#cul de lampe

[uwmspeccoll]

Marbled Monday

This lovely sandy or striated-rock-like marbling is part of the binding of the book Culs de Lampe by the Gehenna Press, a fine arts press founded by American artist and graphic designer Leonard Baskin (1922-2000) in 1942. This book was published by the press in 1968. The paper is Nideggen and Fabriano blue and white and master printer Harold McGrath (1922-2000), who also printed for Barry Moser's Pennyroyal Press, was the printer.

The book consists of a series of culs-de-lampe, a subset of tailpieces that take a particular shape reminiscent of the bottom of a lamp (hence the name). These designs are often used at the bottom of pages or ends of sections or chapters of a book. Those seen here are printed in black, blue, green, and red and range in date from 1564-1680.

The marbled paper is a large nonpareil pattern. You can still see the underlying zig-zag or gel-git pattern that is the foundation of the nonpareil pattern (and most combed patterns). The colors are earthy browns and greys and remind me of sand or a cross-section of sedimentary rock. The binding was done by Gray Parrot, who has also bound editions for the likes of Dard Hunter's Mountain House Press and Henry Morris' Bird & Bull Press.

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-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

[joeloverture]

morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I���ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance. 

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven. 

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • III

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 5.4k

General fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter Three - One of Us is Broken Glass (EDITED 09-03-24)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

+

“What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered-yelled, furrowing my brows at him in distaste.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded, kneeling in front of me again with an expression filled with fear and distress.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled a bit too loudly as the door below us rattled once more.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah's intense gaze locked onto mine as he begged, “Just this once Y/N.”

I hesitated for a moment but ultimately gave in to Noah's desperate request. His hands gripped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me towards him. With complete desperation, Noah kissed me intensely.

+++++

NOAH

My earbuds blasted music as I strolled along the sidewalk, glancing at the houses Y/N and I had passed by earlier. A few of them still had lights on despite the late hour, so I kept walking until I reached a cul de sac lined with townhouses. Putting on a ski mask and pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt, I adjusted my backpack straps and began scoping out each house, searching for a potential target. My eyes eventually landed on one with a dimly lit living room and the sound of a cat meowing at the door. Normally, I would avoid houses with lights on, but something about this one drew me in. Was it the cat? I've always been a sucker for felines.

As I approached the front door, I scanned for any security cameras while listening to the cat's cries from inside. When I confirmed that no one was home, and it was just the cat waiting for its owner, I knew I hit the jackpot.

Sighing to myself, I accepted that this was the house I had chosen for tonight's target. Maybe I could take a few minutes to pet the cat before the guilt sets in. Unzipping my backpack, I retrieved my metal tools and got to work on picking the lock. With my phone in hand, I timed myself to see how quickly I could do it; it was the only way to make this mundane task somewhat enjoyable.

Using a tension wrench and pick, I twisted and turned, feeling for the springs and listening for the pins to drop into place. It took some trial and error, but after twenty-eight seconds, the lock clicked open and I stepped inside.

The cat greeted me immediately with loud purring and winding itself between my legs. Kneeling down, I scratched behind its ears as I flipped through its collar with my covered fingers. The cat was large, with an orange-gray coat and white markings that swirled around its

As I stroked the orange cat, I couldn't help but smile at the name - Juice. The cat purred loudly, enjoying the attention. I stood up, knowing I had to get to work quickly. Grabbing my flashlight from my bag, I made my way into the living room. As I went to turn off the lamp to avoid drawing attention, my eyes wandered over the walls adorned with various band posters against the light green paint. My gaze stopped on the sleep token poster above the couch, bringing memories of Y/N's smiling face flooding back into my mind.

Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear

Shaking the lyrics out of my head, I took it for a coincidence, before looking through various drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I made my way through the first floor of the house, scanning each room for a bathroom, and searching for valuable medications that I could sell for a profit. The guest bathroom offered no luck, so I decided to head upstairs.

The stairs creaked under my weight as I ascended to the second floor, and once I reached the landing, I spotted another bathroom and eagerly opened its medicine cabinet. My heart raced with excitement as I saw various prescription bottles inside: Diazepam, Adderall, Zolpidem, and even cough syrup containing Dextromethorphan. This was my lucky day, but I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.

Stuffing the bottles into my bag, I moved through the hallway towards the nearest bedroom. Juice followed me, meowing loudly at my every step. I tried to shush him, but he remained persistent in his demands for attention.

Pushing open the bedroom door, I was hit with a familiar scent of perfume. It took me a moment to place where I had smelled it before.

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked around, trying to figure out where to start searching; until my eyes landed on a collection of polaroids taped above the oak wooden bed. I walked closer, and my heart sank at the sight of a woman's smiling face in each photo.

It was her house - Y/N's house.

I couldn't believe it. Out of all the houses I could have broken into, it had to be hers. Whatever sick strings fate was trying to pull, it’s turned the one good thing that’s happened to me, into a twisted game.

Feeling guilty and scared of being caught, I quickly scanned her room for any valuables before turning to leave. But just as I was about to make my escape, I heard someone opening the front door. Panic surged through me as I fought to think of an escape plan, and my hand instinctively covered my mouth, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Juice?”

It was her. Fuck.

Looking around the room frantic, I debated where I was going to hide. Closet? Bathroom? Under the bed?

“Juju baby? Where are you?”

I heard Y/N's footsteps fade towards the kitchen and took this as my cue to make a move. Every step I took across the room was accompanied by a loud creaking sound, and I cursed myself for not being more stealthy. She must have heard me; there's no way I could make it to the bathroom now.

Juice watched me with curious eyes from the corner of the room, but it was too quiet downstairs, and I knew Y/N was listening. Suddenly, Juice's head snapped towards the door at the sound of Y/N's muffled footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart raced as he ran out of the room, leaving me alone and anxious. I quickly slid behind the closet door, peering between the cracks.

The hallway light flickered on and my breath caught in my throat. Y/N screamed before her laughter echoed through the house.

"Jesus Christ, cat! You scared the shit out of me!" she exclaimed.

Oh god, what am I going to do?

Juice came back into the room and landed on the bed, staring at the closet with wide eyes. As soon as Y/N entered, I knew I had to get out of there.

"What? Are you hungry? Your bowl is full," she said, shaking her head as she pulled off her sweater. This was my chance to escape.

I carefully slid out from behind the closet door while her back was turned. But just as I was about to pass by her, she threw her sweater into the hamper and turned around. In a moment of panic, I grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with my hand to stop any screams.

She struggled against me but I held onto her tightly.

Why didn't I just run? Why did I think this was a good idea?

With a racing heart, I turned her around to face the mirror, hoping she would see that I meant no harm.

But tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered, looking back and forth between my masked face and the gun in my waistband.

Of course, she would be afraid.

I was a masked vigilante with a gun.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said softly, my voice trembling. I knew I had to run as soon as I let go of her. She would never know it was me, and everything would be okay because I could just delete her number and never see her again...right?

Y/N's body trembled in my arms as I held her tightly. Even though I squeezed her for comfort, I knew she was far from being soothed.

"I'm going to leave, and you're going to let me. Got it?" I stated firmly, taking a deep breath before closing my eyes and preparing myself to leave this house forever.

"Please don't make a scene," I added, releasing my grip on her body slightly. As I began to step away, Y/N turned around and kicked me with all the strength she had.

"Fuck!" I cried out, doubling over in pain and protecting myself with my hands. As I tried to recover, Y/N fled the room. I knew I had to follow her; there was no way I could escape without her knowing what happened.

"You fucking creep! You followed me!" Y/N yelled, her voice dripping with anger as she pointed a knife at me when I finally exited the room. ""You're a lowlife piece of shit! Get out of my house or I'll call the cops on your sorry ass…Noah."

I locked eyes with her, feeling a wave of shame wash over me as she spoke my name with complete disdain. How did she know it was me? My clothes were different and none of my tattoos were visible.

My body shook with pain and I hunched over, leaning on her door for support.

"Please, Y/N, don't call the cops," I begged desperately.

"Why shouldn't I call the cops?" she screamed back at me, tears streaming down her face. She reached for her phone and began to dial 9-1-1, causing my stomach to drop even further in fear. I couldn't get caught - I had too much at stake.

I pleaded once more, but Y/N pressed the button and I could hear the faint ringing of the operator on the other end. Panic set in and my hand instinctively reached for the gun tucked into my waistband. Y/N's face went pale as she noticed the weapon, her lips trembling in terror. I had never seen anyone so afraid before - not even the woman from our job weeks ago.

"Hang up," I managed to whisper through dry lips. "Y/N, hang up please."

But it was too late - Y/N had already spiralled into a panic attack, gasping for air. We sat there in silence until we heard loud knocks on the front door.

"This is LAPD!"

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, frantically thinking of a plan. Usually, if you call 9-1-1 and then don't answer their call back, they send someone to check on your location to make sure you're okay. But I didn't expect them to come this quickly.

Y/N looked between me and the door, wiping away smeared lipstick from her face. Do I hide? Do I surrender?

My gaze landed on her lips and the smeared lipstick. If only we had been making out... Wait a minute. If we were passionately kissing and she accidentally called 9-1-1, it would explain everything. I quickly removed my sweater and tank top to make it look like we had been getting intimate.

Please play along Y/N, please.

+++++

Y/N

I pulled away from Noah, trying to catch my breath as I noticed the lipstick smudged on his lips. His request was so outrageous that I couldn't help but scoff at him.

"Come answer the door with me and pretend we were just making out," he pleaded, his doe-like eyes pleading with mine. "I'll tell you everything about myself if you do this for me."

I hesitated for a moment, before nodding quickly and allowing Noah to take my hand and lead me down the stairs. He held onto my belt loop as we approached the door, opening it to reveal a uniformed man standing there.

"Hi officer?" Noah said in a confused tone, panting heavily as if we had just been in the middle of a passionate make-out session.

"Evening," the man replied, his eyes darting between us in concern.

Noah pulled me closer and wrapped his arm around me, while I played along by giving the officer a puzzled look and placing my hand on Noah's chest with false admiration.

"We received a call from this location and wanted to check in to make sure everything is alright," the officer explained, eyeing us both suspiciously. Noah must have sensed it, because he pulled me even closer and I rested my head against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Despite everything that had happened between us, our bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, an undeniable chemistry between us.

The officer scanned my lips before turning to study Noah's face, analyzing our deception.

"Oh really? That's odd," Noah furrowed his brows and looked down at me. I chimed in, reaching into my pockets for my phone.

"I didn't call anyone," I said,"I must have butt-dialled while you were...pushing me against the wall," I whispered through gritted teeth, loud enough for the officer to hear.

Noah's lips curled into a sly smile and he even winked at the officer. "I was away on a trip for two weeks, you know how it is."

The officer coughed awkwardly and began to look away, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "Alright well, stay safe you two. Have a good night."

"We will," Noah gave him a breathy laugh.

I apologized to the officer as I pulled Noah away from the door and closed it behind us. Noah let out a breath of relief, his tense muscles relaxing.

I took a few steps back, still wary of him.

"Okay, now get your shit and go," I demanded, glaring at him. "I never want to see you again." I wiped my lips, trying to forget the feeling of his hands on me just minutes ago, his mark staining my body.

"Please, let me explain," Noah pleaded, holding out his hands and taking a step closer to me. I could see the genuine concern in his eyes and it made my walls start to crumble. But I couldn't let myself trust him again so easily, so I took another step back.

"Fine," I conceded with a sigh. "You have five minutes. And put your shirt on, it's weird that you're standing here half-naked."

I led the way into the living room and plopped down on the couch, motioning for him to join me when he came back down the stairs.

Noah sat as far away from me as possible, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. We sat in silence, both feeling a sense of deja vu after our earlier encounter in the park; this time was different though.

"So," Noah began, looking at the carpet.

"So," I echoed, watching him cautiously, "you didn’t strike me as a professional criminal."

