#handle bar moustache

[meraki-yao]

Weibo user @/大Audrey小嵘嵘 asked for Taylor's autograph and the following conversation ensued:

Them: Can you draw a face on Nick?

Taylor: *Laughs* Sure

*After drawing on the first screenshot

Taylor: I'll leave you a clean one.

Them: Awwww you're so nice to Nick

Taylor: Yea *Laughs*

[doom-bomb]

I love punk in silly hats a bit too much I think

[hiredassault]

[autocrats-in-love]

I NEED an overly dramatic villain losing to the hero, visibly humiliated by the outcome of their battle. Hero, being the sweetheart they are, comforts the villain, who is currently sobbing on the floor like a literal child

Who's There At the End

The hero’s shaking, gloves hands finally snapped the shears closed over the red wire. The red numbers on the timer  blinked, then switched off. The hero sighed in relief. Another day saved from the villain’s destruction. They stood up and dusted their clothes off, staring at the setting sun. They could finally go home. They had gotten up way too early this morning. They were yawning as they handed the plastic explosive that had been attached to city hall off to a wary police officer.

“It’s fine,” the hero said reassuringly. “They never install backups on their bombs. Just stick it in the evidence locker.”

The hero pushed past officers and approached the chief of police. They tapped him on the shoulder. The chief turned around, moustache twitching in frustration.

“Hey, you find them yet?” the hero asked.

The chief sighed in defeat. The villain had, once again, evaded capture. “No. But we’re close, I can feel it.”

The hero had heard that more than once. They laughed. “Sure. Good night, chief.”

The chief waved the hero away. The hero wasn’t going to look for the villain today. They were too tired. They were about to take off flying when they felt their super suit pockets.

“Crap. My keys.” 

The hero turned around, and walked back up the steps to  city hall. They must have dropped it sometimes when they and the villain were fighting. Or maybe when the villain locked them in that supply closet. The hero walked across the lousy-with-cops lobby and pushed the elevator button. They got in when the elevator dinged, and pushed the button for the sixth floor, where the hero and villain’s grand battle had taken place. The hero watched the number on the screen go up, anxious to get out of here and relax with a book. One, two, three, four, five- 

A weight crashed onto the top of the elevator box. The hero stumbled as the box shook. They rushed to push the emergency stop button. Then they looked up, listening to the patter above their head. Were those footsteps? Then one of the ceiling grates fell down, and the hero had to dive out of the way of it. They huddled under the handle bar, and watched as the figure jumped down into the elevator. The hero’s heart rate spiked. It was the villain. They were probably angry, vengeful. . .and crying? When the villain turned to look at the hero, it was clear there were tears streaming down their puffy face. The villain jumped up when they realised who they had intruded upon.

“Uh, hi,” the hero said with a wave.

The villain glared at them. For some reason, it made the hero sad. The hero was about to get to their feet to defend themselves--not that they were in any mood for a second round--when the villain sighed and collapsed on the ground. They brought their knees to their chest and buried their face in their lap. The hero could hear their enemy sobbing and sniffling. The hero was caught off guard by the apparent vulnerability they were being shown. The villain was usually very hard to read. The hero knew they shouldn’t let their guard down. But, after considering for a moment, they scooted over to the villain.

“Is everything okay?” the hero asked. 

The villain didn’t look up, or respond. They continued crying without restraint. The hero hesitated. Then they moved their hand to the villain’s back. The villain whipped their head up, snapping their fingers around the hero’s wrist.

“Don’t try anything,” the villain said raspily. 

They squeezed the hero’s wrist, making heat bloom from the area.

“Ow! I was trying to be nice,” the hero said.

The villain didn’t look convinced. Their glare was wet, their brown eyes shining under the fluorescents. The hero gulped. 

“Look, I know it’s hard to lose-”

More tears welled in the villain’s eyes. “No, you don’t! You always win. Not just against me, either. You have everything, and I’m just stuck taking the scraps you leave behind!”

The villain’s voice broke at the end. It made the hero soften.

“You tried to explode a building,” the hero said gently.

“Yeah, I couldn’t even do that,” the villain said, staring at the hero’s exposed wrist. “I’m such a disappointment.”

“A disappointment? To whom?” the hero said.

The villain sighed. “Just. . .the people who expect things from me.”

Ah. The hero was a public figure, too. They could relate. 

“I get it.”

The villain looked sceptical. “You don’t fail, though. You always win. You’re always ahead. Everyone loves you.”

The hero laughed. “Are you kidding? Have you seen the articles written about me? About how I’m too nonchalant, too slow, that I’ve never been able to arrest you.”

The villain blinked slowly, processing. “Really?”

The hero nodded. The villain loosened their grip on them. “Then- how does it all not get to you?”

The hero shrugged. “I mean, I am pretty nonchalant.”

The villain rolled their eyes.

“But, also, these reporters don’t know me. They don’t know that it is actually pretty hard to get the upper hand on you. They don’t even know my real name. So why would I trust their opinion?”

The villain wiped their eyes. When they looked back at the hero, they had a small smile on their face. Their hand dropped the hero’s wrist. 

“Did you say it’s hard to beat me?”

“Uh-” the hero felt themselves blushing.

The villain laughed, the colour returning to their cheeks. “Am I your arch nemesis? Does the thought of taking me down haunt you every waking hour?”

The hero pushed the villain’s face away from them. “Shut up.” 

The hero’s phone started ringing. They pulled it from their pocket. The chief of police. The hero picked it up.

“Hello?” came the chief’s panicked voice through the line.

“Hey, chief,” the hero responded.

The villain’s eyes widened in fear. They seemed to be genuinely scared of the chief.

“Officers are saying you’re stuck in an elevator. We’re still searching for them-” the hero smiled at the gruff voice the chief used when talking about the villain. “-but there’s no sign so far. Are they with you? Are you cornered in the elevator?”

The hero thought about it for a moment. Sure, the chief would be over the moon to finally have the villain. But, on the other hand. . .the villain was having a pretty crappy day.

“Nope. Haven’t seen anyone. A ceiling grate just fell and I was worried the whole roof would come crashing down. I’ll probably be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, then. But be careful. They could still be lurking around.”

“Uh huh. Bye, chief.”

The hero hung up the phone. The villain stared at them. The hero shrugged in response.

“Why?” the villain asked.

“Because now you owe me one,” the hero said. “But you definitely need to get out of here. The chief is on a rampage to find you.” 

The villain sniffed one last time. Then they pulled the hero into a hug. It surprised the hero, and ignited a heat that they hadn’t felt in a long time. They hugged the villain back. When the two separated, the villain said, “Oh! I know how to pay you back.”

The hero raised an eyebrow. “How?” 

The villain tossed the hero something small. The hero caught it in between their hands.

“Oh, my keys!”

They looked up to thank the villain, but their enemy had disappeared.

[jayke0]

Cowboys and Angels

Pairing: Jake Lockley x fem reader

Summary: The infamous outlaw, Jake Lockley, decides to spend the night with you.

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: reader is a prostitute, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, minor angst at the end, mentions of other men being assholes, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 3,420

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

......................…………………………………………….

“What's a fine lady like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Yeah, like you haven't heard that before. Despite the way your eye literally twitches at that phrase, you take in a deep breath and turn towards the gravelly voice that beckoned you from the bar… pleasantly surprised with the picture in front of you.

An obvious gunslinger, what with the rifle and multiple rows of ammo hanging loosely over his shoulder, but, he's not as beat up as the others. Sure he's got some scars and wrinkles, jesus, he's got to be in his mid 30s at least, but his facial features are symmetrical, /handsome/ even. His brow is heavy, and it makes his eyelids sit half open, long lashes covering the rest of his brown eyes. The black moustache fits his look perfectly, sitting above a pair of red lips, hell, even the stubble that usually makes your skin crawl looks good on him.

It's like a breath of fresh air for you, and to be honest you're surprised the other girls hadn't pounced on him first.

“Waitin’ for a man like you to come along, mister,” you answer playfully, leaning against the bar so that your hip sticks out. Your dress is long, but it dips perfectly at the chest, and the cinched waist of your corset shows off your beautiful curves.

The gunman notices your pose, making a quick not-so-subtle glance up and down your form before that pretty, lidded gaze lands on your face again.

“Is that so? Well, you're lucky I can be ya prince charmin’ then, ain't ya?” He takes a final swig of his drink, though it seems he'd only just started, since you can barely smell the alcohol on his clothes as you move closer to him. You twist your body and rest your elbows on the bar, sticking your ass out a bit instead.

“Prince charmin’? Now I don't know about that, mister. You ain't the first cowboy to come in here and tell me I'm ‘too good for this place’.”

It's always amusing to you, seeing how much that comment seems to make the others falter, but as his smirk tilts to a soft frown, you almost feel bad for shooting down his shot… and possibly losing yourself a decent client.

“Oh– I'm just jokin’ around, sir,” you place your hands on his jacket, fixing his collar. “Pay no heed to my silly words.”

The grin that cracks across the man's face has your face heating up.

“I know, little lady, I'm just messin’ with ya too.” His eyes scan over you again, dragging his gaze up your body till he meets your eyes, tilting his hat up to look at you properly.

The way he looks at you makes your skin thrum. It's a dark gaze, but one that reads comfort to you, it feels like you could get lost in his eyes for hours, as if you're some vampire's victim being drawn in before being mercilessly devoured.

“Well… you certainly had me there, cowboy.” You giggle a little, mostly to break the tension between you that's coiling in your chest and making the room feel warmer than normal. A strong arm snakes around your waist, and you feel his fingers sprawl across your back, pulling you closer to him and his dangerous gaze.

His words break your thoughts. “I was only askin’ ‘cause I've been ‘round these parts quite a bit, and I ain't ever seen you, pretty.”

“I started a couple weeks ago, actually.”

“Ah…” you watch as his thoughts seem to trail off for a second; is he contemplating what he should say? It's not exactly like he's trying to court you, this is a business after all, and you're more than used to handling the distasteful things that have been thrown at you.

Finally, his words start again. “Guess I had better get ya warmed up then, hadn't I? Though, I doubt you've been strugglin’ for clientele.” He gestures around the dismal saloon at the other men, all in varying states of intoxication. His observation makes you giggle properly this time, but your brain lingers on what he meant by the first part. Despite your uncertainty in his words, you agree to his proposal, feeling his fingers graze the thread of your corset through the dress.

“I think you should, Mr…?”

“Lockley, but ya can call me Jake.” He says as he gets up and fixes his holster, placing a coin on the bar before gesturing towards you. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Why do you feel nervous? He has to literally take your hand before you actually switch into autopilot and lead him upstairs to the reserved rooms. Maybe it's the pressure of pleasing an older man? No, you've done that before. It's a thought that gnaws away at the back of your brain and evidently makes the gunslinger concerned.

“You doin’ ok? I didn't frighten ya, did I?” He sounds apologetic as he closes the door behind you both with a loud creak.

“No... no, I'm sorry! Forgive me, my head's been a little all over the place recently, nothin’ for you to worry about, mister.” You lie and shake your hands wildly, before you start undoing the top buttons of your dress.

He swoops in before you can finish undoing the second one, taking your hands and removing them from the fabric.

“I do things a little differently, if that's alright with you, miss.” You feel his calloused fingers glide over the pulse on your wrists, moving up before intertwining them with yours, “I don't just take, I make it so ya give ya'self to me.” The tone he uses feels smooth on your brain, it seeps into your ears and soothes the worries you'd had beforehand, his deep gaze only adding to that soft feeling in your chest, and the slowly growing need between your legs.

“Alright, Mr Lockley.” Your smile is genuine, one that makes the man break into a smile himself.

“ ‘Atta girl.”

His grip loosens on your hand so he can slide his own down your body and over your sides, until it eventually comes to rest on the small of your back, pushing you further into the heat of his body as he engages you in a kiss.

