shadow over bed

Baron Corbin - Thigh Riding

Word count: 2,375

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it for you!


When I heard the hotel room door slam I knew Tom was home. He was still fuming from his loss at the elimination chamber earlier that night. I turned off the steamy water and stepped out of the shower and wrapped a warm towel round my naked body. I could hear my boyfriend pacing round the rooms and occasionally throwing things here and there. Swearing at myself for leaving my clothes on the bed I stepped out and into the cool hall, rushing over to the bedroom.

I clumsily stumbled into a body I knew too well as Toms, throwing an arm up to catch myself. He seemed more than pleased by my current appearance, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Forget something?” He held up my boy short knickers.

I frowned and made an attempt for them only for him to hold them higher. It was only when I surrendered that he handed them to me. I slipped them on under the towel, self-conscious of my body. This annoyed Tom, to him I was the best looking girl in the world. He pushed past me and it was then I noticed he still had his wrestling attire on. I creased my brows.

“Why’re you still wearing that?”

“I just stormed out. I didn’t even shower.” He struggled with the clothes in his bag.

I smiled at the way he looked in his tights. If you looked hard enough you could see his semi hard on through them. God I fucking loved the way he touched me. He could be so gentle at times and others so rough, it was simply amazing. And his tongue, don’t get me started. It was a wonder how he could possibly reach my lips when making love to me he’s so tall compared to me. He must’ve seen me staring in the mirror.

“Like what you see?”

A blush crept onto my cheeks. He spun round and sat on the edge of the bed, tossing his wrestling bag carelessly onto the floor.

“C'mere, beautiful.” He reached out to me.

Slowly my feet brought me to stand in front of him. Even when he sat on the mattress I was no match for his towering figure. The room was dark apart from the small lamp in the corner giving off just enough light for us to see each other. His eyes were full of lust now. They were staring right through me. There was no telling what could happen from here.

He took my hand and pulled me closer to stand in between his legs, my breathing was becoming unsteady. His lips brushed mine before I bravely connected them. It was sweet and gentle at first but soon became rough and needy. My hands flew up tangling themselves with the length of his hair. A low moan came from the back of his throat when I tugged at it. He grabbed at my arse through the towel begging for me to take it off. His lips moved to my neck leaving a trail of wet kisses. He began sucking on the spot where my jawline met my neck.

“…Tom.” I moaned tugging his still damp hair.

He pulled me closer to straddle his lap, his hand resting on my lower back. My lips parted and I creased my brows as Tom sucked harder at the skin at the nape of my neck, sure to leave a love bite. I threw my head back at the sensation. He moved his lips to my ear.

“Move your hips for me, baby.” He whispered.

“W-what?” I batted my eyes, unsure of what he was asking of me.

He took hold of either side of my hips rolling them forward, watching me as he did so. I moaned as my clit moved along the buttons and ties alone his tights. Tom seemed pleased with himself. I continued the motion with my hips. Tom moved one of his hands down to my aching core sliding a single finger up the soaked material.

“So wet for me, baby.” He smiled.

My eyes grew wide when Tom brought his finger into his mouth, sucking my juices off.

“You taste good.” He hummed closing his eyes savouring the taste.

Tom looked at me and smiled. His leg began to bounce up and down. He gripped my hips hard and helped me move them faster. I didn’t know how long I was gonna last. I threw my head onto his shoulder and squeezed my eyes shut with the burst of pleasure running through my body. I could feel the knot in my stomach beginning to form.

“Fuck, Tom.. Please.”

All at once everything stopped. Tom had stopped bouncing his leg and moving my body.

“What the fuck!”

“Get up.” He demanded.

I huffed, doing as I was told. He stood from the bed shadowing over me. His fingers hooked into the towel that was still wrapped round my small figure and ripped it away throwing it across the room. I was left in only my knickers as he pushed me down onto the mattress, hovering over me.

My nipples made contact with his bare tattooed chest. He licked a bold stripe in between them, grabbing a nipple with his teeth and sucking lightly. My back arched off the mattress. Toms fingers skimmed down my sides and hooked into my knickers.

“I want to take them off.” I nodded.

I watched as he slowly pulled them down my legs admiring the view.


“Jesus, Tom do something.”

He seemed to be amused by my impatience. He brought his lips up to my ear.

“Do what, baby?”

“Touch me… please.” I panted.

“Where do you want daddy to touch you?”

“Anywhere.. Everywhere.” I murmured.

This was enough for him as he swiftly pushed himself back down between my legs. The teasing wasn’t over though. Toms hands felt ever so gently down each of my thighs, leaving trails of wet kisses alone the way. He sucked the sensitive skin every so often sure to leave love bites. His nose brushed my clit. Hot breath fanning over my wet pussy. His long fingers parted my folds licking up some of my juices, holding my gaze hostage the entire time. I squirmed round on the mattress. Impatient, I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him forward. His mouth connected with my wet sweetness. Immediately Toms mouth got to work.

His tongue flicked over my clit moving in figure eight motions. My mouth parted in pleasure. I felt one of his digits sink into me. It began to pump in and out at a fast pace. My backed arched off the mattress and I fisted at the duvet. He used his free hand to hold me in place on the bed.

“Shit, fucking don’t stop!”

Tom chuckled into my dripping core. He inserted another finger, pumping even faster and harder this time. Jesus. I moaned loader. My hips rolled into his mouth, desperate for more contact. I could feel it coming on. I was so close.

“F-fuck, I’m g-gonna..”

My hands found themselves tangled in the back of Toms head and one yanking at the duvet covers as I came undone into his mouth. Tom hummed in pleasure as he licked me clean.

My torso rose and fell at an unsteady pace, my arms falling to my sides. Tom rose above me and stepped out of his wrestling tights leaving him in merely his briefs, precome already staining the outside of them.

“You gonna help me, baby?”

The bed squeaked as he towered over me, a knee on either side of my thigh as I sat up. I pulled the black material down freeing his length. He grabbed my hair pulling it back in one of his hands as I held the length in mine, licking a bold line up the base of it. I took the swollen head in my mouth pumping the rest in my hand. Tom hissed at the new feeling. I tilted my head a few timed before removing it from my mouth, making a popping sound.

