#floating reading lamps

[nihilminus]

Bedroom - Eclectic Bedroom Bedroom - mid-sized eclectic guest dark wood floor and brown floor bedroom idea with white walls and no fireplace

[mcondance]

an “i love you” that isn’t words

Spencer’s love for you is evident all around you.

warnings & notes the rumors are true i love tøp and spencer reid! anyways fluff but still MDNI 18+, title from shy away by twenty øne piløts, do not listen as you read. inspired by the lyric it’s titled after. real freaks only (people who love love), reader may or may not be autistic i don’t know if you feel it you feel it! reader is a bit shorter than spencer, writing fluff is becoming less and less out of character for mcondance

1.1k words (what…….)

Spencer’s apartment is still, save for the solitary body making its way from room to room. Music floats from his turntable— you remember having to tell him to store his records vertically. Even that super mind of his didn’t contain the knowledge of what happens to records if they’re stacked on top of each other. So he stood them up, and he made room for your records as your collection slowly began to find a new home. 

The desk by the door is littered with both yours and his papers, and trinkets that belong to both you and him, Spencer’s lamp, and a really weird looking lamp you got off EBay more than a few years back.

One of your blankets is thrown over the back of the couch, infusing some color into the deep browns and reds of his living room. The small table in front of the couch holds your tattered copy of the book you’ve been reading since you were 12 years old. It looks like something you can’t describe, something that’s been with you for a decade now lying on your boyfriend’s table. Poetic, maybe.

Your stacks of books have long since married with his. To anyone else, it’d look like a library, but to you both it’s not enough, not enough. 

“We’re gonna have to rent a storage building,” you deadpan, staring up at the ceiling in bed.

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting his head fall toward where you lay beside him. “But what if there’s a book we want to read but it’s in the storage building? Then we’d have to drive over just to get it—”

“And we’d get distracted like we always do so we’d be there for hours.”

“It’s unproductive.”

“Horribly so.”

You’re not sure who breaks the faux-formality first. Either way, you both end up laughing with sparkling eyes fixed on each other, and a giggled agreement to just let the books continue to pile up. 

“I wouldn’t mind living in a library,” is what Spencer tells you after he’s caught his breath.

In the bathroom there’s room for yours and his body wash. Your toothbrush sits next to his in a brown mug with a funky design on it, one you brought in your move. Along the side of the sink lay your hair products, arranged neatly. Two towels hang from a spiraling rack you bought at an antique shop a few months after you moved in. 

“Spencer, look!” You exclaim, clearing the small space in less steps than it’d usually take you. He follows quickly, pressing his chest to your back as he looks over your shoulder and gives his attention to the metal rack. 

“We can put it in the bathroom, maybe. If that’s fine with you,” you suggest, turning to face him. It seems like his eyes are ever melting when you’re in his line of sight, but somehow they melt further when you turn. His arms wrap around you and pull you close, encasing you in the kind of warmth you get when you step out of the cold into a heated building, shivering but grateful to be out of the frigid temperature. It’s reminiscent of how it felt to actually step into the shop. 

“If you want to, then we’re going to.” 

“Yay,” you smile, before you kiss him shortly. He smiles back, glowing eyes soft and smooth, and kisses you authentically, and not so deeply as to be inappropriate in public, but still enough that you distantly think your legs might buckle. 

The bedroom is a portmanteau of you and Spencer. Your plushes sleep soundly on your side of the bed, and at night they watch quietly from their perch on the table on the other side of your night stand. Your stand matches Spencer’s, so heart-flutteringly you’re sure teenage-you would jump up and down and screech. Scattered upon your nightstand are a couple of half-drunk bottles of water, your vitamins, various necklaces and rings, a couple of books stacked on top of each other, and a drawing Spencer made for you. 

Spencer’s side is a bit less packed, but still unorganized nonetheless. Books (of course), a journal and a pen (you’ve gotten him into journaling as a way to regulate himself when he’s feeling overwhelmed), and when he comes home later tonight his watch will join the rest of his things.

One side of the closet is yours, and the other is Spencer’s. While his style seems wacky to other people, there’s a couple of pieces on either side of the closet that have a sibling on the other side. The clothes that can’t fit in the closet are folded in the dresser drawers. 

The dresser is decorated with a couple of your CDs, the ones you like to see when you’re in the room. Necklaces and rings plucked from various antique and thrift stores are spread over the cherry-tinted wood, mixed in with some of Spencer’s cologne, a tie or two he hasn’t hung up yet, and a bag of candy you’ve both been eating out of. 

Your trinkets mix with his, a display of two people who spend way too much time sifting through shelves in places full of dust and the smell that is unique to antique shops.

“Jesus, why do these shops always smell like that,” you whisper as you enter the store.

“Everything in here is most likely, at the least, over 50 years old. Most older things are made of natural fabrics like linen, cotton, wood— you know, stuff like that— that are extremely good at absorbing smells. I’m sure our clothes now will have a unique smell that people down the line will have the exact same reaction to.”

You smile, and you think your eyes are about as wide as a saucer, that little look of pining you always take on when he talks like that. It’s not your fault, really, he’s just so nerdy and you love his rants so much. 

“I can tell you more about it while we shop,” he offers. 

“Uh, duh,” you answer, looking between him and a cute tie you think he’d like.

In the kitchen cabinet, your bowl is freshly cleaned, as Spencer washed it before he left this morning. Ever the pattern-recognizer, he picked up on your attachment quite quickly and has made that accommodation for you ever since. You’ll use other bowls if you have to, but you haven’t had to for months. 

The record finishes. You pick another one out of your section of the collection, and play that one. Coincidentally, it’s one of your favorites that became one of Spencer’s favorites after you played it for him. One happily and gratefully became two.

[tortillamastersblog]

ᗢ Enough | Wanda Maximoff ᗢ

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: mild injury

Summary: It seems as though no one can stop Wanda Maximoff from getting what she wants, and what she wants is America Chavez so she can steal her powers and travel to a universe where you and her children are still alive. . .

It turns out, no one doesn’t include you though.

Continuation of Take My Hand, but the two parts can be read separately which is why I’m not naming it “Part 2”

________________________________________________

“Fuck!” I sit up with a yelp, clutching at my pounding head.

It feels like someone is jumping around on it and when I open my eyes it takes a couple of seconds for everything to come into view.

That “everything” turns out to be Wong, standing right in front of me with wide eyes.

“Ahh!” I scream again and jerk backward to get a bit of distance between us. “What the hell?!”

One minute I’m at peace, floating around in nothingness with no sense of time or self and the next I’m. . . here.

I look around, and freeze when I realize I’m no longer in Wakanda.

I’m in a dark, wood-paneled room with a single window that is covered by a wooden screen. It has intricate designs carved into it and only allows a tiny amount of light to enter.

Red and yellow pieces of fabric are draped over the ceiling beams and the whole room is filled with smoke coming from a golden incense burner that is shaped like an antique oil lamp.

I’m sitting on a simple cot in the middle of the room, and stare at Wong.

“What happened? Where am I? I died?!” I shriek with realization, but before Wong can answer, an explosion rattles the building and bits of dust and rubble rain down on us.

He pulls me to my feet and dusts me off before dragging me out of the small room into a long hallway.

“There’s no time to explain! We need your help,” he says as another explosion shakes the ground beneath us.

Being a bit unsteady on my feet since I literally just returned from the dead, I stumble and trip after him as he leads me through what I’m now realizing is a temple.

Oh my God, this is Kamar-Taj. Why am I here? How am I here?!

“Wong, stop!” I whimper, ripping my arm from his grip and leaning against a wall.

My head is pounding in time with my heartbeat and every now and then black dots dance across my vision.

Wong seems conflicted about not going on, but lets me rest nonetheless.

“How am I here?” I ask softly. “I’m supposed to be DEAD. . . Wanda. . . she d-destroyed the stone.”

Wanda.

I smile sadly at the thought of her sparkling green eyes and the way her lips would twitch whenever I told a corny joke.

“You were dead,” Wong explains. “And you were sent here for burial. But as time went on we realized your body wasn’t decomposing. It wasn’t even turning cold.”

I tilt my head in question and shudder when the ground beneath us shakes yet again.

Wong looks around frantically, obviously dying to get going, but he continues to explain nonetheless.

“The mind stone is what brought you back to life all those years ago when Hydra experimented on you which is why it killed you when Wanda destroyed it. But then Thanos turned back time and used the stones. You were trapped between life and death for six years and it took me until now to realize that all you needed to come back was just a little bit of a jump start.”

I wince. “Jump start?”

“I shocked you with a spell,” Wong dead-pans and I stare at him with disbelief.

“But it won’t keep you alive for long,” he continues. “You need the stone to actually live. This is only temporary, but I didn’t have a choice.”

Great. So I’m running on limited time.

“B-But, why?!” I ask, clutching at my head.

Wong averts his eyes and shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “It’s Wanda, Y/N.”

I straighten up and ignore the resulting sting of pain that runs down my spine.

“What about her? Is she okay?” I say with wide eyes, but Wong doesn’t answer.

He just stares at the portal ring on his hand and as the seconds go by, I realize what is happening.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” I whisper when the ground shakes again.

Wong just nods and I sigh, gesturing for him to show the way.

This is exactly what I was afraid of. . . She couldn’t take any more and broke.

And now she’s attacking Kamar-Taj for some reason.

We continue down the hallway and Wong throws open the huge oak door once we reach the end of it.

The sight that greets me makes my blood freeze and I hold onto the doorframe, trying to process everything that’s happening.

Hundreds of sorcerers are in the courtyard, holding up shields of glowing orange magic and countering every strike of red energy that rains down on them from the sky.

A couple of sorcerers are already on the ground amidst the smoking rubble and for my own peace of mind I’m telling myself they’re just unconscious and not dead.

My Wanda wouldn’t kill anyone. Not on purpose.

“Fall back!” I hear a familiar voice and when I look to my right I see Stephen Strange.

He looks worn and battered from the fight, but when his eyes meet mine he perks up.

Not with a smile though. No, he’s scowling like there’s no tomorrow, but luckily it’s not directed at me.

“Wong! I can’t believe this— I told you—“

“I’m the sorcerer supreme, Strange!”

“What happened to letting the dead rest?!” Strange counters as red streaks of magic continue to rain down around us.

Wong just scoffs and makes a shield just in time to stop one of the red streaks from hitting us.

“I didn’t have a choice!” he counters loudly and all of a sudden everything around us goes quiet.

The assault from above stops and the smoke begins to clear.

“I knew you were a hypocrite, Stephen, but I never thought you’d stoop this low and resort to cruel trickery.”

Wanda’s voice makes my heart skip a beat and when I look up there she is, floating above the temple.

I feel myself smiling, but that smile quickly vanishes when I take in her appearance.

She is still my Wanda, yes, but she looks very different than the last time I saw her. Her eyes are sunken in and they don’t sparkle the way I remember. Her cheekbones are also more prominent, which seems to be the result of losing quite a bit of weight.

And then there’s the whole Halloween-ish outfit she’s wearing. I mean, is that a crown on her head?

Don’t get me wrong, she looks great, but so unlike the fiancée I left behind.

She gracefully lands in front of us and easily deflects the attack of one of the injured students close by.

“Wanda. . .?” Stephen prompts, but Wanda ignores him and narrows her eyes at me.

“Who are you?! Some kind of shapeshifter?” she asks, her voice low and threatening. Her eyes glow red and and she tilts her head slightly.

“I— No, Wanda. It’s me,” I say with a hesitant smile. I push myself off the doorframe and hold out my hands in front of me in an attempt to soothe her, but before I can even take a single step in her direction, I’m hit in the chest by her magic.

It sends me flying backwards through the oak door and into the hallway. When I hit the ground, the breath gets knocked out of me and I blink rapidly in an attempt to stay conscious.

What the hell?!

“Y/N!” Wong exclaims, but he too gets knocked off his feet when he goes to help me.

Stephen follows shortly after when Wanda flicks her hand and she steps over him with a snarl.

Then her eyes land on me again and she bares her teeth. “No, you’re not! Y/N is dead! So, I’m asking you again. . . Who are you?”

“Darling—“

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” she screams with wild eyes and before I know it, I’m hit by another streak of magic.

This time it does more than just take my breath away and I yelp in pain, clutching at my chest where she hit me.

It feels like I’ve been electrocuted and the current is still running through me, forcing tears into my eyes and down my cheeks.

“Wanda,” I gasp. “Please, stop.“

Another blow hits me, this time in the stomach, and I squirm in pain with a sob. My hands are trembling and I feel myself getting weaker with every second that goes by. Wong’s spell must be wearing off.

“No!” she howls, using her magic to lift me into the air. It wraps around my body and throat like hot wires and I try to claw at it to get it off me. “How dare you pretend to be the love of my life?!“

“Wan. . .” My voice dies in the back of my throat when her magic tightens around my neck.

Her eyes glitter menacingly and for the first time since knowing her I feel actual fear creep into the pit of my stomach.

“You are not my Y/N,” Wanda hisses through gritted teeth.

I swallow harshly and avert my eyes so I don’t have to keep enduring the hate and distaste she is looking at me with.

What happened to her? Why doesn’t she believe me? And why is she hurting me? She’s never hurt me. . .

“Wanda, enough!” Stephen cuts in. He’s struggling to get back on his feet and leans against the wall for support.

“Zip it, Strange,” she counters. “Did you honestly think I’d fall for this little stunt of yours? Did you honestly—“

A whimper that claws its way out of me cuts Wanda off. My head is feeling like it’s being split in half and I know what that means because it’s the same thing I felt when the mind stone was being destroyed.

I’m running out of time.

I close my eyes and instantly, images of Wanda’s smile flash through my mind. I hear echoes of her giggles and happy squeals and my heart flips at all the memories we share.

I remember the feeling of her warm body beneath me and the sting of her nails digging into the skin of my back.

I remember the taste of her tears when we kissed after I proposed and she said yes, and I remember how her eyes lit up every time I entered a room.

Oh, how I love that woman, or should I say loved? Because that woman doesn’t seem to be the same as the one in front of me right now.

This Wanda is ruthless and cold hearted, and it breaks my heart to see what she’s turned into.

I’d honestly rather still be dead than witness this side of her.

“Y/N?”

The ropes of magic around me disappear and I feel myself being carefully lowered onto the ground. Once I make contact with the cold stone, I shudder and wrap my arms around myself.

Everything hurts and I just want to go back to being dead, but then a pair of warm hands on my cheeks makes me open my eyes.

“Y/N?” Wanda whispers, horrified, and her voice cracks when her eyes connect with mine and fill with realization. “Oh my God.”

She strokes her thumb over my cheek and I flinch at the small gesture which makes her eyes fill with tears.

“Moya lyubov. . .” She crumbles on top of me and clutches at my shirt with shaking hands. “It’s really you.”

I freeze beneath her and squeeze my eyes shut again when another blinding pain shoots through my head. This makes Wanda pull back and look at me with wide, worried eyes. “I hurt you, my love. Oh my God. I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen— I can’t believe I—“

I groan and wince again, lifting one hand to push against my throbbing temple.

Wanda’s hands cup my cheeks and I watch a tear roll down her face. “W-What is it? What’s happening? Am I still hurting you?”

She pulls back and stops touching me completely, frantically looking me over for any signs of injury.

Wong takes the opportunity to get to his feet and comes up behind Wanda to place a hand on her shoulder.

She doesn’t react to his touch and continues to run her eyes over me.

“What is it?” she asks, terrified. “What’s going on? What hurts, Y/N?”

I blink helplessly, not able to get any words out as another wave of pain washes over me.

“Wanda,” Wong says softly. “There nothing you can do.”

Her head whips around and she looks between Wong and Stephen. “What?“

Wong sighs with a sympathetic look and squeezes her shoulder. “I— The spell I used to bring Y/N back to life only works temporarily,” he explains.

Wanda gapes at him before turning back to me. Her chin is trembling and she takes my hands off my temples, lacing our fingers together.

It’s only then that I realize her fingertips are completely black and I have half a mind to pull away, but then my eyes meet hers and all my fears from earlier are washed away.

Looking back at me isn’t the new, heartless Wanda. It’s my Wanda and the agony on her face makes my own heart hurt.

“No, not again,” she whimpers. “I can’t watch you die again.”

Around us, all the injured students and masters who’ve been hesitant to approach move closer. To my surprise though, they’re not getting ready to attack. They’re simply watching us with sympathy and sad smiles.

Stephen and Wong share a knowing look and I realize that this was Wong’s plan all along.

“Darling,” I finally managed to gasp out. “It’s okay, just stop this.”

Wanda sobs and squeezes my fingers. “No, it’s not. Please, stay with me. . .”

I smile sadly and twitch when the last of my energy disappears.

“No! Please, please!” she cries, her eyes glowing red with emotion. “I love you.”

I love you, too. . .

The last thing I see before closing my eyes is the black slowly crumbling and chipping off her fingertips and the crown on her head glowing a bright red before disappearing.

A year later. . .

“What are you doing out here, darling? It’s cold,” I whispered against Wanda’s ear, coming up behind her on the balcony and wrapping my arms around her waist.

Wanda chuckles and leans back against me, tilting her head so she can look at me. “Just thinking. . .”

I quirk an eyebrow and run my thumbs over her stomach. “Are you okay?”

She smiles and lifts one of her hands to pull me down by the back of my neck, connecting our lips in a soft kiss. “I’m perfect. I was just thinking about what comes next.”

I still my thumbs and smile when she turns her attention back to the ocean below us. “And what might that be?” I ask.

Wanda intertwines our fingers over her stomach and raises our left hands to kiss the wedding ring on my finger. “I don’t know. A dog, maybe, and-and some kids?”

She says the last part a little hesitantly and I can’t help but smile even more, rubbing my nose up and down her neck, saying, “I’d love that.”

“Yeah?” she asks quietly and I nod, pressing a kiss to her neck right below her ear.

“Totally.”

A comfortable silence settles over us and I straighten up to watch the sunset, slowly swaying us from side to side.

Over a year ago at Kamar-Taj she lost her powers in order to keep me alive. It turns out that I don’t need the mind stone to keep me alive after all, but rather a source of energy and Wanda’s power are enough to last me a whole lifetime. Literally.

Which is why we’re here now, in our own little beach house on the coast of Rhode Island.

After making sure I would definitely be okay, she told me everything about Westview and how she began studying the Darkhold after.

She also told me about everything she did to get her hands on America and once all was said and done she gave me the choice of leaving or staying with her.

I obviously stayed, not deterred by her actions or the pain she inflicted upon me, and we eloped soon after.

We bought this house together with the money I saved before what happened in Wakanda and we’ve been living in married bliss ever since.

“I love you,” I whisper, tightening my hold around her when the sun finally sets, leaving behind an orange glow across the horizon.

“I love you, too,” she replies easily, chuckling when my stomach growls. “How about some dinner?”

I smile sheepishly and kiss the top of her head. “Yes, please.”

She lets go of my hands and turns around in my arms. “Then let’s go inside.”

I hum in agreement and bend down, pecking her lips a couple of times before following her into the house.

________________________________________________

This is not as good as Take My Hand, but I just had to write a follow-up because I hate angst without a happy ending and because I think Wanda didn’t deserve what happened to her.

[galedekarios]

the splendours of waterdeep

Gale: I hail from Waterdeep, the City of Splendours.

we've all heard gale introduce himself and there's a certain pride that colours his voice. but what exactly are waterdeep's splendours?

1. general noteworthy things about waterdeep

i) waterdeep is one of the cleanest cities in the realms

this is not only achieved by having many of waterdeep's buildings and facilities connected to a sewer system, but also through waterdeep's dungsweeper's guild. the members of the guild make their rounds through the city, sweeping streets, collecting trash, litter and refuse.

this service is paid for by taxes.

ii) waterdeep's water system

waterdeep boasts an extensive water system that enables the city to have free access to clean water. this free access comes in many forms: fountains, wells and bath houses. some establishment even have their own access to fresh water in form of tap water "with the turn of a knob", as volo puts it in his chapbook about the city.

iii) waterdeep, city of light

waterdeep possesses many signs and street lamps that are lit with continual flame spells:

hundreds of driftglobes also illuminate the city each night:

A driftglobe was a small glass orb that magically floated in the air and emitted light.

in addition to these magical means, so called lamplighters keep the streets lit - with the exception of the field ward and more dangerous areas of the dock ward.

iv) waterdeep and literacy

waterdeep is one of the most literate cities in the realms.

the font of knowledge is a temple to oghma, god of the domain of knowledge, in waterdeep. priests of oghma "valued, preserved, shared, sought, created, or uncovered knowledge and learning. [x]" the priests there offer free instructions and lessons in reading to everyone. the temple has a library, known as "the great library".

the city has many publishing houses and printing presses. books and chapbooks (short books containing various topics from memoirs to romances, politics, etc.) are popular, as are small and large paper advertisements that dot the streets and alleys. broadsheets are popular too in the city:

A broadsheet, also known as a short scroll, was a short, printed document which usually contained tabloid-style news or political rants. They were common in Waterdeep, where they were sold by broadcriers on the main streets.

some of these broadsheets popular in waterdeep are [x]:

The Vigilant Citizen, which was one of the most reputable broadsheets in the city.

The Blue Unicorn, which reported paranormal events such as haunted mansions or undead hiding among the nobility.

The Daily Luck, a sheet aimed at gamblers.

Horkle's Gossip Cauldron, whose style of writing was said to be profane and blunt to the point of rudeness.

The Mocking Minstrel, one of the most read broadsheets in the city, known for its caustic and sarcastic tone.

The North Wind, which focused on nobility gossip and fashion.

The Merchant's Friend

Halivar's Broadsheet

restaurants and other establishments in waterdeep often have printed menus that are placed outside, as well as handed out to those who choose to eat there.

