#and john is as john does falling into the lake | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dvchvnde · 28 days ago

Text

PRAIRIE WOLF | prologue

domestic violence, abuse (not Price). unexpected pregnancy. implied age gap.

MASTERLIST. AO3

He's a regular at the diner you work at.

Sits in the same spot, orders the same thing. Doesn't say much, but—according to Elliot—he never does. English, too. A foreigner. But here longer than you've been. Grown roots. Stretched his legs.

He owns a cabin in the woods that be built with his bare hands, and does odd jobs around town wherever he's needed. Mostly carpentry. Woodwork. Only forty, Elliot says, and already semi-retired. Military grunt, though (and in a terrible, exaggerated cockney accent, he adds) back home.

Running from something, he surmises, and you try not to feel flayed under his heavy, pointed stare, offering little more than a shrug you hope is more blase than you feel and a flat, aren't we all? so what makes his marathon so special?

Comes by at five in the morning, fours hours into a twelve hour shift. Likes, what he calls, an English Breakfast.

He isn't like some of the men who show up after midnight, or in the early hours. Blue collar works hungry for more than rubbery pancakes and coffee. The ones who ignore the split in your lip, hidden under a thick coat of lipstick, the puffiness of your eye. Whispering oil-slick charm at quarter to three in the morning when the pregnancy test you stole from the dollarrama is still buried under bloodied toilet paper in the motel you've converted into a temporary home.

Price—John Price—stares at the mess of your pretty face and meets the ugliness head-on, eyes narrowed into something that might be suspicion. Askance. Wariness. Some amalgamation of what the fuck happened to you and don't bring that mess over to my table.

Quiet. In theory.

You've heard him talk—this low, growling thing; the misfire of an engine, a rumble that reminds you of the old Plymouth Fury your dad had. Dangerous. Men like him usually are.

Little girl fantasies spun into real life. Duct tape. Magnets to girls like you with all the broken pieces, fragile parts. And with the bruises bubbling under your skin—burst blood vessels, fist-sized—and the—

The kid, you suppose. Baby. You can't afford to get wrapped up into something like that no matter how many times you catch him staring.

Watching.

The other server always handles his order when he arrives. Since starting work here four months ago, you maybe had all of a single conversation when you floated through the diner in search of something to do.

more coffee? a glance. a grunt. yeah, love. I'll have some more.

So you ignore it. Him. Keep your head down and pour cup after cup to the other regulars who congregate and pretend you aren't living in a motel to escape a man who seems to prefer you bruised up and bloody. Who—

Knocked you up.

Your hand goes there. To your belly. Nauseous, suddenly, with the thought of it. This.

When you glance up, unease prickling across your nape, you catch him staring at you. At the hand still splayed over your stomach. Something frisson across his expression—whiplike: ripples over a lake—but it's too fast, fleeting, for you to catch. Tucked back inside the folds of his patented frown, the ever present crease between his thick, umbre brows.

John lifts his eyes from your ringless hand, the swollen index finger from when you made the mistake of pointing to the door, trying to stand firm with your luggage hidden in the bushes, and meets your gaze. Stares at you head-on. Implacable as always. Blank.

But—and it's so silly, really—for a moment, you thought it was hunger. Something heavy and dark. Possessive.

Then his head dips. A shallow nod. John looks away, eyes slanting towards the window as if he didn't have to tear his gaze away from your belly. From you.

Your heart is in your throat. This too thick, fragile thing thudding against your jugular. Hard to breathe, hard to swallow around it. In the way—

Outside, tires squeal against the pavement.

John tenses. A shadow falling over his brow, a tug on his lips hidden under thick, wry curls.

You don't know what it is until the familiar gurgle of an engine cuts through the silent diner.

He looks back at you as a door slams. A shout erupts.

Fear is a thick, oily sludge filling your lungs. Tarlike. Sticky molasses. It burns, corrosive, and eats away at your tissue until a hole forms, letting spill out inside of you. To your belly where it hardens into a ferric ball of panic.

You thought you had time. One last shift. Collect your paycheck and then run—

But he found you.

He bellows out your name, angry and a little slurred. Drunk. High. Like the passive, maltreated dog he turned you into, you follow the sound, cowing a little when you see him stumble into the diner, face collapsed into fury.

There's a clatter. The hollow echo of wood hitting linoleum. Screams, his yells. It's all muted in your head. Panic throbbing against your ears, stuffing them full of cotton.

His bruised, marled fist reaches for you—

But John gets there first. His broad stretch of his back filling your vision as he pushes himself into the empty space between you and this man, hands raised, catching his mangled fist in one and grabbing a handful of his shirt, tugging him closer. It's all raw, untameable anger as he huffs into the man's face, grinding the words out on a rough, animalistic snarl—

"Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do."

Stress like this ain't good for the baby, the paramedic tells you, brown eyes dampening with a thick ring of sympathy as she turns over your wrist, and dabs cool, wet cotton over the welts on your skin.

She's pushing for you to press charges. Keeps swiping at your skin to unveil more of your hidden hurts to the police officer that holds an old kodak in his hands and snaps, snaps, snaps at every weakness, each vulnerability she offers up.

It'd be the smart thing to do. He's already being booked on assault, threats. Battery for hitting John on the shoulder, the only place he could reach, with the shovel left by the cooks to scrape the snow away from the spot they usually gather around to smoke. No one brings up the fact that John was choking the life out of him at the time, and the bruises around his neck—ugly red fingerprints—are easily ignored.

Adding domestic violence to the list of charges, she mutters, will keep him locked up. Away from you. Can file for a restraining order, the cop adds, scratching the back of his neck as the camera sits, poised and intrusive, in his other hand.

The problem is that you've been through this before.

Like mother, like daughter.

The knife twists a little deeper. Gouges out another pound of flesh lost to a broken home. Another cog in a ruinous system. Poor kid, below the poverty line, with a dad who sold drugs and mother who did them. Dime a dozen.

And with that comes the knowledge that his sentence will be lighter than they're alluding to—if he has one at all. Upstanding citizen before he got shackled in with the wrong crowd, the runaway. Trouble who breezed through and picked the son of an attorney in the big city some three hours away from this town, this dilapidated diner. Sinking claws in.

My son never drank or did drugs before, your honour—

He'll get off with a slap on the wrist because he's never been in trouble before.

Your dad, too—in jail for the weekend when your mother relented to the impassioned beseeches given to her by rookie cops who just wanted that arrest notch on their belt. Saw a judge on Monday. Prison too crowded for such a paltry offense.

The hurt, after, was always worse than what he went to jail for.

So. No. You won't press charges even though you know you should. It'll take too long and you don't plan on staying much longer. Not with your luggage packed in the trunk. The cheque shoved clumsily into your hands when the manager came out to make a fuss, angling a purpling finger in your direction—nothin' but trouble since the day you were hired—only to be stopped by the wall that is John Price, a snarl pulling up at his lips as he barked call the fuckin' police and, low, as if he didn't want you to hear, adding: you ever point your finger at her again like that, and I'll hang you from the goddamn rafters.

You're not sure why he's still here, standing watch. On guard. His bloodied, bruised hands shoved into his armpits as he paces back and forth like a caged tiger unaware the door has been open the whole time. Stalking. Taking measured, meaningful steps towards anyone who tries to come over—badge or not. Barking out orders. Lancing people with his glare when they tread too closely.

Good fucking samaritan, you think, eyes riveted on the blood drying over the gravel. Your head looping, weaving in arching circles as you try to contend with the fact that it somehow isn't yours, but his.

Maybe that's why he stays. Obligation. Civic duty. It makes you snort, and the paramedic glances at you sharply, assessing in that too thick, too kind, way of hers.

"You doin' okay, mama?"

And you wish she wouldn't call you that. Make it real. Mama. Your idea of motherhood, of mothers and moms and mamas, is a woman slumped on the couch, passed out after staying up all night talking to ghosts. Nails caked with the dust of percocets and restoril and oxycodone (oxycotton, she's always called it). Popping mouthful of pills in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night. An assortment to keep her functional—and asleep.

