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imagineshere-forall · 2 days ago

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- the calendar ✰ e. buckley (smut version)

Summary: an unexpected person stars for the 118 in the firefighter calendar Genre: angst & smut Warnings: smut (quickie at work, oral m receiving, unprotected p in v) & swearing & jealousy Pairing: evan buckley x fem!reader Word count: 2.6k Note: this is my first ever time writing smut so pls pls be kind (or i’ll cry) but also pls leave constructive criticism, if it is bad i need to know so i can get better.

Due to the strict ‘no fraternisation’ rule at the 118, you and Evan had kept your relationship a secret. There had been a few times where someone had nearly caught the two of you, including Eddie walking into the shower room while you and Buck were sharing one cubicle, but no one had caught on yet. In this scenario, Buck had quickly picked you up, wrapped your legs around his waist and covered your mouth with his hand.

Everyone had just assumed the two of you were best friends, you guys had lots of inside jokes and were always working out together, and today was no different. All the men were working out extra hard as the firefighter calendar had just been announced and they were all fighting to star.

Last year, Chimney had surprised everyone and had represented the 118 in the calendar, so the competition was on. Today was the last day of submissions, and impulsively you had decided to enter some photos for the calendar. You didn't need to take any new photos as for Buck’s birthday the month before, you had done a sexy photoshoot and periodically sent them to him, printing off a few which he kept in his wallet.

After the submissions had closed, everyone had been eagerly checking the mail for the calendar delivery as they had decided not to announce who was featuring for each firehouse prior to the release.

Weeks later, you walked into the fire house and were met with whistles by some of the men who you had not spoken to much. Forgetting you had submitted pictures for the calendar you were confused at the sudden attention you were receiving.

“Why is everyone being so weird today?” you asked walking up to Hen, who was also looking at you funny.

“You don’t know?” questioned Hen, to which you simply shook your head.

“Good morning, Miss August!” Eddie exclaimed as he saw you appear upstairs. Suddenly the pieces clicked together, you must have been picked for the calendar.

“Miss August? What are you talking about?” Evan looked up, pausing as he poured himself a drink.

“y/n here, was chosen to represent the 118 in the firefighter calendar.” Eddie said as he pulled the calendar off the wall, flicking to August.

Suddenly, you were met with a picture of you on your knees, wearing your fireproof trousers but no top, the suspenders on your trousers over your shoulders, giving you a small bit of modesty. The strips of fabric only just covered your nipples, the outline of piercings visible through the fabric of the suspenders.

You looked up to Buck whose jaw clenched as he took in the picture before him, which he had seen before, as a copy of it lived behind his driver's license in his wallet. You could see as he tried to regain his composure before deciding what to say next.

“I, uh, I wasn't aware you had submitted pictures for the calendar?” Buck questioned, his voice wavering as he tried to hide his agitation. Now, Buck was usually not a jealous guy, but seeing that picture of you on display on the wall of the firehouse made him want to drive to every firehouse and rip up all the copies of the calendar that had been printed.

“Yeah, I did it on the last day of submissions, I didn't think I'd get picked so I just forgot about it,” you smiled as you spoke to Evan. The two of you held eye contact, not paying attention to the rest of the crew bustling around you. “I must admit I was confused with the wolf whistles when I walked in this morning.”

This sentence triggered Evan’s protectiveness.

“People have been whistling at you? Who? Point them out.” Buck demanded as he walked over to the balcony overlooking the main floor.

“Buck, dude, calm down,” Eddie said as he walked over to Buck “She’s single, and she looks great, of course there’s gonna be some attention.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Buck said, rubbing the back of his neck. Eddie looked at Buck as he paced, clearly confused by his behaviour.

“Oh y/n, I’ve been meaning to get your help with something, could you come help me?” Buck asked, ignoring the looks Eddie was sending his way.

“Uhh, yeah, just let me drop my bag,” you said as you headed to go put it down.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Buck grabbed your bag and walked to the locker room downstairs and put it in your locker.

“Buck?” You asked repeatedly as you followed him, getting louder each time until he finally stopped pacing in the locker room.

“Sorry, it’s just, I don’t like everyone seeing you like that,” Buck whispers as he walks towards you. Thankfully the two of you were in a blindspot to the rest of the firehouse so no one could see as he put his hand up to your face and raised your chin so you were looking into his eyes. “Everyone keeps looking at you, because they think you’re single and I just wish I could tell everyone you’re mine.”

“I’m sorry Buck, I should’ve asked you first,” you whispered.

“No, no, it’s your body and you look great in those photos. I just get a little insecure sometimes,” Buck whispered, fiddling with your fingers as you spoke.

“I love you Buck.”

“I love you too. Also, I’m going to be having a boner for the entire month of August at work now, so thank you for that.” Buck laughed

“You know, my shift hasn’t officially started, and I was thinking I needed a shower. Plus, jealous Buck is kind of hot.” you said as you pulled Buck towards the showers.

“That's interesting, because I was thinking I needed a shower after that last call,” Buck said as he used his free hand to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“You definitely do,” You said as you started to unbutton your own shirt.

Buck’s hands quickly copied yours and raced to unbutton his shirt, as he did he leant forward and harshly attached your lips to his. With your shirt unbuttoned, you placed your hands on Buck’s shoulders, pushing him into the shower cubicle behind the pair of you and easing the shirt off his torso. You and Evan moved in sync as he simultaneously pushed your shirt off your shoulders.

Your feet tangled together as you passionately tumbled into the cubicle. With your lips still locked you reached down and began undoing your belt, Buck quickly following suit. Within seconds, both of your clothing was heaped on the bench, leaving the pair of you in your underwear.

You reached your hand down between the two of you and you could feel Buck’s hardness through his underwear. You gently palmed him, causing him to groan and lean into you. He very quickly shed his underwear in a desperate effort to feel your skin on his.

You separated your lips, causing Buck to groan at the loss of contact. Buck’s disappointment was short lived as you began to kiss your way down his neck and his torso. As you dropped to your knees you looked up at Buck who gently stroked your head, beginning to clasp your hair into a ponytail.

You leant forward and used your hand to hold Buck as you began to deliver small licks to his tip, causing Buck to groan loudly.

“Please stop teasing,” Buck whimpered. At this you took him in your mouth causing him to drop his head back against the wall in pleasure.

As you knew your time was likely to be cut short any moment, you sped up your bobbing on Buck’s cock. After a minute you removed Buck from your mouth and licked a stripe all along the underside of him and cradled his balls as your tongue serviced him.

“Get up here, I’m going to finish soon if you keep that up,” Buck pulled your head away from his crotch and pulled you up so you were standing again. As you stood, precum and saliva leaked from your mouth and you wiped your mouth as you looked back at Buck.

He quickly reached behind and unclasped your bra, kissing your neck and chest as he did so. He kissed down the gap between your breasts and then paid attention to your nipples. He took one of your nipples in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the piercing that lived there, while his other hand twisted your other nipple. Unable to speak from the sensations, you just moaned in pleasure, holding tightly onto the curls at the nape of Buck’s neck.

His lips went back up to your neck, and his hand went down to your underwear and started pushing your panties off your hips and helping you step out of them. Once your underwear was flung to somewhere in the cubicle his fingers danced over your pelvis before landing on your clit. He rubbed gently with his thumb before his fingers slowly worked their way down to your opening. His fingers gently pressed against your thighs, encouraging you to slightly part them to give him better access.

“You are so beautiful,” Buck breathed. His face was mere millimeters from yours, with his curls sticking to his forehead from the sweat of the excitement.

“Buck please,” You groaned, his fingers were slowly exploring you, causing you to gently bite down on his muscular shoulder.

“Please what baby? I need to hear your words,” he breathed heavily. His fingers were delicately reaching the most pleasurable place while his thumb worked your clit.

“I, I need your cock, please” You spoke breathlessly. Despite being with Buck many times, the passion had never ceased and every single time with him was exhilarating.

“Where baby? Where?” He teased. He knew damn well where, he just loved watching you writhe under his thumb.

“B-Buck, Please, in-inside,” Every syllable was hard for you to push out as you edged closer to the brink.

“Just let go first,” He said. As he did, you felt your legs begin to wobble, luckily Buck had began to hold you up with his other hand before. You let out a loud moan as he fingered you over the edge and then he quickly retracted his fingers. He maintained eye contact as he licked your juices off his two fingers.

“Delicious,” he muttered.

“I think we’re going to need this for the noise,” Buck said as he leant past the wall and turned the shower on. You both stood in the far end of the shower part of the cubicle as you had learnt the hard way that shower sex, under the water, was very dangerous and ended up in fits of giggles.

Buck grabbed your thighs and lifted you up, pressed your back into the wall and littered your neck in light kisses.

“Who’s teasing now?” You asked as you felt Buck’s length gently stroke your pussy but not going in. He breathed a laugh and pressed his lips to yours for a moment.

