#Halle Berry short hair

[magicpotiondaily]

Halle Berry - fave looks (1993 - 2010) ♥️ Part 1

~ Part 2 here

#Halle Berry #Halle Berry part 1 #fashion #moda #formal dress #red carpet #tapete vermelho #Halle Berry short hair

[wonderwomanai]

#halle berry #amazing beauty #cute #feminine beauty #sexy tease #woman #gorgeous women #amazing body #beauttiful girls #beautiful hair #beauty legs #blue jeans #sexy jeans #new jeans #jeans #girls in jeans #jeans girl #jean shorts #blond girl #cute blond #blond beauty #blond woman #pretty eyes #sexy titts #sexy breast #sexy belly

[photoscelebs]

Halle Berry

#Halle Berry #celeb #celebrity #famosa #face #cara #portrait #short hair #pelo corto

[outragedtortilla]

Deadass they all really did.

#Halle berry #Short hair

[zeldasnotes]

The Rising Signs’ 🦢

In The Signs Series™

ARIES RISING

Looks tense like somebody just said something stupid. A lot of them have a widows peak or just a very square hairline to draw attention to their head. The hairline can sometimes be so good it looks like they are wearing a wig, and not only in the forhead but the whole hairline even behind the ears looks super good. They can have a high forhead like Rihanna whos an Aries Rising. There tend to be a ”bitchiness” to them but at the same time they got this innocence to them. Some of them have a babyface while some of them have a more sharp and angular look. Men with this rising sign can have hairline shaped like an M. Might also start to bald early. Some of them might have red tints to their hair or beard and freckles are also common(depends on cultural background tho) Might have oily skin or very ”leather” like texture to the skin. These peoples hair is usually very prominent which is who they can easily be mistaken for a Leo Rising. If they have a lot of Mars squares in their chart they can be very confrontational with a lack of filter. They look very good in anything sporty and tight. These people might have people wanting beef with them because they can come across as cocky or rude when they are not. There is something very respectable with them especially when they have a Capricorn Midheaven. Like you really want them to like you. They also have the most gorgeous eyebrows and face shapes. There is this ”Since nobody else will, I will do it.” They are the ones who might stand up for someone when nobody else does. The real go getters. Unfortunately might be involved in a relationship where they have to do anything because people expect them to.

TAURUS RISING

A lot of Taurus Risings have the Taylor Lautner look with the smaller eyes and short nose, very ”cute” but there is also the Taurus Risings with the longer look like Jake Paul and Robert Pattinsson with the prominent long chin and the small ears. The longer types are usually skinnier with a longer nose while the short nose ones are usually heavier built. If the Ascendant is conjunct fixed star Algol the look can be very intimidating and the person might be more aggressive in both appearance and behaviour like Conor McGregor whos a Taurus Rising. The women with this Rising are very often praised for their good looks like Halle Berry. They have the that calm feminine aura to them. There is a strength to Taurus Risings in a way that they look very kind but at the same time you can see that there is a raging bull inside of them ready to put someone in their place. For example Snoop Dogg whos a Taurus Rising, super kind and funny but very quick to show it of he find an interviewer or fan annoying. These people can have a skin thats completely flawless. They usually have extremely even skintone. They can also have those super small pointy ears. A lot of Taurus Rising look curvy even if they are skinny and if Lilith is on the Ascendant the curves can be very pronounced for example Megan The Stallon. There is always something about the nose that stands out and a lot of them might want to highlight it by having a nose ring. The neck can be very thick and short or super slim and long and they like to show the neck of by wearing a chain. Taurus Rising is found in a lot of criminals especially when it conjunct the violent star Algol.

GEMINI RISING

There can be a roundedness to their features but still pointy? Look at Pamela Anderson and Jessica Biel for example they are both Gemini Risings, very round but still pointy. Can have a cleft chin or a cleft on the nose to show ”hey im parted” or a mole on only one side of the face but very close to the middle of the face to show ”here is where the other side of be begins”. The mouth can be very shapely and while closed might give of the look of an M. Like the opening of the mouth is shaped like that when the mouth is closed instead of just being one straight line. Might remind you of a bird in some way. Some of them stand and walk with their feet pointing outwards like a bird. The upper body can sometimes be larger than the lower body and legs. The nosestrils might not be visible unless you are standing below them. Might color their hair or change hairstyles very often. The Gemini Risings with a longer face usually have a slightly bigger nose like Lady Gaga and Amy Winehouse who are both Gemini Risings. Gemini Risings from a cultural background where big noses/roman noses are not common usually have a rounder face shape with a very ”bent” nose instead. A lot of them have this slightly sneaky look like Drew Barrymore like they just did something very naughty. A lot of them have a signature hairstyle or signature makeup look that makes it easy to know its them. Like Pamela Anderson and her messy bun. If someone said ”paint this person” its easy to paint them and everyone will know who it is. They look good in parted hairstyles and midpart to show that there is two sides to them.

CANCER RISING

Very glossy hair, can look veeeery kind just like pisces rising. Some of them look ”wet” like super hydrated. The iris of the eye is close to the inner corner of the eye. There are two types of Cancer Risings: 1. The ones with the more round face, usually lighter skintone than other family members no matter cultural background, smaller facial features, sneaky eyes, shorter hair, curvy. And type 2. Skinny, darker skin than others from the same ethnicity, longer hair, longer face and big forhead, a longer nose and sometimes a roman nose. Larger eyes than the round faced Cancer Risings. The Cancer Risings with the long face are usually less shy and can be very outgoing while the roundfaced Cancer Risings usually have a more shy personality and they are also more calm personality wise. Type 2 are usually very funny and seem to smile more than type 1. Cancer Risings also have a special relationship to children. They are warm people and when they form connections they want it to last for life. These people can suffer from some very intense moodswings tho. Cancer Rising men come in the same 2 different types too but here the round faced ones are often the more outgoing ones while the longer face ones are less social. Cancer Rising men can often have a M shaped hairline with a very defined widowspeak. The eyes can sometimes bulge out. The round faced Cancer Rising men are usually very into fitness and might have a very defined jawline. There can be some intense issues with masculinity and self esteem in these men since at an early age they knew they were sensitive which was not considered ”manly”. Some of them seek out a mother/father figure in their relationships.

LEO RISING

These people are very confident and might even come across as bitchy. They come in two similar types as Cancer Rising, Selena Gomez obviously being type 1. They take a lot of pride in their hair. Some of these people might have hair so long it touches their butt, but there are also Leo Risings who rock the shorter hair, for example Tina Turner. The Leo Risings with shorter hair might have thicker hair from what Ive noticed. They can have a feline look to them and some of them can have this cute cozy look like Selena Gomez. If afflicted the ego become a real issue here and they might start to compare themselves with everyone around them which can make others back off from them. Men with this rising sign might want to have long hair and you can often see them with a bun. These people love to be seen and might start acting weird when focus is not on them. They love to show off and they love the feeling of being the center of attention. When younger they might be loud or even annoying to get this attention but Ive also seen a lot of very shy Leo Rising. There are a lot of ”cat” looking Leo Risings like Emma Stone with the cat eyes and wider face and prominent cheekbones, but not all of them got that feline look. Jessica Alba for example does not look feline at all and shes a Leo Rising. They love fashion since its their way of expressing themselves and they absolutely love looking good. A lot of them love leopard print. They absolutely love brand name clothes and anything quality since they are a fixed sign. They look sooo good in sunglasses, orange, gold and beige.

VIRGO RISING

Think DOLL. There is a perfection to these people that can be almost creepy. I have a Virgo rising friend and I swear that every single hairstrand on her head is the exact same length. Her hairline is so perfect it almost look like she shaved it. These people are youthful but not in a childish way. The skin can be very perfect too. They are very refined almost to the point you feel ashamed cursing infront of them. Very well groomed. They are ethereal just like their sister sign. Their shyness will often be mistaken for being snobby or arrogant tho. This is something ive noticed with a lot of Virgo Risings, being accused of being arrogant. Some of them are tho since Virgo is a very picky and judgmental sign but most times they are just shy. Their personality infront of people they feel safe with and people they dont differs a lot. There is a charming quality to their mouth and to the way they speak. A lot of them prefer a more natural look and might look better without makeup than with it. There is a ”perfection” here that is impossible to copy. No matter what they wear it looks neat and tidy. They usually have sensitive stomachs so they have to be careful what they eat and ofc they are. They look smart and the eyes can be penetrating but not in the same way as scorpio risings. They dont have that ”I will expose you look” like scorpio risings have they have more of a ”I know what you are doing but I feel bad for you” look. They need to be careful not to be too perfectionistic and picky tho since this can have a very negative effect on their self esteem. There is very often a huge issue with the self esteem with this rising sign. These people might not be approached often because they look ”out of your league”. The head is often diamondshaped.

LIBRA RISING

Looks like they thought of every detail. Not a hair out of place. Ive seen a lot of Libra Risings and they all looked so different tl eachother. I think Libra Rising is the rising sign most affected by their chart ruler sign because they all looked like that sign. But they all had söme things in common and that was flawless skin, symmetric face, nice body with evenly distributed fat. They were also friendly and polite. They spend a lot of time perfecting themselves because these people care a lot about how they are seen. When you see someone and you instantly see think ”that probably took a long time” then most likely a Libra Rising. They know their flaws and they know what their best features are. These people are born stylists. Knowing what need to be hidden and what to highlight comes naturally for them. Not all Libra Risings care this much about appearance tho. And its not always about them being vain, its just that looking presentable is important for them because they are the socializers and they just want to look nice. For them its a sign of respect too. They would never show up at your party underdressed because for them thats disrespectful to YOU. So its not only about themselves. A lot of them have a strong cupid bow and their mouth might even be shaped lile a heart. The outside corners of the mouth are always pointed upwards making them look like they are always smiling. This makes them seem very friendly and makes people approach them easily because you can see that this person wont diss you. Them being so approachable blesses them with a lot of social contacts. They might have dimples either on the lower back or on their face. They can also have a mouth thats always slightly open.

SCORPIO RISING

A lot of teeth showing when they talk, almost looks like they are talking with their teeth, gummy smile and sometimes vampire teeth. Can look very different from other family members for example light skin that cant tan while living in a warm country or dark skin while rest of the family is pale and living in a cold country. Remember that pluto rules being the black sheep of the family so this rising have a high possibility of looking different than other family members. Eyes are impossible to miss because they can be very small or very big. Usually framed by a shadow or darker pigment around the eyes, like they were born with eyeshadow. The scorpio risings with the smaller eyes usually have extremely arched eyebrows and a pointy small nose while the ones with the larger eyes have less arched brows and instead usually have a rounder nose OR a roman nose. There is also the scorpio risings with a more square face and square shaped nose. Some of them have a protruding brow bone giving them a predatory look and adds to the shadow around their eyes. The guys can have a prominent, low hairline and sometimes it almost look like the hair is a helmet. Can also have very pointy ears. Moles and beautymarks. Very good at talking with their eyes. They like to watch people and especially people who they are intimidated by. They cant hide envy, their eyes turn all reptilian when they envy someone. Good at having a conversation without revealing anything about themselves. You talk to them for 2 hours only to leave without knowing anything. Might smile without saying a word when you talk to them, making the conversation uncomfortable.

