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layce2015 · 1 year

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Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester

Masterlist pt 1

Masterlist pt 2

"You expect me to believe you're CDC?" The doctor asked us after the boys and I showed him our CDC badges. "Excuse me?" I said, confused. "It's just that you're a day early. First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people." the doctor said. "New administration. A change you can believe in." Dean said. "Right." the doctor said before she leads us to the morgue.

Once there, the doctor pulls the corpse of Mr Xavier out of a freezer, who looks like a dead eighty-year-old. "Meet Xavier. Date of birth, April third, nineteen eighty-four." she said and the boys and I exchange confused glances with her.

"I know. I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him." She said, as if reading our thoughts. "Well, he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh?" Dean jokes. "So, what's your theory?" Sam asked. "All I know is, decedent's male, twenty-five years old and he died of old age." the doctor said before she walks away.

"You were right about this one. It's definitely a job." I said to Bobby in my phone as we leave the hospital. "Thought so. Any other stiffs in town?" Bobby asked me. "Just the one body." I said. "Anything else?" Bobby asked. "Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size." I said. "Well, check 'em out." Bobby said.

"You think they're connected?" I asked him as we get to the Impala. "Call it a hunch." Bobby said. "You got it. And, by the way, how you doing?" I asked him. "Doing?" Bobby asked, confused. "Yeah. You know, just...in general?" I said. "Oh, you mean my legs. Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit." Bobby said, with harsh sarcasm, before he hangs up. I roll my eyes and put my phone away.

Dean sits on an ottoman, looking at a framed photo of an old man, Cliff Whitlow, while Sam and I sit in a couple of armchairs and Mrs. Whitlow sits on the sofa. "That's the most recent." she tells us as Dean hands the photo to Sam and I look at the picture over his shoulder.

The photo is of Cliff as a golf tournament champion, Miami Palms June 2009, holding a golf club and trophy. A USMC tattoo is visible on his right arm. "How long has he been missing?" I asked her. "Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night." Mrs Whitlow said.

"Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe? A favorite bar?" Dean asked and she laughs. "No. Tuesdays, he always works a bit late, but he always comes straight home." She tells us. "May I use your facilities, ma'am?" I asked, getting an idea.

I enters the office, looking back over my shoulder, and head over the desk. I scoop up a pile of papers off the desk and rifle the rest of the desk and the pockets of Cliff's coat.

I pull out a receipt and look at it: it's for Madame Liu's Golden Palace and totals over $250. "Working late my ass." I grumble.

That night, the boys and I walk along the corridor of the Golden Palace. "Well, at least he's consistent. Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates." Sam said. "Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age." Dean said and I shake my head. "Yeah, like either of us will live that long." I said. "True." Dean said and he and I share a look.

"So...what do you think's in there?" Sam asked. "A wrinkly, gooey corpse." Dean said as we stop outside room 44. Sam pulls out his lockpick kit and selects two while Dean and I keep watch. A man starts shouting inside the room. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!"

The boys and I look at each other and slam the door open. "Hey! What the—" the man exclaimed. He is bed, naked, with a woman who is barely dressed.

"Oh." Sam said.

"God." Dean mutters as another woman comes out from under the covers.

"Awkward." I mutteres. "It's gooey." Sam said as both women flee the bed. "Sorry. Uh, got the wrong room." Dean said. "Close the door!" the man shouts and we start to leave but Sam stops and stares at the man.

"Hey." He said and I turn and notice that the man has a USMC tattoo that looks exactly like Cliff Whitlow's. "Nice tattoo." Sam said as he goes back into the room. "Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?" Sam asked the man. He shakes his head. "Never heard of him." the man said.

"Well, that's weird." Sam said and he pulls an ID out of the wallet that was apparently in the man's pants. "'Cause you're carrying his wallet." Sam said as Dean goes over to the bed and yanks up the covers to look underneath. "Huh." Dean said as he drops the sheets. "Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice. Well, you look great. Cliff. Did you get some work done?" Dean asked and Cliff shakes his head and sighs.

"Could you give us some privacy?" Cliff asked the two women, who are now robed. Cliff goes to put on a robe and hands them some money and they leave. "Please don't tell my wife." Cliff pleads to us as he shuts the door. "Slow down." I said to him. "I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way." he pleads to us.

"How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?" Dean asked him. "I can't tell you." Cliff said. "Well, either you tell us or we tell the missus." I said, folding my arms across my chest. "Okay! Okay! It was a game." Cliff said, panicked. "Like...XBox?" Sam asked, confused. "What's XBox? No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years." Cliff said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. "Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me at a bar, invites me to play. Gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo humbo over them, says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. And look at me." Cliff said. "What was he chanting?" Sam asked and Cliff laughs.

"How should I know? All I know is, my bad hip's good, I threw away my glasses. One of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker." Cliff said. "What does this miracle worker look like?" I asked. "Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick." Cliff said.

"All right, all right. Where's this game at?" Dean asked him. "He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you." Cliff said. "Thank you, Cliff." Dean said and we head for the door but Dean stops and turns to Cliff. "Oh, and, uh...stay classy." he said and we leave.

"It sounds crazy, right?" Dean said to Bobby over the phone as we get into the Impala, phone was on speaker so Sam and I could hear. "No. There's lore on it. Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose." Bobby said. "Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse." Dean said.

"Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?" Bobby asked. "There's a lot of dives in this town. We're gonna have to split up." Dean said. "Well, why you still talking to me?" Bobby growls and he hangs up and Dean shuts his phone.

After looking around at some bars and not finding anything, Sam and I met up and I call Dean. "Find anything?" I asked him once he answered. "Yeah, a whole bunch of squat. You?" he asked me. "No, not a thing. Sam also didn't come up with anything." I said.

"All right. Well, you come up dry, circle back to the motel in two. Your turn to grab dinner." Dean said and I laugh, lightly. "Let me guess, your usual with extra bacon?" I said and Dean chuckles. "You know me so well." Dean said and I smile before I hang up.

I turn to Sam. "Hungry?" I asked him and he smiles. "Starving." He said and I gesture for him to follow me and we go to a nearby fast food place.

We got into the restaurant, ordered our food and waited for it. As we waited, Sam was looking over at the little play place this restaurant had for young kids. The sounds of kids screaming, talking and running around as they climb into the jungle gym or slide down the slide.

"You know, I kinda miss having that innocence." Sam said and I nod. "Yeah, having not a care in the world and not worry about monsters and demons..." I said. "Or the end of the world." Sam said and I nod. "Especially, that." I said. "All you worried about was homework and what the next new toy was gonna be." I said.

"Then it gets crazy as teenagers." Sam said and I giggle and nod. "Oh, God, yeah. Hormones are the worse. So confusing when your body was changing. And getting interested in dating." I said and Sam laughs. "Yeah, I remember getting so nervous around girls and kissing." Sam said and I give him a playful look. "What? You weren't nervous when you kissed me." I said and Sam groans.

"Oh, God, you had to bring that up. We were kids!" He said and I laugh. "I still remember when you asked me. You were like I just...want to see what's it like." I said, doing a high pitch voice mimicking Sam. "Hey, you were the only person I trusted and I remember you were just as curious." Sam said and I laugh. "Oh, I'm not denying it. But it is funny to kinda look back on. Especially after we shared that kiss and both of us agreed that it was weird." I said.

"Yeah..." he said and I stare at him and he has the oh, crap look on his face. "I-I-I mean, you weren't bad, it was just....weird kissing you...I mean..." Sam stammers, in a panic, and I laugh. "Sam, it's okay. I get it." I said as I pat his arm, he lets out a soft chuckle and we share a smile. "Besides, I get to say I've gotten to kiss both the Winchester Brothers." I said and Sam shakes his head. "Yeah, I'll bet." He laughs. "It's on my resume. Hard-working, Always on time, got to kiss the Winchester Brothers." I said and we laugh.

"But we both agree to never tell Dean." Sam said. "Oh yeah, definitely." I said just as our order number was called out.

Later, we make it to the motel and Sam opens it and we enter, Sam was carrying the sodas as I carried the bag of food and we put it on the table. "Hey, Dean? You find anything?" Sam called out. "Uh, you might say." an unfamiliar raspy voice replied.

Startled, Sam and I turn and draw our guns, aiming at this old man in a bathrobe. He had short white hair and he looked about maybe sixty or seventy years old. "Who the hell are you!?" I asked the old man as he raised his hands. "Guys, relax. It's me." he said and I furrow my brow while Sam lowers his gun.

"Dean?" Sam said, confused, and I look over at him then over at the old man, confused. "Hi." Dean said and my jaw drops as I lower my gun. "What the hell happened?" I asked him, shocked. "I, you know...found the game." Dean replied as he heads for the food and picks up a burger.

"You f—I thought you said you were g-good at poker." Sam exclaimed. "I am. Shut up." Dean grumbles then he gestures to us. "So, you two were just gonna shoot some old guy? Is that it?" Dean asked and I make a noise of disbelief. "We didn't know what you were. I mean, have you seen you? You look like—" I said, shocked.

"The old chick in Titanic. I know. Shut up." Dean said, his mouth full of the burger. "I was gonna say the Crypt Keeper." I said and Dean glares at me. "I would've said Emperor Palpatine." Sam said as a door thuds open and Bobby rolls in.

"I see you two met John McCain there." Bobby said, nodding towards Dean. "Yeah. Either of you want to tell us what happened?" Sam asked, still just as shocked as me. "Bobby's an idiot. That's what happened." Dean said. "Hey, nobody asked you to play." Bobby yells then the two began to argue.

"Right. I should have just let you die." Dean said. "And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose!" Bobby said and Sam looks over at me and smiles. "It's like Grumpy Old Men." he said and I stifle a laugh just as both Bobby and Dean turn to him. "Shut up, Sam." they said, in unison, then they turn to each other and continue to argue.

"What the hell were you thinking? He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights." Dean said to Bobby. "You just don't get it." Bobby growls. "Yeah, I get it, Bobby. You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine." said Dean. "No, you can't." Bobby growls. "You got me. I never been paralyzed. But I tell you something—I've been to hell, and there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?" Dean yells at him. "Uh, actually, yeah." I said then Dean places a hand on his chest.

"Oh!" Dean groans and he sits down, still holding his burger. "I'm having a heart attack." he said and Sam looks worried while I go over to Dean. "No, you're not." Bobby said. "What is it?" Dean asked as I kneel next to his seat and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Acid reflux. Guys your age can't digest certain foods. You're gonna need to put down that cheeseburger." Bobby said. Dean sighs and puts down the burger.

"So, you want to keep emoting, or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours? It's got to be about the chips." Bobby said. "I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry." Dean said. "I mean, what are you all thinking? Some kind of magic chips or something?" Sam asked. "Definitely." Bobby said as Sam sits down.

"You remember what he chanted?" Dean asked Bobby. "Yep—every word." Bobby said. "All right, then let's find out where he stashes his chips." I said. "And steal me fifty. Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?" Dean asked and I look at the bathrobe he was wearing. "I think you ought to put some clothes on." I said to him.

Later, there was a knock at the door and Dean, who now is fully dressed, goes to answer the door. A young maid, with a cart and an armful of towels, standing at the door. "Ready for housekeeping, sir?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am." Dean said as Sam and I walk up next to Dean.

"You ready?" I asked him and the housekeeper smiled at us. "It's so nice to see you and your boyfriend take your grandpa out on the town." She said, nodding at me and Sam, and Dean looks at her, offended, while I hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah, it's great." Sam said, trying not to laugh as well. "But watch out, he'll try to flirt with you." I said to her as I pat Dean's arm and she laughs.

"Oh, that's like my grandfather. He hits on anything that moves, too." she said as she heads past us and Dean glares at me and Sam while we stifle our laugh. "Yeah, he's a handful." I said and the housekeeper giggles and I look at Bobby, who was smiling as well, then I look back at Dean. "Can we just go?" He asked us, annoyed.

Bobby, Dean, Sam and I sit in Bobby's van and watch people go by. The witch guy, Patrick, comes out of a building then he checks his watch and crosses the street without looking, noticing too late that a car is coming: it slams right into him. The driver gets out and checks his injuries then he runs over to a construction crew nearby.

"Guys, get some help! He came out of nowhere! Right out in front of me!" he yells and the boys and I all stare at this when another car drives by, Patrick in the driver's seat. The driver and the construction workers look between him and where Patrick got hit by the driver's car.

Dean laughs. "I got to say, I kind of like the guy." he said.

We followed Patrick to an apartment building then we watch him leave the building, get in his car, and drive off. The boys and I exchange looks, none of us could believe our luck and we get out of the truck. We get to the building and Dean holds the door open while Sam rolls Bobby inside, I follow close behind. Sam then let Bobby roll himself until he stops and sighs.

"Well, I'm out." Bobby said and I look over and see a sign on the elevator that reads ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. Sam and I look at it, then at Bobby, and both of us sigh.

Minutes later, Sam and I jog up a flight of stairs with no difficulty. We stop at the landing to see Dean walking up one step at a time. "Dean." Sam said as he points to a sign with a large 2. Dean sighs and Sam and I continue up the stairs.

Sam and I leave the stairwell but I stop and wait for a few minutes as Dean, eventually, makes it up the stairs, breathing hard. "C'mon, you old fart." I teased and he glares at me again. "Don't give me that look, this is your fault." I said. "Technically...it's..Bobby's." Dean said, in between breathes. "Good point, both of you were being stupid." I scolded and I turn and walk down the hallway.

We come up to the door of room 3701 and Sam sorts through his lockpicks. He then picks the lock and opens it, the three of us enter. We look around the nice room until Dean said. "Guys?"

Sam and I go over to see that he had opened an armoire with a false back, where there was a safe. "Dime-store model. Piece of cake." Dean said and he turns the dial, squinting and leans in and out, obviously the numbers are too blurred for him to read.

"It's like Mission: Pathetic. Watch out." Sam said and he pushes Dean out of the way and turns the dial: it opens quickly. There are quite a few poker chips in the safe. "I could have done that." Dean grumbles. "Honey, by the time you would've gotten to it, Sam and I would have reached old age as well." I said as Sam starts to grab handfuls of chips.

"What are you doing?" A female voice asked and we turn around to see a dark blonde haired woman, wearing a black dress and a large silver locket. "Aren't you the chick from the bar?" Dean asked her. "I'm a lot more than that." she said and she throws up a hand, clenches a fist, and twists. Dean doubles over. "Dean!" I said, worried, as Patrick hurries up and puts a hand on the girl's arm.

