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joelscurls · 7 months

Text

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

��I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?”

You sniff again. Nod.

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours.

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet.

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him.

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It��s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.

Sheila is home.

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.

“You sure?”

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.

Do you hear that? Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar! We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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heartfullofleeches · 6 months

Note

everytime i see the name v you can be assured that i am going to butt in.

honestly, v is definitely the type to hire a hitman just because he got in an argument with someone. sure, he could deal with it by himself — but he is a lazy bum and has his... "priorities".

v meeting up with the hitman and immediately his jaw falls off. the most he was expecting is a bald man in shades and a suit, not an incarnate of a divine being!

v watching hitman aim their sniper on the victim — he can't help but observe the focus in your eyes and the steadiness and precision of your hand near the trigger. he praises the beauty of your hands, and unfortunately, his mind got to wandering. thinking about how your hands would feel on his cock — would you focus on his cock like you focus the aim on your targets? would you stroke his cock with absolute precision?

he's put out of his state when he hears a 'bang!' and flinches.

"the job is done, mr. vince."

"could you... do me next?"

"..."

This is bullshit.

If he knew he had to go outside to have that bastard killed, he would've just done it himself.

V drums his fingers against the dinner table - eyes scanning the venue for anyone that might fit his imagined description of the person he's looking for. Rugged, shaven head, nice suit and tie - maybe a few visible scars from their line of work. While there a number of suits in a fine establishment, they were just the run of the mill rich assholes he'd grown accusation to through his life.

Sweat beading down his neck, V pulls at his collar. He hadn't even dressed up for his grandmother's funeral a year ago and now here he was in a nice button up and slacks for a complete stranger - and it isn't even for a date. If the waitress came by again to check if he was ready to order his tie would be an easy ticket out of here without the embarrassment of walking out looking like a dateless loser. He can already hear them laughing whichever way this goes. Frustrated, V folds his arms, shutting his eyes as tries to blend with the background of the uncomfortable booth he sat in. Maybe if he keeps them closed long enough when they open he'll be back at home - or dead. Either is an acceptable option at this point.

"Excuse me-"

V shoots up from his seat as warm breath fans his ear. The voice, no louder than a whisper, sends a chill down his spine as it flows from the lips of its speaker like smooth honey. A far cry from the unpleasantly sweet tone that waitress threw on to hide her thinly veiled annoyance at seeing V still hogging an empty table. He looks up at the looming figure at his table side - jaw slack as his eyes adjust to the light that envelopes them.

"I don't mean to interrupt whatever it is you are doing, but would you happen to be a Mr. Vincent Carbone?"

V's mouth opens like the jaws of a dying animal fighting for its final breath. The person before him was dressed in date casual clothing. He stares at their exposed collar from the lower cut of their shirt and toned muscles from their sleeves. He rubs at his eyes. This... couldn't be them. He had to be looking at a model. V's standards were pretty low his own admission, but from the way they carried themselves down to their physical attributes proved they were way out of his league.

"Yes... um, that's me... Just Vince is fine."

They tighten their lips with a small nod. V makes a note of how soft they look compared to his own chapped skin. He follows their every move as they sit down in their seat across from him - wasting no time as they pull a black folder from the brief case brought with them. He watches as their calloused fingertips turn each page - pondering what they might feel like around his-

"So - are you this guys secretary or....."

V flinches as their eyes snap up at him - emotionless face plagued by a hint of annoyance at his query. "I can assure you I do all of my work by myself, Mr. Carbone.... From the information you've given me, it appears you have had a fued with this person for quite some time despite numerous attempts to block and/or have them removed from the group of individuals you play games with, and wish to escalate matters further."

Breathing through their teeth, they shut the folder - placing it flat on the table. "Had I not done my research into your person, I'd consider this whole thing."

V feels tightness in the crotch of his slacks at the use of that word. Mr. Carbone. He's been referred to as such before, but the way it rolls off their tongue- V picks up his glass of water and fits it to his lips, trembling hands spilling the cool liquid all over his white shirt.

"R....research... You... know about me?"

"Yes. It's common for me to look into the backgrounds of all my clients. Make sure they have the funds to pay for my services and take note of what I can take as collateral if anything comes up. I know for certain you've got the cash, but the rest is still up in the air."

V swallows hard. "I already had the records of our conversation scrubbed and it's not like we talked much anyway... I don't trust cops much either."

Amused, the hitman's expression shifts from its blank slate for the first time as they offer him a small smile. "Good boy...."

V slaps a hand over his mouth to stiffle the whimper that almost slips out. The hitman retrieves a small flip phone from their briefcase and slides it across the table.

"From now on you will contact me from this device only. We will discuss how what methods you prefer in due time. Do you remember what else we talked about when we spoke over the phone?"

"Yea.... Half up front, half went it's done." V pulls a crumbled envelope from his pocket and hands it to them - savoring the brief moment of contact between his sweaty hands and the heat of their skin through their gloves. They count the bills briefly before sliding it into their back pocket. What V wouldn't do to be that piece of paper.

"I look forward to working with you, Sir. Something tells me we'll be hearing a lot from each other in the future."

".....you promise?"

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #male yandere #V my oc #yandere drabble

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

Text

You're Feeling Ten For Ten

Task Force 141 x Reader (Actually Reader x Ghost if you look close enough) One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Hey I made a part two. Happy now? Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The little breakroom is cozy, she decides as she plants her ass on the couch and props her legs on the other side. Cozy enough that she can already imagine some of her things here and there. A bag of Black Ivory coffee beans beside a La Marzocco Strada Electronic Paddle, a seventeenth century Persian rug, a Parsifal Round Fendi couch complete with a Metropolis coffee table, the ideas are endless, and she can’t help but begin to call in orders from her high end clients. It’s the center of her focus until a ringtone echoes from the coffee table and, her being who she is, reaches over and takes the iPhone, carefully looking over the contact.

Nannie Moira? Must be the Scots granny, she thinks and answers the phone.

“Hello!” she chirps politely and the response she gets is not one she expects.

John?

“I’ve been called quite a few things in my life, but ‘John’ has never been one of them.” She’s already pulling up the 141’s files, sliding to “John MacTavish” before she enters “Moira MacTavish” into a search bar. Of course, she comes up within the first ten searches and she smiles.

Oh, Christ, I thought I’d rung my ogha.

“Oh, you did, Missus Moira,” she answers. “I’m afraid John is out right now, but he left his phone and you seemed quite important, so why not answer?” she smiles. “John talks quite a bit about you Missus Moira.” Her eyes scan the newspaper articles from Stirling, Family of Five Killed In Massive Car Pile-Up, Leaves Boy, Two, Orphaned. “Best woman he knows, yes?”

Aye, my ogha, John. Raised the lad myself.

“Missus Moira—”

Call me Nannie Moira, darling. Any friend of John’s is a child o’ mine.

“Of course, Nannie Moira,” she smiles. “So, tell me more of John. He’s so tight-lipped about himself.”

Oh, I can talk for hours of my ogha. Did you know—

***

It’s a good half hour before the door to the break room opens and in piles four men who stop like deer in headlights as they take in the woman—they do not know—sitting on their couch, laughing as she answers, “Nannie Moira! You did not say that to Johnny’s girlfriend!” Whatever response she gets, they can tell it makes her laugh because she presses the back of her hand to her mouth.

Soap’s already headed her way at the mention of his grandmother; she bats at his hand when he tries to take the phone from her. “Oh, Nannie, I think John just got back, would you like to talk to him?” she holds out the phone expectingly and chastises, “Nannie’s very upset you didn’t call her last night.”

He takes the phone, “Nannie, are you alright?...well, yes, I know I didn’t call, I was—yes, Nannie…yes ma’am…I promise I will call you tomorrow night…I love you, Nannie.” He hangs up and glares down at her. “Congratulations, you’re invited to midnight mass on Christmas Eve.”

“Can’t wait,” she replies with a smirk and turns her gaze to Ghost. “Hi, Simon.”

“How,” he starts darkly and stalks towards her in slow, warning steps. “Did you get in here?”

She blinks owlishly at him. “Let’s see, I forged a key card, showed it to the enlisted at the gate, and you might want to actually enlighten them on who they should and should not let it, and walked right in.” she sniffs and tips her head to the air vent that they now notice is missing a covering. “Air vent was a little snug too.”

“I’ve half a mind to arrest you.”

“Oh, I can agree you do have half a mind. It’s why you’ve never managed to beat me in any fight we have.” She raises her hands like she’s waiting cuffs. “Go ahead. But if you arrest me, you won’t have a way to blow up that Syrian power plant you all are planning without leaving someone behind to make sure it does.”

That stops all of them and they stare at her, Price especially when he walks over. “You’re the woman Soap mentioned.” They all ignore how Ghost absolutely glowers at Soap who has now found the ceiling much more interesting. “How much do you know?”

“About the power plant or the mission?”

“All of it.”

She taps a pointer to her chin. “Well, that’s no fun to tell and not get rewarded. I’m not a good girl unless I get a reward, Captain Price,” she purrs and gazes at him. “In return for this information, I’m going to give you my file and you will strongly consider my…introduction, into the 141.”

“No, absolutely not,” Ghost gripes. “I am not working with you.”

“Oh, don’t hurt my feelings, Simon. We both know you and I work so well.”

“You are a killer.”

“I’m a murderer of very bad people, the same as you. So, I’d be careful waving that hypocrisy stick around—might end up with it too far up your ass.”

Ghost turns to Price. “Her name is Spades, she’s an international assassin responsible for taking out targets with the biggest bounties.”

“So, by technicality, I’m a bounty hunter,” she adds. “He’s right though, I do take out quite a few bounties. But believe it or not, the most scandalous thing about me is that I am a morally good assassin. I don’t kill good people. Only very, very, very bad people. Like the Guestroom Butcher.” She ignores the shocked stares. “God, I had to spend months in London before I got that guy. I hate London.”

“You—you killed the Guestroom Butcher?” the fourth man asks, and she peers at him.

“You must be Gaz. And yes, I did. His name was Albert Franklin. A physics teacher at a local secondary school who was a janitor part time. Spent years traveling to different guestrooms all over London to murder tourists. Such an odd man. He talked a lot before I killed him. Kept muttering something about his late wife being killed by tourists decades prior. Sad, but understandable as to why he targeted tourists.”

“And how do we know you killed him?” Gaz inquires.

“Well, my name isn’t Spades for a reason, dear,” she explains and looks at Simon. “Have my card still?” He wordlessly pulls it out and hands it to Gaz, who looks over it. “That’s my calling card. I leave it on bodies so that police know I was there. Look up the case on the internet. There’s a photo of my card.”

“How do you know someone didn’t forge this?”

“All my cards are made by hand, with gold inlay. Signed too. No one can forge my card. And no one in the business is foolish enough to get on my radar for pretending to be me. I’m one of the best there is for a reason.”

Price looks at her. “How do you know about the mission?”

“Simon forgets that he shouldn’t carry around information on a phone.”

“It was locked,” is all he replies when Price glares at him.

“Oh, it was, I unlocked it with a hacker’s bypass.” She clears her throat. “As for the mission…I know the logistics of what you’re planning. I know someone is going to have to stay behind to make sure the pressure in the facility gets high enough that it blows. I also have a bypass for that in which we don’t have to hold a funeral for someone here.”

They stare at her, watching, waiting.

She lifts a small plug, no bigger than a thumb. “This, is a kill-switch made by one of the scientists who helped build the power plant. When the Syrian government found out he was gay, they had him executed. Before that, he made this as insurance and sold it to the black market the United States frequents. I paid quite a pretty penny for it.”

“What’s it do?” Soap asks.

“This little plug will directly overload the system in fifteen minutes. There is no way to stop the overload once it’s been activated by this. That’s why it’s the kill-switch.” She rolls it in her fingers. “You insert this into the mainframe and in exactly fifteen minutes, you blow everything in a ten mile radius to kingdom come.” She smiles. “Only takes five to get out of the facility and to the rescue chopper. Ten minutes to get outside the blast radius.”

They’re silent and she knows she’s found her entrance point as she rises from the couch; their eyes follow her.

“I’ll be in my quarters. Simon, I chose the room between you and Gaz since it was vacant. Oh, and Captain Price, there’s going to be quite a few boxes being delivered to the base in the next two hours. If you would, have someone bring them to my room so I can set them up.” she gathers her things. “Also, if one of you, I’m hoping it’ll be Soap, can help me move out all that ugly military furniture from my quarters, I would appreciate it.”