SAGITTARIUS RISING

There is always something with the walk here. The walk might be extremely attractive and model like or they can be super clumsy, or both. These people will definitely have others noticing them because of how they walk. They are naturally funny without trying. They might look super tall from far away even if they are short because their legs are usually longer than their upper body. They can have a horse like look to them like Kim K. With a longer prominent nose and a oval face. But there is also Sag Risings with a more round or even square face. The Sag Risings with the round or square face usually have a wider forhead and smaller nose. The butt and breasts might be very pronounced and protruding here making them look curvy even if they are not. Might have a protruding belly. The smile will be one of their best qualities. They might walk a lot or just be outside all the time. These are the kind of people who are almost never home. Gen Z Sag Risings might be very different tho since a lot of them have Pluto in the 1st house. These people can be very reckless and sometimes dont think about consequences. They come across as super friendly and have an easy when it comes to interacting with people. These people can be extremely popular especially if mixed with a strong Venus influence. A lot of the most popular people in the world got this rising sign like Princess Diana, Bob Marley, Elizabeth Taylor, Kim K. They just attract attention wherever they go.

CAPRICORN RISING

The arch of the eyebrow starts at the very end of the eyebrow. Looks like they hade work done. Could get wrinkles and grey hair early or have no wrinkles at all at 70, usually one or the other. The hairline on the side can be close to their eyebrows. Looks like they are squinting their eyes to see you better. They usually dont like people who act innapropriately in public and they will show it. Very well mannered and aware of social codes. They care a lot about who they are seen with in public. Very scared of public humiliation. Can look very tired. Might come across as rude. The hair is usually gorgeous and very thicker than others from the same cultural background. Can have a very prominent t-zone. Might have a bigger chin or just very prominent shape. They can also have creases on the sides of their mouth instead of dimples or hollow cheeks. The cheekbones are prominent and high. They look aristocratic. Some of them have very small ears with a pointy top. They can be very petite and have a thigh gap. The teeth will also be prominent and might even protrude making it hard for them to close their mouth completely. Their face change a lot until they reach their 20s thats when they start to grow into their looks(this does not mean they didnt look good before tho). A lot of them experience skin issues but since Saturn rules ”You reap what you sow” they have the possibilty to have really good skin if they take care of it well. The younger years are usually difficult and they might suffer a lot with their self esteem. The best part of their life starts after their Saturn Return. The corners of the mouth usually point downward making them look less approachable but also makes them look serious. They look like they are someone important.

AQUARIUS RISING

These people always have striking eyes. They look tall even if they are short because the limbs are usually long. They can have some very uncommon physical features like super light blue eyes with darker skin tone while everyone else in their family is light, or jet black hair mixed with super pale skin making them look like they colored their hair. Might be hard to guess which country they are from. Some of them can have such a unique look to their eyes that you think they are wearing contacts. Definitely striking. Some of them have a very long chin. The hair have a tendency to stand right up even if they have straight hair almost like they were electrocuted. They can have a very shocking style and they usually have their own look like Nicki Minaj for example with her bangs and pink hair. They look so good in neon colors. Some of them have a shocked expression like Jared Leto. Something about the body language, way of talking or way of thinking might be considered unique and people easily become fascinated by them. The eyes can also be downturned at the outer corners. They could be asked where they are from a lot just like Sag Rising. They are usually popular because they are social and easily gets to know new people. They have this friendly ”I know everyone” aura mixed with their down to earthness just look at Barack Obama. They can have an interesting mix of sharp and soft. The cheeks might be shubby paired with a pointy nose or slim and bony faced with a very rounded button nose. Some of them have a baby face. They might be taller than average or shorter than average.

PISCES RISING

These people have a vulnerability to them. They might look sad or tired. They might have the bedroom eyes like Marilyn Monroe who had Neptune in the 1st house. The lips and eyes are their strongest features. Some of them could even be accused of being on drugs, look at Billie Eilish and you know what I mean. They can look unreal because they have this Disney Princess look sitt the glossy eyes and helpess expression. Some of them even have the baby voice to go with the look. A lot of them look younger than they are and can have that little babydoll look like Barbara Palvin. People might overshare to them a lot. They look much more innocent than what they actually are and people might be disappointed when they find out they were not that helpless damsel in distress. There is usually rumours about them because people cant figure them out so they have to talk about them. They might be quiet when around a lot of people and then super talkative when around people they are comfortable with. Dark circles under the eyes are common too, adding to the sleepy look. The lips might be naturally pouty. The eyes are watery. These people absorb energies easily and they need to learn that not everyone should be trusted. They feel bad for people easily and people can see this. The eyelashes can be longer than average like Zayn Malik whos a pisces rising. They could also have a lot of baby hair forming a natural gloria as the little angels they are. Some of them look glittery because the eyes are watery and the skin is usually watery so everything just shines and glows. Usually shorter than average. The Bratz Dolls of the zodiac.

Aspects to Ascendant is not taken into consideration in this post. Aspects to Ascendant and planets in the 1st house can make you look different than your Ascendant sign. ❕

© 2023 Zeldas Notes All Rights Reserved

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #ascendant

[oftenwantedafton]

Quiver - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Goth Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

a little fluffy office sex smut for Valentine’s Day

Also also available on AO3

There’s no way you’ve been hired on merit alone.

Not looking like that, with your fishnet tights and short skirts and sheer blouses and dark makeup. Everything shaded ebony or a variant of it. It’s all so close to being on the verge of indecent while barely meeting the dress code requirements.

So Steve Raglan assumes this must have been a favor to someone. A relative of yours has an inside connection, getting you this part time job at the social services office for some extra cash while you manage your college courses. Another entry for your sparse resume to supplement your babysitting reference and that job at the coffee shop that you’d worked at the previous summer.

For some reason it’s you more often than not these days that guides the clients back to his office. He can hear the heavy tread of your Doc Martens all the way down the hall from the reception area. He smells your gum, sometimes, mixed berry or cinnamon. Watches the way you lazily blow a half hearted bubble, a thin stretch of the xylitol pushed between your white, white teeth against that dark crimson mouth. The hair you’d hastily pinned up is already coming undone. You’re wearing a choker today, the band of velvet drawing attention to the arch of your throat. The gum chewing is loud, sloppy, wet as you lead a nervous looking middle aged woman to his door. Everything so careless. There is no grace or delicacy here. You bend to retie the undone lace of one boot. The skirt is really much too short for that.

Steve clears his throat and struggles to focus on the individual seeking work across from him. There’s a rip in your tights today that’s driving him mad. Just below the hem of your skirt. In a sea of other openings in that daring weave of material he doesn’t know why that one haunts him so much. He imagines shoving his thumb through it, squeezing your thigh.

The image will not leave his mind and he spends his lunch break that day with the solid wood door to his office locked and the blinds on his solitary window overlooking the parking lot securely sealed before he fucks into his fist until he spills over his hand thinking about you bent over for him.

***

The winter drags on, but Raglan doesn’t mind it much. It’s a welcome precursor to the long, arid stretch of summer months ahead.

It’s nearly Valentine's Day. Red and pink decorations adorn the reception area. Cardboard cutouts of hearts and roses and cupids with bows and arrows, the quivers adorned with lace. Someone in the office always decorates for every holiday. It seems like a lot of effort for very little reward. He’s never been one for festivities or celebrating. He interacts with his coworkers as little as possible. It’s not that he’s not good with people; he could hardly do this profession if he wasn’t. He’s very good at reading people. He knows how to be polite and charming and charismatic. He knows how to feign empathy to extract the information he needs when he’s placing these applicants, sifting past the drama and the sob stories to determine what their qualifications are. He’s not interested in excuses, only outcomes. That’s why his wall is covered in accolades acknowledging his accomplishments and achievements. He’s run out of room for them now. There are several still sitting unframed in one of his desk drawers.

So it’s not a lack of skill that drives a wedge between himself and other people; more like a lack of interest. Most people aren’t worth investing time in. You, though. You’ve certainly caught his attention. And he’s caught you staring more than once, lingering at his door when you have no reason to. He thinks you might be developing a little crush. A small smile here, a flutter of lashes there. There’s something there, dormant, waiting.

The middle aged career counselor has never been anything but polite to you. And you’ve been, well, yourself. So the weeks have passed and there’s been no advancement of any type, no progress in your relationship, workplace or otherwise. You still are the main attraction of his fantasies when he needs to rub one out. It’s shifted from a sporadic event to more of a daily one. He really needs to do something decisive about this one way or another.

So there’s this silly holiday now. A plethora of gift choices. A box of chocolates is what he decides on. Traditional. A classic. Heart shaped box. He’d arrived at the office before anyone else. A card with your name printed on it in capital letters. It doesn’t even remotely resemble his typical cursive. He sets the box beside the keyboard you sit at. It feels like baiting a trap.

Probably because that’s exactly what he’s doing.

***

The morning progresses like any other. You lead the clients in, one after the other. You’re wearing the ripped fishnets today. There’s a crushed red velvet cami beneath the sheer black blouse. Your nails are black with little red hearts on them.

A client has cancelled last minute. You’ve come to inform him. One of the other women who works in reception calls out to you as she passes by. “Did you find out who they’re from yet?” You shake your head. There’s a silver heart dripping from the black lace choker at your throat that swings with the movement.

“What’s that?” So casually inquired. He turns in his swivel chair slightly.

You shake your head again. Your cheeks flush. You’ve already told him about the client cancelling. Something that could have been done over the phone. Yet you’re still hovering by the open door.

“Someone left me a box of chocolates. No one recognizes the writing on the card.”

“You have a secret admirer then? How romantic.” His teeth flash in a grin.

“You don’t…you don’t know who’s written this, do you?” You walk to the desk. You smell like jasmine today. The card is tucked into the waistband of the skirt. No pockets. You hand it to the seated man. It’s warm from the heat of your body. It makes him want to do terrible things to you.

“Hmmm.” He hums thoughtfully. There’s still a smile struggling to break free again, his lips twitching. He’s enjoying this. Seeing you so disarmed. All of that clomping around in your heavy boots and shrouding yourself in your dark colors won’t shield you from him. He’ll access the young woman beneath all of that. “I might.”

“Really?” You reach for the card. He taps the edge against his lips and your fingers drop uncertainly. That rent in your tights makes his mouth water. You’re so close to him. Probably the closest you’ve ever stood.

“Supposing,” he begins, “since I now have a half hour free and it’s nearly lunch time, you take your break now and we discuss it?”

You stare at him. He lifts his brows, waiting for a response.

“Okay,” you murmur.

The trap closes, the bait taken.

***

Steve waits patiently while you go inform the office manager you’ll be taking your lunch now.

Once again you’re hesitating at his office threshold, as if halted by some invisible forcefield.

“Shut it behind you, please.” A click as it draws closed. The career counselor stands and walks towards it, turning the lock.

He sees you swallow, the choker straining against your throat. He’s much taller than you; taller than most people. He looks down and you look up and it matches the images he’s created when he thinks of you on your knees in front of him.

You lick your painted lips. “So, you think you know who it is?” Still trying to be casual. To make it seem like this is anything other than what it is about to become.

“I don’t think. I know.” The amusement is gone from his features. His pale eyes are going dark, the pupils expanding with desire.

“Oh. I thought you said…” Your voice trails off when his hand sits against the side of your neck, tucked beneath your hair. He pushes you and you easily stumble against the door.

“Have you really no idea?”

Your lips are parted. Wicked ruby against the pure white. Temptation. He hears you breathing more rapidly. Lets his fingers thread up into the hair at the back of your head to pull your face upwards. A gasp.

“Well? I’m waiting for your answer.”

“It’s you…”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know you…we’ve barely spoken.”

“Not using words, maybe.” He inhales and exhales deeply. “Would you like to try some more of that…nonverbal communication?”

You nod against the hand still holding you.

His mouth presses against yours. He does not bother with gentle kisses or a soft introduction of lips. There is no time for that and he has waited long enough for this moment. His tongue spears your lips and he tastes you for the first time. You’ve snuck one of the chocolates he’d gifted recently. Bittersweet dark and cherry cordial. You moan against his mouth. He presses his body into yours, so you can feel what you do to him. How crazy you make him.

