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e1dritchjackal0pe · 5 months

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You're Just a Fellow, Darlin' (Severen x F!Reader)

Summary: When trouble in paradise ruins your otherwise perfect life, you find yourself fleeing in a rented car and heading off into the sunset. Stopping for a quick bite to eat along your journey in a dusty roadside diner, trouble finds you there too. And things quickly take a turn for the worse.

Notes: Around 11.4k words. This is a prequal to my first fic, Stripped Bare, but you don't have to read it for this one to make sense. Caleb remains turned and everyone lives AU.

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, death, blood. Severen is NOT nice in this. He sees the reader as prey and treats her as such until right up at the end. He gets a little nicer. The reader does not like Severen in this, apart from mild flirting in the beginning, but all those feelings quickly go out the window due to regular Hooker clan antics. The reader goes through it in this. Violence such as biting at and aggressive hair pulling is committed against her, so please don't read if that is triggering to you.

Part II

You should have known it would have turned out this way. It was doomed from the start, feigned interest and superficial attraction embellished underneath plastic "I love you's" and planned kisses. What hurts you the most is how blind you were to it all. Force fed lies by everyone in your life, Sam, his father, your friends- hell even your own parents had told you that you were just making assumptions. Being paranoid.

That all of the late work nights, the impromptu business meetings, the abrupt hushed phone calls throughout the day. They were perfectly normal things. Nothing to be concerned about. "It's just business, muffin. " Your father had told you once, reading the morning paper while sipping coffee from a ceramic mug. " He has to make money for all those pretty dresses you wear somehow."

God, you had been so stupid. You had let everyone blindfold you and muffle your ears because you were too afraid of the truth. Too scared to accept the fact that the man you have loved since you were nineteen had turned his back on you. He spat on your three-year long relationship like it was nothing. All for his secretary . . . And that cute blonde maid at his father's country club.

You can't help glancing away from the cracked backroad to sneer at your left hand that clutches the steering wheel in a death grip. Your ring finger is now startlingly bare, no longer shackled by the thick band of yellow gold and the obnoxiously large sapphire diamond - a horrid caricature of princess Diana's engagement ring. Lack of originality is what it was. And to think you had been so overjoyed when he had gotten down on one knee and proposed. But you do still feel some satisfaction to know that the ring is gone. Sold off in some greasy pawn shop off the street corner back in Scottsdale. About 90 miles behind you. You technically didn't need the money. You had your own little stash of savings despite Sam's insistence that you didn't need to worry about such things. That he'd provide for you. Yeah, right. Initially you had been tempted to flush it down the toilet. The less petty side of you had even contemplated simply leaving it on the table next to his side of the bed. But then you had a thought- why give up all of that free money? It is technically your ring. It was bought with you in mind, right? You could at least get something out of it.

And so that afternoon, you had found yourself standing behind the glass case of a pawn shop. Scanning the numerous arrays of items from the safety of the display case. Everything from antique pistols to frosted bracelets, passing the time while the man on the other side of the counter examined the ring you had proudly worn only a few hours ago, squinting at it through a loupe magnifying glass, delicately turning it this way and that.

"I'll give you five thousand for it," he suddenly speaks, pulling your attention away from a velvet tray showcasing old war medals. You can't even contain the scoff that leaves you, all decorum and self-restrain completely ran thin after the night before. "That's nearly a twenty-thousand-dollar ring." You counter, eyebrows pinching with poorly disguised frustration.

He chuckles with a loose shrug that telegraphs his opinion better than his words ever could. Not my problem, it had said. His stained dentures peeking out from behind his lips when he goes to bite in a horridly dry looking donut, flakes of the glaze chipping and falling onto his button up.

"That's my price. Take it or leave it."

As previously stated, you didn't technically need the money. You had your cheque book, but not all places took cheques. You had your bank card, but a lot of places outside of big, wealthy cities still didn't have the machines to even use them. You needed the cash. And despite the fact that the man is woefully skimming you on the price, five thousand is still five thousand.

So, with a great amount of swallowed pride and defeat you managed to grit out a stiff: "Fine. I'll take it."

And now you're driving down a desolate road, seated inside a rented Ford Escort, with long stretches of the vast desert on either side of you. It's a boxy little car that Sam would have absolutely turned his nose up at. Good. Both of the front windows are completely down, letting the warm summer air tunnel inside the cabin of the car and tussle your hair around. The radio is on full blast, with a random rock music blaring out the vehicle's speakers without care. You tried to find a steady station earlier but had quickly given up whenever the music would dip down low and speckle out into static every time you drove through a patch of slopping hills. It was gorgeous, you have to admit. The way the landscape shifted from soft creams and rich rusted oranges and browns, with saguaro cactuses looming across the expanse of the dry desert floor like tall watching figures.

But what struck you the most was sunsets. The ones you got back in New York were often dull. Muted by layers of pollution and the glow of the city lights, blocked by the sheer scale of the skyscrapers that blocked out the sun. It couldn't compare to the sheer vibrancy that painted the sky out here.

With the sun dipping low, just barely peeking over the horizon, splashing shocking shades of pink and gold across the faint blue. It was also a painful reminder that this was all temporary. That eventually your little joy ride would have to come to an end. You would have to return to New York and face reality. Listen to the barrage of questions and accusations that would no doubt be thrown your way like stones and rotten tomatoes. You couldn't wait for the disapproving glare your mother would give you. The disbelief and disappointment. The excuses from Sam and the arrogant satisfaction that would waft from his parents. They never liked you anyway. Luckily, you still had your own apartment. Thank God that past you had the foresight to keep it and drag your feet on it giving up. That at least means that you won't have to stay with your parents or burden one of your friends by laying up in their place. You're not sure if you could stomach that honestly.

Up ahead you notice a glint of a red light shining in the growing dark from a muted outline. It takes a few more minutes for the building to take shape, but you're quick to recognize it as a quaint little diner. The first thing you notice when you pull into the gravel parking lot is that the roof is in shambles, the old tiles cockeyed and skewed looking like they might take off in a good storm, and a red neon 'open' sign flickers unsteadily from behind a window - the only thing that would let you know that the building isn't abandoned, if not for the couple of cars scattered about out front. And there's a random statue of a horse standing next the dusty glass entrance. It looks like someone tried to paint it brown some time ago, but the paint has begun to chip from years of enduring open weather, exposing the grey base underneath.

It's . . . cute . . . in a rustic sort of way. But you could hardly care about the aesthetic. Your legs could use a stretch and you honestly haven't eaten much today apart from a hastily grabbed bag of potato chips the last time you were at a gas station. And you should have a decent amount of distance put between you and your fiancé - ex fiancé.

The bell above the door chimes when you enter, announcing your arrival. But the first thing you notice is how empty it is. Not that you were expecting it to be packed full and brimming. The lighting is a tired gray tone, which does nothing to combat the cool tones of the white walls and you can hear the light fixtures buzzing with electricity, almost competing with a low energy country song playing in the background. You don't notice any staff, but you do spot an older couple - the only customers apart from yourself - sitting at the first booth to your right, the pair leaning conspiratorially over a collection of post cards spread over the tabletop. Old love birds probably here to see the Grand Canyon and Tombstone. You wonder how long they've been together. How they've managed to find love in someone over all the years. "What do you think about this one, Curtis?" She's asking, tapping a glazed card with a manicured nail. "Do you think he'll like this one?"

You turn away from the private exchange to perch yourself at the L shaped counter, sitting on the tearing and stiff vinyl of the stool cushion and notice a sheet of pale paper sticking out against the faint yellow of the counter. The bold letters atop proudly declare that it's the menu that you notice as the standard font from a computer and the page is laminated with thick strips of packing tape. The low effort does have you wondering if you might be risking the chance of food poisoning, but with the combination of a shitty few days and a rumbling stomach, you can hardly find the energy to care.

Suddenly there's an exchange of yelling coming out from past the serving window that peers into the kitchen, making you pause in your examination of the menu. You can hardly make out the words thrown back and forth, but the tones are heated. It sounds like a man and a woman, and the latter is confirmed when a frazzled woman comes barreling out of the kitchen, leaving the swinging door to slam up against the bar, rattling the glass cake displays and napkin dispensers. And based on the name tag - Rachel it read - she seems to be the waitress. The man's voice must belong to the cook . . . or maybe the owner then. She looks mortified when she sees you, face flushing pink and you do your best to reassure her with a soft smile.

" I'm so sorry you had to hear that, " she tries to laugh but it's strained and short and not at all convincing.

"It's alright, " you replied with a light shrug. "I could hardly make out what was said. And I think the pair behind me are too engrossed in their post cards to notice."

That seems to settle her a bit, shoulders relaxing. Her eyes notice the menu in your hands, and she nods her chin. " You see anything on there you'd like?"

You glance back down on the back, going back down the quaint list available with a hum. "Just a cheeseburger with cheddar and a side of fries is fine. And a coke. "

She's quick to give you your drink before she leaves with your order, slipping back into the kitchen to deliver it personally. And you can't help but feel bad for sending her back into the hypothetical lion's den. You take a moment to breath and really focus on events of today. How you wound up in a dusty diner in the middle of nowhere after spending the first few days of your vacation alongside the country clubs pool in a sleek hot pink two-piece bikini, drinking mixed drinks and enjoying the sun while Sam spent his time playing golf with his father and new colleagues.

And that's how you found him. After days of trying to get him to go out, to go on a date like a normal couple, and him deflecting, saying that he was busy with his father's business friends, you found him balls deep in the young housekeeper that you had seen pushing a maid cart down one of the halls a few days before. She was moaning in that exaggerated way that porn stars do.

For a moment you all you did was stand there. You didn't know how to react, water soaking the carpet from your damp feet, still wet from your recent swim in the pool. And there was a nasty voice in your head telling you that it was your fault. That it was all of your paranoia and insecurities that had drew him away from you. That it had probably made you distant and cold and you were too caught up in your own fears to see the strain you had put on him and your relationship.

But it wasn't your fault. You weren't crazy. You were right the entire time. All of those little glances that his assistant used to send him, the looks that would linger a bit too long. Like the time that you had showed up to his office to surprise him. You had known how stressed he was at his job, the workload pilling up with no end in sight and so you figured you'd pop in and see him. It was after hours but the guard knew you and let you in regardless. And when you were rounding around the corner of cubicles the door of his office had swung open and she had walked out, tugging at the edge of her skirt to smooth it out. And when she had saw you, her body visibly stiffening while she blurted out a quick hello, quickly followed by a hasty excuse for her rushed leaving. Something about being late for something.

When you had entered Sam's office, he looked put together enough, except the first few buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie was on his desk. It was the first red flag that you had avoided, slipping on your rose-tinted glasses. And the worried phone calls to your mother did nothing but convince you that you were trying to make something out of nothing. "You're just nervous about the wedding, " she had said, " Sam is the best thing that's happened to you. Don't go and ruin this opportunity over some cold feet."

And then there you were last night. Him and the maid. She had screamed when she noticed you standing there, nearly kicking him with her foot and sending him off the bed. She was up faster than you could blink, snatching up her clothes and taking a linen sheet with her as makeshift cover, rambling apologies under her breath, saying that she didn't know as she slipped out of the room leaving you to numbly stand and stare at your naked fiancé.

He had tried everything to get you to stay. A pathetic amount of 'I'm sorry's" streaming out of him. Claiming that it wasn't you it was him, it was stress from work, that he didn't mean to, that he'd never do it again. You had spent the night in a separate room, and you were gone in the morning without as so much as a note.

