#dusty warren | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

syoddeye · 4 months ago

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the warren, ten - curious

price x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 tags: mine/underground, gaslighting, minor injury, dual pov a/n: john takes you on a trip.🔪

"There she is. Mind locking it behind you, darl? We're closing early."

John doesn't look up from the register drawer. The bills of cash look like monopoly money in his hands. He licks the tip of his thumb and sorts through the stack, the creases in his brow cutting deep. When he's done, he tucks the tender into a scuffed leather envelope.

Embarrassment warms your face as you realize you've never handled this part of the job before. Not even when you've closed alongside him. He must always take care of it, or leave it undone until later. It stings a little. Peels up a sticking corner of your faith. He must not trust you to manage the till. You bite back a comment, shelving it for later. You have enough on your mind, thoughts teetering precariously like a cup filled to the brim, held in only by surface tension.

"Heard you went on an adventure today."

"I did."

"Gotta tell you, love, hate that you didn't ask for a ride," He sets the envelope down and slots the register back into place. He fixes you with a heavy stare, chin tucking toward his chest. "And that you went on foot."

"It's not that far. I've walked further, in the desert." You smile, trying to ease his mood, and remind him you aren't as helpless as he may believe.

But it doesn't work. If anything, your nonchalance hardens him further.

"Yeah? Are there bears in the desert? Cougars?"

It's strange. No, not strange. This is not out of character. John's been like this since you met. Set in his ways, immovable in his convictions, the master of his domain. However he thinks things should go, how the world should spin, it's only a hair beneath the natural laws themselves. Still, you thought you moved beyond that with him and fell outside his mantle of authority. The slight condescension in his tone and body language? It needles you. Your hackles rise. It makes you think of your dad. Of Dusty.

"There are cougars, actually. Coyotes, too. Snakes, bighorns…" You fold your arms. "Even met a surly jackrabbit, once."

John stares hard, thumb picking at a sliver of laminate peeling loose. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. When he finally speaks, his face softens, tired lines overtaking the sharp ones. Worry seeps through the cracks like water through stone. "That so? Well. If you've taken on the desert before…"

He pushes off the counter then steps around and into the gap. The offer is clear, and you meet him halfway, pressing a kiss to his lips. It's a quiet thing, your apology tucked between tongues. When you part, you rest your head on his chest. His hand glides up your spine.

"Sorry to make you worry."

"S'alright. Stopped worrying when Soap texted that he ran into you outside the library. Bookworm couldn't wait for her next read, eh?"

That sneak. Soap must've texted when you were distracted on the drive.

Your eyes fall to the tortoiseshell button on John's shirt, rising and falling with his breathing. A loose thread sticks out from it. You relate to it.

"Yes and no," you say, lifting your head. "I woke up curious." You lick your lips, thinking about what you'd told Soap in the truck. How he reacted when you said you might get to know everyone better, should you winter in the Panhandle. "If I'm going to stay here, I want to learn more about the area."

"S'pose the library's the place to learn. Though, you could've asked me, too."

All roads lead back to John, and you'd taken the turn willingly the moment you got on your knees for him. The moment you fell into his bed.

"You were busy."

"You couldn't wait?" He echoes and it purses your lip.

Your hackles stir again. Your fraying nerves are to blame, not him. You'll feel better once you let it out.

"Are you busy now?"

"Need to make some deliveries. Ride with me."

Another truck, another conversation about madness. You help load the bed with odds and ends. John's occupation as shop owner and local Renaissance man keeps him busy. He points out a lamp he rewired. Hand tools he sharpened. A bicycle, sporting a new chain and front tire.

The comfortable rhythm between you returns, but you feel his thumb at the edges of you. Prying like he did with that bit of laminate on the counter, trying to ease you open. He wants to know what compelled you to walk the miles to Ponderosa, to sit in the library all day.

He knows you well enough to give you space, to make you feel safe before asking. That's one of the reasons you think you might love him.

John drives, you talk. You tell him everything, skipping over Phil's ominous text and the hold waiting under your name. The hold becomes a random book plucked off a library shelf and how its defacement spurred a morbid fascination with the collapse that swallowed nearly a hundred men.

The lie slips out smoother than you'd like. You hate that it's easier now, that you can meet his eyes as you reshape the truth. He doesn't twitch or look over suspiciously. He just listens. It makes it easier to tell yourself that omission and white lies—they're not deceit, not really.

But when you get to the part about your discovery, you waver. You stumble over your words, starting and stopping like burrs catching and pulling at the fabric of your story.

John glances at you then, quick but pointed. You tugged a thread and he felt the give.

Your explanation is shoddier the second time around.

"...and he looked exactly like Alex. I swear."

John doesn't respond immediately. He pulls the truck off to the side of the road, stopping in front of a mailbox at the end of a long drive. Without a word, he turns the engine off, climbs out, and heads to the back.

You hear the faint click of the bicycle wheel as it spins, the dull thunk as he pulls it free. Watching through the side mirror, you see him push it to the mailbox and prop it there. He stands beside it for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, shoulders slumped.

When he turns back and catches you staring, he gives you a small, uncertain smile, sheepish and laced with pity. You drop your gaze to your shoes.

He thinks you're crazy, too. Perfect.

You're a quarter mile down the road when he finally speaks.

"That's quite the claim."

"I know. I know how it sounds. But John, if you saw him, you'd think the same thing. It's uncanny." You sigh. Every word is a shovelful of dirt. "Soap suggested it was his grandfather or something. Do you know if Alex has roots here?"

"Well, we all have roots here," He smiles a little and reaches over, brushing a hand over your knee. "But if I remember correctly, I believe his family's been here a couple decades."

You nod. That is a comfort. It should be a comfort. It's not that you don't believe John. It's more so you want proof and know you're not sure you want to ask the man in question. Did your grandfather nearly die in a mine collapse?

Frustrated, you lay a hand over John's, tracing the cracks in his knuckles.

"That disappoint you?"

You shrug. "I guess I wanted a mystery."

He chuckles. "Like one of your books, no doubt."

"I suppose so." Though the unease lingers, stitched tight to your stomach lining and unwilling to unwind, you manage to smile. "I heard there's a memorial."

"There is. It's not for—"

"Tourists. Yeah, I know." His lip twitches, and you rush an apology into the gap. "Sorry for interrupting. It's just—who knows. I might not be a tourist in a few weeks. I want to know this place and the people."