Nodding off in the middle of conversations. Or fighting it to stay high. Irritated and combative whenever she ran out, supply gone dry.

Toxic.

Neglectful—at best.

You can't think about what you'll end up doing to this kid with her blood in your veins. Her ghosts in your head.

John moves. A shadow in the corner of your eye. "'bout enough of that, don't you think?"

She backs up, startled by the aggression in his voice. "I just—"

You think you hate them both. "I'm fine."

She looks back at you, searching. Wanting that assurance, but whatever she's looking to find, it isn't there. You won't give it, and eventually she nods. Peels back. "Okay. If you feel any soreness at all, if anything changes, come to the hospital."

The nod is for her benefit only, and she takes it with a deep inhale.

It thins out after that. The cop and his camera leave, too, after making you take the paperwork needed to file charges. If you change your mind. His number in smeared blue ink on the back. The paramedics go after another futile round of are you sure you don't want to get checked out at the hospital that's decline with a shake of your head.

It's just you and Price now. Your beatup Saturn three spots away from his truck—an old Ford you hadn't been expecting a man like him to drive, with his thick Levi jacket and his steel-toed boots. Standing there with an armful of paper that's going to go in the trash, you're not sure what to do. How to untangle yourself from the claws of this vicious bear that seems content to loom over you like an unasked for cloud, glaring down at you from the bridge of his nose. Expression pinched, like he's displeased. Mad.

You've had enough of angry men, though, and you turn, offering a hollow smile that works it's way around your mouth like a grimace. "Guess I should head home—"

"Running, mm?"

You blink. "Sorry?"

He leans down, all grit and blunt teeth. "That your plan? Runnin' away from all'a this? Find another town. Another motel."

Another man.

He doesn't say it, but it's there. The implication. The idea. It rankles down your spine, a whitehot ooze of shame. Of anger.

"You don't know me," you spit, all anger and indignation. Embarrassment so sharp, it cuts. "You don't know anything about me."

He rocks back on his heel, mouth flattening into an even line. "No, I don't. But I know your type."

"You—"

The indignity is increased tenfold when he meets your ire with an impassive stare, so firm in his assessment of you that he doesn't even bulk when you glare at him. When you rage in quiet fury, shoulders shaking.

"You'll run," he continues, bulling over the vitriol that stutters out in broken squeals of anger. "You'll find a new place. And it'll be fine for a little while but then you'll end up in the same situation because that's all you know, isn't it? S'why you're not pressing charges. Why you got your bag in your back seat. The slightest pressure and you bolt—straight into the same predicament you're in now."

"It's not my fault—"

"No," he grinds the word, firm and sure, and it snatches you by the throat because no one has ever agreed with you on that. It's not your fault. It's just—

"—all you know."

"What am I supposed to do differently, huh? Stay and press charges that won't stick? Wait for him to get out, frothing at the mouth for revenge? Yeah, right," you scoff, rolling your eyes up towards the stale sky. "End up as another statistic? Or—"

Like your mother. It quiets you. Snuffs the flames. All you feel is scraped raw. Hollowed out. Empty and hitting and—

"So you'll just run your whole life? Until it catches up to you, mm? What happens when someone finds you in a place you can't run? When you're all alone, and cornered?"

It tastes like defeat. Resignation. "You think I haven't thought of that before?"

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. "Got yourself into a little mess, but it ain't the end of the world. Jus' got to fix it. Can't do that when you run."

"And what's your solution? Find another job, hope that his charges stick? He—"

Drained you financially. Beat you bloody.

You shake your head. "The best thing to do is to leave. I'll be smarter, I'll—"

He scoffs. You ignore it, hands shaking.

"I can't. I just—I can't."

"Come stay with me," he says. Just like that. Stay with me. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Come stay with me. "Got a spare room."

"I don't even know you—"

"People rent to strangers all the time."

"I don't have a job. Money. I can't pay you—"

"Been needin' a receptionist for some time. Pay is fair. Hourly."

You blink, eyes hot. Wet. You feel the sharp edge of hope digging in, that deadly, terrible thing that only ever falls apart when you finally relax.

"Just like that?"

He nods, sharp and firm. "Jus' like that."

"I have a kid," you blurt out, panicked. This conversation is getting away from you. Slipping through your fingers. And the worst is that it sounds so good. Too good. "I'm—I'm pregnant," you add like he doesn't already know. Hadn't heard you mutter it to the paramedic hours ago.

The look he levels you with is an incendiary thing. You feel it in your chest. Deadcentre. "I know," he rasps, head bending down closer to you. "Doesn't change anythin'."

"How could it not?"

"How should it?" He counters.

"In a few months, when the baby is here—"

"I won't change my mind."

"You say that now," you breathe, pulse thudding in your ears. "But when it's screaming in the middle of the night, and—"

His hand reaches out slowly, like he's trying not to startle a horse. Fingers grazing your arm, warm and rough, before closing around your wrist. The one that's bruised and sore. Swollen in his hand. Its done with measured purpose, confidence, that the panic doesn't have time to surge. Instincts too incipient to keep up with the sure, steady way he winds around you.

With his hand on your wrist, fingers folding over the hurt—hiding them—he leans down, thumb stroking along your skittish, unraveling pulse, and makes you meet his stare. Open, maybe, for the first time since you met him. All raw want, naked truth. The bare, fractured look is enough to steal the air in your lungs, snuffing out the innate protests that spume whenever someone offers any sort of help or charity. The no crushed under his heel.

"m'a man of my word," he low, drawing the words out. "I'll be there for the cryin' and the dirty diapers and the sleepless nights."

"And when I can't work for you?"

His lips quirk. "I offer better MAT leave than most places. Reckon you could even do the bloody job from bed."

"Price, that's—this is insane—"

"John," he grunts, giving another shrug before peeling away from you. "Savin' me the trouble of talking to these idiots. Ain't nothin' crazy about that."

"I could be a horrible person. A murderer. Rob you blind, and leave you with you nothing."

It has the opposite effect of scaring him off. If anything, he looks amused. Squares his shoulders, stands to his full—intimidating, impressive—height. Stares down at you with a brow quirked and strange gleam in his eyes.

"Think I can handle myself, love. And if you wanna rob me, bite the hand, so to speak, then I promise you, you won't like the consequences."

You swallow. His tone sparks against your sense of self-preservation, and you fight the urge to take a step back. To put distance between yourself and this grizzly-like man with blunt teeth and sharp claws.

He senses your hesitation. Must because he quiets, shoulders sinking. Hand warm on your skin, giving a slight squeeze before he lets go. You ignore the urge to chase that heat again, and hide a shiver behind a shift.

"How 'bout a test ride, mm? A trial. Stay for a few weeks and then decide if you still want to leave."

Too good to be true. You know this deep down in your marrow. Every instinct inside of you rebelling against this, screaming trap, it's a trap. But there's a truth to what he says, and maybe if you weren't pregnant, you would have flipped him off and ran because men like him aren't kind to girls like you unless they have a reason to be.

You're just not sure what he has to gain in all of this. Why he put himself between you and harm without so much as a sparing glance. Stayed, too, and barked at everyone who got too close. A thunderous shadow full of teeth.

And maybe it's that. The blood concealing into a thick, pulpy plum over the split of his knuckles, the blood on the gravel that isn't yours, the goosebumps rising over the spot he touched, colder than the rest of your skin, that makes you quieten under his heavy stare. Softening into something agreeable. Unreasonable. Instincts shoved into a box.

So you nod and let him place his hand over the small of your back, guiding you to his truck with a firm nudge. Say anything when he helps you in, hands fastening the seatbelt with a clipped I'll be back when he finishes, keeping his wary eyes on you even as he moves quickly towards your car, grabbing your suitcase from the back. Promises to get your car later, too. Bring it back to his house.

And yours, too, he adds, glancing your way after he tosses the suitcase in the backseat, searching for something you're not sure he'll find. So you look away, staring at the dust on the dashboard as he rounds the truck, and slips into the front seat. It smells like him. Fresh leather and the wild. Cedar and moss. Tobacco. Something heady. Masculine. Soaked sage. Loam. Gasoline.

