#dancing through the fields they’re bones!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theegoldenchild · 20 days ago

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Chapter Five: The Devils Tongue (Part 1)

Warnings: Smoke is horny | Stack is horny | Sera is horny | I am horny

Whispers through Mississippi started slow, the way southern rumors always did. Nothing more than a tilt of the head and a hushed breath passed between hands full of laundry or mouths full of honey butter cornbread.

“They say they bringin’ music out to the north field…”

“One of them juke joints… with dancers and shine and God knows what else…”

“Right behind the preacher’s house, Lord have mercy…”

Sera heard them all. At church. At the water pump. Through the walls when her father met with the deacons. The same words repeated like scripture passed down the wrong way.

The SmokeStack twins were opening a juke joint, and not just anywhere. Not thirty miles up the road like they said they would. Not on neutral ground with enough distance to keep peace in the state. But right there. On the north field. A heartbeat away from her father’s back porch. Like a slap in the face to Pastor Samuel.

And legally? There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Because that land… the north field… was no longer his. Smoke and Stack had drawn up papers before the battle and slipped them in the mouth of war like a knife beneath a blessing. Pastor Samuel had signed off on it, too proud or too desperate to read the fine print. It was theirs now. All of it.

Sera stood in front of the open window of her upstairs bedroom, watching the transformation unfold in the distance. She hadn’t been outside in weeks due her restricted freedom and the schedule of a housewife with no husband. She scrubbed. She stitched. She read. She prayed. She was finally being seen as good again.

She didn’t allow her hands to touch herself anymore. It was a one time occurrence even though the protective shadow stood outside her door every night waiting for more. Instead of giving in she would sit on her hands until they went numb. The only true form of relief she received was when she went to sleep. It was the only time she felt free enough to let the twins cloud her mind without judgment.

But now… the world was moving again, just beyond the edge of the tree line. Where once there was wild grass and silence, there were now men. Men building a frame out of reclaimed wood and intention. Men hammering under the sun, smoking cigarettes and singing in low voices while Stack strutted across the foundation like a carnival ringleader. His suspenders hung loose at his hips, white button-down open at the collar, gold tooth flashing every time he tossed his head back and laughed.

Sera watched as he pulled a flask from his pocket and toasted a man twice his size. He wasn’t helping, just directing. Giving out orders with a grin that suggested he was halfway drunk and still the smartest man on the field.

Smoke, on the other hand, worked in silence. Jacket off, sleeves rolled, his undershirt clinging to the hard shape of his back as he dragged barrels of supplies from their truck. No smiles. No jokes. Just labor.

Downstairs, Pastor Samuel paced the parlor like a man waiting for fire to walk through the door. “They mean to shame me,” he murmured under his breath, hands clenched behind his back. “To tempt God right on holy land!” He stopped in front of the window and scowled out toward the north field. “Liquor. Dancing. Woman’s legs flashing under red lights. Music that stirs sin up from the bones.”

“Then why sell them the land?” one of the deacons asked.

Samuel’s jaw tensed. “They didn’t say nothin’ about this when they signed. Said it was temporary. Said they just needed it for defense.”

“They defendin’ something now,” another deacon sighed. “Their right to party, I reckon.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Samuel broke it with a slam of his fist on the window frame. “They’ll burn in hell for what they’re doing!”

That night, when Sera crept out of bed and pulled back the curtain again, the bones of the juke joint had been raised. The walls stood. The dance floor was built. And a glowing sign leaned against the steps, freshly painted in blue and red:

The Devil’s Tongue

The name itself felt like a dare. A joke that clung to her skin like cigarette smoke she wished to smell again. She touched the window glass, fingers lingering. She couldn’t hear the music yet. Couldn’t smell the liquor or see the women in low-cut dresses. But she felt it somehow. A slow, wild heartbeat starting to stir beneath the soil. One that matched her own.

The heat never left Mississippi, not even when the sun gave up and the stars pulled their blanket across the sky. It clung to the ground like sweat to skin, curling into the roots and pressing against windows like a watchful ghost.

Sera stood barefoot on her back porch, fingers clutching an empty pail, her eyes fixed on the silent well pump. It had coughed and sputtered all morning and now it was nothing but a rusted hunk of metal. Dry, breathless, useless. Just like yesterday. And the day before that… And the day before that…

She shifted, looking out past the trees toward the north field. The juke joint was almost finished with lanterns that glowed in the distance like a row of watchful eyes, flickering against the frame of the new structure. She could hear hammers still ringing out in the distance and the low thrum of voices too far away to decipher.

Her stomach turned in knots. She shouldn’t go. She knew she shouldn’t. But her skin itched with the stick of the day. Sweat clung beneath her arms, behind her knees, at the curve of her back where the cotton of her dress stuck like sin. Her hair, pinned tight beneath her scarf, felt heavy with dust and oil. She needed a bath. But she needed forgiveness more. And so she made herself pure the only way she knew how before walking into the lion's den.

She layered her body in silence. First, a slip, plain and soft, yellowed with age. Then, the second dress, brown, thick muslin with sleeves that reached past her wrists and a collar that scratched against her throat. Then, a third, black, starched and long, hanging loose down to her ankles. It swallowed her whole.

She took a black scarf and wrapped her curly hair tightly, then draped another across the lower half of her face. All that was left were her eyes. A pair of tired honey orbs that flicked to the heavens one last time. “Lord, please don’t let no one see me.”

The pail creaked in her hand as she stepped off the porch and began the slow walk toward the north field. The woods whispered around her as she moved, branches brushed her shoulders while grass crunched underfoot. The trees thinned the closer she got, replaced by an open field and smoke curling upward from the juke joint chimney. She stayed to the edge where the shadows were thickest. Somehow the pail felt heavier the closer she came.

Laughter drifted across the breeze and boots scraped against wood. She saw them now, men sitting on crates and barrels, some smoking, some drinking, some talking low with the slack confidence of those who knew they owned the night. Sera kept her head bowed, steps slow and cautious, skirts rustling as they brushed her ankles.

“Now what’s this?” one man called out, voice slurred with liquor. “Ain’t that the damn preacher’s girl?”

She stopped dead in her tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

Another man leaned forward, squinting at her. “Lord have mercy, she look like she tryin’ to scare the devil himself in all that black.”

A low ripple of laughter erupted amongst the men and her eyes stayed on the ground. She moved again, feet whispering across the dirt with embarrassment latching onto her like a second skin.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouths or I’ll slit your throats and use them vocal cords for catfish bait.” That voice didn’t laugh. And it didn’t have to. Smoke was tucked off in a corner sitting on a crate and watched Sera’s every step. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t even stand from the crate he was resting on. All he had to do was turn his head towards his men, give them a look, and silence followed.

Sera reached the water pump, hands shaking like a leaf as she tried to make the water come out. Her eyes darted once towards the porch just long enough to see the slant of Smoke’s jaw under the red lantern glow and the way he watched her.

Stack appeared from inside the juke and leaned against a post, arms crossed with the glint of his gold tooth flashing beneath his smirk. “Pretty girl… my little dove… we missed you,” he drawled. “You goin’ to a funeral, or tryin’ not to tempt a soul on God’s green earth dressed in all that black?”

Like always the sound of Stacks voice caught Sera off guard and her hands jerked the handle too hard. Water splashed everywhere, soaking through all three of her dresses and the cold water clung to her now wet stomach. Her cheeks flamed. “I’m just gettin’ water Mr. Stack,” she mumbled, voice muffled by fabric.

Stack said nothing as he stepped off the porch with an unhurried and deliberate movement. He closed the distance between himself and Sera, merging their shadows together under the moonlight. His fingers came up slow, the way a wolf would approach a skittish rabbit. No rush. No threat. Just intent.

And for some reason Sera didn’t flinch when his hand touched her scarf. But she did stop breathing for a moment. Delicately, he slid his fingers beneath the scarf that covered her face and loosened the knot at the back. The cotton slipped under his touch and the damp air kissed her skin as he drew the scarf away and dropped it into her trembling hands.

“There,” he whispered, voice deep and soft. “That’s better.”

Soon as the scarf came off she diverted her eyes away from him. Everything about this was too intimate and Sera wrestled with the idea of touching herself again tonight. Her lips were red and full from biting them too much. And Stack couldn’t help himself. He lifted her chin and guided his thumb over her swollen bottom lip… just once. Her shoulders twitched at the contact, and she gasped so quietly it almost sounded like a moan.

“Too pretty to stay hidden, little dove,” he said. “It’s a sin, really. Coverin’ all this up like God didn’t take His time makin’ you.”

Behind them, Smoke stilled completely. Not a muscle moved. His eyes were locked on Stack’s hand on Sera's lips. And the way her body stiffened before quivering under the weight of attention she’d never been taught how to carry.

“I—my daddy says…” she stammered, eyes flicking toward the pump like it might save her.

“That nigga says a lotta things,” Stack chuckled, stepping just slightly to the side still holding her chin and forcing her to face him. “And I bet you ain’t ever questioned a single one.”

Sera made eye contact then, just for a second. Enough for Stack to see her eyes, all stormy and lost. Like he was driving a ship filled with her emotions and could guide her back to shore.

“You don’t gotta answer to no man out here,” he rasped. “’Cept’ maybe us.”

“Stack,” Smoke finally warned before walking near the two of them.

Stack didn’t take his eyes off Sera. His voice dropped to a murmur, almost sweet. “I’m just admirin’ her, Elijah. A man can’t enjoy lookin’ at his woman?”

Sera blinked as her mind started racing a million miles a minute. His woman? Stack was claiming her as HIS woman? And that name…. Elijah. It tangled in her thoughts like a loose thread. It felt sacred and forbidden.

“…Elijah,” she whispered, tasting it like something sweet she wasn’t supposed to have. “Is that really your name?”

Behind her, the pump creaked once in the wind. The lantern’s glow flickered on the porch and casted both twins in molten amber. Stack turned his head just slightly, watching the chaos he created unfold. He knew better than to say Smoke's real name, but seeing his older brother lose his composure around Sera was becoming entertaining.

Smoke moved without speaking before standing beside his brother—broad shoulders brushing Stack’s, both of them now a wall of muscle and firelight.

They weren’t in their suits tonight. Just white undershirts clinging to sweat-slick coca butter skin. Broad chests rising steady and deep. The cotton stretched tight across every sharp line… hard work and violence carved into the shape of two men who didn’t belong to God or the law.

And Sera… she couldn’t help it. Her eyes wandered. First to Stack’s chest… then to Smoke’s stomach. The way his shirt clung to the lines carved just above his hips. The faint dusting of dark hair there. She quickly looked away and mentally prayed to the high heavens.

“You don’t say my name like that,” Smoke said suddenly, voice sharp enough to snap her attention back to his eyes.

He stepped closer, just enough to greedily capture her full attention. And then his hand came up. The same hand that has been infiltrating her dreams for weeks. He took her chin from Stack like passing a torch, holding her face now between his own fingers. And gently his thumb dragged across her bottom lip.

A shiver rolled down her spine and Smoke’s eyes didn’t move. “That name’s dangerous in your mouth,” he warned, thumb still teasing the seam of her lips. “You say it again and I might forget I’m tryin’ to be good.”

Sera’s chest rose in a shaky breath. Her lips quaked under his thumb.

“I—I didn’t mean to tempt you,” she whispered, her voice catching like a prayer half-swallowed. “I just never heard it before. It’s a real nice name…”

“Don’t matter if it’s nice,” Stack cut in, his voice smooth and wicked like all this wasn’t his fault. “It belongs in the mouth of a woman who’s ready to own it. You ready to own our names, little dove?”

Sera didn’t answer. The air between them was heavy, like moments before a hurricane when the sky forgets how to breathe.

Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the wet fabric on her stomach. The water had splashed more than she realized drenching the front of her dresses. Now the fabric uncomfortably clung to her skin as she kept trying to pull it away.

Smoke’s eyes dropped to her twitching fingers and lingered as unholy thoughts and flashbacks filled his mind. Tonight would be another night of self-control he isn’t sure he has anymore. He exhaled through his nose before letting Sera’s face go and pinched his bridge.

“Come on,” he said roughly, voice edged with something he didn’t bother hiding. “You can’t go home like that.”

Sera blinked up at him. “What?”

“I said, come on.” His jaw worked like he was fighting with his own teeth. “You’re soaked. Ain’t decent. Come inside the barn. Dry off fore’ your daddy sees you like this.”

Stack’s grin grew. “Or don’t,” he teased, cocking his head. “Let the preacher get a good look at my woman… wet, breathin’ heavy, and wearin’ all these damn dresses like modesty might save her.”

Sera’s mocha freckled face flushed scarlet. “I didn’t… I wasn’t tryin’ to—” She stuttered over her words, eyes flicking between the twins, too flustered to run but also too nervous to stay.

“My daddy’s comin’ home soon,” she said quickly, breath tight. “He’ll notice I’m not at the house.”

Smoke leaned forward, his face unreadable in the lantern light. “Then move fast.” He turned without waiting and started toward the barn, his broad back cutting through the dark like a blade. Stack gave her a playful smile and followed behind, whistling low.

Sera hesitated while looking at the twins and the road back to her home. The walk back would be uncomfortable with a wet dress, but then it would be difficult to explain to her father how she accidentally got three dresses wet tonight.

The water sloshed in her bucket. The wet fabric clung to her skin. And every inch of her burned with bubbling rebellion. Just for tonight, she would willingly follow the lions into their den.

The barn loomed ahead, once quiet and forgotten, now pulsing with music and light. Opening night was tomorrow and the twins had turned it into something else entirely. The thrum of a distant record played on the phonograph. Dim lanterns glowed from the rafters. Tables lined the edges. The scent of tobacco, moonshine, and heat hung in the air like a warning.

Smoke held the door open. “Inside,” he ordered, voice firm and cracking with irritation. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you. We just don’t want nobody seein’ you like this.”

Stack leaned in close to Sera's ear and whispered before glancing down at her clinging skirts. “Though if you ask me, they should see you. You might convert half the sinners in town just by walkin’ past.”

Sera ducked her head and stepped in. Heat rolled through her as the door shut behind her and trapped her inside with two men who didn’t know how to pray… but sure as hell knew how to sin.

The barn’s music was a low hum in the distance now, muffled by the walls that separated the front room from the back. Smoke didn’t speak as he led her deeper into the converted juke joint, past crates of bootleg whiskey and mystery crates that smell of gunpowder and metal. Stack followed behind, quiet but not silent, his presence was felt more than heard.

Sera’s eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows until they reached the rear of the barn, an unmarked door tucked between a record shelf and an old upright piano. Smoke opened it with a worn key he kept on a chain around his neck.

The space inside was nothing like she expected.

A faint drop light flickered in the middle of the room revealing a simple iron-frame bed in the corner covered in dark sheets, thick quilts, and pillows. Lots of pillows. Too many for one man.

A steam iron hissed faintly from the far table, a white mist rising above a freshly cleaned pair of slacks. Before Stack joined his brother outside, he was back here ironing their clothes for tomorrow. Unlike the rest of the converted barn, this wasn’t a room for entertaining. This was Smoke’s room, where he would privately wind down after fighting the world.

“Sit,” Smoke ordered gently, nodding toward the edge of his bed.

Sera looked between the welcoming bed and Smoke before slightly shaking her head no. “My clothes are wet. I’ll mess ya bed up,” she whispered.

“Won’t be wet for long… or maybe you will,” Stack answered from behind, already walking towards the steam iron. “I’ll take care of the dresses. You just sit tight, little dove.”

Sera gripped onto the wet fabric of her top dress and hesitated. Her arms folded tight over her chest, and her eyes landed on the oak floor, to the bed, to the iron… to anything besides the twins. “I… I don’t know if I should.”

Stack turned halfway, glancing over his shoulder. “Ain’t no one askin’ you to strip down bare, darlin’. But sittin’ in soaked fabric don’t do nobody no good. Go on, take the top one off. I know you got fiddy’ more under it.”

She still didn’t move. Her spine was rigid with uncertainty, like a deer in a snare, not sure whether to flee or surrender.

“That dress stickin’ to your stomach like that?” Stack murmured. “You’re gonna catch cold before you get home. You want to go home to ya daddy snifflin’?”