That lands differently and with intent. It instantly smooths over your poor manners. His fingers stretch, drumming thoughtfully on the inside of your knee.

"We can visit, if you'd like. You'll see why they don't put in the brochures."

Your eyes widen, surprised he's indulging your curiosity.

"I'd love to. When should we go?"

The truck jerks as he brakes on a patch of gravel, a small spray of rocks pinging against the undercarriage. Dust blooms behind you like smoke.

He grins, a glint of something wild in his eyes. It's conspiratorial like the two of you are teenagers sneaking off to do something you shouldn't.

"Still light out, isn't it?"

The Sawtooth Crest Mine doesn't feel so different from the ghost towns scattered across the Great Basin. A handful of sagging structures, burnt or crushed into rubble by weather and time. Others lean precariously on the verge of collapse.

You pass signs designating offices and a warehouse, bunkhouses, and a rec hall. You scan the empty windows and doorways as if you'll find answers or at least a hint.

The woods creep in, decades of reclamation around you.

After all the effort to get here, the memorial feels like a joke. A slab of stone with a tarnished plaque bolted onto the front. The text is largely illegible, worn down, and that's what's left. It looks like someone took a pickaxe to the rest of it.

You step closer, brushing your fingers over the pitted stone. John stands back, letting you have the moment. It feels intrusive, like standing at a stranger's grave. You suppose you are, in a way. Some bodies are reported unrecoverable.

The thought makes the back of your neck itch.

John waits until you're done, then gestures toward the mine itself. The main entrance gapes wide, its opening barred with iron rods and sheet metal, wired tight like a broken jaw. While you stare through the gaps, imagining further in, John steps to the side, casually working the padlock on the access door. A click, the chain slithers to the ground in a pile, and the door swings open.

"What are you—Isn't it dangerous?"

"Been here loads of times," he grins. "Drinking with the lads, mucking around. C'mon, we won't go far."

The grin isn't much comfort, but when he beckons, you follow. He leads you into the yawning dark, pulling out an emergency light clipped to his keys, throwing a small pool of light that splashes over your feet and up the closest section of wall. You stick close, your shoulder brushing his arm as the daylight behind you fades.

As you walk along, he talks. He points out the skeletal remains of machinery, rusted carts, and tools that have sat untouched for decades. The damp air thickens with the smell of soil and rust. You reach a junction where two tunnels branch off from a central chamber, a lift cage sitting in the middle, waiting.

John points to it, voice bouncing off the walls as he explains how it worked, how the whole system of pulleys and tracks kept the mine running. About the hoist operators, and how they were 'jokingly' referred to as Saint Peter.

It's leagues more than Dusty ever shared, more than you ever overheard at the company picnics where he kept you in the dark as his smiling but simple wife. The irony isn't lost on you—standing here now, in the dark, learning more about your husband's trade from another man than you had in years.

"How do you know so much?"

John shrugs, his proud smile cast in shadow. "Talking to old-timers at The Fox Hole. They've got stories for days, especially after a few pints." His hand worries the cable like he's feeling for a pulse. "Nikolai's worse than me. The know-it-all." Then, he steps closer, his hand finding the small of your back, pulling you to him. He presses a brief kiss to your forehead.

"Hate to be crass, but I've got to take a leak. Got your phone?"

You fumble it out of your pocket, holding it up. The model is too old for a flashlight, but you turn the brightness up as far as it'll go and point it at the ground.

"Good," He sounds far too at home as if you're not both standing in the belly of a dead mine. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

He glances between the tunnels, making his choice, before he starts down the left passage.

You watch the dark swallow him whole.

"Don't go too far."

There's an answer, but it's more sound than speech and further away than it should be.

And then his footsteps recede.

The glow of your phone barely lights your shoes. You shift your weight, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the low simmer of unease in your stomach from boiling over into something embarrassing. The flesh clenched between your teeth heats anyway.

John isn't far. He's just around the corner. If you walk down that tunnel, you'll see.

Your feet move, body ahead of your brain, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up.

Then you catch it—nostrils flaring. Wet dog, mixed with straw. Brimstone and iron. Your shoulders tighten, a shiver running down your arms, goosebumps raising. Folding them across your chest, phone pointed out, you continue, taking tiny half-steps. Shuffling.

The tunnel warms as you go. The walls sweat. Silver flecks reflect the dim light like the creature's eyes you saw out your window.

"John?" You mean to call out, though it shakes out in a whisper. It's like trying to scream in a nightmare, stuck under the thick ice of sleep. You try again. "John?" No better.

Behind you, a metallic creak cuts through the silence. You freeze. Then your feet find full strides, the shuffle turning into a hurried walk. Pebbles slide underfoot, and you glance down, stopping short when you see it—a sandy tuft of hair, coarse and matted, lying just beside your foot.

The phone light trembles as you crouch, about to pluck the tuft from the ground.

And then another noise.

A low, guttural rumble rolls through the tunnel. You snap upright, spinning toward the direction you came from, holding your phone out as if it's an actual torch. The light catches nothing, and the growl comes again. Deeper. Closer.

You run.

The light swings wildly as you stumble forward, colliding hard with a set of support beams. They groan and slightly give at the impact, a thick cloud of dust erupting straight into your face. You cough and spin, lunging down the left passage when the tunnel splits again, painfully aware of how hopelessly lost you're becoming.

Something brushes your elbow, and every nerve in your body sounds the alarm. You jerk forward instinctively, your feet sliding on loose gravel. The ground shifts, and suddenly, you're falling, the cold floor of the mine rushing up to meet you in a bone-rattling thud.

You wake to a hand stroking your head. Your cheek rests on denim, rough but warm beneath you, and the rumble of an engine. You realize you're horizontal, stretched across the front seat of John's truck, your head resting on his thigh. The road bumps and jars you as the truck barrels forward.

"John?" Your voice cracks on his name.

The hand on your head pauses, then resumes, gentler. You tilt your head, blinking spots from your vision, and catch his worried glances. His face is tight, his jaw set. "You're alright. Took a spill, I think. Found you halfway down a tunnel in a heap."

You push upright despite his protests, wincing at the pull in your muscles. Your hand drifts to your forehead, where it throbs, and you flinch at a smear of sticky, drying blood. "What…?"

"Just a scrape. I checked it. Must've clocked yourself on the way down."