You lean back on the headrest, breathing it in. Trying not to think.

You'll keep your luggage packed. The keys in the ignition. When whatever it is he's planning comes to the forefront, you'll be ready to run.

But right now—

You just want to sleep. Your jaw aches. Your wrist. There's a knot in your stomach—not good for the baby—and it thickens each time you look at his bloodied knuckles curled loosely over the steering wheel, the other on the stick. Close enough that you can feel the heat bleeding into your knee. All fire and spite, and—

Touch her again, and it'll be the last thing you ever fuckin' do.

"Get some rest," he grunts, eyes slanting towards you in a brief, heavy flick. "I'll stop and get some food soon, too, but it's a two hour drive to mine. And you look dead on your feet, sweetheart."

Love. Sweetheart. I won't change my mind.

You swallow down the protest that swells, the lingering residuum of self-preservation that won't let you bear your neck just yet, and offer a slow nod, blaming the easy submission on fatigue. These aches and pains that weep, tender to the touch.

Your eyes slip shut against your better judgement, the warm interior of the truck, his smell, bleeding a sense of soporific comfort you can't remember the last time you ever felt. Just a quick nap, you think. Long enough to rest your eyes—

It's swallowed under the deluge of exhaustion that rushes through when your shoulders drop, lax. He mutters something, but it's awash under the seafoam that fills your ears, lapping waves dragging you further and further away from shore. Something that sounds like girl good but you can't be sure. Hypnagogia is a terrible a thing that likes to spin dreams, play pretend in the cradle of your subconsciousness until the lines between reality and fantasy blur. Ignoring it is easier than admitting that it floods you with a warmth so deep, sweat gathers along your hairline. Feverish and sickly sweet.

Fingers dance along the edge of your brow, rough and coarse, and it's a devastating thing, isn't it? All this tenderness along the broken edges of yourself, nails grazing the fractures like they can be fixed, pushed back into place, and not as if they're about to shatter. It makes you want to lash out even though you can't feel your body anymore, stuck between worlds of wake and rest. Later, maybe, when the phantom press doesn't feel so sweet you'll snap—broken jaw and brittle teeth—at his hand until he remembers to never touch you again. A risk he won't take.

But with the knot in your belly, a baby there, too, and a body more contusion than flesh, you let it happen. Mewl, maybe, a quiet little slip of a thing, and curve into the palm resting over your cheek. Small and docile, leaching comfort as fast as you can before you remember yourself.

in the moonglade, you murmur thank you and swallow down a rough, painful sound when he scoffs under his breath, and says ain't got nothin' to thank me for, sweetheart.

#this is rough and messy but i woke up with this idea burning in my head and couldn't write it out fast enough #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #wips #fic: prairie wolf

3K notes · View notes

devilmen-collector · 8 months ago

Text

Origin of the names of the 7 kingdoms of Hell

Ever wonder where do the names of the kingdoms (or regions) of Hell come from? Let's find out in this trivia post :3

WARNING, this post contains religious theme. If you feel comfortable, please ignore this.

Gehenna

"Gehenna", in the Bible and in real life, was originally the name of the valley of Hinnom, outside of the city of Jerusalem. In this valley, many committed the gruesome sin of sacrificing children to the god Moloch. Because of this sin, the valley was cursed by the Jews and its name was used to call the final punishing place of the reprobate. In Christianity, "Gehenna" is used to designate the place where all the demons and the damned human will thrown in at the Last Judgement, "the lake of fire", "the unquenchable fire".

Tartaros

"Tartaros", or Tartarus, was originally the term to describe the abyss of torment and suffering for the wicked and the Titans in Greek mythology.

In the 4th century BC, Greek culture and language were spread to all Eastern Mediterranean countries by the conquest of Alexander the Great. Greek became the common language in these countries and remained so for many centuries. The New Testament of the Bible was written in Greek. The term "Tartaros" was adopted by Christianity to describe Hell. Although "Tartaros" doesn't technically appear in the Bible, the associated verb tartaroō ("throw to Tartaros") does. (The verb itself is a shortened form of another verb with similar meaning kata-tartaroō ("throw down to Tartaros").

In the Bible, Tartaros is the place where fallen angels are chained to wait for judgement.

Hades

The name of the underworld in Greek mythology. It was also adopted by Christianity and used to describe Hell. However, different from Gehenna and Tartaros, Hades is a little bit complicated.

Before the work of redemption was completed in Jesus's death and resurrection, the gate of Heaven was closed. So when a someone died, that person would go to Hell (Hades) ragardless of good or bad. However, in Hades, there was "a great chasm", according to the Bible, separating the good and the bad. The good people either didn't suffer or was purified of their venial sins, while the bad people on the other side really did suffer. No one from "the good side" could cross to the other side, and vice versa.

After Jesus died, his soul descended to Hades and released the just who were detained in Hades and brought them to Heaven, while leaving the damned on the other side of the chasm, waiting for the Last Judgement, after which, both Hades and the wicked in it will be thrown into Gehenna "the lake of fire", for eternal punishment.

Abyssos

The name "Abyssos" comes from "abyss", which is also a word to describe Hell. The precise word "Abyssos" does not exist in the Bible or mythology, as far as I know.

Paradise Lost

This country shares its name with the famous work written by the poet John Milton in the 17th century. The poem Paradise Lost is a dramatized version that retells the story of the fallen angels and their role in the fall of Adam and Eve.

Niflheim

The name comes from Norse mythology of the Scandinavian people. Originally, Niflheim was realm of primordial ice and fog, being one of the two primordial realms, the other being Muspelheim, the realm of fire. Later, the realm became the abode of Hel, the daughter of the god Loki, and it became the afterlife for those who didn't die a heroic or notable death, overlapping with another realm in Norse cosmology, Helheim.

Abaddon

In the Bible, "Abaddon" is both a place and an entity. As a place, Abaddon is the place of destruction, the realm for the dead. As an individual entity, Abaddon is described in the Bible as "a king, the angel of the bottomless pit; whose name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek Apollyon; in Latin Exterminans" - Revelation 9:11

Now "Abaddon" is entirely tied with the meaning of destruction. Abaddon itself means destruction or "place of destruction". The root of the word abad means perish, or destroy. Both the Greek name Apollyon and the Latin name Exterminans mean destroyer.

#what in “hell” is bad?#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#whb trivia #whb gehenna #whb tartaros #whb hades #whb avisos #whb abyssos #whb paradise lost #whb niflheim #whb abaddon

126 notes · View notes

97keanu · 1 year ago

Note

figure skating for the first time x keanuverse ? ⛸️🤍🎄❄️

*˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ohohoho this is perfect !!!! Thank you for asking, I've had this on my mind for a bit now! (And I may also be writing a fuller fic for such a thing with reader x young!JW :3c) John Constantine, Kevin Lomax, and Neo undercut! Pure fluff!

❄️.*ㅤ Since he's on my mind, older John would love going ice skating with you! He's probably done it at least once himself, and if not, with as skilled as he is as working his body through the movies, I think he would manage just fine! I also have a head canon that when he grew up with The Director, they didn't seperate teaching ballet by gender of who was there (no "just girls learn ballet, boys learn how to kill" deal.) So, I like to think of John Wick as someone who can do all he does because he also has a rigorous background in learning ballet, having those precise body movements, knowing how to work every muscle in his body to his advantage.

Therefore, I would like to imagine that John takes you to the nearest rink (or perhaps a lake he knows that's more private?) And actually helps to teach you how to skate better (or how to at all if you don't know how!). He would be patient, watching you and only stepping in when you need it, his arms wrapping around your waist or steadying your elbow.

Eventually, you're doing it on your own, and John is there watching you, a smile creeping on his face from being able to teach you something so intimate to him. He actually has to be the one to stop you once the night starts setting in, the temperature getting way too cold to stay out in much longer.