2. the griffon cavalry

"Waterdeep doesn’t have the fabled flying ships of Halruaa, but it does deploy an aerial defense force. Brave warriors of the City Guard light out from the Peaktop Aerie atop Mount Waterdeep, riding fearsome griffons that have been bred and trained for that purpose. Each of the riders is equipped with a ring of feather falling — not merely to prevent death from mishap, but to allow them to perform stunning feats of aerial acrobatics. In both martial displays and in real battles against flying threats such as manticores, harpies, and outlaw wizards, the griffon riders actually leap off their mounts into the open air! For a breath-stealing moment, they fall like stones, closing in on their targets at incredible speed. Their opponents rarely see the griffon riders. When they are past the danger, the free-falling riders then suddenly halt in the air, drifting like feathers until their griffon companions swoop in and they regain their saddles. Working in concert with one another in this fashion, members of the Griffon Cavalry can rapidly eliminate any threat to the city — and even catch the body of the offender before it hits the rooftops below. Riders of the Griffon Cavalry are trained to stay above the rooftops, not because they fear crashing into towers and weather vanes, but because the smell of so much horseflesh in the streets below can sometimes drive their griffons into a frenzy."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

3. the walking statues

"Over a century ago, just one of these eight behemoth statues stood visible at the northern foot of Mount Waterdeep, on a bluff called Gull Leap. Ninety feet tall, it resembled a bald human staring out to sea. Later events (discussed below) caused it to be transformed into the statue known today as the Sahuagin Humbled. When the Spellplague gripped Waterdeep in 1385 DR, six more walking statues suddenly appeared in the city, wandering to wreak havoc even as the Sahuagin Humbled remained motionless. The authorities and citizens of Waterdeep succeeded in stopping three of these new statues, breaking the Swordmaiden and the Hawk Man, and sinking the God Catcher into the street up to its waist. Then all the statues mysteriously stopped their rampage just as quickly as they had begun it. Tsarra Chaadren, the Blackstaff at the time, couldn’t command them to return to their former hiding places on the Ethereal Plane. Consequently, the city repaired itself and built up around them. Much later, in 1479 DR, the eighth statue — the Griffon — merged from the Ethereal Plane to defend Ahghairon’s Tower against intrusion. It roosted there for a time before flying to its current position near Peaktop Aerie on Mount Waterdeep. Once more, this activity seemed to be outside the Blackstaff’s control. Thankfully, all the walking statues have been dormant for well over a decade now, serving only as beautiful, cyclopean reminders of Waterdeep’s might."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

the walking statues are:

the god catcher

the griffon

the sahuagin humbled

the great drunkard

the lady dreaming

the honorable knight

the hawk man

the sword maiden

below you'll find more lore and backstory about these walking statues of waterdeep:

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

edited to improve format and added text descriptions of the statues for easier reading:

the great drunkard

This walking statue stopped its rampage as it approached the Market, then fell backward and sat upon a building. When it settled, its arms fell limp at its sides and its head tilted forward onto its chest, giving the impression that it had fallen asleep. The statue’s huge stone battleaxe still stands nearby, its haft angled upright and its blade half buried in the cobbles. The rubble of the crushed building was long ago rebuilt into a broad stone stair (with railings and a ramp that drunkards are often rolled down) that ascends from the cobbles to the statue’s lap. That lap now holds a two-story tavern also built from the rubble, called Gralkyn’s Tankard. The unconscious pose of the statue and the tavern in its lap made the name of the Great Drunkard a natural fit.

the god catcher

This is perhaps the most famous walking statue in the city, thanks to its dramatic pose, its nearness to the Market, and the self-evident magic of its existence. The statue is of a well-muscled but impassive male human with its left leg sunk to the hip in the street, the result of a spell cast by the Blackstaff at the time of its rampage. Its left hand and right foot press against the ground as if it is trying to pull itself out. Its right arm is raised skyward, and above its open palm floats a sphere of stone. Its gaze looks up toward the sphere, and the pattern of bird droppings around its eyes gives it the appearance of weeping. All about the statue, climbing up its chest and on its knee and shoulders, is a tenement that carries the name “the God Catcher.” The tenement’s landlord is Aundra Blackcloak, an unsociable sorcerer who is rarely seen in the city except when she alights from the door carved in the floating sphere, which serves as her home. On the rare occasions when she wants to meet with city folk (typically to purchase odd substances for magical purposes), she appears unannounced on balconies or rooftops after dark. Her dealings are polite, though, and she pays fair coin. She never confides in anyone or talks about her own doings — and if anyone but she has ever seen the inside of her spherical home, they’ve said nothing publicly about it.

the griffon

The walking statue called the Griffon is shaped like the beast for which it is named. Though it stands on all four legs, its back is fully twenty feet off the ground, making it a mount fit for a storm giant. Although it has shown itself to be capable of flight, with the granite feathers of its wings spreading like a bird’s, the Griffon now merely stands in a regal pose near Peaktop Aerie atop Mount Waterdeep, looking to the southeast over the Dock Ward. Newcomers sometimes assume it to be a monument to Waterdeep’s Griffon Cavalry, but Waterdavians know better.

the sahuagin humbled

For years, the only visible walking statue of Waterdeep was known simply as “the walking statue.” It stood at the foot of Mount Waterdeep near the head of Julthoon Street. Then, after its critical role in defending the city against an invasion of sahuagin in 1370 DR, Khelben Blackstaff reshaped the statue into a sahuagin. It now bows low toward the House of Heroes on bended knee — a gesture of obeisance to the city, and an acknowledgment of the sacrifice of all who fought for the city in that war.

the lady dreaming

This fair lady caused much chaos when she was active. The statue has the appearance of a female elf, whose hair and clothing appeared to flow naturally as it walked through the city during the Spellplague. When the walking statues stopped, this one toppled onto its side, taking on the appearance of a titanic sculpture of a noble lady asleep in her garden.

the honorable knight

The Honorable Knight is a statue of a male warrior in plate armor with a shield and longsword. When the walking statues stopped, it bowed to those opposing it, straightened, sheathed its sword, and doffed its shield, setting it point down on the ground and upright by its side. It then ceased motion in this position, facing southwest toward the harbor, and looking for all the world like a castle guard standing at ease. The pose it assumed led to its naming, and it is viewed with respect by the citizens of the southerly wards.

the hawk man

This statue looks like a winged, hawk-headed being, and thus locals call it the Hawk Man. I can reveal that in fact it bears much resemblance to an aarakocra, one of the bird-people said to live in the Star Mounts in the High Forest. The statue’s wings are folded tightly against its back and have never unfurled, leaving its flight capability uncertain. It was brought low during its rampage across the city, and now it tilts decidedly toward the northeast due to a missing right foot — long ago broken up for building rubble, along with its right arm. Its left arm is extended out toward the north, palm forward as if in a gesture to say, “Stop.” The body has been hollowed out and turned into a tower shared by several wealthy tenants, which is officially known as Sparaunt Tower after its owner. The statue’s left hand extends over a courtyard to the north, wherein lies the entrance of a tunnel carved through the arm. Visitors and residents can ring a bell in the courtyard, whereupon a door guard acknowledges the ringer and lowers a rope ladder for tenants and expected guests (or a rope chair that is drawn up for guests who are infirm or laden with heavy items).

the sword maiden

This statue appears virtually identical to the Honorable Knight, except for its female form and open-faced helm. It was felled during the Spellplague after causing much chaos and slaughter. The residents of Waterdeep’s North Ward funneled much of their frustrated and dismayed reaction to its rampage into dismantling the statue, parts of which can now be found all over the North Ward, either incorporated into buildings or as bits of freestanding sculpture. The head of the Swordmaiden sits in a stand of tall trees in the center of the block of the North Ward bounded by Hassantyr’s Street, Tarsar’s Street, Whaelgond Way, and Ussilbran Street. The center of its jaw and mouth have been replaced by a door, which leads into the shop known as Thort’s Findings. Undevvur Thort is a wizened ex-adventurer who leans on a cane (which some locals insist is more than just a cane). He lives in the small shop, whose many levels, staircases, and landings fill the hollowed-out interior of the head, and which is crammed with oddments sold to Thort by adventurers and other travelers. These items bear little placards in Thort’s beautiful, flowing handwriting that identify them (or at least provide speculation as to their origin and purpose). Nobles and wealthy merchants who desire props for themed revels often rent some of Thort’s wares as decoration — and many sages, alchemists, and wizards visit him regularly in search of potentially useful items.

[s-4pphics]

gift basket (e.w.)

kinda cont. to this :3 meep

wc;cw: 1.6k, return of pothead!ellie and her pothead gf, weed duh, parties, mention of psychs but no actual psychs lol, fluff… UNHEARD OF, flirting and a lil sexual tension, something quick bc i miss her fr

“you tryna do acid?” you call from ellie’s small dining table, rolling up for the two of you. ellie’s attention is yanked from her device, gawking from where she sits on the couch, decked in her usual party attire: all black everything from head to toe. “the fuck did you just say?” 

“you tryna do acid?” you repeat, sealing the blunt. ellie’s eyes flick around the living room, jolting down to the blunt in your hand before they lock with yours. 

“. . . why the fuck would i do that before a party?” ellie snorts, removing and tossing her reading glasses on the coffee table before returning back to some annoying show about a blue cat with bunny for a sister. neither of you are high yet and she’s already in hysterics, wildly cackling and shoveling parmesan goldfish in her mouth.

ellie.  .  . oh, ellie. 

why won’t she fucking touch you? 

after your intense smoke session on pothead christmas, your relationship has gotten strange. not strange in a bad way; she never hesitates to invite you over to spark up, pick you up for late night drives, have study sessions (where she watches you study with eyes tinted pink). everything is exactly the same, but you don’t want it to be. 

it’s been a month since she smoked you out and rambled about her sex life, since you asked — begged her to kiss you. at this point, you would accept a fucking peck, for sucks sake! but she brushes you off every time, pushes you right back into that best friend box after every hot box. you’ve given her every sign to put it down on you, and she’s receptive. the stares she gives you, the lingering touches, the seemingly doting affection that shines beneath her pupils. it’s all there and. . . not at the same time. 

but here you are again. igniting her fucking bud before you roll out to another frat house. being high and horny simultaneously is your greatest weakness. . . especially when your little crush looks this fucking good. 

“you’re so far away.” ellie lures gently from the cushions, “c’meeere, i’m cold.” 

“. . . it’s almost june.” you note flatly. she rolls her eyes and blows a raspberry, climbing over the back of the couch and sliding in next to you, eyes glued to your working hands. she pinches the blunt between her thumb and index finger. “it’s fat as fuck, jesus christ.” she mumbles in amazement. fucking geek. 

“it’s yours. say thank you.” ellie gasps in delight and throws her arms around your neck, bending down to smack kisses on your cheek, mumbling thank you, thank you, thank you! you can’t hide your smile when you throw hers in your little baggie before shoving it in her front pocket. you pat it for good luck. “don’t crush them like you did last time. i’m gonna be hot,” you scold lightly and ellie smirks against your cheek. 

“i dunno. you’re pretty hot already.” she purrs against your face. you push her away and she giggles, jogging to get her shoes on. you follow in her lead and lace up, praying to god that she doesn’t sit on the fucking bag in the uber. 

ellie can’t stop staring at this fucking lava lamp. 

it’s gorgeous, really. . . the bright colors, the holographic glitter, the fucking. . . clay balls. are they clay? they look like stress toys floating around in uncooked egg whites that've been injected with fairy vomit—

“ellie!” 

she feels like she’s underwater, but not in a drowning, i’m-gonna-die way. she feels like a mermaid as she searches the room at your call, tunnel vision centering on every drunk face until she finds yours. you're actually right in front of where she sits on the love seat. . . right in front of someone else. . . who’s directly behind you. . . who the fuck is that? 

your brows are pulled down in concern as you shout over the blaring music, asking her if she feels okay, if she wants to leave, but she’s not focused on none of that. . . her high is about to go left in a second if this bitch doesn’t stop squeezing your ass. ellie sends you an affirming look even though her blood is sizzling beneath her skin and you nod in acknowledgement, returning your attention back to whoever you’re throwing it on. 

. . . would it be fucked up if she busted this lava lamp over this broad’s head? she doesn’t think so. 

she barely registers it. the small display in front of her is nauseating. ellie’s known you forever, and never once have you accepted a rip from somebody you didn’t know. . . so why the fuck are you ripping from a bitch you don’t know? the end of the blunt sparks a bright orange with your heavy puff, the carbon you didn’t inhale ghosting in front of your mouth. smoke leaves through your nose as you giggle, the fucking. . . bum whispering something in your ear with a tight squeeze on your waist. 

you’re shaking your head like you like it, like you’re approving of this fuckery and ellie almost vomits. she stands too quickly for her legs because she plops back down like an utter buffoon, the world spinning like a pinball. her arms extend as she searches for balance while sitting and—

whatever the fuck she was going to say vanishes when your hands come down on her shoulders, comfortingly squeezing them through her sweaty shirt. softly. ellie turns to mush as she tries to read your lips. . . maybe she shouldn’t do that; it looks like you’re saying don’t be gay. . . but ellie is gay and so are you so how the fuck would that work?

she’s being scooped up by you and. . . yeah, she’s very faded. ellie’s always prided herself in having a high tolerance to the dirty green, but she’s on one tonight. what the fuck did you put in that shit? is this why you asked her to do acid earlier? because you laced her shit? she can feel her palms getting clammy as you walk her down a dark ass hallway. . . if she had that lava lamp, maybe she could see—

a door slams shut and a lock clicks. it’s suddenly bright. ellie’s convinced she made it to heaven. . . especially when her vision focuses and she’s met with the angel that you are, eyes sparkly and twinkling like fairies in a meadow. god let her in the pearly gates. . . 

“you okay, baby? needa throw up?” your hand is on her cheek, thumb gently massaging the skin. her heart’s singing. ellie’s entranced by you and her skin heats. . . her pussy also skips a beat. a little one-two. 

“. . . baby’s okay.” she mumbles. why is her tongue so heavy? you coo at her, “wanna go home?”

ellie nods, “fuck that bitch you were grindin’ on. hope she breaks her neck. . . or somethin’ crazy, i dunno.” you choke on laughter and pull her in for a gentle hug. ellie’s heavy arms enclose around your waist. tightly. selfishly. 

“you mad i wasn’t grinding on you?” 

“duh! the fuck. . .” she slurs. “i should be grabbing ass, ‘s my. . . s’mine, fuck you.” you’re giggling into her neck and she shoves a hand in your back pocket. 

“you needa bed.” you shake your head. 

“yeah, so i can dig you out in it— “

“ELLIE— “

her laughter is uncontrollable, “yeeeah, you’re fucking mine. no more hoes for you.” 

you’re burning hot when your eyes open. . . because there’s a fucking body on top of you!

you and ellie are slung across the couch cushions, party clothes still on. ellie must’ve been awake for a minute because she sighs, breath hitting your tummy, “did you try to kill me yesterday? be honest.” 

“. . . bitch. . .”

“i’ve never been that high . . . well, that’s not true— “

“exactly.” you snicker, “how long you been up?” 

she holds up her wrist to check her imaginary stopwatch, “approximately. . . three minutes and thirty-fi— six seconds— “

“i fuckin’ hate you. get the fuck off me.” 

“hmm. . . nah, i’m good right here.” 

ellie’s head shifts on your stomach and you know she’s staring up at you, “i needa fucking shower— “

“me, too. with me?” you hear the smile in her tone. you finally gawk down at her. “you’re never hitting my shit again. what’s up with you?” 

her eyes crystallize when she shrugs, “had another dream about giving you head and now i gotta do it. follow your dreams, or whatever they say.” 

your jaw is on the floor and your stomach is in knots. “ellie—“ you gasp. 

“no, i’m not still high, and no i don’t wanna just fuck. kinda obsessed with you if last night wasn’t obvious.” she speaks so casually and it’s giving you whiplash. “i almost committed murder. that’s how pissed i was.” 

“a-at me?” 

ellie’s eyes roll, “oh my god, no. at whoever that freak was from last night. . . i don’t wanna talk about that shit anymore. i have trauma.” 

her tongue rolls over her lips and she eyes you like a vulture to a carcass, “i dunno if you ever used that shower head when you sleep over but. . .  it goes crazy.” her proposal makes you squirm and she smirks, planting a kiss on the skin of your belly. followed by another. . . and another a little lower. 

“you my girl?” she whispers against your skin, staring up at you, tongue poking out just barely to swipe on the plush area. 

“. . . maybe.” you mumble shyly, and ellie’s teeth beam. she sits up to stand and pulls you with her, guiding you out of the living room and down the hallway, into the bathroom. she snags her lighter off the counter and ignites her favorite cinnamon candle, the wick nearly gone. “for ambiance.” she whispers with a grin. 

you unbuckle the belt looped in your jeans, “pulling out the big words, huh?”

“call me thesaurus the way i make that pussy talk.” she expects you to laugh, but you don’t. you almost grab your shit and leave. . . but her laughter sounds like wedding bells. 

“just take your clothes off.” you say dryly. 

-

-

-

SIKKKEEE COCKBLOCK SEASON MERRY NEW YEAR OR WHATEVER HAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAA

[midnighvtm4ss]

A scenario I often imagine is Arthur drawing you while you show him your favorite music. Him simply worshiping your body, making you his muse and capturing it in his journal forever ♡⁠˖

thank you so much for your request !

You’re my first request im super super excited !! I hope you like it and that I met your expectations even though it’s a quick read <3

highhonor!arthur morgan x f!reader

warnings: maybe a bit suggestive but mostly fluff, wrote this on my notes app so grammar errors for sure sorry :(

wc: 1.2k

“Wanna put some music on f’me sweetheart ?”

The deep rumble of Arthur’s voice muffled in the crook of your neck broke the silent shared bubble of intimacy that surrounded both your naked bodies.

His hands holding you close to him, tracing abstract shapes on your back as you both came down from your highs, a very well-deserved peace after the events of the past month.

The mood around your fellow camp members was slowly starting to get better after escaping the cold claws of Colter’s harsh climate, which trapped the gang in an endless white desert of snow for several weeks with little to no food and an abundance of regret regarding the failed robbery and the miraculous escape from Blackwater.

Although the evening air was still a bit chilly in Horseshoe Overlook camp, being only the early start of spring, one could sense hope warming all your hearts, melting away some of the sorrow and disappointment that the failed robbery and the loss of young Jenny and the Callander brothers left you.

Dutch, more than anyone else, clinging to this glimmer of hope, trying to keep everyone’s faith in the gang.

The wind whistling through the flaps of your and Arthur’s shared tent made a shiver run up your naked body as you made your way from your shared cot where you two were laying, to Dutch’s gramophone, which was opposite the bed, kindly lent to Arthur for a few days.

A small thin cloud of dust and dirt rose up from where your hands flipped through Dutch’s records, eyes scanning meticulously trying to find some of your favourite ones.

Behind you, you could hear the shifting sound of the thick cotton sheets as Arthur moved into a sitting position, his eyes automatically glued to your seductive form like a moth to a flame.

“A ha ! Here it is” you softly exclaimed as you finally found the record you were looking for, the one that never failed to put your mind at ease whenever Dutch would play it around camp.

Sliding it out of the wooden box, careful not to scratch it, you put it on.

As the soft melody of ‘The Flower Duet’ filled the rather small space of your tent you started to sway to the rhythm of the song.

“Sous le dôme épais, où le blanc jasmin à la rose s'assemble”

Turning back to look at Arthur, you found him already looking at you, his aqua irises mixing with yours for a second before quickly looking down his lap and scribbling in his worn leather journal, his face relaxed and a small hint of a smile making its way into his chapped lips.

“What you writing in there ?” you asked softly, body still swaying to the sweet rhythm of your favorite song, a shy smile creeping up your face.

“Nothin’, just some quick…” he took a moment to finish his sentence as he looked back at you, eyes flying to catch every single inch and detail of you.

How the light from the small lamp on the night table made your skin glow and your curves even more defined with the contrast from the darkness of the night sky outside, your french braids, all untidy from the intimacy shared before, shifting with every move you made.

In this moment in his eyes, you were the definition of a goddess, his poor mortal heart struggling to keep an even pace near you.

“…thoughts.” he exhaled the last word, licking his chapped lips before flipping through some pages of his journal seemingly filled with various sketches.

“Ah! Glissons en suivant doucement glissons, de son flot charmant”

As a comfortable silence fell between the two of you with only the soft melodic sound floating in the air and the scraping of Arthur’s pencil on paper you continue to sway, your mind floating away carried by the suave voice of the singer, unaware that the man sitting on your bed is engraving this peaceful and intimate moment forever on paper for his eyes and his heart only to see.

“Dans l'onde frémissante, d’une main nonchalante, gagnons le bord”

His eyes were bright and focused on how to draw your mesmerizing face, afraid of not portraying your unworldly beauty right on paper, so focused that he was slightly surprised when your soft arms wrapped around his torso as you climbed back to your cot, planting a small kiss on his bearded cheek making his heart skip a few beats.

As you rested your head on his shoulder you looked down on his lap expecting to find a doodle or a quick thought scribbled away in his perfect cursive handwriting, but instead, your eyes were met with a full sketched page of you dancing near the gramophone.

With cheeks of a deep red and wide eyes, you looked at Arthur, trying to say something but failing as your heart filled with even more adoration for the not so cold hearted outlaw beside you.

“Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin, ah !Descendons, ensemble!”

Your relationship with Arthur was relatively new, barely six months, and in those six months of relationship you would often catch Arthur sitting somewhere quiet and isolated with his journal, sometimes writing stuff down or sometimes moving his pencil in quick strokes which you guessed were doodles of stuff he would see every day, but you would have never guessed how talented he was in his art.

“Well it ain’t much of a picture” he murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible blush covering the apple of his cheeks, feeling self conscious of his skills under your attentive gaze.

“Oh you silly man, it’s beautiful, Arthur” you quickly reprimanded him with an awestruck tone, your index finger gently caressing the drawing careful not to put much pressure and smudge the graphite version of you.

“Can I see more of your drawings ?” you asked him, meeting his unsure gaze which was already on you, with your hopeful lovesick one. After a quick internal struggle, he fully put his journal in your hands, giving you full permission to explore this new side of him.

As you flipped through the pages you started to see fewer drawings of plants, animals and views and more drawings of you, from portraits to full body.

He carefully captured in each drawing every single detail of you, your beauty stuck graphite to paper, making you look like a lady every painter would fight for the opportunity to draw.

With each passing page, you also noticed how some drawings featured you in more intimate moments, some when you were asleep or braiding your hair, but one in particular made you stop your flipping, heart racing as a deep blush rushed to your whole face.

On a rather empty page, on the left bottom corner there was a drawing of you naked, splayed on the bed, your expression one of pleasure with your hands seemingly caressing your body.

You stared at the drawing for a full five seconds before Arthur noticed what you were looking at and snatched closed his journal in embarrassment his eyes avoiding yours.

“Well, that’s for another time sweetheart.”

[littlenahsstuff]

hii! Can you please do Rio Vidal x fem reader? Witb the enemies to lovers plot pleaseee, maybe where y/n is also a witch and they start a fight but at the end start making out? Similar to the scene with Agatha from the 1st episode

Up to No Good

Sorry these requests are taking so long!

This is a shopkeepers AU

Warnings: Like one Major Spoiler!!! for Agatha All Along, sickness, a little bit of vomiting, Reader is going through it! Not proofread so ignore the plot holes and mistakes.

Synopsis: Rio is the annoying shop-owner next to yours. She’s constantly bothering you and making your life a living hell but you can’t deny you have feelings for her. What happens when you find out not everything is as it seems.

Word count: ~4k

There you were, standing outside, gawking at the new store next to yours. It was massive compared to your tiny shop. You almost couldn’t believe someone would have the gall to put it there, but you could see why they were confident. This new shop had everything you had and more. It was pure madness. This new witch, Rio, wasn’t someone to be messed with. She had basically set up shop overnight.

You were frantic, it was the end of her first week in Salem and you had only gotten ten customers. Sure there were window shoppers, but they quickly moved on to the next one when they saw the floating lamps and the books that turned themselves in Rios display.

It got to the point where you had to rent out your apartment while you slept in the back room of your store.

Back at your store, you were lost in thought, trying to come up with cost-effective ways of advertising and special merchandise that could draw others in. You didn’t notice the bell ring, signaling someone had entered.

“Um, hello?” You had nearly fallen off your step-ladder.

You grab the shelf to steady yourself and step down. “Oh hi there, s-sorry about that. How can I help you?” You look up and are almost knocked off your feet again at the sight of the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen. She had piercing eyes, rich dark hair and all around looked like a goddess.

“Well, I was just scoping the store out. Not sure I need anything though,” she smiles at you. You return it.

“Just let me know if you need help. We have anything from talismans to herbs. Everything is locally and/or humanely sourced,” you say, setting down the last of the stock. You brush off the invisible dust on your apron.

The woman hums… “Tell me more about the store,” she decides. You contemplate what you could possibly tell this gorgeous woman.

“Well, it was given to me my grandmother. It was originally just a ‘holistic’ store but now that everyone’s more accepting of witches in Salem, I changed the name. I want to make her proud, she taught me everything I know. I love my job,” you finish with a smile. She returns it. The more you look at her the more you see something sneaky in her stare. She has a mischievous glint.

