#wooden panel background

[sanches812]

Quality Wooden Panel Textures

In the world of design, first impressions mean everything. Whether you are working on a 3D interior project, crafting compelling visual advertisements for building materials, or simply seeking to enhance the aesthetic appeal of your work, the right backgrounds can make a significant difference. Wooden panel textures, in particular, serve as an excellent choice for designers looking to convey…

[solargeist]

yo a thing

[daydreamerdrew]

Whiz Comics (1940) #49

[theonottsbxtch]

Hiii I have a request for you. Can I pls have a princess!reader x Max Verstappen. Something happened (maybe like too much royal duties) and she had to get away for a bit. And she ran across Max and they ended up hanging out together. And then he made her feel normal so she kept sneaking out to see him.

Maybe you can make it a little angsty with a HEA pls.

Ps, I love your writing! Can I be 🐴 anon?

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT1 | MV1

an: thank you for this request and yes of course you can be 🐴 anon! i'm having way too much fun writing this and i've yapped my buttocks off, i'm already at 14k words so i'm going to split this into a few parts and i hope you enjoy it! <3

wc: 6.4K

The Princess had spent the evening pretending everything was fine. She’d smiled through the formal dinner, nodded politely at endless conversations, and held herself with the grace expected of her. But as the night wore on, the weight of it all pressed down on her chest like a tight corset, squeezing the air from her lungs. Every curtsy, every forced laugh, had added another layer to the suffocation.

By the time the palace halls had grown quiet, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She needed to get out—away from the golden chandeliers, the careful whispers, and the constant eyes that watched her every move. It felt like she was drowning in expectations, and the only way to breathe was to leave, even if just for a few hours.

The stables were her refuge. She’d discovered that long ago, as a child, when the pressures of the court were less heavy but still present, lurking in the background. Now, as she slipped into the stables’ cool shadows, she felt her heartbeat slow just a little, her muscles loosening in the familiar surroundings. The smell of hay and horses grounded her, bringing her a small sense of peace.

She walked softly, the thick, polished soles of her boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. The horses stirred as she passed, their gentle snorts and soft whinnies acknowledging her presence but not alarmed. She stopped for a moment by her favourite, Orla, a chestnut mare who nudged her shoulder affectionately. She stroked the mare’s mane, whispering a quiet apology for not taking her out tonight. Orla would understand; this wasn’t a night for riding.

Moving to the back corner of the stable, she crouched down and brushed away the loose straw to reveal a wooden panel in the wall. With a soft grunt, she pried it loose, the way she had done so many times before. This was her secret—a gap that led to the fields beyond the palace grounds. Not even her personal guards knew about it. She had discovered it as a young girl, slipping through the hole in search of adventure when the confines of the palace walls grew too small.

Now, that same urge pulled her through the narrow opening, but it wasn’t adventure she sought—it was escape. The cold air hit her face as she emerged on the other side, the smell of grass and earth filling her lungs. For the first time all night, she felt like she could breathe.

The field stretched out in front of her, wide and dark under the night sky. The moon hung low, casting a silvery glow on the tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze. She pulled her hood over her head, hiding her most definitely recognisable hair, and stepped forward. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, the soft squelch of mud and grass a welcome contrast to the polished marble floors of the palace.

As she walked, the palace grew smaller behind her, its golden lights dimming until it was just a distant glow on the horizon. She paused for a moment, turning back to look at it—a fortress of expectations and responsibilities. It felt strange to see it from here, like it was part of someone else’s life. Someone who wasn’t her.

Turning away, she continued across the field, when she saw it. A karting track lay just beyond the hill, the faint hum of engines already audible in the distance. She had heard the sounds many times before while sneaking out but had never been, the laughter and cheers carried on the wind, but had never dared to go closer. Tonight, though, something was different. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the desire to feel something other than the heavy weight of duty. She wasn’t sure. But tonight, she would go. She would see what it was like to be just... normal.

The lights of the track grew brighter as she crested the hill. From here, she could see the racers whizzing by in small go-karts, their faces blurred by speed and excitement. A group of people stood by the sidelines, watching, some laughing, some leaning against the fence with drinks in hand. It was a world apart from hers, and yet it called to her.

She lingered at the edge of the track, keeping her hood pulled low as she observed. No one paid her any attention, and that in itself was a relief. She wasn’t a princess here. She was just another person, another face in the crowd. The knot in her chest loosened slightly, the familiar ache of expectation easing.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice someone approaching until a voice broke through the hum of engines.

“First time?”

Startled, she turned to see a man standing beside her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He had a relaxed posture, his expression open and friendly, like talking to a stranger was the most natural thing in the world, but he too had a hoodie fully covering his face. His eyes were bright, but not with recognition. There was no flicker of surprise, no hint that he knew who she was. Just casual curiosity.

“Uh… yeah,” she replied, her voice hesitant. She tugged her hood a little lower, instinctively trying to hide.

The guy turned around and she could see his face properly, he was gorgeous as he smiled at her, a lopsided grin that was both easygoing and warm. “It’s fun,” he said, nodding towards the track. “You should try it.”

“I’m not really dressed for it,” She said, glancing down at her boots. They were sturdy but far from practical for something like this.

He shrugged, still smiling. “Doesn’t matter. Half the people out there don’t know what they’re doing either. It’s just for fun.” He paused, then added, “I’m Max, by the way.”

His name hung in the air for a moment, simple and unassuming. He didn’t ask for hers, didn’t press. It felt strange—refreshing, even. No titles, no formalities. Just... Max.

She hesitated, glancing at the track. The racers zoomed by, their shouts of excitement echoing in the cool night air. For a moment, she could almost imagine what it would feel like—no duties, no one watching, just speed and laughter. It was tempting. More tempting than she wanted to admit.

“I don’t know...” she started, but her words trailed off as Max leaned casually against the fence beside her, his posture easy and unbothered.

“No pressure,” he said, with a shrug that was so natural it almost made her laugh. “You can just watch if you want. But trust me, once you try it, you won’t want to stop.”

She looked at him, studying the relaxed set of his shoulders, the comfortable way he seemed to fit into this world. He didn’t have that tight, rigid way of standing that she saw in the palace—where everyone was always conscious of how they looked, of what others thought of them. Max was... easy. Uncomplicated.

It was such a stark contrast to the world she’d just left behind.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, her voice softer now, more curious than hesitant.

Max turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Just... fun.” She felt a little silly asking, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “Depends on who you ask. Some people get real competitive out here, but for most of us? Yeah, it’s just a way to blow off steam. No big deal.” He glanced at her, a hint of curiosity in his eyes now, though still no recognition. “You from around here? Never seen you at the track before.”

Her heart skipped a beat. For a second, she almost blurted out the truth, but the words caught in her throat. No, I’m not from here felt too close to I’m the princess of this country, and she wasn’t ready to give up her anonymity yet. Not here. Not when it felt so good to be invisible.

“I don’t get out much,” she said, keeping her answer vague. It wasn’t technically a lie.

“Figured,” Max said with a teasing grin. “You’ve got that ‘I’m-too-good-for-this-place’ look about you.”

She blinked, then laughed, the sound surprising even to her. It wasn’t the forced, polite laughter she had perfected for royal gatherings. This was real—spontaneous, like the feeling of breaking the surface after holding your breath for too long.

Max grinned wider at her reaction. “See? Already starting to loosen up.”

She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She liked this—liked how easy it was to talk to him, how he had no idea who she was and didn’t seem to care. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could just... be.

“I guess I could give it a try,” she said after a moment, surprising herself with her own words.

Max’s eyes lit up. “That’s the spirit! Come on, I’ll show you how it works.”

He led her towards the pit area, where a few go-karts sat idle, waiting for the next round. Her pulse quickened as they approached. The karts looked small, but the thought of actually getting in one and racing felt exhilarating—and a little terrifying. She had never done anything like this before. Her life was too controlled, too polished. But here, surrounded by the hum of engines and the laughter of people who didn’t care about titles or status, it was easy to forget all that.

Max handed her a helmet. “Here, put this on. And don’t worry—everyone’s a little nervous their first time. Once you get going, it’s a blast.”

She took the helmet, her fingers brushing against the cool surface. For a moment, she hesitated, the weight of her real life lingering at the back of her mind. But then she thought of the palace, of the endless duties and expectations that would be waiting for her when she returned. Tonight, she didn’t want to be a Princess. She wanted to be someone else. Even if it was just for a little while.

Slipping the helmet on, she pulled the strap tight and climbed into the kart. It felt strange, sitting so low to the ground, the engine rumbling beneath her like a living thing. Max knelt beside her, adjusting a few straps and showing her the pedals. His voice was calm, instructive, and for the first time in a long while, someone was teaching her something without being stiff or overly formal. She liked it.

“Alright,” Max said, standing up and giving her a thumbs up. “You’re all set. Just take it easy on the first lap—get used to the feel of it. After that, let loose.”

She nodded, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Her heart pounded in her chest as the flag waved and the others sped off, leaving her sitting still for a beat longer. But then she pressed down on the gas pedal, and the kart jerked forward, the wind rushing past her face.

At first, she was cautious, her fingers gripping the wheel tightly as the kart bumped along the track. But as she rounded the first corner and the engine roared, a spark lit inside her. The fear melted away, replaced by a thrill she hadn’t expected. The sensation of speed, of being in control of something that moved so fast—it was intoxicating.

She leaned into the next turn, feeling the kart glide smoothly along the curve, the tension in her shoulders easing. The wind whipped against her face, but she didn’t care. She laughed—loud and unrestrained, the sound swallowed by the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so free, so... alive.

Max was right. Once you started, it was hard to stop.

When she finally pulled back into the pit area, her heart was still racing, her breath coming in quick bursts. Max was waiting for her, his grin wide and approving.

“Well?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the fence. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

She took off her helmet, her hair wild and her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t care. “That was... amazing,” she admitted, unable to stop smiling.

“See?” Max said, laughing. “Told you.”

For a moment, standing there with the wind still rushing through her hair and her body buzzing from the ride, she forgot who she was. She wasn’t the princess here. She wasn’t responsible for the weight of an entire country. She was just a girl, laughing at a racetrack with a guy who didn’t know her, and it felt... perfect.

She leaned against the kart for a moment, still catching her breath. Her pulse was racing, and not just from the speed. She couldn’t shake the pure, unfiltered exhilaration that had coursed through her veins. The feeling of freedom, of shedding the weight of expectations, even if only for a short time, was unlike anything she had felt in years.

Max was watching her with a casual smile, clearly amused by the joy lighting up her face. She caught her breath, realising how utterly at ease he seemed, as though this was his world and everyone else was just passing through it.

“Not bad, right?” he said, his voice still warm and relaxed.

“Not bad?” she laughed softly, shaking her head. “That was... incredible. I didn’t know something so simple could feel that good.”

“Simple?” Max grinned, looking genuinely entertained. “You’ve never been karting before, huh?”

She shook her head, wiping a loose strand of hair from her face. “No. Never.”

He leaned closer, his expression still friendly but with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

The question was casual, but it hit closer to home than she cared to admit. She shrugged it off, pulling her hood back over her head, as though it would somehow shield her from further questions.

“I guess not,” she said, her voice softer now.

Max nodded, seeming to accept that without prying. “Well, if you liked that, you’d probably love a real race. You ever watch Formula One?”

The mention of Formula One caught her off guard, and she shook her head. “No... not really my thing.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Really? You don’t even know any of the drivers?”

She could only smile awkwardly, realising that she had no idea how big of a deal Formula One was, let alone the names involved in it. “Nope. Can’t say I do.”

Max let out a soft laugh, as though the idea of someone not knowing about Formula One was a little unbelievable, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he smiled again, more to himself this time, and shrugged. “That’s refreshing, actually. You’re not missing much, anyway,” he added with a wink, making it sound like an inside joke she didn’t quite understand.

Just as she was about to respond, the faint chime of a clock echoed in the distance. It was so far away, nearly drowned out by the hum of engines, but it pierced through her, pulling her back to reality. She froze for a moment, the fun of the evening abruptly replaced by the realisation of what time it was.

“Oh no,” she muttered, standing up straight and glancing toward the palace grounds, hidden behind the field and trees.

“What?” Max asked, his brow furrowed.

She gave him a tight smile. “I should probably go. It’s... getting late.” She didn’t want to leave. Not yet. But she knew she had to.

Max studied her for a moment, his playful grin fading into something softer. “You sure? I can walk you back if you want.”

The offer was kind, but the last thing she needed was Max seeing the palace guards and connecting the dots. She could only imagine how complicated things would get if he found out who she really was. She shook her head quickly, hoping her refusal didn’t seem rude.

“No, thank you. I’m fine. Really.”

Max didn’t press, though something in his eyes told her he was still curious. “Alright,” he said with a small nod. “But hey, I’m gonna be in town for the next two weeks, so if you feel like sneaking out again, I’ll be here. Same time, same place.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. The idea of doing this again—of stepping back into this world where no one knew her, where she could just be—was more tempting than it should have been. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice soft but genuine.

She turned to leave, feeling the cool night air brush against her skin, but something made her glance back. Max was watching her, leaning casually against the kart with that easy smile, as though none of this was out of the ordinary. It was strange how comfortable she felt with him—a stranger—and how much she didn’t want to go.

“See you around, stranger,” Max called after her, his tone playful but sincere.

She gave him one last wave before heading back across the field, the lights of the track slowly fading behind her. The palace loomed ahead, a reminder of everything she had to return to—her responsibilities, her duties, her carefully controlled life. But even as she slipped through the hidden passage in the stables, the thrill of the night lingered, like a secret she carried with her.

Once inside the palace walls, she moved quickly, keeping to the shadows. Her heart was still racing, but now it was from the fear of getting caught. She slipped back into her room unnoticed, quietly closing the heavy door behind her. For a moment, she stood there in the silence, the warmth and grandeur of her surroundings feeling strangely suffocating after the openness of the track.

Kicking off her boots, she padded to the window, pulling aside the heavy velvet curtain to look out over the darkened palace grounds. The karting track wasn’t visible from here, but she could still imagine it, hear the hum of the engines, and feel the wind on her face. She hadn’t felt so alive in years.

As she changed into her pyjamas and prepared for bed, her mind kept drifting back to Max. The way he had spoken to her so easily, without hesitation, without any of the reverence or caution people usually showed her. It felt like they were equals. No expectations, no carefully chosen words. He had no idea who she was. And she hadn’t known him, either.

The following evening, she sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection. Her hair was pinned perfectly, her skin glowing under the soft light of the chandelier. But all she could think about was the wind in her hair, the roar of engines, and the unfamiliar freedom she had tasted the night before.

She was expected at dinner in an hour, a formal affair with visiting dignitaries—yet another night of forced smiles, stifling conversations, and the suffocating weight of being a Princess. The thought of sitting through it made her chest tighten with the same anxiety she’d felt the previous night. She couldn’t do it, not tonight.

Her heart raced as she made her decision. She needed to feel that freedom again.

Standing up, she walked toward her door and opened it just enough to see the palace corridors beyond. Quiet. Perfect. She padded down the hallway to her parents’ private chamber and knocked softly.

Her mother’s voice answered from inside, “Come in.”

She entered, finding her mother seated at a desk, reviewing documents. The Queen looked up with a warm but distracted smile.

“Hello darling. Ready for dinner?”

She hesitated for just a second, but her face betrayed nothing. “Actually, Mother,” she said softly, “I’m not feeling well. I think I might be coming down with something.”

Concern flickered across her mother’s features. “Oh no, my dear. Is it serious? Should I send for the royal physician?”

She quickly shook her head, her heart pounding as she forced a smile. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I think I just need to rest. A quiet evening in my room should help.” She tried to sound as casual as possible, hoping her mother wouldn’t press further.

