#shes thin but strong she has wiry arms and strong hands

[puphoods]

im going to describe the other two aswell but also putting it in the tags

[echo-bleu]

The Sculptor in her Workshop, Unknown, Late Third Age, Tirion.

and

The Return of the Lost Son, Unknown, Early Fourth Age, Tirion.

This is something of a companion piece to this Nerdanel character study (on AO3). In it, she sculpts her husband and sons as she feels them die across the sea, and she waits long ages for Maglor until he comes home.

(Makalaurë, standing still in the empty space that long awaited him, makes a better marble than live body.)

I think this is the most detailed piece I've ever done. I genuinely started it as "oh, I have a very vivid mind picture of this scene, I could do a little sketch!" and here I am about two weeks and 19 hours of painting later. I'm really proud of it, though.

Please reblog if you like it!

IDs (also in alt), details and more rambling under the cut.

[ID: Two digital paintings of the same room, a sculptor's workshop. In the first, Nerdanel, a light-skinned elf woman with long curly red hair, is working on an abstract sculpture in marble. Behind her are six marble life-sized statues: Fëanor, brandishing a gem, Maedhros, with one hand missing, arms partly crossed, and after a gap, Celegorm, kneeling down to hold Huan, Caranthir, reading a book, Curufin, forging a dagger on an anvil, his arm raised to hammer it, and Ambarussa, holding each other. On the foreground right is a large stab of marble waiting to be sculpted. The second painting has the same background with the workshop and statues, with a more reddish tint as if it's sunset. The abstract sculpture has now replaced the slab of stone and in the middle, Nerdanel is kneeling in front of Maglor, as light-skinned elf with very long dark hair, holding his hand, while she has her other hand on her mouth. She is crying. Maglor is standing in the gap between the statues of Maedhros and Celegorm. The other pictures are details of the first two.]

The statues in order: Fëanor, Maedhros, (Maglor), Celegorm&Huan, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod and Amras. Feel free to zoom in, they are each pretty detailed.

This is the first time I've drawn any of the younger sons. I did Nerdanel and Fëanor, Maedhros, Maglor and Celegorm before, each in slightly different AUs, but desiging Caranthir, Curufin and Ambarussa was fun!

Maedhros is missing his hand and has scars, because while Nerdanel never saw it, Finrod came to tell her what he looked like after Angband. She first sculpted him with his hand, though, so I imagine taking a hammer to it must have been... a specific sort of pain.

Curufin is a mix of Fëanor and Celebrimbor, they all look like each other, but I headcanon that Fëanor was more thin and wiry (though still strong), while Curufin was a bit buffer, as he focused more on large works (weapons and infrastructure) than jewellery, and Celebrimbor who was a teen/young adult in the war put up more fat once in Ost-en-Edhil, after many years of privation.

I can never settle on Caranthir's craft/occupation, but it's something bookish. As for Ambarussa, I think Nerdanel just wanted to remember them as happy youths, rather than attach them to any activity.

[trickphotography2]

'tis the damn season | Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Julie/Cece (OC, no physical description)

Word count: 5.7K

Synopsis: After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

The holidays are already going to be hard enough for Julie. Her home baking business, which had started as a fun side project, exploded after a few TikToks went viral. Just when she was getting the hang of juggling her job and business, tragedy struck. Facing her first Christmas as an orphan, the last thing Julie expected was to hear that once familiar nickname - Cece.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

Chapter 1 | Master List | Ao3

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

Chapter 2

“Mama. Cece.” Julie blinked, unable to trust her bleary eyes. But no matter how much she tried to clear her vision, Jake Seresin stood in his mother’s kitchen. 

With a woman who had a possessive hand on his chest and a smug expression on her face. 

And a large diamond on her finger.

“What are you doing here?” Mama Seresin demanded, emotion coloring her voice as she hurried across the kitchen to throw her arms around her youngest son. “You said you couldn’t make it.” 

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” he answered, eyes locked on Julie before lowering when he hugged his mama. Julie tore her gaze away, mentally cataloging the differences from the last time she’d seen him. Like the new crows' feet decorating his eyes, deeper smile lines carved into his cheeks, and the fact that he seemed larger. He’d gained muscle in college, shifting from a wiry teenager to a strong military guy. And now… now he looked even bigger than he had the last time she’d seen him, with a new seriousness that he hadn’t possessed before. 

The woman studied her, eyes narrowing briefly as they swept Julie’s frame. Apparently satisfied by the too-large t-shirt and ratty jeans, the woman’s eyebrow twitched before returning to Jake’s mother. 

“Well, you sure managed it. And whose this?” 

“Mama, this is Shayla. My, uh…fiancee.” Pink dusted his cheeks as his eyes darted up to meet Julie’s again, and he gave her a strained smile as his mother gasped. Julie forced herself to smile at the couple and push away the awkwardness of her ex-fiancee announcing his new engagement. 

“Fiancee?” Mama Seresin echoed. 

“Hi,” Shayla beamed, ignorant of the sudden tension. “It’s nice to meet you! Jakey’s told me so much about you.” 

“Has he, now?” the older woman said, tone a syrupy sweet that belied the brittle irritation underneath. Julie caught Jake’s eye twitch and pressed her lips into a thin line to avoid smirking. Unless things had changed, he hated being called Jakey. It had been his brother’s go-to nickname growing up to tease him about being little and got heavy rotation once Jake started to call him BJ. Julie was convinced that Bill Junior now insisted on being called Will because, during a wrestling match after too much spiked egg nog, Jake had called him BJ in front of Ally the first Christmas she visited the ranch. 

Jake had returned to Annapolis with a few bruised ribs that Julie had heard all about when he complained about his physical training. Bill was never called BJ again, and everyone respected his wish to be called Will. 

Shayla turned her gaze to Julie, who was pulled from her musings as the other woman grinned. “You must be Allison.” 

“No.”

“That’s Cece.”

“Julie, actually.”

“Oh,” Shayla frowned, nose wrinkling in confusion while glancing between Jake and Julie. “I just thought, since you’re here so early…”  

“Just stopped by for breakfast and some eggs,” Julie shrugged, lifting the basket. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late for work. It was nice to meet you, Shayla. And... congratulations on the engagement. Welcome home, Jake.” 

Jake took a small step forward as though to hug her and paused when Julie shuffled backward. “Thanks, Cece.” 

“I’ll walk you out, honey,” Mama Seresin said, walking over to Julie and placing a hand on her lower back. As they exited the kitchen, the two women heard Shayla clear her throat.

“So, is her name Cece or Julie? And who is she?”

“Julie,” Jake replied. “She’s… she’s an old family friend.”

“Jake? Jake fucking Seresin?” Lucy demanded as Julie laid her head on her desk and closed her eyes. 

“Yup.”

“What the hell is he doing back here?”

“Well, I’m guessing the fact that it’s Christmas and he’s engaged probably has something to do with it.” 

“I can’t believe that fucker is engaged again.” Julie felt her lip twitch at her friend’s comment. But just as she was going to reply, a chime sounded, alerting them to someone using the drive-up teller services. “Hold that thought,” Lucy said, sliding off her chair.

Taking that as a sign to actually start working, Julie sat up and logged into her computer. One of the other bank tellers had called out sick that morning, so she was helping to cover the desk rather than sitting in her office processing loan applications. Given that it was just a few days before Christmas, there were only a few applications to get through - a couple of car loans and small business ones. 

Stretching, Julie grimaced when she felt her back crack a few times. She’d been up late again working on an order and felt every hour she’d leaned over her kitchen counter to make sure that the 200 hand-drawn decorations were right. She still needed to pipe ganache into the macaroon shells before boxing them up and driving the two hours to Amarillo to deliver. Taking the last-minute order for a holiday party had been a mistake, but the extra money offered for the rush would go straight into her moving fund. 

Just after three in the morning, Julie called it quits and passed out on the couch. Two hours later, her phone had gone off to remind her to head to the Seresin ranch for her weekly breakfast with the family. As much as she wanted to beg off, she’d offered to make cinnamon rolls, and Allison, pregnant with her first baby, had made her swear to include extra caramel. Not one to piss off a pregnant woman, Julie dragged herself off to the shower and quickly drank a cup of cold coffee before getting in her car. Since moving back from Austin two years ago to care for her dad, the Seresins had checked in on her. 

It was hard to think of a time the Seresins hadn’t been a part of Julie’s life. Her mom had been best friends with Mama Seresin and had gotten closer after falling pregnant at the same time. When Julie was in third grade, she’d been spending the night at their house so her parents could celebrate their anniversary, and she woke up to Mama Seresin telling her they needed to get to the hospital. 

She tried not to think about that night too much, but flashes of it invaded her dreams every February. Glimpses of Jake and Will, confused as their mom bundled her into the car with tears on her cheeks. How dark it was as they flew down the road to the hospital in the neighboring town, snow hitting the windshield. The crowd of firefighters - her daddy’s coworkers - in the emergency room. The sad looks they gave her. And then the confusion of seeing her daddy, who never cried, sobbing as he pulled her into his arms and told her that Mama was gone. 

As much as Julie missed her mother, she’d been blessed with abundant family. Not only had the Seresins taken her in and treated her as one of their own, but so had the firehouse. The mainly volunteer force had adopted her, making sure that she never wanted for anything. On nights when her daddy couldn’t stay in their quiet home, they would go to the station and sit with the men on shift. Julie learned to cook and bake with the rookies, spent nights playing poker while betting Oreos, and learned how to make trick shots at the pool table. 

Even after being away from Magnolia since she was 18, it had picked right back up when she’d moved back after Daddy’s cancer diagnosis. He’d reluctantly stepped down as the town fire chief when it became too hard to manage his treatment and work. Still, it wasn’t uncommon to find him in the firehouse with his men when Julie was at work. She would come home to find Mama and Mr. Seresin sitting in the kitchen, dinner already in the oven. The three of them had ganged up on her and convinced her to re-enroll in pastry school, shifting from the in-person program in Austin she’d been attending at night to the online one.

So, after days spent at the bank, she would sit at the kitchen table and practice knife skills, how to make meringues and buttercreams, candied fruits, the science behind bread making, and how to decorate. There were also classes on operating in the hospitality industry and starting your own business. After taking pictures of her assignments and submitting them, the pastries went to the firehouse, work, or the Seresin’s house. 

Soon, she was getting requests. A coworker asked her to make a birthday cake. One of the firemen asked for cupcakes. After posting a picture of cookies decorated with royal icing, she got a message asking if she would make some for a baby shower. A batch of macaroons dropped off for Mama Seresin’s quilting club led to three women reaching out for her flavor list. On one memorable occasion, a grandmother finished her banking deposit and promptly asked Julie for “one of those fancy cakes” for her anniversary. 

Magnolia was no longer content with grocery store pastries. And, while Julie was happy with the practice, the amount of people wanting her baking was overwhelming. It had taken her dad sitting her down after a long day trying to design a cookie order for her to start charging for more than just ingredients. To her surprise, there hadn’t been much pushback when she’d put out a price list the next time someone asked her to make something. 

To keep her Austin friends in the loop, she’d made TikToks as she baked. At first, there were only a dozen views and comments from her friends. When she included videos of her making her orders, the Magnolia residents started to follow her. And then, unexpectedly, a video of her dad helping her heat seal cookies while she flooded another batch went viral. Older videos of her cakes suddenly got thousands of views and comments. Her DMs were flooded with messages asking if she shipped. She received requests from brides asking for her website. 

The sudden interest was overwhelming, and Julie was inundated with orders. In her spare time, she built a website that got thousands of hits. After work, she would stay up late baking to ensure she could ship orders. Weekends were spent driving around Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico, making deliveries. She was a nervous wreck when she booked her first wedding and spent the entire seven-hour drive to Fort Worth terrified that she would be in a car accident and destroy the cake. 

When Daddy got really sick, all of that fell by the wayside. The bank let her take a leave of absence, and she took a semester off of school. After filling her orders, she shut down her website. She posted a video saying she was taking a break from baking and making content. Her life narrowed to the hospital room, listening to the steady beeping of her daddy’s heart monitor and the hiss of the cannula helping him breathe. A revolving door of people kept them company in the hospital, making her daddy laugh with some story from the job or growing up in Magnolia. There was always someone to sit with him when she was persuaded to go home to shower and spend a few hours in her bed. 

But when the time came, she was alone to hold his hand and whisper in his ear that it was okay to go and to give her love to Mommy. 

Julie spent the next few months dragging herself to the bank and collapsing into bed. Her friends from Austin flew in for the funeral and tried to convince her to move back, but it felt too soon to leave. There was too much that needed to be handled, and the idea of selling the house she grew up in and permanently leaving Magnolia wasn’t something she could face. 

After ignoring her TikTok for months, Julie forced herself to open the app and read the comments. Watching the videos with her dad hurt, but she loved seeing how much her followers loved him. So, after having a bit too much wine, she decided to break out her cookie sheets for the first time since he went into the hospital and made his favorite - simple, classic peanut butter cookies - and shared the news. As they baked, she leaned against the counter and sobbed. Her followers sent their condolences and told her to take care of herself. 

Eight months after his passing, Julie was slowly reopening her shop. She only accepted orders that would be filled in a few weeks rather than months in advance. It severely cut down on her wedding orders, but it was nice not to have that added stress. With Magnolia as her home base, she was still doing a bit of travel but fitting in her baking around her day job. Daddy had encouraged her to take the leap into being a home baker full-time and even left her enough money to set her up to do that for a while, but Julie was reluctant to tap into it before moving. 

The front door opened, and Julie looked up from her computer and smiled at the man entering. Dressed in his blue pants and grey polo with the fire logo, Captain Drew Pine strolled in, eyes locking on her. “Hey, Jules,” he said, grabbing a withdrawal slip.

“Hey Drew. What brings you in today?”

“Need to get some cash. Promised to buy some candy bars from Charlie’s daughter for her fundraiser.”

