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mqrrstarr · 15 days ago

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CHRISTMAS SPECIAL!!

Gladiator Characters x GN! Reader

(1/7)

Feat: Geta, Caracalla, Commodus, Lucius, Maximus, Acacius, Lucilla, Macrinus!!

Christmas Day and Eve headcanons!

Warnings: poorly edited, just a girl who loves these characters and the holidays, a bit short

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! don’t feel the same vibe as I did when a child, so I’m coping with writing. This will be a seven part series regarding Gladiator characters and Christmas and I’ll try to post them all BY THE END OF THE WEEK (?) but uhh don’t hold that against me. Enjoy!!

Summary: headcanons for all the gladiator characters and how they’d spend Christmas Eve and Day with their SO.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Geta would spend Christmas Eve with dinner specially made for his SO, (he def has better cooking skills than Caracalla) and he’d lovingly give them a bonus Eve gift. It’s a beautiful moment, where the strong and feared leader of Rome and succumb to the one he loves.

“Enjoy it darling. The beauty of the holidays does not compare to yours.”

He’d watch you enjoy his meal, and drink the wine he picked out especially for the occasion. As much as music was needed, Geta refused to let anyone interrupt your moment together.

On Christmas Day, it would depend on what happened during the night. Was it a peaceful night, was it active, or was it bland? Either way, Geta would get up and prepare presents for you, a surprise for no one other than the love of his life. He’d do it quietly, and super early in the morning. He’d rarely sleeps in peace anyways, so why use the energy elsewhere?

It would also be a morning where you wake up gently, and be surprised by the lavish decorations Geta has placed. Gold and white silk decorating his room, and most of all, your Emperor was still yours.

- - - - - - -

Caracalla is in love with the holidays. He gets giddy, childlike, and excited every time. This is a period in the year where he can remember something good about his youth. He likes to keep himself happy, and now that you’re his? You’re included in all the traditions.

During your Christmas dinner, he’d bring out a bunch of dinner games, have slaves perform for the both of you (AMND reference btw) and it would be a wholesome night.

Before Christmas Day, the eldest emperor cried during the night. He laid in your arms, and caressed you in return.

“Sweets. I cannot express how much care…”

He looks at you like a puppy worshipping its owner.

“I truly care about you. And although these times are happy and remind me of things, I hope to make new memories with you.”

The night would pass, and the morning would come. You’d wake up in Caracalla’s embrace, and to be frank, none of you got the others gifts out. So you just opened everything together, and you had never seen the man so happy.

- - - - - - -

Commodus and Christmas. What an interesting mix. Take a emotionally damaged man with immense childhood trauma and put him in a holiday where he did nothing but suffer? Where his own father ignored him and gave him nothing but one gift?

Christmas Eve with him was truly nothing but a dinner. Now that he had you, he tried to forget and make new memories. But the shame and pain was still visible in his eyes. You couldn’t take it anymore and sat next to him, caressing him and saying words of affection.

“My present from Venus, ignore my past and ignore my anger. My father ruined my mind, and all you can do it heal it. This Christmas will be my first with you, and if my last? Than I would rather be dead.”

You looked at him with such sincerity in your eyes, he became submissive to your touch and you both proceeded to sit next to the fire in his room.

Christmas morning arrived promptly, and knowing this was a very sensitive time for Commodus, you got him a gift he’d never forget. This necklace, engraved with your initials and his; with both of your favorite jewels. And, a new laurel crown for the one and only Emperor himself.

Commodus nearly fell down into tears, so grateful he was finally seen.

- - - - - - -

Lucius loved you with his entire heart. After being forcefully removed from his mother as a kid, and already losing his first wife, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing another person special to him.

To Lucius, Christmas is the mark of the end of the year, another time to celebrate the fact you’re both alive, and that you’re both still warriors. (writing from a Gladiator! perspective rather than Prince!)

“My love, I am eternally grateful to the Gods that we can be together.”

He kisses your forehead, gently as to not hurt you. You spend your Christmas Eve with a simple meal, and the next day not as lavish either.

Lucius adored you already: but he’d try to get a gift anyways, even though he already admires and thinks you’re just amazing! (Poppy and Branch dynamic)

He’d come up with something cute and homemade, providing the point that it doesn’t have to be expensive to matter. (save me Lucius save me)

- - - - - - -

Maximus wasn’t the same after the loss of his previous wife and child, and this time was bittersweet for him. His SO kept him sane, and he tried not to let his sadness show through.

You decorated the tree in your home, one Maximus was able to buy after years of being a Gladiator. He occasionally goes to the fights, but not anymore. Now he’s a Senator. (NOT CANON ITS JUST SO HES NOT DEAD AND IT WILL MAKE SENSE IN THE OTHER SEVEN PARTS)

He came up behind you and kissed your neck, watching you place the last of the ornaments.

“Excellent work my dear. Excellent. I’m going to bed now, meet you there?”

And he went away in a form far too sad for the usual Maximus. You knew him well, and simply decided to go to sleep as well. The following morning, you woke up first and decided to get your gift for Maximus.

It was a wooden carving of him, his late wife, his late child, and you all together.

Maximus woke up a few minutes later, and got your gift from the bedroom! (You were in the living room.) He got you a bracelet from his dead wife, something that really meant a lot to him.

“My dear? I’d like to give you this. It belonged to my former wife, and she liked it dearly. Made form Spanish jewels and metal, of course. I love you, but I beg for you to understand that she and my son still live in me. You understand, right?”

You nodded, happy and overwhelmed. You gave Maximus his gift, and tears were shed from the both of you. Your gift meant a lot, as you accepted his love and the love for those gone.

- - - - - - -

Acacius loved the holidays. It was a time where he could relax, sink into his own bed, be clean, and most important, be with you.

You finished preparing the meal, a mix of both his and your favorite foods with some Roman delicacies thrown in there.

“Looks great my sweet. Not as good as you though! But you know I love you.”

He caressed your hips before helping set the table. The meal was prepped and Acacius sat you down first. (WHAT A GENTLEMAN)

He sat across from you at the table, and you talked about what was going on, what you wanted to happen in Rome, etc.

Eventually, stuff happened and you both woke up in the each others arms in the morning. Acacius always laid very still in the night, out of pure instinct. However, Christmas morning he couldn’t stop moving around, and woke the both of you up together.

He eagerly said, “Hurry up and change, your gift is outside.” He smiled and left promptly.

Outside, there was a gleaming white stallion.

“For you. A horse just as grand as your soul.”

You smiled. Who wouldn’t want a horse as a gift? But inside you shattered. The only gift you got for Acacius was a painting of himself. You showed it to him, and he reassured you it was enough. Let’s just say he’d also show you it was okay.

- - - - - - -

Lucilla loved the holidays. She decorated excessively, both as a young woman and as she is now. (hc, it’s because Lucius loved the looks and lights of Christmas and the guilt of having him leave her has followed her forever)

“One more wreath I promise… it’s just an extra special one… done!”

She looked at you and smiled. It radiated calm and positivity, an effect only Lucilla had. You kissed her and assured the place looked great.

“Dinner should be set by the slaves by now. It should be good. I trust it is. They sent by fresh fruits and veggies and proper meat as well. I’d like to give you your gift now, would that be alright? I just truly cannot wait.”

You nodded yes, but you’d have to get the gift from the room. You agreed to meet again in five minutes to exchange gifts.

Soon, the two of you are reunited, and she presents a lovely sculpture of you, portrayed in such an ethereal form; as if the gods had carved it themselves. You gave her a crown made from pure gold and a ring, as you knew she loved collecting rings. The ring you gave her had your initials carved, signifying the both of you tied together.

- - - - - - -

Macrinus had a holiday anytime one of his prized gladiators won. Yet, Christmas, was an actual holiday he could look forward to.

“Uh, Dove, do you know if the servants have finished the meal? I’ve got a bunch of gladiators waiting to fight in your honor.”

(he calls you Dove bc you’re his symbol of peace!)

He planted a kiss on your forehead before leading you to the garden outside, where a meal was served and the servants were waiting patiently, deserts, fruits, wine in their hands.

Five gladiators waited in chains to be released to have a “playful” hand to hand fight, something Macrinus found plenty delight in.

“I have a gift for you. I won’t be around tomorrow, as the Emperors requested a meeting with me. So I wish to give you this. I know it’s a bit excessive, but you deserve it.”

He gave you a pearl necklace with ruby earrings to go with it, and a slip saying you owned a young gladiator.

You thanked Macrinus, and you enjoyed the meal as the gladiators fought and the moon shined upon the both of you.

“I live for you, and I love you Dove. Fly high always.”

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sgiandubh · 3 months ago

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Oh my you have it all wrong (again) regarding Lee Schrager. In no way he met him after the birthday party in Miami! After that birthday party he went straight to NYC promoting LA. And wtf are you babbling about BCAC going on about a ballerina? The nonsense you spread - smh

Just take a good look back, or maybe just use BCAC's timelines, than it would have save you half an hour or more, and prevent you from making these mistakes.

He met Lee Scharger on December 5th 2022 after his first bottle signing in Miami December 3rd 2022, not after his birthday party with the guys in 2023. As said after the b-day he went to NYC for LA promo and right after that back to Belgium for TCND filming. No time for Mr. Schrager

If he had been smart he already participated at NYCWFF last year, but hey a comped vacay to Nevis was more important!

Get your facts straight before you start bullying other bloggers who do post facts.

Dear Get Your Facts Straight Anon,

I am not very sure what you do hope to achieve with this submission to my account. Because I am a Stupid, Stupid Shipper, I can only think of two possibilities:

A - you probably thought I was about to burst into tears, not publish a word, throw in the towel and disappear for ever from your obsessive screens. Something that would have perhaps ingratiated you to Marple until the end of time

B- you probably thought I would publish it and look like a zero credibility, lying idiot and lose all my readers and throw in the towel and disappear for ever from your obsessive screens. Something that would have perhaps ingratiated you to Marple until the end of time.

Same objective. Placing people between a rock and a hard place. Killing them quickly and brutally with venomous words and be done with someone that you perpetually seem to choke on from June 2023 until the end of time.

At any rate you were wrong, 'Anon'. There are better, more civilized ways to correct people, there are more subtle ways to ridicule them. No doubt, this is what you tried to achieve, here. And well, there we are: you are still Anon and I am still owning my game. How about that, pumpkin?

The first post about Lee Schrager has been published by me exactly one (fucking) year ago: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/730746701530431488/labor-of-love?source=share. During all this time, there have been zero comments or corrections about it (I have even blocked an Anti, @justagirlwithspirit, but NOT about that point). You waited. Fair enough. I owe you a corrigenda and I also owe @bat-cat-reader and all the people who commented under those posts about Schrager my deepest apologies. I have diligently scoured the socials, checked my archives, relistened to Mark Gillespie's podcast and no, I could not find any trace of a lunch with Lee Schrager end of April/early May 2023 (I arrived in this fandom on June 18th 2023, mind you - that does not excuse anything, but perhaps it could explain a bit).

You were correct to point out December 5th, 2022, as the day of 'a quiet Sunday night dinner' with S and the SS team. For anyone with a bit of time on their hands, this is obvious - why disingenuously deny?

For the life of me and with the best intentions in the world, I cannot remember how did I incorrectly connect those two episodes. I don't know what happened, how it happened and I feel quite angry at myself, to be honest. Again, you (all of you!) have my deepest apologies, knowing that it doesn't really change anything in the great scheme of things. It greatly pisses me off, surely. But it will not make me stop. You are not that powerful.

Your accuracy stops here, however. The ballerina (or 'dancer', as she called it) was something Marple heavily insisted upon, when she posted that footage from the restaurant where S was celebrating 'with the guys'. I hope you can read, Anon:

Perhaps it's her humor. Perhaps she has zero humor, as I tend to think. In any case, this kind of insinuation lacked class and taste. It was unnecessarily disparaging and could even be construed as downright cruel by some. But if three posts on the same totally irrelevant topic in the span of two hours and a half do not resonate as 'heavily insisting' with you, then I certainly can't help you see her intentions, here.