The Queen studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Take care of yourself, darling. You can join us tomorrow.”

“I will,” she promised, relieved that it had been so easy. She gave her mother a small smile before excusing herself from the room, and the moment the door was closed, her heart began to race for an entirely different reason.

She wasn’t going to her room. She was going back to the track.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she was once again slipping through the hidden gap in the stable wall, her pulse quickening with every step she took away from the palace. The familiar field stretched out before her, bathed in moonlight, and the sound of distant engines filled the air as she drew closer to the track.

A thrill surged through her. She hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation in so long—years, maybe. As she crested the hill, the track came into view, the floodlights illuminating the karts zooming around the circuit. Laughter and shouts echoed in the night, and there, standing by the fence again, was Max.

He hadn’t seen her yet, but something about the sight of him—so at ease, so comfortable in this world—made her heart race. For a moment, she stood still, wondering if this was a terrible idea. But then Max turned his head and spotted her. His face lit up immediately, and before she could second-guess herself, he was walking toward her.

“You came back,” he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and a hint of surprise.

Before she could respond, Max pulled her into a quick, unexpected hug. It caught her off guard, but the gesture was so natural, so friendly, that she relaxed into it. It wasn’t formal or calculated like the stiff embraces she was used to. It was warm, real, and surprisingly grounding.

“I’m glad you came,” Max said as he pulled back, his smile still wide. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

She smiled, a little breathless from his easy affection. “I wasn’t sure either,” she admitted, though a part of her had known she would return the moment she’d left the night before.

Max gave a playful shake of his head, as if amused by her uncertainty. “Well, you’re here now, so I’ve got something for you.”

“For me?” She blinked, confused.

Without a word, Max walked over to a nearby bench where his gear was piled, rummaging through the bag until he pulled out a sleek black helmet. It gleamed under the track lights, the design simple but stylish. He turned and handed it to her, a grin tugging at his lips.

“For next time,” he said. “Consider it a welcome-back gift.”

She stared at the helmet, her fingers brushing over its surface. It felt substantial in her hands, the weight of it unexpected. “This is... for me?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, his expression softening. “I thought you might like your own, since it seems like you’re gonna be coming back more often.” He paused, glancing at her. “Unless you’re planning to disappear?”

She felt warmth rise in her chest. The idea that Max had thought about her after last night—enough to get her a gift—was strangely touching. She didn’t know what to say at first, only that her heart was doing a strange, excited dance in her chest.

“No disappearing,” she said with a small smile. “At least, not yet.”

Max’s grin widened. “Good. Because I think you’re a natural at this. You belong out here.”

The words struck something deep inside her. Belong. She wasn’t sure where she belonged anymore, but for the first time, standing here with Max, holding a helmet meant just for her, she felt a flicker of that feeling—like maybe she did belong somewhere outside the palace walls.

She turned the helmet over in her hands, then looked up at him. “Thank you. Really.”

Max shrugged, the gesture so casual it made her smile. “It’s just a helmet. But hey, now you’ll have no excuse to not race me next time.”

The princess laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’d have a pretty big advantage.”

Max winked. “Maybe. But who knows, you might surprise me.”

They stood there for a moment, the sound of engines and laughter filling the space between them. She clutched the helmet a little tighter, feeling the pull to stay here with him, to keep being this version of herself. But she knew she couldn’t stay long—not tonight. There would be questions if anyone realised she hadn’t been in her room all evening.

She stared at the helmet in her hands, her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the visor. Something about the gesture—Max giving her something that was entirely hers, something from this world—made her feel bolder than before. Maybe it was the way he had smiled at her, or the fact that she didn’t have to be anyone other than herself around him. Whatever it was, a playful spark ignited inside her.

She looked up at Max, who was watching her with that easy grin, clearly amused by the way she was studying the helmet. Without thinking too much about it, she raised her chin and asked, “How about that race, then?”

Max blinked, surprised, then his grin widened. “You serious?”

She shrugged, her smile growing. “Why not? You said I’m a natural, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean that natural,” he said, laughing softly. “You sure you’re ready to take me on?”

The challenge in his voice only fueled her. She had tasted the thrill of the track last night, and now, with the helmet in her hands, the idea of racing Max—even if she was far from a professional—was too tempting to resist.

“I’m sure,” she said firmly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Unless you’re scared you’ll lose.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, princess,” he teased, the nickname rolling off his tongue in a playful, light-hearted way that made her grin. He didn’t know how close to the truth that was. And while it would usually make her panic, it was clear he didn’t know who she was. “Let’s do it.”

She felt a rush of adrenaline as she followed him over to the karts. Max helped her adjust the helmet and get settled in the driver’s seat. The moment she gripped the steering wheel, that same electric thrill from last night returned, only now, it was heightened by the fact that she was about to race him.

Max hopped into his kart, giving her a wink from across the track. “Alright,” he called, his voice muffled by his own helmet, “just remember, it’s all about control, not speed. Don’t push it too hard.”

She nodded, her heart pounding as the engines roared to life around them. The buzz of excitement in the air was contagious, and she found herself gripping the wheel tighter, anticipation humming through her veins.

“Ready?” Max shouted over the noise.

“Ready!” she called back, her voice filled with a mix of nerves and excitement.

With a sharp rev of the engine, they were off.

The first few moments were a blur of motion and sound. She felt the kart lurch forward, the wind whipping against her as she sped down the track. Her nerves spiked, but she quickly remembered Max’s words—control, not speed. She focused on keeping steady, her hands firm on the wheel as she navigated the turns.

Max was ahead, of course, but she could see him glancing over his shoulder, slowing down just enough to let her keep pace. She knew he was going easy on her, but she didn’t mind. The thrill of racing him—of racing anyone—was more than enough to make her feel like she was flying.

The world around her blurred into a mix of bright lights and the roar of engines. For the second time in her life, she wasn’t thinking about the palace, her duties, or the expectations that constantly weighed her down. It was just her, the kart, the track, and the rush of adrenaline surging through her veins.

Max pulled ahead slightly as they rounded a sharp corner, but she was right behind him, her competitive spirit kicking in. She leaned into the turn, feeling the kart respond beneath her, and for a brief moment, she let herself push just a little harder.

She caught up with him, and when he looked back, his eyes met hers through their visors. There was a flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or pride. He grinned, then slowed again, letting her pass him just before they hit the final straightaway.

She laughed, the sound muffled by her helmet but still filled with pure, unfiltered joy. She knew he was letting her win, but the thrill of it was real, and she couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride as she crossed the makeshift finish line.

She slowed to a stop, pulling off the steering wheel as she’d seen Max do, her laughter bubbled over. Max pulled up beside her, his own helmet off, his face lit up with a grin.

“Well, look at you,” he said, hopping out of his kart and walking over to her. “You actually made me work for it.”

She climbed out, still catching her breath, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You’re lying. You let me win.”

Max shrugged, clearly not about to deny it. “Maybe I did,” he said, smirking. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you were pretty good out there.”

She beamed at the compliment, still riding the high of the race. “That was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

Max leaned back against the fence, watching her with an easy smile. “Yeah, it’s a rush. You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“I was,” she admitted, her voice softer now. She hadn’t felt this free, this alive, in... well, she couldn’t even remember. “I really was.”

Max’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, as if he could sense there was more beneath her words. But he didn’t push. Instead, he smiled and got close to her, pulling up her visor so he could see her eyes better.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“We’ll see.” He winked, leaning back on the kart again, clearly in no rush to leave. “So, you coming back tomorrow?”

Her heart skipped at the idea. “Maybe,” she said, feeling the tug of responsibility from the palace, but also the undeniable pull to return here—to this track, to Max, and to the freedom she had only just started to discover.

“I’ll be here,” Max said, giving her that same playful smile as the night before. “Same time, same place.”

She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. “I’ll think about it.”

As they stood there, the night air cool against her skin, she felt something shift inside her. For the first time in a long time, she had something to look forward to—something that wasn’t bound by duty or expectation. She had this—this world, this track, this chance to be someone else, even if just for a little while.

And as she walked away, the helmet tucked under her arm, she knew she’d be back. How could she not?

Her pulse was still racing as she slipped through the gap in the stable wall, her heart light with the thrill of the night’s race. The cold night air stung her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. She hadn’t felt this alive in years—her mind still buzzing with the memory of the wind whipping past her as she sped around the track, Max’s teasing grin as he let her take the lead, and the helmet now tucked securely under her arm.

She quietly crossed the stable yard, the moon casting long shadows over the cobblestones. The palace was still, its lights dimmed, as if it, too, was resting from its heavy burdens. She let out a breath of relief, thinking she’d made it back undetected.

But as she rounded the last corner towards the servant’s door leading into the palace, a figure stepped out of the shadows.

She froze, her heart plummeting to her stomach.

“Princess,” came a low voice, steady and unmistakable.

Her personal guard, Lukas, stood there with his arms crossed, his expression stern but not angry. The tall man’s silhouette was familiar—broad-shouldered, dressed in his midnight-blue uniform, with the polished silver crest of the royal family gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He had been her personal protector for years, and though he had always been professional, there was a softer side to Lukas that she had come to trust.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing for an excuse. She hadn’t expected to run into anyone, much less Lukas. She opened her mouth to say something, but her words stuck in her throat.

Lukas stepped forward, his sharp gaze landing on the helmet tucked under her arm. His brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, she feared he might drag her straight to the King and Queen.

Instead, he sighed, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Out racing, were we?” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the disapproval in his tone.

She winced, shifting uncomfortably. “I... I just needed to get out for a while,” she admitted, her voice small, but she couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips. Even now, standing in front of Lukas, knowing she was about to get a lecture, she couldn’t help but feel a lingering joy from the night.

Lukas’s sharp eyes softened as he took in her expression—the light in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks. He sighed again, longer this time, and his shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Your Highness,” he muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. Then he looked back at her, his tone a little gentler. “You can’t keep sneaking out like this. It’s dangerous. If the King or Queen found out...”

She bit her lip, feeling the weight of his words, but the exhilaration of the night was still thrumming beneath her skin. “I know, Lukas,” she said softly, her smile faltering for the first time. “But... just for a little while, I needed to be something other than...” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence, but Lukas understood.

“Other than the princess,” he finished for her, his tone quieter now.

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the helmet in her arms. “I just... It felt so good. No one recognised me. No expectations. I was just... me.”

Lukas studied her for a long moment, his stern expression softening further. He had been by her side long enough to understand how heavy the crown weighed on her, even though she wasn’t Queen yet. He saw it in the way she carried herself, always poised, always controlled. But now, standing here in the moonlight, he saw something else—something he hadn’t seen in her for a long time. Happiness.

Another sigh escaped his lips, and this time it was more resigned. Without a word, he reached out and gently took the helmet from her arms. She watched, surprised, as Lukas examined it for a moment, running his thumb over the smooth surface. Then he looked up at her, his voice firm but not unkind.

“I’ll cover for you tonight,” he said quietly. “If anyone asks, you’ve been in your room since before dinner. But,” he added, fixing her with a pointed look, “you absolutely cannot sneak out again. Not this week, not ever—not like this. It’s too risky. Do you understand?”

Her heart swelled with a mixture of relief and guilt. She had expected anger, a stern reprimand, maybe even being dragged straight to her parents. But Lukas’s understanding, his willingness to protect her, caught her off guard.

“I understand,” she said softly, grateful. “Thank you, Lukas. I— I’m sorry.”

Lukas’s expression softened even more, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’ve watched you grow up. I know what this life asks of you. But you need to be careful, princess. You can’t take these kinds of risks.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “I won’t. I promise.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them easing. Then Lukas glanced down at the helmet again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re getting into some interesting hobbies, Your Highness. Kart racing, huh?”

She grinned, a small laugh escaping her. “It’s... different,” she admitted. “But I love it.”

“I can see that,” Lukas said with a rare hint of amusement in his voice. “Just—if you’re going to be tearing around tracks at night, maybe let me know first. That way I won’t have to worry about losing you to some street racer.”

Her eyes widened, her heart skipping at the thought of Lukas discovering who she had been racing with. She quickly shook her head, laughing nervously. “No street racers,” she said. “Just... fun.”

Lukas gave her a knowing look, but he didn’t push. Instead, he held up the helmet and gestured toward the stable door. “Go on. Get inside before someone else spots you.”

She nodded, stepping past him, but before she could go, Lukas added, “I’ll keep this for now,” referring to the helmet in his hand. “Safer that way. I’ll give it back to you when it’s... less suspicious.”

She smiled, grateful. “Thank you, Lukas.”

Lukas just gave a small nod, watching as she slipped through the door into the palace, her heart still pounding with the remnants of the night’s excitement.

As she quietly made her way back to her room, she couldn’t help but smile. She had managed to keep her secret—thanks to Lukas—and despite the risks, she didn’t regret a moment of it. The track, Max, the rush of the race—it was all worth it.

But she knew Lukas was right. She couldn’t keep sneaking out like this. Not without being more careful. Yet even as she crawled into bed, the memory of the night’s freedom stayed with her, lingering like the glow of the moon outside her window.And as her eyes drifted closed, a small, rebellious thought crossed her mind: Maybe just one more race.

part two

[profeminist]

Cartoon by https://www.instagram.com/vulgadrawings

AGGRIEVED ENTITLEMENT

looks like this:

[The single panel comic has a pink background. A white man with short brown hair wearing a white collared shirt and black pants is sitting on one end of a wide wooden bench. His arms are crossed and he is staring straight ahead, his legs splayed out to either side wider than his hips. To his right stands a woman with dark hair and brown skin wearing a green vest over a lilac long-sleeved shirt and black shirt. She is gesturing with one hand at the bench, smiling as she looks sideways at it.]

Woman: I THINK I DESERVE TO SIT ON THIS BENCH TOO!

[Below the first drawing, the woman is now sitting on the opposite end of the bench, her hands on her closed knees. She is looking sideways apprehensively at the man who has fallen onto the ground. His arms are flung out and he looks horrified.]

White man: OH MY GOD I'VE BEEN PUSHED OFF! THERE'S NO ROOM FOR ME ON [Underlined text.] MY [End underlined text.] BENCH ANYMORE!

See also: human conversation.

"Men perceived the discussion as being equal when women talked only 15% of the time, and the discussion as being dominated by women if they talked only 30% of the time."

[beansprean]

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

And they lived happily ever after? LOL

Izzyguana AU part 5! (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Aerial shot of the hill where Izzy's grave is marked, a hill sweeping steeply downward behind it toward a small bay where the ocean laps hungrily at the shore. It is dark and raining hard in thin diagonal strikes. 1b. Close up of Izzy's grave marker from below as it is pelted by rain. Behind, thick clouds roll past, rumbling with distant thunder. 1c. Repeat. A loud clap of thunder hits just as a flash of lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating a gloved hand that suddenly punches, palm up, out of the dirt.

2a. series of POV panels on a dark background, showing the ramshackle porch of Stede and Ed's home. The wooden slat door is closed, but there is a gap in the wood above the doorknob where golden light is shining through, juxtaposing the cold blues and purples of the storm outside. There is a shuffling sound of uneven footsteps. 2b. Repeat, closer to the door now, the panel tilted as if the POV is tipping back and forth as it climbs the stairs. The footsteps are louder. 2c. Repeat, closer, now past the stairs, footsteps louder still. 2d. Repeat. Closer. A final thump. The shadow of a head and shoulders falls across the door. 2e. Repeat. The door creaks open, letting out a burst of warm light. 2f. Repeat. The door opens fully, blinding the panel with light.