The truck jolts over a bump, and you steady against the door, staring at the trees blurring past. The sun is dipping low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet as John speeds down the logging road. How long were you out?

"Thought I told you to stay put," John chides softly, a nervous smile twitching his lip. "What were you doing?"

The memory floods back. The growl. The chase. Something touched you.

You stare straight ahead, fingers feeling nothing when you check your elbow.

Sometimes our minds play tricks.

"I…I don't know." You force a shrug, licking your lips. "I don't know."

John sees to your forehead. He dabs at the wound with a damp cloth, then spreads a layer of antibiotic over it with the tip of his finger. Twice, he asks if you're up to date on your tetanus shot, and twice, you confirm you are.

When he smooths the bandage on, his thumbs press it into place. He gently kisses it, then tilts your chin and kisses your lips the same way.

"Skittish thing," he teases, though his eyes carry a tinge of regret. "Shouldn't have left you alone."

Before you can respond, he's kissing you again, deeper, his hands sliding down to steady you atop his kitchen table like you might slip away.

You don't slip at all. You end up underneath him.

~~~~

While his girl sleeps off the consequences of her walk, his lesson leaking out of her, John summons his Watcher.

Kate is a good woman. Useful. Steady under pressure, keen as her old man, maybe more. She shoulders the responsibility and knows better than to complain. Her father wore his duty like a crown and bore it as a source of pride. Kate treats it as a job. One she always gets done.

But she pushes it.

"Why the fed, John?" she flicks ash from her cigarette. "He was bound to give up and leave."

John picks his teeth. "Didn't like the way he looked at her."

Kate narrows her eyes, dragging smoke into her lungs. "Looking at a pretty woman isn't a crime. There'd be plenty more carcasses if it was." She exhales sharply. "You broke the conditions of the pact."

"The conditions," he sneers, "state I can harvest the unfortunates and ne'er-do-wells. Vagrants. Show me an agent of the state with clean hands, and I'll cough Mr. Graves up right now."

Her lip curls at that, distaste evident. "A technicality, then. Still don't like it. All it got you was one meal, and it invited attention."

He ignores her insubordination. "You got information on the second course?"

"Kyle Garrick. Sent to investigate Graves's disappearance…" Kate reads, stubbing her cigarette on the edge of the counter. "And to look into other disappearances in the area."

John takes the picture Kate offers and stares at the younger man, oblivious to his new headshot. "He's looking for me, I presume?"

"Naturally, but…"

"But what?"

"He's looking for her, too."

Smoke curls between them. This fed business—it's irritating, inevitable. They've done this song and dance before. No matter the reason, the thought of some young buck sniffing around his doe sets his teeth on edge.

"Let's orchestrate a meeting then," John finally says, peeling the loose strip of laminate off in one smooth go. "Use this curious streak of hers to our advantage."

#the warren #price x reader #john price x reader #price x f!reader #john price x f!reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x f!reader #do not glitch on me again tumblr please

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fear-is-truth · 4 months ago

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Which of the Evans would be into tacky Christmas (bright colours, mismatched decor, nostalgic and warm, etc), and which would prefer the more tidy Christmas (beige 🤢)?

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans + x-mas decor preference .ᐟ

a/n: yo why you gotta diss on tidy & beige 💔 …

“tacky” decor : tate, kit, kyle, jimmy, warren, peter, colin, luke, stan

“tidy” decor : james, kai, austin, gallant

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate wouldn’t give a fuck about christmas decor on his own, but if constance insisted on a beige, elegant aesthetic, he’d absolutely go out of his way to sabotage it because he’s a spiteful little shit.

when his mom told him to set up the tree, he’d rummage through the basement for the dusty, mismatched string lights and garlands she’s refused to use for years.

would take silent satisfaction with the clashing colour, obnoxiously flashing lights, and haphazardly placed ornaments… mostly because his mother is pissed off.

tate would prefer the nostalgic, warm vibes in private, though.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

definitely a big fan of mismatched lights, diy decor. he’d help the kids make paper chains, paint ornaments, string popcorn garland.

he’d also love doing little things like baking cookies, hanging stockings, and maybe even putting up a silly inflatable santa on the lawn.

he’d smile fondly at every decoration, especially ones with sentimental value—his favourite is a family photo ornament framed with painter popsicle sticks that your kid made in school.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

he’d love the sight of multicolored string lights and as many ornaments as you could fit on the tree.

you go out to pick a tree together and then buy way more lights and ornaments than you’d ever need. “we can always find room for more, right?”

he’d insist on stringing the lights together and would make sure every bulb worked.

kyle would gasp excitedly when he let you plug in the lights and see the tree glow.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

you’d have loads of mismatched ornaments, many of them handmade or found in secondhand stores.

he’d have a soft spot for stringing up multicolored lights, especially red and yellow ones.

the blinking lights hold bittersweet nostalgia for him. they remind jimmy of the freak show days—the camaraderie, the makeshift family—but also the pain and loss he’s endured. even so, he’d smile softly while putting them up, his focus on creating happy memories with you.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

would insist on a meticulously planned, elegant christmas. the tree would be tall and symmetrical, the lights would never blink, and the ornaments would all match.

that said, if you really wanted a messy, colorful christmas, he’d indulge you because at the end of the day, james would want you to be happy.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

would absolutely favour a clean aesthetic, because it’s orderly.

he’d hate colourful, mismatched lights, blaming them for being “distracting,” and his use of adderall would heighten his aversion to anything that felt visually cluttered. you’d hear kai mutter something like, “who can think with this circus lighting? it’s like a fucking rave in here.” (he’s a blue grinch lol)

you’re having beige/white decorations or no decorations at all. despite his outward annoyance, if kai saw you enjoying yourself while decorating, it might mellow him slightly. maybe.

⟢ 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒.

would prefer tidy decor to match the sleek, minimalist aesthetic of his vacation home.

the tree would be artificial, tall, and perfectly symmetrical, adorned with white lights and monochrome ornaments.

beige, white, and grey would dominate his decor.

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋.

he’d hum along to cheesy christmas music, snack on gingerbread cookies, wear ugly sweaters and blush at the mention of mistletoe.