'If he had been smart, he would have already participated at NYCWFF last year, but hey a comped vacay to Nevis was more important!' Grammar will always betray you, 'Anon'. Always. But rest assured, your dirty little narcissistic secret is safe with me. I won't give you more time, nor space than basic ethics allow. The rest is your problem. It is absolutely clear the Nevis trip was not 'a comped vacay', as you so carelessly write. I have posted at length about this #ad hashtag, not once, but twice. In the hope you guys across the street would write less garbage about it - to no avail:

[October 25th, 2023: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/732163733760163840/y-seguimos-para-bingo?source=share]

[October 29th, 2023: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/732463933939728384/bigotry?source=share]

I am many things, Anon. I am a short-tempered woman and I take no prisoners. But I am no coward and I am no fool. I might sometimes mix up my 'timelines', but I am not a vile, obsessed troll, with a big grammar problem. Ask your Caporegime why did she insist I have no legal education, until the day I got angry enough to post one of my well, several diplomas from Paris? How is that called, Anon?

It's not just 'spreading nonsense', no. It's calumny.

Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

#anon #fandom #shitshow #apologies all around #Southern Glazer's #business #legal

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darkdevasofdestruction · 5 months ago

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Chapter 1 - Apocalypse Arisen

Everything was dark.

It was an abyss, as any mortal would dare name it.

Outside, only death, waste and fog...Nothing alive to be spotted, no matter how much you wished to cling on the little ray of hope that humanity seemed to so dumbly hope to believe it existed.

Even he, the Anti-Christ, had to dorn a protective outfit against the Carbon Dioxide that completely eradicated any gram of Oxygen left by the now ashes of the former trees.

Trees...They were green. And the sky, now grey and cloudy, used to be blue. A beautiful brilliant blue, just like his eyes, he remembered a comparison once, a long time ago - So long that it felt like aeons.

Going from one Outpost to another, much less fit for someone like him, was a true hassle, not to mention the horses had to be automatically put down. He was sure that, should she have been there, she would have been upset seeing them kill the poor, innocent animals so cruelly.

But it had to be done, to avert a more painful demise.

Surely, she would understand.

Outpost 3, ran by this so called Ms. Venable, an ugly, old wretch with severe scoliosis who finds herself superior to all the ones living in this place, as if she wasn't just as fortune, or perhaps, less so thank others might think, to be one of the survivors.

And so, he had to prepare yet another speech for these lowly mortals who cannot comprehend the true miracle of life and death.

The atmosphere was silent, fitting that of a funeral - Whose, he wasn't sure yet, but only time will decide - and only his shoes were heard, with each step her so gracefully took. All eyes were on him, of those curious mortals sitting on the couches, or farther away from him. Only the leader was waiting above them all, the big fireplace burning behind her, almost symbolising the supreme power she held.

Or so she thought and wished other to see.

He approached her, getting uncomfortably close to her, staring at her in the eyes, intimidating her, until she finally let her hair down, submissively, and left the scene only for him.

"My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative. I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilised life on Earth. The three other compounds...In Syracuse, New York ; Backley, West Virginia and San Angelo, Texas, have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated." he spoke, letting a few seconds of silence, until one of those parasites dared speak. "What happened to the people inside?" he stupidly asked, as if the answer wasn't obvious enough. "Massacred." he answered, the ghost of a smirk on his face, watching their terrorised expressions. "The same fate that will befall almost all of you." he continued, enjoying how frail humanity can be whenever a lasso of hope was thrown towards them, despite being rotten. "Almost all?" the Grey with the most ridiculous hairstyle asked in a monotonous voice. "In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe...The Sanctuary." he explained the reason for his arrival better, only to be rudely interrupted by a snobby wench, repeating the last words he just uttered. "The Sanctuary?" she asked, almost in disbelief. "The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun." the man continued his speech, only to be interrupted once again. "Excuse me, sir, what measures? Why weren't we given them?" the older woman asked, only for him to raise his hand dismissively. "That's classified. All that matters is that The Sanctuary will...Survive. So the people populating it will survive...So humanity will survive." his voice become more cheerful, the undertones of despair-inducing clearly affecting everyone in the room. "Who are the people who are populating it?" one of the men asked, but the answer mimicked the previous one. "Also classified...However! I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call...Cooperating. I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong." he explained with a small, patronising smirk. "What is this, The Hunger Games? This is bullshit! I paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing." the same snobby wench dared raise his voice at him, only for one, much softer, to intervene. "Please, miss, refrain from raising your voice to a person of authority." the feminine voice belonged to a woman, seemingly shy, garbed in the ugliest grey clothes, her hair under a rag, just like old women used to, centuries ago. "And who do you think you are, speaking to me like that, slave?! You are nothing more than an ant! A Grey! You weren't even special enough to be a Purple, like me! I have ALL the right to speak to anyone the way I want to!" she barely stopped herself from shooting to her feet, as if electrified, which made the poor girl shrink into her already large clothes, as if trying to completely disappear from there.

There was something that set here apart, however, and he wasn't sure what it was...Could it be her voice? Small, soft and afraid, like that of a little mouse, running away from the lion? Or was it the respect and politeness that she somehow managed to retain, despite all the chaos running amok?

Regardless of the answer, he must find out more about here and determine whether or not his intrigues were misplaced. "You don't have to sit for questioning." the man shook his head, taunting her with his calm answer. "What happens if we choose not to?" the same man asked, once again. "Then you stay here and die." the answer was, as expected, much harsher and pressed, enough to leave an impact on all of them. "I volunteer to go first." the platinum haired man raised his hand, after a brief silence that everyone took to process everything. "And so you shall. The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won't be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these." the mysterious man showed a transparent vial, his voice turning into a captivating one, almost as if he was a story-teller to the kindergarden kids. "One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up...I look forward to meeting each and every one of you." were his last words, spoken with a feign smile, as he left the room, letting everyone bicker between who is going to live.

Unlike them, the mousy girl ran away, unnoticed by anyone, holing herself in her room, trying to calm herself down. She knew that she was an unworthy Grey and this man was not going to bring with him some useless lowlife such as her.

The man, Langdon, however, was much too busy interviewing the gay man, who so shamelessly showed his interest in him...How ridiculous of a foolish mortal like him to think he was going to get touched by the Anti-Christ himself? His skin will only ever be touched by an angel, and until he finds her, he will burn everything in his path...

As he already did, and will continue to do.

This previous little bitch, Venable, however, thought that she was in control of this Outpost, truly, that she could bend rules to her own will, only for her frail ego to be covered, as she thought she could act so patronisingly with him. But his voice could be incredibly sympathetic, when talking about the mother with her two children he encountered, only for him to move to his study and ask for her opinion on who should populate the Sanctuary...And the then proceed in humiliating her.

She truly thought she could best him, but Langdon was smarter than any mortal alive. He knew everyone's weaknesses, and unzipping her dress, tracing the sinuous spine of hers, and watching her weep...Taunting her, mocking her...Going so close to her face, his breath on his...

Only to destroy the last ounce of hope she had by declining her.

Oh, was it satisfying.

Two interviews have already been done, and the gay got punished by the narcissistic woman filled with insecurities, using him as a martyr, until she realised he was enjoying every crack of the whip... She was weak. She didn't have a clue how to destroy people.

But he did.

Softly touching the man, circling him, denying everything the leather man did...

"I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last man on Earth...And you almost are! It's not because you're not physically attractive. It's your neediness. Your desperation to be seen and loved. The hole you need filled isn't in your face or your ass, it's in your heart. You're pathetic. I can see why your grandmother is disgusted by you." his voice was low, mocking, knowing each word exactly which heartstring to sever. "You don't know anything about my nana." the man tried to refute the only thing he knew he was true. "Why else would she report you? Make them do this to you. I'm sure she hoped they would put you out of your misery...And hers." Langdon let out an amused breathe, continuing his merciless pursue of destroying the man in shackles.. "That's bullshit." Rage. Disbelief. Shock. Confusion. He was very much broken before even coming here...And now, he's shattered. "She's the reason you're staring at a death sentence. She would do anything to increase her slim odds of getting out of here. You know she hates your guts." he continued circling him, staring him right into his eyes that held nothing but self-doubt. "You're a liar." was his last, weak attempt as saving his last bit of pride. "Am I? Perhaps you should go and talk to her about it yourself, then." Langdon smirked, letting the man free as he left the room.

The gay's grandmother reported her own grandson to give her an extra chance of survival...How pitiful and desperate humans are. And now, from rage, the silly boy killed his own grandmother with a pair of scissors. If the night wasn't eventful enough, two people has intercourse, and now had to be punished, same as the murderous one. And now, it was up to him pick up the broken pieces and put them back together. They dream of salvation, but commit nothing but sin. Truly, God will not help them, so why not extend their hands towards a more preferable deity, such as Satan?

Ave Satanas. Ave Satanas.

But no, they are afraid. Much too afraid. The unknown scares them almost as much as their own ugly souls do.

Pathetic, this humanity is.

He was done with nonesense, for now. Interviewing this pathetic bunch who would kill each other just for a few more seconds of aimless breathing and blinking. Just a few more heartbeats. Langdon, now, wanted something more. He wanted purity, and he wanted to taint it. To steal it. To devour it. He needed it.

That Grey mousy girl with the pathetically weak voice. That's what he needed. Urgently.

And so, she arrived in the room, with a soft knock on the door, patiently awaiting to be allowed inside, and then, slowly closing it behind her, making sure no sound comes out, most likely not wanting to bother anyone.

"Sit down." he ordered, in a commanding voice, not needing to intimidate her any further. "Thank you, sir." she didn't lift her gaze up, despite doing as she was told. "Why are you hiding your hair under that ugly rag?" he asked, intertwining his fingers together and leaning forwards on his desk. "Ms. Venable said my hair colour is a disgusting, genetical abnormality, so she gave me the choice. Either shave it, or hide it." she answered, her hands clasped together tightly between her knees, her shoulders slouched, trying to appear as little and insignificant as possible. "I see. I did notice Ms. Venable has a... Tendency to add ridiculous rules to the set already given by the cooperative, so enlist a certain sense of power that she never had when things were normal." he spoke, waiting for her to speak, only to hear nothing. "You are not agreeing, nor disagreeing. I wonder whether you think that is a smart choice or not. You are an obedient one, you chose to sit on my interview, yet you barely speak. This action may influence your chances of survival, are you aware of that?" he asked, his voice lower, whispered almost, as he desperately wanted to get a look at her eyes. "I-I know...But...I don't know what to say. I...Don't deserve the chance given by the Sanctuary. Coco was right...I'm just a Grey. An Ant. I'm not talented, nor a genius or anyone important or needed. Perhaps life would be a better place, should Purples continue to populate it." she stuttered her words, as her body became even stiffer, and her teeth were digging into her bottom lip to prevent it from quivering. "I never said it would influence in good or bad, however, you assume that I choose people based on their rank given here, and I will have to disagree. However, I cannot disclose the methods behind choosing the right candidates. What I can do, however, is to tell you that, from all the others who so pathetically tried to ruin each other's chances, you seem the only one to possess a certain light in your heart. A purity and innocence that I cannot understand...So tell me...Do you truly think Coco deserves to be picked for the Sanctuary?" he pressed on, once again, enjoying how uncomfortable she was. "I-I think everyone deserves a chance for a better future. It is not my place to give my opinion, since I'm not certified, nor qualified for this." the girl began trembling softly, like a leaf blown away by the wind, and it was entertaining the blond man more than he wished to admit - She was a challenge, and he was ready to crack her. "You play it safe. You don't want to bother anyone. You don't want to upset anyone. You're almost like a ghost. Invisible. Unnoticeable. Drifting away, leaving no impression to anyone...And yet, you are afraid. You are scared that nobody will remember you. That nobody likes you, and will never like you. You live in fear and anxiety, which is why you choose to be passive and accept those ridiculous rules given to you by that idiot." he raised up, slowly prowling towards her, like a cheetah carefully approaching its prey, then sat on the desk, right in front of her, to visualise her better.

