#Living in a van down by the river

[closetgamer2014-blog]

I'm going through the planning phase for living out of my car. As soon as the snow clears, I'm going to move into my car and finally out of my ex's house. I'll share pics, if anyone is interested in being part of the process?

[danndesigns]

Visit The River

[benthesoldiersjeanshorts]

[ninjamonkeystudios]

IN A VAN

No, I'm not the only one to make this joke. This is created to (hopefully) appease the earworm. I can't NOT hear Farley every time that melody plays and while it tickled me at first, now I can't shake it.

I hope this cleanses-- even if it's by infecting others with the notion.

[phoenixblair666]

It Only Takes One Second: A Logan Howlett X Fem!Reader Story

This story takes place in the X-Men trilogy. It's a romance between Logan and Fem!Reader, where the reader goes through a traumatic experience that allows her mutant powers to emerge. She goes to Xavier's school in search of sanctuary but finds Logan instead. When He helps her learn how to use and control her powers, he creates a valuable new member of the X-Men, but what started as helping a new recruit find their footing, turns into a blossoming romance.

Authors Note: This story will be in multiple parts. As of now how many parts, is to be determined. The story starts off slow, but additional parts will be added. Enjoy! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Word Count: 1,207

Reading Time Approximately: 5 Minutes

WARNINGS: Mentions of Traumatic experiences (Car crash), Mentions of Anxiety, Mentions of Hospitalization

(Part: 1) How It All Started

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .

Driving has always given you a sense of peace. That certain feeling of highway hypnosis was more than welcomed; the cool breeze in your hair, the gentle warmth from the sun shining through your windshield, and classic tunes fit for a twenty-three-year-old woman playing through your out-of-date stereo.

You never feared the long roads during these trips, nor did you fear where they would take you. Living in a van had its perks. One day you may want to lie beachside, lemonade in hand, the next you're driving through the Rocky Mountains, taking in the natural sights. Today that feeling changed.

Screeching tires echoed through the twined peaks on either side of you, the smell of burnt rubber filling your vehicle. You tried to take control of the wheel as best you could, but the invisible ice covering the pavement made it incredibly difficult. Your car swerved one way, then the next before the sound of metal against metal was heard, airbags deploying, scraping your face, leaving first-degree burns against your skin. Now you were airborne, freefalling off the side of a mountain. Time feels as if it slows as you watch the raging river below get closer and closer with each second.

Then it happens. Suddenly your body senses the air surrounding you. The way the gaseous molecules float freely, only parting ways when they touch your solid form. You can feel the vibrations from each of these molecules not on your skin but deep within your muscles, a sensation that is completely foreign to you.

The car is only a few yards away from crashing into the aggressive waters when your body begins to use the surrounding air as leverage, and you begin to float on your own accord. It's not gravity lifting you from your seat, but it's you, manipulating the natural resource. Everything happens too quickly for this newfound ability to be of use, and before you know it your car is making an impact with the water. The surface of the river is like concrete against the metal, crushing the hood to your knees. Your windshield shatters, allowing water to flood the interior of the vehicle, and then everything goes black.

══════════════════════════════

The smell of rubbing alcohol and soap is the first thing your senses pick up, then the constant beeping in your ears. Your fingers feel the rough texture of fabric as you weakly grip a set of white sheets. All of your senses slowly come back, one by one, acclimating you to your surroundings. Finally, your eyes flutter open. Your vision is blurry, but you can see the bright fluorescent lights shining down on you. You blink hard, trying to make the rest of the room visible, succeeding when you begin to notice the objects around you. A countertop with a sink, an empty armchair, medical posters, and IVs wrapping around your arm with a small needle filling your body with a plethora of drugs.

Just like the rest of your senses, the unfamiliar buzzing in your muscles returns. Once again, you feel the sheer power of the surrounding air in your body. This is a sensation that is completely new to you, it is frightening. Your heart begins to quicken, and the machine next to you detects the rapid pulse, alerting nearby nurses. You begin to paw at the IVs that adorn your arm, ripping the needle from your skin and discarding it on the floor, allowing liquid to pool on the clean white tiles. Your body begins to hover as you panic, lifting a few feet above the bed. A nurse opens the curtain that led into your room, gasping at the sight before him.

As you float, the feeling of uncertainty washes over you. Everything that was happening to you in this moment was unnatural, almost alien. The fact that you survived the horrible crash the day before, and now you can fly without trying, was some sort of strange miracle.

Nothing in your life has been or will be the same since this day.

══════════════════════════════

The sign against the brick wall was a clear indicator that you had reached your destination. You had heard from one of the doctors a few weeks ago that there was a place for 'You people' that acted as a sanctuary. Until then you had heard few stories of mutants, let alone seen one for yourself. And now here you are, standing at the entrance of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. You inhale sharply, feeling a ball sit in your chest, all worries flooding your mind at once.

Hesitantly you take one heavy step forward, then the next. Gravel crunches under your combat boots as you make your way to the large mansion-turned-school. Two large oak doors decorate the front of the classic old building, and an elegant porch covers them, while vines grow upwards against the brick, some even covering the many windows that adorn the structure. A large water fountain sits in the middle of a rounded driveway, and different types of foliage surround the man-made body of water.

What was once gravel turns into a stone path, leading to the driveway. Your steps become more wary as you approach the stairs of the porch. The unknown sits behind the oak barriers, making your heartbeat thump against your ribcage. A few more steps and you are right in front of said barrier. Lifting your arm had proven to be more difficult than expected as thoughts raced through your skull. Despite this, the rough skin against your knuckles meets the solid object with three small knocks.

Your anxiety spikes as you wait for someone to answer. You almost don't notice that you're holding your breath, barely able to remind yourself to keep breathing. One of the doors swings open, making you jump at the abrupt motion. A tall man peers down at your shorter self, eyeing you intently. His hair is pitch black and came to two catlike peaks at the top, with facial hair that hugs his jaw but stopped above his lip and chin, leaving only a small amount of stubble. His eyes are a light hazel color, resembling two rounded drops of honey and his body is quite built. He wore a white, wife-pleaser that showed every muscle under his lightly tanned skin, along with a dark blue, denim pair of jeans.

Your breath hitches in your throat, as your eyes meet his. The stare lasts longer than you'd like, but when his hardened expression turns curious, you find it easier to find your voice. "Is this Xavier's School for the Gifted?" You ask sheepishly, searching his eyes for a silent response. The man looks you up and down, then to the gate that you had entered from. Once his eyes meet yours again, he smirks. "Do you know how to read?" He questions, lifting an eyebrow. You nod quickly, feeling quite small at the hands of his satirical response. His features change for a third time, and he smiles. "Then I think you're at the right place."

You try to match his smile, but it comes off as nervous. He chuckles at your shy exterior before opening the door further and allowing you entrance.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Whenever they drive into town, arguing over who sits where and spilling buckets of strawberries all over the floor, the music blasts so loudly on the horrible, tinny speakers that it vibrates the entire van, and still the group of them is so loud that the songs get drowned out anyway. It is especially worse if, Nico will admit, he and Chiara are in the front seats together, whatever argument they delight in having raising New York’s noise pollution levels by four percent at least. If there is enough fruit to warrant two vans, and all sixteen of them will go, they will race down the highway, drowning each other out with the pure force of their shrieking voices. People stare. Cars slow to a stop. Cars follow them, even, mouths open, wondering at these grinning, hollering fools, dressed in neon and crawling all over each other.

It has been a long time since Nico has driven in silence.

Even as a child there was noise. No radios in cars, yet, they’d hardly been invented, but he and Bianca would scarcely be within miles of each other without bickering. Crowded in the backseat of Nonno’s Alfa Romeo, shouting for Mama in between even every poked shoulder and shoved face, there was noise. In the backseat of Alecto’s SUV, too, muffled as it was, and in every car he raced at the Lotus. Even up front with Jules-Albert, there has always been something. Grumbling, usually, live Grand-Prix reporting if the season is right. Music if he is in a good mood and Nico can convince him.

The silence that rings from the coast of Long Island to the bridge over the Savannah River is unbearable. Even the van is unbelievably quiet, rusted shocks creakless and ancient engine quiet as a grave. As if it too is straining to hear the words Will is murmuring, over and over again, nonstop for hours; hunched over with his hands clasped and pressed to the bridge of his nose.