Steve abruptly pulls away, clutching one of your hands and dragging you towards the desk. He sinks back into the chair and tossed his glasses on the desk before be finally surrenders to what he’s wanted to do for so long, pushing a thumb inside that inviting gape in your hosiery. His other hand disappears under your slit maxi skirt, wedging between your thighs, eliciting another whimper.

“Normally I am all for foreplay and drawing things out, but today is simply not going to be one of those days since we’re both on the clock, as it were.” Both hands now clutch the waistband of your tights and panties and he drags them down roughly until they rest rumpled somewhere around your knees. He thinks he’s made a least one new rent in those tights; at the very least made the previous opening even wider. Pretty soon they will be too indecent to wear in public at all. “Bend over,” he rasps, and you obey, resting your upper body on his desk. The wheels of the chair roll across the plastic mat shielding the carpet and he runs a hand over the curve of each cheek appreciatively. “Stance a little broader,” he urges, fingers dipping between your thighs to stroke along your sex. Another soft moan as your spread your legs further apart. His thumbs dig into your flesh as he separates your cheeks and drives his tongue inside of you.

The noise of pleasure that escapes is anything but soft this time and you clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle it. Steve pauses for a few heartbeats to see if anyone will come knocking. Apparently satisfied this is not the case, he begins eating you out in earnest. He loved eating pussy and yours is a particularly delicious specimen. He can still taste the remnants of soap from your shower that morning. Your own flavor, musky yet feminine. He could happily spend the half hour just like this, but he wants to fuck you and that’s exactly what he does next, standing up and unfastening his belt. Fly opened quickly and his cock pulled free. Rests it against one cheek. Breathing ragged. He makes sure you’re still muffling your voice before he eases into you. There’s a lot to take. You’re not going to be able to keep quiet.

As predicted you whine. The brace of fingers over your lips have slipped a bit. “So fucking tight. I love this wet pussy.” He pushes a little further. Another keen. “You can take it.” The hand curled around your hip tightens. A final shove. “There you go. Good girl.” A snug fit around his cock. Sheer bliss. He withdraws and thrusts back inside, your body jerking across the desk. Steve’s sweating already, teeth gritted. It has been far, far too long since he’s been bottomed out in some hot cunt like yours. No more test runs. He begins fucking into you roughly. Shoves the hem of his dress shirt impatiently out of the way so he can watch his cock saw in and out of you. He wishes he was recording this. You looked so fucking good bent over his desk. The little mewling, keening noises you’re making are driving him insane. “You like that, huh? Answer me you little slut,” he growls.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“You’ve been teasing me for months now with those ripped tights and short skirts. Stomping around like a fucking whore.” He settles both hands on your hips and drags you back onto his prick as his hips snap forward. A sobbing sound somewhere between pain and pleasure. He’s being rough. He really doesn’t care. His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he continues to pummel you. His eyes dart to the clock. The time is passing far too rapidly. He debates about filling up your womb right then. So tempted to breed you. But then there’s your mouth. Yes, that’s where he wants to dump his load today.

He pulls out and slumps back in the chair behind him. Sees you straighten gingerly. Sore already. You’re really going to feel that come morning. “Kneel down.”

The tights and panties are still gathered in a tangled bunch around your knees. He has to help you get into position. Your mascara has smeared. The carefully painted lips are smudged. They’re about to get even messier. His fingers knot in your hair, guiding your mouth to his cock. He heaves a sigh. Your mouth is as perfect as your pussy. He feels your lips stretching to take him in. Another tight, wet hole for him to squeeze into. But you’re still so tentative. He’s going to have to assist you.

Steve forces your head to remain still while he shoves himself against the border of your throat. You gurgle and choke and gag as he unrelentingly batters you several more times before being merciful enough to let you slide back off of him, coughing and gasping for air. Fresh runs of mascara stain your cheeks where the tears have leaked anew from the strain. Your nails dig into his thighs when your head bobs over him again. He lets you control the pace a bit, watching your lips and tongue work over the head and shaft. “Look at me.” Your eyes meet his. He grabs your head and greets the back of your throat again. “That’s it. Take that big cock down your throat. You love it, don’t you?” You whimper, attempting to answer.

He drags his saliva coated dick free and you struggle for more air. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Keep looking at me.” He sets the flushed tip against your moist pink tongue. Wraps his fingers around the shaft and strokes, pushing down on the muscular organ that’s cradling the head of his cock. Your eyes are locked with his. His breathing is labored. So close. His eyes narrow as he frowns. A moan tears loose and he shoots a stream of cum inside your mouth. You blink and struggle but he’s got you pinned in place. A few more creamy sprays paint your mouth. He wipes the edge of his cock off on your bottom lip. “Swallow every drop of that.” He jerks your head back a bit. You close your mouth and swallow, wincing over the taste. “Let me see.” You stick your tongue out again. Clean. “Good girl.”

The bearded man relaxes his grip in your hair. His eyes flick to the clock again. Made it with five minutes to spare. Just enough time for you to put yourself back together and wash up in the bathroom across the hall.

He helps you stand, easily pulling you to your feet. Clothes are shifted back into place. The tights are not as ruined as he’d anticipated. He’ll have to work on them some more another time. You depart his office without comment. He wipes his brow and sits back down at the desk. The card is still lying there, beside his glasses.

The workday continues. You usher in more clients. He finds them job placements. The office closes for the day.

Steve waits for you outside, leaning against your car—black, like everything else you own. He’s watched you from the window of his office exiting and entering it so he’s certain it belongs to you. His arms are folded. He sees your steps slow as you catch sight of him.

“I thought,” he begins. There are roses resting on the windshield. Dark purple. “We might have dinner together.”

You draw even with him.

“I don’t like to be rushed. It’s not how I do things.”

You nod, glancing at the flowers adorning your vehicle. The heart shaped box is clutched to your chest.

“Or would you like to continue where we left off?” He pushes off the car and leans against you, pinning you in place, your body resting crushed lightly between the steel and the social worker’s long, lean frame.

“Do I have to choose only one of those options?”

A smile. “Not at all.”

“Both,” you decide.

The grin widens. “Both it is. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He bends to kiss you.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #william afton smut #steve raglan smut #dividers credit @saradika-graphics

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🗡️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter One

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Allusions of Domestic Violence.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Masterlist | Next

The night is darkest at dawn. Just before the first rays of of the new day struck the horizon, the night drew infinitely black to offer the last bit of night before being smothered by the sun. You loved the silence it brought, giving you a break from the cumbersome and structured life you lived. Yet that indulging peace was fleeting. Never longer enough for you to taste what you truly longed for and only taunting you with something that you’d never reach. Sighing, you rested your chin on your gathered knees and enjoyed what would be your last sunrise at the Bonn Manor.

You’d been born on the grounds, raised in elegant halls, and soon, be married in its chestnut grove. The wedding had been planned for nearly a year, your engagement? Years. Everything had been meticulously designed down to the length of a single blade of grass. Your mother was a bit of a control freak, hadn’t let you put in one word edgewise and it was your own wedding! Not that you were surprised, you’d never once had the pleasure of even choosing your own outfits or meals.

In hindsight it saved you many a headache for you hadn’t lifted a finger in the entire process. The florist had been given strict direction on what bouquets, boutonnières, and accents should look like, not to mention the flower choice. The bakery in the heart of your island had no doubt been working overtime to supply the cake and other specialty confectionery and the tailor had almost moved into the manor to finish the work on your dress.

Your dress.

It had been in production for nearly eight months. Your town, Kuri Island, while known for it’s chestnut trees was also famed for it’s lacework. League and leagues of lace had been stitched just for your dress and that didn’t even include your outrageous veil! It was enormous, beaded and decorated with an innumerous amount of cloth flowers. Your mother really hadn’t spared any expense, tutting that this had been her lifestyle dream to see you married to a powerful man that would ensure that your noble blood line would continue to prosper.

That and the family business. The Bonn’s had a monopoly on the chestnut and lace industry on Kuri island, ruling with an iron fist and ensuring that they remained the most powerful on the island. Your fiancé was the next in line power wise. As a Marine Commodore, Thomas Collins was the only man on the island worthy of your hand… and in just a few short hours he’d have it.

But not by your choice.

This was an arranged marriage drafted by your parents when you were just a teen, to a man very much your senior and cared little for your own feelings. Worse? He wasn’t a good man, or a good Marine. As much as your mother had tried to control the whispers that reached your delicate ears, you knew the reputation Thomas had among the commoners. He wasn’t a good man, he had a habit of cruelty to those far beneath himself, and you’d even heard rumors of bribery. But politics and Berry had trumped over your personal feelings. You couldn’t refuse this marriage, your opinion couldn’t even leave your lips.

Just as the sun began to rise above the horizon, your maids bustled into your room followed by additional ones to tackle the great task of getting you ready for the wedding in a few hours. Ann and Gerbera, your personal maids, hustled over to you. While Ann scanned your lavender bedhead, Gerbera took your hand and inspected your hands.

“I haven’t gone and ruined my nails,” You murmured, not taking your eyes off the glow of the morning sunrise.

“Your mother requested an inspection, my lady,” Gerbera replied, scanning your immaculate fingernails. “Lest you had made an attempt to flee during the night.”

“And where would I go?” You asked vaguely, your eyes taking on a faraway and clouded look. The maids had often seen it appear within your eyes the closer the wedding drew. They were not oblivious to the matter that you didn’t wish to marry Thomas. Had most definitely witnessed your private breakdowns over the years as you slowly realized that your life had never been your own. They were good to you, excellent maids who took pride in caring for their lady… but they couldn’t even move a single finger to help you in your predicament.

“Never mind that, off to the baths,” Ann softly preened, trying to find light in the fact that you would be glowing with beauty once they were done dressing you for your wedding. You let Gerbera pull you from your lonesome and brooding perch, guiding your through your rooms to the grand bathroom that already steamed with scented water. You could smell the strong scent of rose and argan oil rising from bumbling water. You’d been taking baths thrice weekly to soften your skin to that of the finest satin on your mother’s orders, and had started hating the scent. It made you nauseous. This would be your last so you would bear it.  

Standing in place, Ann and Gerbera delicately undid the strings to your nightdress, pulling it from your body to leave you naked. You didn’t hesitate to step down into the bath. The hot water did very little to ease your growing nausea and discomfort. You knew it wouldn’t. But at the very least it felt nice on your stiff body. You had sat at your window for hours without moving, your mind spinning and descending into the dark depths of the pit of hell you’d soon be living in.

Gerbera knelt behind you and took your long lavender hair in hand, gently running an ivory comb through the tangled strands. You winced every time she caught a knot. Gerbera murmured an apology time and carefully unraveled the knot of hair. Your lavender locks weren’t usually a mess, but you’d tossed and turned all last night before getting up a few hours ago to wait for the sunrise. At the very least, once you were married you’d have more control over the length of your hair. The extraneous length was cumbersome and almost like chains to weight you down. Well, almost every part of your life was some sort of a chain or prison.

So while Gerbera continued to tend to your hair, Ann took to managing oils into your hand and buffing your already immaculate nails. They took extra care in placing dabs of oil in key places on your body. Behind your ears, along your neck, and across your wrists. As you would walk the oils would diffuse in the air around you, perfuming you and leaving behind the scent of rose. A scent that drowned you in hatred. It was always rose this or rose that. Rose jewelry and rose dresses. Even a rose themed bedroom!

If you never smelled another rose after this blasted wedding you would die a happy woman…

You stayed in the bath as long as you’d be allowed, but the strict voice of your mother ringing from your bedroom had Ann and Gerbera pulling you from the bath and wrapping you in a towel. They dried you off in record time, no doubt saving you from a stern lecture, and wrapped your wet hair in a drying towel. The three of you winced when your mother’s voice turned sharp and she nearly started shrieking at the poor girl who had added an extra rose to your bouquet.

