#that i care about. but i have so much inbetween space to fill! at least the song is short and has basically 0 instrumental sections but :

[bobzora]

making the bold choice of using Four whole colors in bad-end-animatic's palette

#bobtalk #misrepresentation. most frames will have 3 much like akechimatic. #this one is going to be blue :) contrast #anyway. wisdom of the day is never color animatics like i did for my haikyuuanimatic. too many colors in palette and too soft(?) coloring #looks muddy. do not do that #anyway. im still stuck on the last...fourth?of frames (not counting) for thumbnails because ive figured out like. the main parts. the parts #that i care about. but i have so much inbetween space to fill! at least the song is short and has basically 0 instrumental sections but :/ #what do i do with those frames!!well i cant actually ask for advice without spoiling the thing...so i guess this is just me complaining aga #n :p #...final week of semester incoming. but. we. uh. survive <-should be doing schoolwork but is 24/7 art-brain mode

[sourtomatola]

Guilt filled you as you thought about what the boys go through every night. They were torn apart and fixed every night and there was little you could do about it. If you tried to stop them, you might be killed to protect the companies’ investments. If you called the police, they may not care since the boys may not be considered living creatures. If you tried to out the candy company through social media and the like, it might make more trouble for Sun and Moon. Might get them locked away or worst. Like if the factory closed the tours and kept everyone but close workers inside.

“I wish I could do more for you guys. I can’t even sneak anything in for you cause they check everyone’s bags at the gate and stuff.” You frowned sadly. “They even check pockets.”

“Couldn’t you take medicine to keep you from being in pain at least? You know, during the…harvest?” You asked, cringing at the word harvest.

Moon shook his head as he kept drinking from the syrup tube. He tried to suck more, but the tube seemed to have run dry, making him look at it with a sigh. “No, it changes the taste of the candy. And the effects. One time, Freddy found some painkillers from one of the harvesters once, and all of the chocolate and jelly that was harvested the next day was considered tainted and defective.”

You blinked before looking at them. “Chocolate AND jelly?”

Sun rubbed his healing arms. “Didn’t you go through the tour? Many times?”

“Not going to lie, I kind of zoned out after seeing you guys. I was focusing on you guys since…you know, my job was to get the Sundrop and Moondrops.”

“Sorry, habit…But, how are you going to be paid? Don’t you have to be paid to live?” Sunny asked worriedly.

The fact that he was worried about you meant a lot. You had hoped they thought of you as someone they could trust. You may be a PI, but you wanted others to trust you to do right by people. “Don’t you worry about me, Sunny, I’ll be okay. Thank you though.” You smiled. “Tell me about the others though! Freddy is chocolate and jelly??”

“Ooh yeah! So He’s a chocolate covered Gummy bear, and Bonnie is a chocolate bunny.” Sun said cheerfully. “The company turns the candy they take off of them into mini versions of them. Them and Chica are a big hit around Easter.”

“Oh yeah, Chica is like an easter Peep right?”

“Uuuuh, you mean marshmallow and sugar right?”

“Yeah of course! Those are Easter Peeps. What about Foxy, I heard He was something weird...”

Sun made a somewhat disgusted face. “Oh yes! He has a candy shell like us, but instead of space inbetween his endo and shell, he’s stuffed with Peanuts! Bitter hard peanuts. His harvest is usually just a poke to break the shell and get all the peanuts to drain out.”

“Bet you envy him a little.” You smiled compassionately.

You snorted at the thought but tried to stifle your laugh. “I’m sorry, That must be painful, I shouldn’t laugh.” You giggled.

“It is actually kind of funny. He doesn’t seem to mind it too much. I think he might not have much feeling in his legs anymore or something cause half the time he doesn’t seem to notice.” Sunny giggled.

“It’s almost time to open.” Moon suddenly interjected. “You should get going.”

“Oh wow already?? Gosh time fly’s…okay, I’ll see you guys again in a couple days, okay?”