"It's all right, sweetheart. It's all right. They're harmless." He said to her and the girl lets Dean go while Patrick steps forward to us. "You three want chips? Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's in the nine-hundred-year-old witch. You three want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em." He explains as he chews on his toothpick.

"Fine. Let's do it." Dean demands and Patrick pulls a card out of a pocket. It's the eight of hearts. "What card am I holding up?" he asked and Dean squints at it and doesn't answer. "That's what I thought. If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer. You two, on the other hand..." Patrick said as he looks at me and Sam, Dean turns to us.

"No, guys." Dean said, in a warning tone.

"Dean." Sam and I said, exasperated.

"What, these two not much of a player? Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should have taken better care of that ticker, though." Patrick said and he opens the door. "You're free to go." he said and Dean leaves, Sam and I follow.

"Oh, but, you two..." Patrick said and we turn as he points at me and Sam. "Your brother's situation—that's punishment enough, but I can't let you leave without a small parting gift." He said then he claps three times.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, confused. "You two'll find out soon enough." Patrick said. "Let's get out of here, guys." Dean said and we leave, he-witch closes the door behind us.

We head for the outside door when I noticed Sam scratching the inside of his thighs. At that moment, I felt a painful feeling in my lower stomach area, a pretty familiar feeling that I experience once a month.

I place my hand over my lower stomach as Sam opens the door for us and he scratches some more. "Dude..." Dean said to Sam, who turns to him. "I believe that he-witch gave you the clap." Dean said and Sam goes stiff at this then marches off.

Dean laughs and he turns to me, noticing me clutching my lower stomach. "What did he give you, princess?" Dean asked and I glare at him. "Cramps. Really bad one. So, if you want to live long enough to de-age, I'd suggest you shut up." I growled at him and I walk away.

The next day, the boys and I head towards the motel. "Little help here?" Bobby asked, annoyed, and I forgot...to get to the motel we have to go up an incline. So I go and push Bobby up. "You know, I still think Sam or I should play." I said. "No, no, no. Neither of you are good enough. I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost." Dean said. "Exactly." Bobby said.

"So, what? So (y/n) and I don't get a say in this?" Sam asked, annoyed. "Sammy, when you get to be our age—" Dean said and I give a look of disbelief at Dean. "You're thirty, Dean!" I shouted, annoyed. "Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker—" I started to say but Bobby talks over me.

"Knowing the game is not enough, (y/n). It's not about playing the cards." He said. "It's about playing the other guy. I know that." I said. "Well, hooray for you. All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him." Bobby said. "No, Bobby. You don't have enough years in the bank." Dean said. "I got enough." Bobby mumbles. "No, you'll die if you lose, Bobby." Sam said.

"So what if I do, huh? What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?" Bobby asked, angrily. "Bobby—" Dean said, exasperated. "No, no. It's the facts. I'm old...and broke down...and I can't..." Bobby stops to take a moment to breathe. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such a coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth day I got home from the hospital." Bobby admits and all of us fall silent.

"Bobby, you are not playing again. I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be. And I'm gonna find it." I said and I walk pass the boys, angrily.

*3rd Person POV*

Dean opens the door so Bobby can roll in, then Sam and Dean walk in as Bobby looks up and stops abruptly. Lia, Patrick's assistant, is sitting on the bed, holding up a piece of paper. "Take it. It'll help you." she said and Bobby rolls closer and takes it.

"What is this?" he asked. "The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on." she replied. "And it reverses what?" Sam asked. "Patrick's work—all of it." Lia replied. "You—you saying I could be normal again?" Dean asked. "You and everyone else he's ever played. Who's still alive." Lia said, correcting herself at that last part.

"Why the hell should we trust you?" Dean asked her. "Trust me, don't trust me. I don't care. The spell is real." she said and she gets up and heads for the door. "If it zaps everyone, don't that include your man?" Bobby asked her. "And me, too. I look good for my age." she said.

"Lady, this don't add up for squat. Why would you want that?" Bobby asked her, suspiciously. "I have my reasons." Lia replied then she looks at her silver locket. "Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow." she said and she leaves. Dean, Sam and Bobby watch her go, then look at each other.

Meanwhile, under the bar, Patrick chews on a toothpick, a glass of whiskey in front of him. On the table are five cards in a row, the eight of spades, five and four of clubs, king of diamonds, and jack of hearts, and a pile of poker chips, about three dozen. His opponent, an old man named Hesh, clinks his poker chips against each other (he has at most ten), looking at his two face-down cards.

Patrick looks at his own cards: the kings of hearts and spades, for three of a kind. Hesh has the nines of clubs and diamonds for one pair and he throws a few chips on the pile. "Bet." Hesh said and Patrick takes out his toothpick.

"I sense you've got me by the jewels on this one, Hesh. I fold." Be said and Hesh collects his chips. "What are you up—like thirteen years there, Hesh? What do you say we call it a day?" Patrick said and Hesh chuckles. "Thanks, Patrick." he said and Patrick looks up.

"Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah." Patrick said and Hesh turns around to see who he was talking to. It is (y/n). "Isn't that right, Hesh?" Patrick asked Hesh, who turns back to him. "Thanks again, Patrick." Hesh said. "Shalom, my friend. Shalom." Patrick said and Hesh gets up and leaves.

Patrick then shuffles the cards. "That was nice of you." (y/n) said. "I'm a nice guy. What can I do you for, miss?" he asked as he keeps shuffling then (y/n) sits down. "Deal." she said and Patrick smirks at her. "And your name?" He asked her. "(Y/n)." She replied.

At the cemetery, Bobby sits at the foot of a grave while Dean and Sam dig. "Jawbone of a murderer. Great." Dean grumbles as he sticks the shovel in the dirt, breathing hard. "You know, this really sucks. How do we even know her spell's gonna work?" Dean asked. "We don't. But we ain't got a Plan B. Now, less flappin' and more diggin'." Bobby yells and Dean goes to move another scoop of dirt while Sam keeps going.

Then something cracks. "Oh, God!" Dean moans and Bobby rolls his eyes while Sam shakes his head and continues to dig. "My elbows! I'm all creaky." Dean moans. "Hurry up, you crybaby." Bobby spat at him. "Pound it up your ass, Ironsides." Dean growls.

"One little grave. And you got your brother helping you." Bobby said. "Then you do it." Dean said. "Fine. I'll hop right in." Bobby said, sarcastically. "Guys." Sam said, exasperated, but Dean and Bobby continue to argue. "Well, least your legs are numb." Dean sneers. "Shut up and dig, Grandma." Bobby spat and Dean goes back to digging.

"Oh! Now it's my back!" Dean groans,m as he leans forward and Sam sighs, annoyed. "Can you straighten up?" Bobby asked him. "Yeah, but a little sympathy wouldn't hurt." Dean said. "Butt cheek tingling?" Bobby asked Dean and he turns to him. "Well, that's kind of personal." Dean said.

"So yeah?" Bobby said, questioning, and Dean looks up. "It's sciatica. You'll live. Keep digging." Bobby said, not caring, and Dean glares at him. "You know, Bobby, killing you is officially on my bucket list." Dean said and Sam looks over at him. "Dean, can we just hurry and get this done. I don't know how much longer (y/n) can keep him distracted." Sam said as he continues to dig.

"I still don't like that (y/n) is playing that game." Dean grumbles as he goes back to digging. “She insisted.” Sam said. “That woman can be real stubborn sometimes.” Dean grumbled. “I wonder where she gets that from.” Sam teased and Dean shoots him a dirty look.

"Anyway, I trust her. Between the two of us, I think (y/n) has a better chance with him." Sam said. “Geez, why don’t you marry her?” Dean said, sarcastically. “Not her type. She seems to be into 70 year old men.” Sam joked and Dean glares at him again. “Cut that chitchat, boys, and keep digging.” Bobby ordered.

Patrick chews on his toothpick, he has a glass of whiskey on the table, two cards in his hand, and several stacks of chips. Several chips are piled in the middle of the table next to the four of diamonds, a red court card, a black seven, the three of hearts, and a black two. He takes the toothpick out.

"I like you, (y/n). I do. You're smart, and your heart's clearly in the right place." He said but (y/n) doesn't respond. Then Patrick throws down his toothpick and drinks his whiskey. "I can tell a lot about a person by looking." He said. "You mean you're psychic." (y/n) said and Patrick snorts a laugh. "No. That'd be cheating. I'm talking about good old-fashioned intuition." he said and (y/n) nods.

"Right. Let's just play." she said as Patrick drinks more whiskey. "We are playing." he said and he puts the glass down next to the toothpick. "Does your boyfriend know you're here?" Patrick asked her, suspiciously. "Bet five." (y/n) said as she drops a stack of five chips on the pile. She has a lot fewer chips left than Patrick. "Didn't think so." Patrick said, smiling.

He puts one stack of five on another and adds that stack to the pile. "I raise. Here you are, right? Trying to clean up their mess, and they still want to sit you at the kiddie table." Patrick said and (y/n) looks down.

"You're not a little girl anymore, (y/n)." Patrick tells her as he toys with a few chips. (Y/n) looks up at him as he continues. "Then again, maybe you are. You're in over your head here, (y/n). I mean, you can keep making these moves—you know, playing it cautious, playing the percentages. But I'm still gonna kick your ass into the nursing home." Patrick taunts.

"Does this armchair-psychology routine usually work for you?" (Y/n) asked and Patrick laughs. "You tell me. You're the one who's losing." Patrick said as he chews his toothpick.

A little later, Patrick shuffles the cards, chewing his toothpick. He has thirty or thirty-five chips and (y/n) fifteen or twenty. She plays with a few of her chips while Lia walks in. Patrick puts down the toothpick and Lia leans down to kiss Patrick. Patrick looks at (y/n) and winks. "Little break?" he asked and (y/n) nods.

(Y/n) bursts out of doors that reads EMMIT'S PUB DELIVERY RING. She looks around and spots Dean. "How's it going in there?" he asked her and she scoffs. "How do you think it's going? What about you? You have everything you need?" (y/n) asked him and he nods. "We still need a little he-witch DNA." Dean said and (y/n) holds up a toothpick

"He was chewing it." she said as Dean takes it. "Hurry up, Dean. Please." She pleads and Dean grins a bit. "You know, I love it when you beg." He said and (y/n) rolls her eyes. "Oh, God." She groans. "Yeah, just like that!" Dean teased and (y/n) glares at him. "Shut up!" She said.

“You know, if we weren’t so pressed for time I would suggested a quickie behind that dumpster.” Dean said, pointing the toothpick towards a nearby dumpster. “Get out of here, you pig!” (Y/n) commanded and she turns to walk back towards the door. "Besides, your old ass couldn't keep up with me." She teased, looking over her shoulder and winking at Dean, before heading back inside and leaving Dean standing there, stunned and a little turned on.

Oh, when I get back to normal, she's gonna get it... Dean thought as he turned then started rubbing his sore arm from all the digging he had to do.

(Y/n) plays with her chips when Patrick sits back down. Lia stands behind Patrick, who pushes the deck of cards across the table.

"Airmidh mi air maponus, dia na hogalachd. Gairmidh mi air sucellus, dia na time." Bobby recites, reading from Lia's paper while Sam and Dean stand at the bowl full of burning things. Dean throws a handful of an item in the flames, which flare up blue.

"Till an-dràsda obair uile gu bheilair a bhith deànta. Mar sin bitheadh." Bobby said then he looks up at Dean. "Drop it in." he tells Dean, who looks at the toothpick and adds it to the fire.

"Well? How do I look?" Dean asked after a moment of silence but Bobby and Sam don't reply. The truthful answer is eighty years old.

Back at the bar, Patrick looks at (y/n). "Question." Patrick said and he holds up a toothpick. "Is this what you meant to give your boyfriend?" Patrick asked her but (y/n) doesn't let her expression change. Lia flicks a glance at the toothpick.

"The one you gave him never passed my lips. Won't do a scrap of good." Patrick growls and he throws the toothpick across the table. "I don't like cheating, (y/n)." Patrick said, in a threatening tone, then he stretches out his hand and clenches a fist. (y/n) stiffens, gasping for breath, while Lia watches. (y/n) puts a hand to her throat.

"Stop it!" Lia shouts as she grabs Patrick's wrist. "Patrick, let her go!" Lia shouts. "She tried to kill us!" Patrick yells. "I did it! I gave her the spell!" Lia shouts at him. Patrick, shocked, releases (y/n) and looks up at Lia as (y/n) gasps in air.

"What?" he asked her as he stands up and touches Lia's face. "Why...why would you do that?" he asked her, upset. "You know why." Lia said then she touches her silver locket. "You know." she whispers and Patrick looks away for a moment, then sits down.

"Keep. Playing." Patrick mutters and Lia looks away while (y/n) glances at her.

Bobby is driving his van while Dean is sitting next to him and Sam in the backseat. "Everything we put in that spell was kosher." Bobby said. "Yeah, everything except the damn toothpick." Dean said. "You two got to go get a speck of DNA. Strap on your track shoes." Bobby said as he looks at Dean, who rolls his eyes. "Oh, goody. More stairs." Dean mutters, sarcastically.

More than a dozen chips are piled next to the eight of hearts, the queens of clubs and diamonds, and the two of diamonds. Patrick discards a card and deals the ace of clubs, (y/n) has her hands folded against her mouth.

"It's too damn clean in here. First witch I ever heard of didn't spew bodily fluids all over the place." Dean said to Bobby over the phone as he and Sam look around Patrick's apartment. "Toothbrush, comb—anything." Bobby said as Sam and Dean continue to search.

(Y/n) stacks five chips next to another five next to the pile. "Well, look at you—the percentage player betting the farm. Awful transparent of you, (y/n). I mean, if I had a monster hand like you have, I'd trap you. But you get so excited, you bet yourself right out of a big pot." Patrick said then he sniffs and picks up his face-down cards. "I fold." he said as he discards his cards.

"Set of ladies, I'm guessing." Patrick said as (y/n) collects a couple dozen chips and turns over her cards: the three of clubs and five of diamonds, for one pair of queens. "Nice bluff. If we had time, I could make a real player out of you." Patrick said as (y/n) stacks her chips. "I got time." she said, sternly, and Patrick grins.