would have a soft spot for sentimental decorations. if you had old ornaments from childhood, he’d make sure they were front and centre on the tree.

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crownedinmarigolds · 4 months ago

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A Golden Opportunity! - A Gary Golden writeup for @laughatlocksmiths!

A fly flits its way into the den of the spiders. A little red drop of blood cut straight from the vein, slipping down a white arm into his warrens. It’s probably not even aware of how futile its efforts are. Gravity dragging it forward by the toes, a shambling joke in its death throes. Hah. Well, the uninvited guest had managed to shake off the Sabbat abominations that kept he and his trapped. An impressive enough feat, he’ll give the little morsel that. It’s just too bad that the circumstances for meeting are so… tedious. Oh, he knew exactly why this freshly dead fledgling was here. The hotshot young Prince that decided to take a chair, put it up in the tallest tower and declare himself king, was throwing himself a little tantrum. A decorated old box with a dead body inside went missing on the car ride over, a common mistake! Can’t trust any delivery men these days, especially ones that aren’t paid well. Just because he’d been the one to set up the delivery, suddenly it was his fault the product got lost? He'd been tucked in at home, watching old films and having a good cry at the time of the crime! It was frankly insulting to be once again fingered for a burglary they have no proof he was involved in… though we can all be honest as we sit and chat in our heads, can’t we? Now, old Gary didn’t know what use LaCroix had for a corpse (a non-locomotive one at least) but he didn’t expect them to be playing tea party together. So when opportunity knocks, Mr. Golden likes to answer and give it a seat at his table. So he may’ve let slip (through a few channels and voices that weren't his) to a few mafiaso types where the box may be headed, and they made a pick up. These kinds of Kindred were always into the old things, thinking they can scrape off some spirit mumbo jumbo from it, of which he couldn’t care less about. The Prince throws a fit over a lost artifact for a while, but the city will swallow his complaints up and he’d move onto the next dusty object to obsess over. There's some extra funding for his kin to keep the lights on, as well as the added pleasure of annoying some pompous little young Ventrue. Unfortunately the box has been more trouble than its initial face-value worth. The Prince really into whatever it had inside like it was a lost Christmas present - and not to even mention the Kuei Jin and their underlings also starting to feel around with their nasty little tendrils. It makes his clammy skin get clammier to imagine what could even stir their attention, so he had a trustworthy and capable man try and take a look into what is really going on in Chinatown. His man was snatched up, something he should’ve expected to happen given the circumstances. He felt something awful about it, considering this merry band of freaks were his responsibility. There's no safety out there for his kin, and with how hard Los Angeles and its surrounding cities were becoming to navigate in modern nights, old Gary was needing someone to get into Chinatown for him. The Kuei Jin weren’t going to take snoops lightly, and he was already greatly unpopular over there. No no boss, this is a golden opportunity walking down their little tunnel hallways right to his room. The fledgling gets his glory by rescuing the old box from the evil thieving necromancers… with information so generously given by Gary as soon as his man is rescued from the clutches of the Kuei Jin and their kine help. It’s not the most multi-dimensional chess way to go about it, but a classic is always worth a rewatch in his book. Dirt makes way to cobbled stone, then to tile. Ruined shoes tracking mud into his party space. He is cloaked from the mind in the corner, a sharp smile in the dark as the little morsel has no idea what he’s looking for. Theatrics were his specialty, and it was time to make it worth the wait. “By the clack-smack cracking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

Thank you so much to @porcelainseashore for putting together the VTM Writer's Secret Santa event! It was challenging to get into a non-OC character's mindset but it was also very fun once the flow came! I love to write and don't get to do it often so this made me sit down and get to it. I hope I did Gary some justice!

#gary golden #nosferatu #vampire the masquerade #vampire the masquerade bloodlines #vtmb #vtm #writing #vtm writing #world of darkness #vtm secret santa writers 2024

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 months ago

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Leftovers and Pushovers

This is a sequel to @madameadelina's oneshot, 'Grill, or To Be Grilled?'

Enjoy~

There are three things that the Imperial Baroness of the Coastal Empire loves in this world.

Food. Pink diamonds. Castin Hammer.

"Wha - I'm last on your list!? You killed me, baby. You just killed me!"

Cupcake could only giggle helplessly, her body curling beside Warren's larger form. At the same time, the Intacian Commander, known for his indomitable spirit on the battlefield, dramatically fell to his knees in despair. Disbelief was painted on his face.

Meanwhile, the Baroness hummed happily as she polished off her twelve chicken skewers. Unbothered as her husband falls apart by the very seams on the ground beside her.

"Delicious. Lord Warren, you have a knack for cooking," The Baroness compliments without fanfare or wordplay that she is known for. A very rare occurrence. Despite the warm summer evening, Warren tries not to shiver. "The meat are not only properly seasoned - "

Castin whimpers akin to a wounded dog. Cupcake snorts.

" - but, my, how they melt just so in the mouth. Perfection."

"Goddess! Conquerer! What sins have I committed in my past life for my wife to prefer the meat of others!?"

At Castin's anguished inquiry to the heavens, Cupcake gave up all pretence of a genteel and devastatingly brilliant Councilwoman. She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as tears streamed down her face, with Warren frantically holding her shoulders so she wouldn't join his brother.

"Bro! Are you trying to get me killed!?" Warren hisses, suffering from secondhand embarrassment. He's second away from fleeing the scene with Cupcake in his arms. Thank goodness their little get-together is just the four of them. "Get your dusty ass knees up, for Goddess' sake! Her Grace is just joking." He said, glancing at the unruffled woman in question.

The Baroness threw her thirteenth skewer stick onto the bin before patting the corner of her lips with a napkin. Dainty. Elegant. Even after devouring a whole plate of food and side dishes by herself. "I am in a good mood right now. Do not ruin it by putting anything other than this meal in my mouth."

Warren swallowed nervously.

Having enough rolling in the dirt, Castin launched himself onto his wife's lap. Eyes wide with hurt.

"Baby, say it isn't so. Say that you like my meat the best, please?" He pitifully begs.

Cupcake is howling with laughter now. Warren gave up trying to salvage his brother's dignity. Instead, he focused on saving his own skin by passing tissues to Cupcake. She hiccuped and accepted them gratefully. Once she managed to calm down, Cupcake thanked Warren by planting a kiss on his cheek.