It's a nice feeling, having a man that actually knows how to kiss, so nice that you feel yourself getting lost in the bitter taste of his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck to get impossibly closer to him. His stubble scratches your chin as you drink in his taste and become intoxicated with just the simple feel of his body. Maybe it's because he's attractive, or maybe it's because he's so gentle with you, but either way you find yourself wanting more of him; more of his lips, more of his hands.

The gunslinger breaks the kiss, making you whine softly under your breath.

“Patience, little lady. I'll give ya exactly whatcha’ want.” You feel his lips curl into a smirk, one that makes you roll your eyes playfully.

“Forgive me, mister Lockley, but usually I'm bent over the bed by now with my drawers at my ankles.” You challenge, looking into his brown eyes as your fingers trace the soft, tattered scarf donning his neck.

“Well excuse me for tryna’ treat ya like a lady–.” He says before swiftly scooping you up and pressing you against the wall. It makes a gasp leave your lips, and your legs automatically wrap around his thick waist. “Next time I won't be so nice.” The way his lips brush yours teasingly makes your pussy clench, his words lingering on your lips like the faint taste of whiskey on his.

Using one arm to keep you suspended against the wall, his other travels up underneath your skirt and over your soft thighs. His fingers tease under the cotton of your drawers that fit snugly around your thighs, dragging his rough fingertips further and further up to draw a soft gasp from you.

“Ya ever had a man touch ya like this? appreciate ya like this?”

You shake your head and instinctively suck in your bottom lip to chew on while you try to close your legs, but he just pries them open again, looking at you with that damn lidded gaze that's making your cunt clench.

“Well, there's a first for everythin’, ain't there?” His breath is hot on your lips and sends ripples of shivers through your body, your breathing shaking just as much as your thighs.

He's just centimeters away from your pussy lips before he recognises the feel of his own jeans against his hands, so he does the only reasonable thing and lifts your skirt completely, astounded by the sight.

“My my…” He huffs with a chuckle, sounding surprised. There is your cunt, on full show through a hole in your drawers, one that'd been purposely crafted for your exact line of work. Your slick glistens in the dim light, and Jake can't help but run his fingers through your already wet folds, drawing a soft moan from your pretty lips.

“In all my years, I ain't ever seen that. You've certainly made my night, darlin’.” He purrs to you, voice as smooth as silk. “You ever talk?” He asks, that mild concern returning from earlier.

“They usually don't like it when I talk.”

“Yeah? Well I do,” he leans forward and nips your neck underneath your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth briefly. “I like hearin’ the noises ya make for me.”

Shit, that makes you actually moan, pressing down on where his fingers still linger atop your lips. They slide perfectly between given your arousal, and you grind your clit down in his fingers with a sigh. “Please, Jake, stop teasin’... I ain't ever wanted to be taken so badly in all my goddamn life.”

“But the teasin’ is the fun part.”

You can now feel the outline of his cock pressing against your thigh through his washed out jeans, and fuck does it feel big. You want him to pull it out right now just so you can look at it, but your thoughts are halted when you feel his fingers press against your needy hole. He circles it, matching the movements with his thumb on your clit. It feels way too good, especially when both of his thick digits slide inside you and stretch you open. Your jaw drops at the sensation as he starts fingering your cunt, massaging that sweet spot inside you that has you gripping his shoulders.

“No, Jake don't– dammit, don't do this to me–.”

“You can take it, there's a good girl.”

His praise only has your head swooning more and your chest pressing tightly towards his as you rock your hips towards his thumb. Each time he catches your clit it sends a wave of pleasure through your body to your toes, making you whine needily against his ear.

“Such pretty noises you've got, ain't ya? I wanna hear ‘em all night.”

Your orgasm crests quicker than you can tell him, and you teeter on that edge for what feels like eternity until finally you feel his thumb circle your clit one last time, and you come crashing down on his fingers, moaning out his name loud enough for the next room to hear. You rest your forehead on the man's shoulder, amazed by how easily his fingers drove one of the best orgasms of your life out of you.

“Wanna see ya do that again, darlin’, please lemme see ya make that face again?” Jake asks, his own words now breathier than before as he already starts working his belt and jeans open.

You give a shaky nod and pull your head from his shoulder. You try to ignore the ache already settling in your muscles from pressing yourself against the wall, too focused on the rugged man in front of you and the instrument that is ultimately going to split you in half. He goes to slide under your skirt instantly, but you tap his shoulder. “Oh, ya wanna see it first huh?” He grins proudly and lifts your dress enough to reveal his throbbing cock.

Fuck it's thick, and the way it's throbbing makes your mouth salivate, the tip already glistening with precum that he spreads over himself with his free hand.

“I dunno if I can take it, sir.”

“You can take it, don't ya worry that pretty little head about it. Just feel it, ok?”

You nod in response; it's funny really, you have no reason to trust this man, but after he's given you a great orgasm, it only makes sense that he knows more about the female anatomy than any other cowboy.

The fat tip runs up and down through your soaking folds, getting nice and lubed up before he starts to press against your hole. Your brows knit together in concentration as his tip slides in with a satisfying ‘pop’, a soft grunt leaving Jake's lips.

“That's good, girl, just stay niiiice and relaxed,” he groans. He rests one hand on the wall beside your head as his body inches closer to you and his cock sinks deeper inside your cunt, stretching it deliciously to an almost aching point. Finally, he bottoms out, and you can't help the way your walls flutter with how full he makes you feel.

“Ya ever had a cock this big, miss?”

You shake your head quickly with a whimper and your eyes screwed shut, but he grabs your chin and makes you look deep into the fiery pits of his own stare, “I asked ya a question, little lady.”

His voice is still soft, but there's a slightly threatening tone underneath, one that makes your cunt clench. “No mister, I ain't.”

“Mhm, good, means I get to carve my shape into ya then.”

The wail you let out is a result of both his words, and the way he pulls back just to snap his hips back into you again. It feels like it blinds you for a second, the feeling getting stronger as he begins a deep pace.

“Christ almighty–.” You feel like you're going to tear his shirt with the way your nails are dragging against the dark fabric already. Shotgun shells and trinkets rattle with each of his harsh thrusts, all mixing together with the beautiful sounds of both your moans and the slapping of sweaty skin.

“Godammit girl, I ain't ever had a cunt this tight before.” Jake's words are mostly grunts at this point, emphasised with thrusts that only seem to get harder and faster.

You can feel your back scraping against the wooden walls, but all you care about right now is the cock of the dirty old cowboy that's filling and fucking your cunt better than you could've ever imagined. It sends waves through your body each time his tip butts that soft spot inside you that has your pussy drooling over his length.

The people next door are sure to hear you, hell, the whole saloon can probably hear you, what with the floorboards creaking under Jake's boots and your hips slamming against the wall… not to mention your noises. Shit, you're sure your voice is going to hurt tomorrow, your thoughts only solidifying when you feel his calloused thumb return to your neglected clit.

“That's a good girl, keep makin’ those noises, show everyone how good Mr Jake Lockley makes you feel.” He's speaking through gritted teeth, eyes boring into your expression as you tilt your head back and wail again.

“Bet you'd love to have this cowboy take ya cunt every night, wouldn't ya?”

God, the white hot pleasure is coursing through your veins, making your muscles tighten and your thighs clamp shut around his waist. Your mouth and throat feel dry from all your moaning and gasping. You're on the edge again, cunt clenching around his cock in a vice grip, you just need that final push.

“Yeah, squeeze my cock like that, shit, girl. Ya gonna cum? Cum all over my fat cock, pretty.”

You feel like you're falling when it finally hits you, your body is swept with wave after wave of hot pleasure that makes you spasm and throw your head back against the hard wood… or at least what would be hard wood, if Jake hadn't put his hand there to save your precious head.

You feel like you're going to melt into him as he continues to fuck your needy cunt. He wraps both arms around you this time and drags you a little further down the wall so your pussy is at the perfect angle for him. It only takes him a few more thrusts like that before he coming undone with a loud, deep moan, hips stuttering as he fucks his spend into you.

The cowboy keeps you cradled in his arms like that for a bit, chest heaving like yours as you both slowly come down. You're the first to open your eyes, and you're glad you do, because the sight is gorgeous. His black curls are sticking to his forehead, nostrils flaring with each breath out as his eyes flutter a little. It's then that you realise his hat must've been thrown off in the process, either on purpose or by accident.

Finally, the man opens his eyes too and meets your gaze. It's soft and deep, one that makes your heart flutter and a smile tug your lips, despite your efforts to hide it. He carefully lifts you off of his softening cock and places you on the ground, holding you up until your legs stop shaking.

“Ya good?”

“Wonderful, actually.”

His smile spreads across his face as he reaches down to pick his jeans back up, his belt clicking while he does it up.

“How much ya want?”

Those words suddenly hit you like a bucket of cold water. For half an hour, you got to pretend like everything was good in the world, but his words simply bring you crashing back down to reality.

Jake's too busy sifting through his notes to notice the look on your face, the look of disappointment and distaste.

“I don't need money. I need to see you again.”

That instantly makes the outlaw freeze up, as if he's run into this scenario before.

“Oh, darlin’.” A frown now dons his perfect lips. He reaches forward and rests his hands on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your neck. “Ya know I can't do that. I'm sure you've seen my face before, if not ‘round here, then on wanted posters.” The sound of paper crinkling gives you a reason to avert his gaze. “Take this, ok? It's the least I can do for givin’ me a great night.”

You feel his lips graze yours then, the feeling making your breath hitch as loneliness sinks into your gut and stales your bones.

“Maybe I'll see ya around again, sweetheart.” He picks up his hat and dusts it off, placing it atop his curls before he tips it to you.

“G'night, miss.”

He's gone before you can even fathom a response. You're left in the silence of that creaky old room, wind whistling in through the cracked window and making your whole body suddenly feel cold. You feel numb as you sit on the bed and examine the money he'd given you, mindlessly folding and unfolding the notes as you imagine him already setting off on his horse, never to be seen again.

It's only then that you notice a scrap of paper mixed up in the notes. Your fingers trace the outline of it as you unfold it, and you realise it's an advert for a gunsmith, the same one that was scrawled in small lettering over his holster and ammo sash: his favourite gunsmith. Had he done it on purpose? Slipped in a golden ticket to your next meeting point? He certainly was shuffling around with those notes for a while.

It makes you want to jump for joy, a small glimmer of hope shining through the overcast clouds that'd been plaguing you since you can remember, your knight in shining armour; or at least… knight in washed out denim. You tuck it into the waistband of your drawers with a soft but excited sigh, before going to clean yourself up and head home, with something for you to finally look forward to.

...........................................................................

Tagging people 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @strangerhands @admiralackbarssugarbaby

[kai-anderson-whore]

His protégé (James Patrick march x fem reader smut) (kinktober fic 3)

Summary: you met James like his other “students” but after years off him taken you under his wing you couldn’t handle the pressures.

Warnings: smut, mentions of killing, becoming a serial killer, p in v sex, slight edging, knife kink, oral (reader receiving), tiny bit of spanking (like one spank), feeling like being watched, fear of abandonment(James not wanting reader to leave like the countess sort of did), James being possessive.

Word count: 3k

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

You met him over three years ago, the same way as all his "students". Coincidentally waltzing into the Cortez when the world felt like it could swallow you whole, well at least that's what you felt like you wanted the world to do. To say this was the worst week you ever had was the understatement of the century.

You sat by the bar toying with the glass of alcohol in front of you. 'Was drowning your sorrows even worth it?', 'is getting so wasted that you'd might get kicked out the the hotel even worth it?' You wondered something that became routine over the past few days residing at this hotel. The bar was practically empty considering it was late on in the night.

The bartender who you soon known as liz shooting you a sympathetic smile every now and then. You observed the lavish historical hotel, full of art deco some antiques from the 1920s. You had heard all the rumours and stories of this hotel's history to say that it intrigued you would be the best way to put it. You heard near enough everything about the hotel Cortez and the "ghosts" residents here thanks to billie dean Howard.