"Maybe. But I can't say the same for Dean. Your boyfriend's gonna be dead soon." Patrick taunts and (y/n) looks up at him. "And when I say soon..." Patrick said then he leans forward. "I mean minutes." He informs her and (y/n)'s expression changes, fearful, and she stands up.

Patrkck extends a fist to yank her back down with witchcraft. "The game's not over till I say it is. Blinds." Patrick growls and he slaps down two chips and (y/n) one.

Dean spots a wine glass on a table, still with a little wine left undrunk. But then he starts toward it and stops. "(Y/n)..." he whispers and starts slumping on the floor, groaning. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed as he runs to his brother.

Patrick deals two face-down cards apiece. (y/n) glances at hers and adds another chip to the pot. "So." Patrick mutters as he slaps down three cards and spreads them out: the ace of spades and fours of hearts and clubs. (y/n) eyes the cards.

"When it's about your boyfriend, you get so emotional, your brain just flies right out the window." He said, illustrating with a hand gesture. "Good to know." He said, smiling. "Go to hell." (y/n) spat at him, viciously, then she shoves all her chips into the middle. "I'm all in." she said and Lia glances at her.

Patrick sighs as he checks his cards. "Don't do that, (y/n)." He said. "I can't leave until it's over? Fine. It's over. Now, where's Dean?" (Y/n) asked him, angrily. "Look, there's poker and then there's suicide." Patrick warns her. "Just play the hand." (Y/n) said.

"Sam? Dean? Boys, you there?" Bobby asked through the phone while Dean gasps, weakly. "C'mon, Dean!" Sam said, worried. "Boys?!" Bobby calls out and Sam runs to the phone. "Bobby!" Sam exclaimed once the phone gets to his ear. "What's going on?" Bobby asked as Dean starts to go still. "DEAN!" Sam screams, fearfully.

Patrick adds all his chips to the pot. "Fine." he said and he discards a card and deals the seven of diamonds and the nine of spades. (Y/n) and Patrick stare each other down, (y/n) worried, Patrick smug, Lia nervous.

Patrick turns over his face-down cards: aces of clubs and diamonds. "I'm sorry, kid. Aces full." Patrick said as (y/n) looks at the cards. Then she lets out a breath then glances at Lia. "You're crying." she said, questioning, while Lia sniffles, looking away.

"For a witch, you're so nice, it's actually kind of creepy. It's okay." (y/n) said then she looks at Patrick. "It was a great hand." she said and Patrick moves to collect the chips: the only hands that can beat a full house with three aces are a four of a kind and a straight flush. The flop cards are three different suits, so he knows (y/n) cannot possibly have a straight flush, and he knows the odds are very slim that (y/n) has the remaining two fours.

"Just—" (y/n) started to say then Patrick looks up. "—not as great as—" (y/n) said and she turns over her face-down cards, the fours of diamonds and spades. She knew she had a four of a kind from the moment the flop cards were dealt; the only way to beat a four of a kind is with a straight flush, which she knew Patrick could not possibly have.

"—as four fours." she finished and Patrick glances up at her, then down at the cards. (y/n) takes a deep breath and lets it out while Patrick leans back. "Well played. You know, that whole...going-out-of-your-head bit—very method." Patrick said and (y/n) smirk.

"Well, there's more to you than meets the eye." Patrick said as he raises his glass, (y/n) nods. "Cash these in for Dean, please." she said and Patrick nods and sets down the glass. "With pleasure." he said, smiling.

"Boys, you hear me? Damn it, boys!" Bobby shouts then he spots something inside the building and turns to look. Someone comes out the door: it's Sam then he steps aside, revealing Dean now thirty again. He holds out his arms, grinning, and does a little dance as he approaches the van.

Bobby stares as Dean jumps up, clicking his heels in the air, while Sam shakes his head. "Idjits." Bobby mumbles under his breath.

*(y/n)'s POV*

I was sitting at the motel when the door to the room opens. I look up and see Sam pushing Bobby in the room, and following him is Dean now looking his normal self. "Dean!" I said, happily, and he goes over to me, pulls me into him and kisses me.

"Well...you're welcome." I said after we break the kiss. "So...No tricks—you actually beat the guy?" Bobby asked me and I pull out of Dean's embrace and spread my arms. "How the hell?" Sam asked me as Dean grabs a burger. "Luck and...a few tricks I learned from my dad." I said, smirking, and the boys give me an impressed look. "That's my girl!" Dean said and I smile.

"Hey. I'll see y'all guys later." Sam said as he grabs his jacket. "Where you going?" Dean asked him. "Uh...mm, nowhere." Sam said and we all look at him. "A booster shot. Don't say it." Sam said and he leaves.

"Well, I guess we can get the van loaded." Bobby groans while Dean sets his burger down. He holds up a finger and clears his throat. "I shouldn't have called you an idiot." Dean said to him. "Which time?" Bobby asked him.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I actually—I, I—I get it. Getting old ain't a bachelor party. And dealing with the crap you got to deal with—" Dean said and Bobby rolls his eyes. "Don't you go on pity patrol." Bobby grumbles. "I'm not. I'm not. I'm just...I'm saying, you know, if I was in your shoes..." Dean said. "You'd never stop complaining." Bobby said and Dean stares for a moment.

"Fair enough. You're not useless, Bobby." Dean said. "Okay. Good talk." Bobby said and he goes to roll away but Dean steps in his path. "No, wait a minute. Listen to me." He said and he sits down next to me on the bed and sighs.

"You don't stop being a soldier 'cause you got wounded in battle. Okay? No matter what shape you're in, bottom line is, you're family. I don't know if you've noticed, but me, (y/n) and Sam, we don't have much left. I can't do this without you. I can't. So don't you dare think about checking out. I don't want to hear that again." Dean said to him and there was a long silence as I look between the two men, my heart was actually breaking for Bobby. I know it must be devastating and hard without having the ability to walk.

"Okay." Bobby said. "Okay. Good." Dean said. "Thanks. Now, we done feeling our feelings? 'Cause I'd like to get out of this room before we both start growing lady parts." Bobby said and I snort out a chuckle. "Yeah, we're done." Dean said then he and I get up.

I grab my bag as Dean picks up his burger, looks at it, and puts it back down then picks up his bag. "Let's go, Ironsides." Dean said as he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door. "Oh, that one's sticking, huh?" Bobby asked and Dean looks back, smiling, and he takes my hand and we leave the room.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

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the-kutlass-kratch · 2 months

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In the arms of his lovers, Briggsy dreams.

[Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Physical/Verbal Abuse, Manipulation, Physical Restraint.]

A large, calloused hand on the nape of Briggsy’s neck pushes him along a narrow hall, against his will. This isn’t the first time this has happened. It will not be the last.

Tears wet his cheeks. “I-I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean ‘ta offend— AGK!!“

The hand squeezes, cutting off his apology with a sharp squeak.

“Quit your fucking blubbering, slug. Ya shoulda thought before ya let your Gods-damned maw keep flappin’.”

“I’ll shut up next time, I swear, please ma’am—“

He’s suddenly slammed into the wooden walls of the ship’s underbelly. He cries out in pain.

“What the fuck did I just say?! Keep. Yer damned mouth shut!”

She thrusts him into the wall twice more, the wood behind his head nearly splitting from the impact. He can feel where splinters threaten to pierce his hide.

She waits.

Briggsy heaves a few sob-heavy breaths, but he listens.

His tears do not.

“I didn’t have to let you stay on my ship,” she snarls. Her breath is hot and fetid near his nostrils. “I didn’t have to give you food and clothing, and a roof over your head, and I sure as fuck don’t have to pay ya to mop my fucking deck. Is this how ya choose to repay my grace? Talkin’ back to your Captain and then weepin’ like a child, as if that’s gonna get ya outta this?”

Salt and pepper hair, light grey sunspot skin, cerulean eyes. A sleeveless coat of navy blue and translucent white, slightly hazy even in the dark of below deck. Displacer beast fur.

…What is her name?

“You know the consequences, now man up and deal with ‘em. Got me?”

Briggsy hiccups, as a new wave of tears flows down his face. His eyes feel raw.

“I-I—“

His head cracks against the wall once again, and warm liquid begins to trickle down the back of his neck.

“I said do ya fucking got me, slug?!”

His vision swims, and it wavers on upwards to meet hers. He nods wordlessly.

She spits on the ground in front of him, and yanks him away by the grip on his neck, dragging him down the rest of the corridor in silence.

He’s shoved into the brig with his Captain hot on his heels. Leather straps are pulled taught around his head; an iron cage is affixed over his snout. He’s quiet through it all.

“No supper tonight. I’ll send Flick to let you out come morning. And I better not hear one word out of your mouth, or next time I won’t be so benevolent. Nod if we’re in agreement.”

He stares at the wall, and slowly nods. His claws dig sharply into the meat of his palms.

The door shuts loud and heavy behind her, and a key locks it tight. His Captain’s footsteps click across wooden floors, until he can no longer hear them over the lapping of ocean waves.

It’s in that moment Briggsy stays, until he wakes.

#goon at noon asks #tw child abuse #tw physical abuse #tw verbal abuse #tw manipulation #tw physical violence #tw restraints #briggsy is about 16 or so in this

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papeerings · 2 years

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My tears ricochet- B.R

Pairing: Billy Russo x Frank’s sister reader

Summary: You thought your revenge on Billy would be easier than it actually is.

Warnings: none angst.

“We gather here, we line up weepin' in a sunlit room, and If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too.”

It was funny when they say than between love and hate there’s a very thine line, I’ve never belived it, I guess that some things you have to live them to belive.

I hate the fact that he knew te truth and how he probably thought how of a fool I was, the fact that he was the reason why my brother can’t at ease, that my newphews were dead, that my sister-in-law is dead it just made me so fucking angry. The fact that I fell for the worst person I could and that the reason why he got interested in me was for knowing were my brother was hiding it just made me sick. But what I hated the most is that I thought that a guy like Billy Russo would fall for a girl like me, I’m so not his type, I’m not rich, I’m not a model, and I have a dignity which are the three feautures that Billy like, quantity over quality, no?

“'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'til my dying day”

I think Billy is one of those rare people that you never stop loving, no matter how much time or things happen, you just still love them, and god I hate me for that.

It’s been two months since I heard about what Billy did, and all this time I’ve been planning my revenge, I wanted him to suffer so much that the only thing he thinks about is me. I was going to ruin his life, I was going to expose him and take off all the things that he had, his company, his house, his wealthness...It was the day, finally it was the day I was gonna ruin him, I couldn’t wait to see his face. I was on my car going to a party he was hosting and by the end of it I will tell him everythin and I only needed to press a bottom and all his dirty buisness will be send to Homeland. I was wearing a yellow long dress that perfectly fit my curves. When everybody was out I stayed. “Wow, it was quite a nice party” He freezed at the sound of my voice. “What are you doing here?” “Wow two months without seeing each other and this is how you welcome me?” “What are you here for?” “I’m here to tell you that is over, I’m sending all your dirty buisness to homeland” He didn’t answer for a second, amussed, like he couldn’t belive I was standing in front of him. “Your not going to do that” “How would you know that, you are dead to me” “If I'm dead to you, why are you here? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed” I didn´t know how to answer, why was I here? I could have send everything from my house. The answer is because I needed to see him one more time. “I need to destroy you, I need to kill everything you’ve done” I said with pain in my eyes. Honestly I didn’t want to do any of that. I just wanted to run into his arms and that he tells me that everything is going to be fine. “You have to kill me, but it’s killing you just the same” I just stood there and cry. “I’m going to press this bottom and everything will be out” “Why would you do that, you can go anywhere you want, rebuild your life, doing this will not bring back Maria and the kids” “I can go anywhere I want, just not home” because you are my home I wanted to say. “You know you can do whatever you want, and you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones” I hated that he was right, god I hated it so much. “Well I guess I’ll just look at how my tears ricochet” I said while I pushed the botom.

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo angst #the punisher #marvel #ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes angst #Taylor Swift songs #taylor swift folklore #taylor swift fics #my tears ricochet #sad #marauders

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miyuhpapayuh · 4 years

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Tape.

The red light on the camcorder sitting on the chair in front of the bed, shines throughout the dimly lit room. A string of red lights adorn the wall, playing into the sultry atmosphere.

Tyler lays in the middle of the golden silk sheets, which illuminates her naked body, while Tre stands over her with his phone, capturing her in her most vulnerable and beautiful state.

"My leading lady— ladies and gentlemen." He zooms in on her face. Her giggles softly sound throughout the room, causing that million dollar smile to spread across his mahogany cheeks.

"Cut it out, babe." He chuckles and slowly drags a hand up her body, stopping at her neck and gripping it, while rubbing his thumb across her glossed lips.

"Open, babygirl." Her lips part and welcome his thumb, sucking softly. He groans and tightens his grip on her. She moans in return.

He pulls away and ends the video, sitting his phone on his nightstand. The second camera perched on top of the dresser, captures them at another angle, getting a closer glimpse of their faces.

Tyler sits up and tugs on the straps to his robe, pulling him toward her. He leans down to kiss her, helping her undo and push the article of clothing away, revealing his chiseled body. She licks her lips at the sight.

"You're so damn fine." She moves from her laying position on the bed to the plush carpet on her knees, coming in contact with his thick and long third leg.

"Yes, you are." He replies, wrapping his hand up in her hair. Her deep brown eyes stare into his as she sticks her tongue out, beginning to run it along his veiny girth.

He grunts, watching her lower her warm, wet mouth onto him. "Fuuuck..." he fixes his stance, so the camera can see everything. Tyler hums against him, causing his eyes to flutter shut.

Her bobbing picks up, causing his shaft to shine with saliva and his grip on her silky roots to tighten.

"Shit, Ty.... that mouth somethin' serious." He grumbles, before biting down on his bottom lip. Pulling away from the mess she made, a devious grin spreads across her face.

"I've been told." She bats her lashes, while he shakes his head at her, still running a hand through her hair.

"Out of all the girls I've filmed— you're the baddest. I mean that shit." A sultry giggle leaves her lips.

"Thanks, big Daddy." He leans down and captures her lips in a juicy kiss, pulling her up from the floor in the process and leading her towards the dresser, where he makes her face the camera.

"Say hi, babygirl."

"Hi, Daddy." His hand finds her throat, pulling her back against his chest. She moans at his aggressiveness.

"You're gonna be a good girl, right?"