"That's what makes me good at it, I suppose." A small laugh escaped Noah's lips before he stifled it. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I know you don't believe me, but I didn't follow you," Noah said, covering his face with his hands. "The odds are astronomical, Y/N. I genuinely have no idea how I ended up at your house instead of any other one in the neighbourhood."

"Then why did you choose this house?" I asked, raising an accusative eyebrow.

Noah shrugged, "I don't know. There's no method to it. I saw your light on and heard your cat, and chose it. That's all."

"Sure," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest, "maybe one day you'll admit that you're actually a stalker."

"No," Noah shook his head, "are you even listening to me?"

He sat up straight and leaned over his knees, staring intensely at me. "I swear on anything- God, Satan, whoever you want- that I had no idea this was your house.

“Even over the dead bodies of my parents."

His eyes bore into mine as he spoke and I felt a lump form in my throat. The pain in his expression made my heart ache.

"You have dead parents too?" I asked quietly, the tension in the room dissipated, filling with a sense of knowing.

Noah licked his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. He snapped his gaze away from me and slumped back over his knees, staring at the floor.

"My mom died of cancer," he began, "and my dad couldn't handle it so he killed himself. I was only twelve years old, but luckily my best friends took me in. They're like brothers to me."

My mouth felt dry as I listened to him. It suddenly made sense why he didn't say sorry when I told him about my own parents' death in the park. He knew that apologies wouldn't change anything and sympathy would just feel like pity, especially in this situation.

"So why were you in my house in the first place?"

Noah avoided my gaze, clearly ashamed of his actions. "Stealing, larceny, thievery - whatever you want to call it. It's one of the easiest ways to make money on the streets besides dealing drugs."

"So you're a burglar," I said, nodding and forcing a smile. "You really know how to pick 'em, Y/N," I mumbled under my breath, finding some humour in the situation.

"I wouldn't be doing this if we didn't have to," Noah replied, sinking back into the couch with his tattooed neck on display. "We owe a lot of money to a dangerous man, and this is our only way to keep up with his demands."

"Who?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my attempt not to stare at the intricate snake design on his neck.

Noah closed his eyes. "I can't tell you for your safety."

I let out a dry laugh. "My safety was gone as soon as I offered you to sit on my couch."

"Touché," Noah chuckled. "But that's one thing I won't disclose."

"How long have you been...doing this?" I watched him closely as he turned his head.

"Long enough," he answered cryptically.

"How long, Noah? If that's even your real name."

He raised an eyebrow. "It is. Noah Sebastian, if you want to be specific. My friend Jolly always referred to it as "the grand fuck up," and it all started when I was fourteen. Since then, we've been paying off our debt every month.”

"And what exactly is 'the grand fuck up'?" I asked, noticing the letters on Noah's knuckles for the first time as he ran his thumb over them.

"It was my first job, and Jolly said I needed to do it to become a man and join the pact," Noah explained, his eyes fixated on the letters. "I stole an expensive car without knowing it had something valuable in it. The car belonged to a notorious criminal who caught us, giving us two choices: death or working for him. We chose to work off our debt and be free once it's paid off."

"Who is included in 'we'?" I inquired.

"My three friends and me," Noah replied with guilt evident in his voice. "I screwed us all over, and it's been seven years of nothing changing."

Noah closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears and the guilt that consumed him. My heart softened, wanting to comfort him and take away his pain.

"What does your tattoo say?" I asked, shifting the topic.

Noah looked at his fingers again, blinking rapidly. "Bad omens."

"Bad omens?" I repeated.

He moved closer to me and held out his hands for me to see. Without thinking, I took his hands in mine and studied the words etched onto his skin.

"An omen is a sign of things to come," Noah explained, watching my fingers trace over the letters. "But everything that comes our way seems to be bad."

"That's no way to live," I shook my head, turning sideways on the couch to face him.

"I've always lived that way," Noah shrugged, giving a small smile.

My heart ached at his words, reminding me of my former self stuck in a cycle of hopelessness and despair. A year ago, I would have said the same thing if someone had talked to me about possibilities and starting fresh. But I had worked hard to leave that behind and create a new life for myself. It was possible, but Noah was still trapped in his never-ending cycle, unable to see any glimmer of hope or change.

“I don’t even feel real anymore unless I’m in pain,” He confided, the agony evident in his voice catching me off guard. “It's not like I enjoy this cycle of suffering, but it's become my norm. I don't know how to function without it.”

Noah scoffed and looked away, trying to distract from his words. “Sometimes I wish I could just give up. Maybe then I'll see my dad again.”

My chest clenched at his words and I sat up on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “What keeps you going?” I prodded, intrigued by this mysterious man.

“My brothers. I have to fix things for them and make up for what I've done.”

“And after that? What then?” I pressed, completely invested in his enigmatic words.

Noah fell silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, lost in his thoughts. I wanted to know what was going through his mind, but we sat in silence once again, the only sound coming from the soft ticking of the living room clock. Juice had emerged from hiding and cautiously made his way into the living room. He let out a small meow and jumped onto the couch next to Noah. After sniffing him, he rubbed his head against Noah's sleeve.

“I don't know,” he finally whispered in a despondent tone, raising his hand to gently pet Juice's fur. The hair on my arms stood up as I watched Juice melt into Noah's touch - immediately accepting him and showing him love.

“You look like you could use a hug,” I surprised myself with the offer, standing up and opening my arms to invite Noah into my personal space.

He looked at me with surprise, asking "Huh?"

"Come here," I motioned for him to stand up, and after a moment of hesitation, he did.

Noah’s lanky figure approached me, and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his body towards mine in a protective embrace. I stood on my tiptoes to place my head in the crook of his neck, squeezing his body against my chest. Noah’s breath hitched in his throat as he held himself stiffly before easing his body into our entwined limbs. His arms held me close, his head resting against my own. As his chest shook through his complacency, I breathed deeply, sighing into our hug. Noah joined me in a deep exhale, listening to our breaths as we held onto each other, exchanging memories through our hold.

I’m sorry you lost your parents. I’m sorry you’re stuck. I’m listening.

“You don’t have to carry it all yourself. Humans aren’t made to be solitary creatures.” Boldly, I held my hand against Noah’s head, capturing him and all of his wounds. As I ran my fingers through his hair, Noah’s shoulders began to shake.

Can one of us be saved?

I can't forgive you, but I can't look away I have to tell myself it's better, better this way It's killing me

Soft sobs left his lips, his body vibrating through his tears.

Don't wait for the light Just fall asleep, embrace the night

The man crumbling before me was not a terrible person. He was merely a lost soul, fastened to routine and never-ending affliction.

Perhaps, I can be another step to helping him find himself. He reminded me so much of my past; I couldn’t leave him.

Even if I got hurt in the process.

+++++

NOAH

Y/N's arms were a haven, comforting me with her gentle embrace. Her fingers ran through my hair, unearthing deep-seated memories as she held onto me.

It was hard to believe that just an hour ago, everything had been a chaotic mess. Yet here I was, crying in this woman's arms. I didn't deserve such kindness, especially after invading her privacy and trust like I did.

I hadn't opened up to anyone in a long time. My only family were Ruffilo, Folio, and Jolly; they were the only ones who saw my pain. But Y/N's touch had broken down all of my walls, causing me to completely shatter. It was baffling how someone I had only met less than 24 hours ago could have such power over me. Yet here I was, vulnerable and exposed in her embrace.

How could she be so kind and selfless? She listened and understood. Her parents were gone too. She knew the feelings of abandonment.

Keep telling myself that I was the victim You were the one that pulled away I've got a cold heart, this is the sad part I don't think I can change

But the difference was that I was corrupt. I was not the good guy; my presence was tainting her.

Can one of us be saved? I feel like I'm better, better in a grave Better in a grave Better in a grave

“What’s the next step from acquaintances?” she tried to lighten the mood, giving me a small laugh.

I pulled away, my body already infected with the remembrance of her touch against my limbs. I wiped my eyes, face reddening at the embarrassment. I can’t believe I just cried on some girl’s shoulder. She was no longer just some girl.

“I mean, I don’t know if we should even be considered friends. I broke into your house.” I scoffed, wiping my nose with my hoodie sleeve as I sniffed.

“What about acquaintance-squared?” Y/N said, “I think now that I know you’re not just Noah, we’ve upgraded.”

I laughed, “Level two friendly strangers?”

Y/N joined me, the sound that left her body angelic. Part of me wanted to listen to her melody forever.

I knew then that I was fucked. Her hooks snagged me this morning, but now they were embedded, scars bound to be permanent. There was no way I could just leave her as a forgotten memory as I had thought earlier.

She knew too much.

“Sit down. I’m going to make you something to eat.” Y/N said, smiling kindly. My phone began buzzing in my pocket; I knew it had to be one of the boys.

I immediately shook my head in protest, “No Y/N, I should go.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t deserve your hospitality.” I pulled my phone out and checked the caller ID. It was Ruffilo. 32 missed texts.

Jolly: You alright?

Jolly: Almost done?

Jolly: It’s been almost two hours since I’ve heard anything.

Jolly: You should’ve been done within the first hour.

Jolly: Your location says you’re still there; where are you?

Jolly: Noah answer your fucking phone.

My anxiety must have been visible on my face when I saw the messages because Y/N noticed and asked, "Where do you live? Can I at least give you a ride home?"

I shook my head, "It's fine, I can walk."

But when Y/N checked the time and saw that it was three in the morning, she insisted, "Noah, it's not safe for you to walk alone at this hour."

I almost scoffed at her concern, but instead placed a hand on her shoulder and reassured her, "Y/N, I'll be okay."

She made a frustrated face and pouted her lips, which for some reason sent my heart racing.

"Noah," she marched towards the front door and grabbed her keys while slipping on cow-shaped slippers. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

"Let's go pretty boy."

"I'll walk," I said firmly, putting my phone back in my pocket.

Y/N furrowed her brows again and glared at me, causing butterflies to stir in my stomach. What is happening to me?

"You look cute when you're angry."

Y/N opened the door and pointed outside. "You think I'm cute when I'm angry? Then I'll be fucking gorgeous if you're not in my car in two seconds," she seethed.

I raised my hands in surrender and chuckled, "Okay, okay, I'm coming."

We squeezed into her small silver Chevy Spark and I joked about its size. "Could you have gotten a smaller car?"

She turned up the heat before fiddling with the music, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I must say I didn't expect to have an over 6-foot-tall thief in my passenger seat."

I rolled my eyes, knowing she had a valid point. The guilt gnawed at me once again. Y/N pressed play and the song blared through the small speakers. She turned to me and asked for the address.

"If you know where the Marlborough Motel is, that's where we're headed."

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she looked at me. "Wait, you actually live near there?" Her expression crumpled in sympathy when I nodded. But I refused to accept her pity. We lived in that rundown motel, but it was still better than nothing.

She drove out of the driveway and towards our destination while one of us listened to the song blasting through the car speakers, its lyrics piercing my ears.

You played the cards, you know I wanted to see Behind the curtain, always pulling the strings in my head

But now I think it's time to cut the ends I won't make the same mistake again

Once she dropped me off, I would leave her behind forever. I had to, for my sanity, and hers.

“I mean, housekeeping must be a blessing?” Y/N said gently, giving me a quaint smile.

“Yes, I enjoy the smell of cheap laundry detergent and a stranger filtering through my stuff.”

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I gazed out the car window, taking in the rows of illuminated houses and streetlights as they passed by. Exhaustion weighed down my body, but I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes. Jolly was going to have a fit when I got home - especially now that I had dragged someone else into this mess and failed a job. Just another checkmark on the list of my screw-ups. And to top it off, I had nothing to show for all the trouble I went through.

But then my mind snapped back to reality as I remembered my backpack - the one with the gun inside. The one I had carelessly left behind at Y/N's house. Panic set in as I realized she would find it, along with all her prescription medications neatly stored inside. My heart raced at the thought of her finding those bottles.