He takes you back to his mustang and already has a fuzzy blanket there to wrap you in. You in the night back at his apartment, drinking a late night coffee and John listening to you giggle about how much fun you had with a warm heart.

❄️.*ㅤTed Logan however, lives in sunny California, so they don't see snow or ice often enough for ice skating to be a regular ordeal. He is your skater boyfriend however, so when you do end up finding a indoor rink to take him too, he thinks he will be pretty good at it from the get go. And he isn't horrible, he knows how to balance well and tries to stay up right, but it's actually so different from riding his skateboard or even rollerskates that it takes him a moment or two to get really good at it. Once he has it down though, he's skating around, pulling you by your hands until you two are laughing and doing goofy circles around the rink. Eventually, his himbo-ness gets the best of him, and as he's admiring how pretty your hair looks under the ice rink lights, he slips, bringing you down with him. He takes the harder of the fall, you fall on top of him with rosy cheeks and a smile already forming from how silly your boyfriend can be. You two end up laying there and laughing in the middle of the rink for way too long, maybe even annoying a few other skaters, but you two couldn't care if you tried. The night ends with the two of you warming up at a nearby cafe with hot cocoa and plans to try it again sometime.

❄️.*ㅤJohn Constantine would flat out refuse to go ice skating with you. Your big doe eyes would plead with him, but that's not going to change his mind. You tell him how much you enjoyed going as a child, how you love to ice skate, but you're not going to find a Los Angeles city boy like him on an ice rink anytime soon. Or, are you?

Maybe after his refusal, he takes on a demon hunting case that just so happens to lead him to a hockey rink. When the chase leads you two there, you don't see John stop to think about what he's doing as he tries to run out onto the ice. You go after him, your sneakers sliding and skidding on the slippery surface, but your years of practice skating have you able to keep your balance. To your dismay, ahead of you, Constantine is not someone who's trained in such things, and for the first time ever(and probably the last), you see Constantine fall flat on his ass. You easily skid by, reaching out a hand to help him up, and he can't deny grumbling a 'thank you". By the time you're ready to resume chase, the demon is gone.

"See? If we had just gone skating last Saturday, maybe you would have been prepared for this type of thing!" You know you shouldn't rub it in, but you can't help pointing out the truth.

"Yeah, yeah," Constantine carefully finds his way to the rinks edge, and gets out onto non-slippery flooring. "Okay, Maybe I'll take you next time..."

You squeal with joy and the two of you end the night with you having a hot tea in his apartment and Constantine taking a whiskey and nursing his bruised backside.

❄️.*ㅤKevin Lomax is not one for ice skating. Our good southern boy hasn't even roller skated a day in his life, and he's not about to trade his cowboy boots for a pair of blades.

"Please, Kevin! I really want to go skating!" You pester him, and eventually he caves, lucky that New York gets more snow than Florida.

He wraps you, and himself, up tight in winter clothes, and bites back complaints about how cold it is. He takes you to a local spot that he's heard of, and only a few other couples are out at the rink. Good, less people to have to see him fall on his ass when this goes awry.

He still has to maintain the confidence of a business man, so he keeps his lawyer smile on and helps you into your skates. At first, he let's you go ahead and skate without him, watching you perform moves he is actually pretty entranced with. When you pull your leg up over your head, he actually gives a holler out of support("Yeah that's my wife/girlfriend!").

Eventually, when everyone else has left, you persuade him into trying on a pair of skates, and to your surprise, he does. You gently take him out onto the ice, and for a few moments he's actually doing it! You let go gently, and he glides by himself, able to get down the simple movements, but nothing too crazy. In the end, you two do slow circles in the middle of the rink, face to face with each other. Kevin looks deeply in your eyes, and you're happy he's obliged your silly request. He leans in for a kiss, and you feel your legs shake on your skates. To your surprise, you're the one who's lost your balance first, and Kevin catches you with a laugh.

"Too much for you, darlin'?" He whispers with that husky southern voice, and the redness in your cheeks isn't just from the cold anymore.

The two of you end the night at a fancy dinner spot, something expensive, decorated in holiday spirit and the sound of a live pianist and violinist playing soft Christmas tunes.

❄️.*ㅤNeo lives in Chicago, so he's no stranger to the cold or navigating ice. I believe he likely has gone ice skating before, probably as a child, but hasn't done that in many years. When you ask him, he's apprehensive, but it doesn't take much begging for him to agree.

He takes you to a spot that's supposed to be the best experience, and only after you two have bought your tickets do you realize it's PACKED. There's way too many people here for Neo's comfort, or yours for that matter, and after about an hour of trying to find your way onto the ice where you two can have some alone time, you see it's not going to happen tonight and give up.

Neo makes it up to you by taking you to your favorite dinner spot. It's an enjoyable date night still, but he can tell how badly you wanted to go and can see the disappointment that you couldn't.

So, after about a week, he tells you that he's taking you out for a surprise.

When you arrive to this mystery destination, you realize it's the same ice rink. You ask him why, knowing it's another Saturday and it will be packed just like before, but Neo motions to the lack of people in the parking lot.

"What...?" You say as you begin to piece things together. "How did you...?"

"We have the whole place to ourselves. I took out every ticket just for us." He says slyly, obviously proud of this feat.

"What do you mean? That has to be crazy expensive!" You know Neo is well enough off, but that sorta price is excessive even for him.

"Well, their website for buying tickets was particually hard to hack..." He looks over at you with a smirk and smiles big when you throw your hands around his neck, gleeful for his talent tonight.

"No! You didn't! Neo..." You say into his neck giving him a big squeeze. "Thank you..."

The two of you head inside and are treated like unknown celebrities, putting on an air of being such, and trying to remain lowkey. You both have fun pretending to be people you're not, and Neo skates alongside you easily, even taking the risk of dipping you back and twirling you a few times. You're surprised your typical home dwelling boyfriend could be so suave and savvy, but you enjoy it nonetheless. You get hot drinks at a concession stand, and eat pretzels and Chicago style hotdogs to your content.

#i hope you enjoy these takes! all your boyfriends are willing to do a winter time activity with you due to feeling the holiday spirit!#except constantine...but you know how he is lol #john wick x reader #john constantine x reader #constantine x reader #neo x reader #ted logan x reader #kevin lomax x reader #lila speaks #ask lila #my writing #••• ◛ ʸᵒᵘ’ᵛᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵐᵃⁱˡ!#keanuverse

218 notes · View notes

sam-keeper · 3 months ago

Text

The Visitor aka STRIDULUM (1979)

Ha ha yeah, wooo YEAH

da daaaaa dadadaDAA DAAA DAAAAAAA DADADAAAAA DADADADADA DA DAAAAA YEAH!!!!

This is the most prog rock movie I've ever seen in my life. This is spiritually being painted on the side of a van. Does it have a good plot that makes sense? I don't know, asshole, does Emerson Lake and Palmer's seminal classic Karn Evil 9 part 2 have a good plot that makes sense? I'm telling my kids The Visitor (1979) is Star Wars.

I noticed a pattern when looking at other reviews of this film: they fall back on comparisons, as a slight. Well, it's sort of The Omen, and it's sort of Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and it's sort of Carrie, and a little Battlestar Galactica and maybe The Birds... which all sounds very derivative, I suppose, until you actually a movie smashing all those things together, and realize, wait a minute, that's bonkers. It feels like critics grasp for these comparisons while foundering in The Visitor's psychedelic sea, desperate for a point of stability. None of these references offer stable landmarks, though, if you hope to predict where the film will veer next in its crazy pursuit of cool ideas and weird setpieces.