"I'm...Not sure how to answer." she mumbled, gluing her back to the corner of the seat, trying to put space between the two. "Begin by taking off that rag." he spoke more casually this time, as if he was trying to gain her trust, just like you would approach a scared baby fawn looking for its mother. "O-Okay...If that is what you wish..." she spoke softly, as her fingers trembled, removing the rag and letting a gorgeous cascade of fire hair flow in waves past her shoulders and covering her flustered and frightened visage. "So Venable is afraid or red haired people, how very interesting. Now, look me in the eyes." he took a strand of her hair, twirling it around with his finger, his mind wandering away, for just a split second, remembering those nice, old times, when he would sit under the shade of a Wisteria tree and do the same thing with her. "I-I-I'm afraid I cannot do that. I'm sorry to disappoint you." she hung her head even lower, making the man frown and tilt his head to the side. "And why is that?" his voice became just a tint sharper, and yet, it wasn't unnoticeable "That's... Because I'm very shy... A-And I was never able to look anyone in the eyes. People always intimidated me." her voice was much more mellow, and shaking...She had tears forming in her eyes, without a doubt. "Look at me. I want to see your eyes." Langdon grasped her chin, brusquely tilting it upwards, forcing her to hold eye contact with him.

Her eyes, sparkling with tears, were green, just like the pine trees from the forest he used to go so often to. They were the same innocent eyes that held only kindness and love whenever they laid upon him. They were now, however, frightened, confused, filled with despair, just like he used to be, long ago. How the tables turn, Langdon thought, as his mouth was slightly agape from the shock of seeing so many emotions pooling from the girl's eyes.

"Tell me your name." he wanted to be stern, he truly did, but the thought that this woman might be her was killing him. "Katrina..." a soft whisper escaped her luscious pink lips that resembled the petals of the most delicate rose from her childhood flower garden that she loved so much. "So it is you... It really is you... Katrina... My Katrina... My Kat." he rapidly took away his hand from her face, as if electrocuted, mumbling to himself, not believing that finally, after so long, after so many searches...He found her again. His beloved angel. "S-Sorry, but... H-Have we met before...? You act as if you know me... I-I hope I didn't offend you..." she muttered, forcing herself to look at him with those lamb eyes of hers...That shattered his resolve completely. "You...You don't remember me? I'm Michael...Mickey, you used to call me. We were best friends when we were young...And then you left for a witch school, and you gave me this ring, telling me that you will find me again...But you couldn't, so I saved you from Hell. Twice, in fact. Can you...Truly not remember me...?" his voice, unlike before, was much more frail, with a fragility that it could almost break. "I...I don't think you have the right person...I'm so sorry. I'm...I'm not special. I didn't have any friends when I was little, and I went to a boring school in the neighbourhood. My father left us, and my mum was working hard, but was always mean to me. I don't even know how I got here, to be fair...And...I'm not Matilda...Or Hermione...A-Although I wish magic was real...But even so, I'm such a good for nothing Grey...Even if magic was real...I would most likely not have powers...But...Mr. Michael...I truly hope that you will find the one you are looking for." she so boldly took his hand in both of hers, caressing it soothingly, which, unknown to her, was a habit of hers from long ago, which made Michael, for the first time, cling on hope, just like any mere mortal. "And what if I prove to you that magic is real?" he asked, with a tint of playfulness, his usual taunting smile now turning much softer. "You can...?" she whispered ever so softly, her eyes opening wider with curiosity, her head held high, to search for the truth in the eyes that resembled to much the sky from those sunny days. "Put your hands together... Yes, just like this... And look. From your own hands, a little flower blooms... And it is beautiful, just like you." he spoke, holding his own hands under hers, looking at the black flower that grew from her hands, slowly blooming, then shifted his gaze to hers, searching for a reaction, with uncharacteristic excitement.

"H-How... ?! This... This is so beautiful...! How did you do that...? Are you... A Warlock? A sorcerer? A philosopher? Are you playing with illusions? Tricking my minds? Or... Is this truly... Magic...?" Katrina could barely speak as she witnessed the wonder in front of her - She was breathless. "You taught me this. When we first met, I was a little child, and I was crying in the forest. You found me, and gave me a flower. It was blue, just like my eyes, and you put it in my hair. I smiled, and you said I looked beautiful. Unfortunately, my magic cannot replicate entirely the purity of yours, however, it can do similar things, to some extent." he explained, taking the flower and carefully putting it in her hair, leaving her awestruck. "You truly believe that I am that person, don't you? There are billions of people out there that look just like me, and yet, you believe in me. Why?" she asked, and with a refined gentleness, he caressed her face, wiping away the tears that escaped her eyes. "I can sense people. Their hearts, their soul, their intentions, their minds, their fears, their weaknesses...Everything. And you...You are just like the one I used to know. Same hair, same eyes, same voice, same behaviour, same purity, same kindness, same light and same tendency to nurture others. I have met tons of people in my life, and you are the only one like that. It's a truly unique gift that, unfortunately, society seems to prey upon and wish to destroy. You have noticed that as well, haven't you? Why else a perfect human being such as yourself would be a Grey, when she should obviously be a ruling Queen over these lowly peasants? If you wished to, you could destroy them in the blink of an eye. You must just remember." he leaned down, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, not daring to keep his eyes from her for even one second, afraid that she might disappear just like a smoke figure slipping from his fingers. "...Michael...?" she asked, very timidly, yet with hope and intrigue, for the first time since they started speaking. "What is it, my darling?" the man replied, brushing his hair against a strand of her hair. "Could you... Please... Help me remember...? Remember what happened... Remember who I am... Remember... You?" her request was so filled with innocence and wish to understand, to break the riddle of her life and mind, that he fell to his knees, grasping her hands and kissing them gingerly. "Anything you wish for, I will grant you. Just say the words, and it shall be done." he smiled widely, almost as if intoxicated by her presence alone. "I cannot let my guard down around these people, so I cannot show anyone any explicit liking. However, since you are a Grey, I can use it to my advantage and have you around me, under the pretext of being my personal maid. Tonight, you will be spending the night with me." he got up, helping her raise and pulling her to his chest, looking down at her small form, irked that she was still so stiff and uncomfortable to his presence...To his touch...To him. "But... Ms. Venable forbid a man and a woman - " her voice was shaky, looking away from him, her porcelain skin growing a tint rosier, and for the first time in so many years, his heart began beating once again, and he felt warm, but not from anger...But from adoration. "Venable isn't the rule here. I am. And if anyone dares cross you, they will have to pass me first, which I can assure you, won't happen." his tone was dark and firm, like that of a king - No, more of a Dark Lord - But the confidence he was radiating managed to calm her senses, as she nodded in agreement. "Now, shall we retire for the night? I was thinking of a story, if you'd wish to hear?" like the devil whispering into her ears, she could only fall for his charm and that seducing, velvety voice of his, and followed him to his room, as with a hand on her back, he guided her in the grand bedroom.

Taking off his blazer and rolling the sleeves of his shirt up, he comfortably sit in bed, extending his arm for her to join him, her eyes watching her with the eyes of a predator, as she, with the shyness of a bunny, stood there, next to the door, looking down, with her hands clasped together to her chest.

"Do you wish to sleep standing? I doubt it would be comfortable. Why not join me? Take off your dress, I will give you one of mine, so you can sleep properly." he took out one of his black shirts, giving it to her, then tilting his head towards the bathroom for her to change, knowing very well how timid she is.

Some would have the phrase "Wolf in sheep's clothing" on their lips, seeing Michael so vulnerable around her, and yet, seeing her in only his shirt, draping down to her knees, "Sheep in wolf's clothing" would be much fitting, he thought, and yet, he realised he couldn't breath, and the urge to grab her and pull her close to his chest - So close that she would be in his heart, in his soul - No matter how unachievable that would be, he knew he never wanted her to leave his arms.

He could feel how uncomfortable she was in his arms, so close to him, a complete stranger, at least to her amnesiac self, and he did the one thing that she used to do to him whenever she tried to comfort him and calm him down - Play with her hair. Long, beautiful, smooth, shiny and full of life, just like the fire that used to play in her eyes whenever she was excited about something.

"Do you want me to tell you 'The Story of the Beautiful Angel and The Ugly Demon' ?" he asked in a gentle voice, hoping it would take her mind away from her worries. "Okay...I'm curious. I've never heard of it before." the girl smiled, daring to drape her arm over his chest, feeling a weird sense of security and... Home.

There was once a little angel, dancing in the glade of the forest of Eden, on one cloudless day of Spring, where the warmth of the Golden Sun's fan of rays caressed the Earth and all its living beings. Her voice was so beautiful as she sang that numerous critters gathered around her and the birds would chirp with her. As she was lying down, under a Wisteria tree, the purple flower petals dancing with the wind, a little boy, ugly and crying, lost his path and ended up in front of the girl. He was so ugly, and his sobs were so creepy, that he made all animals run away from there. The girl, however, did not.

Instead, she smiled at him, a gentle smile, and extended her hands towards him, guiding him to sit next to her. She asked him his name, yet he was much too frightened to answer. So she kneeled in front of the boy, brought his hands together, and putting hers under his, she made a little flower bloom. It was the colour of his eyes, just like the colour of the azure sky.

He looked in wander and shock at what just happened, not believing his eyes, thinking her some kind of Goddess...Until she picked the flower and put it in his hair, golden, each separate hair looking as if it was the finest thread of gold that was used to embroider Emperors and Empresses' royal clothing - It was shining brighter than the Sun itself.

"You are beautiful when you smile. Happiness suits you." she said, and yet, her dazzling smile mesmerised by the ethereal being in front of him, as if he was cheated by some spell.

And a spell it was indeed, and the girl compared herself to some witches she saw in humans' television, and since then, she tried to recreate what she was seeing, and bit by bit, she was becoming better and better, while the demon, who could do magic too, was becoming worse and worse.

He was born evil, and she was born good. The world was either white or black, and there was no grey...At least for him, back then.

But there was one thing the angel said that will stuck to him forever, when he finally told her the reason for his distress.

He was evil, only capable of malevolent thoughts, of destroying, purging, erasing life from existence, while she was the exact opposite - A Saint, filled with kindness and benevolent actions, bringing life and healing wounds.

How could she possibly want to stay around him, a creature of the dark, when she's always engulfed in light?

But she was quick to erase his worries, as she cupped his face, drying the tears that sparkled like zircons, and said, with a voice gentle, and warm, so sweet, as if she was luring a fawn...

"There is light and dark in every human being, without exception. Maybe you feel like one side overpowers the other, but with the right influence, I assure you, you are capable of outstanding things. You are strong, Little Demon, and I promise you, when I look into your eyes, I can see the humanity shining in you, striving to shine and be better. I have faith in you, so please, believe in yourself as well."

And those words will forever be imprinted into his heart, sown with the same golden thread that made out the Sun Rays.

When Michael looked down, he notices the woman he held to his chest was much more relaxed. In fact, she was sleeping peacefully, with no sign of restlessness. She seemed...Peaceful. It seemed his voice managed to put her to sleep, and he was happy with that.

She truly was the star shining brightest in the sky.