She walks past them without a care in the world.

“Can’t believe you plebians live like this. What ever happened to having good furniture and a supported spinal column when you sleep?”

The door closes behind her and Simon’s the first to break the silence. “You’re just going to let her stay?”

Price glares at him. “The fuck am I supposed to do? She looks more prepared for our mission than we are right now.”

Ghost growls, legitimately growls, and says, “I cannot believe I have to fucking work with her.”

This, doesn’t stop Soap from raising his hand and asking, “Wait, so fraternization only works on folks in the military right?”

“SOAP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

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yandere-sins · 2 years

Text

Mine Forever

This wasn’t my favorite prompt as I wasn’t aware of how broad the topic of eldritch horror was, so I hope I ended up coming up with something acceptable lol. Return of the slime monster (unfortunately, no the alien, but a slime demon is close enough, no?) and all of its... delicate doings.

Fandom: Original Work Pairings: Yandere!Slime!Demon x GN!Darling!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Actions/Lemon (Mention of non-con, eggs and basically incubations of those, lowkey breeding mention?), Violence (Strangulations and restriction of the reader’s body), Demons (+ summoning demons), Mention of other occult/spiritual things and practices.

Prompt: @sintember Eldritch Horrors - Twisting minds, twisting depths, slithery limbs that shift and grasp and pull you deeper into the madness.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Your friend told you to be careful.

Actually, everyone tells you to be careful in life. Your parents, grandparents, friends, lovers, the fucking internet. It’s like everyone is so worried about what could happen that they sometimes forget to just do things. You never believed in the supernatural, so when anyone told you to be careful with things like the ouija board, tarot cards, and haunted bridges, you laughed it off light-heartedly. So far, everything has gone well.

Imagine your surprise when the magical book you got from your friend, who had it from her grandmother, who had it from her grandmother, turned out to be an actual relic. One that worked. One that could summon things beyond human comparison. A guidebook to summon demons and dead people. One that called on something so nightmarish it couldn’t be a dream of your own mind anymore.

Like a blob of what looked like snot.

Admittedly, throwing yourself to the ground laughing wasn’t the most respectful thing to do. It was a mix of relief and surprise that your summoning worked while at the same time bringing forth something so… pathetic. Now, had it been a giant, strong demon with horns and wings and fire going everywhere, you definitely would have pissed yourself. However, this… was barely enough to make your toes curl. Shaking your head, you told it, “Gosh, look at you. Kinda disgusting, sorry not sorry,” before picking it up and throwing it out of the fourth-floor window of your apartment and into the community garden.

It wasn’t even sticky or anything, just like a ball of glue slime. Still, you went to wash your hands anyway before returning to your one-room-for-everything-room, staring at the summoning circle you drew on the floor. Even though the slime appeared, it didn’t really work, did it? Must have been a coincidence. Maybe that thing had been a huge bug that had been sitting on your ceiling and fell off. Shrugging, you pushed your soft, white rug over it again, not bothering to wipe the circle off your floor before you moved your furniture over it again, deciding to just leave it in case you needed it again. Big mistake.

For once, you should have heeded the warning to be cautious.

Nothing especially exciting happened after that. You ate dinner, watched some sucky, old rom-com, and headed to bed after checking your emails and brushing your teeth. Just normal stuff. Despite your belief to know better, you left the window closed, just in case that weird bug was coming back, but really, there was a very different window you should have closed after opening it.

You were woken up by a cool feeling around your legs, sighing in your hazy mind as you opened them. The feeling kept creeping up further, caressing your skin in a mix of chilling air and pleasant touch. Even in your half-asleep state, you enjoyed it, not having been intimate with anyone for a long time and missing the caresses on your thighs. There was always the odd night out, and a bit of a dirty dream wasn’t going to stir you until the feeling crawled higher, wrapping around your wrists and lower torso. When you wanted to move them away, you were held back, restricted, and your eyes snapped open, staring at the door at the farthest end of the room.

The sensations began to crawl higher and higher until you felt something akin to a breath—rather, it was a vibration—next to your ear. You were too stunned to turn your head over and face what was waiting for you when it suddenly began to speak. “Human…” The eerie sound it made, between a purr and hiss, rumbling from the chest you expected hovering over you, made no sense in your ear. Instead, it merely formed a thought in your head, allowing you to understand it with its invading voice.

“You didn’t fulfill your promissse,” it snarled, drawing out the s-sound unnaturally.

Feeling your lips quiver, the only thought you could muster was: fuckfuckfuck, as you tried to calm yourself by staying rational. This was all just a dream, right? A joke? Was your friend pranking you? Was it an intruder? A real one or an… otherworldly one? Wetting your lips, you thought back to the ritual you did. How you thought it was funny to offer your body in exchange for all the knowledge in the world so you could pass your tests and get a good job.

Finally, after realizing you’d never know unless you looked at what you were facing, you turned your head over, your eyes widening as you stared into the monstrous visage of… something. Translucent and wobbly, a body hovered over you. Your fingers jerked, gripping the stuff holding them down, and feeling it give in to your touch but never tearing or jerking away. Just… enveloping. Forming around you. It had no eyes but was formed after a human face with lips and nose carved into it. It reminded you of a comic depiction of the devil with horns on its head but no wings from what you could see. And still, you recognized it as a demon.

Shivering at this point, you looked down, but its body seemed to spread out, coating yours in its mass. And all at once, you started to realize the mistake you had made, leaving a portal open to invite whatever you tempted with your offer. “My egg,” it breathed into your mind, the feeling so revolting you wanted to throw up. “It’s preciousss. I wanted to give it to you to carry, ssso you might gain the knowledge you ssseek. Where isss it?”

You didn’t dare to move a muscle, your body shaking. But your glance to the window gave it away. From one second to the other, the expression on the demon’s face fell into disbelief, and a hand appeared out of the dripping slime to wrap around your throat. “Unacceptable!” it bellowed, and you gasped for air as it pressed your windpipe down tightly. “It’s preciousss, and you threw it OUT?!”

All you could do was gurgle, eyes rolling back in your head and your body arching into the demon’s as you still couldn’t move the limbs it still held down. “Oh no,” it snarled angrily. “You’re not going to die. Not after I returned your pathetic call for knowledge.”

Pulling back its slime around your throat, you took a deep breath, coughing as the air began rapidly spreading inside your lungs. “P-Please…” you whimpered, coughing out the words while tears shot into your eyes instinctively. The demon merely huffed at your pathetic attempts to soothe its anger in a way only a human would. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was real! You have to believe me! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“That is no excussse, Human,” it reprimanded you, and the pressure on your arms and legs grew hurtful, the demon letting out its anger on your weak limbs. There was nothing you could do, not even knowing where its body started and where it ended or how to pry its weird consistency off you. “I will give you one more chance. One more, or I will take from you what I want, and I will not be merciful as you have disssrespected me. Do you understand me?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimpered. “Anything you say, but please don’t kill me…”

Maybe dying would have been a much better option than this, the demon’s lips curling into a grin enough to ingrain fear into every cell inside your body. It mustered you for a silent moment, and you felt its gaze roam your body despite its lack of eyes. “I’ll treat you jussst like you have treated my gift. You’re mine to do as I please now, understand?”

Nodding was the only thing you could, tongue-tied by fear, while your body slowly became limb from the pressure crushing it and hindering the blood from going through it. Finally, the monster withdrew from you at least far enough, so your arms were freed.

“Then, letsss do this again. I’ll make sure my gift goes where it belongsss this time,” the demon announced, pulling back just enough you felt its body slip under your legs, lifting them and bending them at the knee, pressing them back and to the side, freeing the space to your sex and coating it in its slime again. The fabric around your legs began to dissolve, scraps of it being absorbed and floating around inside the demon as you jumped to action, pressing your hands into its body, only to get stuck inside.

“No!” you yelled, but it was already too late as you felt the slime press into you despite your desperately clenching your hole shut.

“You’ll accept my gift, Human,” it hissed, the pressure intensifying way beyond what you could stop with your tender muscles. “And you’ll give me your body as you promisssed. You belong to me now.”

A scream escaped your throat before it was muffled by the demon’s lips, the slime suddenly hot and sticky against your body, drawing you into it. Preparing you to be taken to the demon’s realm and do god-knows-what. If only you had been careful, this wouldn’t have happened! You should have left the book with your friend where it belonged. Now, the only thing echoing in your apartment was the sloppy sound of slime moving towards the summoning circle, your furniture everywhere but in its place as it dragged you back into the softly glowing portal. The last sound in your mind was the demon’s laugh as your vision turned to black.

But the next time you opened your eyes again, you were met with something even worse than what you had just experienced. Something that was using your body and making your toes curl from fear and pleasure. A shocked cry escaped you right after waking up, and the demon grinned as it emphasized its point, slime slipping in and out from between your legs and leaving a sticky mess where it pounded into you.

“Mine, forever.”

#Sintember 2022 #demons #demon #yandere demons #yandere!demons #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #OW

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gumnut-logic · 2 months

Text

Thunderdragons

I had a request for a glossary for this AU. So here you go. Back story spoilers ahead.

Please note that I am not a historian or linguist. This is fantasy, definitions are approximate, and I should be apologising to probably all the people in the North Atlantic – aka the Great Western Sea, because it wasn’t called the Atlantic in 700AD.

For reference, Viking raids didn’t start until around 790AD.

‘Tracy’ is a surname that can be traced back to several origins, but the one I chose for this was Irish. One of the old forms is ‘O’Treasaigh’, so that is the name of the clan and where the family originated from.

I set them up as a small kingdom ruled by a Flaithri (king in Old Irish) somewhere in Ériu (Ireland in Old Irish). Grandpa Tracy was Flaithri and Grandma Tracy was his wife (didn’t look up Queen in Old Irish as I haven’t needed it yet). Jeff Tracy, as their son, was Flaith (Prince) – later once Grandpa Tracy had died, Jeff became Flaithri and Scott Flaith, and so on. By the fic Cethair, Scott has become Flaithri, much to his dislike and grief.

The Irish people do not have dragons, but Jeff being Jeff, he explores, makes trade agreements and keeps eyeing the Great Western Sea (aka Moon or Mars like exploration equivalent – no one had crossed the Great Western Sea, that we know of, in 700AD).

Eventually, he convinces his father to let him take a voyage of exploration across the Western Sea, which he does, with not great results, Óen saves him and things happen. Essentially, he does cross the Western Sea, just not the way he expected and finds a people who do have dragons. He marries in North America (not called that), and has three sons.

Gaat happens and the family decide to return to Ériu. The Flaithri welcomes them with open arms, and eventually the dragons.

Two more boys are born and everything is going nicely.

Until Gaat makes it across the sea, attacks and kills the Flaithri and Jeff’s wife before the rest of the family can uproot and flee. This makes Jeff Flaithri and Scott, Flaith.

I will drop the spoilers there :D

The rest of the old Irish.

Máthair Chriona – Grandmother/Wise woman (aka Grandma Tracy)

The Dragons (again with the Old Irish)

Óen – One

Dá – Two

Tri – Three (Alan doesn’t have a dragon yet, that’s a separate story)

Cethair – Four

Cóic – Five

One and Two can be found in the How to Train Your Dragon fandom. Three and Five, I’m inventing myself. Four, I haven’t decided yet, but likely inventing myself.

I think that is all the Old Irish so far. I have a few notes regarding a few other words but didn’t end up using them.

Regarding the people in North America, I did do quite a bit of research into the Algonquian language people of the North East Atlantic and did assign appropriate names, but I felt it created more confusion and I desperately don’t want to offend any First Nations peeps (at least with the Irish, I’m only messing up my own heritage…well, a small part of it), so left them out. It should be noted that Belah Gaat, Tanusha, Kyrano, etc are all Malay or Indian derived names, so I’m sweeping that under the rug.

For funsies, it should be noted that Jefferson Tracy is Mac Séafraidh O’Treasaigh in Old Irish. That just hurts, so I’m keeping him Jeff :D

Apologies for any confusion. I hope this clears this up. And as you can see there is one hell of an iceberg behind this fic series. A lot of work. Hence there will likely be Sweetapple Slices and Virgil whump in between so I can take a break :D

Anyway, I hope this helps. Any questions, please give me a yell.