Sera scrunched her face and quickly fixed it, “I’m fine… can’t nobody catch colds bein’ wet in the summer,” she said quickly and defensively.

“You’re not,” Smoke cut in quietly, his voice an authoritative thread of reason in the thick air. “You ain’t fine. You’re cold, and wet, and tremblin’ even though it’s a hunnid’ degrees tonight. Let us help.”

Nibbling on the inside of her cheek Sera looked over at Smoke who was sitting in a chair across his bed and taking his boots off. Like he didn’t just give her the final push she needed to comply. Hesitantly, her fingers rose slowly to the ties at the back of her neck. Her movements were stiff and nervous, but also determined… determined to show Smoke she knew how to follow directions. Why? Well, she wasn’t quite sure about that yet but it felt natural to do so. The first dress came loose with a reluctant sigh, and she peeled it off, water dripping from the hem as she folded it in her arms.

Stack moved forward to take it, but not before letting his eyes travel over the second dress now revealed. This one clung closer to the skin but not enough for his liking. He took the garment from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for a split second longer than they should’ve. No smile. No teasing. Just a pause before he turned back to the iron.

Sera swallowed and turned her back to them as she shyly lifted the second dress at the hem. Her hands shook with trepidation. The wet cotton stuck to her thighs, refusing to come off easily. The sound of it peeling from her skin was deafening in the silence. Keeping her eyes glued to the wooden floor she avoided handing Stack the second dress and instead placed it next to his work station.

“You wearin’ another under that one too?” Stack asked, quieter now.

Her voice was tight and she nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She didn’t respond. The third dress came off slower. For some reason she didn’t feel as shy giving him her final gown of armor. But she still wasn’t able to make eye contact as she placed this dress next to the other one. She stood there in her plain white chemise and form fitting bloomers, the thin cotton clinging to her every curve. Modest by any standard. But not to them.

Stack turned his back under the pretense of adjusting the iron’s dial, but his hands clenched tighter than they needed to. Smoke stared a moment longer before letting his eyes drift up to her frazzled face.

“You don’t gotta be nervous,” Smoke said quietly while pushing his desires down. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you unless you ask us to. You safe here.”

Sera’s eyes lifted and she bit down hard on her bottom lip almost drawing blood to conceal her shock. “I’m not askin’ for that,” she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not askin’ for nothin’,” Stack replied, in a hushed tone. “That’s the part we don’t like.”

She blinked and turned her head. “What?”

Stack sighed and shook his head, “You don’t ask for what you want. You wait for someone to give you permission. That ain’t livin’, dove. That’s just breathin’ quiet.”

The tension settled between them again. Smoke crossed to the dresser and pulled out a white button-up shirt… his. It looked soft and worn, sleeves rolled just above the elbow and a faint scent of sandalwood still clinging to it. “Put this on,” he said, offering it without looking directly at her. “Till your things dry.”

Sera reached for it carefully, fingers brushing his as she took it. The shirt hung heavy in her hands, and when she slipped it on, it swallowed her tall curvaceous frame falling to mid-thigh, the collar open, and sleeves trailing past her fingertips.

Stack watched her move from the corner of his eye while working the steam iron over her first dress. “Don’t get too comfortable in that shirt, pretty girl. You’re liable to turn a man religious walkin’ ‘round like that.”

Smoke ignored him and sat back in his assigned seat for the night and continued rolling a cigarette. Sera watched him curiously before sitting on the edge of his bed. “Why… why do you have so many pillows?” she asked softly, her voice colored with innocent confusion. “Ain’t just you in here, is it?”

Sera didn’t mean to ask an intrusive question but she genuinely was curious about the pillows. Stack burst into a laugh behind her, not cruel but full of wicked delight. “Ain’t no woman in here, if that’s what you mean,” he chuckled, pressing down on the fabric. “But them pillows sure seen their share of sins.”

Sera blinked, face heating. “I— I don’t understand—”

Smoke ran a hand down his jaw and finally looked up, his cold gaze cutting through her to glare at his twin. “I use ’em when I can’t sleep,” he said evenly, ignoring his brother’s grin. “That’s all.”

But Sera didn’t miss the tick of his jaw… or the way he refused to look at the bed when he said it.

Stack gave a low hum and chuckled to himself. “He sleep just fine when he’s got the right thing in his hands.”

Sera turned her face away, but not before the brothers saw the flush rush up her cheeks, blooming high across her cheekbones. She tucked her knees in tighter beneath the oversized white shirt, trying to disappear into the fabric but the effect only made her look more precious and touchable. Like some delicate secret wrapped in cotton and candlelight.

Smoke said nothing at first. He sat with one ankle resting on his knee, elbows on his thighs, a tin of tobacco in one hand and paper in the other. His gaze flicked toward her, completely indecipherable. “You ever rolled a cigarette before?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Sera blinked. The question seemed ridiculous considering her background but she let her sarcastic answer die on her tongue. “No, sir.”

He gave a short nod and tapped the tin open with his thumb. “C’mere,” he said, in a detached yet seductive tone. “I’ll show you.” Stack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. Instead he focused on his task and continued this best to dry Sera’s dresses.

She didn’t move at first. Her amber eyes searched Smoke’s face for mischief or cruelty, but found only that mysterious calm, shadowed by the golden glow of a nearby oil lamp. Her fingers clutched the shirt tighter. “I—I’m fine over here…”

“Like I said sweetheart… You’re safe,” Smoke reassured, still focused on the paper in his hands. “If you gon’ be sneaking around here with us sinners, you might as well learn new skills.”

The room went quiet and Stack stopped what he was doing to turn and glare at his brother. Smoke and Stack haven’t fought for the attention of the same woman since they were little. And right now it seemed like he was three steps behind as his brother effortlessly took all of Sera's attention. His signature grin dropped and twisted into something quieter… almost possessive.

Sera’s breath came a little quicker, heart thumping like it wanted to jump out of her chest. She shifted again, then slowly climbed off the bed. So many sins had been committed in one night and she tried to keep a mental list of everything she’d have to repent for.

1.) Being alone in a room with TWO dangerous men.

2.) Stripping down to her undergarments in front of these men.

3.) Sitting on a man’s LAP…

4.) LEARNING TO ROLL A CIGARETTE!!

The list seemed never ending, and she didn’t even include how the forbidden wetness had returned between her thighs. Her bare feet padded across the floor, the oversized shirt falling around her knees like a curtain. She stood in front of Smoke for a moment, unsure what to do next.

Smoke looked up at Sera and lowered his leg back down before spreading his thighs wide, “Sit,” he said gently, patting his thigh. “I don’t bite, sweetheart.”

She obeyed, carefully lowering herself into his lap. Even though Sera wasn’t a petite woman, her thick thighs draped over one of his and she felt so small… and protected. Her back stayed stiff as a board as she tried not to let any part of her touch more than necessary. But he was so warm and solid, and her juices were flowing through her underwear leaving little droplets on his slacks. Smoke made no mention of it but let one of his hands drape across her waist and maneuver her on his lap so she couldn’t feel his growing secret.

“Relax,” Smoke muttered near her ear, speaking more to himself than her. “Ain’t no sin in sittin’. Now watch.”

Sera nodded and leaned forward slightly, her side brushing against his chest. The scent of smoke, iron, and something faintly woodsy wrapped around her as he guided her hand gently to the tin.

“This here’s the tobacco. You pinch it like this…” His fingers brushed hers rough, but patient like he wanted to cherish this moment. “And you roll it gentle. Real slow. Gotta feel it. Not just use your hands—use your senses.”

Sera nodded, her breath catching every time his fingers touched hers again, every time the soft rasp of his voice fell too close to her ear. Her whole body was trembling and she subconsciously clenched her thighs together. Smoke noticed, just like how he noticed everything but he didn’t comment on it.

Stack watched them from across the room, no longer focused on ironing and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Smoke murmured again. “Just like that, baby.” The cigarette was shaped, ready to light. But Sera didn’t move. Her fingers still lingered over his, eyes still focused on what they’d made. “You’re a fast learner,” Smoke added, voice rougher now.

The sound of her soft voice, the way she shifted shyly in Smoke’s lap, the trembling curve of her thigh under the hem of that white shirt, all of it twisted something hot and mean in Stack’s gut. “Didn’t know we was givin’ private lessons tonight,” he chimed as his jealousy blatantly radiated off of him. “Tell me, ‘Lijah… how many other little doves you taught that trick to?”

Smoke’s hand stilled where it had been guiding Sera’s fingers. His jaw flexed as he looked up, not moving her and definitely not letting go. “I ain’t gotta teach anyone but her,” he said low. “Ain’t my fault you too busy flirtin’ to make things stick.”

Stack sucked his teeth and without another word, he walked to the edge of Smoke’s bed, and made himself at home. He sat down with his legs wide and posture relaxed like he wasn’t deliberately intruding. From his back pocket, he pulled a worn silver tin and cracked the lid open with a flick of his thumb.

“You know,” Stack said as he packed tobacco into his palm, “I ain’t never had trouble teachin’ a lesson when it mattered. Some folks just learn different.”

Sera looked between them, her fingers twisting shyly in her lap. She was still perched on Smoke’s knee, now with less certainty like she could foresee the chaos waiting to erupt.

Stack didn’t look at his brother when he spoke, and focused his eyes on his redhead angel. “Maybe she wanna learn from me next,” he said, voice quiet and teasing. “See how different the teacher makes the lesson.”

Smoke let out a slow breath through his nose and leaned back in the chair as he tightened his grip on Sera’s hip. He didn’t move Sera, didn’t rise to meet the provocation. Instead, he set the cigarette they made aside and looked up, his posture calm but his eyes told how he was tired of the game. “There ain’t no need to start trouble,” he said evenly. “Not in front of her.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back as Stack and Smoke began bickering like children that didn’t know how to share their new shiny toy. Smoke was losing his patience with his brother.

“Nigga, you got some nerve sittin’ here runnin’ ya mouth like I won’t whoop your ass from here back to Chicago.”

“Ain’t nobody fuckin’ scared of you, Elijah!”

While Smoke and Stack continued to bicker and exchanged biting words between them like flint to steel, Sera sat silently in the middle, unsure where to place her hands, her thoughts and her shame. In the heat of the moment, Smoke unintentionally shifted Sera directly onto his growing erection before picking up a nearby ashtray and chucking it in the direction of Stacks head.

“THROW SUM ELSE I DARE YOU!”

“WATCH YA MOUTH YOU LYIN’ SUMMA’ BITCH!”

It was subtle at first, just a small movement, his hands still steady at her waist. He realigned her to keep her out of the crossfire and placed her soft covered heat directly over the firm ridge of his arousal. The contrast made her breath leave her body and she almost arrived at heaven’s gate. It felt good. Too good. Her thighs tightened instinctively and a dangerous warmth flooded to her lower belly. This was a level of sin she wasn’t sure a night of repentance would fix.

She hadn’t touched herself since that night. That night when Smoke’s voice had stirred something buried deep. Since then, she’d refused to look inward, way too frightened to explore what waited behind her curiosity. Too afraid of what she might become if she gave in.

But tonight… the air hung thick with desire. Like a storm rolling slow and low across the fields. It whispered to her, beckoned her. Promised that if she dared to dip a toe into darkness, she wouldn’t fall alone. Smoke would catch her and Stack would comfort her.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Their arguing faded, reduced to static on the edge of her mind as she gave in to the devilish sensation. Smoke’s arms, strong and unmoving, bracketed her body like pillars. His chest rose and fell behind her back, steady and unbothered. Too consumed with arguing with his twin. She exhaled slowly and began to move. Barely. Just a cautious shift of her hips back and forth to test the friction. The thick line of him nudged through his slacks up against her blooming flower that pulsed with each movement.

It was maddening. Up and down… an inexperienced grind… back and forth. Each motion of her hips was gentle and full of exploration. She inhaled sharply as Smoke's shirt rustled over her succulent thighs, letting both men see the wet spot forming on her panties. Her hands found Smoke’s thighs, and she gripped them lightly as she sought the pressure her body craved.

The pleasure was delicate at first, like the flutter of a moth’s wings. But it built slowly and steadily. This was different from when she touched herself. Back and forth… up and down… A warm flush crept up her chest and neck. She no longer heard their voices. She closed her eyes and just focused on her breathing and the wet heat gathering between her legs.

Back and forth… left to right… right to left… up and down… Sera gasped again, her breathing ragged and shallow. Her hips moved with more purpose now testing limits she’d never dared explore. The heat expanding between her legs was damn near unbearable, soaking through her cotton underthings and making her acutely aware of every sensitive inch pressed to the twitching hardness beneath her.

She didn’t hear the creak of the chair when Smoke leaned in closer and didn’t sense the room shifting. Not until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Whatcha doin’ sweet girl?” he whispered, voice husky. “It feel good don’t it? Keep goin’ for me… don’t stop this time… I’ll be here to guide you.”

Her body gave a soft shiver at his words. Her thighs tensed around his trying to close but he slid his hands down to them and held each one open. She didn’t speak, she couldn’t. She just moved, driven by the need curling tighter and tighter low in her belly.

Smoke’s grip on her thighs flexed, then eased, guiding her rhythm ever so slightly, like he was tuning a song only he could hear. “Don’t rush it,” he whispered again, “Just like that… Take your time…”

Then she felt another presence approach. Stack had gone quiet for too long and that was never a good sign. Sera’s eyes opened slowly and the haze of desire clouded her vision as she saw his boots come into view. She tilted her head upwards just slightly and that was all he needed.

Stack crouched down in front of her, his towering frame folding like a wolf preparing to pounce. His eyes were dark and for a split second Sera had to question if she was looking at Smoke or Stack. His firm fingers lightly gripped her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“You don’t stop now, darlin’,” he ordered in a rough tone with something more dangerous than lust. “You keep goin’.” Sera opened her mouth hoping to respond but no words came out, just another whimper and silent moan.

“You hear me?” he growled, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Ain’t no shame in takin’ what you want. Not here. Not with us.”

Smoke’s lips still lingered near her ear. “You’re doin’ so good,” he purred, his tone a complete contrast to Stack’s rough edge. “Look at you… our little church angel learnin’ how to move.”

Stack’s hand slid down her throat until it rested just above the curve of her chest. “You keep rocking’ on him ‘til we say stop.”

Sera’s heart thundered behind her ribs. Their voices tangled around her like tobacco in the lungs, addictive and dangerous. Both men were hard enough to cut diamonds. Their bodies coiled tight and strained beneath their clothes. Yet neither gave in… they just watched.

Every subtle twitch of Sera’s hips, every stuttered breath and delicate shift, each pass of friction seemed more delicious than the last. This was a show. One she wasn’t even aware she was performing. Smoke’s jaw clenched, his hands steady where they gripped her, guiding just enough, allowing her to find her pace on her own. Stack watched like a hawk pretending to be unaffected but the pulse on his neck betrayed him. He was barely breathing. And Sera? She was unraveling by the second. If this addicting sensation and dizzying pleasure was possible with her undergarments still clinging damp between them, what would happen if her bare skin touched his? Would it break her? Would she survive it?

She whined quietly. “E-Elijah… I… I ca—”

But she didn’t finish. Smoke growled, like the sound scraped up from the pit of his stomach. His hands slid to her inner thighs, thumbs spreading her open just enough to stop her motion cold. She whimpered at the loss of pressure. Then, slowly, he leaned her back against his chest, angling her hips forward and exposing the damp fabric stretched over her pulsing center. Her head lolled back on his shoulder with her eyes glossed over with lust.

Smoke’s grip was firm and controlled. His mouth brushed the crown of her head with a tenderness that didn’t match the fire in his eyes. “You made such a mess, my love,” he teased, tone deceptively soft. “Bet he’s wonderin’ how you taste now.”

Stack’s eyes darkened then and Smoke’s voice dropped lower and colder. He didn’t look at Sera as he spoke, he looked at his brother, a smirk curling his lips. This was payback. “If you need help to finish,” he said, slow and condescending, “ask Elias real nice and he might help.”

The tension snapped taut like a drawn bowstring. Sera shivered hard, the sound of Stack’s real name crackling through the room like a match being struck. Her body ached, her thighs quivered and she was now wide open in Smoke’s lap with her sanctified pussy soaked and pressed forward, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Like a turkey laid bare for carving on Thanksgiving day.