You felt preying eyes on you, furrowed brows you turned and saw nothing... weird you thought. Maybe it was your imagination after all your in an infamous "haunted" hotel. But that was impossible ghosts aren't true, right?. Decided on calling it a night you thanked liz and went to your room 64, famous for being the room of two serial killers John Lowe and the former office of the owner james Patrick march coincidentally.

You still like you were being watched but tried to shrug it off 'relax no one is watching me it's in my head' you thought. Oh how you were wrong, several of ghosts who resisted here had their eye on you. Some curious on why you would come here, others wanted you as their next victim but one specific ghost wanted you as their protege, their next successor.

You finally made it to your room, fumbling around in your Jean pocket for your room key, you jammed the key into the door unlocking the door not before looking around to see if someone was near you. You couldn't shake that feeling that somebody was watching you, no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

Locking your room door you let out a breath out didn't know you were holding in. Making your way over to your suitcase you picked out your night attire. You still felt that eerie feeling going into the bathroom to clean your makeup off.

You exited the bathroom now in your pyjamas, the little clock on the nightstand played it's little song like usual "that thing freaks me out" you said out loud. "Don't let that frighten you dear" a voice chimed in making you let out a yelp in fright. Seeing a man sat on the chair a glass of whiskey or bourbon in hand you didn't know.

"Who the fuck are you" you hissed feeling mixed emotions shock, anger, fear of this intruder. "My names James Patrick march I'm the owner of this hotel and I'm afraid I don't like your tone dear" he introduced in a velvety accent getting up from the chair. He was dressed sharp in a pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt with a neck scarf.

"The owner of this hotel died like almost a hundred years ago" you scoffed at the man, which didn't faze him. "Yes that is true but you see in this hotel the dead doesn't exactly die" he stated stepping closer to you as you took steps back. You could see him more clearly now dark hair, pale skin with a pencil moustache that decorated his upper lip and beautiful chocolatey brown eyes that held something sinister in them.

"What do you want from me?" You asked. Even though his eyes held something evil within them you felt drawn to him like he wouldn't hurt you. "I've been watching you my dear, and I couldn't help but see the rage you secure within you" he said. A confused look on your face 'was I that noticeably angry?' You thought. "Right so?" You shrugged not quite catching on to what the ghost was saying.

"I want to help you set that rage free"

...

You didn't really remember what happened after that night all you remember was James teaching you everything there is to know about being a killer. For those three years he had taken you under his wing, taught you his ways, showed you his little contraptions within the hotel. And you were nothing if not willing to go through with it all.

You listened to every word that rolled off his tongue about his little plan. There were only three rules he had when it came to his little hobby 1: don't have a method. 2: don't be sloppy about it. 3: don't get caught.

You had just came back from another kill entering James's room on the 7th floor. "Ah your back dear how was it? Tell me the details" James's voice chimed the old fashioned record player playing an old time song. "It was the same as any other time James quick and easy" you sighed finding an old rag to clean yourself up.

"Quick you say, how so?" He asked confused at your lack of creativity unlike it usually was. "Because James I don't want to get caught I have a funny feeling that I'm going to be caught soon so I'm done" you sighed placing your knife on the little table by the bed. James watched your every move deep in thought. He wondered if your proposal was a good move "your going to stop killing?" He asked removing his blazer placing it on a chair, rolling his sleeves up.

"Yes James I'm sorry, I'm grateful you showed me your ways and I really did enjoy my time with you but it's best if i stop now before the heat on my ass gets me burnt" you held your hands up in defence making your way to the door.

James didn't know if he was sad or angry at the fact you've given up on your little spree or was it because you were essentially leaving him. Just as you turned the handle ready to exit till that sophisticated accent stopped you. "Don't go... please" he begged.

James didn't want to admit it to himself but these three years he spent with you were the best years he had in this hotel after he died. He didn't spend his time chasing after his ex-wife the countess, he spent every moment near enough with you enjoying the sick bond you both formed. He grew very fond of you more than his other students you had potential the same characteristics as himself.

"What?" You didn't quite believe what you were hearing, it wasn't the words it was the tone complete desperation. Only time you heard that tone of voice was around the first time you met him when he was desperately trying to get the countess back.

"Please don't leave me I couldn't bare it" he pleaded once again with a meek voice. The door still ajar, your hand on the handle. "James it's for the best anyway we had fun but it's time to get out before it's too late but I need to leave before I get caught" you stated. "I DONT CARE ABOUT THE KILLING Y/N" James yelled taken you aback. He never raised his voice at you once even when he was frustrated with you for some reason he never ever raised his voice.

James walked closer to you his face now red with anger. He wasn't going to let you leave he let one woman slip away he doesn't intend to let it happen again. You were a little nervous at the sudden shift in the room.

"I will not let you leave this hotel not after everything" his voice was calm but his expression said otherwise. You didn't know what was going to happen "what do you mean not letting me leave this hotel?" You asked. "I've grown rather fond of you my dear, I look forward to our little meetings and I guess I can't let that go" his cold breath fanned against your neck sending shivers down your spine.

You almost crumbled as his cold hands rested on your biceps, your breathing quickening with the small touch. Looking into his dark eyes held anger and lust. "I've never felt this way for anyone since the countess but with you dearest, it doesn't compare to the feelings I have for you" his lips in a smirk, seeing you melt from just his words.

It all made sense to you now, you couldn't lie to yourself and say you didn't grow to have strong feelings for the ghost (because that was far from the truth). The truth was you were infatuated with James Patrick march, you spent every moment with him for the past three years it felt impossible not to. People would call you a stupid girl for it.

"James-" you were cut off by his ice cold lips on yours. The kiss was rough but you responded nonetheless. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip demanding entrance. Parting your lips moaning into his mouth, he showed dominance with just his mouth, giving into him, kicking the door shut with your foot.

James guided you to the bed effortlessly, the backs of your knees meeting the foot of the bed. His tongue explored your mouth before he pulled away. James then unbuttoned his dress shirt, your hands roamed his bare chest biting your lip. Your fingers hooking around his suspenders pulling James close to you crashing your lips back on his.

A delighted hum left him as he pushed your body down on the bed. Your legs parted automatically allowing James to slot himself between them. His lips moved to your neck slightly biting the flesh there making you feel dizzy. His hands roamed your sides feeling, caressing every curve that came in contact with his hand.

You sat up as James began to remove your slip dress leaving you in just your underwear. "Your beauty doesn't compare to anything in this world" James's voice was more deep, thick with lust making you grow wetter by the second. "Your mine now dear, I'll never let you go" James snarls, his fingers hooking into your underwear peeling the fabric off your body.

Now just kneeling on the foot of the bed James got a perfect view of your dripping core. "Your all mine" James hummed against your thigh trailing his rough lips upwards till he met where you needed him the most. He was like a possessive animal and you were loving every moment of it.

James licked a strip between your folds bringing you arousal to your clit. You gasped at the shot of pleasure of his mouth on your clit, sucking, swirling his tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands held your thighs apart as wide as he could getting all access to you.

A moan escaped you as he continued his assault on your pussy. Your hand's gripped into the bedsheets underneath you for leverage. It was already too much but you never wanted it to stop. You already felt dangerously close to the edge. James darted his tongue in your entrance, his nose brushing against your clit adding to the pleasure.

"I'm so close" you warned feeling that knot tightening in the pit of your core. James hummed against you devouring you like his last meal. He never stopped his movements bringing his attention back to your clit more rougher than before coaxing you to let go over his tongue.

Your orgasm ripped through you, back arching, toes curling practically screaming his name. "That's it dear let everyone hear who's making you feel this euphoric" he chimed against your glistening heat. He licked up all your juices before pulling away from your heat.

"Oh god" you sighed regaining your breath. Moving your body to sit up by the pillows. James peeled his suspenders off his shoulders, removing his shirt in the process. His hair now disheveled, a beautiful sight to see. You removed your bra leaving yourself fully naked in front of him.

James glanced at the silver knife on the nightstand, he still felt rage for you ready to leave him. He picked the knife up making up gulp, you didn't know his intentions now a look of slight fear yet excitement in your eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you dearest" as if he read your mind with his free hand he undid his slacks and removed his underwear freeing his rock hard cock.

You were drooling at the sight, he was long and thick but not to thick were you'd think he'd slit you in two. His cock slight curved it was probably the most prettiest cock you'd ever seen.

James then got on top of your body slotting himself between your legs. Crashing his lips back on yours, the blade still in hand. Feeling the flat surface of the cold metal on your thigh, sending a shiver through you. He began dragging the metal down your outer thigh, his cock grinding on your inner side.

James pulled away from your lips taking the sharp edge of the knife to your cheek. "You will never leave me dear, I wouldn't allow it" his eyes dark, lustrous and sinister. It all was too addicting, "I'll never leave you James" you whimpered pathetically, the blade dragging from your cheek to under your chin, not to cut you but feel the harshness.

You grew more wetter than you were before. James lined himself up with your entrance before pushing himself into your sopping cunt without warning. You cried out as his thrusts were rough as merciless. Your hands gripped his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin coaxing his thrusts to become more harsher and expeditious.

James dragged the blade to the valley of your breasts. You moaned out feeling the cold metal under your breast. A grunt leaving James's lips "you feel like heaven" he grunted "you will never leave me, you belong to me from now on" he said in between his thrusts. Your walls clenched around him the desire burning like fire.

"Oh fuck" you cried out, chest heaving, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You could barely hear what he was saying. You could see that veins popping out of his neck the blade soon discarded and replaced with his hand on your breast fondling the lump of tissue.

A sigh of pleasure left your lips, feeling close to the edge once again. James didn’t let it go unnoticed, feeling you clenching around him. Much to your dismay James pulled out of you leaving you feeling empty and whimpering. You shot the ghost a confused look “don’t worry dear just turn around for me” James ordered.

Nodding your head you got on your hands and knees, feeling your wetness dripping down your legs in the process. “Your so wet, who for dear?” James cooed in his velvety voice. “You James all for you” your voice was scratchy from the high pitched moans. You felt that blade once again on your lower back.

“Yes dear all for me, no one else” James was possessive over what was his, you were no exception. From his student to now bent over for him as he drags the knife lower over your ass to your core. You moaned in pleasure you didn’t think this would be your type of thing but with James you’d do anything.

A sting on your ass making you jolt forward, James hand colliding with the skin there. You moaned at the sudden feeling, James’s hand soothing the red mark. Lining himself back up with your entrance effortlessly. Your greedy cunt taking him with one thrust.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets once again, your body jolted with each harsh thrust he delivered. All that could be heard in the room was a mixture of you and James’s pleasures, skin slapping off each other and the bed rocking beneath you.

You could have sworn you could feel him in your stomach, one hand on your hip the other toying with the knife along your lower back again. The thrill of what he was going to do next wasn’t like anything before, the anticipation eating you up.

James couldn’t get enough of you, you were like a drug he never wanted rehab for. The way your walls would clench and flutter around him was enough for him to come undone then and there. The way your loud moans filled the room, like music to his ears. You were just perfect to him, his perfect little protégé.

“Who do you belong you?” James grunted thrusting rapidly into your poor little pussy. You tried to get the words out but you couldn’t comprehend amongst all the overwhelming pleasure. Only a strangled moan leaving your lips instead.

Feeling the knife against your neck and an arm pulling you up flush against James’s chest, his cold breath fanning against your ear. “I asked you a question dear, very impolite not to answer” his thrusts harder hitting your cervix granted to make you see stars. You throw your head back to rest in James’s shoulder as you managed to answer.

“I belong to you james, I’m so close” you warned.

James discarded the knife once again, replaced it with his own hand chasing your orgasm. You reached out for his hair tugging on it, your other hand gripped onto his arm around your waist. “Let go for me, darling” he whispered, that was enough for you cumming for a second time. Your grip on his arm tightened releasing all your juices over his cock.