Nico knows the Lord’s prayer in five languages. He hasn’t spoken it in years, but it’s stuck in his brain the same way as the alphabet; he knows the rhythm, the place of every breath, the rise and fall of the words as they crest towards the heavens. Prayers go unanswered at the best of times, trickling down the soil and bedrock and gathering in the currents of the Styx, but Will prays like he is programmed to do it. Like it is all he has left to do. They leave in the grey peak of the afternoon and drive through the night, and the kids sleep in the back, and Will prays across the freeways, over the bridges, through the gas stations, straight through traffic. His voice scratches and fades and he does not stop, the tears roll down his cheeks and bubble into his mouth and he does not stop, the twisted-in hymns glow along every peek of sunlight, burning his throat and his hands, and he does not stop. He prays like the dying in line to be judged, like the weeping shades along the stone walkways of Asphodel, like the desolate on the bank of the River. He prays like he knows it is already over, and he is desperate for the strength to move forward.

When they pull into the parking lot it is late morning, and Nico has been driving for fifteen hours, and the sun is cowering behind black dirt stormclouds, and the heat is as oppressively constant as the Pit. Nico feels like he is standing at the mouth of something cavernous. Staring down sharp teeth and a maw the size of an island. He feels like he is teetering, balancing, tipping; like the single point on the ground moments before lightning strikes it. Close your eyes and hold out your hands. What is coming next is inescapable.

“Do we go in?”

Kayla’s voice is timid. It is never timid, and it jolts his obliques and abdominis into action, into stretching. She holds hands with her brother, and they are pressed shoulder to shoulder, eyes wide, mouths set brave and trembling,

and they are pressed shoulder to shoulder

eyes wide

mouths set brave and trembling

his ankle is twisted around hers

her skull ring knicks the flesh of his ring finger

her hands are cool

her voice is steady

her body shakes.

Where are you taking us? We would like to go home, please. Can we call our mother?

“Let’s go find Mama,” Nico hears himself say. Sees Will’s hands twitch. Watches Kayla flinch in the rearview. Feels Austin’s leg bounce the van.

His mouth feels like sand, like worn denim. Dry, desert sand, desert sand; Nevada air through the open window.

“Mama,” Will echoes. He chokes. His whole body shudders, shudders, compresses; shrinks down, mouth still moving. Knuckles white. “Mama.”

Nico swallows.

“Kayla,” says his mouth, “take your brother to go pay parking.” Take your brother inside. Wait for me; I’ll be back soon. Don’t leave the hotel. “Here.”

He hands her his father’s card, and she takes it, untangling from Austin but keeping their hands joined when he grabs for her. The van door wrenches open because the tracks are rusty and Nico jumps with it, exhaling past Kayla’s muttered apologies, waiting for the two of them to climb out and hurry across the asphalt. Huddle at the parking meter, poking at the button.

Nico opens his door and climbs out, shutting it carefully, walking calmly around the front of the van. He opens Will’s door and it doesn’t move, locked, so it waits, and when Will makes no move to pull the little lever he reaches around the door Kayla left open, pulling it himself. The door swings widely open, bouncing slightly on its hinges, and Will doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t so much as glance towards it.

Nico reaches out, slowly, and takes his clenched hands.

They’re wet.

He peels back his clenched fingers, one by one, and they are stiff, formed to shape. He takes a moment to straighten them, carefully, slowly, until his palms rest upwards again, fingers limp. When he presses their palms together Will’s fingers twitch, ever so slightly, around his, and he drags their hands up to his mouth and presses his knuckles to his lips, tasting the salt, tasting the iron of his cracked chapped skin. Will’s hand twitches, again, and his face matches; contorting and crumpling and breaking, for a second.

“Will,” he murmurs, salt like the coast, like Nonna’s villa, like the water slide, “Will, look at me.”

He does. He looks to him like he’s dragging himself like he is clawing his own way upright.

“I can’t again,” he croaks, “I —” and he stops, or rather he is cut off, by the sob that fights it’s way out of his throat. It is sharp like skull fragments. Some part of Nico bleeds.

“You won’t.” He drops Will’s hand and clasps instead both sides of his face, pulling him down until their foreheads press tightly together, until their breathing shares the same space, until he can feel every shudder against his skull. “We will save her.”

As he says it Nico knows he will make it so. Kayla and Austin run back to the van, ticket clenched in both of their hands, Will squeezes his eyes shut and nods, once, before sitting straighter than he has in hours, and Nico knows that he will not let Will lose.

Not again.

———

next

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (IX)

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Hi! Here is another chapter! Saoirse is back, and our babies are making some evil plans…

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 1798

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Lilies

I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields.

They rise and fall in the edge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle,

and have no closets or cupboards, and have no legs. Still I would like to be as wonderful

as the old idea. But if I were a lily I think I would wait all day for the green face

of the hummingbird to touch me. What I mean is, could I forget myself

even in those feathery fields? When Van Gogh preached to the poor of coarse he wanted to save someone--

most of all himself. He wasn't a lily, and wandering through the bright fields only gave him more ideas

it would take his life to solve. I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river--

where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues-- where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss, just rises and floats away.

Mary Oliver

So, this was Pr. Hozier- Byrne…

H-B, or Hozier like everyone on campus seemed keen to call him. Saoirse understood the hype around the man though.

His voice was soft and lulling, his explanations clear, his love for his work evident. He seemed nice, answered all the questions, had something a little shy about him that seemed to quieten when he was teaching. He exuded confidence then, on the contrary, and despite the softness in his tone, it was impossible not to listen to him babbling away about Yeats. The fact that he was handsome was also a strong argument in his favour, Saoirse couldn’t deny it. Ridiculously tall, curls falling over his shoulders, trimmed beard and glasses over green eyes… She sighed as she stared at him, sporting a grey tweed suit, turning to write something over on the board. And that deep voice… damn…

She shook herself, focused on the lecture again, took note of the date her teacher was writing on the white board. The first class was an introduction to Yeats’ life and work, the study of his texts would start next week. For now, Saoirse was carefully writing down dates and historical events and the name of the woman he would spend most of his life pinning over. And she wondered if Hozier was pinning over a woman too, if he was married, if he longed for love, if that was why he seemed to love poetry so much, because he saw his own longing in other people’s words…

She shook herself again, wrote down something about Lady Gregory and the Abbey Theatre. She was projecting her own feelings over that tall stranger, she reckoned. A dangerous activity, if there ever had been one.

Apparently, more students had chosen the class about science-fiction, but Saoirse had definitely no regrets. If the topic seemed more complicated, her teacher was determined to pass on his love for poetry. She was grateful to Gabi for convincing her to choose this class, was already happy to have chosen his lesson about modernism for the second half of the year.

Indeed, she could see that Gabi had done well in recruiting for this class. Most of the students Saoirse had seen with Gabi during orientation week were now listening to H-B explaining the use of theatre to create a common Irish identity that worked hand in hand with the growing anger that would lead to revolution. And indeed, Sean and Donald were there too. If Donald had settled a couple of rows behind her, Sean was sitting next to her, actually. He had recognised her as soon as he had entered the room, had headed straight towards her and asked if he could sit next to her. And Saoirse was happy to have someone she knew in this class too, even if they had spoken but a few hours during orientation week. She hoped they could become friends, she felt a little lonely in this new adult world.

 The lecture went on and was over too soon, a feeling Saoirse had not been expecting for any of her lectures. As she packed up her things, she noticed that Gabi was at the door, eyeing the students inside, and she gave Saoirse a wave when their gazes met. Sean and Saoirse hurried out of the room.

“Hey! How are my wee students doing?” Gabi asked with a grin.

“Doing okay, so far!” Saoirse answered with a smile. “Didn’t even get lost this morning!”

“What an achievement!” Gabi laughed good-heartedly. “Saw that you were having a class with H-B this morning, my next lecture starts in fifteen minutes, just down the hall. Thought I’d come see you all, check on you.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Sean nodded with a smile.

Donald joined them as well, and they chatted happily for a couple of minutes.