Not that the comparisons are totally off base, mind. This IS the story of Katy Collins, a Wicked Little Kid in the vein of the Omen's Damien or Carrie's... Carrie. It's just that this generic convention of the Bad Seed gets set up at the beginning of the film with a bizarre cosmic encounter between an old space wizard and an apparition of the devilish little girl in what looks like a blizzard on mars, followed by a whole ass monologue by "A Jesus Figure" about cosmic psychic spirits of good and evil dueling it out across the planets, delivered to a bunch of bald, white robed children. Hell yeah. But! But. Katy Collins is otherwise a classic, average evil psychic kid who kills people with telekinesis. And uses it to rig professional basketball matches for her shitty step dad, possibly at the behest of the satanic businessmen he answers to who are REALLY giving some serious drone hive vibes what with the way they all turn their heads at the same time. Oh and she's got a pet hawk that murders people at her behest. No, trust me though, it's a really derivative movie. Not like the movies we have now like uhhhh

[sweating] uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Better touchstones than typical blockbuster fare might be the mind-expanding chaos of paperback epics--Clive Barker's Great and Secret Show, King's Dark Tower, Morrison's The Invisibles. Here's some other fun facts: it was directed by Giulio Paradisi (it's a heavily italian production) but he directed it under the brilliant name "Michael J Paradise". The italian title was "Stridulum", which I guess is latin for something like a harsh or shrill sound or shriek, which fits the whole repeating War Between Birds motif and the use of bird cries in the soundtrack. Oh, and one of the guys playing basketball in the first scene with Katy is Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, actual famous athlete. It's sort of a bizarre and improbable movie!

But I don't think I'd be nearly so dazzled by all the crazy shit this film throws at the audience if not for Katy herself, played brilliantly by a young child star Paige Conner. She's written and performed in a way that suggests malice, yes, but a childish malice, a bit of a put-on, a belligerent front that gets more and more petulant and uncontrolled as John Huston as the space mystic Jerzy (yes) Colsowicz (get it) confronts her with the limits of her own powers. There's this sequence where Jerzy and Katy play pong against each other. Jerzy, smiling, accuses her cheating by speeding up the game with her powers. Katy, giggling genuinely, gloatingly informs him that no, she sped up the game using a switch on the game console. Later in the film she tries to drop a fire escape on his head, of course. In that conversation, though, there's this charming chemistry between them, the chemistry of a smart young person and an older adult willing to treat her, not as a peer exactly, but as a thinking being, not just a Thing to be smacked into shape. This dynamic is crucial to the climax of the film and its ultimate conviction that no matter how ghastly Katy is, there's more than just evil to her, which might not be the most seasonally horror-forward message but is honestly pretty damn refreshing. Like I don't know if The Visitor is as good a film as The Omen (ok, I know that obviously it's not) but on balance it's probably got its heart more in the right place. Perhaps notably along those lines, one of the horror subplots of The Omen involves possibility of a woman getting an abortion, whereas The Visitor explores the possibility of a woman being impregnated against her will. While it may lose out on form, The Visitor might just win the long game on its politics.

Also some shitty teens get thrown through a plate glass window, and there's a whole sequence where a big truck's lights are treated exactly like an approaching spacecraft, and it's awesome, I don't know what to tell you, I love this shit.

Read more horror reviews like this all season on my Patreon

#the visitor (1979)#stridulum #horror #horror movies #horror classics #movie review #halloween #spooky season

37 notes · View notes

alyswritings · 2 years ago

Text

Fire

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

Summary: The chateau gets set on fire.

Warnings: fire, angst

a/n: this idea is from @reader-bookling123. hope y'all enjoy!

(gif not mine)

JJ sits on the couch next to Kie. Sarah and John B retreated to his bedroom a few minutes ago and JJ watches Pope and Cleo go into the other bedroom. He knows Y/N is outside, the girl having said she wanted to lay in the hammock and look out at the lake and stars, it usually helping her fall asleep.

As JJ starts to attempt to apologize to Kie, an orange light outside the kitchen window catches his attention instead.

"JJ?" Kie asks when he stands up. She follows his gaze as she stands up, eyebrows furrowing at the flames. "Is that--"

"Fire. Get them out. Fire." JJ rushes to the room Cleo and Pope are in.

"Guys! Fire!" Kie shouts, barging into John B's room, interrupting the make out session easily leading to something more. "Shit! Sorry. There's a fire!"

"What?" Sarah's eyes widen.

"What?" John B asks, the two getting up and rushing out.

The six friends try to get out, the door too hot to touch.

"Guys!" John B screams. "I got a way out! Come on!"

They all climb out through the window and JJ rushes to the hammock.

"Wha-- Y/N!" He shouts. "Y/N!" The others rush over. "Where the fuck is she? Y/N!"

The pogues yell out for the six year old. Sarah hears screaming, quickly racing to part of the house, finding the child in the window.

"Shit. JJ!" Sarah screams. "JJ! She's in the office!"

The others run over, JJ racing up to the window.

"Fuck!" He yells, trying to run up to the window, but the flames keep him from doing so. "No, no, no." He races to the door, touching the knob, but instantly pulls his hand back as it burns. "Fuck!"

"JJ! JJ!" Kie shouts, pulling him back from the rising flames.

"No, I need to get in there!" JJ yells.

"You can't! There's no way in! It's too late!" Kie yells, her voice cracking as tears well in her eyes.

"No. No, no." JJ mumbles, watching the flames engulf the house.

- - -

Pope walks around, inspecting the damages of the fire. The walls burnt down, only a few pieces of wood left standing. He sighs, frowning when he hears a noise. He looks around and gets a bit closer to the house. His eyes widen when he spots the young girl beneath the rubble.

"Holy, shit." He whispers. "Guys! Guys, I found Y/N!" He screams, getting closer to the girl, the others immediately rushing over.

"You found her?" Kie asks.

"She alive?"Cleo asks.

"She's breathing." Pope says. JJ lets out a deep breath, clutching at his chest as Pope lifts his little sister up.

"Does anybody have their phone? We-- we need the ambulance." Kie says.

"Let's just drive her. That's less time." John B says, the group rushing to the Twinkie. Pope lays Y/N down on the bench in the back of the Twinkie and JJ kneels next to it.

"John B, you gotta go faster, man!" JJ calls out.

"I'm going as fast as I can." John B says.

"Okay. Okay, baby, hey. Hey." JJ softly calls, brushing his sister's hair back. Y/N's eyes flutter open for a moment. "Hey. Yeah, there are those beautiful eyes." He mutters, stroking her hair. Y/N closes her eyes, coughing. "Yeah, cough it out, baby. Hey, I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Can you do that?"

He looks down at movement and sees Y/N's thumbs up. He lets out a watery chuckle and kisses her on the forehead.

"You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." He quietly says, not sure if he's trying to reassure her or himself more.

The pogues get to the hospital and JJ rushes out, taking her inside. "Hey! Hey! I need help here!"

"What happened?" A nurse rushes over. "Gurney!" She yells out.

"She-- there was a fire. She was inside." JJ says, carefully putting Y/N on the gurney.

"When did you find her?" The nurse asks.

"Like, 20 minutes ago. We drove straight here." JJ says, following them as they wheel Y/N through the halls.

"Okay. You can't go past this point." A nurse holds him back while the others continue to wheel Y/N back.

"N-no. No, I'm her brother. I need to be with her." JJ states.

"Sir, you need to stay back and let us do our job. You need to be checked out, too." The nurse says.

"No. No, I'm fine. You need to focus on her! She's six!" JJ exclaims.

"Okay, sir, we will do our best with her--"

"No, she's not allowed to fucking die!"

"JJ. JJ, hey." John B rushes up. "I got him, ma'am. Sorry. Thanks." The nurse walks back. "Hey. Hey, man, hey. She's gonna be fine, all right? We're right here."

- - -

JJ immediately stands up when a doctor walks out.

"Y/N Maybank?" The doctor asks.

"Yeah." JJ raises his hand.

"She's a very, very lucky girl. It's a miracle she's alive." The doctor says. "We wanna keep her overnight for observation, but she should be able to go home tomorrow."

"Okay, can I see her?" JJ asks.

"Just family. She needs her rest." The doctor says.

"Go. Go." Sarah tells JJ when he glances back at the group. JJ quickly follows the doctor to Y/N's room. JJ goes inside, seeing the girl half asleep.

"Hey, munchkin." JJ softly calls, getting her attention.

"Jayje." Y/N gets a tired but excited smile.