“As you wish ma’am,” Buck whispered as he maneuvered himself to your entrance. You hissed as he started to push himself into you. Another thing you were not used to despite being with Buck so many times, was his size.

“More, please.” you grunted, trying to grind yourself into him to get him deeper.

At your request, Buck’s hands tightened on your thighs, his mouth attacking your neck and pushed himself all the way in. For a moment, he stilled, allowing you to get accustomed to him and then slowly began to thrust.

Each thrust hit you so deeply, putting you in a state of bliss. So much so, that you nearly didn’t hear the door to the bathroom open. You quickly tapped Buck’s shoulder to alert him as he was borderline drunk on you, and could not form a coherent thought, let alone be aware of his surroundings.

“Buck? Is that you?” Eddie’s voice rang out.

“Y-Yeah,” Buck stuttered. He was still inside you and struggled to reply without moaning. You gently pushed your hips into him in a desperate need for friction.

“Are you okay? You sound funny?” Eddie asked. This made you nearly laugh so one of Buck’s hands quickly covered your mouth, and he glared into your eyes.

“All good, water just went cold,” He shouted back, focusing on trying to sound normal.

“Have you seen y/n? Her shift is about to start and we need to do a handover?” Eddie asked.

“I think I saw her take a phone call, I’m sure she will be back in any minute,” Buck replied as he slowly began pulling himself out of you.

“Okay, thanks. See you back upstairs when you’re done” Eddie said.

“I’ll be done any minute,” Buck smirked as he slowly re-entered you.

You both waited for the bathroom door to close, and once it did Buck began pistoning his hips into you at an ungodly pace. You must have looked like a mess as you leant back into the wall, holding tightly his shoulders.

“Buck, please,” you moaned. He reached on of his hands down between you and rubbed your clit causing you to lean forward and bit his shoulder.

“I’m so close,” He grunted as he continued to pound into you, his pace unrelenting.

The edges of your vision began to blur as you felt yourself getting closer and closer. The coil in the pit of your torso clenched so tight until you finally let go. Your legs began shaking, unable to catch your breath as you came all over his cock.

Buck kept his pace as he worked his way to his end, his load shooting deep inside you as you milked him. He leant forward, his forehead against yours as he tried to regain his breath. He was still inside you and was still leaking cum as he kissed you gently.

Once you had both caught your breath, he slowly pulled out of you and set you gently on the floor.

“That was amazing,” he sighed as he began to get feeling back in his legs.

“Now I really need a shower,” you said as you pushed the two of you under the water, beginning to wash the two of you. “I love you, Evan.”

He gently kissed you on the shoulder before lathering the two of you up with soap. The next few minutes were spent with him delicately washing you, and then you him.

This moment of intimacy felt so special, you almost didn’t want to get out of the shower. You were in pure bliss in this moment with him.

“You are the love of my life,” Evan breathed as he kissed you gently.

#911 x reader #911 imagine #911 fic #evan buckley smut #evan buckley one shot #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagines #evan buckley imagine #911 smut #eddie diaz fluff #eddie diaz x reader #evan buckley fluff #evan buckley angst

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cambankromyy · 2 days ago

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THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.7): the cut - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

part 6- part 7 - part 8

unlike common belief, the four never hated the pogues. well not all of them at least, only if they had a reason to. people just assumed they hated pogues because people assumed they were the asshole type of kook, and sure they weren’t the type to always have their nice face on, but they weren’t mean; not with intention. they knew not to make enemies unless they had a reason to.

so even if people called it “weird” when sarah started talking to john b, none of them really minded.

the next day;

rafe pulls up outside your house, headlights cutting through the dim evening glow. you climb into the backseat, kicking your feet up onto the console as sarah turns around in the passenger seat, already smirking.

“you took forever.”

“cry about it,” you shoot back.

rafe doesn’t react like usual. just exhales through his nose, tapping his fingers against the wheel before reversing out of the driveway. the ride to the cut is mostly sarah filling the silence, rambling about john b’s latest scheme. you half-listen, half-watch rafe through the mirror. he’s not brooding exactly, just off.

by the time you pull up, the pogues are already there. john b’s messing with something on the hms pogue, kiara, cleo and pope sit on the dock talking, and jj—jj is the first to notice you. he tips his beer slightly, a slow grin creeping onto his face.

“well, look what the tide dragged in,” he drawls, eyes flicking between the three of you before landing on you.

you nod your head as an acknowledgement,

“yn” you say simply, stepping onto the dock.

jj cocks his eyebrow in confusion. "yn? thought it was roni."

you chuckle, "looks like someone did their research," looking at him.

jj smirks, "couldn't help my self," shrugging. "you drink?” he asks, handing you a open bottle.

you take the beer he hands you without breaking eye contact. “obviously.”

jj lets out a low whistle, clearly entertained. “alright then. let’s see if you can keep up.”

at first, you aren’t sure how the night will go, but somehow, you keep finding yourself next to jj. it’s not intentional—at least, not at first—but it just works. he’s sarcastic, reckless, always running his mouth, and somehow, it’s like talking to a male version of yourself.

at one point, jj leans in, grinning. “you’re actually kinda perfect.”

you raise an eyebrow. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he nods. “like, if i wasn’t me, i’d be you. which is honestly kinda terrifying.”

you smirk, taking a sip of your drink. “so what i’m hearing is—you’re obsessed with me.”

jj laughs, shaking his head. “might be.” then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, he hands you his phone. “here. before i forget.”

you take it, glancing at the screen. he already has a new contact pulled up.

“oh, so you just assume i want your number?”

jj smirks. “you don’t?”

you roll your eyes but type it in anyway, handing the phone back. he glances at the screen, then back at you. “snap too?”

“god, you’re relentless,” you mutter, grabbing the phone again.

meanwhile, rafe lingers on the outskirts of the group. he’s there, but not really. drinking, laughing when necessary, but never fully sinking in. you notice. you clock the way he stands apart, how he never fully relaxes. but you don’t press it.

not yet.

later, after everything has settled, you get a noitification from being added to a group chat full of unknown numbers except jj and sarah. assuming its the members of today, you send a text.

you toss your phone onto the bed, something unsettled lingering in your chest. your mind kept jumping back to rafe's words, 'not used to hanging out with other people.'

the fuck was that supposed to mean?

tags under the cut!!

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecamerobswifeyy

#the island lookout :cambankromyy #rafe cameron #rafe #rafe smau #rafe cameron smau #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #obx smau #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fluff #thornton!reader #topper thornton #bsf!rafe cameron #childhood bsf!rafe #sarah cameron

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absolutedestinyapocalypsse · 14 hours ago

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Okay I think we need to get on the same page. By "perfect lyctorhood" I did NOT mean a version of lyctorhood that I, the reader, think is perfect in that it's ethical and good and everyone is happy and gonna ride off into the sunset. I meant a version of lyctorhood where both the necromancer and cavalier are intact, in seperate bodies, and alive.

FOR THE RECORD, I was pointing out similarities between characters who have come close/achieved it with Harrow and Gideon, and pointing out a pattern of John saying something is impossible, only for Harrow to do it with Gideon anyway. I just think when its established that everyone in history is trying to do X thing and many have come close but none have succeeded, the natural conclusion is that someone's gonna figure it out before the series is over.

HOWEVER!!! I don't think this is necessarily going to be a happy ending. For one, the series tells us at every moment possible that Immortality SUCKS. For all of HTN we are brain blasted with the worst most foul found family known to man because they are simply too old and unkillable to be normal to each other. We watch a man who was once so hellbent on not leaving any humans behind that he became an enemy of the state become a shell of himself, at best neutral to the billions of senseless deaths he causes and, at worst, happy about it.

In contrast, the most content, loving, and fulfilled character in the series is alive for all of six months. Nona knows she's gonna die, and she loves anyway! It's this beautiful interrogation of eternal life as a religious reward for good behavior. Yeah, maybe sounds good on paper, but what would you do that would make you happy for forever? Especially if your religion taught you to sacrifice your own self worth or ignore the personhood of others in order to achieve eternity. How are you gonna spend your time? Doing the same shit you did just to get there, probably. And chances are, it'll make you miserable.

We KNOW normal lyctorhood sucks in that it's necessarily exploitative. Culture in the nine houses has justified and draped pretty lace around what is essentially raising people to be so subservient that they let themselves become human batteries. Because of how ghoulish this is, it's easy to assume that perfect lyctorhood would be a good, ethical alternative. But just because both people are alive doesn't mean there can't still be abuse and exploitation! In fact, in the ONLY example of someone actually becoming a perfect lyctor, John does it to Alecto against her will! And THEN because he can't kill her, he imprisons her in the tomb. Doesn't sound like a very fun religious tier reward to me but idk!!!