"Yes Daddy." His heavy hand collides with her backside, causing a yelp to come from her. She places her hands on top of the flat surface.

"Spread your legs.... stay just like that." Pushing the middle of her back down, her sticky folds glisten underneath the light, making him lick his lips at the sight.

Grabbing her plump ass into his hands, Tre glides into her slowly, allowing her to feel every inch of him. Tyler's eyes gloss over with lust as she stares into the camera and bites her lip.

"Oh shit," her nails dig into the dresser, leaving small imprints behind. Tre places his chin on her shoulder and begins rocking in and out of her, giving her slow, deliberate strokes.

"Mm mm mm... pussy wet as hell." Maintaining his pace, he wraps one hand around her throat.

"You're so big, Daddy..." Tyler whispers, biting down on her lip. Gripping her hips in his rough hands, Tre picks up his pace.

"Ooouu fuck me... just like that, Daddy!" Each time they connect, he dips his hips and rubs against her sweet spot.

"Fuck," her voice quivers. "That's my spot." Tre fists her hair and pushes deeper into her, purposely gliding over it. Tyler's eyes roll back and her hand flies back to his waist.

"Fff— unh! Ohhh fuck!"

"That's the spot, right here?" Her fingers dig into his skin, while she tries desperately to form a sentence.

"Yes— oh shit, I'm gonna cum!"

"Cum on this dick, babygirl. I ain't stoppin'." He grunts, rolling his hips into hers. Tyler's mouth drops open, letting her moans free.

"Ohh shit! Mmm— I'm cumming!" Her walls tighten around him as her first orgasm rushes through her body. Mouth still agape, she begins to throw her ass back on him.

"Shit.... work that dick." Removing his hands from her hips, Tre places a hand on her back, enforcing her arch.

"Fuuuck— it feels so good," the slapping of their skin echoes throughout the room, along with her moans. Each time they connect, she tightens her walls around him.

He grunts and grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her back into his heated chest. "Ima fuck the shit outta you...." with that, he pulls away from her completely and leads her back to the bed.

"On your knees, beautiful." Assuming the position on top of the cool silk sheets, Tyler swipes her hair over her shoulder and looks back at him, watching him stroke himself.

"Ruin me... please." Putting an even deeper dip in her arch, she slithers a hand between her legs and rubs her sensitive bud.

"Please, Daddy." Tre gets behind her and slides back into her, wrapping his hand around her neck, beginning to thrust roughly into her.

Tyler's bottom lip becomes clamped between her teeth, as Tre repeatedly punctures her weak spot. Her hand flies toward his waist and gets gripped up behind her back. His strokes become rougher.

"Oh my God!"

"C'mere." Her moans turn into screams.

"Tre!"

"Why you runnin'?" He slows down and begins grinding his hips into her.

"Unh! It's t-too much!"

"You asked for this dick, right?"

"Yesss—"

"You better take this dick," he pushes deeper into her, making her see stars. Her moans heighten and her free hand grips the sheets underneath her.

"Take this dick." Tre repeats, slamming his hands down on her plump backside. He stares down at her cream coating his shaft, beginning to form a tiny puddle underneath them.

"Wet ass pussy.... uh! Squeeze that shit, girl." Her walls involuntarily squeeze him, as she gets closer to her second orgasm of the night.

"Right there! Right fucking there— I'm cumming!" She tries to crawl away, which only makes Tre follow her, pin her down and fuck her through her violently, pleasurable release.

"I— I hate you." Tyler whines, feeling him throb inside of her. Tre laughs and mushes his face into her neck, inhaling her sweet scent.

"That only fuels me to fuck you, until you don't." Reaching underneath her, he rubs her clit in slow circles, working her out for the third time.

Her eyes squeeze shut, feeling the delicious knot form, once again. Trapping her between his thighs, he moves slowly, rubbing against her slick walls.

"Shit," her head falls to the side, giving Tre more access to her neck. Letting go of her hand, he places it back on the bed and links his fingers with hers.

"You hate me, huh?" He taunts.

"Yes.... I fucking hate you." She whines.

"I'm hittin' that spot too good, huh? I got that pussy weepin'. She don't hate me— fuck— she said she love this dick..." jolts of pleasure rush through her, sending her closer to her final peak.

"I can't.... I c-can't." She locks her ankles, feeling the pressure build inside of her. Her nails dig into the palms of his hands.

"You close, huh?" She nods frantically, feeling him pepper sweet kisses along her sweaty neck.

"Where you want this nut, babygirl?"

"Inside me." She squeezes around his throbbing girth on purpose, causing him to jerk and bite down her neck. He speeds up and sends her to one final and abrupt peak, sending her body into spasm mode.

"Shit...." a couple thrusts through her tight grip and he bursts right inside of her, filling her up with his warmth. His head lolls back.

"God dammit, you're my favorite."

@blowmymbackout @uzumaki-rebellion @soufcakmistress @supersizemeplz @daddy-killmonger @killmongerkink @ghostfacekill-monger @l-auteuse

#trevante smut #miyuhpapayuh #blackwriters #trevante rhodes #smut

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stargazingblockhead · 3 years

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Eloquent Classic Country Songs

When thinking of classic country, you wouldn’t stereo-typically render the genre as eloquent or beautiful. Much of the beauty in it, however, is overlooked. I am a huge fan of classic country! Many of the songs are incredibly beautiful, and here are some :)

(For the purpose of this post, I am saying that classic country is from the early 1900s to the mid 1990s.)

1) “Don’t Close Your Eyes” by Keith Whitley, 1988

“Don’t close your eyes, let it be me /

Don’t pretend it’s him, in some fantasy”

2) “The Keeper of the Stars” by Tracy Bird, 1994

“I hold everything /

When I hold you in my arms /

I've got all I'll ever need /

Thanks to the keeper of the stars”

3) “You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma” by David Frizzell and Shelly West, 1980

It’s so beautiful that he sees something beautiful and hopes that she can see it where she is:

“There’s a full moon over Tulsa /

I hope that it’s shining on you”

“Here the city lights outshine the moon /

I was just now thinking of you /

Sometimes when the wind blows you can see the mountains /

And all the way to Malibu”

4) “You Look So Good in Love” by George Strait, 1983

“He must have stolen some stars from the sky /

And gave them to you to wear in your eyes /

I had my chances, but I set you free /

And now I wonder, why I couldn’t see /

You look so good in love”

5) “Make the World Go Away” by Eddy Arnold, 1965

I totally never slow-danced alone in my room to this one!

“Make the world go away /

And get it off my shoulders /

Say the things you used to say /

And make the world go away”

6) “Tender Years” by George Jones, 1961

“So if I can't be your first love /

I'll wait and be your last /

I'll be somewhere in your future /

To help you forget the past”

7) “Walkin’ After Midnight” by Patsy Cline, 1957

“I stop to see a weepin' willow /

Cryin' on his pillow /

Maybe he's cryin' for me /

And as the skies turn gloomy /

Night winds whisper to me /

I'm lonesome as I can be”

8) “Flesh and Blood” by Johnny Cash, 1970

‘I leaned against a Bark of Birch /

And I breathed the Honey Dew /

I saw a North-bound Flock of Geese /

Against a Sky of Baby Blue /

Beside the Lily Pads /

I carved a Whistle from a Reed /

Mother Nature's quite a Lady /

But you're the one I need”

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myrealityisbooks · 3 years

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This has probably been talked abt before (a lot more eloquently lol) but “Would That I” by Hozier is such a good song for early joenicky and post-iron coffin andy/quynh???? just gonna go verse by verse sorry this is gonna be long so i’ve attempted to put it under a read more cut

tldr; YEARNING AND PASSION WHILE STILL FEELING AFRAID OF YOUR FEELINGS AND HOW YOUR PARTNER WILL HANDLE YOUR HEART

True that I saw her hair like The branch of a tree Willow dancin' on air before covering me Under garden and calicos Over canopy dabbled long ago

So early andromache/quynh, in nature together, just enamored w/ each other. This bit is just feels very present, very physical, and i think that’s andy and quynh to a T. They’ve got each other and they’ve got the whole world to love each other in, and they don’t need anything else. Basically they’re both this meme while riding around being amazing

True that love in withdrawal Was the weepin' of me That the sound of the Saw must be known by the tree Must be felt 'fore the fight, the call Friendly fire, but that was long ago

Now here we go w/ andy post-quynh getting put in the iron coffin, in this world that isn’t as big, isn’t as beautiful and is missing the most important thing to her. “Friendly fire” to me here means andy hurting herself for not being able to help quynh then throwing herself into every fight she could to try and stop feeling anything. Then time keeps going as it always does and she’s forced to move on, to keep fighting, to protect the people she still does have. MORE ON THIS LATER (the last verse lol)

With the war of the fire My heart moves to its feet Like the ashes of ash I saw eyes in the heat Feel it soft and as pure as snow Fell in love with the fire long ago With each love I could lose I was never the same Watch it still live in roofs Be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Lay in waste of my lovin' long ago

PLS look at this and tell me it doesn’t scream early joenicky. you can’t its impossible. The fire of war and fury and anger turning to the fire of passion??? These dumb boys not knowing how to handle each other with gentleness so they decide to just be rough with each other in every way they can to try and get these dumb feelings out????? They found each other in a fight, and even when they stop with the violence they don’t really know how to stop fighting yet. They definitely hurt each other in their quest to figure out how to love each other, bc that’s all they knew how to do with each other in the beginning!!! BUT on the inside they’re SoftTM so chorus time:

That's not tonight (Oh, oh) I'm set alight (Oh, oh) And I blink inside (Oh, oh) Your blinding light (Oh, oh) Oh, that's not tonight (Oh, oh) You hold me tight (Oh, oh) All the fire bright (Oh, oh) Oh, let it blaze alright, honey (Oh, oh) Oh, hope that you're good to me Oh, you're good to me (Oh, oh) Hope that you're good to me, baby (Oh, oh)

Chorus works for both couples imo but I’ll start w/ joenicky. SO despite the fact that in the early days they don’t know how to reach out w/o hurting, they do want to stop hurting each other, and I think the chorus fits well for the feelings they don’t know how to express to the other (yet). When Joe laughs his ass off at Nicky getting bit by a snake bc he stepped in its hole, rather than be pissed he’s just struck dumb for a sec by how gorgeous and carefree Joe is when they’re not at each others’ throats. Joe notices Nicky spending just way too much money on a sturdy pair of shoes (bc he can’t barter well in the local langauage) bc he noticed joe’s were starting to wear thin and he wanted him to be comfortable. basically they’re both like this but with feelings

And then, of course, throughout all of this while they’re still fighting half the time and bumbling their way through learning how to be kind, they’re both thinking “god, i hope you’re good to me.” and “i want to be good to you.”

Then w/ andy/quynh, after quynh finds andy again they have to figure out how to be together again. they both know they want to be together, but quynh is dealing w/ so much and andy is mortal now and time is running out. but sometimes none of that matters b/c quynh is laughing at something nile said and andy is just sitting back feeling so grateful she gets to have this again at least for a little while, and praying (to who???) that she doesn’t fuck it up. Then andy is telling a story and reminiscing w/ booker and quynh thinks the exact same thing. OK last verse i am just so sorry this is the longest post ive ever written

So in awe there I stood as you Licked off the grain Though I've handled the wood I still worship the flame Long as amber of ember glows All the wood that I'd loved is long ago

So this verse makes me think of the first time andy and quynh see each other again. Who knows how they got to this point, it just matters that they’re there. It’s such a fragile moment, they’re both feeling such a riot of things in their chests that this could just go any way. But then quynh fiddles w/ her fingers like she used to do w/ arrow shafts when she was nervous and andy goes to tuck hair that’s no longer long behind her own ear and they realize “oh. not everything’s changed after all.” and they just fall into each other. Figuring out the future, for them and for the group, will be so hard (oh, hope you’re good to me) but for this moment alone it will all be worth it.

OK this is so long i am so sorry if anyone actually reads this thru lmk what you think!!! im new to sharing my thoughts on tumblr, idk how to check if ppl leave nice stuff in tags but feel free to send me a message/ask!!!!!!

#the old guard #tog #joenicky #andromache x quynh #hozier #im in my feelings #i love one(1) man #and it is hozier #joe al-kaysani #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #andromache the scythian #quynh

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tayliviaspeace · 3 years

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Day 5 of Analysing Taylor in Quarantine

Day 5: my tears ricochet

1 sentence summary: This is about Scott and Scooter.

The first line could reference a funeral, which in turn could reference the death of Taylor's reputation and hard work. It could reference Scott and Big Machine who sold Taylor's masters. Since she was their most profitable investment, without her they were nothing. When she left, Big Machine had nothing. The ash is something thats completely destroyed, which is what BM now is, where as Taylor could create something bigger than she ever did with BM, which is what she did, with her most recent 4 albums (lover, folklore, evermore, fearless tv). When you love someone, you tend to trust them, and she trusted Scott, but he let her down so much, had he not done that Taylor would still trust him till her dying day. It could reference LWYMMD too.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And you're the hero flying around, saving face And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

Taylor didn't keep quiet when people were unjust to her, and she always has an open line of communication with her fans. Some people, mainly the people she's against, would say that she's a drama queen and going with grace, to me, means going quietly, which she didn't do, and I admire that!! She went in 2019 and told her fans what happened with her masters. Scott and Scooter may have tried to keep her quiet but they couldn't. The hero is probably Scott, but instead of being her friend, he does what would benefit him. In the Folklore Long Pond Studio Sessions, Taylor says that the hero's greatest nemesis were once best friends, which can be applied here, because Taylor said that when her master's were sold to Scooter, she couldn't believe it because she used to talk to Scott about how much he's messed with her. If Taylor doesn't matter to Scott anymore, now that he made money off of her, why does he still care about her? Scott doesn't care in the traditional sense of caring, but why did they get so mad at her for telling the world what was happening to her music and why did they wish that she signed at BM? Ricochet is rebounding and Taylor's tears, which were over Scooter are now over both of them. Ricochet is also a battle metaphor, which is used through out the song.