“It’s not even seven o’clock yet and the madam is already angry,” Ann murmured, almost hesitant to push you back into your bedroom.

“It’s a perpetual state I believe,” You replied, twisting your fingers together. “The day she is pleasant is the day the world has ended.” Toweled dry, you donned a robe and reluctantly headed back to your bedroom. Your mother was still harping on the poor girl who had gotten the number of flowers wrong in your bouquet when you appeared. She rounded on your life a viper and you had a brief momentary thought that she might have given herself whiplash.

“You!” She barked out. “Why are you not sitting down for your hair and makeup?” You remained silent and simply lowered yourself to the velvet and satin chair in front of your vanity. She continued to berate you for things you had no control over and complain over nonexistent errors. It’d be all over in a few hours, you’d trade one jailer for another.

Your hair was dealt with first. Being so long, it took perhaps nearly half an hour to brush it out smooth and braid it. Then it was swirled and pinned into place upon your head with crystal studded pins that dug into your scalp in a painful reminder. You’d been complimented on how lovely the crystal and flower pins looked within your lavender colored hair, and combined with the minimal makeup being painted upon your face you were sure to look the picture of perfection.

“Heaven’s Linaria could you at the very least respect your mother enough to get sleep during the night!” Your mother huffed, fretting and tutting over the bags beneath your eyes the makeup slowly concealed. “I have worked tirelessly to perfect this wedding and I will not have you ruining it with an unsightly appearance.”

“Yes mother,” You replied obediently. Her eyes, echoing your own but with a much harsher  tint, narrowed and she scoffed.

“Knowing you you’ll make a scene at the reception or even ruin the vows. Commodore Collins isn’t expecting a wildling for a wife! He is expecting a well bred, well taught, and docile wife to meet him at the alter. Do not disappoint me.” Your eyes met hers in the mirror for a brief moment before you dropped your gaze. Your silence wasn’t the answer she expected and taloned nails sunk into your pinned and yanked your head back.

Yelping, your fingers dug into your robe as you were forced to look into her cruel and hard eyes.

“Am I clear? You are to behave, Linaria, do not disappoint this family again,” Her warning was well and clear within her eyes. This was the last one she’d give you. Swallowing thickly, you agreed in the softest voice.

“Yes mother,” Your hair was released and you took in a silent breath of relief, grateful that she wasn’t tugging on your hair still. You were sure that a few of the pins would have to be righted after her harsh hold.

“I have to greet our guests, get her ready to dress,” Your mother snapped before striding from your bedroom in a swirl of heavy skirts. Rubbing your neck with a slight wince, Ann took place behind you and quickly fussed with your hair to return it to pristine condition.

“We beg you, my lady,” Ann pleaded, her fingers gently placing the pins back in order. “I fear what will happen to you the next time you go against the madam.”

“And where exactly would I go at a time like this?” You replied, looking at Ann in the mirror. “The manor and grounds is crawling with visitors, the help, and guards. I have nowhere to go. Besides,” You glanced at the wedding dress on the mannequin in your room. “You think I could run in that? The thing weighs more than I do soaking wet.”

After Ann and Gerbera had gotten your hair and makeup just perfect, they’d been dismissed by your mother’s personal maids. She didn’t trust you with your personal maids and had ordered her own to see to dressing you. So you were alone with maids that had no issue enforcing your mother’s orders. They had you get up and stand in the middle of your room, fluttering around while gathering up the layers of your outfit.

You were already in your underwear and bra, a decorative set that your mother had insisted you wear for the wedding, so when you peeled the robe from your body you weren’t especially shy. Valeria, your mother’s favorite, brought over the heavy dress and with the help of Clover, maneuvered the top of the dress over your head. Despite being made from airy lace, the bones of the ballroom dress were metal and ridged, structuring the dress in the precise way your mother had wanted your body to look.

As you placed your arms in the three quarter sleeves with layered lace and starched silk, Valeria’s fingers were quick to work on the strings of the corset. She tightened it immediately, making a small noise of pain emerge from your lips, and only drew the strings tighter and tighter. As elegant and beautiful as you may look, you felt like you were being tied into a jail cell. Clover joined in on tugging the corset tight, and the bruising tightness only grew worse.

You wanted to bite your lip as your ribs began to screech at you, not liking the pressure. But heaven forbid you turned up to your wedding with bitten and chewed lips. Clenched fingers it was. Several minutes later, after being jerked around and squeezed most viciously, the extravagant veil was being pinned into your hair. Another weight to add. Valeria departed to report to your mother while Clover remained to watch over you. Walking over to the grand mirror in your bedroom, you stared at yourself in dread.

You looked like a trussed turkey heading for the dinner table.

You could admit that you looked beautiful, the shape of your waist cinched in and the wide neckline decorated with fabric rose buds accented your collarbones. Months of work on the lace detailing had pulled out a wedding gown fit for a princess… or a lady from a very rich family. But you couldn’t enjoy your beauty, you couldn’t giggle or dance as the skirts of your dress swirled around your feet. You couldn’t enjoy anything about the dress, no matter how expensive or luxurious it was.

By some grace, an extra maid poked her head into your bedroom with a red face. She began rattling off a bunch of issues with minor details of the ceremony space that your mother was throwing an absolute fit over, an Clover glanced at you with a worried look. You could see her thought process. She was supposed to watch over you, but the wedding would not commence without everything being perfect. Well, it wasn’t like you were going to go anywhere. So Clover quickly followed the maid, leaving you in suffocating silence.

Suffocating was an understatement.

Your heart was trying to beat its way out of your chest in pure fear. You had but a mere fifteen minutes before you would be truly locked in an inescapable prison. If you thought it was hard to breath wearing this dress it was nothing to the looming doom that was mere minutes away. Your eyes flickered to the balcony of your bedroom, the doors had been locked after you had tried running before… but with the cleaning of the manor in anticipation for the wedding, they were no longer barred from use.

Memories of what had happened to you as a result of being caught and dragged back to the manor flickered into your mind. You’d never been in that much pain. Fear of repercussion prickled in your veins, rooting you to where you stood. Eyes catching sight of the tops of the ships harbored, your throbbing heart leaped into your throat.

“I’ll never have another chance,” You whispered to yourself, desperation winning over fear.

Date Published: 11/13/23

Last Edit: 11/13/23

Masterlist | Next

#one piece #one piece shanks #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #shanks x reader #red haired shanks

[l0veu-somuch]

(01)

content warnings: reader is basically silent in this :( descriptions of overworking, skipping meals, sleep deprivity, academic pressure & anxiety, mental health

his name is lee donghyuck. he's made of many things, but mostly love. and he wouldn't trade anything else for the world if he could give it all to you.

he would skip class to see you. he would wake up at five a.m. even though his own lecture isn't for another five hours if it means he could pack some pancakes he made by himself and berry yogurt for you to eat because he knows you haven't slept a wink since two days ago. he would wait by the double doors of the lecture hall in which he knows you're taking a midterm for a very crucial course that you've worked hard to get into (something he would always remind you of whenever you felt like you weren't doing well.)

the past three hours was nothing short of torture for him, seeing student by student slowly filter out of the room, being anxious and worried for you. not because he knows you're trying to make use of the allotted time for the exam, but recalling how the stress had wracked your entire being and rolled off of you in waves not even he knew how to subdue.

not long after who he hoped to be the last one to leave, you trailed after them, dragging your feet against the linoleum floors, bags under your eyes, tangled hair limply swaying against your back. he sprung into step, and it felt as though you fell into his open arms the way your chest slammed gently against his, arms coming up to cradle you close to him.

"did so well, my smart girl," he murmurs into your ear, along with a string of other sweet nothings to soothe your pounding heart, riding off of the adrenaline the exam had doused you in. "y'wnna eat anything? or d'you wanna sleep?"

it takes a bit of effort to herald you back to your place, eyes glazed over and shoulders gently heaving as you try to remember what it feels like to even breathe. donghyuck's fingers softly prod at the base of your neck, easing the tension that's accumulated there from all of the time you've spent hunched over at your desk. he presses a kiss to your temple as he presses the button to your floor. if you were a bit more lucid you'd whine at the attention but you easily fall pliant under his warm touch, giving into the affection. he wills the time it takes to travel up to your place faster, only caring about getting you to bed.

"arms up," he cooes at you like talking a toddler down. god you love him so much. you mumble something as he slips your sweatshirt off and into a loose tanktop. "what was that, baby?"

you give up, not gathering enough strength for words, so you raise an arm to point at your desk, messy with opened notebooks and laptop unplugged (when did he do that?). donghyuck's warm palms come up to cup at your cheeks, gathering your lips into a pout he wants to kiss off of you.

"i'll take care of it, okay? lie down for me," he finishes pulling the covers up to your chin like how you did for him when he got sick from walking in the rain. your eyes peek from just above the duvet, watching donghyuck as he zips around your room, cleaning up your mess and taking your laundry out to the washer for him to deal with when you nap.

he nestles into the covers right next to where you lay where there's an empty spot for him to fill. his hand goes up to softly pat at your hair, your head sinking into the crevice between the pillow and his neck. your eyes flutter shut and the last thing you hear is him humming an "i love you so much".

see more here

#nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream fic #nct dream fluff #haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan fic #haechan fluff #mine

[runesandramblings]

Dance With Me

Word Count: 2300

Pairings: Kili x reader

Warnings: None

Description: A company of thirteen dwarves interrupts a peaceful afternoon for the niece of Lord Elrond.

Requested by @dreaming-doodle 🩷 Took a few liberties but I hope you enjoy!

“Lady (Y/N), do you require anything more?”

You lounged back in the crystal tub as the warm water washed soothingly over your body. The flower petals and oils in the water mingled together beautifully, making the air smell sweet. A goblet of your favorite elven berry wine rested on the edge of the tub, and through the open window you could hear light strains of string music drifting in.

“No, thank you. That will be all.” You smiled kindly at the elf handmaiden as she bowed her head and disappeared from the room.

“I could get used to this.” You mumbled, slipping down further into the perfectly drawn bath and closing your eyes.

Your uncle, Elrond, was the Lord of Rivendell. It was typical for you to come on an extended vacation to visit him and your cousin, Arwen, during the spring months. You lived a simpler life with your family in another elven kingdom. The luxuries of Rivendell were never lost on you. Every time you came to visit, your uncle tried to persuade you to stay. Although it was tempting, given the exquisite treatment you were always given during your stay, you never did. You had family back home, and it didn’t feel right to leave permanently.

You lost track of the time as you lounged in the tub, sipping the wine and listening to the faint music you could hear coming from below. As you went to take another drink from your goblet, you jumped at the sound of clanging and crashing coming from the courtyard below your window. Your eyes flew open. What could that have possibly been? You paused for a moment, straining your ears to hear the source of the commotion. Just as you moved to lean back against the tub again, you heard another loud clash and clank.

“What is going on?” You muttered, annoyed that your peaceful bath had been disturbed. You stepped out of the tub and threw your silk robe around your body, not even bothering to dry off first. As you stormed out of your private bathroom and out into the hall, you were greeted by your uncle standing apologetically by your door.

“Uncle Elrond, what is that insufferable noise?” You asked, gesturing backward toward the balcony that ran from your bedroom to the bathroom. “It’s coming from the courtyard. Is everything alright?”

Your uncle looked unbothered, as he usually did.

“Everything is fine. We have some unexpected dinner guests.” He said simply.

You felt an eyebrow raise curiously.

“Dinner guests?” You questioned.

