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yestrnight · 1 year

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ WANT U SO BAD, MISTER !

FROM : gepard / fem! reader

SUBJECT : it's immoral to want a sweet little thing like you, especially when he's well into his 30s and you're still a youngling in your 20s. but should he really feel guilty, when you want him just as bad?

( hopefully this is a bit more tame than my other works; age gap; pússy rubbing; gepard feels guilty; dubcon turned consensual )

gepard knows you’re a sweet thing. when he walks into serval’s workshop for his visits, you always greet him with a smile so sunny it could combat the eternal freeze. you’d drop the little machine you were tinkering with and head into the back to pull out a tray of desserts you’ve baked and trot right over to him. they’re originally for serval, who’d usually become too immersed in her work to remember to eat. but you are ever the dutiful assistant, looking after her whilst picking up some of the more trivial machinery to fix.

when he picks up a still warm cookie, he thanks you. his eyes linger a bit too long on your back when you run off to where you originally were.

serval leans over the counter with a shit-eating smile, chomping into a cookie. “oh, my cute lil brother,” she laughs. “you’ve got a decade on the kid. does the righteous captain of the silvermane guards really wanna go down that alley?”

the next time he comes over, serval is nowhere to be seen. you occupy her usual place at the counter, tongue peeking out from the side of your mouth as you focus on picking apart a faulty machine. you barely hear the chiming of the bell when he comes in, and only come to your senses when his broad shadow looms over you.

“oh, dear!” you gasp, pulling up your goggles. “i am so sorry mister gepard. i didn’t hear you come in.”

something about being alone with you without his nosy older sister in sight makes him even more awkward and nervous. “that’s alright,” he coughs. “where is serval, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“she was called in by the supreme guardian to discuss some internal repairs to qlipoth forth’s security devices.” you quickly sweep off the machine parts off the counter and smile up at him, to which his heart skips a beat. “sit, sit! i baked a fresh new batch of pastries in the back. i’ll bring it right out.”

so when he does take a seat and see you scamper off to the kitchen, he is left alone with the silence and his thoughts… of you, and those particularly nice tights you’re wearing. young belobogians often have their fashionable trends to combat the cold, but he wonders how warm those tights might be if they’re so thin they show off those pretty legs of yours.

white lace patterned in seductive heart patterns, teasing his eyes with the smooth skin beneath them. where those pretty tights end, they dig into your skin and emphasize the softness of it. he buries his face into his hand as he thinks of squeezing and grabbing them, trailing kisses up them till he—

“mister gepard?” your worried face suddenly appears in front of him. “oh no, did i turn the heater up too high? ah, i’ll fix it right now!”

“n-no, it’s fine, [your name],” he grabs your wrist, still blushing. “it’s not hot, really. just that…” his eyes wander into the plush skin between your shorts and tights, before he catches himself and forces to make eye contact with you. “nothing… it’s nothing. i… really should be going now.”

“even when i have something for you to eat?” you pout. “please stay for a little while, mister gepard.”

“angh… [your name], please, this isn’t appropriate…!”

“what’s wrong, mister gepard sir?” your face bearing the innocence of an angel, you cock your head at him as if you’re not milking his cock dry. through your panties (blue and white stripes, gepard’s mind unnecessarily observes, and he blushes) your pussy lips hug his throbbing cock between them, and you let out a keen moan when his fat head grinds against your clit. “but you looked so hungry! i thought maybe i’d let your friend have a taste.”

his big hands clench the sheets behind them, trying to stop himself from grabbing your hips. he grits his teeth and he looks up at you with a desperate pleading look. “please, dear,” he near begs. “you shouldn’t be doing this with a man my age.”

he’s in the early stages of his 30s, you’re barely 20. he’s lived an entire decade more than you, have touched and broken the hearts of women older than you, have tasted and succumbed to the pleasure of bodily desire more than you have— gepard can imagine that you barely had your first kiss. it’s like he’s taking advantage of you, even when you’re the one who unbuttoned his pants and pulled his erection out of them. he doesn’t want this, doesn’t like this— even when his breath goes ragged at the heat of your warm pussy.

“but!” you pout, and you squelch your cunt against an angry vein running along the side of his dick. you’re so fucking wet, it’s unimaginable. are all young pussies like this, or do you just want him that bad? he throws his head back when you drip all over him. “i’ve always admired you, mister gepard. you’re so handsome and gentlemanly, and then i catch you looking at me like that. don’t you think it’s unfair for you to reject me like that?”

“i—! a-ah…?!” a sharp moan comes out from him when you thumb the slit of his dick. “it’s no good for someone like me to… ngh… to chase after you. it’s— it’s wrong!” his protests barely reach you as you marvel at the heat in your palm. it’s sooo big, and your thumb and index finger can only slightly touch each other. you drag your throbbing cunny again, making sure to coat the entire length in your own slick. gepard whimpers with every drag, eyes peeking out from behind his hands as he watches you debauch your body with his perverted length. it’s disgusting, he shouldn��t be doing this to you–!

you can barely control yourself as you sit back and admire his cock, shiny with your slick and throbbing needily. a gentle graze of your finger already has it twitching like mad.

“poor thing…” you say in pity. “looks like you need a loooot of help, mister gepard.”

“please, [your name], dear.” he sounds breathless as he begs you not to do this to yourself. his heart beats louder and louder as he watches you prop yourself up with a cunning smile, and tease your hole with his leaky tip. you grab onto his chest for support, looking down at him like an angel-turned-devil.

“this is my thanks for protecting us from the eternal freeze~” no no no no, the tip of his length is sinking into you, and the pulse of your warm pussy is making him lose his mind by the second. his thighs are shaking as he controls himself to not plunge it all in. you’re not a monster, gepard, he scolds himself. just tell them to stop. they’re a sweet kid, they’ll un–

“f– fuck!” gepard yells out when you sink onto the rest of his length, and his back is arched while you smile in ecstasy after finally taking the whole thing. “[y - your name]...! you…!”

licking your lips, your hand trails down to your stretched out cunny, spreading your legs as you show off the pussy lips that have taken in his dick. it’s a perverse, filthy sight. it’s exactly the kind of thing the landaus have taught him not to fallen prey to. he was to marry a gentlewoman, of proper breeding, and make love to her in a noble and loving way.

but here he is, breath cut short as he stares wide-eyed at you. you and your pussy dripping around his throbbing length, hands stretching your lips so you can show it all off and remind him just how much he’s fallen.

and with the way you look at him, he thinks he was wrong in even thinking you were ever a good kid.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #gepard x reader #gepard landau #gepard smut #nite.writes

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morning-star-joy · 9 months

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lose your faith in me

Pairing: Low Honor!Arthur x One-Sided F!Reader to High Honor!Arthur x F!Reader

Summary: Arthur only changes for the better when everything happens for the worst.

Warnings: Angst. Canon ending. One-sided love that subtly becomes requited in the end. Lots of regret and grief. Low Honor to High Honor progression (or Canon-Typical!Arthur as @joelsversion bec calls him). Sad ending. Low Honor!Arthur is mean but he's still got some of those Medium to High Honor qualities when I write him. References to Reader being kidnapped when Arthur meets/saves her (like the stranger encounter in the game). Canon-typical violence.

Wordcount: 3.6k

A/N: I was possessed with ideas for this in the middle of the night, and for once I wrote them down in my notes app! Super sad fic because I was sad over the pixel cowboy.

dividers by @saradika

masterlist || kofi || updates blog

Arthur could be a kind man if he wanted to be. It just so happened that most of the time, he didn’t want to be.

You’d heard tales of a more compassionate man who lived in the rough-and-tumble outlaw’s skin once upon a time. A time hardened body that held a heart beating with too much love for others. Care that the world threw back in his face. Sensibility that it kicked from him when he was down.

So each time he got back up, more of that sensitive skin fell away. It grew back tougher, littered with scars that told of the cruelty of the passage of time. Life had not been kind to Arthur Morgan, and so he was not kind in return.

He was decent enough to the folks around camp, giving nods and short greetings as he moved from one job to the next. It was that work he did for the gang that spoke to the once generous nature that life hadn’t completely stamped out of him. Work that nearly wore him down to the bone, and he still did it without complaint, even when he was bloody, beaten, broken down.

Or maybe even that was without tenderness of the spirit. Maybe it was a mere habit with which he worked for the gang. A stubborn, undying loyalty that remained even when the love was gone.

Maybe it was just out of trifling obligation when he shot down the monster of a man who had you hogtied on the back of their horse.

Maybe it was out of innate violence that he took one glance at you, battered and bloody with tears streaking down a layer of grime on your cheeks, and then delivered a few more gunshots to your kidnapper’s head until it was an indistinguishable mess of gore, throwing in some well-placed kicks to a long dead body for good measure.

Still, Arthur let you follow him. For miles you trailed after him on the horse that had just before been carrying you to your doom. You kept glancing around you, wondering when you would come out of the wilderness to wherever he was going, until he finally shouted back to you.

“What you followin’ me for, girl?”

You had paused then. Embarrassment gave way to heat in your face, and you held the reins tighter, staring at the back of that worn hat you would grow secretly fond of, eyes tracing the old twine wrapped around the brim. Wondering what story it told, how many more stories were held behind cold blue eyes. How many people he saved, how many more he’d killed.

“Ain’t got nowhere else to go, Mister,” you had replied quietly, and his shoulders, broad and carrying weights both quantifiable and otherwise, stiffened under the battered brown jacket he wore.

“Best find someplace, then.”

He spurred his horse forward again, faster this time. Intending to lose you, maybe.

And when you followed right on his path again, he brought his steed to an abrupt spot, whirling it around to fix you with a glare.

“You deaf, woman?” he snapped, and you winced, though you didn’t cower away from the angry man who had been your savior. “Told you to get lost.”

“I have nowhere to go.” You urged your horse to trot closer now, trying to gain eye contact to better implore him of your predicament. “No one’s waitin’ for me.”

He just shifted the brim of his hat down, covering the top half of his face, and you were stuck staring defeatedly at the edge of a strong nose and lips pressed into a firm, bitter line at your desperation.

What a burden you had been to him from the start.

“Please,” you had whispered, and he turned his head away completely, giving you only the image of a well-armed, dangerous man that wreaked havoc across the states, leaving blood and death and despair in every place he left.

Arthur didn’t say anything else then, not even when you followed him all the way to the first camp you had witnessed of the Van der Linde gang.

Many camps were to follow, as your group of degenerates and ne'er-do-wells could never seem to catch a goddamn break. At least they let you settle into the ranks relatively without fuss.

But how could they not? When you kept your head down, kept your voice quiet, did your work without complaint.

Even as weeks turned into months, then into years of being there, you were a ghost among them. Nobody really knew where you came from, what you thought and felt. Your cards were kept close to your chest, for all matters except one.

At least if anybody noticed the way your eyes lingered on Arthur Morgan, they didn’t say anything.

If anybody saw the way you hovered around the gang’s enforcer, like a pitiful lost puppy since the moment he had saved you from a fate worse than death, they didn’t judge you for it. Not to your face.

Time passed, one camp gave way to the next in your group’s ever-searching path to freedom, and you loved Arthur Morgan all the same.

Blackwater was good until it was bad. Colter was worse, cold winds biting into your limbs and keeping you half-numb even halfway out of the mountains and to Horseshoe Overlook.

You liked that camp the best. It had the most life to it, the most times you had seen Arthur smile in the whole time you’d known him, even small, fleeting smirks as they were.

That night when Sean returned may have been the best of your small, inconsequential life. Drinks were flowing, laughter was booming, and there was music every which way, a different song being sung or played around each corner.

And through it all, Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

He was one of the men who saved the boisterous Irishman, and the only one missing from the party. Throughout the night, you kept glancing around for a glimpse of his face, all to no avail.