“You know there’s an ATM outside, right? Could have saved you a trip inside.” 

“But then I wouldn’t see you,” he grinned. Lucy, apparently done with the transaction at the window, snorted.

“Well, that’s nice of you,” Julie replied, taking the slip of paper and license he slid across the counter. “How’s everyone at the house been?”

“Good. We got a new rookie who's learning the ropes. Thankfully, his fire skills are better than his cooking ones.”

“That bad?” she chuckled, opening the cash drawer. “You want this any special way?” 

“A twenty, ten, and fives would be great. He’s definitely no you when it comes to his desserts - made some brownies the other night, and Rich nearly broke a tooth.” 

“Is this your subtle way of asking me to bring something by?” Tugging off his baseball cap, he ran a hand through his black hair and chuckled, brown eyes crinkling.

“Am I being that obvious?”

“Just a little.” After counting the cash out for him, Julie propped her chin on her fist and hummed. “I have a huge order I’m working on right now, but I can probably drop something off your next shift.” 

“You’re a lifesaver, Jules. And maybe I can take you to dinner for a thank you?”

“Not necessary,” she replied, pink staining her cheeks. “I just appreciate everything y’all did for my dad.”

“Brian was one of our own,” Drew shrugged. “We miss him, too.” Chewing her inner lip, she nodded, willing herself not to cry. “So about that dinner?”

“Raincheck? I’m swamped right now,” she replied after clearing her throat.

“Those rainchecks are stacking up,” he said, a little less confident this time. 

“I know, I just…business is kind of crazy right now with the holidays.” 

“Right. Well, if you ever need anything, you know how to get in touch with me.” After tapping a finger to his cap, he nodded. “I’ll see you later, Jules. Lucy.”

“Drew,” Lucy replied, collapsing into her chair. When the door closed behind him, she whirled to face Julie. “Put the poor man out of his misery and say yes one of these times.” 

“I’m - ”

“Not dating ‘cause you don’t know when you’re gonna leave,” the other woman cut her off, rolling her eyes. “No one said you have to marry him. Just go out and have fun. Hot, sexy, sweaty fun with the fuckin’ fire captain. And tell your married best friend all about it so I can live vicariously.” 

“I’ll get right on that,” Julie scoffed, turning back to the computer.

“You’d have adorable babies with Drew,” Lucy added under her breath. She chose to ignore that.

Jake lay in his childhood bed, staring up at the ceiling. After Cece left, Mama insisted that he and Shay nap since they’d been traveling since 1:30AM. But, while he was a bit tired, it felt wrong to be trying to sleep when the rest of the family was out doing their chores. 

Heaving a sigh, he got up and stretched, feeling his back crack from being in the uncomfortable twin-sized bed. Shay was staying down the hall in one of the guest bedrooms. When she’d shot Jake a look that clearly said she wasn’t happy with it, he’d shrugged - it was his parent’s house, so they would be playing by their rules. Besides, he wasn’t exactly upset by having some physical space between them. Once they returned to San Diego, they would have to figure out the living situation with a baby on the way. 

Besides his time in the dorms and the few months Cece had been with him in Virginia, Jake hadn’t lived with anyone since moving out. He liked the peace of coming home from work and knowing everything was where he left it. The idea of merging his stuff with Shayla’s was overwhelming - he wasn’t exactly a neat freak, but he liked his space tidy. Her two-bedroom apartment was filled with products to test and cluttered as hell. He hoped that, since they had seven months before the baby came, they would have plenty of time to figure out the logistics of marriage and co-parenting.

After peeking in to see that Shayla was sleeping, Jake went downstairs to the empty house. With a cup of coffee in hand, he slipped on his shoes and stepped onto the back porch. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the familiar scent of home - crisp air and the heavy odor of manure - and listened to the cows mooing. With a glance back at the house, he descended the few steps and made his way to the horse barn.

Soft whinnying met his ears as he pushed back the door and was hit with a rush of warm air. He couldn’t help but grin at his older brother standing outside the last horse stall, leaning against the railing and frowning. But when his eyes turned to meet Jake’s, there was a momentary look of confusion before he pushed away from the stall. “Didn’t Mama send you to bed, squirt?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jake replied, striding across the barn and hugging Will. Over his shoulder, he saw his sister-in-law stepping out of the stall and closing it behind her. “Hey, Ally.” 

“Hey, Jakey,” she smirked, gently shoving her husband out of the way and hugging him. “It’s okay to call you that, right? I heard it was on the approved list of names now.” His eye twitched, knowing that the family had already talked about him and Shayla.

“Definitely not. The only exception will be this one,” he added, hovering a hand over her stomach. “I could deal with being Uncle Jakey for him.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” she grinned, rubbing a hand over her pregnant belly. Turning to her husband, she leaned in to peck his cheek. “Tink’s all good. I’m gonna go get another one of Julie’s cinnamon rolls and then hit the road. I’ve got an appointment at the Perry’s in an hour and need to stop by the house first.”

“The doc said you shouldn’t have too many sweets,” Will frowned, resting a hand on his wife’s stomach. 

“Julie’s don’t count. Besides, your kid is the one making me want it.”

“Cece made those?” Jake asked but was promptly ignored.

“Pretty sure they do. And don’t pretend that I didn’t see her give you another tray of them to take to the house.” Ally scoffed and shook her head. Recognizing his defeat, Will sighed. “Want me to drive you to the Perrys? Now that Jakey’s here, he can help Pops with the milking.” Jake rolled his eyes, then looked away when Ally tilted her head and smiled at her husband.

“I’m good, honey. ‘Sides, you might traumatize the city boy by actually puttin’ him to work. Probably doesn’t even remember how to use the milking machines since he hasn’t been home in six years.”

“Ha, ha,” Jake scoffed, feeling slightly ashamed. “You know I pilot an 80 million dollar jet, right?” 

“Shut up, squirt, I’m talkin’ to my wife here,” Will said, reaching out and shoving his brother. 

“Speaking of!” Ally snapped, turning and pointing a finger at him. “What’s this your mama said about a fiancee?” 

“Yeah, I thought you broke up with her.” The brothers frowned at one another, and Jake’s eyes darted away. 

“Well, things change.” 

“Can’t have changed that much,” Will pressed. “You were pretty set on it when you got home.” A flush crept up Jake’s neck, and he couldn’t help but glance at Ally’s stomach. Catching it, Will scowled. 

“She’s not…”

“We haven’t told anyone.” 

“You stupid son of a - ”

“What?” Ally demanded, glancing between the two men. 

“Seems like Tyler’s gonna have a cousin,” Will said through grit teeth. 

“What?” Jake glanced at his sister-in-law and gave her a weak smile.

“Surprise.” With a polite smile, Ally hugged him. 

“Congrats, Jake. That’s exciting news. You gonna tell Mama and Pops while you’re home?”

“That’s the plan. Wanted them to get to know Shay before telling them, though.”

“Well, good luck with that. I’ve gotta go, or I’ll be late. We’ll talk later, alright?” After sharing a quick kiss and a significant look with her husband, Ally left. Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair as his brother let out a heavy sigh. 

“I guess congratulations are in order. I’m assumin’ that’s why you’re engaged now?” 

“It’s the right thing to do.” After a long silence, the older man sighed again.

“Alright, squirt. We’ll keep your secret, but you gotta tell Mama soon, or she’ll figure it out and be pissed. Ally tried to keep it a secret, and then Mama brought her a baby blanket and said she had a dream she’d need it.” 

Jake shook his head and smirked. His mama and her dreams… she’d told him he’d be a pilot one day and live by the beach. She’d also been the one to tell him that he and Cece would give her grandbabies.

But that had just been wishful thinking for two women who were best friends and pregnant at the same time.  

Julie leaned against her car and closed her eyes as the tank filled. Her hands were cramped from spending three hours piping ganache and assembling macaroons and decorative boxes. The three larger cardboard boxes sat on her backseat, ready for delivery in Amarillo. After taking a couple hours off work, she’d finished the order just in time to jump on the road and make her delivery time.

And, with any luck, she would be home by 10:00PM. She needed to finish some cake pops for the library holiday party, which shouldn’t take too long. With any luck, she could be sliding into bed around 1:00AM. 

A car door closed, and she forced her eyes open to see who had joined her at the gas station. And then had to blink to make sure that she wasn’t imagining those green eyes. 

“Cece.”

“Jake,” she replied, pushing off her car and glancing at the gas pump. Her tank had to be almost full by now. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched him circle his truck and reach into the bed to retrieve two gas canisters. After setting them at his feet, he swiped his credit card and frowned at the machine, one hand planted on his hip. Turning her gaze back to her own pump, she let her eyes glaze over as she watched the numbers tick upward. 

Finally, it popped, startling her out of her daze. She quickly returned the nozzle to the pump and turned to click the gas cap onto her car. She saw Jake watching her out of the corner of her eye and forced herself not to look. He spoke again when she reached for her door handle. “I’m sorry about your dad.” 

Inhaling sharply, she lifted her head to meet his steady gaze. He had that stupid, pitying look she’d gotten so used to over the last year. But for some reason, his hurt more than anyone else’s. “Thanks.”

“I would have come home for the funeral, but - ”

“Your mom told me you were deployed. It’s fine. Thanks for the flowers.” Seeing that arrangement at the funeral home had been a surprise, along with the simple note. 

So sorry for your loss. Your dad was a good man, and he loved you so much. Thinking of you. 

Love, Jake

“Least I could have done. How… how have you been?” 

“Okay,” she shrugged. “It’s… everyone’s been so amazing and kind. Especially your family.” She caught the twitch of his eyebrow and the briefest look of confusion. “They’ve gotta be happy your home. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” he agreed. “But it’s not like Magnolia ever changes.”

“I mean, we do have a fancy coffee shop now,” Julie smirked, knowing full well that he was a black coffee drinker, just like his daddy and brother. He rolled his eyes, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “There’s been some change, but you’re right - it’s mainly the same.” 

“You, uh… you planning to move back to Austin, now that…”

“Maybe. Or Dallas. Or maybe out of Texas. How’s California?”

“Great. I think you’d like it.” That startled a laugh out of her.

“I meant for you. Your dad told me you moved out there a couple of years ago.”

“Oh,” Jake said, blushing. “Not bad. I’m stationed in San Diego now, so it feels more like California than Lemoore. And there’s no snow,” he added, glancing up at the grey sky threatening more flurries as the sunset.” At her heavy sigh, he turned back to see her slowly blinking. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I just… I need to get on the road.”

“You should have plenty of time to get home before it starts.” 

“I’m headed down to Amarillo, so I’ll drive back in it.” He frowned, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the tired slump of her shoulders. He’d seen that exact look many times before tucking her into bed. As if on cue, she covered her mouth while yawning and then blinked away tears when opening her eyes wide. 

“You’re stayin’ the night down there?”

“No, just a quick trip.” 

“That’s four hours round trip in good weather.” 

“I know.” 

“Cece… are you okay to drive?” A tired smile crossed her lips.

“I’m fine, Jake. I’ve got my coffee and an audiobook, and I’ll pull over if it gets bad.” The idea of her pulled over on some highway, alone and in the snow, made him anxious. He’d hated it when she would call him from a rest stop to let him know she was pulling over to sleep while driving to see him in flight school. No matter how many times he offered to get her a hotel, she’d always said it wasn’t worth it for a quick cat nap. So Jake had kept this phone in hand and begged her to call as soon as she was back on the road. He felt like he could breathe again after hearing her voice and held her tighter every time she got to him. 

Jake remembered all too clearly the night that he’d woken to his mama crying and taking Cece to the hospital after the accident. How her pops had looked at the funeral as they buried her mama. The way Mr. Ryan screamed at Jake for being reckless and irresponsible when they snuck out one night when they were twelve, and he taught her how to drive the feed truck in the field. When they’d left, his mama had held him and dried his tears, explaining that he was just being protective of his daughter. Unlike the other 15-year-olds, Cece hadn’t gotten her learner’s permit and had to wait until 17. Mr. Ryan only relented after she’d thrown a fit that left her face red and tearstained and made her practice driving at the firehouse. 

They didn’t tell anyone about her taking the wheel on their late-night drives, and Jake wasn’t surprised when she passed her test with flying colors. 

As the first snowflakes started to fall, it was on the tip of his tongue to offer to drive her. But as he opened his mouth to offer, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

Grab me a kombucha while you’re out. I need something other than sweet tea and water.

Gritting his teeth, Jake dismissed the text from Shayla and looked up to see Cece watching him. “Everything okay?”

“Fine. Just Shay wanting something.” Cece took a deep breath at the mention of her name and blew it out, misting white before her. 

“Right. Well, I’ll see you around, Jake.”

“Let me know when you’re home safe?” The request was out of his mouth before his brain caught up. Her hand froze on the door handle, and she glanced at him, something familiar and warm flickering in her eyes before disappearing. 

“I’ll be fine, Jake.” 

“At least tell me you’ve got an emergency kit in there.” When her brows furrowed, he ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “Cece.”

“It’s not that bad of a storm, Jake. I’ll be fine.” 

“Don’t move,” he ordered, stepping away from the gas canisters and circling the back of the truck to lower the gate and climb into the bed. Grabbing a large bag from the toolbox, he jumped down and stalked over to her, holding it out. “Take it. I’ll tell Pops you have it.”

“I - ”

“Take it, or I’ll drive the whole way behind you to make sure you get back safe.” The determined set of his jaw made Julie scowl. She’d seen that look too many times to not take it seriously. Biting the inside of her lip, she reluctantly took it, pointedly ignoring how his warm fingers brushed hers. “Text me when you’re home.” 

“I’d need your number to do that.”

“It hasn’t changed.” The challenge in his gaze made her tip up her chin, and she refused to confirm that she’d kept it all these years. She thought she saw his eyes dart down to her lips for a moment but pushed that thought away. Clearly, she was exhausted and seeing things. 