3a. Inside the house, lit up in warm candlelight, there is a ramshackle wooden table holding a pair of oranges, a bottle of rum, and a pair of silver coins on the close end. On the far end, a lumpy, unfrosted cake on a plate with a single lit candle in the center. At the head of the table in front of the cake sits the iguana in a handmade high chair, a party hat of wrapped palm leaves strapped to its head. Stede and Ed are standing at the table on either side of it with matching party hats. All three look towards the viewer as the door is opened. Ed, wearing a purple tee and green lavalava, has a cup in his right hand and his left hand is frozen mid-cheer. He stares at the newcomer with his jaw dropped and eyes wide with shock. Stede, wearing his teal blouse and brown leather pants, is similarly frozen, leaning into the table on his left hand and holding up a cup in his right as he stares toward the door. A handmade banner stretched behind them reads 'Happy Rebirthday Izzy'. 3b. Reverse shot, chest up of the real human Izzy standing at the door, arm extended to hold it open. He is covered in mud and soaked by the rain, hair falling down into his eyes, and is wearing the cream shirt he died in, now made loose and transparent by the rain but still bearing a faint bloodstain on the chest. Izzy stares forward at the scene in abject horror and confusion, lip curled back from his teeth. 3c. Repeat of 3a, this time with human Izzy and the head of the table. Another candle has been added to the cake, the banner has been changed to read 'Happy Rebirthday Izzys', and a third orange has appeared on the table. The iguana side-eyes Izzy, hissing suspiciously. Stede has resumed his cheer, raising his cup with his right hand and reaching around the iguana's chair to place his left on human Izzy's shoulder. Ed is laughing happily, leaning his forehead into human Izzy's temple and cupping his head with his left hand. Izzy sits frozen and frowning in shock and bewilderment, eye twitching, Ed's party hat now on his head. Izzy thinks to himself, "...Is it too late to crawl back into my grave?" /end ID

[ichigokeks]

The positioning of Rak and Mut is especially interesting in this scene. Mut is represented by warm colours and wood, as this reflects his warm personality and origin from the island. Rak on the other hand is placed in front of a bluish, cool-toned background. If you look at the full shot, most of it is Mut and the wooden panel behind him. Rak is at the edge of the frame. Mut is not just physically leaning into Rak's bedroom, he is figuratively pushing into his world with his kiss and his proposal to love Rak nonetheless.

[ogh-rambles]

Rewriting Fate - Chapter 4

chapter 3 > chapter 4 (you're here!) > chapter 5(in progress...)

word count! 2k.

warnings! only curses but if u count angst as one... a/n: oh boy we're back with the famed scene (click here for the full scene of the art below!)

A short, comfortable small talk envelops your party as Katsuragi guides you both to the village, an ever-present smile on his face. 

“I see… I’m glad you left that place before the landslide hit.” The man hums thoughtfully. “And your friend…”

Katsuragi’s gaze eventually lands on the golden feather that sways from Kuni’s neck, the latter restless under his intense stare.

His dark eyes grow wide at the sight, shocked to see an item of such importance so far from the mainland where Tenshukaku stands. “You... You have the Plume of Luxury. What affiliation do you have with the Shogun…?” 

You stiffen at his words, watching as he quickly notices Kuni’s avoidance in question to the topic behind the feather. Kuni nervously clutches the golden ornament in his palm, moving closer to you.

Pausing, Katsuragi clears his throat, nodding to himself as he averts his attention away.  “I suppose it’s for the best that you keep your background to yourself.” 

Kuni nods quietly, tucking it into his collar.

Your eyes move on from the two, quickly distracted by the plentiful clusters of homes and warmly lit windows emerging in the distance, exposing a much more lively view of Tatarasuna than you were previously familiar with. The buildings were in their prime, the wooden panels worn yet steady under your feet as you made your way into the village under the cover of night.

The aching sensation in your heart grows strong as you take in the prosperous village, knowing what is to come in a matter of years. Guilt, maybe. Hope? You’re already scared of the butterfly effect that was inevitable with your arrival, but you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you gave a small hint here and there. Would Tatarasuna still be thriving in the future as it is now? 

Your wandering eyes meet the prototype beside you, who lights up under your attention, still holding onto your sleeve with his firm grasp.

What will happen to him then?

You barely stop yourself from face-planting into a wall of muscle as Katsuragi stops abruptly in front of a small home. He slides the door open and turns around, gesturing inside.

“I will take you both to my superior, Nagamasa.” Katsuragi briefly explains, ushering you both into the warm interior before he heads in himself.

Your shoulders sag at the heat that enveloped your shivering body, noticing a small, dusty fireplace nestled into one of the corners. It seems newly built, you note as you stare into the embers. A couple of leftover stone bricks were still stacked up precariously against the wall. 

Kuni looks around, starry-eyed as he stands rather close to you despite the extra space, his synthetic skin cool against you. The one room was a little cramped to be housing three people at once, but you couldn’t complain. It was much better than the small cavern you and Kuni had found a few moments ago.

You lift your head, eyes wide at the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Ah, Katsuragi. I need your help with something, do you think… Oh?” A man, a little older than Katsuragi walks in from the other room, slipping through the sliding frame doors. He looks a little taken aback by the two strangers who seem just as lost as he. “And… whom might they be?”

So this was the man who would later be the one to slay Katsuragi when everything fell apart. You hold back a grimace, the soft murmurs between the two men turning into white noise in your ears as you study Nagamasa discreetly. 

He hadn’t made an appearance in the game, so you were at least a little curious about what he looked like. Dark brows are drawn into a tight crease, and brown eyes, clear and sharp, flicker from his yoriki to you and Kuni. 

He rakes a hand through black hair as he nods at Katsuragi’s explanation. The locks were a little unkempt, loose and just barely brushed his shoulders as he moved to face you. 

“I apologise for the wait. Welcome to Tatarasuna village.” He murmurs, steady gaze flickering between you and Kuni. “Kasturagi has explained to me that he found you both while patrolling on Nazuchi Beach.”

It wasn’t really a lie. Katsuragi had found you on the beach as he said but had excluded any mention of you finding Kuni in Shakkei Pavillion. 

You nod along to Nagamasa’s words as Katsuragi turns to the other man, gesturing to you.

“Yes, this is…” Katsuragi paused, looking a little sheepish. “Ah, my mistake. I forgot to ask you both for your names in the rush to get you both here.”

You blink. “Oh. Right.”

With hidden trepidation, you tell them your name, eyes darting down to your hands. Now your name was out there. You quickly move on from there, turning to the one sitting beside you, staring at you with wide shining eyes. Right, you hadn’t even told him your name.

Kuni whispers your name under his breath, lips curving into a small smile that had you mentally squinting against the pure light that emitted from him.

“And you?” Nagamasa quirks his brow, briefly eyeing the expensive-looking fabric that the other had donned. 

Kuni shuffles uneasily beside you. “I don’t have one.” 

The older man gruffly hums, scratching at his chin while Katsuragi frowns. “Don’t have one, you say…”

Katsuragi thinks for a moment before raising an offer with a subtle tilt of his head. “How about giving yourself a name? What do you think about that?”

The puppet’s eyes widen. “A name… for me?”

"You can think about it as you settle down in our village." Katsuragi leans back, crossing his arms across his chest. He seems pleased at the other's reaction.

The prototype nods as naive hope and admiration blossom in his hollow chest. 

Nagamasa watches the interaction with an unreadable, neutral expression, clearing his throat. 

“Now, about living in Tatarasuna…”

After introducing you to his superior, Katsuragi welcomed you both into his own home, offering a place to sleep for the night before they set up a place for you both to live in for the rest of your stay here at Tatarasuna. 

As you comfortably lay in the warm futon that Katsuragi had so generously laid out for you in a spare room, you absentmindedly stare up at the ceiling. Your new companion was and had been staring at you for quite some time now, sitting on his futon instead of slipping under the covers. 

You think back to the conversation you had with Nagamasa. 

The inspector had given you two a chance to start a life in Tatarasuna after you revealed that you had no memory of ending up on the beach. You were to start learning the basics of swordsmithing by tomorrow morning along with Kuni. Despite having eased your worries about meeting Katsuragi and continuing the story as it was planned, you can’t help but feel a lingering concern. 

Sighing exasperately, you flip to your side, staring back. Innocent indigo eyes blinked at you before a whisper filled the room. “Not sleeping? I thought you said humans needed to sleep?”

“Mn. Not tired.” You prop your head up on the pillow to face him better. “Why don’t you lie down? I know you don’t need sleep but the futon is comfortable.”

You watch Kuni let out a soft ‘oh’, before sliding into the covers stiffly, unsure of his movements. He glances at you for approval. “It’s… soft.”

“Isn’t it?” Settling down, you breathe out, the heavy weight on your chest a little lighter after talking to him. “Even if you don’t need to do the things humans do, doesn’t it feel nice to do them anyway?”

A soft shuffling noise comes from Kuni as he turns to you, the covers pulled up to his chin. He nods.

The corners of your lips naturally lift in amusement. “Now go to sleep. Isn’t it boring to stay up doing nothing all night?”

Shifting slightly under the thick blanket, the puppet finally shuts his eyes, letting his body rest like he saw you do before. It’s a little strange, allowing his body to fall slack when he’s so used to being aware of everything, eyes wanting to take in everything that the world presents him with. 

Listening to your soft breaths fill the room, he can’t help but make his artificial lungs mimic yours. He knows he doesn’t need to breathe or sleep. But as he finds his body relaxing, his mind goes quiet.

Finally, he lets himself rest in your presence.

Sitting up, you watch with a bittersweet smile as your companion ‘falls asleep’. Moving slowly and quietly, you slip out of the sheets, your steps silent against the tatami mat as you cautiously move towards the doors.

You glance back with finality at the unmoving form under the sheets, your distant eyes skimming over his dark hair splayed out on the pillow to his tranquil resting face.

You had been contemplating executing this plan since you had first met him in the pavilion. Initially, you had thought that you had ruined everything by leaving the domain with him, however, things had worked out in your favour and now things were where they had always been. 

Now only you were the abnormality in this moment. You weren’t supposed to be here. Staying would only mean you would distort the story more, and the thought of a future you didn’t know frightens you. 

Feeling the biting wind against your skin, you rip your gaze away, slipping out the doors and closing it behind you with a soft click, walking across the wooden panels of the deck that surrounded the home. You had to leave before your hesitation got the better of you and you ended up making a decision that you would regret.

Your feet touch the grass as you ready yourself to leave.

“Where are you going..?”

Your heart sank, head whipping around. Shit.

He’s staring at you with wild, desperate eyes – confusion and terror written all over him. They dart frantically across your face, as if searching for any reason you might have for leaving the room without him. 

It's almost painful to look at him, his trembling hand gripping so tightly onto his veil.

“...”

You say nothing.

What could you even tell him? That this was for his own good? That you swear that you’ll come back to him in the future?... That you were terrified to ruin his life more than it would become?

His expression grows more and more distraught at your silence and he stumbles towards you, desperately clutching at your clothes.

“Do you not like it here?” His thready voice quivers, sounding smaller than ever. “That’s okay, we can go…!”

The inner turmoil was back again, hitting you in full force. It was for his own good, you think to yourself. You’d rather carry the burden of leaving him rather than—

“... I’ll go with you! Wherever you go! Wherever!” His form shudders with every word, tears pooling in his eyes. “So...! So... Please... Please, please, please, please.”

“... Don’t leave me.”

You fail to swallow down the building lump in your throat, steeling yourself as you breathe in and—

…

You find yourself back inside, face vacantly fixed up at the ceiling again. The pressure on your heart is replaced with the arms of a desperate puppet clinging onto your body, his futon discarded for your own. He’s tense, and the extreme closeness is a little stifling but you can’t bring yourself to complain or push him away. 

His face is buried into your shoulder, and your heart squeezes with immense guilt as you feel him hiccup softly against your shirt. 

Your plan failed.

Closing your eyes, you exhale slowly as you tentatively reach up and card your fingers through his silken hair. He goes quiet, holding your arm tighter.

… There was no way you could leave now.

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

33. Renov-log

Note: Jeez, we’re close to the end now…

Masterlist here

After months of touring, recording, and relentless promotion, the girls of aespa finally had some downtime. Considering that Whiplash would be their last release of this year and their world tour success, they managed to snag a good break.

To be exact, 2 weeks.

Naturally, they decided it was time for a major change:

Renovating their dorm.

Of course, Y/n, who had barely recovered from the last leg of their tour, suddenly found himself roped into this mess once again. Because despite having muscles on their own, they just want to hang out with him more.

-

It all started innocently enough. The girls were gathered in the living room, flipping through catalogs, each with vastly different ideas on what their “new space” should look like. Y/n sat at the head of the table, already feeling a headache forming.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Y/n asked, glancing from one girl to the next, noting their determined expressions.

“Yup,” Karina said, not even looking up as she circled a bright red couch in a magazine. “We’re over this old setup. It’s time for something new.”

Winter chimed in with a deadpan tone, her face buried behind her phone. “I’ve been staring at that peeling wallpaper for two years. It’s haunting my dreams at this point.”

“Ok, you should’ve told me that earlier, Jeong.” Y/n sighed.

Ningning grinned, bouncing in her seat. “We need more colour. And a karaoke machine!”

Y/n blinked at that last part. “A karaoke machine? Why?”

“Yep,” Giselle said, casually pointing at the list in front of him. “Right next to the beanbags and mini-fridge. Oh, and let’s not forget, we want a cozy reading nook by the window.”

Y/n rubbed his temples. “This is getting out of hand…I don’t study architecture here.”

Winter strolled in, looking like she’d just had the most brilliant idea. “We should film a vlog about the whole renovation process. You know, a ‘Day in the Life’ kind of thing. It’ll be hilarious watching Y/n try to maintain some level of sanity.”

Y/n’s head snapped up. “Wait, what now?”

Karina and Ningning shared a glance, their mischievous grins widening.

“We’re doing it,” Winter declared. “Vlog day tomorrow.”

-

The next day, the real madness began. Furniture deliveries were scheduled, paint samples were splattered across walls, and half the dorm was covered in dust as the renovation began. But to make things worse, Giselle, true to her word, pulled out her camera, ready to document the entire thing for their channel.

“Alright guys, welcome to today's 'Reno-vlog'!’” Giselle announced with far too much enthusiasm. “We’re going to make this place look brand new, with the help of our lovely manager, Y/n!”

Y/n appeared in the background, balancing a stack of paint cans. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he grumbled, before nearly tripping over an extension cord.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” Karina laughed, zooming the camera in on his frazzled expression.

“I’m fine,” Y/n muttered, but the slight panic in his eyes said otherwise. “Just… someone please move the cables.”

As the girls split up into teams, the dorm turned into a scene straight out of a comedy show. Giselle and Ningning took charge of painting the living room, while Karina and Winter were busy assembling furniture. Y/n? Well, he was stuck in the middle of it all, trying his best to keep everything under control.

“Giselle! That’s not the right shade of blue!” Y/n yelled from across the room as he glanced at the paint sample. “You picked ‘Ocean Breeze,’ but that looks like ‘Misty Sky!’”

Giselle shrugged, completely unfazed. “Eh, blue is blue. It’ll look fine once it dries.”

“Right… because drying magically changes the colour.” Y/n sighed, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Karina and Winter struggled with an IKEA bookshelf in the corner.

“I’m telling you, this part goes here,” Winter said, holding a screw in one hand and a wooden panel in the other.

Karina looked equally as confused. “Are you sure? It looks upside down.”

“It’s not upside down,” Winter huffed, trying to force the pieces together. “I’ve done this before.”

Y/n watched from the doorway, shaking his head. “I give it five minutes before that thing collapses.”

Sure enough, the bookshelf stood triumphantly for about three minutes before one of the sides gave out, sending the entire structure crashing to the floor. Karina and Winter just stared at it, shocked into silence.

“Told you so.” Y/n deadpanned.

Ningning, however, was quick to pounce. “I got that on camera!” she cackled, pointing her phone at the wreckage.

“Thanks for the moral support, idiot,” Winter grumbled, crossing her arms.