So basically, there is no ethical lyctorhood under capitalism. In the best case scenario where the necromancer doesn't subjugate the cavalier, they're still alive FOREVER, every year getting farther and farther away from what made them human. Maybe they end up like Augustine and Mercymorn, with all their conflicts over the years congealing into a weird toxic occasional hate sex misogyny-fuelled situationship. Maybe they never speak again and have to spend the rest of forever completely alone.

Point is, as much of a relief as it would be to see Gideon and Harrow in the same room again, I don't think perfect lyctorhood is a happy ending for anyone. I have no doubt in my mind that they're gonna do it, but i have a LOT of doubts about what fresh hell it's gonna wreak when they do.

if the locked tomb doesnt end with gideon and harrow both alive and whole having achieved perfect lyctorhood i will eat my own hat.

alecto and john are the only perfect lyctors right? alecto, who is made of several million dead people, and john who is god. youre telling me that harrow "made of 300 dead babies" nonagesimus and gideon, whose dad is god, aren't gonna do it? youre telling me harrow's biological ancestor is the only saint to never become a lyctor because she came so close to figuring it out that her cavalier was killed to prevent it. you're talking about harrow, who opened the tomb at ten with nothing but sheer determination and accidentally getting a little bit of god blood under her nails and gideon, who we keep being told cannot and will not die, won't end up alive? is that what you're saying? bc john says two things are impossible; opening the tomb and perfect lyctorhood. but those are only two things and Harrow already did one of em. does she seem like a quitter to you?

#the locked tomb spoilers #tlt #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #tlt gender studies #none gender with left grief

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not-neverland06 · 2 days ago

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𝙴𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 - 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚊𝚍 𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Ah, we've finally arrived. The last stop on this journey. I honestly thought I would feel more relieved saying goodbye to these two but it's a little bittersweet. Arthur is such an important character to me and one I've always held close to my heart. Being able to write this series for him is definitely one of my prouder moments as a fanfiction author. Thank you all for staying along for the ride and all of the love and support you've given me 🫶

Hell Hath No Fury Series (complete)

Summary: The past is behind you, all you have to do now is choose which path you'll follow.

The door before you is covered in a fresh coat of paint. An attempt at erasing the past that almost makes you laugh. There’s no amount of polish that can scrub away the memories and lives embedded in its frame. This estate, once pristine, holds no warmth for you, only the echoes of a childhood so distant you struggle to remember it.

Still, you know there were moments, brief fleeting moments of happiness before you knew better. Before you understood that love only had a place when it was currency, when it was useful, before you learned that you were just another debt to be collected.

The door creaks open, and a pair of green eyes scrutinizes you from within. “Mrs. Rowe?” The maid’s timid voice asks hesitantly.

You don’t know her name, after a while, they all blurred together. Each of them became the same spineless, faceless shadows that bent to your mother’s every whim. You consider correcting her, telling her to call you by your maiden name, but the thought goes sour in your mouth. That name was your father’s, and he had owned you just as much as your husband.

“Please,” you lift your chin, eyes narrowing at her, “I’m not Mrs. Rowe any longer,” you tell her curtly.

The maid frowns and the door opens a tad wider. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, but she says nothing, not bold enough to speak out against you. Instead, she bows her head and steps aside, holding the door open to you.

The scent of overpriced cigars and aged whiskey is thick in the air. Breathing in is like being thrown right back to days of racing through these halls, avoiding your mother’s scoldings and your father’s plotting. You almost feel the twitch of a smile as you peer up the banister of the stairs, where you know your old room is.

The house remains unchanged, the same ornate rugs swallow your footsteps as you follow the maid down the hall. Chandeliers drip with excess in a way that you always thought was gaudy but your mother claimed show class.

The maid stops in front of a familiar oak door, bowing her head once more before rushing off like a frightened mouse. Behind it, he’s waiting for you.

You push the knob down and step inside, your father sits at his desk, posture relaxed as if he were expecting you. A half-empty glass of bourbon rests in his hand, swirling it lazily as he watches you approach. You notice grays in his hair that you’d never seen before, signs of age, and the truth that even money can’t stop the relentless passage of time.

The lines around his face are deeper than you remember, but his eyes, still sharp and calculating, assessing you for your worth, haven’t changed at all.

“When I received word from my daughter after nearly a year of believing her to be dead, I certainly hadn’t thought you would have become an outlaw.” You don’t take a seat and don’t say a word. Standing a few feet back from his desk, you keep your face carefully blank. “Van der Linde gang, wasn’t it?”

You don’t bite and ask how he knows, demand for him to tell you how he’s keeping track of you. It’s better to know less about your father’s reach and influence. Besides, little tricks like this haven’t scared you since you were a child.

He waits for you to speak, huffing out a forced laugh when you don’t. “Finally returned back to me. I can only assume you want something.” He sets his glass down on his desk and leans back in his ornate leather chair. “I presume it has something to do with that outlaw lover of yours?”

Hands clenching reflexively around your purse and the revolver inside, your jaw clenches, the first tell you’ve given him. His lips curl, something cruel dancing behind his eyes. “If you hadn’t already been tainted by that useless husband of yours, I might just keep you here. Sell you to the next highest bidder.”

You don’t flinch and give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But you know he means every word. If you actually still held value or standing in society, he wouldn’t hesitate to put you back under lock and key, using any means necessary to cage you.

“You can try,” you say smoothly, tilting your head ever so slightly. “But that worthless husband you picked out for me has left me as quite the undesirable.”

Something flickers across his face, amusement, maybe even appreciation for the bite in your tone. That’s the game he plays. He has no tolerance for disobedience and no respect for someone who doesn’t fight back. Perpetually dissatisfied.

He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking over you. “What do you want, little bird?”

You take your time answering, stepping closer to the desk, glancing over the neatly stacked ledgers and letters. An old pen rests beside his arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice the black ink staining his shirt sleeve.

“I want Arthur Morgan and the others who escaped with him left alone,” you say, voice even. “The Pinkertons, Cornwall. Every last hunter that’s sniffing after them. I want them called off.”

He raises a brow, lips curling slightly at the corners. “What makes you think I have that sort of influence?”

Your lashes flutter innocently and a demure smile flits across your face. “I know about the deal you made last spring,” you tell him, watching as his face tightens with recognition. “The one that ended with all of those men floating face down in the bayou. You’re the one who taught me to be seen and not heard, father. I just learned to listen.” You let the weight of your words sink in, watching as something like a warning crosses his face. You lean against the edge of the desk, voice dropping to a whisper, “You’ll find the power, and you’ll get me what I want.”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips and you draw back. “I always knew you were observant, listening in when I should have stopped you. Call it fatherly indulgence, but I didn’t think it would turn you into someone so conniving. I could almost say I’m proud if you weren’t such a disgrace to the family.”

Fists clenching by your side, you bite your lip and keep yourself quiet. It’s a waiting game, drawing the prey in to get what you want.

He drums his fingers against the wood, considering. Then, finally, he sighs, reaching for his bourbon. “Fine. The Pinkertons and Cornwall will lose interest in what's left of your little gang.” He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass. “But Dutch Van der Linde? The ones who followed him? I’m not lifting a finger for them.”

“Good, I wasn’t asking you to.”

That earns you a short, sharp laugh. “Cutthroat, I suppose becoming an outlaw finally gave you a spine. If only you discovered it sooner, it would have been much more entertaining to break you as a child.”

You swallow hard, taking another step back from him before you feel the urge to put a bullet between his eyes. “What else?” He presses, setting his drink down. “I assume you didn’t come all this way just for that.”

“I need a few high-profile bounty hunting jobs- on paper.”

He arches a brow, “For Morgan?”

You shrug, not willing to give away more than you have to. “For a friend.”

Understanding dawns over his face, followed quickly by an all too familiar smirk. “The sheriffs won’t let a woman collect their bounties, is that it?” You don’t dignify him with a response and he hums, tapping his fingers against the desk as he thinks. “Done.”

Relief unfurls in your chest but you don’t give it away. Nodding, you turn away, but his voice stops you at the door. “You’re a fool for choosing this life,” he tells you, tone light but laced with something darker. “You could have had everything.”

You look over your shoulder, barely meeting his eye. “We have different definitions of what that means,” you tell him simply, “I’d rather be free than a miserable miser like you.” His jaw snaps shut, eyes going cold, and you walk out the door, leaving him behind.

Arthur leaves Diablo to roam in the valley beside the cabin. When he’d gotten up this morning you were already gone, Lady nowhere to be found. He tried not to worry, he knows by now you’re smart enough to handle yourself. But there’s a lot of people who want to hurt you both right now. Not just the bounty hunters and the Pinkertons, but this land is infested with the Murfree brood.

Coming back from his hunt now, he can already see Lady trotting up to Diablo, and there on the porch, you sit. Your back is to him as he approaches, fingers tight around a letter in your hand. He vaguely recognizes the handwriting, but not enough to identify the author.