"Hey. How you feeling?" JJ asks.

"Tired." Y/N mumbles.

"Yeah. Yeah, I get that. I'm kind of tired myself." JJ weakly smiles, brushing her hair out of her face. "Last night was scary, huh?" Y/N nods.

"I couldn't get out. The doorknob was too hot and... and the windowsill was painted shut." Y/N mumbles.

"I know. I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. I should've tried harder." JJ says. "We thought you were outside."

"I went inside when I heard a car pull up." Y/N says.

"You heard a car? Did you see it?" JJ asks.

"It was a truck. Dark truck. I don't know who was driving it." Y/N says. "I just hid in the office in case it was scary men again. Like after you guys got home from that bonfire party you always go to."

"Okay. It's okay, honey. You don't have to remember anything." JJ says. "You just need to get some sleep and feel better. And I'll be right here." He promises, kissing her on the head.

"I love you." Y/N tells him, already feeling herself fall back asleep again.

"I love you, too, munchkin." JJ whispers, gently brushing her cheek with his knuckle, promising to never let her come so close to death again.

Taglist: @glxwingrxse @venomsvl @wildieflower @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @itsmaneskinbitch @mrvlxgrl @star-wars-lover @champomiel @ironmaiden1313

#jj maybank #jj maybank x sister reader #jj maybank x sister!reader #outer banks #obx #obx jj #outer banks jj #pogues #pogues x reader

482 notes · View notes

mrsmikaelsxn · 2 years ago

Text

Morning Ice Skating

masterlist

pairing: regulus black x female reader

warnings: fluff, one kiss (a peck), reggie being a child

summary: during your yule break, you take regulus along with you to go ice skating

a/n: i timmy so much, i can't-

song: beautiful boy - john lennon

"Shut that bloody alarm," Regulus groans, reaching over you to stop the blaring sound.

He hits snooze and drifts back to sleep, his arm wrapped around you, and a warm thick blanket covering you both.

You lazily sit up and rub your eyes. You had planned to go ice skating today, so you wanted to get up to have the morning sun to enjoy.

As you go to move out of Regulus' grasp, he tightens his grip on your waist.

"Where are you going, my love?"

"To go ice skating," you say kissing his forehead.

"Why? Stay in bed and cuddle with me, I need affection," he whines like a child.

"You had plenty of affection last night," you grin as his face flushes.

"Hush," he says sitting up.

"I'm going to get ready now, you could stay in bed if you want... or you could come with me," you suggest.

"Nope, absolutely not. Do you not recall what happened the last time we went? I had the bruises on my legs for days," he rolls his eyes.

"Pfft, that's only because it was your first time. I'm sure you'll be much better this time. Can you come with me, please," you give him your puppy dog eyes. He gives in, only because he can't say no to you when you do that.

"Fine. But if I fall, I am coming straight back and going to sleep again... after I throw some snowballs at you," he huffs.

"Deal," you nod with a grin. You get out of bed and drag him along with you. The two of you change into warmer clothes and you put your hair back. You both brush your teeth and grab the new ice skates you bought for him and you.

You walk out towards the frozen lake. Because it's early and the sun is still rising, you guys are the only ones there. There is a light snowfall, making the scene around you even more beautiful. You always loved snow, when it was snowing you liked to think of the world as a snow globe.

"Okay, are you ready?" Regulus looks at you and hesitantly nods.

"Great, grab my hand and we will go slow"

"Hm, okay, please don't let go," he begs as he nervously steps onto the ice with you.

"I promise I won't," you reassured him.

"Now, bend your knees a bit- good, now with your right foot..." you go on to explain how to skate in simple steps to make it easier for him to understand.

He slowly gets the hang of it and loosens his death grip on your poor hand.

"I'm going to give you a little push, and see if you can do what I told you without falling. Is that okay?"

"Yeah- um- okay... I got this," he mumbles to himself, getting a laugh out of him.

"Yes, you do," you gently push on his back and he does as he was told. He keeps repeating his movements and is slowly going around the ice on his own.

"Fabulous job, darling!"

He looks up at you and sees your bright smile, a feeling of pride takes over him. As much as he didn't want to come, seeing as last time it ended horribly, he would do anything you asked him to. Seeing you smile at him like that made everything worth it.

You skate over to him and intertwine your fingers. You talk while you slowly ease him into going faster with you around the lake.

"By the way, I forgot to mention this morning, that if you keep buying stuffed animals for the bed, they are going be either shoved in the closet or you're going to sleep on the couch," you inform him with a smile.

Every time you go to your room there are more somehow. You don't even know where he gets them from. Now they take up about half the bed and a lot of space.

"I don't think so, you wouldn't kick me out of the room"

"Oh yes. I do think so, and indeed I would," you put your finger in his face, trying your best to keep a straight face.

He gives you a mhm look, and you shake your head. "Okay," you sigh, "no I wouldn't. But some of them are going in the closet!"

He turns to you and places his hand on your cheeks that are pink from the cold air nipping at your skin.

"I love you so, so much, sweetheart. You know that right?"

You relax your face into his hand and admire him, wondering how you got to love this angel.

"And I love you so, so much, as well"

"You sure? Even with all my stuffed animals?"

"Yup, even with all of you room-taking stuffed animals," you smile pecking his lips.

448 notes · View notes

qpr-competition · 2 years ago

Text

WELCOME TO THE QPR COMPETITION

the matchups in round 1 are as follows

part 1:

Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens vs Peri Dubois and Abel Moreau from Entropic Float

Sonic and Shadow from Sonic the Hedgehog vs Joan Watson and Sherlock Holmes from Elementary

Camilla Hect and Palamedes Sextus from The Locked Tomb series vs Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang from Fullmetal Alchemist

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes from ACD's collection of stories vs c!Ranboo and c!Tubbo from Dream SMP

Arthur Lester and John Doe from Malevolent podcast vs Polly and Yaretzi from Hello From The Hallowoods

Abed Nadir and Troy Barnes from Community vs ART and Murderbot from The Murderbot Diaries

Team Rocket from Pokémon vs Mane 6 Ensemble from My Little Pony

Timothy Stoker and Sasha James from The Magnus Archives vs The Doctor and The Master from Doctor Who

part 2:

Jesse Cosay and Lake from Infinity Train vs Joe Tazuna and Sara Chidouin from Your Turn To Die

Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright from Ace Attorney vs Kris and Susie from Deltarune

Oscar Wilde and Zolf Smith from Rusty Quill Gaming vs Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin from Critical Role

Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee from Lord Of The Rings vs Loid Forger and Yor Forger from Spy X Family

Hunter and Willow Park from The Owl House vs Arepo and God Of Arepo from Tumblr Folktales

Sakuko Kodama and Satoru Takahashi from Koisenu Futari | Two People Who Can't Fall In Love vs Compton Boole and Cassie O'Pia from Psychonauts

Lapis Lazuli and Peridot from Steven Universe vs Kazuki Kurusu and Rei Suwa from Buddy Daddies

Nepeta Leijon and Equius Zahhak from Homestuck vs The Scooby Gang from Scooby-Doo

see you at 6 pm GMT 17th February for the first half of the first round!

558 notes · View notes

jillsc6rs · 1 year ago

Text

Peace ✷

pairing ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ john marston x gn ! reader

warnings ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ no dialogue , angst...sorry , hurt/(no) comfort , abigail and john r not a thing in this , not proof read

a/n ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ i think I've seen a fic like this before but...i dont really remember? still in my head j am givinf them credits if i actually did read something like this,,, might've been a caption on a joiver art i saw idk . anyway i rly need to stop making everything angsty,,,

I will help you swim / I'm gonna help you swim

You knew you weren't going to see him again. Watching him from where you sat at the campfire, the gang was falling apart and you were planning your way to leave. Such little people left and your heart hurts whenever you see the condition Arthur is in.

Always having to deal with hearing Dutch say they just need one more score — but you know it's over. This is it.

John walks over to you and sits down next to you. You give him a smile and he returns it. The two of you sit in silence as the remainder in the members do the same.

