vanishing red

Do you ever shut up?

Desc: Richie Tozier is notorious for having the worlds biggest crush on Y/N, Bill’s older sister. The only problem was the fact that Y/N was in an exclusive relationship with Henry Bowers. Push comes to shove rapidly and soon Y/N is kidnapped by the one and only Pennywise, will they get to her in time?

Pairing: Reader/Richie Tozier

Warning: Harsh language, mentions of sex.

Do you ever shut up?

It was no secret that Richie liked Y/N, everyone knew and no one really cared. In all honestly they simply expected it to be puppy love, something he would outgrow once he saw another hot girl wandering around innocently. But, what they didn’t know was that it wasn’t just puppy love to him. It was more like infatuation, a craving, actual love. Unfortunately, Y/N was off limits, as Bill had said numerous times. That, and she didn’t really think Richie’s jokes were very funny either. She actually found them to be rather rude, ignorant even, but she let it slide. He wasn’t hurting anyone, she didn’t think.

She knew well that Henry Bowers, her exclusive boyfriend, wasn’t the best person in the world. He wasn’t a saint, but who was? Y/N knew that everyone deserved a chance to change, a chance to be happy. But, Henry never seemed to change his ways, he was still the school bully who had children cowering when he walked by, and Y/N was known throughout the school as ‘Henry Bowers Girlfriend.’ She was certain they never called her by name.

It was either that, or ‘Stuttering Bill’s sister’ or even perhaps, 'Georgie Denbrough’s sister, the kid who died.’ Really this had grown to make Y/N very uncomfortable. She was her own person, not just Bill and Georgie’s sister, not just Henry Bowers girlfriend.


At this current moment in time, Y/N was saying her goodbyes to the losers’, having to go home and help her mother with dinner and cleaning for a bit (she was certain it was Bill’s turn, but he argued against it.)

“I’ll buh-be home in a fuh-few hours.” Bill said, as Y/N waved them off and left to go home, fixing her hair as she walked.

”She really looks good from the back, and the front.“ Richie stated, adjusting his large glasses on his nose. This remark didn’t go unnoticed, a series of groans and eyerolls took over for the moment before Beverly stepped in to break the silence.

“Beep beep, Richie.” She said rather sternly, leaning back in her seat, she was rather annoyed at the inappropriate comment but definitely not as annoyed as Bill.

“T-that’s my sister, idiot. Duh-don’t talk about her l-like that.“ Bill stated blandly, clearly uncomfortable with the comment himself, and certain that Y/N would ultimately destroy Richie for a comment like that.

”It’s not my fault she’s hot…“ He paused for a moment, as if thinking it over before starting to speak again. ”And kind, and funny, and sweet, and—“ he was cut off by Stan talking over him.

”Dude, do you actually like her?“ Stan spoke, his voice slightly deeper than the other losers’, which they just expected it was because he was a little older than them.

Richie hadn’t noticed the opened-mouthed gazes that were trained to his face and the wide eyes searching for a hint of a lie. But Richie wasn’t lying. He really did think all those things about Y/N, but he knew the Henry would literally kill him for saying any of it.

“Do you ah-actually like my s-sister, Trashmouth?” Bill asked in utter astonishment, causing Richie to sink into his seat in embarrassment and shrug a little.


It had been three or four days since the losers’ realised that Richie wasn’t just chasing Y/N for her looks and since then it had been tense in the group everytime the two were together. Y/N didn’t really understand why everyone was so quiet whilst they were out, walking along the river bank in the mid afternoon sun. Beverly and Y/N had been talking, but it was low, almost like a whisper as they spoke as if the others would be mortified at their conversation.

It didn’t take long before they had ran into Henry and his group, minus Patrick who had been missing for several days. This utterly let to a panic within the losers’ but they seemed to remain calm, all of which were rather frightened besides Y/N.

“Hey Losers’, if you’re trying to get into her pants–” he stopped speaking to point a finger in Beverly’s direction, Y/N falling unnoticed, “All you have to do is ask nicely like I did.” He spoke with a wicked grin on his face, like something straight out of a thriller movie.

It was clear that the remark hit Beverly hard, but it hit Y/N equally as hard when she realised what he had said. In a fit of rage, Y/N picked up the biggest rock she could find and flung it as hard as she could. Her throw coming out rather well, hitting Henry on the forehead with enough force to draw blood.

“What the fuck!?” Henrys voice sounded from across the new-found battlefield as he chucked another rock back at her but failed to hit her or do any serious damage to anyone else.

”Rock War!“ sounded out from the losers’ side of the river as sudden airborne rocks were flying back and forth.

Even in this instance, Y/N felt like she was having the time of her life. She didn’t really care that after this her and Henry would be over for good, in fact she was incredibly happy about that. A smile spread over her face, even when a rock hit her painfully in the side. She had no idea how her and Bill would explain the deep purple bruises to their parents later, but she didn’t care anymore. This felt like a new beginning to her, she felt more welcome with the losers’ than she ever had with Henrys obnoxious clique.