“Hey,” he mutters, taking a seat on the stoop beside you. You glance up at him, folding the letter away and smiling. “What’s that?” He asks, nodding toward the papers now tucked away.

Your smile shifts into something a little sadder and you glance out toward the water. “Charles finally wrote me back,” there’s a tone to your voice he can’t recognize, it’s bittersweet. “I think it might be the last letter I receive from him. He has plans to move to Canada. To start,” you hesitate before smiling fondly, “he’s going to start a family.”

Sucking in a deep breath you shrug and look toward him. “How was your ride?”

“Fine,” he dismisses quickly. “Where’d you go this mornin’?”

Your face morphs into something careful, guarded. “I had some business in the city,” he knows you don’t want him to press you further. It’s clear that whatever you were dealing with was something personal. As much as he worries about you, he won’t press, even if the curiosity is gnawing at him.

“You know it’s risky to go out on your own right now.”

You smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Trust me, I won’t be taking any more risks.”

The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing beside him. Arthur lays on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling as his fingers drum a restless beat against his stomach. Moonlight spills through the window, illuminating the cabin with a soft silver glow.

Sleep has been harder and harder to find. It’s never come easy before, but he’d hoped it might be different now. He’s spent too many years with one eye open, waiting for a knife in the dark or gunfire to crack through the night. Even now, with no enemies nearby, no barking orders, and no campfire flickering just out of reach, his body refuses to believe he’s safe.

He supposes he isn’t. The Pinkertons will still be after him, he figures he’s probably got a hefty bounty on his head. Large enough for the more reckless hunters to go after him. Sometimes he thinks Dutch might even be out there, seething over Arthur’s betrayal, waiting to find him again.

Arthur sits up in bed, scrubbing a hand down his tired face. He reaches for the sketchbook resting on the nightstand beside him and flips it open. A piece of charcoal is already wedged between the worn pages and falls into his open palm as he settles against the headboard. Idly, he lets his hand start drawing a far too familiar form.

The curve of your jaw, the way your hair spills across your pillow, he barely has to look at you to draw it now. Still, he finds his eyes drawn toward your sleeping form, taking in the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. You shift, mumbling something incoherent, and sling your arm over his waist.

Arthur huffs out a quiet laugh, the warmth of your touch grounding in a way. He runs his hand along your arm, lacing your fingers together as you shift even closer to him. There’s not long to savor the moment before a loud whooping laugh shatters the silence outside.

His hand stills its idle sketching, body going rigid like a hunting dog who’s found his mark. He sits up straighter, ears straining to hear the night outside the cabin walls. The grating laughter moves closer, faster, and louder than he’s comfortable with.

He hears the distant sound of a bottle shattering and a sharp crack echoing through the night. Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed, muscles tense, and catches the flickering glow of fire through the window. It almost sounds as if the horses are screaming in their pen.

He’s on his feet in an instant, rushing to the door and grabbing the rifle resting along the wall. You shoot up in bed, blinking the sleep out of your eyes, and watch him throw the door open. “Arthur?” You call out, voice thick with sleep but growing more alert.

“Stay low,” he warns you briefly, already moving through the door.

Heat licks at his skin as he steps outside. Wildflowers near the fence are ablaze, the flames stretching dangerously close to the horses’ pen. Lady and Diablo run around wildly, bucking at nothing as the fire stretches closer.

A group of men holler in the distance, growing closer as they circle around the property like wolves. Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, aiming the rifle at the closest one. Murfree boys, he should have known.

“Should’ve never come on our land!” One of them shouts, lifting another fire bottle, his match dangerously close to the fabric inside. Arthur doesn’t hesitate as he pulls the trigger, the boy and the bottle falling harmlessly to the ground as he slides off his saddle.

You rush past him, paying no heed to the men with their guns pointed at you. He tries to snatch your arm, but you’ve got a bucket of water in your hands and you’re trying to put the fire out. He sees the way you glance worriedly toward Lady as the flames consume more of the dry grass around you.

There’s a moment of stillness, the men stop moving and simply stare at Arthur. “He killed Mitch!” One of them shouts, the rest shouting something incomprehensible in rage. Gunfire erupts and Arthur curses, grabbing you and ducking behind the wall of the cabin. Arthur peers around the side and takes another shot before he ducks back into cover, reloading the rifle.

There aren’t many of them, and they aren’t good shots. But he’s worried about the fire, not the fools shooting at him. The fight doesn’t last long, a few more well-placed bullets and the last of the Murfree boys fall. The only sounds left are the frantic whinnies of the horses and the sound of water sizzling against flames.

He grabs another bucket and dips it into the lake, stomping out dying embers and putting to rest the remaining fire. When it’s finally out, you slump against him, chest heaving. His heart is still pounding in his ears, adrenaline thrumming in his veins.

“They’ll come back,” you mutter against his chest, voice quiet but sure.

Arthur swallows, watching the darkened tree line. They’re not known for letting go of grudges or forgiving the killing of one of their own. “I know,” he tells you, arm wrapping around you and pulling you close. His mind is already made up, he’s taking you somewhere else. And soon.

The wagon rocks slightly to the side as Arthur directs the horses over a small rock and you reach eagerly for the reigns. “Let me drive,” you demand, the same way he’s been listening to you do the whole ride.

Arthur snorts, shaking his head and tightening his grip. “Not a chance.”

You lean back on the bench, crossing your arms with a slightly amused tilt to your lips. “Oh, come on,” you admonish, “you act like I’m a bad driver.”

He gives you a flat look, thinking back to the cougar that nearly had you running the wagon off the side of a mountain. “You are a bad driver.”

“Yeah?” You taunt, something challenging in the way you narrow your eyes at him. “Who was it that broke the wheel clean off the last wagon?”

Arthur refuses to make eye contact with you, steering the horses around a rut in the dirt path. He shrugs, “That was different.”

You scoff incredulously, shoving at his shoulder. “How?”

Arthur shrugs, “That was Dutch’s wagon.”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head and leaning against his shoulder. “So? That makes it a bad wagon?”

“I ain’t sayin’ it makes it bad, I’m just sayin’ it don’t count.” You roll your eyes but he sees the fondness in your expression as you sit back. He knows you’re letting him win, you could argue with him for hours, running circles around him. Even though you are a bad driver.

The thick line of trees lining the road slowly thins and opens up. A field of purple wildflowers stretching toward the horizon lay before you. A small stream glimmers under the light of the late afternoon sun and winds its way through. In the distance, at the end of the small trail, he can see John, Abigail, and Jack waiting for the both of you.

Arthur makes his way up the rest of the off-road trail, nose already wrinkling in distaste at the spot John has chosen for him. He pulls the wagon to a stop and rounds the side, offering you his hand. You roll your eyes at the gesture, smiling playfully and letting him help you down even though you both know it’s unnecessary.

Arthur adjusts his hat, leveling John with a skeptical look. “You sure this is gonna work?”

John exhales sharply, leveling Arthur with a flat look. He steps forward, holding out Arthur’s cut from what he stole from Dutch. “Why’re you always doubtin’ me?”

Arthur takes the money and crosses his arms, shrugging, “‘Cause most of the time, you’re doin’ somethin’ worth doubtin’.” Abigail makes a noise of agreement, cutting John a sharp glare. You shift uncomfortably beside him and he lets out a sigh.

He’s never more grateful for you than when he watches John and Abigail interact. That woman wouldn’t be happy with him if he did do everything she asked him to, although he most definitely does not. She’s never going to trust that he can fully integrate into a normal life or make something of himself. Having someone behind you, always doubting you, always judging you, it would drive Arthur insane.

As much as you’ve gotten angry with him over the stupid choices he makes, you’ve always trusted him. He’s given you plenty of reason to doubt him, and still, you stand beside him. Even when he told you he had some half-baked plan to start a ranch on some cheap land Marston found for him, you followed him. And you trusted him when he told you he could take care of you. There’s no constant scrutinization of the man he used to be.

He lets Abigail and John bicker, looping his arm over your shoulder and leading you around them so you can get a good look at the land you’re about to be living on. You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him, and Arthur feels some of the weight on his shoulders ease.

The fire crackles softly outside the tent, casting a flickering light against the canvas walls. This tent is bigger than the one he’d had in camp, more spacious, and with wooden poles to hold it up. It has to be better until the actual house can be built, it’s what you’ll be living in for a long while.

You sit beside him on the cot, sewing up a hole in one of your pants while he looks through the plans for the house. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle drifts through the open flap along with the sound of the creatures in the forest beyond.

“I went to St. Denis,” you tell him, and somehow, he knows you mean the morning you disappeared.

Arthur’s expression pinches, he looks up from the paper, taking in the way your face is illuminated by the dim light. “Why?” He demands, frustration creeping around the edges of his tone. It’s one thing to have gone out on your own, it’s even worse that you went to a place swarming with Pinkertons and cops.