The bell above the door chimes, too cheerful for its gritty environment, and you boredly look over your shoulder to see what other wayward soul has stumbled in. It's definitely an interesting band of characters to say the least, a family you'd assume. With a platinum haired woman ushering a young boy in by the shoulders who looks less than enthused about being guided to a booth on the left side of the diner, openly grumbling under his breath. They're closely followed by a lithe, stoic looking man who looked about as friendly as the mean dog that your old neighbors had chained out in front of their house. The one who would lunge at the fence and snarl whenever you'd walk past to get to the bus stop. The glare he had cast across the room felt like the blade of a cold knife running across your skin. And there was a young couple behind him, the young man's arm curled around the girl's shoulders while she tried to lean into him as they walked, whispering secretly to each other like they were the only people in left in the world.

Young love. They'd be at each other's throats soon enough. Or maybe you're just bitter.

And despite the clear dynamic between the group, the sense of family that comes from them you can't help but feel like you're looking at something odd. There's a faint chill that runs down your spine like some quiet subconscious part of you is trying to get you attention. You feel a bit of guilt gnaw at you. You had no right thinking about a random group of strangers like that.

And you nearly look away but then a hand is catching ahold of the door before it can swing closed and someone else is stepping inside with the sound of jingling accompanying each step. It takes you a second to notice the spurs strapped to the heels of his scuffed cowboy boots. Your eyes continue to trail upwards, past the glinting silver of his belt buckles - two belts? - and up the expanse of his torso, taking in the black leather jacket, decorated with badges and medals and other little embellishments like the tiny metal longhorn heads that decorate the edges of the coats collar. There's a beaded necklace around his throat in a pattern of yellow, red, yellow, and black. And it reminds you of that little rhyme you heard a long time ago about how to tell if a snake is venomous or not.

Red and black, safe for Jack. Red touching yellow, kill a fellow.

You can't help but wonder if it applies to him as well. Then you get up to his face where an all too wide grin sits. Like a jack o' lantern, you muse. But despite the unsettling quality to his smile, you can't deny that he's an attractive man in a rough and wild sort of way. He looked like someone you'd see mentioned in a Rolling Stone publication or in a messy pop culture magazine discussing rockstars.

" Looks like we struck gold again!" He hoots sarcastically, either completely unaware of the volume of his voice or simply not caring and you take note of the southern drawl that honeys his words. His eyes scan over the room, trailing over the older couple in the corner who have since looked up from their cards to squint at the man causing all the noise. He winks at them in a cheeky sort of way, completely shameless. "It's gonna be slim pickins' tonight!"

Before you have time to evaluate that little remark, the waitress is pushing the kitchen door open, carrying a plate holding a burger and fries in one hand. It's either the sudden sound or the weight of your stare that has the stranger looking over in your direction and the hold of his eyes on you seems to siphon the air from your lungs. Blue, the thought rings across your mind, they're a stormy sort of blue.

You turn away from him, like a scolded child who got caught doing something that they shouldn't have and focus down on your plate, the hollow pit of your stomach reminding you why you're even here. To eat, not to ogle at strange men. No matter how handsome they may be.

"Well, they sure are a colorful little group, aren't they," Rachel whispered in an amused sort of way, watching as the family piles into the booth. With the mother, her son and the father filling up one side and the couple on the other. The cowboy straggles behind, instead opting to stay outside the table, leaning over it and propping himself up on both hands while the group discusses something amongst themselves. But you see a bit of unease flit across her face, and it gives you some pause. Surely, they couldn't be that much different from the other types of people that frequent this place. It makes you wonder if she felt what you had. The feeling that came with crossing paths with something dangerous. Like walking into the grocery store and seeing a bear ransacking the shelves.

"I'm sure they aren't as bad as they look, " you encourage before biting into a fry. And she nods along like she's trying to amp herself up. " A customer's a customer. " She replies in a worn but robotic drone, like the words have been drilled into her head. Probably by management. And then she's dipping out from behind the counter leaving you to enjoy your meal by yourself. You nearly moan at the first bite of your burger. It's nothing show stopping. But it's good. Good enough to quell the empty rumbling in your gut with a couple of bites.

"What's a sweet thing like you doin' in a shithole like this?" That sugary voice breaks out across the quiet. And it takes a moment for you to realize that the question is even addressed to you. And you're twisting around on the stool with a mouthful of food bulging from your cheeks while your mothers voice scolds you from the recesses of you mind for having such bad manners. You come face to with a chest covered in a worn white wife beater that's definitely seen better days and you're swallowing the bite of food as your gaze continues upwards until it locks with a set of piercing baby blues.

The rockstar.

"I was hungry," you respond bluntly. Cut and dry. You figured that would have been enough to give him the hint that you weren't in the mood for idle chit chat or mindless flirting, but he doesn't remove himself from the way that he leans against the countertop, suspending his weight on a single elbow and cocking a hip. "Well, shit darlin' I've ate better slop from the inside of a jail cell," he chuckles at his own joke, and you honestly can't tell if the comment was a joke or not. Firstly, the food isn't even that bad. A bit greasy but not bad. Worse case you'd probably get a stomachache, which is pretty small in terms of how awful your past few days have been.

"I'm sorry, are you trying to flirt with me?" you ask, huffing incredulously. "Because, if you are, most guys like to leave out the fact that they've been arrested. "

He doesn't take offence to it like you'd expect, but instead little hiccups of laughter bubble up from his chest like it's the funniest thing he's heard in a while. " Oh, those? Just a coupla thievin' charges." He admitted airily, like he was talking about something casual. Like work or he was commenting on the weather. "Plus, that was years ago. " And he's waving a hand in the air, gesturing like it isn't important, and all you can do is watch him, smiling from disbelief - not amusement - while you rove over his features like they might be the answer to the oddness of the entire situation.

"What is your plan exactly? " You ask, sipping from the straw of your coke without looking away from him. "I mean, you're here with who I assume is your family. Probably on vacation. So, what was the goal? That you were going to sweep me off my feet and we'd grind one out in the bathroom?" You shake your head. At one time you would have had more tact. You would have chosen your words carefully and danced around the topic. But not tonight. You look away to read the clock that hangs above the serving window, silently reading the minute and hour hand. 8:13 it told you. You should probably get a move on in a bit and find lodgings for the night. Hopefully the next town over won't be too far over, but everything is so spread out on the west coast, less compact and huddled than the east." Classy." You remark without any sense to cover your scorn.

"Shit, girl what kinda John's are you used to? I was just tryin' to make a bit o' conversation," he laughs, combing a hand through his hair as he turns just a notch to look over at his family and Rachel is standing in front of their table, no doubt trying to get their order, but she looks tense and rattled. But then again. you've practically known her for five minutes and that seems to be her default state. "I ain't that bad, am I?"

The group doesn't answer verbally instead chortling at the question like a pack of coyotes yipping at the joy of a successful hunt and it gives you the feeling that he might be worse.

"You're about as welcomin' as shit on someone's doorstep, " the kid sneers, and you can't help but gawk at the language that comes out of his mouth and how openly he insults an adult and assumed relative. But what is even more surprising is the way that his mother doesn't make a move to scold him. Instead, it's the cowboy that speaks out, leaning forward like he might leap across the distance that separates them and throttle the kid, hissing out a strained " shut up, Homer before I tan yer hide," between his teeth and then he's turning his attention back to you, the irritated scowl that he wore was now gone in a flash, like a switch had been flipped he was smiling like the exchange hadn't happened. "Aw, shit darlin' - I've seemed to've left my manners at the door. The name's Severen," and he's extending his hand for you take. "Do I get a name to go with a pretty face?"

You let go of the hold you have around your plastic soda glass to accept his hand, exchanging a firm shake. You really don't know why you're even entertaining this random stranger. Severen. An odd name if you've ever heard one. It defiantly fits the leather cowboy rockstar aesthetic he has going on. Sure, he seems a little shady, but he has a sort of magnetic charm that keeps you from tossing a few bills on the counter and leaving the diner all together. It also helps that he seems to be a complete one-eighty of Sam, who was all forced politeness and feigned confidence. His words always seemed a bit too rehearsed, like he was a part of a scripted play and was forced to do improve on the spot. He was always trying to sell something, even outside of the office. Whatever dominate personality was in the room he'd mold himself to imitate it like a chameleon. An old business trick he had told you. And maybe it was. It had certainly worked on you. The empty promises, the constant stream of expensive gifts, the vacations to private islands and resorts. They were all just pretty distractions to keep you blind to his awful personality.

But this random stranger carries himself like time operates on his whim. Like he could tell the world to stop, and it'd quit breathing entirely until he gave it the okay. He was the kind of man that your mother warned you not to go near. The type you'd see hanging outside of seedy bars on the nights that you and your friends would sneak out of your homes to go wander around town, sipping from gas station slushies and gossiping near the old train tracks. And your mother was right to warn you all those years ago. Guys like him can be dangerous. Maybe it's all your bent out emotions getting the better of you, but you kind of like it.

And truthfully, it feels a little validating to have a guy - especially one as attractive as he is to approach you and strike up a conversation. After Sam's betrayal and the menagerie of twisted and self-depreciating emotions that came with it, it feels good to know that you're still wanted. Even if the attention is coming from a random man in a lonely roadside diner that ultimately won't go anywhere. You've never been the type to entertain men. Granted it's mostly due to the fact that you and Sam had officially put a label on your relationship when you were twenty-one, so your experience with flirting and one-night stands are quite limited. But this wasn't something that was going to go anywhere. It was simply something to pass the time before you set off and head back out on the road. Two strangers sharing a conversating before going on with their lives. It was harmless. So, you tell him your name and he parrots it back like he's trying to memorize it and it shocks you how much you like the sound of it dressed under his voice, sweetened under his southern drawl. It's Texan you think.

"A pretty name for a pretty lady."

"You lay it on thick, don't you?"

"Well, I've never been one to skim it when it comes to the truth. " He flashes that charming grin again, and you glance down at the fries and shuffle them around the plate to distract yourself from it. You hate the heated flutter that fills your stomach at the sight of it. "So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" You shoot back at him, not word for word but you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes that it amuses him, nonetheless.

"About what you said, family vacation. Sightseeing and all that. " You nod along with him, thumbing at the straw of your drink while you meet the dark blue of his eyes. The conversation fizzles out. But not in an awkward or uncomfortable manner. It feels completely natural; the silence that falls over you both. And you just barely register the outside noise. The soft, idle chatter of the elderly couple, the hum of the old lights, the dull drone an energetic rock song, but then a sharp abrupt sound is breaking the spell that fell over you. The sound of someone clearing their throat. Not in the way you might do to dislodge something from your throat but in a way that demands attention and both you and Severen are looking back over to the booth where his family sits. It's the older man who fixes Severen with a stare. Firm and a little chastising. There's another quality to it that you can't make out and it has a cold shiver trickling down your spine. Severen doesn't verbally respond, but the exasperated look he gives the man seems to carry words of its own, the two of them seemingly having an entire conversation with only two heavy stares. It makes you feel awfully singled out. The shift from the flirty banter and light energy to a looming, heavy air happens so quickly that your brain is still struggling to comprehend it. It's like you've been foolishly stumbling about and have suddenly walked into a room that you shouldn't have, and then there's a cold nagging feeling that you need to get up from the stool and leave the building. But you don't.

"We gotta get a move on now, Severen." His voice is resolute and fixed, holding no room for argument and despite the fact that his attention hasn't shifted from the man standing next to you, you feel just as affected by the piercing tone. You just so happen to glance down on the table, noticing the lack of drinks or appetizers on the counter and for some reason it flares up a little red flag in your brain.