My throat felt tight at the realization, but I swallowed the nerves, reminding myself that I’d never see her again after today. I’ll forget about her, and this. I won’t need to see her disappointment.

You got what you deserved And that was me You saw me at my worst You saw the worst in me

We arrived at the motel and I sighed, realizing the light was still on. No doubt the boys were still up waiting for me. Y/N and I sat quietly for a moment before she turned to look at me.

“Well, level two friendly stranger.” Y/N coughed, breaking the awkward silence in the cramped vehicle. I looked at her and forced a smile. She smiled back, but my heart ached with the realization that this would be our goodbye. I studied every inch of her face, trying to imprint her features into my memory. I knew I couldn't face her again after this.

"Thanks for this wild adventure," she chuckled. "It was definitely a confusing situation, but I'm glad you were my first criminal experience."

Unsure of how to respond, I attempted to make a joke. "And thank you for being my favourite victim."

My own words stung as they reminded me of my past felonies, but I supposed she truly was my favourite victim. If it wasn't too messed up to say something like that.

"Will I see you for your usual coffee?" She asked, hope seeping through her eyes. How could she want to see me again?

"Yeah," I replied with a forced laugh, lying through each breath. "See you then."

I stepped out of the car and turned to wave before opening the door to the motel room. My heart ached as Y/N drove away.

Goodbye.

Tell me that I'm wrong Tell me that I'm wrong

Chapter four

Tags:@crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

@flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

@hoe-for-daddywise @philomenie @xxkittenkissesxx @venturethroughtheveil @thefallennightmare

@blend-in-with-the-madness @reyadawn @deathblacksmoke @Anameunmusical @sitkowski

@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[onboardsorasora]

Maybe Max is new to his neighborhood and hears about his direct neighbor, Daniel but never sees him. Realizes he sees lights in the townhouse next door at very random times but no one else seems worried.

Their mutual neighbour Vicky checks on the house for Daniel often. Because he apparently keeps weird hours. She feeds is fish for him.

Anyway he's heard a lot about this guy, the neighbors at their end of the cul de sac love him, even though he's often absent. And they take care of things for him. Daniel's lawn never gets unruly, and someone takes in his mail for him. Max wonders just how safe it is for so many people to have a key to your home. Especially if they know you're not there. They always talk about seeing him and Max can never say hes had the pleasure.

It's probably almost 3 months of that when Max gets home late one evening from a night out. He sees a lone lamp light on in Daniel's house and the front door is open. Max is on alert.

He goes to the house, slowly. He has Vicky on speed dial but it's like 1 am so he'll assess then call the police if anything. He goes up the stairs and pushes the door open, there's shuffling upstairs- definitely the sound of someone rummaging.

Max is no hero, he calls the police. Fifteen minutes later and there's a patrol car. The officer that gets out, Esteban, doesn't seem too worried about the situation. Which makes Max annoyed because he very clearly stated that the robber person was still in the house.

Esteban walks to the front door, doesn't even draw his gun.

"ki Ki ki" he calls out, weirdly. Max furrows his brow in confusion

"rraaa rrraa!" Calls from inside. Esteban chuckles and enters the house, Max follows him.

"Danny, you left your door unlocked again. Your neighbor is worried." Esteban reprimands up the stairs.

"ah shit. Right. My bad." A sharp accented voice groans then there was the sound of rapid footsteps down the staircase. A man jumped onto the bottom landing and Max swallowed thickly.

A tangle of curly hair, framed a hot face pulled back in a chagrined smile. Corded muscle bulged as he rubbed the back of his head. He wore a dirty tight blue shirt and large, navy almost cargo pants that Max recognized as those from a fireman.

His hot neighbor was a fireman.

"Sorry about all the trouble. Thanks for like looking out though." His neighbor, Danny, greeted, sticking his hand out for a handshake. Which Max took.

"oh it's- it's no problem. Can't be too safe y'know? I'm Max by the way."

"Daniel. Sorry we're literally meeting like a thief in the night or whatever. Vicky told me you'd moved in, but we've been short shifted at the station." Daniel explained and Max blushed that Vicky had updated Daniel about him.

"are we all good here? I'm gonna tell dispatch that you're buying a box of donuts for the night shift." Esteban teased and Daniel groaned again

"I'll remember to close the door!" He called when Esteban left.

"I take it this happens often?" Max asked and Daniel blushed.

"too often," he grumbled. "When I do a double or triple I tend to forget that doors aren't like self closing outside of the station."

Max snorted, he could see the problem.

"I hope I'm not coming off as creepy or anything but do you wanna like get some coffee? After I've maybe slept for thirteen hours?" Daniel hedged and Max smiled.

"We can have it at my place." Max offered and Daniel grinned back.

"Sure."

[billys-pretty-babe]

Morning Sun

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary : Waking up beside Billy was one of your favorite things in the entire world, especially the way his skin looked in the morning sun.

Warnings : Suggestive comments, swearing, brief mention of Billy having to protect himself from Neil

Word count : 704

A/N : It's nearly midnight, I have classes in seven-ish hours but I feel bad after not writing and publishing for a few days.

The birds woke you up along with someone's dad mowing their yard and children screaming in the cul-de-sac of Cherry Lane. The Mayfield-Hargrove family was all out of town besides Billy, left behind to watch the house. You gently rolled over because Billy was a light sleeper, he had to be when Neil was around, and you didn't want to wake him.

Billy laid on his stomach, his limbs strewn about in the small bed, one leg hanging off the bed, one of his pillows on the bedside table near his lamp. The sun lit up the room and hit Billy's skin as you traced his soft back muscles before he clenched his fists, flexing the muscles as he noisily stretched, his back cracking in a few spots along with his shoulders.

He made a soft sound and nuzzled into the one pillow that remained on his side of his bed. "Where'd my pillow go," he asked as his words slurred. You laughed and leaned over him to grab his pillow. "Lift your head." He lifted his head and you placed the pillow under him, moving his hair so he wouldn't pull it before he laid his head back down. He rolled over to look at you, his eyes hazy, sleep still heavy in them and he lovingly smiled at you, placing his warm palm on your cheek.

"You been awake long?" You shook your head, "Three minutes at most." He nodded and lifted his left arm, inviting you to lay close to him and you smiled before scooting to him as you cuddled up to him, throwing your leg over his waist. He kissed the top of your head and you smiled and placed a kiss to his chest as you ran the pads of your fingers down his back, gently rubbing.

He hummed and yawned loudly and obnoxiously. "Was that necessary," you asked as he loudly smacked his lips and he chuckled, making your head slightly move with his chest. "Very," he said in response before intertwining your fingers together and bringing your hand up to his lips and placed a kiss on each knuckle.

He looked at the clock on his wall and groaned. "It's not even eight yet and those fucking kids are already screaming." You laughed at him and he looked at you, glaring as best as he could with heavy eyes. "Well, we'd be well rested if it wasn't for someone's late night antics." Billy smirked as he remembered the activities from the night before that went well in the early AM.

"No regrets." You both laughed as you tightened your leg around his waist before he rolled the two of you over so he was on his back. You ran your fingers through his slightly tangled hair as he hummed, his eyes shutting. "You tangled it." You laughed as your eyes rolled. "You kept telling me to pull it, it was bound to get tangled." His eyes fluttered open before he smirked and you knew he was going to make a witty comment. "We got tangled together last night." He chuckled and you kept a straight face and he tickled your side, "Oh come on, you know that was funny." You grimaced slightly, "Baby, that was the worst joke ever." You both laughed and you put your head on his chest, playing with his necklace.

"I like this," Billy softly said, "it feels so natural just basking in whatever the fuck this is." You laughed, knowing exactly what he was trying to say as you nodded. "I know what you mean." He nodded and found your hand once more as he held it again, gently lifting it up to see the linked bracelet with his initial on it along with a lifeguard float, something he gifted you not too long ago.

"I love you." You smiled up at him and kissed his jaw, light stubble on it that gently scratched you. "I love you too, B." He smiled and kissed your forehead before loudly yawning again. "I need more sleep." You hummed, your own eyes shutting as you felt his warmth radiating onto you. "Me too." He softly laughed and held you tighter before the two of you fell asleep to the sounds outside.

[stevesjockstrap]

hallo hallo hallo, I am here to send you a prompt? If you’d like to do it? (You don’t have to, feel free to ignore this ask)

I feel like Steve would radio-in with everyone post-S4 after a nightmare or something, just to make sure he’s okay, but when he calls Eddie he sounds super upset by it even though he’s trying to play it off and act calm, and after Steve puts the radio away to go back to bed, Eddie goes “oh fuck no” and drives over to check on him in person?

Again feel free to ignore this, I was going to write it myself but I’m tired and have other fic stuff to work on so I thought I’d send it to you since you have requests open :)

have a good day 🩵

Hiiii 🖤 Thanks so much for sending this and for being patient with me!

Keep My Hands In Yours

• @stcreators event 05: dynamics whoops I forgot I was doing this

The ground shuddered under him and Steve looked frantically around at the group. “Move!” He managed to yell and leaped a few feet away, just as the dirt fissured under where he had been standing. Where they’d all been standing. He heard screaming and rushed back over to the edge, where Dustin was grappling to hold onto the edge of the crevice.

As he tried reaching for him, he turned into Robin. And then Max. And then Will. Their faces dirty, their eyes wide as they screamed for his help. As they lost their grip before he could reach for them and Steve screamed with them as they dropped.

Shooting up in bed, he was still screaming. His throat was on fire, his stomach in knots.

Knocking his lamp off his bedside table in his rush to grab for the walkie.

“All call check in. Repeat. Check in. Now. Over.” He realized when he heard his own voice that he should’ve waited another minute to calm down. Even to his own ears it sounded panicked and crazed. Oh well, as long as everyone responded he’d deal with their concerns tomorrow. His heart hammering in his chest, he waited for anyone to answer.

“Henderson clear. Over.” Dustin’s sleepy voice crackled through first.

“Wheelers clear. Over.”

“Sinclairs clear. Over.”

Steve paced his room as one by one they all checked in.

“It was a dream. It’s just a dream. They’re okay.”

“All good here. Steve, man, you alright? Over.”

A sob ripped out of his chest at Eddie’s question. After another long moment of trying to calm down, he knew if he didn’t answer he’d have everyone over here.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Uh all clear. Good night. Over and out.”

He threw the walkie onto his bed and went to the bathroom, running cold water to throw on his face and the back of his neck. Letting himself ignore the hot tears as they came.

Eddie stared down at the walkie for half a second after Steve’s shaky answer. Then he was shoving the blanket off of him and looking for pants on the floor in the dark.

He’d never heard him sound like that before. Even in the middle of the upside down he was confident, in control and solid. Something was wrong.

Shoving his feet into his shoes, he went to their tiny card table to grab his keys and scribbled a note to Wayne. At Steve’s. Meatloaf in the microwave.

It wasn’t until he got in the van and saw the little blinking time that it dawned on him. Three in the morning. Steve must have had a nightmare. Called the check because it was a bad one and needed to make sure everyone was okay. He sped through town, cursing Steve’s parents in their Loch Nora cul de sac all the way on the other side of Hawkins.

He quickly parked next to Steve’s beemer and rushed to the front door, letting himself in.

The deathly quiet house sent a chill up his spine. He’d never really been here alone at night. Movie nights and pool days with the kids were never still or silent.

As he walked down the hall towards Steve’s room, he came out of the bathroom. He looked terrible. Face red and blotchy, dark circles under his eyes.

“Eds, you didn’t have to come. I’m fine,” he sighed, almost collapsing into the doorway.

“No you’re not.”

“Eddie… I-“

Closing the distance between them, he stopped his next lie with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Steve looked up at him with wide wet eyes and Eddie’s heart clenched. “D-do what?”

“Be the strong one all the time. You don’t think I have nightmares? Wake up screaming and look down surprised I’m not torn to shreds again? Huh? And I’ve only been through this shit once. You’ve-“ he reached out and took Steve’s shaking hand in both of his. “You’ve been strong for a long time. You can let it go now, okay? I’ll hold onto you.”