She felt alive!

Once the final rocks were thrown, Henrys gang started to back up a bit, having suffered the most.

“Yeah! That’s right! Fuck off and go back to blowing your dad!“ Richie shouted from their spot a few meters away. There was a silence for a moment.

“And stay away from my girl!” He finished with, and Y/N didn’t care a single bit.


The bruises took several days to heal, turning from purple to a bluish shade, to a deep red and vanishing entirely. Y/N and Bill had been interrogated by their parents once they got home, but they simply smiled at each other and answered with blatant lies. Once their parents had bought it, the siblings it would be best to stay inside till the bruises healed once and for all.

Y/N sat by the window, the rain pattering against the glass in an almost rhythmic pattern. Her fingers followed the small drops as they raced down the glass, and she rested her head against the cool window. Looking out into the street she was almost certain she had seen a flash of yellow and red running by, and when she looked again she found herself staring at a small newspaper boat, with ’S.S Georgie’ scrawled messily along the side. Tied to it floated a red balloon which carried it with ease down the street as a little boy ran after it in a yellow slicker and red galoshes.

Y/N couldn’t believe her eyes, a sense of delight washing over her as she pulled on her fushia coloured rain coat and ran outside, slamming the door behind herself and chased the small boy down the street, calling out 'Georgie? Georgie!’ every time she got the chance. Deep down, a small part of her understood that Georgie wasn’t actually coming home, that he was almost definitely killed. But, she couldn’t help with hope and pray to God that this was Georgie by some convenience.

She ran after the child with every inch of energy in her body but he always seemed just out of reach, that was until she rounded the corner and came face to face with something she dreaded the most. A clown. A clown with a twisted grin on his makeup clad face. She suppressed a scream, her hand to her mouth and her teeth digging into the side of her pale skin. She noticed the one-armed boy standing behind the clown with his boat in his hands and recognised him as her brother. And then everything went black.


She awoke soon after, still face to face with the God-awful clown that she hated ever so much, yet this time there was no Georgie and this didn’t seem like the upper ground of Derry anymore. In fact, it seemed more like the sewers, and her suspicion didn’t go astray. She was shaking, her hands and knees trembling and her bottom lip quivering as if holding back tears, but she slapped on a confident expression.

“Why are you doing this?” She cried out at last, only to be met with a bizarre smile and a finger pressed to the clowns lips. She stopped speaking just long enough to hear the thudding of someone walking along the sewer pipes, then it came to sound like a group of people.

Y/N wanted to cry, she wanted to scream and tell them to go back and leave her here. To save themselves from their independent doom, but she couldn’t. She simply found herself in an utter trance, staring into the clowns eyes, that was until the losers’ burst into the sewer baring what seemed to be weapons of some sort or another.

“Fucking clowns..” Richie spoke through gritted teeth before they each took their fair share of clown beating till the monster clawed its way away from them, leaving Y/N dazed and confused before spotting the rather bloody, bruised, and ridiculous looking group of teenagers.

Y/N had never been so pleased, she ran forward and incased Bill in the worlds tightest hug, muttering apologies and thank you’s for what seemed like forever.

“Hey! I was the one who figured out where you were and what had happened.” Richie fummed unhappily, rather jealous that he didn’t receive the same attention as her brother did.

“Well then thank you too, Trashmouth.” Y/N laughed as she pulled him into an equally tight hug, an endless smile on her face.

“Really it was nothing, could have…would have done it anyday for you Y/N, It wasn’t that big a deal I mean anyone could have done it–” Richie proceeded to boast, gaining a playful eyeroll from Y/N.

“Beep beep Richie.” She stated simply, gaining a strange look from Richie before she pressed her lips to his, and for a moment Richie could have sworn his heart completely stopped.

Once she had pulled away, both were red faced and flustered, though Richie was so close to passing out it was almost unreal. He simply couldn’t say another word besides 'Awesome!’, and honestly Y/N was sure everyone else in the room groaned in annoyance at the sudden display of affection.

Y/N couldn’t have been happier.

{For the lovely Anon who sent me four different asks with so much detail, I absolutely loved writing this!

I hope this is good enough for you! Please keep in mind I haven’t proof read it so there may be some grammar or spelling mistakes throughout, I’m so very sorry. Also, I’m not sure how long it is, so I apologise if it’s too short!}

Your Friend, A Cry Baby

Originally posted by pickeringgod

A/N: based on cry baby by demi lovato & another idea I had ; idk, this isn’t requested, i just got kinda bored since i can’t sleep & did this so like it, or don’t (though it’d mean a ton if you’d like it)
hmu in my asks & gimme feedback, it’s greatly appreciated! let me know if i should do the part two that i’m planning x

Friends. That’s what they are. That’s what they pretend to be anyways, but did friends really do this? Did they really see the parts you were even afraid to see yourself sometimes? Did their lips always touch skin that regular eyes won’t behold at first glance? That’s the type of friends they are.