Next Chapter >

#ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse x reader #ahs apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse x oc #michael langdon #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #Ave Satanas

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nothoughtsonlytrance · 7 months ago

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Hey everyone! Here is my submission for the Dan and Phil Phasquerade Tumblr Event! First off, as a surprise, I made not one, but TWO songs for the event!

youtube

The first one is the main theme song for the event as requested by @wdapteo! 生き甲斐 (Ikigai)! It’s not fully orchestral but I put a bit of strings and horns in there, so I guess it counts lol! I decided to go with a theme that was mainly based around guitars and synths. I also put in a few Asian instruments such as the koto to represent their trips to Japan. The title “Ikigai” is a Japanese concept that refers to one’s sense of purpose or reason to live and is a combination of the words “iki”(to live) and “gai” (reason). This concept can include people such as friends, families, and partners, as well as activities such as one’s hobby or pastime. It basically means that one can find joy in their life by being aligned with their purpose. I thought this concept would be perfect for the phasquerade because Dan and Phil’s ikigai or reason to live is each other. 🥰

As for the background image, I found a picture on Adobe Stock Photos of two masquerade masks that looked PERFECT for Dan and Phil. (The black one is Dan’s and the white one is Phil’s, obviously, lol 😂) Phanartists, feel free to use those masks in ur art! 👌🏻

The second song I made is an orchestral ballroom version of JVKE’s Golden Hour! It took me around two days to do, along with constant listening to the song to get the chords right and then add my own bits on top of it 😂 I’m really proud of this version because lemme tell ya, making orchestral music on Garageband IOS is harder than it looks 😭😅 I still can’t believe how far I’ve gone with making music on this app bc I started using it in 2018 and back then, I had a hard time navigating everything but I slowly worked my way up to where I am now, and tbh I still have far more to go! The background image I used for this is another stock image I found on Pexels that fit the vibe of the song! (Also the two men in the picture looked like Dan and Phil haha 😂)

Anyways, here's a little introduction of me: I’m Kristy, aka @nothoughtsonlytrance. My pronouns are she/they and I am pansexual! (Fun fact, I found out I was pan around the same time that Dan and Phil came out in 2019 lol) I’ve been watching Dan and Phil since around 2012/2013 (so when I was around 12 or 13 years old) because that was the time when I really started watching YouTube and eventually found their channels. I vividly remember watching the Photobooth Challenge video and crying with laughter because it was so hilarious. I continued to look forward to seeing their videos after school and finally got to see them on stage in 2018 for their Interactive Introverts tour when they came to Richmond, VA. (didn’t get VIP tickets for the meet and greet tho so I still have yet to meet them in person 😭🤞) It continues to be one of my favorite memories of them and I remember crying when seeing them on stage. Their videos mean so much to me and I even made my quote for my college graduation cap “Embrace the void and have the courage to exist” because their videos got me through the last two semesters of college!😎👌🏻(Which got noticed by Dan and Phil in their Phan Twitter Memes 2 video!) Words cannot express how proud I am of them, especially after their coming out videos and how they feel more free to be themselves! And I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for them! (And also us haha)

I think the song that will be playing when I take the stage is “Once Upon a December” from the musical Anastasia! It is one of my favorite musicals and I even got to see it in NYC with my family a few years back! Also, as someone who was adopted from Russia, this song really speaks to me personally. I don’t speak Russian fluently, only a few basic words and phrases that my parents taught me that they learned when they were adopting me, (I only speak English) but I’ve been trying to learn the lyrics to the Russian version of the song so I can sing along with it too. (Pronouncing Russian isn’t easy haha)

Anyways, here’s my post for the phasquerade! Hope you all enjoy the music! I had so much fun being a part of this and thank you so much to @serendipnpipity for planning and organizing this!

#dan and phil #dnp #phil lester #daniel howell #dan and phil games #phan #amazingphil #dan howell #phasquerade #original music #golden hour #Youtube #Spotify

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hauntedwitch04 · 1 year ago

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Leaves

Andrew Garfield x reader

Words: 0.7k words

Warnings: none, just fluff and idiots totally in love with each other

Author’s note: Hi everybody! Sorry to be this late, life is just being crazy right now.

Requests are open I Ask

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🎃Halloween party 🎃

DAY 6: “I got some leaves on my way here for you, they are really pretty”

Ever since I was little, I have always collected leaves in the fall. It sounds kind of sociopathic, but my mother and I and then with my sisters, for as long as I can remember we have collected the strangest and most beautiful leaves that we found on our walks in the park during the fall.

Although I am no longer a child, I wanted to keep this tradition alive because it makes me feel closer to my family members who now live far away from me.

When I told my fiancé, Andrew, I thought he would think I was crazy instead he told me it was one of the sweetest things he had ever heard and asked if he could participate in this tradition as well, understanding perfectly well if I didn't want to because it was a very personal thing. I had not been able to help but throw myself at his neck, saying that I would love to share that thing with him, because after all for me and for my whole family it was now part of us, but until today he had never done anything to help me with my collection.

I am baking another pan of cookies, to the tunes of "Nightmare before Christmas," when I hear the front door open and close.

"Hello love!" I hear Andrew shout as he hangs up his jacket and takes off his shoes. "The cold weather has finally started!" He says sarcastically as he enters the kitchen, knowing that I was waiting for nothing more, as I hate heat and summer, while loving to death autumn and the cold it brings. In response I tongues at him as I keep humming the songs and then remember what I was supposed to tell him.

"Althea called me, you know about the surprise party for Iara's birthday, and she told me that it will be around three o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday, but that if we want to get there the night before she has a free room." I tell him, while I am still intent on checking the cookies that I am now taking out of the oven to make sure they are ready. I see him go wide-eyed and run off, and immediately I cannot understand his reaction so abruptly to what I have said.

After a few minutes I see him come back with a book, which he rests on the table. I open it and he proudly shows me a bright red leaf, with a few hints of orange, that seems to be almost heart-shaped.

I feel my heart melt inside my rib cage, seeing with how much love and dedication he is showing me what he has found, and I refrain from kissing him there his moment.

"I got some leaves on my way here for you, they are really pretty. This is my favorite, though. Do you like it?" He asks looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes of his, and I can no longer stop myself from leaving a sweet kiss on his lips. He is caught a little off guard, only to immediately return that gesture of affection from me.

"So am I to take it to mean that you liked it?" He says once we break away, giving me that sly little smile that I so badly want to wipe off with a slap.

"I would say yes, in fact I would say he deserves to have his own frame and a place on the fireplace." I reply, before going to get a photo frame, where there is already a picture of us in a park taken by one of our closest friends. I open the frame and place the leaf next to our figures, and close it all up, before putting it back on the fireplace where it was before. We both stay staring at that frame for what seems like hours, him with his arms around my waist and his chest against my back, while I keep my hands on his, hugging a little and enjoying the perfume he is wearing, which I gave him last Christmas. We don't say a word, but there is no need because we can both feel each other's happiness.

#hauntedwitch04's writing #becky's halloween party #halloween party #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield x you

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suzannahnatters · 2 years ago

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Flash Fic: The Gardens of Hades

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

He snatches me from the sunlit lands and carries me to the underworld, a dark chasm lit only by the distant flames of Tartarus. His house is of black marble, and as he drags me through the shadowed halls, I try to empty my mind of everything but this moment.

I know the stories. I know that the gods have cruel desires.

Instead, he opens the door to a walled garden. A black pool glitters at the centre. Naked sticks rattle in the earth, but nothing lives here.

“This is yours, Lady Persephone,” he says.

Then he leaves.

I’m just glad Hades leaves me alone, so I don’t ask questions. I infuse the pool with light and call grass and asphodel from the dead soil.

When he visits again, he comes with a gift.

“I have brought you a servant.” A veiled shade follows him into the garden.

I wonder if he wants me to thank him for giving me a slave when I once had friends, a desert when I once had flowers.

I wonder why he took me.

Hades inspects a young shrub. “What’s this?”

“A pomegranate,” I say.

For a moment, I think he’s going to speak. Then he swallows the impulse and leaves.

On the day my pomegranate tree blooms, I find the shade sitting beneath the tree wiping her eyes with her veil. She says her first word: Springtime.

Little by little, she remembers how to speak. She talks about finishing this garden and moving on, the underworld blooming under my touch.

She doesn’t remember her name, so I call her Lethe.

My pomegranate tree bears fruit, but as I peel it open Lethe grabs my wrist. “If you eat, you will become a creature of his realm.”

I hurl the fruit at the wall.

It’s only a matter of time till my mother finds me.

Hades keeps sending gifts: servants, seeds, pruning-hooks and shovels. As the garden fills with life, so do the shades. The third time he visits, he dismisses the servants and looks at me with tired eyes. I wonder if he is always this sad.

“Your mother grieves without hope. Crops and men die, and no one sacrifices to the gods.” He sighs. “I am to send you back.”

Back to the home he took from me. Back to mother and wind and sunlight, but first I have one question.

“Why did you take me?” I spit.

He is the lord of the dead. He cannot sugar his words, as other gods might. “I need you,” he admits.

I think of Lethe, and to my surprise, I understand. I am springtime, but he is pain. No wonder the dead suffer, if that is all he can give them.

Before he can stop me, I rip open a pomegranate, and the juice is sour on my tongue.

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

But where I tread, they bloom. ---- I wrote this flash fic for the Pilgrim Artists' Festival, a small Christian festival of art, music, and words which runs every year in Tasmania's Huon Valley. The theme for the 2019 festival was "Grief and Hope", and I at once thought of Dorothy Sayers' poem, Rex Doloris, which imagines Hades as the King of Grief. This is the 500-word short story that resulted. I'd been looking for a way of retelling the story for nearly as long as I can remember, and this ficlet is the first step in that process. I can promise you that it won't be the last.

The 2023 Pilgrim Artists' Festival is now open for submissions of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, art, and music from Christian, Nicene-Creed-affirming artists, including children and adults, anywhere in the world. This year's prompt is "Beauty in the Everyday" and there is a 500 word limit on literary entries. There are also dozens of prizes available - check them out and submit here.

#writing #ficlet #my fic #short story #flash fiction #short stories #retelling #greek mythology #classical mythology #hades x persephone #hades and persephone #my books #retellings #short fiction #Pilgrim Artists Festival

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 2 years ago

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A different kind of Haunted

Summary: You and your friends visit a haunted house, but what you find is not what you expected.

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x fem!reader (plus-size)

Warnings: 18+content, self-esteem issues/body image issues, stalking, obsessive behaviour, non-consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss (close family members), breeding kink

Word count: 8.6k (I am incapable of writing short things, forgive me)

A/N: This is my submission for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Halloween writing challenge. Bless you for making this challenge open-ended, truly, because I cannot meet deadlines for the life of me. Especially since my inspiration has died in a corner behind my closet and I couldn’t get to its rotting corpse until a few weeks ago. I managed to revive that little shit. It’s... different now but we gotta work with what we got, lol 😂

Anyhow, my prompt was “Your friends dare you to sneak into the old house said to be haunted.”

I interpreted it in a way that may not be what you expect, but I liked the idea so much and I hope y’all like it too! ☺️

...

You blow out a low sigh, eyes tracking the clowd of your warm breath as it hangs in the cold air around you. Your hands are frozen, cold fingers curling around the edges of the book you're holding.

The end of October came with a harsh drop in temperature and to you it feels like nature decided to skip autumn alltogether to dive headlong into the cold, dark winter months.

If it wasn't for the colourful leaves scattering about the cold ground and floating through the air, driven by freezing winds, you could have sworn it is winter already.

You close the book – a rather lenghty novel you couldn't quite get into – and set it down on the bench next to you. Stretching out your legs in front of you, you supress a ywan and glance at the neatly arranged plants decorating the rectangular grave a few feet away from where you sit.

It had taken a while for you to get the hang of maintaining your parents' grave. Your eyes wander over the small, grey headstone that has their names and the dates of their birth and death etched into it. The latter is the same.

The first couple of months you hadn't done much of anything but sit at the grave and cry your eyes out for hours on end, but as time passed, you slowly gathered the shattered pieces of your being and put them back together in a manner that has you functioning more or less.

You did research on how to maintain graves, took walks around the graveyard to get some inspiration from the numerous other graves and eventually settled into properly taking care of the one that was, and still is, your responsibility.

This is the first time you actually planted some things instead of just putting loose flowers or arrangements on the slightly overgrown grave. It was a tedious task, but you still remember the sense of accomplishment you felt when you looked at the neatly groomed grave, long lasting flowers and greens framing the simple headstone.

The nice lady at the flower shop was really helpful with choosing the correct plants. You got a pretty Christmas Rose, an extraordinary kind with pinkish petals instead of the usual white or green, a pink heather, a plant with little red berries on it – gaultheria, you recall the name the florist told you – and a pretty ivy that had nice white edges instead of being fully green like the normal kind.

It's not overly colourful, but the flowers would survive the winter and make sure the grave doesn't look too bleak during the cold months of the year.

You shake your head, pulling yourself out of the reverie you had fallen into and push to your feet with a grunt, stiff legs wobbly under you. The book is stowed away in your backpack and you walk up to the grave, two fingers sweeping along the headstone.

“See you tomorrow, guys. Love you,” you say quietly, the familiar prick of welling tears promting you to quickly turn away and gaze out at the bench before leaving for the day. You will return tomorrow, as you do every day.

You tredge along the same path you always take, tall trees and bushes lining it on both sides. There's a quiet crack in the underbrush to your left, but you know better than to turn around and check for the source.

The first months you were terrified of walking along the quiet paths alone, jerking at every crack or rustle, but with time you learned that there's many a critter living in the hedges or tall trees growing everywhere on the large graveyard.

Birds, squirrels, bunnies, one or the other stray cat and more than a few moles call the graveyard their home and none of them are very threatening.

You keep walking, feet dragging across the path, fallen leaves crunching under the soles of our thick boots. After about five minutes you near the gate and pass it swiftly, stepping out into the street and leaving the eerie quiet of the graveyard behind.