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#Bam! second one today! #Lets just say I really wanna draw the next scene XD #also Foxy is a Boston baked bean #which are gross #and I thought it would be really funny if he was a lot les sweet than the others. #and the image of his peanuts falling out was just too funny to pass up #taking candy for a fool #fnaf moon #moondrop #fnaf sun #sundrop #art #my art #comic #fnaf foxy

[mha-princess]

Canon Dabi x insecure reader where she’s insecure about her body since she’s not thin. She voices it to him after seeing a pretty and smaller girl flirt with him, and he shows her how much he cares for her? NSFW pls! Thank u!

stop your whining [dabi x fem!reader]

A/N: I didn’t proof this so bc I really wanted to post today also I’ll be posting my 1k event soon! - Anako ✿

Genre: canon-verse, smut, drabble

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warning: unprotected sex, breeding, degradation

You continue to twirl on the bar stool, your attention long adverted from the chatter dispersed around you. It wasn’t an uncommon for you to tune out of the league’s conversations, especially when the topic was new recruits. New female recruits. To be honest you didn’t think new recruits within the group was necessary, but then again it wasn’t your call. You rolled your eyes at the thought and let yourself tune into the girl riding Shigaraki’s dick, desperate to receive a compliment.

“I really admire your ideologies. I’m willing to follow through with any task given. Any task given.” She enunciates, taking a step closer towards both Dabi and Shigaraki. Her small stature made her seem sweet, cute even, but her eyes had mischievous intent. The two men glance at eachother exchanging an understanding look before, looking back to the girl.

“Thank you for your interest. We look forward to your loyalty. Kurogiri be a gent and show her out.” Shigaraki, responds.

The girl grins as if she just had an interview and was sure she got the job. As Kurogiri shows her out you watch her sway her hips, the skirt she’s wearing a little less than admiring. After Kurogiri is out of sight you sigh in relief.

“Thank god that’s over. Fucking groupies, this is getting old.” You sigh raising from the bar stool.

“Her quirk will be of use to us.” Dabi shrugs.

“Shapeshifting? Tch, isn’t that what we have Toga for?”

“You think I’d drink animal blood?! Gross Y/N!” The blonde exclaims, partially offended.

“Wouldn’t put it past you babe.” You shrug, “I’d rather you be able to do both that way we don’t have some groupie in the league.”

“Why so judegmental now Y/N? Aren’t you all about giving people chances and bullshit like that?” Dabi snarks, shoving his handing into his pockets.

“Not skanks,” you reply, “Well, maybe she didn’t come off as a skank to you seeing as you were pretty friendly.”

“Jealousy is fucking ugly on you.” Shigaraki rasps, opting to leave the room with the others rather than hear you bicker with the black haired male.

“Jealous? The hell is there to be jealous about?!” You shout, the leader sending you the finger before leaving.

“Shigaraki’s right.” Dabi agrees, beginning to stroll away to his room, “It’s also a huge turn off.”

“Turn off ? It’s not like I ever turned you on. You’d rather the skimpy skinny bitch, right? She seems more your type.” Dabi stops to turn around to face you.

The expression on his face was unreadable but the aura he was emitting was deadly. He then inches toward you causing you to take little steps back.

“Y/N.” Is all he says and you stop right where you are. As he closes the space between you he grabs your arm, the force of his fingertips crushing into your muscle.

“The room. Now.” He grits, shoving you in front of him.

“Don’t fucking shove me. Better yet keep your hands off of me. ” You mumbled, making your way down the hall.

When you enter the room Dabi slams the door behind you.

“So fucking unnecessary,” you voice, back turned to him.

“No, your fucking unnecessary. And fucking look at me when I’m talking to you.” He demands gripping your shoulder and flipping you around.

“Didn’t I say to keep you damn hands off of me?!” You hiss, pushing his hands off of you. Dabi, refutes by taking a death hold on your waist, pushing you into the foot of the bed. His hands grip tighter and eventually your sides begin to run hot, the smell of singed clothing flooding the air.

He draws closer to your face, he gets so close you can feel his breath ghost over your lips, “Now listen you fucking brat, I don’t know what your problem is but you better fix that shit real fast. I don’t like to play with bratty bitches.”

“Your the bratty bitch,” you bark. Dabi’s lips draw together before he pushes you over the footboard and onto the bed. He then climbs inbetween your legs and loops his fingers around what’s left of your belt loops.

“You can either tell me what your problem is now or you can wait until my cock is rupturing your fucking cervix. ” he offers, pulling your pants off along with your underwear.

“Do your worst, bitch.” You spit.

Now I know it seems like that was a badass move, but it was a bad decision to say the least. Dabi was never a gentle lover and now that you’ve pissed him off, he definitely wasn’t going to take and precautions. You were being a bitch and if the only way to fix that is fucking you, then so be it.

Without any care he yanks you up and takes off the remainder of your clothing. Your lips purse into a thin line, the feisty part in you wanting to say something, but with the mood you had put him in you knew better. In one motion your back hits the mattress once more.

