#Water line New Orleans

[nationaleconomy999]

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[goodpix2021]

The Great Chase

Night view of street cars on Canal Street. Once upon a time I used to make pictures like this on a regular basis. I’m not sure why I stopped. It wasn’t a conscience decision. I just sort of let it fade away. I’m thinking that before I slip out of New Orleans for good I should wander around the city making these kind of pictures. I’m a little busy right now, but I could carve out some time… if I…

[blue-aconite]

homecoming || j.h.s

Summary: This time, he had someone waiting for him. This time, he was coming home to someone. 

Warnings: fluff, jake being emotional and soft (yes that is a warning), no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairings: Jake Seresin x f!reader

Authors Note: Thanks to @a-reader-and-a-writer & @demxters for looking this over for me. mwah 😘

Long deployments had never bothered Jake. He had nothing at home waiting for him, so it didn’t matter that he was away for months at a time. Or at least that was what he tried to tell himself. 

For years, he had tried his best to believe that, since it meant that it hurt less seeing all the families reuniting when they docked. It meant he felt less lonely when his colleagues went home and he went back to the housing unit offered by the Navy. It meant he could fool himself that he didn’t need anyone. 

He was wrong. Jake knew he was just as human as anyone else but it hurt to admit because he didn’t have anyone. 

While Javy and his family always extended an invitation to join them, Jake felt bad intruding on their private time, no matter how many times Javy assured him it was no problem. Yet he had always declined. 

But this time it was different. Jake felt almost giddy, bouncing on his feet as he waited for his turn to leave the ship. 

This time, he had someone waiting for him. This time, he was coming home to someone. 

“Excited to see your girl?” Javy clapped him on the shoulder as they waited in line. 

Excited was an understatement. For the first time in years, he had someone waiting for him. Someone who had missed him. Someone who loved him. 

Jake smiled, thinking about Skip. “Hell yeah. I can’t wait.” 

Javy smiled as well, infected by the good mood his friend was sporting. “I’m happy for you. Are we still on for Friday?” 

Charlotte, Javy’s longtime girlfriend had wanted them to get together before their leave started. They were set to have a four-week leave, so she and Javy were planning to visit his family in New Orleans. 

“Yeah. Skip said she took the rest of the week off so we can meet you guys whenever.” Jake wanted nothing more than to just stay at home with Skip but Charlotte insisted on dinner before she and Javy left. 

Somewhere ahead it was announced that they could finally get moving. Jake wasted no time in slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way towards the exit, Javy on his heels. 

The heat hit him as he headed down the walkway, the California sun beating down on them. Javy made a beeline for Charlotte the moment he saw her, telling Jake to call him later. There were bodies all around him as Jake swept the crowd for his girlfriend. It wasn’t easy in the sea of people and for a moment he worried. 

What if she wasn’t here? What if, during his time away, she had found someone better? Maybe she had gotten tired of waiting for him to come home? 

As his mind spiralled, Jake barely heard his name being called. His hand tightened around the strap of the bag as he tried to navigate away from all the people. He felt trapped and he pushed his way past a couple embracing, trying the leave the crowd. 

“Jake!” 

He looked up when he heard his name, heart pounding in his chest. Skip was standing away from the mass of people, a bouquet in her hand. Jake dropped his bag as she barrelled towards him, catching her as she threw her arms around him. 

Jake felt all the tension leave his body the moment she was back in his arms. He breathed her in, arms tightening around her. 

“I missed you so much,” Skip mumbled against his skin as she sniffled into his neck. 

“I missed you more, baby. Are you crying?” The thought that she was crying because he missed him was surreal. Jake never thought someone would. 

“No, I'm not crying. This is just my body getting rid of all the excess water.” She leaned back, smiling. 

He couldn’t help but laugh as he picked her up and spun her around. He cupped her face after putting her down, kissing her gently. More tears wet his cheeks and he leaned back, worry etched across his face. 

“Is this happy excess water or sad?” He joked, wiping away her tears. 

Skip laughed. “They’re happy, I promise. Oh, before I forget, these are for you.” She held out the flowers for him to take. 

Jake felt touched by the simple gesture. Nobody had ever given him flowers before and that fact that Skip had brought tears to his eyes. He cleared his throat to get rid of the emotions threatening to wash over him. 

“Thank you, darlin’. I’ve never gotten flowers before.” Jake tried to sound indifferent, like it wasn’t a big deal but Skip saw right through him. 

“That’s stupid. You deserve all the flowers, baby.” It warmed his heart and he pulled her in for another kiss, unable to say what he was feeling. Skip smiled against his lips, wrapping her arms around his waist. She always understood him, even when Jake barely knew what he needed.  

“Do you want to go home or wanna get something to eat first?” She asked when they broke apart. 

Jake wanted nothing more than to just go home and cuddle Skip on the couch. “Home, please.”

Skip refused to let him drive, pushing him towards the passenger door. 

Stepping through the door into their shared home brought a fuzzy warm feeling to his chest, feeling like he was finally home. 

“Okay, so how about you take a shower and I’ll order some food? We can watch a movie and just cuddle on the couch.” Skip rummaged through the kitchen drawer, probably looking for a takeout menu. 

“You’re too good for me,” Jake mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her, lips finding the back of her head. 

Skip turned in his embrace, a somewhat sad expression on her face. “No. You deserve good things. All I’m doing is exactly everything you deserve,” she paused, hands finding his shoulders, “now, go shower. You smell like a boat and fuel.” 

Knowing she meant business, Jake kissed her once before trudging up the stairs. Her words replayed in his head, over and over. His heart felt full from all the affection. 

The sight that greeted him when he came back downstairs filled his heart even more. Skip had pulled all the blinds down, lighting a lot of candles that were scattered around the room. Chinese takeout was on the coffee table and Skip had pulled out what looked like every blanket and spare pillow they owned onto the couch. 

They ate straight out of the cartons, legs tangled together. Jake thrived on the physical affection as Skip rubbed a foot up and down his calf. Even something so simple told him how much he had missed it for a larger part of his life. 

They barely paid any attention to the movie, content to just be in each other's company again. 

As the end credits rolled down the screen, Skip was snoring quietly, her head pillowed on his chest. Jake took a moment to just take everything in, how it felt to finally be home again. As Skip shifted in his arms, burrowing closer, Jake decided there was nothing better. 

He didn’t want to wake his girl but he also knew what a night on the couch would do to his back. So he only felt a little guilty as he gently shook her. “Baby? We should go to bed.” He whispered, stroking her hair gently.

“No.” Skip mumbled, face hidden in his chest.

Jake chuckled. “But the bed is so much more comfortable than the couch.”

Skip shook her head, inching closer to him. “No.”

Deciding that he could face her wrath in the morning, Jake untangled himself from Skip, ignoring her squeak of protest, stretching his arms above his head before bending down and picking her up. “Let’s go to bed honey. You’ll sleep better there.”

Despite the short walk to the bedroom, Skip fell asleep again. Jake gently pulled the covers over her before going back to the living room to put out all the candles and turn the TV off. When he got back to the bedroom, Jake turned off the lights before crawling under the covers. He was about to reach for Skip when he got hit with the overwhelming feeling that he needed to be in her arms.

As if Skip could read his mind, she reached for him under the covers, pulling on his hand to tug him closer. “C’mere.”

Jake let himself be manhandled until he was resting his head on her chest, Skip’s hand in his hair, scratching his scalp gently. He pressed his nose to her pulse point, breathing her in. It felt very intimate and Jake felt himself relax fully as she continued her mistrations. 

“Thank you.” He whispered softly, eyes falling shut as he melted into her embrace, enjoying the way her skin felt against his. 

Jake took a shaky breath, trying to contain the emotions simmering underneath the surface. For the first time in 10 months, since he left Skip standing on the dock waving goodbye, Jake felt at peace. 

Skip pressed her lips to his forehead, humming softly. “I’m glad you’re home safe.”

Jake couldn’t find the right words, so he simply grabbed her free hand and intertwined their fingers, trying to convey his feelings through physical touch. As always, she understood exactly what he meant, chuckling softly. 

“I love you.” He whispered against her skin and felt his heart flutter when she echoed his sentiment. 

As they laid there, Jake thought about how he finally got the homecoming he always wished for.

Taglist: @wildbornsiren​ @therebeccaw @imjess-themess @antiquitea @fuckyeahhangman @writercole @hederasgarden @yanna-banana @bobfloydsbabe @hollandorks @anniesocsandgeneralstore @ereardon @luminousnotmatter @roosterscock @thedroneranger @fandomxpreferences @honkytonk-hangman @princessmisery666 @bradshawsbitch​ @a-reader-and-a-writer @green-socks @angstybluejay @seresinhangmanjake @ayorooster​@notroosterbradshaw​ @indynerdgirl @gigisimsonmars @girl-in-the-chairs-void@bradshawbabes @unhinged-btch @horseshoegirl @sadpetalsstuff @bradshawbaby @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @ummjustfics​ @septemberrie​ @somenamewithepineapple​ @seresinsweetie​​ @crescentwolf​ @seresinhangmanjake​ @waklman​ @roosterforme​ @rosiahills22​ @dempy​ @i0veless​ @ilovewriting06​ @kmc1989​ @demxters @amortentiadrops @teacupsandtopgun @hangmanscoming

[alastorsfuckassbob]

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

[klausysworld]

Peaceful Power

Valentines day.

Klaus didn't care for it nor understand it.

If you truly loved your person then why did you need a special day to prove it? Every day should be valentines day.

But Y/n loved love so much that something about valentines day was so magical for her.

She was a very calm soul.

Despite being a witch in New Orleans, her patience and compassion was everlasting. They were traits that Klaus deeply admired and was eternally grateful for. Not many people would be so tolerant of him.

She offered other methods to settle his rage.

The first few times he found it silly and embarrassing when they would sit on his art room floor, gentle music in the background as they closed their eyes and meditated until they felt the weight of the day lift off from their shoulders.

She had made him playlists of songs that she knew he would like and were peaceful enough to settle his nerves when he should need to.