“What a story. I feel like I should buy something now. Makes me want to make your grandma proud too,” she smirks, roaming around the store.

“Well you don’t have to but I’m certainly not saying no. Have a look at anything. If you’re interested in the item but are wondering if we have it in a different color we definitely do,” you chirp. You yourself make your way to the counter. You can’t help but feel giddy.

You watch as her eyes light up. You can’t see what she’s bringing up to the counter but from the looks of it it’s one of your custom sigil pendants.

“Here, I’ll take this,” she holds it out. You can definitely tell she’s flirting now, the rune she picked was a love rune and she shows it to you with a wink.

“Oh, got anyone… special, you plan to use this for? Like maybe a spouse or an estranged sibling. Any kind of love really,” you note, ringing it up. She smirks.

“Well, I’ve got my eye on someone I’ve recently met,” she purrs. You blush, not wanting to read into it just in case but flustered simply from hope.

“Oh nice” you say.

She frowns, still with a playful glint harbored in her eye. “Unfortunately,” she takes the rune, “I gotta go back to my own shop.” Your eyes widen.

“Oh you own one too? That’s cool… cool! Um, see you around?” You hate to admit how much it sounds like a plea. She gives you a nod and leaves. You could swear she’s exaggerating the sway of her hips. “Bye,” you murmur.

“Bye.”

You can’t help but watch to see in the direction she goes, thinking maybe her shop is close by. And you’re right it is, but much to your surprise, she walks right into your biggest competitors shop.

“That bitch!” You grit out.

***

It’s been another week of poor sales and you’re getting nervous. The stress, coupled with you having to sleep it in the back on the floor has been horrible on your back. There’s a resentful part of you that believes Rio came in here to mess with you. It certainly seems so with the fact she’s come in about 3 other times. You curse yourself for getting so worked up about it but you literally told her about your fucking grandmother. You were only a simple potions witch, you couldn’t magic up money like some of the other witches out there. Hell, Rio probably could. Stupid sexy Rio.

As if she could sense you were thinking of her she walks in smug.

“Howdy neighbor,” she tromps in like she fricking owns the place. Your gut boils at the fact she very well could in less than a year if you can’t figure out a way to fix this mess.

“What do you want Rio…” you say. Her eyes widen as much as her grin does.

“Thought I’d come by to check on my new best friend.” Her tone is almost sadistic. You scoff.

“Sure best friend. Just remember that when you’re in my store you can’t do anything funny,” you spit out. Her hands go up in surrender, but her face remains smug.

“Of course, I can let you be in control,” she says it low, something that makes your heart beat uncomfortably fast.

“Whatever… how’s it going with the love rune, I’m sure they’re charmed,” you exaggerate, stretching your words.

Rio puts the back of her hand to her forehead and leans backwards dramatically with a drawn out sigh.

“Alas, I don’t believe it’s achieved its purpose quite yet. It will; now’s just not a good time.” You fight the urge to role your eyes but it’s replaced by a yawn. Rio returns to her normal position and stares at you.

“Did princess not get enough beauty sleep,” she coos, pouting.

“I’m fine. I hope whatever your situation is works out so you don’t have to bore yourself with little old me.” You don’t mean it truly but boy do you need a little alone time without a failed crush gloating via very annoying body language.

“Nonsense, our little chats are entertainment to me.” She says. You grunt.

“Righttt, okay you do know I can kick you out if you don’t buy anything right?” Your brow arches. She laughs.

“Of course, I’m a shop owner too. You know that silly,” she boops your nose and you fight the rage coming over you. “Oh my god you’re cute.”

“Get out!” You growl, pointing at the door. You feel like ripping some of your hair out at this point. And Rio can tell, she’s just biting her perfect lip enjoying your frustration and it just infuriates you more. “No seriously you need to leave!” You throw your arms in the air and regret it, the twinge in your back making you wince. Rios smile falters ever so slightly.

“Didn’t mean to make you so worked up,” she chuckles. You sigh and put one hand on your back and the other pinching your nose.

“Just- I need to go get something in the back, please have left before I come back,” you (and Rio) hate how defeated you said that. Rio never feels bad for being her fun self… but, she might not feel great about this. You leave slowly to the back, cracking the door. Once Rio hears the telltale sound of a pill bottle she decides she should give you space.

When you come back out you’re a little confused at the pang you get in your chest when you don’t see her.

***

You were miserable, sick and miserable. But, the show must go on.

Time flew by in some increments and went painfully slow in another. You were debating closing the store today but your most recent electricity bill told you that isn’t a good idea.

Since it was the weekend you made a whole 20 sales, something you were extremely proud of. You were surprised too, considering you felt absolutely disgusting and maybe a little loopy. Perhaps it was the new promotion deal you worked on.

You decided to stock the merchandise that was selling the fastest, and of course once you turn your back that’s when the viper strikes.

“Hey bestie!” A voice rings out. You whip around and get dizzy, stumbling. Rio steadies you. “Woah there.”

“R-Rio?” You say.

“You don’t look so good there Y/n, maybe you should take a b-“

“No!” You interrupt, “I’m doing so well today you can’t stop me now you little devil,” you sneer. She chuckles. It’s supposed to come out threatening but your stuffy nose doesn’t exactly help you achieve that. Rio smiles.

“Well, not exactly. And I certainly understand why, you’re practically giving away free merchandise.” She says, tilting her head.

You puff out your chest with pride. “Yeah well I buy one get two for five deal will do that.” Rio pats your shoulder.

“Oh, uh, honey, your deal out front says buy one get five for two.” Your eyes widen and you scramble outside. Sure enough she’s right. After inspecting the writing it clearly wasn’t tampered. It seems that you weren’t even paying attention and you didn’t notice. You put it in the system as five for two as well.

“No no no no no!” You screech, taking down the sign. “Shit, oh my god. How did I- how did I not notice! No wonder people came up to me with so many friggan candles.” You run your hands in your hair. And go back inside, putting the closed sign up.

“Maybe you should sit down.” You agree and put your head in your hands with a groan.

“Are you here to gloat?” You ask, afraid of making eye contact.

“No… do you seriously not have anyone to help you run the store?” She asks coming closer to you. You shake your head. While you’re looking away you miss the genuine concern on her face. Without asking permission, Rio holds the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, where do you keep your illness remedial potions? Have you even taken anything?” Her questions make you feel dizzy and you genuinely feel like you’re gonna vomit.

“Third shelf up to the right by the window,” you say drowsily. You’re too out of it to see the way Rio rushes to get it. The pain in your forehead seems to grow with each passing minute. The pain relievers for your back have stopped doing their job but you can’t remember the last time you took one regardless. She comes back. You gag as she hands it to you but you push it away and grab the trash can. Rio winces as you vomit.

“Oh shit…” she says. “Y/n as your bestie I got to say, I’m a little worried about you not taking care of yourself.” Her voice is abnormally soft. You can’t help but cry, partially due to the burning in your throat, partially due to the pent up emotions and the fact that the person making your life hell is being so nice to you.

“Why, why are you being so nice, you should be having a blast. Just my luck,” you hurl again, “Business has been really bad and on my good day I’m violently ill. It’s still objectively bad too, five months ago I’d get 20 sales before noon. And all of it’s because I fucked up.” Rio is stunned, she’s never been good with many emotions but she feels awful and knows she has to do at least something. She holds your hair back. She’s regretting this elaborate plan.

“Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay. You’re clearly in a lot of pain right now, you don’t deserve to be mocked at all.” And her words only make you feel worse. If you think about it, she’s never been a hundred percent awful at you. You actually really really liked her up until you found out who she was. It was her business that was causing all these problems.

“I’m sorry, you should go. You- I can take care of myself,” you sigh. Everyday it looks like you’re gonna have to sell the store more and more. You’re terrified. You think that it’s all your fault that you took your grandmothers beautiful store and ruined it. You were a shit witch, and shit at your job in your opinion. Rio bit her lip and stared at you.

“No, no… tell you what. I’ll leave you alone but you have to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself. And your grandmother is so proud of you. She says so all the time.” She says and you’re mostly grateful. The pang in your chest returns again at the thought of you leaving. You realize she said something weird though.

“What, my grandmother is dead… are you also a medium which? I thought you were a green witch?” You say, picking up your head.

She looks to the side and let’s go of your hair. “Um… sure, let’s go with that. Anyways, I’ll leave you to it,” she stands up, “and take care of yourself missy.” She finishes in her usual mocking tone. She leaves out the door soon after.

Your left there confused before you see the potion. You remember you need to take it and you down it, gagging at the flavor.

“I have got to invest in flavor drops.” You say.

***

It’s been awhile since you’ve seen Rio. Her store’s also been closed for a couple of days. You should be ecstatic but you have to admit it’s been lonely without her popping in to bother you. On the bright side business was back to usual and you were making enough money to actually pay your bills again, the renters check wouldn’t come until next week but you might have enough to spring for an actual mattress.

You were honestly worried about Rio, worried you made her feel so uncomfortable she’d avoid you forever. You couldn’t sleep because of this thought and stumbled out of the back room in the dark. You managed to crash into a mop bucket and trip into one of your shelves causing it to crash and for all of your potions to shatter.

“Fuck!” You yell, you try and get to the light and manage to cut your foot.

Rio didn’t have to sleep, she stayed late at the shop looking over everything over and over. She was getting bored when she heard the crash coming from your shop. She quickly runs out the door to your shop, thinking someone broke in. She doesn’t need you having any more problem. She feels awful for the ones she caused. The door unlocks with a waive of her hand and just as she opens the door you flick on the light showing everything in its chaos.

“Uh, hi,” you awkwardly chuckle, wincing at the sting of your cut and the bruises that were already forming. “Good to see you”

Rio stands in confusion at the sight of your limping form in your tank top and lacy sleep shorts. She has to fight the urge to lick her lips.

“Are you…. Are you sleeping in your store?” She asks and you sigh, dropping the awkward smile.

“Yeah, I had to rent out my apartment on extremely short notice and now I live in the back room.” You have no clue why you’re being so honest but you really need to sit down as standing on your one foot is getting really tiring.

“Crap, you’re hurt,” she notices (originally it was because she was taking her eyes over you in your skimpy sleepwear glory) and goes over to you. She casts a spell and heals your injury. She waves her hand to get rid of the mess too and any other glass.

“Thanks.” You say. A beat of silence passes. “Why are you here?” You ask, suspicious.

“Well I thought someone was breaking and entering and I can’t have my bestie getting robbed. You roll your eyes, silently grateful she’s back.

“Alright. Um thanks. Yeah…” you trail. Now that she’s in front of you, you decide enough is enough. You have to tell her the truth. “I don’t want to put you on the spot but business has been really bad up until you closed your shop for the past few days. So- I live here now. I can manage into next month but I might have to sell the store. I guess what I’m asking is- would it be possible to get a job at your store when I do?” You felt awful about asking her for this, and you fully expect her to say no. She gives you a smile.

“I’m um, I’m actually closing the store.” She suddenly says and your eyes go wide. You stammer in protest,

“W-wait why? What about your employees!? You’re not moving away are you?” Your concern makes her smile bigger, confusing you more.

“Well… to tell you the truth I didn’t need it at all and it was interfering with my actual job.” She admits, enjoying the puzzled look on your face.

“What actual job?” She isn’t quite sure how to approach it, nevertheless, she tries.

“I’m death. I know it sounds ridiculous but I’m actually death, that’s me.” She says. A grin breaks out on her face.

“You’re joking” you start laughing and while she loves your laugh she’s not joining and you stop. “You- YOU’RE DEATH!” She waves her hands.

“Surprise! Um yeah, anyways, so funny story actually. Remember when I said your grandmother talked about you all the time. Well basically… we’re besties too,” she sees the shock on your face grow bigger and bigger. She’s about to make it worse.

“You know her, as in you took her once she died and you became best friends?” You interrogate. It doesn’t make much sense. She rolls her eyes.

“It’s not like I killed her and she’s funny. She basically talked the world of you. And she was worried about you, said you were lonely single and sad” Rio pouts briefly before her grin returns, “so she sent me. And I personally agree with her. But I’m single too so I thought I could do something about it.”

Your head is reeling, Rio is death and the only good thing about this is that your grandmother is happy (for the most part) and that the crush you’ve been trying to ignore because she’s been destroying your life reciprocates.

“Let me get this straight… you are ‘besties’ with my grandma. And you heard all about me, including the fact I’m single and you decided to run me out of my fucking house and almost my business. That’s not gonna get me to like you back and I don’t exactly think my grandmother appreciates that!” You yell, pacing back and forth. “It doesn’t fucking make sense!” You let out a huff.

Rio wants to be patient but she’s getting a wee agitated too. “Well in my defense she told me you like romcoms and I wanted to make a big impact. I wasn’t aware that I was so good at it, I hated running the store!” She crosses her arms as you still pace.

“No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get an ‘in my defense,’” you mock in a high-pitched tone, “This store was my baby. I don’t care if you didn’t like running yours and it was for a twisted sick romcom move. You saw what it was doing to me, maybe not all of it but you did. How could you honestly think I’d like you. How!?” At this point if the crash didn’t wake your neighbors then your screams did. You didn’t care, you were hurt, and so confused.

“Look I’m sorry okay! I’ve quite literally never told anyone I’m sorry for anything but I am. It was wrong of me and I let it get way out of hand. I used my magic way too much and rather than it being a cute little competition I got sucked into the feeling of one-uping you to prove I could one day help you and to show you I’m worthy. I didn’t become aware that it was that bad till I saw you when you were sick. I immediately closed the store and went to your grandmother who filled me in on all of the other horrible things I caused for you. I’m so sorry.” Rio chest heaves as she spews her words.

You stop pacing, biting the skin on your thumb. It’s a nervous tic that’s recently reared its ugly head again. Rios crying, and she hates it. She looked so much like a scolded child that you laugh. She’s confused now. You actually feel like you’re going insane but you just want one good thing so you get right up in her face and look into her eyes. She thinks you’re gonna slap her, but you grab her face and give her the angriest kiss you’ve ever given anyone. Okay and maybe you do slap her but not too hard. You just laugh at her nervous look.

“You bitch,” you say incredulously, “You really did all of this just to ask me out? You do realize I would have said yes the second you walked through that door right? Rio… I like you, I do. You can be the most annoying and conniving creature I know, but you’re charismatic and beautiful. So… since you’re so powerful, I will go out with you on several conditions. Would you like to hear them?” Rio nods her head eagerly.

“Please.” You smirk.

“Look at you, using your manners and everything,” Rio rolls her eyes, “Alright, I will go out with you if you give me everything you earned from your store. I know for a fact you don’t need it and since it wasn’t supposed to be a real store those are my profits. I want you to apologize to my grandmother too and tell her I said thank you for the gift. Secondly, I want to go on a vacation with you to wherever because I’ve wanted to for years and I deserve one. So pack your bags or this ain’t happening” you look between the two of you.

In any other situation these demands would look absolutely insane and maybe they still do but you don’t care because you were stressed and this relationship was already extremely unhealthy on both sides. She pretends to think about it but eventually smiles.

“Of course,” her devilish smirk returns, “but don’t think I don’t still have any power over you dear. I may have been naughty and will prove to you every day that I can be better but watch yourself. After all you can’t cheat death.” She winks and you sigh.

“When I get a couch and a real bed you’re sleeping on the couch,” You simply say and her smirk falters slightly.

“Touché. Oh before I forget,” she puts her hands on your hips. “Check my right pocket.” You give her a raised brow and check, immediately figuring out what it is.

“The love rune,” you hold it up, “you bitch.” It’s said fondly.

“Told you it’d work,” she whispers holding your cheek. And you scoff lightly.

“It’s my own product, I knew it would. But for the record, I knew I would love you from the second I saw your devilish smirk.” You admit. She bites her lip briefly before pulling you into another kiss.

“I’ll give you the world,” she murmurs against your lips. You laugh,

“First give me my money back… but after, all I want is you.”

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 10

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 14. Concussion Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: Just as you begin to think your life is perfect, a traumatic event occurs that changes everything. Word Count: 7147 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Storm Danger, Panic Attack, Head Injury, Blood, Dissociating, Heartbreak, Tears, Tyler carries Reader, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages. Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event!

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

Time didn’t seem to matter anymore. Looking at your phone one morning, you realized it was exactly three weeks since you started this whirlwind trip. Yet, it was sometimes hard to believe. Part of you felt as if you had just arrived, while another part felt like this had always been your life. 

The Wranglers—which you were happy to include yourself in now that you bore their tattoo—led such crazy, chaotic lives that every day was some new adventure where you were never quite sure what would happen. Yet you were always having the time of your life! And your nights were just as exciting and heavenly with Tyler in your bed. He was everything you had ever dreamed of in a partner and more. The perfect blend of taking charge and always making sure you were comfortable. Sexy as hell, but caring and sweet as well. 

Your life was truly turning into something magical.

However, it’s often when we are floating on cloud nine that the world decides to bring us crashing back down to Earth.

“Sweetheart, you gotta get up.”

You opened your eyes as Tyler continued to shake you. Rolling to look over your shoulder at him, you muttered, “What’s going on?” It was only then that you noticed the loud siren blaring outside. “What’s that sound?”

“Tornado siren,” Tyler said as he grabbed his boxer briefs off the floor and quickly pulled them on. “One just touched down at the end of the street and we gotta get somewhere safe. Now!”

There was an edge in Tyler’s voice you had never heard before, especially not when discussing storms. If he was concerned about it, it must be bad. 

Quickly, you slipped off the bed. Luckily you had slipped your panties back on last night when you went to the bathroom and your bra was dangling on the lamp next to the bed but you couldn’t remember where the rest of your clothes had been tossed while Tyler undressed you. Seeing a box of his merch t-shirt in the chair next to you, you grabbed one and pulled it on. It was long enough that it skimmed the middle of your thighs but you really wished you had found your shorts.

Tyler grabbed his keys then your hand, pulling you towards the door. But just as he reached for the handle, the wall-length window beside it exploded inward, sending both you and Tyler flying backwards. The air was knocked out of your lungs as you slammed into the thinly carpeted floor and your head cracked against the corner of the bed frame. Gasping and dazed, you struggled to catch your breath as the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Hundreds of places on your body stung, and you could just make out various-sized shards of glass sticking out of your arm and chest, causing tiny pinpricks of blood to blossom across your shirt, dyeing the cartoon of Tyler. Based on how the rest of you were feeling, you figured you also had glass lodged in your face, neck, and thighs. 

But it was nothing compared to the pain in the back of your head. With every beat of your racing heart, a fresh throb of pain stabbed through your mind. The world around you looked fuzzy and out of focus. When you tried to move, it felt as though you were swimming through molasses, your movements sluggish and heavy, and all you wanted to do was lay there and fall asleep.

Suddenly, Tyler’s face was looming over yours. He too had glass jutting out of his skin, but since he had been slightly protected by the door, it was mostly clustered on the right side of his body. He was screaming something at you but the sound was torn away with the wind. You tried to sit up, but you barely managed to lift your head before collapsing back. Realizing something was wrong, Tyler brushed his fingers against the back of your head—you flinched slightly at the stinging pain it caused—and his eyes grew wide as he pulled them back, the tips stained red. 

You flinched as more glass was sucked up from the floor and hurled back at the two of you. More shards buried themselves in your legs, but Tyler’s body crouched over yours blocked most of the glass from hitting you. His face twitched slightly and his jaw clenched as he was pelted by glass and other debris, but all of his focus was on you. Sliding one of his arms carefully under yours while the other supported your head, he managed to lift you to your feet. Then he half-dragged, half-carried you deeper into the room until you reached the closet. Prying the door open against the wind, he eased you gently to the floor before stepping inside himself and letting the door slam shut. 

It was dark inside, and with the power off, the faint moonlight that managed to pierce through the storm was nearly non-existent as it drifted in from the slats in the wooden closet door. You felt Tyler reach for you in the darkness and when his hand grasped your arm, he pulled you into his lap. He curled his body around yours, shielding as much of you as he could in case the worst happened. One of his hands hovered protectively over the back of your head where you had hit it earlier, not quite touching your wound but covering it from any debris that might sneak into your hideout. 

You buried your face into his bare chest, ignoring the glass sticking out of both of you, and you suddenly realized you were screaming at the top of your lungs. You had no idea how long you had been producing the sobbing shriek—the sound ripped away by the wind—but your throat burned and felt raw even as you continued to wail. Vibrations in Tyler’s chest and throat told you he was trying to say something to you, but over the wind and your screams, you couldn’t hear him.

Just outside the closest, the wind howled and rattled the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges. It felt as if an intruder were trying to force themself in to steal you away and you clung tighter to Tyler even as it drove the glass shards deeper into you. You felt raindrops against your skin as they were hurled through the wooden slats and they mixed with the tears streaming down your face. 

For almost three weeks now, you had braved storm after storm tucked safely in Tyler’s truck. Every time felt like going on a roller coaster. Your stomach would float up into your throat, your toes would curl, and you would grab onto Tyler, screaming with joy. You had counted those storms among some of the most exhilarating moments of your life. But now, curled in Tyler’s lap, your stomach still floated into your throat, your bare toes were curled against the thin carpet, and you held onto Tyler for dear life—yet your screams were anything but joyful.

Finally, as he rubbed soothing circles across your back, you heard Tyler whisper, “Shhh… sweetheart, it’s over now. We’re okay, we’re okay. We made it.” 

You could hear the wind dying down outside and felt the building settle as it no longer fought against the storm so you knew he was right. Slowly, your screams faded until you were just making a wet gurgling sound deep in your throat. Still, you couldn’t stop shaking. 

Tyler tried to get you to look at him, but you couldn’t. All you could do was cling to him and shake, neither of which seemed in your control at the moment. Nothing else in the world mattered but Tyler and you needed him as close to you as possible.

When it became clear you weren’t going to let go, he stood up with you still in his arms. Then he carried you out of the destroyed room, wincing with every step as more glass was driven into his feet. A small part of you in the back of your mind felt horrible seeing him in pain but the rest of your brain was still in shut-down mode.

Once he made it across the room, Tyler carried you down the stairs, avoiding debris and broken concrete along the way. And as he reached the parking lot, you heard a familiar voice call out.

“T!” You could just see Boone rushing towards you out of the corner of your eye. “You guys alright?”

“For the most part.” Boone stumbled to a stop when he saw you shivering in Tyler’s arms but Tyler just kept walking. As Boone fell back into step with him, Tyler asked, “Everyone else okay?”

“Y-Yeah. We crammed into your truck and put the augers down just in case, but it barely touched the parking lot. When you didn’t show up…” Boone’s voice was thick as he trailed off.

Tyler nodded. “We tried getting outta the room but the window shattered. We’ve got glass stuck in us everywhere and she hit her head when we were thrown back. It’s bleeding but I don’t think it’s too bad, slight concussion at worst. But I think she’s gone into shock. Dani, can you get some blankets? I’m gonna put her in your van so I can take a better look at her.”

“On it.” 

You hadn’t even realized the rest of the Wranglers had gathered around you until you heard Dani’s voice beside you. Lily placed a gentle hand on your trembling shin but you did not acknowledge it. It was too hard. Everything was too hard. Your head still hurt like crazy, but more than that, you felt like your battery had been completely drained. Even just keeping your eyes open felt like a Herculean task and you could barely grasp what was happening around you for more than a moment before everything drifted away again like smoke on the breeze. The only thing that felt real was Tyler’s heart beating against you.