The male on top of you doesn’t even bother stripping from his clothing. You watch as he undoes his zipper and shimmies his pants below his hips. He sucks air into his mouth before pushing it out causing spit to fly onto your slit as well as his cock.

He then grabs the back of your knees, his fingertips still hot from the incident earlier, and throws them onto his shoulders.

“Don’t open your mouth until your ready to tell me what the hell is wrong with you,” and with that remark he plunges the whole of his cock into your pussy. You let out a shaky gasp which is quickly met by a hand around your throat.

“Not a fucking peep.” The male urges, drawing out of your folds before thrusting back in. He slams his hips into yours hard enough to send you moving forward on the mattress. The sheets beneath you losing there stability. Your pussy clenches around his length in an attempt to lessen the impact of his thrusts.

“Stop clenching. Your gonna rip my dick off,” he growls, and it sends chills through out your body. Dabi had such a disgusting mouth, vial even, but in the end it’s only added to your pleasure. The pleasure which you couldn’t admit you were indulging in. The thought of Dabi fucking you with no mercy only made you want to piss him off more.

Your voice ached to be heard as he continued to fuck your greedy pussy. The sounds of slapping and low distasteful grunts echoed off the hollow walls as he continued to reek havoc on your slit. The closer he got to cumming the closer he neared your cervix.

“You know what? Your fucking cute like this. Being a stubborn fucking brat. Making me fuck you just to get you to act right.”

Cute? Through the rough pleasure that you were feeling that word made something burn inside you.

“Cute? You don’t think I’m fucking cute.” You wither through labored breaths. He takes the pressure off of your neck, interested in trying to hear you explain yourself as he pounds your cunt.

“And why wouldn’t I think your cute, mm?”

“Because you were into that thin bitch. Talking to her, grinning at her. Bet you couldn’t wait until I left so you could fuck her.”

“If I wanted to fuck her I would’ve fucked her. But here I am balls fucking deep in my cunt. In the pussy that belongs to me.” His vulgar words, spark a heat in your tummy, leaving your insides twitching.

“So that’s what the attitude was for? Because you thought I wanted to fuck some rando?” He chuckles before taking the back of your thighs into his hands. He then pushes them back as far as they can go before pulling the length of his cock out, leaving only the tip. Your hand scrambles to meet his stomach but by the time your fingers meet his skin he’s already eight inches deep in your pussy. The head of his cock kissing your cervix.

“Dabi!” You cry out, your toes curling as he slams the weight of himself into you. The boy leans down and places a tart kiss on the shell of your ear.

“So pretty when you cry out like that.” You whimper at his words and weakly shove at his chest.

“Take some out. I told you what was wrong.” A feeble whine lacing your tone.

“I know that’s what we agreed on but your sucking me in. I couldn’t pull some out if I tried.” He whispers, dragging his tongue up your ear. You groaned, squirming under him it was as if he just kept adding inches. Nevertheless the pain you felt was something you were use to, something that you only used to add to your pleasure.

“Gonna cum.” You cry out as he rhythmically fills you up, his cock crashing against your womb again and again. You feel you thighs tremble as your body locks up around him. Your hands slam down gripping the sheets as your orgasm courses through your body. Dabi moves his mouth to kiss you as he lets his own orgasm spill into you. Once you regain your breath you lazily push him off of you.

“Heavy.” You mumble, grabbing the sheets to cover yours self, but before you can pull them over your chest they’re ripped from your hands.

“Don’t.” He demands, letting his hand trail up and down your lower abdomen as he lays he head on your chest, “Let me rub here. It’s cute.”

“Stop calling me cute.” You say rolling your eyes.

“But that’s what you are. Your a damn brat as well but your beautiful, perfect body, perfect smile. It warms my shallow ass heart.” You fluster at his words as he continues his actions.

“Dabi don’t say-.”

“Will you be quiet?” he sighs, “I love you. Your perfect. I wouldn’t dare think of another girl so stop your whining.” You obey and entangle your hand in his hair .

Nothing else needed to be said on your part or his. You were aware of you over exaggeration of the situation and you were glad you had a boyfriend who cared enough to hear you out, even if it was after destroying your cervix.

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#bnha #dabi drabble #dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi oneshot #bnha dabi #Dabi #anime #mha princess #shoujo #touya todoroki #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi fluff

[jujutsubabe]

“This is so pathetic”

Synopsis: In which you and Megumi get really touch starved after not seeing each other for too long 😌

Word count: 1.8k

A/n: reposting this cause the last one got super blocked! It got no likes at all omg

————

You laid in Megumi’s bed squinting up at a textbook you were supposed to be taking notes on. As you stared all the words blurred together the longer you went over them and Itadori’s mumbling as he read aloud made you lose focus.