Triggering his own orgasm, James hips snapped upwards spilling his seed deep inside you. A low moan left James as you came with his name on your lips like your only prayer riding out your highs.

Once you both calmed down you leaned onto James skin glistening with sweat, breathing shallow. Gaining the energy to lift yourself off of James you threw yourself onto the pillows feeling knackered. James got off the bed to grab a rag to clean up.

After getting you both clean James threw his undergarments back on climbing into bed beside you. “I won’t leave you James” you said with a weak, tried voice. James wrapped his arm around you, bringing yourself closer to him resting your head on his chest. “I know darling” he hummed deep in thought.

[ameliathornromance]

Are you the Final Girl?

Slasher!Orc X Reader

Chapter 7

Masterlist <--- Full list of TWS. For this Chapter: Another body is discovered in a similar way to Jennifers', bloody pool, police investigation.

After you’d taken off your makeup and mourning clothes, you crashed straight into bed, energy completely depleted of the days events.

You didn’t even realise that so much could go on, that all that emotional strain could have fit into so little hours during the day.

When you awoke again, your eyes were sore and stung as they dried out at the cold October air.

You shivered, taking a look at your phone that you had put on the nightstand. Thankfully, no more messages from Sydney had come through.

Although it stung to realise that she was the one behind the anonymous accounts, it was a relief to know that those messages would finally stop coming through now.

It was just coming up to six o’clock in the morning, and you had a class at 8am on the dot.

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up and began to get ready for the day. You applied eyedrops, then moved onto hair, trying to let the eyedrops be for as long as possible before you started on your makeup.

When you’d finished, you packed your bag and set off for the day.

The chilly misty morning made you shiver, making you shove your hands into your coat pockets and walk briskly down the street from your accommodation and to the campus.

Your stomach began to churn. Frowning, you looked over your shoulder. No one else occupied the street except you and a few passing cars, headlights beaming out from the fog and fading away as the passed you.

“There’s nothing wrong.” You reassured yourself. “There’s nothing going on here.”

And with that, you continued on. But your stomach still felt tense as if something was very, very wrong.

When you finally arrived at the campus, you understood why you felt so uneasy.

Police Officers littered the campus, their cars parked in the spots usually reserved for Professors and Lecturers.

The Officers spoke to your fellow students, all of them holding small notepads and pens and taking statements from any students who may have only just arrived at the campus grounds.

As you watched the spectacle, an officer approached you. A tall man with a thick handle bar moustache.

“You’re (Y/N) (L/N), correct?” He asked, his voice a low grumble.

“Um… yes?” You raised an eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

The Officer jerked his head, “follow me. You’re needed at the crime scene.”

Your eyes widened, but you followed the man in uniform.

Why on Earth would you been needed at a crime scene? Unless…

You shoved that unpleasant thought away, walking past the science building, past the Mathematics block before you finally arrived at the Gymnaisium.

Your frown deepened, as the Officer asked that you put on some plastic shoe covers and gloves to match, as well as leave your bag at the door. You did so, handing your bag to another Officer guarding the door.

Following the Officer inside, you walked through the gym, where thick, red liquid splattered against the farthest most wall, then trailed across to the door that lead to the swimming pool at the corner of the room.

You begged internally, please no. Please not another person.

People in full, white body suits and gas masks were taking pictures, setting down numbered stands and taking swabs of the liquid.

“Our head detective would like to speak with you.” The Officer said, bringing your attention back to your own situation.

You reached the swimming pool door and the Officer opened it for you, “since you saw your first friend,” he said, “I doubt that you’ll have the same reaction to this one.”

His words made your stomach drop. Without another word, you strode past him and into the pool room.

You fought to hold in the scream that tried to escape you.

The humidity of the pool hit you like a tone of bricks, a strong iron smell following afterwords and that made you gag.

Where the clear blue pool should have been, had been drained and replaced with a sea of red that sloshed menacingly, as if hoping another victim will fall into it’s choppy waters.

In the pool itself, floating, pasty white and drained of all colour, was the body of Sydney. She was still dressed in her work out clothes, the same that you had seen her in the day before.

First Jennifer, and now Sydney?

“Ah, perfect timing!” A man in a beige trench coat waved at you cheerily, like you were old friends meeting for the first time in years.

His attitude was completely out of place given the circumstances.

He was an older man, wore the same gloves and shoe covers as you did, but his attire was a lot more formal, suit and tie with smart trousers. “I’m Detective Heath, head of the investigation regarding your friends’ murdered, Miss (L/N).” He approached and showed you his badge.

“She’s not my friend.” Was the first thing that left your lips. You gasped and slapped your hands over your mouth, but the Detective just laughed.

“So, we’re off to a good start already with this one!” He smiled, “we now know that you and Sydney didn’t get along!”

“It’s… it’s not like that.” You said, looking away from the Detective. You watched as a few people in the same white overalls used a pool net to reel in the corpse like they were trying to play hook the duck with the corpse.

“Care to say more?” The Detective asked, tilting his head. “And while you’re here, it would be of great help to me if you could tell me about the history leading up to this.”

You told the Detective all of the events that led up to this moment, what happened after the funeral, Malike and the fight with Sydney. He nodded politely, listening closely to you as the coroners bagged up the body and removed it from the pool room.

“So, the one behind the dummy accounts, was Sydney.” He said, vaguely.

“Yes.”

The Detective hummed, rubbing his chin while looking you up and down. “And your other friend, Jennifer, died while you were on the phone with her?”

You nodded affirmitavely.

“Two of your friends, both dead within a week of each other… And you had fights with both of them.”

It was your heart that dropped this time. If your organs kept dropping out of your body, you’ll become nothing but a floating bit of skin.

You knew what conclusion the Detective was coming to, “I didn’t do this.” You defended, “I was asleep when both murders happened!”

The Detective raised an eyebrow at you, “and what about that Orc friend of yours? Do you know if he could have done this?”

“No!” you said, earnestly. “Malike is a good guy, he couldn’t ever do something like this!” You didn’t even know why the Detective would even ask about Malike.

Detective Heath stared at you, as if he was trying to sense something. Perhaps he was trying to figure out if you were telling the truth? Admittedly, it was difficult to defend Malike when you had just told him about that one time he got high, but, you just knew that Malike couldn’t have done this, or killed Jennifer in such a horrifically gruesome way.

“Well, we’ll have to wait to get the autopsy back from Forensics before we can decide whether or not this could be attributed to anyone else.” He gave a shrug. “We’ll be setting up a buddy system for your University now, everyone in pairs. That way, no one can be out of sight from one another and hopefully, nothing else will happen.”

The Detective said his goodbyes and then walked down the side of the pool, to speak to another Officer, leaving you alone and standing at the edge of the pool of blood.

Soon, you were being escorted out by the same Policeman who brought you in.

*

When the bell for lunch rang, you went on a search for Malike. A part of you wanted to avoid Jack at all costs. Mainly, because you didn’t want to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway, but also because you couldn’t bare the thought of seeing him. Not when he was also a target of this serial killer.

Perhaps he had the same thought process too, because you hadn’t seen him all day.

You found Malike in the cafeteria, sitting by his lonesome in the corner of the room, munching on a sandwich.

After you’d explained to him what the Detective had told you, Malike snorted.

“Fat load of good a buddy system is going to do.” You said. “And now they’re suspicious of me for the killings?”

Malike took a bite out of his sandwich and frowned. “Do they think you have motive then?” He asked, through his mouthful.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your head, “I don’t know. All the murders are close to me and Jack, so out of the two of us, we’re probably prime suspects.”

“What about me?” Malike asked.

You bit your lip. Do you tell him that you told Detective Heath everything? Orcs are also heavily stereotyped by the Police too, due to their tempers.

You hoped that Detective Heath didn’t believe in all of that. It would be awful for Malike if the head of the investigation began to focus primarily on him when the real killer is on the loose. But you had done your best to explain, so hopefully there wouldn’t be any negative consequences for him.

And besides, Malike couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“I did tell them about you and… the past.” You admitted, stiffly. “But only because they asked about the events leading up to the fight with Sydney… The Detective wanted to know everything that happened before we went to see her.”

“I guess that means I’m a suspect too then.” He sighed, placing the sandwich down in his tubber ware container. “It’s okay, you did what you had to do.”

Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Checking the caller ID, you furrowed your eyebrows.

“It’s Jack.” You told the Orc grimly.

“Answer it,” Malike said, “Now you can ask him if what Sydney said was true.”

Really, that was the last thing on your mind at the moment, but you still answered. “Hello?” You asked.

“Listen, you need to meet me tonight in the Engineering department.” Jack said. “It’s super important. Tonight, 7pm, when the campus is deserted. Don’t bring the Orc with you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “what? What’s going on Jack?”

From the other end of the line, Jack paused.

“I know who killed Jennifer and Sydney.” And with that, Jack hung up the phone.

Your breath caught in your throat. Had you heard that right?

Catching Malike’s gaze, you realised that he’d overheard the whole conversation.

His eyes had glazed over, stone cold. His expression had fallen, eyebrows now knitted together in an icy scowl.

It was no surprise that Malike was annoyed by what Jack had said, anyone would be annoyed at being left out of a group meet up. “Did you hear that last bit?”

Malike grunted. “You shouldn’t go. It’s past curfew and dangerous.”

“I know,” you said, biting your lip.

The Orc looked you up and down, narrowing his eyes at you. “(Y/N), you’re not seriously thinking of going are you?”

You pursed your lips.

Malike sighed, lowering his head in exasperation. “After what Sydney said about him? You don’t think that’s suspicious that he’s asked you to come out late and alone at that?”

“Weren’t you the one who said that Sydney might have just said that to hurt me?” You frowned. Of course, the curfew and the danger of a possible serial killer walking around was something to be concerned about… but the Malike you once knew, would have fully encouraged you to go and seek out Jack.

He would have seen it as something rebellious and fun. Because, what’s the likely-hood of being picked off? It’s not like the killer would know that you would be going out to meet Jack, right? Especially since the curfew would have been put in place.

But, if you were careful, you and Jack would be in and out of the engineering classroom in an hour or so.

It wasn’t just the fact that Malike was trying to discourage you from going to meet up with Jack, it was was that he changed his tune so quickly. One minute, you shouldn’t have believed what Sydney said and now, you should believe her.

“Jack’s putting his own life at risk,” you told Malike, “I can’t just let him do that for nothing.”

You watched him for a reaction.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Malike sighed, clearly annoyed that you don’t understand what he’s trying to get across. “What if he is the risk? That he’s the one who’s been running around, he’s the one responsible for the murders of Jennifer and Sydney? Think about it, the killer only targets people in your friendship group and you and Jack are the only two people left alive. And you couldn’t have done either of them because you were either asleep or discovered the body.

“So that means that the only other person it could have been was Jack.” Malike finished. He leaned over the bench table and took your hands in his own and squeezed them tightly. “Please, (Y/N), don’t go and meet him.” His eyes had become earnest, almost puppy-dog like in his begging.

You met his gaze, before sighing and then nodding. “Okay.” You made sure your tone had a note of finality in it, “I won’t go. You have my word.”

Malike let out a breath of relief and released your hands from his own. “Thank you.” He said, smiling. “We should go and get to class. I’ll walk you to your next one.”

A part of you felt bad for lying to him. But you reminded yourself that you had a very legitimate reason to lie.

Because you had seen the killer, on the night of Jennifer’s death.

And the killer, looked nothing like Jack.

Because the killer had long dark hair and a tall but muscular build.

Just like Malike did.

I have new Patreon Tiers!

Taglist <3

@soapjay@greenie-c@sunndust@gonemorre

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please comment under this post!

[ladamedusoif]

Cookies (Tim Rockford X F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 26

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 1455

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Established relationship (Reader is Tim’s wife); workplace sex; fingering; unprotected but safe PiV sex (Reader is on birth control); no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of Reader; strong language; when we say “fuck the police” this is what we mean

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist!