“There’s a party planned at the end of the week, to celebrate the beginning of the year. You should come!”

“Huh… sure! Sounds good.”

If Saoirse was feeling a little shy, Donald was already asking questions about the drinks and the music.

Gabi was about to answer him when she was distracted by someone walking behind Saoirse and Sean, and she immediately grinned.

“Good morning, professor!”

The younger students turned around and politely smiled at their teacher, while he beamed at Gabi.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t our favourite troublemaker…” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “How are you doing, Gabi? How was your summer?”

“It was good! Busy, lots of things to plan to make sure I can turn all our new recruits into proper menaces!”

Andrew laughed, shaking his head playfully.

“Oh, I bet you have tons of ideas for that… but don’t scare our students away too soon, alright?”

He quickly checked his watch.

“Gotta run, but it was nice seeing you. Will I see you on Thursday then?”

“You know me… how could I say no to a class about protest poetry?”

Andrew’s smile brightened even more.

“Grand. I’m glad to have you as a student again this year.”

He excused himself then, bidding all four students a nice day, and they stared as he walked away, his long legs devouring the distance between the classroom and the exit of the building in mere seconds.

“He’s so nice!” Saoirse sighed. “Thanks for recommending this class to us.”

“He is. And Christ… he’s a sight for sore eyes.”

They all laughed at that, and went on to chat for a while longer, until Gabi had to head to her own class.

Saoirse could feel it, it would be a good year.

Andrew hurried back to your office, knowing that you were waiting for him. And indeed, when he arrived, you had already taken your sandwich out of your bag and were focused on your computer screen.

You greeted him with a smile when he quickly stepped into the room.

“Sorry, ran into a student I know well. Okay… what are our options?”

Andrew took off his vest, took out of his bag his own sandwich and his water bottle, before pushing his chair next to yours so he could look at your screen as well.

Frank was asking for advices about flower arrangements, for the wedding but also for a party they wanted to organise a few weeks before the wedding, some kind of huge get-together with family and friends to celebrate their engagement. Sam and Frank seemed to treat the event as some kind of rehearsal for their big day, and wanted to decorate the place in a similar way they would use for the ceremony.

A perfect occasion to raise chaos and mayhem…

“Frank has already narrowed down our choices… meaning that he took out anything with carnations or calla lilies, he doesn’t like those. I’ve tried to probe to know Sam’s taste, but he seems clueless.”

“Are we surprised by that?” Andrew mumbled under his breath, something bitter in his tone. “Sam’s favourite flowers are white lilies, and she hates pink and yellow roses.”

“Okay, so… can we find any pink and yellow roses in those…”

Andrew chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You’re kind of terrifying, Machiavelli…”

“One of my favourite books is about getting stuck in hell and watching people being tortured,” you reminded him, making Andrew laugh and glimpse over at the picture you had hung on the wall.

“Right… my bad. I shouldn’t underestimate your evil nature, clearly.”

“Unless you’re ready to face the consequences…” you added with false threat in your voice, while you were clearly struggling to hold back your laughter.

“Don’t turn me into anything… unnatural.”

You froze, turned to him.

“Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?” you asked with utter surprise evident on your features.

“Obviously,” Andrew smiled, something cheeky and cute at the same time, clearly pleased with himself.

“God… I love the Lord of the Rings!”

“Who doesn’t?!”

“Frank.”

Andrew huffed, but said nothing. He thought the words all the same… what a tasteless gobshite…

“Why am I not surprised?” was his answer instead, and you chuckled at his words.

“Yeah… he does have a few red flags,” you conceded.

“Hmm… but the fact that we’re plotting together against our exes is kind of a red flag, isn’t it? A scarlet one if I’ve ever seen one…”

“Is it worse than not liking the Lord of the Rings?”

Andrew couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his mouth.

“Nah, we’re good,” he joked, making you laugh.

And he liked the sound. Almost three weeks had passed since Sam and Frank had announced their engagement and Andrew and you were spending more and more time together. You had planned some things to get to talk to your exes, or just as you were doing today, to mess up with their wedding. Which meant seeing you outside the university, eating his lunch with you, talking over the phone sometimes…

And Andrew liked it. He liked that your dynamic was back on a friendly rhythm instead of something merely professional. You were nice, and hilarious, and so fucking smart. He hoped you would remain friends after all this. He hoped you would become good friends, with a bit of time.

“Oh, this one is so ugly…” you giggled at the picture on your screen, something pink and over the top, with a lot of roses…

“Oh, yeah… that’s the one. Send him this one.”

“Frank asked me for a favour by the way… he wanted me to go fishing for information about Sam’s tastes in flowers.”

“You mean… asking me about it?”

You nodded, and Andrew let out a wry laugh.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask you today as our classes would keep us busy. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to play the perfect boyfriend and come to the rescue, and offer to use her favourite flowers.”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Of course!”

You both laughed, eating your sandwiches. And then the conversation drifted away from Sam and Frank, settled on your classes, on work, on the movie he had watched on Sunday, on the walk you had taken with Siobhán and how much you would miss her when she would be gone.

And Andrew still felt a hole in his chest, the weight of something hollow, of a piece missing, because of Samantha. But when he was with you, the grief didn’t seem so heavy, the pain so aching. The emptiness in his heart seemed a little less empty when you were around. God knew he missed Samantha, that he wanted her back. But at least, you made him feel human again. He reckoned you were the only one to make him properly laugh these days.

[devnmon]

dating dutch van der linde hcs

a/n: i am on such a dutch kick these days. my writing inspo has come back and somehow i'm even more down bad for dutch van der linde these days so... here you go!!!! enjoy xx

sfw and nsfw below the cut <3

SFW

Contrary to popular belief that Dutch is all rough around the edges, I firmly believe he'd have a soft spot for his partner. Sure, he shows his kindness to folks who need it, but for you he has a special place in his heart.

He melts when you smile, when you laugh, when you look his way or walk past his tent. His dark eyes can't help but lock onto you like magnets. He's entranced by you- by everything you do.

Dutch learns what you like very quickly; your favorite book, meal, color, favorite spots in the local towns... like the back of his hand. He's very observant.

Though he speaks well and often, there's nothing to him like sitting and letting you rant about anything you'd like. Your voice is a river of honey and he'd gladly dive head first just to enjoy the time spent with you.

Like I said, Dutch pays attention; it's no wonder when he returns from the city with a new outfit for you, specially made with the highest quality fabrics and production he could find. He knows what flatters your figure but also keeps in mind what you like to wear.

So when you walk into camp wearing it, just for him, he's speechless. Hand on his chest, out of breath speechless.

Dutch lives for your compliments and flirting. Absolutely lives for it. From you, oh it's absolute heaven. He feels like a god being fed bread and wine while sat on a throne. There's nothing like it to him. Nothing compares to your praises.

You'd allow him to recite his favorite passages from Evelyn Miller whenever he was feeling up to it; you loved hearing him talk about absolutely anything as long as he was speaking to you. And he makes philosophy seem so much more intriguing with that gruff voice of his. If I had to give it a scent/taste, dark chocolate or whiskey would be most accurate.

Dutch is the typical gentleman: making sure you're safely escorted around if he cannot accompany you, and when he does, it's with a hand on the small of your back or while your hands are interlocked. He must be maintaining contact with you whenever possible... it's his guilty pleasure.

The more time you spend with him, the more your routines intertwine and line up perfectly, making the days seem ages longer than they are. From waking up and sharing warm coffee to winding down and resting together, he makes sure to share quality time with you.

Dutch has a habit of cradling your head when you're hugging or lying in his arms. It's his protective instincts kicking in whenever you're around him.

When you're tired after getting back from a long trip, he'll carry you bridal style to his tent, undressing you while you sit upright, half asleep. He does so with multiple kisses on your cheeks and forehead, delicately helping you wind down with his soft touches.

Kissing Dutch is a joy in itself because he knows exactly what he's doing with his tongue, nevermind when his hands come into play. He's such a lovesick fool whispering "I could kiss you forever..." in your ear like that wouldn't just make you want to test that theory.

You love running little errands for Dutch or with him, stocking up on extra bullets and hair pomade so he can look his best. Making sure his shirts are always spotless and ironed. You also take pride in being the one polishing his gold chains adorned on his favorite vest (and think they compliment his waist and proportions very well).