“You like sucking daddies dick, baby?” I hummed stroking his length.

He leaned down placing a kiss on my lips. I took him into my mouth again, taking more this time. I didn’t have a gag reflex which was a good thing when it came to things like this. I pressed my nails into the base of his balls like I knew he liked causing him to push himself further into my mouth. I squeezed my eyes closed.

“Fuck yes, princess. Do it again.” He groaned.

I complied. I knew he loved that. His length began to twitch in my mouth. I knew he was close. My actions became more swift. I dug my nails into him again. Toms eyes squeezed shut and his head rolled back. He came into my mouth, shooting his load down my throat. I moaned, swallowing and licking his length clean of the saltiness.

I watched as he came down from his high. His breath shaky. He took my face in his large hand placing a lazy kiss to my lips. His tongue brushed against my bottom lip asking for entrance to which I accepted. Our tongues moved together as one. We moved backward so that he was on top of me now with our heads on the pillows.

“I want to ride you, daddy.” I spoke in between kisses.

In one swift movement Tom had me straddling his lap again. Usually he would protest, always wanting to be the dominate one. Not tonight. I positioned him at my entrance and he wasted no time in forcefully slamming into me. He guided my waist as I began moving them up and down at a steady slow pace. Tom watched as I rolled my head back in pleasure.

He caught hold of my hips and lifted them slightly before pounding into me fast and hard. I could hear his balls smacking against my skin. I grabbed at his hands but he was too strong. His fingers dug into my skin. I threw my head back and I arched my back. The pleasure was so intense.


He kept going, his focus on showing just how dominate he could be in this position. Our moans were filling the room and I was wondering if the people above or below us were going to call down and complain about all the noise.  The bed squeaked with every hard thrust and I could hear the headboard hitting the wall. I was afraid we would have to pay for a hole in the wall pretty soon.

When he finally stopped I fell forward onto his chest, both of our breathing erratic. My eyelids feeling heavy. I felt weak. It was a wonder how neither of us had came yet. I began moving my lower body in a circular motion, rolling my hips into his.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” He moaned pushing a strand of hair from my face.

I could hear Toms breathing begin to hitch in his throat. His moans becoming for frequent. He was close.

I began to bounce up and down on his length. His head moved to the side and his chest moved up and down rapidly.

“Fuck, baby stop. Stop.” He demanded.

I kept going, my motions becoming swifter. I wanted to see him come. I felt his dick twitch inside me a few times before a burst of warm thick liquid shot into me. I liked the feeling of him coming inside me. Toms eyes squeezed shit and he bit down on him bottom lip to stop himself from screaming out. I was frightened when he opened his eyes again, he was angry.

In an instant we were flipped over and Tom was on top of me. He slammed into me hard hitting my spot with each hard thrust.

“C'mon. Let go.” He growled.

I could feel the knot in my stomach beginning to form for the third time this night. Toms hand moved down in between us and rubbed circles into my clit. His other held the back of my thigh tightly to his waist. My nails scraped down his back leaving a trail of prominent red lines. I couldn’t hold on any longer.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking fuuck! Oh Tom!”

My back arched up off the mattress. Toms lips came down onto my neck and harshly sucked leaving a bruise as he rode out my orgasm.

Tom plopped down beside me on the bed, exhausted. He was sat on his side, his head propped up on his elbow. My hand found its way to the back of his head playing with his hair. We lay in the dark room in silence recovering from our rough actions. Finally I broke the silence.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win, baby.”

He snickered, “Believe me, I won.”

I giggled at his comment. Toms fingers traced the small bruises in the form of finger prints on my waist and thigh, a frown playing on his face. He’d never been that hard on me before.

“Was I too rough?” I pulled his hand away.

“No.. I liked it. It was perfect.” I reassured him, kissing at his knuckles.

It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

“You let me come inside you?” I smiled.

“It felt good. I’d do it again.” He laughed at this.

I turned to fully face him, my fingers tracing the inc of his tattooed chest. His eyes never left me. I tried to go over how to bring up what I wanted to say.

“I want to do it again.. like that.” I said barely above a whisper furrowing my brows, unable to meet the gaze I knew was still upon me.

Despite my entire body being sore and covered in love bites and bruises I liked what we did. It felt good. Fuck it was overwhelming. I had no idea he was capable of doing something like that. Tom ran his fingers up and down my arm leaving goose bumps behind. He sighed heavily. He pulled my chin up so that I was facing him again, a delicate kiss placed on my lips.

“I’d only do it with you. For you, baby.”



Amatus,” Dorian groaned, though the word came out whinier than he’d intended. “Where are you hiding?”

“I’m right here,” came the reply. A moment later, Vaxus oozed into view.

Thank goodness he had a buff warrior for a lover, for the Inquisitor cast a very large, and very welcomed shadow over the bed.

“There is an incessant pounding in my head,” Dorian said, rolling his face into the pillow. “It’s much less pleasant than the other sort of incessant pounding I’m used to.”

Vaxus laughed, and even through the fogged pain, Dorian thought it was a wonderful sound. “Well, if you’re well enough to joke.”

“It’s the truth, my love.”

“Oh, is it ‘my love’ now?” Vax said, sitting on the side of the bed. “What is it you want from me?”

Caught out, Dorian turned over, squinting with a smile. “Could you please be a real sweetheart and fetch me some water and an elfroot potion? And maybe a pastry if you happen by the kitchen?”

“You’re asking the Inquisitor to go pick up your breakfast like a common servant?” Vax grinned.

“Yes, because you love me dearly.”

Vax sighed, but it was a fond sound. “Now that’s the truth, my love.” He pressed a kiss to Dorian’s forehead. “Stay put until I get back.”

Dorian mushed his face back into the pillow. “Not going anywhere.”

little something I just got from @elidoo <3 thank you so muuuch

In the Night

After being blessed by that deleted scene, I felt the need to write some domestic Bughead fluff.

There was blood everywhere. Everything around Polly was coated in red.

“Betty, please,” the young mother-to-be cried. “Help me!”

“I can’t, Polly. There’s nothing I can do,” Betty sobbed in reply.

The babies were in danger. Polly was in danger, and there was nothing Betty could do to save them. The blood around them was slowly rising. Before she knew it, Betty was watching her sister drown in her own blood, but Betty was rooted to the spot. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t move.