Nutty

(the librarian)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfam #thunderdragons #nutty is nuts

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iloveavatar · 1 year

Note

Hey hey lovie!

I have a request for a neteyam x reader. (Already established relationship if possible)

So, reader is an orphan from a traumatic experience, and Jake and neytiri raised reader as one of their own.

But, because reader was on their own for a while before being found by jake and neytiri so their fiercely independent and doesn’t really have l a regard for their own life and is often reckless. One day reader almost dies on a mission bc of their recklessness and neteyam finds out, freaks out, cries, begs them to take care of themselves and reader is like “I don’t care about myself” or “who cares if I get hurt” neteyam reassured them and it’s just fluffy comfort?

(Holy crap I’m sorry it’s so long I just have it so planned out In my head 😭)

i’m fine!

this is so amazing. i LOVE THIS IDEA SM. i’m so sorry this took so long💀

obv neteyam x fem!reader (already in a relationship)

neteyam has known the feeling stress from lo’ak. he knows the pain of that gut feeling tell him that something has gone wrong.

however it’s different when it’s her.

he has never felt this kind of stress before. it’s similar to lo’ak… except if you were to ask anyone how neteyam is handling it, they would tell you he’s not.

he’s not handling it well at all.

y/n brings neteyam a whole new feeling of stress. he deeply cares for her.

why wouldn’t he care about the woman he’s with?

now let’s just explain how neteyam got in this situation first yeah? yeah.

he was around 4 years old, he was hanging out with his grandmother. however when neytiri was out by herself she heard a baby crying out in the middle of the beautiful forest. obviously she followed the sounds, because who would leave their child here?

she ran into a young na’vi who looked around neteyam age.

long story short neytiri decided to take y/n (which is what the little na’vi said was her name) home and have her stay with the sully family.

when little y/n went home with neytiri, she was introduced to jake. she was nervous seeing all these different people and the couple took notice.

neytiri gently asked her, “is something wrong little one?”

y/n timidly shook her head “no ma’am! i’ve just never seen so many people before…”

the couple exchanged a look of confusion. there was only neytiri, jake, and y/n in their tent so far… what did she mean ‘so many people?’

“y/n… who are your parents? do you remember?” jake gently asked while sitting down.

y/n looked at the rug that was sprawled across the floor of the tent. tears started to rush to the surface of her eyes. she huffed because she hated crying.

“ive never met my dad… and my mom left me. she said i wasn’t useful enough for her to love me… so i want to become the best hunter i can!” y/n started out with tears, but then ended her sentence with a determined, stubborn look.

the couple felt their heart breaking at the reveal. they then made eye contact with one another, almost having a conversation with their eyes.

neytiri would help raise y/n and train her to become a hunter like how she wishes.

years later and neytiri stuck to her word. y/n eventually became such an amazing hunter that the clan looked up to her. she became an expert at such a young age due to neytiris help.

y/n having such an independent, strong, fierce personality and mindset, is exactly what made neteyam fall madly for her.

if you were to ask neteyam who was the best hunter in the clan… he would say y/n. after saying his mother of course.

and he wouldn’t just say this because they were dating… but because it’s true.

y/n climbed the ranks of being an amazing hunter so fast it could give someone whiplash.

y/n was so stubborn to prove that she was the best. she would train nonstop, barely sleep, and never ever ask for help.

that being said… y/n was so reckless because of her stubbornness.

neytiri and jake, even neteyam have tried to tell her that being reckless can lead to consequences in the future if she’s not careful.

she would also argue that “she’s fine” and that “she’s got it under control”.

as much as everyone loved her… they all thought she was stupid for risking her life nonstop.

this said reckless behavior is what has neteyam stressing in the first place.

y/n was out on a hunt with his mother to feed the clan, and neteyam was in charge of keeping an eye on lo’ak while they were out.

everything was going well until neteyam heard his mothers war cry.

his head whipped around to see his mother carrying someone else on her ikran.

it was y/n.

she had scratches up and down her body, blood seeping through and making her look like a bloodied mess.

neteyams heart stopped.

he got up and sprinted towards the crowd of na’vi that had eventually ended up forming. except when he finally pushed past everyone, he noticed the back profile of his mother running towards his grandmothers healing tent.

he started to sprint.

his heart was racing in fear.

once he made it to the tent, he found his mother and father waiting outside.

“you cannot disrupt your grandmother neteyam… let her work” said neytiri gently stopping him from entering the tent.

“what happened.” neteyam demanded. his voice came out strong, which was unintentional but his parents knew it was out of worry.

“we were hunting, and per usual she was amazing. however that being said, she was also being reckless once more. she inched closer to her target… something from behind the herd made a noise and they ended up running towards her direction… “ neytiri started to form tears in her eyes

“ i called out for her! i heard a sickening snap and everything else didn’t matter anymore. i tried to get there in time i swear my love…” she cried while taking neteyams hands gently.

“once i made it to her… her bow was trampled on, completely shattered. her body covered in marks and blood. bruises were already starting to form.” she sobbed.

neytiri felt awful. she saw y/n as one of her own. she thinks that she failed to protect y/n. she blames herself.

neteyam tightly hugs his mother with his own tears in his eyes. “it is not your fault mother. please do not put the blame on yourself.” he took a breath. “do you think grandmother will be able to fix her?” he hesitantly asked.

jake jumped into the conversation, “of course she will. y/n is stubborn as hell either way. if mo’at won’t heal her, y/n will find a way to do it herself!” he lightly joked, trying to take the tension off the mother-son duo.

the three of them lightly laughed.

they then waiting for about a half hour until mo’at came out of the tent.

“she’s healed. she’s getting some rest so you can come in and see her in a little while. stubborn one that girl! i thought she wasn’t going to make it through but she proved me wrong once again!” she praised with a smile on her face.

neteyam then waiting an hour or so to walk into the tent.

his parents figured it would be best for neteyam so see her first when she was awake.

he walked into the tent slowly, scared of what he might see.

he saw her laying down with multiple bandages on her body. tears instantly formed in his eyes.

y/n heard the sniffles and slowly opened her eyes. she turned her head gently towards the source of the sound. it was neteyam.

“oh ma teyam…” she softly started to say. “it’s ok! i’m fine..” she whispered.

“no it’s not ok! you’re too reckless… it’s like you don’t even care about your life anymore!!” neteyam shouted with a shaking voice. tears started to fall from his eyes now.

y/n gasped at his sentence.

“i- i don’t care about my life… it’s worthless!” she stated with a strong voice.

neteyam was shocked at the reveal. “h-how could you not care? i care for you. my family cares for you. everyone in the clan cares for you!” he loudly said with a broken heart.

“well clearly not everyone! if everyone cared then my mother wouldn’t have left me!!” she shouted with tears in her eyes.

“… she would’ve loved me..” she whisper while crying.

neteyam felt his heart shatter even more. he didn’t realize that she was still holding onto such sorrow.

neteyam rushed over to give the woman he loves a gentle hug, careful not to open her wounds.

they both sobbed in each other arms.

“y/n…” neteyam started out in a whisper. “you don’t need your mother to love you..because i love you.” neteyam stated sincerely. he looked into her teary eyes to show just how much he was being serious.

y/n started to sob.

“i-im sorry ma teyam!” she wailed. she finally felt the pressure of sadness she has been holding, break down and flow out like a river.

neteyam takes her in his arms again and doesn’t let go. he whispers sweet nothings in her ear until she slowly stops crying and falls asleep from exhaustion. neteyam feels his eyes slowly close and let’s sleep consume his body.

a couple hours later, neytiri walked into the tent to check on y/n. she noticed her eldest and his soon to be mate fast asleep cuddling one another.

she smiled at the sight and slowly backed out of the tent letting them sleep.

from that moment on… y/n was more careful with her life. she finally had something to live for. she didn’t care about her mother anymore.

she saw neytiri as her mother now. she wanted to live for her new family.

she wanted to live for her mates family.

she wanted to live for neteyam.

with neteyam.

from that moment on she had something and someone to live for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i’m so so sorry this took so long!! i’ve been on my period and i literally avoided everything and anything.

hopefully this is ok!!

if there’s any mistakes please lmk.

~S!

#avatar #the way of water #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #neteyam #iloveavatar

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blainesebastian · 2 years

Text

mutually assured satisfaction (pt4)

words: 3,026 ship: austin butler x reader summary: reader’s agent approaches her with a PR stunt to date austin butler and promote both their careers. a mapped out plan, an electric relationship–what could possibly go wrong? notes: masterlist is on my sidebar! :) previous parts can be found there. if you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @kittenlittle24, @slowsweetlove, @namoreno, @strokesofstokes, @callthedarknessdown, @kibumslatina, @al-co-hol-youlater, @frogoerson, @dancer4j

Time moves forward, another day into a few weeks and things are going completely smooth that you almost forget that none of it is real. There’s dates and events and interviews and you and Austin get along so well together, you enjoy spending time with him, you’re actually starting to look forward to it. But it’s not just you, you can see it on Austin’s face too—at least you think you can? Sometimes it’s hard to gauge, hard to read between the lines. What does it even mean for something to be real between you anyways?

Sometimes you hold hands when no one’s watching, or share a kiss just because Austin is scrunching his nose a certain way or you’re teasing him about a shirt he’s got on. Could be literally nothing and your lips lock.

What’s real? What’s genuine? –Everything about the two of you together is a lie. Why does it matter to you so much that you want to figure it out? You’ll be breaking up with one another at the beginning of next month. Your head is a constant whirling, a washing machine stuck on a spin cycle.

And the more you allow yourself to think about it, the more Elvis’s lyrics make sense to you, a song that’s stuck in your head over the past two days: I’m caught in a trap, I can’t get out.

To Christina’s credit, she doesn’t even attempt to tell you ‘I told you so’; at least there’s that. Regardless, the only thing you’re concerned about is brushing it underneath a rug and powering forward. Once this whole thing is over and you’re out of this rose-colored daze that’s Austin Butler, you’ll start to get your bearings again.

It’s like looking at a few broken pieces of ceramic up close for so long that you forget it’s part of a bigger mosaic.

Glancing at a missed call from your mom, you hover over her name to tap and call her back. There’s this…bad feeling settling low in your stomach that it might have something to do with your grandmother. Or…or maybe it’s nothing, right? Knowing her she’s called to have a twenty-minute conversation about this new recipe she tried or that she watched your latest interview on YouTube.

Nothing that can’t wait.

You slide your phone into your purse and glance over at Austin in the back of a SUV, pulling in across the street of an event you’re going to tonight. It’s been on your calendar for a while, long past the whole ‘plan’ with Austin—a charity event at a museum that benefits an ‘arts in schools’ program. The goal is to auction off children’s art pieces that are in the program and all the money raised goes directly back into the pot. You’ve done it for two years in a row now, you really enjoy the charity and feeling like you’re able to give something back. You loved art as a teenager and even thought you might teach it for a while in college.

Though, you’re not exactly heartbroken about where your path has taken you in life.

Sharing a small smile with Austin, you undo your seatbelt, running a hand through your hair. Austin gently touches your elbow, causing you to pause from getting out of the SUV, “You alright? You’re quiet tonight.”

Despite not being in a ‘relationship’ with you for very long, he picks up on cues incredibly well. He reads people, looks at you like an open book, fingers grazing along words. Regardless, now is not the time to talk about this. And even if you wanted to say something about it, which…you kind of do? —Austin’s surprisingly a good listener, stuff with your grandmother is just not his problem. He doesn’t have to worry about that for you.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just got a lot going on.”

Austin nods softly but doesn’t press, “We don’t have to go, you know.”

Tilting your head back with a soft sigh, you know he’s right but, “We do. It’s lowkey, just buying a bunch of kid’s art pieces. Besides, it’s part of our mutually agreed on dates.” And even though there’s been a lot of random additions lately? you’re attempting to stick to the plan as much as possible.

Austin’s eyebrows draw together and he shrugs. He looks good tonight—a simple outfit; black fitted slacks, a silky white button-down shirt tucked in, and a contemporary cut, casual suit jacket to match. With you wearing a black and white polka dot dress, you compliment eachother really well.

“We’re the dates, right? You and me? We can change whatever we want.”

And you hate how much you enjoy the sound of that, you and me. You cannot believe you’ve let this crush of yours run rampant. While doing something else tonight feels promising, you’ve steeled yourself into moving forward according to plan…and that includes going to this charity event.