Y/n raised his hands defensively. “Ya, you’re the ones who refused to look at the manual.”

Karina smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s right, Minjeong. We should’ve listened to the professional.”

Winter rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Fine, fine. Y/n wins this round.”

“Of course, one of my various W” The victorious manager patted his shoulder.

-

The painting was no better. The girls had chosen a variety of bright colors, each with a specific vision in mind. But when Ningning knocked over an entire can of ocean-blue paint onto the living room floor, Y/n nearly lost it.

“Yizhuo!” Y/n yelled, staring at the growing puddle of paint. “That was oil-based!”

Ningning winced, backing away. “Oops?”

Y/n sighed, already calculating how many hours it would take to clean that up. “I’m going to need a mop... and therapy after this.”

Giselle, ever the opportunist, swung the camera towards him. “And here we have Y/n, reaching the breaking point of this renovation project.”

The girls snickered, their laughter only growing louder as Y/n tried—and failed—to clean the paint with a completely inadequate rag.

“You know,” Winter teased as she filmed the scene with her phone, “this would make for some quality blackmail footage.”

"Another one?!" Y/n looked up from the floor, narrowing his eyes. “If that video ever sees the light of day, I’m throwing all of your new furniture out the window.”

Winter just shrugged, a sly grin on her face. “Tsk, whatever. But I’m still keeping the footage.”

-

Despite the setbacks, the renovation eventually started to come together. The walls were painted (after several attempts), the furniture was somewhat assembled, and the dorm slowly began to resemble a place they could all live in. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

Karina gestured to the new couches proudly. “See, Y/n? I told you it would look good.”

Y/n nodded, admiring the final product. “It actually does. You guys did well.”

Ningning, of course, couldn’t let him off the hook that easily. “Don’t forget, we captured your meltdown on camera for the vlog.”

“Yeah, Y/n, you were like this close to pulling your hair out,” Giselle added, laughing.

Y/n rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Great. I’m sure that’ll be the highlight AND the thumbnail of the video.”

-

Later that evening, after the chaos had died down and the renovation halted for the day, Y/n found himself in the kitchen, trying to salvage a snack from the fridge. As he fumbled around, Winter quietly walked in, leaning against the counter with a playful smile.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked, her voice soft but teasing.

"Just... trying to find something edible," Y/n replied, pulling out a carton of milk and sniffing it cautiously. "I'm about to get triggered out there."

Winter chuckled, watching him with an amused expression. "You know, you didn’t do too bad today. Kept your cool, mostly."

Y/n grinned, shaking his head. "Mostly, huh?"

There was a beat of silence between them, and Y/n couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. Ever since the "smooch prank," and his permission approved by the other girls, his feelings toward Winter had been... complicated.

He wasn’t sure where they stood or if it even meant anything to her. But he found himself increasingly flustered whenever she was around, her presence lingering in his thoughts.

Winter seemed to pick up on his awkwardness, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in slightly. “What’s with that look? You’re not still mad about the prank, are you?”

Y/n stammered, suddenly unable to find his words. “Uh, no. Not mad. Just... thinking.”

"Thinking about what?" Winter asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

Y/n nearly choked on his words. “Uh... nothing important.”

Winter smirked knowingly. “Sure, nothing important. You’re such a bad liar, Y/n. Just say that you like my kiss.”

…"I-I"

Before Y/n could respond, Karina popped into the kitchen, breaking the tension. “What’s going on in here? Are you two conspiring without us?”

“You want me to?,” Y/n said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying his nerves.

Karina raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Uh-huh. Well, just make sure we don’t find out you’re plotting a new prank on us, Minjeong.”

Winter flashed an innocent smile. “Who, me? Never.”

Y/n cleared his throat, desperately trying to change the subject. “So, uh, how’s the vlog going?”

Ningning entered the kitchen just in time to answer that. “It’s gold. The fans are going to love it. Especially the part where you nearly passed out from stress.”

-

As the night wore on, and the chaos of the day finally began to settle, Y/n found himself back in the living room, alone for a moment of peace. He sat on one of the new couches, admiring the final result of their hard work.

The dorm wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it had character. And despite the hiccups, it had been fun, even if he wouldn’t admit it to the girls.

Winter suddenly appeared in the doorway, her hair slightly tousled from the day’s work. “Mind if I sit?”

“Of course,” Y/n said, scooting over to make room for her on the couch.

She plopped down beside him, pulling her legs up underneath her. “You look deep in thought.”

Y/n chuckled. “Just thinking about how close I was to explode in front of you all.”

“Aish, your exaggerated too much,” Winter groaned, but with a soft smile on her lips. “But it was fun. I mean, look at what we did.”

Y/n glanced around the room, nodding. “It does look great…surprisingly.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Winter spoke again, her voice quieter this time. “You know, you’ve been pretty amazing through all this, idiot. I don’t think we say it enough.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Mhm…I’m just doing my job.”

“Still,” Winter said, her eyes meeting his. “We’re lucky to have you.”

Y/n felt his heart skip a beat, unsure of how to respond. Before he could muster a response, Winter flashed him a soft, genuine smile that made his heart skip another beat. Her sincerity was something he wasn’t used to handling, especially after all the teasing and chaos the group usually stirred up.

“..Since when you look so womanly…,” he finally said, scratching the back of his neck nervously before ruffling her hair.

"Yaaaa" Winter groaned.

“I’m lucky to have you guys too. Especially you, Jeong."

Winter’s smile grew, but the moment quickly turned awkward when Ningning’s voice echoed from down the hallway. “Hey, Y/n-oppa! Jeong-unnie! You better not be do some funny behaviour in there!��

Y/n groaned inwardly, thankful for the interruption but also wishing for just a little more time to figure out how he was feeling. Winter, on the other hand, chuckled softly, standing up from the couch.

“I guess that’s my cue,” she said with a light laugh, giving Y/n one last glance before heading toward the hallway.

“Goodnight, idiot.”

“Goodnight, crybaby” Y/n replied, his mind still whirling with the events of the day.

-

The next morning, the group wasted no time getting back into their usual antics. After the emotional (and slightly awkward) moment between Y/n and Winter, everything seemed to return to normal — well, as normal as life with aespa could be.

Ningning had already started editing the footage from the day before, giggling every time she came across a particularly chaotic scene.

“Y/n, you look like you’re about to combust,” she teased, playing a clip where Y/n was holding a mop, surrounded by spilled paint and half-assembled furniture.

“I WAS about to combust,” Y/n grumbled, sipping his coffee while trying to avoid looking at the screen. “That paint was everywhere.”

Giselle leaned over Ningning’s shoulder, pointing at the screen. “Oh man, this part’s gold. The bookshelf disaster. I still can’t believe Winter and Karina thought they could build that thing without instructions.”

Karina, who had just walked into the room, waved them off. “It was a learning experience.”

Winter, following behind Karina, raised an eyebrow. “A learning experience in failure, maybe.”

The banter continued as they all sat down for breakfast, but Y/n couldn’t help but steal glances at Winter. There was something about the way she carried herself, so casual yet so sincere, that kept him thinking about the night before. And the prank. And the way she had told him they were lucky to have him.

It wasn’t the first time Winter had caught him off guard with her softer side, but it was the first time he’d felt… different about it.

-

After breakfast, they got back to work on the final touches of the dorm renovation. Y/n found himself in the corner of the living room, trying to assemble a coffee table that had more screws than should be legally allowed.

Winter joined him, kneeling beside him as she attempted to help with the assembly. “Need some backup?”

Y/n chuckled. “As long as you’re reading the instruction, sure.”

Winter gave him a playful nudge, grinning. “Ya, I’m a quick learner, trust me.”

They worked in relative silence, but every now and then, their hands brushed as they both reached for the same tool. Y/n could feel the tension building, the air between them thick with the unsaid.

“So,” Winter said suddenly, breaking the silence, “you’ve been a little quiet lately. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Y/n hesitated. He wasn’t ready to lay everything on the table, not yet. “Just...wondering what’s after Whiplash and stuff.”

Winter didn’t seem satisfied with his answer but didn’t push further. “Well, we will be alright, but everything is fun now that you’re with us.”

“You said it all the time now.”

“Aish, can’t a lady show her appreciation?” Winter glared, but a giggle followed after.

Y/n’s stomach flipped again. There it was, that sincerity that always caught him off guard. “Thanks, Jeong.”

-

With the renovations nearly complete, the group decided it was time to finish up their “day in the life” vlog. Ningning, as always, took charge of the camera, while the rest of the girls threw themselves into creating as much chaos as possible.

Karina and Giselle staged a fake argument over who got the better new bedroom setup, complete with exaggerated yelling and finger-pointing. Ningning, cackling behind the camera, zoomed in on Y/n’s exasperated face as he tried to mediate the “fight.”

“I’m not a therapist,” Y/n groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can’t we just focus on finishing this?”

Karina crossed her arms, playing up the drama. “No, Y/n! Giselle needs to know I deserve the bigger closet!”

Giselle gasped in mock offense. “Oh, please! I have way more shoes than you do!”

Y/n sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like this is going to be the entire vlog?”

Winter, who had been standing off to the side, caught his eye and gave him a small, knowing smile. Despite the chaos, she seemed to find the situation just as amusing as he did.

-

Later that day, after the cameras were off and the renovation was finally—mostly—done, Y/n found himself back in the kitchen, once again trying to find something to eat. Winter quietly entered the room, as she often did, leaning against the counter.

“You're stealing my snack zone at this point” she teased lightly.

Y/n chuckled, pulling out a box of cereal. “Damn right. This is my domain.”

Winter smiled softly, watching him for a moment before speaking. “You’ve been handling everything really well, you know. The renovations, the vlog, the constant chaos.”

Y/n shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’m surprised my hair is still here.”

Winter’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she pushed off the counter and stood a little closer to him. “Ya, You’re doing great, Y/n. You’re... important to us.”

Y/n froze, his heart doing somersaults in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded, suddenly very interested in pouring cereal into his bowl.

Winter didn’t push further, but as she walked past him to leave the kitchen, her hand brushed his arm, sending a spark of warmth through him. He couldn’t help but watch her retreating figure, his mind racing with thoughts he wasn’t quite ready to confront.

-

That evening, the girls gathered in the living room, excitedly presenting Y/n with a small box wrapped in colorful paper. They had been out earlier that day, under the guise of running errands, but it seemed they had been plotting something else entirely.

“…What’s this?” Y/n asked, holding the box carefully as the girls watched him with expectant smiles.

“A gift,” Karina said, grinning. “For all the hard work you’ve done. Also it’s a bit over 1 year anniversary since you became our manager.”

“Oh.” Y/n widened his eyes. With all the tour planning and nonsense, it slipped his mind that it would’ve been a bit over a year since he first started as Aespa’s manager. Or maybe it was because it wasn’t work but rather just reuniting with his childhood friend and have a fun and inseparable (yet annoying) group.

“I didn’t even realise it has been a year already.” Y/n was awestruck.

“I mean…you did went through a lot. It makes sense you didn’t notice, oppa” Ningning chimed in.

"…I'm not getting fired, am I?"

"Of course not, open it!" Giselle groaned.

Y/n glanced around at them, suspicious but touched. He carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek new watch. It was simple, elegant, and exactly his style.

“Oh sht damn,” Y/n breathed, genuinely surprised. “This is... amazing. Thank you, guys.”

Ningning grinned. “We figured you needed something fancy after all the chaos we put you through this year.”

Winter, who had been standing quietly to the side, stepped forward, her eyes locking onto Y/n’s. “And just so you know, this wasn’t a prank,” she said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. “You really deserve it.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered at her words, and for a moment, he forgot all about the chaos of the day. He was just... happy.

"Just gonna say it…" Giselle smirked. "Minjeong suggested it."

"Aeri-unnie!!!!"

[syoddeye]

the warren, part six - natural

price x f!reader | 5.9k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, italicized flashbacks, skinny dipping, bathing, oral f!receiving, vaginal fingering, breeding kink, darkfic. a/n: fireworks followed by fireworks. shout out to early and the arrangement. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

This must be what it feels like to open a tomb.

Fetid air sweeps over your cheeks. Warm and stagnant, smelling of earth and metal.

The room is maybe eight by ten feet and sinks another six down to an unfinished floor of exposed dirt and rock. Thin pipes run from under the floorboards and into the wall, disappearing further underground. An empty, dusty stack of wooden shelves stands bolted to the cement walls. You’d think it’s an old root cellar—if it weren’t for the door.

Four paneled. Old and weathered yet sturdy looking. You don’t dare hop into the pit to test the heavy lock affixed to it; no way you could climb out.

You take a photo, shut the hidden hatch, and smooth the rug over it.

It’s nothing. Has to be. Kate would’ve told you about it if it mattered. You haul the couch over it anyway and tuck into bed with a knife. In the small hours, you decide to call the landlady at breakfast, perhaps Phil too, for good measure.

~~

“Oh, that? Old storm cellar.” Kate sounds amused, as if your trepidation is a cute joke. “The Warrens were originally from Tornado Alley. Hated storms. Brought that hate with them.”

“Where does the door lead?”

“A storage room. I emptied it.”

You lean against the counter, staring at the rug with your thumb caught between your teeth in thought. Since your arrival, you’ve seen two storms of note. Thunder and lightning, but nothing like the furies that roll over the Great Lakes, the ones that rattled the shutters and windows or leaked from cracks in the ceiling. Certainly no tornadoes. You, of all people, know what it is to carry a fear. A hatred.

“Everything alright?”

You fish for reassurance. “Yes. I feel silly, that’s all.”

The hook goes ignored. “Mhm.” 

“Guess I’ll move the couch back.” You laugh, apologize for troubling her, and leave the couch where it sits.

You don’t call Phil. You’d sound ridiculous.

Later, you sneak some extra work in, at least you try to. A mechanical whir putters then skips. You swear a wisp of smoke leaks from the disk drive. The old laptop that could, no more. Rendered a fossil, unresponsive to your troubleshooting. Frustration burns your belly, whittling your patience to naught. It fractures at the ring of your phone.

“Yes?” You snap, instantly searing yourself with the white-hot brand of guilt. “I’m so sorry, hello?”

John chuckles. “Bad time?”

“John. Oh, no. I–I’m not scheduled today, am I?”

“No, you’re alright. Shop’s slow, so I thought I’d check in.” He pauses. “If you’re busy, I can chat later.”

“I’m not. Unexpectedly so,” you shove your laptop off your lap, rising from bed. You stretch and pace to the kitchen. “Mind if I keep you company? See the kittens?” Best clear your head.

“I’d be delighted.”

~~

The kittens are feral. You know this, yet their instinctive rejection smarts. From a sun-bleached lawn chair, you watch them tussle and spar in the shade of John’s building. Their mother, the first time you’ve seen her, lounges on the welcome mat. She’s a proud creature. Big and gray like a storm cloud.

You haven’t come around to John’s understanding concerning the cats. The queen tolerates one of her kittens, nearly too old to nurse, as it tries to latch. You wonder if the baby’s a female. If she, like her mother, will fall pregnant in a few months. If she’ll end up with an unseasonably late litter, born to frost and snow rather than wildflowers and sunlight.

“Beautiful thing,” John observes, emerging from the garage with an ice-cold soda. He slots it in your hand and plants himself in the chair beside you. “Mama and her babies.”

“It’s something.”

“They’ll be off on their own soon. They’ll do fine.”

“And if not?” If one of the area’s predators doesn’t get to them, the road awaits.

“Then that’s that. Nature takes its course.”

You hate that he’s not wrong. Falling prey to a beast or an accident is simply what happens to creatures like the kittens. You chew your lip, thinking of how immutable that truth might’ve been once, but now? With the means to prevent all the unnecessary heartache? Knowing John’s attitude on man’s interference, you don’t voice it. Knowing your own.