“I went to see my father,” you tell him, voice calm despite his tension. You place your sewing to the side and shift closer to him. “The Pinkertons, the bounty hunters,” you pause, eyes roaming over his face to gauge his reaction. “They’ll be leaving us alone now, all of them.”

Arthur rubs a hand down his face, biting back the urge to say something smart. It’s not as simple as that. Whatever you’ve done, whatever favor you’ve called on, men like your father don’t just let things go. He feels like he should be angry. Hell, a part of him is mad that you put yourself at risk.

But he sees the quiet determination on your face. You reached into your past, took the pieces that could be used against you, and turned it into something that could finally give you both a true clean slate. Arthur exhales, shaking his head.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he reaches forward, tugging you closer to him. “A whole new life, huh?”

You smile at him, leaning in until your lips are nearly brushing against his. “Yeah,” you whisper, “A whole new life.” Arthur leans forward, lips catching yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Maybe you acted a bit like a fool, but he can’t blame you. He would have done the same thing if it meant another chance with you.

A few years later

The morning air is crisp, as always it carries with it the distant scent of the animals around the ranch, and poppies and lilies. Boots creak softly against the wooden planks of the porch as you step outside, pausing for a moment to take in the sight before you.

Arthur sits in his rocking chair, the slow, steady rhythm of its movements in time with his easy breaths. His gaze remains fixed on the pasture, watching as the horses move lazily through the field, the cattle grazing beyond them. The sun is already high in the sky, warming the porch under your feet. Its golden light spills across the land, lighting up the stream beyond. Every morning, he watches it rise.

You move toward your chair beside him, settling into the familiar seat. He doesn’t look away from the horizon, but his hand finds yours, calloused fingers warm against your skin. His thumb drags slow circles over the back of your hand, a quiet steady reassurance.

Neither of you speak as there’s nothing to be said. No threats hang over your heads. No weight presses against your shoulders.

There is only this. The soft rustle of the grass in the breeze, the warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle creaking of the rocking chair. And the two of you, the outlaw and the lady.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @martinys-world

#Arthur Morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x you #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 #Hell Hath No Fury

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libraford · 2 days ago

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I forgave her, but an interaction I had with Client Friend made me feel very weird about how we both interact with Woo.

We'd talked previously about our various beliefs and our religious baggage, so I wasn't surprised to hear certain things come from her mouth. But when I invited her to my house she was manic the whole time for unrelated reasons.

Later, she told me that there was Something in my house and that I need to seal up all the mirrors in my house. That it was a portal and there were things coming in from it. I told her that I already sealed my mirrors and she told me to do it again, but her way this time.

When she came back for another shoot, she said that the Something was still there and I said:

"Well, we have critters."

"That's not what I mean, you know what mean."

"Yes. Critters. Like... ahhh.. nisse..."

"What?"

"Nisse, like.. oh what's the word... house wight."

"The fuck is a house wight?"

"It's a critter. Lives in the house, 'bout knee high, don't like being seen much. Pretty chill guys, don't bother us much but the cat chases them sometimes. They haven't got mad yet, so I assume there's no hard feelings."

"You've SEEN THEM?"

"Like early mornings once or twice. Lil hairy guys."

"They do NOT want to be seen."

"Well, me neither at 6am. But neither of us freaked out about it so I figured we'd just go about our business."

-does not compute sounds-

She still gets weird about the house, and the various things that hang around me, which is a thing that kind of happens when you grow up talking to spirits and critters and things. I realize yall got spiritual and religious trauma but hes literally the size of a small dog and i dont think hes got any teeth. And it's like... hon... I promise not everything The Other is out to hurt you. Stop trying to excorcise my grandmama, she's helping me pick out stationery.

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corruptedcaps · 1 day ago

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Turn Coat: Part One

This is for @misseviehyde as a part of story swap. Hope she and everyone else like it!

Tina stepped through the front door of her parent's opulent mansion, her best friend, Mallory, close behind. The sight of the house alone made Tina’s shoulders slump and shiver. She missed her old modest house, when it was just her and her dad. Before Vivian, her now bitchy step mom, entered her life.

She thanked god she had someone like Mallory in her life, someone who was ever the the optimist, who insisted on accompanying her as moral support to her parents house. Mallory was more of a mother to Tina than Vivian ever was.

“You’re stronger than she is, Tina.” Mallory said softly, placing a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “She’s just… bitter. Don’t let her get to you. We just get in, get some of your things and then we're out and back at our dorm room in no time.”

Tina managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Mallory. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She said hugging her.

Before Mallory could respond, a sharp, icy voice cut through the air. “Oh, how touching. The little loser and her equally pathetic friend.”

Tina’s stepmother, Vivian, stood at the top of the grand staircase, her perfectly manicured nails resting on the railing. She was dressed, as always, in a lush fur coat. Beneath it she wore a sleek, black body suit that hugged her figure, her raven black hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. Her lips, painted a pale red, curled into a sneer as she descended the stairs.

“Why are you always so mean to Tina, she's your daughter!” Mallory said standing up for her best friend.

Vivian’s eyes gleamed with malice as she reached the bottom of the stairs. In her arms, she carried a fur coat. It was almost identical to the one she wore, only not as long. The air around it seemed to hum with a dark energy, and Tina felt an inexplicable pull toward it, as if it were calling to her.

“Her? My daughter? I don't think so. Not yet anyway.” Vivian purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I've tried to break her down so I could rebuild her in my image but you were always there to pick up the pieces of her fragile mind and cobble her back together again like the annoying gnat that you are."

"Come on Tina, we don't have to take this." Mallory said grabbing Tina's hand. Mallory started to walk away but Tina wouldn't budge, her eyes locked on the fur coat.

"Oh I'm afraid Tina is much to busy fantasizing about putting on this coat aren't you dear?" Vivian said with a smirk that sent a shiver down Mallory's spine. "She's imaging how hawt and mean she would be with it on, how much everyone would fear and love her."

"What the hell are you talking about you maniac?" Mallory said as she tried to unroot Tina from her spot.

"Right now Tina is feeling the same pull that I felt years ago when I got my magical fur coat." Vivian said almost wistful. "Oh it was wonderful. It stripped away the loser I was, the bookish librarian I used to be and remade me as this perfect goddess. Once Tina puts this on, one I specially made for her, she'll finally be the daughter I deserve. Go ahead my dear, take it."

Tina’s eyes drank in the coat with desire. It was true, she was imagining herself walking around the college campus with an entourage of vapid bitches who hung on her every word. She would snap her perfectly manicured fingers and they would do whatever she asked.

At night she would bed only the most attractive men, assuming their bank account was equally as impressive. It was an intoxicating fantasy and one that was hard to deny. And yet in the background of her imagination was Mallory, shouting at her, urging her to destroy the coat. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. “I… I don’t want it.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Of course you want it.” Vivian snapped, her tone hardening. “You’ve always been weak, Tina. Pathetic. But this? This will fix you. It will make you better.”

Mallory stepped forward, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Leave her alone! She doesn’t need your twisted idea of ‘better.’ She’s perfect just the way she is.”

Vivian’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Perfect? Look at her. She’s a mess. A nobody. But with this coat, she’ll finally be worthy of the life I’ve given her. Beautiful. Powerful. Untouchable. Put it on.”

“Tina, don’t.” Mallory pleaded, squeezing her friend’s hand. “Fight it. You’re stronger than this.”

For a moment, Tina hesitated. She could feel the coat’s pull, but Mallory’s voice grounded her. She shook her head, taking a deep breath. “No. I won’t do it. I won't become like you!”

Vivian’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of pure fury. “Fine. If you won’t do it willingly, I’ll do it for you.”

Before Tina could react, Vivian lunged forward, pushing Mallory to the floor and shoving the coat onto Tina. Tina gasped as the fur wrapped around her, clinging to her body like a second skin. A wave of warmth spread through her, followed by an intense, almost overwhelming pleasure. She moaned, her knees growing weak as the changes began.

Tina’s body began to shift, her modest curves swelling as her breasts grew larger and fuller. She clutched at her chest, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh, what’s happening to me?” She groaned, her voice trembling. “This… this feels so… mmmm good.”

The warmth intensified, spreading through Tina’s limbs like liquid fire. Her lips plumped, turning a seductive pink, and her hair lengthened, transforming into sleek, platinum locks that cascaded down her back. She ran her fingers through her new hair, her initial fear giving way to curiosity. “Mmm, yesss perfect bratty blonde hair.” She purred, a small smile playing on her lips. “I could get used to this!”

"It's only the beginning my dear." Vivian smirked in satisfaction.

Mallory’s voice trembled as she stepped closer, her hands outstretched as if to try and pull the coat off Tina. “Tina, no! Take it off! This isn’t you!”