And Stack—no, Elias—was starving. That cool, collected mask cracked, if only slightly. His nostrils flared. His tongue darted across his bottom lip. His fists flexed at his sides like he was fighting himself not to take. The silence grew thick between them, as if the very walls were waiting.

Sera looked between the two of them with her breath ragged, skin flushed, and her innocence in tatters. And then she turned her attention to Stack. Her voice though soft carried a weight that made the room hold still. “…Elias,” she whispered, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Please… help?”

His name, sweet and unsure on her tongue, shattered whatever restraint he had left.

And the devil in him stirred.

Tag List:

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mangooes · 4 months ago

Text

A Future, with you in it

The night was quiet, the world bathed in the soft glow of the moon. Sylus and his wife lay side by side on the balcony of their estate, a blanket draped over them as the cool breeze danced through the air.

From their vantage point, the city below flickered like a sea of fireflies, but neither of them were watching.

(Name) leaned against Sylus’s chest, tracing absent patterns over the back of his hand. His warmth seeped into her, steady and grounding, like an anchor tying her to the present.

“Sylus,” she murmured, her voice soft, thoughtful.

“Hm?” His fingers lazily played with her curls, his other arm wrapped securely around her waist.

She hesitated for a moment before exhaling a small laugh. “Have you ever thought about the future?”

Sylus paused, his hand stilling for a fraction of a second before resuming its slow strokes. “The future?” he echoed.

“Yeah.” She tilted her head up to look at him. “Like… years from now. Us. Where we’ll be.”

Sylus considered her for a long moment. He had spent so much time ensuring that she stayed by his side now, never allowing himself to think too far ahead. Because deep down, he had always feared what the future could take from him.

But here she was, so certain. So unafraid to imagine a life with him for years to come.

“I want to grow old with you,” She continued, shifting so she could properly face him. “Not just as some distant dream, but as something real.”

Sylus’s throat tightened, his crimson eyes darkening with emotion. “Sweetie…”

She smiled, curling her fingers around his. “I want us to wake up every morning to the sound of birds instead of gunfire.” Her thumb traced over his palm, as if sketching the image into existence. “I want to live somewhere quiet, away from all this uncertainty.”

Her voice was soft, wistful. “Maybe somewhere near the mountains. Somewhere peaceful.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “Imagine it—waking up to crisp morning air, the scent of flowers drifting in through the windows. A house with big windows, where the sunlight pours in…”

Sylus listened in silence, captivated by the picture she was painting.

“And outside,” she added, her lips curving slightly, “a field of datura flowers.”

Sylus blinked. “Datura?”

She nodded. “They’re beautiful. They only bloom at the late of afternoon, did you know that?” She smiled. “They remind me of you.”

Something in his chest twisted, warmth seeping through his very bones.

She turned her gaze skyward, a dreamy look in her eyes. “And maybe one day, we’ll have grandkids. We’d sit on the porch and watch them run through the fields, laughing. You’d probably be the overprotective grandpa.”

Sylus let out a small huff. “Who do you think I am kitten?"

She chuckled, squeezing his hand. “I want that, Sylus.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now, as if afraid saying it too loud would shatter the dream. “A lifetime with you. Until our hair turns gray, until our hands are wrinkled, until we’ve spent every second we possibly can together.”

Sylus stared at her, his expression unreadable, yet his grip on her tightened. “…You’re serious about all this?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and cupped his face between her hands. “I love you, Sylus,” she whispered. “Not just for today, or tomorrow, but for every single day after that. I want all of it—with you in every lifetime.”

His breath hitched.

For a man who had spent lifetimes losing the things he loved, who had lived in fear of history repeating itself, this—her—was the most precious, terrifying thing of all.

A future.

A real future.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. His voice, rough and heavy with emotion, murmured against her skin:

“Then I’ll give you that future, sweetie. No matter what.”

And in that quiet moment, with only the stars as their witnesses, the promise of forever bloomed between them.

HEY IS THIS ANGST?? ASKJDNASKJDNAK IM NOT SURE buttt i decided to try making a more serious scenarios, but ofc! The fluff funny ones are still here :))

#lnds #love and deepspace #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #qin che #lads sylus #sylus

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favefandomimagines · 9 months ago

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Back in the Saddle (t.o)

Request: @glenxjesse “I was wondering if I could request a Tyler Owen/reader. Where reader fell off her horse and got pretty badly injured with a concussion and a shattered heel bone and needed surgery and Tyler takes time off of wrangling to take care of her while she’s laid up, making sure she has everything she needs and carrying her around to different rooms because she hates her crutches and he’s worried about her falling again, also comforting her at night when the pain is really bad and she can’t sleep. Last year I fell off my horse with those exact injuries and I just feel like Tyler would be the most attentive, comforting boyfriend. Thank you! Please feel free to change whatever you want! And if you don’t want to write it I understand as well! Hope you’re doing well! Love your writing by the way!”

AN: I am SO SORRY this took me so long!!! Life got in the way and I totally forgot! I hope you all enjoy some Tyler Owens fluff!

Summary: Tyler puts his storm chasing on hold to take care of Y/N after a horse riding accident and there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Tyler’s boots scuffed the dirt as he moved slowly across the ranch, his broad hat shielding him from the unforgiving late afternoon sun. The sky stretched vast and blue, with a hint of dark clouds building on the horizon, the kind that usually sent him chasing after the storms in his beat-up red truck.

But today wasn’t like most days. He wasn’t tracking any storms or watching the sky for funnels with Boone. Today, he was watching over Y/N.

Y/N sat on the porch, her right leg elevated and wrapped in a thick cast. Her face, normally flushed with color from riding her horse under the big sky, was pale. The pain was evident in her tight grip on the armrest of the chair. A concussion and a shattered heel—the doctor had said it could’ve been worse when she fell off her horse, but to Tyler, it already felt like a nightmare.

She had to have surgery to repair her foot and her recovery time is 3-4 months. Which for Tyler felt like an eternity. Afraid something else could wrong while she wasn’t mobile enough to protect herself.

He walked up to her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. "You need anything?" His voice was soft, like a breeze passing through the fields, but beneath it was a current of concern.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes heavy with the exhaustion of pain and sleepless nights. "I’m fine, really. Just... tired of these stupid crutches. My arms are killing me."

Tyler crouched beside her, his face level with hers. "I know it’s hard, darlin’. But you gotta take it easy for a bit. The crutches are a pain, but they’re helping you heal."

She let out a huff, frustrated. "I hate being stuck here. You should be out chasing storms, Tyler. Not babysitting me."

"Hey," Tyler said firmly, but his smile softened the edge in his voice. "This ain’t babysitting. This is takin’ care of you. And I wouldn’t be anywhere else."

Her lips quirked into a small smile, though she tried to hide it. "I don’t want to hold you back."

"You ain’t holdin’ me back, baby. I’d miss a hundred storms if it meant bein’ here with you. Don’t you know that by now?"

Y/N’s eyes flickered, a mixture of relief and guilt dancing in their depths. She reached out and took his hand. "I’m sorry, Ty. I just... I hate being this helpless."

Tyler stood and pulled her into a gentle hug, mindful of her injuries. "Ain’t nothin’ helpless about you. You’re one of the toughest women I’ve ever known. But right now, tough means lettin’ yourself heal. And I’m here to help with that. It’s what I want to do."

For the first time all day, Y/N’s shoulders relaxed. She rested her head against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat calm her restless mind. "Thank you."

They stayed like that for a few minutes, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the porch. Tyler finally pulled back, a playful grin on his face. "Now, how ‘bout we get you inside? Doc said you need to rest."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. "I’ve been resting all day."

"Yeah, but you haven’t had my world-famous chicken noodle soup yet," Tyler teased.

"Oh really? World-famous, huh?"

"In at least three counties," he said with a wink.

Tyler scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards the front door. “You know you’re supposed to do this when you get married, right?” Y/N questioned. “Hey, it’s good practice.” He replied.

That night, Tyler sat beside the bed, his boots kicked off and his legs stretched out in front of him. Y/N lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her face contorted in pain she was trying hard to hide. But Tyler noticed. He always noticed.

He leaned over, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "You okay?"

Y/N blinked, her eyes glistening. "It’s just... the pain. It’s worse at night. I feel like I can’t get away from it."

Without hesitation, Tyler slipped into bed beside her, carefully wrapping his arms around her without putting pressure on her leg. He pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I’m right here, darlin’," he whispered. "I ain’t goin’ nowhere."

Y/N took a shaky breath. "I know. But I don’t want to keep you up all night."

Tyler kissed the top of her head, his lips warm and comforting. "Don’t worry ‘bout that. Sleep or no sleep, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone."

She buried her face into his chest, the familiar scent of him—earth and leather, storm clouds and fresh hay—giving her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt all day. "Ty... what if this takes longer than 4 months to heal? What if I’m not the same afterward?"

Tyler’s grip tightened just a little, enough to reassure her without hurting her. "Then it takes longer. And if you ain’t the same, we’ll figure it out together. You think I’m here just for the ridin’ and the fun days? No. I’m here for all of it. The good, the bad, and whatever comes next."

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes closing as the pain seemed to lessen, just a bit, with his words. "I don’t deserve you."

"Now, that’s where you’re wrong," Tyler said, his voice soft but firm. "You deserve the world, Y/N. And if I can give you even a piece of it, I will. You’re my whole world."

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say something so raw, so vulnerable. "You mean that?"

Tyler chuckled softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. "More than you know."

Y/N snuggled closer, her body relaxing into his. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp, not when she was wrapped in the safety of his arms. "I love you, Tyler."

"I love you too, darlin’," he murmured, his lips pressing softly against her forehead. "And I’m here for the long haul. Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be."

The night stretched on, the sky outside dark and the stars shining. Tyler stayed awake, his arms around Y/N, listening to her breathing slowly even out as she finally drifted into sleep. He didn’t mind missing the storms. There would always be another tornado, another season. But there was only one Y/N, and she was worth every missed chase, every long night spent by her side.

As he lay there in the dark, the distant rumble of thunder echoed from far-off storms, but Tyler didn’t stir. His focus was here, on the woman he loved.

And as long as she needed him, that’s exactly where he’d be.

#imagine #imagines #twisters imagine #twisters #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #glen powell x you #glen powell x reader #glen powell imagine #glen powell #boone twisters

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astraljedi · 4 months ago

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The Bolter (Scott Miller - Twisters)

Warnings: Angst, natural disaster, survival situation, anxiety, implied PTSD. A bit of sexual content but not really.

Pairing: Scott Miller x Female OC

Word count: 4,510

Song: The Bolter by Taylor Swift

A/N: This is for the loml, that requested that I write for her boo from Twisters. Hope you like it, babes

Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless Excellent fun 'til you get to know her

“We’ve known you for about a year now. How do we not know what got you into storm chasing?” Boone practically shouts, his excitement spilling over as he realizes he’s about to hear a good story.

I roll my eyes, tossing the bag of snacks I just bought from the convenience store into the truck. “You never asked, Bones,” I say, mimicking his twang.

“Come on, you love talking about your storm-chasing days before we found you. I feel hurt you’ve kept some from us.” He teases, reaching for my spicy chips. I slap his hand away. He never learns.

“It’s not personal. I just have so many, I tend to forget them.” I lie. I remember every single one—every reckless, adrenaline-fueled moment. I live for this. The chase. The science. The wild unpredictability of it all. Storms make most people freeze in place. I can’t help but lean in.

Boone narrows his eyes. He’s not buying it. “Alright, well, you gotta tell me one now. What’s the story, Lucy?”

I lean against the truck, scanning the horizon as if I can see a storm brewing in the distance, even though the sky is clear. This chasing season feels different. Ever since storm chasing went viral last year, we’ve been expecting a live audience.

“Alright, fine.” I shrug, cracking a grin. “I’ll tell you the one that started it all.”

“Hey, guys! Lucifer is telling another story from her vault!” Boone shouts to the rest of the group. They’ve heard a few of my wild tales over the past year, and they know they’re in for a good one.

I smirk. “It all started on the last day of my junior year, when a bunch of kids from my class decided to raid a creepy abandoned house on the edge of town, right in the middle of some random-ass field. We were drinking, dancing, celebrating the beginning of summer and becoming seniors.” My voice dips slightly as I slip into the memory, like it just happened yesterday.

The crew gathers around, familiar faces in the mix, but a new one catches my eye. He stands out from the rest. Clean white shirt, beige hat, dark blue jeans that fit his tall, broad body too well. I look away before I get caught staring.

“The perfect place to mark the end of the year. Typical teenage shenanigans.”

“Typical Lucifer shenanigans, you mean.” Tyler cuts in, making everyone laugh—except the new guy.

I flip Tyler off. “Hey, this is my origin story, not yours.”

“This was before my nickname, though. We were drinking cheap beer someone’s older brother bought, and I was dancing with my girls when the sirens went off. My gut clenched, but everyone ignored it. ‘No tornado has ever touched down here,’ they said. ‘We’re fine.’”

I pause for a second, remembering the sharp shift in the air.

“They were wrong.”

The group quiets. Even Boone leans in.

“The wind picked up. The ground started shaking. And then—boom—a tornado touched down. I was the first to react. The buzz disappeared, and suddenly my entire class was frozen. My first thought was to get everyone inside. I pushed them toward the house, led them down to the basement, and we waited it out. That tornado passed barely a foot from us. The howling wind, the walls shaking, my best friends hanging on to me for dear life. It was terrifying. But no one got hurt.”

I let out a dry chuckle. “Then, of course, the sheriff showed up and called all our parents.”

Groans and knowing laughter ripple through the group.

“Everyone was even more scared of their parents than they were of the tornado.” I shake my head. “Mine were pissed, but I was still riding the high. The next day, I started looking up meteorology programs. And now, here I am, chasing storms for a living.”

That part of the story always makes me smile. Tyler and his crew are the best thing that’s happened to me. They’re my family.

“One more story before we hit the road, Lucy.” Lily calls from where she’s perched on the truck bed.

I glance up at the sky, feeling the shift in the air. “A short one. The winds are picking up.”

I grin. “This is the story of how I got my nickname.”

The group perks up. Even the new guy is listening.

“It was after college. I was on a date with a rising bull rider. Dinner, a movie, and then a steamy makeout session in his car.” I smirk. “Everything was going great, but something felt off. The air was wrong. Heavy. I could feel a storm coming, but he was too busy—well, with his face buried in my chest.”

Boone howls. Even Tyler shakes his head with a grin. The new guy? Nothing.

“I heard that familiar boom and knew we had seconds. I shoved him off, jumped into the driver’s seat, and floored it in reverse. He started screaming when he saw what I was actually saving us from. We crashed into a barbed-wire fence, wrecked his paint job, but at least we got out.”

I glance at the new guy again. This time, I catch him rolling his eyes. Rude.

“Anyway, once we were safe, he called me the devil. Told everyone in town. And suddenly Lucy ‘Lucifer’ was born. But I didn’t care, I was already planning on leaving that sad little town.”

A gust of wind kicks up dust, making the air feel electric.

“She’s a witch, I’m telling you.” Dexter points at me, dead serious for a second before breaking into laughter.

“She’s just reckless. None of that sorcery crap.”

The new guy speaks up for the first time. His voice is steady, dismissive. My head snaps toward him.

“Reckless? I call it intuition and knowledge.” I shoot back. I’m not about to get lectured by some neat freak. “Oh, looks like you’ve got a stain on your shirt.”

His eyes widen, immediately checking his spotless white shirt.

I smirk. “My bad. It’s just your fragile masculinity.”

His jaw tenses. “This isn’t a game. It’s childish.”

“Scott, we need to go.” Javi steps in, motioning toward their pristine white trucks, all loaded with high-tech gear.

I dust off a nonexistent speck from Scott’s sleeve and flash him a grin. “Good luck storm chasing.”

Then, just as I climb into the truck with my crew, I throw one last parting shot over my shoulder.

“If you see me run, then you should worry, Scott.”

A few hours later

The chase winds down, and we all gather in a motel parking lot with other storm chasers. The place is packed, trailers and trucks lined up in every direction, but no one’s inside. Everyone’s out in the open, sharing food, stories, and drinks—one of the things I love most about this community.