A moment later, he set you down gently inside Dani and Dexter’s van, positioned so your legs still hung out the door. Kneeling in front of you, he ran his hands carefully over your still-quivering body to see if there were any other injuries he might have missed. When he didn’t find any, he sat back on his heels to look at you.

But you were only vaguely aware of any of this. Your head was hung, staring down at the pavement, looking at Tyler’s bare feet. You felt everything happening, but at the same time, you didn’t, your mind still floating in this strange dissociative space. You saw Tyler kneeling before you out of the corner of your eye, watched his thumb rub circles on your bare knee, yet there was no connection between him and you. It was as if you were watching him tend to someone else while you stood by and watched. 

Someone handed him a blanket and he carefully wrapped it around you, pulling it snugly and tucking it in around you so you were cocooned with only your hands free.

Then, in a voice tinted with concern and care, he murmured, “Hey, sweetheart. Can you look at me?” 

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to do anything. You just wanted to slip back into the hazy fog building in your mind and forget everything that was happening. But it was Tyler who was asking you to do this, and you didn’t want to let him down. So, fighting every urge screaming at you, you focused all your willpower and slowly lifted your eyes to meet his. 

It was such a small accomplishment, yet Tyler let out a shaky sigh of relief and cupped your face. Voice trembling as a smile stretched across his face, he whispered, “There you are. There’s my brave, beautiful girl. You had me scared there for a minute. But it’s gonna be okay now. You’re safe and we’re gonna take care of you.” 

Someone muttered something behind him and he cocked his head to listen. Tyler scrubbed his hand across his face, but it did little to ease the deep lines carved there in the last half hour or so. But he shook his head.

Turning his attention back to you, he signed. “I have to go check on a few things then I’ll be right back. I’ll try to find us some fresh clothes too. That might make you feel a little better.” It was only then that you realized you were still just in your panties and Tyler’s blood-stained merch shirt while he was in nothing but his boxer briefs. Neither one of you had shoes on, a fact that was highlighted by the bloody puddle Tyler was standing in from all the glass cuts on his feet. But he didn’t seem to notice as he stepped closer to you. “Boone and Dex are coming with me, but Lily and Dani are going to stay with you the whole time and help patch you up, okay? And if you really need me before I get back, one of them will get me. Do you think you’ll be alright?” 

You nodded, or at least tried to. You still felt disconnected from your body and honestly weren’t sure if your head moved or not. But Tyler must have seen some sign of acknowledgment because he leaned forward and kissed you on the forehead. Then he started to go but only made it a single step before turning back. 

Placing his hand on your knee, he said, “Sweetheart, you’ve gotta let go of my hand.” Looking down, you saw your hand still desperately squeezing Tyler’s. With a concentrated effort, you managed to open your fist and Tyler pulled his hand away, massaging it with his other one to get the blood flowing again. Then he gave you a small smile. “I’ll just be a couple of minutes then I’ll be back. I promise.” He shot Dani and Lily a quick look, then disappeared into the crowd that had formed in the parking lot.

Lily sat down on the edge of the van next to you. Gently, she said, "Dani and I want to try to get some of that glass out of you. Would that be okay? It’ll probably sting a little.”

You gave another faint nod, even as you continued to stare at the ground. A moment later, you felt a small pinprick of pain just below your collarbone. Then another on your forehead. And another over your ribs. They didn’t hurt too badly—they felt similar to a mosquito bite—and actually, these slight pinches of pain were helping you come back to yourself. They were grounding you to your body once more. And when Dani pulled a particularly deep piece of glass out of your cheek, you flinched with a slight hiss. She muttered a soft, “I’m sorry” before continuing. 

After they had covered about half your body, carefully removing what glass they could with just their fingers, you finally felt a little more yourself. Your trembling had stopped and your body no longer felt as heavy. Running your tongue across your lips to wet them, you thickly mumbled, “It wasn’t like it was in the truck.”

It was the first time you had spoken since the storm broke, the words hoarse and scratchy from all of your screaming. Dani and Lily exchanged looks, before Lily asked, “I’m sorry?”

Slowly, you raised your head to look at her. “This storm. Being in it. It wasn’t like it was when we were in the truck.”

“No, I guess it probably wasn’t. But it’s over now and you’re okay. And Tyler should be back any minute.” Lily glanced over her shoulder, probably hoping to see Tyler walking back towards the van. But then she turned back to you. “Can we get you anything? Some water or something to eat?”

You shook your head. There was something you needed—the deep gnawing ache in your chest that had been there since Tyler left was the constant reminder of that—but you couldn’t find the words to explain what it was. Maybe it would ease when he returned. When he could hold you again and make all of this go away. Yet, you knew it wasn’t as simple as that. Even once Tyler came back, he couldn’t undo what had happened tonight.

Off in the distance, you heard a voice frantically screaming for someone but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. However, as it got closer, you sat up straight and jerked your head around, coming to life as you recognized the voice calling your name. Both Lily and Dani jumped slightly at your sudden movement, and Dani stuck her head out the side of the van. “Scott! She’s over here!”

A moment later, your brother appeared in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes wide, and dark, damp hair—for once not hidden beneath a cap—plastered to his face. 

With a sob, you threw the blanket to the side and dove at him. “Scotty!” 

You plowed into him, immediately wrapping him in the tightest hug you could manage as the numbness that had consumed you evaporated, leaving you a tearful sobbing mess. Scott stumbled back under the force of your tackle, his body rigid in your embrace. But a moment later, you felt his arms hesitantly wrap around you—lightly at first but soon clinging to you just as tightly as you were to him. You had never hugged your brother like this but as that ache in your chest began to lift, you realized it was what you had needed all along. After everything the two of you had been through and how rocky your relationship had gotten, in the end, what you needed most was your big brother to make things all better.

The two of you remained in your embrace for a long time, both of you relying on the other to keep you on your feet. Then Scott finally pulled away and placed his hands on your shoulders as he looked you over. “When I heard you were here…that there had been casualties…I thought…” He pulled you into another tight hug.

Hugging him back, you sniffed, “Tyler saved me. I didn’t even hear the sirens until he woke me up. Then the window blew when we tried to leave and I hit my head and I…I couldn’t move. I was so scared, Scotty. But then Tyler was there and he got me into the closest and protected me until it was over and he brought me here...and…and…”

You buried your face into his shoulder and began to sob again. Scott rubbed his hand across your back before helping you sit back down in the open back of the van. He gently tried to touch the back of your head but you flinched away. “Sorry,” he muttered as he continued to look you over. “Besides your head, are you okay? I see a lot of blood here.”

“It’s from the glass when their window broke,” Dani interjected. “Both her and Tyler were covered in it. We’ve tried to get as much out as we can but she should probably go somewhere to have a professional make sure it’s all gone.”

“Thank you…both of you.” For once, there was no snark or sarcasm in his tone as Scott addressed the two Wranglers. Placing his hand on top of your head, he asked, “Can I have a minute alone with my sister?”

Dani and Lily exchanged another look, then looked at you. You knew they had promised Tyler not to leave your side, so you nodded to let them know it was okay. They said they’d wait by Tyler’s truck which was farther down in the parking lot while still in view if you needed anything, then they left.

Once he waited long enough for them to get out of earshot, Scott crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “‘The glass from their broken window’, huh? So…you were with Owens.” 

For the first time, you realized you were still only wearing Tyler’s merch t-shirt—now filthy with dust and blood—which only just covered your panties. Self-consciously, you grabbed the blanket again and wrapped it around you, trying to cover as much of your bare skin as possible. 

“Scotty, I..I—”

But he cut you off by crouching down and placing his hands on your knees. “No, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I had no right to tell you you shouldn’t be with him in the first place. And now I’m glad you were together, otherwise I might have lost you.”

Tears filling your eyes once more, you placed your hand on his cheek. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Is it terrible to say neither did I until I thought I was too late?” He dropped his head but you saw a few tears slip out as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I treated you so horribly since you arrived and I thought I didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. I was ready to cut you out of my life completely. But the second Javi told me the storm was heading straight for the motel the Wranglers had stopped at for the night, the motel you were only at because you were trying to give me my space…I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. And I realized at that moment that it’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I was afraid of giving you another chance and finding out you hadn’t changed, that you were that same person you were when we were growing up. And nothing hurts more than being rejected or betrayed by those you love, especially family. But that’s exactly what I did to you. And I’m so sorry.”

Sure, this might all be the situation talking and Scott might not feel the same way tomorrow or a month from now, but as he pulled you into another hug, you didn’t care. You finally felt like you had your brother back. 

As you hugged Scott, you saw over his shoulder that Tyler, Boone, and Dexter had joined the two girls by Tyler’s truck. Tyler must have either scavenged some of his clothes from your room or had spares in the truck because he was now wearing a pair of jeans—riding low on his hips due to the lack of his favorite belt and buckle—and tennis shoes, still no shirt. It was the first time you had ever seen him in something other than boots and it felt strange. At least his cowboy hat was settled on his head.

You couldn’t hear what they were talking about. Based on the anxious way Lily had her arms wrapped around herself and Tyler was standing with his hands on his hips as he stared at the ground shaking his head, a deep frown carved into his handsome face, whatever it was it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Then Tyler lifted his head and looked towards the camper van. His eyes met yours and his frown lifted into a small smile—one that didn’t reach the rest of his face. His green eyes, usually sparkling with life, were now murky and troubled.

He walked over to you just as Scott pulled away, probably hearing someone approaching. Tyler nodded at him and said, “Scott. Do you think I can talk to her for a minute alone? We need to sort some stuff out after…” He gestured to the damaged motel behind him.

Scott nodded. “Yeah. But I’m not leaving my sister. I’ll wait by the front of the van until you’re done.” He started to walk away then paused. “And Ow–Tyler…thank you for protecting her.”

Tyler nodded. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t do a better job.”

Scott nodded again and disappeared in front of the van. 

Tyler sighed and turned back to you, just as you sat back down on the edge of the van. “I, uh, I managed to rescue some of our things from the room.” He placed your backpack by your feet. “I wasn’t sure what you might want to change into so I brought it all.”

“Thanks, Ty.”

His face brightened slightly. “Hey, I missed your voice. Though it does sound a little rough around the edges. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, but it’s not too bad. I can’t remember how long I was screaming. By the time I realized I was even doing it, my throat was already sore. I ca-can’t remember a lot of what happened, honestly. Just the wind a-and hitting my head a-a-and…”

You started hyperventilating as you were suddenly back in the room, Tyler’s face looming over yours as the world crumbled around you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tyler cooed as he took your face in his hands. 

It took a moment, but with him grounding you, you were able to pull yourself back under control. “I’m sorry,” you said, leaning into his touch. “It’s just a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Sitting down next to you, Tyler hung his head with a sigh. After a moment, lifting his eyes to yours, he said, “Sweetheart, I need you to go home. Tonight.”

“What?” The panic you had felt before when the storm raged through your room gripped your heart once again as you tried to grasp what he was saying.

“You need to leave Oklahoma. Leave all of this.”

No. It didn’t make sense. Tyler was the one who had asked you to stay longer in the first place. Did your breakdown tonight change how he felt about you? “But Tyler, I thought we—”

“I know. And we were. But tonight just proved I can’t keep you safe. We got lucky this time, but I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happens to you because you’re out here with me. So I need you to go.”

For the hundredth time tonight, tears filled your eyes. In a voice barely more than a breath, you whispered, ���I thought you cared about me.”

Tyler’s face shattered and he gathered you up into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, if I didn’t care so much, I wouldn’t be asking you to do this. I haven’t felt like this about someone for a really long time and I don’t want it to end. But—”

You placed your fingers over his lips, refusing to let him finish that sentence. “Then don’t let it end. Let me stay.”

“And tomorrow when another storm passes through, are you gonna be okay with that? Even knowing that if you don’t go on a chase, a storm may still hit where you are and you’ll end up in the middle of it again?” You opened your mouth to answer but the thought of another experience like tonight made the words stick in your throat. Tyler noticed and nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

You hadn’t given thought to tomorrow or the next day or the next. You knew what happened tonight wouldn’t stop Tyler from chasing the next storm the moment one formed, but you also knew that you never wanted to see another tornado as long as you lived. This meant the two of you were now at odds, neither willing nor able to give in for the other—which meant Tyler was right. You needed to go. 

Yet knowing that and accepting what that meant were not the same thing. Lip quivering, you asked, “So, what? This is just it? I leave and we never see each other again?”

“We both knew that it had to end at some point. Even if you stayed until the last day of your break, you have to go back to school. And I'm heading back to Arkansas when the season’s over. We're just…we're just saying goodbye a little sooner than expected.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye at all,” you said, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders. “Ty, I need you.”

“You might not feel that way in a day or two,” he said sadly. “This was a traumatic experience for you—don’t say it wasn’t because I won’t ever forget that feeling of you trembling in my arms in that closet or the sounds of your screams knowing there was nothing I could do to help you—and I don’t want you to have to relive it every time you look at me.”

“Tyler Owens, you’re the only reason I’m still alive to do anything. I could never look at you like that.”

“You don’t know that. It kills me to say this, but I’m pretty sure that this isn’t over for you. Not by a long shot. I’ve helped enough survivors of these kinds of things to know the signs. And this is going to stick with you for a very long time. Different people deal with things in different ways, but one way you might deal with it may be separating yourself from any reminders of tonight—including me. And I don’t want to be the reason you’re still in pain.” 

 “But what if you’re wrong?” you cried. “What if you’re making me leave and I still want you in my life?”

“I’m not making you do anything. If you decide to stay, I won’t stop you. But I think if you really consider what that means, you’ll see leaving is the right choice.” As you nodded with a small sob, he sighed. “Listen, I’m only out here for a few more weeks. If by then you’ve processed everything that’s happened and still want to see me, I’ll be on the first plane to you. But if it’s all too much and you’d rather just move on…” His thumb gently circled a spot on your arm where they had removed one of the larger pieces of glass. “...then I’ll respect it.”

Snuggling your face into the crook of his neck, you mumbled, “I won’t want to move on. I just want you.”

“Then you’ll have me, sweetheart. I promise.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “But you need to go home until then. Please…for me.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, then nodded. Tyler squeezed you tightly then lifted you off his lap and placed you back onto the van floor. Standing up, he gazed down at you, his eyes damp with tears.

“Scott,” he called out, his eyes never wavering from yours. “Why don’t you take your sister to the hospital to get checked out? Then see about getting her on a flight home tomorrow.”

Scott stepped up to the side of the van. He looked from Tyler to you and asked, “Is that what you want?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “No…but it’s what’s best for everyone.”

Tyler gave you an encouraging smile, putting his hand on your shoulder and squeezing it, and you leaned your head against his hip, savoring his touch while you still could. Scott’s eyes followed every movement. Nodding softly, he said, “Okay. Let me check in with Javi and fill him in on what’s going on. I’ll meet you by Scarecrow in a few minutes.”

As Scott walked away, Tyler pulled you into him as he folded himself over you. Pressing his lips to your temple, he whispered, “Thank you.” Then he stepped back. “Why don’t you go get changed and I’ll walk you over to Scott when you’re done.”

“Or you could help me,” you whispered, peering up at him from under your eyelashes. “For old time’s sake.”

Tyler glanced over his shoulder and then asked, “Are you sure? I don’t know if you’re up for—”

“Nothing like that,” you said, shaking your head. “I just want to be with you as much as possible. Please, Ty.”

He nodded and helped you stand before you both climbed into the camper van. As he slid the door closed, you rummaged through your backpack and pulled out a pair of shorts and a halter top. With a start, you realized it was the same outfit you had been wearing the day you arrived in Oklahoma. The one you had been wearing when you first met Tyler. It felt strangely perfect so you closed the backpack and turned to show them to Tyler. 

Based on the way his eyes softened as they landed on the outfit, he remembered it too. He walked over to you and gathered the bottom of the merch shirt you were wearing in his hands. When you nodded, he carefully lifted it over your head and tossed it to the floor. He inhaled as he saw the cuts that now littered your body from the glass. Gently, he trailed his fingers over a few of them on your arms, then he dropped to his knees in front of you.

As you stood there in nothing but your bra and panties, he grabbed your hips and pulled you close to him. Then he began kissing the cuts across your stomach, starting with the ones just above your panty line. Then he moved up your body, placing a long, lingering kiss on each and every cut. Your eyes fluttered as he reached your breasts—he placed an extra-long kiss on the cut at the top of your cleavage. Then he continues up onto your neck, finally reaching your face. 

But as he started to kiss the cuts on your cheeks, you had waited long enough. You grabbed his head and turned it so his lips pressed against yours. Less than three weeks together, and you had been so sure you never wanted to kiss anyone else after Tyler. Yet, here you were about to walk out of his life, possibly forever. How much had changed in a single night.

Tyler finally pulled away, resting his head against yours. Panting slightly, he muttered, “You should get dressed. We better not keep your brother waiting.”

After you were ready, Tyler walked you back to his truck to say goodbye to the rest of the Wranglers. Until that moment, you hadn’t realized that not only might you never see Tyler again, but you might never see the rest of your new friends again either. That fact brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. 

As Tyler grabbed a shirt out of his backseat, you tried to hold it together as you bid farewell to each Wrangler. You thanked Dani and Lily for everything they had done for you that night. Individually, you thanked Dani for all of her advice and how she always had your back when you were first starting out with Tyler. You gave Lily a huge hug and thank you for your tattoo. Even after what happened, you had no regrets and would treasure it for the rest of your life. You thanked Dexter for taking you on as his food prep helper and for everything he had taken the time to teach you about food, tornados, and just life in general. Boone was the hardest to say goodbye to since you both looked like you were about to burst into tears. But when you pulled him into a hug, you whispered, “Please look out for him for me” to which Boone nodded and hugged you tighter. 

Taking one last look at everyone, you waved and promised to keep in touch. Then Tyler—now wearing one of his plaid shirts—placed his hand on your back and led you to Scarecrow. As heartbroken as you already felt, you didn’t know how you would survive what came next.

Scott and Javi were standing next to the passenger’s door when you arrived. You held open your arms and Javi stepped forward into them. You thanked him for running interference this trip and apologized again for any uncomfortable situations you put him in. He said he was glad to have helped and to see that you were okay after tonight’s storm. You saw Tyler shift out of the corner of your eye and you remembered what he said earlier. Hopefully, you really were okay. 

When you turned to grab your backpack from Tyler, Javi let out a snort of laughter while Scott made a strangled internal scream. Turning back in confusion, you felt heat rush to your face as you realized your halter top clearly showed off your tattoo. You gave them both a sheepish smile. Javi just nodded, a wide grin spread across his face, while Scott put one hand on his hip while he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. 

Tyler chuckled as he steered you over to your brother. “Sorry we forgot to mention that, Scotty. But since she became a Wrangler, we let her decide if she wanted to make it official.” His eyes met yours. “And once a Wrangler, always a Wrangler. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” you whispered back, staring deep into his eyes.

Scott groaned as he rubbed his temples. “Could you please just get in the fucking truck? I don’t think I can handle any more surprises tonight.”

 “Sorry,” both you and Tyler muttered at the same time. 

As Tyler helped you climb into Scarecrow, you said one last goodbye to Javi before he walked away and Scott hurried over to the driver’s side. He got in and started the truck, but as your door slammed shut, you motioned for him to put down the window. With a sigh, he did what he was asked. 

Reaching out the window, your fingers curled into Tyler’s shirt, afraid if you let go, he would disappear. Holding back your tears, you choked out, “Don’t you fucking dare forget to call.”

Tyler nodded, a soft smile on his lips even as you saw tears glistening in his green eyes. Dipping his head slightly, he murmured, “Yes, ma’am.” 

He leaned in the window and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. Then he started to pull back, but you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck to stop him as you leaned out the window, your lips crashing into his. If this might be the last time you even saw Tyler Owens, you were going to make it a moment to remember the rest of your life. The kiss wasn’t as passionate or frenzied as some of the ones you shared once you had retreated to your room for the night, but there was a deep desperation there that you felt in your soul. You needed him to know that you didn’t want to leave him. To leave no doubt that you still wanted him despite his fears the trauma of the night would change your mind. 

And most of all, you wanted him to feel the sincerity in your next words.

Pulling away slightly, you whispered, “I still don’t regret a second of our time together. Because I love you, Ty.”

Without hesitation, Tyler whispered, “I love you too, sweetheart. And that’s why I need you to do what’s best for you. Even if that means I’m not a part of that life. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” Taking your hand, he pressed one final kiss to the back of it. “Goodbye, my brave, beautiful girl.”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you said, “Goodbye, my big, bad Tornado Wrangler.”

With a smile and tears in his eyes, Tyler let your hand go and he stepped away from the truck. Before you could change your mind, Scott put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. 

For several miles, you stared out the passenger’s window, silently crying. Scott glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before turning back to look at the road. “You really like him, don’t you?” You nodded. “Damn. I thought it was just your way of messing with me.”

You sighed. “It was…at first. I remembered you had mentioned him and how much you hated his crew so after what you said to me when I first got here, I thought it would be nice to see you squirm watching us together. But as soon as I started getting to know him, everything changed. I’ve never met a man like Tyler Owens before, and I doubt I ever will again.”

“Yeah, well, despite how he saved you tonight, I’m still not happy to find out he’s been shacking up with my little sister,” he mumbled under his breath.

Turning to face him with a chuckle, you asked, “Do you really think Tyler’s the first guy I’ve slept with?”

Scott’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “It’s not something I like to think about. But no…I remember those times Mom caught you in high school.”

“Oh my god!” you burst out laughing. “I still can’t believe she never once tried to stop us or ban the guys from the house. She would just turn bright red and hurry back out the room then pretend she never saw anything.” The smile that had bloomed across your damp face suddenly deflated. “Yet the one time they found you with that topless cheerleader, they almost kicked you out of the house.” You closed your eyes. “Scotty, I’m so sorry for how they treated you. Or for how they treated me. Or both. It wasn’t fair and you deserved better than that. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.”

Scott shifted in his seat. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t fair for me to be mad at you for what they did. You didn’t ask to be treated differently and I shouldn’t have blamed you for something you had no control over. Yeah, you didn’t have to be such a spoiled brat all the time, but I probably would have done the same if I were in your position.”

“So…what does this mean? For us?” you asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know.” His eyes shifted over to look at you once more. “But I’m willing to try if you are.”

“I always was.”

The two of you continued to chat on the way to the hospital, reminiscing about your childhoods and, surprisingly, recalling more happy moments together than either of you thought there were. You guessed they had just been blocked by all the pain and resentment that had built up over the years. 

And as Scott pulled into the hospital parking lot, you couldn’t help but smile at this parting gift Tyler had given you. He could have easily taken you to the hospital and then to the airport—in fact, you were sure it went against every chivalrous bone in his body not to. But instead, he let Scott take you which had given the two of you the time you needed to finally mend that rift between you. 

He had given you your brother back.

Epilogue coming 10/21!!!!

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[evilminji]

I Ponder The Humble Blob Ghost!

You think they are what happens when you ALMOST but not quite A Ghost(tm)? Like, you have the ectoplasm and the will to continue... but you didn't really have A Thing in life? No Final Crystalizing Thought that brings focus? Just "ow! Ah! I'm scared. Don't wanna die!" And theeeeen.... *poof!*

Why am I Orb? Am squish? No bones.

Like? Remove any one piece of the Critical Formula and you get Blob instead of Ghost? Different KINDS, mind you, but blobs none the less.

Like Skulker! Not enough Ectoplasm. Ended up Blob. He CLEARLY had the Will, the Obsession, the gory end and unfinished business... buuuut? No green goo to power the creation of a full body. He clearly knows what he's supposed to LOOK like? But it's not something FIXABLE? Even with his now unlimited access to Ectoplasm.