“I’m alright,” You promise, leaning over to plant a kiss to his cheek.

That seems to be encouragement enough because Austin doesn’t attempt to argue or persuade you anymore, instead getting out of the SUV and following you across the street to the red velvet covered steps. There’s a multitude of fans for both of you on the outskirts of the event, security attempting to keep barriers up and people at bay so that they don’t overcrowd the sidewalk. This is easy proof that your PR stunt is working, especially for fans of Austin to be waiting for an event you’ve only mentioned in your Instagram story. They knew he’d be here.

While security does their best to usher you both forward, both you and Austin seem to have similar ideas of lingering to speak to people, sign autographs and pose for selfies. You’ve never been greedy with your time, never in a rush when it came to pausing and talking to people—without fans? Your world wouldn’t revolve. Period. It’s nice to see someone else who gets it, Austin is incredibly generous with making sure he talks to as many people as he can. And not just by offering one or two words but holding conversations.

That’s something genuine, special.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, Austin’s hand automatically reaches for yours, lacing fingers together. The action itself has become so second-nature that it almost feels weird when you’re not holding hands.

“Austin!”

You turn to say something to him but a voice to the right at the end of the barricade grabs your attention. A young woman behind the row of barriers calls Austin’s name again—and it’d be so easy for him to ignore her, for him to keep walking with you up the steps and into the event. But he doesn’t, he turns and seeks her out, slowly wandering towards her as she begins talking past the security guards.

“I dunno if you remember me but I worked on a movie set with you,” She’s saying, struggling against the guards. She’s not pushing but she definitely is trying to talk to Austin without the bodyguards blocking her, “It was a long time ago so I understand if you don’t—”

Austin’s face lights up in realization, a small smile on his face, “No I remember you, Meg, right?”

And you can tell it makes this girl’s night. “Yes! Meg, I uh—I didn’t expect,” She laughs, “It’s nice to see you again.” Honestly you’re a little bit impressed yourself. From what you can tell, this girl worked on a movie set but wasn’t someone who was in the main day to day, maybe…delivered coffee or was some kind of extra. Either way, the fact that Austin not only remembers her but then takes the time to reach out and squeeze her hand in a hello?

You’re definitely a bit moved. Just goes to show what kind of person he is—goes out of his way to remember anyone he interacts with. You could probably learn a thing or two from him about being graceful…not that you’d ever admit to that outloud.

Giving him another smile after he waves to Meg, takes your hand again. Leaning down, he plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth, seemingly just because, as you both start walking up the steps. You do your best to ignore (and fail) the heated feeling bubbling in your stomach and butterflying up your chest—something you’re quickly beginning to associate just from being with Austin.

Once you both visit the table to sign in and hear how the auction works, what time it’s starting, all the odds and ends, you both wander towards an open bar. Austin leaves you there, his hand lingering along your lower back as he excuses himself to the restroom. Your gaze flutters over him as you watch him go, disappear around the corner—there’s this buzzing in your ears that you feel like is overwhelming, some sort of strong emotion that sits in your chest when you’re together. Being with him is somehow dizzying in the best way. You just…don’t know what it’s supposed to mean, where you want to go with all this, if Austin is even on the same page or if he’s just that good of an actor.

Brushing your hand over your forehead, you order a glass of wine, feeling someone slide up beside you.

“I thought that was you.”

Turning, you recognize Nate’s voice immediately, a soft smile tugging the corners of your mouth. Your ex, dressed in a navy suit, clean sharp lines, dark hair and kind blue eyes. The color is somehow highlighted by the shade of the jacket and his hand gently reaches to squeeze your arm. You have a pretty decent friendship with Nate despite how things ended. The breakup was ugly, but your relationship wasn’t. Neither was what came after—apologies, understandings, removing layers of toxicity that either of you ever intended to be there.

“Yeah, course,” You laugh softly, moving to hug him. “Never miss this event—you know that.” You do not notice a few camera shutters going off, capturing the embrace.

You slowly pull apart, your hand reaching for the glass of wine that’s set on the counter for you. Thanking the bartender with a polite head nod, you take a small sip. Nate gives you a onceover, a not-so-subtle way of checking you out but it doesn’t make you uncomfortable,

“I’ve been meaning to text you actually, especially when I knew this event was coming—did you come with anyone?”

You swallow over what feels like glass in your throat, “My boyfriend, actually, Austin.”

He raises his eyebrows, about to reply when you feel him coming up behind you. He settles against your side, an arm sliding around your waist. When you look up at him, he’s got his eyes on Nate—curious but cautious.

“Speak of the devil,” You tease lightly, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Austin, this is Nate—Nate, Austin.”

Nate nods his head, reaching his hand out to shake, “Nice to meet you man, heard a lot about you.”

Austin politely hums, offering his hand as well. “Nice to meet you too—wish I could say the same.” And there’s something there to the tone of Austin’s voice, something you can feel in the tenseness of his body. While this is the same sort of skin he slips on to speak to other people, a genuine kindness, you can tell he’s a bit uncomfortable as well.

Nate isn’t sure how to take that comment and well, to be fair, you have not talked a lot about your ex. It’s been a while since you’ve been together, it’s not like you actively hang out as friends. It’s moreso like this—you bump into one another at events, catch up and move on.

He powers through though, clearing his throat as he looks back at you with a smile, “Well you look beautiful.”

A soft blush kisses your cheeks and when you look up at Austin, there’s a muscle working in his jaw as he clamps his mouth shut. What is going on with him? You shake off the tension and reach out to touch Nate’s arm, “Thank you.” And you’re about to say your goodbyes, maybe throw out a ‘see you around’, meaning this event, but,

“I also just…wanted to say that I’ve been wanting to text you about your gram?” You swallow, feeling yourself go cold, “Just…ask how she was, how you are.”

That same feeling of panic wells up in your chest, that unanswered call from your mom, still needing to call her back and ask what’s going on. Wondering…a small voice in the back of your mind telling you that you already know that something’s wrong, that something bad has happened, but not wanting to admit it to yourself.

Austin, sensing your body language, squeezes you around your waist, “We’ll see you around the event, good luck with the auction.”

Nate blinks but then nods, moving to pick up his drink at the bar before giving you a light smile and walking away. Least he’s got the point and it doesn’t turn into this big thing. Austin lets his arm slip away, mostly just to turn a bit so he can face you, your back leaning against the open bar. His body almost creates a cage that feels comforting in a way that you can’t explain.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Shaking your head, you tip your chin just a little to look up at Austin and…you want to tell him, you do, but you’re not sure you even want to know yourself. If you let yourself go there, if…what your mom called about is actually happening? You’re not sure you can face that, let alone let Austin be there for you.

“Nothing,” You lie, “I hadn’t seen Nate in a while so we were just catching up.”

Austin lets out a breath through his nose, patient, “I’m not talkin’ about Nate.”

And you know that? But you scramble to come up with some other explanation, some other thing that you can talk about instead of—your eyebrows draw together as you get a good look at Austin’s face, especially after saying Nate’s name, curling your hair around your ear.

“Are you…” You trail off for a moment, amusement drawing the corners of your mouth up, “Why do you look like you’re suckin’ on a lemon right now?”

Austin frowns, his one hand drawing along the lower half of his face. “—what?”

Then your eyes widen in soft realization because, oh, oh God. “Oh my god, you’re jealous.”

Now Austin blinks at you, taking a step back, a laugh crawling up his chest. “I’m not—and besides, what’s there to be jealous of anyways?”

A scoff escapes your lips and you almost cover your mouth because that doesn’t sound defensive at all. There’s a brightness to your eyes as you laugh about this because regardless of what’s coming out Austin’s lips, his body language and the tone of his voice are saying things that are very different.

Moving closer to him, your hand rests along his chest, tipping your chin up to look at him, “I think it’s cute.” And at this point you can no longer recognize whether you’re acting or not, whether Austin’s reactions are premeditated or felt in response to you. The line is so blurred that it’s practically nonexistent.

He smiles a little down at you, shaking his head. Austin playfully grabs at your chin with his fingers, drawing you into a kiss, even as you’re laughing.

The auction itself goes well—both you and Austin actually buy pieces and donate money to the charity, so that feels good. It’s a night filled with drinks, food, and exploring the art in the museum that’s open during the time of the event, which feels like an extra special treat because you never seem to have time to just look at art in a gallery. You remember how much you love it and learn that Austin has quite the eye for expressionist paintings. It’s easy to fall in love with him when you hover in front of a painting and he talks about color, texture, and brush strokes.

Making your way out of the event, you hover near the SUV as Austin pauses with some fans that waited for him to leave. He’s talking with a few of them, signing autographs, posing for selfies. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you watch him, Nate coming down the carpet walkway to go to his car as well. He offers a small wave to you in goodbye, pausing to follow your line of sight to Austin.

“Austin’s great,” Nate starts, “You seem happy.”

You hum lightly, turning your head to look at him. And you’re not sure what even makes you say it but, “Or maybe I’m just a really good actress.” You tease and Nate…looks at you for a few long moments, his eyes narrowing just lightly before he laughs.

“No, I can see it in your face. Your eyes—there’s obviously something real there.” You have no idea how to take that because…something real? What does that even mean? It couldn’t mean anything, right? This is all just pretend, a connection built on mutual satisfaction.

That’s it.

And yet, you know exactly what Nate is talking about because no sooner than the words leaving his mouth, you feel that same sensation in your chest. There is something real there, and you…are almost certain Austin senses that too.

Which is terrifying.

“Just,” Nate reaches out and gently touches your wrist, “Let him in, alright? Don’t hide yourself away.” You swallow thickly, wanting to take that advice but…always easier said than done. You accept the small kiss that he plants on your cheek before turning to leave.

Austin approaches you a few moments later, opening up the SUV door for you to slide in first. “How does late night pizza sound?”

You smile but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, “You read my mind.”

Thank you so much for reading! :) 4 parts left.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #mas series #mas

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wrathful-reptile · 18 days

Text

Beamstalker re-emergence lore story under the cut

Long forgotten, Beamstalkers paced through the darkened city, no longer knowing why they were locked away, as their ancestors had long been too ashamed of their actions to pass down the tales.

"Now, now, Emblem. Don't get too close to the city or the big bad Beamstalkers will get you!"A male imperial chuckled to an energetic hatchling, looking over some research notes while trying to keep an eye on his younger sister.

"That's just a tale! You know they're not real, right? Gamgam's like a bajillion years old! Literally! Like she's got tales of Nocturnes being discovered! I think she made it up! No one else even's heard of a beamstalker!"

"I know, I know but Gamgam's parents passed down the tales to her, and their parents passed it to them. And she passed it to Grandma, and she passed it to Mom, and now we know it,"he chuckled, his tail swishing past the smaller imperial before using it to hold them in place as they went to run off."But seriously, don't get too close. I'm supposed to be watching you, and if you wreck anything, my work'll have my tail for bringing you with me and messing up research."

"Uhgggg fine! I won't break anything. But I am going to go explore. Not in the city, but you know…. just around it!"

"Be careful with that too. We're not too far off from Luminax territory. All that thing has to do is fall down the cliff and we'd be in its teeth!"

"I could take 'im!"

"Emblem, I'm serious. Emperors are dangerous."

"Psshhh, it's not gonna fall down here anyway. Gilden why are you so worried about everything?"Emblem gave a huff, scrambling free of the weight holding her in place and scurrying off.

Gilden shook his head with a laugh sigh, going back to the research papers, many being written copies of ancient documents.

Ancient… Ancients. The whole reason he was sent on this research job. With so many ancients re-emerging due to the change in energies, they wanted him to see if there'd be a possibility of discovering if there are any ancients in Light. After all, he seemed very interested in the tales told around the office of the new ones. He'd even chimed in with his great-grandmother's tales, gaining the interest. Though most had brushed it off as silly stories made to scare hatchlings, his boss's interest in the Hewn city had increased drastically. It was, after all, one of the only locations that a whole species could be hidden in for so many years.

Emblem was quickly bored, having escaped her older brother's line of sight. One solution? Well, the only reasonable choice, really, was to explore the one place everyone was so scared of. She stood a little taller, trotting into the darkened city, watching as the light that had been so bright became almost as if the area was under a permanent eclipse. The air was still and silent, and despite becoming unnerved, she walked onwards, her eyes always on the tops of the ruins and the sky, never on what was around her until she tripped.