But Tina barely heard her. Her waist cinched in, her hips flaring out, and her skin took on a soft, sun-kissed glow. She turned to the nearest mirror, her breath catching as she saw her reflection. The girl staring back at her was unrecognizable. Stunning, yes, but with a cold, calculating edge to her beauty.

“Oh fuck yes!” Tina whispered, her voice tinged with bratty confidence. “I'm gorgeous.” She ran her hands over her new body, her initial hesitation melting away. “Don’t stop! Make me more of a bitch! This is what I’ve always wanted. This is what I've always deserved!”

Mallory turned to Vivian, her voice rising in desperation. “You’re turning her into a monster! Stop this!”

Vivian’s laugh was sharp and dismissive. “A monster? No, dear. I’m turning her into a queen. Just like me. She’ll see. She’ll understand.”

As Tina admired herself, a deeper change began to take hold of her mind. The shy awkwardness that had once defined her started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of superiority. She felt her baggy shirt and old denim jeans morph into a figure hugging crop top with a sleek black leather pair of pants.

Tina's nails grew long, painted a glossy pink, and her eyes sparkled bright blue, taking on a predatory glint. She felt a surge of power coursing through her veins, intoxicating and irresistible. The last remnants of Tina’s goodness vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating narcissism.

"Mmmmm now that's more like it. What a fucking loser I used to be." Tina said with a look of disgust remembering her former self. This look then naturally transferred in the direction of Mallory as Tina's once-warm eyes became cold and dismissive.

“Ugh why are you still here?” Tina asked, her tone sharp.

Mallory’s eyes filled with tears. “Tina, please! This isn’t you! Fight it!”

But Tina only laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Fight it? Why would I fight this? I’m finally who I was meant to be. Beautiful. Powerful. Untouchable.”

Vivian clapped her hands together, her smile triumphant. “Oh, darling, you’re perfect. Just like me.”

Tina turned to her stepmother, her smirk widening. “You’re right, Mommy. I am better now. I’m Valentina. And you?” She glanced at Mallory, her sneer deepening. “You’re nothing.”

“Get out bitch.” Valentina snapped, her tone final. “Before I make you.”

Mallory stumbled back, her heart breaking as she realized her best friend was gone. She turned and fled, tears streaming down her face.

Vivian wrapped an arm around Valentina’s shoulders, her smile triumphant. “Now you’re truly my daughter. You’re going to love the new you.”

Valentina laughed, a cold, cruel sound that echoed through the mansion. She didn’t need Mallory. She didn’t need anyone but her mother and her coat. She was perfect now. And nothing, and no one, would ever stand in her way again.

To be continued...

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #corrupted clothing #corrupted fur #cc2025 #turncoat

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getup-coward · 17 hours ago

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UK here - I don't know how hot the boiler makes the water (update, I just checked and it's internal temp is 72°) but it is set so that it comes out of our taps around 45°c. We can change this temperature up to a point.

Our boiler app won't let us put it above 60 because dangerous.

The boiler provides hot water to both the radiators (large metal boxes in every room) and the taps.

Radiator:

It (the boiler) stays on 24/7.

The heating only activates if it drops below a certain temperature in the house. In winter this usually happens twice a day. In summer it never happens. We can change the temperature it kicks in at.

The heating of tap water only happens when required, such as when you turn on a tap. This takes a few seconds, maybe up to a minute. I'm not sure how they heat the water so fast. Something to do with gas. And magic I assume.

These boilers are called combi boilers and are newer - in the UK it used to be common to have boilers that heated and stored large quantities of water, rather than hearing at point of use. These are called "conventional boilers". They were much more expensive to run and it was common to turn them on around half an hour before you needed water and turn them off when you were done. A lot of people still have these but combi boilers are more common now. They're cheaper and also smaller as they don't need a tank to store hot water.

Combi boiler

These guys I suppose could explode as I know they need to be at a certain pressure to heat water (magic). But they have a lot of safeties built in and it's pretty rare. They tend to lose pressure much easier than gain it, and then you have to repressurise them by refilling them with water (not manually, there's a little tap/lever you turn underneath and it pulls in water from the mains. Then you turn it off when the boiler reaches 1.5 bar.). This is still a pain because a lot of houses have the boiler at the back of a cupboard and junk inevitably piles up in front of it, like so:

Okay I think that's everything I know off the top of my head about how boilers work in the UK.

Americans need to explain boilers and radiators to me. They're in tv shows all the time and I have never in my life seen either of them in a home or a hotel or anything. I swear the USA made them up so they could dramatically explode in movies or have a prisoner handcuffed to them.

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xoxochb · 1 day ago

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dated february fourth

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

dear diary,

I did absolutely nothing all day. and when I mean nothing I mean I rotted in bed all day with my stupid boyfriend he’s so stupid I like him a lot and I kissed him a little bit.

I got up once to take a shower because… well ew… percy always makes me sleep with three blankets on because he wants to sleep with three blankets but it gets sooooo hot on that damn bed!

and I told him that once— that it got too hot— and not to my surprise he made it into some dirty joke about having a different way to produce heat on the bed and so I slapped him in the head.

but moral of the story was that I was gross and sweaty so I had to take a shower. of course percy joined me because a shower without him wouldn’t be a shower at all. unless he’s back in new york, on rare occasions when I don’t go with him, then sometimes I can’t even find the motivation to leave his bed. I cry a lot when he’s gone. but I’ll never tell him that because it’ll inflate his ego. but I love my stupid boyfriend a lot.

anyways, after the shower percy left for a few minutes to get my breakfast because I was complaining about being hungry. so I ate waffles this morning. and like the gentleman he is he brought me a cup of coffee made just how I like it. I gave him a kiss on the forehead to express my gratitude.

and after breakfast we both passed out until one in the afternoon. it was a great nap. except for how I woke up with percy’s drool drenching through my/his shirt. usually I sleep naked because I know he’ll drool through my clothes and plus when I’m with him I can’t even find do that sorta thing.

sometimes I think we’re like a married couple. the only thing that’ll change when we get married though is that our promise rings will be wedding rings.

and we’ll live in a real house, not cabin three.

I talked to percy about my dream house a few times. I want a wrap around porch and a huge home library. he said he’d build them both for me if that would make me happy. I told him it would so he said he’d do it.

and I want a dog. a golden retriever they’re really cute and they remind me of percy. or maybe someday we’ll have kids. I’d like to see a little girl with his eyes and my hair that’d be cute.

but getting off track here— after the nap I read my book for an hour-ish. but percy got frustrated not being able to read the words so I closed it to read later. I never did get back to it though.

then after that we ate dinner early because we were hungry from not eating lunch. he made me pasta. I love pasta a lot. and they were heart shaped noodles. I was happy.

and after our four o’clock dinner we went back to his cabin and did some things. I’m not gonna write them down here though.

and then the time arrives to right now. percy went to get me ice cream. he’s even putting sprinkles in it for me! he’s very generous, sally raised him well. I thank her everyday.

well anyways… I should wrap this up before he comes back. which I assume will be soon unless he started to dilly-dally then I might be here for a while.

so until tomorrow, xoxo sweet girl!

#xoxochb #✩ — sweet girl’s internal monologue #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x reader

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benisbeaaaaans · 3 days ago

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Fragmented

Mirrors always made him uneasy.

The villagers who were aware of that always assumed it was because of his eye, the injury that was deemed so severe upon his arrival that he was given a patch to keep the non-functional socket clean and protected. He’d be lying if he said that wasn’t at least partially true, so he’d nod somberly every time it was brought up.

But it wasn’t the whole truth. No, he’d much rather they not have the burden of knowing the rest of the story.

It pained him to be reminded of what he was, and what he had left behind on Beast-Yeast.

It was the dead of night, the only night outside the window broken by tiny pinpricks of light, the moon gone from the sky tonight. He stared at the mirror on the wall, water dripping from his milk-white hair and down his back, seeping into the towel wrapped around him. His eyepatch hung on the bathroom doorknob, its lock slid into place more to hide him from unsuspecting eyes than for privacy. Witches forbid a villager or worse, Pure Vanilla Cookie come walking in and seeing the black scars on his body and the unnatural glow of his right eye. He looked like a monster in his reflection, and he was the one that was used to it. Imagining what would happen if he lost this second chance to something as easily concealed as his appearance-

He sighed. He grabbed the patch from the door handle, tying it back around his head over his eye. It took some work, given his hair was still heavy from his bath, but looking at himself too long gave covering it more priority than drying the mop of hair upon his head. He briefly contemplated cutting it short, before dismissing the idea.

‘Pure Vanilla Cookie recognizes me like this. I shouldn’t drastically change my appearance, especially so early on. I might frighten him if he thinks I’m a stranger.’

He stared at the mirror a second longer. He had yet to put on his nightgown, but even covering that hideous eye made him sigh with relief. He’d never forgive that wretched part of himself for such a vile change. He knew it didn’t care about appearances the moment corruption took hold, but to force it upon him, too?