Hands. Teeth. Grinding hips and various blooming blotches of purples and pinks scattered from public eye. That’s what the last four and a half months consisted of. Neither of them could deny the thrill lurking in secrecy gave them, the adrenaline rushed in their blood every time they caught eyes. Last night was no different.

Y/N awoke the same way she did every time she found herself in Shawn’s habitation. An heavenly glow of light cast across the room, a slight chill in the air, and the best part—her favorite part—him. Snores fall from between his lightly chapped lips, his hand still wound up around Y/N like vines on trees. Even without the formal title, she was all his.

She rolls, praying her movements don’t awaken the sleeping god beside her. One of her eyes slides open, Shawn unmoved and her heart peacefully restored. “S’beautiful.” The words fall off her tongue like a well-kept secret. She doesn’t know that he hears, that he’s been awake since the moment she began to move and he’s going to bask in that for a couple more moments. Her fingers trace the delicate crevices of his face. That’s when he chooses to press his cheek against her cascading fingers and press a kiss to her palm. “M’thinking that’s you.”

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anonymous asked:

Ladynoir 31 For the i love you thing

31. In awe, the first time you realized it; accepting prompts

he falls in love with her in a moment he sees her courage shining through her doubts. she’s fearless as she’s red and he falls in love with her in a split second, his heart belonging as simply as that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. 

chat noir falls in love with ladybug because fate writes his story that way. 

hers was not as instant. 

for she falls in love with him in a slow way, in a way she never sees, in a narrative she doesn’t know that’s happening. 

he’s a constant, a friend, an extension of herself and she doesn’t realize when she says “i love you” she also means “i’m falling in love with you.” 

for her, love, is as normal as breathing and chat noir has been her breath since she became a superhero. his voice a beacon in the dark and pulls her away from her fears.

he makes her courageous, makes her lion. believes in her as she believes in him and– 

when she says “i love you” because she does, she loves him as much as she loves to sew, as much as feels breathless when swinging around the city, as much as she adores being a superhero, it takes her a thousand times to realize that each “i love you” is a tumbling step into “i’m falling in love with you” 

so the awe is in a quiet moment when they bump fists after defeating an akuma, an action they’ve done a thousand times.

“good job, LB!” he says, smirking with pride. 

ladybug grins too, about to say the same, but– 

–perhaps it’s the way illuminates his hair, golden strays charming instead of wild and maybe it’s the way his eyes glow like precious gems and his smile is dazzling like sunshine

and the affection in his voice seeps into her very cells because this person adores her, this person is always there for her, this person is her air

that it hits her in this moment, in one she’s done a thousand times that if he were to vanish, truly vanish, the red of her suit would go with him

half of her soul would go with him

her courage, her zeal, her pride would go with him

and she pulls him into a surprising hug, crushing him close because he’s her best friend and 

chat noir laughs into her hair, his clawed hands a warm pressure on her back.

“everything okay, bug?” 

she presses her face closer into his chest, squeezing him close. “just wanted to say that I love you.” 

his frame shakes with his laughter and he holds her close too. 

“love you too, bugaboo. love you too.” 

(she won’t tell him yet that she’s fallen; not yet, not yet, not yet, but one day, soon, she will when everything is a bit more solid.) 

An Arranged Marriage Chapter 15

Dean Winchester x Reader

1150 Words

Story Summary:  An AU of sorts. Where hunter’s have communities, and arrange marriages for their young. Y/N is from the Northwest region, arranged to marry Dean, from the midwest region.

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

Lucifer flashing his red eyes at you, his lips pulled back in a snarl had you curling back on the bed, fear making your hands shake. You knew he was Lucifer, the devil himself, but he had seemed so loose, so at ease. But it had change in once second, reminding you this was the man who could kill thousands of people with a snap of his fingers. And you were his play toy, living in his little house until he decided what he wanted to do with you.

Pacing the room, he mumbled to himself, never loud enough for you to hear what he was saying, but his eyes occasionally flashed red, his emotions getting in the way of his planning. Turning to face you, a smile slowly grew on his face, scaring you almost more than his glowing red eyes did. “I know exactly what I want to do!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together in excitement. “We’re going to go visit this wonderful little community I made you talk about.”

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sparkleywonderful  asked:

Feysand fluff, going to their first play or theatre event (because Feyre has never been in the mortal realm)

I am beautiful. I spun in front of the mirror, admiring my form in the tight black dress. The back was completely open, and the front went up around my neck, almost looking like a collar. My hair was braided to go over my shoulder, and a black diadem was placed on my head. I knew Rhys had a matching one on and was waiting down stairs. I smiled at myself one last time and went to meet him in the sitting room.

He let out a long whistle when i reached the bottom step. I looked at him and my skin lit up slightly, causing me to blush and push the light away. “Feyre darling, do you see something you like?” He smirked. He was his usual all black get up,with of course the matching crown. But the way he was smiling, the look of pure happiness in his face, made me want to shine as bright as the stars. “Shut up,” I laughed, “Where are we going anyway?”

