dw-writes

[dw-writes]

I cant read it right now but corts fics never fail to disappoint so give this a read and go read her other stuff!!!! its all fucking amazing!!!!!

BOUNTY

hot outlaw x engineer!reader | 2.8k

story summary; shortly following the death of your mother, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate offspring of a railroad tycoon with insurmountable wealth and power meant to inherit it all. after a hasty departure from home to begin your journey across the continent of san-am, your train is stopped and boarded by a mysterious man in black tatters who claims to be there kill you.

story warnings; mentions of death, mention of bodily fluids and excrement, heavy worldbuilding, mentions of conspiracy to murder, kidnapping, neo-western setting, old-west slang used, usage of unique slang, not really proofread or edited, concept piece for a much larger project.

if you enjoyed, please interact & reblog this post!! ❣️

Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.

Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.

Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel. 

You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.

“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”

She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.

After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into. 

Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.

“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”

Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car. 

The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.

You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.

A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat. 

The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps. 

And then, there was silence. 

The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.

“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”

“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”  

From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.

“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”

“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”

Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.

Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.

And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather. 

You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins. 

And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.

You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim. 

He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.

“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”

“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”

“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.

He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”

“Who hired you?” you demanded. 

His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”

“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”

“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.” 

“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”

He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”

You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders. 

“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”

He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others. 

“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?” 

You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”

A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut. 

“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”

You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”

Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”

You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead. 

It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.

“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”

“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”

In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”  

“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said. 

A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.

His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them. 

“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”

“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.

He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”

a/n: so, this is a concept piece to a very large neo-western project I'm currently in the process of outlining and fleshing out. most things mentioned in this little oneshot will not be present in the final piece, the quality will, of course, be substantially better.

jericho is an outlaw with an extremely complex background story and will definitely be one of the more interesting characters I've ever written. he's not necessarily the sort of man you want entangled in your life, but he's loyal to a fault once you have his trust. his personality tends to revolve around "taking things as they come", which is a great nuisance to those around him. he likes a good challenge, strong liquor, and good medicine.

here's a brief glossary if you're interested:

san-am: the continent where events take place. no one knows what it used to be called because most historical documents have been lost. it's divided into five territories with a "capital".

grimerise: the central hub of commerce, home of the governing bodies. it's a large city dead center of the other four territories. mc was born and raised there. the university of san-am is also here.

st. corpus: the industrial heart of san-am, found down south near the seaboard. mc's father lives there.

"gris": currency in this world. its components are coins and bank notes. it is a relatively new thing to come about because the bartering system is still the preferred method of trading.

#fic recs

[dw-writes]

Real talk- when Info and Sweeney finally have sex… would it be gentle and sweet to suit an apology sort of mood OOOOR is it gonna be feral and rough to better suit Sweeney’s ‘madness’ and appetite for Info?

oh man hm...

well, I originally had something written for after this last chapter, but the Chapter went a lot different than I'd planned, so that got scrapped. It was a little more rough and desperate.

but their first official time, as info and lugh, is very sweet because they finally get to be together. like finally taking a breath after holding it for ages.

#dw speaks #the invasion series #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader #american gods

[dw-writes]

im at that point where I feel like I need to take everything down and rewrite everything because I feel my writing has been declining fuck

#delete later #im just...idk

[dw-writes]

📣📣📣 SHAMELESS SELF-PROMO 📣📣📣

if you like the idea of a very bleak, dystopian future where androids outnumber humans and you get an android and become the center of his world, you should read my beastly 35k oneshot I posted a couple weeks ago!!

HERE'S THE STORY. I promise it's worth the read!

if you like the idea of rooming and boarding in a vampires estate and being his housekeeper to clean up after his grisly messes, you might just like

a nice, weighty 16.1k, it is exceptionally dark (dead dove do not eat dark) and I would highly recommend reading the warnings thoroughly before continuing, but montague just... scratches that worst possible itch

HERE'S THE STORY

if you want to read a fic as t h i c c as toji, have no fear for I have written that, too!! you're taking care of your abandoned nephew when you come across a hot-ass man in the stairwell of your shitty apartment!! you take care of him, but guess what? he doesn't wanna leave!!! bad habit is the story for you!