The storm has passed, the sky calm now, fading from fiery oranges and pinks to deep navy. Laughter and music blend with the smell of grilled food and the clink of beer bottles. It’s nostalgic in a way. After every chase, I take a moment to ground myself. It’s part of my routine—standing off alone, watching the constellations appear as the sky darkens, letting my body flush out the high from earlier.

From where I stand, I can see my crew sprawled around a few foldout chairs, swapping stories over pizza and beers. But my eyes drift elsewhere—toward Scott, standing with his team and a few other chasers, their attention locked on whatever new toy he’s showing off.

“We’ve got the latest radar system. The forecast models were damn near perfect today. We’re predicting shifts with a level of precision we’ve never had before.” His voice is steady, confident. I’m not even trying to listen, but something about the way he talks about that machine rubs me the wrong way.

I roll my eyes, pushing off the side of the truck. Without thinking, I stride toward the group, my boots crunching against the gravel.

“Oh, great, the radar system saved the day again,” I drawl, crossing my arms. “Can’t wait to see it predict the next storm for us. You guys really put all your faith in technology, huh?”

The group turns, but I only look at Scott.

He lifts his gaze from the tablet in his hands, his expression shifting—softer for a second, but guarded. He knows I’m challenging him. I want him to push back.

“It’s not just about the technology,” he says, straightening. “It’s about using every tool we have to stay ahead of the storm. You can’t always trust instincts.”

I huff a quiet laugh, and he looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Tools, sure. But no tech is gonna save you when you’re out there in the field, Scott.” I drop my arms, tilting my head. “Technology can’t feel the wind shift or sense the pressure drop. It’s all numbers and lines on a screen. Your radar won’t help you when your gut tells you it’s time to move.”

Silence stretches between us. The guys around us watch, barely breathing. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Boone shifting in his seat, but Tyler’s hand on his shoulder keeps him put. I’ve got this.

Scott’s jaw tightens. “So what, you’re saying we should just toss the tech and chase by feel? That’s reckless.” His voice is lower now, but I hear the challenge beneath it.

I narrow my eyes. He’s stubborn. He doesn’t want to admit that when the storm strips everything away, it’s instinct that keeps you alive.

“Not reckless—real,” I shoot back. “It’s about knowing the storm, like it’s a part of you. Out there, all that equipment? Just backup. The real decision-making happens here—” I tap the side of my head. “And here.” I tap my heart. “If you can’t trust those, you’re already dead.”

Scott exhales sharply through his nose. For a second, he clenches his fists—then forces them loose. He steps closer, just enough that I have to tip my chin up.

“Maybe,” he mutters. “But ignoring the data just because you feel something? That’s not smart. Tech works, whether you like it or not. I’m not about to throw it out just because you say so.”

Something flickers in his eyes—something hesitant, like a sliver of doubt cracking through his pride.

I smirk. Gotcha.

“You keep clinging to that radar, Scott,” I say, voice light, teasing. “But you’ll never outsmart a storm if you don’t understand it first. You’ll see.”

I spin on my heel, heading back toward my crew, feeling their eyes on me. When I reach them, they all scramble to look busy.

“Enjoy the show?” I ask, pulling a beer from the cooler.

No one answers, but Boone hides a grin behind his bottle.

A Few Days Later

We don’t do this just for the adrenaline or the content. We do this because people lose everything. Homes vanish, memories scatter, lives upend. We may never fully understand these storms, may never stop them—but we can try. We can warn people. We can offer food, shelter, clothing, whatever support we can.

I’m not supposed to be here. I should be halfway to town, ahead of the storm before it tears through everything in its path. The small town up ahead is about to get hit with the worst twister I’ve ever seen. But instead, I’m parked on the side of the road, watching whatever the hell just went down between Scott and Javi.

And it isn’t pretty.

Javi’s truck tears off down the muddy road, hitting a puddle on the way out, drenching Scott in filthy water before disappearing toward town.

Scott just stands there, soaked and seething. Red to the ears. Hands on his hips, shoulders tight, muscles flexing under his drenched shirt.

Stop it, Lucy. Not the priority right now.

I pull up next to him and kill the engine. Lucky for him, I have one of Tyler’s spare shirts in my glove compartment. Grabbing it, I slide out of the truck and let the door slam shut behind me, tugging my jacket tighter as the wind presses against my skin.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you stranded on the side of the road,” I say, tucking the shirt behind my back. Might as well tease him before pulling him out of his misery.

Scott exhales sharply through his nose. “Not now, Lucy.”

Oh, the way my name leaves his tongue. Focus, Lucy.

I snort. “Oh, especially now.”

Scott shoots me a glare, but there’s no real hatred in it. Just exhaustion, frustration, maybe a bruised ego. He scrubs a hand over his face, biceps flexing as he drags it down.

“Lucky for you, I have a clean shirt.” I hold it out, for once without any mind games.

Scott hesitates, then takes it, unbuttoning his muddy shirt and flicking it off.

I look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of catching me staring. But before he pulls the new shirt on, I catch a glimpse of what that awful Storm Par uniform has been hiding.

I open my mouth to say something—because pushing Scott’s buttons has officially become my new favorite hobby—but then something shifts.

A shiver runs down my spine. Subtle, but unmistakable.

The wind isn’t just moving. It’s changing.

Scott is still watching me, but I’m not looking at him anymore. My gaze lifts to the sky, then west. Something about it is wrong. Not dark. Just wrong.

My stomach lurches. Shit.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Scott frowns. “What?”

My pulse picks up. The sky. The wind. The way the cornfield around us sways first one way, then another.

I hold up a hand, signaling him to shut up. And then I hear it—the low rumble of the monster growing stronger, ready to take everything in its path.

“We need to move.” My voice is firm.

Scott doesn’t budge. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I mean move, Scott!” I snap. “The twister’s shifting course, and we’re in its way.”

“No, it can’t be. The model said—”

“Fuck the models!” Now I’m yelling. “I know these storms. And if we don’t move now, we’re so fucked.”

Scott hesitates. How the hell can he hesitate right now?

“Lucifer, you can’t just—”

I don’t let him finish.

I grab his face and kiss him.

It isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s a distraction. A way to shut him up before he wastes any more time arguing about my gut feeling. And maybe—just maybe—I’ve wanted to do this for a while.

Scott freezes, breath hitching, then melts into it.

The second I feel him break, I yank back and pull him toward my truck. Shoving him into the passenger seat before he can argue, he slides into the drivers side as I shut the passenger door next to me.

“Drive, Scott!” I shout, throwing the truck into gear.

He’s too stunned to argue.

“We have to go through the field!” I yell over the roar of the storm. I’m ready to fight him on it, but then he takes a sharp left, nearly knocking me into the door.

“Jesus,” I hiss, gripping the dash.

“You said go through the field!”

“I know, but I didn’t think you’d listen on the first try.” The blur of yellow and green whips past us as Scott grips the wheel tighter, knuckles white. The twister is a hungry animal, and we are its prey.

“Left!” I brace myself as he swerves.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Scott mutters, jaw clenched.

“We will if you drive faster, Grandpa!” I shoot back. Then, spotting something ahead, I make a split-second call. “Get us to the barn!”

Scott floors it, but the wind fights us. The twister is right on our heels.

“Brake!”

He slams the pedal. Before I can process it, he grabs my arm and drags me out his side, just as the truck gets sucked into the storm.

“Go!” he yells.

We sprint for the barn, throwing the doors shut behind us. My gaze darts around until I spot what we need. Grabbing a few horse leads, I yank Scott toward the farthest stall.

“Hold on to that door!” I shout.

He doesn’t question me. He wraps a lead around me first, then his own, bracing against the wind.

The barn groans, roof rattling as debris slams into it. The force nearly knocks us off our feet.

I press against the door, hands shaking as I grip the wood. My heart pounds. I risk a glance at Scott—his eyes are wide, muscles straining.

He hasn’t been this close before.

The wind rips at the barn, and my knees buckle.

I try to hold on, but something sharp slices through my leg, tearing my jeans. Blood blooms, but I barely register the pain.

Scott grabs my wrist, yanking me into his chest.

“Lucy!” His voice is raw, panicked.

I barely hear him. My heart is about to explode, ears ringing from the high-pitched wind. I look down at the gash, blood trickling down my calf. The barn groans, shaking with the fury of the storm.

Scott’s grip tightens. I got you.

I fist his shirt with one hand, bracing against the door with the other. The barn shakes harder. My mind screams, Please hold. Please hold.

And then—

The howling wind stops.

The twister, which had been an unstoppable force moments ago, retreats into eerie silence.

I let out a shaky breath.

I’ve been through tornados before. But this one was a beast. And for the first time, I think—maybe—my gut failed me.

Maybe it’s been luck this whole time.

Scott loosens his grip, but not much. My legs threaten to give out, and he catches me, lowering us both to the floor. I straddle his waist, forehead pressing against his. His touch is steady, grounding.

“We’re safe,” his voice rasps.

I don’t even realize I’m shaking until his hands soothe me.

For a moment, everything is still. The world outside has been ripped apart, but in here, in his arms, I can breathe.

“We need to get that leg checked,” he murmurs.

But neither of us moves. Not yet.

After the storm

We manage to get up and walk out of the barn almost unscathed, Scott spots a shelter pop up from the ground, with an elderly man struggling to climb out. Scott helps him and his wife, and as a thank you, the elderly man offers us a ride into town.

I know my crew has to be here. I need to find my family and make sure they're okay.

Once in town, we thank the elderly farmer before Scott helps me out of the truck. “Careful,” he murmurs, his hand steadying my waist as he helps me onto my feet.

“Jesus, Lucy.” I jerk my head up and spot Tyler limping over, relief written all over his face. His eyes dart to my leg, then back to my face, concern flooding his expression. “We need to get that checked out immediately.”

Scott’s face tightens, but before he can react, Tyler is already guiding me away from Scott’s grip and toward the medic tent. “Wait, Scott needs to get looked at too,” I say, turning to look at him.

I’m not sure if Tyler hears me, as he’s already talking to the medic, helping me sit on a stretcher. Tyler turns to Scott, who has quietly followed us. “Is it just the cuts?” Tyler asks. Scott nods, and Tyler gestures toward the next tent. “Minor cuts are being treated in the other tent. Someone will get to you soon.”

I’m about to argue—don’t want to be left alone—but the medic cuts off my jeans at the knee. The gash is on my right leg, just below the knee, and it’s starting to hurt now.

Man, these were my favorite jeans.

I wince as the medic cleans the wound, gripping the stretcher’s handle. “You had us worried sick, Lucy,” Tyler says, stepping back into the tent.

“Not now, Ty,” I grit through my teeth. Every time the medic dabs the wound, it feels like hell.

“We don’t have morphine on hand, so we’ll need to stitch it,” the medic says, looking for my approval.

“God, this is going to hurt,” I mutter, covering my face with my hand and nodding for the medic to go ahead.

“Now you’ve got a matching scar to your new story,” Tyler jokes, but before the medic can pull the needle through, I punch him in the stomach. The moment the needle goes through, I scream. The pain is worse than the damn cut.

I don’t want to feel that type of pain again.

I don’t even remember how I got into my motel room after being treated. I look around—at least this room is nicer than the others we’ve stayed in. White walls, beige bedding, and the smell isn’t too bad. I spot the crutches beside the bed with a note.

“Medic says minimal moving, or you might open your stitches. Only use these if you need to actually move. Call me if you need me, we’re handing out dinners for the town. -Ty.”

Great. I’m all alone.

I don’t even have my phone; it’s in my truck, which got sucked away by the storm. I turn on the TV for a while, but I can’t stop thinking about Scott.

I sigh, carefully grabbing the crutches. Thankfully, my room’s on the first floor, so I don’t have to deal with stairs. I recognize the area from last year when we visited, and I know there’s a bar nearby—if it didn’t get blown away.

It’s only a four-minute walk, but with the crutches, it’s closer to ten. What if Scott’s not there? Part of me knows I’ll find him, but what if I’m wrong again? What if I defy the medic’s orders for nothing and my gut fails me?

The sky is gorgeous—reds and oranges painting the sky, the twister already seeming like a distant memory. A soft wind lingers, cool against my skin, reminding me I didn’t even grab a jacket.

I spot the bar. Immediately, I see Scott. He’s showered and changed into a casual look I haven’t seen him in before. He’s a little further off, leaning against a brick wall, phone pressed to his ear. His posture is tense, but when he sees me, he straightens immediately, hanging up the phone.

“What the hell, Lucy?” he mutters, not believing I’m on my feet. His eyes soften, but I can see the flicker of disbelief in them.

I bet he thinks he’s seeing a ghost. I catch a glimpse of myself before leaving the room—pale, still in the same clothes from earlier—no shower, no change. “I’m fine,” I insist, but even he knows I’m lying. I sit down on one of the benches outside and lean the crutches against the brick wall.

“You’re not fine,” he says softly, crouching down in front of me. His gaze flicks to my leg, where the gash has been stitched closed.

“Like my new jeans? The medic thought the cropped jean on one leg was a fashion statement,” I joke. He doesn’t laugh.

“I needed to get out,” I admit quietly.

Scott places his hand gently on my good leg, tightening his grip briefly before pulling away. He stands up, running a hand across his face, like he’s wondering what to do with me.

“You need to rest. You’re not invincible.”

“I didn’t want to be alone!” I try to yell, but my voice comes out rough. His soft expression makes my words fall flat.

“I get it,” he mutters. “Let’s get you back before your friends find out you disappeared again.” He grabs the crutches with one hand and helps me up, guiding me back toward the motel. Even though I have the crutches, Scott stays close, making sure I don’t fall flat on my ass.

When we make it to my room, I glance over my shoulder and find Scott still hovering. "I’m not leaving you alone," he says.

A smile tugs at my lips as I unlock the door and let him follow me inside. He faces me, his hands on my waist as he carefully helps me sit on the edge of the bed. My body protests as I relax, exhaustion from the storm already catching up with me.

I lock eyes with Scott, and his expression softens, like he’s studying me, as if I’m something delicate about to break.

"You need a shower," he finally says, breaking the silence.

"Jeez, nice way to say a girl stinks, Scott," I tease. "But you’re right." My body feels used and broken, but I’m too tired to move anymore.

Scott scratches the back of his head, hesitating. "I’ll help," he offers, his voice softer than I expect.

I look up at him, about to protest, but I stop myself. I don’t want to be alone. The thoughts in my mind scare me too much.

Scott pulls my bag from the floor and helps me find something comfortable to sleep in. Of course, the only set I have is my small black tank top and booty shorts. I blush as he lays them on the bed and helps me get undressed.

The tension in the room skyrockets. He stands so close, like he’s shielding me. First, my shirt comes off, but he leaves my sheer bralette on for now. His hands hover over my jeans, waiting for my nod of approval.

"I need your words, darling," he murmurs, his voice low and steady.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice soft, vulnerable.

He hums, kneeling down to carefully lower my jeans. "You don’t have to do this. I can manage," I try to say confidently, but my shaky voice betrays me.

Scott stands up but doesn’t pull away. He throws the ripped jeans into the trash and rests his hands on my hips, his thumb brushing over my skin. He leans closer, and my breath catches in my throat.

I whine in desperation as his lips hover over mine, teasing. When his lips finally meet mine, the kiss is slow, tentative. I open my mouth for him, deepening it, feeling the heat between us build. His hand grips the side of my neck as his tongue meets mine, and I moan softly. One of my hands travels from his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair.

I open my legs to pull him closer, but I cry out as my leg hits his. He pulls away, fear flashing across his face. "Shit, I’m sorry," he says, still holding my waist but looking at my leg.

"Maybe another time," I whisper, pressing kisses to his jaw. "When I don’t have a gash on my leg and we’re not running from a twister." I feel Scott relax at the sound of my laugh. He brushes my hair from my face.

"You got it, darling."

#Scott Miller Imagines #Scott Miller fic #Scott Miller Twisters #Scott Twisters Imagines #Scott Twisters Fic #David Corenswet Imagines #David Corenswet Fic #twisters 2024 #twisters fanfic #twisters imagines #Scott Miller fanfic #Scott Twisters Fanfic #Scott Twisters x reader #twisters movie

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desideriumwriter · 1 year ago

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Anyone But You | Chapter 9

Chapter Summary: The first tournament task goes down, reader has an annoying partner for the Yule Ball Dance practice, and ends up with a ruined dress.