Severen sighs in an exaggerated way, like a kid who's been told they couldn't have something and then his attention returns to you, but it feels too stifling. The playful warmth that was once lighting up the blue is now gone. His eyes are sharp and burning with laser focus and you feel like a rabbit caught between a lethal maw. "Sorry to cut our time short darlin,' " he purrs out from an almost manic grin. " You've been a real treat."

It's all a blur then, cuts of color and streaks of light, and you think that you can hear someone screaming, shrill and pained, but that can't be right, right? There's a white expanse above you, stained with water marks and muted from years of being exposed to cigarette smoke. It's all sluggish, like trying to focus when you're several drinks deep and seeing double, but there's a searing, overwhelming sting slicing throughout the column of your neck, and it grounds you somewhat. Enough to blink back the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Enough for you to realize that you're staring at the ceiling and that there's a rough, white knuckled grip threaded through your hair keeping your head tilted at an excruciating degree. And then you can feel a body pressed against yours, an arm cinched across your waist to hold you close.

You can feel a damp heat pouring down your throat and underneath your shirt. Every bit helps you focus. But it's the throbbing ache that takes ahold of your mind and jostles the fog free, lifting the curtain to expose you to all the pain. The sting, the white-hot scorching burn of teeth embedded in the flesh of your neck. There's a tongue laving at the skin held between his jaw, working blood into his mouth. Blood. Your blood. He's biting you. He's fucking biting you!

A freezing cold grips your heart. A terrified fluttering thing that seizes your limbs and keeps you frozen in place while your brain short-circuits between the conflicting commands of either fighting or remaining still in fear. In the midst of your panic some tiny shred of self-preservation takes ahold of you, and you reach into your front jean pocket with a shaking hand while the man continues to gulp at the red that flows from you, moaning around your neck. Your fingers quiver unsteadily, from the fear, the overflow of adrenaline, the blood loss that starts to mist the corners of your vision. But you continue your blind search until your fingertips curl around the set of keys in your pocket. Ignoring the other horrified cries that echo around the diner, the sharp clatter of glass breaking on the tiles, the squeal of someone's shoes slipping across the floor in a wild struggle you secure your grip on the keys and pull them from your pocket as quickly as possible without having them slip from your unsteady hold.

Your sight blurs just a bit. From the tears or the blood loss you aren't sure and the rock song, despite the low volume being projected over the speakers is suddenly too load, drumming in your ears along with the erratic pulse of your heart and the gulping of the man latched to your neck. And your sluggish brain is suddenly grappling with the fact that you might die here.

It's enough to still your shaky resolve, thumbing the key to direct the point of it forward like knife. It's small, the edge quite dull. You'd have to drive it in deep for it to do any damage. It won't kill him, but hopefully it will be enough to get him to let you go.

You draw in a frail gasp, pulling a weak draw of air into your lungs to try and give yourself more focus around the panic that's currently fraying your nerves. Securing your grip around your sweaty palm you don't give yourself time to think, to second guess yourself that it may not work. You're drawing your arm back and striking forward, hoping that you manage to hit something of importance in your visionless jab. You're right in your aim, and the tiny strip of steel is burrowing deep into his side, wiggling your wrist to work it in deeper.

There's a brief feeling of elation, of righteous satisfaction that courses through you when he jerks away from the crook of your neck with a startled yelp that tells you he's more surprised than injured. He practically pushes you away from himself, spitting out insults and curses. The shove sends you falling, your body too weak in your current state to keep you upright, lethargic and drained, and you land on your knees and the heels of your palms. The deep ache you feel from the impact is quickly shoved to the side, while you clumsily scramble back upright, shoes slipping in a puddle of a deep scarlet that you distantly register as blood.

You try not to look, to take in the carnage that taints the room. You try not to notice the young couple who now sit at the bar, sitting side by side while they both drink from Rachel's body like they're sharing a milkshake with their faces smeared red. You try not to see the elderly woman slumped at her booth with her neck sliced open cleanly; blood splattered across the little postcards that she had just been excitedly prattling about sending off to family or friends. And there's a blood trail dragging across the tiles and at the end of it is her husband. And the kid - Jesus even the kid is in on it, curled over her dead husband's body, latched onto his throat.

The sound of Severen's angry cursing has all of their attention snapping over to you, and you feel like a wounded rabbit surrounded by a pack of rabid coyotes.

Everything falls to a standstill like you're all collectively holding your breath, waiting to see who will make the next move. And it's you who does, bolting towards the exit, and you can hear them all collectively move after you, but you don't look back, not even when you hear someone shout out: "God dammit! Someone grab er!"

You're barreling out past the door, and Severen's swearing has melted into a deranged string of laughter, and it follows you on your way out like a taunt, still ringing in your ears while you're crossing the stretch of the parking lot, running faster than you've ever ran in your life. Like you've got the hounds of hell at your heels. Your shoes slip in the gravel, still slick from the blood that had coated the tiled floor and it feels like you're running in a dream, no matter how much distance you cross you're still in place, every foot between you and your car expanding out into a mile, and you think that you might not make it. You feel the tips of someone's fingers brush against the nape of your neck, but you don't even know if it's real or if your brain is just playing tricks on you. You almost miss the handle of the vehicle when you skid to a halt, key already at the ready to slip into the lock, but it's slick with blood and your grip is lose, and you're praying to someone out there, some higher power, or even the universe to not let it slip.

And you can hear the sound of rushed footsteps running up on you and it has another pump of adrenalin shooting into your already overloaded body, and it feels like its frying you alive. And one of them is shouting, a light feminine voice chanting "get her! You have to get her!" with a great deal of panic. You don't let yourself look back up to the diner, no matter how much you want gage the distance between you and them. You can't stomach the thought of glancing up and seeing one of them standing directly in front of you, dripping with blood and gore and so you force yourself to focus on working the key into the slot and twisting the lock open, and you nearly sob with relief when you swing the door open and slip inside the car.

You're peeling out of the parking lot before you can even fully register it, fumbling to slam the driver side door closed, tires spinning in the dirt and gravel while you wildly careen out of the lot and onto the road in an unsteady swerve. And there's an unsettled laughter bubbling from your chest, rupturing from it like a geyser in an uncontrollable fit even though all you really want to do is scream and cry instead, and the music blaring from the radio does little to dampen your current hysteria, but you can't be bothered to reach for the dial and turn it down. Trying your best to breathe so that you can place your attention on maintaining your grip on the steering wheel and getting the hell away from here as quickly as possible. You glance back in the rear-view mirror despite every cell in your body telling not to. You don't want to see them. But you do. Standing out in front of the diner as still as ghosts, faded into dimensionless dark figures from the red neon of the building projecting from behind them in a hellish glow, growing smaller and smaller until they fade into nothing, and the lights are but a tiny pinprick in the distance.

It takes you a moment to register that you're heading back in the direction of Scottsdale, which is now an uncomfortable distance away and now you're cursing the broad expanse of the desert. How everything out here stretches out for lonely, horrid distances. Mile's gapping between towns and houses. But you should have more than enough fuel to get to the gas station that you had stopped at about an hour or so into your journey. You should be okay. You just have to make it there and hopefully they'll have a landline phone that works, and you can call the cops. But what if they don't? A despairing voice laments somewhere in your mind, what if they aren't even open? You have to force the thought away to keep yourself from spiraling. You glance back into the rear-view mirror expecting to see headlights of a car speeding towards you, but it's nothing but a vast empty darkness. They aren't coming after you.

But their lack of chase does little to quell the fear and cold dread nestling inside your body, if anything it fuels the panic. It's suspicious, the way they just gave up once you got to your car. Surely, they had done this before, if the way that they had all walked in the diner with ease and promptly dispatched of all the patrons and employees with a horrifying air of calm was any indication. They did it like it was routine. Like it was normal. And perhaps it was. Maybe this was a normal thing for them, slaughtering the poor souls who cross their paths in obscene acts of violence. But this wasn't even the typical serial killer stuff you often hear about. Kidnappings and stabbings. They were drinking their blood. He was drinking your blood. It reminds you of all the times that your mother used to go off on worried tangents about all the supposed satanic cults that are apparently spreading throughout the country, poisoning the children through rock music and D & D of all things. "I heard it on the news," she had said with a vehemence that you didn't have the energy to challenge anymore. You had never put much stock into it all. The obvious fear mongering that daily new papers and overzealous preachers on the FM radio pumped out in a constant drivel. It had always sounded like bullshit to you, but now that you're speeding down the highway with a massive gash in the side of your neck, shaped by a set of teeth, you're starting to think that maybe there is a shred of possibility to it. You can't help but brokenly giggle at the prospect of it, the insanity of it all. Attacked by a psychotic blood cult. You sound crazy. This entire situation is crazy.

You reach up to touch the wound on the side of your neck, initially flinching at the tender sting. You should probably try to find something to clean it up with, one of your old bottles of water is probably lying around on the floor, tucked underneath some seat, but you can't stomach the thought of pulling over and parking the car long enough to find it. You don't have anything to dress the wound with but luckily it seems as though the bleeding has stopped despite the skin around it still being damp with recent blood. You pinpoint the inflamed edges of the bite with your fingertips, lightly brushing down the expanse of it so not to irritate it any further. It starts just a few inches beneath your ear and stops just short of meeting your shoulder. That's odd. It feels a whole lot thinner than you would expect and less gnarled. Especially considering that it was a grown man that took a bite out of you. It has you flipping the sun visor down and angling it down to properly investigate the damage in between careful glances at the road.

It's difficult to make out from underneath the grimy red coating your neck, but you can see the torn strips of flesh glinting underneath the dim glow casted by the rectangular lights bordering each side of the visor mirror. Two narrow gashes that are nowhere near the size you had expected. The wound is strangely small, the angry indents left by his teeth are thin like they're a few days into the healing process and not just a few minutes old. It must have been the adrenaline making it seem worse than it was. But then again, this entire night feels like it isn't real. Like it's a dream -a nightmare that you'd wake up from at any moment.

Images of the diner flash across your mind, the gore and violence. Rachel's lifeless eyes staring at you, jarringly blank and empty like a broken doll while the young couple fed from her wrist and neck. The red smearing the pale floor, the screaming and banging of pots and pans from the kitchen that had told you that one of them had gotten ahold of the cook somewhere in the back. And it sounded like he was trying to fight them off. And you had left him. You had left him behind without a second thought. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You had been so desperate to get out and save your own skin that you didn't even think about anyone else or the chance that they might be alive before you ran out. But what were you supposed to? If you had stayed behind even a second longer, he would have killed you. You would have been dead-

A short metallic scrape sounds from the roof of your car. Sudden and jarring and abrupt enough for you to jump in your seat and nearly jerk the steering wheel from your shaky grip. A rattled breath leaves you while you glance up at the cloth ceiling like it'll help identify the cause of the sound, and you all you can do is hope that it's something like the wind even though the idea of it sounds completely stupid. But you can't let yourself think of the other possibilities right now. Not when you're still two seconds away from a panic attack while behind the wheel and doing 85 mph down the road. You should probably slow down some now that you've placed some distance between you and them, but you can't seem to move your foot from the gas pedal no matter how much common sense is telling you to.

And then you hear it again. That harsh cutting noise is slashing through the air over the droning of the engine and Joan Jett's blaring vocals. Definitely not the wind. And there's a dull shuffling that follows after it, heavy and scuffed, almost like -

A large bang erupts from above like a gun shot and a panicked fleeting looks up reveals that there's a dent in the roof, dipping inwards like someone had punched it, and it douses you like cold water and floods your system with another hefty load of adrenaline. The realization that someone is on top of the car. But before you can do anything, the roof above you is bursting open with a shrill grotesque shriek, splitting as easily as tinfoil and a hand is blindly reaching down, frantically snatching at the open air with bloodied fingers. You can't help the scream that escapes your lungs, tearing your already raw throat from its volume. And your already sluggish brain stalls between the directions of either slamming on the breaks or swerving across the road in the hopes of shaking them off that you don't do anything other than try to remain in control of the vehicle and evade the hand trying to claw its way into your hair, its rings snagging on the strands. Rings. You remember the jewelry that Severen had worn on his right hand, how he had tapped his knuckles on the counter when you were talking. He's the one on your car. That's why they didn't all bother chasing after you, because they already had you. He must have leapt on when you were speeding out of the parking lot, too rattled and busy panicking to notice him climbing up the roof.