We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me

The stones can be used for whatever Taylor wants, but if she throws them she is aware that there will be repercussions that she'd face, not just from paparazzi but also the people she threw them at. Perhaps, she didn't want the world what happened to her, because she hoped it was a dream. She also knew that her fanbase has increased a lot and re-recording would profit her and BM would not gain anything. This was probably like a last chance kind of thing to Scott. It could also refer to the breakup songs she writes. Scott tried to bury Taylor's reputation, but he couldn't. Scott and Scooter are profiting off of Taylor's jewels, which they won't be able to do once all her albums have been re-recorded.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

When Taylor stood up to just Scooter, before her master's were sold, Scott told her she was brave, he'd encourage and comfort her. However, the second she went against him too, he started being rude to her, and blaming her.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)

Taylor saying she can go wherever she wants is referring to her re-records, since not many artists have done it before, if any. She's saying that she can go into uncharted territory since her new label lets her be more free. The only place she can't go is BM, which she may consider her music home, since many of her masters are there and she got her start with BM. Scott and Scooter can hurt her as much as they want, in her heart or blood (not selling Taylor her masters and trying to defame her), but they still miss Taylor since they don't get business anymore, and Taylor was BMs best. When Taylor gets mad, she'd do what anyone would and scream. There's no one she can really blame besides Scott and I don't think she wants to talk to him to yell at him, so instead she screams at the sky, maybe at God if she believes in it. Her stolen lullabies is the music she wasn't allowed to own, and Scott and Scooter stole it from her, and when they feel guilty about that, all they hear is the music they stole from Taylor.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same Cursing my name, wishing I stayed You turned into your worst fears And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain Crossing out the good years And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

The battleships refers to the masters controversy, and how one day this entire thing would have be over, which will probably be when she owns it all. But there'd also be people eager to know what happened as with any mystery or fallout. BM wanted to hurt Taylor and not give her the chance to own her music, but with that they ended up hurting themselves, since no one would sign with a label that sold the work of their most famous artist. Scooter and Scott kept trying to defame her, put the blame on her, but at the end Scott wanted her to sign back at BM. He maybe feared turning into Scooter and hurting Taylor, but Scott did that when he sold Scooter her music. But refusing to accept that it's his fault, Scott and Scooter try to blame Taylor, and this entire masters controversy ended the good times that Taylor had with Scott. It was the end of their friendship. The tears she spent on that helped her become better.

#taylorlurking #taylor swift #taylornation #taylorstans #song analysis #analysing #folklore album #folklore #ts8 folklore #ts8 #indian swiftie #swifties #taylors version #swiftieforever #i love you taylor #taylor swift 1989 #taylor swift fandom

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finaledenialist · 4 years

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so it appears this is the day I start listening to taylor swift? you were so many to talk about it on my dash that I had to know so I just listened to 10 songs from folklore (had to stop bc Im getting easily exhausted) and. you were all so right about the deancas parallels?? I mean- my tears ricochet :

Weepin' in a sunlit room, and

If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe

All the hell you gave me?

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

'Til my dying day

this is just straight up 15×18

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

And you're the hero flying around, saving face

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

the chorus makes me go INSANE. I don't even have to explain "If I'm dead to you" because that's literally the same sentence with dean saying "You're dead to me" to cas. and "wishing I stayed" jfsgjjfq direct parallel to "I left but you didn't stop me"/"I should've stopped you", the whole 'dean is afraid of people leaving him and cas is afraid no one asks him to stay' gsksjggsj

And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain

Crossing out the good years

and then dean in 15×19. Im not okay

I mean you probably already said better things about these lines in your post and I should probably read it but. needed to get that out I guess? also wanted to add it's kinda funny that the two things I was introduced to through your blog are 1. some very calming beautiful love songs and 2. a smut fic

How often do these two things come together, right? hahaha Well I am happy I could do that for you!<3 I don’t think I talked about my tears ricochet yet though because I usually talk only about songs people send in their asks to avoid being That Bitch who rants about one thing all day long haha but let’s talk.

Everything you said is On Point. This song is such Cas POV song that it gives me actual physical pain. Because on one hand we have very obvious destiel stuff that relate to 15x03, 15x18 and 12x23 and on the other hand, if we’re willing to break the 4th wall, this is Cas @ the CW. Look:

(putting this under the cut because it got so long because I have no self-restraint when talking about folklore x destiel)

If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

So, obviously a callback to 15x03 as you mentioned, apart from the first line which is re: Dean’s behaviour after Cas dies (in 12x23 or in 15x18). Now let’s look at the bigger picture here:

If I’m on fire (= if I die) you’ll be made of ashes too. Look what happened when they wrote Cas off. In season 7 or in 15x19 and 15x20. How unbearably this show sucked without him.

Did I deserve all the hell you gave me - 15x03, yes, of course but also what the show put this character through. The amount of bad writing and straight up torture for so many episodes (for example in season 8 or 9x03 ugh) and then being cut off from the finale.

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you ‘til my dying day - that is obviously 15x18.

This is 12x23, 15x03, 15x09 and 15x18 mixed up.

You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene

Again, Cas dying in 12x23 and 15x18. Hell even when Dean sees Cas in the deleted scenes of season 10 after he almost killed him. Or when he keeps seeing him at the beginning of season 8 because he feels guilty that Cas didn’t make it out of Purgatory.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home

9x03 :(((((((((((((((( and 15x03 :(((((((((((((((((((

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

I am so sad at this point that I don’t even know what to say. You can aim for my heart, go for blood, (this corresponds so damn well with ‘and my words shoot to kill when I’m mad’ from this is me trying asfhsdfj) you can talk shit to me and make me leave but you are still going to miss me, how about that. And it’s going to hurt both of us.

And I still talk to you - this is the only Dean line in this whole song because: prayers, also 8x23 finale comes to mind when the angels are falling and Dean looks at the sky and the falling stars and screams his name. And of course then a line about Dean not getting to sleep peacefully whenever Cas is gone.

Aaaaaand here we go, let’s shatter that 4th wall, huh? Something something about sinking ship. Not any ship. A battleship. A damn big ship. That gets sunk. Hm. You had to kill me because god forbid Dean and Cas get their only logical happy ending right? but it killed you just the same because look now how the last two episodes sucked and everyone is so damn angry and hurt and no one liked what you did and the whole show is now being criticized and being called out on being nonsensical due to the ending. You turned into your worst fears , that speaks for itself.

#taylor swift x destiel #destiel songs #ask #destiel #funkygayangel

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rosalies-rage · 4 years

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folklore x Twilight: An Analysis

folklore's lyrics match Twilight uncannily well and here’s proof!

my tears ricochet - Rosalie

We gather here, we line up, weepin' in a sunlit room And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And you're the hero flying around, saving face And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me

Rosalie would sing this to her murderer/fiancé at her funeral as he goes around being the ‘hero’ and ‘saving face’. She’s ‘screaming at the sky’ because he has stolen the one thing she really wanted from her ‘anywhere I want, just not home’. Even though she loved him ‘til [her] dying day’, she can never forgive and has no choice but to haunt him.

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exile - Edward in New Moon

I think I’ve seen this film before And I didn’t like the ending You’re not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town, now I’m in exile seein’ you out We always walked a very thin line You didn’t even hear me out (You didn’t even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind)

Edward leaves in New Moon because he believes he and his world are too dangerous for Bella, exiling himself indefinitely. They had ‘always walked a very thin line’ as he tried to be with her without harming her, and he literally ‘never learned to read [her] mind’. Now he’s left and can’t do what he wanted to do, i.e protect her (’what am I defending now?’).

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august - Jacob

Salt air, and the rust on your door I never needed anything more Whispers of “Are you sure?” “Never have I ever before”

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Canceled plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose You weren't mine to lose, no

Your back beneath the sun Wishin' I could write my name on it Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you

Bella and Jacob start spending time together in the ‘salt air’ by La Push beach fixing beaten-up motorbikes (’rust’). Jacob knows Bella isn’t interested in him but lives in hope (’to live for the hope of it all’) and by the time the Cullens come back he’s convinced he could win Bella’s loyalties (’I remember thinkin’ I had you’). It doesn’t take place in summer, but it is a brief, intense fling that lifts Bella from her Edward-induced winter, and Bella calls Jacob her personal ‘sun’. In the end, though, Bella tells Jacob that there was never really a choice between him and Edward; it was always going to be Edward (’You weren’t mine to lose’).

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invisible string - Alice & Jasper

And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?

Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire Chains around my demons Wool to brave the seasons One single thread of gold Tied me to you

Alice woke up as a vampire with no memory of her past - all she had was her psychic abilities, which were an ‘invisible string’ leading her directly to Jasper. On Jasper’s side, he was living a brutal life training newborn armies until Alice found him and ‘wrapped all of [his] past mistakes in barbed wire’, putting ‘chains around his demons’ and leading him to a better life. You could also interpret it as his journey to chaining his inner monster that wants to kill humans when he goes to live with the Cullens.

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epiphany - Carlisle

Something med school did not cover Someone's daughter, someone's mother Holds your hand through plastic now "Doc, I think she's crashing out" And some things you just can't speak about

Only twenty minutes to sleep But you dream of some epiphany Just one single glimpse of relief To make some sense of what you've seen

This song describes the experience of medical staff during the COVID-19 pandemic, and Carlisle was a doctor during the last major pandemic (Spanish Flu in 1918), which is where he turned Edward. A religious man, he searches for an ‘epiphany’ from God while he grapples with the decision to consign another person to a life of vampirism and tries to understand whether or not he still has a soul.

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mad woman - Rosalie

Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn? Does she smile? Or does she mouth, "Fuck you forever"? And there's nothing like a mad woman What a shame she went mad No one likes a mad woman You made her like that And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out And you find something to wrap your noose around

They say “move on” but you know I won’t

I'm taking my time, taking my time 'Cause you took everything from me

Rosalie is filled with anger and bitterness over her murder. She’s cast in a bad light particularly because she’s an angry, ‘mad woman’ but she explains that her murderers ‘made her like that’ when they ‘took everything from [her]’, and in return she ‘[took her] time’ when killing them to make sure they knew she was coming.

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cardigan - Bella on Jacob

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed You put me on and said I was your favorite You drew stars around my scars But now I’m bleedin’

Bella was destroyed after Edward left, feeling that he’d taken most of her with him and was just discarded like an unwanted toy (’I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed’). Then she started hanging out with Jacob and his friendship (’I was your favorite’) started to heal - or at least disguise - the hole in her chest (’You drew stars around my scars’). But then he left, too, when the werewolf transformation happened, which left her ‘bleeding’. It turned out she wasn’t really healed, she’d just been papering over the gap with Jacob’s love.

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illicit affairs - Edward & Bella as tragic fated lovers

Tell yourself you can always stop What started in beautiful rooms Ends in meetings in parking lots It’s born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies A million little times

Leave no trace behind, like they don’t even exist

When Edward first becomes enamored with Bella and wants to get closer to her, he convinces himself he can always stop - but he can’t. The more time he spends with her, the more doomed he is. When Bella gets hurt because of him, first in Twilight and then in New Moon, he disappears in hopes of keeping her safe and hides all the presents he gave her (’leave no trace behind’).

And you wanna scream Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

A dwindling mercurial high A drug that only worked the first few hundred times

And you know damn well For you, I would ruin myself A million little times

This part is Bella’s response. When he left, he took away this entire paranormal world he’d introduced her to (‘You taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else’), leaving her to think she’s gone insane because not only has she lost the love of her life, all traces of an entire extra world have disappeared. She wants him to stop patronising her by saying she’ll move on like mortals do (’Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me’). Desperate to get some sense that he’s still there, she starts doing risky stunts like motorbike racing and jumping off a cliff (’A dwindling mercurial high’). Like she told him in the meadow scene in the first book, she is willing to die for him, and we see in New Moon that he feels the same way (‘you know damn well / For you I would ruin myself, a million little times’). The only way for them to stay apart would’ve been to never meet in the first place.

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seven - Rosalie on her childhood friend Vera

Please picture me in the trees I hit my peak at seven Feet in the swing over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things? Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern Love you to the Moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

Rosalie fondly recalls her human life and her best friend Vera, who had the normal life she never got. This ‘love lasts so long’ even though Vera is dead by now because Rosalie still remembers her, even if her human memories are fuzzy and she can’t necessarily ‘recall [her] face’. Also, Rosalie was always valued only for her beauty, but maybe she ‘hit [her] peak at seven’ because her beauty hadn’t yet started overshadowing her personhood and she was still able to ‘scream ferociously’ at that age instead of being the girl and young woman who had to learn ‘civility’ and be married off to a rich man.

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hoax - Bella in New Moon

My only one My smoking gun My eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My winless fight This has frozen my ground Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue but you No other sadness in the world would do My best laid plan Your sleight of hand My barren land I am ash from your fire You know I left a part of me back in New York You knew the hero died so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart

Bella’s ‘eclipsed sun’ has disappeared and left her ‘broken’, ‘sleepless’ and believing she has no way to win him back. She literally goes and stands on a ‘cliffside’ before jumping off just to see a hallucination of his face - Edward, a mythical creature, is the ‘only hoax she believes in’. Even though he’s hurt her and broken her heart, she ‘don’t want no other shade of blue but you’. He thinks he’s saving her from harm by leaving, but the scar from James still bothers her, i.e. his leaving cannot protect her as the damage has been done (’You know it still hurts underneath my scars’) and now Edward has just added emotional scars that ‘pulled [her] apart’ and left a gaping hole in her chest.

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peace - Edward & Bella in Breaking Dawn

I never had the courage of my convictions As long as danger is near And it’s just around the corner darlin Coz it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Throughout the series, Edward has been afraid to get too close to Bella for fear of hurting her (’danger is near’, ‘it lives in me’). Now he finally has to accept that she’s not going anywhere and value her choice. Even after he’s no longer a threat to her directly, their life is full of challenges like the Volturi. It’s impossible to guarantee her safety, and she doesn’t want him to - she wants to be in his world as an equal. He comes to terms with the fact that it’s okay if he can ‘never give [her] peace’.

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#twilight #the twilight saga #twilight renaissance #Edward cullen #jasper hale #Alice cullen #Rosalie hale #carlisle cullen #Taylor swift #folklore #ts8 #tslyrics

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iam-kenough · 4 years

Text

Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character)

Chapter 15 Summary: Dutch and his boys found a girl hidden inside wrecked shack near their camp. She introduces herself as Iris and starts leading outlaw life with Van der Linde gang, quickly developing feelings towards one, special cowboy. However there is big year gap between them and Arthur sees Iris just as a kid...And girl won’t take that!