"Ow!"She hissed, her ankle now scratched from… She stared at what looked to be a wildclaw for a moment. Or… a skydancer? It was Skydancer sized. At least adult skydancer sized.

"Pardon."It said."Are you alright? Tried to catch ya but it's a bit hard with hands like these. My ma's told me I need to dull 'em for now cause I keep scratching her and Da."

"You're not a skydancer or a wildclaw?"

"A whoosit-what-now?"The hatchling asked."Actually. What are ya?"

"I'm an imperial."She was trying to make sense of the dragon in front of her. He was such an odd hatchling, but he seemed nice.

"Eh? Never heard of it! My name's Rug."

"Rug?"

"Yep! Like Ruggy, rough, rugged!"

"Oh, I'm Emblem!"

"Nice to meet ya Emblem! Sorry I scratched ya up. C'mon, can you follow me? My ma can patch ya up!"

"Yeah! Okay! What sort of dragon are you anyway?"Emblem asked, following Rug with curiosity.

"I'm a Beamstalker! Least that's what we all say, so I suppose it's true, wouldn't ya reckon?"

"A beamstalker? My Gamgam, or great grandma tells tales of Beamstalkers. Everyone says you're not real. But you're a lot smaller than I thought. AND, and? You're not as scary at all!"Emblem held her head high. She'd found the secret! The terrible monsters her family was sooooo scared of! And they weren't scary at all! Her grin was only growing at the thoughts of showing everyone back home her new friend.

"Scary? I can be scary!"Rug said, fluffing out his back feathers to make himself look larger, only causing Emblem to laugh because he really looked like a baby bird.

"I don't think so! But it's not a bad thing!"She said. Rug gave a laugh and smoothed his feathers down, leading her into a den. The entry seemed only a bit larger than she was and the dragon inside stared at her in silence.

"Rug? Who's your friend here?"The grown beamstalker asked in shock.

"Ma, this is Emblem! I accidentally scratched her up. D'ya think you could patch her up?"Rug asked, a wide smile on his face.

"Oh, of course! She's as tall as me, though. What sort of dragon is she?"

"An imperial she says!"He seemed thrilled. Rug's mother nodded, heading out of the den and coming back with some odd plants and fabric scraps, wrapping Emblem's leg.

"Well, we'll have to see her to the edge, hm? I'm sure her parents are looking for her."

"We get to go to the edge?"Rug asked with excitement."Does that mean I get to see the sun? My friends'll be jealous!"

"Afraid not. The edge stops before the light starts."Rug's mother sighed."No one's seen the sun in millennia.

"Aww shucks. I was hopin I'd get to be the first."

"But hey! Maybe you all will meet my brother! His name's Gilden!"She said, her tail thudding the ground."He'll be so confused! Or maybe even scared? OR! OR! He'll be super duper excited and proud of me cause I did something super cool!"

"Oh, maybe. Maybe."Rug's mother hummed thoughtfully."Come on now, you're all patched up. Time to get you out, alright?"

"When Emblem leaves, she can come back and play, right? And next time we'll have dinner?"

"Of course, Rug."His mother hummed, now leading the two children along."If I wasn't worried about her getting home, she could have stayed for dinner tonight. Your father is out catching it."She looked over at Emblem."Now, dear, what was your brother's name again?"

"Gilden."

"Ah. My name is Vel. Such as the Velvet on antlers."

"Oh! So there's Rug, and Miss Vel…

"Yes. Your name is interesting, though. It is Emblem? Not Emb? And Gilden. Not Gil?"She hummed.

"No?"Emblem seemed confused."Is that bad?"

"Oh! Not at all, dear, just a curiosity. You imperials seem to have such silly names."

"Yeah. My friends think so too. James thinks it's silly that my parents named us after light things."

"No, no, being named for nature is fine. James?"Vel tilted her head with a bit of concern before shaking it."It is just unusual for such long names within the squadron."

"What's a squadron?"Emblem asked.

"Ah, it's what we call our grouping."

"Oh! Like a pack of wildclaws or mirrors, or a flock of skydancers. Okay!"Emblem seemed happy with that explanation.

The beamstalkers had been so distracted by Emblem that they hadn't noticed their scenery, though still darkened, was a different sort of dark.

"Oh, it's cloudy! Looks like it'll storm soon."Emblem chirped out.

"Emblem?!"A voice called. Booming footsteps. Gilden soon came into view. "I've been looking for you! Mom would have killed me if I told her I lost you in… the…"Gilden's words slowed to a stop, staring at the Beamstalkers.

"Woah… You're so tall!"Rug was staring up at Gilden in awe, eyes wide.

"Excuse me for asking, but what sort of dragons are you?"Gilden asked, looking at the two. He got no response from the two as Vel was looking at the open scenery before them and Rug was still in awe of how tall imperials were.

"They're Beamstalkers!"Emblem chirped, realizing the two weren't answering.

"I've got to report this to my job."

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samkat10423 · 5 months

Text

A TS2 throwback and a local

This first lot is the last one up there where EA had their ginormous spa lot - and right across the street from the hospital. They used to give out 25% off coupons for your ER visit after dining here, but it's now under new management, so the coupons are no longer valid. Or needed.

When we originally did this project, I volunteered to recreate the Londoste Restaurant from TS2. Since I was doing it by memory - and a memory a tad foggy with copious glasses of wine - it's not exactly the same. But I figured over the years, it had changed hands numerous times and been renovated and then re-renovated. So, here it is:

When we did these lots, we did them without CC and limited use of store stuff. I know! Scary! But for my own use, I went back in and went CC crazy. It was zoned as an Exclusive Lounge - mostly because I wanted sims to have to actually dress up to eat there.

The main level is where the restaurant is located. I use ani's mod for all my restaurants - so those are her menus and stove. On the other side is the bar area where sims can relax as they wait for their table. Or they can order a nightcap there. I kind of went for the whole men's smoking-room vibe. Not sure I nailed it since I am neither a guy, nor do I smoke. But whatever.

Upstairs sims can either gamble or take to the dance floor. Besides the EA stuff, I gave them 2 poker tables to lose their simoleons at - thanks to the lovely @mspoodle1. I love her stuff.

Since I was up there in the mountains, I did another family house. I'm jumping back and forth between redoing community lots and homes - mostly because I hate CAS. Anyway, in the town history the current owner of this house inherited it from her late grandmother - along with some simoleons which she promptly squandered.

Since her bio says that she wasted all her grandmother's simoleons on partying, I figured she wouldn't have done any improvements to the actual property itself. Instead, she left it pretty much the way the dearly departed left it. I figured by the time the old lady croaked, she was half-blind from untreated cataracts and unable to do any repairs due to health issues - hence the reason it looks so shabby. But at least the roof doesn't leak!

And here's the young lady herself - Madeline Moore with the stray cat that had moved in right before the old lady checked out. His name is Jinx. (No reflection on him, but right after he moved in, granny moved on). Anyway, her bio says that she's trying to find work to help keep up appearances. But EA had her in the science field at level 5. So, I fixed that. In my game, any technical field that requires sims to be educated - like science and medicine - now require a Uni diploma. And this kid just got out of high school and went on a partying-simoloen spending spree. So, no time for Uni. No, she now works in the culinary field and has absolutely no skills. Plus, I stole all her money. Because I'm a nice simgoddess I am! If you're going to tell a story, EA, do it right!

This lot was created by Jenba as a replacement for the city hall. It's where EA had their art gallery. And in my town, I use it strictly as an art gallery. In my town history it's where the city fathers used to meet before the new city hall was built. I now holds treasures from the town's past - aka: looted artwork from other sim worlds.

Where I've placed this little newsstand, Jenba had stairs down to a basement that contained the EA city hall rabbithole. Since I use the rugs and didn't intend to use it for my political career, I eliminated the stairs and basement, then built this instead using Sandy's newsstand set over on Around the Sims 3. Now my sims can buy their comic books here. Behind it - obscured by that tree - is @mspoodle1's news van. I have another one over on my business lot.

In the back of the lot is a nice promenade - that I forgot to take pictures of, but I will later. Sims can look out over the lake, paint, listen to music and whatnot.

And that's it for this post.

#sims 3 #Hidden Springs #Londoste restaurant #town art gallery and a local

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kimberly40 · 1 year

Text

Here are some Appalachian words and phrases that you or your family uses if you’re a longtime local, or that surprised you most when you arrived here:

•A might spell – a little while

•A scosh – a little

•Acting ugly – acting mean

•All tore up – broken down or bereft; “as in the car is broke down or someone is all to pieces upset about somethin’”

•All y’all – you and your extended group or family; a way to add emphasis to “y’all.” “Used interchangeably with, ‘you’ins.’”

•Airish – breezy

•Booger – a boogeyman or Bigfoot-type creature; also a Boojum

•Bowed up – to stop suddenly. “He bowed up in front of me.”

•Branch – creek

•Britches – pants

•Buggy – shopping cart

•Busier than a one-eyed cat watchin’ two mouse holes

•By and by – eventually

•Come down to the house – Come over and visit

•Cove – “Here, a cove is a small valley – like a holler, just from a different county.

•Cuss – use curse words

•Cut on/off – turn on/off. “Cut on the hose pipe.”

•Cypookus (sypookus) – “a really bad thunderstorm”

•Dad dern it – “Kinda like Dad Gum it, sorta cussing but not really”

•Dark thirty; dusty dark – just after sunset

•The Devil’s beating his wife – “This means it’s raining but the sun is shining. Quite un-PC, but very colorful!”

•Dinner – used for “lunch”

•Dreckly (Directly) – an indeterminate period of time; soon. “Heard it all my young life. Then much to my surprise I saw in a shop window in Penzance, Cornwall, a sign ‘back dreckly.’ – Martha L.; used by my grandmother…“‘He will be here dreckly.’” Meaning soon.

•Fixin’ to – about to. “The phrase I like best, that enchanted me, is ‘It’s fixin’ to rain.’ You can say it’s fixin’ to do anything.

•Fixins – condiments

•Gap – “A gap is a low spot in a mountain ridge. National Geographic Society says gaps are similar to passes, but more rugged and difficult to navigate.”

•Guam (or gom) – gummed up; a mess. “2020 has been a gom.”

•Gully washer – “heavy downpour of rain”

•Hanging in there like a hair in a biscuit

•Hide nor hair – to describe when you haven’t seen someone or something in a while; “if you haven’t seen someone in a while you haven’t heard ‘hide nor hair of ‘em’”.

•Hit’s – “As in ‘what’s hit’s name;’ non-gender specific reference to a live thing, like a child, cat, or dog, who you don’t know the gender of.”

•Holler – a small valley

•Honchu – I want you. “Honchu look at that.”

•I don’t care to – I don’t mind.

•I reckon – I guess

•I swanee – A mild oath or swear

•I’ll get to it directly – I’ll do it eventually

•I’m all covered up – I’m busy

•Jeet – “Did you eat? or Have you eaten yet?”

•Just a tidgh – A little bit

•Kindly, kindly like – kind of; sort of

•Might could – to suppose one could, “I might could do that.”

•Momanem (mom an’ ‘em) – one’s family or someone else’s family. “How’re your momanem?”

•Off kilter – not right

•Oh my ‘lanta – “OMG.”

•Onced or twiced – “It happened onced or twiced.”

•Pipe down – be quiet

•Ratpurddy – “Lovely; pleasing to the eye.”

•Right quick – next; sooner than later

•Spittin’ snow – just starting to snow; snowing lightly but getting heavier

•Spell – period of time. “She’s been a might ill for quite a spell now”

•This un – this one

•Toboggan – a winter hat

•T’ords – “In the direction of.”

•Whole ‘nother – Another

•Winder – window

•You uns – you all

•Young’un – young person; child

(From https://avltoday.6amcity.com/southern-appalachian-dialect-nc/)

#appalachian #appalachian mountains #north carolina #appalachian culture #appalachia #western north carolina #the south #nc mountains #phrases #words #sayings

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merakiui · 1 year

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For character bingo, Grim or Ruggie!