A few times he had let her guide him through a yoga routine or two however those sessions almost always ended up with him testing just how many positions he could actually get her into before she was too exhausted for him to carry on.

She was his serenity.

So when she had expressed her passion for valentines day, he knew he couldn't disappoint her. Not that he believed there was a way to disappoint her at this point.

Now Klaus was quite romantic anyway, his main love language was gift giving and acts of service followed closely behind so he wasn't too sure how to really impress her.

However if there was something Klaus was known for it was his dramatic flare.

It was because of this that Y/n found herself blindfolded and wearing noise cancelling headphones while sat in fist class while Klaus stroked her hair and fed her the over priced airplane food. He would of course lift her headphones to whisper to her throughout the flight to ensure she was sated, thankfully Y/n was just fine with the arrangement and rather excited for where they were wind up.

He kept her covered right until he got her to their hotel.

Only when he had her stood on the balcony with the view of the sea before did he allow her senses to return.

A glowing smile lit up her face at the sight and she quickly spun around to face Klaus. He beamed back at her, chuckling when she leaped into his arms and wrapped herself around him like a koala. His grin grew as she repeatedly kissed his face and he spun her around playfully until she dropped her legs back down and leaned over the balcony pointing at the beach excitedly.

"It's so beautiful!" She gasped but he wasn't looking at the landscape, he was just looking at her. "Where are we?" she whispered, her soft voice expressing her astonishment.

"Italy" he answered with a smile as she turned to face him in amazement, "Amalfi Coast to be exact" he added and she squealed.

"For how long?" she asked excitedly and he shrugged

"For as long as you would like" he told her simply and she practically bounced where she stood.

Klaus eventually coaxed her into the hotel room, surprising her further as she was overwhelmed by the valentines theme spread throughout the apartment.

Heart shaped balloons rest in the corners of each room, pink and red candles made the hotel smell heavenly and a sweet little meditation area was set up in the lounge. Their bedroom was covered in heart shaped pillows and roses. Y/n was expressing her appreciation all night before finally resting, her mind filled with anticipation of what would come the following day.

Morning arrived and they spent valentines day on the water, giggling and smiling as they spotted dolphins and reached their hands into the sea to see the fish shimmer. Klaus braided her hair and gradually slotted more and more little flowers into the strands as they day went by.

They ate at a sweet little place just down the road from where they were staying before heading to a cocktail bar and finally laying against the coast, watching as the sun hid below the ocean line and the moon slowly found its way to the top.

"I've always loved the moon" Y/n whispered softly, looking at Klaus from where her head lay on his chest. "It's so peaceful but so powerful, you know?"

"Just like you" he uttered and her heart melted

Klaus's gaze remained on her as her cheeks blushed rose and her eyes softened to the point where he worried that he had made her cry. A singular tear slipped past her eyes before she kissed his lips and tucked her head under his chin comfortably.

"I love you" she mumbled, her voice weak as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled the top of her hair.

"I love you so much more, my little valentine"

[aheathen-conceivably]

At first, Josephine had tried the best she knew how; but she swiftly realized that she knew nothing of this life. Zelda and Giorgio spent nearly every moment from sun-up to sun down tilling, planting and attempting to harness water. They had tried to explain the basics of their attempts, but any time she tried to help she could see that they spent more time guiding her than actually working, and the moment she got out of their way their work went noticeably faster.

Yet it wasn’t just farming. Everything about this life was more difficult than she could have imagined, beyond anything her mother and her life had ever prepared her for. Foodstuffs only came in the most basic ingredients, electricity was sparse when it worked at all, and they were in a constant struggle to conserve water and fend off drought.

She felt like everything she did was in someone’s way, or that it would need to be redone by someone else as soon as she finished; even worse, she often found that she had no idea where to begin, and she would have to ask Zelda and Giorgio for help, taking them away from their work as their words of guidance began to sound more and more belittling to her ears.

So she decided that she couldn’t stay on the farm any longer, pretending to be something that she wasn’t and muddying everyone else’s attempts to make their lives better. She had to do something to contribute, to make herself feel worthwhile and valuable again. 

As she put on her clothes from New Orleans and her mother’s jewelry she could feel herself coming alive again, settling into the trappings that made her feel like who she was, and who she wanted to be. She would find something, anything that would make her fit in in this foreign place.

But her attempts didn’t last long. She walked the streets to whispers, some of them about their own doomed situations, others about the well dressed stranger who had the gall to walk their town rouged and powdered. A city slicker, a foreigner, a threat in turbulent times.

I read about girls like that. In town from the route to peddle themselves and move on, can you believe it? It’s a shame, really, but I mean look at her, what else would you expect?

She would try to smile at them, to form some sort of social circle, some beneficial connections like those she had known in New Orleans, but then their sneers only intensified and made it clear that no amount of charm would make her welcome among them. 

Again and again, they turned down her friendliness, they whispered about her in front of her face. Only she wished that was all, she wished that it was only about her. It was nothing that she hadn’t heard before, nothing that hadn’t been whispered about her back in New Orleans. No, it was the whispers that had nothing to do with her that hurt the most.

I simply don’t know how we’re going to feed the children. Then with another one on the way. We’re doomed, truly. I don’t know what to do. 

My sister lost her farm, up in Oklahoma. Her husband said he was off to California for work but it’s been months. I told her he isn’t coming home but she’ll starve if he doesn’t.

You should have seen them, sick like it was tuberculosis, but no, it’s the dust. It will kill them, I’m sure of it, in their lungs that way. But it’s death there or death in California. What of it? What can we do?

Whispers. More whispers. The intel that she didn’t want, the information she had most feared. For years she had scoffed at Giorgio’s predictions. I’m telling you, Jo. My father’s even moving the business. It’s going to be ugly. We have to do something, anything. We need a plan. 

Nonsense. There was too much fun to be had, too much music and too much life. But now she didn’t even need to hear the whispers to know it had come true. The line of beggars and unemployed seemed endless, and as she walked by them she realized that she was but a few steps from where they were. Because the whispers were right, she was a fallen woman, one of many who now hovered around the shopfronts like ghosts. Women with no skills other than their smiles and their charms, women doomed to repeat their pasts as the world crumbled around them.

She knew that they were right, the whispers. She didn’t belong here, and she never would. But there was nowhere left to go.

[3rdeyeblaque]

On September 10th we venerate Elevated Ancestor, Voodoo Queen of Louisiana, & Saint, Marie Catherine Laveau on her 222nd birthday 🎉

[for our Hoodoos of the Vodou Pantheon]

Marie Catherine Laveau was a dedicated Hoodoo, healer, herbalist, & midwife who, "traveled the streets [of New Orleans] like she owned them", as the most infamous Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.

Marie C. Laveau I was born a "Free Mulatto" in today's French Quarter in what was then, New France); to a mother & grandmother who were both born into slavery & later freed via freedom papers. It is believed that she grew up in the St. Ann Street cottage of her maternal grandmother.

She married Jacques Santiago-Paris, a "Quadroon" "Free Man of Color", who fled as a refugee from Saint-Domingue, Haiti from the Haitian Revolution in the former French colony . After his passing, she became known as "The Widow Paris". She then worked as a hairdresser catering to White families & later entered a domestic partnership with a French nobleman his death. She excelled at obtaining inside information on her wealthy patrons by instilling fear in their servants whom she either paid or cured of mysterious ailments. Although she never abandoned her Catholic roots, she became increasingly interested in her mother’s African traditional beliefs. The Widow Paris learned her craft from a ‘Voodoo doctor’ known variously as Doctor John or John Bayou.

Marie C. Laveau I is said to have intiated into Voodoo career sometime in the 1820s. She's believed to be descended from a long line of Voodoo Priestesses, all bearing her same name. She was also a lifelong devout Catholic. It didn’t take long before Marie C. Laveau I dominated New Orleans Voodoo culture & society before claiming title of Queen. She was the 3rd Voodoo Queen of NOLA - after Queen Sanité Dédé & Queen Marie Salopé. During her decades tenure, she was the premier beacon of hope and service to customers seeking private consultations - to aid in matters such as family disputes, health, finances, etc, created/sold gris gris, perforemed exorcisms. While her daughter Marie II was known for her more theatrical displays of public events, Marie C. Laveau I was less flamboyant in her persona. She conducted her work in 3 primary locations throughout the city: her home on St. Ann Street, Congo Square, & at Lake Pontchartrain. Despite one account of a challenge to her authority in 1850, Marie C. Laveau I maintained her leadership & influence.

The Queen died peacefully in her sleep in her ole cottage home on St. Ann Street. Her funeral was conducted according to the rite of the Catholic Church & in the absence of any Voodoo rites. To her Voodoo followers, she's venerated as a Folk Saint. In² addition to her Priesthood in Voodoo and title of Queen, she is also remembered for her community activism; visiting prisoners, providing lessons to women of the community, & doing ritual work for those in need.

She is generally believed to have been buried in plot 347, the Glapion family crypt in Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans. As of March 1st, 2015, there is no longer public access to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. Entry with a tour guide is required due to continued vandalism & tomb raiding.

We pour libations & give her💐 today as we celebrate her for her love for & service to the people, through poverty, misfortune, bondage, & beyond.

Offering suggestions: flowers + libations at her grave, catholic hymns, holy water, gold rings/bracelets, money

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[oldhalloweentape]

🪨Venture (OW II) x (gn) reader ⛏️

(Witch Reader Edition!)

(Picture’s not mine!)

(Request here! Here’s what I promised! My friend @goohts suggested this song! Hope you all like it :)))

- This is another dynamic I like! And as always Venture is enamored with both you and who you are as a person.

- Though I don’t think they’d know much about witches or that kind of culture up until you guys met.

- To impress you, they began studying!

- They take the time to learn the significance of things like crystals, herbs, flowers, sigils, things of that sort because they know how important it is to you and your identity.

- When I say they studied, I mean they studied, asks for pointers in finding written material and actively voices their questions to you. Reading from a book or an article is useful and all but they’d also like hearing it from you.

- That and hearing it from someone with experience gives them more insight, being an auditory learner.

- Let me be honest with you, they absolutely adore the fact that you hold a connection to crystals and stones, albeit a different kind of connection.