He had been doing something behind my back for awhile, and of course it drove me crazy and made me think the worst. But every night he would hold me close and tell me how much he loves me and that he promised I would know soon enough. This morning, he simply said I would stop worrying about him disappearing after going on our date tonight. 

I insisted on not wearing the diadem, it felt strange walking around Velaris dressed as High Lady of the Night Court, but he insisted I look my best and proudly walk the streets as High Lady. I only let him get away with it because he was so excited about tonight.

“Lets go!” he cheered, linking elbows with me and pulled me to the starry streets.


We mostly walked in silence. He was smiling brightly and would occasionally kiss the top of my head. Was I going mad? I would look up at him, and he would just smile back. What the hell? Did he honestly not notice that no one was on the streets? Every so often someone would walk out of their shops and wave to us, or someone would look around the corner of a building and hide.

“Rhys seriously whats-” “We’re here.” He interrupted. I looked ahead and my jaw dropped. The theater. I’ve always wanted to come here. But it was quiet. The lights were off. “Is there even a performance tonight?” I asked. Maybe he thought there was one tonight and he was wrong. That still wouldn’t explain why he was missing. “Yes, Feyre I’m not stupid.” he laughed. “Debatable.” I whispered under my breath. He chuckled and took my hand, “I’ve been waiting for tonight. My favorite story is being preformed. It’s called Savior! Its based on a legend.” He practically ran inside, pulling me up a flight of stairs. We took a seat in what i assumed was his private box. 

It was so quiet. And dark. I couldn’t feel anyone else in here. I was about to start freaking out when the lights turned on on the stage. I looked to the crowd to see if anyone else was there, but it looked like a dark abyss. I looked at Rhys questioningly. He threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. 

I was about to start considering if he was drunk as I looked back to the stage and froze. The scene was in a snowy forest. It was gloomy and sad. A small girl ran across the stage and stopped in the center. She had on shabby clothes and torn up boots with a bow in hand and a quiver slung around her back. She took out a arrow and notched it, and tried hard to pull it back. She aimed and fired it to the side of the stage, but it didn’t fly, it fell a few feet in front of her. The small girl picked up the arrow, then rubbed her belly. She was hungry.  She walked off the stage.

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Keep it Hush Hush

Originally posted by aeducans

Pairing: Jaime X Reader

Word Count: 1500

Warnings: None

Tyrion plays a little game of “Make up people’s lives”, and for you, the classic Assassin Bard. However the game goes a little awry when Jaime notices you acting suspicious, and someone ends up dead in the morning.  

“That bard is an assassin.” Tyrion slurred, his cup wavering as he pointed at you relaxed on your perch, eyes closed enjoying your own sweet melody stringing from your finely crafted lute.

Jaime turned to the band and scoffed. “Is she now?”

“Oh yes! You can see it in her shoes, in her hands,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “She’s got the eyes of a killer.”

The gala had been incredibly boring all afternoon, most people too afraid to be the first ones to leave as a show of political prowess. Jaime should have been doing the rounds, guarding his King, but what could his King be doing other than burying his face in some moxie woman’s bosom while he and his sister fume at the nerve. At the very least, Tyrion was the only person worth talking to and rightly entertaining about it, designing secret lives for everyone. And no doubt of course the sweet bard with a gentle smile was an assassin all along.

“In her shoes hm?”

Tyrion glared at the curled up toes of your brightly colored poulains, his slumped shoulders doing very little to stop him from tipping. “I don’t like those kind of shoes. They’re weird and…suspicious. Only the emptiest of hearts would wear shoes like that and not be ashamed.”

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TLoT  C O U N T D O W N  C H A L L E N G E // most underrated character   →   ANYA

“Heal the boy,” Hoede commanded.

She waved her hand through the air, the gesture almost dismissive, and the cut on the boy’s arm sealed instantly. The blood lifted briefly from his skin in droplets of red then vanished. His skin looked perfectly smooth, all trace of blood or redness gone. The boy beamed. “That was definitely magic.”

“It feels like magic,” Anya said with that same eerie smile.


Katsuki doesn’t take pride in a lot of things, he thinks pride will make him seem like an ass, -more than usual according to Yami- so he tries not to pay it mind. Yet, there is one thing that Katsuki does pride himself on and it’s the fact he’s so close to Yami that he’s allowed to invade the other’s  personal space. Being able to not only share a bed with him without it being completely awkward- some days are better than others.- to which not everyone has the ability to say they can do that with their best friend.  

What Katsuki holds most vital and dear besides the fact he has this power, this blessed opportunity is in light of this, he’s able to see parts of Yami that nobody else besides his own mother who bathed him at birth has seen. Yami’s freckles are extremely flattering in Katsuki’s opinion. Many wish that they had the genetics to have them as well and even cosmetic companies are making false ones.