Eventually, you took up a post near where the horses grazed, waiting with a drink in hand to catch him rolling back into camp.

When even that led to no sight of him, you ambled through the outskirts of the trees, farther from the glow of warm campfires and jovial festivities, searching and searching until…

There.

The moonlight shone off the speckled horse that Arthur had gotten in Valentine weeks before, hidden amongst the trees unless you were as close as you had gotten in your relentless search for the object of your affections.

When you saw him a bit further on, leaning against a tree and gazing out over the cliffside with a cigarette perched between his lips, your heart leapt in your chest besides yourself.

He didn’t say anything when you emerged from the darkness and settled against a tree next to him. Likely he had heard you crashing through the forest in your half-drunken state, silently declaring you not a threat and, hopefully, not enough of a nuisance either.

Silence fell between you for a few moments. You never seemed to know what to say around him, and he never seemed to want to say anything around you.

Eventually, you settled on the wrong thing. “You did good today, Arthur.”

You could nearly feel the discontent grow at your praise, and you shifted under the weight of it in the air.

“Good?” he repeated the word like you had insulted him, although you had intended the opposite. Perhaps that was why he hated it so—because he hated himself so, couldn’t acknowledge a good deed he did if it hit him on the nose. “I beat a sick man for some money I didn’t even end up gettin’ before I did any good today, girl.”

“Arthur—”

“Our first trip into Valentine, ‘member that?” he interrupts you as if you hadn’t spoken, and you frown into the darkness, watching as he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap some ash off the end.

“I remember you fightin’ those men off o’ Tilly and Karen—”

“I chased that man who recognized me out of town, right to a cliffside.” Arthur steps forward, the spurs on his worn boots clinking with the slow, deliberate movement. He flicks the burnt down cigarette from his fingers out over the cliff you were both standing next to now. “Just like this one.”

He gestures to it, glancing back at you with the cold words he spoke. The moonlight casts him into shadow, creating a faceless entity out of him, one that you know should terrify you.

“He was dangling off of it, beggin’ for his life,” Arthur continued in that low, dangerous tone he reserved for intimidating folks, now using it to try and convince you of how wrong you’d always been about him. Even then, there’s a strange contradiction to the rumble of his voice—lack of empathy for what he’s done, and the knowledge of how awful that was in and of itself. “And I let ‘im fall. Figured it was better him than me.”

“Jesus…” you whispered, eyes fixed to the edge of the cliff next to where he stood. You wondered if he just watched the man’s grip loosen, or if those muddy boots had stomped on the tips of the man’s fingers, and you wince at the terrible imagery your mind concocted.

Arthur had done worse, you know he had. All those times he’d shown up with blood on his clothes, you knew well they weren’t from his own injuries. And still, you’d gladly washed the stains from his shirts during your chores. Relieved it wasn’t his own.

“Jesus ain’t helpin’ me, not with what I’ve done,” the man muttered with a frigid chill that sent shivers through you with how ominous his words were, how foreboding and imminent it felt. “Not with what we’ve all done.”

It’s quiet again as Arthur stands at the cliffside. You watch him glance over the edge, and yet you’re the one who finds yourself slipping, “We could still get out of here.”

He freezes. You know he knows what you mean, and yet he still asks, “Who’s ‘we’?”

“You and me,” you whisper breathlessly, the alcohol you’d consumed dulling the fear of the rejection you knew was inevitable as everything you kept bottled up comes spilling out. “Save up some money, get a small patch of land somewhere out where they won’t come lookin’. We can raise sheep or—”

“Sheep,” he scoffs. The man won’t even look back at you, won’t even give you the decency of eye contact as he breaks your heart. “Small land still ain’t cheap. And there aren’t many places they ain’t lookin’ nowadays, neither.”

“We can do it, Arthur.” You step closer, your eagerness on plain display in the moonlight, and he finally looks back at you. His face reveals nothing, expression blank as you finally lay all your cards on the table, his own forever in his lonely hands. “You and me.”

“You’re just as bad a dreamer as Dutch.” The words are harsh, bitter even, and it’s not the first time you start to wonder why you love Arthur Morgan. “Hell, you may even be worse.”

You think that’s the end of it then. You hope it is, but he stops next to you as he’s walking away, looks you right in the eye as he spares you no mercy in harshly chastising you, “Get your head outta the clouds, girl. Ain’t nothin’ good, ain’t no honest ending out there waitin’ for the likes of you and me.”

It breaks your heart.

More than that, it makes you want to prove him wrong.

You never do quite prove him wrong.

Arthur Morgan is dying.

It both shocks and horrifies you, how long it takes the others to notice.

He carried on doing what he always did for the gang, hiding his own decay the best he could. His movements were slower than before, and you’d watch from a distance all the times he’d pause to take as deep a breath as his traitorous lungs could manage when no one was looking.

For a while, you dared to hope it was just a lingering sickness from his time stranded on Guarma. You thought he would shake it off eventually, bounce back healthier and stronger than ever before.

But he lost even more weight instead of putting it back on. His face grew gaunt, pale. Sharp blue eyes became streaked with red, clouded with a weariness that contrasted the strength you’d always come to associate with the man.

Still, things carried on with as much normality as the gang could afford, even with the camp clearing out more and more each day.

Ghosts lived amongst you now, dead as well as living. Skeletons were buried under every crack and crevice you traversed each day, trying to pretend it would all be okay, like it always had been in the past.

At night, you heard Arthur coughing.

It was always muffled, like he was smothering the sickness into his pillow, so as to not wake the others. But it became as steady a noise as the faint sounds of wildlife underneath the stars, tearing your soul apart further and further each time.

When you heard a weak gasp following a coughing fit one night, you rose from your bedroll, unable to stay in quiet denial of what was happening any longer. You pattered over to a dying campfire as if possessed, stoking it to life enough to concoct a health tincture to hopefully ease some of the pain he was trying to hide with every fiber of stubborn strength he still had left.

You slipped through the tent flap to see him curled up on his side, coughing and wheezing into his fist next to the dying light in the lantern beside his cot. The sight threatened to ruin you completely, leave you nothing but a husk of your former self in the grief of your sustaining love, but you held it together through sheer will alone as you approached him.

When he saw you, you saw fear. It flashed through his eyes, the blue of them just as pretty as the day you met him, even with the sickness that addled them.

Arthur opened his mouth as blood trickled from the corner of it, no doubt to insist you shouldn't trouble yourself with fretting over him, but you gently hushed him.

You wiped the blood from his lips with your handkerchief, coaxed him to drink the tincture, taking sips through the coughing fit until it subsided. When it did, the words he finally gained that familiar strength to speak with shocked you.

“You always done right by me,” Arthur wheezed quietly, avoiding your eyes when they snapped to his face at the sentiment you never thought he’d acknowledge. “Don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

It struck you silent then, left you with an emptiness you didn’t know the first thing about filling up again. Knowing that he recognized all the love for him you’d kept locked up inside, until it was bursting from the seams. Knowing that he recognized how cruel he’d been to you, time and time again.

And how you had loved him just the same.

“You saved me,” you whispered as you tenderly wiped the handkerchief along his blood speckled chin. Your fingers followed the path to skim across those scars where hair could never grow, where it barely grew now.

“Any decent man woulda—”

“Not many decent men, though,” you interrupted him, his eyes finally meeting yours as you spoke, “are there?”

You both fell quiet then, the truth of his nature hanging in the air between you.

The sicker Arthur had gotten, the more he had changed. Faced with a slow union to his eventual mortality, his own body betraying him as his family fell apart, he had tried to right the wrongs he had done.

You had seen the shift; how it had happened slowly, then all at once. Giving away the money he had fought and killed for to help widows, orphans, or those in misfortune—some of whom he had put there with his own two hands.

You think that Arthur saw those ghosts that still lingered better than the most of you. You think he loved them more than anybody else. That he fought to avenge them, or maybe give them peace, the best he could still manage to do.

Or maybe he was already one of them.

And still, for him, it wasn’t enough.

“I ain’t one of those, either,” Arthur murmured, denying the gravitational shift in his very own nature, his voice strained with effort from not coughing after you had tried so desperately to heal him.

Tears blur your vision, choking your throat at his resignation to the cruel strings of fate, the belief that he was nothing more now than rot and regret.

“You’re close enough,” you whispered, meaning every damn word of admiration that you’ve held in your heart for him since the very first day.

Because he wasn’t good, but he was good enough for you.

When he’s quiet again, his eyes still avoiding yours, you figure it’s time to go.

You move to get up, and without a sound, his hand catches yours.

Arthur doesn’t let go.

You stay.

As long as you can, you stay.

“Where you goin’?”

Weeks later, more people are dead, or gone, or close to one or the other. You’re packing all of your measly earthly belongings onto one of the extra horses in the dead of night when Arthur approaches you.

“I dunno,” you reply honestly, heart in your throat as you avoid his gaze. You can’t look at him anymore, can’t see him working himself to death for a man who would gladly watch him fall into his own grave, who wouldn’t have the decency to stay long enough to watch him buried. “Somewhere else.”

“What're you plannin' on doin’ when you get there?”

“I don’t know, Arthur.” You finally look at him, afraid to see betrayal in his eyes at your leaving them, leaving him, when all you had ever wanted to do was stay.

But you only see understanding, relief, and genuine concern for if you actually have a plan in getting out.

“Suppose I’ll become some kind of maid, or a working girl, or—”

“Don’t,” he whispers hoarsely, gaze hardening, and you throw your hands up in the air before grabbing onto your saddlehorn, foot in the stirrup as you hoist yourself up into the seat.

“What choice do I have, Arthur?” You’re defeated when you say it, as is he. As are all of you, doomed to who knew what awful fate was waiting at the end of this road the crazier that Dutch got, and the more that that snake Micah kept whispering into his ear.

What you had never expected was for Arthur to reach down into his satchel and pull out a stack of money. He hardly spends any real time thumbing through it all before handing the whole thing over to you.

When you don’t take it, he grabs your wrist, and you lose your breath when his thumb tenderly strokes the inside. It’s as if he’s caressing your pulse, gently tracing the steady thrum of life still in your veins, as he turns your hand over and places the cash into your palm.

“You wanted sheep, right?” He’s so gentle with the question he murmurs to you in the still night. So kind to the memory you were sure he’d gladly forgotten.

It’s the final straw that breaks you.

You’re crying now, tears you had held in for so long streaming down your face, because this is the last time you’ll see him. You know it, he knows it, and there’s no goddamn thing left that you can do.

Still, you whisper that old, forgotten dream he had once chastised you for, “I wanted it with you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Arthur rasps, a cough caught in his lungs that he fights back. His eyes are so tired, and yet they still hold your gaze so readily. There’s regret there, so much of it, and you wonder if he’s ever thought of that old pipe dream of yours, if it ever once was one of his. “I know. Get outta here, now.”

When you don’t move an inch, his voice takes on an urgency, harsh and desperate in its rasp, “Go, girl, ‘fore it’s too late.” And then he adds more words, quieter, but just as pleading, if not more gentle in their earnestness, “Couldn’t stand it if they got to you too.”

“Come find me?” The question slips from the tightness in your throat, from the depths of your heart, fruitless as your wanting is, as it has ever been. “There’ll be a place for you with me.”

The way Arthur looks at you then—the grief, the yearning—you dare to dream sometimes, years later, that maybe some small part of him loved you after all.

Or at least the idea of you, of what could’ve been, towards the end.

“If there’s air left in my lungs by the time this is all done,” he wheezes with the words, a dreadfully poetic thing, “I'll go to you.”

He’s the one who spurs your horse off then with a gentle smack to its hide then, and you’re the one who looks back.

You weren’t a fool, much as he once believed you were.

You knew that Arthur Morgan would never have enough breaths left to crawl to you, in the end.