- If they can, I can see them getting you certain crystals, tells you all about the reason behind the special formations in each one all the while cooing at them like they’re baby kittens.

- Let’s you read one of their palms while their other hand is holding a book about palm readings, turns into a game of whether or not they can ascertain the meaning behind a certain line in their palm.

- Their hands are naturally rough due to their job, nail polish that gets chipped fairly easy, the works.

- And their hand is all nice and warm so, that’s another plus.

- Can and will get you anything you need, they just really want to be helpful and supportive of you.

- Though, some times they accidentally mess with your stuff. For example, if you have moon water— Put that in hiding or something cause they’d probably drink it in the middle of the night during one of their soul crushing all nighters.

- Doesn’t realize it was weird that it was in a mason jar until it was too late.

- The apologies were endless afterwards, saying stuff like, “I’m so sorry!!”, “Mi vida, don’t be mad!”, and “Please forgive me!!”

- The type to grab certain flowers they find while hiking and gifting them to you if they have any particular significance. Comes with a bunch of while flowers they assorted themselves into a bouquet, roots and chunks of dirt still attached to them as they give you a charming little smile.

- Brags of course, though they brag about you with everything whenever they can.

- Thinks you’re so cool in general, which is a given when it comes to Venture but I digress.

- Probably tries to get you to curse Mauga or something because he was being an ass, childish as fuck but we love them for that.

- Brags of course, though they brag about you whenever they can.

- They just really mean well and it’s cute to see, they love their witch partner <3.

(Hope this was up to your guys’s expectations!)

[nerdieforpedro]

Part Four of “The Lake Between Us”

What you look like during the day

Ezra AU x plus size OFC (Moonbeam)

This fic/blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 1.2k

Summary: Our nurse and reformed scoundrel meet in person. Are things the same as when they watch each other at night? Could it be better or worse?

Warnings: Ezra is his own warning, verbal sparring (someone did lose), HANDS (a Pedro character special)

Notes: Did I wait (stall more like it) in finally giving Ezra more than a line or two of speech? Yeah I did. I wanted to make sure it sounded like him to me and hopefully to you all as well. They've finally met after three parts. 😆 To be fair, I did say slow burn. 🔥 Simmering like some gumbo maybe? (Nerdie with the bad joke and we are complete. 😎)

Main Masterlist / Ezra Masterlist / The Lake Between Us Series / A03 link

Now a month and a half out from their initial meeting, they’ve had yet to speak face to face. Ezra has just finished giving another tour of the bayou. Regalling tourists with the history of it along with New Orleans with his expressive flair. He’s in the process of meeting up with the manager to get his check for the week. Today is friday so he’s going to go to the bank after this per his normal routine.

He recalls that black poofy tresses that he often saw from beneath the purple bonnet at night. They were tied up in a high ponytail. The same legs that rocked in the chair at night were across from him speaking to some basic looking man and a smile upon her face along with a child. Was she married? Was the child hers? For her to be out every night their relationship or marriage couldn’t be a happy one right? But she walks away with the child and speaks to a woman who takes the child as they begin to walk away. Maybe the woman is her girlfriend? The soft pink of her dress covered what was normally visible to Ezra at night. He was able to see that her skin was indeed the sensual caramel he thought it had been and the scoop neck of casual wear exposed the very tops of her breasts. The full lips were a brownish pink on closer inspection and her glasses were blue not black, an easy mistake to make in the dark. The most startling to him was her eyes. A sweet shade of honey hugged her pupils which formed her irises. He sees her waving at the woman and the child as they leave, so maybe they’re not together? Enough of this, he needed more facts and less speculation.

The business with the manager is quickly concluded and he jogs over to her, unable to move too fast in his hip waters. He’s wearing black suspenders and a white t-shirt that’s become semi-transparent from the heat. His chest is visible as you hear a voice say, “Greetings from across the lake, the daylight suits you as well. My name’s Ezra.” That’s how you knew who he was once you turned. The patch was indeed blonde and his beard patchy but it suited him. A roguish smile appeared on his face as he spoke and his hands were on his hips. His skin was indeed a smooth copper, partly from the sun and from his own tone. The chest that you’d seen at night was even more impressive during the day with biceps to match, flexed as he stood. Your feet carried you until you were a foot away from him. The tall waters looked to be slightly big on him, but his long legs still had his hips above the tops of them and he had a soft middle. The only part of the man that could be called cute besides his nose, large but the shape was pleasing to your eyes.

“Good afternoon neighbor. It’s good to finally see you up close. The sun has been kind to you too.” You half-joked. The freckles were something you hadn’t seen and you wondered how it would feel to trace your fingers over them and if they formed their own constellation. You told him your name and he repeated it twice to make sure he had it correctly, when you nodded, he extended his hand presumably for a handshake. Ezra’s hands hadn’t looked that large from your spot on your porch but up close, they eclipse yours as you shake his hand, making sure you’re giving him a strong grip but not your hardest. There was a smirk that formed on Ezra’s face as he let go of your hand, his calloused fingertips touching your palm. You gasped from the tickle and his smirk grew, your eyes lingered on his hands for a moment curious what was so funny, though you knew. He was gauging your reactions. Squinting your eyes, you gave him a slight frown, “something funny Ezra? I have been told I’m funny but I don’t believe I’ve done anything comical yet.”

The confidant look on his face remained, “We just met and I’m already being accused of something? Not unusual, but still a bit hurtful my dear.” He placed most of his weight on his right leg and ruined his left foot and knee outward, despite the hip waters, it was still quite a sight and exposed what they had been covering up. Your eyes flipped down and the back up to his face where his smirk had widened. This man…you cleared your throat and exhaled. “I think we can come to some accommodation that would mend my bruised ego.” Your arms crossed in front of you, shaking your head and on the verge of a laugh so you bite your lips though the side of your mouth still curve upward.

When you feel like you’re not going to chuckle, “What pray tell would you have me say or do to mend this fragile ego of yours Ezra? Mind you we just met in person less than five minutes ago.” You added with Ezra now being the one to try and not laugh. It was an entertaining game to see who would break first, you’re trying to keep up with him, but you’re not quite sure you can.

Putting his hands up as if he’s gotten caught, lowering his head and making his chocolate brown eyes sullen with a frown to complete the look. “Now I would never be so discourteous as to ask a luminous lady such as yourself to do anything untoward.” Your mouth is covered by your fist to hold it in. He’s purposely laying on the ham extra thick. “I think we should just start with sharing a drink on the same porch. Being a gentleman, I will come to you and may bring you dinner if you’d like an adventure of a culinary nature.” His request was along the lines of what you were going to ask anyway so you nodded and moved your hand away from your mouth to tell him yes, resting your chin on the back of your hand. Upon hearing your answer, he runs his hand along your arm that your jaw sits upon. The calloused pads of his fingers have your skin jolting with electricity, a breathy sigh escapes your lips as you watch him speak.

“My dear Seraphina, I am anticipating that my ego shall be fully repaired after our evening encounter. Lady’s choice of course.”

Ezra’s gaze is as heavy as his words. His meaning is not hidden from her and he’s left if it happens or not up to her. The time has been agreed to as well as the menu and location. It appears things are changing tonight, what will Seraphina’s choice be? She’s not one to shy away from an adventure or a challenge, not at this stage in her life. Both her arms drop and her hands land on her hips, and a smirk plays on her lips. Ezra’s fingers didn’t leave Sera’s arm, still strumming the pads of them along her forearm. “I’ll take you up on both your company and dinner. I’ll provide the drinks. I have rum and tequila, so I can stop by the store on the way home if you prefer something else. How’s seven sound to you?”

Part Three Part Five

Taste-testers of Ezra’s gumbo 🍤: @rav3n-pascal22 @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @survivingandenduring @bonezone44 @magpiepillsjunior @yorksgirl @gemmahale @missredherring @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @megamindsecretlair @readingiskeepingmegoing @pedroshotwifey @tinytinymenace @inept-the-magnificent @vivian-pascal @jessthebaker

[jungle-angel]

A Pair Of Cheeseburgers in Paradise (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: There's always that one place that you and Bob have felt at home and where your best memories have always been made

Notes: I am both ready and definitely not ready for fall, I'm a summer baby and I'm not sorry for it at all (lol).

Islamorada, Florida

Labor Day Weekend

It was only the second, or third, day of your little vacation with Bob, but you had never been happier than on that little slice of beach, the smells of the seabreeze and the afternoon sun lingering high above those clear waters. The pelicans were busy hanging out on the dock posts, the palms rustling away while the screech of the seagulls was heard from not too far off.

You and Bob were enjoying yourselves immensely, not needing to worry about work or personal bullshit that tended to get in the way of everything. Your wedding had been just a few days before, the boys sending you both off in style and bidding you farewell at the airport before you had taken off for Florida.

The smell of the charcoal grill on the porch made you hungrier than you had realized but you were laughing a little as Bob tossed on a few thick, homemade burger patties while the little bluetooth on the porch played "Cheeseburger in Paradise". Jimmy, your new feathered friend, was perched on the porch rail, bobbing his head and flapping his blue and yellow wings as though he too were dancing along to the music.

"Hey sweet-pea," Bob said cheerfully as he drew you in and kissed your forehead. "You hungry?"

"Are you really making the burgers?" you chuckled.

"I snuck out to Publix before you were awake to go get the stuff," Bob answered. "The condiments section was a little bare but I grabbed the last bottle of Heinz fifty-seven before anybody else could."

"You making fries with this?"

"Yep," Bob answered. "Those super thin, stringy ones that you like with the seasoning recipe that Javy's dad gave us."

Your mouth was absolutely watering at the thought. You and Bob had traveled to New Orleans once to visit Coyote's family and to try some of the foods that his family had brought up with them from Brazil. You could almost taste the salt and the spices that Felipe had used, the black pepper, garlic, hot cayenne peppers and all the others.

You helped Bob with the rest of the food prep and once the fries were done, you sprinkled them with a healthy dosage of the spice mixture that Coyote had sent you in the mail. As soon as the buns were toasted, everything was plated including the kosher dill pickle wedges and the burgers were put together.