Freckles simply don’t pop up in the Japanese gene pool so Katsuki left to wonder where this blessing came from. While he lays over Yami’s body, chest pressed against Yami’s knees, Katsuki observes and traces his fingers over the few dark freckles that are cascading down Yami’s hips and below his navel. It’s such a shame that there aren’t more over the expanse of flesh that makes up Yami’s torso but even if there are so few Katsuki loves them all none the less. Nobody knows how many Yami has on his body. some think his body is as covered as his face but only Katsuki knows the truth about those angel kisses that are rumored to be the cause.

Some are clustered together closely; overlapping sometimes and making patches of several that make one random splotch. others are scattered away from one another and there aren’t more until a couple inches down on another part of Yami’s body. If someone were to call it some form of body worship that was fine, Katsuki would admit to being the most devoted worshiper there was because it was like that, as he admired over the speckles of dark melanin blotches, getting to touch over Yami’s body as much as he pleased that made it all worth spending time easing the other into being comfortable.

 In the summer Katsuki is sure the exposure to the sun causes more to become visible or the uv rays just make the lightest of freckles pop out against his still winter flushed skin. Yami’s skin is unusually soft to the touch Katsuki can’t help himself from touching, brushing, and rubbing his hands all over yami’s body when he’s given a silent ‘ok’ to do so. The freckles stand out so much he thinks sometimes if he were to touch over them those pieces of skin would be slightly raised but they never are, only part of the flesh that presents them.

 "You have more again.“ Katsuku’s head is between Yami’s thighs now, the perfect place for him to find new hidden freckles that he may have missed in the past or find new ones that have in fact begun to show. 

"Do I?” Yami doesn’t help the barely audible laugh that passes his lips. He sets his phone aside and looks down at Katsuki who’s comfortably nestled himself so far down his body. He really should be flustered by the fact that his best friend’s face is so close to such an intimate area of his own body. But he doesn’t. Yami has grown to used to this site of Katsuki, him doing as he wanted, that he doesn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed. 

Katsuki indulges Yami plenty of times when he rambles on about some heroes or rants about something pertaining to class or idiots on the news so this is something that he feels he can do for Katsuki. He doesn’t understand himself what is so alluring about the random freckles on his body that have captivated Katsuki so he only lets Katsuki enjoy himself because not only one does it seem fair but it also feels good when Katsuki begins to spoil his body with affection like this. Katsuki is light and slow. He knows what spots are to be avoided that Katsuki feels the familiar smug grin pull his lips up. 

Those minutes he spent talking to Yami, slowly working his own body lower over his person so he could push up that silly black cat hoodie Yami got for Christmas up; silently storing away all the quiet gasps soft hums of delight that would hang in the air, they were never enough to satisfy Katsuki but he would settle. They worked well to keep his curiosity alive and thriving, urging him to do more, push him to continue searching for unseen speckles of brown that stood out against pale white. Katsuki would always press kisses along the inside of Yami’s thighs, his hips and wherever else he happened to find large portions of freckles appearing. 

He’d kiss every single freckle over the other’s entire body if he could do so without throwing away precious hours needed for sleep and causing his lips to become chapped and crack from constant pressure. So he’d settle for this. Katsuki would be content with gently nipping Yami’s skin in the hopes of hearing more of those soft welcoming moans of enjoyment from Yami that were usually followed with his body convulsing beneath his finger tips. Yes. Katsuki prided himself on this too. 

The ability to make Yami fall apart with just his hands and mouth, bring him to a state of utter relaxation that he didn’t mind if his body was marked up by a hungry mouth and laving tongue because where those freckles may be few they were in a place that nobody else would see except for them. Yami would keep it that way.

“Don’t they say that freckles are kisses from angels?” Katsuki murmers the words so gently against Yami’s left hip when he leans up to push further against the others body comfortably, palms warming up pleasantly but never burning so as to relax Yami until he’s nothing but melting under him.  It’s not a long effort on Katsuki’s part. He’s learned all the places of Yami’s body that are the most sensitive, which are his favorite places to have rubbed and massaged and what ones are to be avoided that Katsuki feels the familiar smug grin pull his lips up.

Dark greedy parts of Katsuki silently lurk in the back of his mind, making him want to suck dark marks all over Yami’s body where others can see clearly just what activities they engage in. Beneath those dark thoughts lie the curiosity find out for himself if the red color he’d bring up would make the freckles stand out more than the sun could ever do. 

Would they just vanish under the irritated red from broken blood capillaries? or maybe they would become even darker in comparison to before? There’s that horrible compulsive urge to lean up and close his mouth over the crook of Yami’s neck and shoulder with the excuse to find out but Yami would never agree since that’s a spot that everyone can see. Katsuki’s response to the angel comment is late but that didn’t matter so long as he gave one to Yami. 

“Is that why more keep showing up whenever I play with you?” The knee coming to jostle him in the shoulder does little to no deter Katsuki from going back down to busy his nose against Yami’ stomach. “Can we do another experiment to see?” Then Katsuki is spoiled too. Katsuki is the only one he knows of that gets to see Yami smile so openly, small as it is, it’s genuine and all Katsuki wants to do is to kiss those lips until they’re bruised and red. bite them then lick the irritation away. 