You catch him staring. There’s something in the way his eyes linger. A quiet intensity that betrays the hunger he’s set aside for your benefit. Unspoken but raw. Crude. It claws at you as much as it does him.

Later, in the shower, you reacquaint yourself with your softer parts. You rouse a lovely pressure but fumble. It slips through your fingers and down the drain with the water.

~~

Your first inventory trip to Ponderosa arrives. The ride is more pleasant than the last, and John shoos you away to the library when you try to help at the town depot. He warns you it’s a lot of dull conversation and lifting, so you slink off.

The whole town’s decorated for the Fourth. Its two hotels are bursting at the seams, sidewalk patios filled with folk. A shuttle to a resort ten minutes away stops in front of the coffee shop, making the decision to delay your visit for you.

The Ponderosa Public Library is cozy and welcoming. The gleaming white stone floor of the entrance lends a hallowedness. Phil Graves’s drawl drifts through your head at the sight of a local history display positioned near the front, but the honeyed voice of the librarian hooks your attention. Draped in a floor-length cardigan, the kindly older woman eagerly waves you in. She’s thrilled to register you with a temporary card when you inquire.

“I can count on one hand how many visitors have signed up this summer. Two!” She laughs. “Your name?”

~~~

In the pre-dawn stillness of the desert, the landscape is a vast, empty stretch painted in muted hues of gray and indigo. Hints of morning light graze the earth and highway, devoid of traffic aside from the occasional tumbleweed. The openness feels expansive yet intimate. Alien, yet familiar. Desolation and your lonely home of some years. Where life makes the best of it. The most stability you’ve ever known.

You arrive in town five minutes past seven.

Passing the gas station, you keep your head down and ring hand displayed to let the synthetic gemstone reflect the sun. It doesn’t stop one trucker from leaning out of his cab with an appreciative whistle.

The library’s office light is on, so you knock on the staff entrance. Robin lets you in thirty seconds later, chattering on about a game show. You clean the bathrooms while she prepares the rest of the branch to open. You finish with minutes to spare and settle at the boxy computer that keeps your back to a wall.

The usual patrons file and out in as you send a dozen inquiry emails to writing gigs and delete rejections. You write a father of the bride speech for $50, your biggest job yet. Every sentence is a penny, and pennies add up. You’ll have enough for the car, gas, and computer in a few months. Everything is planned out and locked safely away in your head, except for one detail.

You traipse slowly along the geography shelf, hand poised like a dowsing rod, waiting for a feeling. Your fingers brush a spine and shiver. Idaho Cities and Townships. Paging to the index, you trace your finger down the list like you’re looking for the right scripture in church. The psalm to sing. Something pulls your finger to a place called Grouse Bay. It burrows under your skin and nails. Hope. 

~~~

You revere librarians. They’re the only people you’ve met who never pry, lest it be to help you. Jeanne, the librarian of this particular branch, leaves you to peruse without hovering. The bangles on her arms clink together like a bell on a cat. She minds herself until you approach the checkout with a short stack.

“Excellent choices, sweetie. These’ll keep you plenty company.” She scans them, apprising you of the upcoming fireworks, but abruptly pauses. Her eyes stare past you. “Are you expecting a handsome fella? A Brawny Man lookalike?”

From outside, John waves with a smile. You return both. “I am.”

She whistles low and slides the books to you with a knowing look. “I take it back. He’ll be plenty of company.”

Outside, John hooks a finger in your tote the moment you’re within reach and peers inside. Nosy. 

“A couple of romances, nothing you’d like.”

“That so? You don’t think I’d like…The Arrangement?” 

You bat at his hand, clutching your haul and tilting away as you walk. “I highly doubt it.”

A waggish grin lights up his face. If the man on the front cover of that particular text bears a resemblance to him, it’s pure coincidence.

On the ride home, his hand inches over your thigh. You let it rest and take another long shower.

You still can’t scratch the itch.

~~

Despite John’s preparations, the Fourth of July cleans the grocer out of booze, cigarettes, and just about everything else. The store shuts after lunch, and he talks you into a boat ride. 

“I didn’t know you owned a boat.”

“I don’t,” He hefts a cooler onto the tailgate, the last stash of crusher beer inside. “Kate does. Nik just patched her up.”

“Wish he’d fix my car.” Nikolai mentioned the part was delayed two weeks and blamed a train derailment further West. 

Kate’s home is an aging two-story half a mile down the lakeside road. Two juniper trees bracket the entrance, with twin rows of bluebells and dogbane lining the path. Her Ranger sits under a carport, flanked by a muddy ATV and an old Bronco.

You shoulder your bag and walk to the rear of John’s truck, studying the unfamiliar vehicles. “Who else is joining us?”

“Hello, rabbit.” A gruff voice purrs. Outdoors, Simon looks larger than life with no fixture or frame to duck. His muscles bulge under a black t-shirt, the skin on his arms more bronzed than his face. However, as he steps directly behind you, leaning over you to grab the cooler, you see faint tan lines around his eyes.

You whip around to face the cab, trying to not look so obvious with your failed escape attempt, and see John’s mouth flatten. Simon’s chest brushes and bumps your back, pelvis ghosting your hip as he effortlessly hauls the packed cooler over your head. The smell of burnt rubber, oil, and sweat is fleeting but intense.

“How’s the boat?” John slams his door. You flinch and hastily close the rear gate. 

“Glorified sardine tin.” Simon clears his throat and spits, then jerks his head. “C’mon.”

You follow in silence, crossing the road and descending a creaky staircase built into the slope of the hillside leading to the lake. Kate’s boat is bigger than you imagined, a double-decker pontoon. She and Nik stand at the mooring fixed to an aluminum dock, and as you step onto the last shallow flight, a man emerges from the cabin.

His grin is a crescent set on a chiseled jaw and hard to look away from. He isn’t as tall as Simon, but cuts just as imposing of a figure with wide shoulders and thick arms. He bounds closer, greeting the three of you like an excitable dog. Simon passes by, mumbling something that makes the man straighten and lock on to you with eyes an unnerving shade of blue, cynoid. Nothing like John’s.

John gently nudges you ahead and supplies your name. “And this is Soap. He’s Simon’s partner.”

Partner. That’s not as comforting as you want it to be. “Soap?”

An accent wraps around his words, catching you off guard. “Aye. Soap. Heard a lot about ye.”

“Good things I hope?”

He leans, voice dropping into a conspiratorial but genial whisper. “Plenty. Though if ye got a naughty streak, I won’t tell.”

The breeze off the lake doesn’t abate the heat his compliment evokes. A whiff of acetone blends with mint wafts off him, but it’s his nostrils that flare. He’s sniffing you. “I don’t–”

“Soap!” Simon barks.

“Chat later.” He whispers, then answers Simon’s call, disappearing with his counterpart.

A bit dazed, you greet Kate, and she steers you aboard. John unmoors the boat with Nik muttering in his ear, and you’re shown the prime seat at the bow. Kate takes the helm, and within minutes, the pontoon putters away from shore to join the dozens of vessels dotting the lake. Simon and Soap return with armfuls of bottles and cans, someone turns the satellite radio on, and John fits himself to your side. You don’t know the last time you celebrated the Fourth, and here you are, toasting two Brits, a Scot, and a Russian. If there’s a punchline, you hope to find it.

A flask eventually appears. You refuse, watching Soap’s mouth pucker in disgust and Nikolai drinking deep like it’s water. John squeezes your shoulder, his arm draping over you with his thigh pressed to yours.

He murmurs, “Why don’t you go see Kate? Get some girl talk in?” 

Kate doesn’t seem the type for girl talk, but how the others seem to hold their breath at John’s suggestion propels you to your feet.

You find Kate atop the upper deck, sprawled with a book and a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. The boat rides the wake of passing speedboats, forcing you to crawl and sit cross-legged. You barely hear the men below save for another toast.

“Too much for you, huh?” Kate asks, taking a drag.

It’s a conscious decision to not mention girl talk. “Yep. They’re…a lot.”

She snorts and lets the conversation wither early on the vine, probably for the best. She is your landlord.

Basking in the sun, you drink your warming beer and watch the water. Listen to the whoops and hollers across the lake.

When your father moved you across state lines to a ramshackle home perched atop a steep hill, you often crept onto the roof to do just this. They called that lake an unsalted sea, vast and untamed. Choppy with whitecaps and an unfathomable shade of blue, always darker than the sky above. You lived in fear of it, listening dutifully when your father carped on your morbid fascination. He banned you from trekking to its shores.

As a child, he suffered visions of you getting swept up by a rogue wave. You believed him, wanting him to care. As a teenager, you wondered if it was his way of protecting you from the men who prowled the docks, the boogeymen in the dark. His tacit acknowledgment of your growing older. Now, a thousand miles and a lifetime away, you know it’s because he simply didn’t want another prisoner to escape.

The first man whose love you wanted tried to trap you with water. The second dragged you to a desert. Looking down at John, your stomach twists. The third time’s a charm. He’s not like them.

“Rabbit.” Soap’s shaggy head pokes over the deck’s edge. “Mind if I join?”

Kate turns a page, you scoot, and Soap hoists himself up.

“So. You and John. What’s that like?” He laughs at your wince. “C’mon. Dinnae be shy. Been a minute since someone’s turned his head.”

“It’s…new.”

“New. Aye. Steamy? At eachother like–”

“Christ,” Kate grumbles, suddenly rocking up to a seated position, simultaneously stubbing out her cigarette as she slides to the edge. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Soap snickers. “Dinnae mind her.”

Sensing a sliver of an opening, you redirect. “John said you and Simon were partners. How long have you been together?”

“Years, I reckon. Hard to picture life before him. I was a mess. Workin’ at his shop’s done me good.”

“Oh, I thought you were partner partners.”

He grins. “No, yer not mistaken. We’re partners in business an’ bed.” 

With a gentle dig, his elbow finds your ribs, and you feign an affable chuckle into your drink. The cheap beer’s too tepid to stomach, but you swallow, hide a grimace and push on. “What brought you here?”

Soap rolls his shoulders and finally casts his gaze elsewhere. “Wanted to see the world. I was an artist. I fucked off from home at sixteen an’ never returned. Wandered for years. Traveled all over.”

Sixteen. Incomprehensible. Not that eighteen was much better, but you weren’t alone. 

“And you stopped here?” You came to Grouse Bay to hide. Picked it at random. To think someone else did the same seems kismet.

“I ken. Ye probably think I’m daft. Of all the places I’ve seen, how come fuckin’ Idaho? Of all places? I dinnae. Set its hooks in me.” He glances at Simon. “Love’s got a way of changing people, aye? Transformin’ them. It could be ye, putting down roots next.”

The comment nips your soft underbelly. You pivot again. “Did you paint? Do you still create art?”

Soap turns. “Nae so much anymore. I mostly draw. Dipped my toes into painting, but too much to carry. The art I make nowadays…It’s gruesome.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Taxidermy. ‘S what Simon and I do,” His eyebrows shoot up, teeth flashing in a puckish smile. “Ye didnae ken?”

Revulsion tightens your throat. “I didn’t.”

He bites his lower lip, clearly eager to fan your disgust like a fire. A hairbreadth of control keeps his mouth shut long enough to rethink it. Instead, his focus drifts once more to his partner. 

Despite the acidity lapping at your throat, curiosity opens your mouth. “Do you know how Simon came to Grouse Bay?”

Soap’s lips press tightly together, enough to sap their color, then bend into a brief scowl. Without warning, he stands and rips his shirt off in one smooth movement. He tosses it, crows a complaint about the heat, and doesn’t look over the upper deck before launching off the pontoon.

Howls of laughter erupt, but surprise tethers you in place until John calls your name. Apparently, a sunset dip is tradition.

Ducking into the cabin under the premise of changing, you whisper to Kate, “I don’t have a swimsuit. John didn’t tell me about swimming.”

“He must’ve,” Kate quarters a lemon on the tiny counter and tucks a wedge into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She shoves it through with a thumb and licks the pad. “Nobody will bat an eye if you go in your underwear.”

“I’m not–that’s too–”

“You’re shy. That’ll pass. I’ll tell John you need his shirt.” She’s gone before you can argue.

A short eternity squeezes into less than a minute. John appears in the doorway, and beyond him, you hear Nikolai’s deep laugh.

“Kate says you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Well, I’ve come to give you this just in case.” 

You thought you’d see John shirtless for the first time under different circumstances. Not in a cramped boat cabin, surrounded by his drunk friends. Your chest tightens. All the muscle you’ve only glimpsed and imagined is there in front of you. A torso sculpted by labor and practicality, rugged with scars and fat cushioning his stomach. And, to your delight, decently hirsute. His hand drops to his belt.

“Shirt’s yours. Need me to turn around?”

It feels more intimate than any kiss he’s given you, and it seems a test. You muster your nerve, set aside caution, and peel off your dress.

“Blue and white. Festive.”

“And you’re in green.”

He kicks off his jeans with a shrug. “Not my birthplace, and not for long.”

Standing at the stern, you entertain second and third thoughts, toying with the shirt’s hem. John waits in the water, expectant. You catch a flash of white—he’s nude. Toward the bow, you hear the others. They’re all nude.

“What about Kate?” You ask, voice warbling with uncertainty. 

“Kate never joins. She watches.”

“Watches?”

“For other boats. Voyeurs. Threats.”

You feel stupid for asking.

The shock of the cold water hits like a full-body slap, stealing your breath and sending a sharp jolt through your limbs. Arms wrap around you as you surface, and the scruff of John’s beard scrapes the juncture of your neck, chin pushing the wet shirt aside to briefly suck your neck. It’s sudden, it’s a lot, knowing what’s behind your back—

“John!” You sputter indignantly, giggling nervously as his broad hands slide to squeeze your hips. 

“Gimme a second.” He noses your wet skin and plants a few kisses before relinquishing his hold. “Sorry, sweetheart. Hard to keep my hands off you when you look so good.”

Sufficiently flustered, you promptly forgive him. “It’s fine. Just not in front of the others, please.”

“Right,” he chuckles and pinches your bottom as he paddles past. “She’s shy.”

Affronted, you swim after him.

As much as you hate to admit, Kate was right—your shyness melts with the sun’s slow descent. You spend the rest of the daylight in and out of the water, racing the men and learning to automatically avert your eyes from their frankly proud nakedness. By the time evening falls, you’re worn out, dressed, and idle as you munch on a sandwich Kate packed. It feels surreal. The entire day. Breathtakingly normal despite the skinny dipping.

Not weird, just different.

Eventually, everyone finds their place for the fireworks. You nestle into John’s side, swapping your towel for a blanket. He’s still bare-chested, shirt drying over an empty seat. It’s natural, resting your head on his shoulder. Fits perfectly. Simon, Soap, and Nikolai climb to the roof. Kate reclines in the captain’s chair. Beneath the cotton weave, John’s hand strokes your knee, and the other rests across your shoulders. The conversations lull as the whole lake seems to hold its breath.

Flashes of red and white burst overhead, their reflections shimmering over the rippling, dark water. Blue sparks spill in glittering arcs, lighting the night sky in meteoric explosions. Cheers from across the lake erupt alongside them. John’s hold doesn’t lax. For nearly an hour, he keeps you close, palm searing your skin. Your attention strays from the show, instead admiring his crow’s feet, the mole on his nose, and the silver woven into his beard. The fireworks cast a glow, making him look almost ethereal. Not angelic, otherworldly. The lines and marks on his skin map to places you’ve never been. Never thought you’d go.

The sky returns to an unbroken, inky black, the scent of sulfur settling in a fog. Kate ferries you to land, and you disembark ahead of John with his keys. In the drive, you pop the tailgate and then load your things into the passenger seat. 

“Bunny.”