Authors notes: I quite like this one! I warn for smut, kink and age gap! It’s just another chapter and you can find the rest of them following masterlist on my blog if you want to read more of my fanfiction. Hope you gonna enjoy it! Words count: 2847 - I can't sleep! - Iris groaned suddenly, turning to her back and spreaded arms - For God's sake, make it rain, or I'm gonna drown in my own sweat.

- Well - Arthur smirked, lookin' at her in weak light of oil lamp - In your tent you were undressed.

- Pervert - Iris scoffed, getting up and jumping above him, as man layed on cots edge.

- Where are ya goin' now? - he asked surprised - Yer not going to your tent, are ya?

- If I have to undress then I'm gonna do it in the best way - she exclaimed, grabbing a towel from his things - Fancy skinny dippin' with me, or you too prude? There was some advantages of living near lake. Maybe mosqitous here were insufferable, but in hot days like this one it was more that a blessing to dive into cold water. It was also beautiful to watch, as moon was reflecting on it's surface without any creases on windless nights. There was small platform leading from the shore into the water and stopping where the water was deeper.

- Catch me if you can! - Iris yelled with playful tone, running past Arthur suddenly, clapping his back on the go. She undressed herself on the go not slowing down even for momment and jumped right into the lake, splashing water everywhere.

- Ya can't swim! - Arthur said mockingly unbuttoning his union suit quickly.

- Yea, I just reminded myself - Iris catched platform with both her hands, looking at Arthur with playful smirk on her lips. Arthur noticed he's being observed and tips of his ear became red. He turned around.

- I can close my eyes if you want - Iris purred.

- Please, do - Arthur became even redder. She couldn't see that but he felt like fool already. Iris shut her eyes and she suddenly felt water splashing on her head. Arthur quickly got up to the surface and shaked his head quickly like a dog, hundreds tiny droplets falling all around.

- Well, well - Iris said - Now what, prude? His gaze averted and now all he was dreaming about were pouring more liquor into his mouth 'cause recklessness were stepping away to let place for embarasment.

- Haven't done that before, or what?

- Not with someone, okay? Iris bite her lower lip, aproaching him slowly, barely feeling bottom of the lake. She looked into his eyes and their bodies touched. Arthur shivered, not sure what to do with his hands so embraced Iris shyly.

- I'm not gonna fall apart, come on, squeeze me a little, cowboy - girl teased. Arthur did and it was amazing, her soft curves resting against his chest. He felt sudden rush of adrenaline and his hands slipped down, squeezing her butt. Iris shivered and moaned inside his ear.

- Oh god - he whispered. It was beyond what he expected to feel right know, especially it wasn't their first time alone. And yet, he couldn't help but blush like teenager.

- Iris's my name - she said. Arthur started peppering her face with kisses, then nibbled on her ear a little, one of his hands going to her neck to choke her a little. He was carresing column of it under his palm, looking Iris in the eyes. Oh, Iris knew that gaze. He wen't from shy and cuddly mode to sexy one in a glimpse of time, like always. Arthur Morgan had this kink on dominating his girl as much as possible, making her fully obedient and Iris loved to play that game, pretending to be harmless and shy.

- Will you be good girl tonight? - Arthur's voice was deep and low, coming from his guts.

- Maybe - she whispered, streching the word on her tongue.

- Better be - he whispered too but in voice that was taking no demands. Arthur's eyes darkened and it was similar gaze to what he was wearing during robberies

- Or I will get angry.

- And do what...?

- For stupid question there will be punishment - his hand went up and grabbed Iris's chin, squeezing it along with her cheeks. His thumb carresed girl's lower lip. Arthur lifted Iris with swift move and she surrounded his hips with her tights, soft and velvet skin against his rough one. She grinded herself against his cock, letting moan escape her lips.

- Just like that, babygirl - Iris moaned again as he slid two fingers inside her without any warning - Yes, go on for me, don't hold yourself back - his voice was husky, making girl tremble, and his breath was hot against her face. He smelled like cigarettes, whiskey and gunpowder. She was yelling and weepin', asking for more and squeezing him between her thights, feeling climax coming but it never did.

- Get out - he growled, pushing her away - And go lie down on the towel, babygirl.

She quickly got onto the shore, looking past her arm. It was like a deer running away from the wolf, except this deer dreamed about being hunted. Iris fell down, feeling soft towel against back. Arthur pinned her down immidiately.

He parted Iris's legs not thinking about being gentle on her for even a second and looked at her with grin plastered to his lips. She gasped as his cock was stroking her wet cunt.

- Needy, aren't we? - Arthur grabbed her neck again, this time harder and entered her quickly. She cried out, but only from surprise and rocked her lips to adjust to Arthur's size.

The thurts were rythmical, with every one there came moan, grunt and slap of Arthur's thighs against Iris's hips. Iris shut her eyes and her head went blank, no thought important enough to steal moments highlight.

- Oh no no, open them, baby...I wanna watch you fall apart - he purred and slipped thumb inside her mouth, smirking with contentment when she sucked on it.

Brunette opened her eyes and they were glimmering. Iris loved the thrill when Arthur was dark and intimidating during sex and tears in her eyes were causen by pleasure and adrenaline. He loved to watch her like this and he wiped tears away with his calloused thumb. His breath was speeding up with every minute.

- A-Arthur - his name slipped away from her tongue, as she was trembling under his touch and his gaze. He turned her around suddenly and with brutality. He spanked her and squeezed her ass right after, reentering her cunt again. Arthur pushed her face to the ground, leaving her hips high in the air and continued fucking her hard.

- What do you want now, hmm? - he growled like an animal - Tell me and I'm gonna do it, you earned it for yourself.

- L-let me come, please-

- Beg for it, yeah, just like that - Arthur squeezer her boob and pinched on the nipple a little causing her legs started to shake. Iris's moan was louder than any other before, when she came, her walls tightening around his cock in very pleasant motion. But he had other plans than just that. He pushed her on the back again and with cock in his hand, Arthur spilled the load on Iris's body, mainly cleavage and face. He smirked, looking down on his deed.

- Just like this, you little bitch - Arthur snarled, giving her gentle slap on the cheek - Tell me something you know I wanna hear.

- T-thank you, Mr Morgan, it was amazing - Iris's voice was quiet and shaky as she needed to calm down now, going back onto the earth, 'cause he just fucker her to the moon and back.

Arthur smirked ugly, proud with himself and kissed girl on the forehead. It was good to be back.

Arthur Morgan was shy when it came to woman, especially the woman he didn't know well. Although, his relationship with Iris was going fast and he wasn't waiting for long to show his true colors, which was being dominant, cold and sarcastic in addition to soft highlights. One could say he conquered Iris and now it was obvious for Arthur she's gonna stay by his side. It could sound bad, but it was hitting Iris just right, when instead of goofy cuddling everyday, he rather smack her ass and call her a brat. Everyone had their kinks and those two were a perfect match. It wasn't Arthur couldn't been caught off his guard, especially when he was hugged unexpectantly, or when he heard something sweet from Iris's mouth, who he was adoring more than anything deeply inside. However Arthur liked it rough and if anyone wanted to hear he loves them, they had to earn it. But being with Iris reminded Arthur one thing - he tried to be a family man in the past, but with his rough lifestyle and bad manners he would never fit in. Iris was a sparkle in the dark showing him that direction he chosed was indeed the one what thrilled him the most. He'd rather rob and kill with her by his side instead of settling down, forcing himself to do so. And with her Arthur could be forever young. Iris was taking steps slowly, placing feet after feet in the grass. She was hunting. Her target stood right in front of her, showing it's back completly, not expecting an ambush. She jumped onto it.

- Jesus, you frickin' brat - Arthur hissed, turned his torso around and slapped back of Iris's head. She giggled.

- What's up - girl said, wrapping her hands around him - I heard you go huntin'.

- That's what I am after now - he said.

- Can I go with you? - she blushed briefly, hanging onto his arm now.

- I don't know, I wasn't planning to take traitors who sneak on me. Iris pecked his cheek and looked at him with a playful smirk, holding her hands behind back. Arthur shaked his head and then he felt his satchel became lighter the moment she pulled away.

- Did you just pickpocket me? - he looked at her and his gaze darkened. Iris just loved to trigger him.

- Maybe - she said in innocent manner, showing him his journal and when he tried to grab it, she backed off again.

- I don't have time for that - he scoffed - Give it back.

- Sure, just gonna sneak a little peek, you've been so much into sketching lately I wonder what's occupying you so much - girl purred and started to backing off slowly as Arthur was approaching her.

- Don't make me bend you and slap you, honey - he hummed in inpatient voice.

- Maybe I wanna be slapped? Or better, spanked.

- You'll get none of that then. It will be surpsise, not sure you'd like it. Give it back if you're smart girl.

- No way! - she giggled and without any thinking she climbed up the tree he tried to pin her to. She was clearly a cat in some ways, was Arthur thinking.

- Come on! - he growled with impatience, throwing her stormy gaze.

- What we got there...- Iris hummed - Ooo! There was whole bunch of pages where Arthur captured her naked. The were different angles and some of drawings were naughtier than girl would expect. Arthur was blushing furiously, hiding face under brim of a hat. Then he grabbed her ankle and make her fall, not even thinking about catching Iris. If she wanted it rough, she's gonna get it the worst way.

- Ouch! - she landed very unladylike on her ass - That wasn't nice at all!

- You weren't nice - Arthur tore journal from girl's hand and hid it, this time assuring himself satchel is closed properly.

- Come on, that's me you drew anyway! And why would you even bother to do that? - she clinged onto his arm again, bating her eyes innocently.

- Feelin' daring today, aren't we? - he shook her off, reaching for his bow and attached it to horse cargo. Arthur lowered his hat even more so she wouldn't see his face, because it showed greater weakness now.

- You still haven't said if I can go with you! - she started brushing his horse to help before going, as Iris hoped, with him.

- Can you? - Arthur sent her a snap on the nose.

- I mean I would if you need me... - she blushed herself briefly and took his hat away, putting it on her head. Now Arthur's rosy cheeks was exposed and he scoffed, looking away to pretend his examining repeater in his hands.

- You will do. 'Fcourse if you gonna stop babbling this much, woman. The weather was good, nothing too windy since it wouldn't help them to sneak properly. Sun was kissing Iris's face and she hummed a song with joy, throwing small looks towards Arthur, who seemed to ignoring her completely, looking after any broken branches or pawprints.

- Jesus, would you shut up - he finally hissed with impatient tone - I won't catch shit with you singin'.

- You're right, sorry - Iris said without any sign of being actually sorry, and started fidgeting on her bow.

They were walking around and it didn't make any sense for Iris but suddenly Arthur made gesture, stopping her and he put finger up to her lips and one gaze was enough to understand. In front of them appeared enormous deer and it's fur was amazing, almost golden, when the antlers, Iris thought, were bigger than her. She looked at animal in awe.

- Do you like it? - Arthur whispered to her ear with seductive tone - I could give you the pelt so you would make our bed more warm with it, hm? What about that?

It was one of most lovely things he would offer her so far and Iris nodded with excitement. Arthur smirked, grabbing her face by chin and squeezing it. Then he got up without making any sound and sent an arrow directly into deer's head, 'causing an animal to howl in agony. Iris gasped, it was living creature after all and sometimes it made her sad to kill deers. Iris was caressing pelt Arthur skinned from this amazing deer. It was a little bit dirty with blood but she didn't mind, nothing a bit of cold water couldn't fix. Arthur on the other hand was all gore, as he threw animal on his horse's back with visible difficulty. He was panting and wiped hands from blood against his jeans.

- We could sell antlers, too. There are people who fancy things like that as decorations - Iris said with small voice, her doe eyes shy as their gazes met.

- Really? - Arthur looked at her with playful smirk on his lips. He got cocky when was looking at Iris, who simply admired him without any hesitation, still being amazed with soft pelt. Man told himself that he did great job, giving unusual gift to her little lover.

- And it's gonna feed us for ages. You did amazing, darlin' - there was warmth and pride in those words as she caressed his forearm slowly.

- Tell me more - Arthur closed gap between them her and grabbed into his arms, throwing her onto his horse like she was just ragdoll. Then he got on too.

- Your shots are always the best ones...will you teach me someday? - Iris continued to sugarcoat him.

- Not till I'll know my time is coming to an end, you wouldn't need me anymore - he scoffed and Iris blushed, caressing his ribs as she was looping her arms around Arthur's body. His heart was beating strongly and girl could hear it's vibrations.

- I'll always need you, Arthur - she replied with honesty and that made him grin widely, like a boy who just got his first kiss. She couldn't see it thought, as her head was resting against Arthur's back. They were going slowly, it was hard for Arthur's horse enough just with them in the saddle, not talking about deer that rested on the back.

- And yet you weren't good girl today. Wanna tell me why? - he cooed with great dose of mockery in words.

- I wanted to fool around with you for a bit, I know that maybe you don't get the idea, but sometimes I can't tell if you are angry, sad or if it's just your face, so I just try to cheer you up, Sweetpea.

- Fool around, eh? - Arthur smirked, getting all cocky.

- I'm sorry if you did not like that - she said and shrinked behind his back being intimidated by his roughness a tad bit.

- Being sorry won't save ya tonight from me, darlin' - Arthur chuckled darkly, but caressed Iris's hand a little bit. She squeezed him tightly, purring like a cat. Arthur just loved the way he was making Iris feel, and the only better thing was how this girl made his stone heart go soft.

#arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan romance #arthur morgan low honor #low honor arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction

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queen-of-deans-booty · 5 years

Text

The Curious Case of Dean Winchester: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,005

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“He’s out isn’t he?” Amara asked as she observed the city below.

As soon as you closed your eyes, you were on top of a hill, sitting on Baby’s hood, and watching the city life pass you by. Amara appeared next to you, but that wasn’t surprising. Dreaming about her wasn’t that surprising. What was surprising was the memories you got from 2014 of Dean telling you how evil Amara actually was.

“What?” you asked absentmindedly.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“I’m not as bad as you might think. What Zachariah showed you wasn’t the real me. He wanted to scare you into saying no—into Dean saying yes to my nephew.”

“You’re evil. I saw the look on my own damn face as you held my throat tightly. I saw the fear in people’s eyes when they realized I was in their camp. You’re not good. You inflict fear and pain. You’re nothing better than the things I hunt. Get the hell out of my head.”