While you're busy grappling with the situation his hand successfully snatches at your roots, pulling painfully tight at your scalp. You cry out in pain, trying to keep your eyes on the long stretch of road and keep control of the wheel while you reach up to claw at his wrist with your own nails, but it does nothing to deter him. If anything, he grips your hair harder, and you know that you're going to have to stop. Maybe if you break hard enough, you'll be able to shake him free and you can run him over on while you're on your way out of this shithole. So, you remove your foot from the gas pedal in the hopes of slamming on the brakes, but then he's securing his hold on your scalp and harshly jerking your head back against the head rest. Even though it's a dull pain, it's enough to disorient you and then the tires are squealing with the acrid scent of burnt rubber tainting the air.

From the angle he has your head held at you can't see out of the windshield, but you can catch glimpses of the world rushing past you out of your peripherals. Blurs of the desert floor and dried shrubbery rushing past, and the car is harshly jolting over what must be rocks and dips in the ground.

Admits the chaos you're able to free yourself from his grip just in time to see the barbed wire fence that you're approaching at full speed. But it's far too late to anything, not even the brakes would help to lessen the blow and all you can do is watch as the front of the car hits a heavy wooden fence post, crumpling inwards from the impact. Then it all flashes black under a blaze of searing white hot heat, a steady throb traveling across your skull in steady pulses. You can't help but groan from the pain. You have to force your eyes open and blink away the blurriness that obscures the edges of your vision. You don't know if it's been seconds or hours after the crash, but a quick scan of the pitch-black night around you and the thick stream of smoke that pours from the grill and twists up into the air lets you know that it couldn't have been too long.

Then you hear the shifting of feet above you, shuffling against the roof and every step is like a gunshot going off. Another nail in your coffin. It fills you with pure dread, but you're too weak- your brain too muddled to move. You watch as a pair of cowboy boots drop onto what's left of the hood, jostling the body of the car from the weight of it, the spurs jingling in a way that sounds light and cheery, like a set of mocking giggles.

He's dipping over at the waist so that he can look at you, eyes twinkling with crazed mirth and wearing a bloody grin that's too wide. And then he fucking waves at you. You're still too dazed to get out and run, or cuss him out, or do anything, so you settle for pinning him down with a steady glare, hoping that it conveys all of your boiling hatred while you try and shove down the fear running rampant inside your chest.

Then he's excitedly leaping from the hood and landing on the ground hollering into the air like he just got off a rollercoaster. It's horrifying, the blatant joy that he's exhibiting like the killing and the chase were the ultimate pleasure of life. And while he's celebrating, you're doing your best not vomit. From the head trauma or the sudden empty gnawing in the pit of your stomach you aren't sure. But nausea is swimming in your head and gut and you're blindly fumbling for the door latch. You need to get out, you need to vomit, you need to run. And all the while he's dancing in place, clearly riding some sort of adrenaline rush. "God damn, yer a wild cat!" He's hollering, practically skipping over to the driver side door. You whimper under your breath from the pain and the fear and pathetically try to crawl over the center console to get to the opposing seat, but you can hear the door being jerked open while he chuckles and snatches your ankle.

"Get off of me!" You shout, kicking out in the hopes that it would deter him some. Of course, it doesn't. If anything, it seems to amuse him further, even when one of them lands and you strike him dead center in the chest. It doesn't get so much as a gasp of air from him, like there isn't any in his lungs. He still has that unsettling feral grin on his face. "No can do, sugar. Shoulda thought about that before you went an' stabbed me."

The wild fear is overshadowed for a moment, as short as it is. "You fucking bit me!" You snap back, like a child bickering but you're still to dazed and caught up in the moment to even register how fruitless and bizarre the exchange is.

"But you smelt so good, " he croons in a sing-songy lilt, still pulling your wiggling body towards his, now gripping ahold of your hips. "You can't blame a man for wantin' a taste." And he's pulling you up by the shoulders completely unbothered by the way you try to claw and rip at his chest and the exposed skin of his throat. His eyes are lit up under the dull cast of the interior light, barring you completely to the wild nature that lurks inside them.

His teeth are fully exposed behind that horrible grin, and it feels like he's going to try and eat you alive. And you think he is. Of course, he is. Here to finish the job and drain you dry. They were always going to get you. Your car- your only chance of escape is totaled. And even if you somehow managed to overpower him and kill him the group he had traveled with is still out there. No doubt counting the seconds for his return. And the second they realize he's not coming back they'll be coming for you. In this dead empty desert with no houses or towns for miles. You'd collapse from exhaustion before you manage to find help, or some random person finds you alongside the road.

A sense of helplessness rushes over you. A reluctant defeat. And you look up at him like hundreds of others have probably done before you and ask the question that that you've always made fun of the heroines and victims of countless movies for asking: "Why are you doing this?"

But you need some sense of closure at least. A reason for all of the violence and horror that you've endured tonight. You try and focus through your blurred vision to search both of his eyes like you might find something of substance in them. Two deep pools of a smothering blue. There isn't a shred of sympathy in them. He's shushing you in a dramatic mocking sense of kindness, cradling your jaw in his hands like he cares. You try to remove your face from his hold, but he doesn't let you, following your retreating face and caging it between his calloused grip. "There ain't nothin' you coulda done. You were jus' at the wrong place at the wrong time." It's said so matter-of-factly it shreds the final bits of hope that you clung to.

And then he's leaning closer, dropping an arm to nuzzle at the wound on your neck, ignoring how you hiss and jerk away from him, desperate to evade the sting of his teeth, but it never comes. You feel him go still underneath you, muscles seizing like he's been struck, and it also gives you pause letting you focus through your aching muddled head and pick up on the little puffs of breath bursting across your throat. Is he . . . sniffing you?

Your head is suddenly back in his hands and he's peering down at you, squinting in the dim light like he's searching for something and all you can do is force your drooping eyelids open to warily watch him, trying to ignore the persistent vacant throb in your gut. A series of emotions cross his face, bewilderment, anger, and lastly a frustrated sort of acceptance. "You gotta be shittin' me." Then he's tearing away from you, leaving your body to weakly sag back up against the driver's seat while he stomps at the ground and swears. You think about trying to make a run for it while he's distracted and busy throwing a fit over . . . something, but when your place your feet on the ground and try to stand you're startled by how horribly they shake. A tremor runs up your body and has you falling right back down on your seat. The blood loss and your crashing adrenaline rush seems to be catching up to you, leaving your body nothing more than a useless painful quivering mess and you could cry but you'll be damned if you give this bastard the twisted satisfaction of seeing your tears.

The sound of you trying to stand seems to remind him of your presence and he's twisting around to look at you. And the two of you pause in a strange sort of standoff. He briefly gazes back off into the night like he might find an answer somewhere out among the darkness and rolling hills before looking back to you with a dejected sigh. Then he's walking back towards you, lifting his wrist up to his mouth and biting into it without flinching.

The sight of that alone has you trying to scramble back again, but he's on you before you can blink. "Oh, quit yer fussin'. " He chides while holding you close against his chest.

"Wha-" you can't even get the question out before he's sliding a bloody wrist against your open mouth. You flinch away from it, smearing it across your cheek and he tuts disapprovingly like he isn't trying to force feed you his blood. "C'mon now, don' be difficult."

You had fully intended to scold him, whip out some barbed quip to get some sense of having the upper hand, no matter how miniscule it was in the long run, but then a bit of his blood drops along your tongue, and your brain is wiped clean of any coherent thought. You don't know what compelled you to do it, honest to God. But suddenly you're latching onto his arm like it's a lifeline and gulping down the thick red that pours from the open wound. A thick metallic gush coats your tongue and it's almost too much but he's cradling the back of your head to keep you fixed to his arm. Then notes of something salted and faintly sweet rises up from the coppery flavor and you're pulling it into your mouth like its melted sugar. And you think you can hear him murmur something to you, something like, "see it ain't so bad, is it?" but his voice is distant and far away like he's talking to you from under water.

That strange hollow pinch inside of your gut is back. It's like hunger almost, but it's also leagues away from any hunger you've ever felt. It feels like a sharp rabid thing is lose in your stomach, all teeth and claws, scratching at you from the inside, begging for you to give it more. And the flow of blood the pours freely from his wrist suddenly isn't enough. And you're pulling away from him with as much strength as you can muster, successfully standing on your feet and snatching at the clothes on his chest for a completely different reason now. You catch the surprise in his eyes, the little puff of disbelieving laughter that leaves him when he lets you roughly nudge his head to the side and place you mouth on his throat, running the sensitive tip of your tongue along the rough texture of his five-o clock shadow. Just keeping the edges of your teeth there. But you can smell the blood underneath his skin and the wild, gnawing hunger inside of you demands to be fed and then you're sinking them in deep. His skin breaks underneath the pressure and the thick red fills your mouth like nectar. The flow of it is much stronger here, gushing across your tongue beautifully. You almost moan from the elation you feel, the stabbing pain muting out in pale distant throbs and the shaking in your arms and legs dies down.

He groans and grips your hips tightly and whether it's from discomfort or not you don't know. And you don't care. You can hardly think at all, left adrift under the pull the blood that steadily pours down your throat, and if it weren't for the sudden burst of sound to tether you, you might would have floated away under it. Somewhere in the distance a pack coyotes howls and yips rise up like a delighted strip of laughter, the wind rustles over the desert floor like a wane breath, and far past the horizon something warm and primordial rumbles, but it's still hard to focus on over the sound of your own feverish gulping. Even though the foreign, wild hunger has since died down, you don't want to stop. You want to stay here forever and drink and drink and drink.

You're being pulled back from his neck before you can register it, pitifully whining at the loss of his blood. It takes you a few moments to come to, the annoying steady tapping of his hand on your cheek helping to rouse you from your drunken stupor. And the grin on his face is too cocky and smug for your taste and something about the look in his eyes tells you that you've just done something irreversible. That you've sealed your fate and won't be able look back. It takes a minute for your slow-moving syrupy thoughts to catch up. The realization of what you've done hits you with the subtly of a charging bull and your entire body runs cold. He must see the change in you because he's lurching forward and snatching you before you can run off with your newfound strength. "Hold on now, " he's laughing. The bastard is laughing. " I mean, shit the way you were sucking on me, I thought I'd be seein' the big man upstairs soon!"

"Get your hands off of me!" You snarl. Because it had worked so well for you last time, but you don't care. You're angry, you're betrayed. But you can't blame anyone else but yourself and that's what terrifies you the most.

"I can't do that now. It's gonna be you and me sweetpea! " He practically sings." For a good long while."

You can't even form a sentence to ask him why. Why he suddenly has an interest in you, why he fed you his blood, why you wanted his blood. It all fades from the tip of your tongue before you can form the words, and then he's lifting you up like a bag of dog food and tossing you over his shoulder despite your protest. "Oh, hush now. " He scolds you lightly with a few pats on your rear and you try to knee him in the stomach but he's quick to catch the wayward limb. He walks past the totaled Ford, still smoking and crumpled against the fence post and heads off towards the road, whistling jovially as he goes with an arm secured around your waist to keep you held down in place. All while you limply hang from his shoulder, distantly watching the asphalt pass underneath his boots, and the way that the rowels of his spurs slightly rotate between their shanks with each step. You can't help but wonder what your family will think when you never come back home. When a cop or some person on their way into the nearest town spots your crumpled up car on the side of the road or whatever is left of the diner and reports you as a missing person. Or dead.