HERE'S THE STORY

#promoing my friend cos i love her writing #go read it #its all so fucking good

[dw-writes]

didnt place in the contest I entered so ill share the piece with you guys here later :)

#dw speaks #bummed but not surprised

[dw-writes]

ive hit every single boop button on my dash tonight im so happy

#dw speaks

[dw-writes]

Do you feel like tumblr is dying out? There seems to be a steady decline in the interaction that writers are receiving. So many people keep leaving and it's really upsetting

I don’t feel that tumblr is “dying out” but I certainly feel that people have lost interest in interacting.

There has been a very visible decline in interactions, I notice that my posts aren’t really getting the same level of engagement they were 6 months ago.

I think people are just reading or viewing posts and not bothering to like, comment, or reblog them.

Which is incredibly disheartening

Tumblr writers thrive off of visible engagement!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are huge sources of motivation and quite literally the only thing that let us know if you’ve even seen or read our work! We’re doing this for free!!

It feels like we work on these stories for weeks or months at a time just to plaster them to a wall in an empty room.

If you don’t comment, reblog with a hashtag, or even grace us with a note — we have no clue what you think or if anyone is even getting our work on their dash or in the tags we put on the post… it honestly sucks.

#because it’s very easy to get sick of this when nothing is given in return #>>> prev tags bc may is right #theyre both 100% right #support your fandoms

[dw-writes]

Were angel!reader and Lilith kinda friends through Lucifer before the Fall?....Maybe a bit crush ?👀

:3

Lilith's, Luci's, and our Angel's relationship will explored more through memories and such as the story progresses

#dw speaks #angelic rip off series

[dw-writes]

Why are Stolas and Sins are being so kind to MC!Angel? Was it because she was a fallen?

Well, that and Stolas is a kinda person, so we've seen? So are the sins (sans Mammon).

The only times we've seen Stolas as mean or cruel is when I.M.P. was trapped in the human world, when Via ran away, and when he's fighting with Stella. He might be a demon, but he's not a terrible person. I think he'd really care about someone who literally fell in his lap in such a disastrous way.

The Sins, too. Theres some we havent seen much of at all, but besides Mammon, they're kind people. Bee wants Loona to loosen up and enjoy herself, she's about indulgence to a limit, but don't force yourself. And while Ozzie was mean to Stolas during House of Asmodeous, he's keeping up a front to keep a secret that he's terrified of getting out (that he later drops in Midseason Finale/post-2 Minutes Notice) so I can't see him being cruel to an angel. A little indifferent maybe, but also sympathetic (he'd feel some kind of way for the angel, because he sees a little bit of his Froggie).

And then there's Mammon who is greedy through and through. He'd capitalize on MC!Angel at the drop of a hat if he could, have the angel strung up in a cage Ye Ol' Freak Show style or performing (Glitz and Glam have wings, he's 100% figure out a way to abuse that from the angel).

Bel is mostly concerned. Bel is shown to be linked to medicinal things - medications, hospitals of all kinds, ect., but specifically those that could cause a slowing down or numbing feel (Stolas's anti depressants, the nurse at the hospital when Loona's taken for shots, etc.) so I headcanon that he's concerned. Later on, its possible for that to change (Concern into curiosity).

Satan knows how rage feels. He's literally the king of Wrath. And for him whats better than an angel exhibiting his primal sin? (This can also be applied to Ozzie in later chapters). But also that he knows how it feels to be set aside in such a way. He's mistaken for Luci far too often (as we saw from Mammon), and its not something to be brushed off as the sin of Wrath.

Levi is going to be a special case. I have VERY BIG PLANS for the Queen of Envy, and they all involve her getting as close to the angel as she can.

Please keep in mind, everything outside of Bee, Mammon, and Ozzie are headcanons, and Bel's is based on observation. Everything else is headcanon.

#dw speaks #hazbin hotel #angelic rip off series

[dw-writes]

do i have a lot of ideas?

YES

have i written any of them?

NO

why?

DEPRESSION

#dw speaks #thanks for coming to my ted talk

[dw-writes]

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats  🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?  🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love 🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that? 🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis 🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help? 🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love 💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now?  🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis 🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?  🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before 🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time?  🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings 🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual? 🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now 📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?  🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character 🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project? 🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on ❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best? 🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity 🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh  🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work? 🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate 🥝 ⇢ do you lie a lot? what's the most recent lie you told? 🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately  🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?  🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing 🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises? 🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here ☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? 🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them 🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them 🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it 🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

#sure #ask meme

[dw-writes]

Is "Angelic Rip Off" a slow burn? 'cause it feels like it

Yes! Its outlined as a slow burn

#dw speaks #angelic rip off series

[dw-writes]

It's really freaking warm my heart that the Main Sins and Stolas and Octavia are quickly warming up to an angel, even they're enemies. I wondered why but then again, their king of hell is a fallen angel. I like that Satan and Stolas are basically becoming brother figures for her in her time trouble 😊

lol thank you! I figured that, since we see so many sides of Ozzie when interacting with Stolas in Helluva Boss, that he's probably a friend behind the scenes, he just has an image to uphold (until later - which where we currently are, midseason finale of season 2 hasn't occurred yet) I mean, the way I see it, currently in Hellaverse, we haven't seen the angels being antagonistic to hellborn - they're not even allowed to kill hellborn, which who knows who actually made that rule if it was Lucifer or if it was God himself.

