#basin overlook

[thorsenmark]

Sunset Highway (Great Basin National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: At a roadside pullout just off Nevada Hwy 50 with a view looking to the southwest and the mountains in Great Basin National Park. This was one of several images I captured using the LCD screen on my Nikon SLR camera to line up the center stripe and road with the more distant ridges and peaks. It was as I began working on the image in post production that I then decided to once again try out the sky replacement setting in Photoshop with this image. The sunset and colors with the clouds seemed appropriate for this national park setting. So the skies are part of the Adobe stock images in Photoshop but all else is captured with my Nikon D850 SLR camera. I later worked with control points in DxO PhotoLab 5 and then made some adjustments to bring out the contrast, saturation and brightness I wanted for the final image.

[luveline]

hotch's sister x spencer where hotch notices she's wearing spencer's clothes?

—You and Spencer get one another in trouble with your older brother. fem!reader, 1k

Your brother, though you’re adopted, has passed down onto you many things. Mostly his frown, but more embarrassingly his high-pitched giggle when something is startlingly funny. 

You laugh like a hyena at something Spencer’s said. He tries to grab you before you walk straight into his desk corner, but he’s too slow. You whack your hip and laugh again, this time in pain, bending over to grab at your wound in defeat. 

“Oh my god,” he says, trying not to laugh loudly, his efforts turning his own laugh into a giggle like yours as he bends down to see you, “are you okay?” He laughs so much he can barely ask. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you squeeze between a laugh, letting him pull you into a standing position. 

“What is it?” he asks, grabbing your hip, which worsens your laughter all over again. “What?” 

“You’re super handsy, Dr. Reid.” 

A sharp clearing of the throat echoes. You tense up, begging Spencer mentally not to give you away, but his hand practically flies back into his chest like you’ve burned him. 

You turn to the office. “Hi, Aaron.” 

Aaron Hotchner stands at the balcony overlooking the bullpen where you and Spencer stand. “Honey. Just give me two minutes and I’ll come down, okay?” 

You give a big smile. “Yes, sir.” 

His eyes move to Spencer. You watch Aaron decide to leave it alone and can’t help laughing for the hundredth time today as your brother turns around to head back into his office.

“He’s ridiculous.” 

“He’s gonna fire me,” Spencer says, though he doesn’t sound serious. 

“And then you can come work with me.” 

Spencer doesn’t want to work at your new job, that much is clear from his expression, but he has enough social wits to realise you’re flirting. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” he says.

Spencer leans back against his desk, hair curled just under his ears, his hand reaching for you though he doesn’t touch. You sit down in his seat, the backs of your thighs sticking to warm leather. You aren’t working today, hence your social visit, and Spencer had distracted you on the way to Aaron’s office (through no fault of his own, you’d just wanted to see him again) with a shy wave. Like you hadn’t spent yesterday night together walking through fountains. 

You didn’t mean to fall in. Spencer helped you up onto the round basin of the fountain and you’d held hands, walking in circles so he’d have an excuse to keep rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. Seconds turned to minutes, the conversation unhurried, and one wrong move had you slipping. You fell calf deep into cold water, but his laughter had been worth it. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

You cross one leg over the other, your jean leg riding up your shin. “I’m thinking about what Aaron’s gonna buy me for lunch.” 

“What do you want?”

“I have no idea. It’s so hot out I barely wanna eat.” 

“Well, too bad, you have to.” He picks up a file from his outgoings and fans it at you nicely. When he talks again, his voice is lowered. “I was thinking, if you’re not busy, they have a movie playing in a couple of days at the independent, I think it’s in Portuguese, and I really think you’d like it.” 

“Yeah?” you ask, lavishing in the cold kiss of his manufactured breeze and the idea of another date. 

“About a little girl that turns into a star. They have popcorn bigger than anywhere else I’ve seen, too. Enough for three people in one bucket.” 

You try not to act too shy. “Well, hopefully it’s just me and you.” 

Spencer smiles at you between waves of his fan. “Is your hip okay?” he asks. 

“Spencer.” 

“Are you ready?” Aaron asks. 

You spin in Spencer’s chair toward your brother, shocked he’s there. He’s been funny since you and Spencer met, never controlling or cruel, yet clearly having a tough time coming to grips with the connection you’ve formed with his smartest employee. 

When you told him Spencer had given you his number, his eye twitched ever so slightly, and he excused himself for a glass of water. You’re not sure what is about the situation that irks him: he loves you, he loves Spencer in his way, he’d do anything for both of you, except acknowledge your burgeoning relationship. 

You nod but don’t stand. Your hip aches weirdly and the sitting is nice. Plus, it’s a sisterly duty to wind up her brother, even if you love him more than anybody on planet earth. 

“Spencer was just telling me about your accident in Scottsdale.” 

“He was,” Hotch says. He looks at you, and his eyes follow down the line of your leg to your shoes, where they stay. 

You glance down. 

“I’m trying something new,” you say, sitting up quickly. Scottsdale doesn’t seem so funny. 

“I can see that.” 

You’re wearing Spencer’s socks, odd ones sticking up past his borrowed converse. “It’s summer,” you say, standing up. 

“Mm.” He gestures for you to stand in front of him, his hand on your shoulder kind but firm as he steers you away. “And the odd socks, that’s a conscious choice?” 

“Don’t be mean.” 

“I’m not.” 

You glance back at Spencer and grin at him as you’re shepherded away. Hopefully he’ll call you later, but for now he looks like he’d like to dig himself a shallow grave.

“We went for a walk last night and I ruined my shoes,” you explain, turning your gaze to Aaron and his reluctant smile. “They were still wet this morning.” 

“What about those loafers I got you for your birthday?” he asks. 

“Well, I didn’t have them with me.” 

Aaron nods. There’s a certain impassiveness to his expression that you’re familiar with, even if it signifies disappointment. That you’re not so used to. 

“I thought you liked Spencer?” you ask. 

“I do. But I love you, and he’s…” 

“He’s what?” 

“At risk.” 

“You’ll just have to keep him safe for me,” you say, smiling at him breezily. 

Aaron seems to agree silently. You’re almost to the elevators when he says, “Please, wear your own socks. I know you know how to do your laundry, I’m the one who taught you how to do it.” 

[duncanrawlinson]

Edge of Majesty: Monument Basin Overlook https://ift.tt/KpFqAvt

[rabbitcruiser]

Musket Shot Springs Scenic Overlook, UT (No. 4)

The Uinta Basin forms a geologic structural basin, and is the source of commercial oil and gas production. Separated from the Piceance Basin by the Douglas Creek Arch, both basins formed during the Laramide Orogeny, and are bounded by the Charleston-Nebo thrust fault, the Uinta Basin boundary fault, and the Grand Hogback monocline. The Uinta Basin includes the Wasatch Plateau. According to the USGS Uinta-Piceance Assessment Team, "The black-shale facies of the Green River Formation is the main petroleum system of Tertiary age whereas the Mahogany zone of the Green River Formation is a minor component. The Cretaceous Mancos Group and equivalent rocks are the main source of Cretaceous oil and a major contributor of gas in the basin, whereas the Upper Cretaceous Mesaverde is a lesser contributor of oil but a significant source for gas. Ferron Sandstone coals are known to be a source of coalbed methane. The most prominent source of oil from Paleozoic rocks is the Permian Phosphoria Formation.

During the Laramide Orogeny along the Wasatch Mountains, the north-south trending coast during the Late Cretaceous was receding eastward, at the same time the area where the basin is located was subsiding, creating a lacustrine environment. A clastic wedge consisting of the North Horn, Colton, and Wasatch was deposited northwards. These sediments interfingered with organic-rich lacustrine clays and carbonate muds of the Green River and Flagstaff facies. Later, deposits originated from the Uinta Mountains from the north, forming a southward-thinning clastic wedge. A carbonate sediment consisting of an organic-rich oil shale was deposited from the middle Eocene into the Oligocene. The basin is also known for solid-hydrocarbon-filled fractures consisting of ozocerite, gilsonite, and wurtzilite.

In 1948, oil was discovered in the Paleozoic portion of the basin at Ashley Valley. Tertiary discoveries followed in 1948 at Roosevelt, and then the Red Wash Field and Duchesne Field in 1951. The Bluebell Field was discovered in 1967 and the Altamont Field in 1970. The Altamont-Bluebell structural trap occurs where the Wasatch sandstone pinches out.

Source: Wikipedia

[nopanamaman]

What’s up with the City?

Loredump. September 2023

What do we really know about the City the characters inhabit? Aside from it being located right next to the Zone, not much. And to be fair, the song series format doesn’t leave a lot of room for exploration.

But it’s an interesting place in its own right. Today we’ll learn a little bit about its history, life, and how being right next to the strangest area of the planet has affected the lives of its 400,000 inhabitants. Let’s dive right in.

View of the City’s edge in winter. Unexciting.

Where is the City located?

The City has no concrete location: it can be placed on almost any territory within Russia, Belarus, or Ukraine. Despite a lot of the realia and places within it being drawn from my own lifetime in Minsk, it’s not meant to represent it specifically.

The City is part of a larger totalitarian state. Housing hundreds of thousands of citizens, it used to be the largest settlement in the vicinity of ЦКР-5 (TsKR-5), a closed town declassified after its own destruction and the emergence of the Zone.

Closed city TsKR-5. In reality, the military town Knyaze-Volkonskoye

Who lives in the City?

The City is mostly inhabited by people of various slavic nationalities. The main spoken language is Russian, though there are folks who know and communicate in other slavic languages. The government treats those who do so with suspicion, so it’s not common practice.

Smoke above the City. In reality, Nekrasovka, Moscow

The majority of people living on the periphery of the town are employed in factories. A significant industrial centre before the Zone’s emergence, it remains a stable producer of vehicles, electronics, and environmental waste.

However, the proximity to the Zone and the massive research centre have attracted a lot of scientific talent and entrepreneurs to the place. The latter usually choose banditism or smuggling as their business model. Unsurprisingly, the crime rate is high.

Most of the population, adult and child alike, has had some contact with gangs. It’s not uncommon for kids to actively want to go into banditism, as it’s seen as one of the few avenues for achieving some sort of financial stability.

How is the City affected by anomalies?

The City is no stranger to bizarre meteorological, metaphysical, and otherwise logic-defying events. One day it can rain tar. Another day the air will smell a little sweet. Another day a dead pet will rise from its grave. Another day a street will distort, then go back to normal. Another day everyone born on May 11th will cough up ammonia.

Sky anomaly. In reality, a mirage above Jiangxi

There are at least a dozen anomalous events every year. It’s generally believed they occur because of precipitation, affected particles and/or artefacts travelling outside of the Zone, as well as City dwellers unknowingly ingesting anomalous particles into their bodies.

Few environmental anomalies outside the Zone are permanent or dangerous, but some do require containment. On paper, public access to any life-threatening anomaly needs to be cut off as soon as it becomes known. In practice, places deemed dangerous often get little more than a police ribbon and a couple of warning signs around them.

What are some restricted anomalous areas within the City?

The Lazurny (Azure) Pool

The most notable one in the context of PAFL itself is the pool KT inhabited during her two weeks on the run. Abandoned, but neither guarded nor fenced off, the building had all its entrances and windows welded shut and left at that.

Mosaic by the main pool

The reason for its closure was the main pool’s basin becoming what one could only call a bottomless pit. Its water cannot be drained or pumped out, and everything alive entering it disappears underneath, never to be seen again. Only pieces of plywood, garbage, sports and research equipment now float atop the surface.

The Anomalous Forest

As far as less relevant places are concerned, the workshop Ivan and Arthur work at overlooks a large restricted area just on the edge of town. It’s part of a bigger forest that fell victim to the local wind rose: a lot of clouds coming from the Zone have rained various suspicious liquids on it.

As a result, the treeline became ridiculously uneven, with some parts looking lush with greenery, some being inappropriately naked, some standing pale and sickly, and some even emanating a faint glow come nightfall. There is little official information about the dangers of local flora and fauna, but more than enough urban legends. Though, most seem to agree that eating anything from the pale zone results in awful diarrhoea.

Affected trees. In reality, the Drunken Forest in the Curonian Spit

A popular theory for why such areas are never cleared or properly restricted (aside from money pocketing) is that the facility uses them for resources.

For instance, a pine tree whose needles cause people to develop tumours can be a valuable asset for various research, medical or otherwise. Or take a small stretch of an impossibly warped landscape – that one can be a great place to test the physical attributes of anomalous objects. Would be a waste to make those things nearly impossible to access, no?

What about the artefact trade?

As was stated multiple times before, unregistered possession of anomalous artefacts is strictly against the law. The only exceptions are the anomalous souvenirs produced and sold in the Facility and shops around the city (small floating toys, balls of glowsmoke, standing needles).

Sorting of artefacts (batteries) in False Disposition

Actual artefacts are acquired and sold illegally by stalkers. They are usually traded to either gangs, police, or government officials who, in turn, resell them to faraway regions or abroad, where they go for an even higher price.

This is a large part of why crime continues to flourish in the City: the underground trade is simply too profitable for everyone involved, including those who are supposed to fight against it.

Where do the main characters live?

All of our main characters live on the edge of town, in an area that’s relatively close to the Facility located just outside of the City. The rough map of the main locations would look something like this:

Approximate map of the area. Apartment blocks sure look crazy from above

Yura and Sanya live about 15 minutes away from each other with Sanya’s house, in turn, being a 10-15 minute walk away from the Molodzyozhny club. Following the road South from Molodzyozhny will lead you to the orphanage, Ivan’s house, and his dad’s workshop overlooking the anomalous forest.

Following the same road North will have you pass by Nikita’s house and eventually lead to Olya’s – though, she lives relatively far, being around 35 minutes away from Sanya’s place by foot. Yana lives even farther, in the city centre way to the West.

Going to the East will lead you to a more forested area. That’s where the abandoned Lazurny pool is located. It’s also where buses and railroads travel through to get to the Facility located right on the border of the City and the Zone.

The estacade in False Disposition

The estacade where Sanya catches up with Yura in False Disposition and, subsequently, the meeting spot with Olya and Nikita are also located off the little map (sorry): they're to the East of the orphanage, next to the train tracks.

The road to both the Facility and the Zone has plenty of buildings on the way (industrial and otherwise), but getting to the border checkpoint by foot from, say, Yura’s house would take at least an hour and a half. It’s not somewhere you wander to by accident.

[anthonys237thfreckle]

Love in Oklahoma - Javier ‘Javi’ x F! reader

prompt: javi and his girl bought a small farm in Oklahoma, reworked it and adopted little nancy!

TW: mentions of injury, implications of smut

i saw @tempesttamers make a post about seeing anthony ramos with nancy and they needed a javi fic who has a miniature cow named nancy lol. it was such a cute idea, so thanks for that!

Whenever it wasn’t tornado season down in Oklahoma, the excitement was buzzing for the next one. Everyone round the bonfire of another cheap motel, all the storm chasers would gather and share stories of chasing a twister or two, the failures, close calls, successes… reminiscing the adrenaline high everyone felt in their own way.

But you and Javi had no place to stay apart from those motels. Your homes were far away from the southwest, and though storm season was over, Javi still needed to do a lot of research and analytics for storm patterns, their paths, conditions, humidity levels and even sometimes forecasts. Storm Par was busy all year.

Since he dragged you from your own job in the city down to Tornado Alley, you felt like you belonged down there, among the wheat fields, cheap food, thick humid air and wide skies; you and Javi would stargaze at times, and they seemed brighter down there for two reasons. One, there was no pollution for them to shy away behind and two, Javi was there - the man who seemed to make everything brighter.

So rather than stay basically homeless, Javi saved up some money and bought a little house with a farm. Barely half the size of a football field, it was selling for pretty cheap, so you Javi bought it for the two of you.

It wasn’t grand, but you two loved it very much. A small, simple, two story farmhouse with a porch, wide and welcoming, its wooden steps leading up to the red-brick house. Inside, it was definitely in need of some handiwork, but it was inviting nonetheless. After all, blank walls are nothing but a canvas to store potential. Dark stained wooden floorboards run throughout, giving it a rustic elegance. Though scuffed by generations of footsteps, they were very well polished. The kitchen, an open wide space, the heart of the home, had a traditional water pump basin and sink. You grinned when you saw it, turning to Javi who raised his eyebrows in shock and chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amusement. The sink sat beneath a window with a picturesque view of the backyard. White wooden cabinets adorned the walls, giving the kitchen its own light. Though the house was partially furnished, providing you with a large, rectangular dining table, some vintage pantry cabinets, and some sturdy chairs the previous owners left behind.

The second floor was led by some creaking wooden steps, and after climbing the short flight, you were met with a master bedroom with a large window overlooking the front yard, connected to a bathroom with checkered floor tiles, one of your new favourite things. They had a normal tap unlike the kitchen basin downstairs, and large mirror with some storage units and a shower. The other room, another bedroom, was smaller in comparison, but still had a window and a large bookshelf covering one whole wall. The other bathroom, almost as large as a room itself, was spacious, with two sinks, a rainshower, and bathtub.

Needless to say, you two fell in love with the house.

Once you two moved in, you both started to rework the place a little. Javi invited some close friends from Storm par and you invited Kate and the Tornado Wranglers to held paint the walls. Once that was done, everyone went out for dinner at a local diner, letting the stench of fresh paint air out. 2 weeks of relentless reworking went by, the crew made everything a lot faster; the house was homely, cozy, inviting. A bit of a contrast to the two city people you two were, but all the hard work made it all the more impressive. All your old stuff was shifted in, the crew helping you move all the heavy furniture, then left you two to do your own thing. Once everything was furnished, you both fell asleep on your shared bed upstairs, holding each other close.

After a day of rest, you both spent from sunrise to sunset out on the farm. Javi drove you to the farmer’s market, finding people who sold nearly mature crops with the purpose of repotting. You both bought 3 tomato plants - one in each colour: purple, red and yellow - 2 cucumbers, some Napa cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, some raspberry and blueberry shrubs. Once back the sun was high, you both slathered some sunscreen on and spent hours outside, repotting everything into the fertile southwestern soil.