You both sat out at the table on the front porch of the little pink and turquoise beach cottage, laughing and chattering away even as Bob cracked open a cold one and poured it into one of the glasses from the cabinet.

"Look at that, barely any head," he said with a smile.

"Penny should've taken you on as head bartender in that case," you chuckled.

"Yeah but you know me (y/n)," Bob said, setting aside the can. "I'd give Jake nothing but head."

You snorted a little, trying not to choke on the bite of burger you had been chewing, knowing Bob was bound to slip in a dirty joke somewhere along the line. "Bastard!" you said once you had swallowed. "I'm eating here!"

Bob laughed before he took a sip of the summery beer in the glass and dug into his lunch. You couldn't deny that they were the best burgers you had ever had, just a little slice of paradise right in front of you, but you always knew that Bob would be your real paradise and that you would be his, for the rest of your days.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 19

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.6k

a/n: Two more New Orleans chapters after this. Don't forget to visit my pinterest board "Running Like Water".

The section labeled "The Trip" has some reference's there. Enjoy lovies.

Masterlist

Abandon the thought. Forget it. A selfish, irresponsible and senseless idea, just like the thought of a family with you. Javi walked ahead of Felipe in silence after the foolish suggestion, hadn't he known Javier would have married you in an instant if the timing was right? If you weren't Frankie’s sister, if he wasn't leaving. He couldn't take you to Colombia, absolutely not. Wasn't safe, he almost told Felipe bringing Gina along wouldn't be a great idea either. But god did Javi’s stomach turn at the thought. Stirring with fear and yearning. He knew you'd never go along with a plan like that, you were fresh out of college figuring out your own career, how selfish would it be for him to expect that you would drop everything, family included, for his career ventures. 

Cheeks flush once the night air hits his face as he walks out to the rooftop pool, a bar lining its left side. Irresponsible idea.

Would you pick out the furniture? He’d let you.

Hands digging into his pocket and striking his lighter to smoke. He hears Felipe stopping, he must've found his fiance.

 He just called you his girlfriend for the first time today, it doesn't feel like enough. Juvenile, he knows he'd want you to be his wife, eventually. After Colombia, not everyone works out like Gina and Felipe.

You could teach in Colombia. You were so good with kids.

Relaxed when he sees you. Breath catches in his throat. Your back is facing him as you sit at the bar, drink in hand. Lean shoulders exposed, no, entire back exposed with a dip just below your back dimples. Those dimples, his thumb fit there perfectly when he’s driving into you from behind. Hair laying on one shoulder. 

An angel alone at the bar. His angel. Its sudden, instantaneous, all anxieties of his talk with Felipe fades at the sight of the soft slope of your nose then lips. 

Magenta shines from behind the bar lighting your smile, bright and wide as you nod to whoever is catching your attention. Your exposed back illuminated in a waving cerulean from the reflection of the pool lights. Pet Shop Boys ringing in his ears. You are the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on. Your brows screw in concern and your smile falls a bit, shoulders slouching. 

Javi’s mustache twitches at the change in mood as he walks across the poolside, toward you. His eyes dart to the man next to you, he has that look in his eyes. A lustful look. Javier’s stomach flips at that. A fiery and intense jealousy he thought he was immune to settling bone deep. He remembers attempting to swallow down that biting envy when he found out you had gotten a boyfriend while he was gone in Houston. But this is different, that was juvenile, you're his now. 

The second he reaches you he places his hand on your lower back, wedging himself in the space between you and the man. Your eyes go doe as you look up to Javi with relief. A smile growing on your glossy lips, Javi cranes his head to kiss you quick. “Hi baby.” You mutter against his lips and he feels the most primal he’s ever felt. All his, mine, mine. He kisses you again like you two had been apart for years. Your lips tasted fruity from whatever you had to drink tonight. He was always the one to call you all sorts of pet names so you calling him baby in public has him urging to pull you off this bar seat and drag you back to the hotel room. 

Fuck it, he kiss you again, “How much have you had to drink?” He asks with genuine curiosity devoid of judgment. You scrunch your nose, giving him a tipsy smile and Javi just chuckles, rubbing his hand on your back, cold. “You cold?” You shake your head a no, Javi nearly melts at how perfect you look tonight. He was forever indebted to whoever made this dress.

From his left the man he long forgotten about clears his throat. Javier’s entire demeanor changes in an instant, you spin in your stool to face the man. “Javi–this is… Drew, he works at LSU, anthropology professor.” You beam, your own hand grabbing at Javi’s suit blazer, giving Drew a line of view. Javier lets you move him but he isn't fond of the man, he saw the way he looked at you. 

Drew’s face is slightly bemused, staring at you and back at Javier before he extends his hand. Javier takes it anyway, giving him a firm shake. “Nice to meet you–sorry I’m just a bit confused-”

“Jesus–I’ve gotta pee, I’ll be back.” You jump to your feet unsteadily, Javier catches your elbow to balance you on your heels. You let out a small snort of embarrassment. 

“I can come with.” Javi suggests and you frown, waving a drunken hand, no before walking on your own. Your hips swaying with your struts, lower back dangerously giving a sneak peak of whatever set you had under the dress. Javier watches your every move until you're entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you. 

Javi shakes his head, no more drinks for you. He sits in your stool, beckoning the bartender over. Whiskey, Jim Beam. Javi smiles at the man next to him before sipping. Drew seems to be itching to say something to him. His brows screwing, hands fidgeting with his beer during the awkward silence. Awkward to him, Javier was on quite the power trip knowing he was making whats-his-face intimidated. 

“Look man I mean no disrespect-”

“Good.” Javi cuts, his low tone causing Drew to frown further. 

“I just didn't assume she was with someone, she was just dancing with some girl all night and sat at this bar alone, you know looking like that.” 

Javi’s nostrils flare, he sips. He wasnt going to get rowdy, he really fucking badly wanted to get rowdy, but this was your trip. Your little vacation, god forbid Javier flips out on some guy for flirting with you. He’d be in jail for life if he loses his shit every time you get hit on. He chooses his battles. Still, he's up for a bit of verbal confrontation. “Looking like what?”

Javi takes in the looks of this man for the first time, his protective bone striking deeper, noticing the aging spots on the man's face. Hair thinning at its sides, age lines at his eyes. This man had to be at least fifty. Javier's chest rises like an animal prepared to assert dominance, he exhales settling himself. Eyes snapping to the bathroom door. 

Drew shakes his head, “Call me old fashioned but I would never let my women leave the house in something like, especially if I wasn't there.”

Call me old fashioned, I would just call you old.

Javier bites it back, his cheeks warming with anger but he controls himself, for you. “Good luck with hitting on young women in bars if you still believe women are things to be controlled.” Javi chuckles, his eyes find you swinging the door open, apologizing to the person waiting by it. A smile bright on your face as you dance your way towards the bar, lord you were drunk. Grabbing a martini from a waiter before stopping at the dance floor to dance by yourself. Hair swaying with your little hip movements. 

Drew watches you too and shakes his head again. Javi hopes it falls off next time. 

“Women these days, no home training and classless. Us men don't have to sit and take it. You seem too far gone though.” He sneers, eliciting an eye roll from Javier. Could the man be more cliche, an old geezer who he couldn't have the pretty young thing at the bar so he resorts to complaining about women as a whole. Javier met a few of these insecure men at the academy, that's when he knew maybe he didn't belong in that environment. A group of hormonal sexually repressed losers who power-tripped with a gun and badge. He thinks of the year he spent as a cop and sees a different person. He can't believe he thinks, thank God for the DEA. 

Javier sips his drink and watches you proudly. “Yeah I am far gone.” Not caring to give into the lowlife. The DJ transitions into Lucky Star by Madonna and you squeal with a jump, your martini spilling the slightest on the dance floor and your twirling to the synth beat. Javier wished he had his camcorder to film you losing yourself on the floor. It wasn't like you to be this out there in public, liquid courage was a real concept, Javier thinks. 

“She was flirting with me by the way.” Drew says it in a geeky matter of fact tone and Javier can't help but smile. You would never, not in a million years. Javier's jealousy only manifested in protectiveness, never has he ever feared you reciprocating any sort of attention you might receive. 

“Andrea!” Javi calls your name, beckoning you from the dance floor. You pause your dancing and grab a fistful of your dress to prevent yourself from tripping over the long fabric while you hurry over. Drew’s face drops slightly when you approach the two men. 

You let go of your dress and flick a piece of hair from your face, taking a sip from the martini. Hand on Javier's shoulder to stable yourself. Javier looks down to smile at his lap at your oblivion. “What?” You ask breathlessly, “It better be good, you know how I feel about Madonna.”

Javi glares down Drew’s face which is now devoid of color while his hand holds your bare back. Goosebumps rising against his palm when his fingertips trace the hem where the dress begins again. Javi drives, taking the opportunity to slide his hand right inside the front of your dress, holding your waist with his palm and his large fingers splaying across your pitted belly. His hand strained against the tight fabric. Javi knew he was protective of you, but this was nearly out of his character, holding you so shamelessly. “Drew was telling me you were flirting with him.”

Your smile drops slightly giving a tight browed look at the older man. “I was just being friendly.” 

Drew is floored, humiliated. “You asked me what I did for a living?”

Javier almost laughs at the desperation in the man’s voice. You scoff and Javier makes note to brace himself. You’ve been quite fiery today, first with Julian. Now that you’re a bit drunk Javier isn’t sure what to expect from you, regardless he’s a bit excited. Considering your sound of disbelief Javier knows he isn’t getting his hopes up. 

He takes a sip of his whiskey as he watches your eyes narrow. “And?” You bite.

Drew adjusts his suit jacket. “Typically when a woman alone at a bar asks a man what he does for a living, he's going to expect sex—“

“Uh-uh. Don’t try to paint this like I’m some lady of the night. You introduced yourself and I just asked what you did for work, small talk? Like how’s the weather?” You take a sip from your martini. 

The professor's nostrils flare his cheeks red. “ I offered you a drink—“

“Which I denied, I was trying to tell you I was waiting on my boyfriend and you cut me off to ask my age.” Your cheeks are blazing, maybe you were an angry drunk. Somehow it was the most fitting discovery Javier has made about you. 