“You’re wrong. That’s what they wanted you to see. I’m not bad, and deep down, you know it. I can’t do this without you, and you can’t do this without me.”

“Do what? I’ve been on my own for my whole life without knowing you even existed. So, what, Amara, do I need you for that I can’t provide for myself?”

“Protection. Notice how your magic protects you against things? The Croatoan virus? One of the Horsemen’s powers? I take that protection away and you’re just like them, but I won’t. Lucifer is out of his cage, I can feel it. Don’t let him find you because if he does he will sense that I am within you and he will kill you. I can’t protect you from that from where I am. Don’t let that happen.”

Your head throbbed from the latest dream you had about Amara. It seems as of late you haven’t been getting them so it came as a shock to you that you got one last night. Maybe she wanted to remind you that she was still there and that she wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe she wanted to control the way you thought and acted just by the mere thought of her. Whatever it is, your head was throbbing because of it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you whispered to your boyfriend as you entered the hospital where a potential case might be.

Your father tipped you off of people disappearing from this town and when they turned up dead, their deaths were anything but natural. As soon as you met up with the doctor, you took out a badge that claimed you were with the CDC, something the hospital takes very seriously.

“You expect me to believe you're CDC?” the doctor scoffed.

“Excuse me?”

“It's just that you're a day early. First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people.”

“New administration. A change you can believe in,” Dean chuckled humorlessly.

“Right,” the doctor scoffed as she led you three to the morgue to show you the body.

She pulled the corpse of a man named Mr. Xavier who looked to be about eighty years of age.

“Meet Xavier. Date of birth, April third, nineteen eighty-four,” the doctor read from the chart. Frowning, you looked at the brothers before making eye contact with the doctor. She sensed your confusion and discomfort because all she did was nod. “I know. I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him.”

“Well, he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh?” Dean joked.

“What’s your theory?” you asked.

“All I know is that the decedent's male, twenty-five years old, and he died of old age,” she said before walking away.

“How the hell is he twenty-five, and he looks like this?” you wondered as you pulled out your cell phone and dialed a number you knew by heart.

“Who are you calling?” Sam asked.

“My dad,” you answered as you left the morgue.

Sam and Dean finished up before following you out of the place.

“You were right about this one. It's definitely a job,” you said as soon as he answered the phone.

“Thought so. Any other stiffs in town?”

“Just the one body.”

“Anything else?” he urged. He seemed anxious, but you didn’t press the issue.

“Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size.”

“Well, check 'em out.”

“You think they’re connected?”

“Call it a hunch,” he sighed.

“Okay. How are you doing, by the way?”

“Doing?”

“Yeah, you know… how are you?” you chuckled nervously.

“Oh, you mean my legs. Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit,” your father scoffed before hanging up the phone. Shaking your head, you looked at the brothers with a shake of your head.

“Come on, there are other families we need to check out,” you sighed before getting into the car.

A woman named Mrs. Whitlow recently reported her husband missing. Dean sat on her ottoman, looking at a frame photo of her husband, Cliff. Sam sat in an armchair and Mrs. Whitlow sat on her sofa. Everyone was seated except for you who stood by the door and watched the woman’s behavior from a distance.

“That’s the most recent picture,” she said with a sigh.

Dean handed the photo of Cliff to Sam who studied it. The picture was of Cliff as a gold tournament champion, Miami Palms June 2009, holding a golf club and trophy. A USMC tattoo is visible on his right arm.

“How long has he been missing?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night.”

“Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe? A favorite bar?”

“No. Tuesdays, he always works a bit late, but he always comes straight home.”

“May I use your restroom, ma’am?” you suddenly asked.

“Sure, down the hall and to your right,” she smiled.

Nodding at the brothers, you took off before heading left into the office that was right across from the bathroom. The brothers would keep her busy as you looked through the husband’s things to give you a clue as to where he was or is if he’s still alive. There is a big pile of papers on the desk, and after shuffling through them, you come to find no dirt on the missing man. Looking to the right, you spotted the man’s coat hanging on the hook by the door, and you searched through the pockets to see if there was anything valuable inside. There was a receipt in one of the pockets to a Madame Liu's Golden Palace and totals over $250.

“Working late my ass,” you muttered before shoving the receipt into your pocket.

Exiting the room, you made eye contact with the brothers before nodding to let them know that you had found something and you could leave.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am. We’ll do everything we can to locate your husband,” Dean smiled as he and his brother got up.

The woman escorted you three out of her home, and you explained to the brothers what you found.

“The motel isn’t far from here,” Dean declared as he raced over there to catch the guy red handed—if he was alive.

“Well, at least he's consistent. Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates,” Sam observed as he walked with you and Dean to room 44 which is the room that Cliff rented out every Tuesday.

“Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age,” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, like any of us will live that long,” Sam scoffed.

“What do you think is in there?” you asked as you stopped outside of it.

“A wrinkly, gooey corpse,” Dean shrugged as Sam took out his lock pick kit to open the door. He barely got the second tool out when a man’s voice shouted from within the room.

“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!”

“Move!” you yelled as you blasted the door with your magic.

The door slammed opened, but what was inside wasn’t a crinkly old man but a young one with not one but two women in his bed. The shouts weren’t of pain but pleasure. The women jumped out of the bed and raced to the bathroom to get changed into something more decent than what they were wearing.

“Oh,” you gasped.

“Sorry. Uh, got the wrong room,” Dean chuckled nervously.

“Close the door!” the man shouted.

Sam is about to shut the door when he noticed a tattoo on the man’s arm that looked exactly like Cliff’s.

“Nice tattoo,” Sam noted as he walked over to the counter with the man’s clothes on it. “Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?”

“Never heard of him,” he stranger gulped.

“Well, that's weird,” Sam pulled out an ID from the wallet in the man’s pants, “’Cause you're carrying his wallet.”

Dean crossed the room and lifted up the man’s covers to look what was underneath, and you assumed that Cliff’s wife told the brothers something that would cause Dean to look underneath the covers.

“Huh,” he dropped the sheets once he found what he was looking for. “Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice. Well, you look great, Cliff. Did you get some work done?”

“Could you give us some privacy?” Cliff asked the two women who hovered by the bathroom.

Handing a robe to Cliff, he put it on before leaving the bed. He met the women by the door and handed them some money. Once they left and the door was closed, he turned to you three with a worried expression.

“Please don't tell my wife. I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way.”

“How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?” you asked.

“I can't tell you.”

“You better start talking or we will,” you glared.

“Okay! Okay! It was a game.”

“Like... XBox?” Sam asked.

“What's XBox? No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me at a bar and invites me to play. He gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo jumbo over them and says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. Now look at me.”

“What was he chanting?” Sam asked.

“How should I know? All I know is, my bad hip's good, and I threw away my glasses. One of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker.”

“What does this miracle worker look like?”

“Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick.”

“Okay, where is this game at?” you asked.

“He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long, and he finds you.”

“Great, thanks,” you sighed before leaving the room. The brothers followed you to the street where you dialed your dad quickly. As soon as he answered, you laid down the line about what exactly was going on in this town. “It sounds crazy, right?”

“No, there's lore on it,” your father spoke. “Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose.”

“Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse.”

“Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?”

“There's a lot of dives in this town. We're gonna have to split up.”

“Well, why you still talking to me?” he asked before hanging up.

“Man, my dad is cranky,” you shrugged. “Alright, Dean and I will take half and you will take the other. Work fast and work hard.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean nodded.

Usually you were a bit more laid back than usual, but Amara is really messing with your head today.

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momo-de-avis · 5 years

Text

Wordtober Day 16: Wild

A horror lite short story about the Lusitanian people fucking HATING the Romans, enjoy. And yes, it’s THAT Sertorius, this takes place immediately before his war.

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Caetobriga slept, and the guards kept watch.

On the pathway leading to the forest beyond the city, Quintus stood tediously, body sore from the uptight position and the tightly held lance on his hand, torches burning on the dark walls of the archway, and even his neck ached from the weight of his helmet. He took a deep breath and adjusted his position, though next to him, Caelius didn’t seem slightly bothered with his slouched shoulders and the yawn he didn’t even care to conceal with a hand.

Quintus wanted to slap him on the nape, but the reckless guard took notice of the stern look on his face and straightened himself up with swiftness.

Nights in Caetobriga were boring, though the days could be filled with screams and loud voices far too irritating for him, but Quintus had followed Sulla thus far, deep into the lands of Hispania, to fight a war only to end his career as a miserable guard. Two years fending off the nagging Sertorius in the name of Gaius Valerius Flavius to keep control of the savages in Iberia had rendered him one less finger on the left hand and a blow to the leg that had left him bedridden for seventeen days, but at least the region was back in order. The stubborn propraetor had retreated south, and last Quintus had heard, he had been ransacked by pirates.

Though, being honest to himself, Quintus knew he had never been too great a soldier. Decent, certainly, enough to suffer a cut or bruise, perhaps, but nothing life-threatening. He had never gone past the rank of princeps, which was in itself a miracle as it was. Experience enough to fight in the second line, though always on foot—he’d never rise up to the demands of the cavalry. He’d be a legionary his whole life—and one guarding a Lusitanian city, of all places.

Though the peoples had been tamed, properly guided into civilized society, as they needed to. Cattle herders, most of all were; Quintus had laughed merciless at the sight of two young boys marvelled at a simple stylus and wax board. Some old hag had mumbled tales of a former slave freed from Rome having brought the toy with him some ten years ago, but that, Quintus suspected, was just her manner of acting dismissive, considering how the peoples there could be lying, cheating weasels. Even as construction was underway for the new thermae, those poor sheep-herders had looked up at the stone in marvel, blinded in delight, as if Selene rode her very own silver chariot in the skies.

The city was growing, but it was mostly just fish salting workshops everywhere, which brought about an unbearable smell of fish and salt all year round, moon after moon—either from the workshops themselves or the river. It had been charming enough the first few days, something unique to the region—Quintus had even thought it to be a pretty sight, idyllic and clean—but now, it forced him to burn herbs inside his quarters for the sake of keeping that stench away from his nose.

At least, the peoples there had been subdued, paying their dues and herded into civility. Had it not been for the mighty intervention of the Empire, those madmen would still be squabbling through their forests like wolves or bears.

Yet however Quintus knew he sounded quite dismissive towards, there was a part of him that feared a confrontation with a proper Lusitanian army as they had faced at the time of the general who had embarrassed Rome. An average legionary like him, facing warmongering people whose women were said to sleep with gladiuses under their pillows and were quicker than the men to grab a spear and impale an enemy with less mercy than man—he’d be doomed.

After all, technically the Lusitanian had never been defeated. The only way the Romans managed to conquer them was through bribery and assassination, though a man like Quintus would never say those words if he valued his life.

Quintus blinked his eyes in boredom as the light of the torch next to him flickered in the darkness, an unexpected breeze passing by, and nearly fell asleep on his feet had he not noticed something strange about Caelius next to him. Rambunctious as he was, fond of drinking and visiting local brothels wherever he was, Quintus thought him as much a coward as he sometimes could be. Reason why, he believed, they had both been left there to guard the walls of an unprotected city that, in reality, had no threats outside its walls.

The Lusitanians were gone, subdued or tamed like chickens, anyway. Sometimes he even thought the walls were useless.

Caelius squinted his eyes and gave a step forward; this time, Quintus’ cold and stern look did not send him a warning, not even as he tipped his lance and gave him a hard tap on the greaves on his shins, a soft and metallic growl fluttering for a brief moment. Caelius waved a hand, shushed him quietly, and gave another step forward, gazing into the complex mesh of trees that rose in the distance, making way to the forests ahead.

“I think I saw someone there,” he murmured. “In the forest.”

Likely, Quintus thought, though what he couldn’t understand was why he should care about it. “And? Some wanderer, chances are. A beggar or a traveller who got lost, or—” maybe someone avoiding some form of taxation—he’d heard of those, though Quintus generally minded not the mathematics behind the logistics of the Empire. “I don’t know, just don’t mind it.”

“But it looked like a woman.” Caelius’ eyes glimmered under the torches in an urgency Quintus seldom saw. “She looked in trouble.”

He sighed, peered ahead and tried to see. The forest was still and silent, with nothing interesting to it, but Quintus put some effort into it nonetheless, if only to appear concerned enough that Caelius would leave the matter be.

“I see nothing,” he replied, bored. “It’s just a f—”

“There!” Caelius shouted, not minding the hour of the night, and his finger jutted forward.

Quintus followed his eyes and saw what he meant: a woman, indeed, dressed in a dingy white, or perhaps it was grey, tunic that flapped freely about her body, torn to shreds at the shoulders and ripped apart from the knee down. He could see she had black hairs, cascading over her face in a disarray of a dancing shadow, and her arms were fully exposed—he saw a hand lifted in despair and then tumble down as she collapsed on the ground.

Before he could say anything, Caelius took off, lance in hand, rushing through the humid soil to aid the woman. Huffing—certain, this time, he was going to be sent to the front lines of whatever next war for his mistake—Quintus followed him in the darkness.

The woman fell to the ground, arms splayed about as she wept silently, and up-close, Quintus could see the damage her dress had suffered. It seemed made of some rough material, like burlap, improper for garments, and it exposed her filthy, brown feet, cut and bruised from the run. She raised her teary eyes, big and blue, glowing like the moon above, and pulled her hairs away from her pink lips as she breathed deeply.

“Help me,” she murmured, nearly out of breath. Her trembling hand pointed back, and clearly in a state of urgency and unrest, she began to heave herself, ignoring the twigs and dirt on her body, half-dragging herself towards the forest. “My child,” she mumbled—there was something about the way she spoke, Quintus thought, as if she had recently learned how to speak. “My child. There’s a boar—”

“Oof,” Quintus sighed, ready to drag her back to the city and—perhaps, who knew—arrest her for… something. He’d figure something out. Either way, he knew there was no way a mediocre legionary like himself would dare to face a boar alone—babe or no babe involved.

But Caelius seemed to have caught on to his hesitation, and quickly enough, he furrowed his brow in what was clearly a deep sense of insult that Quintus was unsure if he felt it aimed at himself or the woman.

“You’re not walking away,” he said. “She needs help.”

“She needs a javelin.”

“For Juno, you’re worse than a drunken pig.” Somehow, the peculiar insult seemed to hurt Quintus’ feelings far more than he had expected. Caelius gathered himself, patted his knees and laid out a hand for the woman to take. “Come along,” he said. “Show me where you’ve seen this boar.”