The Tornado Wranglers came over for housewarming, bearing gifts; Kate bought you a pot of flowers, with her own recipe for a fertilizer which wasn’t damaging. Tyler brought a handmade sign saying ‘Not our first farmhouse!’ with the ‘Not’ crossed out in red paint. You accepted it with a laugh, and Javi just rolled his eyes playfully. Boone bought you both a vintage polaroid camera, and you had the idea of taking a photo of everyone who visited this house, and sticking it on the wall near the entrance, as a cute little housewarming idea. Lily brought some food, her famous enchiladas. Dani bought you two a weighted blanket and a toolbox, knowing how handy that can get. Dexter bought you two some encyclopedias and books you two would definitely enjoy. Everyone shared laughs and jokes and memories over dinner, and you both realized how this farmhouse really changed your lives.

You both started living a new life together, which contrasted everything before.

You always had a knack for baking and cooking, but only did so occasionally, because you could always buy bread from the supermarket, and you were busy. Now that you had joined Storm Par (once you cornered Javi and Scott into finding ethical investors) you both worked from home, giving you a lot of time for each other, and equally important, yourselves. Now, not a weekend went by when you went on a baking spree, pulling in Javi to help you out leading to flour fights, stolen chaste kisses where he’d lift you onto the counter, and everything in between. You baked sourdough, focaccia, dinner rolls, peanut butter cookies, muffins with fresh blueberries from the yard.

Javi rarely ate breakfast, mostly because he was too lazy or never had the will to eat anything shitty anyways, so every morning he’d be blessed with a platter of fresh herbed butter on sourdough toast, free range eggs from some chickens you both bought, and crispy organic bacon. Now, he claims breakfast is his second favourite meal, and when you ask what comes first, he just gives you a knowing look, which ends up with him getting flicked on the forehead.

All in all, your lives had changed for the better, but it was only about to get even better.

As you both drove back from the farmer’s market one evening, you saw a little curled up black and white creature on the side of the road

“Hey, baby, look..” you pointed over, and his eyes followed yours.

“Is that-” he slammed the breaks, rushing out of the car, you following behind.

It was a baby cow, or a miniature one, and its leg had a horrible gash on it.

“Its owners probably ditched her, pool gal…” He said softly, stroking the calf’s head when he found no ear tag on her.

You and Javi shared a look, and a silent communication went between you two. You needed to help her out.

You rushed over to your trunk, pouring out some milk and giving her some sustenance in the hopes of earning her trust. After carefully lifting her, making sure she didn’t thrash around, Javi put her in the backseat after you put a blanket down. You sat with her, the animals’ head resting in your lap. You drove a little way out of town for a vet, and after a quick checkup, you were given some ointment, and since the calf was abandoned, you both decided to keep it.

“Come on, Nancy” Javi said soothingly, carrying calf back into the car.

“Nancy?” you chuckled “We’re naming her already?”

“Yeah” Javi said with a chuckle “I like Nancy” he smiled, petting the calf’s head

“So do I” You said after a moment of thought. “Let’s get going”

Once everyone was back home, you brought out a wheelbarrow, and Javi put Nancy in there, the both of you gently bringing her to the barn. Once she was settled on a pile of hay, Javi gently tied her neck to a pole, making sure it wasn’t cutting anything off. You brought a bottle of milk with you, feeding her as her big black eyes got drowsier.

“Can I sleep here with her?” Javi asked you with concern.

“In the barn?” you laughed “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, (name)” Javi said, a look of determination you couldn’t fight.

“Alright, let me get the limoncello candle” you said in fake annoyance. Javi smiled, and called out.

“Love you, baby!”

—

Once you came back with the lit limoncello candle to ward off any bugs, setting it in the corner, you brought some sleeping bags and a bottle of water and milk, for you two and Nancy.

“I’m sleeping here with you” You said, handing him a sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to..” Javi said softly, never taking his eyes off Nancy as he stoked her head, tracing the blotches of black on her cream fur.

“I want to” you reassured, settling into the sleeping bag. “G’night, Javi” you murmured after giving him a sweet peck on the lips.

“Love you” he said, watching you over his shoulder as you settled in for the night.

“Love you too” you yawned “You know, if you changed your mind-”

“No” He interrupted you stubbornly “I’m staying here with Nancy” He reinforced.

“Whatever you say, baby” you chuckled, closing your own droopy eyes. “Make sure to actually catch some sleep”

“Yeah, I will. I promise” He nodded. “Goodnight, (name), I love you”

“Love you too, Jalapeño” you chuckled “Goodnight”

Javi chuckled at the nickname you loved using, and watched as you fell asleep. He looked over at a now asleep Nancy and smiled. He was so happy he bought this little home with you. He looked over at you again, then crawled over, unzipping the sleeping bag.

“Javier….” you whined “I was falling asleep!”

“Hold on just a second, baby..” He unzipped the sleeping bag, detached the zippers on his own one, and attached the two bags together and crawled inside, zipping it back up.

“Now we can cuddle!” he grinned, and you shook your head with a chuckle, burying your head in his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Okay, now really goodnight.” you murmured with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, really” He chuckled, nodding. “Goodnight, love”.

And with that, you both fell asleep in the barn, in each other’s arms, alongside your new companion. Javi dreamt of your lives progressing in this little farmhouse, filling it up with kids, maybe a German Shepherd… ironically, the house did have a white picket fence too, which made everything all the more cliche. But he didn’t care how much of a sap he was around you - since you seemed to love it anyway. Your lives had gotten so much.. lovelier.

If anything, you both found more love here, in Oklahoma.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙊𝙉𝙀: 𝘈𝘕𝘠𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: on top of drowning from perpetual guilt, you see spencer for the first time in five years.

word count: 2697

warnings: withdrawal, vomiting, mentions of the reader drinking herself to sleep, feelings of loneliness, talks of brain cancer, hurt/comfort, and finally some fluff!

a/n: GUYS I WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE THE CHAPTER!! as the story progresses i already have a loose idea of what i want to do, so there'll be a mix of flashbacks and the reader fixing the relationship between her, her mom, and spencer. i was unsure on how i wanted them to meet again at first, but i think i picked a good way ;] they're such awkward losers in this lord i love them already.

masterlist | series masterlist | AO3

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

There were numerous things keeping you awake, but the main one was the cravings. Many nights in New York were spent drinking yourself to sleep, alcohol acting as your pacifier to curve the perpetual loneliness.

It wasn’t like your life then was bad; you had a loving fiancee who made sure you never had to work a day in your life, a nice apartment overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge, and even your own at home art studio. It had everything you could have wanted and yet nothing at all.

Nothing felt the same.

Your fiancee, Luke, often worked late, leaving early in the morning and coming back late into the night. The apartment was grand, yes, but it was big and lonely and had too much space. You had no friends, no incentive to go outside.

You didn’t have a job and didn’t go to college, your father was sick when you were in highschool, but his health absolutely fucking plummeted after you graduated. 

It was like one day he was standing over the stove flipping pancakes in the morning, your mom and you laughing at something he said because he was just that kind of guy. One moment he was making you smile so hard that your cheeks hurt, and then the next… he was… he was a shell of himself.

He couldn’t walk or even move without you and your mom’s help; he couldn’t eat or talk. The brain cancer was moving too fast for you to react, because all of a sudden you were giving a speech at his funeral and purchasing a one way ticket to the Big Apple.

Tears burned at the back of your eyelids and you pressed the heel of your palms into them.

You ran. You fucking ran and left your mom to mourn her husband alone. You left Spencer to deal with his struggling mother by himself.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

The two most important people in your life needed you and you left like the coward you were. You chose fear over love and cracked under the pressure, the grief. Now, you have no one.

You shot up in bed.

Fuck, you were going to be sick.

You were quick on your feet, slamming open the bathroom door across the hall and falling to your feet before the porcelain.

The vomit exits you in waves, and it burns and tastes disgusting.

You have no idea when your mom had come inside or even woken up, but there was the sound of running water before a cool, wet towelette was pressed to the heated skin of your neck.

“Mom…” Your voice cracked. “Fuck – I didn’t mean to wake you up.” She just shook her head with a wobbly smile, rubbing your shoulders and back comfortingly.

“You’re okay.” She cooed, just like she had done when you scraped your knee falling off your first bike. You sniffled weakly, the feeling of being so small and so young was overwhelming.

“Let’s get up, yeah?” She questions quietly. All you could do was nod, fearing that if you opened your mouth, you would probably throw up again.

Your mom gently removes the towel, tossing it into the sink basin before flushing the toilet. She guides you up with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Here, rinse.” She fills up a disposable mouthwash cup and you take it from her gratefully, swishing it around in your mouth before spitting.

“Let’s go to bed.”

With an arm still around your shoulders, she walks you back to your room whose door is already ajar in your haste.

“God, it’s hot in here.” She grumbles as she sets you down on your bed.

You already start to get comfortable when she cracks open the window next to your bed. The weather had cooled significantly throughout the day. It made you excited for the fall for the first time in a long time.

“Do you need anything else?” She questions with hands on her robe covered hips. “No,” You grunt tiredly, “I’m good.”

She looks unsure for a moment, nibbling on her lip in an old anxious habit before reluctantly nodding. “Alright,” She relents, “But you’ll come get me?” You nod. “Yes, mom.” She looks like she wants to push but she decides against it.

“Okay.” She wants to say something else, like she wants to move, but instead she settles for a, “Good night.”

“Night.”

And just like that, you’re out.

You wake up to the smell of coffee, your face digging into the pillow from where you’re lying on your stomach. You groan, cracking an eye open to face the 9:30 AM on your alarm clock. You don’t remember the last time you were up this early – willingly – at least.

You forgot that your mom was an early riser when you sat up. Fuck, you would actually love some coffee. The taste in your mouth is disgusting.

Seeing your mom positioned over the coffee maker was a welcome memory, the woman often being in charge in that department because she couldn’t cook to save her life.

“Morning sleepy head.” She greets with a soft smile. You feel a pang of guilt at the dark circles under her eyes. “Morning.” You grumble, taking a seat at the small circle dinner table. Your childhood home was quaint and cozy, nothing to write home about, but it was perfect for a family of three.

You lift a questioning brow at the plate of eggs and bacon she brings you, settling a cup of coffee next to it.

“Since when did you know how to make eggs and bacon?” You asked in amusement. “I had to learn eventually.” She jokes, taking a seat next to you with her own plate. “So, if I were to take a bite of these, I won’t get a mouth full of shell?” 

She huffs in faux irritation, “Shush and eat your food.” You just laughed.

Breakfast was nice, but your appetite was small. The withdrawal that you had faced last night was intense, so your stomach still felt kind of sensitive. You appreciate the smaller portions she had given you, like she’d known.

“I have to run some errands.” Your mom begins, “So, I’ll be out for the majority of the day.” You hum in acknowledgement, taking a sip of the creamer mixed liquid. “Cool. I think I’ll just stay here, try to get settled in.”

She sucks her teeth. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out exploring? I don’t want you cooped up in here all day.”

You know she’s just worrying about you, but her words feel like they have a double meaning.

What if I leave you alone and you relapse? What if I’m not here to stop you? What if I can’t put you back together? What if you leave again?

“I swear I’ll be fine here, I promise.” 

She hesitates for a moment before nodding.

You cast a look out to the window next to the front door and you purse your lips.

“Are the Reids still around?” You can’t help but ask. “Oh! You mean Spencer and Diana? I’m surprised you even remember them.” How could you not? “Haven’t really forgotten, just… I haven’t talked to them in a while.”

“Well, Spencer moved Diana into a care facility a year or two ago. I helped him settle during the transition and inevitably sell the house. He lives near his big government job in a well off area. It’s nice and humble.”

You nod, processing her words, but you can’t help the lump in your throat. He moved his mom into a care facility and you weren’t there. Holy fuck you feel like shit. 

“Do you still see him?” You push. She raises a brow at your questioning and a knowing smile starts to tug at the edge of her lips.

“Here and there. He comes to check up on me every now and again; brings me food or helps take care of the yard.” She sighs, “Though the last I heard he’s out of state working a case. Y’know, taking down criminals and saving the world and what not.” She waves the last part away in the air.

So he made it then. 

You remember him talking about becoming a FBI Agent back when you were younger, but he was afraid he couldn’t pass the physical since he’s always been a scrawny thing. You knew he’d find a way, he always did.

“I’m glad.” You say and you’re sure she knows the words that are unspoken. I’m glad you had someone here when I wasn’t.

It’s a strangely comforting feeling, knowing that they were still in contact and that he took care of her; and they said chivalry is dead.

“Me too.”

It took some insistence and reassuring before sending her away to get dressed while you did the dishes. Taking care of the house was so small compared to what she was doing for you, but you were desperate to pay her back somehow.

You milled about, but mostly focused on unpacking and making the space more like you.

You refused to open your old sketchbook, let alone actually draw in it. You opted to shoving it away in a drawer somewhere, out of sight and out of mind.

You took down the old drawings on the walls, but you left your old posters up. It was emptier by the time you were done, but you were sure you’d find out what to put in here. Maybe that’d be something you and your mom could do together.

You were pulled out of your contemplation by a gentle knocking at the door.

Was your mom expecting someone today? 

You didn’t look all that presentable, still in your shirt and pajama shorts from last night. Well, shit.

The one thing you hated about your front door was that there wasn’t a peephole, but from what you could see from the glass window at the top of the door, the man was tall and had a strong head of hair.

“If you’re looking for my mom, she’s not in right –” Your words died on your throat at the sight of Spencer Reid standing there in all his glory.

He was no longer the scrawny twenty-four year old that you once knew him as. Sure he was still lithe, but his features were stronger, and he sprouted up like a beanstalk. His hair was longer and curled around the back of his ears.

“Now.” You finished with wide eyes.

He seemed to be in the same state that you were in, your name leaving his lips in a breathless, disbelieving whisper.

“Hi.” Your words were failing you in the most humiliating way possible. Your greeting seemed to snap him out of his dazed stupor. He repeats your name again, “I – hi, hey! I… when did you come back into town?” He stuttered.

“Uh, yesterday afternoon.” Things were silent for a moment. “Long time no see, yeah?” You question meekly. “Yeah.” You cast a glance behind you. “Shit, where are my manners? Do you wanna come in? It’s too hot to stand out here like this.”

You open the door wider and gesture him inside.

Spencer hesitates for a moment before coming back in, taking in the space like it had changed since the last time he was there now that you were back.

You sit on the couch and gesture to him to do the same. 

He does, but it’s a bit awkward, the man holding onto his messenger bag in his lap like a lifeline, a white-knuckle tight grip on the fabric.

“I… uh. How are you?” You ask unsurely. His eyes flicker up to yours and your heart nearly stops at the deep brown in his irises. Those damn puppy dog eyes, how could you ever forget?

“I’m… I’m doing alright.”

“Cool, cool.” You nod with pursed lips.

“How about you?”

“Ah,” You chuckle. “I’m going. Just trying to figure things out.” He nods this time too.

“You can ask, you know.” You say. “I just – I don’t want to be rude.” You wave him off. “Listen, Spencer. If I was you, I probably wouldn’t even want to talk to me, let alone come inside. It’s been five years. I owe you this much.”

He deflated slightly, fingers reaching to pick at his cuticles. “I’m not mad at you.” He starts. “You should be.”

“But I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because I missed you.”

The words shot straight through your heart, and you felt nauseous again. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to apologize for, but it felt like you had run out of time. Would he even forgive you if you said as much?

“I missed you too, Spence.”

The skin of his cheeks flush a pretty pink hue, and you smile.

“You’re still as shy as ever.” You tease and he huffs, “No I’m not.” You laugh, indulging him. “Sure you’re not.” He glares at you playfully and the tension in the room eases significantly.

“I asked my mom about you.” You admit. “You did?” He asks with raised brows. “Yeah. I heard you’re a hot shot FBI agent now.”

He groans at your words, grinning slightly. “If you call mountains of paperwork and pictures of dead bodies being a hot shot, then clearly we have two different definitions.”

“Yeah but you get to save people, you know? I think that’s pretty fucking admirable.”

“I… thank you.”

“I also asked her about your mom. I heard she’s in a facility now. How… How is she? How are you?” You ask carefully. Spencer smiles softly at the question. “She’s good. It took her a while to adjust, but after she learned that they were trying to help her, she eased up on the nurses.”

“I bet she raised hell, huh?”

“Yep,” Spencer chuckles. “It was hard at first, you know? Having to get used to living without her. But I think it’s good for both of us. I’m not always able to be at home full time to take care of her, so knowing that she’s in good hands is comforting.” 

“I could imagine; but Spence, how are you? Seriously.”

“I’m okay. It’s been almost two years since she’s been there and I visit her as often as I can.”

“And my mom too.”

He blushes a deep scarlet. “What?”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear about you taking care of my mom, bringing her food and making sure she’s taking care of herself. I mean – that’s why you’re here now, right? To make sure she’s okay?” You stare deeply into his eyes, trapping him there. “Thank you, seriously. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“It’s nothing.” Spencer says humbly. “It’s not and you know it. You had no reason to stick around and help her after I left. But you did, and I’m grateful.”

“I told you, ____. I wasn’t angry, and honestly, I’m not angry now even after I’ve seen you. I’m just worried. Why are you back?” 

You gulp, casting your gaze to the floor. “Some shit hit the fan back in New York. I – I’m not ready to talk about it just yet.”

“Hey,” He starts softly and you look up. “That’s fine. Tell me when you’re ready. But you’re… but you’re staying, right?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out. “I’m back.”

“Would,” He gulps and clears his throat. “Would you like to get lunch together tomorrow? I just got back from a case so I have a day off.”

“Oh uh…” No one else knew of your alcoholism besides your mom and Luke, so having to admit it to Spencer felt almost embarrassing. “I have an AA meeting tomorrow, but would dinner work? You know I’ve never been a morning person.”

If Spencer’s shocked at hearing you’re going to an AA meeting tomorrow he doesn’t show it, instead nodding and pursing his lips.

“Dinner sounds great.”

“Great.” You say softly.

For the first time in a long while you felt warm, so unbelievably warm.