“Bye, Jacob.” Her clipped tone was one that he’d heard after so many arguments. Nights that she’d slammed a door in his face or hung up, ignoring his attempts to call her back. 

It was the last words she’d said to him before she’d driven out of his life and shattered their future. But at least this time, there was fire behind them instead of resignation.

He opened his mouth to retort when his phone vibrated again. When his hand slipped into his back pocket, Cece pressed her lips together and gave a curt nod, turning on her heel. 

Their eyes met as she pulled away from the pump, and Jake was hit with a wave of deja vu. 

It was close to midnight when Jake crept down the stairs to the kitchen to retrieve his mother’s phone. After unlocking the device - the code was her wedding anniversary, just like every code in the house - he quickly pulled up her contact list. 

Cece hadn’t changed her number. 

Locking it, he pulled his own phone from his pocket and leaned against the counter. His finger hovered over her name but he hesitated before calling. When the screen dimmed, he let the phone fall onto the counter and hung his head, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. 

He was engaged. To another woman. Texting his ex-fiancee when his pregant fiancee was upstairs editing a video wasn’t exactly good husband or father material. Jake knew he needed to buckle down and focus on his relationship with Shayla if he was ever going to make it work. And part of that meant doing exactly what Cece did to him - leaving her in the rearview mirror.

The image of her yawning at the gas station flashed through his mind, quickly replaced with the visceral memory of her falling asleep in his arms. He could still smell the coconut shampoo she used, and feel her cold toes pressed to his shin. It never mattered how warm it was, she was always cold. 

Quickly, he grabbed his phone and typed out a message. 

Did you make it home safe? The message flashed as delivered, and he waited for a response. But the phone locked as he waited, and he pushed off the counter to get a glass of water. 

It wasn’t until he’d kissed Shayla goodnight and crawled into his bed that his phone lit up again.

Pulled over and slept for an hour. Just getting home. Thanks for the blanket.

Jake read the text again. Frustration that she’d even driven alone in the storm, and slept in some random spot on the road, mixed with relief that she was safe. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, and he almost typed out a message telling her how reckless it was to park on the side of the road when it was snowing, but he stopped himself.

Instead, he simply liked the message and turned off his phone. He needed get some sleep - he’d be joining his Pops and Will with their chores in the morning.

In town, Julie pulled out her piping bags and glitter before settling down to get back to work, a fresh pot of coffee brewing. 

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

Read Chapter 3

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[amporella]

BODY TYPE HEADCANONS:

Stan - Stocky! Is always a little heavy for his height (6′0); as a teen/young adult because of muscle, as an adult PC aged because of fat. Is especially broad around the chest and shoulders regardless of age. Develops muscle easily and hits the gym to cope... ends up very buff for a lot of his adult life. 

Kyle - The opposite; fairly short (5′6) and fairly light. Has trouble developing significant muscle mass due to diabetes complications, but is reasonably strong anyway. Body is triangle shaped; slender around the shoulders, retains the Fat Ass the girls liked about him. Is generally very grabbable and liftable. Has freckles ALL over.

Kenny - WIRY. Around average height (5′10) and always skinny - has very little fat on him. Has a little bit of muscle from working odd jobs, and it’s tightly packed; the way he looks while muscled is a lot different to the way Stan looks.  Tans very easily in the summer and has freckles too!

Cartman - Stays fat for pretty much his entire life; I cannot decide on a height for him for the life of me. Not very strong, but very hard to tip over; he’s built kind of like a brick wall in that way? Unathletic but good at sports with tackling because he can stop pretty much anyone.

Craig - VERY TALL (6′4). Nearly has to duck under doorframes. Body shape is pretty much the opposite of Kyle’s; broadest part of his body are his shoulders, with a thin waist. Is generally pretty light for his height. Has big hands and long legs; most of his height is made up with his legs, and he looks pretty disproportionate until he grows into it. Has a little muscle, but dodges athletics whenever he can.

Clyde - Remains the second fattest kid throughout his life, and is also athletic! Hefty; not super fast, but can LIFT. Is a little shorter than average height (5′8) and really just thinks he’s the hottest thing ever.

Tolkien - Tall (6′1) and is very athletic throughout his whole life; was able to kick ass in Post-Covid, and never loses that ability. Is very proportional muscle-wise; you can tell he’s got them, but he’s not super visibly buff. Has a specific workout regiment, and carries his weight very evenly throughout his whole body. 

Tweek - Shortish (5′7), very lean, and very tough; takes boxing classes throughout high school and is strong because of it. Could lift Craig. Has muscle from boxing, but it’s not super obvious; he’s still skinny and definitely looks it for most of his life.

Jimmy - I ALSO DON’T HAVE A HEIGHT FOR HIM. But regardless of his height, he has a very strong upper body and compensates very well for not being able to exercise his lower body. If you’ve ever been to a fair and seen one of those hang from x challenges for however long, he wins every time and gets banned from playing.

Wendy - Short (5′3) and petite. A little dainty looking from a distance, but gains extreme strength when angry; could and WOULD still throw down with Cartman. Doesn’t work out super often, but does it enough to keep up strength. Is a little picky and health food oriented, and always looks lean.

Bebe - Tall (5′9), very curvy, very athletic. Destroys Kenny in arm wrestling every single time. Is a gym rat, but not pretentious about it, and she hits the gym for her own personal gain, not because she feels the need to lose any weight.

Nichole - Average-ish height (5′5) and insanely clear skin. PD card Nymph Nichole destroys me and I always imagine her as a little fairy-esque; long fingers, long neck, very elegant looking. 

[sabineelectricheart]

Accomplishments, and Their Meanings

Summary: Rosalie discovers what her sister meant when she said that her husband was accomplished.

Rating: MA - Content is only suitable for mature adults. May contain explicit language and adult themes.

Words: 1100

Notes: Ah, first times... Is anyone’s as good as they’re told to be or is it just mine that sucked ass?

Rosalie did not know that a man's hands could feel like this, or anyone's hands, for that matter, and she certainly did not know that her own body could be a veritable treasure trove of tender and pleasurable sensations.

No, not in the slightest. Her family had taught her how to seduce and cajole, how to enchant men and women in polite society, but they have always shied away from the hot, white climax that is building within her. Even when, shortly before her entry into Hogwarts, her eldest sister had wed a fine and handsome wizard from Hesse that she described as “very accomplished”, the young girl had been shooed away as the married women in the family discussed what that implied.

She had felt childishly cheated on that occasion. Even more so, now that she knows what that truly means.

His lips are at the crook of her neck, sparking tiny fires across her skin. His hands are, well, just about everywhere he can reach, and he is thorough in his explorations of the curves and nooks of her feminine figure. She is sitting between his legs with her back to his lean chest, and she can barely keep herself from trembling with nerves and excitement.

Sebastian is not the picture of beauty of their time. He is not strong, nor very tall, but rather white as cotton flower, wiry thin and hairless in most of his body. He is very different of the sort of highlander that her mother used to discreetly point out in the streets of London to her friend, those that looked more like his Uncle Solomon, when they thought that she was too distracted to hear them.

Alas, Rosalie thinks that she prefers this way, not that he is in any shortage of admirers for her to believe herself strange for such a thing. Perhaps it is the dour countenance of Mr. Sallow, perhaps she is attracted more to the behavioural attributes of men then the usual markers of their masculinity, but to her inexperienced mind, this is the height of beauty, and none can keep her from falling over her feet over him.

This most likely will end in tragedy, perhaps in more ways than one, but she refuses to concern himself with it just at this moment. She wants to fully lose herself on him.

One arm wraps around her waist, pulling her against his sturdy frame. The other trails a wandering hand to her chest. Even from atop her clothing, his wand-calloused fingertips brush her nipple and it sends a tingling, anxious wave of pleasure through her. She bites her lip, but he is an observant man.

He must be able to feel her heart pounding up to her throat. He is so close, he is everywhere around her, that there is no possibility in which he does not know that she is reeling from his touch and his smell. It is like the wet forest, earthy and green, with a touch of dust from the library.

Perhaps, had she been at least verbally exposed to those finer, more secretive points of love, she would not feel so embarrassed and woefully inept when things came to their natural conclusions, especially when faced with a partner that seemed much more experienced than herself.

Sebastian may have not told her anything, but Rosalie knows. She is a pureblood witch, a Slytherin at that, and she knows how to piece things together. She has heard Anne imply about his past, with Hogwarts students and Muggle village girls, and she has heard conversation about his accomplishments amongst those, usually with little prodding in either direction, that have experienced or witnessed them.

Even now, as his single-minded obsession consumes him, she is painfully aware that she must not be the only one. Alas, she lets him takes what he wants, and enjoys what he has to give her without guilt.

"You are really sensitive, are you not?"

She only nods. She had never found the right time or the right words to tell him that no-one had ever touched she like this, hardly even herself. She might be aware of the silencing charm, she might know how to do it, but she never felt comfortable doing such a thing around her dormmates, and she had been a bit too young to experiment with it when she left her parents’ home, along with her former private bedroom.

His forefinger traces tight and firm circles around her stiffened nipple, then his thumb joins to roll it between the two digits. Her body jolts upright, with an unfamiliar whine leaving her lips.

He smirks, wolfish. "It is cute though. How sensitive you are, I mean."

Rosalie is so enraptured by the new pleasure winding her heart and mind into knots that she barely notices a new sensation behind her. It is warm, pressing against her backside.

She moans for him, the knowledge that someone like Sebastian could be so hard, so aroused just for her sends heat plunging through her. Then, the hand not occupied by her chest slides downward. She feels his teeth graze the shell of her ear.

"Is this good with you, Rosalie?" He asks, serious.

He is giving her an out, which is more than she expects that he would. She pauses, unsure of the best way to tell him that it is more than alright. That she never thought she could want anything this potently.

She ends up merely nodding. "Yes..."

With her demure, wavering response, it seems to click in his head. Sebastian hums behind her, the sound oddly musical in his voice.

"Dear Rosalie... Is it possible that this might be your first time?" He asks, with a small tip of a tease.

"I, uh..." She trails off.

Rosalie wants to tell him, but his hand stalled just above where she really wants it to be and it is putting her through hell. He does not wait for a verbal response, in any case, since he is already moving on with the proceedings.

"Well now, lucky me. I never expected that the Troll Vanquisher would come to me for such a momentous occasion." He says with a chuckle. "I shall have to make a good impression then. You should just tell me what you like and what you do not as much, very well?"

Nodding again, her breath catches as his hand moves again, fingers lightly teasing between her thighs. His voice is low and far more level than she is accustomed to.

"Relax now, I will take care of you..."

*_*_*_*_*

Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist

[kettlequills]

10 for the kiss prompt for laat and Moira?

10. Surprise kiss eagerly returned!

A wisp of fire catches against a cream yellow sky, and Moira squats over a rock. Laat is setting up a firepit, shirtless skin bronzed by an afternoon of digging under the sun. The sun has been overripe for hours, mushing to a blotchy red and gold on the horizon, and the clear cold wind whistles like gaps between the teeth of the thorny dark green pines that shiver and clatter around Laat's remote little home. The stones are placed in a sootblasted ring, surrounding a haphazard creation of sticks and dry leaves. Moira's talon taps the first flicker of fire, and Laat's wrinkled, weathered face creases into a smile at the gesture.

Their hand is warm and large when it covers her knee. Their thick fingers spread over her leg, leaving heat in their wake. The feathers here are thinner, smaller, tapering off into the rough hide of her raven's feet. Laat toys with the edges like the glossy black quills are the hem of a skirt, and their eyes lid. They tilt their head, invitingly, their lips curving into that smile that makes Moira's guts clench with equal parts hunger and delirious anticipation.

The raven in her stirs quivering wings and surges frantically against the wall of her chest, cawing and shrieking. The dragon that coils at her side is too large, too powerful; Moira's entire self is nothing more than a puff of feathers between world-shredding teeth.

A slave to her nature, Moira crosses her arms over her skinny chest and looks away. Laat sighs, a little, but their head comes to rest against Moira's side anyway, a heavy, grounding weight.

She glances down at them, transfixed by the scars that part their hairline, remnants of past agony. Their hair is short at the moment, wispy and fresh-shorn, still soft. Their eyes are closed, cheeks warming over the fire. They look smaller, with their eyes closed, and nearly human.

Perhaps that is why Moira does it.

Laat's shoulders stiffen when Moira awkwardly twists and catches their chin in her clawed hand. The tips of her hag claws are so long they prick the sensitive skin around their eyes. They open them, surprised but not afraid, and search her expression.

She does not know what they see. Fear, probably, and a glitter of covetuous desire.

She leans in close, too close for them to sign to her. Their breath, acrid with smoke and charred flesh, washes across her prickling cheeks. Their teeth are yellow with the memory of old luxury. Their skin has the look of old leather, but when she touches them, it's soft. Their cheeks dimple under the force of her wiry grip.

She has never been brave. She is a raven woman, clever, quick, full of guile. Her victories are done with plotting, manipulation and curses, the finer arts, never a sudden dart or struggle. She has never been brave, and she has never kissed her spouse first, either.

There is a first time for everything.

Moira brushes her lips across theirs, and Laat's nostrils flare as they inhale sharply. It is nearly a gasp, nearly a sound, and nearly enough to knock Moira from her precarious, twisted perch.

Laat catches her immediately, of course. Strong arms wrap around her thin body like tethers, and their lips press up into hers, greedy and soft. They kiss like they live, hungrily, in each moment battering and striving for something more, with barely restrained force and deep and secret yearning.

She digs her claws in and feels them hiss into her mouth, a flicker of wyrmlike sparks against her tongue. They are as hot as fire in the enveloping cavern of their mouth, the fading taste of daedric wine burnt into their tongue like a brand of ownership. They caress her with one broad palm from her skinny shoulder to her jutting hip, and when she shudders under their touch, they smile into her mouth.