Quintus thought it strange. Caelius had always been a rowdy one, a lover of grapes and bread as much as Bacchus, his silent guardian god from the cradle. He was far too carefree for the stern rigidness of a legionary’s life, and gotten far too many a reprimand from all and any centurion whose host he’d fought under. Quintus had seen him scrubbing floors and cleaning weapons as punishment so often he had, at one point, wondered if he hadn’t been secretly assigned both duties after all.

But he was not brave. If there was one thing Caelius was not was brave. He cowered before any hint of confrontation, invoking Mars and Juno to protect him against the brutes who saw in his slender face and sleazy self a perfect punching bag, and always ran away. At the slightest drunken brawl, one could hear the tapping sound of Caelius’ sandals as he ran down the streets, with his tail between his legs. Even in the war, he had served far below Quintus—a mere light infantry soldier, though sometimes he doubted he’d done any fighting at all. Perhaps he was just the cook, or the tanner.

Quintus had seen, however, his infatuation for any a woman who pranced before his eyes, and had easily understood a nice pair of waddling hips would be enough to entice him into a night of frolicking. Though he seemed to have a peculiar taste: he always preferred Lusitanian women; though Quintus thought it strange, for he deemed them unattractive—too brute, no delicacy to their touch, and far, far too loud.

Sighing loudly this time, Quintus watched as Caelius patted the woman behind the shoulder, gently sheltering her weeping voice in his arms, almost as if he cared for her. The dog was willing to get himself mauled by a boar of all things just for a pair of Lusitanian tits. He had to follow him, of course; if anything were to happen to him, Quintus would get the end of the stick still, so he had to follow him into the forest and pray for Diana’s guidance against a ravaging beast such as a boar.

The forest was calm and still, though everywhere he could hear the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves beneath the soles of Caelius’ sandals, and from between the soft peeping of nightly birds, came the sobs and wails of the woman. Strangely, the air felt denser there, as if the particles of humidity shifted and rubbed against each other to bring about something… different. A different smell, to begin with—the nauseating scent of fish and salt began to waft away, and Quintus was left with the pure, deep breath of a simple forest: pine trees and wet earth. How he had missed it.

When he focused on the narrow path, smashed between brambles and junipers ahead of him, he realized he had lost sight of Caelius and the woman. Startled by the sense of solitude, as if the forlorn child before a boar now was him, Quintus raised his spear and readied himself for a confrontation he wasn’t even sure was bound to happen or not, but he was never too careful. He trod on, in cautious and soft steps, muffled by the warm earth beneath his sandals, casting glances around while searching for the presence of two people that should be there.

But he heard nothing, and he saw nothing.

The forest grew denser, and soon, the path had disappeared entirely. Now, he walked down a layer of crushed leaves and broken twigs, pushing away thorny bushed that tugged at his tunic with every step, forgetting about the boar entirely and using his lance as a mere stick. The air seemed different there, and it was somehow more difficult to breathe—or perhaps he was just tired and out of shape.

Then, a fog appeared, though from where, he could not tell. A simple mantle of white and grey wafted in the air, slowly covering his vision though not enough that he could not see his path, and drifted between the leaves and the trees. Quintus stopped. “Caelius!” He shouted; his voice resonated about, echoing in the distance, but there was otherwise no answer. “Caelius, where are you?” Nothing. He then noticed the absence of something else—the sounds of crushing leaves and twigs of their footsteps had disappeared; all he could hear was his own rising breath, raging through his ears as his heart thumped rapidly against his chest, though he thoroughly denied himself the fact that he was, indeed, slightly panicked. “Caelius, if this is a prank, I swear by the stone, I’ll have you counting grains until the rest of your days in the army!”

No answer.

Quintus thought he should turn back, ignore Caelius altogether, maybe claim he had deserted instead of telling the truth, for the sake of saving his own arse at least, and turned around. He trod on, now expecting for the narrow path to appear at any moment—but he walked, and walked, and walked, and nothing appeared. All he could see was a thick mesh of vegetation curling over himself as if nature wanted him trapped, and it was somehow becoming more suffocating by the step, the thorny bushes now not just tugging his clothes, but scratching his skin. His lance was nearly useless, and Quintus used his cape to protect himself against the savage vegetation, but it was getting harder to move—and he wondered where was the bloody path he had seen.

He stopped. The density ended, giving way to a clearing; ahead of him, in a tiny spot that opened up to a canopy of branches filled with heavy, green leaves, there was a slab of white stone, standing vertically against the brown earth, and another stone lying horizontally by its feet. Quintus neared it gently; a ray of moonlight fell right in the middle of the clearing, painting the small blotch of soil a pale silver, and when he squinted his eyes he noticed the dark blotch on the second slab was old, dried blood.

It was an altar, but as he neared to read the engraving on it, he realized he didn’t know the god’s or goddess’ name on it. Banduam sacrum. Perhaps it was one of the Lusitanian’s old gods, though he had never heard of that name.

Quintus stood up and looked around, now trying to comprehend just how he had ended up there, again focused on turning back—which he nearly did, until the loud crack of a snapping twig brought him back. He looked ahead, past the altar, and thought he saw something between the trees, a dancing shape that hovered about between trunks and twigs, and with his lance hoisted, gripping it strongly, he marched on.

He passed the thick meshes of vegetation, wrapped in his cape in care, and passed through two cypresses that grew in a strange manner, like two colossuses standing before a sacred entrance—how strange he felt at the connection he made. The moonlight seemed stronger there, perhaps because the trees weren’t filled with leaves, and it cast a single branch of light onto what he was positive, absolutely certain, to be a circular house with a roof made of thatch.

Just like the people there used to build.

Now, his senses were fully active, paying attention to sight, smell and hearing, not minding any physical inconvenience of his situation. He was right—it was a thatched house, circular and inserted into a small yard, surrounded by a circular wall—and there were more. More houses, laid about, just like a proper settlement. And not just houses—people were living there. He could see thin threads of smoke escaping the shy chimneys atop the roofs, and swore he could hear a child’s giggle somewhere, yet somehow the place felt stuck in absolute desolation, as if he walked among a ghost city of the past where nothing but death and absence existed.

“Caelius?” He called again, though now not in a shout, just an octave above his regular speaking voice—and no answer. Whatever sounds there were, however, they ceased; Quintus froze and focused on one of the houses, from where he could see the trembling light of perhaps a torch coming from below the wooden door, and thought of how primitive they seemed, living like renegade farmers, with nothing but sheep and their belligerent attitudes. The light shuddered and then flickered away, and he was cast into darkness.

In fact, it seemed it was far darker than before. Quintus turned around, and nearly screamed, lance now hoisted up in the air. Before him, on jutting branches of nearby trees, corpses hung—rotting, putrid and pale, swaying about in the fresh breeze as that nauseating salty scent returned, but now it was stronger and more revolting. It smelled of blood, of putrid meat, of fish.

Shuddering in dread, Quintus neared the corpses enough to look at them, and was trying to understand whether he had missed on them or they weren’t there just a moment before when he recognized two of the men. Maximus Arrius Opilio, another legionary, infantry like Caelius, who everyone assumed had deserted his post after getting into a gambling vice in a tavern that had earned him quite the debt, and Tertius Nepos Caepio, gone, simply gone, without a word or notice, from his post one night. Both had been guards in the city, though not anywhere near where Quintus and Caelius had stood—and now, they hung by the neck.

But they had not been hung, Quintus was quick to assess. They had bled—and a lot. Their clothes were ratty and thick with dried blood, and they showed several bruises and cuts—he assumed the killing blow to be the one at the neck, a swift slice across the trachea that looked clean, done by a strong hand, perhaps that of a man accustomed to war. But they showed more injuries: cuts along the arm, in precise, conspicuous places—as if they had been slowly bled out.

Quintus dreaded discovering why.

He gulped, but his mouth was dry; he looked around, studied again the thatch roof of every house, the wooden doors and even the silence—and though there was nothing, he was certain that place was inhabited still.

But it was impossible; the Lusitanians had been defeated, subdued, tamed; whatever savagery they had been up to, it couldn’t last long, and soon the Empire would crush them effectively and order would be restored, though the scene didn’t look like any sort of resistance, just a small settlement of people who refused to be civil and live under the law of Rome. Most likely, practising some sort of witchery with their gods, considering the mutilation on those poor guards and legionaries. He had to go back, he had to return and report the crime—now, Quintus only wished he could find the way there again, if he could find his way out first.

He gave a step forward, but from behind a tree, a large stick jumped and hit him in the stomach. Shoved, Quintus staggered back, and he was positive someone removed his helmet, just reaching in and casually taking it off, for a hard blow to his nape. He fell back against the ground and blinked his eyes wearily, falling dangerously to sleep. Fighting the haze, he looked up when a silhouette appeared, and saw a pale face crowned with black hairs that, a moment before, had been in complete disarray.

When he came to, he was tied with ropes and lying on a cold slab, and something warm burned to his left. Quintus wiggled in bondage, moved his head as the throbbing pain snapped behind his eyes, and found a burning bonfire right there, flames rising tall and mighty before a wave of cheers that erupted from an adoring crowd. His breath rose, his heart thumped—they all spoke a language he could not understand.

A hand grabbed him by the hairs, pulled him back and forced him to stare at the night skies. It was a full moon, he noticed, and tears popped from the lashes as he thought with certainty he was going to die. He wondered then how could no one see a bonfire that big from Caetobriga, burning right in the middle of the forest just outside its walls, or how had nobody found the hidden settlement of Lusitanian people, the same they had believed for years to have been tamed and subdued to order—even gone. The staggering, petrifying thought occurred then that he might not be in his world, but another—a world only those who served the strange god in the altar he’d found in the woods could enter.

He rolled his eyes to look at his captor, but there were two: the woman with black hairs, now far from the fragile, wailing mother who had lost a child to a boar. Instead, she appeared tall and mighty, her face contorted into a frown, corners of her lips turned into pure disgust, and a coldness to her blue eyes that made Quintus shudder in dread. But she wasn’t alone; someone else was by her side.

Caelius. His former jubilance, that had earned him so many punishments in the past, was gone, washed away by a semblance Quintus didn’t recognize anymore. Shadows were cast above his eyes, sombre and empty, as if nothing existed inside of him beyond a conspicuous objective he had set out to complete, and in his hollowness, there was a message of absolute desolation, loss and perdition. Quintus looked at his face, only partly kissed by the silver moonlight, and thought with absolute certainty that Caelius had never been the frolicking young man he had appeared to be, but a great actor set out to perform a precise play.

“Caelius,” Quintus called, his sobs coming then, so miserably crying he felt the unexpected taste of his own spit slipping through his wet lips, and his vision blurred. “What are you doing?”

“Caelius is what you roman scum call me,” he said—even his voice was different, lower somehow, and distorted, like nothing but a faint projection of a voice Quintus had grown bored of listening to in the past, brought by a gusting wind—but not his, not really his. “But my birth name is Caturo.” He looked to the side, and for the first time, shared a smile with the woman. “Meet my sister Aura, Quintus.”

“Wh—” his breath escaped him, and Quintus tried to say something logical, but there was shock and confusion only, far too much for him to completely grapple the full meaning of what was happening. “You’re betraying Rome! You’re betraying the g—”

“I’m serving my gods.” He produced a dagger from somewhere Quintus missed, though he was positive someone had passed him, and that someone had been the woman, seemingly named Aura. She smiled when she looked down at the blade, now dancing in her brother’s hand, and then at her prey, the man tied up on a slab—he finally realized—that was neither altar nor just stone, but a sacrificial table. In fact, it became so obvious to Quintus, when he looked down with an uncomfortable tilt of his head and saw dried blood all over, he wasn’t surprised.

“Those men—” Quintus mumbled. “Maximus, and Tertius—”

“Blood spilled for the glory of Bandua and Ataegina.” His lips twisted; the fire reflecting in his eyes, and Quintus thought he looked like a fresco of Vulcan he had seen in Rome in his earlier days—and though the memory was ridiculous, it made him flinch in pain. He missed his home. He missed Rome. He missed the simple life of a boy destined to become a legionary, unaware that he’d be so mediocre, at best he’d be a great sacrifice to a foreign god one day.

“You’ll b-be in… in trouble, C-caelius—”

The words fought against his beating heart, that seemed to push them down, one by one, with every flogging motion, but Quintus persisted—though it seemed useless. Caelius, or Caturo, only smiled wider, and slid a finger across the glinting blade of the dagger that now sparkled the refracted sparks of the bonfire.

“Tomorrow, I will tell Caetobriga you deserted. That you, nothing but a mediocre legionary who earned his living as a princeps, but who got so severely injured fighting a battle for Sulla his centurion simply quit him and sent him to Hispania to serve as a boring guard, saw a woman pleading for help as she ran away from a boar, and like the absolute coward you always were, Quintus, you fled. I will tell them you fled deep into the forest and were gone before I could stop you.”

“And they shan’t ever dream,” the woman said, her voice now lilting in a melodious tune of nothing short of absolute and utter joy, “that your blood ran for Bandua and Ataegina, for the strength of our men and our women, and those who will make roman blood run again.”

Quintus closed his eyes when she laughed; he thought her laugh was distorted, acute, and it hurt his ears just to listen. Now, he was panting, and from all around, strange chants in that alien tongue came, a tongue he had thought suppressed a long time ago, subdued to Rome’s will and tamed, but that now rose in a mellifluous song of sacrifice and bloodshed—and he was to be torn to shreds.

No, Quintus thought, snapping his eyes open as the blade rose, letting out a bellow before he felt it pierce deep into his flesh, tearing skin and clothes apart, and the warmth of his blood came. He wasn’t just going to be sacrificed; if the corpses of the men had told him something, it was that these Lusitanian barbarians were going to make him suffer in the name of Rome’s bloodshed.

---

A/N: The name Caturo is straight-up borrowed from Uma Deusa na Bruma, a book about the last lusitanian resistance that I cannot suggest enough.

Yes I used Aura again, it just seemed appropriate and I am lacking imagination rn

___

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

Wordtober Day 9: Swing

Wordtober Day 10: Pattern

Wordtober Day 11: Snow

(Skipped Day 12)

Wodrtober Day 13: Ash

Wordtober Day 14: Overgrown

Wordtober Day 15: Legend

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #FUCK ROME YEAH #my wordtober

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