Like in utero damage that permanently stunted his growth. HE is fine. All his facilities are on-line and checking in as they should, for the level of sentience expected of a ghost of his people. He just... smol. Same strength, intelligence, and power as he would have always HAD...

He just got handed a really, REALLY crap "customize your eternal meatsuit" option screen. Like for real guys. Basicly NO options. His salt is eternal and entirely justified. He could have had his tattoos. He paid a LOT of credits for those! Sat for DAYS! Had to track down this One(1) artist on this SHITTY little trading hub, that BARELY QUALIFIED as one, to sit in on uncomfortable overturned crate... IN A GAS MASK because the AIR SUPPORT KEPT KICKING IT... for hoooours!

It was a WORK OF ART. You would have CRIED.

This is BULLSHIT.

But wait, I hear you say, staring at the Blob ghost chewing on a lamp post. The one that has wii music playing behind the eyes. No thoughts, head jello, one might say. What about THEM?

Good point! Remember that formula?

LOT of Ecto! But THAT... might be either an animal or a fungus. We'd have to check. ANYTHING can and DOES die. If it's alive? It can die and potentially leave a ghost. But! Consider the noble Ghost Rabbit! *holds up squirming rabbit that is ABSOLUTELY trying to both bite me and kick me in the face* A noble and friendly creature!

THIS is what happens when an animal: has sufficient Ectoplasm at the death site, a reason to continue living (fairly common. It's usually their offspring, escape, the instinctual drive to survive itself or other understandable base drives. Like love, loyalty, or hunger.), and that all important High Emotions End.

Miss any of these? You get Blobbertson over there! He's clearly a hungry boy! But! Not very DRIVEN is he? Just floating along, chewing on whatever seems interesting, looking for a snack. He's food motivated. But not MOTIVATED motivated.

Blobbertson over there? A peaceful death. Too much Ectoplasm too leave, too food motivated in life NOT to carry over, but? No DRIVE. To DEFINE and DEMAND the Ectoplasm in his little body become sharp and active. No highly emotional state to stir it into action.

Is Blobbertson INCAPABLE of higher emotions? No. He is every bit as capable as the Ghost Rabbit that has savaged my hands and escaped while you were reading. It was, in fact, NOT as friendly as originally assumed. I may be bleeding. Unimportant. Blobbertson is PERFECTLY capable of getting attached. Being trained.

Whatever level of intelligence Blobbertson had in life, still remains. And WITH that? Comes the ability to improve and grow in death! IF (and this is the big one) he ever finds MOTIVATION to do so.

Because you see, Blobbertson is quite happy. No thoughts, brain jello. Drifting along in a happy green ocean like a jellyfish. Only concerned about his next snack. It's comforting. His food obsession filled, his tiny motivation barely enough to move him place to place.

He would GLADLY sit in one place and eat for the rest of eternity. Head blissfully silent.

And that's OKAY! It truly, honestly, is. Not everyone has to be conquers and kings, crafters and cosmonauts. Sometimes you just want to spend the rest of time playing in the sand. Resting on a sunshine-y hill. Not EVERY soul is a loud one.

This is the INFINITE Realms.

And there are places like Amity Park out there. THICK as cold honey with Ectoplasm in the air, gently infusing all the life that grows there with greater and greater chance of Ghost-hood. Even the peaceful blinking awake after that final rest to look down and... little nubby green paws.

Congratulations on becoming a Blob, grandma! Yes, I imagine you ARE furious it is inordinately difficult to knit like this. No, I don't think complaining to the king will help, MeMa.

That said? I can not tell you if Blob Ghost all belong to the same Family or the same Order, but they are NOT the same species! The WAY in which you fuck up that ever vital Fomula results in WILDLY different Blobs! Was it an animal? A sentient species? A sentient PLANET? A complexe interlocking colony of fungi? What was the EXACT Ectoplasm concentration at the death site? Was that the historical levels or the At Death levels? Was the individual under sedation?

Yes! All of this IS in fact, VERY relevant!

And you think it ends THERE? HA! The SKIES are FILLED with Fighty Mother Fuckers! Ghosts LOVE to fight! It's built into their social dynamics and hierarchy! Good ol brawls to get the Ecto pumping!

......Local Blob Farmer would like to take this moment to say "GET OF HIS GHOST PEONIES, YOU HEATHENS."

No they would NOT like to join your 24/7 thunder dome in the sky, THANKS! Martha here is trying to compose some Atlantian Shell Poetry. Blobby Jr of Blobbington and Blobbington Incorporated is TRYING to study! You've DESTROYED THE COMMUNAL ZEN GARDEN!!

Get! GET!!! *swings broom*

And THEN you look not even a mile east? And it's the floating island of Blobs. They LIKE that rock. It's just an ever shifting, accidentally rolling off the edge, falling slightly, making an offended squeek, and floating back to the top of the pile to repeate the process, MOOSH of thousands of blobs. No one's certain if they used to be seals or some sort of cat.

Apparently THAT island is Warm(tm).

So there they sit. Making contented noises, chirping and shoving for the best spots. They never leave. You can literally just... float up and sit on them. It's amazing. You gotta be careful not to get buried, but it's So Soft and bouncy? And they are ALL making that soft happy Blob vibrate noise. It's like a giant, island sized, warm and almost fuzzy but not, water bed that massages you.

Just DON'T start anything there! Holy SHIT are they territorial. You Will Die. They SWARM.

And THATS not even getting into the Blobs that are? Literally brainless. Some people eat those. Which? I guess? They ARE basicly Ectoplasm jello. But SOME of them are NOT? Like... it's a debate. Hot button issue, ya know?

Some fungus turns into Ecto Jello with negative IQ and delicious insides. Is this food? But OTHER fungus was SENTIENT in life and become a whole RANGE of Fungus ghosts, from Blob right on up to complexe dryad like ghosts! Clearly NOT food unless you are a MONSTER. But THEY argue the FIRST group are ALSO not food?

Plant Ghosts have strong opinions and are willing to Gruesome Violence about it.

Which brings us back to the Humble Blob Ghost! Check before you pet! That might be grandma! Or planning to eat your hand! Just as Mammal tells you little to nothing about what animal you are looking at, so too does Blob and Ghost! Stay safe out there! And if anyone sees a glowing green rabbit? I want my blood back! That's supposed to be in MY body! Rude!

This has been, the daily ghost!

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

[baby-yongbok]

Seventeen

Best friend!Lee Know x Afab!Reader

Genre: Friends to lovers?? Angst?? Fluff??

Summary: Mysterious letters from a stranger made you fall in love despite your best friends apprehensions. You think back to every moment that's led to you meeting your secret admirer but the memories do little to prepare you for the mystery you're about to uncover.

Word Count: 2.4k A/N: This is a repost because I just kinda... wanted to repost it? Idk. I don't think that it did as well as it could the first time so here we go againnnnnn!

❋ Italicized parts are flashbacks

❋ This One shot was inspired by the song i love you by Billie Eilish

✧ Masterlist ✧

Six months of mystery has led you to this moment. You started getting letters from a stranger, dainty decorated notes with cursive words declaring their undying admiration for you and all that you are. You’ve never been the type of person who’s felt seen by those around you, you’ve grown content with floating in the background and only being heard when someone chooses to unmute you. Maybe that’s why these letters felt like a thunderbolt hitting uncharted territory. Maybe that’s why each word that you read when you plucked the baby blue stationary from your mailbox made you feel dizzy as you burned with the desire of a thousand suns. 

“You don’t even know who’s sending these letters. What if it’s some creep?” Your best friend, Minho, grumbled on the other line as he struggled to give his stubborn cat her medicine. 

“No creep could ever write the things I’ve read. He’s emotional and profound and - and he’s…” Your mind wanders off into a daydream as you think of all that he could be. 

“A stranger, he’s a stranger. Listen, I’m all for fairy tales but I don’t want you getting hurt. Just let me take you if you decide to meet the guy.” You huff, he’s right he is a stranger and you shouldn’t meet with this guy alone. “I’ll hide behind a tree or something.” 

You giggle at the thought but agree happily. “If that’ll make you happy then sure. I’ll let you know when he can meet me.”

“Thank you.” A comfortable silence settles on the line before Minho speaks again. “Wait, how do you know that he’ll want to meet up? He doesn’t put a return address, you can’t send him anything back.”

“He’ll want to meet, I just know it.” You stare up at the ceiling with stars in your eyes and butterflies in your stomach. Minho scoffs on the other line.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic that it’s sickening.” 

You sat knee to knee with Minho on the Subway, three more stops and you’d be there. Three more stops and your prince charming would be sitting and waiting for you by Gapstow Bridge. You’ve been to Central Park dozens of times since you’ve moved to the city but nothing could ever top this. You watched as people piled on and off of the subway car, eyes glued to their phones and headphones blasting music or some mystery podcast that would keep them up all night but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to anything other than the hammering of your heart in your chest, what if his is beating at the same rhythm?

“You really don’t have to go with me. I’m a big girl. You have to go all the way back to Korea the day after, you should be packing and resting and spending time with the cats and -” Minho nudged your shoulder as he glared at you with narrow feline eyes. He looked annoyed but you could tell that he was amused. 

“I want to take you, let me see Central Park one more time before I have to leave for half a year.” a weak chuckle escapes you but it quickly drags off into a despondent sigh. 

“I don’t want to go either, trust me, but I’ll be back before you know it. We’ll video call in the middle of the night and early morning and we’ll use our friendship lamps and you can send me a million pictures of Central Park in the winter. I know how much you love Gapstow Bridge.”

“It’s beautiful when it’s covered in snow, really. You have to see it in person, there’s nothing else like it.” You force a smile onto your lips but Minho doesn’t have to pretend. His smile is genuine, it’s just the effect that you have.

“Promise to spam my phone?” He holds out his pinky, his boba eyes upturned at the corners. You can’t help but to smile back, your doe eyes turning into shining moons that no lunar eclipse could rival.

“Promise.”

You turn to look out of the window as the train turns the last bend to your stop. You gasp, a smile spreading over your lips and a plum colored blush adorning your chilled cheeks. 

“Min! Min, it’s snowing. It’s sticking, look!” You tap your best friend, he’s been fiddling with his fingers the entire ride. His usual jokes have been nonexistent this evening, maybe he’s nervous for you. He seemed so worried after all. “I get to spend the first snow with you!” 

You smile over at him, eyes wide like Venus or maybe the moons of Saturn would be a better comparison. No matter the celestial object they could never compare to the shine of your hazel orbs. They are mere specks found in the never ending galaxy of your irises. 

“Maybe this is a sign of good luck.” He grins as his eyes scan the scenery. “Maybe you can make a wish on a snowflake tonight.”

“Look who’s being a hopeless romantic now.” You stick your tongue out at him, squinting your eyes and shaking your head playfully. He huffs a laugh with the crooked smile that he’s known for as he watches you. “Oh! This is us, let's go!”

You grab his hand and pull him out of his seat as you race towards the sliding subway doors. You race up the subway steps, your agile friend trailing behind you quickly with a tight grip on your hand. Once you make it to the top you stop and stare. A thin layer of icy white covers the street and sidewalks. You watch with wide eyes as the slush settles onto the tree branches and falls around you like feathers during a pillow fight. Soft, pretty, comfortable. 

“Are you sure that you want to do this? He could be a creep, ya know.” Minho has asked the same question about fifteen times since the two of you started walking to the train station and your answer has been the same every. Single. Time. 

“I’m positive and if he is, which I doubt that he will be, you’ll be there to do a quick one two jab and save me.” An eye roll and a sigh are all that he offers you as the two of you make your way down the steps to the station. 

“Just… prepare yourself okay? You really don’t know what you’re walking into and I don’t want you to walk out of there with a broken heart.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl, remember?” You take the lead, heading for the turnstile and swiping your MetroCard. You walk through just as you hear the train pull up and turn to Minho with wide eyes of excitement, your heart is still full, he can’t let that be taken away by someone no matter how infatuated you are with them. “It’s here, come on! Run!” 

You run up the metal stairs, the heels of your boots making a song out of each step and Minho follows right behind you, jumping the turnstile and running quickly as he ignores the staff yelling for him to pay. He’s sure that he’ll pay soon, he’ll pay in a currency greater than any atom in his body can handle. 

“There! He said to meet him on the bridge.” You jog towards the attraction that’s always held a special place in your heart. The stunning aged stone and the shining water underneath it made for a beautiful scene. “I don’t see anyone yet though.”

You walk up the slope of the bridge, squinting into the evening darkness. The sun set two hours ago but the lights of the surrounding buildings make up for the stars absence. Despite the orange of the surrounding lights, the air is cold. Your presence is all that makes the atmosphere feel warm. Comfortable.

“Maybe we should just -” You turn to Minho, your fingers laced together across your chest. Your black gloves that are slightly too big slipping up your wrist.

“He’ll be here. He wouldn’t let me down.” Minho sighs, looking over towards the small lake with crisp leaves flowing with each careful ripple that the wind creates. Maybe that’s how this will go, it’ll be smooth like he’s guided by the wind. Certainly he won't shatter the universe in your eyes.

“Y/n.” It was barely a whisper but you heard him. You’re on your toes looking in the other direction when he calls your name but you snap your neck to look up at him. That sparkle in your eyes is so bright. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” He can see it, a star dying in real time. What kind of monster would do this?

“When I- It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” The tear that trails down Minho’s cheek is nearly turned to crystal by the cold bite of the winter air. It blows his parted hair as he stares down at you. You’re putting it all together. The stars dimming at a pace that would leave NASA baffled, confused, anxious.

“Minho, stop messing with me.” You smile and for a second he thinks that he can see them come back. For a second he can spot Orion and the big dipper seems to take one last breath but when he looks away, when he squeezes his eyes shut and chokes back a sob, that’s when the lights go out.

Minho’s never seen a shooting star, he’s never seen light fall at such an alarming rate that we call it beautiful and now he wishes that he never had. He hates that the one time that he got to wish upon a falling star was when he broke your heart. 

“When I started sending them I thought that I had more time, I thought that we…”

“It was you?” A tear trails down your cheek as you whisper, your once sparkling eyes are clouded with frost as the snowflakes catch and melt on your lashes. “You knew about every letter, I read them to you, I told you everything but you already knew because you - you wrote them.”

“I had to tell you. I had to tell you how I felt I couldn’t take it anymore; it was eating me alive. It was killing me.” He turns to you, tear stains on both of his blushed cheeks. His eyes are glazed with worry, panic, and so much love. They’re packed with so much adoration that you wonder how you ever missed it in the first place. “Not being with you was killing me. I just - just wanted to tell you and then I got that damned call. If I would've known that I'd get called back to Korea I wouldn't have done this.” 

“How long have you known?” You cross your arms, staring at his chest rather than his face. “You sent twenty-six letters… which one did you send after you found out that you had to leave?”

“Please.”

“Which one?” Your voice is weak, hoarse with sentiment as you hold back the hurricane of emotions in your chest. 

“Seventeen.” 

“Wow.” Your mouth hangs open in a silent cry of disbelief as you turn to look into the distance of the dark park. 

“I should’ve told you, I know that. I should’ve stopped and confessed I shouldn’t have done this to you but - but you looked so happy. You were so in love with being seen and I was so proud of you for finally believing that someone sees you. That’s all that I’ve ever wanted” You scoff, laughing a bit as you blink up towards the sky, welcoming the snowflakes onto your skin, offering them a safe place to melt as you come undone in the night. 

“Did you have to do it like this?” 

“You love Gapstow and I knew it would snow.” You huff, grinning sadly. You turn to face him again, large eyes searching his anxious ones. He can see the wounds that he’s created but of course you make it look beautiful. Of course your wounds bleed constellations, he’d expect nothing less from you. 

“You never cry.” It’s his turn to grin now. 

“You make me do a lot of things that I said I never would.” 

“Like what? Write twenty-six love letters and sneak them into my mailbox?” You chuckle, are your stars coming back?

“Like love. Believe in love enough to give it a chance. Fall in love so hard that I profess my endearment on expensive stationary just so I can see you smile. Even if you didn’t know that you were smiling for me, because of me.”

“Minho…”

“I’m an idiot and I don’t deserve to love you.” His words are rushed as he smiles down at you. They're a sad and pitiful attempt at masking how much he hates himself right now. It's an attempt to hide how much he wishes he could take this all back and call it all a joke just to see you shine like you did a bit ago. “I don’t deserve to have you love me back either.”

“But I do.” Another tear escapes the floodgates behind your eyes and the hurricane in your chest grows stronger. “I do and I have for so long.”

He stares at you with tears falling faster than before, they chase each other down his cheeks and drip off at the edge turning into snowflakes themselves. Maybe he can make a wish on one.

“I don’t want you to love me.” He chokes out as he blinks the tears away.

“It wouldn’t make you leaving hurt any less. I’d just be losing a different version of you.”

“I put every ounce of myself in those letters, as long as you have them you’re never losing me.”

The thread behind your eyes snapped in that moment and it sent your hurricane of emotions free from your chest. You expected for the trees around you to be lifted up into the air. You expected for you and Minho to be whisked away as you twirl like ballerinas in violent gusts of frigid air but it never came. All that visited you were tears as you began sobbing into your hands.

Your oversized glove slipped to your fingertips, holding on desperately just as you were. Minho wasted no time before wrapping you in his arms, you clung to his chest like a sad child on the playground. Whining sobs into his coat as he quietly matched your emotion.

He knew it. He knew he’d pay for this in a way much bigger than him. He knew he’d empty your heart once you found out but he was selfishly in love with you. How could he confess to you like this when he knew he had to leave?

 He should’ve stopped at letter Seventeen.

This fic was also heavily inspired by this photo of the Gapstow Bridge in Manhattans Central Park:

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

Perm. Tag List:

@compersian @kibs-and-bits @lixiluvs @armystay89 @lghtdarling

@teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123, @moonchild9350 ,

@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @gho-ster , @lghtdarling

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[fullsandwichmiracle]

Eavesdropping

Paring: Joost Klein x female!reader 

Description: Y/N was sitting with her friend at a lively party, the room buzzing with conversation and laughter. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned in close, sharing some intimate details about her fantasies involving Joost.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, weed, smut, PnV, unprotected, Joost being a bit rough, rpf

Word count: 3k+

Sorry for the delay in posting—work and school have kept me busy. But here’s a new one inspired by today's Reading Reddit Stories. I am working on some request, so more is coming.

The house was alive with music, laughter, and the buzz of a summer party in full swing. People moved from room to room, drinks in hand, chatting, dancing, and letting loose. Joost had been floating around, engaging in small talk and enjoying the atmosphere, but after a while, he needed a break from the noise. The house was big, with plenty of rooms that offered a quiet escape. He slipped into a side room, which looked like a small study, hoping to find a moment of peace.

The study was dimly lit, the only light coming from a small lamp on the desk in the corner. Joost shut the door behind him, but it didn’t latch completely, leaving it slightly ajar. He sank into the leather chair by the window, the faint hum of the party outside muffled by the walls. He let out a sigh and opened the window, took out and lit a joint, finally relaxing as he let the distant music fade into the background. 

But soon, voices from the hallway outside caught his attention. They were familiar—Y/N and Liz, giggling and tipsy from a night of fun. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, but when he heard his name mentioned, his ears perked up.

"I’m telling you, Liz," Y/N said, her voice laced with that playful edge she got after a few drinks. "If Joost knew what I really wanted from him… well, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to look at me the same way again."

Joost’s heart skipped a beat. He sat up a little straighter, suddenly very interested in what was being said. He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Oh, do tell!" Liz encouraged, her voice bubbly with excitement. "What kind of dirty little thoughts have you been hiding?"

Y/N let out a low, almost wicked laugh. "You know, the kind where he’s not just the sweet, nice guy everyone thinks he is. I keep imagining what it’d be like if he just… snapped, you know? Like, I want him to lose all that control and just take me wherever we are. Like, right here at this party, against a wall, or maybe even on the floor… not caring who’s around or who might hear us."

Joost felt a shock of electricity run through him. Her words were so unexpected, so raw and vivid, that they hit him like a truck. He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking slightly under him. The idea of Y/N—fun, witty, and someone he had secretly admired—fantasizing about him like that was enough to make his head spin.

Liz gasped, then let out a laugh that was almost scandalized. "Y/N! I didn’t know you had it in you! That’s… wow, okay, that’s hot. But honestly, I think he’d be down for it if he knew."

Y/N snorted and laughed. "Yeah, sure. Like I’m just going to walk up to him and tell him I fantasize about him choking me while he's fucking me senseless."

Joost’s heart was pounding in his chest, the air around him suddenly feeling too warm. Before he could fully process what he was doing, he walked up to the door frame to be able to hear the conversation more clearly, causing the door to creak loudly.

Both Y/N and Liz fell silent. Liz, always the sharp one, noticed the slightly ajar door immediately. Her eyes widened as she nudged Y/N, pointing toward the study. "Oh my god, Y/N…"

Y/N turned slowly, her heart dropping to her stomach as she saw the door, and through the small crack, Joost’s unmistakable silhouette. Her face flushed a deep red as she realized he must have heard everything. Liz was biting her lip, trying not to burst out laughing, her eyes darting between Joost and Y/N, reveling in the unfolding drama.

Joost stepped into the doorway, his face caught somewhere between a grin and something darker, more intense. His eyes locked onto Y/N’s, a glint of mischief playing in them. "So," he started, his voice low and teasing, "I couldn’t help but overhear something about losing control and taking you… right here?"

Y/N’s mouth went dry, her usual quick wit abandoning her as she stared at him, wide-eyed. "I… I was just joking around," she stammered, though the words didn’t carry much conviction. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, the alcohol in her system making her feel even more vulnerable under his gaze.

Joost took a slow, deliberate step closer, the air between them thick with tension. "Were you?" he asked, his voice a seductive murmur that made her shiver. "Because if that’s really what you want, I’m more than willing to make it happen."

Liz, barely able to contain herself, let out a laugh that she quickly tried to stifle. "Oh my god, you guys," she giggled, taking a step back. "I’m just gonna… leave you two to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do." With a playful wink, she spun around and disappeared into the throng of partygoers, leaving Joost and Y/N alone.

Y/N couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol, the heat of the moment, or the way Joost was looking at her with those intense, dark eyes, but she felt herself leaning into the tension rather than shying away from it. "I didn’t think you’d actually… want to," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joost was standing so close now that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. "I’ve wanted to for a long time," he confessed, his voice rough with desire. "But now that I know what you’ve been thinking… I don’t think I can hold back."

Y/N’s breath hitched, and before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her level. "Then don’t," she whispered against his lips.

That was all the encouragement Joost needed. With a low growl, he crushed his lips to hers, the kiss hungry and demanding, all the pent-up tension between them finally exploding. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as he pushed her back against the wall, the bass of the music vibrating through them both.

Y/N responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The party, the world outside that moment faded into nothing as they lost themselves in each other. Joost’s lips left hers, trailing down her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me," he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with need. "Tell me what else you’ve been imagining."

Y/N gasped as his teeth grazed her collarbone, her body arching against him. "I’ve been thinking… about how you’d feel inside me," she confessed breathlessly. "Right here… right now… I want you, Joost. I want you to fuck me so hard that everyone at this party knows exactly what we’re doing."

Joost let out a low, primal sound, a dark grin spreading across his face as he lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist. "Then let’s make it a party they won’t forget," he growled, his hands sliding under her dress as he pressed her firmly against the wall.