Steve let out a long breath and nodded, letting Eddie guide him back to his bed. This was new, but they’d been dancing around each other since Spring Break. Lingering touches and glances. Hurrying to look away before the other caught them.

Laying on their sides facing each other, their hands still laced together between them, Eddie watched as Steve’s shoulders finally relaxed from their protective hunch by his ears. His breathing slowed, but his eyes were still wide and never leaving Eddie’s face.

Taking the chance, Eddie slowly pulled their conjoined hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. When he didn’t protest, he kissed across all of them before looking up into his eyes again.

“You take care of everyone else. But who takes care of you? All alone in this big echoey house.” He let go of his hand to push the wet droopy hair out of Steve’s eyes and off his forehead. Tucking the too long hair behind his ear, tracing down his jaw with his fingers. His gaze lingered on his lips, watching as they parted on a gasp.

“Eddie, please,” he breathed, so softly he may have missed it if he wasn’t staring at his lips.

“Anything sweetheart, anything you want.”

They searched each other’s eyes for a heart stopping moment before both moving at the same time. Eddie’s hands cradling the back of Steve’s head to angle his face up to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Steve was otherworldly. He could write dozens of songs about the way his lips move against his own. Eddie pulled him closer by his waist and felt his groan rumble through his chest. Softening their kiss, he pecked chaste kisses to his bottom lip then his jaw before pulling back.

Steve kept his eyes closed after Eddie pulled away. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Eddie to remember who he was kissing. He wanted to stay in this bubble, this perfect moment forever.

He received a kiss to his forehead and it shocked him enough to open his eyes.

“Hi.” Eddie was smiling softly, his lips red and wet. He looked so soft, Steve wanted to kiss him again.

“Hi,” he said, uncertainly. His throat was tight again, new tears threatening to spill over.

Eddie noticed, of course. “Stevie. Hey. What is it?” He cradled his face again, so gently, wiping the tears off his cheeks as they fell.

Clenching his fists in Eddie’s shirt, he could only hold onto him and cry as he let the fear and worry and despair wash over him. It was strangely cathartic, crying in front of someone for the first time in as long as he could remember. Usually breakdowns were saved for when he was alone in his car or the shower, where he’d not bother anyone else.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Eddie said lowly.

It sent a new wave of sobs through him. He found himself pulled against a warm chest, tears soaked up by a worn soft band tee.

When the sobs subsided, the sniffling and tears slowed to a stop, wordlessly they moved as one until Eddie was on his back with Steve’s head settled on his chest. Deft fingers played with his hair, soothing the last gnawing doubts in his mind.

He fell asleep listening to the steady beat of Eddie’s heart. Everyone was safe. And now so was he.

🖤

Title from Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan, the bf has been listening to the album on repeat and this song is so steddie

[acecopularsnumberonefan]

Ed, Edd, n Eddy swap au idea - May, Marie, n Lee

Randomly got the idea for an eene swap au

Characters swapped together:

-Lee & Eddy

-Marie & Edd

-May & Ed

-Rolf & Jonny

-Jimmy & Sarah

-Kevin & Nazz

I had thought about an Ed, Edd, n Eddy swap au since I couldn't really remember ever seeing one before so I decided to make my own.

The Kankers: A misfit group of sisters who live in the trailer park near the cul-de-sac. Their mother had left them at a very young age, so they grew up taking care of themselves and using scams as a way to earn money. Since there aren't many kids in the trailer park, and the adults there don't fall for their scams much, they usually hang around the cul-de-sac and do their scams there (not like they aren't just as disliked there as they are in the trailer park)

Lee - The leader of the sisters and the one who makes up all the scams. She's very egotistical, loud, and bossy + sometimes rude to her sisters, but it's never really intentional. She's the oldest and the only one of her sisters who has memories of her mom, and greatly admires her as she also tells stories and brags about her to her sisters and the cul-de-sac kids

Marie - The middle child and the brains of the operation. Marie is very knowledgeable and studious, most especially in car mechanics and auto repair so she's the one doing all the brainy work in their scams. She doesn't really believe in any of the stories about mom that Lee keep telling her and May about and thinks it's "Proposterous". She's most fond of keeping one eye covered with her hair for some reason, and gets very defensive if someone ever tries to uncover it.

May - The youngest of her sisters and also the brawns, May is the most strongest of the three and usually does the manual labor within the scams, but is not exactly the brightest lamp in the trailer... She's very caring with her sisters, and frequently tries to get along with the other kids of the cul-de-sac, especially Jimmy as May thinks of him as a bit of a younger brother to her (Not sure about Jimmy though...). She's really into science fiction media, squirrels, and gravy.

The Eds - Their a trio of boys who share similar names. Their the most intimidating kids in the cul-de-sac and the biggest bullies there too (next to Nazz). Their incredibly infatuated with the Kankers, and will do anything in their power to pursue them as their girlfriends. They also look up to Eddys older brother, who's quoted by Eddy from time to time.

Eddy - The ruthless and domineering leader of the Eds. Eddy can be quite bossy with his trio whenever their doing their antics and also loves to indulge or take in any conflict amidst the group. He's most attracted to Lee and loves to intimidate and ridicule her along with the other kankers whenever him and the eds get their chances to do so.

Edd/Double D - The smartest one of the trio, but also the most short tempered and possessive. Double D is the most aggressive of the bunch, often getting into fights with the other Eds, and can get extremely jealous and possessive around his kanker, Marie. He's also hyperfixated with bugs and insects which can be an exploitable weakness towards him.

Ed - He's the dumber one of the trio, but can sometimes show signs of intelligence as he makes his own bathroom deodorizer. Ed is a little more sensitive, and is also sometimes bullied or teased by his friends. He is still just as aggressive as the other eds though, and is just as infatuated with the kankers as them, mostly being attracted to May.

Sarah - Sarah, Eds younger sister, is very sensitive, timid, and accident prone. She often plays with the boys because girls are "too rough and mean" for her. Sarah is bestfriends with Jimmy and extremely dependent on him as well, usually being defended by him whenever she's bullied or picked on, either for being Ed's younger sister or for something else. Sarah also has an artistic side to her, wishing to one day be recognized for her talents as well

Jimmy - Jimmy is Sarah's best friend, being extremely aggressive, hot-headed, and spoiled. Jimmy is aware of how May finds him to be a younger brother figure and is extremely annoyed by it, but also likes to use it to his advantage by making May and the kankers do things for him, otherwise he'll tell his dad (His dad is head of the HOA and also dislikes the kankers as well). Despite being the bratty and aggressive kid he is, he still has a soft spot for his bestfriend Sarah and will always stick up for her when needed.

Kevin - Kevin is a himbo and an unattainable love interest with the girls (excluding sarah). Kevin is friendly, laid back, and quite mature, sometimes even being nice with the Kankers unless they do something that ticks him off. Kevin is a hip and trendy pretty boy that always has girls (except sarah) crushing on him. He's sort of the "follow the crowd" type and is sometimes quite dependent on Nazz, who he shares a bit of a fling with.

Nazz - Nazz is a tomboy and the cul-de-sac jock. Often cynical, rude, and snarky, typically to the kankers. Nazz absolutely despises the kankers and their antics, finding ways to ridicule and bully them, most often by calling them "dorks". Other than being athletic, Nazz is also good with roller skating, and takes pride in her roller skates as well, sometimes caring a little too much about them.

Jonny - Jonny came from a family of hippies who had previously traveled around the country before settling in peach creek. Due to his background, other kids are often weirded out by his strange customs and the way he speaks. Jonny has an apple farm in his backyard to which he frequently tends to along with his squirrel, plank. Having worked in an apple farm, Jonny is quite strong and shows off this strength around the other kids. Jonny is also quite proud of his hippie culture and tries to share his customs around the cul-de-sac, but isn't afraid to take action to whenever someone disrespects his hippe traditions.

Rolf - Rolf is a bit of an enigma amidst the cul-de-sac, always carrying and hanging around a plank of wood he named "viktor" and being quite a nuisance to the others. Rolf is an immigrant and the son of a carpenter who had given him a plank of wood with a goat carved on it as a gift when he was younger to which he would then treat as a friend. Rolf is quite talkative, imaginative, and dependent, making the other kids of the cul-de-sac finding him annoying along with viktor.

Anyways that's kind of it for my eene swap au, if u have questions feel free to ask :3

[camisoledadparis]

saga: Soumission & Domination 342

Février le Ski-4

Jour 5

Réveil aux aurores. Mon chasseur été tout surpris de se réveiller dans mon lit. Il me surprend en me faisant un câlin avant de sauter sous la douche. Quand je me lève, j'aperçois Marc et Hervé qui rentrent de leur escapade à l'étage du dessous. On se fait des bisous et je leur demande si c'était bien les chaudasses que m'avaient dit les deux chasseurs qui les avaient levées. Ils confirment en coeur que c'était bien le cas. Nous nous pressons au petit déjeuner. Nous sommes tous là et cela s'entend dans le restaurant. Nous sommes devant les remontées mécaniques dès leurs ouvertures et nous nous dispersons dans la montagne. Les groupes sont restés les même alors que les niveaux ont tous progressé.

Aujourd'hui nous prenons vraiment plaisir à skier. Les descentes se succèdent assez facilement et nous apprécions même les noires. Nous terminons la journée en hors-piste avec un long passage dans les sapins pour voir si nous avons retenu les astuces pour ne pas s'enfoncer dans les fourrés recouverts de neige. Ce coup-ci nous ne perdons personne. Le retour se fait dès la fermeture des remontées mécaniques. A l'hôtel, avant de monter je vois le directeur pour notre denier soir (demain). Je veux un diner qui sorte de l'ordinaire pour notre petite troupe + 2 car je sens que d'ici là nous allons avoir adopté le duo de l'étage du dessous. Douche seul, ça faisait longtemps. J'en profite et détends mes muscles sous les jets brûlants. Vers 19h nous envahissons la piscine. Evidemment nous y retrouvons nos deux voisins du dessous qui nous attendaient avec impatience. A part quelques filles qui bronzent sous les lampes UV, l'espace aquatique est à nous. Dans la partie haute de la piscine nous organisons un combat en couple (un mec juché sur les épaules d'un autre) Escorts contre Chasseurs Alpins. Le couple gagnant est quand même militaire. C'est leur lutteur en portage du lieutenant responsable qui gagne le défi. Nous nous partageons entre le sauna et le spa. Retour à l'étage pour nous changer puis diner. Le groupe de chasseur est maintenant invisible. Fondu parmi nous, ils ne pensent plus à la caserne. Ça discute entre tous comme avec de vieux amis. Ils nous apprécient car on ne fait pas de différence entre eux et nous. Ils sont sous-officiers ou simples soldats et nous sommes tous en études supérieures. A côté de cela, ils ont des compétences que nous n'avons pas. Ça équilibre et comme mes escorts sont tout sauf snobs, ça se passe nickel. Les derniers arrivés ont aussi pioché dans nos valises de quoi s'habiller plus " neutre ". Je propose une virée à la boite de nuit de l'hôtel. Pas de réaction puis tous me disent qu'ils veulent se coucher tôt pour être en pleine forme demain. Et je vais les croire peut être ! Le retour se fait en ordre dispersé selon ceux qui étaient pressés, ceux qui voulaient un café et/ou un alcool.