“Can’t wait.” You add and he smiles softly.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[pocketjoong]

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆noctem⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 〘act 1, chapter 2〙

〘Synopsis〙『Your hatred of dragons is a hate born of witnessing their flames consume your village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. The worst of all is the beast that haunts your dreams, the very dragon whose memory fuels a burning desire for revenge within you. But life has a way of unsettling even the most steadfast convictions. And when you stumble upon a truth that shatters the boundaries of your understanding, you begin to question the very essence of the world you live in.』

〘Pairing〙『Night Fury!Seonghwa x afab!Reader』

〘Genre〙『FANTASY, ACTION, SMUT』

〘Word Count〙『2.5k』

〘Chapter-specific Warnings〙『Based on How To Train Your Dragon. Canon-compliant violence. Mentions of dragons attacking the mc's village. Mentions of fire. Passing mention of injuries. MDNI.』

〘Banner Credits〙『@playmetheclassics』

please note: there will be NO taglist for this series

By the time you finish tending to the injuries of those who had been sent to the infirmary, the sun is rising in the distance. A weariness settles over you as you dress the wounds of the last person you have to tend to, and you look forward to the two weeks of peace after a dragon attack.

You rinse the grime and blood from your hands in the basin tucked in the corner before rushing out of the building. Relief washes over you at the sight of familiar figures at the edge of the cliff that overlooks the port. Even though they’re merely silhouettes against the morning light, you know each of them well enough to recognise them by their shadows.

As you move closer, you note that Yunho, Wooyoung, and Mingi, the village blacksmith, look battle-ravaged and tired. But they are watching the sunrise with content smiles. You approach them with a smile of your own, but you can’t help but scan their figures for any injuries that might need healing.

Amusement dances in your brother’s eyes at your worried expression, “I'm fine. Mostly unharmed save for a few small bruises and the soot lining my clothes.”

When you turn your focus to the others, you find them grinning back at you. “And you guys?”

“No open stitches or any new injuries. I told you I’d be careful,” Wooyoung declares, his tone light-hearted.

Mingi ruffles your hair while he offers his own reassurance, “I’m fine as well. I stuck to my workshop until the very end, only leaving when Yunho and Wooyoung needed assistance with the ballista.”

“Let’s go back home and get some rest. Wooyoung and I have a meeting to attend at the hall in a few hours,” Yunho says, leading you towards your home with a guiding hand on your shoulder. Mingi trails behind silently, waving in farewell before taking the dusty path to reach his house, which also doubles as his workshop.

You, Yunho, and Wooyoung share the house overlooking the village. All three of you moved here after losing your families to a brutal attack years ago. Despite being only a few months older than Wooyoung and barely a year older than you, Yunho seamlessly assumed the role of guardian for both of you. The weight he shouldered at the tender age of twelve, stepping into the shoes of a village leader after the tragedy, often made you feel bad for him. His duties far exceeded what any child should bear, but he bore them with a grace beyond his years.

The dream claws at your consciousness, a relentless reminder of the incident that tore through your family. You can handle the sympathetic looks of your fellow villagers, but the nightmares are another story. You hate them, for they persist, leaving you exhausted and weary even after a full night’s sleep.

You unlock the door, ushering the two males inside. As the door creaks open, the comfort of the space envelops you like a familiar embrace, and you can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves your lips.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You know you are dreaming, but the panic that grips your throat is a tangible force that twists your heart and leaves your hands shaking. It’s a suffocating reality that is too familiar, too hauntingly real.

Your surroundings are too hot, too bright, and suffused with smoke that blinds your vision. The orange flames dance menacingly in front of you, searing painfully against your skin. Your brain is screaming for you to do something, to move. But you are frozen in the face of danger and struggle to comprehend the unfolding nightmare.

There’s a presence beside you, but the ringing in your ears drowns their voice. Squinting through the smoke, urgency compels you to find an escape route. If you don’t move, you’ll be burnt to a crisp by the flames, and you won’t let a dragon be the reason you meet your end. 

There’s no time to waste, you realise when there’s a crash in the adjacent room. The sound is what finally jolts you into action, and without hesitation, you grab the person next to you and bolt towards safety.

The relief when you escape the fire all but vanishes as the sight in front of you changes, and you find Yunho trapped in the claws of a massive dragon. His desperate struggle mirrors the fear etched in his eyes. The image shakes you to your core. It’s new, and you know why you’re seeing this: every time Yunho is out fighting the dragons during an attack, you can’t help but worry about his safety.

There’s a beat of silence as if the world has stopped around you before you jump towards the creature holding him hostage. But you’re too late. You meet the ground with a crash while the dragon takes off, taking Yunho away from you.

You jolt awake, your heart pounding so hard that you feel it wants to escape your chest. You’re covered in cold sweat, and you feel it trail down your back. You gasp for air, for the relief that comes with your lungs being filled with oxygen. Instinctively, you look down to check your hands, half-expecting to find the remnants of blood and soot on them.

Dazed and disoriented, you rise, stumbling towards the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, you wince at your wide-eyed and tear-stained face. You’re breathing fast, too quick to be considered normal. Staring at your trembling hands, you run them beneath the water before splashing the cold substance on your face.

Feeling a presence next to you, you turn around to find your brother gazing at you worriedly. But before you can ease his worry, Wooyoung walks in through your bedroom door, which is now wide open courtesy of Yunho.

“Is everything okay?” Wooyoung breaks the silence, voice is still gravelly from sleep. You feel bad for waking them up and worrying them like this, but right now, all you can focus on is the raging panic inside of you. “I heard you screaming, Y/N.”

You blink; your throat definitely feels raw, but you can’t remember hearing yourself scream.

“I think it was a bad dream,” Yunho mutters softly, eyes still trained on you.

Dream?

It’s almost as if everything falls into place when you hear Yunho’s words. You had the nightmare once again, the same one you had had since you lost your family during an attack when you were ten years old. With clammy hands, you tightly grip the bedside table in a futile attempt to steady yourself. Stumbling, you crash onto the floor as you try to calm your furiously beating heart.

Yunho scrambles to kneel next to you, brows furrowed in worry. “Y/N, breathe with me, c’mon. ’S okay, you’re safe.” You let him tuck you into his chest, the touch becoming an anchor to help you ground yourself. You breathe deeply, timing your breaths in tandem with Yunho’s. You remind yourself over and over again that he’s safe and sound.

“Was it the same dream?” Wooyoung’s voice is closer now, and you open your eyes to see him in front of you. You shrug as an answer to Wooyoung’s question.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” you whisper apologetically, but they quickly shush you.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Wooyoung murmurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if he already knows your answer, “Or would you like to help me with lunch?”

“Brunch,” you declare, carefully disentangling yourself from Yunho, who has fallen asleep. Little snores leave his mouth, and you suppress a giggle. You grab a pillow from your bed, gently supporting his neck to ensure he sleeps comfortably even if he’s on the floor.  Quietly, you follow Wooyoung into the kitchen.

“What are we making?” You question, standing in the middle of the room while Wooyoung rummages through the cupboards.

“How do omelettes and buttered toast sound? Yunho bought bread from the village baker last evening, and I’m sure we haven’t run out of the jam we prepared,” he stops his hunt and starts gathering the things needed for the proposed meal.

“We also have some leftover meat pie,” you inform him, fishing out the pie from the pantry and setting it on the table. Grabbing a large bowl, you crack some eggs while Wooyoung chops the vegetables, the two of you falling into rhythm easily.

Wooyoung reaches over to add the chopped vegetables to the bowl, stirring them with the eggs as you place two pans on the stove. Soon, you have two omelettes sizzling in unison. Carefully, you add different spices and ingredients to each one based on your individual preferences. Spotting extra vegetables, you throw them in a pan to sauté them while Wooyoung handles the omelettes.

“Wow,” Yunho walks into the kitchen, drawn in by the aroma of food. He peeks over your shoulders. “That’s a feast right there.”

Eventually, you and Wooyoung finish cooking and carry everything to the table with Yunho's assistance. The three of you happily devour the food, joking, teasing, and laughing between bites.

“I have to go into the forest to gather more herbs. It’s amazing how fast we burn through them after the attacks,” you sigh, already tired by the mere thought of having to haul a huge batch of herbs from the forest.

“Be careful,” Yunho warns you. “The forest is safe right now, but you can’t be careful enough.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure with a smile. “I’ve done this so many times.”

After bidding goodbye to the two males, you follow one of the trails behind your house that leads into the forest. You hum a small tune as you walk through the woods. Despite the village being attacked every fortnight, the forest is safe because the dragons avoid lingering for fear of getting captured. The chirping birds and the small animals frolicking around in the undergrowth lift your spirits. You take a deep breath, unable to stop yourself from breaking into a smile.

The sound of a nearby waterfall catches your attention, prompting you to change course towards the opening through the trees. However, you halt in your tracks when you spot broken trees and upturned earth, suggesting that something came barreling down from the sky.

The only thing that would crash down from the sky is a dragon.

Unsheathing your shortsword, you slowly approach an outgrown rock where the wreckage seems the worst. You take a deep breath to calm yourself before peeking to check if you’re right, only to hide behind the rock once again quickly. There, on the other side, is a dragon you’ve never seen before.

It doesn’t take a genius to identify it as a Night Fury, also known as ‘the offspring of lightning and death itself.’ The beast’s scales are pitch black, adorned with small horns that spike from above its eyes, down its neck, back, and tail, the tip of which fans out like that of a whale. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look as terrifying as its reputation suggests, resembling more of a feline than a vicious reptile. For being a dragon dreaded across the seven seas, the beast looks tamer than the ones you’ve come across over the course of your life.

Peeking from behind the rock again, you realise the dragon is tangled in rope. There are signs of struggle, showing that it tried but failed to free itself from the binds. As it seems to be asleep, you approach cautiously, awed by the sheer size of the creature. The dragon likely hears you because, even though it can’t move, one of its eyes opens, fixing a stare at you. It releases a warning growl when you move even closer, but you scoff, knowing fully well that it won’t be able to harm you.

“You know, you really look more like a cat than a dragon,” your tone is belittling as you tilt your head to meet the dragon’s gaze head-on.

The dragon emits what seems like a scoff, earning an eye-roll from you. “You should be nicer to me. After all, I could kill you, and then what would happen, huh?  Your little family would find it harder and harder to attack us, considering that you’re the one who makes it difficult for us to bring down the rest of your kind.”

It hits you that this would be your first dragon kill, and for some reason, it gives you a sense of satisfaction. Eliminating the Night Fury is a step closer towards your goal to avenge your family and the countless others who were destroyed by these beasts.

Raising your blade, you look down at the beast with a blank expression. The dragon gazes at you with big, pleading eyes, its pupils round and sparkly like that of a cat. Your grip on the weapon falters, and sensing your hesitation, it lets out the most pathetic of whimpers.

“You have some nerve, really,” you sigh, the urge to harm the creature gradually ebbs away the longer you look into its eyes. It’s a living, breathing creature, and it goes against all your ideals as a healer to kill a sentient being. “First, your kind kills my family, then you guys literally cause so much damage to my village every time you attack, and here I am, wanting to spare you? Why can’t you be as ugly as a Gronckle?”

The dragon blinks at you in confusion.

“Stop looking at me like that!” You scold it, only causing the dragon to huff, this time in amusement. Sensing that you’re not going to kill it, the beast lets out another whine and closes its eyes.

Sighing once again, you use your sword to cut through the ropes, loosening the bonds that bind the poor creature. That is your second mistake because the moment it is free, the dragon lunges at you, pinning you against the rock as you gasp in shock. It growls at you, keeping you restrained with its claws.

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely?” you mock the dragon. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but you can’t stop taunting it. “I save your sorry life, and you thank me by pinning me to a rock? Quite the peculiar way to express gratitude, I must say… and quite kinky.”

The beast regards you with a look of sheer disbelief, scoffs dismissively, and turns around to fly further into the forest. Only when it crashes into an outcrop of rocks, do you notice the unsteadiness of its flight.

Is it injured?

Your brows furrow as a pang of worry pierces through your heart, but before you can act on it, the realisation of how late it it dawns upon you. You haven’t even started collecting the herbs you had ventured into the forest for. Deciding to return tomorrow to check on the dragon, should it still be around, you start the laborious task of gathering the herbs you need.

[tasteofthedivine93]

The Beauty of the Beast - Messmer x F!Reader - Elden Ring Fic - Part 8

TasteOfTheDivine // Masterlist

Ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/57094387/chapters/146235355 Fic Rating: Explicit🌶️🌶️ (Chapter: Mature🌶️ ) Category: F/M Fandom: Elden Ring // Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erd Tree Relationships: Messmer x F!Reader // Messmer the Impaler x F!Reader Warnings/Tags: Light self-pleasure, fluff, lots and lots of flirting, mutual pining. Words: 4428 

MASTERLIST // <- Part 7 // Part 9 ->

Author note: PLEASE NOTE THE RATING CHANGE! Sorry to those who wanted a cute fairy-tale fic. I can't help myself. Yes, Bridgerton inspired one scene. Ophis and Fidi are adorable but I sometimes forget about them, they're just... there. So cute little balled up shoulder snakes. Next chapter will be another rating change! I thought about keeping it M but that's boring. Back to BATB storyline but mixed it up a little.

Your stomach is in knots, but yet you feel so warm and content for the first time in years. You practically skip down the hallway back to your room. You fly inside and jump on your bed with grace, hair flying onto the duvet as you spread your arms wide. You smile into the fabric and let out a sigh. 

You think of Messmer, how intense the last week has been, today especially. But also you feel a twinge of anxiety in your stomach over how fast it’s all going. You sit up, biting your lip, you play with your fingers as you overthink everything.

Your mind racing with questions; Does he like you like that? Does he want you to stay? Will he be able to control his temper? What about his past, can you look past his war crimes? 

You start to breathe heavily, your chest feels as if a lead weight smacked you in the sternum. You feel a small sheen of sweat over your body and tears line your eyes. Your skin tingles with adrenaline. 

A small knock shatters you from your panic, your head shoots up to be greeted by one of the ghostly servants. 

“Excuse me, miss, we’ve drawn a bath for you.” The apparition mutters. You feel you’ve barely seen them around the castle, but in the back of your mind you know they’ve always been watching. 

You timidly smile, trying to hide your anxiety. You stand up on shaky legs and follow the ghost out to the washrooms. Inside was a large copper basin on clawed feet, hot steam rises from the milky coloured water, the surface covered in petals. The bath resides by a large bay window overlooking the grounds, the snow has already started to melt away showing the luscious greens of the grass and trees. Seeing the hues of colours calms you down a little. 

Slowly you remove your clothing, feeling the fabric fall from your body you feel lighter and less restricted. You felt exposed bathing in such a large room, but the dark walls and candle light made you feel peaceful. Slowly you sink into the warm water, the smell of blood-roses and green moss tickle your sinuses and ease the ache in your muscles. 

You recall back to the last few days with Messmer, how much your relationship has developed and how much he’s been open with you. You feel you’ve barely told him anything about you. You recall holding his hand earlier, how despite how he feels there’s blood on his hands and the char mark on his right palm, they’re still so soft and gentle on you. 

Closing your eyes you sink deeper into the water, the lapping of the small waves tickle at your breasts making you squirm. You’re reminded of this morning and how you felt a small warmth pool between your legs at his tenderness. You cannot deny he’s handsome, a strong nose, sharp jaw but soft eyes and carved lips. 

You feel a flush on your cheeks at your crush on him, he’s a Prince, maybe not of this land but a Prince nonetheless. He’s regal and noble, he must have been raised by the best and brightest, learning the ways of nobility and you learnt how to raise animals and live off a dying farm. 

You frown, doubting he would ever see anything interesting in you. 

You sink under the water, letting the warmth smother you, the weight of the water easing your anxiety. You hold yourself under the water till your lungs sting from the lack of oxygen. You quickly rise out of the water, splashing some over the side and onto the floor. You brush your wet hair from out of your eyes and relax back. 

Curiosity starts to build in you, closing your eyes you slowly let your fingers glide down your body, over the swell of your breast, you tease yourself and gasp at your sensitivity. You feel a tender pulsating between your thighs - you press them together to gain a little relief. Instead, you glide down further till your fingers rest on the apex between your legs, warm and wet despite the cooling water surrounding you. You let your fingers glide over yourself, letting out small pants and moans at the growing warmth in your stomach. 

You think of Messmer, how strong he felt when you were pressed against him, his strong shoulders and long fingers. You imagine his hands over your body, teasing you, having his fingers inside you. You let out another gasp at the thought. You’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before. You’ve had crushes in your youth and one lover, but this desire boils in your blood like no other. 

You keep teasing and touching yourself, when a small knock is heard at the door. You snap sharply out of your head and shout;

“Yes?!” 

A voice on the other side of the door is heard; “The Lord is waiting for you, m’lady. When you are ready we will escort you to the dining room.” 

“Okay, thank you.” You flop your head back onto the rim of the tub, running your hands over your face trying to calm your arousal. 

Shaking your head to rise from the tub, water splashing again over the stone below as you dry yourself down and towel dry your hair. You glance at the other side of the room to see a privacy divider, again as the same as the castle decorated with golden snakes and leaves. 

You plod around and hanging up was the most regal, breathtaking red dress, accented with gold and black trim. You gasp at the sight of it, you carefully feel the satin fabric between your fingers, you notice the shift of the red tone in the light, blending between red and black. 

You hesitate, you feel unworthy of wearing such a beautiful gown. You worry the shape wouldn’t suit your figure. You step away from the dress, but feel a strike in your chest as you wonder, no, you know that Messmer picked this out for you specifically. 

Taking in a deep breath, you carefully drape the fabric over your shoulders and down your curves. The neckline left nothing to the imagination, plunging down between your breasts. The rest flowed freely over your legs but hugged your hips. You feel your face blush as deep as the dress - you feel so exposed but at the same time empowered. You’ve never worn anything so daring, your dresses have been practical, made for hours of labour. 

You twist and fidget with the fabric till you feel comfortable. The idea that Messmer picked this dress made your stomach feel warm and the pulse between your legs returns. You shake your head and ignore the thoughts. Slipping on the pair of slippers you tie the ribbon around your ankle. On a small table you see a beautiful ornate bracelet you slip onto your wrist and a golden chain you drape around your neck. 