“Yes.” He continued. “A company of dwarves traveling through. Will you join us?”

**

An hour later you were dressed for dinner and heading down the stairs. Your bathrobe had been replaced by more appropriate dinner attire, a light green velvet dress that hung off of your shoulders and flowed out into a short train behind you. The handmaiden Elrond had left to attend you had styled your hair and placed a delicate silver headpiece, very similar to the one your uncle and cousin wore, atop your head.

As you rounded the corner into the dining space you could hear the ruckus of several voices speaking over one another. It drowned out the pleasant strains of the harp and flute players that often accompanied dinner. You’d never met any dwarves in person, but they certainly seemed like a rowdy bunch.

You felt all the eyes of the room turn to you as you entered. Without giving any of the guests a second glance you made your way to the table Elrond sat at, along with a shorter, bearded man you took to be the dwarves’ leader. And…

“Gandalf.” You said, smiling widely at the wizard. “Uncle Elrond didn’t tell me you were here!”

Gandalf stood, smiling in return as he took your hand and planted a delicate kiss on it.

“My dear, you look as lovely as ever. Elrond did not tell me you were here either.”

Your uncle and the dwarf both stood as well, and as you turned your attention to the much smaller man he nodded tightly, not bothering to reach out and take your hand.

“(Y/N), this is Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, this is my niece.”

Thorin nodded once again as Elrond made your introduction, still not bothering to so much as shake your hand. Something told you that dwarves were not ones for pleasantries.

You nodded politely in return as Elrond gestured for one of the servants to bring an extra chair. You quickly lifted your hand as well, indicating that it would not be necessary.

“It’s no trouble, uncle. There is a free seat over there. I’ll make some new friends.”

You could feel several pairs of eyes following you as you moved to sit at the last remaining empty seat at the longer table. It was between two younger of the dwarves, one blonde with beaded braids woven into his hair and mustache, and the other a brunette with a strange hat and twisted pigtails. You smiled kindly at the two as you approached.

“Is this seat taken?”

Both stared at you momentarily before they each shook their heads, indicating that you were welcome to sit.

“I’m (Y/N).” You said, offering an introduction as you settled into your seat.

“Bofur.” Said the one on the right with the braided pigtails.

The one on the left offered a cheeky grin as he took your hand in his.

“Fili, my lady. It’s an honor to meet you.”

You looked across the table at the dwarf who sat before you. He appeared to be young as well, with long dark hair and stubble in place of a full beard. He was looking at you uncertainly, with a shy smile across his face.

“And you?”

“M-me?” He stuttered out.

You giggled.

“Your name, sir.”

“Oh. Uh, Kili.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kili.”

The table remained deathly quiet as everyone ate. You were well aware of the tensions that existed between elves and dwarves; mostly due to the distant Mirkwood elves, who were known to be quite unwelcoming. You hoped their experience in Rivendell might be a good one. Hopefully they’d leave with a better opinion of the elves.

“So…” You finally started “What brings you this way?”

The confidence of your question finally opened the floodgates from the others. They began speaking, mostly over the top of each other, as they clamored to tell you of their quest. As they spoke you caught a glimpse of Thorin over Kili’s shoulder, glaring at the table. You weren’t sure they were supposed to be telling you the full details of their journey, but they certainly didn’t shy away.

The youngest dwarf sitting across from you had particularly piqued your interest. As you spoke with the others he watched you, joining in the conversation occasionally, but mostly watching as you spoke. He had soft, gentle eyes and a kind smile.

Before you knew what was happening you saw Bofur jump up from his seat beside you. You’d partially overheard some of the dwarves complaining about the music.

“Alright lads, there’s only one thing for it.” He said, running around the table. He jumped up on top of a smaller table and began to sing, stomping his foot along to the music.

The others joined in immediately, clapping in time or banging the table along with the beat. You found yourself jumping in as well, clapping along and laughing as several of the dwarves began hurling food at Bofur’s head. You enjoyed their merriment, their carefree attitude. Many elves were high strung, often too concerned with proper etiquette and manners. The dwarves did not seem to care what anyone around them thought.

As Bofur launched into a second song a few members of the company began to stand up and dance. You beamed at the opportunity, as you also got to your feet. You grew up dancing in your homeland. It was one of your favorite things to do. Although the beat Bofur was stomping out was a little more fast paced than you were used to, you were sure you could keep up.

You saw Kili watching you shyly as you stood, and you felt a small flutter in your stomach at the young dwarf’s longing stare. You circled the table to stand beside him and extended your hand.

“Dance with me?”

He beamed in return as he took your outstretched hand in his.

“I’d be honored, my lady.”

As he stood you remembered the small height difference between elves and dwarves; the top of his head came to rest just at the tip of your chin. Neither of you seemed to mind, as Kili’s beaming smile never faltered. He tugged on your hand and led you away from the table, to a clear space on the floor where you would have room to move. He placed one hand on your waist as you rested yours on his shoulder, and with your free hands you held each other’s. Kili quickly walked you through the steps to a dance the dwarves seemed familiar with. You were a quick learner, and within moments you were expertly moving back and forth with Kiil, your footwork matching his exactly.

You danced together through many more of Bofur’s upbeat songs. The pure joy radiating from Kili’s smile made your knees feel weak, and you couldn’t help but wish to know the dwarf better. There was a pull you felt toward him, and you were saddened by the fact that he was to leave in the morning.

As the dishes began to clear away and Bofur stepped down from the table, Thorin came back around to stand in front of his company.

“Everybody, get some rest. We set off early tomorrow morning.”

You felt a pang of sadness as you realized the evening was over. Thorin seemed like a strict leader, and you were certain he would not allow Kili to remain in your company while the others went off to their rooms.

Or, would he…

You caught a glimpse of your uncle from over Kili’s shoulder. He had a knowing smile on his face, as if he’d noticed the budding friendship between you and the young dwarf you danced with. He gave you a subtle nod before turning to Thorin and catching his attention. As soon as he turned his back to the company, who had slowly begun to filter out of the room, you turned back to face Kili.

He gave you a wistful smile as he turned to walk away as well. Without thinking you tightened your grip on his hand, and he turned around to look at you curiously.

“How do you feel about a walk?” You asked quietly.

He grinned mischievously in response. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure Thorin was not watching, before turning back to you.

“Lead the way, my lady.”

While Thorin’s back was still turned you quickly slipped Kili down the stairs and in the direction of one of Rivendell’s many gardens. It was your favorite, and always had been. This garden in particular held Elrond’s collection of rare plants and flowers, items he’d picked up from all over Middle Earth and replanted. Most did not have the skill to care for foreign plants, but the elves had their ways.

You led him down the paths of exotic blooms, showing him your favorites and explaining where each one had come from. You felt his eyes mostly on you as you spoke, and not the plants. As you walked together the conversation drifted from the garden to yourselves. He spoke of his family, it turned out the angry elder dwarf was his uncle, and his purpose in joining the quest. You told him of your home and your reasons for visiting your own uncle. You exchanged stories for what felt like an eternity and no time at all. It wasn’t until you realized it was too dark to see the flowers around you that you remembered the time. Kili had been gone for a while, and you were certain Thorin would not appreciate your kidnapping of his nephew.

“I should probably get back.” He said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Thorin has enough reason to distrust the elves without my disappearance adding to them.”

You nodded in agreement as you began to steer the two of you back in the direction of the rooms in which the dwarves were housed. Kili insisted on walking you to your chambers first, and as you neared your bedroom door you felt your steps begin to slow. You had only just met, but already you hated the thought of him leaving.

As you turned around to say goodnight you saw Kili holding a flower in his outstretched hand. A delicate, pink and white bloom with spiky petals. You recognized it as a favorite of yours from Elrond’s garden.

“For you, my lady.” He said as he placed it gently behind your ear.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to pick those.” You giggled, accepting the flower nonetheless. You reached up and tucked your hair around it to keep it in place.

He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss against your skin. His touch sent goosebumps across your arm, and despite having just met him you felt yourself longing for more.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Should our quest end successfully, I might be inclined to pay a visit.” He smiled and gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he stepped back, walking backward for several steps in order to keep his eyes on you a little longer.

You felt another flutter as you leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he slowly disappeared from sight.

“Please do.”

Maybe you’d stay in Rivendell a while after all.

#kili durin #the hobbit #Kili #kili x reader #kili x you #kili x y/n #kili imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit imagine #an unexpected journey #kíli #kíli x reader

[magicpotiondaily]

Halle Berry - fave looks (2011 - 2023) ♥️ Part 2

~ Part 1 here

#Halle Berry #Halle Berry part 2 #fashion #moda #red carpet #tapete vermelho #formal dress #Halle Berry short hair

[ikeromantic]

Hello, hope I'm not too late to request. I'd like to ask for Keith, kitchen, and sugar cookie. Thank you.

You were right on time ^_^ Here's some sweet Keith, best enjoyed with a cold glass of milk! Approx. 1200 words of pure fluffy goodness. IkePri New Years Event story!

Keith stared at the mess on the counter, feeling panic rise up in his chest. This was a disaster. The pastry dough was flat, everything was covered in flour, and somehow, egg whites were dripping from the ceiling with a steady splat atop the fruit mash he’d intended to use as a filling. 

“Failed again,” he murmured disconsolately. It seemed he was dangerously incompetent, even with simple tasks. Perhaps it would be better to give his other half more free reign. 

Just as he lifted a towel to start cleaning the scattered flour, the kitchen door swung open. Keith moved faster than he knew he could to block the entry way. He stepped out into the hall and found himself chest to nose with a certain Rhodolitian lady. 

“Hey!” Emma looked up, her brows lifted in surprise. She froze for a moment, her gaze traveling from his face back down to his chest and then up again. Her cheeks heated as she realized how close she stood, then she sprang back like a frightened rabbit. 

“Erm. Sorry. I - I didn’t mean to startle you.” He closed the door behind him, hoping she hadn’t noticed the wreckage of his pastry project. 

She took a breath and smiled at him. “It’s ok. I don’t know why I’m so jumpy.” Emma gave a half-hearted laugh that ended with a polite little cough. “So, Prince Yves mentioned you asked to use the kitchen?”

Keith blinked. Had she gone looking for him? He hadn’t wanted to say anything as the pastry was meant to be a surprise. Not that it mattered now. “How inconsiderate of me! I should have left you a note letting you know I was busy this morning. I hope you didn’t waste too much of your time trying to find me.” 

“Oh! No. No, not at all. I just happened to run into Yves and Licht. They said you were here. Umm. Without me asking. They just said it.” She picked at her skirt nervously, tugging at the seam.

“They did?” Keith considered himself a terrible judge of character. Afterall, he was so often wrong about things and this could easily be another of those things. But it really seemed to him that Emma was lying. Which was odd really because she had no reason to lie about looking for him. Did she?

Emma swallowed. “Erm. Sort of. I might have mentioned you, uh, first.” She looked down at the floor rather than continuing to meet his gaze.

Keith decided it might be best to let this line of conversation die. He tugged self consciously at the apron he wore. It was too short, and too narrow in the chest. One of Yves’ aprons. Under the flour and bits of fruit mash, it said ‘I’m Your Sugar, Baby’. It was funny when he’d borrowed it, but felt entirely out of line now. He hoped she didn’t notice.

“Well. Now that you’ve found me, what do you need?” He hoped to coax it out of her quickly so he could get back in the kitchen before anyone else saw the mess he’d made.

“I just . . .” She looked up, as if he had the words she was searching for. Then her eyes widened. “Were you cooking something?”

“No. Nothing.” He crossed his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence.

Emma’s grin returned, impish this time. “Are you sure? Because it looks like you got a bit of strawberry in your hair.”

Keith reached up, tugging a wedge of berry from his unruly locks. 