The Baroness enjoys the sight of the couple finally at ease with each other and the world.

It's nice.

This is nice.

Juicy satays. A pink diamond ring on her finger. Castin Hammer, happy and safe at home.

The closest heaven on Earth the Baroness could ever get.

"Castin, stop pouting. You know I love you best. Now come closer; let me wipe those adorable cheeks of yours. Dear Goddess, how did you become so filthy so quickly?"

And just like that, Castin did a 180, preening as his wife tutted and doted on him. Without the weight of the military on his left and the lives of his men on his right, Castin can finally be a playful husband and friend, just as he always wanted. And it’s a pretty sweet bonus that his brother is happy with his woman too.

“So what’s the plan now?” Castin asked, curious. Curious about the future that Warren and Cupcake will pave for themselves, and curious as his lady wife attempts to break her personal record by going for another skewer. He and Warren might need to man the grill again if this continues. “Got your eyes on the East? The sailors had been talking in the taverns. Rumours about some great empires and treasures have been going around. Each sounds more fantastical than the last.”

Cupcake and Warren shared a glance. Goddess, the two are already in sync. He and the Baroness need to step up their game. “We were thinking of traveling nearer, actually,” It’s Cupcake who replies. “A few universities invited me over to discuss the latest studies that I published. For some reason, the world of academics in the Empire is in a tizzy. Your Grace, you don’t suppose…”

“It has nothing to do with your gender, that’s for certain. I can assure you that us Imperials, regardless of blood, are vicious opportunists. I reckon every professor worth their weight in gold is fighting to be your research partner and have their names printed in future textbooks. And if it is not your brain or papers, it’s your seat that they are salivating over. You might be granted the title of nobility as a means to appease the common folk of Steelgate, but make no mistake, that is a power people will seek to utilise for their own gain. I suggest you find more allies beyond Lord Reyes the moment you land on Imperial soil.”

With that said, the Baroness finishes the last satay.

That makes 50 sticks. A celebratory dessert is in order.

Cupcake and Warren are stunned at the revelation, although suspicion coloured the ex-gladiator’s expression. Given the extensive explanation that the Baroness had lectured him on Cupcake’s importance as a scientist and member of the Council, he suspects the same.

“B-But I only published two journals! Two! And both were on the effects of alchemy in herbalism and the ethical aspect of it.” Cupcake splutters, adorable eyes wide. Warren rubs her knuckle, quietly comforting her. “And besides, my position within the Council isn’t as important as the others. Surely, I can’t be worth the hype?”

“Are you kidding me? Cupcake, you’re literally amazing! You survived schemes that would’ve killed an average politican while still conducting experiments like a boss. By the way, I’m so glad those old fucks are enjoying their retirement behind bars,” Warren says, empathically. Maliciously. His grin is near feral and its dangerous edge sent tingles down Cupcake’s spine. But he’s not done yet. “Not to mention that you held your own well against the Underground and its people. Granted, you had me showing the ropes and I’m a pretty awesome teacher…”

Cupcake scoffs but some of her tension melts away like the large batch of tiramisu that Castin unraveled. Warren counts that as a win, doubly so when the Baroness’ full attention is onto the dessert.

He softly kisses Cupcake’s forehead.

Castin coos. He squawk like an affronted parrot when Warren throws a used napkin at his face.

While the brothers are busy roughousing, Cupcake quietly thank the Baroness for a plate of her own. “Would you be amendable for tea tomorrow, Your Grace? If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to discuss on my preparation to the Empire. Of course I expect no charity and is willing to compensate for your valuable time.”

The crackling of the fire and their lovers’ rambunctious bickering fills the silence between the women. It’s welcoming for it gives the two some time to ponder.

The Baroness polishes her dessert before offering a boon that Cupcake could never have predicted.

She delicately dab the corner of her mouth with a napkin and proclaim, “My calendar is unfortunately pack until the end of the social season. Merchants and nobles are at their worst during this time. Oh, do not look so dishearten, my Lady. I adore you too much as a friend to let you wade the shark infested waters of the Empire without any guidance.”

Cupcake immediately perks up. “So you’ll help me?”

“I shall do you better. Give me your hand.”

The next few moments had Warren and Castin stops their brawling to witness the Baroness removing the pink diamond ring from her hand and slide it onto Cupcake’s finger. Specifically, her index finger. The physical weight of the ring is equivalent as a plain pebble on the bedrock of a nearby river but the implication as well as the meaning is a toll that had Cupcake’s jaw onto the floor.

As the rarest gemstone in the current world which no sufficient price could be attached to, pink diamonds tells a story that only the worthy may bear it. The Imperial Empress who fashioned it upon her crown as the Mother of an Empire. The young fashion designer whose intellect exceeds her peers and is only match by her bravery to travel even the most remote of regions in pursuit of her craft that endear herself to her patroness. The Imperial Baroness who owns the mountain where the gemstones are mined.

Pink diamonds are a status symbol that grant it’s bearer immunity against all reproach and commands every respect due. To receive ire from one of the bearer would mean receiving the attention of every women who also carry the gemstone.

The Empress, the Baroness and the fashionista.

“Y-You… wait, wait. Your Grace, I-I simply can’t - ”

“Make no mistake, my Lady. This ring is merely a loan. I shall like it to be return by the end of the social season with an interest.”

“And that interest would be?” Cupcake warily inquires.

But the Baroness simply smile. It has an impish quality to it. “A story. I would greatly enjoy hearing about your time in my homeland pair with some good scones and tea,” She leans back against her chair while their men returns to their side. Warren is eyeing the ring carefully while Castin help himself to some tiramisu. He gives a shaky Cupcake a reassuring thumbs up. “The Empire has a way of testing oneself. I look forward to see who will join my table in the future.”

With the Baroness full support, there’s no way the people of the Empire would see Cupcake as a pushover. That should give her and Warren enough time to consolidate their allies and network with the right people without the fear of being taken advantage of or pulled into some noble’s intrigue.

The Coastal Empire isn’t prepared for Warren and Cupcake. Castin and the Baroness are excited for this new show.

#monotony's rambling #desmond asmr #oneshot #sequel to a fic #castin hammer #baroness (listener)#warren #cupcake (listener)#this was fun!

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pineconepie · 7 hours ago

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what do each of them smell like?

Octavian - lavender, cashmere, cyclamen

Vincent - patchouli, cedar, leather

Indigo - fishy </3