I can also imagine him letting you run your hands through his hair while you lay together, something that relaxes him after however long and hard a day he might have had.

Sometimes when you're kissing and talking, he'll chuckle into the kiss and that'll just draw you into him even more, arms wrapped around his neck with his around your waist.

Dutch doesn't know how you pull the brightest and biggest of smiles from him, but he's damn sure he doesn't want to stop. Not even when his cheeks hurt. He holds you very dear to him.

There are days where you just want to listen to his voice, so you ask him to read you his favorite passages from the American Inferno or another philosophy book he keeps around. "Forgive me if I fall asleep, your voice is just so calming." and he wouldn't take offense to it, he'd only maintain his voice at a certain volume so you could rest peacefully.

NSFW

Dutch van der Linde is a man who draws everythingggg out. Sometimes he likes to make it worse by whispering in your ear while he touches you. (Or taunting you throughout the day with not so subtle touches)

He loves it when you disobey him because it just gives him the excuse to be rough with you. He'll make you suck him off, pushing you down on his cock before fucking you roughly.

Honorable mention: making you kiss his rings before using that very hand to deal you a spanking punishment. The cold metal makes it hurt a little more but if you've been disobedient, he won't hold back.

Dutch is a slut for pet names; in fact he will only use your first name when you've made him mad, otherwise it's "darling, miss, dearest, my love" etc.

On the other hand, you call him sir out of respect, not knowing how it absolutely wrecks him. You have to be careful lest he get all worked up and have to drag you away from your chores. Sometimes he does, whispering to you "Do you know what that does to me?" "It's out of respect sir I-" "Hush. You shouldn't address me as anything but. I just... god, you make me crazy."

Absolutely takes advantage of the clear power dynamic the two of you have, him being the leader of a very powerful gang definitely gives him that ego boost.

Loves to give and give and give. He would spend hours between your legs making you come multiple times on his tongue, just because he loves how you taste.

He's not into somno per say... but if you're exhausted and he has pent up energy, he'll take out his frustrations on you. That is, as long as you were feeling up for it.

When you sit on his lap it's only a matter of time before he gets touchy and his hands start roaming your body, exploring which spots are more sensitive than usual and taking note of your favorites.

Imagine him letting his rings get cold and fingering you so that the metal is extra stimulating on your skin. He especially loves letting them run over your nipples to watch them harden.

His morning voice is gruff and gravelly but that wouldn't stop you from dragging your hand down his broad, hair ridden chest to get him off early in the mornings. Say he had an issue he had to deal with that he put off from the night before, and he's dreading getting up and to his duties, but first you give him just a piece of heaven before he gets up to start his day.

If one day he comes back with a crick in his neck or some kind of back pain, you're the one to suggest you massage him. At first it's harmless touches that bring him such relief, but then you get carried away, dragging your hands up and down his sides as if to rile him up purposely. It's not long after you're whispering for him to relax while you take care of him, sucking him off or just simply worshiping his body with your mouth.

Loves to praise you as easy as breathing. Things like "always so ready for me, my sweetest," and "there you go darlin', taking me so well".

One night he comes back to his tent with you dressed in only his vest, your cleavage on display for him while he spots the amount of arousal between your legs. He buries himself inside you, letting you know how alluring you look for him.

You can't walk away from being in bed with Dutch without any new marks. The minute you jump his bones his mouth is all over you, placing mark after mark on your neck and down your chest. You try and convince him to not leave marks where the gang can see them, but he doesn't care. He has the power and he'll do as he wishes.

His favorite punishment for you is having you over his lap and a. either spanking you until you can't sit correctly for a week, or b. making you come over and over until you plead for him to stop. It's only then he finds whatever lotion or oil he has and massages the skin he's just bruised. Dutch may take pleasure in seeing you cry for him, but he'll be damned if he doesn't clean you up and wipe your tears before lying his head down to rest.

Aftercare consists of him still being a little cocky if he's gotten you to come multiple times, but you also see the sweet side of him while helping you clean up and making sure he didn't push you too far. Though he loves the power, he has enough self control to know when you need a little comforting touch or a bath afterwards. He'll gladly carry you there himself and help relax you for the night.

[possession]

“What sets you apart can sometimes feel like a burden, and it's not. And a lot of the time, it's what makes you great. So, I kind of sound like I live in a van down by the river right now.”

EMMA STONE Scottsdale, Arizona, U.S. — 6th, November 1988

[lssugaluv]

The way he asks you to marry him.

Fem reader x various Haikyuu characters.

• Haikyuu Headcanons.

• Small Stories + Headcanons.

• Contains: Fluff, bunch of it. How long you’ve been dating for, romance, sweetness, petnames, high school to adult romance.(most of them.)

• Characters: Ushijima, Kuroo, Sugawara, Atsumu, & Suna.

Sugawara;

You and Suga have been dating for 4 years now. You began dating on your third year of high school.

You were the girl of his dreams. When he had finally gained the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, after having the biggest crush on you since your first year, he felt like he was about to pass out.

Those nerves came again when he asked you to meet him at your favorite garden in Kokedera, Kyoto. It was just the two of you, he wanted the proposal to be as intimate as can be.

He asked you to come in a cute flowy white dress he bought for you. He wore a loose white dress shirt with kacky pants and white slip on vans.

When he saw you arrive, he swore you were an Angel sent from heaven. Gorgeous as ever. Today you were just extra gorgeous to him.

At first you had no idea why he asked you to come dressed up to the garden but you didn’t question him. Once you arrived and saw him playing with his fingers and slightly flushed from his cheeks, you knew something was up.

He went ahead and grabbed both of your hands and yelled “I LOVE YOU.”

You giggle and tell him you love him as well.

“P..PL..PLEASE BE MY WIFE!”

You open your eyes wide and grow the biggest smile you can possibly have. “Baby, you don’t need to yell.” You say as you giggle. You reach in to kiss his soft lips and place your forehead on his, eyes closed. “I would love to be your wife.” As you both give each other the biggest bear hug.

Ushijima;

You and Ushijima have been dating for 3 years now.

You two met in middle school due to your family moving to Sendai and being neighbors with Ushijima. You guys will unintentionally walk to school together and back home.

In high school, you guys will hardly talk but he had always though you were very pretty. He loved how naturally beautiful you were and how happy you seem to be. He got to know after you two graduated Shiratorizawa. You both went to the same college and pursued your dream careers.

The way he asked to marry you was by taking you to the pathway to Shiratorizawa. Compared to your middle school walk, the high school was a bit further from your homes.

You guys will have to pass through a river path everyday and gorgeous greenery.

You two were walking in silence hand in hand. He always loved how your small hand fit perfectly with his huge hand. He loved how the soft wind will blow your hair and he was able to see your beautiful side view and features. He loved how every step he’ll take, you’ll try to keep up with him.

You two finally arrived to the River pathway and he had asked you to take a seat on the grass with him. You two enjoy the nature and the sounds of the river currents. Despite your now busy lives, he always enjoyed this peace with you. With no one around but just the two of you.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you Y/N.”

You gently smile and rest your head on his shoulder , rubbing your hand up and down his forearm.

“I do too Toshi.”

He moves in front of you, blocking the view of the river, which you didn’t mind at all. He’s the view you love to see.

“Please marry me.” He says as he opens a small dark blue cube box with a simple silver band in the box.

You couldn’t help but not hold back your tears and nod your head as in yes. You stick your hand out and he places the small engagement band around your small finger. “I love you” you say as you give him the most sweetest kiss.

Suna;

You and Suna have been best friends since elementary.

You two began to actually date on your first year of high school. You have been his high school sweetheart, his biggest supporter, his best friend, his everything since day one. He knew one day he will marry you. And the day to ask the big question has came at last.

Suna has always been one to keep to himself but when it came to the two of you being alone, man was he attached to you. He always shows his true colors when only being with you. He is crazy in love with you.

The way he asks to marry you is by asking you to come over to his apartment and making dinner together.

You came dressed in a nice light pink corset top with light washed jeans and low white heels. You always loved to get dolled up for him even when he said he preferred you in his sweater and sweatpants.