You turn to see Soap hauling the cooler, huffing and puffing a bit. The thing’s empty, so he must’ve hurried up the stairs. He crosses the road, tossing his burden into the truck. 

“Bunny?”

He shakes his head. “Must’ve misheard. Said ‘bonnie’. Endearment of sorts. Listen, I was hopin’ to get another chance to speak with ye. You’re a good time when you let loose.”

“Thank you. I haven’t in a while. Felt nice.”

“I can tell. Simon said ye were wound tight. He frighten ye?”

To the core of your being. A congenital fear. You swallow it. “No.”

“Really? Big fella scares me.” Soap pitches his voice low. He casually stretches and grips the window crank, effectively caging you into the wedge of the door. His nostrils widen like earlier, pupils dilating in the light. “Now. Need ye to tell me somethin’. Been eatin’ me all day, and I cannae be a dog and put my nose wherever I’d like. Gotta be good.”

Instantly, ropes harness your thoughts, prepared to draw and quarter them into the bleakest parts of imagination. The desert, the inland sea. 

The plastic handle creaks under his grip as he forces the words out between his teeth. “Did ye find—”

“Johnny.” Simon. Soap immediately reels backward, tugged by an invisible thread. 

“Here, sir!”

Sir? Johnny? 

“ATV. Now.” 

Soap doesn’t so much as spare a parting glance, obediently scurrying to the four-wheeler. You stare, dumbfounded, and jump when the driver-side door creaks. John smiles wryly, his shirt adorning his neck like a damp scarf. The trail of hair disappearing into his waistband is a momentary distraction from the brute stalking beyond the windshield. Simon’s scarred flesh is a beacon in the moonlight. His heavy brow focused solely on the man perched atop his vehicle. You hear him seething, growling under his breath at Soap—Johnny—and John’s door shuts.

“C’mon, sweetheart. They’re alright.” He coaxes you into the cab, patting your knee with a sigh. “Lover’s quarrel. Simon’s a jealous man.”

“Jealous,” you echo, gawking at the two men outside. “Of me?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised.” John starts the truck and lowers his window. He leans out some as Nik and Kate share a smoke at the end of her walk. “Night, Kate. Nikolai.”

Nikolai leers behind his cigarette, gesturing with it in your direction. A few words of Russian escape with the smoke, a throaty laugh on their heels. Kate looks impassive. Bored. Her house disappears in the rearview. A restiveness itches under your skin, exacerbated by the quiet crackling of the radio. Your head’s a crowded place. The silence’s a good place to unburden it.

“So. Soap’s real name is Johnny?”

John chuckles. “Nobody but Simon calls him that, but you didn’t think it was Soap, did you?”

“I’m assuming it’s to keep things less confusing.”

“Correct. I actually employed him for a spell, when he arrived. Earned the name ‘Soap’ on account of his mouth. Needless to say, his career in retail was brief. Kept flirtin’ with the customers.”

“And he got with Simon?” 

“Simon swept him off his feet.”

You scoff. “That’s difficult to believe.”

“Simon has his ways.”

Nothing in your short, tense encounters suggests Simon to be a man capable of love or romance. You doubt it is uncharitable to think so, either. Ferine and rude, calculated and off-putting. Everything he does aims to disarm by making the very air around him feel heavy and wrong, whereas Soap seems keen to impress upon you his friendliness, conveying himself as human conciliation. ‘Opposites attract’ has limits. 

Yet.

“Soap said love has a way of changing people.”

John hums in agreement. “Most powerful force there is.”

Can’t argue with that. Force for good or otherwise, though—that you may dispute.

You don’t tell him to, but he shuts the truck off in the drive. Cats scatter as he escorts you, voicing their displeasure at your late arrival. Under the exterior light, you fumble with your keys, his gaze heavy on your cheek. In the time it takes to turn the lock, you berate yourself. Plead with a jury close to hanging.

It’s swimming all over again. Are you shy? Timid? Are you allowing the long, creeping reach of your abandoned husband to touch you before you let John try? The verdict passes your lips.

“Won’t you come in?”

“It’s late.”

“Please come in.”

It takes two invitations to coax John Price into the cabin and a third to the shower. 

A shuddering sigh of relief comes with removing your underwear and dress. The freedom from wet cotton eclipses the nervousness that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The urge to cover yourself in front of the man who is not your husband sings loud, nearly shrieking when he brushes his knuckles down your arm and gently turns you around. He starts the water, returning to press his front to your back, the slight tackiness of lakewater and sweat melding you together. His fingertips run a track from your flanks to the sides of your breasts, a hum buzzing into the skin of your shoulder when you grasp the counter.

When Dusty—No. No. He’s not here. John is. 

You banish the venomous guilt that tries to unseat your want and let John tug you into the shower to wash the day off.

He’s hard for most of it, his swollen cock skimming your hips and ass, glancing over your belly, and nearly driving the strength from your legs. He seems unfazed, reverent, and single-minded in his self-imposed task. It’s embarrassing, the way you squirm and fidget at every touch. Difficult to tell if it’s arousal or the unfamiliarity of intimacy.

John takes your place under the spray and chuckles softly when you finally look down. His fingers scrub through his body hair to the thatch at his cock’s root. You suck in a breath. He’s proportional—thick, heavy, and flushed. Hangs between the two of you, untouched, but you know it would burn your hand. Your tongue. The dizzying rush from that last thought alone reassures you because you don’t remember the last time you knelt because you wanted to.

Neither of you dress. Both of you barely dry. He insists on a light, hovering at the bedside lamp until you nod. When he climbs onto the bed, murmuring little nothings, your blood’s roaring in your ears, drowning out his encouragement. He opens your legs for a good look, but he might as well wrench open your ribcage. 

“Quite the sight.” John whispers. His palms slide from your knees to your upper thighs, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking where your thighs meet your pelvis. 

You imagine fastening an anchor to your brain, then a lure. Stay here, stay focused. 

“Yeah?”

His eyes flick to yours, narrowing as he reads into the single word. “Yeah. Beautiful.” He slowly slides and sinks to kiss your thighs, positioning himself between your legs. His shoulders stretch them further, and an arm snakes around and pulls you closer all too easily, hand groping a greedy handful. His breath hits where it’s wet, coarse hair tickling skin.

The first contact rips a sharp breath from you, which he immediately meets with a hum that buzzes to the base of your spine. The fingers on your thighs brush soothingly as he continues, jaw pressing further. His mouth latches, tongue dipping lower and in, laving along your entrance before circling to your clit. Each stroke and circuit deliberate, adjusting to the sounds spilling uninhibited from your mouth. Your hands reach and thread into his hair with a moan.

He groans softly into your flesh, nosing the fat above your sex, chuckling when your hips pitch. His hand travels up your quivering inner thigh to ease a finger in, pulling away to sink it into the first knuckle with a wet sound. 

“Look at you.” John sounds wrecked, beard and chin drenched in spit and slick, tongue licking the excess from his lip. Eyes boring into you with that look again. Unmasked hunger, barely tethered. The one you touched yourself to in the shower.

“Smelled you all day, smelled this,” He emphasizes with a pump of his finger, kissing your clit at the strangled, small noise you make. “Leaking into your pants, even after a swim. Nearly laid you out right there, during the fireworks.” 

A filthy whine erupts at the thought. You picture it vividly. John tearing your dress off of you, hauling you to the floor of the boat. Nik and Kate and Simon and Soap—all of them watching John mount you, ignoring the spectacle for a different show. Would any of them intervene? Would you want them to?

You clench at the thought, and he smirks.

He introduces a second finger alongside the first, hushing your reedy whimpers at the stretch. “The needy thing knew I was near. Knew that I could scent her crying out for me. Poor thing, neglected and mistreated. Needed a man to fuss over her.”

Your face grows somehow hotter. Not enough that you’re naked and under him, he needs to strip you bare and sweetly flay you alive. “John—”

He cuts you off, tutting. “Don’t be embarrassed—it’s natural for a man to want his mate.”

His fingers plunge to the webbing, ratcheting up to earnestly fuck you now that he’s teased you into incoherency. “Never gonna leave you lonely,” he rasps, tucking his mouth back over your pearled clit. 

Every year, the lake ice cracks and fractures with the arrival of spring. This is no different.

Muscles flexing and fluttering, dimly aware of the praises he murmurs against your cunt, you shatter. 

He doesn’t withdraw his fingers until you score his scalp and beg, and even then they slide over your slit, cupping the slippery folds of your pussy. He kisses and wipes his cum-soaked whiskers over your spasming thighs and stomach, his free hand planting beside you. John looms, pleased but not quite sated. 

He pets your cunt and waits for the worst of your trembling to cease. “Perfect,” he affirms, giving it a wet pat. He grunts, then abruptly knocks your legs open a second time with a knee, removing his hand to slick his cock.

Your eyes bulge, vision clearing in an instant at the view. Sat ignored for too long, his cock flushes a deeper shade of red, precome clinging to it like wax and seeping into his hair. He wraps his hand around the thick of himself, shuddering, eyes screwing shut as he strokes.

You think your orgasm might’ve knocked something loose. You reach a shaking hand and touch his knee. 

“J-John? I-I can’t…I can’t, not yet.” You are selfishness incarnate, asking him to quash his hunger once more. 

His eyes snap open. His pupils drill into you, flitting between your twitching cunt, his cockhead, and your face. Stygian and starving. 

“I’m sorry. Please.” 

He swallows, chest heaving with his unwhetted appetite, its festering close to spoiling. For a moment, fear poleaxes you into the mattress when he shuffles on his knees closer anyway, knees pushing under your thighs. 

“Not yet? That’s…okay,” John breathes raggedly. He nods, fisting his cock faster. His free hand glides from the valley of your breasts to your stomach, tracing a circle. “We’ll get there, sweetheart…Can I…?” 

Biting your lip, you nod.

He sighs, hips bucking slightly. “You’ll be taking my cock in no time. No tears, now. Wipe ‘em off.”

You obey immediately, not having realized you’d started crying, and see his cock jump in his hand at that.

John chuckles a little brokenly, struggling to speak through gritted teeth. “Soon, I can feel it. Gonna empty that head of yours, weed out what’s holding you back, and fill you, fuck, here.” His fingers press over your womb, and he jerks forward. Hot ropes of come shoot out, coating his fingers and your skin. He rocks into his fist a few more times, the motions stuttering, until leisurely sinking back to his haunches. 

After he withdraws and returns to clean you up, wiping the sweat off your brow before the cum on your belly, he tucks the both of you into bed. He turns off the lamp and claims the side closest to the door. He spoons you with his heartbeat to your spine.

Staring into the night beyond the window, you apologize again.

“I want to. I really want to.”

“I know, darl. I know.” He kisses your shoulder. “What did I say? We’ll get there.”

He falls asleep wrapped around you. You, however, lie awake trying to remember what it is to share a bed with someone willingly. With someone who wants you. 

Eventually, you wriggle out a hand and grab your phone, dimming its brightness all the way down. You haven’t checked it since work and swipe to your messages. A text from an unknown number sits at the top of your notifications.

>> F741 >> hold

[sanches812]

30 Wood Panel Texture Backgrounds

The primary advantage of incorporating wood panel textures into design projects is the enhanced aesthetics they bring to the table. With their rich colors and intricate patterns, wood panel backgrounds can serve as a stunning backdrop or a focal point within a design. Whether used subtly in a background or as a prominent feature, they add depth and interest.

Beyond aesthetics, the professionalism created by using high-quality textures cannot be overstated. A well-crafted design conveys attention to detail and a high level of craftsmanship. It reflects an understanding of materiality and an appreciation for the nuanced qualities of each texture. Clients and audiences alike are more likely to respond positively to a project where rich and realistic textures have been employed, recognizing the effort taken to achieve a professional finish.

Features

Seamless Transition

Quantity: 30

Dimension: 8064×5376 px, 27×18 in

Resolution: 300 Dpi

Extension: Jpg

Ratio: 3x2

Contains

Zip archive with 30 ready-to-use files. Size: 737 Mb

Help file with image color correction advice.

Textures.World Review: 30 Wood Panel Texture Backgrounds

~ Thank you & Enjoy using ~

[captainwans]

FROM WHERE YOU ARE.

— ALEX TURNER

pairing: alex turner x fem! actress! reader

summary: while she didn’t care about the distance between them, alex couldn’t help but feel responsible for her exhaustion from traveling this far, especially when the distance was longer.

warning: mild swearing, matt being a tease, and nothing but sweet rotting fluff, friends to lovers trope!

word count: 3,9k | ( gif not mine! )

arabella series!

masterlist!

…. [Y/N]’S SHOES CLANKED ON THE HARD WOODEN FLOOR, THE SOUND OF HER HEELS ECHOING ACROSS THE HALL AS SHE PACED WITH HER STEPS. Much to her dismay, the actress was late and missed the concert, and to say that she was devastated was an understatement. She spent the last three hours on a train trying to get there, which was something she wouldn’t tell Alex. Knowing him he would’ve lost his mind and attempted to drive her back himself. She received a sweet message from him, reassuring her that it was not a problem at all and that he was just happy that he was going to see her again. Her cheeks flushed at his message and she read it multiple times, his words planted inside her mind like a mantra.

The pair had been inseparable ever since she was cast as the lead woman in their music video, Arabella, not to mention an inspiration behind the song itself. With her oblivious nature, she had no idea whatsoever. But, what better way than to announce this at a Comic-Con panel in front of thousands of people

She remembered being caught off guard by this question, not expecting to get questions regarding other aspects of her life other than Marvel-related questions. She did answer, though, stating that she had no idea with a sheepish look. Her comment made the crowd react, even her cast members gave her weird looks due to the song's popularity. At that moment, she made a mental note to listen to the song right after the event.

[Y/N] was awe-struck, not only by the song but also by how his voice conveyed a range of different vocals. She recalled pondering over some familiarity in his voice, feeling that she had heard his voice somewhere before but couldn't pinpoint exactly where. The lyrics of Arabella made her ears perk up with curiosity, being impressed by the small details that could only be referred to from the movie she shot. She fell in love with the song and his voice. His delicate voice and poetic words were the only things that were blasting through the speakers in her trailer, annoying the rest of her cast members.

“[Y/N], would you please turn it down, some of us have to sleep,” The Black Widow actress pleaded, her tone tinted with annoyance as she slowly entered inside her trailer. She watched [Y/N]’s cheeks redden, muttering a small apology before lowering the volume.

“Sorry, Scar, it won’t happen, again.” she sheepishly said, adjusting her glasses that rested on her delicate features whilst her eyes trailed over her script that was placed into her hands. She watched her friend from the corner of her eyes, feeling her presence behind her.

“Arctic Monkeys? Oh, was that the boyband that wanted you in their music video?” Scarlett asked her, eyes sparkling as her eyes looked at her computer screen. She took a look at the group, eyes lingering longer on the lead vocalist. She chuckled, giving her friend a knowing look. “I see why you’re so hooked, look at him,” she poked her waist, making [Y/N] squirm as her lips emitted a small squeak.

“Scarlett–please, stop!” she whined, slapping her hand away before shifting in her seat to make room for her to sit, which she happily obliged. A tint of dust painted her cheeks, lips curving up unknowingly when the lyrics of one of her favorite songs so far, played in the background.

“But I crumble completely when you cry,” Alex’s voice filled inside her eardrums, making her let out a content sigh as she looked down at the script that she was supposed to memorize. She had been stuck on a line for the past fifteen minutes, and she blamed it on his voice. It was addicting—like a drug and she couldn’t resist.

[Y/N] smiled, putting her papers on the table in front of her before turning her attention to her friend, who was nodding her head to the music, her eyes narrowed and focused. She chuckled as she watched Scarlett make a face, signaling that she liked what she was hearing. “They’re very good. I don’t know why you haven’t said yes.”