You could only hope he got that sunset.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan one-shot #arthur morgan x you

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twilightzoneletters · 5 months

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The Lone Gunman

Pairing: bounty hunter! reader X outlaw! yunho

Genre: cowboy au, bounty hunter au, outlaw au, kinda enemies to lovers if you squint a little, reader is named y/n Marsten, Sunset Outlaws! ateez

Warnings: fem! reader, future angst, cursing, pet names, little lady, miss, darlin, mister, sir, alcohol, violence, blood, just some good ol' country talkin'

Description: You're the most sought after bounty hunter in the West. Every Sheriff in every town, big or small, want to hire you. You're the best in your profession and have a particular distaste for them damned McConnell boys. Most outlaws try to stay clear out of your path and stay off your radar, but what happens when one brave outlaw takes a particular liking to you?

Word Count: 0.5k (for now?)

"Is that your horse? She's a beaut."

You had just made your way out of the saloon, the music and laughter were muffled as you began to untie your horse, Treasure. You look over to the source of the voice, it's a young man leaning against the post on the front porch, arms crossed as he watches you. You can hardly see his face because his hat casts shadows over it, and only his back is illuminated by the warm light filtering from the windows and doorway of the saloon behind him.

You nod towards him, "Thanks," finally getting her untied you give Treasure a pat, taking an apple out of your satchel and offering it to her.

"You know," the mans voice reminded you of whiskey, deep and intoxicating, "It's not safe for a little lady like yourself to be riding around in the dead of night."

You can't help but to scoff at his words, "I think I'll manage Mister," you say, holstering your bag onto Treasure's saddle, you turn to face him and your eyes widen in shock, he's right in front of you. Glaring up at him, you finally get a good look at his face, though his face is clean shaven, he still looks rough, a few scars littering his face, probably due to long since forgotten toss ups and fights. His messy hair, a golden brown color, peeks out from under his hat as he looks down at you. He sure is handsome alright, but the uninvited close proximity is starting to piss you off, and if you weren't wearing a mask you would definitely spit in his face.

You reach up to push him back but before you can, his calloused hands grasp your own hands in them. Something bubbles up inside of you as he does not break eye-contact. Your face is illuminated by the moonlight, and your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance when he finally speaks up, voice unwavering, "Little lady," he certainly takes notice of the way that your hands ball into fists at his word, and you hate that his breath smells like expensive whiskey, "You hide behind a mask and run these lands in the night, but I know who you are, Miss Marsten."

Your heart picks up in pace at those words, rage replacing your annoyance, you break your hands free from his, "really now?" you turn back to Treasure, grabbing the reigns as you climb onto her, she stamps her foot and lets out a huff, you look down at the man now, "Well, that only makes one of us then," loathe now evident in your voice, "I haven't a clue who you are Mister."

He doesn't move or seem to react to your words at all, and it irritates you. He just smiles, "Name's Yunho darlin'. Yunho Jeong."

You tip your hat to him, "It was nice meeting you, partner," you manage to say. Then you turn away and head off, leaving him standing there, Treasure kicking up dust behind the both of you. He smirks and pulls up his own mask, yeah, he was definitely curious about you. As you trot further into the night, thoughts of him and his words linger.

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abyssal-author-and-artist · 9 days

Text

I love Monster Falls so much. Like just from a fun fluffy perspective (stay tuned for the body-horror sequel to this post)

Like imagine Boss Mabel but Monster Falls. Stan pretends like he's turning to stone and the execs look at him and go "he's a gargoyle playing it up. We'll take him." Dipper nearly kicks a person because they call his "cervitaur outfit" fake looking and say his hooves are super fake. Mabel comes in and, depending on whether she's a unicorn centaur or a mermaid, she either trots over and uses her horn to light up a hole he kicked in the drywall earlier or flicks water on his fur because "Dipper, you can't keep threatening to kick people! Your hooves hurt." Wendy is mostly the same honestly and Soos keeps dropping his hands in stuff.

Imagine what the background characters would go through for that. You walk into a store and the cashier - who isn't paying attention - is oddly hairy but whatever, you don't judge. The handyman looks pretty sickly and you could swear that his hand is backwards but he walks away pretty fast. You into the back and this kid trots up - and yes, we do mean trot because he's got a fucking deer for the bottom half of his body. He's also got little baby antlers and freckles all over his body and he can't be a real cervitaur so you tell him that his outfit looks fake and he goes "I just wrestled a Gremloblin with four legs and you're gonna tell me this is fake?" and then another kid walks in, and she's a unicorn centaur with flowers all over the place falling out of her tail or her hair. She's got a horn on her forehead and you can see where it starts around her bangs and she goes "Dipper, stop antagonizing the guests! We've gotta show Grunkle Stan that we can do this." And he chuffs like a horse and she goes "Don't you chuff at me, mister. Do your job." and then walks away.

Imagine going to a pool and watching a unicorn centaur wading into the pool, shivering as her fur gets soaked. There's a gargoyle in pool jail and a zombie is messing with the pool floaties. Or you go to Gideon's Tent of Telepathy and the seat in front of you is wet and there's a mermaid pulling herself onto the back of a cervitaur or being carried by a gargoyle man.

Like it's so cute and there's so many cute small little things you can do with it. Like I love it. Dipper wincing in Not What He Seems because his deer back gets pressed against the wall weirdly when the portal's about to open. Mabel in Sock Opera having Dipper put her on a cart because she doesn't have legs. Soos accidentally dropping body parts or slipping up and nibbling someone. Wendy taking a few days off every once in a while because she's a literal werewolf. Ford flying off as soon as he leaves the Shack and forgetting everyone else has legs (except maybe Mabel depending on your preference). Stan hitting stuff with his wings and doing makeup to look human still.

Actually we need more Monster Falls fanfic and I've been debating writing some.

#screaming out of the abyss #gravity falls #dipper pines #gravity falls dipper #dipper and mabel #mabel pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls au #monster falls

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v1nsmoke · 3 months

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𝑺𝑨𝑽𝑬 𝑨 𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑺𝑬… // 𝑪𝑶𝑾𝑩𝑶𝒀!𝑹𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑮𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑬𝑺 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

oneshot - western au rick grimes x fem!reader

tw: guns

summary: upon accepting th eoffer of his friend, rick doesn't expect to meet a girl with him

fandom: the walking dead (twd)

a/n: for my pookie dorcsa <3

tags: dorcsa

wc: 0.6k

note: western au, third person pov, fem!reader. i'm still trying to finish formatting and proofreading my full book, so this is all you get for now.

The distant sound of music and laughter of the saloon filtered out through an open window, the orangish light illuminating the man’s back as he trotted over to the establishment from where his horse was hitched. It was getting late, too late for his liking to be outside. Still, he didn’t want to pass off the offer of his friend inviting him for a good old drink at the saloon.

He pushes the swinging door open, entering the saloon. The people inside paid him no mind, all of them occupied with their own activities and duties. His duty was to find his friend in the mass of people inside, which at first seemed like an impossible task, but after noticing the signature leather coat of his friend, it was easy for him to locate the man.

Rick pulls a chair under himself, taking his seat next to his friend.

“I thought you’d never show up,” Daryl, the friend speaks up, circling the tip of his finger on the rim of his glistening whiskey glass, the orange-brown liquid inside reflecting the shine of the lights inside the saloon.

“You know I ain’t going to miss out on an opportunity for a good ol’ drink,” Rick replies with a joyous smile.

“By the way,” Daryl starts pointing at the seat on his other side, “the lady next to me is a friend of mine. Say hello to her.”

Glancing at the direction Daryl was pointing at, Rick saw a girl, not too young but definitely younger than him, a drink in her hand as she quietly sat there.

“Hey there,” he greets her.

“Talkin’ to me, mister?”

“Is there anybody else I could talk to?”

“Your friend sitting next to you,” she sternly replies.

“Valid,” Rick replies with a sigh, shifting his gaze back to his drink.

Daryl just watched as the situation unfolded in front of his eyes, not saying a word. Let Rick handle this, he thought.

“I’ll get you another drink if you get her to talk with us. Best of luck,” he looks at Rick from the side of his eye.

With a sigh, Rick gives in.

“All this for the sake of a free drink…”

He switches places with Daryl, now him standing next to the girl.

“So, Daryl told me you were a friend of his, that true?”

“Mostly yes. I help him out at his ranch, it’s more like I work for him.”

“That’s something. Why though?”

“For the money and horses,” she timidly says.

“I got a horse with me, just outside of the saloon.”

The girl stays quiet for a few seconds before speaking up, staring at the man with an enthusiastic gaze.

“You do?”

Rick nods in response.

“Let me take you out to him,” he says, pushing himself away from the counter.

He makes his way to the entrance of the saloon, the girl curiously following suit.

The chilly night air hits them as they exit the saloon, the oil lamps on the porches dimly lighting the dark town. Outside, tied to the nearby hitching post was Rick’s horse.

The girl slowly approaches the animal, glancing back at Rick for some kind of approval or confirmation. He nods with a slight smile.

The girl walks up to the horse, staring at it for a few seconds before gently placing her hand on the animal’s head, stroking it.

“You’ve got a beautiful horse,” she states calmly.

“I know, thank you,” he thanked.

Rick just watched silently as the girl developed a bond with his horse, smiling as she patted the animal, a smile on both the girl’s and Rick’s face.

#v1nsmoke #twd #rick grimes #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #rick grimes x reader #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #western #cowboy au

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cuubism · 1 year

Text

a selection of The Library's customers

One day Hob will get used to The Library's many strange happenings. Maybe. Or probably not.

Today, it's the fact that there's a customer.

Sort of.

The small child who's essentially appeared in Dream's study frowns up at him, hands on her hips. She looks to be about nine. She's wearing a school uniform. Where are her parents?

"This," she says to Dream, horribly affronted, "is not the school library."

"I imagine it did not have what you needed," Dream says. Utterly unbothered by a random child wandering into his shop, seemingly out of nowhere. Hob watches with astonishment from where he's sitting at Dream's desk with a cup of coffee, evidently not needed for this interaction. "What were you looking for?"

"Unicorns," she declares.

It seems odd to Hob that a primary school library wouldn't have any fantasy books with unicorns in them, but what does he know. Dream nods with utter seriousness. "Please wait a moment," he says, and disappears into the bowels of the shop.

"How'd you get in here?" Hob asks as the girl sits down primly in a chair.

"I used the door, silly," she says. Not the front door, surely. Hob definitely hadn't seen her come up the stairs into the study.

Then her eyes light up. "Can I have a scone?"

Hob had brought over a container of them from the cafe, and Dream's been picking at them all morning. Hob passes the kid the container. What the hell else is he supposed to do?

Fortunately, Dream returns before Hob has to figure out what his adult responsibility is as regards an unaccompanied child that probably should be in school right now. Dream hands the girl a stack of at least ten books of varying sizes, presumably about unicorns. The girl looks through them, scrunches her nose up, and asks, "D'you have anything more scientific?"

Dream considers. Then hands her a large, flat book that he definitely hadn't been carrying a moment ago. The girl sets it on the ground, kneeling before it, flipping through the pages. It seems to be made up of scientific diagrams and large, full-color images. Hob sees viscera, organs, bones-- then the girl closes the book again. The cover says, Unicorn Anatomy: Piece by Piece.

The little girl smiles up at him, sharp and pixie-like. "Thank you, Mister Dream," she says, incredibly polite for a child currently grinning madly over unicorn dissections.

Dream nods solemnly. "I hope it will serve you well in your endeavors."

She trots off back into the stacks, to whatever door (?) she came from, and Hob turns to Dream. "Do you often get random children here?"

"The Library finds its customers," Dream says placidly. "She will find her way back to her classroom, worry not."

"Figured that, somehow."