“Guys!” Georgie screeches, wild curls bouncing around her round face as she hops over to the small group of girls standing outside their lecture hall.

The girls turn around to watch their classmate approach. She's holding a piece of paper in one hand, the other is waving at them excitedly. When she stops before them, she's a little out of breath.

“Look what I found! Now we finally have plans for Halloween!” the tall girl exclaims triumphantly and waves the paper in front of their faces. Nika, a short blonde, lets out an irritated huff and snatches the fluttering piece of paper from her friend's hand.

“Gimme that,” she says gruffly, annoyed at Georgie's excitable demeanour. She straightens the slightly crumpled piece of paper out – a flyer – and scans the text printed on the colourful background, obviously Halloween themed.

“A haunted house, really?” Nika snorts and hands the flyer back to Georgie. The tall girl pouts at the other's unenthusiastic response and holds the paper to her chest.

“What? None of you have come up with any good suggestions yet and we're not spending Halloween on Hailee's couch watching horror movies again,” Georgie argues, handing the paper off to Jasmine who is standing next to her.

“Where did you find this, Gigi? I don't think I've heard anyone else talking about this event,” the brunette asks, passing the flyer on to Hailee as you watch on, brows raised and growing increasingly curious about what it says on the flyer.

“The flyer looks real enough, there's even a date on it... Is there a prize or something for doing this? Or is that just one of these haunted houses someone decorated that you can walk through to get spooked?” Hailee ponders, turning the paper over, but finding the back blank.

“I don't know, it doesn't say on the flyer. But whatever it is, I'm sure it beats staying at home and doing nothing. We should go out a little, have fun,” the curly-haired girl shrugs.

“It says to brings warm clothes, snacks and something to sit on,” you state, brows pinching in confusion at the instructions.

“Oh, yeah. Read at the bottom. You're only allowed to go in one at a time. The others have to wait outside. I doubt you guys wanna stand in the cold and freeze your but off. Hence the warm clothes, snacks and something to rest on,” Georgie explains.

You skip to the bottom and read the words confirming what Georgie said. You hum and scan the flyer for the address. When you see it, you make a sound at the back of your throat.

“What is it?” Nika asks, leaning forward to look at the flyer again.

“I know where this is. It's next to the graveyard. The property borders on one side of it, I can see it from where I usually sit. Well, the part of it that peeks over the old fence anyway. That place is old as hell though. I don't know if it's safe to walk around there,” you note.

“If it wasn't safe, then I doubt someone would offer a haunted house tour. For free, too! I guess that means it might not be the most high-quality experience, but we can still have fun,” Georgie says.

“Mh, I suppose so,” Jasmine agrees with a shrug. “I don't have anything better to do anyway. Not planning on going to any of the campus parties, they get out of hand way too quickly. I don't like the rowdy atmosphere.”

“True. We could bring food and drinks. I have an insulated picnic blanket and with a few pillows we could set up camp in front of the house,” Hailee pipes up.

“I have a portable space heater! Don't want to freeze my ass off waiting outside,” Nika adds, still a little reluctant. She doesn't seem too convinced, but if the rest of the group is going to join in on this little venture, she won't say no.

“I can bring my portable speaker. Some music can never hurt,” Georgie says, a wide grin spreading on her face as her friends come around to her idea.

You sigh, still not too sure about this endeavour. The porperty was old, falling apart. And now apparently also 'haunted'.

“Come ooon, don't leave us hanging,” Georgie whines you name. She must've seen undecided expression on your face.

With a roll of your eyes you hand the paper back to her and grumble your agreement.

“Yay! Okay, okay, we'll plan this out later in the group chat yeah? I can make a list of things we need and everyone throws in what they can bring,” the tall girls says, stuffing the flyer back into her bag, already fully entering her planning mode.

You agree together with the other girls, the idea slowly sinking in. You suppose hanging out with your friends is better than holing away in your room to study or binge-watch whatever series catches your attention.

Even if the haunted house turns out to be a fluke, you still have music, food, drinks and your friends. That alone is more than enough for a good time. You'd enjoy it. Getting out of the house will be good for you.

The sky is already dark when you arrive. The soft glow of the few interspersed street lights do little to brighten the dark, eerie street.

The graveyard is located in a quieter area of the city, most houses in the close vicinity run down and abadnoned. No one wants to live anywhere near where the dead are buried.

You walk along the asphalt of the sidewalk, the old path uneven with many cracks in it where the roots of old trees broke through or an especially persistent weed fought its way to the surface.

You can already see your friends, hear them too, when you near the property. They already set up camp, so to say, a few lanterns and the space heater placed around the big blanket that sits in the middle of the overgrown lawn that sprawls in front of the wooden porch at the front of the house.

Georgie calls out your name when she sees you entering through the iron-wrought gate, the old thing creaking in its hinges when you push it open with a huff.

“Hey! You're the last. We've already got everything set up. Come one,” the curly-haired girl says cheerily, patting the free space on the blanket next to her.

You walk over and greet the others before plopping down on the blanket with a groan. Your thick puffer jacket swishes and bunches out around your middle when you sit down, the collar moving higher with the shift. You tilt your chin up and adjust the jacket so it doesn't cover half your face.

“That jacket really isn't flattering,” Nika points out with a half smile, not necessarily mean-spirited, but rather honest in an unfiltered way.

You roll your eyes and try to smooth down the puffed out front with little success. You instinctively try to suck in your stomach and straighten your back, but it doesn't change your appearance much.

“Don't be mean, Nika,” Jasmine interjects, sending you an apologetic smile while elbowing the blonde next to her. “Everyone looks a little round in these things, not only...”

Jasmine trails off, but you still hear the unspoken words floating in the air.

'Not only fat people'

Well, she probably would've phrased it a little more flowery, saying something along the lines of solidly build, chunky, curvy, soft, chubby or plump. Basically anything to avoid the word 'fat'.

You don't mind much. People need to get over the stigma that is connected to the word and you know very well you have a few extra pounds to you.

Most of the time it doesn't bother you too much, having taken the time to try your best and grow comfortable with your body the way it is instead of trying to conform to the propaganda society throws at you every waking hour.

But in moments like this, when someone points out your extra bits so blatantly, the old self-consciousness and shame come crawling back out of the hole you buried them in.

“It keeps me warm and it's comfortable,” you say, shrugging non-commitedly and hoping to move on from the topic before more old demons are stirred up inside you.

“That's what matters, practicality over looks,” Hailee says and points up at her knitted cap. It's green and has two eyes attached to it so the hat resembles a frog. You recall her telling you her grandma had knitted it for her when she was a child. It may be quirky, but it it's warm and comfortable.

“True, true,” Georgie says dimissively and then continues talking. “Anyway, now that we're all here, I suggest one of us should take the lead and get that haunted house experience.” She giggles gleefully, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she eyes her friends.

“The first is always the most exciting! The rest of us can can get started on the drinks and plating up the snacks. I'm starving,” Hailee adds, her green eyes glancing over to the pile of both home-made and bought snacks.

“Well, I guess that means you're going first,” Nika teases and nods at Hailee.

“What? Why me? I wanna eat first,” the girl whines. Nika snorts.

“You're the one who just said the first is the most exciting,” she retorts and then chuckles when she sees Hailee stick out her tongue.

“I don't wanna go first, I'm a crybaby. I need someone to tell me what's happening first or I'll pee my pants and die from a heartattack,” Jasmine declares dramatically, causing the rest of the girls to let out a mix of groans and laughter.

“It's just an old house, I doubt whoever organised what's inside put a lot of effort in,” you say and look up at the house looming over your group.

The windows are boarded up, a few of the shutters hanging only off of one hinge. The light blue paint once covering the wooden fassade is flaking off and the porch is almost overrun by wild growing weeds.

It is intimidating in a way, the sheer size of the slowly rotting building and the desolate windows that look like black maws giving it the typical horror movie feel.

“I don't even know if we're really allowed to be here. Maybe this belongs to someone. We could get in trouble for tresspassing,” you add, the thought only now popping into your head, rousing a whole new collection of concerns that start swirling in your head.

“I doubt it belongs to anyone. There aren't any signs and there was no indicator that said to stay away. The gate wasn't looked either,” Georgie says. “I mean, look at this place. I'm sure no one is missing it or would mind a couple of girls having a good time.”

She gestures at their surroundings and the other girls look around, mumbling their agreement.

You look around, too, taking in the wooden fence to your right. You know the graveyard is behind it. The rest of the property is surrounded by an old wire fence that has more holes than one could count. There is an old wooden shed towards the back of the garden on the left side of the house. The door is boarded up and the roof has a hole in it.

You let your gaze drift farther. Beyond the wire fence is a beaten path that leads past the property you and your friends reside on. You can barely make out a crumbling brick building on the other side of the path, this neighbouring building not looking any better than the one you are supposed to set foot in.

“I guess,” you agree reluctantly and shrug. Georgie rolls her eyes.

“I think you should go first, spoilsport. You can see for yourself there's nothing bad going on. Just a haunted house,” Georgie says and wiggles her eyebrows at you. You cross your arms.

“Why don't you go first?” you challenge, but Georgie just cackles and wags her finger at you.

“No, no, my friend. You're not getting out of that one. Come up, get your ass up,” she orders, digging her elbow into your side. You hiss and pull away.

“Fine, whatever,” you huff and heave yourself to your feel. Smoothing down your jacket, you make sure your phone is still in the pocket and straighten up fully. “If I die because some rotten floorboards give away under me, you're paying for my funeral.”

The girls laugh and you feel your lips twitch against your will.

“Just step lightly, you klutz. You're not that heavy,” Jasmine jokes and the small smile you wear quickly turns tense.

“Yeah, I guess not.”

There's a short moment of silence before Hailee pipes up.

“Oh! We should all take a selfie when we're inside. An additional challenge of sorts. Whoever gets the best picture in the creepiest setting wins!”

“Great idea, Hailee,” Georgie agrees and then turns to you. “Go on, we'll be waiting for you. You better get a good picture, too. I wanna make a collage with them so we never forget today.”

She shoos you away and you turn on your heel, waving over your shoulder as you walk towards the house. You almost prefer the house over your friends at the moment. They are nice enough, but some remarks are just needlessly rude. They just never seem to see it the way you do, telling you it was a joke or that you're overreacting.

“Get your crap together, this night is supposed to be fun,” you scold yourself and ascend the rickety stairs of the porch. When you approach the door, you see the same flyer Georgie showed the group a couple of days ago pinned to the brittle wood.

Pushing away any further hesitancy, you push down the handle and open the door. You can hear the girls shouting behind you, wishing you good luck.

You don't turn around, just step forward and let the door slowly swing back into place with a disturbing creak that echoes in the old house.

You take a deep breath and slowly walk forward, looking for any kind of clue that might tell you in which direction to go first. But there's nothing, or at least you don't see anything, so you set off towards the closest room.

It turns out to be a living room. The furniture is old, upholstery rotting and wood hollow from time. The floorboards groan under your feet, scattered paper and debris crunching under your boots. A stiff breeze rattles the windows and the entire house groans eerily.

You swallow hardly. There's nothing actually scary going on yet, no jumpscares or mysterious silhouettes in corners. And still, your fear mounts with every passing minute.

You don't like this anymore and you find yourself longing for some company. Going in alone was stupid. You should've just ignored the rule and went in teams.

Because now you are all allone in an old, creepy house, the rotten smell of decaying wood in the air and your mind playing tricks on you by making every shadow or foreign form out to be a creature waiting to bring your demise.

Whirling around, you quickly walk back out of the living room and enter the hallway you came from. Maybe you should just go back outside and pretend to having finsihed the tour.

You shake your head. They wouldn't buy it, you've barely been in here for five minutes.

As you stand and ponder over your options, still wincing at every unexpected sound or moving shadow, a flicker at the edge of your vision catches your attention.

You pivot and face the set of stairs leading to the first floor. There it is. A weak flicker dances across the wall at the end of the stairs. It's warm and unsteady, reminding you of a candle.

Your gaze sweeps along the other doors that lead away from the hallway and into more unknown rooms, then back to the flicker upstairs.

“Let's just get this over with,” you whisper to yourself, the sound of your voice loud and at odds with the symphony of creaks, groans and clattering that echoes through the house.