When he did, she laughed. “You’re covered in flour too.”

“Alright, you caught me.” Keith sighed. “It seems I am such a failure that I can’t even surprise the woman I lo - like.” He felt his ears go red at the near slip. This was a terrible time to make such a confession, even without the wreckage of pastry waiting behind him.

“Really?” She took a step forward as if she wanted to go in the kitchen. 

Keith held out a hand. “Ah, I think it’s more fair to say I tried. But . . . well . . . I am as much a failure at baking as every other thing I try. 

Emma took the hand he held out to stop her and squeezed it gently in hers. “Oh Prince Keith, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. I think you’re really good at all sorts of things.”

He felt his pulse quicken at her touch and hoped she wouldn’t notice. “I’m not sure about that, but I think we can safely say baking isn’t one of them.”

“Well . . . it takes a lot of practice and a good recipe. Even if you aren’t good at it yet, I bet you will be if you keep trying.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “You know, if you want, I could help.”

Keith gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t think what’s left of my attempt can be helped. There’s only one thing left to do, and that’s the clean up.”

“Then I can help with that.” She smiled so brightly at him that he couldn’t deny her anything at that moment.

“Just -” He swallowed. “It’s quite a mess.”

Emma nudged the door open, keeping ahold of his hand in one of hers. He couldn’t see her face as she took in the extent of the disaster, but he could hear her sharp intake of breath and feel the little squeeze of surprise on his fingers.

“It’s really alright. I’m sure I can put it back together on my own. You don’t need to go through any trouble for me.” Keith followed along, tugged inside as she stepped further into the kitchen. 

“Wow. There’s even egg on the hanging lamp. And butter on the cabinet. Prince Keith! What were you trying to make?” She regarded him with an unexpected look of awe.

He shrugged. “You mentioned you liked strawberries. So I thought I could whip up this pastry Yves made once. But it’s a bit harder than I thought it would be.”

She laughed and leaned against him. “Ahhh, I think we’ll be working on this all afternoon. I hope you don’t mind being stuck with me for a few hours.”

“Mind? Stuck . . . with?” His brows lifted. She sounded almost happy. No - she did sound pleased about it. Keith looked at her with undisguised surprise. 

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I imagine you have better things to do. You’re a visiting prince with duties and stuff.”

Keith felt his throat tighten and an unusual burst of boldness. He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss to her fingertips. “There is nothing I would rather do than clean a kitchen with you.”

She laughed shyly. “I’m sure you can think of something you’d rather do with me than clean.”

They both froze as the double meaning of her words struck them. Her lips parted as if to say something to rescue it, but she only let out a breath as heat stained her cheeks.

“Er. Yes. I mean - not that of course - not that that wouldn’t be something I - ah, anything with you is, uhm, better?” Keith’s words tumbled out and he cringed inwardly at his own cowardice. Would it be so bad to tell her how he felt? She might feel the same . . .

Emma let out a relieved breath. “Mmm, y-yes. Like - like lunch!”

“Exactly.” He chuckled, feeling the tension spool out of him. “You make everything better. And . . . I hope you’ll consent to let me repay you for your help today. Perhaps I can take you to dinner?”

“I . . . I’d like that.” 

“Then it’s a date.” Keith smiled, feeling a fluttering in his belly. She didn’t correct him, only smiled back, her eyes shining.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri keith #keith howell #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

[blood-mocha-latte]

its red as bright as wanting

i.

“I just don’t understand the appeal of them.” Babe said from in front of the kitchen counter.

From behind him, Gene huffed a laugh, sounding rather amused. He shifted, moving from the rickety wooden table that makes up both their kitchen island and dining table (and short-term storage), to walk up behind Babe.

Yellow curtains hid the window that rested over the sink that Babe stood over, inspecting the bright red fruit he held between his index finger and thumb up at eye level. Gene reached around him to tug them open with one hand, the other resting absently on Babe’s hip.

“How can you not like strawberries?” He asked, breath ruffling the hair near Babe’s ear before he moved away, kitchen newly lit by the sun that shines through the window, directly into Babe’s eyes. Not used to being so free of ache, Babe just turned around, his back to the sink. “You pretty much are one.” Babe made a face.

He lowered the strawberry to point at Gene with it, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a grin that he attempted to tamp back down.

“I look nothing like a strawberry, you take that back.” He said, trying his best to stay serious. Gene just huffed, shaking his head as he rounded the table again, a gentle smile carving into his mouth like a spell on stone. Fleeting and infinite. “And I didn’t say I didn’t like them, I just said I don’t see the appeal.”

He brought the strawberry back to his face, the small divots of seeds against the bright red of the fruit. It almost made him smile.

It’s the middle of winter, and it should be snowing. It should be freezing, numbing, all-encompassingly frigid.

But Babe’s in Louisiana, just outside of where Gene grew up, just outside of where a flood swallowed all he knew. It’s the middle of winter and it’s warm and if he closed his eyes and thought hard enough, he could think of every happy memory this home had ever held.

Their memories. Built and fostered and cared for, raised from the earth with the bloody hands that killed people and the bloody hands that saved them, to wash their hands clean of it.

For Babe to leave Philadelphia, to leave behind his family and his mother and ol’ Gonorrhoea. To leave behind the cold that settled in his bones and wouldn’t leave, expanding like water turning to ice, splintering everything in its path.

To leave behind the biting loneliness that kept him torn apart.

Dear Doc, Babe had written, three years ago, only a year after they’d left Berlin, left Europe. And a month later, a letter came back, like he’d sung into a cavern and the echo of his voice had come back, haunting and familiar but somehow all encompassingly new.

Dear Edward, Gene had written back, ever the pragmatic. Babe had laughed maybe a little too hard and nearly brained himself on the railing that led up to his apartment, too impatient to wait to get upstairs to read the slanted, messy handwriting.

Babe blinked back to the present, as easily as falling asleep but inversely. Too entirely caught up in the dips of the berry and Gene moving around gracefully, like water or silks, through their kitchen, gathering jars and fruits and bread.

He watched Gene, watched him move, watched the profile of his relaxed face, the curve of his lips, the wedge of his nose.

Watched as he turned away from Babe entirely, leaning out of the kitchen and into the equally small and cluttered hall that led out of the house.

The warmth flooded through his chest the same way it always did, like taking a warm shower for the first time in years. Like laughing after a terrible night.

Thank god you wrote back. He thought, not for the first time, but a mantra. Thought daily, said daily; whispered like a prayer into every inch of Gene’s skin he can ever reach. Thank god you decided to find your way back to me.

----

(read the rest on ao3)

((tagging @malarkgirlypop as per request <3))

#rie writes #guess who didn't see this coming? #me. it was me. and you #and god probably #anyways here you go. first posted contribution to bob fandom #(has been in bob fandom for two years) #i wrote this in one night btw. i was possessed momentarily by keaton st james poems it was magical #band of brothers #eugene roe #doc roe #babe heffron #baberoe #hbo war

[bitchysoulwasteland]

Thranduil X Reader

(A/n: Do not reblog or repost any one my works. This one is realatively short, so enjoy.)

You didn't want to marry the man you were about to. You looked yourself in the mirror, over your white wedding dress that looked way to clean, the lack of a tiara made of twigs entwined with leaves that you longed to be on your head and the white six inch heeled shoes that no one, elf, human or otherwise should be wearing. If you were marrying Thranduil, then everything would be different. You would be looking foreword to married life, rather than dreading it. You would be Queen of Mirkwood, rather than just another one of the nobility in Middle Earth. And, you would be with a man you actually love. Was it too much to ask that your parents would accept your love for Thranduil, even if you had met him through being a stable girl when he was still a prince. No one wanted the two of you to be seen together. You remembered the promise he had made when you had first got together.

"You'll be a Queen, one day, Y/n. I'll be the king and no one will be able to tell us how to live." he held you in his arms as you looked out over Greenwood from his balcony.

"What about our parents?"

"They'll see you walk down the aisle, your wedding dress flowing behind you, a crown of berries, leaves and small branches woven immaculately together."

"I'll be in my boots, just to further prove a point that I'm better than their expectations." he smiled with you at this.

"No one will put an end to our happiness."

"You promise, Thran?"

"I promise, melith nin."

Your brain kicked in as his voice faded from your current memory, pulling you out of your thoughts. You pulled off your heels, replacing them with socks and your boots, pulled on your battered leather jacket and made your way to the front of the venue.

You looked back as your mother caught your eye. You smirked at her before opening the door, your sword in hand, you cut the dress, leaving it there. You got your horse from the stable and galloped as fast as you could to Mirkwood.

Thranduil sat, glaring at his glass of wine in his hand. You shouldn't be marrying anyone else besides him. He didn't care if it was arranged or not. He wanted to be the one that held you every night and braided small flowers into your hair, and comforted you after you have a nightmare. He wanted you. He always had. And he always would.

As if called by his thoughts, the doors of the throne room were thrown open and there stood his Y/n. A look of pure surprise took over his face at the sight. He didn't think you could look any more beautiful than you were, standing there in your battered boots and jacket, what he presumed to be a previously white dress cut off at your knees, probably with a sword, knowing you, mud splattered up the hem. He made his way down the steps of his throne as you crossed the hall and ran into his arms.

"I thought you-" you cut him off with a kiss.

"The only person I'm going to marry, is you, Thran."

"It's a good thing I had this made, then." he said as he slipped the ring on your finger, making it official.

"No one will end our happiness."

"No one." Thranduil agreed and kissed you again.

#thranduil x reader #the hobbit #lotr

[argisthebulwark]

Happy week one of @tescheer everyone!✨ This is fairly short since I'm still recovering from Nano, but I decided to write a little snippet with the first week's prompts Cloak and Snow :)

Starlight twinkled across the night sky, interrupted only by the white flakes as they drifted lazily toward the ground. The well worn footpath was long lost under gathering snowbanks. The Dragonborn's hands raised toward the heavens, fingertips growing numb after a long trek. Their mouth opened but found there were no words that could capture nature's beauty; snowflakes whirled in all directions and fell to blanket the silent plains of Whiterun. Trees bowed and swayed as snow gathered upon their branches, beasts silent and hiding from the late winter chill. They puffed out a cloudy breath and grinned up at the colors dancing over the horizon. For one brief moment they felt entirely alone in the universe.  "You'll catch your death out here."