Dream sets the other unicorn books aside and takes up a scone in their place, nibbling on it as he perches on the edge of his desk, looking down at Hob. He seems amused by Hob's confusion. "Why do you have a front door if people don't use it?" Hob asks.

"You use it," Dream points out. Which... is unexpectedly touching. Unexpectedly special.

"Fair enough," he agrees, voice tight.

Dream's next customer comes bursting in through a side door as Hob is helping Dream stack some new books. He runs in so fast he has to catch himself against the desk, his business suit tattered and smoking, his hair... literally on fire. He rapidly pats it out.

"Please," he begs, as Dream just observes him calmly from where he's sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I need--"

"1983 Alternate History," Dream fills in. "Yes, I'm sure you do. One moment, please."

As he disappears into the stacks, the customer leans against the desk, panting for breath. Hob doesn't think offering a scone is going to help in this case. He's not sure what else would help, either.

Fortunately, Dream returns quickly, handing the shaking man an equally tattered grey book that is indeed titled, in a concerning handwritten scrawl, User's Guide to 1983 - Alternate Version. And, subtitled: FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY.

"Thanks," breathes the man, clutching the book to him. And with no more explanation than that, he runs back through the door he came from. Hob thinks he catches a glimpse of something very large and very on fire through the doorway, but the door swings closed too fast to tell for sure.

"They would do well to pass that around rather than returning it," Dream says, before sitting back down and returning to his book sorting.

Hob is naturally curious, but he thinks about all the fire and this time decides he doesn't want to know.

"...Hi?"

For once, Hob has successfully convinced Dream to stop working for a moment. Dream is, in fact, currently sitting on his lap, resting his head on Hob's shoulder in a half-doze as Hob regales him with a university story that's certainly crazy enough to fit in with any of the books in The Library. But Library customers don't follow a nine - to - five schedule, Hob's learned this well enough by now.

Dream does not seem embarrassed to have been caught in this position. He just stands fluidly, stretching his arms over his head. "Yes?"

The young person standing hesitantly in the middle of the room -- might be eighteen? twenty? once he crossed thirty Hob lost the ability to tell young adults' ages with any accuracy, they all seem like kids -- twists their hands together and says, "Could you help me find a book?"

Dream nods and waits for them to tell him which one.

The kid glances back and forth between the two of them nervously, like they think one or both of them might judge their selection. Hob tries to look non-threatening, even though it's hard to look more non-threatening when he's already half-sunk into the couch, wearing sweatpants, and was just caught cuddling his boyfriend in a semi-public space. He's also certain that whatever book this kid might be after, The Library definitely has something more concerning and more questionable.

Like Alternate 1983 History, for example.

Dream probably already knows what they're looking for, too, he always does.

Dream just tilts his head in beckoning and walks off into the stacks, his customer following behind, still wringing their hands.

Hob's fully expecting only Dream to come back, for his customer to disappear through another exit -- none of which Hob can ever find later. But they both come back through around ten minutes later, Dream carrying a book with a yellow cover. The study is close and cozy enough that Hob can make out the title -- Gender Queer -- as Dream passes it over, and oh, yeah, he gets it now. Granted, Hob himself has always been more of the type to punch people out whenever they give him any shit, but he understands the impulse, the need, sometimes, to hide.

The teen clutches yellow-covered book close to their chest. "You can take it home," Dream says when they make no move to leave.

They look down at the cover and then back up at Dream. "...I'm not sure I can," they say at length. "It's too, um. Obvious."

Dream just raises an eyebrow. "Is it?"

Hob swears he didn't look away, but as he follows the teen customer's gaze back down, the book has definitely changed. The cover is blue now, and it seems to be about maths, though it's hard to make out from far away. The kid flips through the pages, and they must be different from before for they look up at Dream in disbelief.

Dream, the fucker, just winks. Presses the book closed again, upon which the cover returns to yellow.

"Algebra is scintillating," he drawls, turning away and snatching up the container of scones from a side table -- a not-insignificant part of Hob's job, at this point, is just keeping Dream in scones -- "and suitable for any young person. Take a scone with you, too." He holds out the container. "Hob's are the best."

And with a tiny smile, the kid takes one.

#btw of ALL the books so far mentioned in this au Gender Queer is the ONLY one that's actually a real book XD #all the others are made up #conservatives in the US keep scapegoating Gender Queer and trying to get it banned #love hob doing literally fuck all in this. like does he ever work? who knows #all he does is snog dream a lot. good life tbh #bookstore cryptid dream #dreamling #my writing #dreamling fic #a warm up to hopefully get my brain churning enough today to finish in waking dreams

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cyberneticfallout · 5 months

Text

Chapter Three: The Gulper

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: As you continue your journey, you encounter the vault dweller and chaos ensues. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.8k

Emerging from your slumber, a thin layer of mist clings to your skin, casting a damp chill upon the early morning air. Your back protests from the uncomfortable night's rest on the flat, hard ground, but you shake off the discomfort with a determined grimace. After all, you've endured far worse over the years through the wasteland.

Shaking off the grogginess, you cast a quick glance around the campsite. The ghoul remains peacefully asleep, barely distinguishable in the dim light of the approaching dawn. With the sky gradually brightening, you determine that it's time to start your preparations for the day.

You rise from your makeshift bedroll, stretching your tired muscles and seeking relief from the stiffness that plagues your body. The calmness of the early morning wraps around you, broken only by distant echoes of the wasteland stirring to life.

As you collect your belongings, a soft chittering echoes in the air, instantly grabbing the dog's attention as her ears perk up. The dim light of dawn shrouds the surroundings, making it challenging to discern the source of the sound. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a radroach creeping ever closer to the slumbering ghoul.

Without hesitation, you instinctively grab hold of the pistol within your reach, taking aim at the approaching bug. The air shudders as two resounding shots tear through it, bringing a swift death to the radroach. The ghoul jolts awake, his head snapping towards you with a look of surprise… and annoyance?

"Can't you see I'm sleepin'?" he calls out, his voice twinged with irritation.

You respond, feigning a gasp and mockingly clutching your chest. "Oh, I do apologize, mister! How thoughtless of me not to realize you had scheduled to be a feast for a radroach!"

He grumbles, rising to his feet. "Shut up. You think I didn't see it comin'?"

"You looked dead asleep," you remark.

"I always look dead," he mutters.

"Oh I don't know about that," you retort, a mischievous smirk gracing your face. "Sometimes you look like a sun-dried tato."

"You're damn lucky you have what I need..."

"Well, lucky for you, I happen to have a soft spot for sun-dried tatos," you quip, trying to lighten the mood. He raises an eyebrow, a faint hint of amusement breaking through his facade of annoyance. He grunts, a sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle if you weren't aware of his generally sour disposition.

“You're a strange one, you know that?" he rasps, scratching the back of his head. With a chuckle, you start packing up the rest of your belongings, the early morning sun casting long shadows around you.

“Come on, let’s go find the rest of him.”

As you venture further into the wasteland, the sun climbs higher in the sky, casting harsh shadows and intensifying the heat around you. The landscape is a mix of desolate terrain and remnants of the old world, twisted and broken by time and neglect.

The ghoul trudges alongside you, his footsteps heavy but determined. Meanwhile, the dog is trotting ahead, sniffing the air and occasionally darting off to investigate something in the distance. The wasteland is eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of debris or distant howl of a mutated creature. You remain vigilant, scanning the horizon for any signs of danger.

Hours pass by and you notice a subtle change in the landscape. It slowly turns greener and the air feels a bit cooler. With each step you take, the transformation becomes more noticeable. The harsh, barren landscape is gradually replaced by patches of greenery. Sparse vegetation starts to spring up, providing some relief from the relentless heat. The dog, too, seems to appreciate the change, wagging her tail more often and darting around with renewed energy. Even the ghoul seems less weary, his heavy steps lightening a bit.

Rustling in the foliage caught your attention, followed by a swift blur of a vault jumpsuit sprinting past. It seems the ghoul was right about her not getting far. The ghoul glances at you and nods toward the direction she had fled. The three of you quicken your pace and find her sitting on the ground, a look of panic etched on her face.

"Hello again," he drawls as he lifts his gun and cocks it. "Where is it? The head."

The vault dweller turns slowly to the gun pointed at her, her appearance striking. With dark hair, a flawlessly sculpted face, and the largest eyes you've ever seen in your life, she exudes an air of innocence and vulnerability. "I-I don't know where it is, okay? I lost it. I lost it," she stammers, her voice trembling with fear and desperation.

She watches you rummage through her bag, a look of disbelief crossing her face at your audacity. Finding only provisions, you stand up and survey the flooded ruins around you. With a grim tone, you mutter, "A gulper got it."

"A gulper got it, huh?" The ghoul chuckles darkly before swiftly knocking out the vault dweller with the butt of his gun. You raise an eyebrow at him as he hoists her over his shoulder and carries her to a nearby dock. There, he starts securing her with a contraption that appears to be for waterboarding.

"So, uh... what's the plan here?" you ask.

"Gonna use her as bait," the ghoul replies matter-of-factly.

"Bait? For the gulper?" you muse, considering the plan. "That's actually a pretty solid plan."

You watch with a mix of curiosity and unease as the vault dweller slowly regains consciousness. With a quick tug on a rope, he sends her plummeting into the water below. After nearly thirty seconds, he decides to pull her back up via a makeshift pulley system.

"Please stop!" she cries out, spitting out water. "My dad is an overseer. He got taken by raiders and I need that head to save him. If you help me find him, he'll do anything you ask."

Ignoring her pleas, the ghoul sends her back into the water and whistles for the gulper as the dog barks in protest. It's clear he doesn't care about her father's position. As he hoists her out of the water again, she pleads, "Stop. Stop! Torture is wrong."

"You know, they used to do these things called ‘studies’. You couldn’t open a newspaper without reading about one study or another," the ghoul begins, the geiger counter on her Pip-Boy clicking. "Anyway, this one particular study came out, and it said that torturing a person don’t do shit."

He submerges her once more, turning to you, "It made sense. I mean, a man hurts me, I wouldn’t want to do him any favors. And yet the practice of torture failed to vanish from this earth. In fact, as time marched on, I’ve personally noticed a decided uptick in the amount of torture being doled out across the board."

The vault dweller coughs and gasps for air as she’s brought back up. "Sir, please, I need the head. It’s the only way I can get my father back."

"Still so polite... calling you sir," you quietly chuckle to yourself as you approach her, her drenched body shivering in protest. Leaning in close, you whisper, "You're a long way from home, Vaultie. You shouldn't be out here. Daddy's probably already dead, if I'm being honest.”

"My point is...” He interrupts and you step back, “If you ask me, them studies, they was right. Torturin’ a person don’t do shit.”

"Then why are you doing this to me?!” she screams.

"Well, I ain’t torturin’ you, sweetheart. I’m using you as bait,” he explains before plunging her into the water once again. You can't help but feel a slight hint of annoyance at him calling her "sweetheart".

You shake your head, trying to push aside the unreasonable jealousy that bubbles within you. The ghoul's actions can be seen as despicable, the vault dweller's plight heart-wrenching, and yet here you are, fixating on such a trivial detail. You chide yourself for feeling envious over a term of endearment. It’s a bizarre reaction, one that you begin to struggle to understand.

You snap out of your thoughts as the ghoul attempts to retrieve her from the water. A tense moment begins to unfold. The rope gets tangled, and the water starts churning as the gulper draws near. Frantically, he twists the wheel connected to the pulley system but it seems stuck. In a panic, you spot a hook stick nearby and throw it to him. He yanks her back up and she falls back onto the dock. The gulper lunges forward, its jaws snapping shut mere inches away from her, narrowly missing her.