“Alright, let’s just go back to the room.” Javi whispers into your side and you shoot him an angry glare. Removing his hand from your stomach, Javier is beyond turned on by that. What is it with him getting hard every time you reprimand him? 

“No—I’m not done talking.” Javier’s eyebrows shoot up and he bites back a smile before looking at the bartender, pointing to his cup beckoning him for a refill. 

Drew combs through his hair, “Listen woman, you come to bar half naked expect to be-“

Your jaw is agape. “Watch your fucking mouth.” Javier snaps, he’s unsure if he can just let you handle this and take the backseat anymore. The bartender grabs Javier’s drink and refills it. He wished he was in Laredo, he would’ve spun this losers jaw minutes ago. But you, you detach from Javier completely. 

“Listen—professor fuckface.” You wave a drunken finger in his face, “I don't know who you expect to fuck you but you better start aiming lower… actually how about you leave women alone in general–”

The man's face reddens and Javi decides he needs to prevent a real altercation. If the man lays a hand on you Javi can't promise he wont kill the man with his bare hands. Bad look for the DEA. “Alright it's time to go.” Javi stands and grabs your arm. You let out an annoyed huff, cursing out Javi now. 

“Maldito idiota! Javi I swear to god I did not flirt with that man!” You trip over your heels while he pulls you through the thickening crowd. Javier’s brows furrow, had you thought? “Even if I was single I have some standards!”

Javi laughs, pressing the elevator button. “I’m not upset with you baby.” He drops your arm and your glazed eyes soften, your lips cracking into a smile. Moving your hair out of your face from the distant wind on the rooftop.

You snake a hand around his waist when the elevator dings, the two of you walk in sync into the lift. “I just thought when you grabbed me to leave–”

“No-he was getting angry, I was just trying to avoid a real confrontation.” You frown, Javier lets you go to click the 4th floor button. Coming back to you, taking a wanton look at your figure in the dress. Your eyes are half lidded, he knows that look all too well. You take a step closer to him again, laying your hands flat on his jacket. Dusting off whatever you find on the leather. Getting on your tiptoes, he kisses you quick and chaste, parting as quick as it began. 

Your eyes narrow, your lips downturned. “I wore this for you.” It came out with a pout, annoyed with his sexless kiss. 

Javier chuckles at that, “Beyakka” He mocks you, knowing that sort of slang was unique to you and your family. “How much have you had to drink?”

You let out an aggressive eye roll and groan, “You keep asking me the same questions!” 

“I’m just concerned considering you would never admit to wearing anything specifically for me.” 

You shot him a glare, “Two martinis and 2 shots. I just feel buzzed if anything. I can handle my liquor.” Stepping apart from him you face forward, eyeing the declining floors. Javi bites away a smirk watching your skin rising with goosebumps. You shrug, “Just wanted to catch your attention is all.”

Javi chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. Hugging you from behind, holding your lithe form tight to his front. Craning his head into your shoulder, “You’ve got all my attention princesa.” His lips grazing your ear. Teasingly you giggle and wiggle your behind on his crotch, Javi drops his head into your neck. “Andrea–now's not the best…” He warns.

The elevator dings and you’re on your floor, you let out an annoyed groan and strut ahead of him. And it’s the way he could see the small dimples on your back and the tiniest hickey on your shoulder—he gives in. Pacing himself to walk ahead of you down the dimly lit hall, you let out a huff of frustration when he stops at your door. Patting his pocket for the keys, he unlocks the door and pushes you inside in a deft move. 

You nearly slip out a giggle but you’re tense the second he lays both hands on the dips of your waist. His broad form pressing against you from behind.

“Get on all fours.” His lips graze your exposed ear, throbbing intensely down below. You weren’t drunk, a bit buzzed, tipsy, loose. Irrelevant, all you knew is whatever was in that martini heightened your senses. You’d wanted to climb into Javi’s lap and make out with for hours like some depraved teen. 

Why lie, when Javier slid his hand into your dress in his protective hold you fought the urge to take a sinful seat on his thigh and release some tension in front of the professor. 

Horny was an understatement.

Without second thought you drop to your knees. Long brown hair pooling at the sides of your face, arching like a kitten before slightly straightening, Javi lets out a throaty grunt at that. Holy fuck were your cheeks hot, you bite a smile. It’s quiet, like Javi is figuring what he wants to do with you next. Fingers curling on the hotel rug, filthy, you were practically dripping. 

“Crawl to the bed. Don’t get on it.” 

You smirk, face hidden from him and you comply. A slight head rush developed from the position but you inch your way further into the room, knowing this position has your dress dipping lower almost ruining your lovely surprise. 

And he’s inching behind you, the lovely tune of his belt buckle jangling comes from behind and  you’re sickeningly close to letting out a whimper. Thankfully you make it to the door of the bed. You experimentally look over your shoulder. You nearly regret the decision because now your stomach is somehow twisting in more anticipation. He’s looking down at you with a hand rubbing himself, you want to release him, put him in your mouth like earlier. You want him to stop being cruel, he’s made you wait enough for him. “You look perfect, arch more, I want to see all of you querida.”

On display for him, only him you dip lower perching your behind up. It seems to do it for him because in a split second he’s bending down and wrapping his forearms on your lower stomach and lifting you weightless onto the bed above you. 

Thrown on your back you finally get to see all of him and god if the low look of desire isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen you don’t know what could come next. But oh, his palms push your knees to your chest and your lovely loose dress is pooling in bunches of fabric at your bent waist. Your aching cunt on full display for him, save the panties. And that look—right there. His face of realization, the slight tick of his jaw, twitch of his stache and the crease between his brows deepening—then his glance back up to me. 

“Dirty girl.” He grits, squeezing the inside of your thigh and oh he’s so close you couldn’t care to save face. “Dancing around all night with nothing on under your dress.” 

“Please fill me up—please just put it in Javi.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your pleas, his eyes are razor focused on your cunt and he drops to your knees. “I’m gonna eat you till you cry alright?” He kisses your inner thigh, hot and wet. 

You nod frantically, “O-okay.” It’s rushed and broken. A gasp rips through your chest when a tight slap hits your thigh, the skin rippling. 

“Say my name.” He demands. Kissing over the red mark on your thigh. 

“Yes Javier.” You whimper through gritted teeth, wanting to abandon the whole dress, just wanting to be nude to feel him completely. No time because his kisses begin to trail closer in approval. A centimeter apart each time until he’s there, you, still a leaky girl in front of him. Forgetting the sweet slow kisses, he goes for the kills. He consumes you.

You jolt almost immediately as his tongue starts off with lapping your clit. You’re wiggling and panting, your view just the top of his head and the grip he has on the top of your thighs. You’d frame it if you could, Javi just making a home for himself between your legs. And he’s moaning writhing too, you pulled to the edge of the bed while his knees stay sunken on the floor. He’s grinding his own hips into the bed and you whimper at the yearning pit you have to have him inside again. How had it been that you allowed your ex to skip over this part, with every suck and lick you were unraveling below him. 

“So soft, never getting over it.” He kisses your cunt softly to give himself space to praise. 

You smirk, your own hands groping at your clothed breasts. “Softer inside.” You jolt your hips a bit and Javi mumbles against your cunt before sinking his tongue into your tight hole and it shrinks around him, desperate for his cock. You had him twice today but there was something about being here with him that sent your libido on overdrive. It felt like a honeymoon, like the two of you were on a high you could never get down from. 

His fingers slide through, taking the place of his tongue and he dips two thick fingers inside of you, watches you squirm. “You’re mine, right querida?” There it is. That sweet desperation. The hand offered for reassurance, the two of you sure enjoyed hearing it as much as you enjoyed asking for it. 

Your brows screw, oh you were devastatingly close. God you were his, his, his—“Yours— oh fuck yes baby all yours. Yours, yours,yours.”

 Oh Javi likes that, he removes his fingers and they go back to the bottoms of your thighs, pushing your knees as far as they can to your chest. He doesn’t let up, he does as he promises because the stimulation is so much— you’re crying in pure bliss. 

His hot heavy tongue licks and flicks at your clit so aggressively— so skilled your stomach pits in jealousy. “Who-who taught you this— how do you do it so—“ Your body decides jealousy has no place here because-“I’m gonna cum—“

It isn’t fair to call it a warning because in an instant you’re dripping in come. His mouth slowing and lowering again to collect from where you release.  Leaving you wet kisses and sucks, the same way he kisses you above, he kisses you below. Your hands find his hair, forcing him back up to you. His mustache glistening while he smiles smugly at your withering pants and frantic hands. Hand falling to the back of his neck and tonguing him down. His wide body between your legs. Giving him sloppy drunk kisses, all tongue and teeth. And god you need him inside. 

He very obviously does too. His hardness embarrassingly evident through his pants. You slip a little moan—“Use your words, don’t know what you want with all those little noises.” He grits, kissing your cheek then below your ear, down your neck. Your hands roam his chest until you’re right above his unbuttoned pants. 

“I want you—I want you to fuck me like this.” You say—no-demand. The two of you hadn’t fucked missionary since the second time. You were feeling awfully depraved, you just wanted to sloppily kiss him while he rocked into you. 

He nods into your neck, sucking and nipping. “Anything-anything you want.” He whispers, and despite having him lick you to your climax nothing flips your stomach quite like this, like him leaving you sweet kisses and giving it to you your way. Too eager to strip down, your pull him from his jeans and spread your legs farther to give him access. “Put it in baby.” 

You blindly drag his cock between your folds while Javier attempts to lift his head to kiss you but the second you guide himself to prod your aching cunt his head falls. And with eyes pinched you feed him into the mouth. He lets out a groan so deep you feel his throat vibrating on your own shoulder. “Fucking perfect—so tight.” 

“Too big–” Warming him, your head is so light you could tell him you loved him and would never think twice. This is dangerously intimate. The words have been on the top of your tongue the entire day, can he tell? Will he taste it when he kisses you again? “Used to touch myself thinking of you.” You admit, what is it about him that makes your shame cease to exist? He moans at that and begins rocking into you. 