Accepting her fate, Betty let the crimson waves engulf her, sending her into darkness.

“No!” Betty shot up in bed, shouting loudly. Her cheeks were covered in tears, and a thin sheen of sweat was causing her shirt to stick to her back.

“It was just a dream,” she reassured herself. But as much as she repeated it, she couldn’t calm down enough to go back to sleep. Throwing on a pair of pajama pants, Betty decided to sneak down the hall and into Jughead’s room.

Ever since her boyfriend had come to live with them, Jughead had been insistent that they follow her parents’ rules. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper made it very clear that there would be no messing around between the young couple.

Once or twice, Betty tried to convince him to bend the rules a little, but Jughead remained firm. She understood, of course, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Tonight, Betty reasoned, was different. Tonight, she needed him. He was the one person who could bring her the kind of mental clarity she so badly needed.

Tiptoeing down the hallway, she opened Jughead’s door carefully. She crept through the shadows over to his bed and crawled under the covers with him.

Jughead stirred at the extra weight on his bed, and was surprised to see his girlfriend curling up to him.

“Everything alright Betts? Your mom will kill us if she finds us.” The concern in his voice was obvious, along with the fear of being caught by Alice Cooper.

“I had a nightmare, Juggie. It was really bad. Polly and the babies were dying, but I couldn’t move to help them.” Her voice broke and she started crying again. “I know it was just a dream, but it was so real. And I just watched it all happen.”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. Polly and the twins are safe. You’re safe,” Jughead whispered as he stroked her hair.

“I don’t care what my mom says. I need you tonight. She can’t get mad at you for comforting me, can she?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Jughead murmured sleepily. “But I would face the wrath of Mama Cooper ten times over if it meant you felt safe.”

Betty dropped a kiss to his shoulder in reply. “I love you so much, Juggie.”

“I love you too, darling. Everything is going to be okay.”

The pair woke with a start the next morning, as Alice Cooper barged into the room.

“What is going on in here?” she demanded, looking expectantly at Betty and Jughead. “Elizabeth, I just went into your room to wake you, only to find that you’re not there. Why are you in here? You know the rules. And you,” she turned to Jughead. “Jughead, I really expected better of you. After we gave you a home, this is how you repay us?”

“Mom! It’s not Jughead’s fault,” Betty cut in. “If you would let us explain instead of hurling accusations. I had a really bad dream last night, and Juggie helped me calm down. Nothing untoward happened here.”

“Really, Mrs Cooper. I would never disrespect you like that, especially after all you have done for me. I just wanted to be there for Betty.” Jughead’s eyes were wide with fear and honesty, causing Alice’s expression to soften.

“Very well, I’ll let this slide, but don’t make a habit of this,” Alice sighed, trying to maintain her air of authority.

“We won’t, Mrs. Cooper. Thank you for being so understanding.”

As she walked away, Alice swore she heard Jughead mutter, “My god, she is terrifying.”

Let me know what you guys think!!

💚 Erin

“whatever we deny or embrace” - fic

Nobody asked for genderbent lesbian bedsharing, but I wanted to decompress after midterms, so you get it anyway!

As a sidenote, I originally plotted this (for lack of a better term) for Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week back in … a long time ago. It was specifically for Day 4, “AU of your choice,” so it actually is what I’d always planned to write after waking in a minefield anyway.

fandom: Star Wars

characters: Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor (as Cassia); Jyn/Cassian

verse: the queer Rogue One AU, of course!

length: 1900 words

stuff that happens: After kissing Cassia in the elevator, Jyn is calm and mature about sharing her bed. Platonically. As you do.

Keep reading

lindseyylu17  asked:

Jamie takes Claire on a whirlwind vacation and at the end he proposes

i had so much fun writing this! i truly hope it satisfies your needs, my dearest! thanks for your prompt. 💛

read more prompts here!

coins in a fountain

Keep reading

Fine is a line easily crossed

A varchie (archieronnie) fanfiction. 

**No smut but warning for panic attacks and mention of Archie’s experience with Grundy. Also bughead is mentioned. 

Song referenced is Summer Breeze by Seal & Croft


Archie will do anything to keep himself whole. He knows she can do better than broken pieces. So if he breaks she’ll leave, and if she leaves…he’ll shatter.

(An Archie and Veronica exploration after the season 1 finale)

He misses her. 

In the quiet drawls of class, the extended drills of gym, or the dark shadow over a lonely bed a night, he misses her. 

Sometimes it’s a want. A desire. To lock her legs around his hips, weave her hair over each of his fingers, press his chest so close to hers that his ribs almost break, and breathe her in until he forgets, where, what, and who he is.

But sometimes it’s just a need, a desperate feeling for her to fill the absence at his side. He needs a smile, a quirk, a laugh, a scent. A presence that staples the reality that Veronica Lodge is beside him and not letting go.

The past week he has missed her, desperately, with his wants and needs. There’s an itch for every inch of her skin to sear against his own, but also for a conversation with her that will linger too long.

Two weeks without Veronica, Archie realizes, is a sin of starvation.

And he is dying.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Strife trying to find his s/o a birthday present? Oh and could you do Fury with the same request too? Pretty please? With cherries on top?

I totally didn’t use your ask to practice scene building :) x <3


To say that Strife was at all unthoughtful, callous, rude and feckless is…..Well actually, now that you think about it, that would be quite an accurate definition of the sharp-shooting, silver-tongued horseman. 

But today, he’s reminded you of a side rarely seen. Not even Death, the eldest of their clutch could recall his middle brother ever having been so considerate. But something about you had caught Strife off guard. (You still couldn’t say, with any confidence what it is he likes about you so much) Hence why he found himself in a strange, faraway new world. A land of giant trees. ‘Ha, more like tree,’ the horseman grumbles to himself as he rides across a sparse landscape, completely devoid of life save for one, single tree. The poor, lonely thing stretches high, impossibly high into the dark sky. Strife would wager the top branches would easily brush the outer edges of Earth’s atmosphere, had it grown on the little, blue planet. It’s roots extend for miles, twisting and curling in every direction and tower hundreds of feet over the horseman’s head. Strife urges his mount on, further towards the centre of the tree, where he could just make out the mouth of a wooden cave, of sorts, set deep into its trunk. 