The excess rope attached to the vault dweller becomes entangled in the gulper's mouth, causing it to thrash about wildly. In the chaos, the rope slips from under you and winds around your leg. As she fights back against the creature with the ghoul's satchel, she manages to free herself. But now, the gulper redirects its focus towards you and launches itself at your foot. With a terrifyingly close view, you see its mouth lined with tendrils resembling human fingers as it starts to pull you closer, inching towards the horrifying prospect of being devoured by this thing.

The ghoul rushes towards you and clasps onto your hand, desperately trying to pull you out of its mouth. For a brief moment, you're touched by his attempt to help, but suspicion creeps in as you realize he may be more concerned about the vials in your bag.

However, the sheer power of the large gulper proves too overwhelming as it begins to engulf you. The hundreds of finger-like tendrils, slick and slimy, slither and coil around you in a grotesque dance of entrapment. Each sinewy appendage seems to have a mind of its own, probing and grasping with an unsettling precision.

As the tendrils press against your skin, a wave of revulsion washes over you, causing your stomach to churn and bile to rise in your throat. The repulsive touch is warm and clammy, sending shivers down your spine as you struggle against the suffocating grip of the gulper's mouth.

You unleash a torrent of obscenities, every curse and profanity in your arsenal spewing forth in a raw display of frustration and panic as the ghoul continues to fight against the gulper's grasp. In a final, desperate struggle, the ghoul's grip falters. His strength wanes as he stumbles backward, his body crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" you shout in frustration as the creature envelops you, swallowing you whole. The last image being etched in your mind is that of the ghoul's contorted face, twisting in anger as he yells furiously at the vault dweller and then…

Darkness.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation

#hope you enjoy my gulper description lmao #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout #smoothie and the ghoul

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just-a-simple-dyke · 2 years

Text

youtube

If you all liked my trot posting please watch this performance too it's so cute and already one of my favorites despite only being a week old😌🙏

#all of the judges yelling from their seats as soon as junhyeob pulls his act again had me in stitches😭😭#i love the last part so much when park jihyeon starts singing and then they all sing together👏👏👏#Youtube #mister trot

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 1 year

Text

WELL HELLO THERE

Pairings: Animagus!George Weasley x fem! Summary: George is too nervous to talk to you, so he finds another way to be with you Warnings: Mention of a cut. Notes: I might do another one where he's a different animal. or I'll do Fred. i just wanted to write him as a doggy Animagus.

George wanted nothing more than to talk to you.

you were on his mind every minute of the day.

from staring at the back of your head in transfiguration, looking at you in the great hall at meals and searching for you in the halls.

he was infatuated with you, and he wanted to be able to talk to you, but when he tried yesterday, it didn't go so well..

you were both in potions, brewing up something George doesn't even remember

you were both at the same table, reading from the book, measuring and cutting the ingredients for the potion.

"excuse me? hi, can I borrow that?" he looked up from his book and looked at you, his mouth slightly open

"me?" he muttered nervously

"yeah, I just need to-" you said, holding your hand out as you pointed to the knife

"-yeah here you go" he cut you off, picking the knife up and handing it to you. accidentally cutting your hand as he held it out from the handle

you winced in pain "shit" you whispered

"merlin, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm really sorry-" he panicked before his potion exploded in his face

he stirred to many times.

he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his eyes landing on you, your hand closed in a fist to stop the bleeding and Snape beside you, glaring at him

"50 points from Gryffindor" he announced "detention Mister Weasley"

George sighed as Snape walked away. he looked back at you

"I'm really sorry" he repeated himself to you.

"it's fine" he heard you mumbled

after that class, George knew he wouldn't be able to talk to you, he'd be too embarrassed and scared that you'd walk away from him, angry or upset at him

he didn't mean to hurt you. he was just shocked and excited to talk to you.

but he didn't want to give up.

George was in Hogsmeade, going to buy some sweets and go to the joke shop when he saw you, walking towards the woods.

it was clear as day so he didn't think anything would be in there to hurt you, but he insisted on following you in.

the snow covered the trees and fell onto his sweater, decorating it with little white dots as he followed you.

he watched as you turned around abruptly, hearing something behind you.

he hid behind the massive tree and held him breath, waiting a moment before looking back.

you could hardly see the roofs of the small town anymore, but you didn't go too far in.

he stayed a good distance away from you as you walked, finding a tree and sitting down, leaning against it as you fished a book out of your bag.

he admired you as you started reading it.

he wanted to go to you, but he couldn't. and if he went back, you would probably find him and call him out for stalking you. he didn't want to make a fool out of himself again, but he would hate to be made out as a creep for following you.

but then he remembered what he was able to do and smiled.

you smiled as you read your book, it was pretty good so far, and the quiet was nice. you couldn't get it anywhere else.

then you heard a shuffle. you looked up, not expecting anything, it was probably snow falling from a branch.

but there it was. a big ball of brown and white fluff.

it barked at you

you tilted your head. and it tilted it's head back, making you smile.

it barked again, coming closer, it's ears flopping as it trotted its way over to you. you put your book down and held your hand out for it

"well hello there" you beamed as it sniffed your hand before leaning into it

"where's your owner?" you asked, looking around. it barked again, sitting up proudly.

you noticed there wasn't a collar on it's neck

"you're a stray" you frowned

you shifted in your place and patted your lap

"c'mere"

it hurried onto your lap. licking your hand as you held your hand out to pat it's head

you loved dogs. especially fluffy ones. Hermione once got you a book on dogs and you leaned a lot about them.

so you recognised the breed as a newfoundland. and you realised it was a boy

"aren't you a cutie?" you giggled and he snuggled up to your lap.

he barked again. his paw grabbing your hand. you flipped it over and held it out to him, he whimpered, looking at the bandage covering your palm.

he looked up at you, his brown eyes were gentle

"what's wrong buddy?" you furrowed your eyebrows

he looked back to your hand and resting his head in the warmth of your palm.

he was quite small for his breed, so you knew he was a pup. he was still big for a pup but that breeds sizes are really big.

he got up and shook it's body, the snow flying of his fur. making you giggle as he panted.

he sat beside you again and barked

"what do you want buddy?" you asked it

he only barked again. you looked around you and noticed a stick underneath you bag.

"here, go fetch" you picked it up and threw it away.

he ran after it and came back to give it back, the drool coating the stick

you grimaced as you picked it up again and threw it away again.

you stood up as he ran after it again.

he came back and dropped at at your feet, smiling up at you. his tail wagging vigorously

you both played for a while until you realised it was getting dark.

"I gotta go buddy" you said, picking up your bag as looking down at him, you leaned down and pat his head.

"see ya buddy" you smiled before he whimpered

you shivered as you began to walk away, hearing his bark sadly

but you had to get back.

so did he

as you were out of sight, George trotted over to the big tree and hid behind it. putting his clothes back on quickly to avoid the cold.

the next week at Hogsmeade you found him again and you played with him the whole time.

you found a liking to the dog, and you wished you could keep him, but you can't keep a stray.

especially with the size he'll go to.

you were sitting by the black lake, looking out at the frozen water when you heard a bark. you looked over and saw buddy. which is what you decided to call him.

"hi buddy" you smiled at him, letting him drop his head to your lap

you pat his head, letting his fur tickle your fingers.

"where do you go when you're without me?" you ask him rhetorically.

"do you have a family? Friends or maybe a mate?" you questioned.

he whimpered, his tail slightly wagging

"I hear ya." you felt kind of silly talking to a dog so casually, but he was like a friend to you

"I mean, there is this one guy" you mentions and his head perked up, it was little things like that that made you believe he was really listening to you

"I tried talking to him a few weeks ago, it didn't go so well though" you sighed, looking at the small scar on your palm.

"he stabbed me, but it's fine, I forgive him, he didn't mean to- I hope" you continued, his tail stopping wagging like he was alert of something

you suddenly remembered you had to help McGonagall with something so you stood up suddenly, grabbing your things

"merlin, McGonagall is gonna be so mad" you cursed to yourself.

you quickly started running up to the castle, leaving him there by the lake, shocked.

you turned to look back to see him a little far behind you, walking behind a tree, you tilted your head and walked closer as you noticed he didn't come out the other side

your mind was probably playing tricks on you, but you wanted to make sure he was ok

when you were about to turn to the other side of the tree you bump into a tall, lanky figure. you back up and look at him weirdly

"where the hell did you come from?" you asked, shaken up by surprise

"i was sitting here, decided it was getting late" he responded quickly, seeming tense

you raised an eyebrow curiously "did you see a dog-"

"-no" he cut you off to reply shortly

you observed his figure carfully.

his hair was messy and his clothes were crinkled lightly sprinkled by brown fur, his pants looking a bit damp from the snow. you met his eyes. his gentle brown eyes.

you furrowed your eyebrows at the familiarity of them before stepping back from him.

he looked nervous and sort of weak. he looked away from you

"you should probably hurry, don't want McGonagall to be mad at you" he said.

"yeah, right, shit" you mumbled, turning away to go and run off before your feet stopped in it's tracks

"wait a minute" you said, turning around only for him to be gone.

you rolled your eyes and rushed up to the castle, deciding to bring it up next time you see him.

the next couple weeks you didn't see the dog or George anywhere

until you went to Hogsmeade again. you hadn't visited the town in a few weeks due to studying. so now you can see what new fills the shelves of the sweet shop and what new books there are.

you walked around the town, and sat down by a bench, pulling out a sweet from Honeydukes and re-read the blurb of your new book.

you heard a bark from behind you.

after your last encounter with the dog and George, you had a few suspicions. which is why the book you just bought was about animagi.

you put the book in your bag and looked down at the dog

"well hello there, long time no see" you smiled, patting his head

you got up and starting heading towards to woods, where you first met the dog

"wanna play fetch?" you asked him, making him wag his tail

you picked up a stick and threw it as far as you could.

it came back and looked up at you. his brown eyes begging for you to pick up and throw the stick again

but you didn't. you stood still looking at the dog with a frown on your face

and you decided to reach into your hair and take out the ribbon, taking his paw and wrapping it around his wrist. smiling at him.

"I'll see you next week bud" you said, scratching his ear, making his head lean towards your hand

you got your bag and walked away from him, going back to the castle where you waited for George to come into the common room.

he eventually did. he was wearing his Weasley sweater with the letter G knitted on it with brown pants on. but you noticed the bright red ribbon wrapped on his wrist

"that's a nice ribbon" you complimented him suddenly, his body froze as he looked at you

"where'd you get it?" you asked him, your lips turned up to a slight smile

"Ginny" he replied softly

you stood up and raised your eyebrows at him "really?"

he avoided your eyes. he knew you were clueing onto him.

and when he noticed the book on the arm of the couch. the word Animagi on the cover he knew you had caught him

he stood there, silent as you smiled

"how'd you figure it out?" he whispered

"Your eyes" you answered him. he went quiet again, shying away from you

"why didn't you just talk to me, you didn't have to- you know" you chuckled

"I was nervous. you wouldn't've pushed me away this way" he frowned

"you're not registered, are you?" you questioned him lowly

he shook his head

"you know what they'll do to you if people find out, right?" you blinked, worry laced in your tone

"I know. please-"

"-I won't" you cut him off. shaking your head, he let out a sigh and looked at his wrist.

"you should be careful. and am i wrong to assume Fred is one too?" you told him

he only nodded his head

"so do you wanna actually talk, not just throw a stick around and chase it?" you asked "and maybe you could actually take me to Hogsmeade, not just follow me into the woods"

"yeah, yeah that sounds good to me" he nodded vigorously

you smiled

"would you like a sweet?" you looked at the handful of candy from Honeydukes

"sure, gimme a butterscotch, Please"

------------------------------------------------

#george weasly x reader #george weasley x fem #george weasley #oliver phelps #imagines #cute #fluff #oneshot #animagus #hogsmeade #harry potter imagines #imagine #x fem!reader #fred and george

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willyoubethepookietomypookster · 1 year

Text

"Dad!!!"