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my work.

Tim kisses you on the cheek as he heads down to the precinct on Christmas Eve, overcoat in hand.

“I hate leaving you all, baby, but…”

You wrap him in a tight embrace and return his kiss. “Tim, you’re a good man. I’m sure Corinna appreciates you taking the Christmas Eve cover, so she can be at home for her baby’s first Christmas.”

Your husband’s ears pink up a little at your praise. “I guess. And older cops did it for us, too, when the kids were tiny.”

He looks over your shoulder into your mother’s kitchen, where your daughters are excitedly asking their grandma whether the Christmas cookies are cool enough to decorate. You turn and smile at the scene.

“I love you, Detective Rockford. We’ll save you some cookies. Come home safe.”

***

The cop at the front desk is thanking his lucky stars as he sips his umpteenth cup of filter coffee. It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and - other than a couple of minor call-outs for the guys out in the patrol car to break up bar fights - he hasn’t had to book a single person into the cells.

It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

And then the door buzzes. He sighs in exasperation and checks the CCTV. A woman, wearing a winter hat and carrying a tote bag. He presses the button to let her in.

“Hello there, ma’am. Now, I have to warn you, as it’s Christmas Eve we don’t have a full complement of officers in tonight and - oh! Hi there, Mrs R!”

You smile as you take off your hat and scarf, and hand him a small tin. “Hey, Bryan. Tim in his office?”

“Sure is. Hey, these some of your famous cookies?”

You’re already climbing the stairs to your husband’s office. “Maybe. Open it and see if Santa thinks you’ve been a good cop this year.”

***

Tim’s at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie slightly loose, flipping through some papers with his glasses on. The desk lamp bathes him in a warm light, highlighting his handsome features, and you pause for a moment to take him in before you knock on the door.

He looks up in surprise before a broad smile spreads across his face. “Hello there, miss. What brings you to the precinct on a Christmas Eve?”

You carefully close the door and turn the little lock on the handle, before pulling down the blind. You reach into your bag and produce another cookie tin, sauntering over to Tim’s desk and placing it in front of him.

“So, everyone was tucked up in bed at home, and would you believe it? I met Santa Claus, leaving gifts for the girls.”

Your husband chuckles and pulls you onto his lap. “That so?”

You nod. “The man himself. And you know what he said?”

Tim shakes his head, eyes twinkling. You lean in and kiss him softly.

“He said that Tim Rockford had been a particularly good boy this year, and he should get an extra special gift.”

Tim’s eyes turn to the cookie tin. “The cookies?”

You shrug, reach for the tin, and open the lid. “You could say that, I guess. They’re part of the gift.”

He bursts out laughing when he looks inside and takes out a gingerbread man perfectly decorated to resemble - well, him. White shirt, black pants, dark hair and moustache, tie, and even a pair of shoulder holsters.

“Your handiwork?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Damn right. Why wouldn’t I make cookies that look like the most delicious man I know?”

He eyes you up suspiciously, but a smile plays on his lips. “You said the cookies were part of the gift.”

You stand up and move his paperwork out of the way, clearing enough space on the desk so that you can sit up on it. “The other part is under my coat.”

Tim’s eyes widen as he reaches for the buttons on your knee-length woollen coat, unbuttoning them eagerly and pulling the coat open.

His mouth falls open. “Holy fuck, baby.”

“You like what you see?” You fight against all the anxieties and insecurities that haunt you about your body, focusing on the look of astonished desire that’s burning in your husband’s eyes.

Tim’s eyes roam over you, taking in the dark red bra and matching, high-waisted panties trimmed in black lace, the sheer black stockings. He carefully eases off your coat and throws it to one side, running his big hands gently over the soft skin of your shoulders as he slips down the straps of your bra.

“I love what I see.” His voice is a rapt whisper.

He slips his hands to your back and waist and pulls you tight to him as he kisses you deeply, moaning as you twine your fingers through his dark, grey-streaked curls. You bring your hands to his belt buckle, working it open and undoing his pants so you can palm his cock, already hardening under your touch.

Tim brings his mouth to the side of your neck and begins to softly bite and lick the sensitive skin, working his way down to your breasts as one hand holds you in place while the other tugs aside the lacy fabric that covers your pussy. “I fucking love what I see,” he grunts, pulling down the cups of your bra to expose your breasts. “I love you. My sexy fucking wife.”

You whine as two thick fingers trail across your folds before settling on your clit, working it steadily in the way only he knows. “I’m going to get you good and wet for me, my love,” Tim murmurs, encouraging you to lift your hips so he can ease off your panties.

“Mmmm… and then what are you going to do to me, Detective?”

He slips his fingers into your cunt, pulling a delighted gasp from you. “And then, Mrs Rockford, I plan on fucking you hard right here on this desk. But only if you come for me first.”

A hook of his fingers and you’re squealing with pleasure as Tim spreads you out in front of him, standing between your thighs as you continue to stroke his dick. He fucks you over and over with his fingers, watching you writhe and buck as you near your climax.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You look so beautiful like this, all spread out and ready to come on my fingers. Can’t fuckin’ believe you’re mine, sometimes.” Your pussy tightens around him and he knows you’re about to come.

“Tim…Tim, fuck, I’m - oh, fuck, baby.” He keeps fingering you through the orgasm, sucking on your nipples as he extends the wave of pleasure running through you.

You reach up and undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, hitching up his under vest so you can feel the soft, warm skin of his belly against yours as he pushes himself inside you and begins to fuck you. You hitch up your legs around his waist to hold Tim in place, slipping your hands under his shirt and gripping his broad shoulders firmly as he takes you on his desk.

“Feel good?”

“Fucking incredible, Tim - you?”

He leans his head against your chest and flicks his tongue over your nipple. “Baby, you always feel amazing but this - fuck, this is so fuckin’ good. Feels so tight and wet for me. Listen to that.”

For a moment the only sound in the office is the lewd wetness, skin on skin, and your pants and moans.

“Can’t believe you did this for me, baby,” Tim grunts, speeding up his rhythm and making you whine, arching your back. “Came down here in nothing but lingerie, ready to fuck me…fuck, you’re incredible.”

You giggle a little. “Got lonely at home, my love. Needed to have my man.”

Tim’s faltering rhythm tells you he’s nearly there as he buries himself deeper inside you. “You’ve got him, baby. All yours. All…”

And he’s there, spilling inside you as he collapses on your chest.

***

Cleaned up but still a little dishevelled, you sit on the floor of the office and eat some of the cookies, accompanied by weak coffee.

In the distance, you can hear chimes signalling the hour.

“Hey. It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, Detective Rockford.”

Tim kisses you, tasting of ginger and sugar and spice and all things nice.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Rockford. And thank you for my extra-special gift.”

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

They're up at Burnley and it's snowing; lightly at first, a dusting of white over grass through the second half that had them shivering in their kits as they slid mud-spattered across the pitch. They'd won thanks to the fucking Roy Kent effect, everyone except Jamie 'cause that'd require coach to actually, well, coach him. To look at a space with Jamie in it and act like he saw a person instead of nothing at all, and he used to wish he was invisible, back when he was a kid dodging fists and snarled words but now he wants to cry, just a bit, 'cause he really is trying and why can't Roy try too?

They're up at Burnley and it's snowing in huge fluffy white flakes as they board the coach and Jamie feels sick, sits in the aisle beside Sam who presses against the window, breath fogging on the glass.

"You know I'd love to give you all a day out in town to celebrate but it looks like it's gonna be a snow day for us, folks," Ted says, stood at the front of the bus with a broad smile under his moustache. They all groan and he chuckles, hands held out in front of him. "Hey, I don't make the weather — and boy, that would be something, wouldn't it? Give y'all a taste of Kansas summer instead of all this rain you've got going on. Or snow, at the moment. Anyhow, we'll make our own fun, won't we boys?"

"It's barely even snowing," Zoreaux grumbles.

Jamie hurries off the coach, ready to crawl under the blankets and draw the curtains where he can't see any of it and he's halfway to the hotel entrance when he realizes Sam isn't with him. Turns and finds him with his face turned up in the middle of the carpark with snow dusted on his hair and his jacket and melting on his skin.

"It's very beautiful," he says softly. Jamie trudges back towards him and there's a look on his face he's never seen before, all wondering and open and in that moment with icy water trickling through his hair and his fingers frozen stiff in his pockets, Jamie thinks everything in his life has been worth it for this moment, watching Sam's face as he watches the snow.

Beside them, Dani kneels to scoop up a handful and yelps, shaking out his hands, pouting with betrayal. "And very cold!"

"You gotta wear gloves, mate," Jamie says. He knocks his shoulder against Dani and Dani knocks back.

"But it looks so soft!"

Inside, Ted leads them to the conference centre instead of up to their rooms and they sit in a circle on the floor, coaches and all. Jamie ends up huddled between Sam and Dani, arms looped over each other's shoulders, two lads who've never seen snow before in their lives and Jamie who has but the cold worms into him more than it does the others, never mind how Isaac teases him that he should be tougher, northern lad that he is.

There are eyes on him, a tiger watching from the brush. Jamie glances up and it's Roy, eyes dark and hard and searching and it's the first time they've met eyes since he returned, maybe ever. Jamie breaks first. Stares down at the carpet instead — ugly fucking thing, pilly and brown and worn out. They're a Championship League team now; can't afford the good hotels any longer. A year ago he'd've thrown a fit, quit in a huff to somewhere that deserved him like he might have done when Ted became gaffer if he hadn't had City to go back to. Only it turned out Richmond had made him too soft to handle Manchester and all that came with it. He'd made it twelve years with dad hanging over his head and then broke after barely a handful of months, huddled in his bathroom with blood in his teeth, told his agent he'd take whatever as long as it was far away.

The door crashes open and it's Zoreaux, back from raiding the hotel bar 'cause Ted wouldn't let him out no matter how much he insisted it weren't a proper snowstorm and the bartender let him buy by the bottle now half the guests who were supposed to come up had cancelled. Pass it around like they had at the curse fire and Jamie still feels stupid for that, a little, spilling his guts everywhere only to be sent back, but part of him wants to try again, just to test.

He hasn't drunk much since he got back, not much appeal in it after dad's drunken rages and the constant refills of neon-coloured cocktails on Lust Conquers All, but he drinks now, both hands wrapped around the bottle of vodka — not vanilla, the regular kind — when it comes his turn, warmer and warmer from the heat of their palms with each round. Sam's slung half over his shoulders and every few seconds he giggles at nothing and Dani says, "what is it, amigo?" and Sam says, "I don't know!" and it just makes him laugh harder. Jamie shoves playfully at his chest — "Right in my ear, mate? Really?" — and they both overbalance so the window stretches above them, one of those long thin floor-to-ceiling things. Looks up at the snow spiralling through the flat white of the sky and like this he can almost feel the cold bite of it on his face, the melting weight of it on his clothes as the water trickles down over his skin.

"I got lost in a snowstorm, once," he says, dreamily. Someone else is talking but they go silent at his voice and that's got to be on the list of prick shit he's not supposed to do, probably, to keep Ted from booting him off the team again, but he can't shove the words back inside now.

"Oh yeah?" Ted asks. "I didn't know y'all got those over here. Sounds like one heck of an experience, Jamie."

He shrugs against the carpet. "Not really. I was s'posed to drive for my da, right, 'cause his usual guy was being a fucking little bitch about it and didn't want to drive in the snow—" that's how dad had put it on the phone when Jamie got called into the principal's office, said his da was on the phone with a family emergency— "and I'd never even been to the fucking neighbourhood, right, so by the time I went and got the car off his mate and his mate gave me this whole fucking stupid lecture about not crashing or getting caught and shit and found the place it was a proper white-out, and my dad had been hanging around so long with this like, massive fucking TV that someone'd called the cops so I just fucking drove off, right? 'Cept I'd never driven in snow before so we got stuck in a ditch and me da sent me out to..." he blinked, bleary with drink. "Dunno. To find someone to tow us or some shit. But I didn't know where the fuck I was and I couldn't see shit so I just walked around 'til I found the road again, and by then dad had got himself unstuck and left, and the buses weren't running so I had to walk home." It's not really a bad story but his heart's pounding all the same and the room's gone quiet. He scratches harder at the carpet; tries to laugh but it comes out strangled and faint. "Good exercise at least, yeah?"