Strife had exhausted every option he had, at least in his eyes, of finding you the perfect present. He’d talked to Vulgrim, who sent him to Ostegoth, who’d lent the horseman an old scroll pertaining to this uncharted land which was rumoured to hold a most valuable treasure at its heart. 

Ahead of him, he could see that treasure. 

The horseman grunts as he shoves himself through the small opening in the tree’s trunk and gets a good look at your potential present. Tangled up in dying, grey roots, sits a tiny, glowing orb of incandescent blue. Reaching through the wooden vines, Strife eyes his prize hungrily before gently grasping, then pulling it from it’s home. 

The moment he has the round stone nestled safely in his palm, the giant tree above him starts to shudder. Pieces of rotting wood crumble to ash, the beast seems to sigh with relief as thousands upon thousands of metres of ash begin to cascade down on top of Strife. 

Clutching your present to his chest, the horseman whistles and in a burst of sickly, white flame, his mount erupts from the ground beneath him, thundering out of the tree trunk, narrowly avoiding being buried. As he gallops from the falling tree, Strife opens his palm and stares triumphantly down at the little ball clutched carefully in his enormous hand. The horseman grins, now more excited than ever to be experiencing an honest to goodness human birthday…


Something nudges your shoulder, dragging you from your delicious slumber. You groan and raise a hand to lazily swat at whoever had so rudely interrupted your lie-in. This was supposed to be your birthday. Didn’t you deserve some extra sleep? 

The hand returns and a gruff voice accompanies it’s incessant prodding, “C’mon Brat-features, get up. I got somethin’ to show you…” 

Ah. There was that lovely nickname, given to you by one Strife- Wait…. 

Nnnng, Strife?” you blearily blink sleep dust from your eyes and squint up at the vaguely horseman shaped shadow that stands over your bed. The shape shifts, folding its arms and letting out a breathy chuckle. At last, your eyes adjust to the daylight pouring through a gap in the curtains and there before you stands the bane of your life. Your Raison d’être. 

“Strife,” you smile up at him sleepily. The horseman’s dazzling eyes flash excitedly when he blinks.

“Hey kiddo, congratulations on being born!”

You laugh lazily and sit up a little straighter, stretching your back out and wincing when your bones pop. “Y’know,” you grin, “most people tend to just say ‘happy birthday’ and leave it at that.” The horseman scoffs and levels an offended glare down at you. 

“I look like ‘most people’ to you?” he huffs, “Getch’yer ass out of that bed, you’re gonna want to see this.” 

You grimace and flop back against the pillow, “Oh God, Strife… If you say ‘does this look like a rash to you?’ and whip your dick out again, I’m chopping it off.” He barks out a laugh so loud, you jump. 

Shit kid,” he peters off into an amused chuckle, “You’ve got low expectations of your birthday present. Who the Hell do you think I am?” The flat look you throw him is enough to make Strife twiddle his thumbs awkwardly. 

That was only one time,” he mumbles before shaking his head and digging around for something in a pocket at his hip. “Anyway, this is what I wanted to give you….” 

You sit up in the bed and squint at the sudden intrusion of soft, blue light that oozes through the gaps in Strife’s fingers when he withdraws his hand. “Here,” he whispers reverently and takes your hand in his other one, turning it palm up and depositing the glowing orb in your grasp. The moment the bizarre object leaves Strife, it begins to pulse, almost happily and if you concentrate, you can feel the tiniest of vibrations emanating from the little ball. 

You tear your gaze from the object and look up at the horseman in awe. “Strife?” you murmur, curious. 

“Well would you look at that,” he breathes, regarding you fondly, “I think it likes you…” 

What likes me?” you ask. In response, Strife settles on the edge of the bed by your feet and gestures to his gift, “Happy…birthday? Was it? That, young human-” he pauses for dramatic effect, smirking lightly at your raised eyebrow, “-is a tree soul…” 

“…….I’m sorry, a what?” 

The horseman visibly deflates at your blank look. “It’s a- It’s a tree soul. You know, the soul of a tree? Well, I mean technically, it’s the last soul of the last tree on a dying world about 5 dimensions adjacent to this one-” 

“Waiawaiwait wait wait.” you interrupt, waving your free hand around in the air, “I’m holding a soul?” He nods. “A Tree soul.” Once again, the horseman nods his head enthusiastically. 

You stare slowly down at the vivid little orb in your hand with wonder and amazement. “Why? And more to the point; How?” Strife shrugs his massive shoulders, letting his shoulder armour jangle noisily. “Cause Ostegoth told me that I should be ‘spontaneous and romantic’ and that you deserve something that isn’t superfluous-”

“Ooo, big word for you.”

“-Thanks. Then he told me about this realm, and I got to thinkin’, If anybody would want to save a dying world, it’d be Y/n,” he looks at you pointedly, recalling the amount of times you almost got yourself killed trying to save Earth, “You’re a sad sap who cares about stuff, right? And this is the last thing left of it’s kind and you were the last one left of your kind and it….” he sighs, scratching at the spikes of hair protruding from his helm, “It just felt like it was the right thing to give you… “ He looks up and finds you staring down at the soul in your hand. “Y-you don’t need to feed it or anything!” he suddenly exclaims, “S’not sentient, at least, not in the conventional sense. Seriously, minimal effort required. I just thought it was pretty and you’re pretty, so it’s a perfect match.” 

Strife pauses, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, for once. You haven’t spoken yet. “D’you like it?” he asks hesitantly. It takes a moment for the gravity of his gift to properly sink in. But after a while, your face softens considerably from shocked awe to total gratitude. 

“Strife….This is more than I deserve,” you touch a forefinger to the ball and grin when the old seems to hum under your touch. Strife scowls a little at your words. 

“Well, that’s a stupid thing to say,” he scoffs in typical Strife fashion. Brusque. “I got this for you because it’s important, and you’re important. I wanted to give you something that might make you actually start to see that….” He trails off and rubs the back of his neck with a sigh. “Shit, couldn’t have made that sound any cheesier,” he mutters. Watching the horseman’s gaze shoot off to the side makes you grin sympathetically. 