Aizraphale x Crowley x teen reader (platonic obvi)

This is part one of idk how many, but another sequel-ish part is in the works. Nobody did these fics the way i wanted so i did it myself. Sorry if its completely terrible, im not a strong writer.

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It was a cool crisp autumn day in Soho, London. Aizraphale was loitering outside of his bookshop, planning to head over to Maggie's record store to see the new shipments. You, the teenager that stuck yourself to the angel and his demonic "companion", was trotting along beside him. You just kinda appeared out of nowhere one day, and after awhile of you following Aizraphale and Crowley, they learned to not question it any longer. As they were walking down the street, a man had stopped in front of Aizraphale, and struck up a conversation.

"Hello mister! I noticed you walking by and I couldn't help but stop you and strike a conversation. You seem very nice and I was wondering-"

The man stopped short when he felt a dark wave of paranoia wash over him. He peaked behind Aizraphale and noticed a teenager who was blazing with the rage of a thousand suns. He gave out an awkward chuckle and greeted them.

"Hey...you..? Is this man your father?" He spoke out. You gave a curt nod, not bothering to reply. Aizraphale on the other hand, shook his head.

"Oh! No, they're just-"

"Dad! We gotta go see Maggie, remember?"

Aizraphale swiftly turns around and stares at you in confusion, but quickly recovers and snaps his fingers as if remembering something and smiles at the stranger.

"Ah, yes. Sorry sir, but we're currently a bit busy.."

Aizraphale goes to walk away, but the man grabs his sleeve.

"Ah, could I at least get your name or number or something? I'm Brian, by the way." He chirps.

"You can just call me Aizra Fell, and a number? Wha-" Aizraphale can't fully reply before you cast another sharp glare at Brian and interrupt him.

"Dad!!!" You whine.

"Y/n why are you calling me-" Aizraphale is stopped short again, this time by a much taller figure.

"Whats going on here?" Crowley says.

You grab Brian's sleeve and pull him to the side. You cup your hands around his ear and start whispering to him. Brian turns pale before swiftly saying sorry to Aizraphale and running off.

"What'd you do?" Aizraphale asks.

"Told em' you were in a happy relationship already." You reply nonchalantly. The glint of mischief in your eyes goes unnoticed by Aizraphale, but not by Crowley.

"Y/n! It's rude to blatantly lie like that." Aizraphale scolds.

"Was I really lying though?" You smile and look directly at Crowley, who frowns in return.

"Whatever do you mean-"

"Come on Angel." Crowley states, and starts walking towards the record store, leaving you and Aizraphale to catch up.

---

Crowley and Y/n were waiting outside the store when Y/n catches Crowley staring.

"What?"

"You threatened him, didn't you?" Crowley says, eyeing you.

"Oh, obviously." You said, holding back a smile.

"Why?" Crowley's question comes out quizzical, but he has a shadow of a smile on his face as well.

"Can't tell you. Well- I can, but I won't." You reply. This does, in fact, confuse Crowley, but he doesn't question it. He's learned in the year you've been around to just go with the flow when it comes to you.

"Well alright then." He says taking a sip of his drink, and you chuckle.

After a few minutes, Aizraphale comes out and holds the newest record up by his face.

"Look what I got!!" He sings out. His smile is big and brilliant, you and Crowley can't help but smile back, despite Crowley desperately trying to hide it.

"You big ol' softy." You whisper and elbow his side playfully.

"Be quiet y/n." Crowley warns. You laugh.

"Geez, sorry old man." You say, before turning towards Aizraphale. "Let's celebrate!!" You say while stretching.

"Breakfast at the Ritz?" Crowley suggests.

"Breakfast at the Ritz." Aizraphale confirms.

#good omens #good omens x reader #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley x daughter reader #aziraphale x reader #x reader #ineffable husbands

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wobblesthecowgirl · 4 months

Note

Could you do Arthur with a rich reader?

Lady and The Tramp

Arthur x fem Rich Reader

Thank you for the request, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long! I'm loving getting requests and I'll try and get through them best I can!

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The way you met was definitely an odd one.

Dutch had sent Arthur to a massive mansion in the outskirts of Saint Denis that belonged to a famous lawyer. The idea was to watch the house until he knew who was there, and sneak in when they left for their often business trips.

Trelawny had informed him before he left that the place consisted of a man, woman, and a son. Easy enough, Arthur thought as he made his way to the place in the dead of night. The lights were off and Arthur watched the family of three leave for the night in a hush, to not alert people like him.

He snuck to the back of the building and looked for any type of opening, before he spotted a slightly cracked open window on the second floor. He grinned at how stupid these rich people were, before using a pipe to scale the wall. He then pulled the window open some more and squeezed himself inside with a grunt.

He got up and closed the window again, but as he did so, he heard a gun cocking and froze.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds to climb back out of that window, or I'm shooting you in the head, you disgusting outlaw." The voice was silky and upper-class sounding, but there was a sharp aggression to it too. Arthur raised his hands up in defence and slowly turned around to get a better look.

She was gorgeous.

The moonlight lit up her face, that was clean and looked after. Her eyes were narrowed at him, her neat eyebrows furrowed. Her hair had in little rollers, and she wore a night dress. Arthur would be lying if he didn't find her the most attractive woman he had ever seen.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't think anyone was in."

This only made the woman point the gun to his chest further as she spat, "so? You're trying to rob my sister. You better get out of here right now."

He nodded understandingly, trying his best not to get shot, and he reached for the window handle and opened it wide, slowly climbing out. Before he climbed down the pipe, he looked at her - who was still pointing the gun at him - and apologised, "I'm sorry about this. I was just following orders. You ain't gotta worry about me coming back."

And with that, he took off, leaving the riches behind, much to Dutch's dismay, and leaving the woman behind, much to his dismay.

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You had spotted him around Saint Denis multiple times after that, without him realising. When you first saw him walking into the barbers shop, your heart dropped and you began to panic. But then he was just, getting his hair done, and trotting along with his horse back out the city. Sometimes he would come in with friends, going to the saloon, going to the tailors, just being a normal person. Despite him looking out of place with his clothes and demeanor, he wasn't acting like a criminal. But he did try to rob my family.

Then, your sister was murdered. You didn't know who did it, but the reason was clear: you had money, and they wanted it. You reported it to the law and they found out it was another rich man getting rid of the competition, but they refused to do anything about it. This man had a lot of money, he could pay off the law so easily. You had no justice. Then, an idea popped into your head: you could ask him.

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Arthur was surprised when you tapped him on the shoulder. You were in a beautiful dress, expensive earrings , and your hair neatly put up to frame your face nicely. He worried you was about to rat him out to the law or something, but he saw your eyes were filled with pleading worry.

"Hello. Please don't worry, I'm not here to threaten you again," She began, "but I need your help, Mister."

"You're askin' me?" He asked in surprise, looking around; they were stood in the middle of a busy street. She nodded her head and invited him to go back to hers, where she could explain the situation.

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He sat on her comfortable chair, a cup of coffee she had made for him in his large hands. She sat across from him, and even her posture was perfect, the way she drank her coffee was proper. He felt like a filthy animal next to her.

"Let's start with your name." She stated, as he nodded his head.

"Arthur Morgan." He didn't know what else to say.

"I'm Y/n L/n. I'm sorry for the weird circumstance, but I truly need help and I feel you are best fitted for the job. I will pay you if you help." She insisted. That's when Arthur realised he was about to agree to help her before she even offered money, he didn't even think about what he usually does. That's when she began to explain the situation.

"Don't you worry yourself, Princess. I'll make sure he pays for what he did to your family."

And that he did. The man who killed your sister was found dead less than twenty four hours after you had asked Arthur, and the law couldn't find who did it. You had payed him a lot, and you assumed that would've been the end of it. He wrote down how you could write to him in case you needed anything else, and you told him you was always at the market on Thursdays.

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Arthur was purposefully bumping into you every Thursday, and you could tell it was on purpose but you still let him act like he didn't mean to. He was bashful, a constant rosy blush on his cheeks, scratching his neck, and looking down at the ground. It was cute, and he was handsome. You both would talk in the market, then it became horse riding together, then drawing together in the meadows. You slowly became his favourite company.

It felt wrong to him. A real princess wanted to be friends with him. He was putting her in danger and he knew it.

"Y/n, I worry that our friendship is putting you in danger." He opened up one day as the two of you was sat ontop of a cliff watching the sun set. You titled your head to the side and asked, "why?"

"Well, I'm a criminal. You said it the day we first met. If other outlaws knew I was close with a rich lady, you'd be their first target to get to me."

The two of you went silent for a moment before you muttered quietly, "what if I was no longer just some rich lady?" It was his turn to question what you meant.

"I mean," you started, "what if I left this life behind. Joined you and your family of outlaws."

His eyes widened as he shook his head rapidly.

"No! Why on earth would you do that, Princess? You have a wonderful life ahead of you, you have the money, the rich suitors, a comfortable happy life. Don't throw that all away for me. I ain't worth that."

"But you are!" You blurted out, embarrassed by how improper you sounded. It didn't stop you though, "you mean so much to me, Arthur! And I don't care of your status, none of that has ever mattered to me! Just because I'm rich doesn't mean I'm free. It's not my money, it's the man of the household! I just sit and look pretty, being told who to marry, what to say, how to please people." Tears were forming in your eyes and you hung your head down.

"You're the only man in my life that accepts me for me. You look past the money, past the fancy clothes. You see me." You could feel his hand rubbing circles on your back, and instantly relaxed under his touch.

"If that's what you wanna do. I won't stop you."

You snapped your head up to see him smiling gently at you.

"I worry about you sure. But I won't pass up an opportunity to see your beautiful face every day."

There it was, another compliment. Another helping hand. Another gentle smile. You didn't realise you were looking at his lips, or that he was inching closer to you. It was only when your lips connected did you feel more awake. It was like an electric shock, his lips locked perfectly into yours like a missing puzzle piece. When he pulled away, his cheeks were flushed and you could only imagine yours were too.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-" He stuttered an apology but was cut off when you pulled him back in.

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After that, Arthur had asked you to be his. You didn't even let him finish when you said yes. You went back home, packed your stuff and a lot of money, before sneaking off with Arthur to his camp. You donated the majority of the money to camp, so Dutch instantly liked your presence, and the rest of them welcomed you with opened arms.

Despite you having the money before, Arthur would spoil you with new clothes and little trinkets. You both would cuddle together next to the fire and he even taught you how to fish and shoot a gun. He would never admit it in front of others, but he would kiss the ground you walk on. He loved you, and kept you safe forever.

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction

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the-ellia-west · 4 months

Text

Silver Blood and a Glass Crown

Alkain Short Story 2/3

(It’s got a lot of small time skips and setting changes)

This was Written very Quickly in 3 days because of procrastination, I'm sorry (ToT)

I hope you Enjoy it!

(This one is very long, Also sorry, Lovelies!)

Alkain smoothed the map across the table with all four arms, arranging the pieces over the miniature landscape. “So this is the situation, correct?”

The messenger nodded sagely. “Yessir.”

“Then I suggest you move battalions here, here, and here. They can stay hidden amongst the trees here.” He moved a few of the pieces. “You don’t want to strike first in case the negotiations go well, and we don’t have to fight.”

“If I may, this seems a bit excessive sir.” The General stepped up beside him.

“Hm, you’re right.” Alkain pulled back, studying the map as his voice dropped to a contemplative mutter, “Better safe than sorry...”

“Mister Ciranes!” Another messenger slammed the doors open, panting. “The King Requests your presence in the throne room immediately!”

“Understood.” The elf fixed the cuffs of his uniform and bolted down the hallway. He didn’t want to make a mistake. Not here, not now, not after he’d gained so much in his mother’s memory and finally earned the king’s favor.

