language and culture, ensuring that no self-respecting Frenchman would turn down advances from such a pinnacle of French masculinity as yourself.

You stroked and fingered yourself harder and harder, until your cock finally burst with a torrent of cum far larger than you had ever came before.

You were forever grateful to your new King for giving you this second chance.

[verdemoun]

what if hypothetically…darragh went to seans funeral in the timewarp…

I know you asked for different angst but I’ve been sitting on this one until I was in the mood.

Sean’s funeral was a mess. Lenny and Sean’s wedding was the first big wedding the gang had to organize. Sean’s funeral was the first funeral they had to arrange.

Following advice, Lenny and Karen impulsively chose open casket. It made sense; they’d all seen corpses before, and the idea of a final goodbye sounded pretty. Instead, they all felt nauseous. Sean wasn’t meant to be still or peaceful. He was meant to be alive. There was so much make-up on his face they couldn’t see all the faint marks on his face. The moles were there, but the little scars and blemishes that made him look real were hidden. His hair was too well maintained, combed back the way Lenny always loved him wearing it but Sean never would because it wasn’t him.

Midway through eulogies, Darragh staggers in, the sort of drunk you can smell. He takes a seat at the back, poorly trying to straighten his blazer and unironed shirt. Everyone is trying not to cry, including Arthur during his own speech remembering the proper old days, but Darragh is doing a significantly worse job. Him trying not to cry was its own wail of deep, primal, animalistic mourning, pushing everyone closer to their own breaking point.

Hosea ends up dragging him outside, apologizing profusely because he has never been in the situation where he needed to bury a son, but warning him to pull himself together. For Lenny's sake, the gang's sake, for Maeve's sake, when Maeve barely understands Sean isn't waking up or coming home, he needs to hold himself together and if not he can stumble back to whatever bar he just left.

Darragh takes a breath, and agrees. Goes back in, and Hosea quickly takes a seat beside him in the back. He saw Darragh twitch, like the strike of a match. It was the same angry glower Sean would get, the moment Hosea knew a grudge would never be let go. Darragh's angry and looking for a fight.

With every speech, Darragh looks more like a slowed down explosion. His face is turning red, skin raw from wiping tears away, hunched over with every breath an expansion of his entire body. The gang is healing, telling stories of good times, remembering Sean so warmly they're actually finding comfort in the morbid spectacle they were denied so often in canon.

When they ask if anyone else has a few words, Hosea grabs Darragh's wrist in the same second the old irishman goes to stand. To his shock, Darragh actually simmers, but not without a hissed 'he was my son'.

Eventually, it's Hosea and Darragh alone, far into the night, standing at Sean's grave - because Hosea knows better than to leave someone that angry, and bitter, and isolated, completely alone. Darragh pulls out a scrap of paper from his pocket.

Darragh, through gritted teeth and tears, told a story about a 5 year old Sean, climbing trees far too tall because he knew his da was there to catch him when he inevitably fell. That was his son: brave but not naive, fearless but not reckless. As far as Darragh knew, Sean Macguire, his son, died in 1889. Darragh didn't know the stranger he bumped into in a bottle shop with his son's face, or the lives others remembered so innocently. His son wasn't the sort of repressed idiot who lightened the mood with drunk antics, or burned tobacco fields, or got women pregnant. His son wouldn't be stupid enough to walk home alone at night and get shot in a robbery gone wrong. None of them knew his son, and he's sorry they didn't, because his Sean was brilliant. He was sorry he was standing over a stranger's grave, because he'd never get the chance to know what happened to make his son change into someone else, or get to know his son again.

[writingsofadelusionalgirlie]

I see the fire in your eyes - Chapter 4 : A damsel in distress

Summary: Luisa Ganci, a Belgian opera singer, wakes up in 1899 within the world of Red Dead Redemption 2. Trapped in a reality that was never meant to exist, she struggles to survive among the Van der Linde gang while carrying a dangerous secret—she knows how their story ends.

Arthur Morgan doesn’t trust her. She knows too much, and he’s determined to find out why. But can fate truly be changed, or is Luisa doomed to watch tragedy unfold before her eyes?

POV: Luisa Ganci

I didn’t take long to figure out that the Irishman who had taken me hostage was none other than Sean MacGuire. As I was jostled against the sides of his horse, I could feel the edge of the saddle pressing against my stomach, breathing in the dust kicked up by the ride. I felt sick, on the verge of vomiting. Fortunately for me, my ordeal didn’t last long, and we slowed down as we entered a thicket.

"This is fun!" Sean exclaimed, laughter in his voice.

For him, maybe. But not for me.