He was dressed casual, a black polo shirt and some jeans, and shoes, well he had slippers on because he was inside his apartment.

You guys decide to go with chicken Alfredo pasta since today’s date night dinner was Italian. You guys always will meet up during your busy weeks, or FaceTime when he was out of the country or town due to tournaments. You will always play “Spin the Wheel” using your phone and typing which country you guys should do date night with.

Since it was Italian night, you guys made homemade pasta, got store bought Gelato, and decided to watch “Letters To Juliet.” He knew how much you love romance movies, so he always let you choose the movies.

Meanwhile you guys were eating, you noticed he was eating slower than usual. Which you grew to worry because the food was very delicious. “Rin Rin, is everything okay?” He picked up that he was overthinking and quickly stuffed pasta in his mouth. “Yes princess. The food is delicious.” He says with a mouthful.

When you cleaned up after eating and served the gelato, you meet him at the couch with the movie ready to play on Netflix. You notice that he was on his phone, which was a rule that when on date night, no phones allowed. You stopped the movie to ask him what was wrong again.

He assures you nothing is wrong and told you to play the movie. You then notice he once again is focused of his phone when you pull the phone away from his hands. He freezes when you gasped after you read what was on the Google search.

“ How to surprise girlfriend with a proposal?”

After you finished reading, you saw he was right in front of you, both knees on the ground and one small white box on your thigh. “I panicked and didn’t know how to surprise you. But I want you to be with me forever more. Sorry you had to find out through Google Y/N.”

You place the white box on the side of the couch and literally jump on him, both of your bodies dropping to the ground. You begin to give him a billions of kisses all over his face, with the biggest smile on your face. “A millions times yes Rintarou.”

Kuroo;

As he’s pacing back and forth in Kenma’s room, he finally got an idea. “I know where! I can propose to Y/N at the beach.” He says as he grabs on to his best friends shoulders, blocking his game.

Kenma moves his head to the side to get a view of his game. “I already told you that idea.”

You and Kuroo have been dating for 2 years. You guys met at work in the office. You guys actually met at the beach. It was frustrating day for him, and he loves to cool off at the beach. You had gone that day because you were supposed to go on a date, just for the guy to stood you up. You knew of one another at work but never actually spoken until that day.

He had saw you walking alone by the waves, barefoot while you were holding your heels. It was freezing that day, which he thought you were insane walking barefoot. He walks toward you when he saw you were wiping your tears and standing in front of the ocean.

“Y/N, are you okay?” You turn to face the tall man and completely ball out crying. He invited you to eat ramen after your cried it out and took you home. He waited in the living room until you showered and had made tea for you. He then had left once he saw you fully asleep, and left a note on your nightstand giving you his number.

You meet him at the beach and you see he is standing right in front of the ocean. You silently walk toward him and stand next to him, taking in the ocean breeze. “Remember two years ago when I met you at this exact spot? You were crying for some asshole meanwhile I was having a work meltdown.” He still hadn’t made any eye contact with you but continued. “I remember thinking how pretty you looked crying and wondered to myself, man, if only a girl can cry for me.”

He takes your hand and placed a small diamond ring on your left ring finger. “Let me be the one to wipe your tears on the altar when we’re getting married. I love you, always and forever. Thank you for being my everything.”

You begin to cry after staring at the tiny rock for a good 5 minutes. He gently picks up your face with his two huge hands, wiping your happy tears with his thumbs. “Yes Tetsu. Yes.”

Atsumu;

You and Atsumu have been dating for 5 years. You began to date during your second year of high school. Everyone who knew you and Atsumu gave you 1 week for you to break up with him. They always knew Atsumu to be the dumb volleyball nerd meanwhile you were a smart straight A student. You both were pretty popular, but people thought you were too much for Atsumu.

Atsumu has always been loud, obnoxious, and sometimes an airhead. But boy did he love you. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you as soon as you had surprised him at one of his volleyball games. “She’s the one.” He said nice and proud to his teammates that day at the locker rooms.

During the nationals, he went out of the country and had invited you with him. It was pretty tough for you to leave due to your university schedule but you had managed to make it. You were wearing his jersey that day, cheering loud and proud for your MSBY superstar.

You hear the bell and call it game and they had won. From there , some people were leaving and you were so excited to see Atsumu to congratulate him and the team. From there, you see yourself on the jumbo screen confused. You look down at Atsumu and look back up at the jumbo screen to see Atsumu on one knee with the screen saying “Marry me baby.” The screen once again goes back to you with tears running down your face and the rest of the crowd cheering loudly.

Bokuto had ran to go get you and grabs your hand and you both run to the court. Once you guys get to the doors of the entrance of the courts, Bokuto stops and leaves you on your own. You charged towards Atsumu, jumping on him and clinging on him. You gave him a huge kiss and said “I would love to marry you Atsumu.” He then pulls your head towards him and gives you three huge kisses, carrying you meanwhile the crowd roars again and all cameras on you both.

After thoughts:

• Hey y’all. Coming back to you with some fluff because why not? And Haikyuuuu head canons are my fav. I just got married through the court. So of course love is in the air and I wanted to write about proposing.

• Not Proofread. :/

• Please enjoy, like, comment & Reblog.

• Please do not copy my work. <3

[carlostck]

Headcanon that Kai and Nya will quote things from the Ninjago equivalent of SNL Little Lloyd had no idea what they were talking about when he would get into trouble and they would just be yelling about "living in a van down by the river"

[xo-urban]

Can I request Arthur Morgan with male reader, who is a part of the O'Driscoll gang and secretly helps the Van Der Linde?

Long story short, male reader gives Arthur information on the O'Driscoll's plans and so on, the rest of Arthur's gang know reader and how much he's risking for them by meeting up with Arthur to warn him and stuff. Reader approached them himself some time ago, as he saw just how wrong the stuff his gang did was, earned their trust and proved to be a good man. They asked him several times to dirch the O'Driscolls and join them instead, as he was experiencing some truly vile, down right abusive, treatment from his father, Colm O'Driscoll, but he couldn't, as he was scared it would bring harm to Arthur and his family (the gang).

One night, when the Van Der Linde were supposed to meet him, he didn't show up. Arthur went to their usuall spot, next to a river, where he found a note from Colm, saying to meet him in a few days there, alone, with no backup. If he didn't show up or obligated by the terms, he would kill reader.

The rest is completely up to you, but please make it have a good ending! My heart can't take anymore angst stories with a bad ending TvT

To Be Astray

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Male Reader

Summary: A family gone mad, you’ve found yourself leaving for a better life but nothing every comes that easy in an outlaw’s life.

Warnings: Typical in-game violence, neglect, abuse, torture (a bit mild in a way), homophobia (very little)

Word Count: 1734

A/N: I absolutely enjoyed writing this! Hopefully it doesn’t seem like word vomit on here and you actually enjoy reading it as much as I did writing! 🤍🤍

You’ve always stuck with your gut, whether it be running and fighting, drinking or gambling, or straying away from whom you once called family.

You’ve been running along with the O’Driscoll gang for quite a long time. You were born into the gang’s system, watch people come and go, innocent lives get taken by your hands.

“Steady boy!”

You were interrupted from your thoughts as your father, the infamous Colm O’Driscoll himself, tried to calm his horse down. It must’ve heard something and got spooked, oh that poor thing.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with a soft snort, continuing down a path with your father.

Colm talked and talked, new ‘promised’ futures, recruiting new members. Hell you have grown sick of him, you’d only gather information rather than follow them. You’d seen how cruel your father really is. Every time you fucked up a task, he’d beat you like a racing horse whose feet have been broken without a single person to care for it.

That’s till one night, at the mining camp in the harsh cold mountains. You were found by another gang, the Van Der Linde gang no less. You’ve always heard of the stories amongst fellow members, the rivalry between the two and the once unity they had as allies.

You were held to your will, treated like a prisoner until you went on missions with them to seek out your own gang, killing off your numbers and helping the enemy.

They warmed up to you no doubt, despite the history and the name you wore, you became an important essential to their gang. At first they offered you a place in their camp, a whole tent with food and water provided, but you knew you’d impose a great danger by staying.