The heat between them was scorching, their breath mingling as they kissed again, harder, more desperate. The music pulsed in the background, but all Y/N could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, all she could feel was Joost’s hands on her, his body pressed so tightly against hers.

Joost’s mouth was on her ear now, his voice a rough whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "I want to hear you," he commanded, his hand slipping under her panties. "I want to hear you moan my name."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her head falling back against the wall as she felt his fingers slide inside her. "Joost," she whimpered, her voice high and needy, exactly what he wanted to hear.

He growled in response, his lips finding hers again as he began to move his fingers, his pace relentless. Y/N’s body trembled, her moans growing louder as the pleasure built, their surroundings fading completely into oblivion as they lost themselves in each other.

Outside the room, the party continued, oblivious to the wild, electric scene unfolding just behind the study’s closed door. But neither Joost nor Y/N cared. They were lost in the moment, giving in to the dark, burning desire that had finally come to light, and there was no going back.

Y/N’s senses were overwhelmed as Joost’s touch sent shockwaves through her body. The room around them seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the music outside, but it felt distant, secondary to the intense connection between them. Her back pressed against the wall, she could feel every movement he made, the heat of his body burning through the thin fabric of her dress.

Joost’s lips were relentless, trailing fiery kisses along her neck, his stubble scraping against her skin in a way that made her shiver with anticipation. He wasn’t just kissing her; he was claiming her, marking her as his in a way that felt primal and raw. His hand slipped further down, gripping her thigh as he lifted her leg higher around his waist, opening her up to him even more.

"God, Y/N," Joost breathed against her skin, his voice rough with need. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, how many nights I’ve thought about what it would be like to have you like this."

His confession sent a thrill through her, knowing that he had been harboring the same desires she had tried to push down for so long. "Then don’t stop," she urged, her voice breathy and desperate. "Show me, Joost."

Joost’s eyes darkened, a fierce determination taking over as he reached down, his fingers deftly working to free himself from the constraints of his jeans. The air between them was thick with tension, every second stretched out as he positioned himself at her entrance, his gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race.

"Tell me how much you want this," Joost demanded, his voice low and commanding. "I want to hear you say it."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. "I want it, Joost," she whispered, her voice trembling with raw need. "I want you to fuck me right here, right now. I need you."

With a growl of satisfaction, Joost thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt in one swift motion. The suddenness of it drew a gasp from Y/N’s lips, her nails digging into his shoulders as she clung to him, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his desire. He was everywhere—inside her, around her—his presence consuming every part of her being.

Joost set a punishing rhythm, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, the sound of skin against skin filling the small room. Y/N’s moans grew louder, uninhibited, as she surrendered to the sensations coursing through her. She didn’t care who might hear them, didn’t care about anything except the way Joost made her feel like she was on fire, like she was unraveling beneath him.

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer, deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. "You feel so fucking good," Joost groaned, his voice rough and filled with raw hunger. "I’m not going to stop until I hear you scream my name."

Y/N’s head fell back against the wall, her mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure as Joost’s words drove her further to the brink. The tension inside her tightened with every thrust, every touch, building up to a nearly unbearable intensity. Joost’s hand moved to her neck, applying a firm, possessive pressure that sent shivers through her body.

"Joost," she gasped, her voice breaking as the pleasure became too much to bear. "I’m… I’m so close…"

Joost let out a deep growl, his movements becoming more urgent, his grip on her tightening as he pushed Y/N closer to the edge. "Come for me, Y/N," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. "I want to feel you come around me."

Those words sent her over the edge. Y/N's body arched against him as her climax tore through her, a cry of pure ecstasy escaping her lips as waves of pleasure overwhelmed her, leaving her breathless and trembling in his arms.

But Joost wasn't finished. His grip tightened as he thrust deeper, his breath hot against her neck. "I'm not done with you yet," he growled, his voice a dark promise that sent shivers down her spine.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Joost’s words hung in the air, their intensity reigniting the fire between them. Her body was still quivering from the overwhelming orgasm that had just crashed through her, but the dark, insatiable hunger in Joost’s eyes told her he wasn’t even close to being done.

Without warning, Joost tightened his grip on her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh with a bruising force that sent a jolt of anticipation through her. He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her, his gaze burning with a raw, primal desire that made her heart race. There was no tenderness in his touch now, only a ruthless determination to claim every part of her.

“You think you’ve had enough?” Joost’s voice was a dark, growling rasp, filled with unrestrained hunger. “I’m not stopping until every last person at this party hears you scream my name.”

Before Y/N could respond, Joost captured her mouth in a bruising kiss, his lips punishing and unyielding as he devoured her. There was no gentleness, only the desperate, violent need to dominate, to possess her completely. His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back as he ravaged her mouth, his teeth grazing her bottom lip with enough force to make her gasp.

His hips slammed into hers with brutal force, each thrust deep and merciless, driving her against the wall with a rhythm that was anything but slow. Y/N’s nails dug into his back, leaving angry red welts as she clung to him, overwhelmed by the intensity. The pain only fueled her desire, her body arching into him as she lost herself in the raw, animalistic need he unleashed in her.

The room around them was filled with the harsh sounds of their coupling—her gasps and moans, his growls of satisfaction, the sharp slap of skin against skin as Joost pounded into her with unrelenting force. The tension between them tightened, coiling like a spring ready to snap as Joost drove her closer and closer to the edge.

“Joost…” Y/N’s voice was breathless, trembling with a mix of exhaustion and desperate need, but before she could finish, Joost silenced her with another punishing kiss, his tongue invading her mouth with a ferocity that left her dizzy.

“I’m not stopping until I know you can’t take any more,” he growled against her lips, his pace quickening, his grip on her hips so tight she knew she’d wear his marks for days.

She was completely at his mercy, her body a live wire of sensation as he drove her toward another explosive climax.

Y/N could feel the tension in her body reaching a breaking point, every muscle coiled tight as Joost’s thrusts became even more brutal, more demanding. And then, with a final, devastating thrust, Y/N shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her with a violence that left her screaming his name.

Joost’s own release was swift and fierce, a guttural growl tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep inside her, the intensity of their shared climax leaving them both trembling, breathless, and utterly spent.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, bodies entwined, their hearts pounding in sync as they rode the waves of their shared ecstasy. Joost held her close, his forehead resting against hers as they fought to catch their breath, the air between them thick with the remnants of their desire.

Finally, Joost pulled back, his eyes still dark and intense as they locked onto Y/N’s. A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips, his voice hoarse and rough as he murmured, “Anything like you imagine?”

Y/N returned his smile, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their raw, intense connection. “Even better,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, her touch gentle in contrast to the ferocity of what they’d just shared.

Joost chuckled darkly, pressing a rough kiss to her forehead before he slowly lowered her back to the ground, his hands lingering on her waist as if reluctant to let her go. 

They stayed like that for a moment, lost in the intimacy of the aftermath, the sounds of the party still faint in the background but no longer a part of their world. It was just the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s arms, the tension that had been building between them for so long finally released.

But as the reality of what had just happened began to settle in, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound a mix of relief and disbelief. "I can’t believe we just did that," she said, her voice still breathless, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

Joost grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he nuzzled her neck. "Believe it," he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. "And just so you know, this isn’t a one-time thing. Now that I know what you want, I’m going to make sure you get it… again and again."

Y/N shivered at the promise in his voice, her body already responding to the idea of more, of Joost taking her in every way she had ever fantasized about. "Ohh please do," she whispered back, her lips finding his in a slow, lingering kiss that held the promise of everything that was to come.

As they finally untangled themselves, the party outside still raging on, they knew that everything had changed between them. They had crossed a line, broken through the barriers that had kept them apart for so long, and now there was no going back.

And neither of them wanted to.

[koshercosplay]

it's time for yet another year of chanukah ratings! that's right folks here are my Very Important Ratings of chanukah memorabilia (or, as I wrote last year with the pun of the century, menorabilia) for this year. Buckle up everyone for a wild ride!

none of these have anything to do with chanukah, but as we all know, chanukah IS the jewish holiday of all time which means it's time to bring out every single piece of even vaguely jewish-related merchandise! 5/10 the transliterations are incorrect

this is most likely a translation error but the thing is I still don't know what was supposed to be there. I want this pillow. I'm gonna start peppering this into my conversations. 7/10 many menorah!

oh no. no no no. why is there always at least one of these. I'm so tired. we have never wanted jewish santa. actually this looks like regular santa just stole those items from a jewish household. maybe santa IS christian after all! 1/10 santa has descended into a life of crime and thievery

it's very funny to me that to goyim chanukah is the live laugh love peace light and joy holiday because of the ~pretty lights~ when in reality it's about a rebellious uprising against our oppressors. AND latkes. 4/10 why is the t in latkes lowercase

no no you see the big floating magen dovid behind thomas jefferson isn't antisemitic, it's just a friendly reminder that jews control the banks! -102938473732/10 hey walmart what the fuck

I for one am ready to accept the hanukkah armadillo as part of the tribe. unfortunately the designers of this were cowards and didn't even give him a kippah or menorah. 6/10 free the menoradillo from bland christmas capitalism and give him a latke

this feels like an advertisement for "I Spy". the menorah isn't kosher. aladdin's lamp is there for some reason. is he jewish? good for him. mizrachi jewish icon. 5/10 scroll back up and read the hebrew

I saved the best for last purely because Tis The Season of the Boob Donuts. once you notice the Boob Donut you can't escape. that's not even how jelly donuts are filled and yet, here we are. 9/10 for boobs and no christmas imagery

[a-leg-without-fear]

Reading to Each Other 🪻

day one of tuna tober y'all!! i'm SO fricking excited! :D

Ship: Duke Leopold Mountbatten x f!Reader

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: lots of LOTR, tobacco mention, riddles, kissing, cuddles

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. Rain pattered on your apartment's windows, the occasional roll of thunder booming outside. The spiced scent of your pumpkin candle floated through the living room air. Warm light shone from shaded lamps positioned on either end of your green-clothed sofa. A thick, soft blanket was draped over your lap.

You held your worn copy of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. Images of a dark cave filled with still water and an eerie sense of calm floated from the yellowed pages. Sounds of whispered riddles and shaking hands holding shining jewelry bounced around inside your head. It was nearly impossible to read Tolkien and not get entirely engrossed.

"How's your book?" Leo asked from the other end of the couch.

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your head snapped up from where you'd been hunched over your book, eyes wide, as you met Leo's amused gaze. A light laugh filtered through his bright smile.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to alarm you," he said, amusement clearly indicating that he wasn't sorry in the slightest. You shook your head and sighed at his antics.

"Uh huh. Sure," you groused with a growing smile.

Leo was equally curled up on his side of the sofa. Fluffy blanket draped across his lap, glasses fitted over his thin nose, copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen balanced in one of his hands. Hazel eyes trailed over the "grumpy" expression you'd forced over your face.

"Anything interesting standing out so far?" he asked, nodding to the book still clutched in your hands.

"I'm at one of my favorite parts, if that's what you mean," you replied as you burrowed deeper into the couch cushions. Leo tucked his bookmark into his novel, then set the book and his glasses on the end table nearest him.

"Care to elaborate?" he pressed with a cocked eyebrow. You bit your lip as you scanned over the pages again. Hisses and riddles and splashes of ground water leapt from the ink. Hmm. Riddles.

"Well, this part is about Bilbo bargaining, with a creature named Gollum, for his life. They're exchanging riddles as a sort of game," you explained, trying your best to not confuse a man who'd never heard of the Lord of the Rings.

"And what riddles are they?" Leo asked with a growing smile. He crossed his legs under his blanket to give you his undivided attention. You glanced between him and the book in your hands.

"You want to try and solve the riddles, or do you want me to read the whole part?"

"Just the riddles," he specified. You hummed in response.

"Alright, just know that they can get pretty tricky," you said in a singsong manner. Leo stared at you with apt interest as you turned to the correct page in your book. Inked words flew past your eyes, descriptions of swords and hobbits and tobacco and goblins filling your mind, nearly sucking you back into the story, before you found the first riddle. You cleared your throat and read, "What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up it goes, and yet never grows?"

"Has to be a mountain, isn't it?" Leo guessed almost immediately. He seemed rather confident in his answer, dimples digging into his cheeks with how wide his smile had stretched.

"Yup. Mountain," you answered, already thinking of which riddle to do next. Do you be nice and keep giving him the easier ones, or kick it up a notch? He did invent the elevator, after all.

"Give us a harder one, love," he said. That decides it for you, then.

"It cannot be seen, cannot be felt. Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter."

Leo blew out a long stream of air, "When I said hard, I didn't mean that hard!"

You refrained from making the obvious joke brewing at the back of your throat. An involuntary giggle leaked from your lips. You tried to play it off by resting your chin in your hand, fingers digging into your lips, to keep yourself quiet.

The room was quiet for a few moments as Leo considered the riddle. Raindrops trailed down the window, rivulets chasing each other and creating long tails that winded up the glass. This Sunday, utterly serene in its quality, was one of many you'd gotten to experience with Leo. Something about him just garnered peace in your life.

"Do I get a hint?" he asked with a sigh. You grinned at him from under your fingers.

"If Bilbo doesn't get a hint, neither do you," you said. Leo groaned, leaning back on the sofa and throwing an arm over his face. You couldn't help the laugh that breezed between your fingers.

"You are undeniably cruel," he grumbled under his arm.

"You wanted a harder riddle," you replied with a shrug. Leo grunted in return, making you laugh again. You waited a few more moments, letting him agonize over the riddle, before you decided to take pity, "What is it when your eyes are closed?"

"The hell are you on about? Is this a part two to the riddle?" Leo groused.

The blanket in your lap pooled into a pile on the floor as you crawled across the couch. Your sweatpants-clad legs framed Leo's hips, your hands running up his sides, as you sat in his lap. He begrudgingly lowered his arm and met your eyes.

"That was a clue. What do you see when you close your eyes?" you repeated as you ran your palms up and down his forearms. Leo's expression softened slightly.

"A spot of mercy," he said, smile returning, "I was wrong in labeling you cruel."

"Yeah yeah, Mr.1876. Just answer the damn riddle," you said as you rolled your eyes. Leo's warm palms found their usual place on your hips.

"You can't see it, feel it, hear it, or smell it. And closing my eyes has something to do with it," he listed, tongue darting across his bottom lip. A few more moments filled with pondering passed.

"For god's sake," you breathed as you clapped your hand over his eyes. The two of you had been together for so long that the action had hardly surprised him. You waited for a moment in hope that this obvious clue would help. Being met with only silence, you said, "What do you see right now?"

"Your hand, for one," Leo quipped back. He flinched with a laugh when you pinched him with your free hand.

"Close your frickin' eyes, Leo."

Silence settled over the two of you. Warm, comfortable, charged with amusement at your situation. Only Leo's smile could be seen from under your hand. His thumbs tucked under the hem of your t-shirt.

"It's dark," he finally said. You gave him a few moments to connect the dots. A gasp shook his chest, "Dark! That's the answer!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!" you exclaimed as you dropped your hand from his eyes.

Pure elation crinkled in the corners of his hazel eyes. He hugged you closer to his chest, a laugh shaking where your bodies met. You couldn't help but join in. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders to steady yourself.

"Do I get a prize for so effortlessly solving the riddle?" Leo asked with a hint of sarcasm after the two of you had calmed a bit.

"I'm deducting points for the use of a hint," you hummed, feigning consideration at his question.

"And those points, will they affect the prize I know I've earned?"

You answered his question by pressing your lips to his. Both smiling, both clinging to the other with absolute adoration, the occasional giggle buzzing between you.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. It was raining outside, your candle had burnt down to the wick, and you were cradled in Leo's lap as you both read your respective books. Your back to his chest, blanket draped over both of your laps, his cheek rested on the crown of your head. Every now and then you'd read a part of your book aloud, garnering the same in return from Leo.

AHHHHHHHHH this is so frickin cute i might CRY!!! happy tuna tober everyone!!!

taglist: @just-a-nightdreamer @venomqueen2002 @c1eepypas1a @www-interludeshadow-com

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[yona049]

𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Part 1

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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Disclaimer!

This is a story following the events after the Phantom of the Opera (2004) and only follows the movie and not any other adaptations!

Started with this fic a few years ago and finally continued bc I couldn't find any new fic's to read! 🥺

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(For ambiance~)

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Y/n stood with her feet planted infront of the burning Palais Garnier opera house, the ashes of a once red stage curtain falling on her bare shoulders. The only bit of warmth was the costume she was wearing.

A red fire dancer, her hair still in perfect shape. Tho it seems that the other staff of the Opera house weren't as lucky.

Her home was burning down infront of her eyes, and snow did nothing but usher on the burning flames of rage.

This was the doing of one Phantom of the opera. The damned demon took it all from them, their home, their jobs and even Christine Daaé.

The lead singer and great musician that made Y/n dance like never before, Christine's sweet melody made her feet float inches from the ground as her soul danced in sync with her body.

One shiver crawled up Y/n's spine when she heard an unghastly scream. Her feet simply lept to it, only to find a man crawling out of the burning opera house.

"Monsieur!" she cried out to him.

His face seemed to have already been caught by the fire and he barely wore anything but a shirt and his trousers. Y/n fell to her knees beside his weak body.

"Don't worry, Monsieur, you are out of the fire! Please, be still! You are injured. "

She trembled watching blood force its way through the thin gaps between the snowflakes. Blood still warm enough to melt and merge with ice to water.

In a desperate attempt, Y/n pulls off the bottom part of her dancing grown and desperately looked for the point of injury when she finally found the wound on the calve on his leg.

Tieing it tightly before Y/n hoisted him up to his feet.

"Please lean on me, we need to get further from the flames!"

He didn't speak, only grunted in pain. His voice was deep, without effort as if he was willing to Perish without hesitation.

Y/n took a moment to gently touch his burnt skin on his face, he didn't seem to whine. It was as she thought, the wound was not from the fire that had engulfed many others in its treacherous flames.

She shakes herself awake and quickly focuses on the problem at hand.

"I have strength to carry you, but you'll need to carry your consciousness for a little while longer!" she shutted, her voice swelling with pity for him.

'What happened to this poor soul?' She wondered and dragged his feet though the snow.

Y/n didn't know his name, nor his origin from the opera house. Perhaps a operator for the theater special effects? Or perhaps a member of the audience, sitting among the red velvet seats and nearly getting crushed by the chandelier falling loose from its hinges.

It wasn't long after when Y/n and the other performers were taken to a nearby inn. Perhaps it was the will of a greater power that the Opera managers didn't leave them to rot on the streets. Rather to reclaim insurance funds or come around a lone?

At least, she hoped that was the case. But for the moment, she was afraid of what might happen.

The opera house had been home for the last eighteen years of Y/n's life. No, certainly more!

Her father was a dancer, and her mother's legacy had been lost among the chatter and rumors of the opera.

Y/n's father had passed when she was only ten. Now, she was eighteen years older and she promised to follow in his dancing steps to fame.

Still engulfed in her thoughts Y/n stared into the small oil lamp flames while she sat on the bed of the inn. The figure of a woman danced in the red and orange colors.

This seemed to distract her from the man waking up from his exhausted slumber behind her.

He winced with a grumble when Y/n's head turned to face him. His palm covering the burn on his face that she saw before.

"Monsieur?" she whispered in an effort not to frighten him.

His gaze slowly trailed to Y/n's worried expression, but his palm never left his face.

Y/n took this opportunity to explain their predicament.

"Please, do not be frightened. We're in an inn, the managers have sent us to wait until they can reclaim funds."

She stood up to take the bowl of water and cloth to dampen the burnt flesh on the man's face.

She knelt down beside the bed and lightly lifted the damp cloth to his face. His eyes met hers, but Y/n only stared in silence hoping he'd understand her efforts.

Tho he was hesitant, his palm lightly lifted from his face. She feared the wound was still hissing with pain. Lightly the cloth is placed onto his eye and he gave a simple sigh of relief.

Silence filled the room, it would've seemed like only the stars were their witness if it weren't for the drunken cheers from the bar below.

Finally the man took a breath and spoke.

"What of Christine Daaé? Has she been found?"

Y/n's breathing seemed to betray her when her body couldn't fathom the gentle voice the man muttered. She tried to form words, creating a stutter.

"Y-yes, it um, It seems she has been retrieved by the Viscount Raoul de Chagny. She has offered many services to those who did not escape the flames unscathed." she whispered and willed herself to not look into his captivating eyes.

He looks to the side and gives a simple smile, seeming satisfied with his thought.

As soon as his skin was dampened once more he tried to stand with a gasply hiss of pain.

"Monsieur, please be patient! Your wound is still open and fresh!"

He grits his teeth before taking his seat again but looking back at the fireplace.

The rest of the night remained quiet, like he didn't have need to ask her anymore questions.

An awkward night spent sharing a room with a stranger. He fell asleep quickly with exhaustion.

Y/n couldn't sleep. Things ended so abruptly! How could she? Her love died in the fire, her home, belongings. She had nothing to her name anymore.

Y/n quietly stood up from the bed trying to keep noises to a minimum. Avoiding the creeking floor boards and opening the window to look outside.

The smoke from the Opera house covered the sky, no moon in sight. This quiet moment with her thoughts caused her throat to close up and her eyes to push tears.

As quietly as she could, she tried crying everything out, to no avail. Morning her loss took more than just a moment of soft tears.

"I'm sorry my love, Aloïs, I couldn't save you!"

She whispered. Her lover in the theater house had been burnt in the flames because he pushed her away from falling beams.

"Aloïs?"

She gasped when the voice lurks from behind her caught her off guard. The man stood up from the bed and had walked to right behind her without her hearing him.

"Monsieur! I'm so sorry, did I wake you?"

He shakes his head before spotting Y/n's shivers. Looking back at the blanket on the bed, he grabs it with one hand and swings it across her shoulders.

A gentleman! Y/n wasn't sure many workers from the Opera were quite so kind.

"You knew my Aloïs?"

He nods before leaning on the wall next to the window.

"Indeed, he helped me with costumes, more specifically Masks." The man mumbled folding his arms across his chest.

Y/n quickly realized what he meant when the dim light shone on his burnt face. Aloïs was the lead costume designer for all actors, singers and dancers in the opera. He'd certainly be willing to help a gentleman like the man stood next to her.

With a small giggle she put her hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, Aloïs would do something like that. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable without a mask."

He looks at me confused almost relieved that he wasn't the one in trouble for once. That someone genuinely asked if he was uncomfortable instead of rushing him away and out of sight.

"You're apologizing? Mademoiselle-"

"Y/n, please."

He seems to smile before leaning closer and wiping a lingering tear off Y/n's cheek.

"Y/n, my name is Erik."

Small talk lasted for a few more hours until the sun started to rise.

All members of the Opera house were called to the outside of the Inn where Monsieur André and Firmin would enlighten them of the situation.

Monsieur André took the lead standing ontop of the inn balcony.

"Listen all! I'm afraid we have terrible news you will all now be let go from the Opera house!"

A sudden uproar of voices filled the street and Y/n felt my body wobble a little from shock. Erik stood beside her with his hand on the small of my back trying to stabilize her.

Monsieur Firmin then took the lead and explained:

"This was a terrible tragedy! And with the business in shambles we have no hope of reviving it, thanks to our generous sponsor, Viscount Raoul de Chagny, we will be giving out warm clothes to help with your resignation."

They both quickly scurry out of view back into the inn, likely out the back door leaving the crowd in shock and anger.

Y/n bit her lip feeling another wave of sadness overcome her. Quick breathing and a pounding heart for the unknown future that lied before her.