She grinned, rubbing the back of her neck before she laid her head on her shoulder. “They’re amazing, Scar. And I said yes. I’m gonna be meeting with them in a week. We’re actually gonna film a few hours away from the set, meaning that I can tell you everything about it.” she chimed, eyes crinkling from smiling.

Scarlett clapped with a bright smile, expressing her support for her. She hugged her best friend, squeezing her tight. “I’m so happy for you. This is so exciting. Alex is gonna lose his mind over your beauty, I mean look at you, girl. Heck–even I would risk it all for you.” she told her with a wink, making [Y/N] burst out in laughter as they leaned into each other.

She cursed at herself, mumbling incoherent words as she was looking for Alex and Miles, holding her phone up to her face whilst she was trying to read the address Alex sent her. She squinted her eyes and blinked a few times to shake away her exhaustion, the never-ending filming and traveling resting on her shoulders. The three-hour ride seemed to be her last straw before she could collapse at any second, but she had her painkillers and a few cups of coffee to keep her up, for a while.

The sound of Alex’s laughter seemed to cease some of her drowsy state and she fastened her pace, her feet leading her to one of the waiting rooms backstage. She scoffed with a chuckle, listening to Miles’ banter and his comment made her roll her eyes. She cleared her throat, bringing her hand to the door and giving it a little push as she made an appearance.

“I heard that, Miles!” [Y/N]’s voice echoed across the room, earning a cheerful laugh from the latter, along with the rest of them as she made an appearance with a playful expression toward the singer, who put his guitar away and dashed toward her with a beaming grin. “Speaking of the devil. Hello, love.”

[Y/N]’s chest vibrated from laughter and sank into his embrace, patting his back. “It’s good to see you, Miles. Sorry, I couldn’t make it to the concert to watch you live, but I watched it on my phone. You guys were incredible, as always.” she gushed, pulling away as she mirrored his grin.

Miles gave her a look of gratitude, kissing her forehead. “It’s alright, [Y/N],” he brushed her off with a gentle squeeze on her bicep. He brought her to his side again, side-hugging her before leading her to the rest of the team. “Please, if we’re speaking about a performance, you killed it in the Winter Soldier.” she heard Jamie say, earning a few nods and chimes at his statement.

Crimson danced across her cheeks, making her move her gaze away from Miles to the others in the room, some lazily spread across the couch and others standing beside the food table. Her smile widened, noticing the rest of the band, and her eyes shamelessly searched for a certain vocalist but were abruptly interrupted by being pulled into another embrace by Jamie, Nick, and Matt, who squeezed her making her let out a choked laugh.

“Oh, I’ve missed you guys so much!”

“Don’t squeeze her to death, lads,” Alex’s voice filled her ears, causing her heart to skip a beat, feeling the rush of blood through her ears. Her muffled giggles were enough to put a soft smile on Alex’s handsome features, watching her pull away from the group before turning her body around to meet him.

[Y/N] let out a content sigh, a gentle smile reaching her features before launching herself into his arms, her arms around his waist as she hid her face onto his chest. She felt exhaustion hit her like a tidal wave, making her feel drowsy, and she closed her eyes for a second to feel his arms around her.

Alex felt his cheeks flush, being self-aware by the looks the others were giving them, but that soon disappeared when she gently squeezed his waist, her hands rubbing his back comfortably. “Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered into her ear, brushing a hand over her hair as he closed his eyes, taking in her scent.

The pair pulled away, both smiling ridiculously at each other, but that moment was shortly interrupted by Miles who made gagging sounds, earning laughs from the others. “Take it somewhere else, love birds. You guys are disgustingly cute, it makes me wanna gag,” he whined, gripping his guitar before taking a seat beside Nick.

[Y/N] scoffed, a frown etched onto her features as she pulled Alex closer to her side. She felt his hands caressing her waist, gently rubbing circles around her skin. “Like you’re the one to talk. You get to have him all by yourself on the stage. Yeah, I’ve seen the videos, Miles.” she sassed back, making Alex burst out in laughter, his chest vibrating.

Miles’ face reddened, making him shake his head with laughter. Nick, who was beside him, was dying of laughter and pushed him to the side. “Touche, love.”

[Y/N] giggled, eyes turning back to Alex, whose eyes were already on her, staring at her lovingly. She bit her lip, eyes darting across his lips before shyly diverting her gaze away. He watched her turning her attention back to the others, having a conversation with Matt and his girlfriend, Breana, who came in a little late and became ecstatic when she saw her presence.

She was sitting at the edge of the couch, her body turned across the others who were comfortably sitting on the other couch while Alex was standing beside her, practically leaning against her, which she didn’t mind at all, enjoying his close presence with his hand playing with the hem of her cardigan.

[Y/N] felt a sudden bursting pain at the back of her skull, searing through her temples making her grimace with a look of discomfort. She clenched her jaw with furrowed eyebrows, eyes focusing on Breana, but as the minutes passed her voice became fainter, along with the rest of the room. As much as she tried to hold it in, her tiredness stole the character from her eyes, leaving them blank and hollow.

“And it was a really important moment for me, you know…” Breana’s voice echoed inside her ears, making her squint her eyes before placing a hand on her temples, feeling her sides throbbing rather aggressively.

“I didn’t know her story took that of a toll on you,” Matt spoke, watching her friend covering a hand on her face, earning a few chuckles. Breana laughed, placing a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry if my stories bore you out, babe, I’ll shut up.” she joked, squeezing her arm making her wince at the spot where she accidentally landed on her arm when filming a scene.

[Y/N] chuckled from the pain, feeling the spot burning. She felt guilt prickling at her chest, making her look up to her friend, giving her an apologetic smile. “You never bore me, Bre,” she told her sheepishly, standing up from her seat to get her bag to get her painkillers. “Sorry…It’s just uh–” she let out a weary sigh, a sound with the heavy weight of exhaustion bubbling up the surface, making her stop talking as she forgot what she was about to say in the first place.

Alex, who had been eying her for a while, was the first one to speak. “Are you alright, love?” he asked with a concerned look, reaching out to her as she watched her halt with her steps. He grunted at the sudden weight of her body falling against him, and his frown deepened when he felt her shallow and ragged breathing. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just need to sit down, that’s all,” she reassured, leading them both back towards the couch, making Miles and Nick shoot up from their seat to make some room for the duo.

Breana’s eyebrows furrowed with concern and she kneeled in front of her, her warm hands resting on her neck, brushing a few hair strands away from her damp forehead. “[Y/N], babe, do you need some water?” she softly asked, her voice getting smaller, as if she spoke any louder she would break at any second.

Matt stood up from his seat, “I’ll get her some water.”

[Y/N] squeezed her eyes shut, fingers rubbing her tired eyes as the buzzing inside her head filled every crack of her brain, rattling every bone making her let out a shaky exhale. “Yes, I–I, uh…I have some painkillers inside my bag..” she stuttered out, feeling her cheeks flush as she looked at her friend with a sheepish look.

Alex turned in his seat, his eyes searching for her bag. His hand grabbed the hold of her purse, his hands roaming inside to look for her painkillers. Matt returned and opened the lid of the water bottle, giving it to his girlfriend, which she took and looked back at Alex to see him holding a pill.

“I’m sorry, guys. This is embarrassing…” [Y/N] said in a soft tone, her voice turning smaller as she accepted the water from Breana’s hands before turning to Alex and taking the painkiller from his hands. Her hands took hold of the small pill, her hands lingering for a moment before clutching her hand and downing the pill with water. She felt him shift, one of his hands resting on her thigh, rubbing small circles to cease some of her pain.

Nick frowned, standing behind her. “For being under the weather? [Y/N], there’s no need to apologize,” he reassured, patting her shoulders with a comforting smile.

Jamie nodded his head with a thoughtful expression, “Yeah, I mean, your job is no better than us. I can’t imagine filming all day on set and—” he trailed off, but once he looked at Alex’s glare his mouth closed and he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, [Y/N].”

[Y/N]’s lips curved upwards at his apology and she shook her head with a small smile. “Don’t sweat it.” she gently brushed him off and took a few sips before placing the bottle on the table in front of her. “You’re not wrong though. We’ve been filming intensively these past few weeks and staying up all night with the others to perfect the script. I haven’t really got the time to do anything else outside filming and I missed you guys–” she voiced her thoughts before Matt interjected with one of his cheeky remarks.

“Guys? I think that applies to only one person, and he’s sitting beside you right now.” Matt chimed, his eyes sparkling with a tint of mischief. This earned a slap on his shoulder, and he hissed looking at Breana, who gave him a disapproving look. “Oh, way to ruin the moment, Matthew.”

Alex’s heart stuttered against his chest, feeling blood rushing through his cheeks as he looked at [Y/N] with his lips curving upwards. His smile soon turned into a look of annoyance at the fact that his bandmate interrupted her and he let out a sigh. “Shut up, you dickhead. Let her talk.” he bluntly said, his brown eyes piercing through Matt’s, making him put his hand up in surrender with the same grin etched onto his features.

Alex’s comment made the others burst out in laughter, including [Y/N] who turned around in her seat to look at him, her chest vibrating with laughter, making him join her, her laughter being music to his ears. She grabbed his bicep, giving it a little squeeze before clearing her throat. She wiped a lone tear away from her eyes and chuckled. “Thank you, Al. Wait, what were we talking about again?” she contemplated, closing one eye in deep thought, and making Breana laugh.

Miles, who sat across from the pair, played a soft tune on his guitar before asking her. “Since, we’re talking about your job, where’s your set located in? I know Alex told me you were filming near this area..?”

[Y/N] bit her lip with a nod, internally cursing at how her white lie had come this far and she definitely didn’t want to say that it was three hours, knowing that Alex would lose his mind for traveling this far to get here. She remembered Scarlett teasing her and gushing about her heart eyes towards him, calling her a lovesick puppy.

“Oh, you’re in love, honey. It’s so cute. You’re like a lovesick puppy. But I must say…this look—” Scarlett stopped mid-sentence, gesturing with her hand, making [Y/N] want to roll her eyes. “It looks good on you, [Y/N].”

“Yeah…uh–It’s located in…” she trailed off, mumbling the rest of her sentence in a hushed tone and covered it up with a forced cough.

Miles frowned, leaning his body against his guitar as he moved his head toward her. “What? I didn’t hear what you said there, love.” she gave him a sheepish grin, heat washed over as crimson danced across her cheeks. She felt Alex inch closer, almost feeling his breath against her neck making her breath hitch. She grew hot and cleared her throat, name-dropping the location, which made Miles’ eyes wide.

“Isn’t that three hours away from here?” Nick, Matt, and Breana nodded to confirm his question, making [Y/N] close her mouth, feeling her heartbeat inside her ears. She licked her lips, feeling Alex’s burning gaze on her and she turned around to meet with his confused expression.

Alex looked back and forth from Miles and to [Y/N], his frown deepening. “Three hours? Didn’t you tell me that it was half an hour from here?” He questioned, and her chest prickled at the sound of his voice.

The rest looked at each other, a look of amusement plastered onto their faces as they watched the pair. Matt was leaning into Jamie, who looked at the couple with a grin and Breana could sense another remark coming from her boyfriend and she slapped his arm, giving him a warning look.

[Y/N] gave him a tip-lipped smile, eyes looking anywhere than him. “I did? Oh well..” she admitted, giving him a small shrug, and Alex looked at her like she had grown two heads.

Alex shook his head, his face turning into a deep scowl. His stomach clenched at the fact that she was traveling this long to see him. He could also feel his heart flutter at her commitment, but that soon faded away as his mind went back to her current state. He inched closer, his rough calloused hands grabbed her arm, gently squeezing it. “No, wait. Hold on a second. You’re telling me that you drove three hours to come here, and you’re planning on driving back?”

[Y/N] tilted her head to the side, giving him another shrug. “So?” she replied back, not seeing his point and she gave him a look to elaborate with a hand gesture. This made the others erupt into another pit of laughter, gushing over how adorable [Y/N] was and Matt couldn’t help but crawl over to Alex, making kissing sounds and grabbing his shoulders. “You two are so adorable!”

Alex jerked away from his touch and cursed at him, his annoyance bubbling up through the surface. He stood up from the couch, leading [Y/N] with him as they walked over to the food table. “Can’t even get a fucking break..” he mumbled under his breath, but enough for her to hear and she stifled back a laugh.

Her gaze diverted away from the others toward Alex, watching him leaning against the table as he gave his bandmate a look of disdain. Her eyes softened, feeling her chest tighten as her mind went back to the conversation a few moments ago. She crossed her arms like two swords, inching closer to him. “It’s really not a big deal, Al. We planned this, remember? It was the only day that fit our schedule.” she reminded him with a nudge on his hip, earning a small smile from the singer.

Alex looked at her, his eyes lingering on her face as he memorized every detail. He clenched his jaw, bringing a hand over his mouth before voicing his thoughts. “I know, I just…don’t want it to go over at the expense of your health. You could’ve just told me that you weren’t feeling well, and I would’ve understood that, darling.” he shared, his expression turning into a concerned look.

[Y/N]’s eyes danced, mirroring the swarm of butterflies inside her stomach as she looked at him with a fond expression. She hummed with a simper. “I know.” she sheepishly replied with a nod, hiding her hands inside her oversized cardigan and looking up at him. What she was going to do next even surprised her and she wondered where she got that confidence from. “But…I wanted to see you. Traveling for me is not a problem, heck–I could fly out here just to see you, even if it’s for a few minutes.” she expressed, her brave moment instantly disappearing as she realized what she just said out loud, leaving her a complete stuttering mess.

Alex caught his breath at her words, his brain trying to process what just came out of her delicate lips that he craved so for a taste. His lips curved upwards unknowingly, his eyes tinted with slight amusement at her stuttering mess. “Shit, did I just say that out loud?” he bit his lip with a nod, a smirk etched onto his features as he came closer.

“Yeah, and I’m so glad that you said it.” [Y/N]’s smile widened, inching closer to reach out, removing a few hair strands away from his face. Her hand lightly brushed his jaw, fingers lingering on his skin, slowly moving down to his lips.

Alex closed his eyes for a second, melting at her soft and gentle touch. His hand hovered over hers, placing her hand on his chest and intertwined their hands. Before he could let out a word, his bandmates interrupted yet another sweet moment of the pair, and that seemed to hit the last nerve for Alex. A chorus of “aww” echoed across the room and the pair looked at them, noticing they had an audience.

Breana gave her friend an apologetic look before standing up and taking a hold of Matt’s shirt to drag him out of Alex’s sight, but the lead vocalist was faster and he bolted towards him, making Matt let out a loud cackle as he chased him out of the room, leaving the rest with another session of laughter. “Get back here, you little shit!”

[icepoptroll]

Smh. What ever happened to respect for the dead?

Some of my inspiration: x x x

Image description under the cut.

Page 1:

Panel 1: Shown is a powered down Karnak, his eyes black, no longer glowing. One textbox says, "Ugh. That thing gives me the creeps, Chuck." Another says, "No doubt. Here, help me take it apart so we can get outta here."

Panel 2: Chuck, a large man with a scruffy beard, longish hair and a baseball cap stands in the foreground, carrying Karnak's robe, turban, and crystal ball. His coworker, a thinner man in a black T-shirt with spiky, short dark hair is down on his knees next to Karnak's box, a power drill and screwdriver on the floor next to him. He calls out, "Shit, there's a burnt up dead rat back here!" To which Chuck responds, "It's an abandoned warehouse, Phil. There's gonna be dead rats." They're surrounded by wooden crates and Karnak's internal metal frame is exposed.

Panel 3: Chuck's hand pulls up on a piece of Karnak's box, separating it from the whole. Phil says, "This thing is bad juju, man. REmember those kids who died on that roller coaster?" Chuck responds, "Yeah? What about 'em?"