You look at yourself in the foggy mirror and smooth out the dress. With no undergarments or chemise you feel very exposed from what you’re used to. But you sigh and remember you’re a guest here and this must be how the gods in this world live. You feel overwhelmed all of a sudden, you forgot that Messmer is the son of a god, not just a Queen, you were more focused on his Prince title than anything. 

You scoop up your hair and tie it loosely around your left shoulder, still slightly damp from the bath, you twirl a few strands around your face. 

Letting out a final sigh, you head out of the washroom and walk down the corridor. You feel for a moment to dash back into your chambers and hide away. But your feet continue down the hall. 

You can hear Messmer talking, you stop before entering the landing and listen to him. Hearing the one-sided conversation was amusing. You let out a giggle and saunter out into the landing. 

Messmer has his back turned to you, instead of him getting the first look, Ophis and Fidi turn to see you. Despite the creatures not being human, their expression was that of shock and disbelief. 

Fidi turns and jabs Messmer in the cheek, the man swats the snake away.

“Stop that, the maiden will be down shortly, I need to think of what to say,” he mutters through gritted teeth. Fidi somehow frowns at him, gesturing his head towards you. Messmer turns sharply, scouring at the snake's interruptions but soon looks up and sees you standing at the top of the stairs. He stops in his tracks, jaw slacked and his hand grips the stair rail hard you worry he might break the wood again.

“Hello,” you whisper, the room was so quiet you knew he heard you. His eye shifts so fast around your body and face, it felt as if time stood still. You smile hard, blushing at his intense gaze and slowly head down the stairs. The dress pools at your feet and you worry you’ll trip, but slowly you step down closer and closer, you feel him radiating heat. 

He finally snaps his mouth shut as you stand a few steps higher so you’re eye-level with him. His ashen skin pink with blush, you can see his freckles and lines dot his face. He clears his throat and reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips he gently kisses your knuckles. You feel a breath hitch in your throat at how soft his lips are. 

“Thoust look divine.” He whispers into your knuckles, hot breath warming your skin. You curtsey as best as you can. You finally notice he’s wearing a similar tunic tied together with a golden cord, this one all black and gold lining longer than his usual attire but still flowing and embroidered with stars and leaves. Around his shoulders he wore a deep red sash made of silk or satin. He also dawned gold and bronze cuffs and pendants. But striking to you, he wore his hair half up and half down, roughly tied in a bun at the back. 

The warmth between your legs grew, you bite your lip at him nervously. 

He still held tightly to your fingers, his eye staring at you as if he was painting a portrait of you in his mind. Fidi and Ophis suddenly appear in your view. You smile at the snakes as they wrap around you.

“They say you look like a goddess.” Messmer lets out a breath close to a whimper and looks away. Fidi nudges you with his nose on your arm, tongue tickling your skin. Ophis nods her head at you. 

“And you?” you mutter, parting your lips and looking at him with hooded eyes.

Messmer opened his mouth to reply, hesitating a little. 

He looks down at the floor and lets out a nervous chuckle; “I agree, thou looks angelic.” 

Messmer slowly raises his head to return looking at you, not before letting himself slowly trail his gaze slowly up your figure, when he catches a glance at the forbidden skin between your breasts. His fingers grip hard on your hand and you let out a small hiss at the pain. He snaps his hand back, eyebrows raised;

“Did I burn thee?” he looks at his charred palm. Reaching over,  you place your hand on his shoulder.

“No, you just squeezed my fingers, that’s all.” You smile gently, comforting him. 

“Apologies.” He reaches out to you with his left hand, letting you gently place your fingers on top of his. Slowly you draw a circle on his clean palm, watching as he shivers. He cups your fingers and slowly guides you down the rest of the stairs. 

You watch as Ophis and Fidi curl themselves up into Messmer’s cloak, wrapping around his torso and around his shoulders, their heads poking out from under the fabric on each shoulder. You wonder if Messmer asked for some privacy from his companions. 

Tilting your head, you observe how smaller Messmer can look without the snake’s body floating in the air around him, expanding his cloak off his body. He looks more human. You smile at the snakes, scrunching your nose at them. They flick out their tongues at you and wiggle. 

Hand in hand he walks you to the dining room. You hadn’t been back inside since the incident this morning. Your eyes immediately glace at the window, now perfectly fixed as if it was never broken.

The aroma of food makes you internally moan as in front of you on the table was a beautiful spread of all sorts of foods, too much for just two people, fruits and meats, breads and soups. The room was alight with hundreds of candles, making the room warm. The fireplace gently cracking away, embers slowly dying out. 

Messmer guides you to the other end of the room and pulls out the chair for you to sit. You frown as you sit, looking at your place setting and already feeling intimidated by the amount of forks and knives. You look up, lips parted to Messmer but he’s already walking to his chair at the other end of the table. 

He sits down and looks over at you. He notices a flustered look on your face.

“Is anything the matter?” he asks softly.

You open your mouth but close it. “It’s just…” you begin, not wanting to seem ungrateful at the place setting and the amount of food. You bite your lip and chew the skin, thinking carefully. You freely open your mouth and accept whatever words come out next; “You’re so far away.” You look sheepish.

Messmer replies timidly; “Oh, my apologies, this is custom.” 

You raise your head and look around at the table and food, your stomach growling. However despite your timidness, you suddenly feel a burst of confidence, standing up you turn around your chair and pull it by the back all the way along the length of the table till right next to Messmer.

Next you plod back to pick up one lone fork and the plate and walk back over to Messmer. You carefully place the cutlery down, smiling at him as he just watches you. You retake your seat and shrug your shoulders at him, tilting your head.

Messmer feels his heart stop beating at your adorability. You bat your lashes at him, smirking. 

He clears his throat and lets out a breathy laugh, reaching over to pick up some fruit and meats to pile on his plate. The clattering sound of metal on metal echoes around the room. 

“Please, eat.” he gestures to the spread. 

Messmer gracefully starts to cut at his food with the highest decorum. You look up at him, looking sheepish once again, your shoulders drop and you sink into yourself.  

“Is something the matter?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned; “is the food not to your liking?” 

You snap your head up; “No, no it’s wonderful, I’m overwhelmed by the choices, it’s just…” you pick up your fork and twist it in your fingers. You wrap your whole hand around the handle and stab at the plate like a toddler learning to feed themselves. 

You can feel Messmer watching you, you drop the fork as it clashes against the metal plate. Messmer reaches over to you, cupping your hand in his, running his long thumb over your knuckles. Your face feels hotter than this morning, you know he can see your embarrassment.

“I’m used to using my hands or a spoon for stews.” You mutter, feeling soothed by Messmers tender grasp. “I am of lower-class” you fidget with the neckline of the dress, pulling the strap higher on your shoulder. 

Messmer remains silent as he nods. 

He takes a deep breath and without speaking, picks up his own cutlery and moves it to the side. He reaches over to a steaming pot and picks up a bowl, he scoops up some of the contents into the container and places it in front of you. He does the same for himself. 

You stare at the bowl, the liquid shimmering and reflecting the flicker of the candles around the room. You look back up at Messmer, who smiles at you and picks up the bowl with both hands and brings it to his lips. You feel your face twitch into a light smile at his actions. The idea of knowing he doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable was encouraging. 

Picking up the bowl, you do the same, cupping the warm vessel you bring the broth to your lips and drink down the warm contents. You’re reminded of home, your mothers cooking, the community of the village coming together in times of need. However you remain strong and hold your emotions at bay. 

Reaching over, you grab the largest bread loaf you’ve seen, you tear into the crust, bits creating a mess on the table and dip it into your bowl. You look up at Messmer who narrows his eye playfully at you. He smirks and reaches over to a pile of meat, plucking a cut and shoving the entire strip into his mouth. A little gravy dribbles down his chin but he scoops it up quickly and lets out a laugh. 

You smile hard and do the same, savouring the taste as you do. The pair of you don't speak, just exchange looks and laughs as you both pick at the food with your hands, getting messmer by the second. 

Finally you both have your fill, the table covered in food scraps. Looking down you’re shocked you were able to keep your dress clean. Messmer cleans his mouth with his napkin and tries to clean his hands laughing.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in years.” He stands up and walks over to the side of the room, grabbing a pitcher of water and bowl. You watch as he pours in some water and picks up a cloth, soaking the fabric. He turns to you and saunters over, he reaches out for your hands. Gently he cleans you up, your mind reminiscing on your rescue and how you cleaned him up first. 

Glancing at you, he notices a small bit of food stuck to your jaw, on instinct, he gently cups your chin and moves your head to the side. You feel a shiver down your spine at his gentle touch. You tilt your head more, exposing your neck. You feel the strap of your dress slither down your shoulder a little. 

Messmer just stares at your thin slender neck, wanting to reach out and touch the sensitive flesh, to kiss it, to taste it. You look over and catch him staring, his breathing becomes shallow. You feel your cheeks blush at his intense gaze and you twitch back into your seat, feeling that warmth pool back between your legs.

He notices your strap, letting go of your chin he lets his fingers glide over your soft skin, he hooks his finger under the fabric and pulls it back into place. He looks up at you, catching your eyes, dark and filled with longing.  

Messmer stands up abruptly and walks back to the basin, hands gripping the pitcher hard he shakes, nearly spilling water everywhere. He quickly cleans himself up, giving himself a moment to calm down as he feels himself twitch under his tunic. 

He takes in the deepest breath, trying to calm himself down before his situation gets worse. Calming his nerves, he straightens his back up and returns his stoic posture as he gets an idea, smiling to himself. 

He walks back over to you and holds out his hand, you take it without haste, he pulls you up and marches out of the room, your heart flutters at what he plans next, your mind racing with all sorts of thoughts. You try to keep up behind him, his long legs taking long strides and tugging you behind him.

You reach a larger door than the normal ones around the castle, this one not decorated with snakes but flowers and vines. He picks up your hands, looking down at you with the biggest smile you’ve seen him do. 

“I’ve not shown you this room, I hope you like it”. He pushes open the doors, they creak and groan under the weight, Messmer pushes like it weighs nothing. Inside stood a grand ballroom, giant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, that is also painted with clouds and stars. Surrounding the room were pillars made of marble, the floor so shiny you could see your reflection. You look around in amazement, lips parted and head craned back. You spin in circles as you look around at the beauty. Opposite, Messmer just watches you. 

Your arms spread out wide, you spin and move lightly on your feet. Looking at the end of the room, you see the largest bay window filling the wall from top to bottom. Outside you see the purple night sky, stars twinkle and dance, the galaxy swirling against the velvet black. Distracted, you suddenly feel warmth on your arms as Messmer cups his hands on your wrists and turns you around. 

He smiles, steps away and bows at you. Nervous, you curtsey as best as you can. He steps forward and takes your hands again. 

“I don’t know how to dance,” you confess. He leans down and cups your waist in his hand, bringing you closer. Your face to his chest, he leans down slightly. You position your other hand on his bare arm, his skin warm. 

“No matter,” he squeezes you tight, “just follow my lead.” He smiles and starts to move slowly giving you time to learn the steps. You both walk slowly in circles around the room. It felt weird dancing to no music, but you hear a soft gentle melody play in your head.

You keep looking down at your feet, worried you’ll step on his toes. You feel his finger under your chin and tilt your head up towards him. You part your lips and let out a breath at his beauty. He pulls your arm over your head and spins you around, your hair circling around your shoulders. He guides you to step around him, fingers still intertwined and he watches you prance around him. 

He grabs your hands and turns you around, your back to his chest, you feel his strong muscles and you feel your knees go weak for a moment, you stumble and mutter your apologies. You imagine his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. Instead he spins you back forward and you see the snakes gently unfurl from under the cloak. 

Before you can move, you feel Ophis and Fidi slither around your arms and hoist you up into the air slightly. You hold onto Messmer, fingers tight in his hand and your other hand flies to grips his tunic for balance. Level with his face, you realise how close you are, the details of his skin stand out. 

You let out a gleeful yelp at the swift movement. You both spin together, you throw your head back into a laugh. Messmer joins you in your joy, smiling from ear to ear. He cannot recall the last time he’s smiled and laughed so much. 

You feel Messmer let go of your hand and scoop you up behind your thighs, lifting you higher against his body. The snakes release their grip and you let your hands rest against his shoulders. You look up at the ceiling as he hoists you higher, your arms spread out wide for just a moment, you take in a breath. 

He holds you tight, until he realises he is face to face with your bosom, your dress gives a little and opens a little wider exposing more of your breasts. Also being so close he can see the outline of your nipples through the fabric. 

He quickly lets out a gasp and digs his fingers into the flesh of your hip as he feels you slipping. Trying to ignore his desires, he looks up at you and sees nothing but beauty.

His chest flips as you look down at him with hooded eyes and a gentle smile on your lips. He sees your once shining eyes are blown out, pupils taking over your iris, flooding your eyes with longing. 

Slowly, you lift your hand and cup his cheek, smoothing your thumb under his closed eye. Your fingertips lace in his red locks. You swear you feel him growl deep in his chest as your nails scrape against the skin behind his ear and jaw, his eye flutters.

 You inspect him again, his freckles, his lines, how red his lashes are. Your eyes meet the golden orb that highlights his face, you feel your stomach flip. The warmth pools between your legs again, you feel yourself become a little wet as he squeezes your plump hips.

Messmer stands back up, but lets his hands glide up your sides and down your arms. He cups your hands and he brings them to his face and kisses your knuckles again tenderly. The sensation of shooting fire through your veins. 

“I thank thee for a wonderful evening.” He whispers into your hands, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver up your spine. You feel your breath hitch and you simply nod, humming in reply. 

He takes your hand and leads you out of the ballroom, you glance back one last time at the grand architecture. You both walk in a comfortable silence, you notice that his companions have settled back into his cloak out of view. 

You both climb the stairs slowly, as if you don’t wish the night to ever end. You squeeze his fingers as you reach the top of the stairs, here is where you should part ways. You to the left, him to the right. 

However you both pause, enduring in silence once again. You look up at him, bashful but you still find yourself biting your lip. Questions linger on your lips but you don’t speak a word. You read his face, also silently screaming a thousand questions. Instead, he carefully lets go of your hand and bows to you once again. You blink a few times and curtsy, picking up your dress you slowly walk back to your room, your chest drowning you in a flurry of emotions. You don’t wish to ruin a perfect evening, you shouldn’t let your lustful desires overshadow the wonderful, dare you say - romantic evening. 

But you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder at him, hoping he is still watching you. Your heart drops when you see him walking to his own room instead.

[thorsenmark]

Living a Tradition of Solitude as I Head for the Mountains by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A setting looking to the west while taking in a view down the Loneliest Road in America (US 50) while standing at the Nevada and Utah state line. My thought on composing this image was to get close to the highway and capture an image looking down the road. I decided on a focal point that was nearby what did close down a little on the aperture to have some more distant objects a little in focus.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Jim Street, Instagram Boyfriend

Requested Here by @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses

Pairing: Jim Street x shy!fem!reader

Summary: You want a picture but are too shy to ask anyone to take it. When Jim Street sees you waiting, he becomes the Instagram boyfriend he was born to be.

Warnings: so much fluff, Luca and Hondo (lovingly) trash talk Deac and his advice

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Los Angeles looks different from the top. Standing outside the Griffith Observatory, most of the LA basin is clear in the daylight, and all the people taking pictures in front of the view prove its beauty. You’d like a picture, too, but between your shyness and not seeing anyone who looks like they’d be willing to stop for someone other than themselves, you’ve taken to standing at the side and waiting for the right moment. When – or if – you see someone who looks nice enough that you could ask for their help, then you’ll worry about getting the right words out.

“Why are we here again?” Street asks as Luca leads him around the observatory.

“We’re scouting,” Luca answers.

“Scouting what? You can’t see anything clearly from up here, man. Except the restaurant that you promised to take me to.”

“After I finish my errands,” Luca reminds him. He slaps Street’s back and adds, “Let me do what I need to do.”

Street sighs as he nods. Once Luca has walked several paces ahead, Street mumbles, “Sure, I’ll just be here. Starving.”

While Luca approaches a telescope, Street shakes his head and looks out over the overlook balcony. There are couples taking pictures, men and women posing for quick selfies, and… someone else watching the other people. Street forgets about his hunger, though it had been slightly played up for Luca, as he watches you. You’re nervous, he can tell that easily, but as he watches your eyes flit from person to person and sees your bottom lip drawn between your teeth, he knows that he needs to do something.

While you turn toward the view momentarily, Street approaches you. Even if his team thinks differently and reminds him often, he is a good man and would do anything to help someone who needs it. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, he’ll try to help. You look up just as he reaches you, and he smiles easily.

“Hey,” Street begins. “Do you need some help?”

Your breath catches at the view. Not Los Angeles below you, no, you’ve seen that, but the man standing before you is so handsome that you have to remind your body to breathe. At your silence, he raises his eyebrows but continues smiling.

“I- uh- would you maybe be willing to take my picture?” you force out, mentally kicking yourself for how small and shy your voice sounds. Who could blame you? another part of your mind wonders.

Street releases a breath, relieved that you are okay. He’d been concerned that something had happened, but now that he hears you and connects the dots, he can see that you just wanted a picture but are shy. Just looking for the right person and time to ask, he assumes.

“Absolutely! I’ll take as many as you want,” Street answers quickly.

You smile and turn your chin to the side, growing shyer at his undivided attention and the sound of his voice. The observatory relies on the beauty of the heavens for advertising, but you think the real beauty is standing before you. And asking for your phone, you realize with a start.

“Sorry,” you murmur as you pass your phone to him.

“No worries,” he assures. “What kind of picture do you want?”

“Is there more than one?” you inquire, tilting your head to the side.

Street chuckles at the curiosity in your body language and wonders why more people haven’t taken pictures of you. You’re stunning, and even if you’re too shy to ask, surely someone else can see that your beauty needs to be captured.

“In that case,” he begins, “I’ll take the pictures and you just keep doing what you’re doing, being gorgeous.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, and they warm as you smile.