"Alright, little lady!" he announced cheerfully, grabbing me by the waist. He slid me off his horse without gentleness, laughed at my unbalance, and tapped the horse’s neck. "You’ve earned the right to run away!" he added.

John Marston walked toward me and roughly threw my trunk at me.

"For the trouble of taking you hostage, we’ll give you your things back," he said in his gravelly voice. Just like in the game.

I felt like I was dreaming, but everything was far too real. Suddenly, purple spots blurred my vision, and I was overcome by a horrible urge to vomit. I held my hair with one hand and rushed behind a tree to relieve myself.

"Charming," Sean MacGuire scoffed, while John Marston let out a disgusted sound.

A large, warm, reassuring hand rested on my shoulder, and water was offered to me.

"Here, it’s going to be okay."

It was Charles Smith. In real life, he seemed even more imposing, but a quiet strength emanated from him. Suddenly, I saw him like a rock, someone stable and trustworthy, and it brought tears to my eyes. I took the water bottle, drank, and sat against the tree, trying to calm my panicked, overwhelmed body.

"Breathe slowly," he told me, his voice like velvet.

I obeyed and used a breathing technique that had been very useful to me before my competitions and operas. It calmed me within minutes, and I opened my eyes to see before me the half-worried, half-amused, half-despairing gazes of Sean, John, Charles, and Arthur Morgan.

I watched them without subtlety, trying to recognize in them what I knew from my favorite video game, searching for a difference, an additional detail, but nothing. They were identical. Identical, but far more real. Sean, arms crossed, seemed to enjoy the show. John was expressionless, maybe incredulous, and Arthur was pinching the bridge of his nose, visibly irritated. Only Charles looked at me with tenderness.

"I'm sorry, miss. If I’d known you’d react so badly, I would’ve chosen someone else," Sean said after clearing his throat.

He handed me a chocolate bar, but I didn’t open it, nervously playing with the matte paper wrapping.

"It’s not that," I replied in a trembling voice. "Well, yes, but not just that. I... I was peacefully skiing. Okay, I messed up, but I don’t think I’m dead. I don’t want to die. I... I just want to go back home. But now I’m here, in 1899, thousands of miles from home, and even if I made it back, I wouldn’t recognize anyone because it’s not my world anymore, it’s not my home. And I’ve asked for help, but they want to send me to that stupid sanatorium."

As I explained my story, my voice filled with sobs, and their faces took on expressions of pity and confusion. I knew it was pointless to explain all of this. They probably wouldn’t understand a thing. And that’s what happened. John let out a nervous laugh and scratched his hair.

"Yeah, I think she belongs in a sanatorium."

"Skiing," Charles said softly. "You fell while skiing?"

Finally! Someone believed me, understood me!

"Yes!" I exclaimed.

His comrades asked him what skiing was, and he explained that it was a way of traveling on snow. In the meantime, I tried to straighten up my outfit and hair, trying not to look crazier than I already felt. I caught Arthur Morgan's gaze on me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt intimidated.

"Did you bump your head?" he asked. "How’s your head?"

"I... I’m fine."

They would never understand my story if I told them. They’d send me to that sanatorium I was trying to escape from.

"Are you French?" Charles asked, taking the chocolate bar from my hands to unwrap it for me.

"No, I’m Belgian."

"Do you need to get to Saint-Denis?"

"No!" I exclaimed, terrified by the idea.

Arthur Morgan smirked and murmured:

"I can understand."

"We’re taking her with us," Charles announced, handing me a piece of chocolate.

"What? No way!" Arthur shouted.

"She’s clearly confused and panicked. We can’t just leave her like this in the woods," Charles defended.

"We’ll drop her off at the nearest station," Morgan replied gruffly.

"She doesn’t have a penny on her," Sean intervened. "I searched her."

Arthur sighed and threw his arms up in the air, irritated.

"Go ahead, add another mouth to feed in this camp. It’s not like we have enough already, right?"

Annoyed, I clung to my dignity. It was all I had left. I stood up, brushed off my dress, grabbed my trunk, and shook my head.

"I’ll manage on my own. Thank you, gentlemen."

"No!" Arthur growled in annoyance. "We’ll take you to your family."

"I don’t have any. I haven’t remembered anything since I fell." I lied.

He suddenly grabbed my left hand. I jumped, scared, but he simply inspected my ring finger before letting go.

"Not married," he muttered.

I wondered why the doctor, the sheriff, and Emily hadn’t thought to do that. It was much smarter. Even though, of course, I knew I wasn’t married back home in 2025.

"Did someone steal her damn wedding ring?" he asked, looking at his companions and stopping on Sean.

"I didn’t take anything from her," the Irishman assured.

Arthur Morgan sighed and mounted his horse.