Panel 4: Chuck and Phil carry the front arch of Karnak's box away. Phil explains, "The day they died, this guy told them, 'be sure to ride the Cyclone!'" Chuck responds, "So? That was just advertising." Phil says, "Maybe, but they say that back in the day this robot could tell you how you were gonna die." Chuck says, "Feh. You believe that urban legend shit?" Phil says, "It's true! I know a guy who could tell you." Chuck says, "Probably some teenage carnival worker pulling a prank."

Panel 5: A closeup on Karnak, still hanging lifelessly in what's left of his box. Phil continues, "If the robot had nothing to do with it, why are we getting rid of it?" Chuck answers, "Copyright. They don't want anyone taking the thing and making money off it." Phil replies, "What kinda weirdo would pay money for this thing?" Chuck answers, "Who the hell cares? Let's just get it in the truck."

Page 2:

Panel 1: A gray and red truck drives down the road. A textbox says, "I'm on the highway to hell"

Panels 2 and 3: Karnak is in the back of the truck. It's dark and he's motionless, thrown in haphazardly with everything that came off of him and the pieces of his box. A textbox between the panels says, "On the highway to hell"

Panel 4: A back view of the truck as it advances up the road. Two more textboxes say "Highway to hell" and "I'm on the highway to hell"

Page 3:

Panel 1: At the edge of a landfill, the truck is in the background, while in the foreground a sledgehammer comes down on Karnak's crystal ball, shattering it. A textbox says, "SMASH!!"

Panel 2: Chuck approaches Karnak, who is laying motionless face up on the ground. He's wielding a sledgehammer, ready to swing it down hard.

Panel 4: The hammer comes down on Karnak's chest, denting it deeply. A textbox says, "BOOM!!"

Page 4:

Panel 1: Chuck and Phil walk away from the scene, back towards their truck.

Panel 2: Karnak lays in the dirt resting against a fallen tree limb, dented, crushed, bent and filthy, some of his wiring exposed. Trash on the ground surrounds him. The whole scene is still and silent.

[pathetichimbos]

First Meeting - Part Two

((part one here))

((part three here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

taglist: @goodiesinthecloset21

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

You let out a sigh as you exit the store, a bounce to your walk as you head in the opposite direction you came from, moving rather quickly in order to cover as much ground as possible before the dark of the night hits.

It doesn't take long before a large, familiar figure comes into view ahead, his pace much slower than your own.

Realizing your only options are to either ignore him and pass him, or slow down and accidentally look like a creep following him, you sigh and jog ahead, slowing down to match his pace as you catch up.

"Funny seeing you again," You catch him off guard, making him jump a little as he looks at you in surprise, "...Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, I just saw we were headin' the same way and I thought I'd just say hi."

He sighs, seeming to relax a bit after your mini jump scare.

"So..." You start, realizing he wasn't going to reply, "...You live out this way?"

He nods.

"Seems quiet."

Another nod.

"Kind of like you." You give another smile, shrugging, "I was always told I could talk the ear off of a dead man."

He lets out a small, humored chuckle, and you feel yourself relax a little.

Conversation begins to flow easier as the two of you walk along, with you talking about the people you'd met and the places you'd seen in the last month and a half. The more you talk, the easier it becomes to see the good in your adventure, the ache of your empty stomach and sore muscles fading into the background as you retell your stories.

“Can't say I'd be able to find it again, but man, it was a really beautiful place. I'd love to go there again.”

Thomas nods, a genuine smile on his face from hearing the way you described the lake you had found last week.

You can feel the long grass reaching its way under your jeans, scratching at your ankles as the two of you walk side by side down a narrow dirt path you had absent-mindedly followed him down.

“Maybe I will go back...” You hum a little, hands resting in your back pockets, “Can't be that hard to find, right?”

He lets out a low hum of agreement as the two of you break the clearing in the trees and a large white house slowly comes into view.

“Whoa...” You mutter as the two of you reach the porch, “You live here?”

He nods.

“Wow…” You gaze at the house. It was old, sure, the white paint peeling off, the windows dusty and missing a couple of panels, but it was huge, and absolutely gorgeous.

The worn porch swing creaks as a summer breeze slowly pushes it, and you can distinguish the faint sound of animals echoing from the barn that sat a bit further back from the house.

You look at the overgrown property and sigh before smiling at Thomas, almost sadly as you realize it was time to leave.

“Well, I guess I should–” Your words are cut off by a deep, growling sound.

The Texas sun was no match for the heat in your face as you realized the noise was coming from your stomach.

Thomas tilts his head and you quickly look away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I, uh–” Southern pride keeps your mouth shut as you stumble over your words, eyes boring holes in the dirt as you try to think of an excuse.

You're pulled from your own embarrassment as a strong hand grabs your arm, pulling you up the old wooden stairs and into the house.

It was just as big on the inside, greeting you with a large hallway that stretched to the other end of the house. To your immediate right was an opening to the spacious living room, and a little further down was a staircase leading to the second story.

You, however, were directed to the left, to a small table sitting in a rather big kitchen- though it didn't seem quite as big as the living room sitting across the hall.

“N-no, it’s no problem-!” You try to protest, but he doesn't hear a word of it as his firm grip gently nudges you into a chair.

You sit there, now quietly flustered as Thomas looks through the fridge.

“Tommy what the hell are you doing!?” A new voice suddenly came from beyond the kitchen, and the owner followed in.

It was an older man, wheelchair bound and missing the bottom half of his legs. He looks to Thomas, and then to you, a look of confusion and annoyance on his face as he does so.

“Who the hell is this?”

“I, uh, I’m Y/N…” You offer, knowing Thomas doesn't speak, “I met Thomas down at the station and walked with him.”

“Does Hoyt know about this?” The man ignores you as he continues looking at Thomas.

He finally turns around, a plate covered with tin foil in hand as he shakes his head to the other man.

“Ah, shit, Thomas. I ain't dealing with this. Don't try to say I didn't warn you.” He scoffs before turning back and leaving the kitchen.

You stare at the doorway he just left through, realizing that everyone you had seen so far in this town seemed to either know or be related to Thomas in one way or another.

Perched on the old kitchen wall was a picture of the older woman from the station, though she seemed a bit younger and less grumpy. The sheriff- Hoyt, you had remembered her calling his name- had called her Mama, and the man that had just left mentioned him as well.

You wondered if they had any other family filling the rooms of this large home, though right now it seemed quiet, save for the faint echoes of a TV playing from a room you hadn't seen yet.

Thomas pushes a plate in front of you, catching your attention as he grabs a fork and hands it to you as well.

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to–”

He cuts you off by tapping the table beside the plate.

You sigh, the clench of your empty stomach reminding you that you weren't going to gain anything by not eating it.

You pull back the tin foil to reveal a full meal, something you hadn’t seen in days. The food was piled up, and your mouth was practically watering at the sight. You take your first bite, the flavor exploding in your mouth and making your stomach growl again.

It had been so long since you'd had proper food, you didn't even mind that it was cold, simply excited to get something in your system.

You eat as much as you can, having to turn away over half of it after your shrunken stomach protests eating anymore.

Feeling more comfortable, you gave him a smile and thanked him again, “Did you cook that?”

He shook his head and pointed to a picture on the wall, the same picture of the station clerk that you noticed earlier.

“She's your mother?” You question, earning a nod in response.

You open your mouth to continue when a car door slams shut outside and an almost familiar voice calls out.

“Thomas!” The man screams from the front yard.

“Is that… The sheriff?” You ask, looking back to Thomas who was staring at the door, his face now grim and shoulders tense.

“Thomas, get your ass out here!” Hoyt hollers for him again.

Thomas stands from the table, another voice echoing in from the outside.

“No, no, please, let us go!” A woman screams, her voice blood curdling and scared.

You stand up as well, a worry in your voice, “Is that Katie?”

Thomas puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes his head, a warning.

More screaming comes from the front yard, the voices of the sheriff and Katie mixing together as they yell at each other.

Thomas tugs your arm, pulling you to the kitchen pantry. He motions for you to stay quiet before shutting the door, his fading footsteps leaving the kitchen.

You sit in the dark, heart racing as your mind tries to piece together what was happening.

The slam of the front door makes you jump as the sheriff yells again, his voice much louder and clearer as he had apparently come inside, “Goddamnit, boy, when I holler for you, that means you come!”

“Please, please, let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I swear to God…” Katie was sobbing, you could hear it in her voice and the way she hiccupped between her words.

“Here, Tommy, put her in the kitchen. We’ll let Momma deal with her when she gets home.”

Your body seems to move on its own as you crack the pantry door open, watching Thomas drag Katie across the kitchen floor.

Blood is soaking her clothes, leaving a mess trailing behind as Thomas ties her hands to the kitchen table.

He glances up, intense eyes staring you down as he shakes his head, a silent command to shut the door.

You do as you're told, hands covering your mouth as you start to hyperventilate, adrenaline rushing your system as you start to shake.

You can hear Thomas' heavy footsteps leave the room again over Katie's crying, the table scraping the floor as she futilely pulls against her restraints.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

Your mind starts racing as you try to contemplate your options.

You could stay hidden here, sure, but for how long? What if Thomas wasn't the next person to open the door, and what would you even do if it was?

Would you take the risk and bolt? Would he even let you?

Your breathing starts to become shaky and uneven as the fear takes over your mind. You shut your eyes and lean against the door, trying to ignore the sounds of the girl on the other side.

She was crying, still, asking no one in particular, “God, why me? Why us, God, why–” She cries out, sobbing violently as her sentence is cut off with a broken sob.

After a few minutes of this, the front door opens once again, and footsteps, too soft to be Thomas' or Hoyt’s, come in.

You peer out of the door again, watching as the older woman from the gas station steps into the kitchen.

Katie notices her as well, immediately crying out, begging for help.

You watch as she stops in front of her with a sigh, “Oh, dear. What has that Hoyt done now…?” She mutters before walking past her.

She doesn't notice you as she walks out of view and comes back with a bowl of water and a rag.

“I don’t know why he always has to be so messy.” She shakes her head, gently running the rag across Katie's face.

“Please, please, let me go, please…” Katie pleads with her, only for the woman to hush her, “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, we’ve got company coming over, and you don’t want to be all dirty, do you?” She coos slightly as she finishes washing her face, “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Katie sobs again, yanking at the ropes once more.

The woman ignores her, walking out of view once again, you assume to get rid of the bowl of water and now bloody rag.

You close the door again and sigh, pressing your forehead against the door as tears begin to slip down your cheeks.

What was going to happen to you?

You sit there in that pantry, silent and listening to Katie’s tears as you wait to find out.

You can hear the woman come back into the kitchen and begin making something, and eventually the whistling kettle hints at tea, or maybe even coffee. At some point another woman joined her and they both took a seat and began chit chatting.

You barely listen to their conversation, only picking up on the first woman’s name, Luda Mae. You didn’t catch the second woman’s name as they chatted casually, exchanging small talk about the weather and the tea. If it wasn’t for Katie’s crying, you’d assume nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

“Oh, here, let me go get you some from the pantry.” Luda Mae's voice pulls you from your thoughts as you listen to her shuffling footsteps come closer and closer.

Your heart stops and sinks all at once and you feel sick realizing what was about to happen.

You push yourself away from the door, holding your bag in front of you as if it could somehow keep you hidden, silently pressing yourself against the back shelves as you brace yourself.

The door handle starts to turn.

A feeling of complete helplessness settles in as the door swings open.

Your eyes screw shut as light floods the pantry, waiting for the worst possible outcome as you shake, holding your measly bag in front of you.

"Please..." You mutter, whether it be to her or to a God or yourself, you don't know, "Don't hurt me..."

[ltwilliammowett]

Life on board a 17th century warship

The sailing crew was divided into two watches under the two lieutenants, each working for four hours while the other rested. While off duty, they were expected to stay below decks and out of the way, but could be called to work at any time if all hands were required, such as when anchoring or making a major sail change. When below, they probably tried to sleep as much as they could, since the four-hour schedule is not natural and quickly leads to fatigue. When not sleeping, they probably used much of the time off watch to mend their clothes and shoes, but they might relax with games, music or a popular new pastime, smoking, although this was only allowed in the cookroom.

War Ships 17th Century, by Jefferys, Charles W. 1942 in: The Picture Gallery of Canadian History Volume 1, p.99

Food was also prepared in the cookroom, a brick-lined hearth in front of the mainmast in the hold, and carried up to the gundecks in buckets, where it was doled out into big wooden bowls. Depending on the ship, food could also be prepared in the galley, which was located in the forecastle or midships.

Each man had his own wooden spoon, and some had wooden plates, but most ate from the bowl shared by a mess, a group of six or seven men who ate and lived together. They drank weak beer, "ship's ale," from a shared wooden tankard. The base of the diet was salted meat for protein and dried peas and bread for carbohydrates. Barrels full of bones found in the hold show that the meat was mostly beef, with a little pork and mutton, as well as fish and poultry. Interessting fact was that some of the crew were prepared to supplement this, as fishing equipment and hunting weapons were found in shipwrecks like the Vasa, as well as the bones of roe deer, moose, and grouse. The skeletons of chickens suggest that a few fresh eggs were available.

As in other navies, they did not issue uniforms in that time, the men had to buy or make their own clothes. In some cases cloth was provided as part of their salary, but the typical sailor's clothing was the same as the clothing they arrived in from the farm or town: a linen shirt, a short, skirted woollen doublet (jacket), wool trousers that ended below the knee, woollen socks, and leather shoes. Many had broad-brimmed hats or conical caps. The cloth varied from coarse homespun to imported dyed fabrics, but almost all sailors sewed strips of contrasting cloth or even lace down the outside seams of their trousers in imitation of the clothing worn by the well-to-do. Clothes had to be hard-wearing, since most people could not afford more than one set.

The senior officers lived aft in the cabins of the sterncastle, where they had more space, glass windows, proper furniture, and ate their meals from pewter or earthenware table service. They had finer clothes, but as more than one visitor to Sweden from the continent remarked, it was difficult to tell the nobles from the peasants, since they dressed alike. The officers also had to share their accommodation, sleeping in pairs in narrow double beds, but the cabins were built to resemble the interior of houses ashore. The great cabin, where the king or an admiral would stay, was fitted out like a room in the royal palace, with fine panelling and carved sculptures that emphasised the power of the people who lived there.

The 17th century was a violent period, and both on shore and at sea brutal punishments were prescribed for even minor crimes. Conscripts often came from rough backgrounds, but discipline was essential for the smooth and safe functioning of a ship. In crowded conditions, small disagreements could easily blow up into fights, grumbling could turn to mutiny. Officers had to earn the trust of the men they commanded, but needed the option of punishment for the intractable. The articles of war specified that a person causing a fire was to be cast into the same fire, a person starting a fight was to be stabbed through the hand with a knife, blasphemers and those speaking ill of the king or his officers were to be keelhauled, murderers should be tied to their victims and thrown in the sea. In practice, a captain who had to use these punishments too often risked losing the respect of his men and his fellow captains and could not rule for long.

[beansprean]

help i cant stop dkfjdgkgd

(ID in alt and under cut, template under cut)

ID: 1. Bust of Jim in their outfit from season 1 on a orange starburst background, angrily advancing and brandishing a knife in their right hand. They shout, "He murdered my family!!" 2. Bust of Spanish Jackie in her red suit from season 1 on a mottled red background. Alfeo's corpse sits in a chair behind her, facing the other direction. Jackie plants one elbow casually on his head and leans on him, craning his neck back. She lifts her wooden hand in a dismissive gesture and replies, "He was ovulating!"

2. tweet from Lasunpure with a template version, a two panel black and white comic with the figure in panel 1 shouting "he commited genocide" while gesturing to stick figures on fire behind them. The figure in panel 2 is holding a figure labeled 'male character' protectively and shouting back "he was ovulating!!?" /end ID