“I’m Street, by the way. Well, Jim Street, but everyone calls me Street because…” Street rambles.

You introduce yourself in reply, and he watches you on the phone screen. Seeing you through the camera lens is different, and Street’s words dry up. “Okay, I’m going to take pictures,” he whispers.

Street bends his knees and squats, trying to find the perfect angle. He moves one foot back without standing, and your smile widens at his dedication.

“Hey, if I fall to my death trying to get this right, make sure you get the picture, alright?” Street requests. “I’ll throw the phone back up to you.”

You laugh, not the shy, swallowed chuckle from before, but a real laugh and Street taps the screen so many times he momentarily worries that you’ll run out of storage space.

“That’s awful,” you chide lightly. “There’s no way a picture of me is worth that.”

Street lowers your phone to send a serious look over the top. “Don’t do that.”

You sober quickly, your laughs dying at the tone of his voice. “Okay,” you whisper.

You bring your hands together before you, and Street snaps another photo as he stands. He opens your camera roll and begins swiping backward to check the images he captures. When he sees the first picture of you laughing, he freezes. In a moment, looking at that candid, Jim Street falls for you, and he falls harder and faster than if he had gone off the side of the balcony.

“Do they look okay?” you inquire.

Street looks up but can’t find a single word to say. You’re just as beautiful in person, yet he can’t communicate all the feelings in his chest right now.

“Let me get one more,” he forces out.

“Sure.”

“Put your left hand on the railing,” Street instructs. “Good, now turn your chin toward me. Perfect.”

He drops into what you can only describe as a Spider-Man pose and leans to the side to take the picture. Your smile turns genuine while you watch him, and he hums contentedly as he finishes testing the angles.

“Thank you so much,” you say as he stands. “I honestly can’t thank you enough.”

Street nods but doesn’t look away from your phone for a moment. When he hands it back, your fingers brush his, bringing all those sudden feelings he felt before back like a raging flood.

“Thank you,” you repeat, quieter.

“I hope this wasn’t too forward, but I texted myself, so I have your number if you need anything,” Street responds. “Amateur photographer or otherwise.”

You drop your chin but force yourself to hold eye contact with Street as he speaks. With your fingers curling into a shy, nervous fist, you nod.

“That’s fine,” you assure him softly. “And… I’d like to talk to you since you have my number.”

“Great.”

“Street! Let’s go!” Luca calls from across the balcony.

“That’s my cue,” Street tells you. “I’ll talk to you later, pretty girl.”

You bite your bottom lip to keep your emotions somewhat contained. “Good.”

Street smiles at you once more before he turns and walks away. You watch him for a moment, then look down at your phone. As you unlock it, it buzzes with a new text. The contact’s name: Jim Street, photographer for the prettiest girl in the world makes you smile. Once the text thread is open, however, your smile drops as shock takes its place. Street sent himself a picture of you laughing, not just a text. When you look up again, he and his friend are gone. At least it’s a good picture for once, you think.

“Who was the girl?” Luca asks.

“What girl?” Street counters.

“What girl? The girl at the observatory.”

Street tells Luca your name but doesn’t explain how you met or started talking. You’ve been on Street’s mind since then, but you’re shy and he doesn’t want to scare you away by rushing into anything. He fell hard and fast, but that doesn’t mean he should try to force you to do the same, especially when it could risk scaring you away.

“Are you going to see her again?” Luca asks.

“I want to,” Street admits. “It’s too fast, you know. We just met.”

“And you were looking at each other like you were fifteen seconds from going to Vegas and getting married. Text her, call her, whatever it is you do.”

“But-“

“Don’t argue with me, Streeter. I’ll call Duke in here to tackle you.”

“With what strength?” Street argues. “Kisses?”

“Or I’ll tell Deacon and let him know you want relationship advice,” Luca challenges with a knowing smile.

“You’re evil, Luca. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Luca turns away from Street and answers, “It’s been mentioned, but they usually take it back when I’m their groomsman.”

Street rolls his eyes but reaches for his phone regardless. He needs to see you; more than the picture that has become his phone’s home screen and consumed all his thoughts, he needs to see you in person again. The text he sends is simple, just an explanation that he thinks you are beautiful and kind, and he wants to spend time with you.

Street begins to put his phone away, but your response is nearly immediate: I think the same about you. When and where?

Street throws his fist up in victory and ignores Luca’s muffled, “I told you!” from the other room.

“I can’t believe you said yes,” Street says during your date.

You look just as beautiful as when you met, and you’ve slowly opened up to him. At that comment, you shake your head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you asked me out,” you reply. “I mean, I fell for you the moment you walked up.”

“Then I win.”

“It’s a competition?”

“Of course.”

You nod but remain dubious as you ask, “Then wouldn’t I win, since I fell first?”

“I fell for you in the time of a camera shutter, so no.”

Your smile drops as you watch Street. There is no reason you shouldn’t believe him, but men like Street don’t usually fall for women like you… if they fall at all.

“Hey,” Street calls. “Don’t do that. Whatever is going on in that breathtaking head, stop.”

“I just-“

“Don’t believe me?”

“No, it’s not that, just… why me?”

Street pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and slides it across the table. You see the picture of you as his wallpaper and quickly look back at Street. He smiles and takes your hand over the table.

“I mean it. Even if you did laugh when I talked about dying,” he promises.

You laugh yet again, and Street’s world lights up.

“Can I take another picture?” Street asks excitedly.

“One condition,” you answer through your laughter. “There has to be a date for every picture.”

“That’s going to be a lot of dates,” Street points out. “Did you see how many I already took?”

“I did. That’s why I disagree with your title of ‘amateur’ photographer.”

“Maybe I’m just… what are they called? The guys who do whatever their girlfriends ask to get the perfect picture?”

You roll your eyes, but squeeze Street’s hand as you answer, “You, Jim Street, are most definitely an Instagram boyfriend.”

Street pulls your hand gently, and as you bend over the table, he raises his other hand to your chin. “Did you just call me your boyfriend?” he asks. “This moment deserves a picture.”

Bonus:

“Street, your phone is ringing!” Hondo yells. He leans over and looks at the caller ID before the call goes to voicemail.

“Sorry,” Street apologizes as he walks into Hondo’s kitchen. “Forgot where I set it down.”

“No worries.”

Street picks up his phone, but doesn’t leave before Hondo asks, “So… you take selfies with girls now, playboy?”

“Something like that.”

“She’s pretty.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy for you, Street,” Hondo adds. “It’s obvious that she’s good for you.”

Luca walks into the kitchen as Hondo finishes speaking, and agrees, “She turned playboy Street into puppy dog photographer Street.”

“Who did?” Deacon asks.

Luca presses his lips together to hide his smile but shrugs as Street glares at him.

“Well, Deac,” Hondo begins. “You’ve got another boy ready to settle down. Care to tell him how it’s done?”

Street directs his glare to Hondo, but it disappears when Deacon double-taps Street’s back and says, “I think he’s got it figured out.”

“Are we talking about the same Street?” Luca asks quickly.

“I’ve seen the pictures,” Deacon explains. “They’re good without my advice.”

Deacon steps out, and Street’s phone rings again. He answers and disappears into another room, leaving Hondo and Luca alone.

“I didn’t think I’d live to see it,” Hondo muses.

“Wait until you see them in person,” Luca says. “Jim Street, puppy dog photographer, is more fitting than you’re thinking.”

[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

Part 5

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 1,8k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

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– AYLANA –

in the aftermath, she shines.

blue fire in her palms; bloody roses in her hair.

she rises out of the sea.

nothing burns as bright as she.

The heat was a relentless beast, even in the absence of the sun, clawing at me with its suffocating breath. Sleep remained stubbornly out of reach. I tossed and turned like a ship in a storm until I got a crick in my neck, the sheets twisting into a tangled prison. 

Finally, I heaved myself out of bed and stumbled towards the basin, splashing myself with its tepid water. It offered me a fleeting reprieve, but a blessed oblivion seemed miles away.

Resigned, I got dressed, twisted my hair into a messy braid, and approached the wall in the back corner of my chamber. My hands rummaged across the familiar nooks and crannies of its rocky facade. If my memory did not fail me, this is where …

The wall suddenly shuddered in protest as it ground open into a gaping maw of darkness.

Maegor’s tunnels.

I grinned with satisfaction and threw one look over my shoulder before I vanished into its jaws, the heavy stone door groaning shut behind me.

My ancestor, King Maegor Targaryen, had them built as a secret escape route, a spider’s web spun beneath the Red Keep itself. Legends whispered of treacherous passageways, some so narrow they forced grown men to crawl, some booby-trapped with deadly cunning. Some coursed right outside the royal apartments, allowing a hidden person to unravel the darkest secrets.

The darkness pressed against me, thick and alive with possibility. Wind wailed through unseen cracks and rats skittered across the floors. The oil lanterns, flickering like trapped souls on the rough-hewn walls, cast long, distorted shadows that danced at the edge of my vision. They grew scarcer the further I went. 

The lower I delved, the cooler the air became – a welcome change. Though, the rats appeared to grow larger down here. Or was my mind playing tricks on me?

I took a right turn, then a left turn, continued ahead forty paces, then turned left again, just as I remembered. It would not bode well to get lost in here.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering the ancient tunnels, a sliver of grey pierced the oppressive darkness. Relief surged through me, and I quickened my pace. The passage widened, and with a final heave, I pushed myself through the opening. 

The warm night air washed over me again as I exited onto a rocky ledge overlooking the Blackwater. Moonlight painted a shimmering path across its surface, the sereneness only disturbed by the pulse of King’s Landing’s unseen heart. The distant sounds of laughter, the clatter of carts, and drunken brawls drifted from above. 

I started down the stairs, raising my skirts as I went. The lapping waves whispered promises of cool relief, carrying a breeze in toward the land. The water - the singular antidote for my tenacious perspiration – looked so inviting I did not linger to shed my dress, allowing it to pool down my slicked body. The ground turned from rocks to sand beneath my feet, then, the seawater embraced me like a long-lost friend, its coolness seeping into my bones, washing away all the grime, tension and vigil that stained me. My arms churned, propelling me into the moonlit body of the Blackwater with long strokes. The Red Keep, a hulking silhouette against the star-dappled sky, receded with each powerful kick. Its lit windows like eyes, watching me full of judgement. But in that moment beneath the vast expanse of the night, my naked body submerged beneath the water, I was descended into pure, unadulterated freedom. I doused myself in the cool seawater and exhaled with relief. 

For the briefest second – no, rather five, I thought life as a common-born would be preferable to this gilded cage I was living.

A low rumble, like a distant drumbeat, sounded across the Blackwater. Thunder? I cast my gaze to the star-dusted canvas, unencumbered by clouds. It would be impossible. It rumbled anew, closer this time, a tremor that sent shivers down my spine and iced my veins. 

Then, a massive silhouette descended from the heavens, blotting out the moon with its immensity. My pulse leapt into my throat.

Vhagar.

Her great, tattered leather, stretched taut like sails, beat the air with a thunderous rhythm, propelling her colossal form towards the city. In the ethereal, silver-lit night she was a nightmare made real, a monstrous beauty, a morbid fascination that would’ve held me captive if it weren’t for the plaguing question at hand,

Was she carrying her rider? I wondered. The idea was disconcerting. Though, a strange quiver bubbled through my core as I watched her draw closer. 

And closer. 

Closer still.

Taking a deep breath, I submerged myself fully beneath the dark, counting seconds, listening to the eerie silence of the depths, until I watched Vhagar’s blurry form pass overhead through the water’s surface. 

Once I could no longer feel her thunder, I surfaced, filling my lungs.

The encounter left me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The cool allure of the water now felt distant, replaced by a chilling dread.

Had Aemond seen me? The question hammered in my skull, a relentless beating that drowned out any remaining peace, leaving me perturbed.

Would that if he was mounted at all? Vhagar might have just been flying all by herself. 

But if she wasn’t, what would bring him out at such a time? It was well into the hour of the wolf. 

Questions spun endlessly in my mind as I got myself to shore, not ceasing as I made my way into the tunnels. 

I decided I would not care whether or not I’d been exposed. 

I am the princess, I thought, a feeble attempt to anchor myself. Soon to be the heir to the Iron Throne. I can do what I like. Yet, the words tasted like ash in my mouth.

I could’ve relished the defiance of being seen, a secret rebellion against the court’s watchful eyes. But the consequences were too dire. A single word from Aemond to his mother, and the gossip would erupt into a wildfire, consuming my mother’s claim and scorching my legitimacy. 

Shame burned hot in my throat. The risk I had taken, the foolish yearning for a sliver of freedom, suddenly felt reckless.

Stupid fucking girl. My thoughts echoed in the silent tunnels. Why don’t you think twice?

But defiance flickered once again, a stubborn ember I liked to breathe life into.

It doesn’t matter what people think. 

The internal battle raged on, mirroring the fight for control in my shaking limbs. Twice, I nearly lost my way, the darkness reflecting the turmoil within me.

Reaching the upper levels, I ghosted past identical doors, taking great care in choosing the one to my apartments.

The silence, only momentarily interrupted by my breathing, took a sudden turn when I passed one of the doors.

“Pass me that, would you?”

A muffled voice came from behind it, and I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Without thinking, I pressed against the cool stone, trying to discern its owner.

“You’ve had enough.” Another voice, laced with vexation.

“Not nearly.”

A tremor of recognition shot through me, and nerves played beneath my skin.

“You drink more than a Braavosi Sealord.” Aemond’s voice was undeniable, a hint of resignation colouring his tone, a concession to his elder brother’s legendary indulge. 

Words or gestures were exchanged beyond my hearing.

“Don’t be a twat,” muttered Aegon, “You haven’t even touched your cup.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Suit yourself.” 

The sounds that followed painted a vivid picture: the scrape of a chair, a cup being drained with a heavy sigh, then a collapse back down.

“This Arbor gold has gone sour.”

“Dornish red,” Aemond corrected dryly.

Aegon scoffed. “Figures. Speaking of which, I’ve been told the so-called prince of Dorne graced us with his presence.”

“Indeed,” Aemond replied curtly.

“Cunt. Why is he here, anyway?” Aegon pressed.

“Private business, I believe.”

Aegon groaned theatrically. “Go on, brother, you always know more than that.” A playful edge crept into Aegon’s voice as he creaked in his chair.

“Find another source of gossip,” snapped Aemond.

Aegon groaned loudly.

“Mayhaps an abstemious habit might grant you access to firsthand information.”

Aegon mimicked him with slurred fraternal mockery, but Aemond did not retaliate, though the disdain that oozed from him was tangible.

“That’s why I have you,” said Aegon finally.

“Hmmph.”

“Not to worry, dear brother. I shall remain sober enough to mess with the Strong children.” Aegon rubbed his hands together vindictively, a grin in his voice. “The eldest one looked…”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Exceptionally tasty,” said Aegon salaciously.

Bile crept up my throat to his words, and my revolt was so strong I nearly retreated back into the tunnels, but a prickle of defiance held me rooted. Later, I’d curse that defiance.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Aegon drawled, a cruel amusement in his voice, “I am merely reflecting your own… prior interest.” 

“You are mistaken.”

“To even think is to covet, dear brother.”

Venom poured into Aemond’s voice, “Aylana is as significant to me as a whisper in the Dragonpit.”

A strange ache bloomed in my chest.

“An illegitimate bastard styling herself as Velaryon,” he sneered. 

I could not bear to hear anymore. I pushed myself off the wall and continued my path forward, a curious emptiness hollowing me, a sticking feeling behind my eyelids. Aemond’s words, an endless echo in my mind, consumed me, to the point that I must have dissociated, for I could not recall how I reached my chambers. I had collapsed onto my bed, the emptiness and a bitter taste of betrayal warring within me, until blessed oblivion finally claimed me.

The press of bodies surrounded me endlessly, a pulsating mass that swayed to the relentless beat of the drums. As I filtered through their celebration, I found myself standing in front of the Iron Throne. Its jagged edges, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, seemed to drip with dark history.

“Your refreshment, princess.” Prince Marius Martell materialized beside me, offering me a goblet of emerald crystal, adorned with gold filigree. His dark gaze remained fixed on me as he took two large gulps of his wine. As I placed the rim to my lips, a choke tore from his throat. 

A crimson tide spilled from his mouth, and his eyes wept blood. Panic clawed at my throat. The goblet slipped from my grasp, clattering on the stone floor. Prince Marius crumpled into my arms, and I watched his slow, tremoring demise, infarctions webbing the veins of his throat, his eyes, wide and vacant, staring sightlessly through empty space as his body went still.

I awoke with a heart-wrenching gasp, clawing at my sheets desperately. The morning sun was pouring through the window like liquid gold and birds sang their performances. 

As my ragged breath calmed in my chest and reality dawned upon me, terror lingered, its cold, icy hands gripping my heart.

A shiver coiled down my spine. As much as I did not want to believe it, it would be foolish to ignore my heart’s indisputable warning. They had not come to me in years, yet this night I knew it to be true.         

It was a Dream – as clear as this room, as clear as my own name.

Something terrible was going to happen.

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[ramielll]

I was waiting for you -Part 1

Benjicot Blackwood x fem reader

Summery: Y/N Stark travels to the Riverlands to spend time with her cousins, only to be met with unexpected turn of events.

Wourd count: 1151

Tw.: nothing yet, I think. Everybody is aged up.

A/n: This is my very first time posting a work of mine. This one is going to be a bit short, but the ones coming are going to be longer. I hope you'll like it! I will be posting the next chapter soon. (English is not my first language)

part 2

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Growing up in Winterfell as a young lady meant a sheltered life. Being secluded with one’s family up in the north. The lady Y/N was lucky for not only being born into a noble family, but for being closely connected to another, through her mother. Sharing blood with the Tullys earned not only for her brother but for her also, to spend time in the Riverlands. Allowing Y/N to see a bit more of the realm before being whisked away to another house, to another family through marriage.

Riverrun was a stark contrast to the always white lands surrounding Winterfell.She welcomed the gentle change in temperature as they travelled to see their cousins in Riverrun and to spend a few months there. The carriage came to stop as they crossed the bridge to the castle overlooking the broad river there.