No one says anything, still. The carpet comes up in tufts; he piles them together like he used to do as a kid picking at grass during a fire drill. It's his turn with the vodka again, handed over by a solemn-faced Dani, and he takes a long pull. The alcohol calms the frantic buzz beneath his skin, leaves him tired and heavy and warm, the silence comforting instead of worrying.

After a while, Ted clears his throat. There's a funny tilt to his smile. "Hey, I love me a silver lining. Thanks for sharing that, Jamie," he says, strained. Maybe the cold's got him sick, or maybe it's just the way the floor's spinning that's making him look funny. Jamie flops onto his back.

"Uh-huh. Sure thing, coach."

"It is very stupid to volunteer your criminal history like that," Jan Maas says.

"'S not a crime to drive the getaway car," Jamie says.

"Pretty sure it is, bruv," Isaac says.

"Huh."

"Don't worry, Jamie Tartt! We will not tell anyone!" Dani says, very loudly or else very close to his ear. There's a general murmur of agreement.

"Thanks, amigo. I won't tell anyone 'bout your crimes, neither," Jamie says. "Not that I'm saying you've done crimes and that. But if you have. Unless it's like, murder, maybe. But if you murdered someone they probably deserve it so also not then." He holds up his fist; Dani bumps it on the second try.

"You cannot break a pact made during a snowstorm," Sam says wisely.

"I still can't believe you guys think this is a real snowstorm," Zoreaux says, and Jamie drifts off to a vivid description of the horrors of Montreal in winter.

He blinks awake to find the lads shuffling back to their rooms and Roy crouched over him with his giant fucking caterpillar eyebrows scrunched. The position can't be any good on his knee but Jamie's trying not to get in fights with the coaches so much this season so he doesn't say anything. Roy doesn't, either. He blows out a sigh like one of those panthers Jamie'd seen at the zoo with mummy way back when he was a kid, mouth working like he's trying to force himself to speak.

"Your dad's a piece of shit," he says. "You don't have to find a silver lining." And then he hauls Jamie to his feet and fucking dusts off the carpet lint with the sleeve of his jacket like Jamie's his seven-year-old niece. "You played fine today. Next time you can be fucking great, but first you need to get the fuck out of your head and be more aggressive."

Jamie breaks into a grin. "Aye aye, coach."

[cannedcrow]

Hermit's Hold - Scarian/Hermitcraft Gold Rush AU - Part IV

A/N: Been a while! I recently got the zest to write again and finally found the inspiration to continue this story. I'm very excited about continuing my various fics (Arbitrary Darkness and Flower Frost) so if anyone's still interested, stay tuned! This one might get spicy soon ;)

Read on AO3!

~ Fic inspired by @gritties. Please reblog if you enjoy! <3 ~

When Grian awoke, it was to a headache and an offensive sunbeam shining on his face. He rolled over groggily, propping himself up on one elbow and observing his surroundings.

He, Etho, Bdubs and Scar had eventually gone to sleep in the small apartment that Bdubs and Etho inhabited above the bar. They'd insisted their guests take the beds, and Bdubs was still snoring on the floor next to the bed, half-blanketed by his mossy cape. Etho was slumped over a small table, flanked by his tumbler and the whiskey bottle, which, he noted, was significantly less full than it'd been when Grian had gone to sleep. Scar and Doc had vanished, leaving only disturbed blankets as evidence of their presence. With a final glance at Bdubs and Etho - he decided to let them sleep - he dressed and hurried downstairs.

He found Scar and Doc in the stables, leant on the divider and talking in severe undertones. They looked up when Grian entered, Doc's face a mask of anger. He hadn't yet seen Doc be anything but pleasant, and he hoped he was never the recipient of the scowl that twisted Doc's already frightening face.

"The horses are gone," Scar declared flatly. He showed no signs of the previous night's drinks and Grian immediately felt aware of his own scruffy hair and rumpled clothes.

"Gone? Elderberry?" Grian exclaimed in panic, "But-"

Doc's gaze lingered on Grian for a moment before he looked away.

"Whoever took them is new in town I think. Or they are very foolish," he growled, a mirthless smile twisting his face.

"We'll find them," Scar comforted Grian, his reassuring smile not hiding the stern anger in his eyes, and Grian wasn't sure whether he meant the horses or the thief. Somehow, he couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the perpetrator.

Scar and Doc disappeared, bidding farewell to Etho & Bdubs before reassuring Grian that they didn't need his assistance. Etho shook his head as he helped Grian saddle a rented mule.

He inquired, but all Etho said was "What a fool."

Scar was gone most of that day and the next. And the next.

Grian continued work on the shop, trying not to worry about their fate. If anyone can handle themselves, it's those two, he reassured himself.

He joined a group of other camp members on the second day for lunch and was welcomed with open arms. The three were detonators, as evidenced by their charred clothing and soot-smudged faces. He recognised one as the pianist at the bar, a slight, blond-haired man with warm red eyes and a perpetual fanged grin. He announced himself as Tango, and introduced his companions - Mumbo, whom he took an immediate liking to, was another English man, tall and slim with an impressive black moustache and bizarrely well-groomed appearance, and Impulse, a stocky, broad-chested man with a friendly face and burn scars riddling his arms.

Impulse tossed a handful of redstone into the campfire Grian was starting and it immediately blazed red and grew in size. Tango laughed and poked at the eggs in their skillet. Impulse smiled too. "Old redstoner's trick, that," he informed, accepting a plate from Tango. Mumbo passed one to Grian and winced, earning chuckles from the other two as he pulled up his sleeve and rubbed his bandaged arm.

"What happened?" Grian inquired, looking at Mumbo's annoyed expression.

"I uh- misstepped while we were excavating today," the man replied begrudgingly.

"Poor guy didn't time his pulses quite right and got blasted," Tango snickered, as though this explained everything.

"I see," Grian said, not seeing.

"Redstone is tricky," Impulse helped, "That's why only the pros do it, right Mumbo?"

Mumbo scowled.

The three of them amused themselves by telling Grian horror stories of their experiences in detonation and showed off various scars, evidently enjoying his horrified expression. One of their number, it transpired, was absent - a maniacal man called Zedaph who it seemed had been experimenting with using creepers for controlled demolitions (this idea utterly horrified Grian) and was currently recovering after losing a few fingers.

As they finished their meal, he nonchalantly ventured, "Does Scar often disappear for days at a time?"

"Oh, yeah," Impulse said, wiping his mouth on his arm, "Funny guy, him. Great company though, and he looks after his own well enough."

"They're businessmen through and through, those two," Mumbo continued, "No clue what they get up to. Business stuff. What happened that's got you wondering?"

Grian recounted the other day, and the three looked flabbergasted.

"They stole your horses?"

"Well, it can't be too uncommon around here, right?" Grian replied, bemused at their shock.

"Well sure, but not from them. Fool to cross those two, if ya ask me," Impulse said, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't try it," Tango agreed with a dark chuckle.

Grian joined the trio for meals several more times, happy for their warm, comfortable company. They were always laughing and telling stories, sharing their food and even letting him taste their preferred drink - a strong, deep red whiskey that tasted like sharp fire which made him cough and was apparently infused with redstone powder.

When Scar did return, it was late into the night. Half asleep, Grian heard the thud of hooves and jingling of tack before the cabin door creaked open. Jellie leapt lightly off the bed and trotted up to him with a meow of greeting, and Grian watched through cracked eyelids as Scar stripped off a stained shirt and discarded it. The fiery glow of the hearth settled on a hard-muscled chest and the strong features of Scar, handsome despite the patchwork of dirt and scars marring his unshaven face. He looked exhausted but satisfied. He withdrew a flask and picked up Jellie, crooning to her softly as Grian let himself fall asleep again, feathers prickling with the sensation that somehow he were being examined.

When Grian awoke, Scar was already up and brewing coffee. He grinned at Grian with that familiar lopsided smile, surrounded by a white beard of shaving foam. "Morning, buddy! how've ya been?"

Grian yawned and stretched, the last night mostly forgotten.

"You're back! I was getting worried," he replied, returning the smile and accepting a cup of coffee, "That beard suits you by the way."

"Back and better than ever. And I've got your friend back," Scar said breezily, leading him outside, to where Elderberry was tied.

She whinnied a greeting and Grian buried his face in her warm neck.

"Thank you," he breathed, "What happened?"

Scar waved his hand as though the question was absurd, "We played detectives, found the thief and got em back."

"Just like that eh?"

"Well, we had to rough him up a little to make a point," Scar grinned at his reflection as he shaved, and Grian decided not to press the issue.

Normalcy resumed again in the camp, and Grian fell into the comfortable rhythm of work again. The store was gaining shape steadily, and they began frequenting town more often to transport inventory in readiness to stock. As a side project, he began to expand Lynxholding, adding a few feet to the large room to give space for himself and Scar, as he'd wholly committed to his home there. They frequently enjoyed the company of the demolitions crew when they came down the mountain, and Zedaph returned, another English man - to Grian's delight - with windswept blond hair and a badly singed white coat, who proudly showed off a bandaged hand with too few fingers.

A few weeks passed in peace before anything of interest happened. Grian had been preparing to make a midday meal when he spotted a crowd of miners near the river, huddled around a strange man whom it appeared had come down the mountain. He was gaunt and thin, clothes tattered, his blond hair touselled and plastered to his head by sweat, and his small yellow wings were dull, one held close to his body and stiff with dried blood and mud. His brown eyes were haunted and empty, one marred by a nasty bruise.

The miners flooded him with questions but he didn't say a word, only staring blankly at the ground, shrinking as though he hoped to sink into the ground. The crowd parted as Scar arrived, evidently fetched by one of the miners. He handed the man a waterskin and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Come on my friend, let's get you patched up," he soothed. The man followed dutifully as Scar led him away gently, addressing the others as he went, "And you fellas clear off. I'll look after our friend."

Grian returned to his meal, considering the encounter. He reflected on Scar's oddly gentle and comforting nature, stark relative to his intimidating person. The blond man had seemed so shaken and diminutive, utterly lost. What on earth had happened to him? Had he been separated from a hunting party and set on by Indians? Perhaps he'd run into a bear - God knows how he'd gotten away. People didn't often travel up Donner Pass - those mountains were treacherous and cruel, utterly unfazed by human exploration. He suddenly recalled Etho's story and shuddered.

In the evening he returned to their cabin to find Scar watching over the man as he slept fitfully in the bed.

"Evening. How's he doing? Has he even spoken?"

"He's not talking. God knows what's shaken him up so badly," Scar sighed, "I'm gonna try an' take him up to town tomorrow to see a real doctor. Think you can stay with Tango and them for the night? They came down a few hours ago."

"Oh - of course," Grian agreed, "Do - do you know him? You seem really worried."

"No, not at all. We have to look after each other though. It's a rough place. You can't get along without help," He scratched Jellie's chin and chuckled, "Speaking of which, sorry to have to kick you out buddy."

Grian gathered his things to leave, "No worries mate - I'll see you then. Wake me if anything changes, alright?"

Scar nodded, "Sleep well!"

Grian looked back as he left, and as the door swung closed, he frowned at seeing Scar watch the sleeping man, his face cold and expressionless.

The mysterious man died in the night, evidently succumbing to his injuries. They'd never even learnt his name, and they buried him shortly outside camp. Scar was rather reserved as they headed out to town accompanied by the demolitions crew. Grian assumed he was grieving over being unable to save the stranger, and the ride passed mostly in silence.