It is all she can ever do to keep up with them. She kisses back, feeling feverish, her dual heart thrumming so fast her world grows faint, and nothing else seems to matter but Laat, firm, solid, and unbearably real against her. She would not have it any other way, of course.

[barovianbitches]

Sticky Fingers

Vasile cel Tradat, known as the Beast of Barovia, was not one to make enemies with. The leader of the few Vistani who directly opposed Strahd (known as the Untamed), his enclave of fighters and magicians, is known for being the feisty type, always looking for a fight. Vasile got his moniker from the tales of tearing hoards of undead apart with his bare hands, his group destroying many monsters of Strahd’s creation to simply spite him. While the Count has always pardoned the Vistani as a whole due to their ancestors’ kindness, he had grown annoyed by Vasile and his band of brutes, slowly sending more and more monsters their way in order to deal with them or at least snuff the flame of rebellion. Vasile had to adapt, of course, which led them to where he stood on this day.

The Untamed had traveled beyond the mists, their armored wagons pulled by strong oxen. Vasile was on the search for greater weapons than the clans’ great axes and spells. One’s of firepower beyond the imaginings of even the strongest warriors from an ancient land.

Accompanying them was a girl, young in comparison to the seasoned fighters. She seemed recluse, quietly observing her clan from the perch of a wagon bench. She was unlike them, not adorned in armor or armed with martial weapons or spellbooks. No, she kept to her traditional Vistani curta, her mother’s necklace clasped around her neck, which she fiddled with when staring off into the distance. 

“What are you thinking about, srećo?” The gruff voice of Vasile spoke up from where he headed the very same cart that she was sitting in. 

“Nothing, ujak. I’m simply tired of traveling in this cursed wagon. Where are we even going, anyway? You said it would only be a three-day trip, and now it has been a half-moon.” The girl huffed indignantly.

Vasile’s nose crinkled a bit, chuckling at her ferocity. “Ever as your mother.” He chuckled a bit. “Cheer up, we are almost there. This man we are seeking is slippery, he is a merchant of many wonders, none the like you have ever seen. He has promised us weapons in return for ferrying him into Barovia.”

It’s her turn to wrinkle her nose. “Who would want to enter Barovia, at their own will? Does he not know he will likely die there?”

Vasile shrugs a bit, a twinkle in his violet eyes as he looks back at his adopted daughter. “He says he is looking for someone and nothing more. He is offering us a trade we cannot refuse.”

The sky was dark today, much like Barovia. Clouds hung low in the sky, obscuring the mountains in the distance a downpour raged around them. A wind was coming in from the Northern mountains, cold and unforgiving to those who did not dress properly. The girl pulled her purple shawl around her tightly. In the distance, a figure merged from the gloom, waiting beneath a great oak tree that was not far off the well-beaten road. He stood waiting, a wood crate beside him. 

The girl’s one good eye narrowed, focusing on the man standing in the distance. “Is that him?”

Vasile chuckled, pulling the oxen to a halt. “I hope so.” He dismounted from the driver’s seat of the wagon, turning toward a tall Vistani man who had been riding beside the wagon. “Keep an eye on him while we… Converse. I would hope that he is as hospitable as he was in his writing.”

Sterling checked his crate for the fifth, sixth time. Whistling softly to himself, he shuddered at the cold. The leather duster cloaking his thin, wiry frame did well to protect against most of it, and the wide-brimmed hat he wore sloughed the rain off onto his covered shoulders. In the crate were three repeating rifles and two revolvers, along with a handful of boxes of ammunition. Layered under the straw, though? That was a secret that he wouldn't be sharing with the Vistani today. He tapped his fingers on the lid of the box, adding another drumroll to the rain's cacophony. A faint wisp of smoke stemmed from an orange glow under his hat, the scent of premium tobacco permeating his vicinity. With a faint exhale, a ghostly expulsion escaped him.

A long whistle escaped the man as he takes a few steps around his crate to stand in front of it. His spurs jingle with each footfall. He rests his hands around his belt, framing the simple, elegant buckle. 

"Hey there, big fella," Sterling called out, his Anaurochi drawl muddling some of his words. He extended a hand, thin and lanky, with a particularly notable gold skull ring around his index finger. "Good t' make yer acquaintance. Sterling John Moses Winchester, at yer' service." As he looked up to face the man, an almost sinister grin on his face, framed by a thick mustache, came into view as a cigarette hung limply between his upturned lips. His eyes, a piercing green, locked on to the giant's.

Vasile smirks down at the measly excuse of a man, letting out a hearty chuckle as he takes his hand to shake it. His grip is damn near bone-crushing, his meaty paw entirely engulfing Sterling’s hand. He gives him a firm shake, nodding a bit in greeting. “Ah, a pleasure to finally meet you! I am Vasile cel Tradat, from the letters. I trust you have had a safe journey from where you come from, eh?” He smiles, releasing his hand as his eyes wander down to the crate behind the man.

The girl watches from a distance, her keen eye fixed on the stranger. She pulls her shawl up like a hood, slipping down from the seat on the wagon, her heart set on joining Vasile to learn about these “great weapons” he spoke so highly of. As she slid down, her brown boots hit the slick mud. The tall ranger on horseback looked down, tipping his head. 

“Mali miš, it is perhaps best if you do not join him. He is doing business.” The Vistana said, his dark hair soaking the sides of his lean face.

“Arrigal, I can take care of myself, I am not a little girl anymore.” She huffs, not turning to even look at him as she made her way across the road to where the two men stood.

Vasile seems to hear the footsteps, turning to look at the girl walking over. “Ah, my dear! Sterling, allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Nadia. She has accompanied me to see how business is done.” Vasile smiles kindly, putting a large hand on her shoulder. She is just shorter than Sterling, so they are almost eye-to-eye. She simply glares, almost suspicious of the man’s actions. She is a pretty little thing, with coarse, black waves of hair framing her face in a bob. She wears a slip of dyed leather to cover one eye. Vasile, not impressed by her attitude and silence, nudges her gently. “Be polite. Say hello.”

Her eyes narrow stubbornly, almost like a scolded child despite her being in her twenties. “Hello.” She huffs at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Madam." The gunslinger intoned with a polite tip of the hat. His smile shifted slightly when he addressed her, looking more... Genuine. Friendly, even, as the upturned snake-oil-salesman grin softens slightly. Turning back to Nadia's monster of a father, he patted the box. "All due respect, mister cel Tradat, had I known you were... About the size of the mountains where I'm from, I woulda' brought bigger guns." He opened the case, allowing Vasile to take in the sights. On display were three lever-action repeating rifles, with dark wood furniture and polished brass actions, and pearl-handled, long-barreled revolvers to accompany them. "A damn sight nicer than the ones I carry." Sterling muttered with a chuckle.

Vasile let out a bark of a laugh, patting Sterling on the shoulder. “A joker you are! A good one at that. No, these are not for me personally, per se. They are for my valiant warriors who are less… Blessed by the Fates in strength as I am.”

Nadia peered into the box, looking over the weaponry. “They are… so small. What are these even for?” She inquired, a bit confused that Vasile had made such a big deal over what looked like fancy walking canes and ornately decorated sextants. 

Sterling glanced at Nadia, before turning to Vasile. "I see yer' daughter seems interested in a demonstration. Yer' horses spook easily?" The gunslinger inquired.

Vasile shook his head, straightening up proudly as he looked back to the four outriders and the oxen. “No, they are used to the monsters and miscreants of Barovia enough not to bat an eye even in the most violent of storms.” 

Sterling shot a glance at the oxen. "Yeah, well, shit. Those sure ain' horses." He muttered with a dull, flat chuckle. "Right then. Cover yer' ears."

Sterling drew his duster back to reveal a fine leather gunbelt, lined with bullets, and in a holster on his hip, another pearl-handled revolver, this one in a bit poorer shape. He nudged his head in the direction of a tree, where a gnarled, isolated branch grew out from the trunk. In one swift motion, his hand shot forward, pulling the revolver out of the holster. As he pulled the trigger, his other hand slammed down on the pistol's hammer, and with a sudden CRACKCRACKCRACK, the branch exploded from the tree, having been shot to bits. Sterling, holding the pistol close to his right hip as the barrel smoked, turned to Vasile and Nadia.

The horses and oxen didn’t care, and neither did Vasile. He didn’t even blink when the shots rang out, he only gave an impressed smile. “Better than I could have imagined. There is a lot of power in those small ones. Color me surprised.” He chuckled but didn’t seem phased overall by the show.

Nadia, on the other hand, looked at the weapons with wide eyes, the one visible one shining with something indescribable. She certainly jumped at the noise it made, flinching behind the strong arm of Vasile. “Incredible.” She muttered beneath her breath, her words barely audible as her eyes wandered from the iron on his hip to the ones in the crate. “And what of the bigger ones if there is that much power in the small ones?” She was clearly interested, though trying to hide it behind a cool and indifferent exterior.

Sterling reached down to his rucksack, next to the crate, where his own repeating rifle lay. He dropped a round from his free revolver, dextrously removing the bullet from the chamber and grabbing one from the rifle's bandolier. He held them up to Nadia to indicate the significant difference in size and, presumably, powder load.

"Three to chop a branch from the six-gun." Sterling loaded the rifle round into the magazine tube and cranked the lever, aiming at another branch of similar size and gnarledness.

The thunderous KRAK of the rifle echoed even further than the pistol, and with a burst of smoke and blinding flash of light, the branch came crashing down, the small log impacting the forest floor with a crash all its own.

"Only need one bullet." The gunslinger intoned with a grin.

Nadia looked absolutely starstruck, watching as, within an instant, the bough of the tree was no longer attached to the main trunk. “Efficiency and firepower.” She mused, stepping out from behind Vasile to look into the crate. Without asking any further questions, she picked up one of the rifles, turning it over in her grip to observe.

Vasile watched with a proud grin, surprised at her willingness to take such interest in the arts of war as he had done so many years ago. “They would be useful against the flying creatures.” He hummed, speaking to Nadia as he patted her shoulder, peering into the crate as well.

Her eye mulled over what was left in the crate. Something shiny caught her eye, buried beneath the straw bedding that kept the guns from getting scratched. However, she maintained her calm exterior, filing that information away for later.

Something whispered in her ear. A honey-sweet voice laced with something metallic. “A beautiful weapon, isn’t it, my dove? But this man is untrustworthy. He is hiding something from you that makes these look like childs’ toys.” Nadia listened intently to the voice, her face showing no indication that something dark hovered at her shoulder.

“I think we have seen enough, ujak. Should we be taking him back now?” Nadia hummed, craning her neck to look up to Vasile. He nodded, turning towards Sterling.

“These will aid us far more than you know.” Vasile looked towards Sterling, nodding out of respect. “I believe she is right, we understand that you would like to make it into Barovia as soon as possible. If we leave now, we can be there by nightfall.” He gestured back towards the armored wagons. “Unless there is anything else you would like to discuss, we can begin making our way back now.”

"Aw, hell, these are nothin' against the avian sorts. You shoulda' asked me to bring a few Scatterguns." Sterling exclaimed.

"There is another matter, mister cel Tradat." Said the gunslinger with a pause. "These firearms can be fickle, if one don't know how to use or care for 'em. What's yer plan for training and caretakin'?"

Vasile raised an eyebrow at this, chuckling a bit. “We have many skilled marksmen in the clan. They are trained with bows, but your rifles seem easy enough. They seem to load almost like a crossbow. But please elaborate on how one must, well, care for one of your firearms.”

Nadia watched the two of them. She glanced down into the crate again and then up to Sterling, studying him carefully. She gave him a once-over, seeming to be looking for something but not finding it. 

Sterling reached to the back of his belt, where a small box was clasped onto it. He pulled it forth, and opened it, revealing a small bottle of solvent, a set of tinkers' tools, cloths, and a few small brushes. 

"Gotta keep the actions cleaned and lubricated. Small, individual parts gotta get cleaned as well. Pop out the cylinder of the sixguns, give 'em some good ol T-L-C. Y'know?"

He cast a glance at Nadia. "Go ahead, miss. Fire one off, see how it feels. Ammo is in the big boxes, load 'em sharp side first and crank that lever. Shoot a branch, or somethin'. Just not me or yer' pops." 

She raises an eyebrow as he addresses her. With an unsure hand, she reaches down into the crate and opens the ammo box, loading a round into the chamber before cranking it as she was told.

Vasile chuckles, looking between Nadia and the box offered by Sterling. “Good to know. We want them to last a long time before expanding the selection.” He paused. “If they work as promised.” He narrows his eyes at Sterling. Not quite an unfriendly gesture but almost a warning. Sterling had this feeling of dread hanging over him as Vasile’s eyes darkened like the clouds above. In an instant, though, that feeling was interrupted by a loud KRACK! 

The two men turned to look as Nadia stepped out into the road, allowing her to get a clear sightline into the trees opposite to them. She lifted it, bracing it to her shoulder and copying the movements Sterling had done during his demonstration of the weapon. She fired, to which the rest of them could hear a distant crack as a thick bough of a tree came down a good fifty yards away. She grinned before wincing, not used to the power of the recoil against her shoulder. She let it hang in her hands, rolling her shoulder a bit before looking back at the two of them. 

Sterling chuckled and gave Nadia a thumbs-up. He turned back to Vasile, gesturing to the pistol on his hip and the rifle at his pack. "I carry the exact same models myself, boss. Have for about fifteen years, and I do a lil' maintenance, and they still shoot true."

“Noted.” Vasile nodded, taking the small kit and tucking it into the satchel belted to his hip. “Then I do believe that that concludes our business. Come, Nadia. Get back to the wagon.” 

She nodded, looking back to Sterling with that same unreadable look on her face as she turned and headed back toward the main wagon.

He turned over his shoulder, shouting to two of the outriders. “Arrigal! Mikael! Come show our guest to his wagon.” Vasile replaced the lid of the crate, looking at Sterling. “We will unload once we arrive in Barovia. Once there, we will go our separate ways.” He smiled, hoisting the crate onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. “I assume until then, you would like your firearms with you?”