Je prends juste un café. Je veux moi, aussi bien profiter de la fin de soirée. Avec PH, Ernesto et Ludovic, j'ai bien envie de profiter des deux " voisins ". J'aime me faire mon avis moi-même et voir s'ils sont aussi chaudasses que ça. Ils ne sont pas contre donc on monte dans leur chambre. Plus petite que les nôtres, elle fait quand même 4m x 5. Les deux lits jumeaux sont déjà collés, les pieds attachés entre eux par les premiers " visiteurs ". Nous sommes 4 et eux 2. Ils se trouvent propulsés sur leur lit et dévêtus en 30 secondes. Je les regarde de près. Ils sont pas mal tu tout et très baisables. A leur tour, ils nous mettent à poil et se mettent aussitôt à nous pomper en alternance. Et quand je les vois se mettre, en même temps qu'ils nous sucent, des doigts dans le cul, je comprends l'adjectif " chaudasse " qui leur a été attribués. Même pas besoin de les préparer, ils sont auto-chauffés ! Comme j'enfonce mon gland dans la gorge d l'un des deux, c'est Ernesto qui se colle à l'enculage. Il se kpote et défonce la " salope " qui me pompe. Ses doigts ont dû être efficaces car c'est un direct au fond qu'il lui octroi. Je vois sous mes yeux les 24cm de mon espagnol préféré s'enfoncer en une seule et puissante percussion jusqu'à ce que son bassin colle aux fesses de mon pompeur. Ça ne s'arrête pas là. Emporté par l'élan, Ernesto le pousse en avant et mon gland défonce encore plus loin sa gorge. Je sens ses dents s'enfoncer dans mon pubis. Jamais je n'avais défoncé une gorge aussi profonde ! Trop bon !

Quand je me retire il prend une respiration et pose ses mains sur mes fesses pour m'attirer à nouveau vers lui ! Son copain à coté, avec Ludovic et PH demande qu'ils lui fassent la même chose. Excité par notre trio, ils s'y mettent, Ludovic à mettre en sourdine les gémissements que PH tire du mec en l'enculant aussi fermement qu'Ernesto. On part dans un délire grave tous les 6 ! On s'échange les différents trous et les deux mecs pendant un bon moment, les deux amis se prennent de quoi les calmer un bon moment. J'aime particulièrement la voracité avec laquelle ils accueillent nos bites dans leurs gorges affamées que dans leurs culs de velours. Même après les passages répétés d'Ernesto, ils restent serrés et confortables à la sodo. Pendant tout ce temps ils bandent dur et ne veulent pas qu'on touche à leurs sexes de peur de partir trop tôt ! Nous arrivons à les baiser plus de deux heures avant d'être rattrapé nous-même par le plaisir d'exploser sur et /ou dans eux. Quand le dernier d'entre nous expulse sa dernière goutte de sperme, ils se collent en 69 et nous les voyons chacun déglutir la production de l'autre.

Nous sommes tellement cassés qu'il nous faut 1/2 heure pour émerger de l'état de mort cérébrale qui a suivi nos éjaculations. Nous arrivons quand même à regagner notre étage non sans avoir choqué les voisins direct (les deux vieux) alors qu'ils avaient passé la tête par leur porte pour voir qui faisait autant de bruit à côté de chez eux. Il faut dire que nous n'avions pas renfilé beaucoup de vêtement pour glisser jusqu'à l'ascenseur. Et qu'une ou deux fesses devaient encore déborder des slips censément chargés de les couvrir. A notre étage, les baises sont aussi dans leurs stades terminales. En passant devant toutes les chambres, nous atteignons celle d'où proviennent encore des gémissements. Il fallait s'y attendre, on y trouve Max et Enguerrand en train de se faire démonter par deux Chasseurs. Ils ont bien choisi, ce ne sont ni les plus moches ni les plus vieux non plus. Et d'après ce que l'on peut en voir, ils ont encore les batteries bien chargées. Enguerrand me voit et me fait signe d'approcher. Il est sur le dos, les jambes relevées et écartées pour laisser la place à son enculeur d'oeuvrer. J'approche ma tête de la sienne. Il me l'attrape et me roule un gros patin. Quand il me relâche il me dit qu'il est trop content que nous les (max et lui) ayons emmenés avec nous. Des deux militaires, nous arrivent les mêmes commentaires, comme quoi s'aurait été dommage si nous les avions laissés derrière nous. Tout ça bien sûr sans cesser de limer les deux petits culs de nos benjamins !

Nous restons avec eux participants à l'apothéose finale. Entre rouler des pelles ou bouffer des tétons, nous nous répartissons les acteurs. Puis, j'ai une idée lumineuse. Pourquoi ne pas enculer les deux chasseurs Alpins histoire d'accélérer leurs montées terminales. Un clin d'oeil à Ernesto qui me comprend et, une kpote plus tard, j'encule celui d'Enguerrand alors qu'Ernesto se charge, ou plutôt charge, le chasseur de Max. Le mien s'est bien adapté à la nouvelle situation alors que celui d'Ernesto s'est montré plus... surpris, on va dire ! Bon c'est vrai que 24x6 c'est plus hard à prendre que mes 20x5.  En attendant nos interventions ont précipité les choses et nos deux chasseurs tirent leurs cartouches au fond de nos amis. Eux prennent leurs pieds entre les sodos et les stimulations de PH et Ludovic respectivement sur Enguerrand et Max. Quand nous rejoignons notre suite, la grande chambre est occupée par Marc et Hervé... accompagnés de mes deux " russes ". Nous nous installons dans un autre des chambres de la suite.

Jour 6 Sur le même rythme, tout pareil !

Jour 7, dernier soir et dernière nuit ! Réveil sur les coups de 8h par nos militaires douchés et équipés. On se presse tous pour être au petit déjeuner à 8h30. Les groupes " faibles " qui le sont bien moins sont réunis, mais les deux autres groupes restent indépendants. Nos ainés ne veulent pas se faire chier à nous suivre sur notre rythme de fou et nous nous voulons rester avec Jona et François. On se fait plaisir sur toutes les noires maintenant. La godille n'a plus de secret pour nous et nous filons comme des flèches sur les pistes. Nos coaches ont content de nos progrès et c'est tant mieux puisqu'on est l'avant dernier jour !

Un dernier passage dans la forêt qui nous avait donné tant de mal la première fois, sauf pour Max qui s'y était fait son premier Chasseur Alpin. Comme sur des roulettes ! Et c'est notre dernier soir !! J'avais insisté pour que nous rentrions tous de bonne heure et c'est le cas. 16h30 tout le monde est à l'hôtel. Douches, rasages, épilations, hydratation, nous prenons soin de nous et de notre équipe de " profs ". Ils ont beau protester, au départ, ils finissent par succomber au nombre et à se faire bichonner. Nous leurs devons bien ça après tout le mal qu'ils se sont donnés à améliorer notre pratique du ski ! A presque 3 par mec, nous nous occupons de leurs bodies de fou. C'est bien pour ça que je voulais qu'on rentre tôt. Après un douchage entre nos mains, nous leurs octroyons un rafraîchissement de leurs pilosités mais dans leurs limite, pas question de les mettre en porte à faux avec leurs autres collègues. Cela ne nous empêche pas de les masser avec de l'hydratant et ils en sortent avec de vraies peaux de bébés. Un soin particulier est mis à leur choisir les vêtements les plus mode qui peuvent leur aller. Emportés par l'ambiance ils se laissent faire même le chef du détachement. Quand ils sont prêts, ils sont parfaits, au point que je leur dis que s'ils n'avaient déjà un travail, je les aurais embauchés sans problème dans ma boite d'escorts. Ils éclatent de rire avec tous mes amis. Nous descendons diner. La traversée du hall nous vaut des regards encore plus appuyés que les dernières fois. Je crois même avoir entendu plusieurs sifflets et ne provenant pas que de femmes. Nos deux invités qui nous attendaient devant la porte du salon particulier où nous allions, ont leurs mâchoires qui tombent en nous voyant, surtout nos militaires ! On les pousse à l'intérieur et nous sommes pris en charge par les serveurs. Apéritif, les bouchées sont délicieuse et légères (il n'est pas question qu'on ait plus faim après). Le diner est parfait. Les vins sont suffisamment bons pour que personne ne songe à en abuser. On prend tous un café, nous attendant à une fin de soirée plutôt chaude.

O remonte et pour cette dernière nuit nos deux invités sont autorisés à nous accompagner. Je passe sur leurs exclamations devant le luxe de l'étage et celui de voir tous les mecs se foutre à poil en 15 secondes. Comme ils sont un peu lent, ils sont aidés et se retrouvent dans le même " plus simple " appareil que les autres. Je les laisse à d'autres qui n'ont pas encore eu le plaisir de baiser leurs deux petits culs très gourmands et part à la recherche d'un bon coup avec Ludovic. On croise Jona et François en train de se payer les deux lieutenants. Je sais qu'ils avaient tenu tant que ces derniers étaient leurs " moniteurs ". Là, ils baisaient avec eux avec la fougue propre à ceux qui se sont retenus ! C'est amusant mais mes escorts en couple tendent à baiser avec d'autres mecs mais ensemble quand même. Mes deux escorts spéciaux et leurs deux lieutenants baissent côte à côte, et s'échangent de temps en temps. Je m'arrête 3 chambres plus loin. Dedans Max et Enguerrand se font défoncer par Sosthène et João. Ludovic hésite à venir avec moi, gêné par la présence de son frère. Je le pousse devant moi et il tombe sur Max qui se fait limer par João. De mon côté, je me glisse vers Enguerrand et Sosthène. Roulage de pelle à chacun. Ils ont l'air content de me voir. Enguerrand réclame ma bite. Je ne fais pas de cas pour la lui planter dans la gorge. A côté, Ludovic m'imite dans la bouche de Max.

J'ai la bonne surprise de sentir une fraicheur sur ma rondelle. Quand je tourne la tête c'est pour voir celle de Sosthène plantée entre mes deux fesses. C'est donc bien sa langue qui me lèche l'oignon. Putain comme il fait ça bien ! Je me sens m'ouvrir et sa langue progresser dans mon trou. Je n'en raidis que plus et les amygdales d'Enguerrand en profitent un max. Je suis obligé de me calmer et pour cela me retire de la bouche chaude qui enveloppait mon sexe et glisse sur son corps dans le but de me mettre en position de lui rouler une pelle. C'est presque aussi bon que d'en faire une à Ludovic. Ok, c'est aussi bon ! J'entends un déchirement d'enveloppe de kpote et mon anus se fait envahir à son tour. C'est bien sûr les 23cm " café au lait " de Sosthène qui prennent leurs marques. Je jette un oeil à nos voisins. Ludovic a vu mon changement de position. Il m'imite et je le vois glisser sur le corps de Max pour proposer sa rondelle à João. Pour éviter que mon petit beau-frère pâtisse d'un coup de froid mal placé, je m'empresse de boucher le trou laissé vacant par ma bite. Il m'aide en relevant ses jambes et son bassin.je lui mange la langue en essayant d'amortir les coups de rein de Sosthène dans mon fondement. Sa rondelle se resserre sur ma bite plus fine. Il fait ça bien et me fait bander plus encore. Tout comme les coups de gland dans ma prostate, ça participe à m'envoyer des ondes de bien être dans tous mon corps. Après quelques minutes, placé ainsi, Enguerrand se tortille sous moi pour se tourner et se mettre en levrette, un peu écrasée sur ses pattes arrières la bestiole quand même ! Il s'écarte les fesses de ses deux mains pour que je le pénètre plus profondément encore.  J'aime trop son petit cul, étroit à souhait. Je ressens un contact total avec ses chairs intérieures comme avec la peau de tout son dos. Contre le miens je sens les pointes dures des tétons de Sosthène s'écraser sur mes omoplates. Je ne sens bien sûr pas que ça ! Ses 5,8 de diamètre m'écartent la rondelle avec une pression impérieuse. Le préservatif est si fin que j'ai comme l'impression que nos chairs sont collées. Puis ça se mélange avec le trio d'à côté. Je ne sais comment mais je me retrouve entre Max et João dans la même position, c'est-à-dire en jambon du sandwich. Quand j'en prends conscience je me demande où est parti Ludovic. Je mate à droite et c'est là que je le vois dans ma position !!! C'est-à-dire " occupé " par Sosthène et " dans " Enguerrand qui sur le dos, lui roule un patin d'enfer.  Ça me déconcentre un peu avant que mes deux amants m'envoient au 7ème ciel.