Will they look for you? You think about your father sitting at the dining room table, awake too early and drinking a mug full of coffee so black that it'll make your lips twists up like you ate something sour and your mother sitting in front of the TV every night to watch her reruns while she picks out a new novel for her book club- which is really just an excuse to gossip and complain about the neighbors.

You may never be a part of that again. You may never see them again. And a heavy lump is inside your throat threatening to push tears up. Even Sam and his cheating and his sweet, dimpled smile and his constant prattle about business sales - you'd take it all back in a heartbeat. You'd take the pain and the lying and the hurt but instead you're here. Tossed over some psychopath's shoulder.

"Calvary's here!" He suddenly cheers, breaking you from your spiral. You have to prop a hand on his lower back suspend yourself up enough to look back over your shoulder, but it gives enough leverage to make out a pair of headlights piercing the through the darkness ahead. The sight of it has a lump of dread forming in the pit of your stomach, heavy and unforgiving. And Severen seems to sense your unease, because he's working a hand up the back of your thigh in what he seems to think are soothing stokes. " Yer gonna be alright, the family is gonna love ya!"

And some helpless part of you still stupid enough to cling onto hope wants to cry out, to beg him to let you go. To pretend that this entire night never happened. But you know its fruitless. You're in too deep now. You were as soon as they stepped into that diner. Whatever happened now you'd just have to hope that you make it out alive. But maybe you wouldn't want to.

"Shit sugar, me and you might have some fun after all!"

#severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #near dark x reader #near dark #severen near dark #severen #near dark 1987

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 9 months

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Frev nicknames compilation

Maximilien Robespierre – the Incorruptible (first used by Fréron, and then Desmoulins, in 1790).

Augustin Robespierre – Bonbon, by Antoine Buissart (1, 2), Régis Deshorties and Élisabeth Lebas. Élisabeth confirmed this nickname came from Augustin’s middlename Bon.

Charlotte Robespierre – Charlotte Carraut (hid under said name at the time of her arrest, also kept it afterwards according to Élisabeth Lebas). Caroline Delaroche (according to Laignelot in 1825, an anonymous doctor in 1849 and Pierre Joigneaux in 1908).

Louis Antoine Saint-Just – Florelle (by himself), Monsieur le Chevalier de Saint-Just (by Salle and Desmoulins)

Jean-Paul Marat – the Friend of the People (l’Ami du Peuple) (self-given since 1789, when he started his journal with the same name)

Georges-Jacques Danton – Marius (by Fréron and Lucile Desmoulins).

Éléonore Duplay – Cornélie (according to the memoirs of Charlotte Robespierre and Paul Barras. Barras also adds that Danton jokingly called Éléonore “Cornelie Copeau, the Cornelie that is not the mother of Gracchus”)

Élisabeth Duplay – Babet (by Robespierre and Philippe Lebas in her memoirs)

Jacques Maurice Duplay – my little friend (by Robespierre), our little patriot (by Robespierre)

Camille Desmoulins – Camille (given by contemporaries since 1790. Most likely a play on the Roman emperor Camillus who saved Rome from Brennus in the 4th century like Camille saved the revolution on July 12, and not a reference to Camille behaving like a manchild to the people around him like is commonly stated.) Loup (wolf) by Fréron and Lucile (1, 2), Loup-loup by Fréron (1, 2), Monsieur Hon by Lucile.

Lucile Desmoulins – Loulou (by Camille 1, 2), Loup by Camille, Lolotte (by Camille (1, 2), Rouleau by Fréron (1, 2) and Camille, the chaste Diana (by Fréron), Bouli-Boula by Fréron (1, 2).

Horace Desmoulins – little lizard (Camille), little wolf (Ricord), baby bunny (Fréron).

Annette Duplessis (Lucile’s mother) — Melpomène (by Fréron), Daronne (by Camille)

Stanislas Fréron – Lapin (bunny) (by himself (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) and Lucile. According to Marcellin Matton, publisher of the Desmoulins correspondence and friend of Lucile’s mother and sister, Fréron obtained this nickname from playing with the bunnies at Lucile’s parents country house everytime he visited there, and Lucile was the one who came up with it). Martin by Camille and himself (likely a reference to the drawing ”Martin Fréron mobbed by Voltaire” which depicts Fréron’s father Élie Fréron as a donkey called ”Martin F”.)

Manon Roland — Sophie (by herself in a letter to Buzot).

Charles Barbaroux — Nysus by Manon Roland

François Buzot — Euryale by Manon Roland

Pierre Jacques Duplain — Saturne (by Fréron)

Guillaume Brune — Patagon (by Fréron)

Antoine Buissart (Robespierre’s pretend dad from Arras) — Baromètre (due to his interest in science)

Comment who had the best/worse nickname!

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radiowallet · 1 year

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Glasses

Main Masterlist II Tied Masterlist

Summary: Dr. Djarin is slightly in denial about his eyesight. Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (First Assist) WC: 1.6K Warnings: Mature 18+ MDNI This is an over 18 blog and all content is considered mature. Established relationship, unprotected P in V sex, light choking, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), medical/surgical discussions, descriptions of surgical complications, fluff, talk of family.

I do not use a tag list. You can follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications to get fic updates.

“You’re staring.”

He’s not wrong.

You are staring.

You are staring and Din is squinting. His brown eyes are fixed on one single point on the computer screen, moving in and out of focus, the wrinkles at the edges beautifully (and needlessly) pronounced. You watch as his brow furrows in, the dip between his eyes set deep as he tries to make out the words in front of him, every inch of him steadfast and stubborn.

“First.”

His tone is biting, but the warning is dulled, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips, the surgical mask pulled down below his chin moving with the small twitch.

“I never took you for a vain man, Dr. Djarin.”

His chair swivels, metal wheels giving a whining groan in protest of the sudden movement. Sharp eyes meet yours and you don’t bother hiding your grin, dragging the toe of your dirty sneaker up and down his calf, a silent cue from you to him – with love.

“You need glasses.”

For a second he doesn’t say anything, his scowl pursing deeper into his bottom lip, his mustache following not far behind. And then, just before he turns back to the computer screen, “I don’t.”

“You asked for loupes today.”

“Not an uncommon occurrence.” His voice is even, but his back is steel, his fists are flexed.

“You only ask for loupes in vascular cases. Today was just a valve replacement.”

Din doesn’t respond, instead leaning his face closer to the computer screen; a move that only helps to further prove your point. You lean back in your own chair and breathe in deep, the smell of burnt coffee and cold pizza invading your senses. You had meant what you said; you didn’t take Din for a vain man. Confident, of course. A bit of an ego, sure. The best surgeons had both, practically parting gifts on the way out of residency.

But vain?

He had shouldered every grey hair he found beneath the bright synthetic lights of the hospital with cool indifference. He had barely paid lip service to his changing body, hard edges earned from daily runs and vending machine sandwiches switched out for a soft belly gifted over two years of a warm bed and home cooked meals. He had even given in to your plea for a new mattress with zero fight, going as far to agree that yes, his back did feel better, the admission grunted in your ear as he fucked deep inside you, the plastic half-torn away, the delivery men barely out the front door.

Through all of it he smiled, that same cocky tilt to his features he’s been giving you since the day you met. And you loved him all the more for it. Loved that he was embracing this next stage of life, with all of its many gifts and numerous changes, with grace and a touch of humor.

But this? Glasses? That’s his tipping point?

“You pointed at the menu last night. Didn’t even try to read it.”

He clicks the mouse once.

“I read it.”

Twice.

“They brought you salmon. You hate salmon”

Three times and the chart finally closes.

“A man can change.”

His hand gently touches to your knee, a warm grip that draws your eyes up to his own. His features are set, his mouth drawn thin, and when he speaks, his clipped tone speaks volumes.

“Next cut time is in ten.”

“I think you would look sexy with glasses.”

“I’m just a piece of meat to you, aren’t I?”

“If the scrubs fit.”

You try again two days later with a different tactic.

“How about contacts?”

Din only hums, his lips preoccupied, sucking a bruise into the curve of your hip, his thick fingers digging at the flesh of your thighs. His destination is clear, but he’s taking his time tonight, no piece of skin left untouched, lips and teeth and tongue mapping a twisting pattern across your body. You’re pleasantly warm, arousal simmering sweetly beneath the surface of the evening and you’re hoping it’s enough for him to finally agree.

“Din?”

He switches to your other hip bone, barely pulling away from the heat of your skin, to give you a gruff reply.

“Contacts would dry out in the O.R.”

You bite your lip, a moan threatening to break the seal of your lips, the tip of one of Din’s fingers dragging through the folds of your pussy. Your silence only spurs him on, and he sucks harder, a bite of pain flaring beneath his kiss.

“H-how about… shit– lasik?”

He pulls always from you then, the suction of his mouth breaking off with a slick pop, his incredulous gaze piercing you from below. The tip of his finger is still inside you, his finger curling forward to meet his answer, your own gasp of pleasure not far behind.

“You want me to let some hack put a laser near my eyes?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead slipping a second finger inside you to join the first, pumping them in out of you in time with his words.

“Do you know that 0.3% of patients come away with some form of infection after any type of eye surgery? Or that dry eyes are the number one side effect?”

His voice is steady, belying the way he’s stretching you open, slick arousal dripping out around his fingers and soaking the sheets below. Your legs are trembling where his shoulders push them wide, and he only seems to delight in the break in your composure.

“What about the increase in glares? Halos?”

He dips his head and licks gently at your clit, his chest rumbling in delight as you twist beneath him, hips canting up to meet the thrust of his fingers.

“How about that 1% chance of a dislocation of the corneal flap?”

“Oh my god! Din!” You groan, your pussy clenching around his fingers even as you arch off the bed and shoot him an exasperated look. “Just shut u–”

Your words are cut off, head falling back to the mattress, his mouth fusing to your clit, bursts of white blinding your vision as he sucks the bundle of nerves between his teeth. He groans into you, the vibrations sending liquid heat up your spine, his fingers pushing deep inside, his tongue curling through the folds of your pussy to collect every drop of you he can. Your fingers find the curls at the crown of his head and you tug, desperate to keep his mouth occupied with anything but the statistical risk of lasik eye surgery.

And still, you can’t help yourself.

“Can you…can you even s—ee what you’re doing?”

Your laughter can barely catch up to your joke before Din is on you, the fingers just buried inside your cunt wrapped around your throat, his lips still shiny with the taste of you, hovering just out of reach of your own. His cock sits heavy between your legs, and he thrusts up, dragging the hard length against your core, precum smearing into your skin as he steals your breath in the process.

“I don’t need to see to take you apart. Trust me.”

“It’s not about vanity.”

You don’t look up from the computer screen, but you stop typing, ignoring Din’s long list of chart deficiencies in lieu of waiting patiently for him to keep talking. Fortunately, he doesn’t keep you waiting long.

“I don’t want to stop cutting. Not yet. I’m…It’s…a part of me.”

This time you do look up, trying and failing to keep your face neutral as you set your eyes as him, embarrassed frustration barely stewing beneath the grimace on his lips.

“Dr. Djarin?”

“Yeah?”

“I know.” And then, “You won’t.”

The last thing you expect is for Din to bring the topic up on his own.