But I'm glad you like it!! I thought if anyone, Stolas would understand someone literally being shoved into a situation that they don't 100% understand but have to navigate with grace (his marriage).

And Satan makes me giggle. It was actually @lpwrites who came up with the idea that he's a Lucifer recolor when we were talking about it one day (because Lucifer and Satan are interchangeable throughout the Bible, even though at times they're set up as two different people) and I ran with it, mostly because I think him being a jump scare to people who think it's Lucifer is hilarious :D

Anyway that was a really long reply to say that I'm glad you're enjoying the relationships so far!! I have even more down the line - like Leviathan being a major player once she's introduced in chapter two! :D (edit: i wrote season two and episode two before finally managing to write CHAPTER TWO HAHAHAHA)

Thank you for enjoying so far!!

#dw speaks #angelic rip off series #i rambled lol #hazbin hotel

[dw-writes]

I made a height comparison since we know Charlie's height, at least any search I do comes up with this. Compared it to my OC I imagine when I read your fics :D But now it makes me more curious about HH Lucifer since he seems even shorter than my guy 🤔

Oh I love this!!! I honestly don't know the height for HH Lucifer - everyone has different things. I've seen people say he's 5'2 and that he's 6'2 but I don't know! :D But I love this, and I'm so happy that you shared it with me!! (listen, he's an angel - you can make him any size you want)

#dw speaks #angelic rip off series #i love this so MUCH!!!!

[dw-writes]

Kinktober 2020 - Shower/Bath - Éomer x Fem!Reader

WHY did this give me so much trouble??? because I couldn’t remember Eomer’s personality, that’s fucking why. I hope i did him justice? And I hope that you guys appreciate this!! This is a little longer than some of the other kinktobers but thats okay eue*

PLEASE remember to block the tags KINKTOBER 2020, SMUT, and LEMON if you do NOT wish to see these kinds of posts on your dash!! Thank you!

The halls of Meduseld were cool for the winter months, bringing in a chill that you had yet to shake since the longer nights had set in. Even with your heavy robes, the cold night sunk into your bones. You slipped from your quiet room, wrapping your robe around you tight, and headed down the hall, towards the bath that sat near the back of the Great Hall. Your candle hardly cast a shadow, and the closer you got to your destination, the lighter the halls became. You slowed before the door, finding it cracked open, and a small cloud of steam rolling from around its wood. You shifted in front of the door to peer through the crack to find a very familiar man sinking into the water with a groan.

You shifted back as warmth flooded your cheeks. You had been close to Éomer for as long as you could remember – learned to ride horseback with him, learned to fight with swords and with spears with him, comforted him when his father was slain in battle and his mother died of grief, joined the Éored with him despite your mother’s many complaints – and during all of that time you had developed deep feelings for him, feelings that you as a lay woman and one of his riders had to put aside. And that was all when he was merely the third Marshal.

Now, he was king of Rohan.

Keep reading

#lotr #lord of the rings #eomer #eomer x reader #smut #lemon #lol someone brought this back in the funniest way #so here it is

[dw-writes]

It's pretty sweet of Lilith giving trust to the only angel in heaven to care of Charlie and Lucifer 🥺 (even our MC is confused but will remember that) in "Angelic Ripp Off". I'm kinda hoping Lilith won't be a villain in S2 though.

I have SUCH mixed feelings about canon Lilith, but Angelic Rip Off Lilith is (hopefully) complex but not really a villain. But who knows!! We'll see how canon treats her.

#dw speaks #angelic rip off series #hazbin hotel

[dw-writes]

everyone: what's your goal in life?

me: to write a story so soul snatching, so gut wrenching and so devastatingly beautiful that it leaves you crying at 3am when you have a 8am lecture/shift and it inspires people to write entire essays, to write entire fanfics, mood boards and playlists based on it.

#dw speaks #just a little dream posting