“Only if you actually come up with results.”  

 "You can count on me, babe.“

Red Harvest x Reader - Magnificent Seven Fic

“That Indian looks outa place, don’t he, Miss?” said Trevor. Trevor was generally a nice kid. He’d run messages for you over town for some penny candy.

“He does,” you say. “He could use a welcome.” You move around the counter to greet him.

“That ain’t what I meant!” hissed the boy. “I meant he don’t belong!”

You were aware of what Trevor meant, but you didn’t intend on paying him any mind.

“Welcome to the goods store,” you say to the Native American. He looked at you, and you wondered if maybe you should be intimidated after all. He IS big. And strong too. You find yourself wondering who those hands might have killed.

He nods at you after a long moment of studying your face. You can feel your cheeks go hot.

“Er… do you have a name, sir?” you ask. Someone comes into the shop behind you, but you ignore them for the time being, afraid of disrespecting the man in front of you.

“I am Red Harvest,” he says in a deep voice. Then he turns back to a shelf he’s looking at. You don’t even see the merchandise; your eyes are locked on Red Harvest.


“Miss!” says a grating voice from behind you. “I need your help.”

You turn to see Mrs. Tews, a lady you’ve known all your life. She’s motioning frantically, offering a way away from the dangerous injun in your store.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tews. I’m helping Red Harvest,” you say.

Her jaw all but drops.

When you turn, he’s looking at you with sharp eyes. Everything about him is sharp. His jaw, his hairline, the arrows he’s probably killes with…

“You want to help me?” His voice is quiet. He looks past you at Mrs. Tews, judging the situation.

“You were here first.” Are your cheeks as red as they feel?

He looks back down at you, then asks, “What color?”

With a start, you look at the shelf and find it’s the one with all the ribbons. You wonder what on earth he wants ribbons for. Decorate a horse mane? Hang with feathers from his hair? You can’t even imagine, and you have no facts; only stories told in saloons after too many drinks.

“This one looks good with nearly everything,” you say, lightly laying a finger on a red ribbon, thinking of his name.

Red Harvest nods and takes the small spool. “One,” he says.

You take the ribbon slowly and bring it to the counter, cutting off a decent length. Before you can wonder if the Native can pay, he sets down the money. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment at your assumptions, you pass the ribbon to him, laying the smooth fabric in his rough hands.

You put the money in the register, but when you straighten, you’re surprised to find Red Harvest still standing there.

“Do yo- oh.”

He hands the ribbon to you.

You take it gently, then watch the large man walk out of the shop and vanish from view.

“Well I never!” breathed Mrs. Tews. Trevor swore, and the lady cuffed the back of his head.

You dart around the counter and look out the shop window, but Red Harvest is no where in sight.

Whenever you see the color red, you remember the Native American in your shop who bought you a ribbon as red as your blush, as red as his name, and as red as your feelings long after he’d vanished.


Here it is - the one shot based on the preview clip for 6x08 and the fact Delia’s heartbreak will be over. Which does make me think nothing too horrendous will happen. 

Anyway, here it is straight up unchecked. Obviously there’s spoilers.

Four bloody weeks.

Four weeks of nothing. No letters. No notes. Not even a phone call. Her Father had died four weeks ago, his obituary had been in the paper a fortnight ago and yet she’d heard nothing. It was as though Patsy had disappeared off the face of the Earth. Either that or she was purposely ignoring her. The thought had crossed Delia’s mind - after all, it had been Patsy who had been concerned with how they’d manage it, wasn’t it? It had been Patsy who’d not wanted to leave. Why? Because she knew that she wouldn’t manage to love from afar? Was that it? Had Patsy finally found a way out?

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Missing Trains at 2am (m)

Word Count: 5,739

Warning: Jimin Smut

A Christmas special based on an anon request I got~

You swung your backpack onto your back, staring up at the green digits that jumped around the grey screen stressfully. Names appeared where others vanished, some turning red as if to spread panic when your eyes checked them. Out of a nervous habit, you chewed on your lower lip, trying to find the specific name you were looking for between the sea of moving letters.

Right then, you found it, and your body froze.


You started running, your feet dragging you forward through the slim crowd of people as fast as they could. Heads turned as your feet collided with the ground like stones, your breath so irregular that you sounded like you were gasping for air. The voices of people you bumped into, their shoulders crashing into yours, chased after you as you kept moving forward, counting the numbers by the staircases like crazy. Nine, ten, eleven, far from the twenty-one you were looking for. Still, time was not showing any mercy to you. As you ran, you could almost feel the seconds pass by, nearing the finish line much too quickly.

Dammit, why had you postponed it until so late at night?