You head towards the stairs and start climbing them, one hand firmly on the rail should you slip or the wood give away. If you go upstairs now you'll be done quicker. You'll just have a quick look around, try to find a location for the picture and then leave. Easy peasy.

The stairs grown under your weight and you reach up to wipe your damp forehead, the skin wet from fear and worry. This whole haunted house thing is putting you through the ringer in a way you couldn't have antcipated.

Grumbling at your own silliness, you finally reach the top of the stairs. The light is brighter now and you look down both sides of the hallway. The flickering is coming from your left so you head in that direction, your heart pounding in your chest and a cold sweat breaking out along your back and under your pits.

'Maybe it's just some homeless people,' you think, your sweaty hands clutching at the phone you retrieved from your pocket once you reached the top of the stairs.

'Or a trick from the person who arranged this... It's nothing scary, nothing real. Stay calm.'

Tiptoeing towards the source of the light – a slightly ajar door at the end of the corridor – you try to measure your breaths. Every loud creak your steps cause make you wince.

“This is so stupid,” you breathe out. “Get your shit together.”

The door is right in front of you now and you take a few breaths, hyping yourself up and gathering enough courage to push the door open.

The wooden door moves ever so slightly under the gentle push of your fingertips and to your relief this particular door doesn't screech noisily. In fact, it glides open rather smoothly.

You peek around the wood, hands holding your phone to hard you're almost afraid the screen is gonna crack.

What you see is not at all what you expected.

The room, unlike every other part of the house you saw, is clean. There's no debris or paper littering the floor and the furniture looks old, but well kept. Like someone made the effort to patch it up and keep it in shape so it doesn't rot away like the rest of the furniture in the house.

“What the hell,” you mutter, pushing the door all the way open and straightening up.

A bed comes into view. The metal frame is a little rusty, but the mattress and everything on it looks new. This room lookes like someone's been living in it and while the house's dilaptidation couldn't be hidden entirely, it still looks decent.

The next strange thing are the candles lit everwhere, the source of the flickering you saw from downstairs. They are scattered across the floor around the bed, one candle is placed on each bedside table and a few more are placed on the other surfaces in the room.

Your eyes wander over the bizarre scene and you briefly throw a glance over your shoulder before stepping inside the room.

A window comes into view, embedded into the wall to your left. In front of it stands a wooden chair, a thing cushion placed on the seat. It's placed in a way to makes it seem like whoever put it there sat down on it to look outside. On the window sill sits a pair of binoculars.

Curious, but no less scared, you appraoch the chair and stand behind it to see what view would warrant the binoculars. You bend down a little and peer through the window and out into the dark.

It's hard to see outside, what with the candles inside the room reflecting off the window and the darkness of the night. Fortunately, the moon decided to shine in all it's glory that night, chasing away some of the impenetrable darkness.

“What...” you mumble, eyes honing in on the view.

The window faces the graveyard. It takes you a moment to realise it and when you do, you glance away from the view to look at the binoculars sitting on the sill. What on earth would a person be watching on a graveyard?

You carefully reach for the binoculars, another glance over your shoulder ensuring your solitude before you pick them up. As soon as you lift them from their place, you freeze.

Underneath the pair of clunky binoculars sits a sketch pad. The drawing on the first page is dark, drawn with coal by the looks of it. But that isn't what makes you halt your actions. It's the motive that chills you to the bone.

It's you, sitting on the bench by your parents' grave with a book in hand, your backpack sitting by your feet.

Dropping the binoculars, you hastily scurry away from the window. Your heartbeat picks up again, the organ thundering inside your chest, beating against your ribs frantically.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” you whisper, your sweaty fingers losing their grip on your phone. It clatters to the floor.

“Do you like it?”

You choke on a scream and jump. You heave out a cough and clumsily whirl around, feet twisting beneath you and making you stumble.

“Careful, sweetheart. You're gonna hurt yourself.”

A man steps past the threshold, his frame filling out the doorway as he ducks through and comes closer.

You want to scream, but you're still coughing up your spit, one hand pressed to you heaving chest as you back away from the approaching man.

His features are lit by the flickering candles, his huge body throwing an even bigger shadow against the wall. He raises his hands towards you and you finally manage to choke out a croaky screech.

“Hey, hey! That's not the reaction I was expecting, sweetheart,” the man scolds.

You try to make a run for it, your shaky legs compelling you to run, hide, get away from whoever this man, this stalker is.

Your efforts are quickly put to an end. The hulking giant of a man flings a thick arm out and catches you around the middle, yanking you back and cutting off your escape route.

You start to thrash immediately, your mouth opening to let out another scream. But before the sound can leave your lips and alert your waiting friends, the man's big hand clamps over your lips, sucessfully muffling the sound behind his huge palm.

Using his grip on both your face and midsection, he hauls your wriggling body against his, your back pressed to his broad chest. He meanly digs fingers into your face and you whimper, whipping your head side to side to try and dislodge his painful grip.

“I suggest you calm down, sweetheart. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Can't have you ruining it with your hysterics,” the growls lowly, the sound of his voice rumbling against your back.

You shake helplessly in his arms, tears of pure terror welling in your eyes as you keep thrashing in this stranger's hold. Your breath comes in choppy pants your panic threatens to swallow you hole and you kick your legs out uselessly.

In a short moment of clarity, you lift your legs and drop your entire weight down, hoping to dislodge the tight grip the stranger has on you, but he doesn't budge. Not as much as a grunt comes from him as you let your limp body hang from his arms.

He lets out a chuckle, dark and condescending, and squeezes your middle until you wheeze.

“You gotta try a little harder than that if you want to break my hold. Not that you could, but I suppose it is a valiant effort,” he says, a mocking tone to his voice. His hold loosens around you and you suck in a deep breath now that you ribs are no longer constricted by his iron grip.

“It's not a fair fight, you see,” he continues, shifting his grip from your middle to swiftly gather your wrists in one big hand, bending your arms and holding them still against your chest. “I could hold you down with two of my fingers and you wouldn't be able to get away.”

He twists your around, his hand still holding yours captive against your chest, but his other leaves your mouth in favour of framing your vulnerable neck.

You owlishly blink up at him, your muscles trembling with the adrenaline cursing through them, tears gathering along the rim of your eyes. Your jaw is clenched shut, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Such a scared little bunny,” the man coos, his thumb stroking along the soft skin of your throat. “This isn't quite how I imagined this to go, but we'll make the best of it, hm?”

“What do you want from me?” you burst out, your jaw unclenching long enough to let the question snap out. You tug at your hands and try to take a step back, but the hand at your throat tightens to keep you in place and you sputter, quick to stop your movement.

“It's not about what I want from you, but what I can give you, bunny girl,” he says, shifting his stance slightly. The flames of a few candles close to you light up his face for the first time since he stepped foot inside this room and you see the sick smile stretching his lips behind the thick beard covering the lower half of his face.

Your eyes jump over his features, taking in the beard, the shape of his jaw, his nose and his eyes... His eyes, dark with wide-blown pupils that only leave a sliver of his irises visible. You can't make out their colour in the dim light, but you still recognise him.

A whole new kind of terror sweeps through you and you unwittingly start to pull at your wrists, fighting to escape his grip, his surprisingly strong grip. Not so surprising anymore now.

“Oh, the penny has dropped,” the man snickers, flicking his head to the side briefly to shake a strand of his grown out hair away from his eyes. It used to be short. And his face was always shaven clean.

“You see, being on the run is quite the tiresome task, sweetheart. Moving from one location to the other, avoiding the authorities, hiding in the shadows. It gets lonely, you know.”

He yanks on your arms and tightens his grip on your throat. He walks you towards the bed, pushing until you sink down on it, legs dangling over the side.

“I've been hiding out here for a while now. Months, to be more specific. It's bleak, boring. But I found something to entertain me. A little bunny that hops by my window every day and sits pretty just for my eyes to see.”

He's been watching you. America's hero, fallen from grace and now off the deep end too, has been stalking you, eyes following you when you sat unsuspectingly, visiting your passed parents, seeking out their lost affection, their comforting presence.

You feel sick, the terror knotting in your stomach as you struggle to breathe through the tight grip Steve Rogers has on your throat.

It really isn't a fair faight. He could snap your neck without blinking and you can't even get him to let go of your hands. Hands that he is holding with only one of his.

“You're lonely, too. So alone, no family left now that mommy and daddy are gone. But you're a good daughter, still. Visiting them, taking care of their grave. So good with your hands, sweetheart. The grave looks beautiful with those plants you picked out,” the Soldier croons, looking down at you with an adoring expression that makes you heart drop somewhere in the vicinity of your knees. He really is mad.

“Don't- Don't talk about my parents you freak,” you manage to squeak, a wheezing sound what with your limited ability to breathe.

“Mind your manners, bunny. I don't appreciate being cursed at. I made all this for you, as a surprise. To make our first time special,” Steve grits out, giving you a shove that sends you bouncing against the mattress.

His hands are finally off your body and you use the opportunity to crawl away from him, huddling on the other side of the mattress while catching your breath. Your throat throbs from his harsh grip.

Steve walks over to the door and closes it, then he turns around to face the bed.

“You need me, sweetheart. You just don't know it yet. I can give you everything you need, everything you lost. I lost a lot of things too. We can be good for each other,” he explains, his face shockingly genuine.

You can't believe what you're hearing. This man is bonkers. He lost his mind. You don't even know him outside his famous Soldier persona. He's a wanted war criminal. And yet here he stands, claiming to know you, speaking about whatever delusion he's crafted in that sick head of his.

'A wanted war criminal that has set his sights on me. Just my luck.'

“Don't look at me like that. I'm not gonna hurt you,” Steve declares and then strides over towards the bed. As he moves closer, he smoothly strips off the thick sweater he's wearing, then the black tank top underneath.

You just stare, frozen in shock. Your mind is reeling, muscles locked in a cowering position.

His thick, muscular chest comes into view, a layer of dark hair covering the taut muscle. Imaptiently toeing off his boots, Steve leans on the bed. Once they're off, he fully climbs onto the mattress, the soft material dipping beneath his weight and jostling you from your stupor.

“No!” you shout and launch off the bed, but not fast enough. A strong hand latches around your ankle, dragging your upper body back up on the back and towards him.

“No, no, no! Let me go, HE-”

A harsh slap whips your head to the side. Your ears ring with the force of it, the ceiling swimming before your eyes for a solid thirty seconds before you can focus enough to work through what just happened.

Steve is straddling your thighs, his teeth bared when he reaches the collar of your puffer jacket and rents the fabric down the middle, busting the zipper and tearing the dark material.

You cry out again. The side of your face throbs and Steve's rough handling hurts your arms, but you can't do much to deter him as he rips the jacket down your arms and then pulls it out from under you to discard it on the floor. Your pullover suffers the same fate, your bra swiftly following suit.

You start to cry, the severity of the situation finally dawning on you. Shaky arms try to cover your exposed chest, but the blonde man above you growls, slapping the weak limbs to the side and reaching out to cup the soft flesh in his calloused hands.

“So pretty, bunny,” he groans, kneading your chest and stroking your nipples. The sensitive peaks pebble in the cold air and from his incessant ministrations.

“Stop, stop, please,” you exclaim tearily, hands hitting at his arms and shoulders, your legs kicking aimlessly behind him.

“You'll be crying for me to touch you soon enough,” Steve says gruffly and rises from his perch on your thighs to flip you onto your stomach. He turns around, settling his weight on your lower back until you squeal in pain.

His hands reach for your jeans and he begins to roughly pull them down, taking your panties with them as he shoves them over the curve of your ass, the fabric scratching you roughly in the process. He wrestles your shoes off and in a matter of seconds you're left completely bare beneath his strong body.

Steve's hands crawl across the backs of your thighs, easily dodging you swinging calves, and then moves up to slap your ass, a delighted grunt coming from him when he watches your flesh jiggle.

“What a nice piece of ass. Love me a girl with some extra on her,” he says, greedily squeezing you bum and thighs.

You grimace at his words, a sob lodging in your throat. Your tears overflow as you're groped and prodded like a piece of meat.

“Please, please, let me go,” you quaver, but your pleas fall on deaf ears. Steve is intent on getting from you what he wants and there's no stopping him.

You let out a weak shout when he finally lifts himself off you back and turns you back around to face him. He's swift to push you further onto the bed and away from the edge of the mattress.