Je me dégage vite et vais retrouver mon Ludo et son frère. Ma langue rejoint les leurs et j'aime trop ça. Enguerrand se tourne un peu pour me serrer dans ses bras et me rouler une pelle tout seul. On se bat un peu de la langue avant que je me retourne et fasse de même avec Ludovic. Sans s'en apercevoir les trois autres nous ont quittés. J'ai occupé la place laissée vacante par Sosthène et c'est tous les trois en même temps que nous avons jouis comme des fous. Moi au fond de Ludovic, lui au fond d'Enguerrand et ce dernier entre leurs abdos compressés. Nous prenons une douche ensemble comme pour retarder le moment de nous séparer. Je les embrasse tous les deux les serrant fort contre moi, en premier mon amour et en second son " conard " de petit frère. Ils sont trop ces trois frères là !  Je repars à la chasse aux chasseurs lol ! Je tombe sur le mien (celui qui m'avait coaché toute la semaine) qui faisait de même. Je l'attrape par le cou, lui roule un patin et lui demande s'il est d'accord. Il ne demande pas pourquoi et me pousse dans une chambre. On tombe en réel sur Ernesto en train d'enfiler un de ses collègues (à mon chasseur). On est surpris tous les deux car c'était celui qui m'avait fait part de ses craintes quelques jours plus tôt de se faire emmancher. On s'installe à coté pour baiser nous aussi. Et c'est avec eux trois que j'ai fini la nuit. Quand je me suis réveillé j'étais encore emmêlé avec eux. A poil j'ai fait le tour de l'étage. Max et Enguerrand avaient retrouvé leurs deux " chasseurs " préférés et dormaient aux creux de leurs bras. Marc couvrait de son corps un des deux invités comme Hervé serrait l'autre dans ses propres bras. Ludo et PH dormaient encore dans les bras l'un de l'autre alors qu'Ernesto dormait entre les deux lieutenants. 

Jour 8 Pas de ski ce dernier matin !  Nous passons notre matinée entre douches, petit déjeuner et valises. Les militaires se préparent de leur côté. Ils repartent tous lestés de la tenue qu'ils portaient hier soir. Les adieux se font à l'étage. On se serre dans les bras, on échange les dernières pelles et alors qu'ils vont prendre l'ascenseur, je leur donne à chacun une enveloppe avec interdiction de l'ouvrir avant le soir et seuls ou entre eux. Dans chaque enveloppe se trouve une rétribution substantielle, en liquide, pour récompenser les efforts qu'ils avaient déployés, le temps passé avec nous et mes coordonnées pour le cas où ils aimeraient passer des vacances au bord de la mer pour les changer. Pour le cas même ou certains voudraient se revoir.

Jardinier

~~

~~

~~

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Sparkle

cw. pre!release, gn!reader, step 1

pairing. tamarack x reader

notes. a cute anonymous request i received not too long ago. it made me think of the cute dialogue in step 1's prologue if the MC has a crush on tamarack and finds her special. first love, amirite?

"Oh no!!" Tamarack's sudden screech of dismay brings you to a halt.

You look at your neighbor in worry, "what's wrong?"

"I forgot my scarf at school!" Tamarack answers with a frown.

She's right, you realize. Where normally a muted pink scarf, hand-knit from Granny herself, rests on Tamarack's shoulders, there is nothing. Neither of you had noticed at all that it had well-loved scarf had still been in Tamarack's cubby when you left your schoolgrounds in favor of heading home.

Today was supposed to be a particularly fun day at the Baumanns.

Mom had work so you'd be spending the afternoon with the cozy family next door. Granny had made stollen the night before and you'd all be eating it together once you got home. Then once you ate your fill, it would be back to your normally scheduled programming.

You'd play in the confines of their backyard until the urge to explore grew stronger. Then you'd go off the beaten path and play in the autumnal woods surrounding the cul-de-sac until it was time to go home. If you were lucky, maybe Mom would even let you have your own sleepover.

While you doubted a missing scarf would be enough to ruin your day, it still is a damper on the mood walking home from school.

"Do you have an extra in your bag?"

"No," Tamarack sighs, shoulders sagging forward in disappointment.

You would have thought everything was in the messenger bag Tamarack brought everywhere. It's much like Mary Poppin's magical bag with how much Tamarack manages to squeeze in it. If she were to ever pull out a bed or a lamp from it, you wouldn't be surprised in the slightest.

"We can always go back to school and get it," you offer. You turn back around in the direction you came from. "Mrs. Murray might still be there!" The chances are slim but they aren't entirely zero.

Your teacher had been there when you left, at least. So were Qiu, Darren and Baxter who all planned on having some sort of dinner at The Diner Table before going to the Murray's for a sleepover. Maybe if you turn back now, you'll be able to catch them.

Tamarack shakes her head, sparkly hair dancing in the wind, "it's okay." The shorter girl shudders. Autumn may be her favorite season but not even Tamarack is a match for chilly weather without her scarf.

"Wanna wear mine? I'm not cold."

"Really," Tamarack brightens almost immediately at the suggestion.

You nod with a grin, "you let me use your scarf all the time anyway." So it's nothing to let your best friend wear yours when the shoe is on the other foot.

Your scarf unravels with ease when you tug at it due to the lazy manner you threw it over your shoulders earlier.

"We're scarf buddies now!" Tamarack puffs her cheeks in an eager grin, her fuzzy eyebrows angled for mischief. "Ones that switch scarves."

"Allow me, Miss Baumann," you mimic the honorable bows of knights in books and movies, accent posh and haughty.

Your actions only serve to make Tamarack giggle, hopping giddily in place. Her heavy bag jingles with her movements, thudding against her audibly. The giggles and hopping eventually subside but Tamarack's ruby eyes shine regardless as she wipes her clothes down with small hands. Once she deems them proper enough, she bows using her the ends of her overall shorts as a dress, curtsying. "Thank you, Knight [First]," Tamarack replies as regal she can manage.

You share another laugh as you straighten up. With your friend standing still for once, you set to work. It's not difficult at all but you still make careful work in wrapping it around your friend's shoulder as she often does, tying it just so.

It isn't Tamarack's handiwork but you know it'll stay wrapped squarely around her shoulders indefinitely until she decides to take it off.

"Oops," you giggle when you realize her hair has been smooshed under her scarf as well. "I'll fix it!"

Tamarack snickers as well, raising her chin although it doesn't truthfully do much to help you in moving her hair outside of its scarf prison.

Sparkle. Tamarack does nothing but sparkle.

From the shiny speckles dotted throughout her gold hair to how her eyes light up whenever she's excited. You wonder where she gets them from. Neither Granny or Mr. Baumann's hair sparkles. Maybe they did once long ago before they got old and the sparkles faded from their hair. But I've seen pictures of Tamarack's dad, there are few scattered throughout the drawing room in the Baumann family hair. He doesn't got any either.

As for the one picture you found of Tamarack's mom. (Something tucked far into the corners of the house that isn't easily seen in the slightest. It's the only complete family photo you've ever found of the Baumanns. Tamarack was very young in the photo, nestled in her mother's arms while everyone smiled at the photographer. If everyone was so happy in the photo, you wonder why it seldom sees the light of day.) Her hair is brown and there aren't any sparkles to be seen there either.

Maybe this means Tamarack's sparkles are something special. A Tamarack thing.

That makes a lot sense in your fifth grade mind.

Berry red eyes look up at you, framed by fluffy locks with sparkles interwoven in each strand.

Pretty...

"[First]?"

You blink with a start, "huh?"

Tamarack raises an eyebrow curious but she smiles despite her confusion, "come on let's go," she hops once more.

For a moment you wish you hadn't offered your scarf to the girl so you could bury your face in it. You still feel the fluffy soft strands underneath your fingertips. "Yeah, let's go," you follow after the forest-loving girl who has already started skipping ahead, unaware to your plight.

[fantasyqueen502]

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 3

Summary- (Before the infection/apocalypse) A look into the life of Mrs. Miller. It's Sarah's 1st birthday and the Millers live each day to the fullest.

Relationship- Joel Miller X female Reader

Rating: PG Mentions of a chronic illness R in the last third dipictions of sexual intercourse

Word Count: 1,268

One Year later…

Pink and white balloons tied to mailboxes and fences of the cul-de-sac.

"Happy birthday to you." Everyone in the neighborhood sings.

The two brothers descend the steps of the home to the picnic table out front. Joel leading with Tommy following close behind with a camcorder in hand. Joel places a tower of cupcakes onto the table lighting one cupcake with a candle.

Sarah bounces excitedly in Y/N's lap at the head of the table.

"Happy birthday, dear Sarah!"

"Happy birthday to you!"

"Blow out the candle." Y/N kisses her child's curly head of brown hair. She looks to her mama then back to the candle. Opening her mouth wide, taking in a deep, dramatic breath before blowing a wet raspberry onto the flame. Fortunately this does the job.

 Everyone cheers and claps. Conversing with one another, enjoying the cupcakes or burgers and hotdogs Mr. Adler prepared on his grill.

Sarah grabs a fistful of pink frosting shoving it into her mouth, in the process smearing it all over her face. Taking another handful smearing pink frosting across her mama's cheek. Y/N doesn't mind, she grins down at the child who giggles at her work.

"What about pop pop, Sarah bean." Tommy instigates camera ready as Joel takes a seat next to his girls.

Sucking on her fingers looking up to her uncle Tommy at the call of her name. Looking at her dad who makes faces at her.

"Pop pop wants some birthday cake." He points to his brother. She squeals, giving a two tooth grin. Wiping her frosting and spit covered hand across Joel's face.

"Yay!" Everyone cheers.

"How are you feeling?" He mumbles into her cheek, seen to others as him just being affectionate.

"A little tired." She shrugs avoiding his eyes.

"Cake!" Sarah shrieks, holding up a handful of cake.

"That's right." Y/N coos clapping as the child copies the gesture with glee.

                         ~•~

Cleaning up the yard by the light of street lamps. Collecting party hats and paper plates that littered the grass into trash bags in hand.

Tommy groans, reaching down to pick up the thirtieth plate. Twisting his body left and right with a wince. "Man, I'm tired."

Joel scoffs. "Wait till you have a kid." He advises. "Then you'll truly know what it means to be tired."

"Boys!" Catches their attention. "It's getting late." Y/N informs. "Do we need to prepare the couch, Tommy?"

"I'm alright, Y/N. Kiss Sarah goodnight for me."

"I will. Get home safe." She waves stepping back inside.

"Y/N looks good." He says looking to his brother busying himself with knotting the trash bag. "Treatments must be going well." 

"She decided---to uhhh…." Joel struggles to say. "We decided to---uhhh---stop…" He swallows. "Stop the treatment."

"Oh." Was all Tommy could say. "I'm here for you bro, and the girls." he assures.

"I know." He nods, clearing his throat. "C'mon. Need to put these in the bins."

                         ~•~

Joel exhales a breath rolling his stiff neck and shoulders when entering his and Y/N's bedroom. Spending the past few hours putting away the many toys and clothes Sarah was gifted. The sound of a running faucet grabs his attention. Turning to see Y/N in the bathroom taking off the wig she had been wearing that day.

Her H/C short with patches littering her scalp. Leaning into the mirror, turning her head, tracing them with her fingers. Ruffling through drawers on his side of the bathroom. The buzzing of clippers sound and without hesitation shaving the front of her head. 

He makes his way to the doorway. Silently watching her e/c eyes taking note of his presence. He watches the many scars in various states of healing become visible from the numerous surgeries that promised results.

Struggling with the chord to reach behind. He stands behind her taking his clippers into his hand helping her with the back. Rounding her ears and base of her neck. Finishing his work turning the clippers off.

 She exhales, her shoulders releasing tension. Running her hands over her head, closing her eyes.