Magnus - earthy, anise, smoky

Seradiel - clove, vanilla, rose

Warren - antiseptic, cardamom, saffron

Blair - nothing since she's a ghost,,,,

Solaris - mandarin, ginger, pepper

Cullen - lily, guaiac wood, lemongrass

August - citron, freesia, cinnamon

Castor - clean linen, heliotrope, mint

Ellis - jasmine, raspberry, sage

Hugo - suede, cherry blossom, caramel

Dante - sandalwood, vetiver, gunpowder

Anevra - moss, ylang ylang, kind of dusty just from cave life

#answered ask #vincent oc #octavian oc #seradiel oc #warren oc #magnus oc #indigo oc #blair oc #solaris oc #cullen oc #august oc #castor oc #hugo oc #ellis oc #dante oc #anevra oc

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henghost · 2 years ago

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it is my firmly held belief that somewhere, on some dusty forgotten hard drive, wildbow has a document that explains exactly how 9/11 was prevented on earth bet. this is his lost literary masterpiece. as delillo writes in libra, "the warren commission is the book james joyce would have written if he moved to iowa"--this is the quality mr. mccrae's occult modernist masterpiece will have. all political mysteries of the parahuman universe--and indeed of the events of september 11th, 2001--are revealed, up to and including bin laden's trigger event (in which i feel certain the cia was involved). it also contains a steamy romance between members of cauldron. i will find this document. it will save me. my holy grail.

#wormblr #worm web serial #parahumans #9/11 #henghost's schizoposts #i bought some edibles so the schizoposts will return

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sunnydaleherald · 2 months ago

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The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, March 15

ANGEL: Is that blood? GUNN: Yeah, but it's OK. It's yours. ANGEL: Huh. And how is that OK? GUNN: Demon law requires blood signatures on all legal documents.

~~AtS 5x05 “The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco”~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Home (Angel/Cordelia, mention of Buffy/Spike, PG) by apachefirecat

[Chaptered Fiction]

Shadowed Suspicion Chapter 366 (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure xover, T) by madimpossibledreamer

Once Bound, Chapter 6/? (Spike/OC, M) by spikes_guy

And some roommates (don't worry we're cool), Chapter 6/? (Xander & Spike, ensemble, T) by Grianbui

Open Eyes, Chapter 3/4 (Xander & Willow, Grimm xover, not rated) by Distant_Echo_Of_The_Past

Corrigendo Tabulam, Chapter 16/? (Willow/Tara, not rated) by lyrical_echoes

To Step into the Same River Twice:, Chapter 20/85 (Willow/Oz, Willow/Tara, E) by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer)

Her Longest Day, Chapter 5/? (Buffy/Faith, Willow/Tara, T) by storiwr

Where are you?, Chapter 14/16 (Buffy/Riley, Xander/Anya, T) by RotBlau

Miss Edith, Chapter 11/? (Drusilla/Spike, Drusilla/Angelus, E) by BeppiGirl

Accidentally in Love, Chapter 2/8 (Buffy/Giles, E) by AddieH

The Choice To Stay, Chapter 16 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Spikelover4ever

Mirror, Mirror, Chapter 20 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by scratchmeout

Tourniquet, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Melme1325

The Phoenix Act, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Melme1325

Ocean Eyes, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only) by Maxine Eden

Short n Spuffy 2025, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, G) by flootzavut

Spike's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Month, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Harlow Turner

A Match Made by Science, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Harlow Turner

Rebooted, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by ClowniestLivEver

Strong Anthropic Principles, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by acekoomboom

Taste, Chapters 1-13 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by ClowniestLivEver

The color of Love, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

Wet and Soapy, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

Key Point of View, Chapter 12 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by VeroNyxK84

Gone With the Wheel, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by VeroNyxK84

Multiplicity, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, R) by simmony

Calling Home, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Chelle

Mirror, Mirror, Chapter 20 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by scratchmeout

Ocean Eyes, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only) by Maxine Eden

Short n Spuffy 2025, Chapter 2 (Buffy/Spike, G) by flootzavut

Queen of Everything, Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Dusty

Indecent Proposal, Chapter 28 (Buffy/William/Xander, Adult Only) by harrisxander2

[Images, Audio & Video]

Gifset: Every Tara look: S6E05 Life Serial (worksafe) by lovebvffys

Artwork: Full comic is in the oven, will be posted to my ao3 when I’m finished (Warren, worksafe) by the-nerdcave

Artwork: For the people who reblogged that angel/demon au I forgot about. (Kendra, Faith, worksafe) by aa-arttss

Gifset: BTVS x Ice Nine Kills: “A Grave Mistake” (Giles/Jenny, Angelus VS Willow/Tara, Warren, worksafe) by sunnydalelibrarian

Artwork: « — Can we rest now? » (Buffy/Spike, worksafe) by flyora

Artwork: Episodic art for BtVS 03.19. “Choices” (worksafe) by revello-drive-1630

Artwork: [Buffy/Spike drawing] (worksafe) by rabbitinthefog

Artwork: Sunnydale rage + me on my winter arc (The Trio, worksafe) by the-nerdcave

Icons: DAWN SUMMERS, Buffy the Vampire Slayer S06E15, — “As You Were”. (worksafe) by screensland

[Reviews & Recaps]

Rewatch: Out of Mind, Out of Sight Part 1 by Re-Vamped with Juliet Landau

PODCAST: S5. Ep6. The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco by Investigating Angel

PODCAST: Freaky, Weird, Little Fingernails (S5E18) by It Stakes Two

[Recs & In Search Of]

Multifandom Vid Recs (including: BtVS, AtS, Angel/Cordelia, Michelle Trachtenberg, James Marsters, Buffy/Spike, Faith) recced by apachefirecat

Vid rec: Buffy & Spike - Till The End of the World recced by crackers4jenn

[Fandom Discussions]

Huh, so Spike has been kind of unique since the beginning? by kvothbloodless

I’m going to say that actually Buffy hitting Parker over the head with a club is the best possible ending for that arc by restlesshush

Wild at heart is such a whiplash after beer bad by roseraintears

[Sequel] All this Spike in the sequel talk and yet you’re all forgetting something important by kitten-fangz1497

i think it’s really important to never lose sight of why dru was turned and then why she in turn sired spike by annyankers

Honestly I can’t stop thinking about the idea of Angel’s recovery from his time in Hell taking longer by wishverse-angel

[multiple reblogs] while i do enjoy spike being a bit of a loser i get really annoyed when people lean too into it by annyankers, boopsterliv

[Sequel] as much as I love Spike and Angel and they are my little freaks whom I adore, I really hope they don’t appear in the reboot by bloomfish

Favorite fictional female day 13 [Cordelia Chase] by willowmosby

[Should the new slayer be concerned with a romance/love triangle?] continued by multiple posters

Should Any Season 1 Episodes Be In a Buffy Top 10 Eps? by Priceless

My favorite Buffy final outfits in order of how much I like them. by Big-Restaurant-2766