"Alright. Do what you want. I have things to take care of."

"Dutch is not going to be happy," John said, getting on his horse.

"I don’t want to cause you any trouble," I stammered.

"We’re not leaving a lady in distress alone in the woods in the middle of the night," Charles assured.

He helped me onto his horse and settled in front of me.

"Hold on tight."

I didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed onto whatever I could and probably ended up suffocating poor Charles.

The horses slowed as we approached the camp, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them. The fatigue weighed heavily on my shoulders, and every movement of the animal beneath me reminded me that I wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t just a game. It was real. At the camp, everything was exactly as I remembered. Horseshoe Overlook. Hosea, Dutch, Susan Grimshaw, Abigail, and even little Jack, they were all there. They stood up and approached the horses as they arrived.

Sean was the first to dismount, jumping down from his horse with his usual nonchalance.

"Well, friends!" he announced loudly. "Another traveler for our lovely little camp!"

I heard voices rise, first curious, then wary. Eyes turned toward me, some intrigued, others hostile. Charles gallantly helped me down and steadied me once I was on the ground.

"What have you brought us this time, Sean?" Dutch growled as he stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest.

"A damsel in distress," Sean replied with a mocking smile.

"Another one," Dutch hissed.

I ignored him as Sadie approached, eyeing me with a certain warmth in her gaze. While Sean entertained the group by telling them about my adventures—fleeing from the train, vomiting behind a tree, and my nonsensical ramblings—Charles escorted me to the fire, indicating that I should sit down. Hosea was there and smiled politely at me.

"What’s your name, dear?"

"My name is Luisa Ganci."

"Luisa, are you from France?"

Given my accent, I knew everyone would ask me that question.

"I'm from Belgium."

Hosea seemed to think for a moment and muttered my name.

"My parents are from Sicily and Sardinia... in Italy," I explained.

"Go get some rest, Luisa. You seem to have had a long day."

Although I was tired of being told what to do, I obeyed, genuinely exhausted. They made me sleep in a coach since the tents were all taken, but I had a hard time falling asleep, torn between fear, confusion, and deep loneliness.

[grlwtskulltattoo]

A little preview of what I have started so far.... for this SOA type Biker/The Last Kingdom AU.

Fly Low Carrion Crow....

Eventual Sihtric x OC

Still have to come up with some club names... One for Ragnar and Uhtred's MC, and one for the rival MC run by none other than Kjartan the Cruel....

Need to make up some kind of mood board for it....

But hey, got over 760 words written so far....haha

Walking out from one of the dorm rooms in the back of the clubhouse, Octavia, is greeted with hoots and hollers from the bikers hanging out at the bar. Loud music is already playing, and the members of the motorcycle club are slapping back shots to celebrate another shipment of guns received with no issues. She glares at the men giving her cat calls, as she grabs her leather jacket off of one of chairs near the bar.

“Hey, hey….where are ye off to?” Finan asks, holding his hands up to stop her.

“I’m going out with some friends… to a bar.” Octavia answers her older brother’s best-friend. She doesn’t miss the way he appraises her outfit; tight black jeans, black button down low cut sleeveless shirt and her riding boots. The darkness that comes to his eyes as he licks his lips, gives her a little thrill, even though she knows they are both off limits. She gives him a little smirk, just to tease Finan a bit.

Finan gives her a confused look, once he snaps out of Octavia entrancing appearance, as he motions to the fully stocked bar they are standing next to. “Invite yer friends here… I’m sure we can entertain them.”

“Yeah, no… I’m not bringing my friends here for all you guys to hit on. I keep my friends separate from this.” Octavia motions to the clubhouse. It’s bad enough one of her best friends has already expressed an interest in meeting her brother, Uhtred, but Gisela has no idea the kind of stuff they are mixed up in. Gun running, distribution, and rival clubs trying to come after them. It’s not an easy life, but it’s all they know. Her older brothers took over the MC and the business after their parents died in an accident. Their father was the founder of the club.

Finan gives her a look like he’s going to argue with her, but he stops himself. He knows he can’t win this fight, she is just as stubborn as the rest of them, and she’s not wrong. All of the men will be hitting on her friends.

“You know….we could go in the back, like old times…” Octavia bats her lashes at Finan as she places her hands on his hips drawing herself closer to him. She slowly licks her upper lip seductively before giving him a flirty smile.

Finan almost forgets that Octavia is off limits as he lets her pull his body closer to hers. The memories of them hooking up in the past quickly coming to mind. He starts to lower his face to hers to kiss her, but he growls before making contact. He forces himself out of her hold reluctantly. “Tavia… yer brothers will have my balls if we do that. Can’t take that chance.”