The two men, who you presumed were named Arrigal and Mikael, dismounted from their horses and gestured for Sterling to come over and follow them.

"Sure, I'll give your new toys a last once-over with the lubricant, keep em' nice and fresh for ya." The gunslinger said as he walked towards the two Vistani. "Y'all happen to have a map of Barovia a tourist could borrow?" He asked the two.

They looked at each other, then back to Sterling. The one with the longer hair, Arrigal, chuckled a bit. Mikael said something in Vistani, to which they both chuckled a bit. It didn’t see like they were making fun of him per say, but something to the effect of ‘he doesn’t know what he’s getting into.’ 

Arrigal spoke up after a moment. “The Vistani do not have any maps that would be useful for the likes of you. We follow stars while outside Barovia and ancestral paths while within.”

Mikael nodded in agreement. “Though there is a shopkeep in a small village not far from where we will arrive. I’m sure he will have something of use for you.”

They both turned, walking to the back of the wagon train to the last of the carts. Mikael opened the back door, it swinging open to reveal cozy living quarters within, fanciful carpets and reems of cloth draping the walls. The small room was warm and inviting, kept that way by circular lanterns that hung from the ceiling and radiated heat. Within, there were three hammocks. Mikael jerked his chin in the direction of the far one. “That one will be yours for the evening.”

"Don't hurt to ask. Worst thing you coul' say is no, right, fellas?" The short cowboy shrugged with a good-natured laugh. "Y'all need to give me the carrier pigeon address of yer' interior decorator, though. This is /gor-gee-ous,/ Reminds me of home." He whistled, impressed as he climbed in.

Taking a seat where directed, he reached into his duster for a flask. "Can I interest you gentlemen in some Anaurochi cactus wine? It's a sort of.. Shared 'greetin' drink' we offer to new acquaintances back 'ome."

The two men shared a look before shrugging, taking some of the offered drink and each tasting a bit. Mikael wrinkled his nose while Arrigal nodded appreciatively.

“It tastes like a puddle in the road.” Mikael mutters. 

Arrigal shrugs, chuckling. “It is most certainly not the worst I’ve had. There was that one woman from Vallaki who I convinced I was a prince from a far off land, now SHE tasted like-”

Vasile shadowed the two of them as he carried the crate into the cart, dropping it between the three of them on the floor beside Sterling’s hammock. “I trust you are treating our guest as one of our own?” He laughs good-naturedly, looking between them with a knowing look. They both laugh as well, nodding. 

“Of course, Vasile! Only the best for our guest.”

He nodded in approval, pulling a wineskin from his hip and offering it to Sterling. “Here. Drink as much as you wish. We will hopefully be there by nightfall.”

Sterling nodded to the men as they left him be. Resting his feet on his crate of rifles, he let his hat fall from his head, onto the box, as it fell forward as he heaved a sigh. Charlatanery and arms deals were hard work. Reaching a leather-gloved hand down his collar, he pulled out a small locket, formed from the brass endcaps of two Scattergun shells pressed together. Popping it open, he looked down, running a hand through his hair and wiping his nose as a sniffle escaped him. Damned rain. In the locket was a small photograph, a picture of Sterling himself in a nicer suit than the cowboy's clothes he wore now, and an Elven woman, pale, with long, flowing red hair. Taking a moment to extinguish the embers of his cigarette on his boot heel, he rubbed at his eyes with an ungloved hand. Taking a moment to look around the Vistani cart, he rolled his shoulders and heaved a determined breath. Taking one last look at the picture in the frame, he clasped it shut and gripped it tight to his chest. 

Taking a swig from the wineskin, he hummed approvingly of the drink, before kicking his feet up on the hammock, laying back, locket still in hand. As he settled in, he began to whisper, to no one in particular.

"Hey, hon. It's me. I dunno if you can hear me an' all that, but the priest said that it migh' help, the anger issues, violent tendencies, an' all. I.. I took the belt back up. I know I told you I was retiring, workin' in that kitchen, but when you went to see those fortune tellers, an' you disappeared with them, no note, nothing... I had no choice. I'm sorry I lied to you, Leena.. I hope you can understand."

Sterling choked out a cough, placing his hat over his eyes, to cover them from the light, no other reason.

"Once I bring you home, I promise, I'm hanging it up for good... Whatever that's worth. I really hope you can forgive me. I know you hate the gunslingin' and all that, but I don't have anythin' else...."

He trails off for a moment, reaching a hand up towards his face, whatever he did obscured by his wide-brimmed hat.

"I'm gonna find you, Leena. I promise, hon. And I swear to gods, I'm gonna kill every last one of the sons of bitches that stole you from me. Just hold on a bit longer. I'm on my way."

With that, the gunslinger drifted off into a much-needed slumber.

The cowboy was out, proven by the fact that he didn’t hear the door to the cart slowly creak back open a little while later. The group had pulled the wagons to a stop to let the horses and oxen get some water at a nearby stream, as well as allowing Nadia to stretch her legs innocently. Where to? Perhaps the destination was not so pure-of-heart.

Night had fallen on the land, the clouds snuffing out any moonlight and the torrential downpour obscuring vision further. The only break in the dark was the glow of colored lanterns hanging from the back of the wagons. Blues, greens, purples, all gently lighting up the darkness of the road and the woods surrounding it.

Nadia had slipped off the side of the wagon, slowly making her way past the outriders, who paid her no mind, as she headed to the back of the wagon train to the final cart. She pressed her ear to the door, listening intently to hear any movement that may come from inside. Nothing. 

Perfect.

She cracked the door open, peering into the mostly dark caravan. The lamps had been dimmed, and she could barely make out the form of the sleeping cowboy rocking back and forth in the hammock, as well as the shadow of the crate on the floor beside him.

As if she was made of the darkness itself, she quietly slipped into the caravan, taking a few silent steps over to the back of the wagon.

“He rests. Now is your chance.”

Her heart lept at the voice in the shell of her ear, close enough to feel the ghost of breath on the side of her cheek. She turned to glance over her shoulder quickly, but no one was there.

She shook off the awful, clammy feeling, dropping to her knees as she shimmied open the lid of the crate with a small dagger. She placed the lid beside her on the floor, looking into it. Just as before, the five firearms lay in their bed of straw. But just beyond that, in the dull light of the interior, she was able to catch the glint of metal her eye had caught before.

“Go on. It’s right there…”

Nadia let out a shaky breath, carefully sweeping aside the straw as quietly as she could. Her eyes widened as she spotted a long, silvery barrel. 

Above her, the cowboy made a snort in his sleep. She startled, scooting back a foot as if to jump into action at any moment. She sat there, frozen, as he turned his face over a bit and settled.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Reaching into the crate, her hand found cold metal. She pulled, inch by inch, as slowly as she could as not to jitter the rest of the items within the crate. 

From the straw emerged a folded firearm, much larger than any of the rifles Sterling had brought. Sporting two barrels sat folded over the stock of the gun, its compact design making it relatively easy to store. It was impossibly heavy in her grip, her hand running down the length of the barrel before she gently pulled, allowing it to click into its full, usable length. It was beautiful, that was for sure. Gold and silver inlay carved swirls into the dark oak of the handle, and small stones of various sizes and colors encrusted into a swirling pattern. Along the silver barrel, there were small engravings of runes and what may be words. She read as best she could, but she could only assume it was some sort of protection ward. Towards the middle of the barrel, though, there was a name scrawled in gold.

Fate’s Hand.

“This is it. Take it.” 

Nadia quickly glanced up to where Sterling slept before moving the straw to look as undisturbed as possible, replacing the lid of the crate back on top and wrapping the massive shotgun in the side of her shawl. She made her way out of the caravan and shut the door just as she heard her name called.

“Nadia? Where have you run to, we must be going.” It was Vasile, looking around the dark at the head of the train.

“I’m coming, just a moment!” She shouted back, rushing to the dark treeline toting the heavy weapon. She grinned to herself, adrenaline flooding her veins at the prospect of having taken the item so easily. Perhaps the shadow at her shoulder was right.

She notched the gun at her shoulder again, though it was much heavier than the rifle and had to be balanced differently. She glanced through the gold sight, took a deep breath in, and placed her finger over the trigger.

On her exhale, she squeezed.

But was interrupted.

“Not yet, my dove. You are nowhere ready to wield this weapon. Hide it, for now. Until the time has come.”

[kmclaude]

Jehan, 16, having run away from home after enduring years of loss and abuse, finds himself turning tricks. He doesn’t mind tying his hair back and putting on a sweet face, letting men fuck his mouth and scoff at him when they leave him with cash on the nightstand and his dick in his hand, tears spilling down his face as he howls and comes and curls up in the ruddy motel bed that stinks of sweat and bad sex; he thinks often, after, of Tiefer, how even when he took everything from him, he would always tend to his wounds, and he aches emptily for sincerity and the traces of humanity he thought he’d seen in him.

The woman who owns the motel, noticing he’s young and on his own and always has more than enough cash to sustain himself, offers him a deal. He lets her watch, and in turn she lets him stay, no payment necessary. The first time, after the john had emptied himself inside after Jehan had begged for it to be anywhere, anywhere but there please mister, she picks him up (she didn’t look very strong, all wiry arms and thin face) and places him into the steaming bath she’d run earlier. (“for later” she’d said as she’d sat on the edge of the porcelain and sliced fruit wedges into the basin, tossing in a bundle of herbs de province and some epsom salt for good measure)

She bends him over the tub, knees in the water and face nearly pressed into the rug, and works him open slowly, with her fingers and some warm water that makes him shiver and clench around her, until he’s hard again and she’s letting him rut into her soapy hand. She lays him out on the bed, now his, (his own bed, how strange, he hadn’t had one in so long…) and lathers him from head to toe in oil and lotion, and she rides him until he’s begging to come, he’s never fucked a girl woman before, not even a head job, and the way she looks is just enough, and he’s begging for her. “Oh, oh fuck, oh, Miss, Miss Marie I’m gonna come, oh,~~”

Tiefer has been looking for him since the moment he left. He’s nearly found him a handful of times, but he slips through his fingers at every turn. He was much more like Agnes than he’d given him credit for, able to glide under the radar and never receive a second look. Until he finds a motel, just outside San Antonio. He’s checked in by a young boy who hovers closely to a woman who looks to be his age, if not a bit older, and it all comes crashing down when she turns to face him, wicked grin and razor teeth he knew better than he knew himself, and purrs “Looky, Jehan, another one. A special one. Go get Mommy’s room ready, won’t you, sug?”

Oh my god I am screaming

Brb throwing my work computer away and grabbing my sketchbook because oh my god yes

[dreadfutures]

For DADWC: “Promise me. Promise me you’ll stay" for Morrigan/Halevune? :)

@dadrunkwriting - "Promise.”

Pairing: Morrigan x Mahariel

Rating: G

-:-:-:-

“I must go!"

Halevune's sharp voice clattered against the stone walls of his quarters as though he had thrown them.

Morrigan crossed her arms and only planted herself more firmly in between the Warden Commander and his saddlebags. "You needn't do any such thing," she snapped. "There is no—no village in need. No country is threatened by a Darkspawn invasion!"

"Which is why I must do this now," Halevune retorted, dropping leg armor at her feet. "Nathaniel is ready to take command. I leave Ferelden in good hands."

He turned his back immediately, as though he could not himself quite believe his words, but he did not flinch with Morrigan spat. "Psh. You say that as though he is King! Were you not just complaining that this land had gone to the dogs? You could—"

"Do what?" Hal demanded. He yanked open his desk drawers and began rummaging around violently inside. "What more can the Hero of Ferelden do for this country that he has not already done, Morrigan?"

He did not meet her gaze as he returned to her side and dropped added a box of writing implements to the growing pile, then rounded hurriedly to fetch something else from the opposite side of the room.

"Your silence is louder than anything you could ever shout," he muttered over his shoulder. "You know that I am right."

"That does not mean this journey is the next alternative!"

Halevune bent for the loose floorboard where he'd hidden several valuable items in a sack. He loosened the drawstring until it lay flat and began to paw through the precious contents in silence: a small, carved figure of halla horn; a sprig of Andraste's Grace; a ring; a tattered, stuffed nug that had been stained with spittle, and torn open and repatched several times.

"The alternative is dying," he said after a moment. He looked up at Morrigan then, the stuffed nug caught in a chokehold on the floor in front of him. She saw then that his pale grey eyes were rimmed with red, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes had grown even more stark. There was even a slight blue tinge to his cheeks now, as though he stood closer to the grave than to the cradle. "Don't you see, vhenan? There truly is nothing else to do."

His voice cracked, and he dropped his face again, then bowed low over his most precious belongings and sobbed.

Morrigan stood frozen, stunned into silence by a sound she had heard only once before—when the news of his clan's destruction had reached him from afar. She had sworn then that she would not be paralyzed by his grief, should it strike again; she had admonished herself for the awkward way in which she had comforted him. She could do nothing to stop his grief, to shore up the strong walls he had erected for his protection and his dignity. She had only managed to hold him as they fell apart, bit by bit, into a ruinous mess that left them both more vulnerable than perhaps they'd ever been. And she didn't want to feel that way again. Either of them.

And yet here she stood, as her beloved's breath hitched and tore with despair, and she knew not how to act.

The cold anger that she'd summoned in the face of his own began to melt as his sobs battered against her, and she began to move almost in a trance.

Before her thoughts could catch up to her body, Morrigan found herself lowering to her knees beside him. It was not like them: for him to cry, to be so weak, or for her to reach for him like this and pull her into her arms. And yet while some things were the same—Halevune whispering: I don't want to die, Morrigan—many, many more things had changed.

Her thin, wiry arms had learned to hold a child. Her wary, bitter heart had learned that shame and admonishment hurt her to give, as much as it had hurt her to receive, and she had learned instead that tears might be stemmed with gentle sounds, if not words of comfort. And that was all she had to offer her love now. What words might soothe this fear in him, anyway? He was right, after all. His death was not some mysterious, distant thing. It was an inevitability drawing closer with every year, in a way few others might know.