Kendra should have been more important than she was. by DiligentAd6969

I think people are hating a little too much on Buffy's friends for me by Cailly_Brard7

Watching season 1 and...And i got to say,this season is still massively underrated by BodyAthletics

My favorite duos so far (I’m in the start of season four) by Bobert858668

What did you think of Riley Finn when his plot first unfolded? by ozellikle

WHY did the mayor like faith so much? by horticoldure

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

#buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series #fan art #fan fiction #meta #btvs

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daisyjonesgf · 1 month ago

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Literally do not worry about answering quickly, i get it trust.

okay, so starlet’s a certified pillow princess, but she’ll willingly suck dick, ONLY if it’s coated in flavored lube that way she doesn’t have to deal with any odd tastes, so if warren wants his dick sucked he is coating that shit up.

-❤️‍🩹

yes, she's a spoiled queen, who does not want to do any of the work and she's always been like this (I think she's a bicon tbh, who definitely had a reputation for sleeping with costars in projects before she met warren 😭) and she notoriously does not like doing work for it, she sucked a guy's dick one and it was gross and she hated it, and with girls she did not want to bury her face in anything, she's not built for that I fear 😔 (plus she already had the bad blowjob experience)

she will NOT be getting on top EVER, she wants to lay there and she wants to relieve. once her and warren are like locked in she's all "well I WOULD suck your dick, but..." and recounting her whole experience with some dusty musty guy

and warren is like, "what if tasted like strawberry?" (starlet is a strawberry girlie don't @ me)

and starlet is like, yk what? hell yeah. and so if warren wants head, he's gotta have his dick strawberry lubed up (she literally also won't try other flavors 😭)

but the man is pretty happy to be burying himself in her pussy so 🤷‍♀️

#wanda 💋#djats x reader #warren rojas x reader #warren rojas #❤️‍🩹 anon

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carte-blanco · 1 year ago

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IF YOUR LONELY, COME BE LONELY WITH ME...

Summary: Nightmares couldn't be more real then fighting for your life, especially when you haven't had them for years. Warren awakes from a nightmare and has trouble falling back asleep but fortunately someone, who's the first in a long time to treat him like a person... Understands his pain

Crimson red seeped through Warren's fingers coating his scarred hand and dripping on the patchy gravel. His shoulder, gashed and piercing through his entire nervous system like salt. Shit. He grumbled under his breath wiping the blood from his lip, snatching for the rouged handle, barely even registering the mirror like cracks in the dusty material.

Chants and roars echoed through the pits, eager for a show that they paid for to the death. Foaming at the mouth like animals and a gleam of satisfaction at my pain. Warren glared at the crowd with, feeling his eyebrows dig into his forehead.

A guard chuckled kicking pebbles, swinging his sword and nodding to the audience with a grin that told a thousand truths behind his gloating, cocky exterior. It made his throat tighten behind the strangling strap around his neck, telling him his place.

He couldn't lose...?

He gulped, glaring before reaching and raising the cracked sword, pressing his entire palm into the hilt of handle and his shoulder ached even more causing the sword to falter a little.

And then his smile widened, his fucking smile widened with masochism dripping from his eyes and then- he lunged, fast, relentlessly with a monstrous attack that made Warren barely be able to block which made him stumble slightly and slam against the metal bars behind him, hands and fingers gripped at his skin from behind him attempting to hold him in place, digging into the flesh with a thrilled excitation. The guard raised his sword high and roared with crazy smile, causing spit to fly from his mouth.

He couldn't lose....

With a quick reflex, Warren bared his teeth around one of the audience members arm and bit down, ravishing the skin until he drew blood which made them jerk back, tossing the other sword into his injured arm and blocked with a wobbling effort. Warren then rolled from under the violet hold and stood on one knee, breathes strangling his throat as he tried to catch air before the next rushed assault came.

Blocking, Parrying. Blocking, Parrying. Again and again. Without a second breath, other cuts plastered his bare skin. Shit. The guard raised his chin and scowled, Worm. Falling out his mouth as he spit blood at the dirt, ready for another violet assault. Dizziness played in my eyes, creating spirals of light to dance.

He couldn't lose...

He couldn't....

A figure appeared at the corner of his eye as he lunged forward, foot forward. A women, a noble. A face he couldn't forget. It made his throat dry and swell slightly, or rather the singular gash stopped him dead in his tracks. One across the chest, near his heart, made his throat swell.

Warren swayed before dropping his sword and tumbling to the patchy dirt, that bit into his face and neck. The crowd erupted into hoots and chanting, throwing jabs at the "The Most Famous Gladiator in Steelgate". He shook almost violently as a cold washed over him as he attempted to crawl near the gate, near her. Near the woman who abandoned him. To save him. How could she do this to me? How could she stand there and watch?. As he reached out the scrap of a sword made him freeze as the guard stopped near him, glaring and smiling with so many words in his mouth.

Warren glared and continue to crawl near the gate as another figure appeared from the shadows. Another he couldn't forget either. One he looked for after he was taken away. His last blood. His last family. His brother. Warren wrapped his bloody hand around the bar, before the shadow of a heavyweight hit his neck and darkened the amber lights.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

A chill of coldness suddenly washed over him as he jolted awake blurring vision staring up at the darkened living room ceiling, hand to his heart and struggling for air. Mouth wide and trembling, almost like a yearning scream was lodged in the back of his dry throat. He was alive?, he questioned, the thought almost unreliable to believe as his hand enclosed around his neck, searching for the pressure that choked him almost to death.

Coughing and sputtering, sweating and sniffling, Warren wiped his brow and buried his head into his knees, clenching the weighted blanket for assurance. A dream? A nightmare?. When did he start having those?. And why did it seem so real?. Every thought was never a solution to the answers he wanted, to why she was their. Why he was their and the distant look in his eyes. Almost like he didn't know who Warren was. But the memories didn't lie. And that sensation of discomfort and loss was very real. He cleared his throat feeling a sharpness of a bitter and dull sensation that ran dry on his tongue.

He needed water. Warren lifted himself off the couch as best he could, trembling legs and blurry vision made him feel immobile as he stumbled into Cupcakes table of potions and bookshelves full of thousands of history. He soon made himself to the kitchen, dishes clattered and cupboards rattled as he slammed them shut, rummaging through the shelves like a mad man for a cup and soon getting the water he needed and Downing it.