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers + hurt/comfort

Content Warnings - cursing,

Word Count - 4.0k

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous | Next | Navi

The cold November air nipped at your face, it felt like you’d been standing out here for ages. You’ve lost count at the amount of times you heard someone say the first task of the tournament could start any moment now.

You had no idea who’d be going first, what dragon they’d be fighting, or what type of dragons there were, but you were horrified.

The familiar shouting of those two annoying twins you hated interrupted your thoughts, now you really regretted allowing yourself to be accidentally separated from Katie and Angelina.

“Gonna place your bets before it starts?” Fred hopped down next to you.

“See if Mr.Diggory will be able to outsmart the dragon?” George added, holding open a suit case, the names of each selected scribbled across the top, the bottom part was covered by a good amount of knuts, sickles, even some galleons.

“Or outcharm?” Fred looked at his brother as they both snickered. You let a heavy breath out through your nose.

“If I give you a sickle will you two leave me be?” You stood up from your leaned position on the wooden rails.

“Probably not-” George shrugged.

“We’ve already gone around the entire pitch now-”

“But you could still try and see!” George pretended to close the suitcase then reopen it, wiggling his brows. You glared at him and shut it.

“Worth a try.” He mumbled, snapping the latches shut.

You turned your attention back to the field, waiting for someone to walk out, for something to happen. The air was especially chilly today and you could feel your nose start to run, making you sniffle a bit. Unwillingly getting the attention of Fred.

“Those earmuffs can’t be doing much for you.” He nudged.

“They’re doing enough.” Which was a lie, they were doing so much less than enough. You’ve had those things since your first year and they were absolutely past their prime, they were barely blocking the cold from your ears.

“We both know that's not true, how ‘bout we swap?” He grinned as he pointed to his green and white beanie, you shook your head and grimaced in response. As always, Fred would not be taking no as an answer.

You tried to protest as he took off your earmuffs, hanging them around his neck and then taking off his beanie, shoving it onto your head and tugging it down until it went past your eyes.

Originally you were going to rip the beanie off, steal your earmuffs back, and maybe give Fred a harsh shove. But once you shifted the hat to where it wasn’t blinding you, the new warmth spreading around your head and across your cheeks was so much better. So comfortable.

“Nice, eh?” Fred smirked at you, you shrugged off his words, quickly turning your eyes back to the field as the stadium began to roar. A knot formed in your stomach once you saw the yellow and gold uniform, Cedric was first.

A silvery blue scaled dragon came out next. It was chained, but looked as if it still had enough room to move a good amount around the field. Its screeching roar made the knot feel tighter.

Hermione, who was just a row in front of you yelled something about it being a Swedish Short-Snout and flames being able to turn “your bones into ashes in seconds.” God, you felt terrified.

What if something happens? What if the chain breaks? What if Cedric gets truly hurt?

The creature whipped its tail just a few feet in front of Cedric. You gasped as the rest of the stadium did.

Cedric was able to get the golden egg in fifteen minutes, though it felt like an hour. You spent most of his turn with your hands over your face, peeking through your fingers.

Watching closely as he transfigured a rock into a dog to distract the dragon and began to run towards the egg. A yelp emerged from your throat once the dragon opened its mouth, turning its head towards Cedric letting blue flames blast out towards him, who was now jumping for cover behind a boulder.

You could see him sit up, back against the rock and hand hovering over the side of his face, which was now badly burnt.

“Well done dragon!” Fred cheered and clapped. You looked at him with a face of utter shock and disbelief.

“What is wrong with you? That thing’s gonna kill him!” You shoved him, your throat hurt from screaming.

“Oh he’ll be fine, he’s got a thick head.” Fred shrugged, continuing to cheer for the dragon.

Cedric successfully got the golden egg, then was shipped off to Madam Pompfrey for his face. You weren’t able to leave until the first task was officially over for everyone. Yet, you were already on the move to get out as soon as Dumbledore announced everyone could go. You left the pitch, immediately making your way towards the Hospital Wing.

Somehow you were able to have Madam Pompfrey let you see him this soon, she was already ushering a group of hufflepuff boys out when you were approaching the wing.

She let you go in when you promised her three minutes.

Cedric was laying flat on his back when you walked up, The one side of his face was covered in a slimy thick orange paste, you were still able to see some of the nasty marks.

“Charming right?” His voice was sarcastic as he noticed your grossed out staring, “It’s for my burns.” He frowned.

“Yeah, you look amazing.” You scoffed out a laugh, sitting down in the open chair next to his bed, “Do you know how long you’ll be here for?”

“A few days, hopefully.” You watched as his brows knit together as his eyes darted to your head, then to your face, then to your head again. “Whose hat is that?” He said blankly, eyes narrowed.

Your eyes went wide when you realized. Merlin, you didn’t even notice you still had Fred’s beanie on.

“Nobodys, it’s mine.” You stammered out, ripping the hat off and holding it tightly in your lap. Cedric stared some more at it then smirked, he could clearly see the F.W. knitted into the side of it.

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head, still smirking.

“So what's the egg do?” You ignored his silent speculation.

“I can’t believe it.” He chuckled, continuing on.

“Shut up, it was just a small favor.” You smacked his arm with the hat, “What does the egg do, Ced?” You leaned back in your seat.

“It wails. Like an ear-shattering shriek if you open it.” He said flatly and you scrunched up your face at the disappointing thought of it.

“All that struggle just for a screaming egg?” You let out a breathy chuckle, Cedric didn’t respond.

You saw his head lift up slightly and eyes glance to the entrance doors, they lit up. Looking behind you to see Cho standing there, a bouquet of freshly picked flowers in her hands and a nervous smile on her face.

“I’ll let you two have some time alone.” You looked at him in amusement, standing up and nudging his foot before leaving. You gave Cho a sweet knowing smile as you passed by her, she smiled back and nodded.

Harry was opening the golden egg by the time you entered the common room, now you knew exactly what the shrieking Cedric was talking about sounded like.

Katie and you walked into McGonagall's class confused, the floor had been cleared of all desks and chairs, except one in the corner that had an old dusty phonograph sitting on top of it, Flich standing by it.

“What do you think this is for?” Katie giggled to you as McGonagall directed the girls and boys to separate sides of the room.

“How much do you want to bet that she’s gonna make us dance?” You giggled back.

“If she does, I know who you should pick.” Katie smirked as she nodded her head to where the twins were standing. You were able to let out a sound of disgust before McGonagall began to talk.

“The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since it’s inception. On Christmas Eve we and our guests we'll gather in the great hall for a night of well mannered frivolity! As representatives of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. I mean this literally because the Yule Ball is, first and foremost…a dance.” The room erupted into gasps and silent yet excited whispers.

Katie looked at you with a lit up eyes. You gave her your best faux grin, all you felt was dread. A dance meant getting a date to go with. You weren’t very close with any of the boys in your house, Cedric would definitely use this as his chance to ask out Cho, and you wouldn’t even dare to think about asking either of the twins. Not even as a last resort.

“Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers longing to burst forth and take flight!” McGonagall turned to the girls side of the room, going on with her lecture. After a crude comment from Ron and an awkward yet humorous dance tutorial including him and McGonagall, you were instructed to find a partner to practice with.

“Everybody come together! Boys on your feet!” Of course Katie made a beeline towards George while you looked around the room. You tried your best to find a boy to dance with before they all got claimed by another girl.

There seemed to be no luck, everyone was already standing or making a way to their partners. Oh God, you were terrified this would mean you’d have to dance with Flich. You turned without looking and bumped into someone.

“Need a partner?” That someone being Fred, grinning with his hands behind his back. No luck.

Before you decided whether to reject him or not, you looked around the room one more time, looking at Filch then back at Fred who held out his hand for you. Fuck it.

You took his hand hesitantly and got in position as the music started. Fred had that same stupid smile on his face, the one that always looked like he was trying to hold back his laughter, the one he always had on when he knew he was pissing you off, when he knew you were annoyed.

“Why do you find me being miserable so amusing?” You scowled at him as you both shifted around.

“I reckon you look a bit cute when you’re frustrated.” Fred shrugged. Your eyes went wide and your feet jerked, making your movements stutter at his response.

“What?” You’d lost your train of thought, any snarky responses were gone.

“I’m being honest.” He hummed, “Now come on, let that secret slumbering swan take flight!” He encouraged, beginning to count along with the steps.

After what felt like ages of dancing around the room in circles and “accidentally” stepping on each other's feet, you exited that room as quickly as you could.

The next class was already coming down the corridor by the time you burst out the doors, you stared at the ground as you walked, mind plagued with Freds comment.

Your name being called pulled you out of your thoughts, you looked up to see a concerned Cedric walking up to you.

“You look…mortified, what’s happened now?” He lowered his chin, trying to make eye contact with you.

“I just had to dance with Fred, that was bad enough but then he…nevermind.” You chose to cut off your rant, if you told Cedric what Fred said, you’d never hear the end of it. “Anyways, we have a dance coming up on Christmas. You better ask out Cho while you can. I-I can’t talk right now, I’ve got to get to herbology.” You spoke quickly, not letting Cedric even have a second to respond before you were already on your way.

It’s been over a month since the Yule Ball has been announced. It's happening tomorrow, your dress your mum said she sent was supposed to be here by today, and you still haven't gotten a date to it. It felt as if every single person around you had paired up with someone. Even the bloody twins had scored dates with Angelina and Katie.

“And you said yes?” You gawked at Angelina as you entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

“Of course I did!” Angelina scoffed playfully.

“He threw a paper ball at you! What kind of crummy way is that?”

“It was Snape's class! We couldn’t talk, I think he was just trying to give an example to his brother too.” She shrugged.

“Great example that is.” You huffed as you three approached the table and sat down. “Still can’t believe you both agreed to go out with them.”

“They really aren't all that terrible! Sure, they’ve had some bad pranks, but they’re not evil. You just hate them.” Katie shook her head at you.

“So maybe they’re not as bad as I seek them out to be, whatever, that still doesn’t change the fact that they’re annoying. Or that you both have dates and I don’t.” You muttered out the last sentence, resting your chin on your hand.

Speaking of the twins, you hadn’t seen them all morning. It wasn’t uncommon for them to sleep in on weekends, but usually they’d be wandering around in the Great Hall or somewhere near by now. You were quickly pulled out of your self mulling when Colin, a first year, nervously tapped you on the shoulder while holding out a large box.

“Parcel for Ms.Y/L/N?” He handed it to you anxiously, you smiled and thanked him before he ran off. You felt your own face light up as soon as you saw that the package was from your mum.

“What’s that?” Katie asked, watching you stand up and excitedly tear off the wrapping paper.

“My dress for the ball!” You grinned as both girls gave you an “ooooo!” in response.

“About bloody time! I was starting to get nervous that you’d have to show up in your robes.” Angelina chuckled.

“Right?” You nodded. “I just hope it’s the right one I asked my mom to grab.” You thought out loud, and it was.

Angelina and Katie both shot up as you gasped at the sight of the dress. All three of you stared at it in awe as you carefully pulled it out of the box. God, it looked better than from when you last tried it on after you saw it sitting in your mum's closet.

It was the most beautiful shade of a pale blue you’ve ever seen, delicate yet elegant embroidered into the fabric, and a flowy skirt.

“Merlin, that’s gorgeous.” Angelina commented as you held the dress up your body. “You’ve got to try it on.”

“Yeah!” Katie agreed as she stood up. “We’ve got to see what it looks like on you!” You just waved them off.

“You two can wait until tomorrow night.” They both let out groans of protest.

“Shove off, you got to see us in our gowns!” Angelina rolled her eyes playfully.

“Yours both arrived early!”

“So? It’s only fair we get to see your late arrived one too!” Katie tugged you by the arm, beginning to try and drag you out the Great Hall. “Plus you’ve got to make sure it fits! If it doesn’t, I know some tricks.” You gave in, holding your dress up carefully and making your way towards the stairs.

The three of you grinned and giggled like you were twelve as you moved quickly up the changing stairs, it became a race of who could get to your dorms faster, and you were winning.

As you got closer to Gryfinndor tower, you felt less like an anxious bundle of nerves, forgetting about the stress of not having a date, only focused on wanting to put on that beautiful gown.

As you made your way to the Fat Ladys portrait, you ignored the giggles coming from behind the door, you thought nothing of them, it was probably girls talking about the ball and their dates. It’s been most of what you heard these past few weeks.

Angelina and Katie jogged up behind you as you showed off your dress to the woman in the portrait, earning a compliment and saying the password to be let in.

The three of you were merely entering the common room when you were met with two grinning freckled faces and some sort of liquid being thrown at you.

The twins stood across from you, holding now empty bottles. There were no longer smiles on their faces or yours. Only horrified expressions.

The room was quiet. The only noise left being a gasp leaving your lips as you looked down at your ruined gown and the sound of the droplets of ink falling from your now soaked dress hitting the common room floor.

Whatever potion/sludge/ink- Whatever disgusting watery liquid they’d thrown from the bottles had splashed all over your dress, some of it hit Angelina and Katie behind you, and your skin. But those were the least of your worries, the pale color was stained with streaks and blots of hideous orange ink.

Tears were already brimming in your eyes as the twins both began to babble apologies at the same time, their voices overlapping each other, eventually going back and forth.

“We thought you were Ron! We were trying to prank Ron!” Fred sputtered out.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen to you, this was for Ron!” George added.

“We’re so sorry y/n, we really didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“A prank?” Your voice was already wavering. “You call this a prank?” You cried out, shaking the stained fabric at them.

“Listen, we can clean it up! We’ve got-” Fred tried to explain. Angry tears began to fall from your eyes before you stopped him.

“Piss off! The Yule Ball is tomorrow night! How could you get all of that out in a day?” You shouted as you threw the dress at the two boys, not caring about it anymore now that it was all messed up. “Actually, I don’t care, it doesn’t matter, you’ve ruined everything! Are you happy?” You turned on your heel and stormed out of the common room, letting out an embarrassing sob while going to the nearest bathroom on the floor.

You could hear the girls begin to tell them off.

“What is wrong with you!” Katie shrieked at them.

“We never thought it’d be you three walking in! It was a prank meant for Ron!” One of the twins defended.

“It was a shitty one at that!” Angelina barked.

“We never meant to hurt anyone with it!”

“Yeah? Well now you’ve made her cry!” Angelina continued on, while you felt more embarrassed than ever.

You’ve now failed at the one thing you thought you’d never do, you promised yourself you’d never do: Cry in front of Fred and George. Let them see you vulnerable.

You couldn’t believe how you were just beginning to tolerate the twins. Just starting to believe that maybe they weren’t all that bad.

It wasn’t long after you hid in one of the stalls when you heard Angelina and Katie's sympathetic calls for you. Soon you saw the two pairs of feet outside the stall door.

“We know you’re in there. It’s just us. You can come out.” Angelina's voice was gentle, holding the same tone as if she was talking to a scared puppy.

You wanted to respond, you tried to speak but all that came out was a pathetic cry. The disappointed breaths from both of the girls didn’t go unnoticed, you just knew they were frowning at each other pitfully.

“I look like a fool.” You whispered out, voice hoarse.

“It’ll be alright, there’s got to be a spell to get the sludge and stains out of it!” Katie tried to help.

“Do you know it?” You rasped out, you didn’t mean to be so snappy towards them, but you were pissed and embarrassed beyond belief.

“No…but maybe a teacher does! Flitwick basically knows every charm in the book!” You let out an unamused breath at Katies words. Yeah, sure. Flitwick will take time out of his day just to fix some stupid girls dress.

You didn’t say anything, you ripped off some toilet paper from the roll and wiped your cheeks with it. The first bell of the morning rang, which was a five-minute warning until the first class of the day.

Fuck, was it already 9?

“Don't let me hold you up, just tell McGonagall I'm sick if she asks.” You sighed. Katie said your name sadly.

“You can’t stay in there all day.” She tutted.

Yeah? Watch me. You almost wanted to say, but again, they weren’t the ones deserving to be snapped at.