Strife’s shoulders tense up at once when he feels someone small and soft snakes their way around his torso, trying their damnedest to wrap around it in its entirety. He huffs out a short laugh and strains his head to look over his shoulder at you. “Well, s’long as you’re happy….” he smiles. “Happy birthday, Bright eyes…” 


“Alya, I’m afraid I am in need of some assistance….”

The auburn haired maker pulls an extravagant broadsword from the grindstone she’s sat behind and swivels her head in the direction of the newcomer’s voice. Her suspicious glare quickly morphs into a friendly from when she spots the far more congenial of the horsemen, Fury, sauntering up the stone steps towards the central where Alya and her brother, Valus are busy crafting. 

“Horseman!-” the maker raises her hand in greeting as she pushes herself up from the grindstone and dusts her hands together, ridding them of some built up grime, “-How goes it? Haven’t seen you around for a while.” She turns to her brother and elbows him roughly in the side, “Oy, Valus, don’t be rude. Say hello.” The busy maker turns his head in Fury’s general direction and grunts.  Politely, the horseman smiles and nods in return. 

“So,” Alya claps her hands together and turns back to the horseman, “What can we help you with, horseman?” Fury reaches into a pouch at her side and pulls out a crinkled, yellowing sheet of paper. 

“I wonder,” she starts, handing it up to the awaiting Maker’s hand, “if you could make this?” 

Now interested in the conversation, Valus trundles up behind his sister and glances down over her shoulder to the paper. Fury stands there patiently as the two makers study what she’d brought them. 

On the paper, Alya notices a series of very meticulously done sketches, mechanical drawings complete with measurements, weight distributions, magical augmentations and detailed instructions written in beautiful cursive handwriting. At the same time, both Valus and Alya glance from the paper to the horseman and raise both eyebrows in surprise, although Fury could only make out the latter’s.

“A gauntlet?” Alya muses, “A human-sized gauntlet….What’s uh…” She taps the paper with an enormous finger and Fury cringes at the amount of blackened ash she leaves behind on it. “What’s it for? S’too small for you to wear,” the maker notes. Behind her, Valus grunts in agreement. 

Fury hums at their questioning tones, smiling slightly in anticipation. “It’s a present for Y/n’s birthday, Alya,” she explains, “I’ve never met any creature so desperate to be able to harness magic before. Honestly, ever since I met Y/n, it’s been nothing but ‘I wish I could do magic like you,’ or ‘What I wouldn’t give to be able to cast spells!” Fury’s voice lilts in an obvious mockery of your own which Valus seems to find highly amusing. 

“So, you designed our little friend a magical gauntlet?” Alya states bemusedly, “I haft’a say Fury, s’not a bad design. A little less sturdy than what we’re used to workin’ with, eh Valus?” she jerks her head back over her shoulder to include her brother in the conversation, but his mind is already far too preoccupied with his new project. “Bah… We’ll make it work horseman,” she winks, “Don’t you worry.” 

Fury beams brightly up at Alya and bows her head a little as she thanks them. “Truly, you’ve done me a tremendous service. I just know that Y/n is going to love this.” 

The maker nods before handing the blueprints over to her brother who promptly begins fishing around in a large, wooden chest for some old scraps of leather. “Though, if I might,” Alya turns back to the horseman and places her hands on her hips, “Are ya sure ya want to be giving the little human magical abilities? Sprite’s always getting into trouble without the use of the arcane..” She laughs playfully, recalling some of your shenanigans that Fury had had to rescue you from. You tended to pick fights with things a whole Hell of a lot more dangerous than you….

The horseman shrugs, “I trust my friend implicitly. Besides, the gauntlet will only enhance Y/n’s otherwise untapped magical ability. It won’t cause too much trouble…. Or at least, I’m hoping it won’t….” she rubs at her chin and hums in thought. Then, she blinks and looks up to the maker hopefully, “By the by, how long will this take, only I need to be on Earth by tomorrow evening-” 

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Alya waves her hand dismissively, “S’simple enough to craft, won’t take as long as a day for us.” Fury sighs, relieved. 

“Wonderful, this needs to be perfect. I’ve never given Y/n a present before, it must be completely without fault.” Fury begins to pace, the possibilities of this backfiring suddenly flashing through her mind. What if you ended up hurting yourself? What if her measurements were off? What if you hated the colour? What if-

Her rambling thoughts are cut off when a gentle, but powerful voice rumbles through the forge. “Kid’ll love it,” someone says. 

Fury’s gaze snaps over to Valus, still with his back turned to them and even Alya’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline with how fast she raised them. After a second or two without her brother saying more, Alya clears her throat and nods. “Aye, specially if it’s comin’ from you,” she says. Fury turns her head down to study her claws. 

“I hope you’re right….” 

Surprise, surprise; The makers were right. 

When Fury handed you the intricate, beautiful, magically imbued glove, you nearly lost your mind. 

Then you found out you might be able to cast spells with it. 

“Y/n, I’ll say it again; Calm. Down.” The horseman stands with her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face as you flap around, a series of expletives and excited screes escaping your mouth as you admire the gauntlet and try out various hand motions, attempting to trigger something magical. 

Despite her strict stance, Fury is internally elated at your reaction. She fights a losing battle with her mouth as it twitches at the corners before drawing up into a contented smile. She watches you dance around the bedroom until at last, you seem to recall that she’s actually with you. Then, her smile turns into a grunt of shock when you’re suddenly launching yourself at her and throwing both arms around her slender neck, squeezing tightly. 

You sigh against her cheek, stretching up on your toes to properly reach. “Thank you, Fury,” you gasp, relishing the amount of thought and love she’d poured into the gift. 

“You’re quite welcome,” she coos. The horseman allows you to cling to her for a long time as she basks in the warmth your body’s providing. With her eyes closed, Fury raises her hand to stroke through your hair, then whispers against your hair, “Of course, you’ll need to go through rigorous training before you can cast even the simplest of spells.” 

You groan loudly at the words and she laughs loudly. “Happy birthday, Y/n!”

Creepypasta #959: The Man On The Roof

Length: Super long

I hadn’t thought about the man on the roof for a long time. Not until I overheard my teenage daughter talking on the phone last night. I hope I misheard her. I pray that I did. How am I supposed to explain all this to a 13 year old without scaring the heck out of her - or worse, making her think I’m crazy?