Their cousins stood at the front of the welcoming party assembled for their arrival. Oscar, always with a smile, quickly stepped forward to offer a hand as lady Y/N stepped out of the carriage, while her brother went ahead to greet Kermit with a hug.

„Good day cousin. I hope your travels were pleasant.” the young man she come to know during their times here, now looked taller, his features more defined, losing some of his boyish charm to give way to a more serious appearance, though his smile was all the same as he looked at her.

„They were.” she sighed as she looked up the familiar towers over her. „Its always worth the journey if it means spending time with you two.” she smiled back at him.

„Well, seems it’s not going to be just us four this time. We have guests from house Blackwood and Frey also. I’m sure they’re eager to meet you.” She could hear the mirth in his voice as he finished his sentence with a breathy laugh, but before she could ask for the reason behind it, her brother and Kermit already walked up to them, and her attention was quickly turned towards greeting her youngest cousin.

Oscar escorted her to her chambers and before the young man left her to refresh and settle in a bit, he informed her about their plans to have a sparring session with the other boys in the courtyard and that she would be welcomed to choose a winner if she wishes.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Y/N turned towards the room she stayed in the last couple of years when she would visit, since her and her brother became too old to share one. She opened the windows looking over the neighbouring forest before she walked to the basin filled with water to wash her face and change into a more comfortable, deep blue gown and to let her hair out of the tight braids she wore for their arrival. Then she made her way outside.

The loud laughs and clinging of swords could be heard from the stoney hallway even before she stepped out onto the low balcony overlooking the yard. She found Kermit already seated there with red cheeks and sweat on his brow, clearly done with his turn of the pretend fighting.

„Which one of these fine warriors bested you already cousin?” Kermit only laughed. She seated herself beside him and looked down onto the match before them. Her brother was trying his hardest to beat the Frey boy as they dance around one another. Meanwhile Oscar and another boy stood with their backs turned to onlookers. From the sigil sawn onto the back of his clothes, it wasn’t hard to realise it was a son of house Blackwood. She just didn’t know which one.

The four of them clapped as the fighting eventually ended with Edmure Frey coming out as victorious.

„Let’s get on with the next one so that we may make it to supper! Especially now that we have a lady watching your sad efforts!” Kermit’s boisterous voice rang through the yard, turning all heads towards the two of them. Y/N could feel her face flush, even though she was trained to get used to the attention she naturally garnered through her life, she never really did well under it. She gave a small smile as she made eye contact with Edmure. The young man bowed his head with a much larger smile than hers. Then she looked at the Blackwood boy, who now stood fully facing her. It was only then she recognised him. The young man standing beneath her looked very different from the scrawny boy she spent time looking at small fish and trying to climb tress with a summer age. She could see the mutual surprise in his dark eyes as he bowed his head before looking back up at her. Their stare was broken when Oscar grabbed the man’s shoulder and they walked to the centre to begin their own match. Y/N kept her eyes on him, thinking about all the time they have spent together before Kermit spoke again, interrupting her thoughts.

„You should have seen his face when I told him you’ll be arriving soon. I swear he was restless ever since. Benjicot Blackwood, fierce swordsman and heir to house Blackwood, reduced to a grinning fool in his excitement.” he said laughing as he leaned closer to her. „He never said it, but I would bet my favourite horse, that it has to do with something about your fathers plan to betroth you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she whipped her head towards him, her body stilling. Kermit’s smile slowly fell at the shocked expression on the young lady’s face. Realisation hitting him.

„They did not tell you?” he asked, clearly confused.

„Tell me what?” she asked with a tight face.

„Their plans to betroth you. With you, might acquainting yourself with one of the young lords here, so that your brother can choose a match for you. I’m sorry cousin, I thought that you were made aware of these plans.” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

She felt dizzy, confusion turning into shock, turning into anger inside her so quickly she could barely keep up with her own emotions. She looked down again, just as Oscar and Benjicot finished with their sparring, shaking hands. She turned her gaze towards her brother then.

„My brother told you this.” It wasn’t even really a question. Disappointment and betrayal colouring her voice as she kept looking ahead. She was aware of the fact that she soon, rather than late, had to marry someone. It was inevitable. Even if she wished to avoid that more than anything. She didn’t want to leave her family, her home, her own room, just to be thrusted into a strange life with a husband chosen by the men around her. She was also aware that her wishes did not matter in this case as a daughter of house Stark.

„He did.” Said Kermit with a much quieter voice.

„I see.”

[rabbitcruiser]

Musket Shot Springs Scenic Overlook, UT (No. 3)

The Uinta Basin (also known as the Uintah Basin) is a physiographic section of the larger Colorado Plateaus province, which in turn is part of the larger Intermontane Plateaus physiographic division. It is also a geologic structural basin in eastern Utah, east of the Wasatch Mountains and south of the Uinta Mountains. The Uinta Basin is fed by creeks and rivers flowing south from the Uinta Mountains. Many of the principal rivers (Strawberry River, Currant Creek, Rock Creek, Lake Fork River, and Uintah River) flow into the Duchesne River which feeds the Green River—a tributary of the Colorado River. The Uinta Mountains forms the northern border of the Uinta Basin. They contain the highest point in Utah, Kings Peak, with a summit 13,528 feet (4123 metres) above sea level. The climate of the Uinta Basin is semi-arid, with occasionally severe winter cold.

Source: Wikipedia

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is a business/home opportunity, and the best kind- it's a French Fry shop. But, alas, it's in Homer, AK. The french fry friers should keep you warm, though- it's so cheap, just $212K and it was only built in 2020. Has 1bd/1ba. Take a look at it.

So, I guess customers come up to the window for delicious hot fries in summer b/c it's a seasonal business.

I'm confused. The shop looks pretty big, and all they sell are fries?

There's a lot of equipment and the listing says that it can prepare other takeout foods.

This is the whole shop on the first floor.

And, back here are the stairs to the living quarters. Woah, they look like they should be in my Death Stairs posts.

So, here we are up in the cozy apt. There's a ladder- maybe it goes up to a sleep loft?

This is nice- a balcony overlooking the ocean.

This is weird. No kitchen up here?

It does have a bedroom.

Wow, it's right on the ocean (well, actually a bay).

On a small strip of land. There's a boat basin behind it.

I don't know what to think, b/c it's Alaska.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4025-Homer-Spit-Rd-UNIT-11-Homer-AK-99603/2054774024_zpid/?

[annasinterests]

going out, she's getting into something

|| main masterlist ||

a/n: here's my contribution for the season, witches! i had SO much fun writing this piece and i hope to get out more for this month! i definitely didn't think it'd be this long but i absolutely loved where it went. also ten points if you could tell when the tone shifted because i started listening to mitski LOL

the dividers are by @saradika — be sure to check them out! 🤍

word count: 10.4k

pairings: arthur morgan x f!reader

warnings & tags: minors dni, halloween time!!! tried to be historically accurate but then again this is fiction y'all, readers having the time of her life honestly, pining, cursing, mentions of alcohol, perhaps some errors??, and some wholesome moments here n there :) — please tell me if i missed anything!

“I already told you girls, the answer is no.”

She didn’t look up from her washing basin as she gave a firm response, her voice tinged with fatigue from the relentless persistence on this matter.

Miss Grimshaw– the unyielding matriarch of the gang– always looking out for the best interest of the camp, even if it meant extinguishing your hopes of a joyous venture beyond its confines.

Normally, you’d accept the answer and move on. But this time, that wasn’t the case. No, you’d been going at it all this week, employing every conceivable tactic to sway her decision– most of which involved volunteering for additional chores atop your designated ones already– because today wasn’t just any other day.

It was Halloween.

And you were damned if you weren’t going out to celebrate it in all its glory.

“Ms. Grimshaw, please,” you continued to beg, “I won’t ask for a thing more!”

The ceaseless scrubbing paused, her hands moving to wipe across her skirt before pressing them against her forehead, muttering words only audible to herself. You stood before her eagerly, hands folded neatly over your apron, shoulders squared– striving to project an aura of innocence that might influence her.

She shook her head as her hands fell hard on her lap, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “Go ask Dutch. If he says it's fine, then you girls can go.”

The elation you felt at her response made you want to dart away before she could have second thoughts, yet your feet remained in the same spot of the muddy grass your heels slowly sunk into. She eyed you as she stood up, your presence a mystery even though she’d already granted your request.

Even though she kept you all on a tight leash, her actions were rooted in sound judgment.

The whole reason there was any stability at camp at all was because of her, no matter how long or short you stayed in some places. She possessed an innate sense of what needed to be done, always placing the welfare of the camp, and more particularly, her girls, at the forefront, even if she had a funny way of showing it sometimes.

“Won’t you come out, too?” Maybe it was naive of you to ask, given she almost never step foot outside camp unless absolutely necessary.

Her hardened stare softened for a moment, peering behind you at camp momentarily as if she really were contemplating it. Her gaze returned to you, her eyebrows drawn together with the faintest curl on her lips.

“What happened to not asking for another thing?”

With a small smile and nod, you excused yourself and set out to find Dutch.

Much to your surprise, he wasn’t in his tent, and a lack of an answer of his whereabouts from Ms. O’Shea didn’t help. Nor did one from Javier out on the post claiming that he hadn’t seen him ride in or out today. And through your thorough search around camp, none revealed a trace of the man you eagerly sought.

On your way back to his tent for a second try, you recognized a figure donning a signature white shirt and black vest standing at the far end of camp, where the view was best of Horseshoe Overlook.

Your smile grew wider with each step to approach him, only calling his name when you were within a few feet.

“Dutch! Can I-”

While your voice caught his attention, it had also gotten the man who stood just nearby him, concealed by the trees until now. You came to an abrupt stop, flickering your widening gaze between the men, feeling hot embarrassment creep onto your cheeks.

It’d been Arthur.

He’d only looked over his shoulder to you, still facing the canyon with his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. The brim of his hat rested just above his eyes as he appraised you, running his eyes up and down your figure.

“I’m sorry..” Your hands instinctively folded against your stomach, “I didn’t realize you were..”

A low chuckle rumbled from Dutch’s chest as he approached you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Nonsense, Miss. Arthur and I were just enjoying the view. Why don’t you join us?”

Your gaze shifted from Dutch’s to Arthur’s, who maintained his position with his chin tucked over his shoulder. He gave no indication as to whether or not your presence affected him, and a slight unease settled in as he was usually quick with a polite comment or sarcastic remark, but he did neither and continued to look at you.

Returning your attention to Dutch, you found him patiently waiting for your response– one hand lingering on your shoulder while the other was outstretched in an invitation to join them at the plateau.

Your lips curled up into a small smile as you walked forward, Dutch appearing to your right and Arthur to his.

The view was nothing short of breathtaking. Below and in the distance, dense forests and mountain ranges stretched for miles, a white veil of mist shrouded at the peaks, and the Dakota River flowed through the canyon, its waters reflecting the brilliant blue of the sky.

What made the scene even more enchanting was the weather– the sun shining bright with barely any clouds to obstruct its rays, its warmth a delight on your skin. The air was crisp in a way that each breath rejuvenated your lungs, a cool and fresh quality trademarked by the fall season.

“What do you think, Miss?” He asked without averting his gaze.

You turned to him, stealing another glance before you, “Pretty as a picture, Dutch.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he softly echoed your sentiment. “Indeed it is.”

For a moment, your eyes fell to Arthur. Like Dutch, he made no move to look away, fully immersed and reveling in the simple pleasures of the moment. His hat still lowered over his eyes, shielding sunlight from those bright blues that could be the sweetest or most intimidating sight. His facial scruff was perfectly tailored for the season– substantial yet manageable, complementing his rugged appearance.

Even in his relaxed stance, you could see his clothing fighting to fit around his muscles, especially in the shoulders and arms. The cuffs of his sleeves clung snugly to his forearms, the contours of his strength evident in raised veins and muscular definition. His thumbs remained tucked into his belt, his large hands lazily curling over it, an embodiment of quiet strength and presence.

A flurry of thoughts swirled in your head– the loudest among them an undeniable realization of just how incredibly attractive this man was.

And how this definitely wasn’t the first time you were thinking this.

You hadn’t realized that you were looking right at him while your thoughts were running wild, and immense embarrassment hit you like a freight train when your eyesight focused on him staring right back at you.

To compound your mortification, your initial reaction was to smile– a smile that aimed to conceal the fact that you had been thoroughly checking him out. You tried to maintain some air of sweetness and innocence, but you knew he could see right through it.

It faltered when he broke contact and looked down, his hat serving as a convenient shield to hide his face entirely. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your lip, cursing your own lack of composure. It was painfully obvious. You’d gone ahead and made a fool of yourself in front of the man.

Dutch’s voice interrupted your thoughts and commanded you to pull your attention back.

“Camp’s in mighty fine shape thanks to the help of you women here,” he remarked, finally looking at you. “Your contributions are always valued.”

You smoothed out your skirt, a chuckle leaving your lips. “Wouldn’t be as good as it is without Miss Grimshaw. That woman is the glue that keeps us together, I swear by it.”

“That she is.” He agreed, “But with all the effort you ladies put in, I ought to say that you girls deserve a little time to yourselves. Not in camp, that is.”

Your jaw slacked and eyes sparkled with excitement. Barely able to contain the thrill that coursed through your body, your hands began to gesture emphatically as you started up.

“Actually, that’s why I was looking for you!” A grin spread on his face as he took notice of your demeanor, “The girls and I have been dying to go out!”

You caught Arthur lift his head to you, but continued on.

“We would love to go out to town,” you reached out and grazed his arm as he listened, “pleeease, Dutch. Just for tonight?”

He nodded, that reassuring hand finding your shoulder again. “Of course, how could I say no to that?”

You beamed at him, buzzing with even more excitement.

“Where would you ladies like to go? Valentine? Perhaps even Strawberry?”

You bit down on your lip again in a futile attempt to suppress the wicked smile that grew on your face, sheepishly shrugging your shoulders. “Saint Denis?”

“Saint Denis?” Arthur interjected before anyone could speak, stepping in front of Dutch and briefly glancing at you, “Dutch, that’s–”

“Quite alright if that’s where they want to go,” Dutch smoothly derailed his refute, “Arthur.”

But Arthur, being the obstinate man he was, didn’t heed the cue. He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, “That's far, Dutch. Too far.”

Dutch fell silent for a moment, drawing a hand to his hip and shifting his weight to one foot. You wanted to say something to counter Arthur’s point, but you knew his standing with Dutch, so contradicting him could jeopardize your argument, especially after Dutch had already expressed his approval.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing we’ll all be going to Saint Denis tonight.”

Dutch’s ability to orchestrate a plan that convinced everyone to head down to Saint Denis was a mystery to you, but the best part was that you had absolutely no responsibility in their efforts to move camp for a night.

Because the only thing you had to focus on was having fun.

After Dutch’s final say, Arthur grumbled, shook his head, and retreated back into camp. It likely didn’t improve his mood when you broke the news to the girls and you all erupted in joyful shouts and jumped around, clinging to one another out of pure delight.

Or when you all approached Lenny and Javier in front of him to ask if they’d take you to town and they agreed without putting up the slightest fight.

Or when you couldn’t resist teasing him by suggesting that he wear his best costume for the evening ahead, earning you a glare that you couldn’t help but smirk at.

You hadn’t even had the chance to get out a proper goodbye to the boys as Tilly grabbed your hand and practically dragged you off the wagon to emerge yourselves in the scene of the town, disappearing into the crowds on the paved streets and dodging the ever flowing trams.

Jack O'Lanterns adorned nearly everywhere you turned, perched atop picket fences that lined the slums to the mansion district. Hay bales, while adding to the festive atmosphere, served as a dual purpose as both sustenance for horses and a playground for children to climb upon– an amusing sight that elicited giggles from you.

Karen had led you all into the markets where several vendors hunkered down for the long night ahead, selling various treats and services from harvest foods, to jewelry, to fortune tellings. They all beckoned and invited you over with their expert sales tactics, and usually you would be able to just ignore them, but given today, you gave in to a woman at a jewelry stand.

You and the girls encircled her table and ogled at all the shiny pieces before you, your hands hovering over a splendid array of rings, earrings, and necklaces. With the utmost care, you picked up a ring to examine it further, capturing the saleswoman's attention.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous.” Mary-Beth leaned in to admire it with you, “I’ve never seen somethin’ quite like that before.”

She was absolutely right; it was one of the finest pieces you’d ever seen, far surpassing what you’d observed other women wear. It was a tri-colored gold ring– a dainty gold rose in the middle, flanked by a pink and green leaf to each side, all set against a band crafted with a delicate weaving pattern.

“Would you like to try it on?” The woman offered with a kind smile. “See how it fits?”

You slipped it on your ring finger with ease, gently turning your wrist to admire it from different angles. It hugged against your skin like it was meant to be.

But when you looked down at the price tag, you quickly changed your mind.

“This is a very lovely piece,” you took it off and placed it back on the table, earning a raised brow from Karen, “but it’s more than what I can offer.”

The woman simply nodded at your honesty. You were well aware that most items in these markets were overpriced, with prices inflated to maximize profit, but you felt that this one was truly worth it’s value. With a polite smile, you stepped away from the table and began to walk off with the girls, your heart feeling a little heavy but knowing it wasn’t the end of the world.

But a gentle hand on your elbow caught your attention, pulling you away from the group– the woman.

She took your hand and cupped hers over it, feeling a small object fall into it. Silently, she observed as her hand revealed what she’d given you.

The ring.

Your mouth formed a small ‘o’ shape and your eyes widened, quickly covering it with your other hand.

“Ma’am, I can’t possibly– I don’t have enough–” Her hand on your arm again made you quiet.

“You could’ve easily stolen it from me, but you told the truth and walked away.” Her smile was warm as she plucked the ring from your hand and slipped it on your finger. “Not many people do that here in Saint Denis.”

You looked at her sympathetically, holding her hands in your own, “How can I repay you?”

She grinned and leaned in to whisper, “Come back if you wind up stealing from anyone else.”

You muffled your laughter with a hand over your mouth, giving her a knowing look as she playfully shooed you off with a wink.