So you reluctantly persuade them to let you go and promise to meet back every few days at a creek in the forest near their camp. You'd meet up with a member of the Van Der Linde gang to deposit a shit load of information about your father’s next moves, check up on one another before you returned back ‘home’.

“Alright, you can run off now. You know what you need to do” Your father spoke, earning a scoff from you as you turned the other way, hurrying off to the spot you were supposed to meet up at.

. . .

You tread through the vegetation, the oil lamp in your hand brightened the way. You were tired, but the information you promised was even better this time around after asking a bunch of loose-mouthed rookies.

You couldn’t help but smile, seeing your favorite cowboy come into view, his leaned fit body, the soft beard, those gentle eyes with his rugged face. You watched his lips curve and form into a smile, drawing you in.

“So glad to see you again hun.. been too long” Arthur sighed, wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close as he kissed your face, his beard ticking you as he swayed your bodies side by side.

You and Arthur had gotten together after so long, all those long talks, risky touches, compliments had led you to where you are now.

“Missed you too darlin’, can’t help but stray away huh?” You sighed, laying your head against him as you felt his lips touch your head ever so carefully.

“That’s not my intent.. been running around, stealing and robbing. Makes me wonder how a bad man like me ends up with a man so perfect and sweet.” Arthur spoke quietly, his hand, rough and calloused yet so soft and gentle, ran through your hair.

You savour the moment as the two of you sway side to side in each other’s arms in the dark blue cover the night brings. You’d almost forget you were criminals with how soft the moment was, with the soft rustling of leaves, the cold breeze that grazed your back as you were held in the warm arms your boyfriend provided.

Though it lasted a few good minutes, you had to get down to business. You explained the next game plans of your father’s operations and which big moves he was considering to make. Arthur listened intently, watching you and nodding when you said something important to let you know he was still listening to you.

Soon after, it was time to head back, the moon shining brightly on it’s highest peak.

“I’ll see you in the following days Arthur..” You smiled, jumping onto your horse, walking your mare over to lean down and kiss Arthur sweetly on his lips, his hand caressing your cheek before you pulled away, turning to leave with the most lovestruck smile on your face.

To hell you went as frantic steps rushed off.

But you had assumed they were Arthur’s.

. . .

You had rode back to camp, a sour scowl on your face, glancing at the weird glances you had gotten. Did something happen when you were gone? You were confused till you were greeted by the angry look on your old man’s face.

“You were WORKING with the Van Der Linde gang behind my back? My own SON. My own son is a fucking traitor to this family!” Colm had shouted at you, stomping over angrily before grabbing the collar of your shit, tugging harshly.

“I can’t even fucking believe it. I should’ve left you with the wolves, but god dammit! You’ve failed me. You’re not my son. You were never a true O’Driscoll. The darnest disappointment I’ve ever seen. Sleeping with fucking men too!? You're gonna damn well pay with your blood, splattered on the ground in front of that boy..”

You watched as your father raised his hand, falling rapidly before you even had time to brace for it. The hard slap collided with your cheek before you were thrown at the dirt, your father’s shoe kicking dirt in your face and spitting at you, ordering the men watching to tie you up.

“You fucking bastard! I’ll have your head on a pole waving over the fucking country to see!”

You screamed as you felt the harsh burn of ropes press against your skin, crying out in pain before the butt of a rifle was smashed against your temple, knocking you out cold.

. . .

Arthur waited for you at your usual spot, eager to meet you, but it had been hours and he was growing restless. He walked a bit further up the river in hopes to find you, but a white note hung by a knife that was posted into a dark tree caught his eye.

He looked around before he approached, yanking the note off the tree as his eyes widened.

“Shit!” Arthur cursed aloud, whistling for his horse, quickly mounting it before snapping the reins, hastefully sprinting out there to get some extra guns brought along before he formally meets up with Colm O’Driscoll himself.

. . .

You could’ve sworn you were passed out for more than a day. Your father starved you and treated you as if you were a feral prisoner.

You’d been waiting for hours and you were starting to doubt that you’d make it out of this situation alive. You worried for Arthur to come quicker with each passing click of the clock.

When you were about to shut your eyes in defeat, the loud trampling of what you assumed, two or three horses approaching. Your eyes looked up, hoping. And there he was.

Arthur arrived with an angry face of hatred, followed by Sadie and Charles. You were sat down on your knees, as the small group of Van Der Linde members dismounted their horses, Sadie and Charles raising their guns at the O’Driscolls that had done the same. The tension was high and this was no doubt gonna end up in a blood bath.

Arthur didn’t even let the man speak once he opened his mouth, his hand grabbing the revolver out of its holster and emptied all of its bullets out at the O’Driscolls.

Your father ran back, turning to aim his gun at you before you watched Charles harshly shove him to the ground. That didn’t stop the shot from firing right into your thigh. You yelled in pain as the bounds on your arms were cut free, immediately helped up by a pair of strong hands.

“Hang on Darling, we’re getting you out of here!”

Arthur helped you up onto his horse, yanking on the reins as he held you to his chest as you hissed in pain.

“I know love, I know, we’ll get that fixed when we get back I swear, stay strong, I know you can”

You nodded, doing your best as you turn back to find Charles and Sadie riding behind you two, not too far behind.

Arthur held you protectively the whole way, not even taking his hand off you for a moment as he took you to Hosea’s tent, laying you gently down on the cot, his eyes softening at your state, holding your hand tightly as he exchanged little words with Hosea who immediately got to work.

“You’re safe. I ain’t gonna let any O’Driscoll ever hurt you again. I swear on my life”

Arthur kissed your knuckles softly, holding it close to his face.

“Rest easy love, you have no idea how miserable you look.”

“You callin’ me ugly?”

You snorted weakly, smiling as you felt your eyes become heavy.

“No.. never love..”

. . .

You’ve awoken to loud snoring right beside you, only smiling once you turned your head to find your boyfriend in a nice change of clothes, sleeping in a sitting position with his head on the cot.

You awed softly, running your hand through his hair gently, sitting up with the help of your good leg, meeting Arthur’s worried eyes.

You were about to speak before he cupped your face and kissed you deeply, letting you melt into him before he pulled away with little crystallizing tears in his eyes.

“You’re one goddamn miracle..”

Arthur sighed happily, resting his head against yours as he sat himself down on the bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in close.

“And you’re my incurable romantic..”

You chuckled, letting your lips connect one more time, finally, together again without a worry about having to go back there.

You’ve learned to love being astray, finding the most perfect man to love in the end.

[supermaks]

1. Brazil. 1992. By Ercole Colombo. 2. Giovanna Amati and Niki Lauda watch as a Ferrari passes in Circuito Estoril, Portugal. 1992. By Ercole Colombo.

Giovanna Amati bought her first motorbike in 1975. A 500cc Honda, powerful, loud, clearly too big for a 15-year-old Italian kid without a driver’s license.

Her parents never found out, not how she got the money, not where she found the bike, not even the identity of the salesperson desperate enough to accept a child’s money. A bike like that, to a kid like her. But not just any kid. Giovanna’s father owned movie theaters; her mother acted in said movies. All Giovanna wanted to do was play the role of racing driver. For two years, Giovanna kept her Honda hidden behind her friends’ garage, and only took it out for little spins during the late hours of the night, when Roma pretended to sleep and the sleek, narrow streets grew even more austere. Monsters in silk shirts mumbled low in the shadows, watched the kid ride over stone and grime, turn into dark gardens and across the Tevere river, far beyond the reach of the misty moonlight. Up and down, left and right, zigzagging past the Vespas and the yellow bicycles left unattended in the piazzas. A curt glimpse towards the Vatican, a recognition of Spirit, a nod of respect. Total darkness. Giovanna rode through the night like a black horse. Hair like broken hay sticking out of her helmet; sunken eyes the color of whiskey peering through a red visor. Straight, thin lips sucking on rolling paper and blowing out smoke too strong to be tobacco. This was Giovanna Amati in the dark. La principessa veloce de Roma.