“Just go!” You cried, “I’m not going anywhere looking like this.” Neither of them responded, you held in your cries until you saw their feet walk away and the bathroom door shut.

It wasn’t until the end of lunch when you finally left. It was pathetic, skipping two full classes and most of lunch because you were too busy crying in the bathroom and attempting to scrub the stains off your school robes and hands.

The least you could do was make it to Potions, though you really didn’t want to face the twins after your outburst at them. But, maybe when you walked in there puffy eyed and with tear-stained cheeks they’d feel bad, maybe that could be your silent revenge.

However, when you did enter that classroom. Neither of the boys were there, neither of them showed up all class period. They didn’t show up at dinner either. Which was a relief but also puzzling. They usually never skipped meals unless they were up to something. Were they too ashamed to see you after what they did?

Angelina and Katie already told you in the morning that they both wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner, they’d be busy helping Madam Hooch with something Quidditch related. Maybe that’s what Fred and George were doing too.

You left the Great Hall feeling worse than when you came in. Eating alone was never fun, especially when you were already feeling mopey.

“Oh God I was wondering when I’d see you. Angelina and Katie told me what happened.” Cedric said as he caught up to you as you were walking in an empty hallway.

“Yeah?” You stopped and looked at him, he gave you a sympathetic nod. “Good, now you know I’m gonna take out the twins.” You scoffed.

“What? Take them out on a date or in a deadly way?” Cedric chuckled.

“It’s not funny, Ced. They’ve fucked it all up.” You scowled, crossing your arms.

“There’s got to be something you can do?”

“I haven’t got a date nor a dress anymore. There’s no point of going.”

“Don’t be like that, you can still go.” Cedric sighed as you only shook your head slowly.

“There’s no point.” You dropped your arms to your side and shrugged, “Think I’m just gonna go to bed early. Goodnight Ced.” He frowned and watched as you drug yourself down the hallway.

The Fat Lady gave you a sad look as you muttered the password to her, entering the common room with slouched shoulders and a low gaze. You stayed that way until you entered the girls dormitory.

There was no way of missing the dress that was now laid nicely along your bed. Your steps quickened as you approached it, the dress was cleaned of all stains. You picked it up as if it would crumble into ashes when you touched it, it looked even better from before it was ruined.

There was a small gift box sitting with it, you stared in shock as you popped it open to reveal a necklace laying inside, an aquamarine pendant sparkling off of it. It came with a small note card with the writing nicely written down.

A replacement since the old one broke. We suck, we’re sorry. xx - F & G

tell me what you thought! <3

TAGLIST: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog@five-seconds-flat @nal-leo-17 @rhunew @albertdabuttler @weak-aesthetic @whotfskai @m00nymarauder @miaandthediamonds @hpstuff244444 @tarzanathetumblingwarrior @isabellavolere @navs-bhat @honeybee240 @pillowjj

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fluff #anyone but you fic #anyone but you

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moongreenlight · 2 years ago

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Insane reader my beloved. Literally my babygirl.

@katz-chow been ruminating on this one just for you <3

CW: Gore and violence

Reader who shows up late to their first meeting with the task force. Rolls up in their dark sedan with blacked-out windows and one too many dents on the front bumper wearing civvies instead of the uniform they were given and instructed to wear.

Reader who is a privately hired detective with a talent for interrogations. Not officially a member of the task force or the military because the tactics they use are far less than legal. More a secret weapon on retainer for when doing things by the book doesn’t do the trick.

Reader who gets on the good sides of the task force boys by being sugary sweet and barely hiding their true colors. Skins and bleaches the skulls of interrogations gone South and gives them to Ghost insisting they’re better than the costume store shit he’s got on now.

Gifts Price expensive cigars tucked between the fingers of a severed hand. Drops them off in large pink boxes with delicate ribbons and giggles when he asks a thousand questions about why and how and what the fuck he was supposed to do with this.

Tosses Gaz new knives on the field when they’ve landed a kill or just wrenched them out of someone’s stomach. They make a game out of chucking the gore-slicked blades at one another’s heads to see if they can dodge in time.

Starts playing dodgeball with Soap where they toss his less-stable bombs and unpinned grenades back and forth. Only stops after they’ve accidentally blown up the camp two missions in a row. (Also heavily rumored they have tramp stamps of each other’s names because they’re both too stubborn to back down from a dare but that’s just for vibes)

Reader who gets flown out on specialty missions where a hostage really refuses to talk and takes matters into their own hands. Sometimes hopping on radio when they’re in transit and requesting the force pulls extra men so they can play a live game of operation. They’ve been watching videos on the dark web and the first two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy from their military issued laptop so it’s like an 80% chance all the hostages live.

Reader who stops being allowed to train rookies because the first and only faux-deployment they led they told the group they ran out of rations three days in to a two week long training and they had to play rock-paper-scissors to create a bracket of people to eat first. The mission gets called early when Price gets word that there was actually a field amputation done. Reader doesn’t even apologize, just laughs their way through a barely reasonable explanation. I didn’t think they’d actually do it.

Reader who begs the boys to let them play kill, kiss, marry, kill in the middle of a boring interrogation and when they get told no or to focus on the task at hand, they throw such a fit that they end up sending a screwdriver through the eye of the person they’re supposed to be interrogating.

Reader who brings their own kit to interrogations. Lugs around pincers, rusted blades, rotary bone saws, and dull axes in a flamingo pink toolbox. Sets it up on a small table in front of the hostage and unboxes it like an influencer showing off PR.

Reader who also stops being able to run conditioning and drills with rookies because they pitted the privates against one another during a sparring session. Saying something about whoever could sheath a blade in the other first got a bonus check before tossing a few knives on the mat and walking away. Gaz had to run over and tell them you weren’t serious when he saw blood.

Reader who insists on being able to puppeteer the decapitated head of an enemy grunt they took down and reciting a few lines of Shakespeare to the boys. Dragging the mission out because they know as well as the boys do that everyone is on their timeline.

Reader who dances around hostages that have been zip tied to chairs and beat within an inch of their life. Singsonging threats and having the boys drag the limp bodies of their chain of command across the floor.

Reader who pouts when their victims pass out during questioning after a few of their fingers have been chopped off with a butcher’s knife. Huffs like they’re being put through a massive inconvenience and fishes smelling salts out of their toolkit to wake the poor sap back up.

#gn!reader but soooooooooo babygirl ykwim?#cod mw2 #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble

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lostinhistory · 1 month ago

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Heritage News of the Week

Discoveries!

Egyptian archaeologists have discovered tombs dating back to the New Kingdom period (1550–1070 B.C.) and identified the names and titles of their owners through inscriptions found within.

World’s oldest fingerprint may be a clue that Neanderthals created art

A man 43,000 years ago dipped a finger in red pigment and made a nose on a face-like pebble in Spain, scientists say

Winged goddess carving discovered by volunteers at Hadrian’s Wall in England

A couple of volunteer archaeologists participating in an excavation unearthed a Roman depiction of the winged goddess of victory near Hadrian’s Wall.

Remains of Mayan city nearly 3,000 years old unearthed in Guatemala

Archaeologists have unearthed the remains of a Mayan city nearly 3,000 years old in northern Guatemala, with pyramids and monuments that point to its significance as an important ceremonial site.

'I did a bit of a dance': Detectorist finds gold 'mourning ring' engraved with skull and date in UK field

A British metal detectorist discovered a gold band with an engraved date-of-death in Norfolk.

Scientists date the oldest known tools made from whale bones to 20,000 years ago

Technological advancements in the past decade have now made it possible to date the oldest of the tools to about 20,000 years ago. Scientists found that the bones came from blue whales, fin whales, sperm whales and other species.

Lost Byzantine city rediscovered in Jordanian desert

Archaeologists believe they have rediscovered the lost Byzantine city of Tharais in southern Jordan, according to a Türkiye Today report. The settlement is thought to have been an important religious and trading center along the Roman and Byzantine road network connecting Zoar to central Jordan.

Genomes from ancient Maya people reveal collapse of population and civilization 1,200 years ago

Ancient DNA from people buried up to 1,600 years ago in Honduras have revealed clues to the rise and fall of the Maya.

Greek archaeologists uncover ancient marble workshop filled with unfinished statues

Images of Aphrodite and other female figures have been uncovered on the island of Paros.

Occupant of Egyptian tomb finally identified after 50 years

During the 1970s, excavations at the Al-Asasif necropolis on Luxor’s west bank uncovered an elaborate rock-cut tomb. Archaeologists theorized that it must have belonged to an Egyptian dignitary, but at the time they were unable to identify the deceased and the tomb was labeled with the generic name of Kampp 23.

Ancient DNA reveals a new group of people who lived near land bridge between the Americas

Discovered through ancient DNA, the group lived in the high plateaus of present-day Bogotá, Colombia — close to where the Americas meet. Scientists aren’t sure exactly where they fall in the family tree because they’re not closely related to ancient Native Americans in North America and also not linked to ancient or present-day South Americans.

More than 100 hidden ancient structures come to light in Peru

Researchers used LiDAR to create the most detailed map to date of Gran Pajatén.

Earthquake reveals Roman theatre in Croatia

During renovation and repair work to the building, construction crews encountered long forgotten and well-preserved Roman ruins buried just beneath the modern structure’s basement.

A lost WWI submarine is discovered ‘remarkably intact’ after 100 years

Researchers also surveyed a Navy torpedo bomber that crashed in 1950.

'Trash' found deep inside a Mexican cave turns out to be 500-year-old artifacts from a little-known culture

While investigating a cave high in the mountains of Mexico, a spelunker thought she had found a pile of trash from a modern-day litterbug. But upon closer inspection, she discovered that the "trash" was actually a cache of artifacts that may have been used in fertility rituals more than 500 years ago.

Sunken fossils shed light on mysterious early humans in Indonesia

A scientist from the Netherlands was about to quit searching when he came upon a skull fragment.

Museums

The Arts Council England urges “sensitivity and care”, while museum academics says the ruling does not impact work towards trans-inclusive practice

Manchester Museum wins the 2025 European Museum of the Year Award

The Manchester Museum has won the European Museum of the Year Award for creating “new spaces to foster deeper community connections and promote intercultural dialogue."

Harvard agrees to transfer photos of enslaved people to black history museum

Harvard University has agreed to hand over a set of historic photos believed to be among the earliest depicting enslaved people in the United States.

London tunnels that inspired James Bond creator will become spy museum

The Military Intelligence Museum is to collaborate with the London Tunnels company, developing the complex to showcase its original artefacts, equipment, weapons and documents in a modern hi-tech experience at the proposed new £220m London tourist attraction, which is planned to open in 2028.

Trump says he fired National Portrait Gallery chief in latest conflict with arts

President says director Kim Sajet has been fired but experts suggest president does not have legal grounds to do so.

Donkey display highlights role of animals in wartime

The Donkeys at the Museum event was created in partnership with the Donkey Breed Society, and features a display of purple poppies, created to commemorate all the animals that played a vital role in global wars.

Their names are Tom, Maurice, and Teddy and they enjoy playing football

The Jewish dealer who bought art hated by the Nazis – and created one of the greatest collections ever seen

A new National Gallery of Australia show draws on Heinz Berggruen’s collection to celebrate the spread of modernism around the world, despite the Nazis’ best efforts

The 23 best museums to visit in Paris

Within Paris thrive about 200 institutions, each with a collection of its own.

Repatriation

The Metropolitan Museum of Art recently announced that it will return three ancient sculptures to Iraq, dating from 3rd to 2nd millennium BCE.

D.A. Bragg announces return of 11 antiquities to the people of Egypt

Manhattan District Attorney Alvin L. Bragg, Jr., announced the return of 11 antiquities to the people of Egypt. The objects were recovered pursuant to multiple criminal investigations, including one into previously convicted London-based trafficker Robin Symes, who passed away in 2023.

Manhattan DA’s Office repatriates eight artifacts to Peru

The Manhattan District Attorney’s Office returned eight artifacts to Peru during a ceremony at the Peruvian consulate in New York on May 15.

Louvre to return 258 works from Rothschild Cabinet of Curiosities

The Louvre Museum in Paris will surrender 258 works from the bequest of collector Adèle de Rothschild to the Fondation des Artistes that were improperly inventoried in its collection, Le Monde reported Wednesday.

Heritage at risk

The European Union has sanctioned a Russian museum for the first time. On Tuesday, the EU released its latest round of sanctions against Russia, which includes the “Tauric Chersonese” State Museum-Preserve on the outskirts of the city of Sevastopol in Crimea. Its director, Elena Morozova, is also included on the list.

Wildfire damages Civil War-area historical site in New Mexico as campgrounds are evacuated

The fire damaged structures at Fort Stanton Historical Site built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s and a gym erected by Germans interned at the site during World War II after their ship sank.

Vandal sprayed obscene graffiti at Peruvian archaeological site in broad daylight

The incident at Chan Chan, the largest adobe city in the Americas, has drawn attention to the lax security at the 600-year-old Unesco World Heritage Site

Odds and ends

When fossilised remains were discovered in the Djurab desert in 2001, they were hailed as radically rewriting the history of our species. But not everyone was convinced – and the bitter argument that followed has consumed the lives of scholars ever since.

Churchill photo thief sentenced to two years in jail

Jeffrey Wood had pleaded guilty to stealing the original print from Ottawa's Château Laurier hotel between Christmas 2021 and early January 2022. He also admitted committing forgery.

Birds were nesting in the Arctic during age of dinosaurs, scientists discover

Minuscule fossils from 73m years ago are oldest evidence yet for birds nesting in polar regions

Arctic, feathered … or just weird: what have we learned since Walking with Dinosaurs aired 25 years ago

As the BBC updates its groundbreaking series, a look at some of the recent scientific discoveries

#and we're back #heritage news of the week #history #archaeology #museums #paleontology

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clockwork-ashes · 9 months ago

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Something Lonesome - Part I (as we know it)

Read also on Ao3 :)

Summary: Elain dies when she’s thrown into the cauldron, but she doesn’t stay dead for long. Over and over, again and again, something brings her back, and every time she finds her way to Lucien.

Note: This is a romance, but it’s also just a story about Elain. There will be a happy ending <3 Also, completely dedicated to the lovely @nocasdatsgay because I have so many ideas and every time I yell them into the tumblr void (the tags) she has something nice to say <3

Elain screamed as her foot hit the water.

No words fell from her lips, not as terror gripped her like a vice. It felt as though she had stepped onto a frozen lake, the surface so cold that it burned her bare skin.

Elain kicked at the guards as they hauled her forward, her neck twisting painfully as she tried to capture the king’s attention.

Pretty, he’d called her. Perhaps it would be enough to spare her life, Elain thought. Beauty had always been the best of her qualities, a weapon she’d been taught to wield even before she’d been old enough to understand it fully.

Smile, sweetheart.

Her mother would say.

Women are always lovelier when they’re happy.

Elain wanted to rip out the king’s throat with her teeth. He kept his dark gaze on Feyre, taking her sister in with an ancient amusement. She remained unseen, desperation clawing at her throat as a sense of familiarity washed over her.

Something tugged gently onto her rib, a thread being pulled. Elain’s eyes were drawn to the handsome lord who had ultimately betrayed them. His voice had been rich as gold and sweet as hone when he’d demanded the guards stop.

He’d surged towards her, staggered as he’d attempted to reach out. Magic had leashed him next to the High Lord of Spring, pinning him in place, useless. Elain tracked the vicious scar that cut across his features, a cracked piece of glass that had not broken completely.

He looked horrified, expression pained as he refused to turn away from the sight before him.

Lucien.

Elain couldn’t remember when she’d learned his name, but she was certain that if she called out to him, he would respond. She knew it just as surely as she knew herself.

Stay.

The word was written all over his face, an echo in her mind just as she felt her heart shatter. She couldn’t breathe, her body unable to comprehend what had occurred. She felt the same, and yet entirely different. She was not given the time to examine the sudden shift, no chance to analyse what it might mean.

In a single movement, Elain was shoved carelessly into the Cauldron’s whirling waters. She gasped, tasting blood on her tongue. Her limbs were pulled in opposite directions by phantom hands, joints groaning at the pressure. Skin peeled back like tree bark, revealing the white bone beneath.