And Morrigan, while accustomed to lying, knew there was no utility in lying to him on a truth he understood better than even she did.

"You can live, Hal," she said. "Come with us. Please."

Halevune's shoulders trembled, and he did not answer her except with a sob.

Morrigan's face was wet.

"Come with us, my love," she repeated, bowing her head to press her forehead against his hair. "Promise me you shall stay."

[hollyhomburg]

i just read the new vikingverse post and my reaction was YES YES VIKINGVERSE YES pls lili grace us with more vikingverse, i love the au so much you're mind is incredible

right now all i can think about is jungkook giving you his first courting gift, he’s the only alpha that hasn’t given you one and though it’s not customary for betas or omegas to give each other courting gifts (that burden is all on the alphas who need to show that they’re good providers), it hurts a little that even seokjin has started to lavish you with little things before jungkook’s gotten the courage to give you something of his own and declare his intent.

the other alphas gifts were perfect, and jungkook just can’t decide the right gift. hoseok gave you a thick fluffy pelt- perfect for the coming winter, he’s already heart you and seokjin talk of making it into a cloak for you to keep you warm. namjoon’s gifts were more subtle- more over arching to meet all of your needs. you ask for more bandages for the infirmary and namjoon gives them. you need more medcin, namjoon will barter with another pack for it in a heartbeat, you need a new chair or your stove in your little cabin? and namjoon is there ready to make sure you’re comfortable hell- your whole one-room cabin in its self was a courting gift from namjoon. and though it’s expected that the pack alpha would give the most lavish gifts- it still stings jungkook’s pride just a little bit when he realized he can’t think of anything for you.

he shudders to think of the past courting gifts he’d given to seokjin and Jimin when he was little more than a freshly presented pup, the roughly crafted comb that seokjin had cooed and pinched his cheek over. “no Hyung you don’t understand that was” seokjin’s soft kiss on jungkook’s cheek, the first time he’d ever been kissed by the elder. “I understand perfectly my little kookie”

or the dried flowers he’d given jimin- small and yellow like his hair- not the gifts of a strong alpha that could provide but the gifts of a pup. i think namjoon would talk to jungkook and coach him through it. telling the younger pup that the best courting gifts come from the heart; you'd love something personal that you'd use often. something that would have you thinking of jungkook every time you reach for it.

he doesn't want to give you bed things- after going to your little bed things and seeing how sparse you keep your room and loft- jungkook's sure it wouldn't be appreciated. other omegas pile their beds high with little pillows and things, but you've learned to keep in simple- used to keeping on the move. you're more fierce than other omegas too- jungkook always finds himself watching you- the way your arms never strain underneath patients when you move them. arms bulging attractively. holding two pups in either arm- something he can barely do. jungkook wants to give you a courting gift to match your strength.

he's always been good at makeing things with his hands. and he channels all ofhis love and pure yearning for you into a blade. he tempers it enough to make is thin but strong, slight and small enough for you to maneuver but larger than the usual dagger. you have no use for that sort of thing- the small delicate knives that could barely do damage. no- jungkook wouldn't make the assumption of thinking you'd always have one of them on hand- jungkook knows you can keep yourself safe and he only wants to help you do that.

he even asks jimin to help him with it too, wants to make sure it's light enough for him to wield (not that the omega is weak either- it's just that omegas, in general, tend to be slighter with wider hips- different bodies than wiry straight alphas, or stout betas). after he's polished it to a smooth mirror-like surface and fashioned you a little hip holster (with jin's help for measurements; the older omega taking one of your skirts with the insistence that he'll mend it for you since you're shit at stitching things up if it isn't a wound).

after that's done- they'res the issue of trying to give it to you. jungkook's just so shy- he can't bear to give it to you face to face, or hang it on your doorknob or leave it on your chair at dinner. every time he almost hands it over he chickens out, more than once you tease him for his red face.  not understanding. the others shooting him a knowing look.

it's later one night after a little bit of wine has been drank over dinner, the alphas are out settling things down for the night, hoseok checking the wall watch, namjoon taking time to talk with a few of the heads of houses over some minor issues, and jungkook- gone to shut down the forge for the night. the betas piled into the bathroom with the door open to hear you all chatter while they bathe. and though you’re not hushed enough that they wouldn’t hear you- taehyung and yoongi tend to get a little wrapped up in each other whenever they get alone time.  you pile in with the other omegas soft in front of the roaring fire, logs piled high to the side keeping out the chill, though the wine has more than a little flush in your cheeks.

you wouldn't have relented if it wasn't seokjin who'd bugged you to let loose with them one night (what good was being lead omega if you couldn't convince your pack to let loose once in a while- seokjin's words- not yours) the three of you are giggly and drunk, it's then that seokjin and jimin unfortunately let it slip to you.

"he's been so shy- it's absolutely adorable when kookie gets flustered, i wish you where around to see it more" "me?? you mean he's flustered over me?" you're aghast but so soft looking- the kind of look that has seokjin and jimin curling up around you close. seokjin watching you from where he lays, belly against the fluffy pelt below you, watching the way jimin can't resist touching you- he's such a cuddly thing, stroking down your arms and twining your hair around his fingers. jimin's always been this way and it warms seokjin's heart to see you not flinch away like you had at first- instead leaning into his slow scent marking and grooming.

"i didn't think jungkook liked me that way" jimin laughs hard enough to tip into your leg, bent over, cheek pressed against your skirt pulled taught over your knees. "no no- you should see how excited he's been to give you his courting gift”

unbeknownst to all of them, jungkook’s just gotten in, is hanging his cloak on the door when he hears jimin’s words, at the sound of his whipping cloak and his muted ‘hyung?” jimin all but jumps up when he sees him, “you told?” jungkook looks so so crushed, can’t even raise his head to meet your eyes, jimin’s apology tumbling from his lips, but it’s you that truly soothes the alpha. “he didn’t tell me what if that helps”

“oh” thats all jungkook can say, just oh- and he boils with embarrassment, behind you, seokjin smirks a little bit as jungkook reassures jimin that it’s okay- he couldn’t have expected to keep it a secret for long after all. you stand awkwardly in the door before seokjin practically pushes you out the door,

“well it’s getting late- and since jungkookie is here he can definitely walk you home” seokjin says, nuzzling into the side of your head sweetly before he all but pushes you out, ignoring both your and jungkook’s protests. until you're all but stranded in the hallway, jungkook stoops to pull your cloak more tightly over your shoulder as you leave the compound, both of you entranced in an uncomfortable silence that slowly turns comfortable as both of you realize- what’s just transpired is all right. it’s a testament to jungkook’s character that he didn’t get upset at jimin. and it gives jungkook just a tiny bit of hope- that you hadn’t looked too offput when you’d learned of his courting gift.

“so you got me something huh?” you ask, nothing but the sound of softly falling snow accompanying you. “what was it?” you bump shoulders with him, and he looks up, little pony tail bobbing, “a pillow? or a locket? some trinket.” you're smiling and it's so easy to smile back, jungkook looks away bashfully as you round on your little cabin. “no- i didn’t want to make you anything so simple or so- unuseful.”

“if it’s from you- then it’s not unuseful,” you’re on the steps of your cabin now, kicking off the snow that's gathered there with your boots. “you really want it?” jungkook looks up at you so so hopeful. “of course i want it jungkookie,” he blushes, going red all the way from his chest to his forehead. his nose scrunches with the force of his smile and he almost melts when you cup his cheek for a second before you bid him goodnight.

he flops into the bed when he gets home, kicking his feet and nuzzling in close to seokjin’s tummy. “did she like it baby?” “didn’t give it to her yet but” jungkook is smiling so hard his cheeks are straining, “she’s so- hyung- I’m so” “I know honey- I know.” he gets it- they all do. you’re the last piece of their pack. 

the next day, you find the blade on your front porch. he must have gone home and brought it right back to your cabin. you marvel over the fine craftsmanship. the hours and hours jungkook must have spent making the blade absolutely perfect. and when jungkook catches you wearing it around your waist, his whole body feels warm and light and in love. now he no longer has you yearn so hard- or at least. not for long

[thejadecount]

OH LOOK ANOTHER LONG POST TO INTRODUCE MY OCs

PJ OCs #2:

Name: Ava Raz Concord

Age: 16

Godly Parent: Harmonia, goddess of order, harmony and peace.

Mortal Parent: N/A

Description: A bit taller than average height. She has sand-tan skin, sunny yellow blonde hair and honey amber eyes. Thin eyebrows, small nose, but NOT a button nose. A bit curvy around the waist. She usually puts her hair in a short braid with bits of hair that stick out in the front as somewhat side bangs. Lean and wiry body, but not scrawny. Whipcord muscle on her arms and legs.

Personality: She’s kind of the mom friend of the group, but more aggressive when in comes to taking care of her friends. She will not hesitate to drag her friends to places and knock them down for their own health. She’s a bit like Annabeth, except she really isn’t as book-smart and more common sense/street smarts smart. She isn’t a know-it-all, and won’t correct people’s grammar. She’s the one to actively prevent her friends from dying by pulling them out of dangerous situations. She’s also strong-willed, dedicated and stubborn and will get something done and will reach her goal. She’s also very blunt like Erin. She also can and will swear, but not that often. She can be very terrifying and aggressive when she wants to be, but usually isn’t. She is the type of person to almost always be inhumanly calm and collected in any situation—unless her girlfriend accidentally caused another canon fire or exploded a building again, then she gets pissed. She’s has Patton Sander’s morality & and parent figure, but also Logan’s coldness and bluntness. It is very hard to make her freak out and panic, and even harder to make her angry. But watch out when she gets angry. When she’s angry, someone is going to die for sure.

Abilities:

She has this ability Magnus Chase has—she can force weapons out of people’s hands when they’re in close range.

She can mostly cancel out Erin’s chaos magic when they’re close to each other.

The Rage of Harmonia: Since Harmonia is the goddess of harmony, peace and order, she and her children usually keep their cool and barely ever freak out. But when they do, well—there’s a reason why crazy people are also called ‘mad’. This ability puts Ava in a rage-induced frenzy that gives her increased stamina, strength, and speed and makes all the moral and empathetic parts of her brain shut down in an instant. Ava’s only done this once, and almost killed Erin during it. Afterwards, she was knocked out for three days. So she isn’t fond of this power. It also makes her eyes more orange and her pupils red, and makes her resort to more primitive, caveman talk, growling, and snarling.

Multilingual: Children are natural-born diplomats, and you know what is a major barrier between people: language. She can speak any language naturally.

Trivia:

- She’s Erin’s girlfriend.

- Her middle name means ‘secret’

- Ava always carries honey-flavored chapstick on her.

- She has a weird obsession with foods anywhere in the white to golden-orange color range, including: rice, anything having to do with potatoes or French fries, honey, bananas, corn, cornbread, hominy, Mac and cheese, and golden apples.

- Fights in a mix of traditional Roman and Greek fighting styles mixed with several martial arts that no one can figure how how the hell she knows that.

- Barely ever uses weapons (her body is the weapon) but when she does, she uses small throwing knives, daggers and maybe a whip.

- Knows ballet & you bet ur ass it’s incorporated in her fighting style

- She has a mostly normcore aesthetic, with a little plant mom and visco girl thrown in. I’m talking mostly simple and light browns, oranges, yellows and cream colors. I’m talking light and simple capris, flannel, tink top and flats, flip flops, or sandals.

- She absolutely hates the colors pink, blue and purple, which is ironic because she’s bisexual. The only shades of those colors she’ll somewhat tolerate is coral/salmon and sunset pink, sky blue, and lilac.

- Her and Erin have indeed bonded over their mutual hatred for the color blue.

- She doesn’t really like how Percy and the Seven ignore and joke off their trauma, and especially hates Percy for the sole fact that his mother makes blue food (she doesn’t hate the food nor Sally personally, she just doesn’t like the color.)

- Her favorite color is sunflower/school-bus yellow.

- She is insanely in love with vanilla and lemon-flavored desserts, and even more if the food is dyed to match the flavor.

- Because she can speak any language, she’s usually Palio’s (the guy that only speaks Portuguese) translator and you bet they do have whole conversations and inside jokes to themselves in Portuguese.

- Ava has very bad OCD and tends to bit obsessive and a perfectionist because of it. She’ll spend a good half of her day in other people’s cabins cleaning and organizing things. She won’t just barge in of course, but if she needs to go in one to talk to someone, she’ll talk to them while organizing and cleaning their entire cabin. Some people, like the Athena and Hephaestus kids don’t ever let her in their cabins because they don’t want her messing with their stuff. Other cabins, like the Ares and Hermes kids will let her in, mostly for free labor. It’s also because of this OCD she’ll just suddenly start looking around places and count things like the campers during mealtimes or pegasi whenever she’s by the stables or buttons on her or Erin’s clothes. She’ll also switch to different languages if she doesn’t feel like she can communicate her feelings in English. Erin is completely in live with all these habits of her and doesn’t mind if she just suddenly comes into her cabin and start organizing and counting things.

Backstory: The ironic thing about Ava is that even though she’s the responsible, mostly-friendly mom friend of the group, literally no one knows her backstory. Not even her own girlfriend. The few things people know about her is that her mortal parent (she won’t even talk about her mortal parent’s gender) used to be a very powerful figure, she grew up with 4 other siblings, and that she ran away from her family for reasons she never specified. Most people chocked it up to child abuse and trauma, but no one is really sure. She came to the camp at 13 and stays there for the whole year for the past 3 years now. When Erin came to camp, she didn’t like how she was practically beating up half the camp and how destructive and dangerous she was to herself and others, and challenged her to a fight, knowing she would win. She wanted to fight Erin to put her in her place, and had no idea she was going to ask her out. So now she usually chills at camp, mostly by Erin’s side to cancel out her powers, and serves as a somewhat-replacement mother figure and therapist to the camp’s children.