3 years later, in 1978, Giovanna Amati was kidnapped in broad daylight. Caught between the considerable wealth of her surname and the diabolical politics of the time, the girl never really stood a chance. She was sitting in her car, parked in front of the Amati villa, perhaps waiting for someone to come join her, perhaps only taking a moment to breathe, listening to some music. We’ll never know. 3 masked men broke through the windshield like hammers and dragged her kicking and screaming into a van nearby. Giovanna was then taken to an apartment just a few blocks away, where she was undressed, assaulted, humiliated, broken and tortured, wrapped in a thick plastic sheet and shoved inside a wooden box. For 74 days, she was kept inside that box. The box only opened for food, for water, for hands, for mouths, for pain, for horrors. 2 months later, the box opened one last time. Against explicit court orders from the Italian government, Giovanni Amati and Anna Maria Pancanni paid for their daughter’s ransom using leftover box-office receipts from George Lucas’ ‘Star Wars’, old family jewelry and some of their servants’ life-savings.

The full cost hit 800 million-lira (almost 3 million US dollars). Soon after her release, Giovanna started receiving flowers and love letters from one her captors, Jean Daniel Nieto, which prompted some to speculate about the nature of their relationship. Giovanna was kept in a box for two months. ‘The box made me stronger.’ She’d tell the BBC, years later. After a few days of radio silence and even more flowers, she phoned Jean Daniel Nieto, and informed him she could no longer live without him, and they should run away together. Jean Daniel Nieto was ecstatic. He showed up to the meeting point right on time, in his best two-piece suit. Giovanna showed up on the back of her Honda. She did not stop for Jean Daniel Nieto. The police cars who’d been following close behind, however, did.

Giovanna Amati began racing cars professionally at the age of 21. Despite successful campaigns in Formula Abarth, Italian F3 and Formula 3000, Giovanna had close to no open-wheel experience, no real backing, no sponsors, and no hopes of a successful F1 stint. Still. She wanted to ride F1 cars the way she rode her bike alone in the streets of Rome. She wanted to play the role. She was an Amati, after all. Her final option was still in the box. Money. A doomed team wobbling on its last leg let her pay for its ’92 seat, and so, with no actual pump and uncomfortable circumstance, Giovanna Amati became the last woman on earth to ever drive for the F1 world championship, and the first and only woman to do so 14 years after being kidnapped. She attempted to qualify for Brabham 3 times: Brazil, Mexico, South Africa. All failed. Brabham kicked her out, obviously, and in came male savior Damon Hill, who then, phew, failed to qualify five times.

In my dreams, la principessa veloce de Roma still rides her Honda at night. Her eyes are red behind the visor, and she doesn’t stop at the Vatican. They’ll never catch her again.

Text by supermaks

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

3. South Africa. By Ercole Colombo.

4. Gangster-story all’italiana. Source unknown.

[writingcold]

Bound

AU Jake X Chris slash 

A/N: At the announcement of Mirador, and that first picture of Jake and Chris, my brain went to the following blurb. I have been working on an AU currently titled The Dead. This story is about soulmates that have been cursed to live apart - and at the time of story, they have lived many lifetimes apart. Within the story there are 6 versions of our Jake set in many different eras, just as there are 6 different versions of Maéva - the Y/N character. It has been so fun to write! But I am rambling. The point is, the following blurb is just ONE of the lifetimes that Jake has across 400 years. I was only going to share it with a few friends, but then @katuschka, @its-interesting-van-kleep and @thewritingbeforesunrise really have thrown their support behind me and this blurb. The rest I’ve shared with - you know who you are - are such an amazing group, so I hope they enjoy the revisited blurb. I’ve cleaned it up a bit, polished it, honed it a little more. This will NOT be in the story proper, it’ll be mentioned, but not known to the main character. At least at this point, it is not. Our secret. And as always, thank you to @edgingthedarkness for listening to me carry on and on and on and on… and on about this story and being so patient with me over the mess that it is. 

***This is an 18+ story for adults only. This is a blurb of Yakov Petrov (Jake) and Christian Hertel (Chris Turpin inspired). It is an AU set in time when Michigan was voted in as a state.***

Content warnings: Sexual situations m/m, oral, unprotected sexual situations, a little angsty (of course, and loops back to the actual story), a touch of Yakov (Jake) being a brat.

Word count: approximately 2600

Journal Entry - Yakov Petrov, June 1862

     The commission had come in August of 1854 to survey the new territories of the northwest. Christian had reservations, but the money would be good, lodging and food was included. He had enough hands to set out like a grand jungle expedition into the wilds of the unexplored lands of the United States. I did not understand his reservations. To set out into the wilderness that only those native to the land had known? What adventure. What a privilege to see and paint and study. But, my Christian was the one who gained the commission, not I. It would be his decision to go and his decision to take whom he felt would be fitting to the project. Just because we shared our appetites with each other, did not mean that I would attend the expedition. 

     We had boarded the ship in Boston, May of 1855, that would take us first to New York, then up through the St. Lawrence Seaway, into Lake Ontario. We’d then follow the Niagara River to Lake Huron. From Lake Huron, we’d find ourselves on the Detroit River to finally push our way into Lake Michigan. Detroit would be our destination for a fashion. Christian had called it our last stop of frayed civilization before traversing into the untamed wilds of the north lands. 

     I will not be untrue - being aboard those ships brought me a joy from the core of my spirit, but a mournfulness as well. I felt this joy to be old, sunk down in the marrow of my bones and beyond me in a way that was confusing and best forgotten the moment my feet touched the land of Detroit. We were housed in what was considered a grand house of the region, but after such luxury in Boston and Philadelphia, I was finding myself holding my tongue from spoiled and rude comments. A tent in the grand garden of our townhome would have been more comfortable.

     A month of those conditions prepared us for the path before us. We had native guides and set out with a troupe of sixteen hands to carry and maintain our academic venture. Christian was a marvel in his organization of those men. He wanted to start at the northern point of Sault Ste. Marie. That meant more travel by water, which was fine. The commission demanded each step be documented - not just in paint and charcoal, but recording for scientific reasons, the flora and fauna, the animals, the geography. All of it was to be recorded and sent to Washington, DC, for study. That was to be our nature of work, and we would follow it to the letter.

     My foot touched the aged pier of Sault Ste. Marie and I felt an illness within that I could not explain. Christian wanted to send me home to Boston, I was so taken. I took to a bed in a passable inn and shook with a fright that I could not shake. It was in my blood. It invaded my breath. I sent Christian on with the promise that I would catch up if he were to leave me a guide. I was behind him by weeks, only, but in that time, my soul seemed to cry over the wild, windswept land that was this already old place. I found myself walking upon the grounds of a once great shipmaster’s house that overlooked the great lake of Superior. The French manor house that barely clung to its elaborate balconies, was a ruin. It was a ghost of memories that seemed to dance and toy with any and all who passed it by, eliciting the imagination of grand balls and fancy turns of women’s voluminous skirts. 

      It was on this scrap of field that I felt it for the first time, an ache that would go on to haunt me the rest of the journey. I set up my easel and painted what I saw: the town and the port beyond this desolate beauty that hurt my spirit for unknown reasons. Perhaps it colored my stroke a bit, leaving me with a melancholy piece that once set, was boxed and housed to make its way back to the capital. This ache was ever present as I finally was well enough to move across the peninsula to catch up with Christian. It was a dogged feeling that I knew this land as sure as I knew myself. Odd, as I never had been anywhere except the grand cities of the east coast.

     It was a reunion of quiet touches and catching up when I did finally reach the party. My Christian was always so enigmatic when it came to our relations. He might one day grasp me by my whole body and not let go without a laugh and caresses that were never hidden, while the next, may only be in the form of a clandestine brush of the back of his hand against my thigh. I did not mind. It kept me guessing and intrigued and returning to him for more. This reunion, however, he walked away from me as if upset. I followed him, calling his name like a wounded puppy might.

     I followed into the deep woods, where the light dappled on the ground as if fighting to penetrate with its goodness. I suddenly realized, goodness was not meant to see what he needed, nor wanted from me. His mouth crashed into mine with a carnal anger that left me breathless and needing more. No coherent words passed between us. Only desperate touches and demanding utterances graced us as he nearly tore my clothes from my body. His fingers knocked my hat from my head and his eyes stilled in absolute offense.

      “Damn it. Why did you cut it, Yakov?” he growled as he discovered my hair much shorter than when he had left me.