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Strange Attraction (part 3)

pairing: Ivar x Reader

fandom: vikings

A/N: this is more of a little filler chapter since I wanted to write some smut in the next one

@nekodemon73 @kumpmk

Fire. It was the one thing you were afraid of and somehow Ivar had found out. You hadn’t told anyone but Ivar didn’t need to hear it to know that it was true. He was good at that, you sourly had to admit. Getting into peoples heads without them even noticing and turning their fears and insecurities against them. You would have been quite fascinated by it, if as of now, you wouldn’t be the one that was targeted by his particular gift. 

“Aren’t you going to shoot it?” Ivar asks, leaning forward and folding his hands in his lap, “Come on light it up.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your hands before gripping the bow tighter. If it were only you and Ivar you would have refused immediately but his brothers were here as well, all having agreed to teach you some fighting skills. It was really nice of them and they’d probably understand if you just told them you were scared. Your inability to admit defeat and give in prevented you from doing that.
Not being a Viking made you enough of an outsider already and you didn’t want to make it worse, not if you could do something about it.
Ivar wanted to torture you and he had found a damn good way to do so. 

“Yes just give me a second.” You snap back and step closer to the torch.
The tip of the arrow is held against the fire and flames immediately start to lash at it. You straighten your arrow, pull it back and loose. By some kind of miracle you actually hit your target and the hay vanishes in red flames that burn bright against the night sky. 

“Huh?” You hear Ivar behind you while the others are cheering and continue with their own training, “Didn’t think you’d actually do it.” 

“You did this on purpose!” 

“Of course I did.” He leans back, smirking at you, “Told you we had to work on your attitude a little.” 

You put the bow down on the ground and make your way back to the house but not before stopping next to Ivar. 

“You’ll regret today.”

My very favorite Christmas decoration is the outdoor lights my family does on our lamppost. All white except for one red bulb, which is actually an homage to a movie we all watch every year together, The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Day 19 of the December challenge by @journaling-junkie

Honeymustard Collection 20

With a cherry on top!

Last installation - thanks everyone for such a wonderful time! Love ya - every one!

Red woke to warmth and the faintest humming, starting in his ribcage and spreading out to each phalange tip. He kept his eye sockets closed for a while, savoring the comfortable darkness. Man, this felt good. Like a hot bath. Some part of him wished he could stay like this forever…probably the same part that knew how much it was going to hurt once he woke fully. Yeah, that wasn’t going to be fun – Boss had really torn into him, hadn’t he? Suppose he deserved it though for running off like that. Shit, between Boss and Stretch Red had managed to disappoint every monster he loved…

Red twitched, muggy thoughts jolting a bit.


Memories of his last few minutes of consciousness curled on the cold concrete of his gutted bedroom fought to the forefront of his thoughts. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Had Stretch really…? Shit. SHIT! No way had that ended well for Stretch. Fuck, if Boss found him in their timeline he’d tear Papyrus bone from bone!

Casting aside concern for the pain that was sure to come once Red forced himself from this dim, warm place, Red took a little breath and cracked an eye socket. His surroundings came together slowly – drawn curtains, dark room…and a hunched figure beside his mattress, back turned to where Red lay on his side. Was that…Boss? He was muttering something, shoulders and skull all but silhouetted by a small globe of orange light he appeared to be cradling in his lap. Red attempted another hitched breath, pupils wavering as he lifted a hand quietly to his ribcage.

Oh, fuck…

His soul was displaced. Boss didn’t usually like touching Red’s soul – he found it disgusting – so why would he…?

The figure shifted and the light changed a bit, revealing a sloped jaw, smooth skull, and oversized orange hoodie. Red immediately relaxed his clutched phalanges from his ribs just as another wave of warmth passed over him. He all but melted into the mattress, eye sockets sliding half shut in pleasure, the tension in his aching bones unwinding like a long breath.



Red knew this feeling. Stretch had bubbled his soul in an orb of his healing magic, brow furrowed, hands cupped, gently coaxing Red’s scarred, stuttering heart still while he worked. Red blinked – now that he thought about it…there wasn’t any pain. From his cracked sternum to his split kneecaps the only feeling in his bones was warmth and comfort. Wow…definitely…not what he’d been expecting. How had Stretch…?

Red stopped himself from sitting up, holding his breath a bit when Stretch’s muttering voice became a little clearer. He was speaking low and fast, like an intonation or chant or something. Red strained to hear him, the rising happiness in his chest dampened a bit when he finally understood – Stretch was saying “sorry”…over and over, no stopping for breath, no fluctuation in his raspy voice, no break in his concentration. Just:

“I’m sorry I didn’t come find you sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel like you could stay here with me. I’m sorry I didn’t sit with you when I knew you weren’t feeling okay. I’m sorry I can’t heal you better, or make you feel safe, or keep you smiling all the time, or stop your nightmares, or get rid of your scars. I’m sorry I’m not the best person to help you and there’s times when I just…don’t know what to do – and I’m sorry that when you left…all I could think about was myself and how terrible I felt when I should have been thinking about you. I’m sorry that I…”

Red swallowed, wondering if Stretch could feel his soul surely growing heavier in the taller skeleton’s hands. God, Pap looked exhausted. How long had he been going at this? And how long before that had he been working on the machine that made the leap into Red’s timeline possible? And how long before that had he been kept awake after Red had…vanished without as much as a goodbye?