I really like Grim! He’s a fun, silly companion to have in a situation in which you are brought into an unfamiliar world. I know some companions in video games can become boring or annoying when they're with you so constantly, but I never feel that way with Grim. I like that he genuinely cares for his kobun hehe. <3 even if it never seems that way, there are lots of moments in the game where Grim shows he cares in his own ways and I like how his friendship with the MC (as well as ADeuce and other characters) has developed throughout the main storyline. :D also in book six where MC is so concerned about finding Grim??? That broke my heart omg!! T_T they just want to make sure he's safe aaaaaa!!!!!! And Grim crying in his cell about how he wants to see MC... (or something like that; admittedly, that scene in book 6 is foggy. ^^;;;)

Also, the tiny sprinkles of Grim lore we get!!!!! It makes me so curious to learn more about him and his (what I'm assuming is potentially) sad past. I think Grim deserves lots of happiness and premium tuna, and I hope only good things are in his future. He's a lovable gremlin who grows on you over time. :D

As for Mr. Ruggie...

OH RUGS!!!!! I love Ruggie!!!! <3 he's just like me fr. I hope for his success every day because he deserves only good things and no suffering whatsoever!!! I also really like his hair??? The colors and the style itself are just so satisfying to look at, if that makes any sense. orz his laugh is really cute, too. T_T every time he does that signature laugh of his, I find myself smiling because it's so fun to listen to.

When I'm not simping for Octavinelle or Heartslabyul, Ruggie is one of my favorites. He was the second character who caught my eye back in 2020 and I still love him dearly!!! I really would like to get some of his cards, but I can't lose sight of the inevitable Glorious Masquerade release (and Riddle's birthday in August). One day I will have a Ruggie SSR... one day....... >_< the way that this card art had me a vise when I first saw it in 2020:

Ruggie's backstory is so heartbreaking. It's another reason why I love him because, along with that circumstance and the circumstances he grew up with, it forced him to become more resourceful and cunning to survive. He may be another character who schemes and is always trying to make money, sometimes in less-than-shiny ways, but he's very hardworking! Ruggie working many part-times is so real. T_T I understand that grind and I hope he continues to do his best. <3 I want him to always be happy no matter what.

ALSO HIM BEING RAISED BY HIS GRANDMOTHER AAAAAAAA it makes me feel so fluffy because he is a really good guy underneath his sneakiness. Like when he brings leftovers and such home for the winter break to share with the other children in the slums!!! He has a very good heart!!! His grandmother raised him to be so sweet and caring. orz I love him too much.... Rugs, you're perfect in every single way hehe. (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

His UM is also very cool!!!! It has a lot of potential (sk!Ruggie) and the way it was utilized in book 2 was so terrifying. ;;;;; not being able to control your own movements because someone else is controlling them and your body is forced to follow every movement they make!!!!! Aaaaaa it's scary to imagine what a yandere!Ruggie might do if he ever needed to rely on his UM for help in getting darling...

#twisted chit chat #mheiiiuiiu #in conclusion: ruggie is so beloved and i need to write more for him!!!!! :D

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alec-1016 · 1 year

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hey i watched and finished 911 lone star this week, so imma bring uo something that is very old(s1 or 2) but that impacted me A LOT

And that is the first(second? one of the first) tarlos fight, about Carlos telling his parents TK was his friend. I understand and feel for TK, especially after being fresh from a traumatic break up from a relationship in which he was clearly more invested than his partner(fuck u alex).

But I feel so much for Carlos. I am brazilian, like Rafael, and I feel like i live in the Reyes household, when Carlos was young. I am Carlos at 17, coming out, being hugged, being loved, and then having that part of himself be pushed under the rug. I will never come out to my extended family. I may take a while to transition medically, or never transition, not because I live with especially close-minded people, but because I live with humans that are sometimes afraid of what they don't know.

When Carlos said "I don't wanna rub their noses in it" I felt that, because I can't even talk to my mom about Lone Star without telling her that what drew me to it was the queer rep, esp the trans rep. Lat time I talked to my mom about a show like this, it was Star Trek Discovery, and she said "Wow, are there only gay people in these things you watch?". Needless to say, I tend to refrain from mentioning characters that arent cishet now.

I will have to cut contact with most of my family when I come out, if I wanna get married, get my name changed, etc.

When TK said "I thought they were nice people" and Carlos said "They ARE nice people. But they are not perfect" I felt that because I love my mom. She supported me though all of my crazy dreams, and my depressive episodes, my autism diagnosis. But she doesn't see her son when she looks at me, and she can't say my name. I have complicated feelings about my father, because he is a cheater w anger issues, but he calls me his son. He sends me articles on trans rights here in my town. He wants to see me become whatever I want. But he also left.

What I wanna say is, I never realized I needed latino rep in my media until I got it, especially queer latino rep. I am white passing, though both my grandmothers are/were black, so I always thought I was ok with seeing characters that were brunettes, like Hermione, or Belle. But seeing Encanto, and now Lone Star I actually saw my family there, with the mess and the thousands of tios and tias and primos, and the catholic guilt and the good food.

What I'm saying is Rafa said "The fact that we [Ronen and Rafa/ TK and Carlos] can just walk into your living room without your asking? Yeah, that brings me joy" bc ls is not a queer show.It's a show about first responders, and some of them happen to be queer. It's not next to RuPaul's drag race on the straming catalogue, but next to action shows. And it reminds me that people think that is "shoving it in theur faces". Because they feel queer rep, and queer PEOPLE should come with a warning, because they ferl they have the right to simply ignore out existence. Sometimes ut feels like simply existing is "shoving it in their faces" and I'm tired.

I am very privileged in my country, being the child of university professors, even though both of them grew up very poor. I am middle class, with fairly open parents and a queer sister, and for that I am grateful, and I realize that my situation is better than a lot of people's. I am not denying that. But it feels nice to see a story that looks like mine, not just a face. A story in US media, that I grew up watching and worshipping, far more than the relatively conservative media from Brazil(especially the novelas, jesus christ, someone save us from globo, recodrd and band and sbt), with a boy that reminds me so much of myself. With a trans male character for fuck's sake, that has to deal with the mess of dating as a trans person, of navigating your family and your transition. These people showed me that I am not alone.

Also Rafael is from my town and ever since I foumd that out I have been giggling internally, you guys have no clue 😅😅

Oh well, another rant no one asked for but I delivered anyways. I am very depressed, very disphoric and very hyperfixated on 911 ls, so...sorry, not sorry?

#Rafael Silva #911 #911 lone star #carlos reyes #tk strand #tyler kennedy strand #tarlos #latino #latina #latine #latinx #latino rep #brasil #brazil

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notwiselybuttoowell · 7 months

Text

The world has just seen an end to centuries of Armenian existence in Nagorno-Karabakh. All ethnic Armenians have left the disputed region, travelling in a caravan of cars over the border to Armenia. The Armenian children now displaced will hate the Azerbaijanis, just as I once hated the Armenians for what they did to me. I was a victim of the first Nagorno-Karabakh war in the 1990s, when it was Armenia that was victorious, and it ethnically cleansed all Azerbaijanis from its lands. I am speaking out, hoping to be a small pebble, lodged in this endless cycle of violence.

Before the first war, inside Azerbaijan’s borders there existed the “Nagorno-Karabakh autonomous oblast”, a majority-Armenian island, so to speak, of mountainous land, with the culturally significant, majority-Azerbaijani citadel Shusha right in the middle. Concentric circles of alternating ethnicities radiated outward from Shusha; Azerbaijanis surrounded by Armenians surrounded by Azerbaijanis and Azerbaijani Kurds and so on – a great inconvenience for emerging nationalist narratives. Being Armenian and Azerbaijani became oppositional and mutually exclusive. Neighbour went against neighbour, and eventually state against state, with their armies wreaking havoc on the other.

During that war my first childhood memories were formed. I remember walking down a dirt road in my father’s village at dusk when the sky suddenly turned bright as day – bullets flying above my head. I remember attending the burial of my 18-year-old uncle, and being scared of the graveyard, where the eyes of the dead stared at me from pictures on their gravestones. He had been drafted into the war and had died there. I came to understand from the adults’ conversations that he had stepped on a landmine and had his legs blown off. He had then shot himself in the temple before his friends could get to him to stop him.

My mother’s family, Azerbaijani Kurds, hailed from the mountainous district of Lachin. I was told we had a big, beautiful house there, with many windows. My mother fondly remembered how my great-grandmother would take her on horseback up the rugged cliffs. It felt like flying, she would say. Armenian forces ended our ancestral existence there, ethnically cleansing everyone who was not Armenian. I never saw our house, never got to fly on horseback, and never saw Lachin, except in the news with its new Armenian name, “Berdzor”.

In school, I learned that the Armenians were villains responsible for all our tragedies; this was not hard to believe given what my family had been through. The Russian empire, we were taught, had transported them into our country as a loyal Christian population from Iran after the conclusion of the Russo-Persian wars in 1828. We learned that the Armenians were conniving tricksters never to be trusted. On TV, I heard Armenians described as “the abominable enemy” and “vandals”. The horrifying pogroms Azerbaijanis committed against the Armenians in our major cities were denied, minimised or explained away as being organised by the Armenians to make themselves look like victims, garner international sympathy and justify starting a war of occupation. The ethnic cleansing of Armenians by Azerbaijani and Soviet troops during the infamous events of 1991 was never even mentioned. Nor did we ever hear about the wilful and systematic destruction of Armenian heritage in Azerbaijan.

I have since come to learn that the Armenians were fed the same types of messages about the Azerbaijanis. We were labelled “Turks”, with obvious traumatic associations with the Armenian genocide, which made us guilty for a crime in another land by another people. The cultural, religious and linguistic differences between the Caucasian Azerbaijanis and Anatolian Turks, who had in fact fought wars with each other, did not concern the Armenian nationalists. We were nothing but barbarian invaders from central Asia with no history and no culture.

After our horrible fate in the 1990s, hatred seized Azerbaijan, and destroyed us. The current president, Ilham Aliyev, took power in 2003 and curtailed free speech, with the notable exception of hate speech against the Armenians. An Azerbaijani is always welcome to hate the Armenians a little more and to blame them for all our problems. The first family has been accused of benefiting from state contracts and business deals; Aliyev has even benefited from the plight of those in Karabakh, using our suffering to legitimise his endless repressions.

Aliyev would have you believe that the Armenians are leaving Nagorno-Karabakh of their own free will – a lie. The Armenians know well what sorry destiny awaits them if they stay. This process is, of course, ethnic cleansing.

I left Azerbaijan 15 years ago, displaced this time not by the Armenians but by the cruelty of those who were supposed to love me and protect me. I fled domestic violence after my father tried to kill me for being gay, and there was no person or institution in Azerbaijan that could protect me. I am as displaced as a person could be, and, through my words here, I may never be able to visit Azerbaijan again for fear of persecution. But I am compelled by my conscience.

I want Armenian children being forcefully displaced from their homes to hear the words that would have once meant everything to me: I am sorry we failed you. One day, when you understand what happened to you, hatred will start to drip into your heart, and you will want to seek vengeance. In that moment, take my outstretched hand and let me guide you back to our shared humanity. For the only true “us” and “them” lies between the perpetrators of violence, and those who reject it.

#armenia #azerbaijan #nagorno karabakh #tw suicide #tw homophobia

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babeyvenus · 2 years

Text

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 49: Who Are You?

After leaving the school, and at the moment not having to worry about any more supernatural things, Sam went to the Beacon Hills Antique Store where her mom and Grandmother worked.

Sam's grandmother, Anita, has owned the shop for 13 years. It had all types of things from books of different genres to ancient kitchen pans.

Sam thought of it more of a pawn shop for old, invaluable, unused things than just an antique shop, but it was her grandma's and she wasn't gonna downplay the business.

As she walked inside the rustic store, she looked around. It was empty. The door was open, but the sign was flipped to close.

Someone had to be here. "Ma? Gramma?", she called.

She walked around the store and looked around. Seemed like new items had come in every time she visited. How many antique things are even in Beacon Hills?

She walked around the counter in the far end of the store that held other items and leaned on the counter.

She looked around once more. This place was old, but her grandma took care of it like it wasn't. Even the floors hardly squeaked.

Or so she thought as she stepped on the rug behind the counter. She frowned. Why was this the only place where it squeaked? Was she trying to hide this part of the floor from the customers?

No one was allowed to go behind the counter anyways so why the rug?

As she walked over it to test the floor again, she felt something hard under her foot. It felt like a handle.