You were certainly going to pay her another visit.

Rejoining the girls, you discreetly but excitedly displayed your new possession, allowing each of them to take a turn at holding it up to their faces for a closer look, their voices filled with admiration for its beauty.

Moving out of the markets, you came across the park of Saint Denis. A massive tent had been pitched across the field with people busy setting it up for the evening’s events, clearly designed to cater to a younger crowd. Beneath it were several rows of seats arranged in front of a stage that featured a couple of large basins evenly spaced apart– instantly recognizing it for apple-bobbing. Taking notice of the flairs of red gingham about the area, it made you smile with the detail put into celebrating the day.

The girls had been chattering excitedly about something you hadn’t been fully tuned into, but you snapped back to attention when Karen seized your hand and urged you to run.

Spinning around, Mary-Beth and Tilly were a few paces ahead to your right while Sadie came bolting closer from your left, a wicked grin spread on her face as she pointed towards the other two girls.

“Jump on that trolley!”

Without a second thought, you began weaving in and out of the crowd, your knees kicking your skirt up with each leap. Laughter escaped from you as you heard the startled cries of townsfolk being pushed aside in your hasty getaway, though you really had no idea why you were running at all.

You grabbed Tilly’s hand and hauled yourself up as Mary-Beth did with Karen, whipping around and sticking your hand out for Sadie who was too far away for your liking. Your heart was pounding as the men behind her were catching up, your smile from the adrenaline dropping and turning into panic.

Glancing back, you saw the trolley was due to turn a corner, inevitably too quick for Sadie to keep up with. Your panic escalated until you spotted a way to effectively cut off her pursuers– a tall stack of hay bales just waiting to be tipped over.

Swiftly, you sat on the rail and leaned back with the three girls holding your legs and waist, giving you the ultimate leverage.

“Sadie!” You shouted. “Cut the corner when I say!”

A thumbs up from her was good enough for you. You quickly alternated your gaze between her and the approaching corner, slowly leaning back and stretching out your arm until you couldn’t anymore, your adrenaline pulsing through your entire body now.

With one last look, you yelled your cue, and at the last moment threading your fingers through a band of twine and yanking with all your might.

Slowly, then all of once, they came tumbling down like you intended, fellow townspeople causing an even bigger commotion– or distraction, for your case. The men had no choice but to stop, tripping over the bales and crashing into other people, your plan executed perfectly except for one crucial detail– Sadie.

Frantically, you scanned the crowd, gripping the rail so hard that you were sure to put a dent in it. Shit– Had they got to her after the cut?

Before you could conjure a series of worst-case scenarios, she came sprinting from your right and jumped on to the trolley with ease, all of you ushering inside and taking a seat to catch your breaths.

“I keep tellin’ ya' to trade that skirt for pants, girl.” Sadie smacked your knee, “With quick thinkin’ like that, it’s a waste you don’t get out more.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. The thrill of doing jobs got you antsy, seeing it was something that you could seriously enjoy once in a while, but being a caretaker was what you were at heart. You liked providing stability in a different way.

“What in the hell was all that about?” Karen asked before you could while fanning herself with her hand, “You’re supposed to save the mischief for later, ya’ know.”

Sadie smirked and raised her hands defensively, “I may have miscalculated some things, but–” she dug into her pockets and revealed two handfuls of money, jewelry, and pocket watches. “I think it was worth it.”

You sighed back into your seat as Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen hovered over to get a better look, “I say we take that and go straight to a saloon.”

Sadie shot you an incredulous look, “I just worked my tail off for this, and you wanna spend it already?”

“No–” You dragged a hand over your face and huffed out a laugh, “For bets, idiot. Take more from their pockets, but the fair way.”

She contemplated for a moment. “I ain’t very good at table games.”

“I am!” Karen perked up.

You shot a sly look at Sadie, the dots connecting immediately. And just as you found your new activity for the next couple hours, the trolley slowed to a stop, and you all quickly hopped out the back and right into Doyle’s Tavern.

Hours in, Sadie was racking up more cash and treasures than all five of you could even carry.

It’d been more packed than when you first entered, the festive spirit flourishing through the establishment. On top of all the autumnal decorations already in place, skeletons dangled behind the bar and burning candles littered about to give the right impression of mischievous yet inviting. Round tables were busy with patrons, some full of drinks, others invested in rounds of poker or dominoes– like your own. And when you weren’t glued to a game, you were at the bar flirting your way for a free drink or charming men just to get close enough to discreetly pilfer valuables from their person.

Now, you sauntered over to Karen’s side after taking a brief stroll and glance at Sadie’s hand from the opposite side of the table. While you weren’t intimately familiar with poker, you knew what constituted the best possible hand, and it just so happened that your dear friend held that in her fingers without even knowing it.

You could see the men at the table underestimating her, their smug smiles stemming from her being the lone woman and their belief that they held the winning hand.

But none of them came close to a royal flush.

Nudging Karen, you whispered your observation, a smirk appearing on her face instantly. She shot Sadie a wink– the cue to let them have it– and watched the scene unfold as she splayed her cards across the table.

Their smug smiles dropped to open-mouthed astonishment and disapproving grumbles, slamming their hands down on the table and begrudgingly pushing their bets towards her. She kept her head down in a noble act, but it was really to hide the shit-eating grin on her face as the table cleared and her opponents drudged to the bar for another much needed drink after losing their fourth consecutive round.

Sadie joined you at the side as you all began to leave with the earnings. “God, why don’t we do this more often?” She mused while placing a chunk of wealth into your hands, “Better than the guys doin’ busted-up, ass-backwards jobs if ya’ ask me.”

Mary-Beth spun around and walked backwards as she received her cut, “Well we would if Miss Grimshaw wasn’t such a damn witch.”

“Mhm,” Karen agreed over her shoulder, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw her ridin’ a broom tonight.”

Amid their hearty laughter, you quietly chuckled. You knew that despite her being a hell-bound handler, she loved you girls more than anything.

“Y’all are terrible,” you playfully chided while poking them in the back, “both of you!”

The sun had set as you entered the streets of Saint Denis again, now lit up by streetlights, candles, and Jack O’Lanterns. Your eyes twinkled at the sights, the town completely transforming for the night life. Children roamed the sidewalks in noisy groups, no doubt ready to wreak havoc and fully embody the spirit of mischief. Townsfolk flooded in front of every tavern, saloon, and vicinity that promised alcohol, money, and a good time.

But what really caught your eye was the other women– more precisely, their attire.

Left and right you spotted the most beautiful Victorian dresses you’d laid eyes upon– rich in color and carefully designed with the best materials money could buy– and as well as soft and colorful medieval gowns that fluttered and flowed in the gentle breeze. You couldn’t help but stare in awe of their beauty and how well-fitting they were for the evening.

Sadie saw your hands curl around your money as your eyes flitted around and a sly smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Ya’ know, there’s a boutique just around the corner.”

You shrugged at the idea, but she insisted. “Don’t give me none of that– Go on, go get yourself somethin’ pretty,” she bumped you with her elbow, “I know you wanna.”

You bit your lip as a smile crept on your face, glancing down at your hands and back to her while slowly backing away.

“Give me five minutes.”

It was a lie.

Five turned more into twenty with trying on several different dresses before finding the one.

Initially, you tried on the first dress you saw in the window of the shop, a gorgeous navy dress with an integrated corset between the flared skirt and puffy sleeves. However, the bustle was more than you bargained for, and you certainly didn’t fancy the look of having a shelf on your backside. The mirror in the fitting room let you know that the ‘regal’ look was something you weren’t interested in.

The second was a significant improvement from the first. It leaned toward a more gothic style, featuring a mix of black and red satin, as if the red were a robe draped over the black gown, yet both were stitched together seamlessly. Strings criss-crossed over the bust and torso, giving it a unique backward corset appearance, and the sleeves were long and chinched near the elbows. It even came with a hood adorned with black lace trim– a distinctive feature compared to most gowns you had seen. You loved how it looked and felt, but there was a persistent voice in your head that told you it looked too cultish, especially with the hood. In the end, your conscience had guided you out of the fitting room and onto the next.

Picking through the collections had consumed more time than you had anticipated, and your impatience grew as you felt your precious night slipping away.

Nothing was catching your eye and you just wanted something.

You looked out the window to all the bodies strolling through the streets– laughing, smiling, talking– while you were wasting time away finding a silly dress to wear.

The sound of the bell above the door ringing brought you back as a couple customers entered the store, a trio of young women in animated conversation about accessories and making a bee-line for the displays. But as you eyed them, your gaze shifted to just the right of them, falling on exactly what you were looking for.

There it was– a long, crimson floor-length skirt cinched at the seam under the bust, paired with a striking black blouse. But this wasn’t just any black blouse. No, it had balloon sleeves with exaggerated cuffs adorned with buttons that matched the body, and a stunning combination of lace and mesh on the collar that extended gracefully from shoulder to shoulder.

Not wasting another second, you swiped it and practically flew in and out of the changing room, taking a look in the mirror afterwards and absolutely falling in love with how it looked on you. It was comfortable and conventional with a dash of sexy– a match made in heaven! You slid a wad of cash across the counter to the gentleman in exchange for a paper bag for your other clothes and were quickly out the door.

Clutching the bag, you navigated the labyrinthine alleyways and main roads of Saint Denis in search of your girls, thinking just when you found them, it was just another bunch that looked similar from afar. Head on a swivel, you did your best to avoid getting distracted by the lively celebrations around you, despite your strong desire to join in.

So set on your mission, you didn’t even think to look both ways before nearly stepping in front of an oncoming trolley– being saved by a large hards on your arm and waist.

“Oh!–” You palm flew over your chest as you gasped, “I– Thank you! I didn’t even see where I was going!”

“Quite some timing there,” the figure chuckled, “we just got here.”

We?

Looking up, you were met with Charles looking down at you with a kind smile, putting you at ease. In the not-so-far distance, you saw Dutch, Jack, and Kieran hitching their horses and making their way over to you.

“I see you girls have been busy!” Dutch declared as he grandly gestured to your new clothes. “Having fun I hope?”

You nodded politely. Fun and causing trouble, but who were you to spill about that?

A satisfied grin crossed his face, “We’re off to meet the others at Mayor Lemieux. Care to join us, Miss?”

Reuniting with the rest of the gang? Say less.

Before you could answer, you remembered the bag in your hand and looked down at it, your thoughts not lost on the men around you. Not that your old clothes were worth much in a town like Saint Denis, but they were still yours.

“You three go on, we’ll meet you there.” Charles insisted to Dutch, then turned to you as they walked away. “You can leave your stuff with me, it’ll be safe.”

You smiled as he just knew what to do, the protective side of the men you always appreciated. A short walk over to the stables, where he insisted on keeping his horse rather than in the open, and stowing your things later, you were back on track to the mansion district– after some jokes about all the wealth you’d been carrying, of course, and keeping a couple pieces on you for when you saw your market friend.

You marveled at the increasing crowd in the town– kids’ laughter echoed through the streets that mingled with the roars and singing reverberating from every saloon, and occasionally, there were startled shrieks of terror caused by juveniles of the night. You made comments about the atmosphere and were very careful to stay out of the way of the ongoing trolleys, a small inside joke brewing between you both.

In Charles, you felt a strong sense of safety and trust. He was one of the few men you believed to be genuinely good, his only flaw being part of a criminal gang, but even that could be justified with loyalty. He was kind and respectful, not just towards women, but towards everyone. He was someone to have on your side, always.

“So, is everyone really out here?” You inquired, “I didn’t think that Dutch could really rally everyone up to come into town.”

“For the most part,” Charles shrugged, “a couple of them wanted to stay and watch camp. Said they weren’t too big on celebrating.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who decided to hang back?”

Charles chuckled and glanced at you, teasing, “What’s got you so curious? Expecting somebody?"

Your cheeks burned at his question. You hadn’t been thinking of him until this very moment.

“Maybe I was praying for a miracle that Micah didn’t come.”

He laughed louder this time, “Well, it was answered.”

You cracked a smile at your banter, but now your mind was totally elsewhere and remained that way well into the district, the buzzing of your thoughts stopping at the front entrance of Mayor Lemieux’s estate.

Before you was a huge mansion, white with pillars supporting the sprawling balcony that extended to each side of the house and a wide staircase that led up to an opulent wrap-around porch. From the outside alone, you could tell that every inch of this property was occupied between the amount of people and staff.

Charles led the way into the estate, making sure you didn’t lose him along the way as you looked about. You thought the exterior was grand enough already, but the interior proved to be much more. The flooring in each room varied, from carpet, to tile, to wood– all extravagant. As soon as you stepped inside, a staircase greeted you and split off into two more on each side for the second level, all lined with a rich red and gold carpet. The walls were lined with exquisite light fixtures and portraits of people you couldn’t even begin to name, and an enormous chandelier hung over the center of the entrance, adding to the luxurious ambiance.

Making your way to the back, you grabbed a drink and some hors d’oeuvres off a tray from a nearby server, nursing the drink and nibbling on the food a little bit at a time. As if you thought the place couldn’t be anymore rich, the gazebo and water fountain in the backyard told you otherwise. It was also now that you noticed that the estate had been on the water which reinforced its extravagance. Every single detail had been thought out to make this place the go-to spot for the people of Saint Denis between the assortment of food and beverages, games, decorations– everything.

Your favorite part, though? Finding your people again.

The girls cheered as you locked eyes at the same time, flocking to you and immediately forcing you to spin to show off your attire for the evening. Charles rejoined Dutch, Jack, and Kieran again as they watched you five with amused expressions.

“Next time, we’re comin’ with,” Sadie raised her glass to yours, “five minutes my ass.”

You sheepishly smiled at her and clinked your glass against hers while looking around, “Where’s everyone else? Charles said-”

“There she is!”

Your voice froze as you heard the familiar sound of a particular woman, turning around to meet them.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show up.”

Your face dropped.

“Miss Grimshaw?”

She took complete pleasure in your utter surprise, sporting a smirk as she sipped from a glass of dark liquid. You approached her, gesturing to say something, but words eluded you, earning a chuckle from her. She savored her drink and waited patiently, her smug expression unyielding until you finally found your voice.

“I didn’t think you wanted to-”

“Celebrate the Day of the Dead? I don’t.” You raised your eyebrows at her bluntness. She took a few steps towards you, “But it beats bein’ in that camp for once. And free drinks ain’t so bad either”

There’s the Susan Grimshaw you knew.

You were quiet as she surveyed your attire, ruffling your sleeve from awkward creases and smoothing it afterwards. Her gaze drew up to your face, looking everywhere but your eyes, making sure all your hairs were in place and that you didn’t just walk straight out of a barn. She placed her fingers under your chin and tilted up to her.

“Don’t be dumb. Don’t be stupid. And don’t go diggin’ up graves. Ya’ hear me?”

You smirked. “No promises.”

She rolled her eyes as her hand dropped, smacking you on the shoulder. “Lord, y’all are the reason I have all these grays.”

She winked at you as she moved on from your conversation, and when you turned back to your friends, they had vanished.

Again.

You let out a suppressed laugh at the circumstances. Of course– if you weren’t glued to their hip, you were bound to lose them. And with as many people there were, finding them again wouldn’t be easy. So, you chose not to.

Swiping another drink from a passing server, you wandered about the property and drank while you observed the various scenes that played out. Suited men overindulging in beers and politics, staff lingering in the corner and gossiping in hushed tones, and young women trying to appear more desirable by loosening buttons or letting a sleeve slip off their shoulders.

The further into the night, the more increasingly bold and uninhibited people became, embracing the wicked and mischievous aspects of the holiday. You noticed it more as you went about the district, slipping in and out without attracting much attention– a level of anonymity you found strangely enjoyable.

The only interruptions were the occasional sightings of familiar faces when you were least expecting them– like Lenny and Kieran on the corner of a saloon, or Karen and Sean talking it up on the staircase of another mansion. Despite their lack of acknowledgement, you still grinned towards them and continued your exploration.

As you came across one of the last estates, you’d barely stepped foot on the property before hearing your name shouted out, causing you to jump.

“Over here, Miss!”

Realizing it to be Dutch beckoning you over, you relaxed and crossed the yard to join at his side, accompanied by a few unfamiliar men. You graciously made their acquaintance and accepted a drink offered by Dutch.

“Gentlemen, this here is one of Van Der Linde’s finest.” He bowed to you, eliciting a shy chuckle out of you, “Truly, she’s one of a kind.”

“You don’t have to tell us twice,” the man to your left winked in your direction. He extended his hand to you, “It’s a shame we haven’t met earlier.”

He was conventionally attractive; kept hair, clean shaven, chiseled features, well dressed. His accent you couldn’t particularly place but found it interesting nonetheless– carrying a definitive air of sophistication.

Taking his hand, he brought it up to his face and kissed the top of it– an act that normally would be acceptable, but you got an icky feeling from him. You bowed your head only to be polite, finding words unnecessary.

“What do you say, dear, let me take you for a drink and have the privilege of getting to know all about Van Der Linde’s finest?”

The bold request had you raising your eyebrows and an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You flushed with embarrassment, was this really happening right now, especially in front of Dutch? It felt so wrong. You didn’t realize how long you’d been silent until another voice interjected.

“She ain’t interested.”

Your eyes widened and back straightened at the deep drawl.

Arthur.

His imposing presence settled beside you, taking the opportunity to steal a glance at him while he was focused on the gentleman before you. It turned into a double-take once you realized what he was wearing.

His hands held his trusty gun belt over a pair of dark pants– jeans, maybe, but it was hard to discern in the dim light. He swapped his typical suspenders for a ragged dark brown leather belt, a unique change yet fitting one. And his shirt– God, his shirt– a white and red gingham button-up that he filled out perfectly with cuffed sleeves. Now that was different, and probably not his preferred style deep down, but you loved it. Even his hat was different, trading his father’s for a much fancier one with a wide front dip and roll, as well as the band featuring brass rifle bullets.

You couldn’t help but gawk. He looked so damn good, and also the only one out of the gang that actually dressed up for the occasion.

“Last I checked, I was speaking to the lady.” The gentleman puffed his chest a bit, elegantly gesturing to you.