"Fools!" She hears Erik mumble under his breath.

"We must go quickly!" he said grabbing her hand and pulling her through the crowd to the front.

They got their clothes, thanks to Erik for getting them there early enough to take a few extra pieces of clothes.

Even with a wounded leg, Erik managed to take them to a proper alleyway to get dressed in the clothing.

He dressed first, then stood at the front of the ally to let Y/n get dressed keeping a look out.

A gentleman walked by peeping into the alleyway, but Erik growled loudly and with his burnt face scared the gentleman away.

"I'm done!"

Y/n smiled walking out with the costume she wore neatly folded in her arms.

Erik seemed to smile at her for a very small second then it quickly fell away, he brought his palm to cover his face.

"May I?"

He looked at Y/n confused until she gently took his hand and pulled it away.

"This might not be as good as Aloïs's handy work."

She looked down at her costume before quickly ripping off a piece of the skirt. She used the edges to tie it delicately around the side of his face tracing over it.

"You shouldn't have to hide! People are children! Gasping at the first strange thing they see." Y/n declared.

Erik chuckles but only for a second before going back into a smile.

"Perhaps."

He offers his arm which Y/n gladly took. They walked out into the crowded streets.

The sights were great and all the small shops and children seemed so foreign to her. In the Opera house they only had wooden or stone walls with the occasional windows high up in the building. The space of an open sky and streets going as far as the eye could see was a breath of fresh air.

A few hours later, Y/n suddenly realized that neither Erik or herself currently had a place to live, she have no living family to rely on.

Walking around the city for the first time in years distracted her from the dormant thoughts about the trouble we were in.

She looked back at Erik ready to ask him if he has a plan, but his eyes were sparkling. He was bewildered and intrigued by buildings, people, sounds and other sights. Y/n was starting to wonder if he'd ever been outside the Opera.

She felt a smile spread across her face from the warmth radiating off Erik.

"Erik, have you never-"

"Hello little mis!" a voice from behind her.

Three men quickly surrounded them and Y/n felt her body shrink into fear. Her lack of outside experience made her forget about the rats lurking around the city.

"Well, well! Give us a smile! How much?"

Y/n felt one of the bigger men behind her run his hand down her back.

She jump forward from his touch ready defend herself however, Erik pinched her arm tightly between his bicep and torso.

Y/n looked up at him and noticed the grimace clenching of his teeth.

"Now, this is unfortunate, just as I was starting to enjoy the outside." Erik fumed.

The man reaches for Y/n's behind again but this time Erik uses a closed fist to swing right into the man's nose.

He pushed Y/n off to the side, just hard enough for her to delicately hit the wall. She watched while this night old acquaintance fights off three large men with a bit of wood he swooped off the ground.

Using it to jab into the first mans forearm and then kneeing him in the groin.

Erik kicks the second man in the side, and to their luck, the third starts running. Finally all three run at the first sight of blood.

Erik breathes heavily before dropping to a knee with a loud grunt,clutching his injured leg from the fire.

"Erik!" Y/n ran to his side and wormed her arm underneath his arm and around his torso.

"We have to leave before they bring friends." Y/n stammered.

Her eyes dart around to land on a Inn with a tavern at the ground floor. The sun was setting again so soon and the candles of the tavern were lit.

She walked with Erik and quickly made their way inside to set Erik down in the corner of the tavern by a table.

"Oi!" The barkeep yells at us.

"Out!! You don't have no money!"

Looking at their clothes Y/n understood exactly how he knew we had no money to spend.

"Please! This man is injured, we need-"

He interrupts Y/n again.

"No money, no service! Out!"

Y/n bit her lip hard, thinking of anything to pay this man until she got a small shred of an idea.

"I dance!"

This makes the barkeep stop and look back at them. He leaned against the bar and waited.

Y/n realized he wanted an example before she swallowed the lump of pride in her throat.

She slowly pulled her coat off revealing a very inexpensive dress they received from the Managers.

Low cut to account for all bust sizes and too long skirt for all heights of woman in the Opera house. Throwing the coat over Erik she leaned close to his ear to whisper.

"Hold on, I'll get more help and medicine for that leg."

He groans grabbing Y/n's arm, objecting to what he knew she'd do. She felt her heart want to cry at his genuine worry for her pride. She gently lifts his hand off before turning back to the bar keep.

She looked down at her skirt before lifting it and tieing it into a knot showing just above her knees.

The musician with a pocket fiddle in the corner starts playing a rhythmic song and patrons start coming in.

Y/n puts on the best smile she could muster before starting to move her legs and hips.

Y/n felt the gazes of every drunken basted, but worst of all, she felt Erik watching her. Intrigued or Disgusted? She wasn't sure. She hoped for the latter. It was the better of the two.

Moving her hand over a rich looking patrons shoulders before spinning to the bar and smiling at another gentleman.

For what felt like forever, Y/n danced following each rhythm of each song played.

Getting a small tip from some patrons before she stopped and leaned against the bar.

Out of breath with her chest moving up and down rapidly. Another song had ended. She wasn't sure how much longer she could continue, her legs burnt from no warm up before hand like she knew she had to.

The barkeep, more likely the owner of the inn, pushed a glass of water toward her.

"Well done girl! We haven't had this many patrons in a while."

He praised but Y/n growled and reached out to him with an open palm.

"I did my part, I need payment."

The barkeep looks disgusted and Y/n was afraid for a moment he would refuse her payment. Thankfully he reached into his apron pocket and gave her a good hand full of coins.

Before she could pull her hand back he grabbed her wrist and smirked.

"Come back, with a better attitude, and you can make twice as much."

Y/n gritted her teeth looking away knowing its a large possibility she'd need to come back for more payment.

She pulled her wrist back then ran to where she'd left Erik only to spot him with an angry expression.

"Erik?"

She knew it, he was disgusted! She hesitated in front of him. He only managed to lean forward and pull the knot out of her skirt letting it cover her legs again.

He looks away but patted on the seat beside him. Y/n felt her body once again shrink in on itself as she sat beside him.

She took this opportunity to count the coins and realized they had enough to rent a room for the night and for her to go buy bandages and medicine.

Once they were in the room she felt a very strange hole in her heart, she felt like she'd betrayed him. She was sure he'd leave the next chance he got. She basically did what he'd tried to prevent in the first place.

She sat on the bed facing away while Erik used this time to wash up in the wash room and apply the medicine and bandages himself.

"Y/n."

His voice stood out from the muffled cheers downstairs.

His hand traveled to Y/n's and he sat beside her on the bed.

"I'm sorry."

Those small words made Y/n breath a sigh of relief before she felt his arms wrap her into a hug.

She'd never cried in front of anyone or at least she tried to avoid it as much she could, so how is it possible for this man to have seen her cry twice.

His chin rested on her head as she sobbed. It felt like she would never stop. Until Erik started humming. A soft but familiar tune. A song from the Opera house used in one of the famous plays.

It was beautiful, an angel of music. A voice she didn't know she longed to hear. In sleep he sang to her, and in dreams he he came.

Y/n slowly calmed her sobs before her body fell into a limp sleep and exhaustion.

Erik smiled before slowly laying her onto the bed, however she was clenched onto his shirt so tightly, Erik gave in and layed with her on the bed.

He looked at her calm face wondering how she was able to remain so strong though everything, even taking care of him aswell as herself.

Feeling his heartbeat similarly to the first time it did when he saw Christine. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and slowly pulled her into his chest, keeping her covered from all the worldly wrongs.

[ckret2]

Ages ago I made a post about what Ford thinks about Bill (in a billford context), and I've had an infodump on what Bill thinks about Ford floating on discord for months, and an ask finally prompted me to post it, so here ya go:

If asked why he likes Ford, Bill himself claims that Ford overthinks everything, but in such fun, interesting ways, and Bill likes the way Ford thinks about things.

But really, Bill overthinks everything too; it's just he overthinks social things. He's always calculating how to persuade, control, manipulate people. He never has a conversation that isn't a chess game, it's exhausting and he won't even admit it's exhausting. When's the last time his top priorities weren't either "how do I convince some sucker to make a portal" or "ugggh I'm so SICK of the PORTAL I'm gonna THROW A PARTY and NOT THINK AT ALL"

Whereas Ford is guy who'd hear someone say something incorrect and bluntly go "no you're wrong" and accidentally offend the hell out of them because he's SO excited to share this fantastic information they don't know. The social world DOES NOT EXIST for him until he's reminded of it.

And so he's free to turn all his brainpower instead to. Like. The environmental impact of barf fairies on fern fertilizer or whatever.

Bill knows Everything™ but he's gotten tired of doing anything with that knowledge. They're all discrete points of information to him. He doesn't have time to muse over things, he's got an inventor to manipulate at 11pm and then a party to get to at midnight. He's never once in his life thought about the impact of barf fairies on the local flora. But he does happen to know the plants in that part of the woods are more acid-resistant and wow is that why???? He's never even thought to think about that before. Thousand year mystery that Bill didn't even notice has been solved.

(On the other hand "Ford doesn't think to think about the intricacies of social interaction" is also part of what makes him so easy to manipulate, he's so much more inclined to just accept at face value a friendly offer of assistance on a big academic project. Sure Bill's helping for the sake of scientific advancement in and of itself, why wouldn't he?)

Bill wants to just, fling random facts at Ford and see if he can think up connections between them. Go nerd boy go nerd boy go

"... So there you have it Ford, that's the problem you'll have to overcome with adapting alien machinery to human fuel sources, now I wanna hear YOUR thoughts on how to overcome that problem." "Well—" talks in an uninterrupted stream that by thirty minutes in has drifted over to the history of kerosene production, which he read an interesting book about between semesters in college— "... I've gotten off topic, haven't I?" "No no, I think you're on to something. This is how brainstorming works, free association of concepts. Keep going."

Ford in the morning: "... oh no I didn't let my muse get a word in edgewise for the rest of the dream, i didn't bore him did I?" Bill: "damn, I never noticed the patent process for hurricane lamps was so contentious. There's little dramas everywhere"

When things are going well, their relationship is,

Ford: "I just wanna hear Bill teach me things about the multiverse forever."

Bill: "I just wanna hear Ford think deeply on any topic that crosses his mind forever."

Both of them when they're in peak harmony: excitedly jabbering at each other at 200 words per minute about the stupidest topic you've ever heard, but you'd need a phd in at least two fields to comprehend it

That's love!!!

Ford, having historically been socially shamed: "... am I being weird?"

Bill: "💕❤️💓yeah❣️💖❤️‍🔥"

Sometimes I think about Bill watching Ford in his sleep and being in awe at this human-shaped genius: you with your beautiful electric mind, packed into this soft flawed uneven body. one would never know it from the outside—but you're in there. This genius with a mind like a galaxy. ... and he's like, growing hair and stuff. wild.

[duuhrayliegh]

equal and opposite (consequences, pt. 2)

a/n: first of all, yall really showed out with the comments and reblogs on the first part of this so THANK YOU SO MUCH like i haven't written anything that i felt was good in months so to have such an overwhelmingly positive response to that post felt amazing!!!!

if you haven’t read part one, i highly recommend checking that out first!!!!

anyway, i hadn't originally intended for this to go anywhere else, but as i've said before bartender!bucky & peanut just wouldn't go away so here we are!!! i hope this lives up to the expectations and if we want more PLEASE LET ME KNOW I LIVE TO PLEASE

“Can you please just sit down? I don’t understand what’s happening to us!”

“That’s the problem!”

He throws his hands above his head out of exasperation. They land on his hips as their new resting place and he levels you with a frustrated glare. A glare. Apparently, you’re not worth the energy it takes to filter the emotions from his tone or expressions. That luxury must be saved for his plethora of mistresses.

“You don’t understand me anymore!”

“Understand you?”

Going home has become harder and harder. Despite desperately wanting to fix your marriage, it seems your efforts might have been in vain. No matter how hard you try, your husband has made every effort to avoid having a real conversation with you. To say you’re at your wit's end would be generous.

“Yes! Coming home to you is too stressful for me. I’m in the office all week and then I come home to a wife who doesn’t put in any effort to make herself desirable for me.”

Your jaw dropped, as did the wooden spoon in your hand. His words float through your head on repeat. That voice you used to love, the same voice that vowed to always love and cherish you in his wedding vows. Now, you’re cooking for a man you don’t know.

“Then why stay with me? If I’m so clearly not what you want, why stay?”

There’s a drawn out silence that is accompanied by softly heaving breaths and the simmering pot of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“You’re what I want in a wife. You just don’t understand my needs in the way that Shelia does.”

Your blood boils. Shelia—the latest girlfriend in a string of girlfriends. How dare he? You turn to the stove and begin clicking everything off. You fume while gathering your purse and keys to a home that you no longer feel welcome in.

“This is why I didn’t want to get into this. You’re too emotional and I knew you’d play the victim whenever I’m suffering too!”

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage because you’ll only hurt yourself more. Instead, you pry the door open and slam it shut before trekking off down the hallway.

You don’t have a plan, all you know is that you need to get out. You’re lucky that you were wearing a hoodie and jeans whenever you started getting into it with John. It’s not the first time that you had to get out, so you’ve learned over the past few months.

Wind whips against your cheeks when you exit your apartment building. You pull your hood over your head and start walking aimlessly. You reach for your phone and dial the first number you think of.

You never stop walking, street lamps lighting the sidewalk with a pale yellow light. There’s an irritating sting starting behind your eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t have to listen to the trilling of the phone line for long before it’s interrupted.

“Commando’s. How can I help you?”

The music in the bar is loud enough that you can clearly make out Steve’s divorced dad rock playlist. A rush of relief shoots down your spine and you breathe a sigh while enjoying the subtle ambiance through your phone speaker.

“Hello?”

It’s only then that you realize you’ve been on the phone for the past thirty seconds without saying anything.

“Bucky?”

“Peanut?”

“Hi, uh--I didn't have your number and I didn't know who else to call."

"Hang on, Peanut. I'm here, hang on." Suddenly the music is reduced to a bouncing bass line. "Are you okay?"

You continue walking, breathing in the stale air of the city as you debate your answer. For the most part, sure, you're okay. You’re not physically harmed in any way, just a deep emotional hurt that persists through the stark cold of the air around you. But if someone looked twice, or you spend more than half a second around someone you're comfortable with, that answer wouldn’t hold water.

"The wheels, Peanut, I can hear them. I need you to answer me. Are you okay?"

Bucky's voice is soft and grounding. Your heartbeat starts to match the steady baseline of the bar's music.

"I'm okay?"

Bucky's soft laugh echoes through the phone speaker, "That sounded like a question more than an answer, Peanut." He then pauses and sighs, "What did he do now?"

You suck in a sharp breath, debating on how to answer his question. The lead weight that had previously settled in your stomach begins to lessen as you hear Bucky’s voice.

On the one hand, Bucky has become the person you feel the most comfortable with. You don't have anyone close to you in the city because you moved out here to support John's career. Your family is on the other side of the country, and it's not like you've had a whole lot of time to build a support system here.

On the other, Bucky didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for a broken wife that isn't even his! You have no connection to him outside of becoming a regular at his bar and forming a possibly misguided attraction.

“Peanut? Come on back to me."

“Sorry, Buck. I just—“ you trail off, not entirely sure how to handle yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, Peanut Butter.” You laugh softly at the lengthier version of your nickname while he continues talking. “Look, how about we meet somewhere so we can talk?”

“Aren’t you working tonight though? I can just come to the bar.”

No matter how appealing Bucky’s offer is, you don’t want him to risk his livelihood for you. You aren’t worth that, not really.

“Not anymore, Pea. You’re more important to me. The guys here can handle the bar while I leave to take care of my Ps and Qs.”

You giggle again, unsure of where he comes up with these iterations.

“There she is.”

The words are murmured low, as if he was just speaking to himself. As if it’s a remark not meant for public consumption, just a murmur of his adoration.

“There’s a little hole in the wall on 115th and North. It’s called Winnie’s. Meet me there and you can talk for however long they’re serving coffee.”

"Don't diners always serve coffee?"

"They sure do. And Winnie's is a 24-hour diner. Which means," There's a loud shuffle on his end of the phone and then his voice cuts through. "you can talk to me for as long as you want, Peanut."

"Thank you, Bucky." You aren't as loud as you meant to be, but you know he hears you when he hums before you end the call.

Shoving the phone in the pocket of your jacket, you search for street signs.

And now you stand in front of Winnie's, a sixties diner straight off a movie set. Bright neon illuminates the street below, bathing you in a turquoise light that you're sure is not at all flattering. The front door is encased in chrome and vinyl covers the seating throughout the restaurant.

You push through the front doors and spy a large jukebox on the left side of the building. There's no host stand, so you peer around the seats in search of your bartender.

"Welcome to Winnie's. hun! Just take a seat, we'll be right with ya!"

An older woman yells from behind the bar top. Her graying hair is pulled into a neat bun at the base of her neck and you're just about to read her nametag when you hear a familiar voice.

"Peanut! This-a-way!" Bucky stands from a booth in the corner, grabbing your attention and everyone else in the restaurant.

A bright blush colors your cheeks as you make your way to his booth in the corner. The linoleum floor of the diner becomes increasingly interesting the closer you find yourself to Bucky. To be completely truthful, you've never seen Bucky outside of the bar, so this is a jarring, but welcome experience.

He's still wearing those annoyingly large boots and tight white shirt that never fails to distract you when you're sitting on the twirly bar stools. His metal arm is on full display, the gold in-lay catching the light as he twists a straw wrapper into a tight spiral.

Bucky stands to greet you once you reach the booth, leaning toward you and wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your breath catches at his sudden body heat, but you waste no time in curling your arms around his torso.

"This might be the dumbest and most obvious question, but," he pulls back from the hug and gestures toward the seat across from him, "how’re you doing?"

A stifled laugh escapes as you settle into the worn vinyl seat. Instead of answering, you pull a less-than-convincing smile that you know Bucky can see right through. Evidenced by the fact that he laughs sarcastically at the look of it.

"Yeah, thought as much."

"It's just all becoming too much, I think."

An older woman brings two coffee mugs to the table, gripping a half-full coffee pot in her other hand. You stop yourself before you divulge anything in the presence of strangers. You don't need to burden another random stranger with your problems, Bucky is more than enough.

“Who's your friend, Jamie?"

Bucky smiles while introducing you to the woman. He extends the same courtesy to you, placing the name of the woman in front of you.

"Peanut, this is Winnie. She's the owner and operator of Winnie's diner."

Bucky pours a healthy dose of sugar into your coffee mug and then drops a spoon into it before pushing it across to you. You're in the middle of taking a large sip of the hot drink when Bucky continues talking.

"She's also my mother."

“Oh!"

He laughs as you sputter, completely phased by his nonchalance about introducing you to his mother. To be fair, you don’t really know Bucky outside of him being a great listener and mixologist. Winnie laughs and talks with the both of you before politely excusing herself to take care of her other customers.

“Your mother?”

Bucky leans forward and locks eyes with you.

“I’m so sorry. She wasn’t meant to be working today, but you would have met her one way or another.”

There he goes again, that dizzying nonchalance that bleeds into every word he speaks. Your mouth opens to speak, but you're still in a state of stunned that has you stumbling on your words.

"I'm just kidding, Nutter Butter." Bucky laughs and you hum while picking at your cuticles.

"Sorry, just took me by surprise."

"Clearly."

Bucky glances at your hands that are resting on the table and shifts around his side of the booth. There's a brief moment of silence as you mull over what Winnie has said.

"Did she call you 'Jamie'?"

Bucky lets out a loud laugh. One of those laughs that sounds like the feeling snuck up on everyone, including the person laughing.

"That's what you focused on, Peanut?"

You're smiling more in the past five minutes with Bucky than you have in the past five months with John. Bucky stops shuffling and then removes his coffee cup from the saucer it sits on. He slides the tiny plate toward you as you talk.

"Thank you for meeting me, Buck. Like I said, I think I'm just getting too tired of his bullshit. He really came at me today with the attitude that this is all my fault." Bucky nods as you continue speaking, "As if I'm the one who asked for an open marriage."

Bucky reveals a Ziplock bag and dumps the contents of it into the saucer in front of you. You're just about to start a rant when he nudges a salty shell into your hands. You glance down for half a second before getting the ball rolling.

"John asked for this! He's the one that's causing all this... this turmoil in our relationship. I haven't gone on a single date! I haven't caused a single issue. All I've been trying to do is understand things from his point of view, but he won't even give me the time of day to do that. I can't even suggest something like marriage counseling because he runs out the door the second he sees me enter a goddamn room."

You stop to take another long sip of your coffee while Bucky sits back and lets you rant at him across from yet another counter. You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, clearly holding back from saying something.

"I don't even know what to do anymore!" You huff and shove your hair over your shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to just be here for you?"

"I want you to be you."

"Okay." Bucky nods, you crack open yet another peanut and place the shell on a napkin next to the plate. "I think you should start considering divorcing ol' Johnny boy."

"I can't do that."

Your response is immediate. Too quick to be healthy really. The shell of the peanut cracks between your fingers, revealing the salty perfection inside.

"Alright, divorce is off the table. How do you feel about separation?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It goes against everything I was raised to believe. I was brought up under the idea that the person you marry is the person you stick next to no matter what."

"Even when that person isn't extending the same courtesy?"

"I just--" You sniffle, peeling open yet another peanut. "I just want to be loved, Bucky. I don't understand what I did to make him look for love and affection from someone other than me."

Bucky reaches across the table and covers your hand with his, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles soothingly. You found yourself in this same position three months ago. It was when Bucky first told you of his interest in dating you.

To be perfectly honest, you were about two slow blinks away from folding into his arms then. Nothing's changed. You're still half a second from completely melting for the man before you, but you can't get over the fact that you're married.

"Peanut, you may never understand his reasoning. Especially when he won't sit down and explain anything to you. I think you should do what's in your best interest. If you don't want to divorce or separate, then you need to surround yourself with people who will give you that love and affection that you need."

A soft lull coats the pair of you and you allow your eyes to lock with Bucky's. What you find there shocks you.

Pity is something that you never, ever want to experience, but with a shitty situation like your marriage, you've come to expect it. Every time you glance in a mirror or catch your reflection in a store window, or even a puddle of water, you find your own eyes layered with that sickening sadness that accompanies self-pity.

However, in Bucky's clear blue eyes, you find nothing but determination. Determination for what is the question you're now faced with. In all reality, Bucky has no dog in this fight. He has no reason to be helping you the way that he has. Bucky's expressed interest in you, sure, but that doesn't constitute going to the lengths that he does.

"I just want you to be happy."

"Do you think you could make me happy?"

"Absolutely."

You nod while popping the last peanut into your mouth and wiping your hands off on your jeans. You stand unceremoniously and then hold your hand out to Bucky. He stares at your outstretched hand in half-baked shock and then jumps at the opportunity.

"See ya later, Ma! Love ya."

"Will you be home for family dinner?"

"Nope, gotta take my Peanut to the ballgame!"

Bucky rushes you out of the diner and pulls you to a heavy-looking motorcycle. You laugh as he pries open one of the saddlebags on the bike. He reveals two helmets, one white and one black. Both have sleek features with a face cover that reflects Bucky's sharp features.

"What?" His laugh that follows is full of nervous energy as you continue to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"It just--" You snort quietly, "You would drive a motorcycle."

"Oh yeah? And why's that, Peanut Brittle?"

You wave your hand as if you're circling his whole body and shrug while smiling your ass off.

"You just gestured to all of me."

You both break into a fit of laughter, only for Bucky to break it off and unclip the chin strap of the white helmet.