The Advisor brushed off his uniform, tried to smooth out his hair, and trotted into the room. “Your majesty,” He dropped to one knee, silently cursing his frazzled appearance.

“Ah! Alkain, rise. It has come to my attention that the Valerίan princess will arrive this evening instead of three days later because of tensions on the road and the rushed negotiations.”

The elf glanced up. “Yessir?”

“I called you here to tell you this because it now means you must be extra vigilant in your duties tonight. You are one of the most prevalent advisors she’ll be dealing with throughout the negotiations, so if possible I’d like you to greet her in my place.”

Alkain tensed, shocked at the question as he nervously ran his upper hands through his sandy golden waves, holding the other two to his chest for comfort. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty! Is there anything else?”

The king examined him with scrutiny and frowned. “Did you run here?”

“Um… Yessir.” Alkain shrank in on himself. “May I go, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, but may I ask where you’re so eager to leave me for?”

“My room sir. If I present the palace to the princess, I ought to look presentable myself. If I could… Your majesty.”

The King nodded thoughtfully, taking the crown from his head. “I understand, and I agree.”

Alkain folded his lower arms behind his back and nodded once. “Thank you, sir.”

But he jumped as the king called toward one of the doors, “Kinnea!”

A young servant girl stepped into the room, bowing her head. “Yes, your majesty?”

“I intended to gift a stylist to each of my advisors, and since you need one, this is Kinnea. Kinnea, could you attend to Mister Ciranes here? If you would.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She nodded sagely and looked up, deep scarlet eyes sparking with worry.

Alkain rubbed his wrists nervously. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, I’m going to check on my son. You two have fun!” The King motioned for Alkain to go as he left the room.

The elf waved for Kinnea to follow him and stopped when he reached the door. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I respond to orders, sir. It’s my job. You haven’t given one.”

“Oh, uh… right. Follow me, please.”

“Was that a request or an order?”

Alkain sighed. “I’ve never had a servant before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Kinnea set her shoulders and put her hands behind her back, “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I’m here to serve you, sir.” She wove around him and held the door, bowing her head. “My orders?”

***

Alkain adjusted his suit's neckline, tie, and tailcoat as he glanced back at Kinnea. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

The servant nodded and stepped back as the carriage pulled around the bend. Glittering glass strings hanging from the ornately carved frames jingled against one another as the horses slowed and one whinnied.

The King’s advisor held up a hand as a servant rushed forward, pulling the carriage door open himself. He bowed and gestured one arm toward the doors. “Your Royal Highness, Welcome to Seikaria, it is our honor to have you! Allow me.” He offered her a hand.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Miss.”

“The pleasure is all mine…” She trailed off, raising an eyebrow at him as she took his hand.

“Alkain. Alkain Ciranes, Your Highness.”

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Alkain. Might I ask, what your position is that you would be sent to greet me in place of the king?”

“I am an advisor, your Highness, and a negotiator. The King wishes you well, but he cannot greet you himself as he is busy finishing the preparation for your arrival. You did arrive quite a bit earlier than expected, would you like to see the palace?”

“It would be my pleasure.” The Princess smiled at him and allowed him to take her arm and lead her toward the palace doors.

Kinnea followed close behind as Alkain and the princess made polite conversation. “We’re so glad to have you, your highness.”

“Valeran and Seikaria have been at odds for far too long. We must agree upon a treaty as soon as possible.”

“Do you think there will be peace?”

“There has to be, and I have no doubts with you in the negotiations.”

“You flatter me, your Highness.” Alkain bowed his head. “This is the war room where we will discuss the treaty.”

He led her through the halls, showing her to the ballroom as the King sent for him.

“Your Royal Highness!” The king smiled at the princess. She clung to Alkain’s arm, and smiled, though her voice came pleasantly through gritted teeth.

“Your Majesty, it is good to see you!”

“I’m glad to see you too Nirscia.” The King bowed to her. “And you, Alkain! You look good, I’m glad Kinnea did her job well!”

“My presence has probably become bothersome to two minds so great as yours. I will be on my way. It was truly an honor to make your acquaintance, your Royal Highness.”

“It is truly a pity to see you go. Must you?” Her smile lifted a little as he let go of her arm.

“It seems I must, I hope I will meet you again.” He bowed.

“I’ll still be within the walls for a few more weeks, don’t say farewell too soon. I may miss you myself!” She raised a hand, and Alkain retreated, smiling.

“He's one of your advisors?”

“Correct.”

“He's very sweet. I think I'll enjoy his company.”

“I'll be sure to tell him that for you.” The King smiled. “I hope you have a good time here. But before we join in on any of the festivities, I would like to discuss things.”

Throughout the rest of the night, the princess was warmly welcomed by the palace officials and servants and retired to her room late after the sun had already gone to rest beyond the horizon.

Alkain drew the blinds and laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Everything seemed different now. What with the princess in the castle, there would have to be double the preparations and double the meetings to compensate for the negotiations.

He sighed. Closing his eyes, when all of a sudden, a hand reached over him and he jumped, pulling the knife from his sleeve and holding it to her neck. Kinnea glanced down at the knife, unflinching. “Sir. I don't think the king would appreciate a death in the palace while the princess is here.”

“Oh… it's you.” Alkain lowered the knife. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off your suit, sir. It would be uncomfortable to sleep in, and it may rip.”

“Um… thank you, Kinnea.”

“Hm.” She nodded as he sat up and allowed her to take it from his shoulders, handing her the tie.

“You're dismissed Kinnea.”

She nodded to him and left.

***

Alkain startled awake at a sharp jab to his shoulder. “Ow!” Kinnea set the poker down and straightened. The Elf rubbed his shoulder and sat up. “What the hell was that?”

The servant didn’t reply.

“You can speak.”

“The king wished for me to wake you. So I did, Sir. My apologies.”

“Did you have to stab me with a poker?”

“No.”

Kinnea fixed his hair and his coat before he left for the meeting.

The Elf took a seat in the middle of the table. The Princess waved to him. He smiled back in her direction and bowed his head. “It is good to see you again, Your Highness.”

“It's good to see you again as well, Mister Ciranes.”

“Could I get you a drink?”

“Oh. But that’s a servant’s job, isn’t it?”

“But it is an honor to serve you, Your Highness. I am not a royal such as yourself, so I am content resting in my station below yours if it means I get to elevate yours.” He stood and went to a cart, pouring a cup of water for the princess as he knelt and reached for her hand. “May I?”

“I’m a little afraid, what are you asking?” She smiled, offering it to him.

Alkain took her delicate fingers, rubbing his calloused thumb over her soft, smooth skin. “I’m offended you would consider me a threat, Your Highness.” He smiled and raised her hand, brushing his lips gently over her knuckles.

She laughed, “Your hair looks nice.”

“Thank you. You’re more beautiful than I could even describe, your highness!” He retreated to his seat, eyes straying back to her as his words echoed back in his mind. Her thick brunette hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, an intricate web of braids tying together into a strange pattern behind her head, showing off the glittering beads and pearls weaved into the glossy strands.

“Good morning everyone.” The King strode into the room and sat on his throne, surveying the table before he leaned forward. “We have a lot to discuss before the whole palace wakes, and starts missing us.”

A few of the advisors chuckled at the statement as the king began. “Princess Nirscia has come to our kingdom to finalize the terms of the peace treaty, and we will make her journey worthwhile. Valeran and Seikaria will have peace once more, but for now, we will go over the terms of the previous treaties and discuss why they failed and what we can do to make this one last.”

The meeting proceeded quickly and efficiently, suggestions, ideas, and details whirling in Alkain's head as he was assigned his job and sent to do it.

He glanced between the servants in front of him. “Alright. You, go fetch some parchment. The rest of you, find the rest of our team. We need a plan before noon.”

“Yessir!” The servants saluted him and promptly scampered off to their separate jobs. Alkain took the pieces of parchment as they were offered to him and scratched off a list of tasks on each one. He handed all four of them off to separate servants as he raced to find the team's planner.

He found her in the gardens, conversing with the princess over a bush of roses. He called over to her. She looked up. “Ah, Mister Ciranes! What brings you here?”

“You, Miss. We need you for preparations inside. If you could.”

“Your Highness?”

“Got are welcome to go if you wish, but I would like to borrow the king's advisor for a moment.”

“Oh of course your highness, if he agrees. But we may need him back. Make sure you handle our fragile package carefully in conversation, he's a little brittle.”

Alkain stared after the planner in shock. The Princess giggled, trailing a hand down the leaves of the rose bush.

“Um, what would you like, Your Highness?”

“Only a moment, I know you're busy. Please,” She waved him over. “You have been nothing but kind and welcoming to me, and I appreciate that. Mister, Ciranes, you are fascinating and amazingly respectful. I may enjoy your company.”

“I… thank you, Your Highness!” Alkain broke into a grin. “That means a lot coming from someone so great as yourself.” His face tinged pink and he avoided her eyes.

“Hm.” The Princess smiled as she plucked a rose from the bush and flinched as a thorn pricked her, drawing a bead of blood from the pad of her finger. But she ignored it, threading the rose into the breast of his overcoat. “You're a lot like this Rose, Ciranes. Complex and beautiful. But those virtues make many… forget your flaws, and shield their eyes from seeing your danger. It takes someone skilled and thorough to appreciate you fully.” She pulled away, the drop of blood staining into the dark fabric. “Open up a little! It might do you some good!”

Alkain looked down at the Rose, “Alright, I will make it my mission, Your Highness.”

“Would you like to join me for tea this afternoon?”

“I… yes. I think I would like that very much, Your Highness

“I'll see you soon.”

“Um… yes! I'll see you soon… Your Highness.”

Alkain turned quickly, face flushing as he cursed himself in his mind. Stupid, no, that was awkward and weird. She is a princess, you are a low-ranking advisor who comes from a slave house. That is your worth. You are dirt compared to her.

He brushed off his uniform, face and ears still pink as he returned to the house and stepped up beside the planner. The elf cleared his throat, “How is it going so far?”

“Well. The lists you made were remarkably accurate- Are you okay? You're looking a little sick.”

“Uh, no, I… uh… I'm fine!”

“You sure? Your face is a bit red.”

“Yeah! It's just… a very hot coat. I'll go inside and… survey the progress!”

“Don't be gone too long, we just might miss you!”

After a few hours of planning and preparation, Alkain went to greet the princess. They discussed cultures and kingdoms before night fell and he returned to his room. The next day continued about the same, and the next. But after the days of preparation came to a close, a dinner invitation came to his hands from the king.

“Welcome! All of you, I thought it would be best if we were all acquainted before the ball tomorrow so we mustn't make the hassle of introductions.”

“Nirscia, this is my wife, Jevari, and my son, our future king, Makan.”

“Lovely to meet you!” The princess curtsied and Makan stood.

“Your Highness.” The Little prince kissed her hand and bowed, smiling hopefully up at her.

“You'll make a good king one day, I know it.”

“Thank you!” The little boy nodded to her and scampered back to his parents.

Alkain smiled as the princess greeted the king and queen. She chose the seat next to him. “Good evening.”

“Good Evening, Your Highness. Are you well?”

“Indeed, I am.” The Princess smiled back and turned to her meal, making light conversation with the royal family as the dishes were brought out.

Nirscia looked at the roasted meat, surprise flickering over her face. “You have birds large enough to eat here in Seikaria?”

“You don't?”

“No! I haven't seen meat like this in ages, this is amazing!” She grinned.

“It may look nice, Your Highness. But trust me, It tastes even better.”

“We'll just have to see, won't we?”

“We will indeed. But I bet you'll like it!” Alkain smirked.

“Perhaps I will, Perhaps I won't.” She winked at him. “What are these spices?”

“I think it's a type of pepper flakes? I don't know. You'd have to ask the chef.”

“Hm, do you like it?”

“I do, are you having a difficult time admitting I was right, your Highness?”