“Tell me more—“

“My ex never made me come—fuck—would go to the bathroom after and finish within minutes thinking of you.” Javi grumbles, quickening his pace. “Lucky your names were nearly the same, used to moan your name and he never noticed.”

“Jesus you’re killing me.” Javi kisses your neck some more and hits a spot so devastatingly deep from this angle you shriek in pleasure, another confession slipping your lips.

“Had this fantasy—would imagine you coming home to me—our home and letting you fuck me senseless. Whenever—ngh- you wanted.” He stutters into you, filling you so right. You could feel the bulbous head of his hitting right where you needed. “Pictured you taking care of me and would come so hard baby—“

His hand flattens on your lower stomach and he presses down, somehow tightening everything below. You let out a tiny whimper, “No more—gonna make me come too fast.” He whines his hips into you. Keeping himself slow and steady for a moment. It felt so good—so full you couldn’t give time to reel in the pillow talk confessions you so effortlessly spilled. How you would cry in shame when you were alone after the guilt kicked in. 

The midst of your pleasure, your eyes search the side of your boyfriend's face. A sudden wash of panic and dread filling your heart. 

Why do you have to leave? Why does everyone , take me with you Javi-

“Thought about you the whole time while I was gone, felt like Colombia became too real during that meeting.” He admits, planting a warm kiss to your shoulder, his pace so slow you feel something else swirl at the pit of your stomach. He leans on his elbow and slips his hand between you two. His fingers swirling lazily on your bundle of nerves. Words caught in your throat, please don’t leave me. I can't bare it. “Felipe suggested we just get married and go to Colombia together.” 

Your eyes jolt open and you sobered at that. You turn to look him in the eyes and there’s something there, that look you know. Adoration, hope, pleading? All three, you know it’s all three. What are you pleading for Javi, I can give it to you. “Yeah?” You whisper, achingly close to your second orgasm, you play it cool. You kiss his cheek quickly, “What’d you say?” There it is, eyes welling up and throat tight. He doesn’t seem to notice, he continues his lovely strokes and antagonizing traces on your clit. 

He’s silent until he isn’t. 

“Laughed it off you know—it’s irresponsible—unrealistic. Forget these people don’t know what it’s like back in Laredo.” He says brokenly, he’s close to you too. Your face drops, color drains from your face. You thank the dim lights of the room because you begin to tear. Burying your head into his neck, you whisper harder, to replace that dread that fills you. Oblivious to your reaction he complies with your request. And for a moment it feels so good you nearly forget. He’s removing his fingers from your clit and moving them to grip at your hip bone. Setting a brutal pace into you. And he’s back to kissing you, your eyes screw shut at the reminder that he’s real, he’s with you. That you love him so desperately, so complete, entire and whole you don’t know how you could find anyone else. 

I love you in a place where there’s no space or time. 

“I lo-“

“I never want to leave you.” He cuts before pressing into you hard and the both of you reach your peak. A head light crashing orgasm, his open mouth kisses drag to your ear where he moans, drawing out your momentary bliss. You squeeze around him so tightly, you could practically feel the spend you’re pulling from him. You’re leaking all over him, right to base and down to his balls. His hand on your hip coming up to your clothed breast with a firm as he slowly goes soft inside you. And you see white, keeping your mouth purely for kisses and whimpers, afraid of saying too much. 

Afraid of being too real for him. 

“Housekeeping is going to have a field day in this room.” He chuckles, planting a kiss right on the delicate arch of your cheekbone. So exhausted from it all, the car ride, the sex, the drinking—you giggle back. Hiding all the strange yearning you felt seconds ago.

“I’d quit my job.” Javi drops his head in your neck and grumbles there too. His palm still firmly placed on the swell of your breast through the black fabric. You look down at the sight. “So do you like the dress?”

He lifts his head to look at you, face all red and sweaty. You bring your hands up to trace the slopes and curves on him, how you loved his nose. Your nail traces from his temple to its strong arch to the top of nostrils where it’s soft. He gives you a lazy smirk when your finger finds his cupid's bow. “I’m still inside of you, you know that right?” Your brows shoot up and giggle at your own silly question. The two of you are chuckling and intertwined. Your finger turns to a palm as you cup his cheek in a hold. Just taking a look at him. Suddenly he's shy under your gaze, his eyes diverting from your own. 

As if being loved was too intimate for him. 

“You are the most handsome man I've ever known.” You admit, peering up for a second to kiss him chastly. The timid glance switches and he's back to being cocky ol’ Javi.

“Oh yeah?” He kisses you again, “Hmm… tell me more.”

You thumb his cheek, and he turns his head to the left to kiss his palm. “And I’ve always had this like… really big crush on you.” 

His eyes widened in fake shock. “Really?!” 

“Oh yeah… too bad you didn't like me back then.” You tease.

Javi shakes his head and removes himself from you. Your cunt makes a sound that warms your cheeks and he plops down next to you. “You love to alter the story–making it seem like it was some one sided thing.”

“Wasn't it?” You challenge. It was a mixture. Part of you still believed that it was only you. That you had crushed a bit too hard and he had just been a good friend, the kiss being a moment between two teenagers who were too horny for their own good. Then there was what was closest to the truth, that you had a devastatingly painful crush and that Javi had it too and couldn't conceptualize it because it developed while he was already with someone else. 

“I liked you so much I had to move away.” 

You shake your head in annoyance, sitting up in bed. Your dress falling back over your knees and the sight must be funny because Javier lets out a throaty chuckle at the sight of you. You crane your neck to look into the mirror at the corner of the room. You’re  met with your blowout tussled and your mascara streaked. “Not funny.” You frown and he reaches his arm up to swipe a thumb under your eye, cleaning whatever makeup you had left over. You in turn grip his wrist. “You liked me so much you pretended I didn't exist for six years.” You bite, and that's all it is, bite. His lips quirk and you're so happy the two of you are in a place to make light of it all. 

“I would have been saved from a whole lot of suffering if that were true.”

“You like to suffer.” Shaking your head and placing his hand back down to his chest. You bring your arms over your head to pull the halter of the dress down, stripping yourself nude in one quick pull, tossing the dress to the floor. Mindlessly you tuck yourself under the covers, rolling your neck and tossing your hair over one shoulder. You look back to Javi who has his jaw clenched and an unamused look. “What?”

He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Nothing. If I say what I want to, we'll never get any sleep.”

“We’re on vacation we can afford to lose some.” 

He grumbles a noise of disapproval before stripping himself down and tossing his clothes to the side. He settles in next to you, keeping a safe distance considering from what you saw he was getting a hard on already. “We can't. I have the last meeting early in the morning.”

Mid yawn, “Oh please, we can sleep after your meeting.”

Reaching over to shut off the lamp he mumbles something in Spanish about me being worse than a man. “I’ve got a surprise for you tomorrow.” 

Lips upturning in the dark, you couldn't care to make space. You scooch into him, laying your head right on his chest. “You got me a surprise.”

“Yes.” He says nonchalantly, almost grumpy and god you loved him.

[nationaleconomy999]

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[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 7

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Alastor resolves a pest problem.

The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs. But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor’s worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter’s dream. Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor’s soul from the brink of destruction. In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.

[AO3 LINK]

New chapter and new art!! note that chapter 6 is an interlude so this takes place directly after chapter 5. Next chapter is dropping in a week as usual!! chapter preview below 📻🍎

All Hell breaks loose the next morning. 

Niffty has, apparently, been keeping a colony of more than three hundred rats in her room — and the prior evening, while Alastor was occupied with his interrogation, she had seen fit to set them loose in the hotel. 

Charlie calls an emergency meeting after Angel Dust wakes the hotel with his — frankly childish — screeching about a rat in his bathtub. 

They convene in the kitchen to assess the situation. Niffty, perched on the counter, snickers and openly admits to releasing the rats for what she terms their playtime. 

A consensus quickly emerges. Niffty is Alastor’s responsibility; so, too, are the rats. 

Alastor’s dominion over the radio is equal parts blessing and curse in his search and rescue operation. If he concentrates, he can hear the shuffling, sniffing, and squeaking of all 312 rats in the hotel — which, while helpful in locating the rats, makes it more difficult for him to plead ignorance regarding those that have wormed their way into the worst predicaments imaginable.

This is how Alastor finds himself on his knees, dismantling the toilet in Husker’s bathroom.

“Oh, Hell,” Angel Dust says — Alastor hadn’t heard him come in, focused as he is on loosening two pipes in the water line that appear to have somehow, in the six weeks since they rebuilt the hotel, rusted together. 

Alastor grimaces. “I’m quite busy.”

“Sure,” Angel says. “Y’know, you ain’t gonna find a rat inside the pipes. They can’t live in there.”

“These ones can. I’ve come to the conclusion that these are not rats — they’re demons, sent from some lower ring of Hell to ruin us. They are relentlessly determined to evade me. And they. Don’t. Die.” Alastor heaves at the wrench with both hands — it budges perhaps an inch. He huffs. 

“Huh.”

Alastor shakes out his aching hands and looks up at Angel. “Can I help you?”

“Oh — yeah, I was just wondering if my bathroom is clear, now, or if I should wait to shower? It’s just, I gotta get to work soon.” 

Alastor listens — one of his ears twitches. 

“It should be fine, if you’re quick,” he says. 

“Right,” Angel says. He takes off at a run. “Thanks!”

Alastor raises a hand in acknowledgement and returns to his task. The pipes have begun to drip around the join, which complicates matters — Alastor did shut off the water before he began this accursed project, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still wet in there. 

Footsteps behind him. 

“Angel. If don’t leave me to my work, I’ll —” Alastor glances over his shoulder — “Oh. It’s you.”

Lucifer stands behind him, smiling sheepishly, his hands clasped behind his back. “I brought you a present,” he says. 

With a flourish, he produces a rat in a golden cage. The creature is standing on its hind legs with its tiny hands wrapped around the bars. At the sight of Alastor, it shrieks in frustration — further evidence that the creatures’ disdain for him is somehow personal. Lucifer places the cage on the tile next to Alastor.