Upon entering the familiar, comforting cool of Easy E's however, their number perked up immediately. The wrecking crew split off to see some familiar faces while Scar and Grian found Doc at the bar talking to Ren, whose ears pricked as he greeted them with his cheerful, wolfish grin.

"Hey there my guys!" He slapped Scar on the back and presented a clawed hand to Grian, "I don't think we've met. I'm Ren!"

"Grian. I'm shocked we've not had a chance to meet yet seeing you're a pal of these two,"

"I've been doggedly ignoring you," Ren replied, roaring with laughter at his own joke as Doc shook his head.

"My god, that was terrible," he smiled as Scar laughed.

Doc ordered a round of drinks for their party, and Etho obligingly poured a stream of Canadian whiskey along their row of glasses.

"So, how's our shop coming?" He asked Grian, who enthusiastically reported the progress to a delighted Doc.

"Oh! That reminds me, I've been meaning to see Joe about some materials - we'll need canvas and furs for the shop - and of course, to give you something better to sleep on G," Scar nudged Grian jovially.

"Think he's here," Ren replied, looking around before hollering, "Hey - Joe!"

The man who approached sported a thick moustache and a beautiful beaverskin hat, and cordially shook hands with the three in turn.

"Howdy!" He waved away Doc's offer of a drink, "Nah, Tennessee whiskey is the only kind to drink," He had a surprisingly gentle voice with a slight Southern accent.

Etho leant on the bar to listen in with a nod to Joe.

Scar animatedly talked to Joe about various pelts and pricing as Grian sipped his drink, half listening. They seemed to reach a conclusion, and Grian was suddenly struck by a realisation.

"You were the trapper who went up on Donner Pass with Etho, right?" He blurted.

Joe raised his eyebrows, glancing at Etho before returning his gaze to Grian, "Good god, that affair. Didn't think Etho talked about it much. I certainly don't."

Grian flushed with embarrassment at his faux pas and immediately ventured, "Sorry to spring on you like that - Etho told us weeks back and I just realised he mentioned you."

Etho's mask twitched with what looked like an apologetic smile, "Came up in conversation so I thought I should tell them,"

"Well, nothing wrong with that. Nasty business though ... I do my best not to think of it myself."

"You believe it then? The wendigoo?" Scar interjected with interest, evidently listening.

"Wendigo," Etho corrected, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't see it, but I've been trapping a long time from Canada through to California, and I've never heard a beast make the sounds we heard that night," Joe said somberly, and paused before continuing, "... and I never heard a voice like that from any man. I didn't need to see anything to know every one of us was watched by God to have been able to get down that mountain. Etho's no liar, whatever else he may be."

"You ... you heard it then," Etho said quietly, eyes on the bar.

"Heard that thing call Antonio through the trees? A hunter's instinct is well tuned to sounds in the forest. I'll never forget the things I heard."

The two men seemed in their own world at that moment, and none of their party interrupted.

Joe sipped his drink and continued, "That Indian fella guiding us - you saw how he was. He knew exactly what was going on and knew to scarper. Gotta trust the Natives, they've lived here longer'n any of us and anyone would be a fool to disregard them," He shook his head, "I've never been near the pass since."

They're not joking about this, Grian realised suddenly, brow furrowing.

"Well," Doc chuckled, breaking the tension, "I never needed another excuse not to wander around these mountains.”

The group laughed, and Joe smiled. Tango wandered over just then and greeted everyone enthusiastically, before nonchalantly bringing up the strange man in camp.

"Stranger, eh?" Ren asked curiously, "What, some new prospector?"

"Far from it," Tango informed, "Some guy none of us had ever seen comes stumbling down the mountain into camp. Could've been dead already, the look of him. Didn't say a word to any of us and died that night. Pretty tragic."

Doc raised an eyebrow and glanced at Scar, who shrugged, "I tried my best to help the guy and we were gonna bring him into town the next day for a real doctor. Guess he was just too injured."

Scar swirled his glass, looking more annoyed than anything.

"Shame," Doc said, tapping his glass for a refill.

"What do you reckon happened to him?" Ren asked.

"Who knows," Doc replied unconcernedly, "Could have been anything. Wandered off drunk and got himself mauled by a bear most like. It happens more than you would think."

Tango frowned. "Honestly, looked like he'd been in a bar fight more than anything - those bruises? How'd he end up going anyway?"

"Just snuffed it that night," Scar replied plainly, "Shock? Dunno. He went to sleep and didn't wake up."

Scar didn't seem interested in continuing the conversation. The topic shifted as Tango took the opportunity to launch into a story about Zedaph's latest psychotic experiment, insisting they had to hear it from the man himself and leading them to the table the other detonators sat at.

Scar and Doc eventually retreated to the bar to get another drink, and Scar leant casually against the smooth wood as Doc spoke with Etho.

When Grian excused himself to get his own, he heard the tail of their conversation.

"-shouldn't have happened," Doc told Scar seriously.

Scar shrugged, "I took care of it as best I could," and looked up, "Hey G! Whatcha getting?"

"Gin, I guess. Taste of home yeah?"

"Last one I reckon, we don't want our horses stolen again." Scar laughed, winking.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

I keep seeing Western AUs for Top Gun (basically just @forsty and @caveiratimida with the good stuff out here) so here's something I've thought of purely because I began watching someone new on youtube who's background music sounds like ragtime music.

Goose and Carole own a bar. Penny Benjamin also works here. Goose is not a cowboy, he plays piano and has a twirly moustache, getting his nickname from how he rode into town on the back of a cart carrying geese, and his laugh of course. They may not be cowboys (or girls) but they know their customers enough to know how to handle a gun. There's been enough bar fights over what song Goose plays that Carole and Penny have had to master the art of intimidation.

They're on good terms with the local Sheriff Thomas Kazansky and his deputy Ronald Kerner (this is from this specific post by @caveiratimida ). They're on especially good terms with Ron, nicknamed Slider after he fell asleep on his horse and slid off, who can sometimes be found frequenting their saloon after hours and has come out wearing the frilly shirts that Goose wears.

Some of the others are there too, Hollywood is called that (before hollywood was a thing) because he got a holly christmas wreath stuck around his head one Christmas. Wolfman is called that because he is rumoured to have been raised by the wolves on a mountain nearby. Chipper was a lumberjack, that's about it. Sundown rode into town (there's a lot of this but it's frontier times so this is just another new mining town out west during the gold rush, also yes the 1800/1900s are my favourite period in history) on a sunset and was the perfect picture of a cowboy. Iceman used to brag about taking cattle to the more snowier regions before (if that was even a thing) so he was sarcastically called Iceman, before he became a sheriff.

But then a rogue lone ranger comes into town starting trouble, starts a few bar fights in Goose and Carole's saloon, messes with people's horses and cattle. Turns out, after Iceman books him and he's in a cell, that he's a bounty hunter.

Iceman doesn't like him, hates that he can just go out there and do his job for him. Mav doesn't like that Iceman is so restricted by the law, if you want to do good, you do good despite the law because you know it's good.

Stuff happens, pregnant Carole riding a horse, pregnant Carole with a shotgun, Bradley with a straw hat walking around in the mud, Goose with a harmonica, western stuff

[i-love-hyacinths]

*Twiddles snake bites like a handle bar moustache*

"So come here often"

[wordspin-shares]

20 Questions for Writers

Thank you so much for the tag, @thecharmedburrowspn-files!

How many works do you have on AO3?

18, although one is the unfinished draft of the previous version of my LotR fic, which I uploaded simply to have it exist somewhere (and to remind me how far I've come).

What is your total AO3 word count?

Barring the aforementioned archived draft, 49,981.

What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, The Vampire Diaries (TV-verse), The Grishaverse (bookverse) and The Lord of the Rings (bookverse).

What are your top five fics by kudos?

My TVD fic From the Sidelines; my LotR fic Edged in Silver; my Silmarillion gapfiller Hallowed Waters; my multi-age Tolkien-verse gapfiller The Wings of Blue Butterflies; and my LotR gapfiller The Fifth Day.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always respond to comments, because I want to interact with my readers. They took the time to let me know what they thought of my work, and I want them to know I appreciate that. Plus, this kind of interaction can lead to interesting discussions.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hallowed Waters, I guess, because it's a gapfiller focusing on the story of Beren and Lúthien, and that by itself is angsty.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I wouldn't say happy, but rather optimistic, there's-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel ending. The Fifth Day and The Sails are Set fit that description.

Do you get hate on your fic?

I did get a couple of odd comments on a previous version of Edged in Silver, but no hate.

Do you write smut?

Not really. I can do it, but it just doesn't have a purpose in my stories, so I don't see the point of writing smut for smut's sake.

Do you write crossovers?

No, but I wouldn't be averse to it if it made sense.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes, years ago, when I was in the X-Men fandom, and it made me realise that I'm too much of a control freak to attempt it again.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Howl/Sophie from Diana Wynne Jones' Howl's Moving Castle series. It's just such a beautiful ship, they fit so wonderfully together.

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Honestly, I don't know.

What are your writing strengths?

Creating vivid visuals without using too much description, I think.

What are your writing weaknesses?

The biggest one is definitely lack of focus.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm already doing it for the whole narrative, not just dialogue. English isn't my first language. lol Jokes aside, if it has to be done because it lends gravity to the scene, I will definitely do it if it's a language I'm comfortable writing snippets in. Otherwise, I'll find another way to handle said gravity.

First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter.

Favorite fic you've ever written?

I'd say my one-shot The Wings of Blue Butterflies. I'm rather fond of that one.

Tagging: @themaradwrites, @moustache-bonnet, @come-along-pond, @asirensrage, @darthnell, @foxesandmagic, @mariedemedicis, @bisexualterror, @anqelwiithhxrns, @arrthurpendragon, @mabonetsamhain, @bluebell-winter, @theblueelfling, @bobfloydsbabe, and anyone who wants to join!

[theviceadmiralswife]

Interview with a vice admiral

INTERVIEW WITH A VICE ADMIRAL

Today’s guest Stainless

It’s a bit of thick air in my studio today. Vice admiral Stainless just lost against the cross guild.

Vice admiral Stainless healing abilities are incredible there isn’t a scratch on him….physically. But looking into his face something seems hurt. And then the other stuff was going on….

He looks at the table lost in thoughts. I clear my throat a bit uncomfortable.

Me >>>> Salute recruits and soldiers and welcome marine families and civilians to another podcast. Today I have here with me another vice admiral, I’ll be joined this morning by vice admiral Stainless. Good morning Stainless <<<<

Stainless looks forces a smile of pleasantries.  >>>> good morning <<<<.  I smile back to encourage him

Me >>>> The tea is alright ???? <<<< He nods keeping up a smile and twitch with his moustache. Stainless  >>> Yes the tea is good <<<<.

I continue with a sigh, I had to shift a bit topic  >>>> Your interview has been overdue my friend, way too much ! <<<<<

Stainless raises an eyebrow >>>> Really? <<

I reply with a grin >>>> Oh certainly Mr popular with the ladies <<<<

He studies my face trying to determine my strategy before factually adding >>>> You had a baby that is fine taking time off and Doberman mentioned that you had a hard time. I say you’re doing great!<<<<

His complement made me smile, Stainless was a thoroughly enjoyable gentleman.

>>>> Speaking off, how is the little man he must be almost a year <<< inquired Stainless  curious. I had forgotten with his recovery in the past few months he wouldn’t know everything.

I lean my head onto my hand >>> True little baby boy blue, where I come from you would call him a live wire, a buster, this baby goes 200m/ph without breaks. Oh brother where to start, 2 weeks till he is 1 year, he babbles constantly, pulls himself up everywhere trying to walk and crawls faster than I expected and pulls all of the shelf and he stubbornly gives out when his 8 teeth bother him! <<<< I took a breather.