Arthur chuckled lowly, his demeanor remaining cool, “Yeah, well, last I checked the lady wasn’t talkin’ back.”

The gentleman, clearly insulted, narrowed his eyes on Arthur as his fingers pinched the stem of his wine glass– the difference between their behaviors clear as day. During their small exchange, you kept your eyes on your hands that held a drink, though you weren’t interested in it much at the moment.

“It’s clear you’ve made her uncomfortable with your poor manners,” the irony of his words made the faintest smile curl on your lips.

Arthur laughed louder, turning to you and draping a hand behind your back while the other settled on his belt still, “Miss, have I made you uncomfortable with my poor manners?”

You met his gaze with a knowing look, biting your lip to fend off the smile that was deepening at him fucking with the man. You knew the answer, and so did Arthur, and you got a kick out of his way of making him look like a fool.

“What poor manners?” You raised your drink to your lips to further conceal your amusement while maintaining eye contact with Arthur, a smirk appearing on his face.

“See? She just ain’t wanna talk to you.” Arthur’s hand pressed against your back, directing you to move, while he tipped his head and gestured a farewell, “Now, you gentlemen have a fine night.”

As you walked further away you could hear bits and pieces of Dutch attempting to soothe the situation, which, to you, sounded like a lot of ass-kissing to salvage whatever relations he had built with those men before suffering a blow from Arthur.

Speaking of him– your skin was warm where his hand touched and guided you, steady as he maneuvered you both through the crowds. It was reminiscent of the feeling you’d had with Charles earlier, but with Arthur, it was different– more intense. Even from behind, you could sense his frame towering over you, feeling a warmth in your cheeks just at the thought of his broadness alone. He mumbled a series of ‘excuse us’ and ‘watch out’ as you moved along into the backyard, the scene nearly the same compared to Mayor Lemieux’s, of course the obvious difference was the actual yard itself.

It was only when you were nearly at the back that his hand dropped from you as he rested against a pillar, his eyes carefully scanning through the sea of people before returning to you.

“M’sorry about that,” his sincerity was evident. “Dutch’s been with ‘em all night, and I ain’t got a very good feeling about it.”

You appreciated his apology though it wasn’t really necessary. His intent was clear, and you admired him for it.

“Well, I’d say you’re my knight in shining armor, but it’s looking more like..” Your eyes danced around his attire again with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he shook his head and put his bottle to his lips, giving you a fine sight to see. “S’your fault I’m wearin this get-up, by the way.”

He pointed at you while leaning back, shifting his weight to one foot with the other crossed in front of it. His arms crossed against his chest in a way made his arms look ridiculously big, and you couldn’t help but wonder how this man didn’t have women lining up for him around the block.

“Oh, you say it like it’s a bad thing,” you retorted, taking a sip from your glass before gesturing to yourself. “And you’re not the only one, see?”

With a graceful twirl, you spun around, allowing your skirt to flare for a flashy effect. Arthur couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched you.

“Are you supposed to be somethin’, or?” There was a genuine curiosity in his tone that had you raising your brows, which caused him to stutter. “I-I mean, don’t get me wrong! It looks, you look–”

A laugh from you calmed his nerves, “I’m not, I just wanted to be festive, is all.”

He nodded and shifted his weight to the other foot, casting his gaze towards the crowd again. An awkward silence filled the space for a moment.

“What about you? What’s your get-up?” You grinned as he rolled his eyes at his word choice for costume. “And don’t say a cowboy.”

He fell quiet.

“An outlaw?”

Your laughter mingled in the air with Arthur’s, seeing a dash of red spread across his cheeks. It was exactly the kind of answer you had expected.

As it died down, his attention returned to the yard, and you couldn’t help but look at him. With his rugged looks, quick wit, and heart of gold, it was hard not to feel something for him. And for how much you were having a good time in the short duration you were with him, you couldn’t believe he ever protested coming out here.

Your heart fluttered for him. He could’ve been anywhere else right now, either at camp or drinking and getting into trouble, but yet he stayed with you, and it didn’t look like he was leaving your side anytime soon.

“Arthur–”

“We gotta move–”

The sudden urgency in his voice caught you off-guard. He stood from the pillar and a protective hand was on your back again, preparing to lead you away once more. Both of your gazes were fixed on several unfriendly-looking staff members who were combing through people with lanterns– grabbing them by the shoulder, holding the light to their face, then carelessly throwing them aside when they weren’t the face they were looking for.

Just your luck.

Quickly, Arthur guided you down the steps and to the right to what you assumed was a storage house. You kept an eye out while he found a way in, though your panic rose as they kept sweeping the yard and moving closer.

“Arthur, any day now would be gr–”

He pulled your arm into darkness and swung the door shut, immediately blocking it with an object that was too dark for you to see. The space was much smaller than you imagined and quite stuffy, the music and conversation muffled to your ears now.

Your heart hammered in your chest, surely this wasn’t because of a bruise to the ego? But then again, these rich folk seemed sensitive. You joined Arthur at the small window, just peeking around the curtain to watch the unwelcomed company grow closer, “Some staff this place has.”

“This place belongs to Angelo Bronté. And that ain’t staff.”

You scoffed, “Who?”

“Somebody we ain't need to piss off.”

You faced him, “And let me guess, you pissed him off somehow?”

As he turned to you, you became acutely aware of the lack of distance between you both. Just the slight inch forward and–

No– now was not the time to lust over him, even if your body was giving you all the telltale signs, especially the fire that burned in your core. But it didn’t help when he smirked at you for an answer, the dim illumination of half his face making him look criminally more attractive. You groaned at the overall situation– grappling with your desires and figuring how it wouldn’t be a true Van Der Linde outing if someone didn’t cause trouble.

Your fingers curled around the curtain as you watched them gather near where you’d been standing no more than ten minutes ago. Glancing back, you noticed another window that would lead just over the wall– your escape.

“Hey, there’s a–”

“Where'd you get that?”

You knitted your brows in confusion at him, letting a beat pass before seeing where his eyes had been glued to– your hand on the curtain.

The ring.

The dim light from outside still made it twinkle in the darkness of the room, catching his attention. You glanced at it before redirecting your gaze to the henchmen that had now come down the stairs and searched the opposite side of the patio behind some barrels. It was only a matter of time before they came looking where you were.

“Someone gave it to me, but listen–”

“Who gave it to you? His voice was insistent as he stared at you intently.

You stared back dumbfounded. Between wanting to have him right in this storage house and your pursuers less than twenty yards away, you couldn’t comprehend he was pestering you about this right now.

Letting out a huff, you blindly reached around for anything to give you a boost, finding your footing and hoisting upwards to reach the higher window. With one arm supporting yourself, the other made work with the pane, pushing it up little by little. It proved to be more difficult than you expected from its old age and scarce use. Your heart raced when you heard the twisting of the door knob and voices from the outside congregating around it.

Shit.

With a final push, you opened it all the way, whispering urgently, “C’mon!”

Arthur followed swiftly after you, his plunge to the ground a bit more graceful than yours, but certain he wasn’t looking anyway. Just as hit feet hit the ground, you heard the door bust open from inside, followed by several heavy footsteps and angry voices.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you to the right to run down the street, bumping into townsfolk along the way and hearing their unpleasant words go in one ear and out the other. But they weren’t the only ones disgruntled– so were more henchmen that were right after you. How many people did this guy have?

Your muttered profanity let Arthur know that trouble was on your tail, tightening his grip on your hand and looking for any way out.

An intersection was coming up as you ran further into Saint Denis, which meant more people, more places to hide, and more–

“Trolley!”

You pointed at it as it was approaching too quickly for your liking, hoping Arthur would see and redirect your route. But instead, he tugged for you to run faster.

“We’re not gonna–”

“Just trust me!”

Your eyes darted from the street ahead to the trolley, panic at an all time high as you were essentially running to your certain death.

You squinted as the bright lights blinded you, your legs pumping as fast as they could, and your shriek swallowed by the horn of the machine– you accepted your fate as an oversized bug smeared across its windshield.

You felt your body jerked to the side and slam against concrete. You were disoriented, your senses in chaos. This was it. The afterlife already– dark, cold, and full of..

Ragged breathing?

“Goddamn...” Arthur’s voice reached your ears.

You shot your eyes open at Arthur’s rasp, your heart painfully thumping in your chest and lungs aching with every breath. You heaved and peered around the corner to see Bronté’s men grouped in the street looking for a sign of either of you, but their efforts yielded nothing. WIth an angered look of defeat, they turned back towards the estate, and you let out a deep sigh of relief.

When you turned back, Arthur stood close to you, his gaze drawn to the men then falling to you after.

“You,” you poked at his chest, “are absolutely insane. Never make me do that again!”

“Remember,” his hand reached up for yours, “I’m an outlaw, not a liar.”

You shared a soft laugh, captivated by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and the soothing timbre of his voice. Your gaze shifted down to your conjoined hands, appreciating the gentle way he held yours despite his larger and rougher ones. His skin was warm against yours, and although you expected fireworks, it was more like a softness, surrendering to its familiarity despite never having experienced it before.

Lightly, his thumb grazed your palm and stopped at the band around your finger, gently turning your hand over so that the design was visible. He examined it closely, tracing the delicate details with his thumb.

“A woman in the market here gave it to me... Told her I couldn’t afford it, but she wanted me to keep it– insisted on it.”

He continued to look at it, taking in all the tiny details as best as he could in the dark alley. A faint smile appeared on his lips as his thumb ran over it, “Sounds like it was meant to be.”

His choice of words resonated with you, reaffirming the same feeling you’d had when you first tried it on.

A chuckle and grin from you caused him to tilt his head with a playful expression, slightly leaning closer to you, “What?”

You glanced at the ring and back to him, briefly holding your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. Your gaze flickered from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up again.

“You believe in fate, Arthur Morgan?”

His smile faded and eyes slightly widened, but your soft gaze remained steady on him. Your hands left his and traveled to his shoulders, carefully smoothing out any wrinkles. His breathing quickened, especially after the sudden touch. He stared deep into your eyes, searching for any sign that would tell him it was all in his head, but it wasn’t. You knew what you were asking.

He lowered his head for a moment, his expression softening under your touch and drawing closer to you. When he met your eyes again, a fleeting look of sadness crossed his face as his hands found themselves under your elbows.

Being involved with someone like him came with hardships for both sides– a lifestyle that one had to keep and the other suffered because of it. It wasn’t fair, eternally caught in moral dilemmas and forever denied the chance to settle down. There wasn’t the luxury to cherry-pick from life’s offerings, to have it all. This was his life, and he carried the weight of it heavily.

“I don’t believe in a lot of things,”

But you didn’t care. You had embraced a life similar to his, akin to that of the Van Der Linde gang. If you hadn’t, would you all have winded up together anyway?

You understood the unconventional life you all led, far from the standard, civilized existence that others pursued. But it worked for you, and you had each other to rely on, and that’s what truly mattered. You saw beyond the surface, beyond the cold outlaw label that clung to him, a man with flaws and virtues. Maybe he lost his temper too quickly at times or wielded a sharp tongue, but beneath it all, there was love, kindness, and a sense of honor that ran deep within him.

The world may have painted him as the Devil incarnate, but you knew him differently. He was a good man, capable of both selfless kindness and quiet introspection. In your heart, you held this belief, and nothing could change that.

Life had conspired to bring you together. And in that union, there was fate.

“But I have my exceptions.”

He pressed his lips gently against yours, his arms snaking behind and around as yours curled over his shoulders.

It was slow and sweet just like how you imagined he would be– taking his time to know your body and touch. His hands spread along your back and held you protectively, your bodies melting into one another. The breaks between were short, too focused on the fact this was happening to pay attention to anything else but each other. Your hand moved to his cheek and ran your thumb along his beard, earning a hum of pleasure from the small act and had you smiling against his lips.

When you finally broke, you rested foreheads together, pushing up his hat slightly in the process. Even in a dark alley, you could still make out his bright blue eyes and a deep shade of red gracing his skin. You couldn’t even begin to conceal your toothy grin, nor could he.

“I have my exceptions, too.”

His hand reached up and curled around yours, “Hope I’m the only one, then.”

You pecked his lips before stepping back and lacing your fingers with his, gently tugging to walk, “I’ll think about it.”

He rolled his eyes at your wink but still grinned, happily following you around wherever you dragged him to. Slipping between alleys, you merged yourselves with the lively nightlife again– the same sights you saw during the day looked even better now.

As you strolled through the town hand-in-hand, a sense of domesticity settled upon you. Tonight, you weren’t part of a highly wanted gang, you were just another pair in the streets of Saint Denis– clinging to his arm, catching snippets of entertainment through saloon doors, and getting the other’s attention when something of interest was spotted.

One of the things you enjoyed most was Arthur’s reactions to when kids jumped out to scare you both, a prank played on anyone who dared to walk the particular stretch of the street. The younger the prankster, the more dramatic Arthur’s responses became. He would place a hand over his heart and tightly cling to you with feigned disbelief, saying things like “Haven’t been scared like that in years!” or, “Never even saw ‘em comin!” before saying some words of encouragement that fueled the next scare.

Teenage boys who attempted the same stunt received a more wary reception from Arthur, recognizing their motives often stemmed from a desire to appear cool in front of friends or impress girls, and that their pranks were much more juvenile. In most cases, his glare and sheer size alone were enough to send them fleeing, but those who dared to persist were subjected to his quick tongue and left them retreating like chastened dogs with their tails between their legs. Your laughter always followed the encounter, adding to the lingering sting of Arthur’s verbal reprimand.

Eventually, your route had led you near the markets again, and you eagerly pulled Arthur along to find your favorite stand. He chuckled and followed your lead as you navigated through the crowd, your excitement palpable.

“Oh please tell me you stole him!” Came a familiar voice around the corner.

You smiled at the sight of her and approached, seeing that her table had been decently cleared, a sign of a good night for profits.

Arthur politely tipped his head towards her with a shy smile, “Afraid it’s the other way around, ma’am.”

You felt a warmth on your cheeks at his answer and gently squeezed his hand before letting it go to dig out your promises tucked expertly within your clothing. “But I do come bearing gifts!”

Her playful frown turned up into genuine surprise at your reveal of assorted jewelry and trinkets– indeed impressed with your take as it was more than she anticipated. Carefully, she examined each one before placing them with her own wares for sale, whispering a praise about the item while doing so. As she spoke, her eyes flitted about her table, her gestures revealing a hint of embarrassment.

“I apologize that I don’t have more to offer, dear,” her eyebrows furrowed apologetically, “but please, do take whatever you like.”

You glanced over the table, hesitating as you hovered a hand over an item before retracting it, shaking your head slowly. The woman and Arthur exchanged puzzled glances, the woman’s expression now tinged with concern.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight, I’ll be here–”

“It’s quite alright,” you replied sweetly, though the confusion was still apparent in her expression. “I just wanted to repay you.”

She layered her hands over her chest in gratitude, and you felt the act of pure kindness from one human to another to be worth more than any dollar bill or piece of gold.

You also knew that besides the girls, each member that was out had surely pickpocketed or gambled their way into getting a cut for themselves and camp.

Her eyes peered over to Arthur for a moment, his posture straightening when she pointed a motherly finger at him. “Don’t let this one go, you hear?”

You giggled at her demand, and another wave of red kissing his cheeks only added to your amusement as he tipped his head at her once again.

Slowly, you exchanged goodbyes as Arthur placed a hand on your lower back and subtly scooched you along– only for it to be an excuse to slip a wad of cash towards the woman without you noticing. Her hands were quick to replace the cash in his hands for something small and delicate into his, darting her eyes between your turned figure and him before shooting a wink. Without looking, Arthur knew exactly what she gave him, and placed it right in his pocket before giving you his full attention as you continued through the strip.

A warm smile graced your lips as Arthur’s arm wrapped around your waist and he planted a gentle kiss on your head, feeling a tiny swarm of butterflies in your chest. His attention made you feel important with the way he had to touch you, like he needed everyone to see you on his arm, proud to have you by his side.

As the night wore on, you couldn’t suppress the heaviness of your eyelids. You tried to hide your yawns that wouldn’t stop coming after the initial one, but Arthur noticed after the second one. After exploring nearly all the sights of Saint Denis, with the exception of the mansion district, of which you had wisely avoided for the rest of the evening, he convinced you to rest at a hotel for the night. You protested at first, but another yawn and knowing look from him persuaded you to give in.

He’d slipped the clerk a little more than the average room cost, wanting you to have the best possible after such a physically taxing day. The clerk, more than willing to oblige, had graciously handed over the keys.

While the lofty bed and opulent room details were certainly appealing, you immediately took to the private balcony that gave the perfect view over the town, allowing you to continue enjoying the night from the comfort of your room. Your skirt fluttered in the breeze, mirroring the movement of the curtains as you leaned against the iron railing. A soft, ambient glow illuminated your figure, creating a picturesque scene that Arthur couldn’t help but admire– a sight he would undoubtedly sketch later.

He joined at your side, his presence reassuring as he brushed against your shoulder. You continued to gaze down at the bustling town below, the sounds of murmured conversation and laughter from the open buildings– mostly taverns and saloons– filling the night air. You rested your head against Arthur’s shoulder, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

“I know I acted like I didn’t wanna come out here tonight,” he mentioned as he looked down at you, meeting your gaze that reaffirmed his statement that pulled a smile from him. “But I’m glad I did.”

Adjusting to face him properly, he snaked his arm around you as he did the same, drawing you closer to him with a soft, affectionate look. You brushed noses as you settled in his space, your lips mere centimeters from his.

“I’m glad you did too.”

Your lips locked in a passionate embrace, and the cheers and woos from below had reached your ears, causing both of you to break into smiles at the unexpected audience. But he paid no heed to the commotion as he pulled you in for more, his hands finding your face to deepen your connection.

In a brief moment of separation, you took the opportunity to give him a suggestive smirk and nod to the room that told him everything he needed to know– quickly peppering kisses along your jaw and neck before swiftly sweeping you off your feet and right into bed.

If tonight proved one thing, it was that you needed to get out of camp more often.

Especially with Arthur.