It started back in the early 80s, when I was about nine years old. My father was in the military and we moved around a lot - new towns, new schools, my sister and I always struggling to fit in and make friends. My sister, Sarah, was older by four years, and arguably had a harder time of it than I did. When you’re a little kid, everyone just kind of gets along. Or at least most everyone is willing to play with you, especially if you’ve got cool toys or parents with a well stocked pantry. It’s harder when you’re a teenager. Kids start getting mean.

We’d just moved to a quiet neighborhood just outside of San Antonio. Pretty cookie-cutter - a gated community where all the houses look the same, packed so close together that the tiled roofs almost touch each other. It was the end of summer when we moved. I remember because we didn’t have school for four whole weeks and I spent plenty of time outside on the lawn, playing on the elaborate wooden play set my father had bought for us.

It was by the playset I first heard about the man on the roof. I’d started hanging out with a few neighbor kids (who’d probably befriended me because they wanted a turn on the swings, or to ride down the covered tube slide that extended from the second story of the playset). I think it was Jack who mentioned him first. The neighbor kids asked if I liked living in San Antonia, and I said I liked it because it was warm enough that we could keep our windows open at night.

“You should do that,” said Jack. “The man on the roof might come in.”

Even at nine, I was skeptical of spooky stories. I knew it was a rite of passage; tease the new kid in the neighborhood, freak them out, see how gullible they are. So I rolled my eyes and pushed him extra hard on the swing. “Yeah, right. The only man on OUR roof is the guy mom pays to clean the gutters.”

Jack’s sister, Marly, shook her head. “Jack’s right,” she said. “You need to lock your windows at night or he’ll come right in.”

I stopped pushing the swing and looked up the second story of our house. The room I shared with Sarah was on the second floor, a big corner room with a window facing the street and one facing Marly and Jack’s house. “… Why would a man be on the roof?” I asked.

Jack had stopped swinging, turned on the wooden seat to face us. “I don’t know,” he said. “But Marly and I see him sometimes.”

“Doing what?”

“Watching,” Marly said. “He just stands there on the roof and looks inside.”

“What does he look like?”

Marly looked down at the floor, scuffing the grass with the toe of her sandals. “I dunno,” she mumbled.

“Is he tall? Short? Fat? Thin?”

“I dunno,” Marly said again. Her voice sounded strained, like she was about to cry.

“Just keep your windows shut,” Jack said, sliding off the swing and standing next to Marly, squeezing her on the shoulder. “And keep your curtains drawn. Ok?”

I didn’t mention the man on the roof to Sarah. She was already too cool for me, with her training bras and lipstick she lifted from the drugstore. I didn’t want her to think I was a baby, scared by some silly story. But I did shut the window that night, and locked it for good measure. But I didn’t draw the curtains. At nine, I was still a little bit scared of the dark, and the moonlight filtering in from the uncovered window was less scary to me than the pitch black would have been.

I stayed up reading until Sarah came to bed.

“Why’d you shut the window?” she was putting her pjs on, shifting uncomfortably as she adjusted her pajama pants. She didn’t think I knew, but mom had explained a few months ago that Sarah had started her ‘womanly cycle.’ She had to, after I found blood on Sarah’s sheets and freaked out, thinking my sister had some weird disease or had been attacked by a vampire in her sleep.

I shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Cold.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah grumbled, “It’s hot as balls in here. Get an extra blanket or something,” and she walked over to the window, unlocking it and tugging it open.

“Sarah, don’t,” I looked up from my book, frowning. “I don’t want it open. It’s cold.”

“It’s NOT cold,” she insisted, turning her back to the window. “I’m sweating my ass off. Go sleep with mom and dad like a baby, if you’re that bothered.”

I frowned and flung my book down, turning away from the window and pulling the covers over my head. There was no arguing with Sarah. She was the oldest. It was her way or the highway.

I woke up in the middle of the night needing to pee. I had a really weak bladder for a kid, and got up in the night often. It was part of the reason our parents had given us the master bedroom with the ensuite bathroom - so I wouldn’t bug them by stomping down the hall three times a night.

On the way to the ensuite, I passed by the open window. There was a light breeze coming through, billowing the curtains to and fro. I don’t think I meant to look. But I couldn’t help it. As I walked by, I glanced outside.

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@neopolitan-fantasies continued from here

Sienna loomed over Neo’s bed, shadowing over her errant prey. The girl was strapped down, each of her limbs tied down so she couldn’t escape or what was more likely, harm herself or others. The doctor’s analysis had been grim, almost as if they had given up on Neo before they had even begun to treat her. Sienna would not have that. Her prey had proven more resilient than this. The fact that the girl was even still alive in the state she was in testified to this fact.

“You belong to me.” The words were spoken simply, almost casually. As if she wasn’t speaking to a girl that had been torturing her for the past few weeks, but instead a teacher to their student. No, that wasn’t the right analogy for it, hmm… Sienna didn’t ponder it any further, keeping her gaze trained on the girl that so reminded her of ice cream, of all things.

“You belong to me and I’ll be damned if you’re going to slip out of my fingers that easily.”


09x02 “Devil May Care”
11x08 “Just My Imagination”

The Death of Innocence: About the Horrors of the Mind

I don’t know if this was a deliberate callback on the writers part or not. In any case I found it intriguing, because so much connects these two instances and imo it runs far deeper than the fact that Sully was a Dean mirror, an embodiment of Dean’s inner child and shaped by the way that Sam saw or wished Dean to be at the time he created Sully.

This week’s episode dealt with imagination, trauma, loss and feeling lost and how children coped with it. Especially the last three things are written all over the Winchesters’ story. And all of it started with a shadow looming over Sam’s bed - like Sully did in the beginning of the episode too. That moment of Mary Winchester’s death was the very first trauma Dean faced, over time the list only got longer, but resolution or healing to this day sadly still seems a far way off.