Your limbs start to flail, but he wrestles his way between your legs before you have a real chance to get away.

“Not going anywhere, sweet girl. You're mine,” the former hero rasps. He rests a hand next to your head, partially leaning his weight on you as his other reaches down to pull off his own pants and underwear. He kicks both off the bed, all the while pinning you down with just his torso.

You can feel the hot length of him touching your chilled skin. Every inch of his bare body touching yours sends a wretched shiver through you. You want to throw up, scream, cry. And most of all do you want him off of you. You don't want any part of him touching you, you don't want him looking at you, breathing in your face and cooing false promises. You want none of it.

In a last valaint effort you gather all your strength and start to thrash underneath him. You pull your legs up to your chest and kick out, hitting him on the shoulder before he can duck out of the way.

He raises one arm to shield his face and you take the opening, rolling to the side where his arm is no longer caging you in.

A feral growl rips through the burly man's chest as you slip off the bed. He lifts himself to his knees and lauches forward, just catching you elbow in his grip and yanking harshly.

You exclaim and stumble backwards, thrown off-kilter by the sudden pull. Steve doesn't hesitate to use your unsteady stance and brings you back towards the bed, his long arms wrapping securely around your body and dragging you onto the mattress.

“You'll learn to love it, you'll see. This is what you need!” the blond man barks, frustration bleeding into his features at your ongoing struggle.

Discarding any caution or gentleness, Steve wrestles you onto your side and spoons you from behind. His hard body molds against you back, one of his strong legs shoving between yours. He claps one hand over your mouth, muffling your protests. His other arm wraps around your middle, leaving you completely immobilised.

The only sounds audible in the candle-lit room are your heavy breaths and muffled whimpers. Tears still leak out of your eyes, drawing wet paths over your hot face.

“Hush, bunny. You'll enjoy this just as much as I will,” Steve promises gravelly. The arm around your middle shifts, calloused fingers finding your breasts. He pinches and strokes, giving the flesh the occasional squeeze as he explores you to his hearts content.

“You're perfect,” he grumbles, his lips seeking out your bared throat and pressing a chain of wet, prickly kisses to the sensitive skin.

You can do nothing but endure his touch, muscles still trembling but not fighting. You know it's no use. He's too strong, too big and fast. You'll never get away. If you let him, maybe he won't hurt you.

A tingle stirs deep in your belly when Steve gropes down your body, appreciatively squeezing every soft roll and dip along your side before slipping close to your core.

You tense, a loud whimper vibrating against the palm across you mouth. Steve just shushes you and shifts the leg he has lodged between yours, lifting it to open you up to him. Your soft thigh tenses against his firm, sinewy one, trying to force it back down to hide your most intimate parts from him, but it is no use. He's stronger than you.

“No hiding, bunny,” the Soldier grumbles, nipping your throat and making you squeak at the pain.

His hand reaches the curls on your mound, fingers continuing to dip lower until he reaches the petals of your sex. His middle finger seeks out your bundle of nerves with expert precision, lightly pressing on it and chuckling when you twitch against him.

He toys with the botton for a few moments before sliding lower, using his fingers to part your sticky lips and circle your entrance.

You're ashamed at the wetness gathered between your legs. It's not much, but it's there and you cringe at the feeling of the man's fingers dipping into it teasingly. A sad croak fights its way past your lips and Steve pats your pussy playfully, telling you not to be embarassed. It only heightens your shame.

“Your body knows what it needs, sweetheart. Getting slick for me, what a sweet pussy,” he sighs, the earlier tension gone from his voice.

You groan when Steve plunges a finger past your entrance without a warning, wriggling the thick digit around and pulling it out just to add a second one. He fucks you with his fingers, his thumb teasing your clit as he draws out your unwanted pleasure.

The tingle in your belly sparks into a flame and you helplessly wriggle in Steve's arms as the pleasure forced upon you mounts with every stroke of his fingers against you walls.

Small, unwanted sounds spill from you, little pants and whines sounding past the barrier of Steve's hand.

When the man crooks his fingers, shifting your legs further apart before plunging the digits back into your increasingly wet cunt, your back arches with a squeal. Steve laughs gravelly and does it again, keeping up the motion of his hand.

You moan, tears squeezing past your tightly shut eyes as the wicked man massages your g-spot with unrelenting fingers. The action has you senseless. No one but you has ever managed to find this little place, much less work it with such precision.

Your body tenses, legs thrashing and arms aimlessly waving around while the pleasure mounts dangerously fast, winding your muscles tighter and tighter until you're ready to snap.

Steve rescinds the hand from your mouth, damp palm touching your hand when he gathers the flapping limb in his and intertwines your fingers in a sick gesture of intimacy. But the mounting pleasure inside you has you too distracted to fight it, so you let him hold your hand, your other one clinging to the duvet that is crumpled beneath your bodies.

“Come on, cum for me. I know you want to, your little pussy is squeezing my fingers,” Steve husks, chuckling at your senseless whines and gasps.

His thumb presses against your throbbing clit and with a few more strokes of his fingers, you fall apart.

“Yes! That's it, good girl, keep going,” Steve praises throatily, his hips bucking slightly against you lower back as you tremble in his arms, overcome by the most intense orgasm of your life.

It washes over you in waves and you're left boneless by the time the last of them passes over you. Your chest heaves, sweat dotting your brow.

Your mind is still reeling from the sensations you just experienced at the hands of this madman and you can do nothing but lie there limply when Steve shuffles away from you. You flop onto your back, your trembling thighs pressing together.

They don't stay like that for long, the blond's big hands prying them apart effortlessly. Not that you put up much of a fight.

He kneels between your legs and his hand reaches down to stroke his flushed and angry looking length, a few drops of precum bubbling from the tip.

He groans needily and adjusts his position, lining himself up to your glistening, puffy pussy.

You mewl pathetically, legs kicking weakly at either side of his hips when you feel the head of his cock nudging your folds apart.

“No...” you beg quietly, hands coming up to push at him. Steve wordlessly gathers your wrists in one hand and holds them against his chest. Your palm rests flat against his firm muscle and he leans over you just a bit, his free hand grabbing your thigh just above your knee and opening you up to his view.

He looks at your face when he tilts his hips and slides inside just a bit, marvelling at the scrunched up expression you wear.

He's big and the stretch burns despite his slow pace.

You whine low in your throat, the fingers resting against Steve's chest pushing at him, nails digging into his skin. He hisses at the sting but keeps pressing on.

“It hurts, please. You won't fit,” you cry out at last, hips twisting from side to side to dislodge him. Steve only tsks at your squirming and pulls back a little just to press forward again, inserting another inch into your spasming pussy.

“I'll fit, bunny. Don't you worry,” he grunts, letting go of your thigh to wipe away the tears rolling down your temples.

You grimace when he slides in even deeper, carving out a space for himself in your body, molding you to his shape. When Steve turns his hand to cup your face, you find yourself leaning into it, seeking comfort from the pain, the fear. Too bad that he's the source of it.

With a last jerk of his hips, Steve's entire length disappears into your straining pussy and you exclaim when you feel his hips resting against yours. He lets go of your hands and moves to grab both your legs, pressing them apart and up.

You feel horribly exposed to his hungry gaze, cringing at the way he stares between your legs when he pulls back and pushes back into you.

Every move of his hips forces a strangled sound from you, your chest bouncing with his still rather tame thrusts. He's savouring it, every push and pull through your quivering flesh.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Steve grunts, his groans and pants mingling with your squeaks and wheezes. His face is flushed, plump bottom lip caught between his white teeth.

He lets go of your legs after a few minutes of measured thrusting, dropping his upper body over yours. His cock slides out of you when he shifts and you whimper, your thighs immediately moving to close. But Steve's thick waist is in the way, so you endure the throbbing that pulses between your legs.

Steve settles above you, his hips cradled between your legs, strong arms to either side of your head. He briefly shifts his weight to reach down and line himself up again before pushing back inside with a throaty groan.

“Yes... what a good bunny you are, taking me so well,” he moans, his hot breath washing over your face. His hips move, finding a new rhythm and a new angle, one that has you seeing starts.

“Oh, oh... hngh,” you squeal out, hands reaching up to clutch at Steve's shoulders. “Fuck, oh.”

The man above you grunts his approval, keeping up his motion to hit your spot again and again, the tip of his erection sliding across with with every retreat and advance.

“There you go, doesn't that feel good? I told you I would make you feel good,” he growls, speeding up his thrusts and giving you no respite.

You babble, hands slipping along the Soldier's arms, unable to hold on to anything for long while he fucks you senseless with his sharp, angled thrusts. The fire in your belly ignites again, burning brighter with every stroke.

“Mh, fuck you're gonna make me cum,” Steve pants. His face is scrunched up, mouth hanging open as he revels in the feel of your wet, hot pussy clenching around him.

He leans to the side and reaches down, pressing his fingers along your slipper cunt, seeking out your clit and rubbing it earnestly.

You keen, back arching off the bed. It doesn't take more than a few rubs to make you come, your clit pulsing under his fingerpads as he keeps hammering away at your g-spot.

You let out a loud, gravelly moan, the sound quickly breaking off into a high-pitched whine when your pleasure peaks, a pressure unlike any you've felt before building in your belly and releasing with one last well-placed thrust.

You squirt all over Steve's cock, his pelvis and yours drenched in your cum as you shake pathetically underneath him, you hands slapping the mattress.

“Good fucking girl,” Steve growls, his eyes rolling back in his head when he feels you squirt over him, your walls bearing down on him as you tremble through your orgasm. “Fuck, you're perfect.”

He rescinds his hand from your overstimulated clit and drops down to his underarms above you, his hips bucking desperately against you.

You vaguely feel Steve's cock throb and twitch inside, followed by a primal groan above you.

The big man shakes with the force of his orgasm, unfiltered sounds rumbling from him as he paints your insides with his seed, pulse after pulse of it surging into you.

You moan weakly at the warm sensation of his spend, too tired and fucked out to listen to the alarm bells going off in the back your head at his actions.

Once Steve stops shaking, he lifts his sweaty face and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“You may have lost your family, but we can make a new one together. You will never be alone again, sweetheart. Neither of us will be.”

Your eyes snap open, your sluggish thoughts clearing in seconds as you stare up at the former hero, pinned beneath his thick body after he took you against your will and came inside you without any form of protection.

“You'll make a good mother.”

His eyes meet your wide ones, a wicked smirk curling his mouth.

“No,” you breathe out, hands lifting and pushing at his chest, body squirming desperately to dislodge his cock still nestled inside you.

“Yes,” Steve hisses, snapping his hips against yours and wriggling them from left to right, letting you feel every inch of his rapidly hardening length. He does it again, cutting off the sob rattling in your chest and replacing it with a choked moan.

His hands wipe at your tears and he coos at you, shushing your sad, terrified sobs as he keeps working his hips against yours.

“You'll love it, trust me. I will take such good care of you.”

...

Ooooop, that was quite the wild ride 😆 I wrote this monster in one sitting and I did not proofread a single sentence. I cannot bring myself to care. Y’all are supposed to enjoy the story, not my immaculate spelling, lol 😳 (it’s not immaculate, it really isnt. And don’t get me started on punctuation...)

Anyhow, let me know what you think! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! 🖤

#Chris Evans #Steve Rogers #nomad!steve #soft!dark Steve #steve rogers x reader #writing challenge #theimaginesyouneveraskedfor #one-shot

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bedpolls · 8 months ago

Note

how many characters do you have in your inbox?

I'm sure you didn't expect a nice long response anon, but that's what you're getting.

Right now I have 50 asks in my inbox, including this one. The last time I completely emptied the inbox was on 5/14. Best case scenario, is that it will take about 2 hours for me to sort through and post the requests to the queue. Once I got over 100 asks in less than a 48 hour period, and straight up spent 4.5 hours sorting through them. Here's why it takes me so long.

I do a basic search to make sure the character in question isn't a minor, and to figure out what their actual name is. I cannot stress this enough, idk shit about 90% of the requests I get. I don't know who that character is. Any mistakes made with names or photos chosen aren't because I secretly hate you and that character, or because I'm being malicious. It's because I've got little to no way to know what's correct. I'm going off shit on wikis, and most of that content is written by a bot nowadays anyways.