[nightmaredaisy]

for the OC ask! What is your OC’s skin like? Are your OC’s arms and legs strong, weak, or average? What is the first physical feature people notice when they see your OC?

IIIII'm going to cheat and answer this for both Yile and Ezra cause I love them both equally and can't decide which one I wanna do more :p

Are your OC’s arms and legs strong, weak, or average? Why? Do they have any common mannerisms that involve their limbs, such as tapping their foot or fiddling with their fingers? Yile - Because of her muteness her hands are her main form of language, which makes her limbs particularly expressive even when she's not signing. Her body is deceptively skinny for her actual strenght, both the undeath curse and the years spent slugging weights on the road gave her the kind of lean, wiry iron cable muscles that make for some really impressive feats of resistance. Ezra - His skinny appearance is a crystal clear telling of his physical power. This man has nothing going on in the muscle department, his cushy noble upbringing made sure of that. He can't even lift his own love interest smh. He does have the tendency to fiddle or play with anything he has on hand or rub his fingers together while he talks.

What is the first physical feature people notice when they see your OC? Why? Yile - Her eyes. Large, sunken and with a yellowish iris, they look almost too snake-like for her to be fully human. The long nose and gaunt face don't help with making her look any less serpentine. Ezra - I would like to say his pretty face, but thinking from the outside I would assume the first things to catch someone's eye would be the expensive clothes and accessories and the overly straight spine that make him look like he's looking down on everyone else around him (which in all fairness he is).

What is your OC’s skin like? Is it unblemished, or are they prone to breakouts? Do they have any scars, tattoos, or other skin markings? Does their skin tend to be sensitive to things that get on it (lotions, cleaning products, etc.)? Yile - Her skin is kind of rough, with sunburn spots on her knuckles and the bridge of her nose, calluses on her fingers and palm where she holds her sword, lines on her forehead, eyes and the edge of her mouth, and constantly dry lips. She sports various little scars on her, aside for the Dark Sign on her ribcage : twin lines on the left shoulder blade and one on the back of the head from her first death, smoothed out burns from her first pyromancies, a large patch on her knee from a childhood accident, and all the various cuts and scrapes that come with fighting. Ezra - His face is smooth, delicate and almost wrinkle free, even despite the gauntness that sometimes makes his skin look like too thin paper on too sharp bones. Freckles spread all across his face from the temples to the jaw, and if he wasn't fully covered from neck to toe they would continue down the neck to the rest of the body. His side sports a brand new dragon bite mark, although other scars might be concealed along with the [REDACTED] he so rigorously keeps hidden under all the clothes.

[lesetoilesfous]

For DADW "Kiss in a dream" warden/morrigan

Ooooh this was delicious, thank you!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: f!Warden Surana x Morrigan

Characters: Eloren Surana, Morrigan

Tags: Fade shenanigans, unhealthy coping mechanisms, self destructive behaviour, demons pretending to be your lover

Rating: Mature

Eloren never sleeps easily. She hasn’t since she was six years old, and templars came banging on her mother’s door following reports of a girl with blue sparks at her fingertips. Ever since, every night, she wakes with a jolt as if she’s falling, terrified of what she’ll find when she opens her eyes.

It’s fine.

They’ve been trekking for three days out of Denerim, slaughtering what spawn they’ve found on their way. Even Zevran’s smiles are wearing a little thin with the sheer exhaustion of it all, and Alastair is visibly harrowed. Leliana and Morrigan are better at covering it, but Eloren doesn’t doubt that they too feel the weeping ache of overused muscles by now. She’s been avoiding Wynne.

The Fade is as familiar and cold to Eloren as it has always been: a land of shifting icy mists half obscured by cloud. As she treads down into the uneven landscape of her dreams, her bare feet prickle against the frozen floor. Her hands drift in front of her, more habit than fear these days, parting the clouds in trailing ribbons of smoke. 

She knows it isn’t her. Eloren thinks it even as the thing that looks like Morrigan smiles at her, gold eyes glittering with secrets. But she keeps walking anyway, until the thing that looks like Morrigan takes her into its dark, wiry arms, made strong by years of wilderness, burned brown by the sun.

The thing’s face twists into an expression of concern so unlike the real witch that for a moment even Eloren cannot lie to herself. “You seem tired.”

Eloren shrugs, running her fingers over the thing’s slender, muscular waist. Its skin is warm, and rough with years of weather, branched by stretchmarks and scars. “I’m always tired.”

The thing clicks its tongue, and long, calloused fingers cup her cheek. Eloren leans into its palm, but resists the urge to shut her eyes. She’s self destructive, not suicidal. She looks up into the thing’s eyes: sketched so exactly like her own Morrigan’s, with lashes thick and dark as smeared coal, bright against the vivid paint she wore in a band across her browbone and cheeks. The thing smirks, and that is like the Morrigan she knows. Eloren sways closer like a sapling in a gale.

“I know a remedy for that.”

The thing’s hand slips back into Eloren’s hair, scratching blunt fingernails against her scalp. Eloren shivers, and the thing slips its thigh between her legs, bending to press a kiss to the tip of her ear. “What say we truly tire you out, hm?”

Eloren’s hand tightens around the thing’s waist as it leans down to kiss her neck. Her other hand comes up to pull loose the leather tying up her lover’s hair, and she relishes the thick fall of warm weight against her forearm as she presses Morrigan closer. Her hands move to the fastenings at the back of Eloren’s robes, but Eloren stops her. “Kiss me.”

Again, she smirks, pausing before she tilts her head to murmur with laughter on her lips. “I should warn you. I bite.”

[spacesnail3000]

The C Line

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Summary: Every night, Steve gets on the C Line with her at 34th Street-Penn Station and follows her down the line to her stop in Brooklyn. Tonight, he takes part in a bit of in-transit entertainment. 

Word Count: 2,041

Warnings: Non-con smut, public smut, fingering, masturbation, Steve is pretty filthy in this what can I say; THIS IS A DARK STORY, 18+ ONLY

A/N: So I am self isolating but I have also been sick! Which has been fun haha and by fun I mean the worst time of my life 🙃

I really haven’t been up to writing, so here’s this thing I wrote last month and haven’t edited. Sorry for the mistakes, I have barely read this over since writing it. ALSO I’m sorry I couldn’t give you guys much else during this trying time! We’ll see what happens once I start to feel better <3

Main Masterlist

X

Steve met her for the first time before she met him. Touched her before she had even seen his face. It wasn’t how he had planned for them to meet, but the opportunity presented itself and it was so, so beautiful.

It was just after a Knicks game, played at home, and the Knicks had won against the Lakers 119 to 112. Steve had watched it from the bar she worked at, tucked away in a table at the back while she cleaned dishes in the kitchen. He couldn’t see her but he knew she was there.

Her shift ended just as the game finished, the rest of the bar celebrating Tim Hardaway Jr. and Kevin Knox as she put away her apron and slipped out the door. After throwing down some cash for his tab, he followed her out. Soon the streets were flooded with excited patrons of the game and hundreds of people flooded into Penn Station, dozens hopping onto the C Line.

Somehow, in the packed train car, he managed to get close to her, standing almost right behind her as she held onto the bar in front of her. He had a good hold of the handle strap above him, but as a few more people got onto the train, packing it a little tighter, he took the opportunity to press himself up against her and hold onto the pole above her head.

She stiffened at the feel of his hard body pressed into her back and looked resolutely forward, even as he mumbled an insincere, “Sorry,” close to her ear. He was thankful she didn’t look back at him—not that she would’ve recognized him, anyways. The beard had grown out again, and his hat covered his face well, and he was always careful not to get too close to her when he watched her.

Still, he had plans for her. This was just a little taste for him, a free sample, an appetizer. 

She felt so soft against him, and although her thick coat provided a hefty barrier, her thin leggings had her ass pressed right up against him. He had her trapped, wedged between his body and the bar in front of her. Surely she could feel his erection growing against her from the way she squirmed away from him, only to have the pole and other oblivious pedestrians block her path to freedom. 

Nobody was watching them—all wrapped up in their own conversations, the train packed too tight for any movement. No one would be able to see him if he put his hands on her.

Her discomfort was palpable already, but Steve brushed past it, placing one hand on her hip, not wavering even as she jumped. It was only when he slid his hand back to grope her ass did she start to turn around, but he stopped her as he shoved her harder into the metal pole with his body. 

“Face forward,” he growled in her ear, gripping her ass tighter now. She flinched from the pain of his fingertips digging into her soft flesh, but she obeyed his request. He grinned, lust pulling deep in his lower belly from her submission. “Good girl.”

“Please stop,” she whispered, voice tight like she was trying not to cry.

“You’ll enjoy this, sweetheart,” he muttered before bringing his hand to the front of her leggings. For a moment, he palmed her cunt through the fabric, rolling his fingers against her until she wiggled her hips forward to try and escape. “Stay still, baby girl. Otherwise, you won’t like what happens.” 

She stayed quiet, lips pressed together until they turned pale, drained of blood, just like her knuckles clutching the subway pole so hard he thought her joints might pop.

It was only when he could smell the faintest scent of her cunt moistening, almost overshadowed by the smell of her sweat building under her coat, did he slip his hand up past her coat and sweater and then shove down past the waistband of her leggings and between her legs. 

She gasped when he pressed his fingertips against her pussy through her panties, and she was shaking in his arms as he adjusted her coat with his other hand to hide his movements. His hand made small circles against her clit, playing with the pressure until she squirmed away with a whimper, thighs clenching automatically on his hand.

“There we go, baby. Just relax and let it happen.” As his fingers slipped past the gusset of her underwear to feel her skin directly, he chuckled deep in her ear, tickled by her whining, her weak resistance, even as he got her cunt wet. 

Steve regretted not doing this sooner. His cock was so hard in his trousers, and every part of her was soft—her ass as he pressed himself against it, her hair as he ran his nose across the top of her head, the lips of her cunt, already soaked in her juices. And she was so fucking warm against his fingers, bitten by the cold. He could feel wiry hair around her opening, and that would have to go, but otherwise, she was perfect. 

It was then that she grabbed his wrist, trying to yank him away. He was too strong for her, of course, so his hand didn’t budge, but she kept trying until he pinched her clit between two fingers, harsh, unforgiving. The choked little cry that gurgled up from the back of her throat was drowned out by the noise of the train, and he didn’t let up on her.

“Stop resisting,” he growled, “And don’t make a sound. I know you want this. You’ll learn to enjoy it if you relax.”

With a resigned whimper, she held onto the metal bar with both hands, leaning her forehead against them as he worked her up.

Everything about her was wonderful. His senses, usually in overdrive, focused in on her, drowning out the rowdy crowd around them, the talk of the basketball game, the announcements overhead on the subway speakers. Soon he couldn’t even smell the vague stink of the train and its inhabitants, was absorbed in her, the tickle of her hair against his face, the way it smelled mint and jojoba oil, a distinct scent that he recognized from the brand of hair products she used. 

It wasn’t long before he slid his fingers down to her opening and felt the wetness that had collected there, slippery wet that he spread with broad strokes of his fingers all around her inner and outer labia, her clit, and even back around her perineum and asshole, which made her clench up and tremble in fear. He didn’t linger there, going back to rub her clit again, then continuing the process once she was dripping again, proceeding to spread more of her juices around her skin on the apex of her thighs, some getting soaked up by her leggings.

He wanted her messy for him, sloppy wet and so drenched everywhere that she would feel him as she walked home, sticky and cold between her thighs.

Once he was satisfied, he brought his fingers back to her entrance, dipping just the tip of his index finger inside of her, feeling the resistance from her tight walls. She whimpered in discomfort; his fingers were bigger than her own, he knew, and he had never seen her with a boy since he’d started watching her.

He had speculated that she might be a virgin before this, but his internal probing of her confirmed it. His finger eased in gradually, pumping in and out, palm pressed firmly against her clit and pulsing with every dip of his finger. 

Steve groaned and rutted his hips against her, tucking his face into her neck, smelling her—everything about her, fresh and sweet. “Saving this cunt just for me, hmm?”

She shook her head, breaths coming faster now, knuckles turning pale on the metal bar. “No!” Her voice was so soft compared to the rattling of the train and the droning conversation of the people around them. “No, please, stop—”

Her words were cut off with a gasp as he sunk his entire finger inside of her, almost immediately finding that spot in her pussy and pulsing his fingertip against it until she was trembling and leaning back against his body.

“Good girl,” he grunted again, lips pressed to her neck. “Getting soaking wet for me, aren’t you? Hmm? That’s right, baby, feel how your little pussy loves the way I touch you. Getting off to a stranger touching you on this filthy fucking train. You’re a little slut for it, aren’t ya?”

She shook her head, squeaking out a barely-audible, “No! No—I’m—"

His second finger sunk into her opening and her words cut off, her eyes pinching shut in pain until he manipulated her clit with his thumb, drawing that sweet, sweet pleasure out of her again.

Her reactions were addicting, the conflict in her expressions, the way she was both uncomfortable and turned on, afraid yet helpless to his handling of her, trapped against him, completely at his mercy.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

While he kept her pinned with his body, he reached into his own pants and pulled out his cock. It was already so hard, had been for so long, and intensely sensitive. Gripping his shaft in his hand, he took care not to draw any attention as he stroked himself in time with his fingers pumping into her pussy. He managed to cover his front with the back of her coat, and she stiffened again once she felt his cock against her lower back.

“Please stop,” she mumbled into her hands. “Please, please, please stop…”

“Begging for the wrong thing, sweet girl,” he growled into her hair. He hiked up the back of her shirt along with her coat, and then it was the bare skin of her back against his shaft, and he couldn’t help but open his mouth in silent pleasure, let out a deep breath against her scalp, grind his cock hard against her soft skin until it was wet with precum. “So perfect,” he grunted, “So soft, baby. You’re perfect—new you would be.”