      He tugged it at the roots, pulling my head back to expose my throat to him. He ravaged my skin, leaving not an inch untouched. My man knelt in the black dirt and sucked me down, leaving me ruined and ready for him and only him to love as only he could love me. He kissed and lapped and ground his mouth on me until I was nearly weeping and close to orgasm before he clutched me with a kiss that was full of passion. He wrapped his hand around both of our girths and began to rub hard. Feeling his cock against mine was one of my favorite things, and to have him eye to eye with me, reading my face as he fed my need was near otherworldly. My love poured out on the air in my sighs and moans of pleasure.

      He turned me, helped me to find my hands on the gnarled bark of a tree. His mouth sucked at my shoulder with promises of love and adoration as his cock found my entrance. And he loved me. He penetrated me in a hard press that filled me with a desire that no one had ever given me. He loved me. Each in was demanding while each out was a caress and need for more. Yes. He loved me. And when we both reached a pitch that could no longer be staved off, we danced in ecstasy as our high crescendoed into a shared gratification. He held me and I held onto him in the dirt. Our skin was inflamed with joy and our words gentle towards each other. 

     My fingers tangled in his sun kissed golden hair and smoothed across the manicured mustache that resided over his lip. How many days had I woken to this face only to be so enraptured by it each and every time. And he looked upon me the same. His fingers in my dark brown threads, even though I had cut it quite short, and across the hair on my chin. Always with such love. Always with such care.

     We worked our way across spidery waterways. Through dense forests and broad meadows. One word was always on my tongue - beautiful. There was no green like it on the wind battered east coast. Surely, this virginal green was unlike anything on this fledgling continent. It was strong against the eye, yet the wind pushed it as if with a whisper of promise of what settling it would provide. Eagles, in grand mass, relegated in towering pines, while the deer were thick in numbers, grazed unaware of the dangers that were to come. Industry was waiting. It was our purpose to sell the dream of this ground to industry. Christian both hated the idea, but loved it for what riches it would bring to the region. Hated for it would surely be destroyed under the bootheel of man. Loved it, as he captured the most natural golden beauty through our work.

      We had been in the wilds for well over a month. We pushed our way south, sketching, recording, painting. Day after day brought something new to be cataloged. Something new to be puzzled over. But most of all, captured. We were capturing the spirit and nature of this land. 

      The cold came swiftly in this region. Our party was forced to choose - build cabins and wait out the harshness of winter, or try to rush to the south and east to Detroit before the ice bound up the land and winter there. Christian ordered for cabins to be built - we were to settle and capture a winter’s season in the new land. We were not the only ones in this region. A new village was chartered and was beginning to grow as the last of our timbers were set in place for our shelters. I spent hours sketching and painting - even putting in the men as they labored. Frankenmuth. They were going to call the village Frankenmuth, so I titled the painting as such.

      I knew hard winters. I knew winters where the sun seemed to extinguish itself for days on end and the ocean would lash at the shore in unrelenting undulation that was sure to tear permanently at the land. But this - this winter in this land of Michigan was beyond me. There were moments of crystalline beauty and desperate cruelty of storms that lingered. Christian laughed at my poetic rendering of what was around us, but it is what it was. Horrid. But beautiful. 

      The spring of 1856 was slow to thaw. Despite there being still snow on the ground, Christian and I were out, wrapped in heavy furs and easels in hand to sketch the landscape. It was midafternoon before I realized that he had put me into the picture he created. I laughed at him as he gazed at his work with an eye that I knew well. He was smitten with me, still. He had started to apply paint here and there, but he left it unfinished as my ministrations to him had become too blatant for him to ignore. My usual trick to get him to love me rather than paint me.

      On the eve of our resumed expedition, he held me with the lament of wanting me to be his forever. He wanted to marry me as he would a wife. He seemed so adamant and passionate about it. We were together, that was enough for me. 

       He became sullen and started to argue with me. He pulled away and it was as if the Earth was pulling away from the moon. He was unconsolable in the moment about how I was changing with this land. I was changing? How? He said to look at his drawing, how I looked to the land like it was my lover. I was baffled. He said that I would talk in my sleep about love. At first he thought that it was himself that was causing my midnight sighs and caresses. 

     “Unless my name is suddenly changed to Maéva, I doubt very much that it is I who is featured in your deepest dreams, Yakov,” he had argued.  

     “But if you’re angry about dreams, surely you see the absurdity of your argument,” I fought back, showing that I was totally unaware of what he was talking about.

      I smoothed back his hair, dragging my fingernails over that patch of skin just behind the shell of his ear. I watched as he quivered under my touch. I pressed kisses to his furrowed brow, cooing and whispering my love. I promised that I would be his husband and he would be mine in our hearts. It would be enough. I took his tongue into my mouth, sucking it hard enough to elicit a soft chirp. I relished the taste of his creamy skin, passing my mouth across the sparse, downy patch in the middle of his chest. 

      “I want you to quit cutting your hair,” he growled as I found his cock with my lips. “Why do you cut it when it’s so pretty?”

       I pressed behind his ball sack hard as I slid my mouth up the shaft with a saucy pop. “Ever think it’s to make you upset with me, Chris?”

       His eyes pinched at the edges as I looked up at him, my chin coming to rest on his thigh. He trailed his fingers down my cheek. I knew what he wanted of me. I knew and so I took him into my mouth until I was downright slobbering. I spit into his entrance as he moaned loudly, egging me on. I wrapped my hands around his thighs to spread him enough for me to enter him. And we made love, face to face.  My eyes roved across his lean body, loving each turn of bone and stretch of skin. The way his mouth stretched with pleasure, and how the head of his cock peeked out as he stroked himself tightly as I moved with confidence within him. I bent, his thighs pressed hard around my hips as I lapped at the precum on his head with a moan of satisfaction. The hard inhale of breath and I knew one more trick to send him into another plane. I swirled my tongue over the head as I pressed in, snapping my hips into his rump. My fingers dug at the meat of his flanks as I dragged my tongue over the softness of his belly, circling across his nipple before sinking my teeth into the flesh of his shoulder to unravel each other until we were a complete mess.

       In the darkness, he slept well as I held him close. I listened to his breathing for hours. It was shame that kept me stirred. He was not wrong about how this land was claiming me. This woman - Maéva -  was haunting me in my slumber. The meaning of it was so blurred. It made me hold to him all the tighter. It was him that I loved. I belonged with him. He understood me best. Yet, this woman was a memory of deep time. She belonged to another time, another existence. I knew it deep in my bones, just as I had felt the joy of crossing all those rivers to come to this land. But my heart was cleaved in two, wasn’t it? A fractured shard that belonged to one that was not in my time of now. It was that piece that I could never surrender to my Christian. And he was mine. I pressed my face into the mass of golden hair to allow his perfume to swell around me. He was mine.

I hope you liked my tangent here into Yakov’s life. It was such a tangent that strangled me, and continues to play in my brain even though this is pretty much it for Cake Lane in this story. I’m not sure when The Dead will be ready to go. Life has been so busy, making writing time sporadic, but I’m getting there. I will be putting out a new tag list sign up when we’re closer to release, but for now, this will remain tag-less as it's just a one off. Until then - happy reading, happy writing, happy creating!

[hannibalzero]

Summer modern charthur

Headcanons

Tubing. Aka floating down a river/creek in a innertube. Both Arthur and Charles are too cheap to get a double person tube but with two bungee cords from the truck. They float together in the spring fed creek not saying a thing unless one sees a pyramid of turtles sunbathing.

2. Garden, Charles and Arthur always make a summer garden. Tomato’s, beans, corn, cucumbers, strawberries, watermelons, peaches, cherries and blueberries. They have a little homestead! But the rest of the van der Linde gang knows better that to pick up their phones….cuse Arthur will make them shuck corn.

3. Yearly house clean out. Both men don’t like a lot of clutter but you can tell they live in that house.

4. Vacation, they pick and place and go for a week. They like national parks. but….Vagus was a lot of fun…

5. Rodeos/ county fairs. Charles entered one of their Ducks and two horses into the county fair, maybe they’ll win? Arthur just likes going to the rodeos, he doesn’t compete anymore. Now that he has a choice. Used to do the circuit for Dutch.