“That’s too bad… I was really hoping.” She teases the Irishman with her eyebrow raised. Putting on her leather jacket, she prepares to leave. “I’m going to the bar then…” She says as she walks towards the door.

Finan lets out a groan as he watches her walk away, having to adjust himself from the effect she has on him. “Hey…” He shouts out to her. “Be careful…things are a bit unsettled right now.”

Octavia looks back at Finan before she walks out the door. All of the men are protective of her, being Ragnar and Uhtred’s little sister. “I will…” She assures him with a seriousness in her voice as she looks in his eyes. 

Even though she’s not a member of the club, she is still part of it. It’s the family business. They never tell her all the details of what they do, but she knows enough, especially when there is the potential for retaliation for something they have done. Not to mention, there is always the threats from their rivals.

Stepping outside the clubhouse, Octavia takes a deep breath of the cool evening air. The heat of the day finally wearing off. Walking over to her bike, she takes her helmet off the handlebars, before cinching it on her head. Straddling her dark red Harley, she starts the engine, before kicking up the kickstand. Twisting the throttle she revs up the bike, loving the sounds coming from the exhaust. Loud pipes, saves lives…. She lets out a bittersweet chuckle as she remembers what her dad always said.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she sends a quick text to her friends Eadith, Gisela and Aethelflaed, letting them know she’s on her way to the bar they are meeting at.

Kind of unedited, so there may be some changes if I'm so inclined...

@sihtricfedaraaahvicius

[redemn]

the  night  seems  still  young        at  least  to  a  very  drunk  arthur  ,      whose  fingers  can  hardly  even  hold  the  cards  in  his  hands  against  the  swaying  of  the  earth  beneath  his  seat  and  the  numbness  which  encases  his  fingers  .      he's  lost  track  of  time  and  doesn't  care  to  check  it  ,      but  there's  great  fun  to  be  had  here  ,      trying  to  keep  the  faces  of  all  his  cards  and  the  houses  and  the  suites  all  straight  in  his  mind  .      for  what  it's  worth  ,      he  really  can't  keep  any  of  the  right  by  now  ,      and  he's  just  barely  present  enough  to  know  that  ,      just  maybe  ,      he  needs  to  fold  and  take  his  losses  .

@ofsoul  .  “ need a little help ? ” raven approaches arthur from behind his sitting frame, whispering feathery against his ear as he rowdily indulges in poker. “ sean is bluffing, ” empath privilege that secures him a win. an hour in a dead town's bar is enough to overwhelm her,  but for his sake she tried. and although so much drunkenness is a complex beast to tackle, she found his daredevil demeanor amusing. “ i think i will head to bed now,  tonight’s full moon is beacon for recklessness, but i did not want to go without thanking you. ”

if  he  were  sober  ,      he  might  lift  his  head  with  great  speed  and  risk  knocking  his  skull  right  into  raven's  .      but  his  body  moves  as  sluggishly  as  his  mind  does  now  ,      and  he  moves  his  head  back  slowly  ,      and  he's  so  uncoordinated  that  he  nearly  topples  back  in  his  seat  despite  his  upwards  position  .        ❝        ah  huh    …      ?      now            ❞        she's  leaving  .      and  sean  is  bluffing  ,      and  that's  all  he  has  running  through  his  dizzied  mind  now  .        ❝        now  wait  .      wait'm  m    …    minute  ,      raven  .      wait    …    i'll  go  witchu  .        ❞        he's  quick  enough  to  turn  his  attention  back  to  the  game  ,      banging  his  palm  against  the  table  as  he  declares  he's  going  all  in  for  the  rest  of  the  round  .

a  minute  later  ,      he  leaves  the  table  ,      several  dollars  richer  and  weighing  down  his  pockets  ,      and  a  very  unhappy  irishman  behind  .      he's  got  his  last  bottle  of  whiskey  in  hand  still  ,      and  staggers  after  raven  with  all  the  determination  of  a  bull  elk  .        ❝        raven  …  raaayv    …    ven  ,      hold  your  horses  now  .      m'comin'  !        ❞        he's  a  mess  ,      the  way  he  catches  up  to  her  side  ,      half  out  of  his  mind  but  still  smiling  .      that  smile  ,      too  ,      is  a  mess  .      as  is  the  way  he  reaches  right  for  her  upper  arm  ,      a  bit  tactlessly  ,      unthinkingly  ,      tastelessly        not  something  he  would  ever  think  of  doing  sober  .      but  he  holds  onto  her  ,      although  firmly  ,      with  a  certain  gentle  grasp  .        ❝        'ey  .      m'lady  …  i'll  walk  y'back  .        ❞

╰ ゜UNPROMPTED .  /  𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 .