She kicked the rug to the side and saw a hatch. She frowned. Was this where her grandma kept the goods?

Why hadn't she known about this?

She looked at the front door once more before looking back at the hatch. For some reason, she felt a sense of anguish just from being so close to the door. Was it because the place was so old? Did her grandma keep some things that could be tied to restless spirits, like a Ouija board?

She reached for the handle. Before she could open it, she heard the jingle bell of the front door and immediately covered the hatch correctly.

She crawled behind a shelf and waited to see who had come into the store. Lo and behold, it was her mother. Sam sighed softly in relief and came around the shelf she was hiding behind, shocking her mom.

"When'd you get here?", she asked, sighing in relief. "A couple of minutes ago.", Sam shrugged. "Figured I'd visit before going home."

Her mom smiled. "It's good you come over after your little werewolf business.", she joked. Sam rolled her eyes with a smile. "Yeah, well, I'm heading out. I'll see you at home.", Sam said and quickly left.

On the way to the house, Sam's mind was running with rushing thoughts. What was the hatch really for?

Why did it feel so… cold and haunting…?

Even throughout the night, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't shake the feeling she had. Why hadn't she noticed that feeling before? She was always so good with reading empathetic atmospheres, so why couldn't she feel that?

What did her grandma have in there?

She sighed as she sat in the library with Stiles the next day. "You think it has something to do with your family line of witches?", Stiles asked.

"What made you think that?", Sam asked. Stiles gave her a knowing look. "Sam, your mom went to your grandma for spells to protect you. I'd say it's a family line thing."

She frowned. "She... never mentioned it being a family thing. I figured my grandma knew something, but...she didn't teach my mom a thing. At least from what she told me."

Stiles frowned. "She didn't say anything else?" Sam shook her head. "At the time, I didn't think to ask her more. We'd just gotten over the Darach and I was just happy to have her back home. After that, I was just doing things my way instead of going to my grandma about it."

Sam shrugged. "I haven't even told her about my new powers. Figured... Wasn't any point of shoving anymore stress down her throat.", she gave a half hearted smile. "She doesn't need that."

He nodded. It made sense. She just assumed her grandma knew some things about Beacon Hills and went with it.

That didn't answer her question, though. Why was there a hatch that didn't just seem suspicious, but felt like it too?

Aside from the young Wilson's suspicions, a certain person had come back home the next day. Two certain persons, to be exact.

"I can't believe you let him throw you in the Eichen House."

Peter Hale frowned at his nephew. "He said I deserved it."

His nephew shook his head. "You're ridiculous and so is he. How'd you even break out?", Derek asked.

Peter shrugged. "Power kinda shut down and I just took the chance.", he said, then gave him a smirk with a raised eyebrow. "You didn't really think I'd stay there, did you? I'm insane, but not that insane."

As they made their way over to the couch, they paused, standing in front of it.

Derek's nose twitched at the scent of Sam. What the hell happened.

He looked at his uncle who looked back at him with the same frown. "Should I be concerned and call someone?", Peter asked.

Derek wasn't sure. He was confused. What happened while he was gone? He didn't smell anyone else's scent in here but a small whiff of Scott and Stiles, but he doubted that they'd do anything to hurt her that bad.

He sniffed softly, then continued sniffing once he got a familiar, but unrecognizable scent. Two unrecognizable scents.

"What?", Peter asked, watching his nephew in confusion. "You don't smell that?", Derek asked. Peter sniffed and frowned as he got up.

"We have some uninvited guests?", Peter muttered.

Derek left the loft, silently following the scent of the trespassers.

"They couldn't have moved here. Maybe you're wrong.", he heard as he made his way down to the parking garage.

Derek frowned as he and Peter snuck up on the two intruders, quickly rushing at them both and knocked them down.

The two intruders growled and attacked the Hales back. The Hales shifted and growled back, attacking the trespassers, punching and slashing at them.

The Hales eventually knocked the intruders out, panting heavily as they stared at them. Derek frowned as he looked at them.

"Let's bring them inside.", Derek said, dragging one of the intruders inside while Peter shook his head and dragged the other.

The Hales stared at their captives tied to one of the pillars in the loft in wonder. Derek, especially. What were they here for? Who were they looking for?

"One of them said "they couldn't have moved here".", Derek told his uncle. Peter looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Who's they?", Peter asked. Derek let out a sigh. "We'll have to figure that out when they come to."

Moments later, the intruders did wake and glared at the Hale men.

"Who the hell are you?", Derek asked the seemingly older captive. The man was on the mocha side, his face occupied a thick beard that squared his face. His hair seemed freshly cut, though a scar could be seen from his eyebrow to his hairline.

His dark eyes held sparks of anger and yet Derek could see that he wasn't normal. He wasn't a human. Neither of them were.

This older man was an alpha. The younger captive looked similar to him in the face. Must be a relative. Probably his beta.

The beta glared at Derek and Derek could only look at him unimpressed. He didn't seem as dark as his relative, though his hair was a bit longer with medium length dreads.

His face was also squared by light scruff, but a scar could be seen on the bridge of his nose. Must've gotten it before he was bitten.

The only thing that bothered Derek so bad was the fact that now the two captives were in his home, they held a familiar smell that made him frustrated and set with slight worry.

"Who are you after?", Derek asked. The beta responded. "We're looking for a girl."

Derek frowned and glanced at his uncle who frowned as well. Peter crossed his arms, "And this girl would be?"

"Her name is Samantha Wilson. Have you seen her?", the alpha spoke. Derek clasped his hands together, resting his arms on his knees as he sat on the arm of the couch.

"What do you want with this girl?", Peter asked. This seemed to anger the beta. "Have you seen her or not!?"

"We don't just give away information like that to intruders. You two were trespassing. Why?", Derek asked. The alpha spoke up. "We smelled her scent here. We thought she was here, or at least lived here."

"In this dump? Please.", Peter said, making Derek give him a low, insulted growl.

Though, they had a point. Derek smelled the remnant smell of Sam's pain all over his couch once he came in and he didn't understand why. Why was she in so much pain? Who caused it?

However, these two smelled like her as well. The fact that they did bothered him. Why were they looking for Sam so bad? Was she around them recently? Did they kidnap her? Did she escape? If so, then where?

He'd have to go to Scott about it. Actually…

Derek turned to his uncle. "Give me your phone.", he said. Peter looked at him incredulously. "For?", Peter asked.

"Just give it here.", Derek pressed. The older man sighed and pulled out his phone, handing it to his nephew.

Derek quickly dialed Scott's number. Scott immediately picked up. "Peter, what the hell are you doing?"

"Scott, it's me.", Derek clarified. "Wha– Derek, how'd you get Peter's phone? Are you back?", Scott rushed.

"Nevermind that. Where's your friends?", Derek asked.

"Stiles and Sam? They're still at the school. It's a free period.", Scott informed. Derek frowned. He'd have to wait. It wasn't any good to bring her here then send her back to school.

"I'll meet you at her house after school.", Derek said. "O…kay?", Scott said and Derek hung up.

Derek turned to the captives and looked at them. "You're coming with us."

Still bound, Derek and Peter shoved the two werewolves in the back of his car and drove to Sam's house.

Mrs. Wilson's car was in the driveway, indicating that she was home. This could either be a good thing or a bad thing if his assumptions were correct.

Derek parked on the curb and brought the captives out. Peter trailed behind them in case anything would have happened.

However, the two werewolves weren't bothered with moving anywhere. They were in slight shock that this stranger knew the house they had been in before.

Derek knocked on the door and heard soft footsteps paddling over to the door. He looked down as he saw Sam's mom in the doorway, a soft smile plastered on her face.

"Derek. I haven't seen you in a while, how are you?", she greeted. Derek wished he could give the same sentiment. "We have to talk.", he said instead.

The older woman frowned and peered around him, her shoulders dropping from sudden realization as she looked at the captives who stared back in disbelief.

Sam's mom quickly let them in, her eyes tracking the captives. Derek pulled her to the side, whispering to her. "I don't know if this is gonna be a bad idea, or what, but we just need to ask you a couple of things just to confirm something. After that, we'll leave right away.", Derek reassured.

The older woman nodded, still staring at his captives. He watched as her bottom lip trembled and her scent of sadness mixed with relief filled the dining room.

The same scent came from the beta who looked back at the woman with furrowed eyebrows.

"Mom…"

The Hales' eyes widened at word the beta uttered. Derek frowned. If this is her son, then this is the brother Sam had told him about after she tried comforting him that night in her room.

"You're Samantha's brother?", Peter asked, then turned to the alpha. "That'd mean you're her father."

The alpha nodded. Derek moved to untie the werewolves. This wasn't something he was expecting to come back home to. He had so many questions.

Of course he was curious about the Wilson family and why Sam had grown up without her full family household.

She hadn't specified it, which he respected, and technically had no room to question, considering his dysfunction family, but he was still naturally curious.

"Is she okay, mom? Where is she?", Sam's brother asked his mother. She frowned sadly. "She's at school. She's okay… it's just," She sighed. "This is gonna be a lot on her. I hope you two know this."

The older brother frowned while his father didn't bother making any eye contact. Hours passed and it was time for the teens to arrive.

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percywinchester27 · 2 years

Text

The new Mrs. Winchester (5)

Word count: 3.2K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Mentions of death, kidnapping, human trafficking; PTSD, forced marriage, mention of suicidal ideation, fluff... kinda ;)

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Some more interesting stuff ;) Thank you for all your love!

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23 love ya!

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

You barely caught any sleep that night. Knowing that even the smallest creaks could be heard on the other side, had kept you from tossing and turning, frozen in place till your back and limbs started to ache. You didn’t want to give him more to go with than you already had. The other room remained silent. For the rest of the night hours, you floated in and out of consciousness, plagued with horrid dreams of roaming in the woods around the property, unable to find your way back to the house, while hungry eyes followed you everywhere, staring out of the forest.

You awoke to a still-dark room, stomach growling in protest at being kept empty since the afternoon of the day before. You should’ve eaten more than two bites at dinner.

Gingerly stepping onto the rug, you pulled on your old cardigan over the baggy pajamas and quietly made your way out into the corridor. The cold, dawn air stung your face. With the sun barely up, Abby wouldn’t bring your breakfast for another three hours. She might not even be up yet. Eyeing her closed door at the end of the corridor, you made your way downstairs, pulling the cardigan closer to keep away the morning chill. A glass of milk would suffice. Surely, there must be milk somewhere in the kitchen you had only once stepped into. Mentally chastising yourself for getting used to the hotel-style service when it came to food, you wandered through the ground floor in the vague direction of the kitchen.

When you did find it, you were come upon with the pleasant realisation of how old school it was. Another part of the house that hadn’t been renovated to fit modern standards. Huge stoves braced upon a solid stone counter, with pots and pans hanging from an overhead rack mesh. The double-door silver fridge, oven, and grill appeared to be the only ultra-modern equipment there. Martha stood humming to herself in front of the stove, back turned to you, as the smell of sizzling eggs hummed in the air. Your stomach made an embarrassingly loud noise; so much that Martha whirled around, eyes wide, hand at her chest.

“My goodness, Mrs. Winchester!” She smiled automatically, once the scare wore off. “What a pleasant thing to see you so early in the morning!”

“I… um… I was hungry.” You shuffled your toe from one side to another. “The eggs smell really good!”

Martha looked exactly how you’d expect a loving grandmother to be. Round and happy. And when she bestowed you with amused raised eyebrows, you felt happy, too.

“Why, I’ll fry you another batch of eggs right up,” she said. “Would you like them sunny side up?”

“Umm… just give me those!” You pointed at the once sizzling deliciously in the pan, as your stomach growled again.

“These are for Master Sam and he doesn’t take salt in them.”

You jerked up. “He’s awake?”

“Why, he’s right there.”

You turned around and almost had a stroke.

Sitting on the small round table on the other side of the kitchen was Sam, dressed in sweatpants and a full-sleeved t-shirt. He held a newspaper in one hand and seemed to have forgotten about the toast in his other, suspended halfway to his mouth. He appeared so natural in the setting that he almost melted in with the background. That must be why you hadn’t seen him at first, not that you had paid attention to anything once the smell of eggs had invaded your senses.

His wide-eyed expression of surprise held you in your spot, unable to move, or speak.

Sam blinked a couple of times then cleared his throat and said. “It’s alright, Martha. Add the salt. You can fix my eggs afterward.” He hesitated, before adding. “Put some bacon on the pan as well.”