He turned away. “It cannot be helped,” he murmured aloud. “It is simply the truth of the matter.”

‘Aw, my little parting gift isn’t appreciated?’

He froze.

“What-?”

‘And here I thought you of all people were honest about your feelings! I had to wait until you left before finding out about this!’

A cold feeling rushed over his body.

He looked back up at the mirror.

His reflection stared back.

Smiling.

That sickly cyan eye staring into his very soul.

‘Hellooooo, my darling other half~! Having fun playing family?’

‘What are you doing here?!’ Blueberry Milk Cookie’s words echoed in his mind, not daring to say another word aloud, lest he wake the entire house.

‘Mm, nothing in particular, really. Not much to do inside this wretched tree. I must say, though, I was really hoping for more excitement after the journey here… watching this is almost as boring as sitting for a portrait!’ Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, the reflection moving independently from the cookie projecting it.

‘How?? How are you able to watch me?! That shouldn’t be possible, you’re- trapped! Trapped forever, I should add, that should mean that you have no power!’

‘What a naive assumption. And here I thought you were smart,’ the mirror scoffed. ‘Did I get all the brains in the split? That’s rather unfortunate for you…’

‘I’m not stupid! The Witches chains bind you for all eternity! Any connection with me was severed when the Soul Jam’s power was split!’

‘Tch, tch, tch, sooooo naive indeed. You’re forgetting some crutial details, my “beloved” other half.’

‘Tell me, then, instead of dancing around it like a chicken with its head cut off!’

‘The Soul Jam’s power cannot be entirely severed. That’s why you were forced to bring that snot-nosed brat to a different continent to ensure I could not effectively puppet him.’

‘…’

‘Hehe~! Got your attention now, did I? Yes, I know about the heir. Too bad, so sad, you’re getting nepotismed right out of weilding your own lifeforce!’

‘Silence,’ Blueberry snapped, before thinking a moment more. ‘This must be why I’m here. So long as he doesn’t hold the Soul Jam, you have no will over him. But he still needs it eventually. I’m the beacon that must protect him not only until he’s grown, but from the very power he will grow to inherit.’

‘Yes,’ Shadow replied through a grating smile. ‘It’s so very inconvenient, all this “pure and good” nonsense he has to be. You must be so upset you have to deal with me! You’re already going mad listening to me mock you! Maybe I’ll make you have nightmares every night! Or! I’ll make you hallucinate spiders crawling under your clothes, and snakes in your shoes constricting your legs so you can’t walk! You won’t last so much as a day now that I-‘

“No.”

‘… What.’

“I refuse to be driven mad by you,” Blueberry Milk Cookie whispered, turning away from the mirror.

‘… Huh???! You can’t just- REFUSE to be driven mad! That’s stupid! I am not some meager insect that can be swatted away, you insolent fool!’ The mirror hissed, the furious cookie’s eye flashing with rage.

‘Perhaps not. But you do not worry me in the slightest. Now that I know we are still connected through the Soul Jam, I know exactly what I must do. Not just raise Pure Vanilla Cookie, but teach him. He will learn how to resist you when the time comes. I will ensure it, and until that day comes, I will suffer the consequences of holding the Light of Truth and its connection with the Sin of Deciet.’

‘That will take years! Decades, even, perhaps even centuries if his life is as long as ours!’

‘I’m sure that’s enough time to grow a tolerance for you.’

‘No one can last forever in torment…’ Shadow Milk Cookie growled, eyes narrowed into slits.

‘Not forever,’ he agreed, pulling on his blue tunic. ‘But this is my purpose now. Just as yours is to be trapped “forever”. Such fickle wording, don’t you think?’

Before the reflection could retort further, Blueberry Milk Cookie unlocked the door stepping out and closing it behind him.

#non art #writing #my writing #patron of truth au #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #blueberry milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #light of truth #cookie run au #au #not beta read #it’s like 2 am I had to write this okay #crying cuz I’m on mobile and need to wait till morning to post on AO3

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hollowed-theory-hall · 2 days ago

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Hello! I wanted to ask about your analysis of Cedricd Diggory and his family, especially because people are unsure of whether his blood status is pure-blood or half-blood since there's not much about his mother, his nationality; only prominent figure of their bloodline was Eldritch Diggory— unknown blood status and a British wizard who served as the fourth Minister for Magic of the British Ministry of Magic. Wouldn't that tidbit add to possible wealth for the Diggory family as they're descendants of him?

Like, we don't have canon answers, so I have speculations, headcanons, and theories — but that's something I do here often.

Not much is known about Eldrich Diggory, but all the three ministers that came before him (Gamp, Rowle, and Parkinson) were all purebloods and likely Wizengamot members (Gamp canonically was and I assume the others were too). So, I think it's reasonable to assume that the Diggories, at least back then, were purebloods and members of the Wizengamot.

Amos Diggory (Cedric's dad) works in the ministry and seems quite prideful in his son and family — suggesting they might still be involved in the Wizengamot. We also know they lived near the Weasleys and Lovegoods around Ottery St Catchpole which is a wizard-only village, which indicates, again, that they at least used to be pureblood and might still be. (The Weasleys and Lovegoods are both purebloods who live in Ottery St Catchpole, so, it suggests the Diggorys' blood status is similar).

They also seem to have enough disposable income for the Quidditch World Cup which they seem to have paid for:

“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his Apparition test. Still . . . not complaining . . . Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of Galleons — and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy. . . .” Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “All these yours, Arthur?”

(GoF)

Mrs. Diggory also declines when Harry tries to give them Cedric's Triwizard winnings (yes, it was a choice fueled by morality, but it still implies they aren't short on money since a 1000 Galleons is a lot). Cedric also says this:

“Hi,” said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. “My bag just split ... brand-new and all ...”

(GoF)

So, again, the Diggories live comfortably and can buy a brand-new bag for every school year.

So, they seem to be well off, not Malfoy-rich, but doing well. I'd call them solidly a middle-class or even upper-middle-class family. They are likely still Wizengamot members, with Amos having a nice position in the ministry (though, nothing is known about it beyond the department). They were pureblood-ish around the 1700s. That being said, the Diggories are not listed in the Sacred 28, which could be either for Cantankerus Nott's resentment towards a Diggory of his time or that by the 1930s the Diggories were known as not pureblood anymore. There isn't really anything to say either way, but I find it more likely they married half-bloods and muggleborns throughout the years rather than muggles due to where they live (they live in a wizard-only village and go to school only with wizards, they have little to no opportunities to even meet muggles, so I think it's unlikely they married muggles. Again, not because of prejudice, but due to the fact they likely never really met any).

Mrs. Diggory, specifically, is implied to be a witch since she visits Hogwarts:

“Professor,” Harry mumbled, “where are Mr. and Mrs. Diggory?” “They are with Professor Sprout,” said Dumbledore. His voice, which had been so calm throughout the interrogation of Barty Crouch, shook very slightly for the first time. “She was Head of Cedric’s house, and knew him best.”

(GoF)

While the Fantastic Beasts movies showed a muggle at Hogwarts, this is a retcon considering muggles won't even be able to see the school due to how muggle-repelling charms work in the books:

The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn’t visible to the Muggle eye.

(CoS)

“This is it,” said Hagrid, coming to a halt, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.” It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, Harry wouldn’t have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn’t see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and Hagrid could see it.

(PS)

So, Cedric is essentially pureblood (I mean, his mom could be a muggleborn or half-blood but she's clearly a witch) as both his parents are wizards, he grew up around the Wizarding World his entire life and probably never met a muggle.

So, to summarise:

I think they have money, though I don't expect them to be super rich. I place them as an upper-ish middle-class. Like, they have disposable income and a very comfortable lifestyle, but they aren't the Malfoys or even the Blacks or Longbottoms (yes, I think the Longbottoms are pretty rich).

They might've been richer in the past, but by the 1990s they just don't give me the vibes that they are super rich, but they're doing well, yk?

They probably used to be a pureblood family around the 1700s

They may have started marrying in muggleborns/half-bloods between then and the 1930s or a Diggory angered Cantankerus Nott at some point.

They likely had a Wizengamot seat in the 1700 and it's very possible they still do.

Cedric is either pureblood or half-blood (his mom is a witch, but her blood status is unknown). Either way, he was raised very much like a pureblood with little to no muggle influences. I usually think of him as pureblood as it seems more likely to me.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #childofserpents #wizarding world #diggory family #cedric diggory #amos diggory #eldritch diggory #hollowedheadcanon #hp headcanon #hollowedtheory

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bringbackmaes14 · 19 hours ago

Text

Genderfluid person and would be fine with it. My stepmom is the person who helped me be okay with it.