“Please,” she whimpered again.

He began to move his fingers inside her again, shoving them in deep with a quick apology. “So sorry, baby, didn’t mean to neglect you.”

“—Oh—” Her mouth opened wide, eyes clenched shut, sweat giving her skin a shine, and he could feel the way her cunt fluttered around his fingers, soaking his skin down to his knuckles. A tiny noise escaped her, a bit of a squeak, and he couldn’t help but laugh at it. 

“Oh yeah, sweetie, you’re the perfect little whore for me, aren’t you? C’mon, baby, you’re already drenching my fingers. Come for me, come on, come for me right here—”

And she did, and she was so, so beautiful, even in the flickering lights of the train, even amongst every single degenerate New Yorker in the city. 

The feeling of her tensing up in his arms, every muscle tightening and releasing along with the walls of her cunt, her juices dripping down his fingers and into his palm—it made his come, shooting off onto the bare skin of her back, hips grinding against her and making a mess on his cock and on her skin.

“Good girl,” he groaned, “So good, sweetheart. So good for me.” He pulled away slowly, tucking himself back in and then replacing her shirt over the stripes of come on her back. He gave it a little pat, making sure it would stick, and he smirked against her neck. “Just a little something to remember me by.” 

Before he slipped away from her unseen, he placed a wet kiss on her neck and then took one last glance at her.

In the aftermath of her orgasm, soaked in his come, even as she trembled with fear, she glowed for him. She glowed just for him, and he knew then that he would devote himself to making her his own.

His little doll, his sweet girl, all for him.

X

Let me know what you think! Any feedback is welcome 💕

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (10/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Okay, so this is mostly fluff, thank goodness. And, finally, some answers about who took her. Nothing canon, but definitely fun to mess with. Anyway, please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of experimentation, brief description of injury

Part 9

“Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but when can I go home?” I ask.

"We want to make sure you're healed enough to be on your own," Steve says. Bucky gives him a very pointed look and he clears his throat. "But I think you should be cleared before the end of the week."

I nod. "Okay."

"You're not going to argue on that?"

I shrug and shake my head. "No. I don't really see any point in doing so. I’m hurt, you’re telling me that I need time to heal. Seems pretty straight forward.”

"I see."

"Was there anything else?" I ask.

“It can wait till you’re feeling better.”

“No, Steve, I’m fine now.” He frowns and I tilt my head to the side. “What is it?”

“What connection do you have to Dr. Danielle Hoffman?”

“I don’t… is she the woman from the barn?” He nods. “Right. I only knew her as the Doctor. No one used real names and I didn’t bother asking for any, but that doesn’t matter. Dr. Hoffman is the reason that I have wings.”

Clint appears beside the bed. “Wait, you fell into her vat of toxic waste?”

“From what she said, yeah, I think so.” I reach over my shoulder and scratch at my left wing. “There were others like me at one point, but I think they’re dead. She probably found them long before me, partially because I wasn’t supposed to exist.”

“How so?”

“I fell into a vat of whatever was leftover from her initial experiments, I think. That’s how I got my wings. She didn’t have an answer when her lackey asked when I was made.” He opened his mouth, but closed it immediately. “What?”

“What’d she do to you? And why?”

“Steve,” Bucky warns. “That’s enough,”

“It’s fine, Buck, I’d rather talk about it than keep it bottled up. Besides,” I reach out and he grabs my hand. “Considering I’m not dead, I probably got off easy. The rest weren’t so lucky.”

“Okay.” He sits beside me on the bed and envelopes my hand in both of his. “You can stop any time.”

“I know,” I murmur. He kisses the side of my head and I smile. Steve clears his throat and I cough awkwardly. “Anyway… the Doctor was incredibly clinical about everything right up until the last few days, but I think she freaked out after a couple guards saw Clint and Bucky lurking around. That was about when they belted down my wings and started actually leaving marks when they hit me. Partially my fault, if I’m being honest.”

“None of that was your fault, (Y/N).”

I nod. “Mm, yeah, except when I punched a guard in the eye and then intentionally egged them on.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“I don’t know! I was tired of being manhandled and jabbed with needles and dragged hither and yon at every hour of the day. When they were told to hit me, something took over and I told them to not puss out.” I laugh before realizing how morbid it sounds. “Stupid as it is, this really isn’t the worst I’ve been hurt. They didn’t really try all that hard when they came at me.”

“That’s still not okay,” Steve says.

“No, I know that. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but they hadn’t gotten a single reaction out of me that they wanted since the first day. Their bark was entirely bigger than their bite.” I lean against Bucky and he sighs. “But in that moment, I realized that you’d found me. It was just a matter of time until you got me out of there.”

“Didn’t figure you’d be in Michigan,” Bucky mutters.

I rub my hand up and down his arm. “Still.”

“Was there anything else you learned about Hoffman?” Steve asks.

“No. I was unconscious during most of the tests. She didn’t want me moving around while she worked. Why?”

Steve shakes his head. “Everything we’ve been able to dig up on her leads back to A.I.M., but after that it’s a dead end.”

“Well that would make sense. A.I.M. focussed on genetics for a long time, right? Aldrich Killian weaponized it, but I doubt he was the first one in the agency to do so.”

“You’re right, but Hoffman hasn’t been associated with A.I.M. for almost twenty years.”

“Even better for her, right? If she’s not under their roof, no one can hover while she experiments on, and inevitably mutilate and kill, live, human specimens. Being out on her own was probably the best thing that happened to her.”

“That… that makes a lot of sense.”

“She probably dragged a bunch of disgraced A.I.M. grunts along with her when she left.”

“She did, actually. There were a handful of private contractors in her crew, but just about everyone has ties to A.I.M..”

“What about that wiry, ratty-looking guy?”

“We’re still looking into him. We don’t have an ID yet, but we do know he was weirdly strong.”

“What if he’s one of her experiments?” I ask. “He seemed to be really close to her, not in the way that an evil boss and henchman are close.”

Steve nods. “You’re probably right, I’ll make a note of that.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly very tired, I lean heavily against Bucky. I shiver and he wraps his arm around my middle.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod and mumble, “Just really, really tired.”

Steve takes this as his cue to leave and promises to get back to me with any new information he has before I’m released. I thank him and he quickly disappears out into the hall. Only when the doors close does Bucky help me lay down. He lays beside me and Clint drags a chair up to the side of the bed. He pouts and complains about the hospital bed being too small.

I laugh. “It’s stupid uncomfortable, Clint, You don’t wanna be up here anyway.”

“No, I really think I do,” he counters. “Bucky’s been hogging you since we got you back. I’m just waiting my turn.”

“Aw,” I poke Bucky’s stomach and he grabs my hand. “You couldn’t let him cuddle with me for a little bit?”

Bucky shrugs. “The bed’s uncomfortable. He’d hate it.”

“We could probably move to one of our rooms, if we wanted,” Clint suggests. “The beds would be more than big enough for the three of us.”

“Wouldn’t we get in trouble?” I ask, looking between Clint and Bucky.

Bucky glances over his shoulder at Clint, who gives him a pleading look. “I’m sure it’d be fine. We just have to be careful with you and keep an eye on your injuries.”

I nod. "Okay, let's do it, then."

I look up in time to see a grin flash across Clint's face before he can tamp down his excitement. He takes his time moving his chair back to the edge of the room and fiddling with something on the couch. Bucky helps me sit up, but refuses to let me walk to the room. Instead, he loops my arms around his neck and picks me up. He wraps my arms around his waist and signals to Clint that we’re ready to go.

"You got her bag?" Bucky asks.

"Of course I do."

"My bag?"

"I drove back into the city after we got you back and packed up some things I thought you might need," Clint explains. "Just some clothes and your tooth brush, but you can't wear a hospital gown the rest of your life."

"Thanks, Clint." I reach out and he takes my hand. "I really appreciate that."

He smiles and kisses the back of my hand. “Thought you might.”

Bucky’s room is closest and he uses me to lead Clint down the hallway, gently pulling him along by our linked hands. The three of us bundle through the doorway and Clint drops my bag in the chair next to the dresser. Bucky allows me to stand on my own and I move to sift through the bag on the chair.

I find a pair of soft leggings and immediately put them on in place of the thin boxers I was provided. I pull one of my shirts from the bag and stare at it, knowing full well that I won’t be able to wear it. It’s too tight and would rub against my still too sensitive skin. I sigh and let it fall back into the bag.

Clint places a gentle hand on my waist and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t wear my shirts. They’re too tight to get on with my injuries.”

“That’s not a problem,” Bucky says.

He pulls one of his shirts from his dresser and cuts two slits down the back from neck to hem. Clint helps me out of the hospital gown and I readjust the straps of my sports-bra before taking the altered shirt from Bucky. I yank the neck over my head and slowly slip my hands through the arms.

“Where’d you get this?” I ask. “It’s huge.”

Bucky shrugs. “Big shirts are more comfortable to sleep in.” He lifts the middle flap from my right wing, positions it between my shoulder blades, and ties the slits off at the hem. “Is that comfortable?”

I shake out my wings and nod. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

I crawl into the unmade bed and lay on my left side. With one eye closed and the other slightly cracked, I watch Bucky change into a pair of sweats. Clint simply strips off his jeans and climbs onto the bed with me. He pulls me to his chest and pulls the covers up to my chin. Bucky slides in beside me and places his hand on my back. Clint rolls us slightly so that Bucky can press closer without crushing my wings. Clint’s hand presses between my wings while Bucky’s arm snakes around my middle. His hand splays out over my stomach and his warmth practically seeps into my skin.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bucky asks.

I nod. “I’m just sore now, for the most part.”

“Tell us where it hurts?”

“Pretty much everything from the waist up,” I say. “I think my arms got overextended when they chained me up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Clint murmurs.

“Sometimes it still feels like my wings are strapped down.” I sigh and scrub one hand over my face. “It’s hard to sleep when you guys aren’t there.”

Their arms tighten around me, but neither of them speak. With Clint and Bucky tangled around me, I feel so safe and secure that I can finally just relax. The silence that blankets the room is soothing instead of stifling. There’s no urge to explain away the pain or make excuses.

Bucky kisses the back of my neck and I cover his hand with mine. My body grows heavy and I slowly drift off to sleep.

The door slams open startling the three of us awake. I grip Bucky’s hand and both Clint and Bucky’s arms tighten around me.

“Bucky, she’s gone.”

It’s Steve.

“The hell are you talking about, Rogers?” I manage to say.

“But you-”

“Medbay is cold and silent. It’s easier to sleep here, with them.”

“We’ve got new intel, he says, breezing past what I just said.

“Okay?” I try to bury my head in the pillows. “It can wait till tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Go away, Steve,” Bucky says. “She needs her rest.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Clint muffles his snicker against the pillow. “Go away. She’ll find you tomorrow.”

Steve sighs. “Fine.”

He retreats and the door closes.

Bucky sighs and grumbles something about “getting out of here asap.”

“Steve said I’d be cleared before the end of the week,” I mumble. “I’ll bother him about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is twelve hours away,” Clint says.

“No,” I poke his stomach and he laughs. “Tomorrow is whenever I can haul myself out of bed, and there’s no telling when that’ll be.”

“Mm, you’re hilarious,” he says dryly.

“It’s why you keep me around, right?”

Bucky snorts. “Go to sleep.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You know that’s not why we keep you around.”

“But it’s one reason?”

“It’s a bonus.”

“Hmm,” I trace my thumb over Bucky’s knuckles. “An acceptable answer.”

“Sleep, (Y/N),” Clint mumbles. “We’re not gonna go anywhere.”

“Okay.” I nod, yawn, and press my nose to his chest. “Okay.”

-----------

Part 11

Finally, finally we can get away from the Hardcore Sad Times and back to interacting with Clint and Bucky (which I think is pretty great, just for my own peace of mind lmao.)

Anyhow, I’d love to see your reactions! I always like knowing what you guys thought, so please comment, reblog, and/or shoot me an ask!

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know!

Tag List:

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This fic:

@avengerscompound​, @nerdy-bookworm-1998​, @shirukitsune​, @keenmarvellover​, @katebarton15, @feelmyroarrrr​

[11daysofapocalypse]

Can we have a physical description of our main cast members? 👀

*rubs hands together* I haven’t been waiting for this question, no sir!

Clara, our lovely lady, is of average height for a woman, about 5’5”, with wavy black hair that reaches about her mid back, and quite pale skin. Her eyes are a bright gray, and her features are generally delicate, with a heart shaped, soft face, and small, petal shaped lips. Her body is fairly well-developed, with a slight but not exaggerated hourglass figure, and slim legs and shoulders. While she does look her age, at 21, she has a sort of vitality in the way she carries herself that tends to attract people to her.

James is 6’0” and built very leanly, along with having large hands and feet (he tripped over the latter quite a lot in his youth). He has short, straight blonde hair that’s usually rather unruly, like the 2nd picture in the fancast, and deep brown eyes. His face is thin, as are his lips, and his jawline is fairly sharp, despite the smallness of his face. His skin is a bit peachier than Clara’s, and his hands and arms are quite veiny. He gives off the aura of a college boy, with his beanpole like build and occasionally unsure demeanor.

Adriano is very tall at 6’5” and built quite muscularly, with thick arms, broad shoulders. and clearly defined abdominals. His skin is olive toned, his eyes are deep green, and his hair is black and slightly wavy, long enough to cover the back of his neck. He has a strong jaw and chin, with full lips. We also know he has a magnum schlong 😏. To outsiders, he seems like a generally polite, confident young man. But of course, Clara knows him quite differently...

Michele is 6’3” and is more wiry than Adriano, although he is still quite strong. His hair is straight and short, shorter than James’s, and colored an ashy brown. His eyes are very dark brown, so much so that they can be mistaken for black. His skin is light olive, his facial features are sharp, and his hands are very large. His demeanor is typically cool and detached, contrasting with Adriano’s polite, welcoming appearance.