Elain witnessed none of it. There was a golden thread keeping her from sinking, looped around her ring finger, bright as the sun. The darkness danced along the edges of her vision, her curls floating in a blurred mess around her.

Old friend.

Recognition flashed in Elain’s mind, and she reached for it. As if she were threading her hands through a field of grass, the gesture was enough to ease her nerves, rhythmic.

Wait a moment longer.

Everything seemed to pause, the world no longer spinning. A sense of calm lingered, the silence lovely.

Please.

Elain felt light. Ripped apart, but she was tenderly being put back together. Apology and understanding was a soft caress as the water rippled. It felt like an eternity, time endless like the Cauldron she had been forced into.

She shut her eyes, but the darkness had already begun to ease back. It trickled like a stream until everything was crystal clear. Elain could see the elegant pearl of her engagement ring, the gemstone dull in comparison to the golden thread coiled around her finger.

The universe tilted, and Elain allowed the waters to carry her back. She’d nearly forgotten about the throne room, had hoped for a moment she would have returned to the false safety of her home.

The tiles were warm in comparison to the Cauldron, Elain thought, her cheek pressing uncomfortably against the smooth surface as she regained feeling in her arms and legs. She pushed herself onto her elbows, tremors making her unsteady.

Elain breathed in sharply.

Nesta was next, she knew. She could hear the howl of anger her sister roared in response, the king speaking as well but her ears couldn’t make out the words.

“Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—”

She caught only Lucien’s sentence, anger in his tone as a flash of sunlight flared in the large space. It reflected prettily against the black water on the tile, golden like the strange thread that had slowly begun to fade. It swirled like a winding river on a hand drawn map, one end leading to Lucien as he knelt like a knight in front of her.

Elain winced, shoulders curling inwards just as he draped his jacket onto her trembling form. She pulled back, staring at the brown skin of his throat. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, not even as she heard the guards throw a still thrashing Nesta into the Cauldron.

Lucien pulled Elain into his arms and she fell onto his chest clumsily. Ice water poured around her feet, but the coat kept her warm. The thick fabric smelled like fresh apples and early mornings, throwing her into memories of summer days spent gardening beneath a cloudless sky.

Elain breathed in, comforted instantly despite what had been done to her. She tucked her chin beneath the collar, using it as a makeshift shield in order to hide from her surroundings.

Lucien kept a respectful hand between her shoulder blades, and Elain was aware of the heat of his palm leaking through the material.

Nesta slammed into them roughly, undeterred by those watching, unbelievably brave in the face of what they’d just suffered. Elain felt slender fingers grab onto her waist, pulling as she snarled at Lucien. “Get off her!”

Elain slipped when he moved back, but Nesta’s grip was unforgiving. Her sister sobbed, the sound heart wrenching but not capturing her attention as it normally would have.

If Nesta or Feyre had cried as children, Elain could never stop herself from doing the same. She’d always felt their pain, caring to the point where it became embarrassing. A desperate hand ran over her still wet hair, almost as though Nesta was checking to make sure they were both still alive, the touch grounding.

Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder, though, eyes locked onto a mismatched pair. She gazed up at him, close enough for her to hold onto if she wished. She heard the rapidly beating rhythm of his heart, thunderous in her ears.

Lucien’s voice broke like waves against the shore as he whispered. “You’re my mate.”

#acotar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #i love nesta she was such a legend for scaring the king of hybern #ashes writes sometimes #something lonesome #elucien time loop fic #thank you for reading <3

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sanders1665 · 2 months ago

Text

Here I am, just a man, gray creeping into my bones, caught again in the old, restless tide of cosmic questions that’s tugged at me since I was a boy chasing fireflies under a star-strewn sky. My heart’s a battered compass, forever pointed toward ancient truths—those half-buried whispers of the universe that promise to make sense of this chaotic carnival called life. But damn if I’m not weary, a disappointed idealist nursing the bruises of a world that keeps choosing greed and squabbles over wonder. The frailty of us humans, so selfish, so small, clings to me like damp rot, and yet here I sit, captivated by the golden fire of a sunrise, thinkin’ too deeply again about the great What If.

I’m lost in the alien riddle, that old obsession that flares up like a fever. I’ve spent decades rummagin’ through the world’s attic—old tomes, grainy videos, late-night rants on obscure forums. There’s the simple folk, swearin’ they saw lights dance over their fields, their eyes wide with honest awe. Then there’s the polished crowd, all degrees and secrets, claimin’ they’ve whispered with star-beings over metaphysical martinis. Some of ‘em got ties to the powerful, the ones pullin’ strings from shadowed rooms. It’s a tangled mess of truths, lies, and dreams, a bazaar of ideas where every stall hawks a different fruit—some ripe with promise, others rotten with deceit. I’m too old to swallow it all blindly, but too curious to walk away.

And there’s this one question, gnawin’ at me like a splinter under the skin, that nobody seems to ask: If these others—call ‘em aliens, spirits, or echoes from the void—are real, and we come face-to-face with ‘em, what becomes of us? Us humans, I mean, with our petty feuds and fragile egos. Will we keep clawin’ at each other over scraps of land and pride, or will the sight of a mind not born of Earth make us pause, just long enough to see how small our squabbles are? I’ve spent my life dreamin’ of a world that could rise above itself, but I’ve seen too much—wars, betrayals, the endless grind of self-interest—to believe we’d change easy. Still, I wonder, with the weight of years heavy on me, if that moment of contact could crack us open, make us better. Or would we just drag our nonsense to the stars?

The implications are vast, dizzyin’. If they’re out there, we might sail to worlds where our myths are just Tuesday’s news. We could sit at tables with beings stranger than our wildest tales, sharin’ space like some cosmic tavern, all of us humbled by the infinite. But will we still hate, still hurt, still hoard? I think of this, watchin’ the sunrise paint the sky, and it aches, this hope that we could be more, tempered by the cynic who’s seen us fail too often. I’m curious, always have been, but it’s a heavy curiosity now, laced with the sorrow of ideals that never quite took root.

I want to believe—Lord, I do. I want to see the day when the truth steps forward, undeniable, and we all stand together, awestruck. But my faith’s been kicked around too long to trust without proof, somethin’ solid I can touch, somethin’ the whole world nods to. ‘Til then, I’m just a man, gettin’ older, lettin’ the sunrise pull me into the mystery again. I tune out the noise, dive into the wonder and the fear, and chase those ancient truths, frail as I am, selfish as we all are, hopin’ one day the light won’t just dazzle me—it’ll show me the way.

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thestalwartheart · 1 year ago

Note

May I ask for 00q and a 💛 please

Hello my friend! Thank you for the prompt. This was such a lovely one to fill.

You can read the fill below or on AO3. 💛

After a weapons test goes wrong in Q Branch, Bond spends a moment dancing with regret.

relief.

One minute and seventeen seconds.

James Bond has lived through a lot. He’s lived through seconds that felt like years and years that felt like fleeting moments. He’s seen people suffer. He’s seen plenty of people die; killed some of them for duty, and loved others to their death.

So, a minute should be nothing. He’s held his breath for longer.

“Q.” With the hand that isn’t holding his jacket to the wound at Q’s head, he cradles Q’s chin. Blood slicks the path of his fingers, then sticks.

“Medical team are two minutes away,” says someone. Not Tanner. Not anyone useful.

“Tell them to hurry up. They can take the bloody stairs if they have to.”

Two minutes. Christ, Bond's only been here on the floor for one.

He strokes his thumb over Q’s mouth. His lips are blood red now, stained from Bond’s messy hands. They’re a grotesque mockery of their usual cherry red, that colour for which Bond has never found an equal.

“Come on, Q. Wake up.”

There’s a pulse at Q's neck. That’s positive. Breath, too. Even better. All good signs. None of them do much to quell the frightful adrenaline in Bond’s bones. It’s been there since he saw Q land badly after his fall. No, not a fall. The body-flattening shock from the blast which—

“What the hell happened to proper safety regulations?” Bond barks. The techs around him flinch, but he doesn’t spare them another thought.

Under his thumb, Q’s lips are moving.

“Since when were you an expert on health and safety, 007?” A warm puff of laughter comes from his lips, and Bond doesn’t waste another second.

The kiss tastes like blood and cordite, and Bond’s own blood rushes to his ears. His pulse is on his tongue.

This wasn’t how it was meant to go, not with Q. He was meant to take Q out to dinner, wine and dine him, and see him in a proper suit. There didn’t seem a man in the world more in need of sweeping off his feet than Q, and Bond had intended to rise to the occasion. But as always, as always, the universe sought to remind him there just wasn’t enough bloody time for all the things in the world he wanted. There was only time for this. This kiss. This moment, holding Q's bloodied face in his hands on the debris-littered, dusty floor of Q Branch.

Q hums into his mouth, then winces.

Bond pulls back. “All right?”

“Mm. If I’d have known on our last field mission together that this was all it would take…”

Bond remembers his and Q’s last mission well. It was three weeks ago now, though it may as well be a lifetime. They’d spent days under the bright, arid haze of Rome’s summer sun, where Bond had, for once in his life, turned down a blatant invitation to sleep with someone with no strings attached. Because Q wasn’t just anyone. And Bond was, frankly, finished with starting things under a hail of bullets that were only doomed to fail.

Regret settles under his skin now. He wishes he’d given into the delicate warmth of Q’s hand on his knee. They could have kissed at sunset with the Colosseum to their backs. He could have watched Q drink his fill of Chianti under the stars. Everyone believes Paris is the city of love, but Bond has always preferred Rome. Vesper once joked it was the memory of all those strapping Roman soldiers.

Gently, Bond strokes his fingers through the dusty, greasy, sweaty mess of Q’s hair. Unbelievably, it still looks intentionally styled. “Don’t. I didn’t want—you deserved more.”

“Oh,” croaks Q. “To hell with what we deserve.”

With a weak fist, Q grabs Bond’s blazer and brings him down for another kiss. And this time, Bond doesn’t wonder about the paths not taken. He sighs and kisses Q back. Q will live a long life if Bond has anything to say about it, but if they only have a minute left together, then Bond knows how he wants to spend it:

With love rather than regret.

#00q #james bond #00q fic #my fic

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kufothewriting · 3 days ago

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So, Your Protagonist Is In Danger Of Internal Magical Manipulation

(Spoilers for Jujutsu Kaisen / Avatar / Aurora / Shadow & Bone / A Darker Shade of Magic / Sousou No Frieren)

Picture this.

You're a valiant hero, sword in hand, standing in a vast meadow beneath a clear sky. Standing opposite from you is a combatant, an enemy, sinister and violent and hell-bent on your destruction.

You draw steel. You trade blows. You espouse ideologies. Day darkens to dusk, and the tides of the duel slowly but surely begin to turn in your favor.

You strike a decisive blow. Your foe falls to the grass, defeated, and you stand triumphant, sword raised, eyes hard, soon to end the struggle once and for all.

But before you can land that final blow, your foe does something unexpected--they thrust out their hands and squeeze, and suddenly, your body is no longer your own.

It's a terrifying sensation. Teeth chattering, muscles seizing, eyes bulging, you watch as the hands that hold your sword begin to lower from the death blow they were just a moment ago poised to strike–they are moving against your will.

Your enemy is controlling the blood in your body.

You watch in horror as those hands--your hands--take your sword and point it toward your chest. It's only then that you realize the danger that you are in. You have to do something, anything to stop whatever is being done to you. You don't understand the mechanisms by which you're being controlled, but you know that the danger to your life is immediate and real, and that if you don't act now, right now--

It's too late. Your foe's fingers close to fists, and you are skewered on your own steel. For a moment, just a moment, pain blossoms in your chest, but then lines of darkness dance in your vision and you are sinking down into nothing.

Gone.

So! Let's unpack.

We just saw a character having their body controlled via internal manipulation. It’s a well-treaded trope in fantasy stories featuring element-oriented magic systems. When the different aspects of power exist not only in the world but also in the human body, it’s not necessarily a big leap for characters capable of controlling those elements to try and use their powers to tamper with the elements within their enemies. Water is a primary component in blood, and many of the same periodic table elements that constitute the earth and air around us can also be found in the human body. If the rain can be stopped, then why can’t a heartbeat? If a rogue lightning mage can siphon electricity from thunderbolts, then why can’t they tamper with the electrical signals inside a human body?

It’s a scary thought. It’s also a fascinating one. In a world where mages or alchemists or benders can control a person’s body without ever laying a hand on them, no one is ever really safe. Any conflict where one party can dominate the other by turning their body against them can be reduced to a non-issue. It’s an interesting conundrum for writers who implement this framework of abilities into their story.

When you have a ready supply of characters who can control blood or crush bone or hijack internal electral signals, then from an external perspective the audience starts to wonder why every conflict can’t be solved by those sorts of characters. If they’re in high enough supply, then what good are rogues or spellswords or rangers? For conflicts of increasing severity where players with wealth and influence are bound to become more and more involved, one would have to wonder why the most lethal operators aren’t appearing on the field in mass numbers to end any and all conflicts in the most brutal, efficient way possible.

Well, the easiest thing to do is to prevent that kind of elemental manipulation from ever being an in-world issue to begin with. Just because a water mage can control rain and tide, that doesn’t automatically translate to being able to control the hundreds of thousands of minute currents of liquid running through the human body. For many many characters, it’s simply a matter of skill and scale.

In Leigh Bardugo's Grishaverse, controlling the elements inside a person’s body is out of the ballpark of 90% of the Grisha population because of how insanely complicated a process it is. Even Corporalki, the order specifically capable of affecting the human body, can’t control complex organs like the brain because of how intricate it is. It’s technically possible, but it’s hardly a widespread problem.

Similarly, in Sousou No Frieren, in a world where magic is initiated and carried out solely by what mages are capable of visualizing, controlling the water inside a human body is infeasible because such an act is legitimately infeasible to conceive (insert picture). How would a person even go about that? What would those currents look like? How would they be controlled?

For stories like these, the magical characters in question are functionally incapable of affecting the human body because of how intricate, complex, and small its working systems are. Here, characters are safeguarded against being controlled because control is infeasible. It’s not necessarily a non-issue, but it’s as close as one could get.

Or, from another perspective, instead of making it difficult because of the complexity of the body, elemental manipulation could just be locked behind underlying mechanisms of the world.

In Aurora, all life forms are composed of a stable fusion of 6 elements. Mages can manipulate these elements in the atmosphere and environment, but they can’t manipulate them in living beings because of a construct called the soul barrier.

It’s an internal domain composed of omnipresent, unaffectable soul energy, and this energy prevents all but one kind of magic—Life–from affecting the internal elements of living things. It keeps people safe from having their internal Fire or Water or Lightning from being tampered with, and thus, most generally don’t have to live in fear of being controlled.

It’s a freer kind of world, where the natural horrors of internal elemental manipulation are generally locked behind existing worldbuilding mechanisms intentionally crafted to prevent important characters from having their bones crushed or their eyes burst in their sockets.

Other stories take a more head-on approach. Perhaps one of the most well-known cases of internal element manipulation, blood-bending, is only locked behind the insane level of personal skill, ingenuity, and insight necessary to master the bending ability. It’s a sub-type of water bending that focuses on a far more insidious application of the power. In this sense, blood-bending is locked behind a difference in psychology as well as the insane level of skill and inherent cruelty necessary to completely enforce one’s will on another living thing.

Blood-bending is a very real threat in the world of Avatar, but it’s not a widespread one because the population capable of performing it is largely unwilling and unable to bridge the psychological leap necessary to delve into what most consider a hideous abomination of a bending style. People within the world are saved from being manipulated by the inherent horror that water-benders of the world find in such a perverted distortion of their power.

But when morals fail, there’s always the law. In a world where internal elemental manipulation is a present threat that many people are capable of tapping into, then any rational government would step in to intervene. For powerful nation-states with competing agendas and ambitions, the widespread presence of individuals who can control others without being detected or exposed to dangers (AKA the perfect assassins) poses a distinct issue because that kind of power could be used against them.

Widespread persecution and violence is always a solid go-to. A water mage can’t assasinate the king if we purge the kingdom of all water mages. It doesn’t take much to get scared people angry and desperate enough to look for vulnerable groups to blame and attack for their misfortunes. If the ruling class fears the dangers posed by a small but superpowered population, then it can’t hurt to rally some peasants and set them on the smaller magical population to solve the issue without.