You sighed before reaching over the bed to tap his head. “Itadori can you please read in your head.”

Nobora clicked her tongue from across the room, “You’re almost an adult and you still can’t read in your head!?”

“I can’t help it, it helps me focus better.” He whined.

“Well if you could, could you just,” you pinched your fingers, “quiet down a little more, I’d love that.”

“If you could read in your head I’d love that.” Nobora grinned.

As Itadori pouted you moved the text book up and down, trying to see if a change in movement would do you better. You squinted, glared, flipped pages, whatever, no matter what the words continued to jumble.

You dropped the book and looked over to Megumi, he sat at his desk effortlessly writing away. It looked as though he did this daily, skimming his eyes over the pages and flipping within seconds. He had filled notes piled all over his desk in messy, but organized stacks.

You turned your head to the few sheets of notes you took, with margins full of doodles. You had to write so much more information.

If only you, Nobora and Itadori hadn’t slacked off all day watching movies, you would be at the same level as him. Or better yet, finished!

You popped some candy Itadori bought into your mouth. You had all been studying for hours, you figured it could be time for a bit of movement.

You hopped over Itadori’s legs to the door, “I’m gonna get a drink from the vending machine, anyone wanna come?”

Nobora shook her head, “I’m good, can you bring two sodas for me though?” She fluttered her eyelashes until you rolled your eyes and held your hand out. She squealed before placing some quarters in your palm. “You can keep the change!”

“Thanks.” With what she gave you, you’d have enough change leftover to throw one penny at someone's car. “Anyone else?”

Megumi stood from his chair while Itadori looked up from his game, “I'll go.” They said at once.

They turned to each other, Itadori’s face full of interest while Megumi’s was full of anything but that. You didn’t like being around people for a long period of time, but he really didn’t like it. Especially when they were in his space for this long.

He did tell them to “go somewhere” but like usual you all didn’t listen and procrastinated all day. Leaving a loud group of teens within Megumi’s quiet space was torture, you swore if you squinted you could see him twitching every time anyone talked.

You looked between the boys, Megumi probably needed an excuse to go outside. You hoped Itadori would somehow get that.

Itadori cocked his head, not reading the room. “Nice! It’ll be the three of us the—”

Before he could finish Megumi already slipped out and slid the door shut, leaving Itadori hanging with his mouth open. Nobora laughed at him.

———————

The two of you walked in silence, Megumi thinking and you in your own little world. The sounds of your footsteps echoed as you walked along the pavement.

He wondered what you were thinking about as you hummed and blew on your hands. Your sweater didn’t have any pockets so you kept pulling your sleeves over them.

“Are you cold?” Megumi asked.

You nodded but continued to rub your hands together, “But we might get caught if we hold hands.”

The two of you were dating. Very secretly, only being romantic whenever you had definite private places to kiss and hold hands. If it was in public it would be you giving a quick peck to his cheek or his hand slipping into yours.

You two wanted it to be a quiet relationship, at least until your friends and teacher happened to catch you guys, which you were both very careful to avoid. He figured as soon as the group found out it would be full of so much chatter and teasing, something you both weren’t too interested in dealing with at the moment.

He flicked his eyes around the building then held his hand out, “No ones here.”

“Are you sure…? What if Gojo comes out of nowhere?” You checked your surroundings as you whispered.

The two of you silently listened for any rustling or footsteps of some kind. He continued to glance at you while your eyebrows pushed together, when you were focused on something he thought you had the sweetest expressions.

Even you looking frustrated made him feel soft, like today when you struggled with that book. It was cute and he couldn’t help but look at you every so often, whenever someone looked back at him he would turn and start writing something random down. He had a few piles of paper with random crap all over it… he really hoped Nobora or Itadori didn’t check his notes while he was gone.

He looked down at the hands by your sides, at this point he didn’t care if the relationship got exposed to everyone.

“Please.” He mumbled.

You pulled on your ears, leaning forward to hear him again. “Huh, what’d you say?”

He squirmed the longer you looked at him. “I didn’t say anything...” he looked away the closer you got to his face.

“You didn’t? I thought I heard you say something.” You backed down, teetering on your toes.

“I…” his tongue tied as he tried to spit out what he wanted to say. It felt like he was confessing to you all over again. He internally groaned as he lost courage to say the words that he felt were too embarrassing to share. “This is so pathetic…”

You grinned, “What are you trying to say? Is it that bad?”