You’re stretched out on opposite ends of the couch one cold November night, Grogu sitting on the floor between you, breaking in a new set of crayons as he covers sheet after sheet of construction paper in green scribbles. It’s a far cry from nights spent in on-call rooms waiting for an inevitable page that would pull Din and you apart, a warm mug of tea replacing cold coffee, Din’s clever hands rubbing soft circles into the ball of your foot instead of wrapped around surgical tools.

The mood is near-perfect, so much so that you have no intention of pointing out the way Din is squinting at the picture his son just handed him, struggling to name the creature Grogu is so proud to share.

“It’s great, buddy. I love…”

“Frog, Dada,” Grogu offers with a stomp of his foot before snatching the paper away and bringing it over to you, chubby fingers pulling at your sweatshirt in frustration.

“It’s such a good frog, baby! Definitely going up on the fridge,” you coo sweetly down at your son, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes.

Without prompting Grogu goes back to his coloring, his attention stolen back by the rainbow of colors scattered across the living room floor and you can’t help but watch a little longer. Across from you, Din shifts, and when you sneak a glance his way he’s frowning, the brown of his eyes focused on some invisible threat hovering just out of sight. You call his name softly, drawing his attention back to you, raising your eyebrow in a silent invitation to explain.

When he does finally speak, his throat bobbing with the weight of his words, the answer almost too simple for your liking.

“I don’t want to miss any of this.”

You don’t ask what he means by this. You don’t have to.

And you were right.

Din does look sexy with glasses.

A/N: I know it's been almost a year since I've posted anything for Dr. Djarin and First, and I have no good reason other than I hit an emotional wall with this story that had many contributing factors. I hope this little drabble means I'll be able to finish this story properly.

Bonus Medical Jargon

Loupes: Loupes are a simple optical devices used for viewing details of objects with some magnification.

Valve Replacement: An aortic valve replacement involves removing a faulty or damaged valve and replacing it with a new valve made from synthetic materials or animal tissue

Vascular Surgery: Vascular surgery is a surgical subspecialty in which diseases of the vascular system, or arteries, veins and lymphatic circulation.

Lasik: Commonly referred to as laser eye surgery or laser vision correction.

Dislocation of the corneal flap: A flap dislocation would cause notable pain, discomfort, excessive watering in the eye, and/or blurred vision

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin AU #Doctor!Din #din djarin x f!reader #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian AU

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sanjoongie · 1 year

Note

Hi there bestie!

Can u write a fic like yan!ot8 royalty au (idk if u write yan!) , or u can do it in a possessive way or something like that🥹

*sending u love and hug to raise ur filthy mindset 👀*

~Topaz: thank you for loving my stuff and I really dug into this troupe for this, I hope you enjoy. I got a little too carried away, but dealers choice lmao

A wolf in sheep's clothing

✧Pairing: poly! ateez x reader (f) ✧Genre: smut ✧Au: werewolf, royalty, yandere ✧Word Count: 2,088 ✧Warnings: YANDERE! ATEEZ! (beware), possessive tendencies, somnophilia, violent tendencies, ✧Rated: 18+ MDNI ✧Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland the unholy trinity beta teaaaaam <3

Your life was meant to be easy. As the heir of a dukedom, in a remote part of Terre du L'Ange, you were simply required to ensure your people were well provided for. Your parents weren't keen on if you married or not, you had a brother who was continuing the line of your family. So you could live your life within the forest of your childhood.

It wasn't until a messenger on a horse came one stormy night to break the news: the king was dead. It was a sad day when your ruler passed on. Your mother cried in anguish and your father looked uncomfortable. But there was more to the message than just the king was gone…

The pact between Terre de l'Ange and Terre du Diable had fallen through with the king unable to finish negotiations. And with no heir to take his place… there was about to be a war brewing.

But a dark secret was discovered. You were actually the bastard child of the king. Your parents had married to hide this secret but the queen had known it all along. With no heir and the threat of a war, the queen had no choice but to summon you.

If you were to marry into the kingdom of Terre du Diable, there would be no war and now two kingdoms formed together. The High Queen of Terre du Diable et L'Ange has a ring to it. Thus your world was thrown upside down from living in your serene forest to being thrown to the wolves… quite literally. Only humans lived within Terre de L'Ange but only werewolves lived in Terre du Diable.

What anyone failed to inform you of, when you traveled to the Château du Loup, was that you were handfasted with eight different men and they all wanted you because whoever managed to get you pregnant first would become the king.

Seonghwa was the eldest, hair dark like a raven's feather, and courteous. Upon introduction, he bowed over your offered hand and kissed the back of it. Hongjoong was the second eldest, eyes alit with danger, and growled when you were introduced to the third. Seonghwa had to hold Hongjoong back from attaching himself to you. Yunho smiled and blushed, murmuring about being the first to dance with you during the ball. He laughed with a hand held over his mouth. Yeosang smiled serenely and promised to give you a tour of the menagerie and grounds and especially the gardens, after he brandished a white rose for you. San offered a different tour, how to get to his room and one of his body. He promised both would be very educational. Mingi promised that your boudoir would be full of beautiful dresses and breathtaking shoes. He wanted you to feel spoiled. Wooyoung launched his body against yours, hugging you tightly to his chest and squealing about how much fun this was going to be. His mood was full of sunshine but his grin suggested mischief. Jongho, the youngest, couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge you, not even looking at you when you were introduced. He muttered something about mating with humans being beneath him and then you were swept away to be shown your rooms.

It was up to you to approve of the mating, so whether the wolf princes liked it or not, if they wanted to be king, they had to do their best to get into your bed.

Yunho was the first to approach you, which surprised you. The ball that was thrown in your honor the day you had arrived provided him a perfect opportunity to dance you into a secluded corner. His tongue found your sensitive neck, licking at a spot just under your ear. “Let me have the first taste of you, princess,” he murmured into your skin. His delicate fingers pulled at your skirts, inching them slowly up so that he may sneak those same fingers under.

“Duchess,” You corrected him, “I’ve never been a princess.”

A small smile curled at the corner of his lips, “Duchess, then.”

“I’m hardly in any hurry,” You dismissed him. “They already picked me, after all.”

Yunho frowned at you. “I can’t argue with that.”

“Exactly,” You winked at him and then moved back to the ball.

San was next, now that one came as no surprise. He was waiting at your door for you to retreat for the night, stating you were tired from your travels. The small braids that held his hair from his face only underlined how sharp his cheekbones were. “Darling, I’ve been waiting for you,” He smirked from the shadows.

“Ah yes, you owe me a tour of your body, didn’t you say?” You quipped.

San giggled, high and childlike. “Straight to the point. I like you.”

You laughed under your breath. “You don’t have to like me. You just have to fuck me.”

San’s pupils blew at your words but he frowned. “I would hope it would be a bit more than that. We will be spending a lifetime together if I get you round with child.”

You cocked your head, curious. “Surely you don’t expect me to give you my heart upon the first night of meeting.”

San smiled crookedly. “No. But a small crush would do.”

“Okay. I’ll admit. I like you just a little bit,” You teased.

San’s grin grew wider. He raised an eyebrow at you. “Shall we?” indicating he would join you in your bedroom.

“I don’t think so,” You replied. You tapped your finger on his nose and then went into your room alone.

You had already made a decision that you would not be fucking anyone on your first night. You didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, you certainly didn’t want to get knocked up by anyone you weren’t sure of, and most importantly, you did not want to seem like this was going to be an easy task.

What you hadn't expected was for Wooyoung to sneak into your bed that night. You woke up to some light caresses and mischievous giggle. “You’re a deep sleeper, lover,” Wooyoung cooed.

If it wasn’t for your lower half drenching, with Wooyoung’s fingers already deep in your cunt, you might have protested. But your back arched when he curled his fingers inside of you and you groaned loudly. “You make such cute noises when you’re asleep, I couldn't help myself. It’s your fault really.”

“Woo…young!” You panted in between being finger-fucked by one of your partners, “I am…not your…plaything!”

“I know, I know!” Wooyoung protested, “I only came in here to watch you sleep. But then you started to make these noises and I knew you needed something in you. The way you clenched your thighs together told me so!”

You grabbed the back of Wooyoung’s neck and pulled him close. The smug way he licked his lips told you everything you needed to know. “Make me come and then you leave,” You growled.

“Whatever you say, lover,” Wooyoung chirped.

Seonghwa was outside of your door to escort you to breakfast. He offered his arm and you curled your hand around it. “To what do I owe this honor?” You mused out loud.

“I made sure our cooks prepared a scrumptious breakfast for you and I would be loathe for you to miss it,” Seonghwa smiled charmingly for you.

“Mmm,” you hummed, “Not here to check if anyone was in my room?”

Seonghwa’s nostrils flared with quick anger but it was replaced by his charm. “Was there someone in your room last night?”

“Oh yes,” You informed him. “One of your rivals visited me in the wee hours. He’s quite skilled with his fingers.”

Seonghwa’s eyes traveled back and forth, trying to figure out who you were talking about with your vague hint. “Yunho? I saw him approach you during the ball.”

You shook your head, “Now now, Seonghwa. It wouldn’t be very wise for me to tell you who it was, would it?”

That’s when you found your back pressed up against the wall. “I will chop off the offending hand that laid itself upon you,” Seonghwa snarled.

You reached up and patted his cheek. “No need. I simply need some breakfast and then I’ll be plenty refreshed for today.”

Seonghwa let you go, bewildered that you simply skimmed over his outburst of anger. And that you didn’t mind that someone crept into your rooms.

After breakfast, Yeosang approached you about showing you around the castle. You accepted and he smiled serenely. Yeosang was the epitome of a well of information. You didn’t manage to absorb a single thing he had shown you or told you, however, breath taken away by his side profile.

“Thank you, Yeosang.” You couldn't help but brush strands of his hair out of his eyes.

Yeosang blinked quickly but his hand was even faster to wrap around your wrist as you went to pull away. “Please,” He whimpered, “Don’t stop.”

You raked your hand through his hair and he whimpered at the stimulation. “I would do anything so that you could do this for me all day,” he admitted.

“It would be an honor to gaze upon your face for an entire day, Yeosang,” You giggled.

Yeosang sighed happily in response.

Next, to the calm rain that was Yeosang, came in the fiery storm that was Hongjoong. In the afternoon, when you decided to read in the garden’s, Hongjoong came out of nowhere, diving at a servant who was attending you. You couldn't see exactly what was going on, but by the sounds of pain and the grunts, you were assuming Hongjoong was defending your honor from an unseen attack.

Hongjoong was panting when he stood up in the shrubbery. You had long put down your book and watched with big eyes as the blood splattered prince approached you. “I will never let another man look at you like that,” He growled.

His hand came out to cup your cheek. His thumb stroked your cheek bone. “You are mine, do you hear me, my love?”

“But Hongjoong--” You were interrupted when Hongjoong’s lips came crashing down upon yours. He bit and pulled and sucked at your lips, like you truly were his.

Mingi knocked quietly on your door in the evening, in which you allowed him in. He went straight to your boudoir and discarded the dresses that simply would not work with your body type or skin tone. “Only the best for my doll,” Mingi insisted.

You were one step behind him, arms clasped behind your back. “Are there any dresses that match an outfit of yours, perhaps?” You wondered curiously.

Mingi turned around, his tongue caught between his teeth. “Why of course, my doll, I wish for everyone to know that you prefer me.”

“Now now, Mingi, I can’t show favoritism yet,” You scolded him.

“But you will wear what I ask of you, will you not? For me?” Mingi furrowed his eyebrows, “Surely you would?”

When you nodded slowly, a huge grin almost split Mingi’s face. “Perhaps you already favor me. But we don’t have to tell the others. They’ll get jealous.”