 The clippers turning back on startles her. Looking to the mirror catching Joel running the clippers straight down his head of curls. She gasps, eyes wide holding her hands over her mouth.

He smiles continuing to lop off his hair. As tears welled up in her eyes. Now her turn, she takes the clippers helping him with the back.

"So handsome." She gushes, running her hands over his head.

"You pull it off better, mama." Giving her a passionate kiss. She swoons.

"Wait here." Taking the baby monitor from their bedroom into the bathroom turning the volume up. "We never got to have mommy daddy time." She whispers.

 "Can't have that."

"No, we can not." She agrees. Placing the monitor on the sink.

 "If you're not feeling up to it. At any moment--"

"I'll let you know." She shimmies off her panties. Stepping out of them her flowery sundress is his only obstacle. Turning the shower on she turns peeking over her shoulder with sultry eyes. "Unzip me."

He does so. Tracing his finger down her spine making her shutter. She turns, gathering the hem of his shirt, lifting it up, placing hot kisses to his broad chest. 

Stripped bare, stepping into the hot water breathing in the steam. Suddenly feeling bashful she tries to hide herself, but he unwrapped her arms from her chest with the scars from many entry points from chemo. He traces them with his thumb looking at her wrists where more marks are laid. He places a kiss on them. His hands ghosted around her in an embrace. Thumb skimming her shoulder blades. Anchoring herself by his shoulders to lower him to her level, capturing his lips. There was tension in his muscles and a stiffness she wasn't used to. His hands almost cradling her. "I'm not fine china." She reminds.

He stifles a chuckle giving a nod. The water coasting along his brows. "Tough as nails." He smiles. She hasn't seen him smile without a sadness behind his eyes since her diagnosis.

"So treat me as such." She purrs, digging her nails into his back. He groans, watching his slack jawed expression as she drags all the way to his hips. A thrill stirs within her seeing she had succeeded in awaking the lust within.

His hold of her tightens, pulling a gasp from her throat as he spins her 'round, pinning her to the wet linoleum. She grins, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. Breath hitches in her throat, his hand interlocking with her own. "Right there!" She breathes. "Oh, Joel." She moans the knot in her stomach tightening. With her heart drumming in her ears the rhythmic thrusts of her love. His hips stalls as he groans grow deeper.

"Almost there." He moans. "Oh, Y/N."

She lets out a shuttery whine. "Slower." She urges wanting the moment to last.

"Oh---J-Joel." Her back is arching. He grunts burying his face onto her neck, hot breath fanning her neck. Letting out a long moan as she squeals. Her legs buckle as he wraps his arms around her waist as she leans into him chuckling.

"Still with me?" He coos.

 "Mmm." she hums. "This tops when we christened the house." Mouth now flooding with the taste of copper.

 "Nothing beats our wedding night." He chuckles, guiding the both of them under the stream of the shower head. "To be young again."

"God knows how we didn't have Sarah sooner."

Author's Note: I did not except so many readers and love for my little one shot idea. I decided to change the title hopefully there is no confusion to "Mrs. Miller" an idea that blossomed into my own story using context clues from the games and show of what happened to Sarah's Mother.

(Hopefully the tag list worked. It's my first time doing one. Please let me know.)

Series chapter order:

Mrs. Miller

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 2

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 3

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 4

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 5

Tag list:

@impala1967666

@minaxcarter

@blairfox04

@pedr0swh0r3

@thomasshelbee

[dhiatzs]

J'ai créé une OC et j'ai décidé de faire un crossover Mutafukaz-Psychonauts qui n'aura sans doute pas plus d'un chapitre ;; mais du coup j'étais quand même contente de ce petit dessin donc voilà

Et voici le début de la fic :

Ils se rencontrent chaque lundi, à ces heures où le soleil oscille sur les gratte-ciels de Dark Meat City.

Dépassé le Helmet Road Square, un pont routier enjambe un cul-de-sac barré d'une grille, où se resserrent les sans-abris quand les températures font mine de chuter. Là, il la voit toujours sur le béton, installée comme dans un jardin. Elle lit, parfois, les yeux plissés derrière ses lunettes carrées, ou bien traîne sur son téléphone portable. Une seule fois, la première, elle triturait les bagues qu'elle porte aux doigts, l'air d'attendre quelque chose ou quelqu'un. Elle s'est éclairée quand elle l'a aperçu et l'a salué avec un grand sourire. Il a détourné la tête.

Les hurluberlus sont légion dans la ville, et les référencer représenterait un travail titanesque. Du plus dangereux au plus désespéré, chacun pris dans des ramifications de vie impossibles à suivre, ceux que sa curiosité tâchait de comprendre initialement font désormais partie du décor, plus ou moins obstacles en fonction de leurs agissements quotidiens. Depuis des années, égal à tout citoyen de Dark Meat City, le professeur emploie les stratégies nécessaires pour frôler ses semblables en évitant tout contact. Se contentant des informations les plus basiques pour créer les itinéraires compromettant le moins ses déplacements professionnels et de première nécessité.

Mais il faut avouer que ce genre de spécimen était passé sous ses radars jusque-là. En fait, il se pourrait bien qu'elle soit la seule de son espèce. Gamine de vingt ou vingt-cinq ans, vêtue dans des tons passe-partout, les cheveux toujours noués comme ceux des collègues du labo, un exemplaire qui ne cadre pas avec le lieu où elle se plante. C'est surtout cette façon qu'elle a de sembler l'attendre, de se réjouir de le voir et de ne pas se décourager d'être ignorée, reproduisant son rituel à chaque occasion qu'ils se croisent. Stratégie élaborée d'une sans-abri, manifestation d'un trouble, ou bien simple extravagance ; aucune idée, il n'irait pas lui demander. Si c'est un vecteur de malaise, ça ne dépasse pas non plus les bornes ─ l'effet s'avère plutôt inverse, il guette sa présence quand il marche dans la rue précédant le coude qui la fait apparaître.

D'une façon ou d'une autre, cette môme s'est mise à habiter son quotidien.

Cette fois, il n'a pas fini de tourner la rue qu'il recule en sursaut en la voyant apparaître devant lui. Jamais croisée d'aussi près ; elle est en train de courir, et le dépasse en lui glissant un "Bonsoir !" rapide. Ce doit être la première fois qu'il entend sa voix. Un bruit de claquement se produit à côté de lui. Il découvre sur le sol un trousseau de clés abandonné dans le sillage de la coureuse. Il lève la tête, la main pour lui faire signe, mais elle ignore son appel et s'engouffre dans une rue.

Le professeur demeure sur place. Il regarde en arrière, où rien ni personne ne passe. Les lampes s'allument, les clés restent par terre. Il les ramasse, hésitant. Hors de question de suivre la petite dans ce traquenard, mais quant à les abandonner sur une boîte aux lettres ? Cette enfant a beau se montrer insistante, elle n'en reste pas moins inoffensive, laisser le moyen d'entrer dans sa maison aux mains du premier venu pourrait lui être fatal.

Il les empoche, passe une main sur son front. Il les lui restituera demain, si elle se trouve au même endroit. C'est un cas suffisamment important pour justifier de modifier exceptionnellement son itinéraire du mardi.

x

Des coups à la porte interrompent sa lecture.

On a passé l'heure des visites depuis un bon moment ; il s'étire sur son siège, courbaturé, puis entreprend de traverser son salon encombré et de jeter un oeil dans le judas.

Elle.

Glace pilée dans son estomac. Que fait-elle ici ? Il pose une main déséquilibrée sur la poignée, n'y imprimant qu'une simple pression, insuffisante pour ouvrir. Le bruit produit lui revient vingt fois plus sonore qu'il doit l'être réellement. Il ferme les yeux, se décide, ouvre :

- … bonsoir.

Le ravissement de la jeune femme se teint de soulagement :

- Bonsoir ! Je suis désolée, je crois que j'ai fait tomber mes clés tout à l'heure. Est-ce que… par hasard… ?

- … Je les ai trouvées, oui. Je vais vous chercher ça.

- Super. Au top. Merc─

- Est-ce que je peux savoir comment vous avez eu mon adresse ?

Le sourire perd quelques crans :

- Hah, bah, j'ai… regardé… ? J'peux difficilement rentrer chez moi sans mes clés, alors...

- Vous m'avez suivi, sourcille-t-il.

La conclusion s'est imposée comme une évidence, et ce n'est pas la réponse qu'il reçoit, tête secouée agitant les cheveux noirs, qui vont le convaincre du contraire :

- Non ! Absolument pas, renchérit-elle. C'est pas ça du tout. J'étais dans le quartier, je… okay, je sais pas trop comment expliquer. Mais rien à voir.

- C'est inutile de me mentir, jeune fille. Je peux comprendre le recours, s'il s'agit de vos clés, tant que ça ne se reproduit pas…

Il s'écarte pour aller chercher l'objet du délit. Mieux vaut écourter ce bavardage qui ne semble aller nulle part. Il l'entend protester par-dessus son épaule :

- Je promets que je mens pas ! T… Professeur, c'est ça ? Euhm… Bref.

- "Professeur" ? C'est quelque chose que vous avez aussi appris par le plus grand des hasards, j'imagine, souligne-t-il.

- Hah, non ! Votre visage est sorti dans les journaux y a quelques années. Ce serait difficile de pas s'en souvenir, ils réimprimaient chaque fois votre portrait quand d'autres scientifiques disparaissaient. J'pense que tout le monde à DMC connaît aussi bien votre tête que celle de la mascotte des Frosties.

- On lit encore le journal, à votre âge ?

Elle l'a suivi dans son salon, les mains sagement jointes dans son dos, elle regarde ce qui l'entoure comme une écolière polie visitant une usine. L'intervention de Fagor lui arrache un rire :

- Rooh, ce cliché ! On peut être jeune et avoir envie de se renseigner, hein ! Me dites pas que vous lisiez pas à vingt ans ?

- Je vous répondrais bien, mais ces temps sont immémoriaux, riposte-t-il sans pouvoir retenir l'ombre d'un sourire. Tenez, les voici. Faites attention à vos affaires la prochaine fois. Et faites attention sur le chemin du retour, d'accord ?

- Chef oui chef ! Euhm, dites… marmonne-t-elle tandis qu'il la raccompagne dans l'entrée.

- Ce sera la dernière question, jeune fille. Je dois dormir et vous aussi.

- On… on pourra se revoir ? J'sais que j'ai pas dû vous faire une giga impression, désolée, mais en vrai je suis sympa. À l'occase, on se fait un tarot ?

- Vous vous payez ma tête.

- C'est l'impression que je donne ? Pas du tout, je vous jure.

- Non, vous semblez tout à fait sérieuse, c'est même ça qui me dérange. Une jeune comme vous doit avoir mieux à faire auprès de personnes de son âge, vous ne pensez pas ?

- Ben ouais, mais si j'ai envie de traîner avec vous ? Ça vous brancherait pas ?

- Je ne connais même pas votre nom… même si de toute évidence, vous connaissez le mien, ça ne veut pas dire que─

- Cassandre ! Vous pouvez m'appeler Cassie. À plus, prof ? Bye !

Et la tempête de s'envoler après un grand mouvement de bras, abandonnant des rires dans son sillage, qui se heurtent sur les murs de l'escalier en colimaçon. Fagor se penche entre les grilles, d'où il peut voir une main vêtue de bagues se promener sur les rampes d'étage en étage, jusqu'à ce qu'une porte se claque.

Il rentre chez lui à tâtons, l'esprit dans le vague.

[hoppingonjim]

learning love again (i) - holland march

chapter one. summary: i really wanted to make a little fic about holland meeting his old love again and again throughout the course of his life. so here we go! cw: mentions of losing virginity, talk of america/political views of war, brief mentions of the vietnam war

she was eighteen when they met. and nineteen when the military swept him away. it was for america and back then she could understand, there was no higher pleasure for a man than dying with stars and stripes adorning his heart. there was no greater shame than hiding behind a borderline. 

a street lamp was the first time his eyes soaked her up. limbs crossed over, back against a void of color. with the eyes of bardot and the body of cardinale he swore he fell in love. did her mind possess curie? a streep lamp stalked above him as he inquired her for her name.