Stretch’s skull bobbed with fatigue – his shoulders shook. A series of little incoherent noises interrupted Pap’s steady apologetic stream. Shit, was he…crying? Red propped himself up on his elbow, wincing as some remnant pain broke through whatever healing protection Papyrus had set in place. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What should he do? After a frantic moment of hesitation Red reached out a hand to tug at the orange sleeve of Papyrus’s hoodie.


No response.

Red lifted himself to his knees, gritting his teeth against the sting as he pulled himself up beside the taller skeleton. He pressed into Papyrus’s shoulder, resting one hand on Pap’s spine and ghosting the other over his phalanges where they were cupped around Red’s soul in his lap.

“Hey, Pap?”

Papyrus blinked slowly, his repentant mantra fading out. He turned his head slightly to look at the smaller skeleton now tucked against his side, pupils unfocused with magic depletion.

“Oh,” Papyrus said, voice small, “…you’re awake.”

Red attempted a smile but immediately dropped the effort when rolling tears welled up and over Papyrus’s eye sockets, tracing wet lines down his cheekbones unchecked. Red could feel Stretch absolutely shaking and when he spoke his voice was all but incoherent for how much it broke.

“Red, I’m sorry. F-fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Hey…” Red pressed his hand over Pap’s mouth, cutting him off. “Hey!”

They stayed like that for a moment, Red completely frozen and Stretch’s pupils lit with a wild, desperate magic. Fuck…what was he supposed to do? Red wanted to apologize, more than anything he wanted to just apologize – for making such a dumb fucking decision and leaving Papyrus that way. For freezing up every time Stretch so much as fucking kissed him. For being all but incapable of returning or even accepting Pap’s affection. For being…so fucking broken…it would be easy to apologize for all that – but…

“You know,” Red muttered, “some numbskull once told me…that regret, and misery, and guilt…doesn’t do anyone any good. Some touchy-feely bullshit, right?”

The light in Papyrus’s eyes calmed a little.

He lifted Red’s hand from his mouth with a soft touch on the smaller skeleton’s wrist and leaned in to kiss the crown of his skull, then his brow, then his mouth. Red let out a slow breath, watching his soul held loosely in Stretch’s other hand pulse a little brighter with every kiss.

It was a good start.



“…hang on.”

“Okay, but I don’t think he can wait much longer…”

“Okay, okay!”

Red tried to keep himself from wringing his hands and failed immediately. His stomach was in knots and he felt like an idiot standing in Papyrus’s two sizes too big borrowed clothes in the middle of his bedroom facing a closed door. Stretch leaned nonchalantly beside the doorframe, one hand on the knob, the other tucked in his front hoodie pocket. He cocked a brow at Red.

It’d been a whole week since Red had come back and the entire time he’d been quarantined in Pap’s bedroom so he could heal. His ribs still ached a bit and he boasted a few new scars from his most recent encounter with his old timeline, but his soul shone stronger than ever and Stretch had told him he was pretty sure Sans was going to “pull a muscle” if he had to wait any longer to meet the monster Papyrus kept going on about.

“Okay,” Red took a deep breath, “I’m ready.”

Stretch gave a resolute nod.

“Might wanna brace your knees,” he said flatly, and turned the knob.

“Why would I – oomph!”

Red was nearly bowled over backwards when what appeared to be a short blue ball rocketed into the room and immediately snared him in a rib-crushing hug. Sans, or “Blue,” as Papyrus called his younger brother, wore a grin big enough to crack his skull in two and he practically had stars in his bright, wide eyes.

“Oh my gosh! You really do look like me! Papy, doesn’t he kinda look like me? Oh, right – hi, I’m Sans! You’re Red – oh, sorry, I already knew that! I like your tooth! You smell like smoke – do you smoke like my brother? That’s not good for your health, Red! But don’t worry, me and Papy will look after you now, right Papy?”

Stretch kinda nodded lazily where he was draped against the wall – though in agreement to what part of Sans’s hyper babble Red wasn’t entirely sure.

“Oh my gosh!” Sans all but shouted, releasing Red as suddenly as he’d grabbed him. “I’ll make some hot cocoa! Do you like hot cocoa, Red? Never mind, of course you do! Wait right here, I’ll be right back!”

He bolted off, taking the corner from Papyrus’s bedroom fast enough to slide on the carpet before darting from view. Red readjusted his shirt, not sure if he wanted to focus on regaining his breath first or just laugh. Wow…Stretch really hadn’t been exaggerating, had he?

“Doesn’t anyone in this timeline have a personal bubble?” Red growled, shooting Stretch what he attempted to make a disgruntled scowl.

Pap shrugged, smiling as he pulled a cigarette from his hoodie pocket and pushed himself off the wall.

“Heh - just you. Coming?”

Red didn’t even try to hide his smile as he followed after Stretch.