You learned Mingi was a liar that day when he told Jongho all about how you had proclaimed him as the favorite. The next morning, Jongho had cornered you, his face politely devoid of any emotion. “You can’t be stupid enough to have picked someone you liked the most already,” Jongho spat at you.

You shook your head. “Of course not, Jongho, I’ve yet to speak to you.”

Jongho looked taken aback. A light blush sprinkled along his face and he began to stutter. “Wh-what do you mean?”

You smirked, “Why, Jongho, you won’t even look at me. Whatever have I done to make you so cold towards me?”

Jongho’s eyes were on the floor, a small pout pulling his pink lips. “N-nothing, I just don’t like strangers.”

“But we’re not strangers, are we, Jongho? We are handfasted and should exchange affections.” You ruffled his hair and Jongho yelled at you. When you pulled away, he demanded you don’t stop. “You’re sending me mixed signals, sir,” You teased him.

“Puh-please,” Jongho stuttered, “I would like to feel your affections some more. Please.”

Half of the wolf princes were wrapped around your finger and the other half were pulling at the bit to be let loose upon you. You knew one thing for sure: you didn’t miss your serene forest anymore. This was too much fun.

xxxx If you'd like to apply to my tag list, please send me an ask with a fic title or starter sentence, and I'll write a fic for you! Please also indicate if you want to be tagged for all my work (i am a multi after all), just ateez fics, or specific ateez member's <3

#topaz's one year anniversary!#topaz amswered #star 🌟 is an illusion✨️#ateez smut #ateez ot8 fic #yandere! ateez #topaz's work

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vampyreblogger · 1 year

Text

RQG SEXYPERSON COMPETITION MASTERPOST

Each round will last a week.

ROUND ONE

POLL A:

ada lovelace VS albert einstein VS amelia earheart VS amelie rose VS apophis VS ashen VS atsuanuub VS augusta leigh VS aziza hawaa al-tahan VS azu

WINNER: azu

POLL B:

barret racket VS bertus VS sir bertrand "bertie" macguffingham VS bi ming gusset VS bolla smok VS brock VS bronc VS celquinthion sidebottom VS charles babbagge VS chinua

WINNER: celquinthion sidebottom

POLL C:

cicero VS draal VS driak VS edward keystone VS eldarion VS elijah wormwood VS emeka VS eren fairhands VS eva van djik VS feryn smith

WINNER: edward keystone

POLL D:

figgis VS francois henri VS franz kafka VS friedrich (airship) VS friedrich (cult of apollo) VS gideon marsten-langdon VS gragg coulson VS grizzop drik acht amsterdam VS guivres VS hamid saleh haroun al-tahan

WINNER: grizzop drik acht amsterdam

POLL E:

harrison campbell VS hawaa layla halima VS hirald smith VS howard carter VS isaac newton VS jacques piaget VS james barnes VS jasper VS jean-luc bolieau VS jeremy

WINNER: james barnes

POLL F:

khantu VS kiko VS kondha VS la gourmande VS lady starling VS liliana beekos VS little VS maximus VS lord byron VS marie curie VS meerk

WINNER: kiko

POLL G:

mr ceiling VS natun VS nikola tesla VS oscar wilde VS paulette loup VS rakefine VS richard haringay VS sagax VS saira hawaa layla al-tahan VS saleh amoun al-tahan

WINNER: oscar wilde

POLL H:

saleh ibrahim al-tahan VS sasha racket VS sassraa VS selene souchet VS shoshva VS siggif VS skraark VS sohra VS sumutnyerl VS tadyka

WINNER: sasha racket

POLL I:

thomas edison VS vesseek VS vivianne messier VS yoshida shoin VS zolf smith

WINNER: zolf smith

ROUND TWO

POLL A:

azu VS celquinthion sidebottom VS edward keystone

WINNER: celquinthion sidebottom

POLL B:

grizzop drik acht amsterdam VS james barnes VS kiko

WINNER: james barnes

POLL C:

oscar wilde VS sasha racket VS zolf smith

WINNER: oscar wilde

ROUND THREE

celquinthion sidebottom VS james barnes VS oscar wilde

WINNER: oscar wilde

#rqg #rusty quill gaming #rqg sexyperson #polls #poll #alexander j newall #lydia nicholas #bryn monroe #james ross #helen gould

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prepolyglot · 2 years

Text

Halloween French Vocab

langblr reactivation challenge | week 1, day 4

Halloween | Halloween (f)

trick or treat! | des bonbons ou un sort!

candy | bonbons (m.pl)

costume | costume (m)

mask | masque (m)

decoration | décoration (f)

pumpkin | citrouille (f)

jack-o-lantern | citrouille d’Halloween (f)

moon | lune (f)

haunted house | maison hantée (f)

cemetery | cimetière (m)

nightmare | cauchemar (m)

scary | effrayant

black cat | chat noir (m)

spider | araignée (f)

spiderweb | toile d’araignée (f)

supernatural | surnaturel(le)

werewolf | loup-garou (m)

ghost | fantôme (m)

ghoul | goule (f)

demon | démon (m)

monster | monstre (m)

Please let me know if there are any mistakes or better translations!

I was also reminded of a song my teacher showed my class in high school:

youtube

#french #french vocab #langblr #langblr reactivation challenge #i HAD to do a halloween vocab #also this is a little late because i was busy today

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somediyprojects · 10 months

Photo

Entre Chien et Loup stitched by Nancy. Pattern (£3.60) designed by Julia Line of Long Dog Samplers.

Long Dog Flying Club to Control Tower Norwich International Airport, we have a problem. Repeat, we have a problem.

Nancy has changed the biplane on Entre Chien et Loup into a US Airforce Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor stealth bomber 💣 💣 💣 because she lives near an air base and we've got no way of landing it. Can you assist please? Repeat, can you assist? Over.

Now then, Quill put down your joy stick for a moment please and contact the Norfolk & Norwich University Hospital. Ask them very nicely if their helipad is strong enough for Nancy's medical helicopter to do an emergency touch down. We're used to alphabets disappearing, colours being changed, spiders being air-needled out of samplers or backstitching being abandoned but this is the first time we've had to take charge of air traffic control over the Castle. Whatever next, a nuclear sub in the moat?

—Julia Line, designer

#cross stitch #inspo #x #long dog samplers

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adolescenceknight · 8 months

Note

Do any of ur F/os collect anything? Talk about their collection and how ur S/I feels about it

cash collects exotic fish. you'd think he just likes them as decorations but he actually takes good care of them. if war knew how much he took care of them, he'd find it pretty humanizing, maybe even reminding him of how he used to take care of his ants when he was little

i feel like loupe definitely collects SOMETHING. something to do with his profession i'm sure. kagome would sniff around his stuff and ask him about it all in the most annoying way possible. maybe he collects antique detective stuff or something

crabku collects everything. anything she finds that she thinks is cool, she's taking it with her on her boat. crane pretends she doesn't care but she totally does. "it's all just clutter..." "nah! it's my stuff! wanna hear the story behind this?" "... if you insist..." crane doesn't own much of anything so it's a little amusing to be dating someone who's basically hoarding cool trinkets she finds. but can't tell her that bc that ruins her image of being a priestess. but one day crabku comes home from the port without anything new and crane is all disappointed like "you didn't get anything at all...? i was looking forward to hearing about it..."

#💸#🔷#🔍#🩸#🦀#🧹

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furbing-atrocities · 1 year

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this is loup's kandi carrier! it is made up of 5 panels (16 rows tall by 11 beads wide each) and the base is a star that i extended through the same method u use to make the star so it is 4 1/2 inches in diameter

the panels are a white skull on bleck background, neon and black checkers, a black coffin with a "stained glass" cross on rainbow background, neon rainbow diagonal stripes, and rainbow leopard print!

The keychains are an orange yellow and blue giraffe beanie baby and a gir (invader zim) kandi key chain. i stole the strap off of a portable cassette case.

#custom furby #furby #safe furby #furby fandom #scenecore #scene revival #scene kid #emo scene #kandi kid #kandicore #kandi #kandi ideas #kandi bag #scene furby #f: loup

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peachyzephyr · 1 year

Text

Hello, Traveller, Chapter One: Moonlit Curse

Pairing: Canada/F!Canada Creature: Loup-Garou, a friendlier version of a werewolf, often the result of a curse. Warnings: Knotting, Outdoor Sex, Minor Breeding Mention, Minor Injury, Matthew is pretty animal-like Summary: Not straying far from home, Audette encounters her first creature, a local boy by the name of Matthew who needs help breaking his curse. Read on AO3

Audette let out a deep breath as she plopped herself down on a tree stump. She shrugged her pack off and let it fall to the forest floor, glad to have a break from the weight. Sweat dripped down her body, soaking the creases of her clothes. As much as she loved hiking, she was certainly out of practice; she hadn't been out like this since before her dad had gotten sick. It was odd and lonely without him, but she knew this is what he would have wanted. He wouldn't want her to hole herself up in their isolated cabin wallowing in her grief.

So, she began her plan to travel the world. She was starting small in her home country of Canada. She knew after not hiking for so long she would have to build herself back up and get used to it. So she chose the trails near her home, the ones she had worn down with her dad, the routes that she knew like the back of her hand. These woods were her home. Tonight, Audette would travel up to the clearing that she and her dad used to camp in all the time and set up her little tent. She planned to stay there for a few days, refreshing herself on how to trap, skin, and cook game, all in preparation for her larger trip around the world. This was all just a practice run to get herself back into the swing of it all.

With her breath caught and her heart calmed, Audette stood and stretched out, twisting her body and letting out a satisfied groan as her back let out a series of ‘pops’ and ‘cracks’. She hefted her bag over her shoulders once more and continued her trek. She had missed this, surrounded by nature on all sides, the peaceful atmosphere allowing her to clear her mind. She felt at home in the trees, there was no one to judge her, no one to make a fool of her. Just herself and nature.

Before much longer, Audette reached the spot she had been going to. The fire pit was still lined with the same rocks from when they had first dug it and the old wooden swing still hung from the sturdy, overreaching branch of the largest tree. It was the same it had always been, untouched by anyone but herself and her father. Her heart ached, she would never get to spend another night out here with him again, no more smores and hot chocolate made with love. Just herself and her thoughts. And although she had never minded being alone before, loneliness crept in.

With a slow, steadying breath, Audette set her pack in the clearing and began to make camp. When her tent was pitched, she pulled a small box from her belongings and moved to the base of the largest tree. Kneeling, Audette began to dig a small hole. She opened the box and pulled out the small bag of her dad’s ashes and gently dumped them into the ground before smoothing the soil back over it. All was quiet for several long moments and then, she began to weep.

By evening, Audette had finished setting her camp up. Her small tent had been made into a cozy little bed and she had a fire going. Dinner consisted of a fish she had caught and a good helping of edible berries she had foraged. She sat on the ground near the fire as she ate, eyes gazing into the flames as she contemplated everything that had happened, everything she had lost, in the last few months. It was going to be a hard, lonely journey, but just as she had promised she was determined.

With a sigh, she tossed the bones of her dinner into the fire and sat back, leaning on her arms with her face turned to the sky. The stars were beautiful without all the light pollution of the city and the moon shone bright, peeking down through the leaves. Tomorrow night would be a full moon and she was certain it would be a sight to behold. After a few moments, Audette pushed herself to her feet, she planned to be up early so she needed to get a good night’s sleep.

As she began to move toward her tent, a dog-like whine broke through the air causing her to freeze in her spot. It was dark and she couldn’t see far from the radius of the fire but she as she stood and listened, she could hear rustling in the bushes to her left. Whatever it was, it sounded like it was big. Not a bear but far too large to be a wolf. Audette stayed rooted to her spot, eyes locking onto where she thought the creature might be.