“Thank you,” Alastor says. “That leaves only —” he cocks his head to the side and listens — “Two hundred and sixty-two. Including this one.” He inclines his head toward the plumbing and resumes the miserable task of loosening the pipes. 

“You don’t know a thing about plumbing, do you?” Lucifer says. 

Alastor huffs in irritation — Lucifer leans over him with a smug smile on his face. “Those pipes are heat welded,” Lucifer says. “You’ll be here all day if you insist on using a wrench. Allow me.”

Before Alastor can protest, Lucifer tugs off a glove and places his hand over the join. There is a sizzle, a puff of steam, a flare of heat across Alastor’s face — and the two pipes come apart effortlessly in Lucifer’s hand with a cartoonish and unnecessary pop. Lucifer withdraws, a smug smile on his face — his fingers leave molten orange prints behind on the metal, which fade away after a moment. 

“Show-off,” Alastor grumbles. He sends a shadow tentacle in after the pipe rat — a tiny shriek echoes from the darkness. As the rat emerges, it makes a desperate grab for the edge of the pipe, kicking and screaming. 

Lucifer snaps his fingers; the rat disappears and reappears inside the golden cage with its brother. 

“Your assistance is unnecessary,” Alastor grumbles without any real heat — getting into those pipes on his own was pretty miserable. 

Lucifer smiles like Alastor has just given him a compliment. “You’re welcome,” he says. “Now — I need to get back to it. I just made a breakthrough on a project I’m working on, and I have a meeting this afternoon with the other sins.”

“The project is a rubber duck.” 

Lucifer frowns. “What else would it be?” 

“Just confirming,” Alastor says. “Now, there’s another rat in the light fixture. So. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh! Sure. Good luck.” Lucifer backs out of the room, but pauses in the doorway. “I’ll — I’ll see you later? Tonight?”

“I will be back to collect on our deal once every single one of these infernal vermin are back in captivity.” Each word is punctuated by a further unfolding of Alastor’s antlers — he breathes deeply to bring them back under control. “I expect it will take several days. Enjoy your reprieve.”

“Right. Right. Of course. Okay. See you, Al.” Lucifer ducks out of the room.

Alastor stares after Lucifer in confusion for a long moment. Al — the abbreviation reeks of familiarity. The people closest to Alastor had called him that, when he was alive — does Lucifer share that fellowship now, due to the knowledge he’s acquired? The idea is disconcerting, so he puts it aside and returns to his work. 

It takes Alastor all day to wrangle the first 104 rats. He delivers them into Niffty’s waiting hands, and she welcomes each one home by name. 

He heads for the bar, exhausted, to collect the night’s highball from Husker; then he slips into the shadows and across the hotel to his room. He hangs his coat by the door. His ears twitch — on the other side of the wall is the unmistakable cacophony of a dozen displeased rats. 

He peeks his head through the door. He blinks. Twelve pairs of irate red eyes regard him from twelve golden cages, stacked neatly on his doormat like the misguided offerings of a house cat.

A smile creeps across Alastor’s face. He closes the door gently — he’ll bring the rats to Niffty in the morning. 

[AO3 LINK]

[firstelevens]

No. 20 from the eras tour prompt list for sambucky ? ?

did I hear someone ask for a Sweet Home Alabama Louisiana AU? no? well I wrote the start of one anyway, so here it is

20. all your dirtiest jokes

Pebbles go flying as Bucky pulls his rental up in front of Sam’s house. He kind of wishes there was the satisfying screech of tires on asphalt to emphasize his mood, but he slams the car door twice as hard to make up for it, and feels just a little bit better afterwards.

Back when they were kids, the Wilsons’ place had been close enough to the neighbors’ houses to wave at them from the porch. The house that Sam bought when he came home from his first tour is set back a lot further than that, wooded where it doesn’t back up onto the water, so Bucky has no compunctions about getting a little shouty.

“Sam Wilson, I know you’re in there!” he calls out, walking up to the front door. “You can dodge my calls as long as you want, but I’m not going anywhere until you open up.”

It’s not a big house, and there’s at least three open windows, so there’s no question that Bucky’s voice is carrying through loud and clear, but there’s no response. Bucky raps sharply on the doorframe.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Sam. I know this town just as well as you do, and I will follow you everywhere.”

It takes another five minutes, but finally, Bucky sees a figure approaching through the frosted glass pane on the front door. When it swings open, he’s met with a bare-chested Sam Wilson, breathing heavy from a workout as he pulls his earbuds out of his ears.

For all that he was yelling a second ago, Bucky suddenly can’t seem to make words come out of his mouth. To add insult to injury, Sam seems perfectly unaffected by the sight of him, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Bucky Barnes,” he drawls, and Bucky hates how comforting that voice still is after all this time. “What can I do for you?”

In a second, the ire comes flickering back to life. The nerve of Sam, to ask that question when he knows perfectly well the only thing that Bucky’s been asking him for for the past year.

He holds up the envelope that’s the whole reason he had to drag his ass back here, a thousand miles and twenty years removed from home.

“You could start by giving me a fucking divorce.”

Bucky spent so long working himself up over this, back in New York and on the plane here and on the almost-two-hour drive from New Orleans. He’d written and rewritten a hundred different speeches, rehearsed so many arguments with the Sam in his head that he was sure he’d know exactly what to say.

But now he was here, and he’d gone and delivered what should’ve been the last line of his scathing speech way too early, and what more was there to do except stand there on Sam’s porch and glare at him expectantly?

Sam, for his part, looks at Bucky consideringly for a moment, then peers around him to look out towards the yard. “You should come inside,” he says, and then steps away, leaving the door open.

The petty part of Bucky wants to refuse, wants to make a nuisance of himself right here on the porch so Sam can’t ignore him, but then he stops to take in his surroundings for longer than a second. The air is thick, the heat more sluggish than it was when his flight touched down. Beyond the trees, the sky has gotten darker. It’s been a while since Bucky lived on the bayou, but the signs of an oncoming storm haven’t changed.

He huffs and steps into Sam’s house, closing the door behind him just as thunder rumbles in the distance. It’s cooler inside, at least, and as Sam moves further into the house, Bucky figures he’s supposed to follow. He’s still not completely over his need to be a nuisance—or so he tells himself—so he goes slowly, glancing around at the house that Sam bought long after Bucky wasn’t a part of his life anymore.

Bucky knows it’s a completely different building, but part of him still expects that it’ll be the house that Sam grew up in, all warm wood and quiet chaos. Somewhere in his head, he thinks that if he just went up that staircase in front of him, he’d end up in Sam’s childhood bedroom, sixteen years old and laid out on the floor with the boombox between them, laughing at the dirty jokes that Sam heard in senior calc or trying to figure out just what the deal was between their grade’s latest on-again, off-again couple.

But this isn’t that house, Bucky reminds himself, and this isn’t back then. He’s not looking to go back in time; he just wants to go forwards, and he could if Sam would just cooperate.

“What happened, you get lost in that hallway?” asks Sam, when Bucky finally makes it to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother answering, but Sam’s back is to him, so there’s no way to tell whether he’s even noticed. “Hey, cream and no sugar, right?”

“What?”

Sam turns around with a mug of coffee in his hand, and Bucky’s pretty sure he can’t hide how he immediately perks up when the cup is set in front of him. For a second, he thinks about telling Sam that he does take sugar now, just to be contrarian, but then he remembers he’d actually have to drink it and throws that plan out the window.

“This is fine, thanks,” he eventually says, setting the envelope on the island and picking up the coffee. He hasn’t had caffeine since before his flight this morning, and he can feel the first sip right down to his toes. His eyes actually close for a second, and when he opens them, Sam is back on the other side of the counter, looking amused. There’s no mug in his hands.

“You’re not having any?” Bucky asks. “What’d you do, poison it?” 

Even if he did, Bucky’s not convinced he’d be able to put it down. It’s really good coffee.

“I will,” says Sam. “But my Mama would kill me if I entertained company like this, so I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home; the view’s nice from the family room if you missed the water.”

He breezes out before Bucky can argue, his footsteps thudding up the stairs between one sip of coffee and the next.

After a moment of looking around incredulously, waiting to see if maybe he’s being pranked, Bucky decides this is just Sam trying to annoy him into leaving, and he won’t let it work. He marches into the family room just as the rain starts in earnest, and just to spite Sam, he turns his back to the French doors and surveys the rest of the room. There’s art hanging up, intermingled with family photos. Lumpy ceramics that are definitely grade school art projects sit beside beautiful crystalline sculptures, tall and spiky and somehow familiar.

Along one of the walls is the credenza that Bucky recognizes from Sam’s parents’ house, the one that Mr. Wilson had hauled home from an estate sale and refinished just because Sam’s mother had lingered beside it for a few seconds longer than anything else. It’s a different color now than it was before, but Bucky would recognize it anywhere. Sitting on top of it are what Bucky guesses are the important photos: Sarah’s wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson on the boat together, Sam with a toddler beside him and a baby in his arms. 

Furthest to the left is a picture of the dock behind the Wilson house. Two figures sit at the end of it, leaning into each other in the sunshine. One of them wears a t-shirt, gangly arms braced behind them. The other has a letterman jacket on, and that’s what tips Bucky off when he picks up the frame to look at it more closely: that’s him and Sam, sitting out where they did almost every day after school. Sam had gotten his varsity jacket for the baseball team when they were sophomores, and Bucky was pretty sure he’d worn it more often than Sam had. He’d always liked the way it felt on his shoulders, and when fall rolled around and the wind blew in a little cooler off the water, Sam always passed it over to him without needing to be asked.

They’d gotten a little more refined, once driver’s licenses were acquired and curfews were lengthened. Sam would drive the Wilsons’ old pickup truck a little ways out of town, to an empty plot of land flanked by trees on one side and water on the other, and they would sit and soak up the wind off the water until they could both breathe a little easier. Bucky had started thinking of it as their piece of the island, the safest place he could ever remember being.