He shook his head, covering his mouth as he circled his brain about how to say his thoughts. Get it together! You two are dating. This shouldn’t be that hard to express, why was he struggling so bad with this?

He glanced down at your hands, flickering his eyes between your face and them. You were shivering and he wanted to do something nice, and he also kind of didn’t see you all day. So he didn’t understand why it was so embarrassing to admit it.

You followed his gaze down before twisting your hand around. “Are you trying to ask if you can hold my hand?”

He frowned, it was even more embarrassing for you to catch onto him...

“So that’s what it was?” You pulled his hand away from his mouth, pulling it up to your lips. “That’s not bad, it’s cute.”

You gave a quick peck to his knuckles, making him let out a flustered noise he tried to eat up with a cough. His brows knitted together as he tried his best to look away, he must have felt overwhelmed or something, your hands were cold but so much warmth spread through his arm.

You two hadn’t held hands in so long, it was like that first sip of drinking cold water on a hot day. You were refreshing, well needed company after a long day.

He intertwined your hands correctly, fingers wrapped up in each other, held inbetween the center of you both.

“I missed you.” He whispered.

You grinned as you squeezed his hand, “I missed you too.”

He let out a sigh, letting the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as you two stared at each other. The crickets cooed and the wind wisped soundly against the grass, if you listened closer you could hear the whirring of cars on the main roads.

You turned your head closer to his, looking up to him as you cupped his cheek. Your eyes danced over every feature of his face as he looked down at you with his glossy, painted like eyes.

He leaned down, fluttering his pretty lashes shut as you pulled him in closer. Up until your lips touched, a light butterfly kiss that felt like a small cloud graced your face. You could feel him smiling the second your lips touched, his hands moved to your waist, pulling you in just a tad bit deeper.

Your lips were soft, pushing onto his with a gentle squish. He was a little too excited for this. But who could blame him? With the way you touched him it made him warm on the inside, you had him wrapped around your finger with every smooch.

You grazed his cheek with your hands pressing kisses all over his face. He felt himself go weak under your fingertips, every press of your lips against his face made his heart rise into his throat.

How did he get someone like you?

This felt right to him, pulling you away from friends for a night time kiss felt needed. You pulled away, tapping his cheeks while he blinked his eyes open.

His eyes glided over your features, the moon highlighting every lovely aspect of your face. He ran his thumb over your cheek, making space, about to give you one more kiss before he heard a gasp.

“Fushiguro you creep! What are you doing!?”

The two of you flipped around to see Nobora with Itadori trailing right behind her. Itadori’s face dropped open while Nobora’s face twisted into itself.

“Yeah Fushiguro, get it!” Itadori pumped his fist up and down.

You were blinking and taking in your surroundings, one second you were being romantic with your boyfriend, the next you were caught by your friends. You looked between the two wondering where they even came from.

“Why are you guys out here?”

“I didn’t tell you what sida to get and you two were taking a long time!” Nobora pinched your cheek until you apologized.

You rubbed the side of your face as you checked your pocket for change, you forgot she sent you out here. You were too caught up in this quiet boy’s eyes to realize people could have gotten suspicious if you didn’t hurry.

You sighed, nothing you could do now, Itadori was already embarrassing Megumi and you couldn’t help but giggle. As hectic as this situation was, at least now you two could show a tad more affection in public. Nothing more than holding hands, but this reaction from the two wasn’t bad.

You cocked your head, though sweet, this situation felt a little too calm… you looked around as you thought of something that was missing in this situation, like an almost full puzzle piece with one left to fill.

Itadori sighed, “I can’t believe Fushiguro started dating before us…”

“Right it’s not fair…” Nobora nodded solemnly.

Megumi scoffed as the two moped. Scolding them for ‘not minding their business’ as you laughed at them. It was so cute seeing your friends like this over your secret relationship, you couldn’t help but feel a tad bit happy your secret was released.

That was until you heard shuffling from around the corner. You all turned your heads until you heard a voice.

“Did I hear Megumi and dating in the same sentence?” Gojo slipped from the deep dark shadows below, a goofy smile wrapped around his cheeks.

Ah there it is, the missing piece.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #Fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader fluff #fluff #Fushiguro megumi x reader #I HOPE THIS ACFUALLY POSTS UGH #I am expecting 2billion notes when I get back❤️

[whump-a-la-mode]

Would you continue the villain nausea whumpee? To show how he is after he is removed from the chair? Do they set him free since he won’t be violent anymore ?