Reese, the other Dean parallel in the episode, said that her sister’s death and Sully leaving messed her up badly, so that she had to see 10 different kiddie shrinks - which given what Dean saw so early in his life would most probably have been what he would have faced too had he grown up without hunting. With Reese it is emphasized that escaping to an imaginary world with an imaginary friend doesn’t always provide solace, because as imaginary or mental beauty or safety can be delivered and lived, so can be imaginary or rather mental horror. And that aspect of the sweet innocent child world in which unicorns and mermaids exist and everything is candycanes and rainbows can become a thing of murder and bloodshed, drives the point of forced growing up home like little else - and that feels especially important in a season that focuses so heavily on growing up, coming of age and the way Dean and Sam grew up. The first kid was traumatized in it’s safe (not all that imaginary) imaginary world, Dean was traumatized in his home he considered safe too. That experience marked the death of innocence for both of them.

So the imaginary horror, that we know is not imaginary at all, but a mental one and one impossible to see by anybody else except the kids affected by it - just like one can’t see the trauma and tragedy Sam and Dean lived through when looking at them on the surface. Sully saying from the outside, because he knows how it looks within:

“It’s a horror show in there.”

and meaning the bloodbath, which is both real physically, but only to be perceived by certain people, and in so far also mentally to me feels like a picture perfect reference to a person’s psyche.

And that gets especially clear when comparing this to Dean’s line:

“It’s a horror show up there.”

and that meaning his head, when he is threatened by Abaddon to be possessed by her.

I personally feel like this parallel is further important and fitting to the current arc, because it deals with agency and loss of bodily and mental autonomy, which is essentially the trouble Dean is facing with Amara.

thestoryinsideme  asked:

There's been some meta about the shot w/Cas in Dean's room where we see a shadow like image of Cas over the empty part of the bed (left of Dean). In 10.01 there's a similar shot with Crowley- he walks in on Dean & A.M. & Crowley's shadow is on the same side as in the Cas scene (left) except that Dean is also in that space. Do you think these are intended to be compared? What do you think it means that Dean is on the same side of the bed as Crowley? Why do you think Dean was on the left w/A.M?

So I went and re-watched all those instances of people looming over Dean and his bed, and my impression is that between Crowley in 9x23 and Cas in 10x03, there’s like… a sense of wrongs righted?

Crowley is double-intruding in 9x23. He’s sneaked in to steal Dean away, but he’s ducked a summoning to be there against Sam’s knowledge. Sam doesn’t know he’s there and wouldn’t want him doing it if he knew what exactly Crowley intended past the normal crossroads resurrection. Dean’s last scene when he was up and kicking was all “It’s making me into something I don’t want to be” and here’s Crowley to enact the final part of that transformation, so Dean wouldn’t want him to be there either. He’s also way too dead to give any sort of consent just about Crowley’s presence in his room, never mind anything else Crowley’s about to do to him.

Dean’s lying almost square in the middle of the bed against his previous inclination towards a particular side: he’s in a state of transition, with a tendency towards the wrong side of the bed. The way his body is laid out, he seems almost to be floating in the bed. Crowley intrudes and his shadow falls right over Dean. He’s about to exert his influence and gain (temporary) control.

By 10x01 Dean’s drifted right to the far side of the bed he’d normally pick: he’s transitioned to the thing he doesn’t want to be. However Crowley’s influence is waning: Dean’s right over on the far side and there’s just no way for the camera to catch Crowley’s shadow and Dean and the bed all at once: Crowley’s not placed over Dean except for across his feet, really. The fact that Dean is in Crowley’s bed, and the one having the fun in it, is great foreshadowing of their break up: Dean won’t let Crowley control him, Crowley can’t do anything about Dean’s behaviour, and it knocks him so off his usual perch he can only fluster about “Pants?” without any of his normal innuendo and suggestion he could have mustered if he were in his normal position. Think about him in Mother’s Little Helper looming over Dean from behind and purring stuff about being his mistress: he’s been thoroughly toppled from the position of sexual dominance in the relationship, even if Dean isn’t interested in Crowley in *that* way, there’s a sexual game going on and it’s probably part of why Crowley’s pining after him so badly. :P He’s always had a thing for people who got one over him - Bobby, his fondness for Kevin. Now Dean is right in the middle of a game with Crowley, and winning. In 10x02 their innuendo-laden banter includes Dean telling Crowley he sounds like a Viagra commercial: despite Crowley using the words to refer to Dean, the menacing sass definitely implies that Crowley is the impotent one… Maybe even calling him out on projecting which would be hilarious considering who is the biggest projector on the show. Crowley is impotent to control Dean and the use of the bed in their first interaction of the season already underscored this: all we had to do was wait for it to fall apart.

Further sense of wrongness comes with an instance of Crowley barging into the room without knocking (yes it’s his room but we don’t know that yet), and therefore another instance of intrusion on a private scene where Dean is in bed, albeit the subtle wrong-ness of him being on the left (and not touching Anne-Marie on-screen despite what they say about good sex). The shadow-over-the-bed shots of Crowley are right before the “Jerk” “Bitch” exchange: the most obvious bit of writing intended to unsettle the viewer and assure them this is definitely not Dean and to illustrate how wrong everything is about this. It shows again how Crowley is the “wrong” choice and the invader in Dean’s life.

So with the moment with Cas… Dean is human, back on his side of the bed, and he’s spread out on the bed, sitting up, fully dressed, and using the bed as a time for reflection and coming to terms. There’s a load of clutter to the side of his bed, blocking anyone from taking it.

Cas’s first move to get back into the position of rightness is to knock: we see Dean given a full moment to work out how he wants to be seen when whoever it is comes in the room (still headcanoning he was expecting Sam and that’s why he hid the photos). Cas knocking is new, but angels knocking isn’t - remember Gadreel barging in on Metatron being skeevy? “I gave you a second.” “You’re such an… angel sometimes.” Metatron meant about Gadreel taking it too literally, but there’s a sense of connection with this being the first time Cas knocks, and Dean needing a moment to hide the photos and compose himself. Think of all the hundreds of times Cas has popped up an inch from Dean’s face without warning. Cas knocks, and waits, and does the un-angelic thing here by only entering when explicitly invited. Despite having fresh grace, he’s still got a subtle influence of human things going on: new learned behaviours. He also quite likely starts the conversation with a brilliant Lord of the Rings reference.