Vilkas grumbled from nearby, arms surely folded over his chest. They ignored his tone - he meant no harm. Turning to chastise him for ruining the moment they paused, taken aback by the sight. Vilkas' dark hair collected flecks of snow, soft brown eyes sweeping across the landscape. Chilly winds had left his lips pink and gloved hands tightened the fur lined cloak around his shoulders. Against a backdrop of pure white he stood prominent, a shadow contrasting the dreamy background. A gentle breeze stole away the fog of his breath and whipped hair out of his face, causing the Dragonborn's heart to thump against their ribs.  He was beautiful. Bundled into his layers and brows furrowed, Vilkas looked stunning even as he stood ankle deep in snow. Despite all his grumping he'd insisted on accompanying them on their walk. Throughout his endless stream of snarky comments Vilkas had tied a scarf around their neck before tiptoeing out of Jorrvaskr. The Dragonborn stared at this man who seemed to care so deeply despite his endless protests and felt something swell deep in their chest.  "What?" He barked, cheeks bright when his glare cut over to them. His gaze softened and the Dragonborn felt a thread between their hearts snap into place, a string tightening and drawing them closer. Snow crunched underfoot as they stomped to stand before Vilkas, unsure what they intended to say.  "You're pretty." The Dragonborn watched a flash of color raise in his face, those brown eyes panning over the white hills once more. Vilkas cleared his throat as he pointedly avoided meeting their gaze but he did not move away. The Dragonborn's muscles tensed, awaiting whatever killing blow he intended to deal - his words were always especially cutting. They were stunned when he remained silent, gloved hands raising to the clasp of his cloak.  In one quick flourish, fur and soft cloth was wrapped around their body. Vilkas focused intently as he pinned it in place around their throat, the supple leather of his gloves brushing against their jaw. The Dragonborn didn't speak as he worked, though something about the way their mingling breath formed a small cloud between them captured their heart. Snowflakes continued to gather in the gentle waves of his hair, one catching on his long lashes before he stepped back.  "I told you to wear a coat." He chided, though the annoyance in his voice felt empty. Swathed in fur warmed by his body the Dragonborn couldn't help but feel cared for, his cloak wrapped neatly over their half buckled armor. It radiated the smells of home - smoke from the crackling fire in Jorrvaskr's main hall and a hint of juniper berries. The Dragonborn tucked their arms into Vilkas' cloak and, feeling just a tad daring, grasped blindly for his hand. He grumbled but accepted it, eventually allowing an arm around his middle as their legs grew tired.  The Dragonborn didn't keep track of how long they remained out there, standing on one of the many hills surrounding Whiterun's outer walls. A fallen guard tower jutted up through the blanket of snow coating the plains and constellations danced overhead, watery moonlight playing across the land. It felt so simple to simply exist with him, allowing snow to gather around their boots and melt into their hair. The two returned to Jorrvaskr when the first rays of sunlight peeked across the horizon, painting the snowy lands in all shades of pink and yellow. Soon, children would begin waking and dragging their parents into the streets. Creatures would emerge from their cover in search of food and the stars would melt into the sky. Life would march on as it always had. Each year when the snow began to fall, the Dragonborn could not help but fondly recall that night spent gazing into the heavens with Vilkas. He was not a man of flowery words but had proven that he would always be there to chase away the cold.

#writing #skyrim #vilkas #vilkas x ldb #tescheer2023 #week one: cloak #week one: snow

[bookwormscififan]

Hybrids and Humans, Chapter 7

Broken Rights

Previous Chapter

Read on AO3!

A/N: Take some angst.

Warnings: There is a short scene that handles some electroshock, so just a warning.

--

“Wait, I don’t understand.” The soldiers were silent as Jackie protested, grips tight on his arms as they practically dragged him down the stairs. “Please, at least let me call Phantom! It’s his house, he needs to know what’s going on!”

They lifted him over the table with no regard for the items on it, and Jackie flinched as his feet knocked a few ornaments onto the ground, hearing them smash against the floor. Dragging him through the shards, his feet trailed blood along the once-spotless hardwood, and Jackie fell limp in the soldiers’ arms as defeat swept over him.

--

“Tell me why you took me from my home,” Jackie’s voice was flat, head bowed as he sat in front of the sharply dressed man across the table. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I never hurt anyone, I was living my life.”

“Hybrids aren’t allowed in the town.” Jackie’s head snapped up at the curt response, anger flaring up in his chest as his eyes blazed. “You have your rights, but you can’t live amongst the society.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t speak to you if you use that language—”

“I wasn’t hurting anybody! I was simply living in a house – owned and paid by a human – and keeping out of danger! You took me from my fucking house and put me in here, and you’re trying to tell me I broke some—”

The man watched as Jackie collapsed onto the floor as a result of the soldier behind him injecting him with a syringe. With a short nod, Jackie was carried from the room and taken back to his cell, cuffed and chained to a wall to keep him from lashing out again.

--

The walls shook with the echoes of screams, scientists and soldiers alike covering their ears against the pained cries of the raccoon hybrid in the cell.

“Please! Please, stop! Why are you doing this?!” Inside the cell, Jackie screamed as shock after shock of electricity hit him, hair and fur unkempt as tears stained his cheeks. “Let me go! I’ll never come to the town again! I swear! Please!”

Behind two-way glass, the sharply dressed man crossed his arms, watching Jackie writhe before lifting his hand, motioning for the shocks to stop. As Jackie panted and shook, the man turned and walked away, waving his hand to return Jackie to his cell.

--

His eyes flashed as he watched people move past his cell, waiting until the lights turned off before scurrying to the door, picking at the lock with the small nail he’d snatched.

He held his breath as the lock clicked, waiting for signs someone heard him before slipping out of the cell, moving down the halls like a shadow. His hands were bruised from his time there, and his legs were stiff, but he made it to a fire exit and out the door in the blink of an eye.

The cool night air was refreshing on his face, and he paused for a moment to take several breaths, revelling in his momentary freedom. Catching himself, he hurried out of the facility, through a gap in the electrified fence, and into the thick woods beyond.

Collapsing against twigs and dead leaves, Jackie swallowed back gulps of air before looking around him, not recognising his surroundings. How far away was he? How long would it take to get back to Phantom? Would Phantom even remember him?

Slowly he managed to stand, moving to a bush and taking the berries from it. His ears swivelled at the sound of running water, and he moved toward it hesitantly. There was a creek, small with clear water, which Jackie used to clean himself and drink from before following it downstream in the hopes of finding the town.

--

Instead he found the creek ended at a small pool, in a meadowed clearing where the sun shone warmly on his skin. Falling to his knees in the soft grass, Jackie looked around with wide eyes trying to get his bearings.

He moved to the edge of the pool, cupping his hands to drink the water before looking at his reflection in the surface. His patches had grown in the time he was away, unruly and greasy hair falling into his eyes. The dye had long since faded, streaking the dark brown locks with a sickly green colour.

He held back a sob, hand going to his mouth as he gagged instead, turning to the side to empty his stomach, losing all strength to keep himself upright. His lungs burned as he breathed heavily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before going back to the water and pausing when he saw another face in the surface.

“Are you alright?” The stranger’s voice was soft, concerned as they crouched beside him. “You look like death.” Another hybrid, this one with fox ears and tail, gently placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. Jackie cleared his throat before shaking his head slowly, lip trembling as his tears fell again. “Here, let me help you. I live not far from here, and I’ve got hot water for a bath and a change of clothes.”

“T-Thanks,” Jackie managed, letting the man help him to stand. “My name’s Jackie, by the way.” The fox nodded, leading Jackie out of the clearing with a kind face.

“I’m Mad.”

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @dungeon-dragons-dragons @rattyboyisemo

#writing #fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #angst #hybrid AU #Raccoon Hybrid Jackie #Fox Hybrid Mad

[edupunkn00b]

Progression: Chapter 7, Traitor

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Traitor - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Muse (and his twin) turn twenty-one. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 7: Dive Bar. WC: 3287

The Muse paced the length of his room, a heavy tome gripped in both hands as he forced his eyes to follow the hand-lettered text. Since the Purge, volumes like these were a treasure and though the edges of his pants were ragged and frayed, his hair shorn short at the back of his neck to stop himself from yanking it out, he cradled the book like the precious rarity it was.

"’A girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to—’” he muttered aloud, shaking his head. He closed the book, slowly, carefully, just like Jannie had showed him and he stroked the woven cover. His feet stopped in front of the shelf and he scanned the other spines before swapping one for the other.

“‘And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick,’” he read as he paced, gaze fixed on the book as his body led him over the well-worn path. The carpet had begun to fade in long meandering strips, marking off the longest contiguous trails around the room.

The words wobbled with each step, or maybe it was Orwell’s text.

“‘And that you just said it to make them stop and didn't mean it. But that isn't true.’” His voice fell away as he continued to read for three more laps before making a gagging sound at the back of his throat and changing that book for the next on the shelf.

His mouth twitched as his fingers trailed over the embossed title of the next book. A hundred years, huh? "’El mundo era tan reciente que muchas cosas carecían de nombre, y para nombrarlas había que señalarlas con el dedo…’” The words flowed off his tongue, falling into little drops of honey along his path. Perhaps you only had to point at things to name them, but The Muse could name a thing to make it. “‘"Saca esos malos pensamientos de tu cabeza", le dijo. "Vas a ser feliz".’”

The Muse frowned and closed the book, not as gently as the first. “No, you won’t.”

The next book was no better. “‘She used to give me a thrashing every morning—’” 

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope…

This one he slammed shut and shoved back onto the shelf, whispering a quiet apology before selecting one last volume. He started at the end, eyes dancing over the page. “‘This funeral wasn't about honoring truth, but about honoring a memory.’” 

He mouthed the words again and tried to imagine what the author might’ve sounded like. Sinking to the floor, he sat with the book cradled in his lap and continued to read. “‘‘It was about honoring the friend they had lost, whether they had lost that friend a day ago, or five years ago.’” A slow smile spread over his face as he flipped the slim book to the beginning to start at the start.

The Muse was on his third re-read when warmth rippled toward him from the hall, soft and wispy, smoke after you blow out a flame. He hugged the book to his chest and leapt to his feet. He’d nearly reached the door controls when Jannie spoke.

-”May we come in, Muse?”- The warm trickle turned into the comforting blast of the furnace, opening the oven on a frosty day. The scent of fire and vanilla, burnt sugar and those tart winter berries Papa Bear like to pick. Jannie was in a good mood, which meant the ‘we’ was him and Lucas.

“Fuck, yes, you can come in!” The Muse shouted and stepped back from the door, ready to fling himself at Jannie’s arms. The door panel lit up and, as Jannie stepped inside, he remembered the book just in time and laid it on the little table by the door before he threw himself at Jannie. “You’re here!”

A bubble of heat enveloped them, pushing away the sticky cold sadness just under the surface of Jannie’s skin. “Of course I’m here, Muse…” His voice was shaky, like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a while. He had to tell Jannie his trick, reading out loud to keep his throat limber and smooth and—

“It’s your birthday,” Jannie continued, one gloved hand carding through his hair. He wished Jannie would take them off. Maybe later. Maybe that was the plan, especially with Lucas here. Lucas always helped them both stay calm when, wait, it was his birthday already?

“It’s not my birthday, Jannie,” he argued, laughing, and pulled back, only a little, only enough to look into Jannie’s eyes. “My birthday’s not for another week, it’s…” 

His smile froze in place as Jannie’s hand slid down and over his cheek, the soft material of his gloves—his good ones, the old cotton ones he used to keep in that box in his dresser he and Ro had found—his gloves, they were soft but they caught on the thick growth on his jaw.

He’d shaved this morning. Hadn’t he?

“It’s… it’s been a week?” Jannie looked down and their little warm bubble shrank, ice fizzling on the edges.

“It has, Re.” Lucas stroked Jannie’s cheek, his bare cheek, the skin soft at the touch and glowing white hot so bright The Muse had to close his eyes. Static brushed his mind. When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor, Jannie and Lucas in front of him.

Lucas’ eyes glowed softly.

“Where’s Ro?” he asked, eyeballs bouncing between the elder Mad Lads, waiting for one of them to speak. Jannie’s shield was strong and The Muse danced around the border, the tingle of static tickling his fingers with each little poke. “Can I see him, maybe just for…”

He couldn’t see past Jannie’s shield but his silence spoke for him.

“He’s not ready,” Lucas answered instead and gripped Jannie’s hand. Slowly the static eased and Jannie smiled up at him. Sad and small but a soft smile. A good smile. A strong one that wouldn’t break if he pushed at it.

The Muse nodded. “Yeah, I… I figured. Is he… is he having a good birthday?” The room grew brighter, daffodils and honeysuckle sprouting in the corners. “I… I was gonna make him something, I…” He blinked and looked around the room, a large box covered in red cloth he’d stitched together sat by the door. “Oh, I did make him something. Will you give it to him?”

Jannie reached for him, patting his arm through gloves and his shirt, too, too much between them to really feel it. “Of course we will, Muse,” he spoke and said, the words flooding his mind and raising it up, wind under wings.