“I like it as well. I'm perfectly capable of admitting anything I need to, Mister Ciranes.”

The two laughed and talked for the rest of the meal until the king finished and dismissed them. The Advisor stood, offering the princess his hand. “Would you like me to escort you back to your room, Your Highness?”

Nirscia hesitated, shock sparking in her eyes before a smile softened her lips and she took it, allowing him to lead her into the hallway. “You look nice… Mister Ciranes.”

“As do you, Your Highness. But I have no doubt you’re more beautiful than I could ever hope to be.” Alkain smiled as he held her arm a bit tighter, turning a corner. “I’m glad I’ve been able to see you so much, Your Highness. I really appreciate your kindness.”

“And I, yours. But Mister Ciranes, My name is Nirscia, you may use it.”

“And Mine is Alkain.” He smiled as her hands slipped into his.

“Alright Alkain, I’ve loved your company, but there is something else you need to know.” She glanced around.

“What?” The Elf tilted his head, his other arms raising to hold her hands as well.

Nirscia spun him toward the wall and pinned his arms above his head. She took a breath and kissed him.

Alkain’s eyes widened, but instead of pulling back as he knew he should, he leaned into it and kissed her back, his body melting into the wall, electric sparks racing between her fingertips and his wrists. They stayed there for a while until they had to pull back, both gasping.

“I… Your High- Princess Nirscia… What-”

“Don’t speak… please.”

“I… I’m flattered!” Alkain sputtered, his entire face turning beat red.

“And I- Oh shit.” The Princess’s face flushed a bright pink, but this time Alkain threw his arms around her and pulled her back into another kiss, finding one another over and over again, until both fell back, Alkain too flustered to speak as Nirscia gathered her composure, accepting what had just happened.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Alkain hugged all of his arms to his chest and looked down.

“I… I love you?” The Princess looked at him, her statement just as much of a question as an answer.

The two locked eyes and Alkain tripped over his words several times before he fumbled a response. “I don’t… this is… I love you too. I’m sorry… just- I- I’ll see you tomorrow!” He bolted down the hallway, the heat in his face burning hotter with every second as he slammed himself into his room and collapsed onto his bed, panting.

Kinnea didn’t comment as she pulled off his overcoat and tossed him a nightshirt, drawing the blinds and snuffing out the candles for him. But she did, as he wrestled on the nightshirt. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

“Uh, no. I… It’s a lot cleaner in here. Thank you Kinnea.”

She nodded to him and left.

***

“What happened to make you so panicked last night, sir?” Kinnea fixed the sleeves of his undershirt and fluffed the ruffles around his neck.

“Can I trust you with a secret?”

“Yes. I am your servant, it is my job to keep your secrets.”

“Even from the king?”

Kinnea looked up for a second, then said, “Yes. Even from the King.”

“Well, The Princess kissed me.”

“Huh.” Kinnea picked up an overcoat.

“I don’t know why she did it, but it was nice. I know I can’t be with her, but it’s a strange feeling. I’m not sure what I should do, it’s a little terrifying, to be completely honest.”

“Can you keep that a secret?”

“Yes?”

“Can she keep it a secret?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Then you have nothing to worry for, sir. Anything else?” Kinnea finished with his suit, moving onto his hair.

Alkain stopped, a little stunned. “I- Thank you.”

Kinnea ruffled up his hair, weaving some simple braids into a higher ponytail. She stepped back and nodded. “You should be ready there, sir.”

“Thank you Kinnea. I mean it.”

Kinnea stopped and glanced back at the other room.

“Go on, put on your dress. I’m not leaving without you.” Alkain took a flower from a vase, fixing it to the lapel of his suit, and waited by the door until Kinnea stepped out of the room, tense and straight-faced.

The long black dress covered her feet, intricate golden swirls matching the ones on Alkain’s suit. “It looks nice.” He took her by the arm and led her down the hallways into the main ballroom, breaking away from her to greet the princess, Kinnea trailing close behind him.

He knelt, kissing her hand. “Your Highness, It’s good to see you, Princess Nirscia.”

“As I am glad to see you, Alkain.”

“Glad to hear it!”

A long silence stretched between them. The Princess lowered her voice. “About last night, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you any harm or disrespect, I hope we can remain on good terms.”

“As do I.” Alkain offered her his arm. “May I have a dance?”

“Of course.” Nirscia followed him to the dance floor, both ready to escape the topic of the previous night for the time being.

The Dances took them to afternoon, some light conversation and greetings with other friends bringing the ball to a height as it grew dark. The King rose from his throne to speak, but just as he began, a shriek pierced the dim atmosphere and something hit him, sending him reeling back against the throne. He wavered for a second on his feet and fell back into his seat, crown clattering to the floor beside him as he cried out. He reached for something, voice too faint to hear even in the perfectly still silence, and then he fell limp, deep scarlet red pooling at the base of the throne. Panic erupted. Voices shouted, and Alkain screamed, the shock finally dropping as he pulled for the king. Makan started for his father, but the queen whisked him away. Crowds jostled and guards crowded around the room. Alkain couldn’t tell what was happening anymore as two people pulled on his wrists. Kinnea fought back grief and fear, fighting to protect her master, as Nirscia tugged Alkain away from her into the crowd.

Chaos turned His vision blurry and confused him to the point of madness until the Guards managed to calm the crowds and file them out of the room. The next few hours were spent in shock and fast-paced decisions until the Queen announced that the Assassin had been found to be a Valerίan. This meant war, and the Princess had to leave.

Alkain stopped, horrified and confused. Everything had changed so fast. What had happened? He slammed the doors open and ran to find Nirscia. They met in the entrance, and she wrapped him into a kiss the instant he drew close enough, not caring of the witnesses, as she grabbed his shoulders, voice stern and fiery. “Alkain, This means war. But no matter how long it takes or what I have to do, I will be back for you.”

If you see this, please comment your thoughts, or just put something in the comments so I know you read it

|Part 1 | Part 2 (Here) | Part 3|

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pan-problemed · 7 months

Text

The Radio and the Press

tags ; alastor x reader, platonic, human!alastor, human!reader, gn!reader

synopsis ; the radio-press wars were in full swing, and you were a loyal journalist. your best friend and supposed rival was alastor, a radiant radio host whom was hiding a dark secret - one that you were oblivious to.

a/n ; this is not betad, so apologies for any errors! this is also my first time writing alastor, so i'm still trying to learn how to write him. i tried to make this as inclusive as possible! let me know if there are any errors or issues, i'm always happy to learn! also, lmk if i should continue this! i have a lot of ideas for this au ^^

cross posted to ao3

“I appreciate your time, Mister Marston.” You said as you tucked your pen behind your ear and pocketed your notebook. “I look forward to readin’ your future works.”

Mister Marston gave you a reserved smile, following you out of his kitchen and into the mudroom, politely helping you shrug on your coat. “You sure y’can walk home by yourself?” He asked. “Not tryin’ to be rude, but it's gettin’ late, and I'm sure you've heard about those killin’s.”

“I'll be quite alright, but I appreciate the concern. I've got someone waitin’ for me.” You smiled back and shook his hand again, stepping out through the screen door. “Keep yourself safe, Mister Marston.”

“You too.” You could feel his eyes on you as you trotted down the street, going over the interview in your head, mentally picking out what would and wouldn't be useful for the article you'd be writing on him.

You made your way back to the office, collecting your things for the night, squinting at your watch as you locked the doors. Alastor would be wrapping up soon, perhaps you’d be able to beat him out of the station.

Alastor - your best friend, your partner in crime, your other half. A brilliant man with a bright smile, always so thoughtful and caring, the man whom you spent most of your free time with. The two of you were practically attached to hip, and when one of you went out the other wasn’t far behind. You knew people turned their heads and speculated on the nature of your relationship behind closed doors, but you didn’t really care. The two of you were perfectly happy where you were.

Sure enough, you made it to the little cafe under his station with a few minutes to spare, sitting down at one of the empty tables and squinting at your notes as you waited, studying your frantic scribbles and notes. Your parents used to tease you on your messy handwriting, calling it ‘chicken scratch’ - but you called it efficient.

You were so lost in thought that you almost missed the soft clicking of his heels on concrete, signalling his approach. He leaned over you, peering at your notes over your shoulder.

“I really don’t know how you can read that.” He hummed thoughtfully, eyes sparkling in mischeif.

“It’s in code, so annoying radio hosts don’t try to steal my news.” You sniffed, grinning as you tilted your head and angled your notebook so he couldn’t see. “Honestly. Always trying to bank off of the success of better mediums.”

He grinned as he stepped away, circling around the table and sitting across from you. “Ah, but radio is the future, my dear. Soon your medium will be all but extinct!”

You scoffed. “Newspapers are going nowhere - they’re timeless. You’re just jealous, because when all’s said and done no one’s going to remember your silly broadcasts.”

You were a journalist - and a good one at that, despite the sidelong looks people would give you constantly - working for the a small newspaper operating out of New Orleans. Alastor was a radio host, and (depending on your ask) your sworn enemy. You had heard of the fighting between radio and press, and decided to do your part by taking on Alastor as a rival. The two of you bickered constantly over the better medium, though it was all in good fun, as neither of you held any ill will towards each other. You recognized the power of the radio, and he the papers - but you took great delight in your constant back and forth.

“How was the interview?” He asked as he stood, you pocketing your notebook and stepping in beside him.

You answered, the conversation then shifting to your analysis of his works, to other interesting stories you had read. He was a wonderful conversationalist, and the two of you always found talking so easy, so natural.

The sun had set completely by the time you arrived at his little home, making your way to the kitchen as he rolled up his sleeves and you turned on the radio. You practically lived at his place, only returning home to sleep and on the days he was busy. The only thing preventing you from moving in together was his privacy and the eyebrows it would raise. Still, you had a routine of dinner at his place (which he always made), and in exchange you would help with general maintence and housekeeping.

“[y/n], dear, the bathroom’s been giving me trouble again.” He told you as he began prepping dinner. “Would you take a gander?

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the kitchen table. “I just replaced those pipes. At this point I’m starting to suspect you’re doing this on purpose.”

He smiled at you, opening the cabinets under the sink which unofficially became your toolshed. Originally, the tools lived in the shed behind his home, but he didn’t like you going in and was tired of stopping his work to retrieve them for you. You never questioned it, despite Alastor’s natural charisma and social nature you knew he could be private when it came to his home and life. He would allow you in when he was ready, just like he had for personal rooms like his bedroom or study.

“On purpose? Now why would I do that?” He teased, voice slightly sing-song as he handed you your toolbox. “Just making sure you have a backup plan for when the papers collapse.”

“In your dreams.” You retorted, the sound of his vivacious laughter following you as you went to work on his bathroom.

He retrieved you about 40 minutes later for dinner, a delicious Red Beans and Rice, and joined him in cleaning and an impromptu dance session in the sitting room.

He walked you home as he always did - the two of you lived fairly close to one another, preferring to live in the outskirts of New Orleans. He lived there for hunting freedom, being a city boy a heart, and you lived there for the relative familiarity of the nearby woods. You had grown up in dense trees and sprawling fields, the city still something of an alien world to you, and preferred to keep nature within reach.

You said your goodbyes under the light of your porch, the conversation going rougly the same as it always did - thanking him for dinner and walking you home, reminding him to keep safe, him reminding you that he was perfectly capable, and the promise to see each other tomorrow.

It had been like that for two or so years now, and you wished for it to continue like that for the rest of your lives, as unrealistic as it may be.

Two months later, your life would be ripped to shreds by the police and your dearest radio host, but for now, you could live in simple bliss and familiarity.

taglist ; (let me know if you'd like to be added! requests and anons are also welcome) @greenteaanon @chewbrry

#alastor x reader #platonic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #human!alastor #x reader #gn reader #fanfic

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