Hearing Micah and Dutch whisper about something you move to grab Johns hand. Now your fingers interlocked, you look at him and he's staring at you too.

You truly don't want to just abandon him but you can't stay and asking him to leave with you seems unreasonable to do. Thinking to yourself, you decide to maybe share one last tender moment with him before your leave.

You get up and tug his arm and he gets the message; standing up as well. Then you lead him as far as you can from the camp, to a lake. He stares at you; confused but you squeeze his hand and he understands.

Releasing his hand the two of you slip out of your clothes and only have your undergarments. Stepping into the water, you reach your hand out for him to grab and he does.

You ease him in and instruct him to keep calm and let himself float. Promising you won't let him sink.

You stare at him as you keep him a float. Simply admiring him as his long hair makes it look like he has a halo — like he's an angel from the heavens above. He looks so peaceful but you know he's fearing of suddenly drowning and the fact he put his trust in you to keep him living makes your heart skip a beat.

The only sound the two of you hear being the rustling of trees, water splashing, and your humming. Feeling your eyes well up with tears, you close your eyes, trying your best to savor this moment.

It's so peaceful...you wish to stay like this as you open your eyes again and notice he's opened his too. He takes note of your teary eyes and his face twists with concern. You give him a smile of reassurance but it didn't help.

Yet he didn't say anything, just appreciating the silence as well — he never thought water would be this calming for him. You lean down and place a kiss on his forehead and he smiles.

You hear him mutter an 'I love you'...

That's all you hear, before everything sounds silent now. You try to respond but all you can get out is a small noise.

He doesn't mind, he knows you love him as well and wouldn't leave him.

And you do love him...you treasure him and everything about him. Ever since you met him, sure he was a piece of work but that was why you loved him.

So it leaves him confused and hurt when he can't seem to find you at the camp the next morning. He was hoping to ask if the two of you could go to the lake again but he can't find you.

He notices a piece of paper in your tent and he picks it up to read.

He feels his world crumbling as he reads it.

My Dearest, John,

I'm sorry for leaving you. I love you, I truly do, I just couldn't bring myself to ask you to leave with me. I don't know where I am going, think I'm just gonna wonder until I find where I can stay. I know it seems like a bad idea, but it's all I could think to do. The gangs falling apart — Dutch as gone mad. Please get out of there as well. I hope you can forgive me if our paths decide to cross again and god I hope they do. I'll miss you dearly, John

Love, [Name].

He couldn't believe it. You left without telling him? He would've said yes if you'd asked him. Why didn't you ask him? Did anyone else know about this? Were you safe? He prayed you were safe. Please be safe.

The day couldn't get anymore worse then this. You left without a word and his heart is broken. He's not sure if he could handle more.

But more he had to handle. Everything is falling apart, he has to leave. And that he does when he gets left for dead by Dutch. When he's forced to pick a side and Arthur makes him leave, to get away from this life, to go find you. He keeps Arthurs words in mind, after getting to a safer area, he sets off to find you.

He will find you — somehow; he needs to.

a/n 2 ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ lolol sry this is short . i think idk...i was listening to twin sized mattress and needed to write this ! hope u enjoyed ur read see u next time ^3^ mwah mwah

#john marston #john marston x reader #gn reader #gn!reader #john marston x gn reader #sillygraham #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #fem reader #fem!reader #male reader #male!reader #masc reader #masc!reader #john marston x female reader #john marston x male reader

93 notes · View notes

birdybirdvillagetown · 2 days ago

Text

The Lord Shows mercy even to his enemies Also more truth.

The lord shows mercy even to his enemies. Instead of just beating them senseless he shows them an ounce of mercy. For example when that guy who was possessed by those demons and jesus arrived to cast them out. They begged and pleaded him to not send them back to hell instead asked jesus to send them in the pigs and so he did.

Another would be if you look at the end of revelation it shows that the devil and his demons would be casted into the lake of fire. So instead of outright destroying them they will be hurdled into the lake of fire. Thats an act of God's gracious mercy.

The lord even to the wickedness of people still shows his mercy. He shows his mercy first then his justice. You see people have been lied and deceived by the devil. The devil has told people he shows his justice and then mercy after no thats not the truth he shows his mercy and then his justice.

Here are some bible verses and we qoute

Luke 6:36 - "Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful."

James 2:13 - "For judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment."

Matthew 5:7 - “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy."

Hebrews 4:16 - Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Matthew 9:13 - Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’ For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”

1 Peter 1:3 - "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,"

1 John 1:9 - "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."

Lamentations 3:22-23 - "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

Hes a loving faithful God to us he shows his patience and his mercy to us. When we come to him who we are and repent of our actions/sins he forgives us and he shows his mercy and his gracious blessings and forgives us but we have to truly repent and change our ways. He will never leave nor forsake anyone. Its not a "oh lord i sinned so bad you wont be able to forgive me" no thats not true he forgives you, you have to make an effort to pray and ask for forgiveness and repent and change your ways.

He knows you make mistakes he knows you fall for sin. We are not perfect human beings do we try to walk christ like, yes yes we do. He knows we try everyday. Thats why he shows his mercy to us and his patience. Hes patiently waiting for you to come to him. Hes not going to be like "oh you sinned well im not going to love you no more" No! Thats not him, thats the demons and the devil filling your mind with lies.

Hes going to love you no matter what. Does he love the sin your commiting, no he does not, he does not love the sin your commiting but does he still loves you. Does he want you to come to him, yes yes he does. Hes not going to abandon you, he will never give up on anyone.

Is he a ruthless God? No he isnt he is a patient, faithful God and a loving God. Righteous, holy, pure, and just. Hes never ever going to change. Hes going to be the same forever. God will never going to change for anyone. Hes full of wisdom and knowledge beyond our human understanding. He created everything. Though did God create evil? No he didnt.

Thats also a lie from the devil and his demons. He didnt create evil. Theres nothing evil about God at all. Hes a good faithful God and will always be. No matter what happened no matter what sin its never going to change the fact that God will never ever stop loving you, because he will always love you. No matter how great the sin is, he will always be there waiting for you to come back to him.

13 notes · View notes

filthystill · 25 days ago

Text

@miidnighters liked.

Spate of brutal murders across the US, better than staring at the cold sky, looking for answers. This is what he did, after all, and if you're asking him where he'd rather be, well, he could probably think of an answer, given time, but for now, he had a job to do.

It was hissing, and writhing, and thrashing, but John was mostly ignoring it, and all the things it was screaming out; "I'm going to rip your head off", "I will cast your soul into icy lake", "I will dig your eyeballs out and eat them", he'd knocked it's teeth out, bound it's spirit, doused it in holy whiskey -- he'd been improvising -- the thing couldn't do shit. He'd dragged it right through town, people staring, just kept walking into the night until things started to get rural, low light, wall of trees, jagged unwelcoming black shapes.

The veneer, the costume, was falling off in meaty chunks, a trail of viscera, it was not a little boy he dragged behind him, demonic imp, sprite, a little ball of hate made real, a particularly modern affliction. He had found four of these things since he woke up.

"Say your prayers," John says, cross formed in the air, words muttered, and the ground becomes warm, he drags it into place, red hot, the pines begin to sizzle and cook and catch fire, and the hands reclaim what is theirs.

He sits. He drinks. It does not matter where you are, when you are, the work does not change.