“mary.”

“that's my mom's name. that was also jesus' mom's name.”

“that's nice.”

the woman only gave a smile. eyes glanced upwards to the canopy that flickered above, “what's your name?” the boy would only watch for a brief second, fingering his pocket for a pack and lighter.

“holland,” soon a companion of a light screamed between them, making messy love to the stick suddenly dangling below his cupids bow, “my mom liked the country holland. so. now i'm named holland.”

“ah.” the closeness grew far. the repellence of smoke sniggering in her nostrils. until they flared, “i don't like people who smoke.”

in a matter of seconds the cigarette found the soles of his boot, “that better for you?”

a smile dressed itself in the light swirling above, “yes.” when her wrist grew itchy of her curfew she suddenly kept the distance between the two close, “i'll catch you later, okay holland?”

she was eighteen when he dressed her in a luxury menu. treated her eyes to the cul-de-sac of spaghetti. the vines and checkered table cloths that draped over glossed wood. an ambiance of gold and the adriatic.

“what's the cheapest thing on the menu?”

“you're not getting the cheapest thing.”

a crinkle popped from the furrowing of her eyebrows, quizzically she watched him, “what do you mean? it's not cheap here. i don't want to blow money..”

that sentence would see its hand once holland gave her a swooshed hand motion, “you're yapping. i'm paying. buy what you want.”

she was eighteen when he alleviated a confession with a staggering stutter.

“i t-think i l-love you.”

tangled limbs resting in limp sheets. joints deep in discombobulated slumber while the sun beckoned for a crowing rooster. navy coating her clothed back. navy encapsulating his matching boxers.

“think or you do?” her voice bore no volume. a mingling whisper.

“i do.”

“i do too.”

she was eighteen when he held a virgin in his arms, nineteen when his sheets were the last to feel virginity. nineteen and lonesome, she wore the title of his only companion. in those navy sheets roses fell scattered and trampled. his parents enjoyed their slumber next door as they made love, innocently. giving their minds over to passion and their bodies to the palm of the other. with moans waltzing with low groans, the gentle sun remained hushed. the sudden man snapped his hips, celestial bodies tuned into comic ballads. beethoven's symphony ringing out with every muffled crack that leaped from her voice. breathless and panting.

"holland, how are you not worried about- holland, oh my god you're inside of me- oh my god your dick is- oh-"

"doesn't it feel wonderous?"

the suns kiss on the wavering weeds outside stood a void from inside the window pane. and when she gave herself to him, and he found a climax, their bodies fell into one. the velvet curtain closing as the scent of diminished chastity grew thick. a question echoed about his first time and in came a lie. vulnerability husky under the guise. and while they tip toed under their new title to the washing machine he swore to himself his lips would never behold the truth. his virginity was washed up on those sheets too.

she was nineteen when home seemed like a good option. here was the time for picnic play of war to unveil a realistic shoulder. for little boys to mold into their mossed figurines. under a street lamp she found squalor plucked on her knees. the collection of rain fall staining a once stunning plaid hem. the velvet curtain withdrawing to the sight of her hands gripping onto the bulk of his jean clad thigh.

“stay, please-america will never know. just stay, stay?”

the girl he had assisted into transcending womanhood mirrored a child once more. breaking over. porcelain lips shattering with every deafening word. his own were lost on the train he was sure he would be taking. a mind heavy on decision and a heart torn with two sacrifices.

“i love my country mary, right now america needs to be my love.”

“will america remember if you die though? i will! i'll remember if you die! i'll remember your name holland, and your eyes.. america will call you lifeless and put you in a bin of meaningless men. just stay with me.. please.”

“get off the sidewalk mary.” a tone imitating the wading winds that croaked the downfall.

“you aren't being made to.”

“i'm staying with america, mary.”

“but i love-”

“go home mary.”

she was nineteen when she was thrown the pitiful ending with her knees soaking up abandoned down pours. the array of dusted water pooling around her once pure white dress. on the sidewalk she surrendered to fate with rain soaking her flag.

he was twenty one when he took a train. when he casted aside her letters that piled on his front stoop. distractions were something he couldn't tear himself from. on the train he sat with empty pads beside him, the others crammed ahead. their eyes gaunt at the faces of their weeping future widows. swallowing his affection, his eyes found his creased palms. still he felt blessed to feel her touch, to dance with streams of her stranded tresses. to guide her into the land of absolute pleasure he could grant. with a grumbling stomach he continued to feel full of home made mac and cheese. the only dinner she could properly serve. in his lips he could taste the entire year he knew her for. from when he questioned her identity to when he left her questioning his heart.

she was twenty one when she spotted a doppelgänger of the man she wasted pens on. where she discarded stamps.

“is that, holland?”

her sister, tall and eclectic, wondered aloud. her neck claimed by a dangling ring gifted by the man that had rang their doorbell numerous times in one week. all mary could remember about the man was that he was taller, muscular, his name was either jackson or jake- mary was unable to remember.

with a tense throat she glanced at the man who had clutched her butterfly heart in the creased palm of his hand before he'd drop the butterfly into a discarded moth. the man who ushered her thorned moans into his ears, the boy who made earnest love to her on navy sheets.

“no.. i don't- no..” a stammer pushed through. the sight of a scraggly man holding the mature hand of a golden decorated lady.

mary glanced down at her very own strands of hair. plain brown.

she was twenty one when she realized it indeed was the real man. the con artist bishop.

[rin-the-bird]

sometimes i feel a chill rush over me and i'm back in second grade. i can feel the wind blowing past me, i'm on the swings, i feel my best friend's hands on my back pushing me. everyday we try to go higher and higher, everyday i see more and more.

sometimes i close my eyes and i'm sure the grass was greener, the birds were softer and my mind was sharper. i remember my favorite necklace i found on the walk home from school. i remember believing it was filled with fairy dust, i remember believing in magic. i remember my classmates and i huddled around that twisty tree in the field, sprinkling pixie dust into their hands and telling them we could fly.

"You could go back, but no one will be home."

no one ever was home. i remember sitting behind the window late at night. my mom would pull out of the driveway in her dark car. i'd watch as she'd flash her lights, "i love you" before she drove off in the dark. i remember the emptiness of the cul-de-sac in the plain darkness.

i remember doing yard work outside my dusty old home, pulling weeds from between rocks and sweeping the driveway. i remember how the lamp on the mailbox was always broken. i remember getting tired and walking into the open garage and sleeping in the backseat f my mother's car. I remember that night, no one new for sure where i was. my mom assumed i was with my brother, my brother assumed i was in my room, my dad was upstairs, not thinking of me at all.

i remember, i remember, i remember.

i remember daydreaming, i remember fear, i remember arguing with my brother and feeling inadequate in front of my dad. i have to remember it.

i have to remember that little girl, crying silently alone in her room. I have to remember the loneliness i felt at nights. i have to remember that girl that got bullied and didn't even know. that girl with no friends. the girl that hummed and wandered the house. i need to remember that girl because as soon as it gets fuzzy, that girl will die.

my dorm room is so silent and i will remember this soon.

[candlelightkiss]

Nothing ever happened in Tunsdale. Nothing's ever quite right either. Tucked in the corners of a supposed suburban dream, it was no surprise that the small town went unnoticed. A moment stuck in time was all it was.

The neighborhood was built upon routine; a linear structure never to be disrupted. Rows and rows of white picket fences, culs de sac painted varying shades of blue, and street lamps that flicker and fade with age. Every morning, the air smelled of dewy leaves that plaster themselves onto the roads and windowsills. The dogs barked at the barren streets at night as the air grew brisk.

Families knew everything yet nothing about one another. The tall lady next door saunters outside adorning jewels on her wrist. The strange man that mows his lawn every day at noon lives alone, and he's happy with that. The ragtag group of high schoolers is the only presence on the streets at night, what a nuisance they are!

That's what they see, but not what they know. They don't know the tall lady's piling debt, the pleas from her daughter studying in the big city. They don't know about the man's family that no longer wants to associate with him. They don't know about the parents who see their kids as an afterthought. But this is Tunsdale. Surely, nothing ever happened here.

[gregor-samsung]

“ All’atto di redigere il testo di un parlato radiofonico si dovrà dunque evitare in ogni modo che nel radioascoltatore si manifesti il cosiddetto «complesso di inferiorità culturale», cioè quello stato di ansia, di irritazione, di dispetto che coglie chiunque si senta condannare come ignorante dalla consapevolezza, dalla finezza, dalla sapienza altrui. Questo «complesso» determina una soluzione di continuità nel colloquio tra il dicitore e l’ascoltatore, crea una zona di vuoto, un «fading» spirituale nella recezione. Ad ovviare la qual calamità radiofonica è in particolare consigliabile: a) in ogni evenienza astenersi dall’uso della prima persona singolare «io». Il pronome «io» ha carattere esibitivo, autobiografante o addirittura indiscreto. Sostituire all’«io» il «noi» di timbro resocontisticoneutro, o evitare l’autocitazione. Al giudizio: «Io penso che la Divina Commedia sia l’opera maggiore di Dante», sostituire: «La Divina Commedia è ecc.»; b) astenersi da parole o da locuzioni straniere quando se ne possa praticare l’equivalente italiano. Usare la voce straniera soltanto ove essa esprima una idea, una gradazione di concetto, non per anco trasferita in italiano. Per tal norma inferiority-complex, nuance, Blitz-Krieg e chaise-longue dovranno essere sostituiti da complesso d’inferiorità, sfumatura, guerra lampo e sedia a sdraio: mentre self-made man, Stimmung, Weltanschauung, romancero, cul-de-lampe e cocktail party potranno essere tollerati; c) evitare gli sterili elenchi dei nomi di persona quando non si possono caratterizzare o comunque definire le persone chiamate in causa. Meglio omettere dei «nomi da manuale», che infastidire l’ascoltatore citando nomi destinati a spegnersi appena pronunziati, come faville lasciate addietro per un attimo dalla corsa d’una locomotiva; d) operare analogamente con le date. In un esposto di carattere storico le date costituiscono opportuno ammonimento, gradito appoggio e gradita eccitazione per la memoria. Tali appaiono al viaggiatore le indicazioni chilometriche. Delle date si dovrà misurare il valore e l’intercorrenza più conveniente. Si dovranno gerarchizzare, distanziare le une dalle altre; e porgerle comunque con garbo all’attenzione di chi ascolta, quasi le richiedesse opportunità, necessità; e) astenersi dal presupporre nel radioabbonato conoscenze che «egli», il «qualunque», non può avere e non ha. Inibirsi la civetteria del dare per comunemente noto quello che noto comunemente non è. A nessun uomo, per quanto colto, si può chieder di essere una enciclopedia. I lemmi dell’enciclopedia rappresentano la fatica di migliaia di collaboratori; f) entrare subito o pressoché subito in medias res: non tener sospeso l’animo del radioascoltatore con lunghi preamboli, con la vacuità di premonizioni superflue che il valore cioè il costo del tempo radioparlato sono ben lontani dal giustificare, dall’ammettere. “

Carlo Emilio Gadda, Norme per la redazione di un testo radiofonico.

NOTA: durante la sua collaborazione con la RAI (accettata per necessità e mal sopportata), presso i servizi di cultura del Terzo programma (1950-55), Gadda redasse un breve vademecum a beneficio degli autori radiofonici e destinato a circolazione interna (veniva allegato ai contratti per i collaboratori). La prima edizione delle Norme (ERI, Torino, 1953) apparve senza il nome dell’autore ma firmata in calce «IL TERZO PROGRAMMA»; seguì una seconda edizione (ERI, Torino, 1973), questa volta a nome di Gadda. Il testo fu quindi accolto nelle raccolte postume degli scritti minori dell’ «ingegnere».