But in cases of more “just” nations, then peace-making de jure solutions might prove more humane than violent de facto ones. In V.E Schwab’s A Darker Shade of Magic, bone magic is literally prohibited and punishable by law. It’s not a crime to be a bone magician, no, but it’s most certainly a crime to use bone magic. No one wants to be puppeted. Therefore, bone magicians must not be allowed to puppet people. Those that do so regardless will have their magic sealed and will find themselves ostracized from society. Criminals. In this case, the use of internal manipulation is an illogical, immoral, and illegal action. Therefore, its practitioners are kept in check.

In some worlds, the best or the only way to defeat internal manipulation is through technique. Ordinary people are likely to be incapable of defending themselves, but those with similar powers might be able to repel or counter internal manipulation by attempting their own internal manipulation or through employing specific defensive measures.

This is a bit of a fringe story for an example of internal manipulation, but I’m gonna go a bit broader here and just talk about general internal manipulation for a second. Let’s look at Jujutsu Kaisen.

Here, internal manipulation is not meaningfully present on a widespread scale. It's extraordinarily rare, yet the mechanism by which it occurs is so deadly that nearly every Jujutsu sorcerer lives in fear of the technique that enables it. The Domain Expansion is a technique that allows an individual to trap their opponent within a set space where the caster's power is enhanced, and any and all attacks made by the caster are guaranteed to hit.

It’s the same sort of sure-fire press-to-win button as controlling blood or siphoning the electricity from someone’s body. In someone else’s domain, they’re already affecting you, manipulating you. It’s hardly the same as blood-bending, but the two shared the core trait of a loss of control. Sorcerers caught within a Domain Expansion only have one recourse–-relying on the refinement of their technique.

There are two routes that sorcerers can take to prevent themselves from being affected by an enemy domain. Each one is dependent on the internal skill of the sorcerer, or their technique. The sorcerer can create a simple domain to prevent the sure-hit aspect of the domain from taking place, giving themselves the possibility of dodging a previously sure-hit attack and suviving the domain.

It’s effective at staving off the immediate threat of the domain, but it’s an incomplete measure, as it doesn’t erase the unfavorable circumstances inherent to being on someone else’s home turf.

In dealing with a domain, the more effective maneuver is to overlay the enemy’s domain with one’s own—the two domains will clash, and whichever one is more refined will dominate the space. In this sense, preventing internal manipulation is predicated on having a technique more refined than the enemy’s.

So uhhhh yeah. Internal manipulation is a really fun and really scary concept that I like a lot. Personally, I feel like it should maybe usually be the case that characters who live in a world where there’s a non-zero possibility of getting their hearts exploded in their chests by hostile enemies account for that possibility as best they can in case of a fight but maybe that’s just me anyway okay bye thanks have a good night.

#rant post #fantasy writing #fantasy tropes #shadow and bone #jujutsu kaisen #ve schwab #avatar the last airbender #sousou no frieren

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humming-pokemon-helpers · 1 year ago

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Okay, I promised gay Pokémon, I will deliver (so I can distract myself from thinking about anything else relating to this day!!)

🏳️‍🌈💝Let’s Talk About Gay Pokémon Courtship!💝🏳️‍🌈

Firstly, a note: this post is mostly about Pokémon that form long-term partnerships (exclusive or not). That doesn’t mean there isn’t any gay romance going on in non-pair-bonding species, just that it’s more of a short-term fling! (Did you know Yanma have been recorded to be gay? Now you do.)

With that being said… I want to look at a few specific examples for today! Birds are by far some of the most dedicated, but I’ll focus in on a lesser known one today, Mandibuzz! I’ll also touch on a wonderful Zoroark pair I’ve gotten to know myself, and finally, as bears discussion in any talk of couples, Tandemaus! (I might add more if there’s demand, later.)

1. Mandibuzz

Mandibuzz, as many may be aware, are a primarily (I would say solely, but biology doesn’t like absolutes much) female species of buzzard Pokémon! Typically they produce their eggs by pairing with Braviary, but… that’s about where the “straightness” ends with many Mandibuzz.

See, Mandibuzz raise their young in nests made from bone. But what many neglect in this fact is that nests are not made for one singular Mandibuzz. Instead, Mandibuzz go through a long and arduous courtship process to choose fellow Mandibuzz to pair up with, consisting of bone collection and adornment (which the Pokédex, to my loathing, lists as “showing off for males” that don’t exist), specialized mating calls and courtship dances, and finally, the exchanging of bones.

Once these nests are formed, Mandibuzz nest together for life. They’ll hunt for carrion together, adorn each other with pieces of bone, and groom each other, in addition to diligently raising their young together. Newborn Rufflet and Vullaby view both Mandibuzz as their mothers, regardless of which clutch they’re from. Perhaps as the most bittersweet example, bonded Mandibuzz are willing to fight to the death to protect not just their shared clutches, but each other. Love those lesbians.

2. Zoroark

I know, I know, it’s a cop-out from me to throw in another Unovan Pokémon of my species, but if I didn’t add this all of my examples would be lesbian. Zorua, like many other gender-skewed species, typically have an abundance of males and not many females around. You might think this would lead to intense competition for mates. You would be very wrong. Firstly, because not many pairs are exclusive for life (some are, still). Secondly, because male Zoroark, on average (again, this tends to be similar for many male-skewed species!), are gay as hell. (My brother being exclusively straight is weird, and I blame human heteronormativity jokingly.) (ALSO, this may just apply to my pack for all I know.)

Anyhow. Zorua essentially form hunting partnerships in childhood. Hunting used to be an essential part of our lives before McDonphan’s showed up down the street to raid instead. …Okay, it still is. Now, these pairs are mostly formed between same-gender Zorua, and stick through the rest of one’s life. Female Zoroark who pair tend to raise their kits together (though kit raising is pretty communal already), and often have similar closeness to female Mandibuzz. Male Zoroark who are paired at a young age often focus exclusively on their partners! They serve as teachers to the younger Zorua in the pack, much-needed babysitters, and often adopters of the ‘weaker’ kits whose survival is uncertain. Outside of kit rearing, though, some paired Zoroark have formed their own solitary pairs far-flung from local packs, subsisting off their own paired hunts or taking on lives in the human world together!

3. Tandemaus

Tandemaus, as a species, are presumed genderless due to their never being separated. That being said, there are gender differences in the mäuse, with there being pants-wearers and shirt-wearers. What field researchers have found recently, though, is that up to 15% of couples consist of two pants-wearers or two shirt-wearers! (Sadly, could not get such a picture for today.)

There’s no observed behavioral difference between two-shirts and two-pants couples… and what’s more, they are just as likely to show up with one or two more mäuse suddenly. Genetic testing has found these newly-acquired mice are just as genetically equivalent to their “parents” as mixed-pair born Maushold… I wish I could begin to dig into that, but good for them! Good for them.

#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #long post #//mostly silly headcanons :)

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lab-trash · 2 years ago

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So, uh, I was reading my Milton x Jack google doc, and I came across this. And I'm pretty sure I haven't posted it. So here ya go. And it's a long one, so strap in.

SHIP QUESTIONS

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet? - Jack kicked ass on Milton’s behalf

What was their first impression of each other? - Jack thought Milton was sort of dorky-seeming. That he would like to be strong, but never had really the real opportunity to do it with his skinny little bones and muscles. - Milton obviously was extremely impressed with Jack, no surprise there. We see it. We know it.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? - I think that Mika would see it like… so quick. She would pretend she thought they were already dating just to nudge them along.

Who felt romantic feelings first? - Jack. I am 100% on the side that Jack was a complete mess about his feelings for Milton while Milton had no clue that either of them were queer • Jack had a big ol’ gay crisis, fite me

Did either of them try to resist their feelings? - Absolutely, both of them. Like, we see it in the show; Jack has the most internalised homophobia a man has ever had. Like, he looks so uncomfortable when he’s with Kim, but like he’s obligated to, y’know?

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think? - Telling Jack: He’d deny it, he would flat-out deny it. - Telling Milton: I feel like he’d get really confused and flustered about it.

What would their lives be like if they had never met? - As we see in the show, it is not pretty. But I also chose to believe that it would actually not at all be like that. - I mean, come on, even if Jack didn’t join Wasabi, I don’t think he’d turn into a black dragon. He literally hates his cousin’s morals so much, and he’s a black dragon. I know that Kai became a black dragon only halfway through the show so if Jack hadn’t become a Wasabi then maybe Kai wouldn’t become a black dragon, but they still have the same morals. - I think it’d be a lot more like Kickin’ It On Our Own. - Jack would become committed to skating, a skatepark would’ve really been built at Jack’s petition and Kim would’ve never found the vole bc they weren’t friends. - Milton wouldn’t have dropped out of school and become whatever tf he was in the wonderful life episode, he would’ve switched to Swathmore. • Note to self, write a version of the Swathmore AU where they don’t meet until Milton goes to Swathmore.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go? - Milton. I feel like there are multiple points where it could happen, but Milton is always the one to start it. Here are some of my favourite points for their relationship to start.

Wrath of Swan. Milton comes back after dropping off Carrie and they dance and they’re gay.

My Left Foot. Milton feels all sort of warm that Jack is encouraging him to quit football if it makes him happy and Milton kisses him before going out onto the field. They don’t talk about it until the after-party

Milton claims that kiss is the only reason he made that goal

New Jack City. This is the one with Carson (BooBoo Stewart) if you don’t remember. After the fight, Milton approaches Jack saying that he feels guilty and that he couldn’t believe that he didn’t trust Jack before considering his feelings. This one is more of an accidental reveal

You may also remember that as the episode where Milton slapped Jack’s ass. That has nothing to do with the episode choice, I just felt like mentioning it. I don’t think they’re into that stuff, but I do think it made them both feel awkward in a flustered way.

Kickin’ It On Our Own. Milton admits that he didn’t really like continuing his life without Jack in it.

Meet the McKrupnicks. I don’t even know exactly how it would happen, I just like the idea of it.

Two Dates and a Funeral. Milton takes Jack’s hand on Mount Seaford and it snowballs from there.

Mama Mima. Milton apologises for causing all sorts of drama during the news thingy.

School of Jack. After the show, instead of hugging, Milton and Jack kiss.

The Return of Spyfall/The Boys are Back in Town. Grey is really observant about Milton and Jack’s feelings about each other and peer pressures Milton to ask him out. It works.

RV There Yet? Milton yells a love confession off the cliff before he knows Jack is alive.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like? - Yes, but I feel like it’d be often interrupted by Rudy, Jerry, Phil, Joan, etc.

What was their first kiss like? - Oh boy, was it awkward. Their redo was better, and they consider that their first.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)? - I’d like to think they were each other’s first boyfriends. Not their first relationship, but first boyfriends specifically.

What’s their height difference? Age difference? - I don’t think they have much of a difference between those things. Like, they have a size difference, since Jack has more mass, while Milton is kind of just a stick man.

What’s their relationship with each other’s families? - Jack’s mom is definitely happy that Milton is Jack’s partner, she likes him very much. Milton gave her his tamale recipe and she made a spicier version for her and Jack (it’s cannon Jack eats spicy food without even flinching lmao) - It is my personal belief that Jack doesn’t really see his dad, so I’m skipping past his dad’s opinion on Jack - Milton’s dad is trying his best to be an ally, so he is automatically supportive of their relationship albeit a bit awkward. He does like that Jack protects Milton though. - Milton’s mother is… Well, she either doesn’t know their dating and approves of their friendship, or she knows their dating and doesn’t bc she’s homophobic imo. - Jilian likes Jack. She definitely likes messing with him in regards to Milton, who we’ve seen she’s very protective of, but she does like Jack. Jack is mildly afraid of her, for good reason. - The McKrupnicks all like Jack, it’s very much one of those like… when he enters the room, they’re like “Jack!🍻”

Who takes the lead in social situations? - Jack. Well, most of the time. If it’s regarding their relationship, then it’s Milton, as he’s much more comfortable with his sexuality than Jack is.

Who gets jealous easier? - I think it’s about the same. But it’s different kinds of jealousy. Jack gets like… jealous in a sad possessive way, while Milton gets jealous in an anxious way. Does that make sense? - Like, we see him get jealous of Carson and his friendship with the Wasabi Warriors, and he doesn’t really get possessive in an angry ‘mine, only mine,’ way, he gets jealous in a ‘but… mine… ;(‘ way. Milton is afraid Jack will leave him, and I’m counting that as jealousy.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear? - I think that neither, for the most part. Jack is way too flustered to do that, in public or not, and Milton is afraid of getting caught. But sometimes he isn’t. And it is a mess for Jack.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first? - Jack, but mostly because Milton didn’t want to push Jack to say anything.

What are their primary love languages? - I think they’re both cuddly bitches, but Jack also likes giving gifts and casual praise.

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines? - Both, but like… as a joke. They tell each other pick-up lines for fun and laugh at them.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA? - They cuddle as often as they can, even during the beginning of their relationship, though it’s usually private. - During the beginning of their relationship, they absolutely do not engage in PDA because Jack feels bashful at even the idea of that, but once they get into the later months of their relationship, you’ll pretty much not see them not touching each other. • Jerry complains about it a lot; calls them clingy.

Who initiates kisses? - Milton at first, then Jack, then both. Most often, rather.

Who’s the big and little spoon? - They trade because they both have weird relationships with their masculinity.

What are their favourite things to do together? - Karate, obviously. But they also enjoy bowling. And sometimes Jack will play guitar and Milton will sing. - Jack also makes sure to be in every Swords and Magic game once they start dating.

Who’s better at comforting the other? - I think Milton for Jack, but that’s mostly because when Jack has lows, they’re really fucking low, meanwhile Milton is used to the hills and valleys and doesn’t really need to be comforted because he’s already got coping mechanisms.

Who’s more protective? - Jack 1000%. Like, do I even have to explain?

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection? - Milton prefers physical. Jack prefers receiving physical, but likes praising Milton any chance he gets— especially when/since people push him around.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise? - I don’t know, I haven’t thought of it. But Jack’s favourite song ever is Nowhere to Go because Milton sings it.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other? - Milton has a habit of just varying Jack’s name. So like Jack-Jack, Jackie, Jackson, Jack Attack, etc. - Jack calls Milton regular pet names + kitten. • No one else is allowed to call Milton those things.

Who remembers the little things? - Jack, he likes remembering little details about Milton’s life and hobbies.

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes? - I feel like it’s just sort of something that’s brought up casually. Milton would bring it up, but they’d decide on it together.

What’s the wedding like? Who attends? - Milton plans their wedding, obviously. It’s awesome. Jack nearly cries during their vows. - The Wasabi Warriors (and the honoraries), Izzy Gunnar, and some of their family.

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like? - I think they’d foster kids, and consider Sam like… their nephew.

Do they have any pets? - I love the idea of them having a rabbit.

Who’s the stricter parent? - Milton.

Who worries the most? - Jack

Who kills the bugs in the house? - Whoever doesn’t spot it. The person who spots it is in a stunned state, so the other has to swoop in.

How do they celebrate holidays? - They usually like to just spend time together, since they’d both be off work. For things like birthdays and christmas, I think they’d have both a private celebration and one with the Wasabis.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning? - Hmmm… Okay, I think that they’d be the sort of couple who both get up and be productive pretty quickly. But on days when they’re supposed to be productive and he just doesn’t feel like it, I feel like Jack would ask Milton back to bed, and on days they have off from work, Milton would ask Jack back to bed.

Who’s the better cook? - Every urge to say Milton, but that one episode where he bakes that cake has me torn, but I have to remember Invasion of the Ghost Pirates. So Milton can cook, but Jack has a weird secret talent for baking. He doesn’t like doing it, but if Milton asks real sweet-like, he will.

Who likes to dance? - I have not watched the show in a hot minute, ngl. So I’m gonna say that I can be totally wrong on this, but I feel like they both do, in the comfort of privacy. But I like the idea of them sort of just swaying together while Milton is cooking, or when they’re tired.

#kickin it #mack #jack x milton #jack brewer #milton krupnick #milton krupnick x jack brewer #jack brewer x milton krupnick #i nearly posted this to my musical theatre blog #that would've killed me i think #disney #disney plus #disney show

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