#does this suck????#IF IT SUCKS #hit me up and i could do u a death one instead #all i really got is the image of john #dragging a demon the way u would a drunk out a bar #ch; john #miidnighters

9 notes · View notes

stevethehairington · 6 months ago

Text

okay making this a New Post bc i don't wanna like. commandeer op's post with this but. i saw the post in this screenshot:

like three days ago, and i have, no joke, spent all three of those days thinking about it, specifically how painfully, achingly, desperately i want to write something inspired by it...

and just. OUGH. it fits so fucking SO FUCKING perfectly for the buckies from masters of the air. like. gale has his sweetheart back home, and john doesn't have anything back home, but he finds his something, his someone in gale, he falls in love with him, and it's this overwhelming, all encompassing kind of love, this tugging, aching kind of thing that fills his chest, sits on top of his lungs, and it makes it kind of hard to breathe sometimes, but john wouldn't trade it for the world, he wouldn't. and he knows it's never going to be reciprocated, because gale's not like him, because gale's got a girl, they're getting married, john's going to be his best man and everything. but that doesn't do anything to tamper those feelings, it doesn't make john yearn any less, and so he has to just live with it. to just get used to that ache behind his ribs and just keep going, keep trucking on. and he does.

and then the unthinkable happens and the war ends, and just like that they're going home. and so gale goes back to wyoming, back to marge, and john goes back to wisconsin, back to, well, nothing, really.

he ends up finding himself this nice plot of land; it's by a lake, with lots of trees, and the nearest neighbors are miles away. it's quiet, and it's secluded, and it's not too terribly far from town. there's a house on the property, a total fixer upper, but john thinks that's maybe exactly what he needs — something to keep him occupied, something to keep his hands busy, something that will require his attention and his energy and might tire him out by day's end, enough that maybe he won't need the bottle to do the trick.

(and if he maybe likes to pretend that he's fixing the place up for a reason, one with blonde hair and blue eyes and the sweetest smile, well, that's nobody's business but his own.)

and the thing is — those thoughts of gale, those feelings for him, they don't disappear. they don't fade away. john had hoped the distance, the not seeing each other every day, the not being in each other's direct orbit might quell some of it. but it doesn't. not even one bit. if anything, they get stronger out here. all that quiet, all that loneliness — it leaves a lot of room for john's mind to run wild.

john has trouble sleeping, too. it's quiet, too quiet, he's used to sharing a room with bunks and bunks of other men, so going from that — snores and whispers and creaking beds and snuffling breaths — to... nothing. it's weird. it's unsettling.

that, and the nightmares. those don't help either.

so john finds himself awake through the night a lot of the time, and, well, if he's up he's going to make the most of it, so he pours himself some whiskey and takes it onto the porch. there's a little swing there, left behind by the previous owners. it hangs from the awning, except the right side isn't so secure anymore, the hook half torn out, so it hangs at a slant. john keeps telling himself he needs to fix it, but it hasn't dropped him yet or ripped the ceiling apart, and he keeps forgetting, so he just doesn't.

it's dark outside, with only the pale shimmer of the moonlight to keep him company. the sound of crickets, too. and john will sip his whiskey and he'll stare up at that moon and he'll — he'll think of gale.

wonder what he's doing. wonder if he's awake too. if he's staring up at that very same moon. he'll wonder if marge is with him, maybe wrapping her arms around him, maybe making him a cup of something warm, maybe holding his hands to stop them from shaking.

john's chest aches something fierce, and the whiskey doesn't help, but he drains the glass anyways. lets it burn down his throat and settle, hot and hurting, in his gut as he thinks about what he'd do if it were him with gale instead. if gale were here with him. if they were together, on this porch, at this house, in this life.

john thinks. john yearns. john gets himself some more whiskey.

(and, of course, it IS a happy ending eventually — gale and marge split, before they get married even, and gale ends up showing up on that doorstep (he knew the address from the scant few letters sent between the two) with his bags, a lopsided smile, and his whole entire heart, all for john.)

#clegan #john egan #gale cleven #masters of the air #mota #buck x bucky #mack writes

17 notes · View notes

billys-pretty-babe · 2 years ago

Text

Can't Help Falling In Love

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary : The almost kiss was still on your mind a week later. Billy can't stop thinking about it, he should've kissed you, placed a soft peck on your lips but Neil ruined the moment.

Warnings : Swearing

Word Count : 940

A/N : Part 2 of May I Have This Dance?

It had been a week since Billy almost kissed you in his room before Neil came back home and Billy made you go back home. Your date, John still followed you around like a puppy, wanting a second chance to take you out. You made your way to your seventh period of the day as Billy was already there, waiting for you and he smiled and flirtily wiggled his fingers at you making you laugh before taking your seat next to him.

You listened to the lesson, taking notes for the semester final that would take place the following week. Billy's fingers brushed against your exposed arm as you saw something in the corner of your eye and you looked down to see a note.

Lover's Lake tonight???

You smiled and looked at him before nodding and he smiled gently before hooking his pinky with yours as he took notes. The subtle intimacy made your heart beat faster as you tried to keep up with how quickly he took notes, his hand dragging yours across your page. The bell rang loudly and you both stood up as you talked. "Make sure to bring a jacket, I'm not giving you mine again." You nodded, knowing he'd give you his jacket if you asked.

"I'll come pick you up around eight." You nodded again, "I'll see you then." He nodded and you went your separate ways as you walked home, living a few minutes away from the school. You raced to your bedroom as soon as you unlocked the front door, putting your backpack down near your door as you looked through your closet for an outfit. You finally chose one and headed to the bathroom to shower and get yourself ready.

Hours passed and a knot settled in your stomach as you put perfume on as a knock sounded on the front door, "I'll get it," your mom called out and you walked down the hallway. "Hi Billy." Billy laughed, "Hi, is she ready to go?" Your mom nodded and you left with Billy as he drove to Lover's Lake, going slower than he usually does, Elvis' voice filling the car as Billy smoked.

The drive to Lover's Lake felt like it took an eternity but in reality, it was a twenty minute, give or take. "Are we getting out?" He shook his head and rolled the windows down. "I need to talk to you." You nodded and turned to him as he turned down the music a little. "Can i try something?" You nodded again and he unbuckled his seatbelt before flicking the cigarette butt out of his window. He turned to you and his eye ssearched yours, looking for anything at all to signal to him that his feelings were reciprocated.

He held your jaw, something he did a lot before he leaned in and placed his lips on yours, his eyes fluttering shut and you squeaked, making him quickly pull back. "Sorry, holy shit, I don't know why I did th-" you rolled your eyes, cutting him off by placing your lips on his and he hesitated for a second before his lips moved with yours. His hand searched for yours and he hummed against your lips when he found it and he squeezed it gently.

But I can't help falliing in love with you.

You pulled away first and Billy's forehead fell to yours. "So I take it the feelings are the same?" You laughed and nodded, "Yeah." "Good." You both laughed, the air filled with your laughter and the love that filled your veins.

Take my hand, take my whole life too.

"Wait, I like this song." Billy restarted the song as he held you to his chest. His lips smacked a little and you heard his breathing change a little before his lowly sang in your ear, making you laugh from the way his breathing tickled your ear and the fact that he wasn't a singer. "Are you laughing at me," he asked, appalled and you laughed again and nodded and you moved from him once his fingers touched your hips as he tickled you. "Mercy, stop it," you exclaimed and he laughed. "Make me then." You grabbed his face and kissed him and his hands slithered to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

The kiss broke as he laughed, "Lord have mercy." You both laughed before he kissed you again, giving you brief pecks as you laughed. He pulled away and you looked out of the windshield at the stars, seeing how some were brighter than others. "Vickie's gonna be mad at you." Billy shrugged, "I don't care, I didn't like her anyways. I just didn't ask you because I thought you would think it was weird." You shook your head, "I wanted you to ask me and when you didn't, I went after John." Billy scoffed, "What did you even see in him anyways? He ran through the entire cheer squad." You both laughed, "It was gonna be a one time thing, not anymore though." He nodded and looked at his watch before driving you home, giving you a sweet peck on the lips before he drove back to his house.

You made it to your room and got ready for bed, putting on Billy's white cotton shirt that he left one night and you snuggled into your blanket and happily sighed at the night's events but one questions remained on your mind.

What are Billy and I?

You didn't need to wonder for long because the next morning, he picked you up for school and asked you to be his girlfriend.

#billy hargrove x female reader #billy eddie steve babygirl loves soft!billy #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #william hargrove #stranger things billy #stranger things fanfiction #billy-eddie-steve-babygirl fluff #billy hargrove x you #billy hargove imagine #billy stranger things

229 notes · View notes