“Weren’t you giving up on it?”

His eyes flickered in your direction, “Maybe from tomorrow.”

Martha chuckled quietly. She must’ve seen you frozen in place because the next minute, her hands were on your arms, fussing, leading you to the table. “And why’re you still standing over there, ma’am? Sit, sit!” She plopped you down on the chair right in front of Sam.

The small, round table accommodated four chairs and Sam immediately straightened up to make space for you.

Martha put a plate in front of you with two fried eggs, warm, buttered toast, and sausages. Not knowing what else to do, you picked up a fork, stabbed the sausage with it, and savagely shoved it in your mouth. Food, glorious food deserved all your attention. It helped to pretend that no one sat before you and you would have followed through with that strategy until a series of knocks made you stop.

You could see his knuckles tapping out the word

G-O-O-D M-O-R-N-I-N-G

Swallowing loudly, you looked up. Sam had abandoned both the newspaper and the toast to regard you cautiously. If you didn’t know better, you would have assumed that he looked… nervous.

“Morning,” you whispered, uncertain.

“Isn’t it lovely to have you both here!” Martha clapped her hands, making you jump in your chair. It shook Sam out of whatever he’d been thinking. He got up from his chair.

“Thanks for the breakfast, Martha. The coffee was great.”

Martha tutted. “It ain’t coffee, Master Sam, whatever it is that you drink.”

He chuckled. “You should try it sometime. Wakes you right up.”

“No, thank you. I’d much rather boil live puppies first.” At your gasp, she explained hurriedly. “It’s just a phrase, ma’am. Of course, I’m not even thinking about it.”

Sam chuckled some more at her embarrassment. “Don’t stay up for dinner, yeah? Just put it in the fridge. I know how to use the oven.”

“It’s unhealthy to reheat food!”

“So is staying up late,” he countered. “You have a good day, Martha.”

“You, too, Master Sam.”

He decidedly lowered his voice when he addressed you. “I hope you have a good day, as well.” Sam rushed out before you could so much as swallow the morsel in your mouth.

Had he just spoken to you? For real? Maybe you had imagined it. Sam didn’t speak to you.

Martha shoved the batch of crispy bacon on your plate. Sam hadn’t waited for the bacon, despite specifically requesting it. Martha cleared out the table, muttering about reduced portions and terrible coffee.

“What’s in that coffee?” You asked, curious.

She threw up her hands. “The hell do I know! A business associate got it from Bali. It’s supposed to have a mix of South-Asian spices and something healthy. I’m sure tar tastes better.”

You snickered at her pronounced distaste on the subject.

“Master Sam will drink anything if you tell him it’s healthy.” She shook her head in faint disapproval.

“He asked you to call him master?”

To your surprise, Martha laughed heartily. “Oh no no, ma’am. Quite the contrary. He’s been begging me for years to stop calling him that. But I’m an old nut, been seeing him since he was a baby and Master Dean in his knickers. Can’t stop now.”

You knew you shouldn’t… you knew very well that you shouldn’t manipulate the trust of this sweet lady, but no one else would talk, so you pressed. “How long have you been working here?”

“Oh, since before Master Sam was born. His mother was the most compassionate woman I ever knew and those boys take after her. Especially Master Dean.” Melancholy seeped into her voice at the name and she settled herself on the chair opposite to you.

“You miss him,” you observed quietly.

To your horror, Martha’s eyes filled up. “He’d be all up in my business since he was a little boy. Always pestering me to bake him those pies. Smiling widely and teasing me for being an old lady. But he’d wait by the door every evening to help me down the stairs because he knew my knees were rotten.” She dabbed the corner of her eye with her apron. “And when it came to his brother, he would walk three miles into town to get bananas for those peanut butter and banana sandwiches. In the rain and in the sun.”

“Peanut butter and banana sandwiches?”

She smiled through the tears, “Oh, master Sam used to love them as a kid.”

And he still kicked out his brother?

Martha clasped your hand, her veiny fingers shaking on yours. “I know what you’re thinking, ma’am,” she said, anger simmering just below the surface of her words. “I know what everyone says about him, but I know this, master Sam loved his brother. Loved him, I tell you…” She hiccuped. “No… he worshipped his brother… wanted to be just like him.”

She dropped her voice, whispering fretfully. “I was there when they brought in Miss Jo’s body. Master Dean had been beside himself with grief, and if it weren’t for Master Sam, he would have gone off and destroyed himself over it…”

Your mind was buzzing with too many questions. “But everyone says…”

“Everyone wasn’t there!” She snapped. “I don’t claim to know exactly what happened and the yelling was ugly, but it’s not what everyone says. Master Sam would never do that to his brother. And he hasn’t been the same since. Barely talks much. His laughter used to light up the house before, but I don’t see much of it anymore… and none of it outside this room.”

When you didn’t respond, she grasped your hand tighter in hers, prompting you to look into her old, vehement eyes. “You married a good man, ma’am. If you have to believe anything, believe this.”

*****

You wandered the halls all day by yourself, ducking into the corners to avoid company. It gave you the time to think things through, starting from the very start. Jack had been telling the truth after all about not ‘tailing’ you. Once you got the hang of the house; at least, the part you were allowed into, he’d stopped following you. So you walked on, struggling with the two warring images of Sam. The first one had presented itself from the get-go: an arrogant man who purchased a living, breathing person just for the pretence of a wife, to show off to people. A man who had kicked out his brother, and then managed to become the sole owner of an estate that ran into several million. Someone who barely uttered a word if it didn’t serve a purpose.

Then there was the image that you had seen and felt: A man who hadn’t touched a hair of your body when he could have done much, much worse to no consequence at all. You hadn’t heard him converse with the staff, but neither had he been rude to anyone. The way Martha and Jack, two of the oldest employees, talked about him with such confidence and then the biggest of all– how he had treated you since yesterday. The only word that sufficed? Careful.

Shaking your head to dispel the notion of the man being anything good, you lowered yourself onto the parapet of the corridor, the evening sky lighter at the sides and darker down below. Jack had been right. If you really sharpened your ears, you could hear the gurgling of the brook. Your legs carried you down the parapet and the corridor, out into the ground after that. And by the time you reached the pier over the brook, night had already shrouded the woods before you.

Dangling your feet over the edge just like earlier, you eased your hands behind you, supporting your weight on them. The brook gurgled, the trees rustled and the wind whistled so rhythmically that your loneliness itself melted into contentment. The questions pelting your brain stopped.

“Not trying to drown yourself today?”

You wanted to smile at the sound of his voice.

“If it ain’t the guy-in-the-woods,” you announced, not turning.

“Hey yourself, scary-lady.” He lowered himself next to you on the pier. “You look… chipper tonight.”

You shrugged. “A girl can’t always be thinking of blood, right?”

He laughed at that, carefree and you envied him, so, so much for being able to laugh the way summer felt.

“How did you find me? Please don’t tell me you’re tailing me.”

He put his hands up. “Oh, no. Total chance. I was fishing upstream. Good season for salmon.”

He smelled like fish a little bit, plus the end of his jeans and the sleeves of his jacket were soaked. And somehow, you just knew he was telling the truth.

“You catch any?”

He screwed up his face sheepishly. “One. But then it slipped right out of my hands and I got all wet trying to catch it again. I figured if it was brave enough to escape the mighty me, maybe it deserved to live.”

“So you suck at fishing.”

“No!” He protested, seriously offended. “I’m practically God-level. You just caught me on an off day.”

“Right.”

You observed him carefully, the fine lines at the corner of his eyes, the precise shade of his light brown hair and it all felt familiar. Not the way one feels after knowing a person for long, but in the sense that the features reminded you of another person, maybe a painting.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you said, coming clean. “I actually came down here hoping to find you.”

“Me?” But he didn’t sound surprised.

“Yeah.” You kept your eyes focused on his hand, on the pulsing vein in the thin crease where his thumb met the index finger. “I didn’t set out to kill myself that day, you know? Just to run away; and not from a person. I wanted to run away from my own head… and I guess… the only way to do that is to… well… you know…”

He gazed into the distance, seeing things beyond the trees. “The only way to truly run away from yourself is to face yourself, isn’t it? But I’ve been there… I know that urge.”

“I guess… I just wanted to thank you for the other night. I… I haven’t felt like I could talk to anyone since… since a very long time.” Not since Carmen.

“Hey?” The softness to his voice prompted you to look into his eyes. “You ever feel like you wanna talk? Light a lamp on the corridor in front of your room and I’ll come find you here.”

Too relieved to care if you came across as desperate, you whispered, “really?”

“Yeah. I think it’s high enough that I can see it from all the way across the brook.”

“Is that where you live?”

He winked, “Wouldn’t you want to know, so you could send those wolves after me.”

Snickering, you shoved his arm. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I’ll tell you my name the day you tell Sam that you sneaked off to meet me.”

The smile slid completely off your face. “So he could tie me up in his basement?”

It was his turn to snicker. “I don’t think Sam’s that kinky, but who the hell can say?”

That. That right there was why this man you had met only once before felt like a friend already. He could joke about things like that without insulting or pitying you… treating you like an equal just like that first night.

And you snickered with him, at the absurdity of the conversation.

“We should come up with names for one another. You know, suitable for secret rendezvous,” he suggested.

“Thelma and Louise,” you deadpanned.

He looked unimpressed. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s very morbid given the conversation we just had.”

“Admit it… it’s funny.”

“Alright,” he gave in with an eye roll. “A little. But I’m thinking more like Han Solo and Chewbacca.”

“Sounds good, Chewie.”

“You’re Chewie!” He protested. “I’m the good-looking badass. Hell, I have a ride as sweet as the millennium falcon.”

Who was this guy? You wished so bad that you knew, but with gun-wielding men protecting the property, you understood his necessity to stay anonymous. “Okay, Han! Have it your way.”

The thought of gun-wielding security reminded you that you needed to get back to the room before they came looking. You got to your feet.

“Good luck fishing, Han.”

He jumped up as well. “You take care of yourself, Chewie.”

You left him standing there at the edge of the water, feeling lighter than you had felt in days, or months, or even years. When was the last time you’d had the privilege of walking by yourself, barefoot in the grass without having a man following you around? When was the last time you saw the sunset at the horizon knowing that the night wouldn’t bring any horrors? You had food when you wanted it, the right to wear whatever you wanted to. You had been so obsessed with hating Sam all these days that you hadn’t stopped to think about the kind of freedom he had allowed you. No, you didn’t want to be grateful to him, but how could you not be that when your day ended in silk sheets instead of stinky cots?

Abby reprimanded you in her own way for disappearing like you had. You didn’t mind, letting her unload her worry with tuts and disapproving huffs while you stuffed down another one of Martha’s amazing dinners.

The day had been one rollercoaster to another. Starting too early at breakfast with Sam and ending at the chat with Han. You couldn’t pinpoint it precisely, but when Han talked about Sam, there was a certainty in his words. Laying back on your pillow, you thought over everything you had learned today, wondering why any of it mattered to you. It made sense before, to gather as much information as possible about the man who owned you because your survival might have depended on it. But now? Why did it matter now when you knew very well that Sam didn’t want you dead, neither was the connecting door opening anytime soon. Why were you so curious about him to pounce on unsuspecting cooks and men wandering in the woods to understand the man?

Admonishing yourself, you turned off the bedside lamp and knocked on the frame behind you as a force of habit.

I-T-S G-O-I-N-G T-O B-E O-K-A-Y. Y-O-U-L-L B-E F-I-N-E

G-O-O-D N-I-G-H-T

Just as you closed your eyes, the knocks sounded on the other side:

N-O P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S T-O-D-A-Y?

Your heart made itself very known in the next second, each beat distinct.

Raising yourself on your elbow you glared at the wall over you. Hating him had been so much easier than this tangle of emotions you felt for him now. So, the taps that followed were loud.

N-O

A whole minute passed. Before you could jump to conclusions about having said the wrong thing to him, came another series of raps.

G-O-O-D N-I-G-H-T. H-O-P-E Y-O-U S-L-E-E-P B-E-T-T-E-R T-H-A-N L-A-S-T N-I-G-H-T

You wanted to hate him so bad. And you hated that you didn’t.

*****************************

A/N 2: Let me tell you, things only escalate from here and I think in a good way :)

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