He floated, a feather on the breeze. “But first, Muse, we wanted to do something for your birthday. Even if…”

Even if he couldn’t be with his brother.

“I’d like that. I’d really, really like that!” The Muse leapt to his feet, swaying slightly. If he hadn’t really shaved this morning, had breakfast not been this morning, either? His sink was empty, the stove cold and spotless. Maybe not. “Can…” What if they said no? A little lump of ice grew just above his stomach. “Can you both stay? I’ll make us something yummy and—”

“Actually, Muse,” Jannie caught Lucas’ gaze, eyebrows high in a question The Muse couldn’t help but hear. Not that he tried very hard not to listen in. -”Do you think he’s ready?”-

Lucas nodded and Jannie’s smile grew, just a bit. “We thought we might try something different.”

~

Luc's gentle touch still tingled against his skin, long after he'd turned his attention—and the focus of his power—to The Muse. Janus knew he'd been concerned, remembered the tight twist in his chest as they'd taken the elevator down to The Muse's rooms, remembered the icy spike in his gut when the Muse admitted he had lost an entire week. The warmth of Luc's touch spread through his skin, a whisper of reassurance.

He watched Luc's hands glow where he touched The Muse's temples, the deep amber bleeding out from between his eyelashes. After a long while, Luc lowered his hands and smiled at The Muse. “How do you feel, Re?”

“I feel great,” he smiled back and held out both hands, soft gaillardia blooming in his palms. They grew slowly, waving gently in a breeze none of them felt. He closed his fingers around them, gently and when he opened them, the flowers were gone. “I’m in control,” he grinned. “Look at that!”

Luc’s eyes glowed next to him. “You are,” Janus smiled. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

~

The trio flew the smaller transport north. Not far, just looking to get a little further from the hubbub of the migrated seaports and cities sprouting up around the new Federated Capitol Building. The Muse sat buckled in his seat, face pressed to the window as he watched the sun set over the lakes. Luc laughed from the pilot seat. “ still there, love!” He pointed at a flickering blip on the main navigation screen and grinned. “Still transmitting! I can’t believe they’re still open! Do you remember?”

Lucas shared a flash from their first visit to The Inn. Younger then, they’d danced together long into the night. In the dim light of the bar, surrounded by Powered and Traditionals alike, couples and constellations had drawn together and celebrated all they shared instead of clashing over all the distinctions carved between them in final throes of The Purge. 

Over”hearing” the shared vision, The Muse hummed in his seat. Under the heavy dose Lucas had used, The Muse’s eyes moved a little slower, his smile a little… Janus’ mind supplied the word dull but it was merely less sharp than it usually was. Less jagged. Softer. Like his face moved through water to change with the thoughts racing through his mind.

They landed smoothly, The Inn’s old system recognizing Luc’s old stolen—borrowed—transport beacon. “Where everybody knows your name…” Muse sang quietly, where he’d heard that melody was beyond Janus’ understanding. He barely remembered the old passphrase.

Luc grinned and lowered the ramp. “After you, ma cheri,” he murmured, offering an arm to The Muse in turn. “Ready to dance?”

The bar’s exterior hadn’t changed much. The faded, sagging awning was still there, though a closer look underneath revealed the old metal frame had been replaced by cheaper plexisteel. Bartered for scrap during the worst of it, Janus guessed. Same for the old glass window panes. He’d be nearly anything they’d been bartered in exchange for the licensing board looking the other way when the tumult had ended.

A rumble of heavy bass rattled the chipped sign above the door, beckoning them in with a simple, Welcome, All.

The Muse’s gaze went far away, seeing through the bar’s façade, seeing through his own façade. He grinned, broad and… spacey. “I like it here, Jannie.”

“I thought you might,” he nodded, the tightness in his throat and his chest easy to ignore. He opened the door and ushered them both inside.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you all in a long while,” Andrew called from behind the bar. “‘Fraid you’d… Y'know—” He made a cutting motion across his throat and pulled a face.

“Nah, we’re too bitchy to kill,” Luc laughed, leaning over the bar to hug the wizened owner. “You know that.”

“Glad to see it. You brought some young blood with you, too,” he said, coming around the bar to accept a long hug from Janus. “Well, even younger than you two,” he added with another laugh.

The Muse stiffened, eyes locked on Andrew’s face, reading him. He shuddered, knees twitching in the darkened club. Andrew didn’t catch it, but Luc did.

“This is Re,” he said and wrapped an arm over The Muse’ shoulders, fingers grazing the back of his neck. His fidget disappeared, the spiky energy pouring off him smoothing out at the edges.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, palm outstretched with a tiny green orchid blossom nestled at the center.

Andrew’s eyes widened and he took a half-step back. “Oh, he’s—” Features carefully schooled, Traditionals wouldn’t’ve noticed his fear.

But Janus wasn't a Traditional. “He’s with us,” he said, voice low. 

Andrew nodded slowly, looking between the three of them as he wrestled the flurry of thoughts spilling from his mind. Finally, he smiled, nearly genuine, and returned to the taps behind the bar. “First round on the house, then.”

“Water for me,” Luc smiled.

“How 'bout the D.D. special then,” Andrew laughed, and poured Luc a purple fizzing beverage before passing two glasses of beer to Janus.

The Muse grabbed his arm, spilling a bit of foam from one of the steins. “Can we dance first?” he asked, eyes bright.

“I was hoping you came here to dance,” a low voice behind them rumbled.

A cold itch crawled up Janus’ spine and he moved between the interloper and Muse. He was a Powered, a strong man like Pat, as far as Janus could tell. Very low Esper, which made it easy for Janus to prod, to see what beyond the typical ick of a bar pick up was hidden in the man’s intentions.

Looking just over Janus’ head, he smiled at The Muse. “Unless you’re otherwise occupied tonight?”

“Nah, I’m not with them,” The Muse laughed, taking the other man’s hand. “They’ve got each other to keep them company. Right?” he added with hopeful eyes at both Janus and Luc.

“Enjoy yourself, Re,” Luc said, threading his fingers through Janus’. -”He can handle himself, love,”- he added silently. -”Besides, we’re right here.”-

-”Yeah, Jannie,”- The Muse jumped in with a little dance of his shoulders and absolutely zero decorum. He blew them both a kiss and followed the man out onto the patch of carpet that served as a dance floor. “Happy Birthday to me!” he cheered when the song transitioned to a faster tempo.

Janus pointed to a table as far from the speakers as he could manage without putting any other tables between them and the dance floor. He sat facing the dancing couples and Luc settled into the seat closest to him. “He’s having a good time,” he said, nudging Janus’ knee under the table. “We're in a safe space. You can relax a little while."

"Perhaps," Janus nodded, a golden bubble wrapped around his worries. He sipped at his beer before the bubble popped. Setting aside all pretense or propriety, Janus locked in on the thoughts swirling around the dancing pair. He just needed to know.

The Muse was… nervous, but giddily so. Happy. Happier than Janus had seen him in years. Not since he’d been a child, playing with his brother or pranking teenage Virgil. Janus watched The Muse dance before nodding and taking another sip.

“He’s having fun,” Luc whispered behind his glass, nursing the purple concoction. “And look—” As the music slowed, The Muse took one of the man’s hands and traced colorful shapes against his skin. “He’s in full control.”

“Thanks to you,” Janus said, focusing on the man’s expression. He looked unsurprised. He'd probably clocked Muse as a Powered before he’d even approached them. The implications twisted in his stomach, cold and prickly. Luc’s hand on his forearm was warm, though, and after a moment he sighed, all but a spot of worry leaving him with his breath. “You’re right, he’s having fun.”

“He is,” Luc murmured, leaning closer to kiss his cheek. “Now,” he grinned and slid his now-empty glass into Janus’ hands. “Why don’t you get us a refill while I keep watch. We can take turns.”

Janus laughed and took Luc’s glass. “I see Andrew’s mixology skills haven’t faded with time.” He stood, then leaned over to swipe his own small kiss. “Either that or you’re just as cheap of a date as you ever were.”

“Bah!” Luc scoffed, one lovely hand pressed to his chest. “I resemble that remark!”

Still chuckling, Janus sauntered over to the bar, eyes forward but his thoughts stretched out toward the other patrons, the other dancers. To The Muse and his dance partner. The music had slowed, a steady, undulating beat that traveled up from the floor and through Janus’ shoes. He hummed, following the cover-of-a-cover-of a song that had been an oldie when he was still a child, young enough his Powers had not yet been discovered.

Look at the way… We’ve got an eye on what we’re doing Cause what would they say If they ever knew and so we’re—

“Lucas likes this mix, yes?” Andrew grinned from behind the bar, sliding over a full glass before Janus had even asked. Something itched at the base of his skull, fighting past the calm Luc had given him.

‘Re’s completely keyed in to your moods, love. If he can feel you scared, if he can feel you worried, he’ll feel like you don’t trust him and he won’t trust himself.’ 

Luc’s words had been soft. Certain. He shook his head and the itch grew. Luc’s refill cradled in his hands, he looked over his shoulder. Luc was blinking slowly, a crooked tipsy smile on his face. Janus whipped around and stared at Andrew. “What’s in this?” he demanded.

But Andrew wasn’t looking at him. No, he was staring past Janus’ shoulder at something on the other side of the bar. He followed the bartender’s gaze.

Just in time to see Muse slip outside with his dance partner.

“Luc!” he cried over the music and ran toward the door, sidling past the sudden surge of patrons crowding his path. -”Luc! Luc, let’s go!”- 

-”What’s wrong, love?”- The fuzziness in Luc’s response shattered his calm. He was closer to the door than to Luc, though, and he pushed through just in time to be hit with a wave of fear.

Muse’s fear. 

-”Muse! I’m coming!”- He stepped out into the muggy night air. The landing pad was lifeless, a few airskiffs and smaller transports like theirs dark and idle. He closed his eyes and a light bloomed from the dark alley next to the waste bins. Muse!

Janus ran, following the faint scuffling sound and the overpowering sense of panic. He staggered under the weight of it, heavy ropes tightening around his chest, squeezing his heart. His pulse pounded in his ears, a syncopated thud, his own layered with Muse’s. The bar door slammed open just as he reached the alley. 

“Jan! Jan, wait!” Luc called after him, heavier footfalls catching up fast.

A cry more animal than human pierced his mind and Janus dropped to his knees, both hands over his ears. Strong hands—Luc’s?—helped him up and together they followed the shadows in the alley. Leaning heavily against Luc’s side, Janus fumbled in his jacket for a light. Finally activating it, the beam bounced wildly until it landed on the man from the bar, doubled over and gripping his own head.

Muse towered over him, shirt ripped and eyes closed. He didn’t speak and when Janus reached for him, pain ripped through his mind until he pulled back, wrapping his mind in his own strongest shield.

“Please, Muse, no!” he shouted, fighting to be heard over the cacophony in his own mind. The man’s cries intensified and he began to bang his forehead against the dirty pavement. “Stop it! Stop, Muse, you’ll—”

And in the next breath it was over. Suddenly silent, the man slumped over. Deadweight. His head struck the pavement with a loud, wet thwack and Janus’ light trembled, illuminating dark blood seeping from his eyes in its shaky beam. Muse knelt before the man's body, shoulders shaking and a horrible high-pitched sound spilling from his lips.

Muse laughed.

#Progression #dukeceit #dukeceitweek2024 #sanders sides #demus #platonic dukeceit #ts janus #ts remus #ts lucas #i will make that a tag if it's the only thing i do in this fandom :D #we're getting close to the end and this chapter… #well‚ yeah #sanders sides fanfiction #janus sanders #remus sanders #lucas sanders