He comes in and is then framed as the shadow across Dean’s bed in a way that even Crowley in 9x23 never managed: he fully covers half the bed: the half currently covered in random books and papers. It’s such a perfect bisection of the bed that as he stands there pretty much all the clutter is hidden from view. The close-up shot is even worse: the line of his sleeve in the shadow in the foreground neatly lines up to the edge of the pillow Dean is leaning on: even from a new angle, Cas is filling up the other side of the bed with his silhouette, respecting Dean’s boundaries and never overlapping Dean himself or his side of the bed as Crowley did.

The only thing left to add really is one more mention of Dean clearing off the side of the bed while they’re talking, because I’m going to take that one to my deathbed if this doesn’t go canon. :P “But Dean was clearing a space for Cas…” I’ll croak before expiring. It’s a silent visual of Dean making space in the area Cas’s shadow claimed: of opening up the space which was previously claimed.

anonymous asked:

Ok but why does will always dress like an aloof gothic poet, like, ur going to visit and comfort your family in the hospital after they were attacked so u dawn a long back robe like death himself. could you tone down your inner emo child for 2 SECONDS, will

This is more about Molly being an innocent, she’s never been touched by the dark/horrible side of Will’s life. She’s, in a sense, pure. Or she was. Will is this looming shadow over her bed because he’s enveloped in the darkness. He’s not innocent, he’s not pure. He’s entrenched in the darkness, in Hannibal, in the Tooth Fairy. 

Sidenote. Will dresses amazing. Don’t be like Dolarhyde, you know he looks fine as hell.


Continuation of the mafia au (which has been re-categorized as organized crime au for cultural sensitivity) 

–Our little mob bosses–


“Get up.”


The sound of curtains being pushed back, the sound of metal rings against a metal curtain rod, the sounds of birds, probably the ones that liked to convene at the top of Jinki’s penthouse loft like it was their personal mission was to make Minho’s morning a personal inescapable hell. Then there was Jinki’s irritatingly smooth tenor and his gentle but firm commands.


All of it was grating Minho’s nerves thin.

.That along with the fact that he was still there. Four days later and he was still there. Why? Beats him.


–snap– Oh, that’s right. There was a million dollar motherfucking bounty on his head.

.How? It went like this:


At first, it was a purchase price of 25,000 from the Hans, which Minho thought was kinda lowballing it. He was a human; humans should go for more than the price of a fucking Hyundai sedan. Then Jinki, obviously thinking it was a game and having more fun with Minho’s life than made sense–publicly declared that Minho’s loyalties belong to him. Minho still had not figured out where Jinki was pulling this ‘loyalty’ shit from, possibly from his ass that was somehow connected to his mouth hole.


The Kims countered the Hans price with a 50,000 offer–mainly just to fuck them. One of the Hans goons had just murdered the son of the Kim’s boss over Minho. The Swans, who Jinki constantly referred to as sleazy narcissistic lowlifes, told Jinki to fuck himself when he said fifty-grand too low. By the time the Arangs got involved, the four other syndicates decided it was best Minho was dead than to try and buy him off Jinki. Which, thankfully, was never going to happen in the first place. To which, Minho was happy with. Being traded like a cow in what felt like four angry people yelling at each other through tin cans on a string was not the best of feelings.


So now Minho was more or less trapped here with the boss of the Lee Family.



Jinki slapped at his feet under the covers. “You can’t sleep in all day.”


Sleep in. That made Minho laugh, if you could call gurgling like a sleepy toddler laughing.


Jinki was methodical, he was relentless, he moved like a machine and expected…demanded, more like it, that everyone around him to do the same. He woke up at five every morning, before normal human beings, before the fucking sun. By five-fifteen he was cooking breakfast. This morning it was fried sausages and French toast from the smell of it.


At five-twenty, Key, one of Jinki’s underbosses, was promptly delivering his greetings and a status report on his western chunk of Lee territory. Taemin, who oversaw all of Jinki’s errand team, arrived at five-thirty, mainly for nothing else but to steal a sausage from Jinki’s frying pan. Jonghyun, Jinki’s underboss over the eastern territories was there at five-forty five. By six, they were eating together in Jinki’s dining room.

That’s how it usually went. That unfortunately included Minho now.

He felt Jinki move from the window to loom over him, his form casting a shadow over the bed.  Minho tugged the thick warm duvet over his head, the scent assaulting him as he did. It smelled woodsy, clean, manly, a scent Minho was fastly beginning to associate with Jinki, to Minho’s chagrin.


Jinki yanked the covers back from Minho’s head and Minho resisted the urge to hiss. “You do this every morning. C’mon, get up, sleepy boots,” and Minho could hear the smirk in his voice, “you act as if I wore you out last night or something.”


Minho groaned. Jinki kept making these really ridiculous allusion to them having sex–which had not happen–and there was nothing Minho could say that could make him stop. He usually slipped them in casually, but there was always a betrayal in the way his voice sounded full of smug laughter.


“Okay. Fine. Stay sleep. However, if you don’t get up, I’m going to get under those covers and make you get u–“


Minho’s eyes flew open. “I’m up.” 


Jinki always made good on that promise, sliding into the bed and slipping his hands around Minho’s waist. Jinki had a very…stubborn morning wood problem and the last thing Minho needed was to feel…that.


The first thing Minho saw was Jinki’s smile. “Good morning,” he said softly as Minho looked up at him. He bent over and brushed the hair out of Minho’s face. “There’s food for you.”


Minho didn’t want to think about how good Jinki looked with the sun shining behind his head, casting a godly light around his body like he was deity or something. Minho knew better. Jinki was the devil.


After shuffling to the bathroom and making use of his travel kit, Minho made his way into the kitchen, automatically sitting at the chair to Jinki’s right.


The first morning, he was subjected to this ritual. Jinki demanded he sit to his right and of course, Minho pushed back because who the hell was Jinki to demand anything from him? Taemin, the one who’d continued to call him Kermit despite knowing his name, let him know that the seat next to Jinki was the safest. He nodded towards the window.




Minho had to lean back from around a brick column and out a window. Taemin was right. There was a rooftop across the street, one prime for an assassination attempt. Minho was a prime target for assassination. So now it was an automatic thing, sit to Jinki’s right. Stand at Jinki’s right. Jinki apparently was the only thing keeping him alive.

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