For me, the ideal submission format is "[FULL CHARACTER NAME] from [FULL TITLE OF MEDIA]" and that's it. That way I can just copy/paste directly from the ask into google. I have not instituted this as a rule, simply because I can't get people to read what rules I do have in the first place. Idk how much more eye catching that posts needs to be. It's bold, in red, and pinned to the top of the blog. If I put in a requirement for formatting, it would disqualify most requests, and I don't want to do that.

Some people feel the need to editorialize in the request itself, which tbh I mostly ignore. I don't care why you submitted this character. Idk anything about this character. Do whatever. Live your best life.

A random character nickname + acronym for the title is also the worst. I can usually figure it out, but it takes longer. When I've still got 30+ requests to get through, that's frustrating. I think sometimes people will just put the acronym for a piece of media in out of habit, or because they see I've used an acronym at some point in the tagging system. Tumblr does recommend tags, and that's why I might use it. This means that, when an acronym pops up again in the ask, I still don't immediately recognize it until I can remember googling it two weeks ago the last time that piece of media came up.

When it comes to the age of characters, I'll be honest I have much less patience. Sometimes I will google "[CHARACTER NAME] age" and what comes up is a spirited reddit thread, where people are arguing about whether or not the character is 15 or 45. Or 16 or 1500. Or whether or not they count as a minor, if they're physically 13 but actually 120 years old. Or whatever. I just fucking delete those, I'm not dealing with that shit.

I also often have to search the blog or scroll the queue to see if I have done the request before. There's a few video games where I've gotten a bunch of requests, there's a shitton of characters, and the names all blend together. If it's a duplicate, I delete those requests.

Generally speaking though, I try my best to ensure that every request gets posted. Yes even if it's weird, even if it's niche. You can submit characters from that one webcomic, or that one movie you love from 1954. The only requests that get deleted are ones that are 1) duplicates 2) violate the posted rules or 3) are so incomprehensible that I have no way of knowing what the fuck the requester is talking about.

#mod post

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tessa-liam · 2 years ago

Text

Marabelle

– Chapter 1 – My New Home

The Royal Romance, an AU series

Series Premise: An American teenager from New York city is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobles, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?

Prologue

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC (Sophia)

Other Pairing: Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC (Daniel)

All characters belong to Pixelberry, except Sophia Taylor and Bethany Beaumont.

Rating: M*Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, crude language. Please excuse all errors.

Category: Alternate Universe/on-going series/angst/fluff

Words: 1967, Read: 9 minutes

Chapter 1 – Feels Like Home

Chapter summary: Sophie begins her Cordonian adventure and moves in to House Beaumont. It all starts here.

Music Inspiration: Feels Like Home - Chantal Kreviazuk

A/N: my submission for @choicesflashfics, Week #19, prompt #2- “It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it. You still said it.” @Choicesficwriterscreations

A/N2: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the US; is Barthelemy Beaumont’s 2nd wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) was Bertrand’s mother.

A/N3: my submission for @Choicesholidays Valentine’s Day Prompts - “my house is your house, and you know you’re always safe here.” #cfwc valentines 2023

Marabelle

Chapter 1:

Waiting for her arrival, Sophie’s Aunt Bethany was standing at the doorway of the estate with tears in her eyes.

Her beautiful niece was finally here. She remembered seeing this sweet girl at her sister’s (Sophie’s mother’s) funeral two weeks ago.

As her sons Bertrand and Maxwell brought the luggage from the car to the door, Sophie walked towards her aunt.

“Sophie, welcome my dear! I am so happy that you are here,” said Aunt Bethany as she moved forward to hug her niece.

“Thank you, Auntie Beth. I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you again!” replied Sophie, hugging her aunt.

“I have missed you very much.” Even though her aunt could never replace her mother in her heart, she found comfort in her aunt’s embrace.

As they embraced, Sophie could sense the sadness in her aunt’s heart. The loss of her sister had been a tremendous one for her; not only for Sophie. The last time her aunt saw Sophie’s mom alive, her mother had been very ill and died shortly after Bethany left to return to Cordonia. Sophie was a split image of a younger version of her mom and was sure that fact added to her sadness.

“Mother, let us go inside and get Sophie settled.” Bertrand knew how long the flight was from New York and that she must be exhausted.

“Oh yes! Of course, you must be jetlagged, and with the time difference...Maxwell please show her to her room.”

Maxwell took Sophie by the hand to lead her into the estate. “C’mon Soph, you are going to love your it here.”

Once inside the front doors, Sophie looked around taking it all in. Her aunt and uncle’s estate was like nothing she had ever seen before.

It was huge! There were countless marble statues, fountains, sculptures, portraits; there was a grand staircase that led to another floor.

There was also an enormous dining room, formal sitting room and even a ballroom.

“Wow, this is incredible,” exclaimed Sophie, looking up at the high vaulted ceiling of the foyer.

“Let me show you to your room Soph, it’s upstairs and to the right.” Maxwell leads her up the grand staircase as Bertrand directs the attendants to carry her luggage up the stairs.

When they arrived at the door to her new room, Maxwell opened it with a flourish. She walked over to a large bay window overlooking the gardens below. It was breathtaking to look out beyond the gardens onto the many acres of vineyards. “This is for me?!”

Oh. My. God. What a view! Sophie thought to herself.

She noticed that there was a balcony off her room, which opened up to the outside. "Look!"

Maxwell smiled, “After dinner, I will take you on a tour of the grounds.” Her cousin Maxwell was so welcoming, making every effort to ensure that she was comfortable in her new home.

Sophie looked up at Maxwell, saying “thank you”, in a whisper and hugged him tightly. When they separated, Maxwell saw the unshed tears in her eyes. Lifting her chin with his thumb index finger, Maxwell assures her, “always remember, ‘my house is your house, and you know you’re always safe here’.”

Understanding that his cousin was overwhelmed, Max left Sophie to relax and get acquainted with her new space at her own pace, in privacy.

She walked around trying to decide where to start unpacking, when she heard her cell phone ring. Buried in her pile of luggage on the floor, she went over to find her carry-on bag.

When she found her phone and saw who was calling, she fell back on her bed knocking over her stack of clothes in the excitement, “Daniel!”.

Daniel, her best friend from New York, was a welcome voice from America. He was a faithful ally, who was a great listener and a source of support. He was a bit modest, but he would always listen to Sophie’s problems, never offering any advice because he didn’t want to tell someone what to do.

Since he came out as gay last year, their friendship grew stronger. He was an important person to have in her life; her confidante, and she was his.

“Hey,” she answered her phone.

“It is so good to hear your voice, Sophie!” Daniel replied.

“Dan, you have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice!”

“Sophie, are you okay?”

“Oh, yes I’m fine, everything is great here,” replied Sophie.

“Really? You sound upset.” He knew her better than herself.

“No, really, I am just tired.”

Knowing his friend all too well, “What is wrong, Sophia?”

“Everything is fine,” Sophie lied. “I guess I am just overwhelmed.”

Hearing a knock on her door, she heard Maxwell singsong, “Sophie, dinner in 10...”

“Thank you, Max, I will come down.”

Daniel continued, “you don’t have to tell me anything now, but if you need to talk, I am always available.”

“Okay, I will, thanks Daniel. I miss you!”

“Miss you too, Soph.”

***

When Sophie entered the dining room, the table was already set for dinner. A servant came to greet her and guided her to her seat.

Bethany sat next to Sophie, with Maxwell sitting across from them. Bertrand was sitting at the head of the table.

“How are your new accommodations? If you need anything, please let me know,” Bertrand inquired.

“Oh, thank you, the room is beautiful, and huge,” Sophie looked delighted.

“Well, you deserve every comfort,” her aunt smiled.

“Will it always be so formal for meals?” Sophie asked while noticing all of the different cutlery set on the table in front of her.

“Oh heavens, no!” chuckled her aunt.

“Mother, it will be helpful for Sophia to become familiar with formal dining, now that she is in Cordonia.”

“There is much to learn about your station, my dear.”

“My station?”

“You are ‘Lady Sophia Taylor of House Beaumont’, formerly of New York. Table etiquette is an essential trait to learn for court.”

As Bethany sighed, Maxwell explained that whenever a guest would be joining them for dinner, Bertrand wanted to impress them.

“Maxwell, must you always act like a child?” Bertrand scoffed, pinching his nose in distaste.

Maxwell sarcastically countered back, “Yes, your majesty.”

Bertrand sighed, “I didn’t mean it, Max!”

“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it. You still said it.”

“Boys!!!” admonished Bethany.

“Sophie, I am so happy there is another female in this house!

Everyone turned to the sound of a throat clearing.

“Am I interrupting something?” A tall man with dark brown, wavy hair and speaking with a Cordonian accent asked hesitantly.

“Mr. Walker, thank you for coming.” Bertrand offered him a seat at the table, next to Maxwell.

Maxwell started snickering when Drake asked, “why do I feel like I entered the twilight zone?”

Bethany shook her head, sighing, “Sophia, sweetheart, I would like to introduce you to Drake, a good friend of Maxwell’s.”

“Sophie is our cousin from New York,” Maxwell explains.

Drake stands to shake her hand.

“Drake, please call me Sophie.”

“Nice to meet you Sophie, I hope you enjoy your stay here in Cordonia.” Drake smiles.

“Sophie lives here now; she will be going to the U of C in the Fall,” Maxwell explains.

“Really, well, it’s an impressive university, Sophie. You will enjoy it. What will you be studying?”

“Thank you, I am starting my first year of an MBA degree.”

As pleasant conversation continued, the dinner began, and Sophie tried everything. The food was delicious; using the utensils properly to Bertrand’s delight.

“I am glad you enjoyed your meal, Sophie,” Bethany said after dessert.

“Yes, I love Italian cuisine, especially pasta.”

“Bravo, bravissimo,” Maxwell winks at Sophie.

“Yes, well, Drake, let's move to my office to discuss the horses.” Bertrand stands motioning for Drake to follow him.

“Mrs. Beaumont, thank you for dinner. Sophie, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you around.”

***

Bertrand sat at his desk as he scrolled through the horses listed for sale at the horse ranch on his laptop. The horse that he wanted to buy for Sophie was available to be shown tomorrow.

“Drake, would you mind accompanying me to the horse ranch tomorrow to see this horse for Sophie?”

“Sure, sure, I can show you this horse,” answered Drake.

“But, Sophie needs to be the one to choose her horse. The size and age of the horse are important factors for her.”

Bertrand continues, “I understand that, but this horse will be ready to be shown tomorrow. I know its short notice, but I know Sophie would love to take a horse home with her.”

“It’s important that Sophie ‘connects’ with the horse and that they are compatible.

Look, the owner of the horse ranch is a buddy of mine. I will be at the polo match tomorrow morning and the horse ranch is close by. I can personally help to match her to a horse that she would be happy with.”

“I trust your judgement, Drake.”

“It’s my pleasure. Thank you, Bertrand. I appreciate it.”

***

After touring the grounds of the estate, Sophie went up to her room. She changed into her pajamas and lay down on her bed.

She stared at the ceiling listening to music on her phone.

She cried herself to sleep.

Her thoughts were filled with the day’s events, and then ....she thought about her mother’s death and about how sad she was when she died.

***

Sophie awoke the next morning to a knock on her door.

“Sophia, breakfast is being served downstairs in 30 minutes.”

“Thank you, auntie.”

While eating breakfast, Sophie talked to her aunt about the horse showing.

“I want to be able to ride the horse before making any commitments.”

“I know, I just worry about you Sophie.”

“I’m fine, Auntie Beth, I promise. This isn’t the first time I’ve been around horses. I think I will be okay.”

“I know you will, sweetie.”

“Max, can you come with me to the horse ranch?

“Of course, I am coming!”

“Thanks, Max”

***

Sophie, Maxwell and Bertrand drove to the horse ranch which was approximately 30 minutes away from Ramsford.

Along the way, the town car passed the entrance to the CRPC; The Cordonian Royal Polo Club.

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed: @kingliam2019 @twinkleallnight @xpandass420x @queenmiarys @harleybeaumont @busywoman @marietrinmimi @angelasscribbles @imashybish @karahalloway @703cowbarn @surrenderronnie1 @txemrn @ao719 @delmissesryan @kyra75 @mom2000aggie @writing-not @princess-geek

#the royal romance #liam rys #trr #trr fanfic #trr liam x oc #cfwc fics of the week #choices flashfics #marabelle #prince liam

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