Water dripped from his chin and down his neck, wiping away the remaining droplets relieved him from the dryness of threatening memories. His hand flexed around the cup as his thoughts still ran vigorously. Nightmares. He scoffed. They were unbecoming of him. He hadn't had them around his last master and the one before that.

So why now?. Was it the pressure of having the freedom of looking for his brother or just his mind reminding him of what he was. Warren scoffed again, rubbing his neck, subconsciously checking for the scar that he had felt, almost real. As he walked out of the kitchen, a faint light caught his attention, it illuminated the cloudy darkness that indicated that a late night storm was coming. Cupcake was still awake?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Coffee stained pages brushed against her finger, squinting ever so slightly at the cursive words illuminated by the amber light. Cupcake yawned. She was diving in her fourth book of the night, it was currently late morning as sleep was being her enemy.

Sleep didn't come easy when it came to her, nothing ever came easy to her. Whether it was staying up late nights to get the formula right to her experiments, monitoring her plants so that they would flourish with no problem, erasing staggering pencil marks on her sketch book pages. Being a scientist wasn't easy, but being overworked and perfectionist didn't come easier. She wondered on late nights like this if everyone had thoughts like that, to stay awake and read till the sun shined, "Why couldn't I sleep". "What left me so restless?". But no matter what she asked there was never a answer willing to make up for the loss of sleep she was getting. But behind that silence there were other answers to questions she'd been asking all night.

"How can I appeal to the counsel?"

"What else can I do to make them understand why i do what I do?"

"Why did I leave home?"

"What am I doing this all for?"

It was bombarding her. It was all bombarding her. Cupcake sighed, a sudden frustration washed over. She closed the book ever so slightly, clenching it beneath her fingers ready to fling the book at the wall before a creek caught her attention near the open stairs. Warren peeked his head around the corner, eyeing the illuminated room before looking at Cupcake and the amount of books at her side.

"Hey". She said clearing her throat and placing the book down by her bed. "I didn't know you were still awake, did I wake you?". Something was off. He grunted shaking his head, stumbling slightly against the door frame, as if he wanted to be closer into the room. "I didn't know you were still awake either" he rubbed at his throat, soreness still present and aching. "I just got up to get some water". He picked at the wood at the wall. Silence fell over the room as Cupcake observed Warren. The stumbling, the roughness in his throat, the semblance of leftover sweat that clung to his forehead. Cupcake was familiar with those symptoms far too well.

"Warren are you okay?, you look a little... Shaken up". Cupcake asked sincerely. Warren jaw clenched as his stare turned defiant, well tried to if not for the exhaustion that pulled at his eyelids. "Yeah" He scoffed, "I'm good". Warren was usually the one that always fell asleep first. As much as he would've hated to admit it, even when we first got here. He had fought sleep like the plague before he ever decided to sleep around her. He was a deep sleeper and not much could wake him, not even when Cupcake got up and started working on her daily chores for the day. And waking up in the night for water was a bit unlike him. Cool, calm and collected is what Warren said when he was around her. But Cupcake saw through it. Why wouldn't she?

"I just-" he stammered, scoffing again about to turn his heels. "I just wanted to see why you were awake, good night". Cupcake crawled to end of her bed, quick to tell him not to leave but stopped herself before asking, "Did you have a nightmare Warren?". He stilled, stiffening, glaring at her over his shoulder. "It wasnt-".

It wasn't the heat of the moment to embarrass him or make it feel bad for it, but rather to know. To know why he still carried himself like this. Nightmares were normal, they happened to everyone, weak, strong, alone or together. And the nightmares he faced were never gonna be under bed, in the shadows lurking around the corner or in the closet. They were inside him and they were tormenting him and he was letting them.

She extended a hand out to him with a fond expression and a knowing smile that made him falter. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to ask her why she would care if he had a nightmare or not. She was his master, his owner.. She wasn't supposed-. A gentle hand enclosed around his calluses palm, pulling him away from the cold stairway.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The sheets were soft under his hands, a scent of flowers and books surrounded the comforter as she wrapped it over him. That's not to say that her couch wasn't comfortable despite the living room being the best place he's ever slept, but something about the smell of the room itself made him feel dizzy. The room was now dark and only illuminated by the moon that still peeked out from the dark clouds. Distant thunders rattled the walls. Cupcake reached a unsure hand near him, under his ear and head before moving him closer to her chest, over her heart. He could feel his face warm up slightly as his body stiffened under her touch. What.... What was this?. What was she doing?. Warren questioned as her heartbeat echoed through his ears. Calm... Steady... Fluttering.

Was... This allowed?. He lifted his head slightly, ready to ask her why she doing this, what was the point in allowing this behavior that all of the counsel would disapprove of. Cupcake placed a hand over his head, gently pushing him back to her chest. Soft fingers scratched at his scalp and rubbed his neck, while her other hand rubbed over his back. Releasing the tension like it was never there. That was his cue that he needn't move but just to stay.

"Its gonna be okay". Cupcake whispered as she nuzzled her chin into his hair. Its- its gonna be okay? When had anyone told him that?. Why did she tell him that?. Weights began overshadow his eyelids as he could feel himself sinking deeper into her chest. Over her heart.

Rhythmic, Slower, Reassuring. It was everything that she was. And more. Warren had known a rough life since the day he was put in chains and branded with a collar. Soft beds, eternal words and long lasting nights that didn't end up with him bundled in a corner on a bloody floor was something he'd cling to forever if he could. Breathing in the scent of the flowers still clinging to her clothes, He wrapped his arm around her waist and under her Back and nestled in closer.

This was unlike him in so many ways. A slave laying in bed with his master? The city would have a fit, maybe even collapse. But for once He wondered how many dreams he'd actually get tonight for once. Warm darkness enclosed around him and nothing was felt other the softness of her hand in his hair and words.

"If your lonely, come be lonely with me"

#cupcake desmond asmr #desmond asmr warren #desmond asmr #Blancorambles🖤#This took WAYYY too long but its finished so.... enjoy🖤

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