"Well, does safety also fit with..." he does the same gesture as you, "all this?"

Bucky gently rests the helmet on the leather seat of the motorcycle and then leans over to you.

"You might want to pull your hair back. Trust me I love your hair down, but whenever you're riding it's easier in the long run."

"Oh, okay." You begin to pull your hair back when you remember that your hair tie is on the counter at your apartment. "Actually, I think I'll suffer the consequences."

Bucky glances at you and then asks, "You need a tie?"

He prompts you to turn around and he quickly coaxes your hair into a neat ponytail at the base of your neck. You turn back to him with wide eyes, your hand reaching back to check the hairstyle.

"Come on. I've got plans, Payday! I've got ideas to romance ya!"

You laugh while Bucky beams and puts the white helmet over your head. Once it's secured, he swipes the visor up and boops your nose. You scrunch it in retaliation and he shakes his head at you. He grips the sides of your helmet and tilts your head to the side. A loud Bluetooth signal sounds and a robotic female voice informs you that the device has been connected.

"So, basic rules of the bike. I lean, you lean." He taps on the side of the helmet he just fiddled with. "This is a microphone, so we'll be able to communicate without the visors being up. Don't be afraid to squeeze if you feel a little wobbly. I promise I can handle whatever you give me, Peanut."

You flush at his words, thankful that you're already wearing the helmet so he isn't privy to the bright red coloring overtaking your cheeks. Bucky slips on his own helmet and mounts the bike in one smooth motion. His hands glide to the handlebars and then he turns to face you and jerk his head in the opposite direction.

You release a deep breath and give yourself a mini pep talk before placing your hands on Bucky's shoulders. The difference between them keeps you grounded as you swing your leg over the back of the motorcycle. His voice shoots into your ears, a breathy fuck me that wasn't meant for your ears.

"You ready?"

This question is at a normal level, and you respond in kind. The bike roars to life beneath you and you jolt toward him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist tightly.

"Hold on tight, spider monkey."

You giggle and interlock your fingers above the waistline of his jeans. Now, you can feel every breath he takes, every minuscule contraction of his muscles from every movement he makes to control the beast between his legs. You try to take steady breaths in order to control your heartbeat and match Bucky's, but the faster he goes, the faster your heart beats against his back.

City lights blur past as you find your rhythm behind Bucky. The more comfortable you get, the looser your grip becomes around him. He takes you through downtown with all the newer, hipster restaurants inhabiting the busy streets. Bucky begins to slow and you look up to see his profile illuminated under the bright red of the traffic stop.

His feet rest on the ground beside the bike, holding it upright while it rumbles idly. Bucky leans back into you, his hands moving from the handlebars to your thighs. He traces the skin that's exposed by the rips of your jeans. The loose material allows just enough space for his fingers to burrow beneath and trace meaningless patterns into your skin.

Butterflies make themselves known in the pit of your stomach, along with another slightly less prominent heat building at his touch on your skin.

"We're almost there, Peanut Brittle." Bucky's voice is melodic through the microphone. You could fall asleep listening to him read a phone book.

The bike thunders to life again as Bucky releases the clutch. More buildings fade as he continues to steer the two of you down the less traveled streets.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere fun!"

He laughs at your little groan. Surprises aren't necessarily your favorite thing, but if it's Bucky, maybe it'll be tolerable.

Suddenly, Bucky drops his right hand from the bars and indicates his next turn. The pair of you lean in that direction slightly as he slows into a parking lot of a roller rink. The sign for the Rockin' Roller Rink has a bright yellow arrow blinking toward the building at the base of its billboard.

He rolls into a parking spot near the entrance and pops the kickstand out to steady the bike. You peel yourself off of his back and rest your hands on your thighs while taking in your surroundings. Bucky slips his helmet off and then turns his torso to face you.

"As much as I love you on my ride, Peanut, you have to get off first."

You flush red beneath the visor and quickly dismount. However, in your rush to get off, you don't realize how unstable your legs are as they bear your full weight after the ride. Bucky's hands shoot out to your waist as he remains on the bike, a wry grin on his lips.

"Sorry, should've warned you about that." He stands in front of you and dusts off your shoulders before deciding that you're okay. "It's because of the riding position when you're on the bike. If you aren't used to that, it can be a little jarring the first few times."

He takes your helmet and then removes the keys from the ignition. Bucky bends at the waist and hooks his key carabiner to your belt loops.

As he straightens to his full height, he remarks with a wink, "Plus, the vibrations don't help much either."

You squawk unattractively and smack his chest with the back of your hand while he belly laughs. His metal hand hovers over your lower back as he guides you into the double doors of the roller rink. While he pulls open the door for you, you think about all the times that your husband has failed to do even that act of basic decency.

You shake your head as you walk in, determined to put him out of your mind. That is until you remember the one stipulation of your open marriage--you both have to disclose when you go on dates. Your mind drifts to all the unanswered texts he's sent you about his various dates. Little quips that accomplish nothing but remind you that your husband sees you as less than. A relationship that he no longer has to put effort into and hasn't for some time now. You take your phone from your back pocket to shoot John a quick text, a sour look overtaking your face as you do.

On a date, be home later. You’re quick to swipe your phone onto do not disturb and shove it back into your pocket. You aren’t ready to face the hypocrisy that John will manage to cook up.

"You okay, Peanut?" Bucky's voice clears everything. All the swirling doubt, the immense turmoil that you feel when you think of John, everything negative is wiped when you focus on Bucky.

Perhaps that's also an issue. Maybe you need to be single instead of dating. Maybe you need to love yourself before anyone else can effectively love you. What if that's the real issue? The real reason why John had to seek affection outside of your marital bonds. Maybe it was because you were so unloveable to the point that it was more effort to work through your issues than find an effortless partner somewhere else.

A cold finger taps your temple causing you to blink harshly and refocus on the man before you. This man who's become your safe haven, your harbor in this horrific storm that is your marriage. The man who brings peanuts to his mother's diner because you called him to meet up. The man who knows you better than your husband who you've known for half your life.

"The wheels," your bartender reminds you as he pulls you to the side of the room. His arms envelop you until all you can process is biceps, one cold and one warm. Bucky's cheek rests against your head and you can't find it in yourself to stop from melting into his touch. "How about this," he shifts away from you just enough to meet your eyes, "you just take it one hour at a time?"

"One hour?" You ask, brows furrowing skeptically at the concept. You've never been someone who just focuses on the thing in front of you. Your whole life you had a plan--get married, have kids, and secure a stable home life. Although, now that you think about it, your way isn't really that effective. What has your way got you? A decaying marriage, no kids, and a job that you tolerate at most.

"Just one at a time. Nothing can be that daunting if it's one at a time." He smiles big and leans forward, "And let's face it, your first hour is going to be spent watching me almost bust my ass on rollerblades."

You giggle and look at the ground, only for Bucky to lift your face up with a finger on your chin. He stares deep into your eyes, making you think if you stare long enough, you'll meld into one. His grip changes so that most of his fingers cup your jaw, allowing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. His metal finger tugs downward on your lip, releasing it from the hold between your teeth.

"That's definitely one of my current favorite noises you make." He struts off to the front counter, you trailing behind with a confused look on your face at his dopey smile. The implications of his comment seeping into your bones causing a deep heat to light in the pit of your stomach.

As you approach the teller, Bucky's already disclosed his shoe size for the rental pair of skates. The teenager behind the counter makes a bored grunt at the instruction and turns to you, waiting for your size before they trot off to fill the order. Once again, you're left alone with your bartender.

You lean against the raised platform, shoulder digging into the overhanging lip of the counter. During this brief moment of solitude, you take your time taking in Bucky. He really is a mountain of a man, coming in at six-foot-five inches of corded muscle and steel, he's really nothing less than impressive.

His hair just brushes the top of his broad shoulders, though you hardly ever see it down. He always manages to have it tied securely at the base of his neck. However one time, you remember walking into the bar only to see Bucky behind the bar, as usual. Except his hair was bundled on the top of his head. Little wisps of hair fell from the looser hold, framing his forehead and neck. On top of that, he was wearing a red henley that was at least two sizes too small with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his differing forearms in the dim light of Commandos.

It's safe to say that during those few hours you spent with Bucky looking like that, you were a little slower to respond. What's interesting though is that Bucky looks nothing like John. You always thought that John was your ideal man. Based on who you married, you would have assumed you'd be more attracted to Steve than Bucky. Instead, you find yourself lacing up a pair of rental roller skates, that might give you athlete's foot if you're not careful, with the imposing dark-haired man next to you.

"Why bartending?"

The question floats between you as you take the floor. Glistening hardwood reflects the bright neon of the strobe lights and your image beside Bucky. You watch as he glances down at you before refocusing his attention on the path in front of him.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I kind of stumbled into it." He wobbles dangerously as he speaks, hand jutting out to grasp yours in an act of safety. "Shit, sorry." He apologizes sheepishly but makes no move to drop your hand.

You giggle beside him, butterflies awakening from his act of self-comfort, a feeling you haven't felt since your relationship with John began. Bucky squeezes your hand, straightens his back, and pulls you around the rink.

"When I was discharged, it wasn't so much as bartending as it was the ownership of the bar. It gave me a chance to gain some semblance of control back." He stares off into the distance as he speaks as if he's reciting words he said time and time before. You peer up at him, waiting for the rest of his explanation.

Even though you've known Bucky for as long as you have, neither of you has really delved too deep into your pasts. To say you know next to nothing about Bucky's time in the military would be generous. You hum while you ponder his answer.

"Does that need carry into other aspects of your life?"

It's a genuine question, something to move the conversation along because you honestly want to know more about the man beside you. The double entendre of the question doesn't process until you see Bucky blushing beside you with a wry grin. Your eyes bulge, words stammering out of your mouth without finding their full forms.

"Oh-- uh, n— that's not wh--" Your eyes drop to the ground beneath you, the sleek wood reflecting the neon disco of the roller rink lights.

Bucky chuckles beside you, slowly rubbing his thumb against the knuckles of the hand he still holds. He steers the pair of you to the side of the rink, locking you against the slightly sticky bannister with his strong forearms. You quickly level him with a questioning stare as he leans forward and takes a deep breath, undoubtedly getting a strong whiff of your soft vanilla and cherry perfume.

“I’m trying to be very good for you, Peanut. So I’m going to say this once and then we’re going to continue with our date and it isn’t going to come up again until you bring it up yourself.” Your nod is almost imperceptible, but considering how Bucky continues without consequence, you figure he was just mentally preparing himself for his next comment.

“I am enamored with you. I want to have sex with you. I have fantasies that revolved exclusively around you. However, I’m not putting any pressure on this relationship or you. I understand that you need time to process your grief and your marriage, but just know that I’m more than happy to help you through the process and I certainly hope that I’m the first one you go to once you get to a place when you feel confident enough to explore your sexuality.”

You flush at his words, a hot streak racing up your spine before settling in your cheeks, blossoming them into a heavy shade of crimson. Bucky’s left hand comes up to your forehead, brushing away a strand of hair out of your face.

“But not only that, I want to have a relationship with you. I want the late night cuddles. I want the early morning breakfasts. I want to come home from the bar and take a shower with you. I want to wash your hair. I want you to massage my shoulders after a long day. I want to host Saturday barbecues with you for my family and our friends. I want to drive you to the bookstore and regret driving the motorcycle after you get so many because I just can’t say no to you.”

Bucky’s hand drifts down your arm, tracing the soft skin, taking his time to lace his fingers with yours. He pulls you away from the ledge, leading you two into the hustle and bustle of the roller rink. A smile stretches across his features as he tugs you along, a slow steady silence backed by the bumping base of the house music. You fumble with who to respond to him, but you eventually decide that no words are necessary. You know that yiu’ll be able to discuss things further later, you allow yourself to fall into the comfortable company that is your favorite bartender.

Time passes by at a rate you aren’t able to fathom. One moment you’re skating circles around Bucky, laughing as his arms jut out to his sides, steadying himself as he sways and wobbles. You flit out of his reach for a beat only for his arms to wrap around your waist, bringing you to his warm front. You squeal as you clutch his arms, the difference in temperature providing a level of comfort that you’ve been craving for months now.

You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, his long hair tickling the apples of your cheek. Soft puffs of air hit your face as he peers down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. He remains stoic, only his eyes giving you any indication that he wants more out of your current embrace.

“Attention all Rockin’ Roller Rink patrons, the rink will be closing in ten minutes! Please return all skates and other rentals to the front desk before leaving.”

The voice over the loudspeaker startles you causing you to jump in Bucky’s embrace. He tightens his hold on you, ensuring that you don’t topple over on your wheels. You breathe out a heavy sigh creating a slight distance between you.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Bucky is quick to follow you to the benches on the side to you could change your shoes so you can return the skates. You’re sure to take out your phone from your back pocket before sitting down. Against your better judgement, you swipe across the screen to turn off the silencing option. The screen illuminates and dozens of notifications flood the screen and you cringe. You shouldn’t feel bad, yore only doing what constitutes an open marriage. You sent the text, that was all that was required of you, and let’s be honest even that was more than what John deserves. Bucky leans back, shooting a glance at your now busy phone.

“Wow, he sure doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”

“Yeah, I’m sure everything he’s texted me the past two hours has been entirely supportive and not at all condescending or hostile.” Sarcasm bleeds into your words, making Bucky chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, ol’ Johnny boy? Nah, he’s nothing but a big old softy who knows that he’s only getting it as good as he’s giving it.” You huff at the comment just as your phone begins to buzz on the tabletop.

A groan leaves your mouth, slipping out before you can filter it. Bucky eyes you as your finger swipes the call button to accept. You haven’t even gotten the phone to your ear before John’s voice carries through the speaker, shouting expletives and derogatory remarks about you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re on a fucking date right now? I can’t believe you!”

Your whole body cringes, and you rush to shove your shoes on to take the call outside. You leave without saying a word to Bucky, unable to look him in the eye while the supposed love of your life berates you over the phone.

“John, I don’t know what you’re upset about.” You tried to remain calm while he carried on. “I followed the single rule that you set in place.”

Bucky takes your free hand and leads you to his bike, leaning against the seat while he watches you pace in front of him. Your once smooth features are now ridged and tense, worry lines aging you ten years the second you get on the phone with John. Your forefinger and thumb find home on the bridge of your nose, pinching the bone there to prevent the sudden headache. You finally stop in your tracks, stomping your foot out of exasperation and then steel your voice.

“I refuse to allow you to speak to me this way, John. You’re the one that opened our marriage, I’m simply following the precedent that you set. I honestly have no idea what your issue with this is.” Your eyes dart to Bucky, “Now, I don’t feel comfortable coming home when you’re speaking to me like this over the phone, so don’t wait up. I’ll come home when you cool off.”

Tears begin to rim your lash line as John continues to shout his lungs bloody. You refuse to meet Bucky’s eyes as you lower the phone, thumb hovering over the end call button. A dark metal palm extends your way, a silent ask for the phone that you don’t have the strength to deny. Bucky watches you as he brings the phone to his ear, listening to your husband’s rant.

“This is completely fucking ridiculous! You’re my wife and I demand you come home and we talk this out like adults. You’re being so unreasonable, right now. And the fact that you think it’s acceptable to text me you’re on a date instead of asking if you could go on one? Who the fuck do you think you are? It’s best you remember who you belong to. You’re so in for it whe—“

Bucky laughs, your head shoots up, eyes locking with his for the first time since you’ve evacuated the roller rink. The laugh is a short, sardonic laugh. One you’ve never heard him make before, almost as if he’s using it as a throat clear. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing how John reacts to being challenged in any capacity.

“Now, I don’t know who you think you are, talking to my Peanut the way that you are. But I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure, you aren’t going to be speaking to her that way ever again.”

It’s another thing about Bucky you’ve never experienced. His tone. It’s dull, lifeless, but full threats that made your skin grow cold and your spine stiffen. You knew Bucky would never cause you harm, but those who hurt the people he loved? The same respect isn’t extended.

“And who the fuck is this?”

“I’m the guy.”

He’s eerily calm, the type of calm you’ve never seen him. You’ve been a distant onlooker while he deals with rowdy bar guests, having to throw out drunk customers who reached their limit and then some. But this… this was something else. John is still yelling, sure to be disturbing your neighbors earning you yet another noise complaint, possibly the one that gets you evicted from your apartment.

“What guy?”

“The guy that’s going to rip your spine out through your throat if you threaten my girl again.”

The world stills. The noisy streets of Brooklyn fade as you search Bucky’s eyes for any semblance of a joke. His eyes have darkened, latching onto yours with a depth that you’ve never seen in them. He reaches for you, pulling you in between his legs by your belt loop. You can hear the stammering on the other end clearly, John’s never had anyone stand up to him with such sincerity.

“If you’re done being a pussy, I’m a little preoccupied. If you’d like to continue this conversation, you may do so anytime at my bar. Howling Commandos. You can Google it and me in your free time. Right now, I’m on a date and you’re interrupting it and disturbing my girl.” Bucky’s hand snakes around your waist, pressing his chin to your chest while maintaining eye contact with you. “Now, apologize to her.”

He switches the phone to speaker mode, allowing you to hear the weakness invading John’s voice. All the while, Bucky’s eyes never leave yours. Your body melts into him, his warmth something that you didn’t realize you were craving. John stammers on his end of the phone, eking out excuses as to not apologize. Bucky clears his throat once more, the action causing his Adam’s apple to bob against your breasts.

“Apologize, Johnny boy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Three monotonous beeps echo out into the silent parking lot. Wind whips against your cheeks, igniting a shiver through your body. He shoves your phone into his front pocket before wrapping his other hand around your waist. Bucky shifts again, pressing his forehead into your stomach instead of staring up at you. Your arms come up around his shoulders, burying your face into his soft hair.

“Thank you.”

Bucky says nothing in return, squeezing your middle before pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Let’s go, you can stay at mine.”

He pushes against your hips so he can reposition himself over the bike. You’re quick to stop him, remarking something about him just taking you to a hotel for the night. He cuts you off before you can fully finish your sentence.

“I’m sorry Peanut, but you surely don’t think I’m about to let you spend the night at some sketch hotel by yourself. And I’m certainly not going to let you go back to that apartment with that temperamental skeeze of a husband you have.”

“Let me?” You back up, resting your hand on your now cocked hip.

“Peanut.” Bucky stares up at you, “I didn’t mean it in that way. I’m sorry. I’m only saying that I want you to be safe and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in either of those environments. I would be much for comfortable if you came home with me so that I could protect you.”

You shoulders relax, in the back of your mind, you know that he didn’t mean anything by it. John always sets you on edge, and it’s unfair of you to put those emotions onto Bucky.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just… John.” Your sentence trails off, no ending really needed because you know that Bucky understands.

“Come on. Get on, Peanut Butter. We aren’t far from my place.”

You mount Bucky’s bike, his left hand immediately going to your thigh, his fingers threading themselves between the rips of your jeans to feel the soft skin of your knee. The ride to Bucky’s apartment is quiet, the rumbling of the motorcycle beneath you is powerful and steady. Every chance he got, Bucky would slip his fingers into the rips of your jeans, aching to be close to you in every way possible. You lean forward, resting your helmeted head against his back while he drives.

If there was one thing that you never would have guessed, it’s that Bucky Barnes would have pale green wallpaper in his apartment. Not just a pale green, he proudly declares that it’s agate green, the color he spent weeks painstakingly debating between that and nurture green. You giggle as you toe your shoes off at the front door, quietly taking in his personal space.

The exposed brick melds with the dark countertops in a way that’s almost soothing. The pendant lights above the island cast a soft glow over the open floor plan. Bucky turns to face you, peeling off his leather jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the door. You catch his eyes, only to be distracted by the wall of bookshelves on the far end of his apartment.

“Oh my god, Bucky I had no idea you were so interested in reading.”

He laughs, shoving his hands in his front pockets while walking behind you as you approach the stacks of books he has scattered throughout his home.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. When I was deployed there wasn’t much to do other than read. I had my Ma send me all different kinds of books, from new releases to her favorite classics to stuff my little sister was reading in school.” He stands beside you, shoulder to shoulder as you glance up at him. “Guess I never kicked the habit, though there are worse vices that a person could have.”

You hum, refocusing your attention on the books, but only for a second as Bucky reaches his hand out and leads you up the stairs to the lofted bedroom. Bucky’s comforter matches the green walls that sits behind his TV. Not only that, but his pillow cases vary from overly fluffy to soft silks. The mixture of textures and fabrics is almost too much for your brain to comprehend. You’re about to question it when Bucky returns to your line of sight, a dark Henley in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other.

“I don’t have any pajamas for you, but you can wear these.”

He’s almost sheepish as he presents you with the clothes, a light blush casting over his cheeks. It’s so interesting to interact with him. At times, he’s the most suave man you’ve ever met, and at others, it’s like he’s a lovestruck teenager who’s just got their first girlfriend.

You thank him and follow behind him as he leads you to the en-suite bathroom. Just as Bucky begins to explain where everything is, he bends down to the bottom cabinets and retrieves a spare toothbrush.

“Planning for extra company, huh?” You joke while poking him in the side as he stands next to you in the doorway.

Bucky’s tongue peaks out of his mouth, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he stares down at you. His eyes do that thing again, the same thing he did just before he laid out his feelings for you earlier. Your breath catches in your throat, is he leaning closer? Are you inching toward him? What are you doing?

“Bucky,” the tension breaks, a dam of emotions behind held back by your dedication to your marriage. “I feel like I should explain.”

His hands rest on your shoulders, quick to silence your worries. He leans forward, dotting a quick kiss to your forehead. Bucky lingers, the soft press of his lips shoots warm and fuzzy feelings through your bones.

“Tomorrow. You’ve had a long night. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

A weight of anxiety lifts from your shoulders as you watch Bucky begins descend the stairs, lush blankets and pillows in hand. You turn back to his room, allowing yourself to sink into his private space.

You peel back the duvet and sit on the edge of his mattress, unsure if you should fully dive into his being. If you’re quiet enough you can hear Bucky downstairs, shuffling on the couch in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

Your eyeline floats over his bedside table, the lamp atop it casting a pale yellow glow over the entire room. The surface next to you is covered in items that are unequivocally Bucky—a worn copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a leather bound journal, the few gold rings that he something adorns his digits with while bartending. His rings clink against each other as your fingers drift over the cold metal.

Among his assorted objects is your phone on his charger. The light pink case is slightly out of place, but not enough to be obnoxious. You smile to yourself while lying back in his sheets.

You really do owe him an explanation. Bucky deserves more than some broken woman who’s in a shitty marriage. He deserves the world and then some. All you can offer is a somewhat clear thought process.

You think on John’s actions today. He really showed you his true colors. You start to wonder if he really cares about you or if just cares about having a wife. If it’s the second one, why does it have to be you?

You flip to the other side, now facing the back wall of windows. Your mind is about as calm as the city right now. New York is never quiet, even this far out in Brooklyn. You’re never safe from the light pollution that constantly blocks out the beauty that is the natural night sky.

It makes you long for your hometown, the wide open spaces with vast fields of nothingness that stretch for miles on end. Maybe it’s time you pay it a visit. It would be nice to escape the hodge podge of a life you’re currently living.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force yourself to slow your breathing. Distantly you can hear Bucky begin to snore, a low monotonous sound that you cling to. For the first time in months you feel secure. Your muscles decompress, your brow unfurls and you allow yourself to truly relax.

With everything that’s going on, Bucky deserves more. You deserve more, but that can all wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. That’s a good thought.