When the future had barreled towards them with no signs of stopping, it was where Sam had driven them, nothing around but the birds in the trees when he quietly suggested his plan for getting out of Delacroix and taking Bucky with him. Nobody else had been around to see Bucky fling his arms around Sam’s neck and whisper a muffled yes into his shoulder, either: both of them a little bit scared of the future but determined to make it better for each other.

Maybe they can be reasonable about this. Maybe he and Sam can look at each other and see exactly what the other person needs, the way they did when they were younger. Maybe there don’t have to be questions and discussions and the kind of passive aggressive emails they’ve been exchanging through lawyers for the past year.

The rain is still coming down hard, lulling Bucky into a daze, so he can’t be blamed for the way he startles when Sam’s voice sounds from behind him. He scrambles to grab the picture frame before it falls out of his hands, setting it down and taking a beat before he turns around.

Sam is holding the envelope with the divorce papers in his hands, but Bucky has seen his ‘I give up’ face and that definitely isn’t it.

“The entire year that we’ve been going over this, I’ve asked you the same question, over and over, and you’ve never answered,” Sam says.

“Fuck,” says Bucky, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This? Again?”

“Yeah, again,” says Sam. “Because if I’m getting a divorce, I at least deserve to know why. I deserve to know what changed.”

“I have told you every single time you asked, Sam. Nothing changed. Nothing changed, because this was never a real marriage, and you know that. We got married so we could both get the fuck out of this town, and so I could stop being so terrified all the time, and we did that, and now we’re done.”

Sam crosses his arms, setting his jaw, and it occurs to Bucky that this is the first battle of a long war. “We did all that fifteen years ago, easy. That’s not what this is about. What changed, Buck?”

But Bucky can’t answer Sam any more now than he could the first time he asked that question a year ago. He can’t remind Sam of all the things he missed out on because he was tied to Bucky, he can’t bring up Riley or Sam’s parents or all the little ways that Bucky managed to steal things from him without even trying, because Sam would never see it. Even now, squaring off against each other with no possible middle ground, Sam would never see it, so Bucky can’t say it.

“Just sign the damn papers, Sam,” is what Bucky says instead.

It’s the first time he’s ever evaded the question in person. Somehow when he pictured Sam reading all those emails and messages he’d sent, Bucky had never imagined a flicker of disappointment on his face, gone as soon as it appeared.

Sam turns to set the envelope on an end table and picks up a wristwatch from beside it, doing up the strap before he turns around again. When he does, he’s got a determinedly cheerful smile on his face, the kind that Bucky has always known meant trouble.

“Gee, Buck, I wish I could, but as it happens, I’m running late for something,” he says, with an exaggerated look at his watch. “Maybe later?”

He’s already heading for the door, leaving Bucky to hurry after him. “What do you mean you’re late for something? Where the fuck are you going in a hurricane?”

Sam snorts. “You’ve been away too long. This is barely even a storm.”

An enormous crack of lightning punctuates his words, and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“It’s a drizzle,” says Sam, pulling on a jacket. “And I have a date.”

Bucky is not entirely prepared for the feelings that those words stoke in his chest, but worse still is what Sam calls out before the door swings shut behind him.

“Guest bedroom’s upstairs, second door on the left. Don’t wait up.”

He’s not entirely sure how much time he loses, fuming in the foyer of Sam’s house, but eventually, that rage sharpens into something else entirely as he remembers what he yelled out standing on Sam’s porch half an hour ago.

He knows this town just as well as Sam does.

He knows this town just as well as Sam does, and unless fifty years of corporate development hit Delacroix in the last fifteen, there’s only one place to take a date if you’re an adult who doesn’t want to get accosted by the entire senior population of the island over the course of your evening.

Bucky pulls his keys from his pocket and and umbrella from Sam’s coat closet. If Sam means to drag this out, Bucky’s going to make sure he feels every single second, until he decides for himself that this marriage is more trouble than it’s worth.

(And if, before he leaves, he swaps his comfortable traveling clothes for a short sleeved button down that’s a size too small and not buttoned enough, well, nobody ever said Bucky was perfect.)

[aheathen-conceivably]

In the first weeks of 1930, a slow passenger train rode through the desert hills of New Mexico. It had begun its journey in the city of New Orleans before heading north alongside the snaking brown waters of the Mississippi River.

From there it had stopped in St. Louis, Missouri before it turned back south, following old pioneer trails as it cut through the American Southwest on the way to its final destination in Los Angeles, California.

In one of the cars, the light, determined click of a woman's heels fell in line with the rhythm of the rails below her feet. The sound had defined her life for weeks, yet she found it just as droning now as the day she had first boarded the train. She made her way from her own cabin, where her niece and brother were spending the final hour of their journey, to the room where her soon to be sister-in-law was readying herself. 

As she approached the door a rail attendant appeared in the car to alert the passengers, “Next stop Strangerville, New Mexico! All passengers ready your luggage! I repeat all passengers ready your luggage!”

Josephine increased her pace and rapped loudly on the door, wanting to ensure that her arrival could be heard above the railway attendant's call in the next car. A small voice told her to enter, barely audible alongside the thundering sound from below.

Josephine entered Zelda and Antoine's suite, which was larger than the one she had shared with Violette during the journey. Half smoked cigarettes and thrice-read books clattered against opulently carved woodwork bolted to the walls. Amidst it all stood Zelda in a white silk wedding dress, preoccupied with her reflection as she pinned a final curl in a perfect curve.

For a moment Josephine forgot the rail’s droning sound or the conductor’s hurried call, “Zelda, you….you look marvelous.”

Zelda turned briefly to acknowledge Jo’s presence, self consciously smoothing down the silk of her dress before she turned back to the mirror to fiddle with the clasp of her pearls, “Do I, truly? I’m afraid it’s quite old fashioned now, isn’t it? I suppose I should have gotten something new rather than just dyeing this old dress…”

Josephine walked over to her, taking the pearls from her shaking hands. As the car rattled on, she couldn’t tell if it was from the constant movement or her friend’s nerves. She spoke to her as she fastened the necklace, “It’s perfect, ma sœur, absolutely perfect. Are you ready? It’s time to put the luggage near the door; we’re the next stop.”

When Zelda didn’t answer Josephine turned her around, softening her face and her voice, “Zelda, you can talk to me, if you need to. Whatever it is. If you aren’t ready I’ll speak with Antoine. Whatever you need.”

Zelda looked at her curiously before an immense happiness overtook her face. She grabbed Josephine’s hands and smiled, “Jo, I’m only nervous because I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. I’ve waited so long; we’ve waiting so long, it simply feels surreal. Like it’s impossible to feel so much happiness all at once without something going wrong.”

Josephine’s heart soared for her, and then sank as she realized that Zelda had learned to expect misfortune so much that she couldn’t even truly give herself over to excitement in that moment. “Zelda, everything will be wonderful, I promise you. You’ve been through enough, okay? Both of you. Today will be perfect.”

(A very special thank you to @simtleman for creating this gorgeous train build and then sharing it with me as well as all the CC creators you used to make it so stunning ♥️)

[scotianostra]

On February 5th 1941 the S S Politician, with a cargo of whisky, ran aground of the North Shore of the Island of Eriskay.

The SS Politician was an 8000-tonne cargo ship which left Liverpool on the 3rd February 1941 laden with amongst other things 260,000 bottles of whisky, bound for Kingston in Jamaica and New Orleans. The whisky was for the American market and therefore no duty had been paid. She sailed up past the Isle of Man towards the Hebrides where the winds increased to gale force.

On the morning of 5th February a young man was combing a beach in South Uist when he saw the ship in trouble and beginning to list. After a valiant struggle by the Captain, Beaconsfield Worthington, to keep his ship on course, the SS Politician eventually ran aground in the storm onto sandbanks off the Isle of Eriskay where she began to flood. Unfortunately as the ship had veered off course an incorrect location was given to the lifeboat crew on Barra. Local islanders were roused and they set forth in a sailing boat to offer assistance to the crew. The lifeboat finally reached the ship and all the crew were rescued.

When the locals learned from the crew exactly what the ship was carrying, a series of illegal salvage operations took place at night, before the customs and excise officials arrived. The islands supplies of whisky had dried up due to war-time rationing, so the islanders periodically helped themselves to some of the 260,000 bottles of whisky before winter weather broke up the ship. Boats came from as far away as Lewis as news of the whisky travelled across the Outer Hebrides. No islander regarded it as stealing, as for them the rules of salvage meant that once the bounty was in the sea, it was theirs to rescue.

This of course was not the view of the local customs officer, Charles McColl, who was incensed at the blatant thievery that was going on. Not a penny had been paid in duty for this whisky so Mr McColl whipped up a furore and made an official complaint to the police. Villages were raided and crofts were turned upside down. Bottles were hidden, secreted, or sometimes drunk in order to hide the evidence.

On 26 April at Lochmaddy Sheriff Court a group of men from Barra pleaded guilty to theft and were fined between three and five pounds. Mr McColl was furious at the leniency of the men’s sentences, but the police, being mainly locals themselves, were tired of the bothering the locals who had not, in their minds, done such a bad thing. However, Mr McColl continued his crusade against these illegal salvagers and some of the men were sentenced to up to six weeks in prison in Inverness and Peterhead.

Back at sea, the official salvage attempts were not going too well, and it was eventually decided to let the Politician remain where she was. Mr McColl, who had already estimated that the islanders had stolen 24,000 bottles of whisky, ensured that there would be no more temptation. He applied for, and was granted, permission to explode her hull and as one islander, Angus John Campbell, commented: “Dynamiting whisky. You wouldn’t think there’d be men in the world so crazy as that!”

In 1987 Donald MacPhee, a local South Uist man, found eight bottles of whisky in the wreck. He sold them at auction for £4,000.

The wreck of the SS Politician still lies off the coast of Eriskay, although it is below the water line as winter gales have destroyed the deck and cabins. In 1988 the island got its own ‘legitimate’ pub, named ‘Am Politician’.

The story was used by Compton Mackenzie for his book Whisky Galore, and later for the Ealing Studio comedy by the same name.A remake was released in 2016 starring James Cosmo and Gregor Fisher amongst others, I didn't expect it to be any good, but was pleasantly surprised.