Stainless gives me a warm smile, the small talk seems to work with him>>>> You are busy indeed so take time.<<<<< .

 I chuckle>>>>>> Well tonight its Dobermans pleasure to babysit. Little baby boy will occupy him. Let them tire out each other!<<<<<

Stainless closes his eyes, grinning ,certainly the image of battle hardened stern Doberman babysitting causes his mood to lighten a bit.

I straighten my papers take a sip of tea.

>>>> Are you ready Stainless?<<<<<<

He drinks his tea >>>>> As ready as I ever be!<<<<<

I smile>>> I’ll make it pleasant and start with a fan question how’s that!<<<<

>>>>Oh that’s interesting <<<< , he confesses.

I grin >>>> Question 1 :edward-d-sonata would like to know what your hobbies are.<<<<

Stainless straightens one side of his handle bar moustache.  >>>> What lovely question. My top 3 hobbies are and have been for most of my life, reading, cooking and dancing. <<<<

I spill my tea >>> No wonder you’re popular!<<<

He continues flattered >>>> Well for the later I have rarely time these days and without the right partner, its rather a very lonely affair <<<

I add a reply to boost his confidence >>> You will make some people swoon !! <<<<

Me: >>>> Let me turn this so into  question 2 what types of books do you read fiction or non fiction?<<<<

Stainless replies >>>> Both, its fairly balanced. If its non fiction then its most likely a cook book. <<<

I nod in agreement >>> Makes sense really.<<<

>>> It’s a matter of distraction from the job, unlike your husband Doberman, many  vice admirals prefer a hobby that is reminiscent of creating something. <<<

I was surprised at his statement and yet made such perfect sense: >>> Yeah Doberman is through and through a military man… but between us he knows he has no creativity so he rather watches what I cook up or craft.<<< I giggle.

Stainless gives me smile understanding what I was talking about >>> You do understand <<<

I closed my eyes for a second took a sip of tea and do understand indeed I continued >>> Yep that brings me to question 3 though, do you have a pet ?  And how does it work with being constantly out at sea?<<<

>>>> Yes I do have a cat at home. Mizzy is her name. My neighbour is looking out for her should I be away for longer times. Its nice coming home and have company. <<<

I saw a bit of sorrow, in his face while he answered the question he observed me watching him and I felt loneliness coming from him, since his defeat ….

I zapped myself back on track >>> That’s lovely cats are cute they do sometimes the weirdest things. What colour?<<<<

Stainless face brightened up again, for sure he must have ptsd, so I had to keep it for now light hearted with the interview.

>>> She Is grey striped like a tiger, the most amazing green eyes for a cat.<<<

I chuckle into my hand >>> Sounds like she has a personality <<<

Stainless laughs at my comment

>>> Believe me she does <<<

>>> Its so nice to have a chat with you Stainless!!<<<<, I said.

His face showed surprise and a tinge of red on his cheeks. He had warmed up and left his ptsd behind for now. He needs company, a human partner .

>>>> Question 4 tell me please since cooking is your hobby whats your favourite dish ?<<<< I asked curiously.

He straightens the other side of his moustache >>>> Mh my favourite dish is a bake with cheese from the south blue as well as sea-king meat, it contains also lovely seaweed pasta.<<<<

I drool >>> Sounds delicious !! <<<<  He nods with a smile.

I continue >>> Question no 5 is from another listener. Kaizukowritings wants to know “ what are the favorite activities of this gentleman or maybe is there a rivalry between the vice admirals, whether on a professional or personal level? <<<<

Stainless moustache twitches a bit >>> That first part is answered right?<<<< I nodded.

>>> What a curios question indeed. Well I say professionally we all fight for an Admiral title, in the sense of competition. And in rare occasions we might butt heads given each perception of justice.Ryokugyu and Onigumo were in a heated rivalry over the open admiral position.  <<<

I rolled my eyes >>> Seriously Onigumo lost???<<<

Stainless raises an eyebrow >>> Don't mention that to him. But yes, Ryokugyu has the stronger devil fruit.Thought you didn't like Onigumo? I'm at a loss here you're on his side<<<

I sigh who's is interviewing who here. >>> You're slick Stainless, ok here's my reason Onigumo is a creep, however he is less hot headed and more mature & experienced. He knows where his loyalty belongs Ryokugyu is an immature fan boy. Enough said. Any other rivalries you know of. <<<

He leans his head to the side in surprise.  Stainless looks at me funny knowing what I wanted. He drank a bit of his beverage >>> I see you want the real tea. Doberman, Momonga and myself are competing for the most prestigious moustache in the navy.<<<

I Started chuckle >>> I can tell <<<

Stainless smiled >>> Strawberry used to be part of it as well but he decided to outgrow us all with his beard. Let's see, oh yes vice admiral Jonathan and vice admiral Bastille compete over who is the better fisherman<<<

My face brightens up >>> Well I be dammed Bastille didn't say a thing when he was here, he has to come back so.<<<

>>> And the only other rivalry I know of is between Comile and Yamakaji over what is the better beverage tea or coffee? They tend to show off when they found a new flavour or recipe and everyone in the canteen is given a sample <<<

I burst out in laughter >>> So thats why Yamakaji is always so mellow , interesting. <<<

>> Question 6 how did you ended up in the Marines?<<<

>> Well its family business my father and grandfather were marines, it runs in the blood I guess. <<< He answered with a nostalgic look on his face. 

>> More details for my listeners please cause that sounds interesting, what ranks ?<<<

Stainless puts on a sleek face >> Well I hope that your listeners are ready to get their mind blown. Grandfather was an admiral he is the older part  of commander in chief Kongs era, when said Kong was just a bare vice admiral at grandpas time. His name was admiral Ironclad. He oversaw the platoon that trained my father and .... sensei Zephyr. You do remember Zephyr.<<<

I nodded I knew how much this man ment to the pack of high ranking officers in the Marines. 

>>> If you thought that sensei Zephyr was a hardass imagine the man that trained him.<<<

I make a face >>> My way or the highway to hell attitude of a man<<<<

Stainless grins widely >>> Sounds about right<<<

>>> OK question 7 is related I guess. You're a good looking guy, did you ever consider a career in something else then the marines I.e. acting on the stage or a career related to your hobbies ?<<<<

He shook his head>>> Certainly not, no being a marine is in the breed of our family, though.  ..<<<, Stainless hesitated, >>> my father lost against golden lion shikki during his career as vice admiral and retired after. Grandpa always said that we are blades of justice, bootcamp mines the metal, battle forges the sword but losses sharpens the blade, simply a loss either makes you or brakes you. <<<

I listened intensely here it came the subject I didn't like to inquire >>> Well question 8 you can guess Stainless, how are you doing after your defeat by the cross guild will it make you or brake you?<<<

Stainless sighed deeply, then the corner of his mouth twitched. >>> Now you're down Business. Certainly it never feels good to be defeated there is no honor in a loss against criminals. Its not enough to break me. However the improvement I keep secret for the time being. <<< 

>>> What made you take this "the glass is half full" approach?<< I asked having no idea about his powerful reply. 

Stainless face darkens and the shadow of his ptsd came it was almost palpable .>>> vice admiral T-Bone!!!<<<<. Micdrop. This man knew how to use words with impact. The silence was deafening. 

>>> How so?<<< I wanted to know.

 Stainless finished his tea before answering >>> My loss maybe be a sting in my pride but at least I'm still here and have a chance to better myself. T-Bone paid the ultimate price.<<<

My eyes watered up, remembering T-Bone, such a goofball sometimes but so loveable.

>>> Hey I see that strong independent woman. I'm sorry if what I said upset you.<<<

I wave my hand at him >>>> Its fine its THE truth. And factual. Question 9: Your most disliked pirates. <<<

He sighs loudly >>>> Well obviously I'm not a fan of the cross guild leaders. Golden lion Shikki. However I most detest Doflamingo, there is something rather unsettling and creepy about him the puppet mastering over people.<<<<

>>> Oh oh ooh sorry for interrupting, so what actually happened on the meeting of the warlords? I heard you and Mozambia got caught up by Doflamingo. <<<<

Stainless rolled his eyes but explained patiently >>> I'm not blaming Mozambia for panicking cause he didn't know. But yes Doflamingo manipulated us with his string power... it is the worst ... and thats exactly my point. Its not only the devil fruit power its the evil character to it. I'm glad he's rotting in impel down. <<<

I nod >>> Very well explained. Final question. Your ready Stainless?.<<<

>>> Might as well go out on bang.<<< , he answers.

I chuckle  >>> Oh and what bang it is. Out of left field a fangirl question. What is your main or favourite love language?<<<

Stainless began to laugh >>> Haahahahe Doberman is right you do some things rather very random out of nowhere.  <<<

I flash my eyebrows up an down >>> True or am I ???<<<

>> I see << Stainless chuckles >> Want to leave on a happy note. <<< I nod. He confesses knowing he couldn't leave without answering >>> Its physical touch its my first love language nothing quite like it very soothing I find.<<< Stainless blushed she caught him somewhat of guard.

>>> Thats a nice answer and on that note I say thank you for your time and the interview. And I surely will have you back. Next interview will be vice admiralYamakaji <<< I finish the podcast and turn off the microphone, before he could reply.

>>> So I come back hu?<<<<. I smile >>> If it wasn't too bad yes and also there will be probably tons of fan mail for you.<<< 

Stainless rose from his chair >>> No it wasn't bad at all and I take you by your word<<< He smiles and leaves for work.

[waynethuna1]

Bike Handlebar: Let's Explore Its Types

The bicycle handlebars have seen major modifications throughout the years. Comfort and efficiency can be greatly affected by shape, angle and basic qualities. In this post, we'll talk about a variety of bike handlebars, where they're most popular and why they take the shape that they do.

Riser bar

The most popular and basic kind of bicycle handlebars are riser bars, often known as upright bars.

Their unique feature is a bar that dips in the centre and rises at the ends, elevating the rider's hands over the seat. The brake levers are positioned where the fingers naturally rest, whereas the gear levers are where the thumbs operate.

These are the handlebars you'll find on most hybrid bikes and bikes used by commuters in the city. Although the flat bar form of bikehub MTB handlebars has been gaining popularity as of late, riser bars are still available.

Drop bar

Drop bars are the most popular alternative to flat bars.

The rider is set up aerodynamically to minimise drag and maximise speed. Therefore, they are often only seen on racing bikes, such as road, gravel and cyclocross models. In addition, many touring bikes include drop bars, which allow the rider to use a variety of hand positions.

Flat bar (Straight bar)

Common on mountain bikes, hybrids and fixies, flat bars are the simplest kind of straight handlebars.

Some fixie bikes don't have brake or gear levers, but most have grips on both ends with levers at your fingers.

Moustache (Cruiser)

The Moustache bar is a particular kind of cruiser handlebar that encourages a more upright riding position and a more relaxed pace.

It's the kind of handlebar you'd find on the kind of low, relaxed bike you'd see roaming the boardwalks of every major city in the globe.

The handlebar is 'moustache-like' in appearance, with the ends curved back to place the rider's hands at a relaxed 45-degree angle. This kind of handlebar is only seen on leisurely cruiser motorcycles because, although pleasant, it compromises control at higher speeds.

High rise (Monkey bar)

A high-rise handlebar, often known as a "monkey bar" or "ape hanger," positions the rider's hands in a dangling posture far above the ground.

Bicycles with ape hanger handlebars are common on BMX models and stylish cruiser bikes, which gained popularity due to vintage Harley Davidson motorcycles.

The huge U-shaped body is the most striking feature of its design, with the handles protruding from the sides. Single-speed bikes often have just one front brake lever and no gear changers because of the rear coaster brake.

Similarly, there is a bicycle wheel. You can find it in a wide variety of styles. Order your bike today!

[brainlesbian]

i don’t think i’ve fully processed my prof showing up to the 8:30am class with a handle bar moustache