My stepmom got diagnosed with breast cancer in 2016. Back in 2016 I still identified as a woman and I was very attached to my long hair (it was probably down to my butt at that point). Well of course when my stepmom started chemo her hair started falling out, and I saw how upset she was about it. She got to the point where she asked my dad to shave her head for her, not all the way bald, mind you, more into a crew cut style just so all the hair that was falling out wasn't super long big clumps.

And my dad is. Well. I don't know why my stepmom is still married to him and I don't know why he's not in prison for events of my childhood let's just describe his personality that way.

So he's buzzing her head and he tells her he has a surprise for her. And my younger sister and I watch in horror as my father proceeds to change the head of the razor for a closer cut and shave a horseshoe into the top of my stepmom's head (she's an Indianapolis Colts fan). She was mortified when we started yelling and telling him to stop and she realized what he was doing but the damage was already done. He tried to laugh it off and say her hair was gonna fall out anyway so what did it matter if they did silly things with it. Then when that bothered her more he tried to shave the horseshoe into a heart and tell her he loved her but then of course she had an even larger bald spot on her head, and at that point, through tears, she just told my dad to shave her head completely.

So as much as my stepmom tried to make becoming bald her decision (because it was inevitable because of the chemo), that little bit of control she had over it was taken by my dad, and I remember how much that hurt her. I remember my stepmom trying out different wigs and bandanas and hats. She'd wear them whenever she left the house. In the early days, she's even put on a hoodie or hat just to go get the mail from the mailbox. She was embarrassed of her baldness (she told me that, wanna make that clear, I'm not just assuming her feelings). She even wore them around me and my siblings for the first week or two after my dad shaved her head.

I always felt really bad because I thought my stepmom was pretty before her head was shaved, and while I definitely wasn't used to seeing her bald or with a wig, I didn't think it made her look bad either. Honestly nowadays it's weird to imagine my stepmom with hair because she's been bald for so many years now lol.

But I remember one night after dinner that kinda changed things. My dad and stepmom's house was open concept, so you could look out over the kitchen island right into the dining room and on the back dining room wall were these huge windows that looked out on the back deck.

My stepmom was standing at the kitchen sink, at that island, washing the dishes and I'm clearing the table. We're having a conversation about something or other, I don't really remember what, but what I do remember is getting cut off suddenly because my stepmom looks up from the sink towards where I'm standing in the dining room during the conversation and very suddenly gets startled, gasps, and then doubles over laughing. She was cackling in a way where I couldn't help but laugh myself even though I didn't know what was so funny.

I asked her what was so funny, and when she was finally able to catch her breath she told me that she thought she saw some random weird old guy standing on the porch but it was just her reflection in the window and it was so ridiculous that she couldn't help but laugh.

It was kind of from that point on that my stepmom became a lot more comfortable with her baldness. I gained a lot of respect for her in that moment and a lot of clarity about my own life. I think that was the first time in my life that someone had shown me it was okay to laugh about your own illness/disability. I'd had other people, even family members and people I thought were friends, laugh at my disabilities. And my mom (who primarily had custody of me and my siblings) kinda always freaked out about any self-depricating humor or humor that otherwise played up our disabilities so they weren't jokes I grew up feeling comfortable making (for fear of setting off my mom, not because I personally wasn't comfortable). But it was my stepmom who showed me there are ways to be silly and stupid about my disabilities and to laugh them off and not be so serious about them so they don't have to drown me every moment of the day, even when the physical aspects meet me every time I look in the mirror.

And like I said, it's hard to imagine my stepmom not being bald now. And because of her I don't think I'd be too worried about it because I think even if I didn't like it at first I could learn to laugh about it.

(I actually came pretty close to shaving my head last year. I keep the sides/back of my head shaved with it longer on top, and I officially decided to do that because of my shoulder injury and how much trouble I was having brushing my hair and keeping it out of my face on windy days on campus, but I almost considered getting a fully shave. I've just kept the style I got for ease because I ended up also liking it for gender reasons!)

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

#bald #hairstyle #dot says #my stepmom #polls #polls about hair #cancer #cancer tw #chemotherapy

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fernpetals · 2 days ago

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What do you think about Donnie Barksdale and David Allen Griffin of Dollification Kink?

Hmm, that's an interesting question. I have watched 'The Gift' but not 'The Watcher'. But I have read/watched some reviews about 'The Watcher' so I'm not sure how accurate I can be. I will be skipping the canon part and write about the yandere aspects Warning: Dollification, objectification, sexism, non-con, dub-con, stalking, harassing, violence, yandere behaviour and implied age-gap

Masterlist

Yandere Donnie Barksdale

GIF credit to the owner Unedited Piece

Donnie is not a good man in the movie, do not expect him to be good as a yandere as well. Canon Donnie is violent as such. He is a hypocrite, he is violent, and intolerant and yet there are hints of having some childhood trauma that made him that---though that does not excuse his behaviour in any form.

Yandere Donnie is violent as well and believes in rigid gender roles, but let us assume that he does love the reader, in his own twisted way and hurting her is not the first thing in his mind.

But that does not make him pleasant in any way. He is the type you are warned about. If you are new in town, he might take advantage of your lack of knowledge about him and pose as a kind of 'rough around the edges but kind-hearted man'. You have a flat tyre? He is going to fix it for you, even though you feel like you should be cautious around him.

But if you are already familiar with his notorious reputation, then he can skip the act and just be himself. If the events of the movie affect him in any way, the most he can do is to let Valerie have a smooth divorce and never see her again. I can see him putting an effort into being a better man but some things just don't change.

He might try to be 'good' to you first but if you reject him, or avoid him, he is not afraid to intimidate you. Imagine going somewhere and his pick-up truck pulls up. "Off to somewhere? Need a ride?"

Canon Donnie is scary as such but Yandere Donnie is persistent, does not take no for an answer and is not above stalking you. He forcefully inserts himself into your life and tries to control you. You are partying somewhere? No, you are not. It will do you no good. He knows how nasty boys can be (hypocrite alert!) so either you go back home or he is taking you back to his place. He is almost tempted to do this though. But he does not want to run into trouble with the law again. As a yandere, he is not afraid to harass you until you say yes to a date with him, or even worse, marry him. If you have a boyfriend or have been even remotely friendly with a boy, he will beat him bloody. He will harass even your family, make rounds around your neighbourhood frequently and make sure you see that.

If you go to the cops, he is going to be pissed, but if the sheriff is a man to be afraid of, that might make him back off, for a while. But he might come up with something more sinister.

If you end up marrying him or being his girlfriend for some unfortunate circumstances, his controlling nature will emerge and sometimes, his anger issues will rear its ugly head. He would be breaking things, shouting at you and gripping you tight enough to leave bruises. He is not afraid to manhandle you, like Tom, but unlike him, in the heat of the moment, Donnie can hurt you---he might regret later, but at the moment, he does not care. Even if he tries to better himself, old ways always come back. He is controlling, jealous, possessive and does not know the meaning of 'no'. Arguments with him either end up with you two on the bed, or something broken or smashed that leaves you shaken.

Donnie's behaviour on good days may even give you a whiplash. He is sweet, kind and giving. He comforts you, makes sure that you are snug, cosy and loved and treats you every bit of a soft doll he sees you as.

As mentioned before, he is into rigid gender roles. You are to take care of the house while he provides. If you do not conform to your role as the sweet little housewife who always looks gorgeous for him--well-maintained, dressed up smelling like a fresh breeze and always wearing a smile for him, you will have to face his wrath.

Yandere Donnie might care for you enough to actively fight his demons and try not to hurt you, but he ultimately views you as his property. A pretty little doll who is all dressed up for him. He likes to believe you are with him because you genuinely love him, not because he beat up one of your loved ones or punched the kind man who helped you with your groceries. He forces himself to believe that you trust him, even after he raises his hand on you. He might have enough self-control to not beat you up but he is not above choking, slapping or really hard spanking. There are moments of lucidity when he is vulnerable enough to express his regret to you, but they are rare. He regrets, but behind your back. His regret is mostly shown in the way he turns 'good' to you. Takes you out---movies, dates, and shopping or maybe makes you a hearty meal. Even in the bedroom, his controlling and possessive nature comes to life, but with a darker face. It is a canon thing that he is good in bed, and he uses it to his advantage. You can cry, scream and or plead, but he makes you come as many times he wants and however, he wants while mocking at you for enjoying it. "Aren't you a little slut? Comin' on my fingers after tryin' to run?" He loves to see you helpless and under his thumb and it is just one of the many ways he likes to exert his control over you, to place you in the roles he believes are ideal. But deep down, he is a miserable, insecure and cowardly asshole whose sense of control is rooted in his fear as well as in his ego. So, redemption might be a far cry. The best he can do is to try not to hurt you physically and express his 'love' for you. ***** This one stretched longer than expected, I will be posting about Yandere Davild Allen Griffin in another Part.

#yandere donnie barksdale #yandere donnie #yandere donnie barksdale x reader #tw domestic violence #tw non con #keanuverse #asks #send asks

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