Slowly, it began to emerge. Almost human-like, the head appeared in her vision first. Human in shape but the mouth and nose pointed into a wolf’s snout, light brown, almost blond fur spreading back to a full head of messy, curled hair. Where human ears might have been, there were instead two large, pointed wolf ears where the fur matched its ears. Its shoulders were broad and led into muscled arms and chest, though its body was hunched down as if to make it smaller, large hands being used as if it walked on four legs, long fingers leading into sharp claws. A narrow waist tapered down into what looked like wolf-like legs. Big, purple eyes stared at her sadly, desperately, as it inched closer to her.

Audette didn’t move. Even if this… creature didn’t look hostile, she didn’t want to spook it and have it lash out at her. As it got even closer, Audette realized just how big it was compared to her, its head was almost level with her shoulders in its hunched-over state, she could only imagine how tall it would be if it stood at its full height. Her heart was pounding as it came right up to her, beginning to sniff at her clothes, tilting its head up to sniff her neck, wet nose tickling her skin. Gently, it bumped its head against her shoulder, staring up at her with those big, sad eyes. It sat back on its haunches as if to show it wasn’t a threat.

Slowly, Audette reached out a hand to let it sniff at her like a dog. Her lips pulled up into a small smile as its cold nose tickled her hand and it pressed into her palm.

“What are you?” She murmured, her hand moving to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the fur that covered him. Her gaze shifted to where a large, fluffy tail began to beat against the ground as she pet his face. Audette couldn’t help but laugh a little, reaching up to curiously feel his ears, petting over the soft fur. As she observed him, she began to draw connections. As a child, her grandmother would tell her stories of all sorts of creatures. It was hard to believe a werewolf sat before her, but what else could he be?

Audette pursed her lips together for a moment as she thought. “I have to go to bed soon, but I’ll sit out with you for a little while, okay?” She lowered herself to the ground and he followed suit, bringing his large body down to lay across her lap like a real dog. It was almost cute, in a way. He was much larger than her but acted like an affectionate pet. Even with the oddity of the situation, Audette couldn’t help but find comfort in the peaceful company by the fireside.

Audette woke to the sun in her eyes. With a groan, she brought her palms to her eyes, rubbing the sleep from them before she sat up. She didn’t remember falling asleep but clearly, she had. Her back ached from sleeping on the ground and she was certain her hair looked a mess. Squinting her eyes against the morning light, she turned her head to look around; beside her lay, a man that she could only imagine was the creature she had met last night. He was much smaller now, human-sized and nude. He was still rather hairy and broad, his nails still sharp and his ears pointed but he was very much a man.

Her cheeks began to turn rather pink as her eyes trailed down his body and landed on the rather large package between his legs. She swiftly turned her head away and reached a hand over to grasp his shoulder and shake him awake. She could feel him startle beneath her touch and bolt upright.

There was a best of silence between them as he took in the situation. “Oh.” He let the sound out on a breath. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” He pulled away from her. “Did I- did I do anything to you last night?” He let out a relieved breath when she shook her head no. “Thank God. I-I don’t have the best control of myself when I’m like that and I don’t think I could forgive myself if I had done something to hurt you. Uhm… do you have any pants I could borrow? Just until I can find where I put my own clothes last night.” He spoke almost frantically, nervous and anxious. Audette couldn’t help but find his concern a little cute.

“Yeah, I have some sweatpants you can borrow. They might be a little tight though.” She moved to crawl into her tent, digging through her bag to pull out the pajama pants she had packed and handed them to him while keeping her head turned away. “I’m Audette. Most people call me Dottie though.” It felt only proper to introduce herself.

“Matthew. I’m sorry we had to meet like this.” He gave an awkward chuckle. “You can turn around now.” Audette did so, taking a moment to fully take in his appearance. He was rather handsome now that she got a proper look at him.

“How did you end up with such a… condition?” She couldn’t help but ask, watching as he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly, lips curling into a bashful smile that relieved long and sharp-looking canines.

“It’s embarrassing but my ex cursed me when I broke up with him. Petty bullshit about thinking I was cheating on him because I hung out with people other than him. How are you so calm about this?”

Audette thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I mean, I was a little shocked and scared when I first saw you last night, but you acted so much like a normal dog that I guess I didn’t feel like I needed to be scared.” She shrugged. “Does your curse have a curse?” Curiously, Matthew’s face turned rather red.

“It does, but it’s weird and pretty specific so I doubt I’m ever going to be able to do it.” He laughed awkwardly and shifted on his feet, his gaze darting to Audette and wetting his lips when she urged him to continue. “He didn’t want me to be able to be intimate with anyone after him so in order to break it, I have to have sex with someone willing while I’m not human and under the full moon. So, like I said, probably never going to happen.” He tried to play it off like the idea of being stuck like this didn’t bother him.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Audette frowned and reached over to squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke again. What did she have to lose at this point, anyway? “If… if you’d like, tonight is the full moon, and we’re both here. I could help you. Of course, only if you want!” She brought her gaze to the ground. Was she too forward?

Matthew’s eyes widened at the offer. “Really? You can’t be serious. You saw what I look like, there’s no way you’d actually want to have sex with... with that thing.” Matthew’s lips curled back in a grimace at the idea.

“I’m being serious,” Audette assured. “I’d like to help you. It isn’t fair to let you just keep living like this when I’m right here and able to help.” Maybe that was her biggest flaw, being such a bleeding heart and so willing to help others, even when she didn’t need to.

Matthew was hesitant. It didn’t seem right to have her, a total stranger, offer herself up to him for his benefit. But… she was right. When would he ever get an opportunity like this again? He didn’t think he would. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure you want to do this then it would mean the world to me.”

As evening came, Matthew found himself wholly unprepared. For months now, he had been used to hiding in the woods around the time of the full moon, keeping himself far away from civilization. Though he knew the wolf wasn’t aggressive, he worried for his own safety. And now here he was, about to have sex with a total stranger who didn’t seem bothered by him at all.

He left her briefly while the curse took hold. It was a painful process and he didn’t want her to have to witness it. As the wolf took over, Matthew could feel his human consciousness fading into the background. He still felt the pain of his bones and muscles stretching, growing, breaking and reforming as his body shifted. Pained snarls and whines left him as he writhed in the dirt, claws leaving deep gouges in the ground as he tried to escape the pain. It was a relief when he finally lost consciousness for the rest of the shift.

When he woke only a few minutes later an instinctual, desperate, animalistic drive had replaced any rational thought. Stretching his towering body out, the wolf stood and began to make his way back to where he knew he would find her. He could smell her from here. The deep stirrings of need began to grow within him as he breathed it in.

Matthew quickly found himself back in the clearing of Audette’s camp. His eyes zeroed in on her form, settled on a spread-out blanket several feet away from the low fire she had going. His heart began to pound as his eyes raked over her near-nude body, only covered by a bra that seemed too snug for her breasts and a pair of boy-short style underwear. Her own gaze landed on him when she registered his presence and he felt like his insides were melting when she smiled at him. Eagerly, he darted over to her when she patted the spot next to her. He practically bowled her over, his own large body fully covering hers.

Audette let out a loud gasp as she was pushed to the ground, Matthew’s legs straddling her. Her head was tilted back as Matthew stuck his snout against her neck, sniffing deeply before his warm tongue lapped over her skin. Matthew ached as he breathed in her scent, sweet and musky. He could smell the beginnings of arousal on her and it made his blood rush. Instinctively, his snout began to trail down her body and settle between her legs. He could feel his cock slipping from its sheath as she whimpered. Impatient, he caught his teeth on the fabric of her underwear and tore them away. He didn’t even think to give her time before his tongue was between her folds, running over her hole and clit.

Audette’s hands darted down to tangle her fingers into Matthew’s hair, her back arching up off the ground as she rocked her hips against his face, chasing the feeling. A breathless moan left her as his tongue pressed into her, reaching far deeper than any human could. It shot heat and desire down her spine and she could feel herself growing wet. The growl that left Matthew only served to make her hornier.

Before she could react, Matthew pulled away from her. His large hands grabbed her hips and easily manipulated her onto her knees, pushing her front down so she was presented to him. He leaned over her, his dick pressing against her pussy and sliding between the glistening lips with deep growls leaving him. With him humping against her, she could feel just how long and girthy he was from the flared tip down to the small bulb at the base. A knot.

Oh God, she throbbed with need at the thought of it. He was going to fill her so thoroughly. Audette couldn’t help but whine and bury her face in her arms once he began to press into her. Already she could feel him stretching her open, her pussy spread wide around his cock as he forced himself even further into her. She pulsed around him, drawing him in with the moans and breathless pleas that left her.

“Oh ffffuck~” Audette’s voice was like honey to Matthew’s ears, the raw need and desire that filled it washing through him. With a firm thrust, he hilted himself inside of her. She was so hot and wet and the instinctual, animal desire to breed filled him. Another low snarl left him as he hook an arm under her waist to pull her body up, flush against him, and began to thrust. His hips pistoned in and out of her with brutal speed and force, almost using her body. He wanted to fill her, feel her abdomen bloat with his cum. Fuck!

“A-aaah~ fuck, fuck, fuck, Matthew!” Audette’s cries were broken apart with moans as her hands scrambled to clutch at the blanket. Her head spun as she was pounded into and her vision blurred, unable to focus on anything the in and out the slide of his dick. His breath was hot on her shoulder, moans and growls filling her hearing. Her breathing caught as she could feel his knot begin to swell against her with every thrust, occasionally catching on the rim of her cunt and stretching her even more than she already was.

Desperate to cum as Matthew knotted her, Audette used one arm to brace herself as she brought the other between them to rub her clit, her fingers working in familiar circles around the swollen bud, her slick sliding down her fingers and onto her hand.

It wasn’t long before she came, not with the relentless pounding and herself edging her closer to the end. She cried out as he body tensed and her vision blurred. Her cunt pulsed and twitched around Matthew’s cock. He snarled and buried himself into her one last time as his knot swelled her plug her up as he dumped his load into her. Hot, thick spurts of cum filling her as her back arched and her body shook. Matthew didn’t even think twice as his teeth sunk into her shoulder, his cock twitching as she let out a choked scream. He didn’t let go right away but when he did, he lapped at the wound, licking up the blood that spilled down. His spit would stop the bleeding and seal the wound, though it would heal at a normal rate and scar.

Energy spent, Matthew dropped onto his side, keeping Audette close and impaled on his cock. His arms wrapped around her tightly as he buried his head against her neck. In the haze of the afterglow and post-high, neither of them really registered Matthew’s form shrinking. Slowly, he returned to being human, wolfish features disappearing one by one as the two fell asleep into the night.

In the morning, the two were still entangled. They slowly awoke with the sun, body aching and sore. Cum was dried between both of them and they desperately needed showers. Neither of them moved right away, Matthew still pressed up against Audette’s back.

“It’s gone…” He whispered, almost disbelieving, as he hadn’t expected to ever be back to normal. Before he could stop it, tears of relief pricked at his eyes and began to stream down his cheeks. He squeezed Audette a little tighter. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Audette’s heart pounded as she heard the genuine gratitude in his voice. “I’m glad I could help.” She murmured, placing her hand on top of one of his and giving it a squeeze.

As they both regained their composure, got up to clean up, and got dressed, neither of them noticed that the bite wound Matthew had left on her shoulder had healed completely overnight, with not a mark left to signal it had ever been there in the first place.

#hetalia fanfiction #hetalia #hetalia canada #hws canada #nyotalia canada #story: hello traveller #my writing

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