I loved the idea of Villain being set free, and ran with it a bit! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the ask!!

This is a continuation from here, and, once again, the story below is below a read-more to prevent any accidental viewing of content that could trigger emetophobia very badly. I would hate for anyone to see it as they scroll past.

However, this time, the first scene is shown, as it contains no potentially triggering content.

CW//Emetophobia, graphic description of vomit, self-hatred, medical malpractice, low self esteem, hatred of former friends, Stockholm syndrome, whumpee liking whumper, minor eye whump mention, nausea

The auditorium crackled with the feedback of a thousand microphones, shoved towards the stage, frequencies battling and screeching against one another in chaotic choir. From a mass of bodies, of cameras and clattering boom mics, the wire spheres emerged in their dozens, all pointed centrally.

All pointed at the stage, and the podium that lived upon it, glistening in freshly-polished hardwood and media attention.

Behind the platform stood a figure, as equally basking in fame, and equally as glimmering. Upon their face, perfect white teeth glowed as freshly-fallen snow, pressed together in a wide grin.

In Hero’s eyes, it was pride that shone. The pride that came with accomplishment, with recognition, with glory, with perfect hair and thousand-dollar suits and the attention of the world, all upon their face. Their words.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here.” With a greeting alone, the world tucked back in hushed quiet. “Now, we will have plenty of time for questions later, but I wanted to start off with what has surely found itself on every headline this morning.”

A pause. The expected clamor erupted from the horde of media, incoherent shouting and stomping. A rioting crowd.

“Now, now.” It was a practiced ritual, between lion and tamer. “I will be taking all of your questions at the end, but let an old guy speak a little, first.”

Laughter queued.

“Well, then. I’m sure you’ve all seen the headlines-- you guys especially, you wrote them! But, for everyone at home, yes, the rumors are true. A villain is now loose in the city.”

A practiced gasp.

“And it’s a good thing! You see, for years, now, our in-house villainous psychology research has been working on a technique that they have dubbed Reaction-Based Morality Rehabilitation. Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

The hero leaned forward, hand cupping the microphone, playful smile clear upon their face.

“They gave me this paper, and it was like, 100 pages long. And I didn’t know half the words in it.” They backed up, smile remaining. “But, trust me when I say, those guys in R&D? They’re amazing. They know exactly what they’re doing, even if I don’t.

But, I won’t leave you hanging. I do understand the just of the procedure, even if I’m not so sure on the jargon.

It’s a very simple solution to a very complicated problem. I am a firm believer in the fact that people are not born as villains. We are all born as heroes. Some of us, through unfortunate means, however, turn rotten. Through this technique, however, me and Organization believe to have found a way to separate the villain from the person inside.

By using innovative methods of therapy, our psychologists are able to help villains reject their evil ways, all the way at the center of their neurology! We have heard many concerns about the possibility of relapses, of a villain turning sides upon their release. Yet, with this technique, changing sides is not a conscious choice. It is as much a thought process as it is a carefully embedded instinct.

Of course.” They straightened momentarily. “That does not mean we are simply allowing once of those who have harmed you return to our beautiful city unsupervised. We ensure you, multiple surveillance methods have been put in place. This is only a trial run.

We at Organization wish to think each and every one for your cooperation and participating in the beta test of this revolutionary new technique. If this run receives positive results, you can all think of villainy as a thing of the past!”

From the crowd emerged a cheer. A cheer for glory, for fame, for progress!

For the destruction of a foe.

For unquestioned success. A villain defeated!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Villain’s fingers brushed over the top of the kitchen’s oak-stained counter, kicking up enough dust to suffocate, even as their tightly pursed lips protected them from such.

This was a house.

Their fatigued, half-haunted gaze turned to move over the surrounding interior. The kitchen was fully-featured, oak accented with shimmering, mottled granite. Not that anyone had bothered to clean in the place. Beyond the room and its attached dining area, a step lower, a carpeted area was positioned, furnished in felt couches and a television.

But this was not a home.

With a scratching nail to their neck, the villain moved forward numbly, to the base of the stairs and up them. Beneath their skin, the tracking chip was an awful feeling. Buried just deep beneath that it could not be seen, yet shallow to the point that its presence was unyielding and unignorable. A constant itch, embedded between twitching folds of muscle.

Maybe they could take it out. Maybe with the right kitchen utensil-

Halfway up the stairs, they dropped, keeled over themself with sickly pea soup filling in the space behind their eyes. In an instant, their mind retreated desperately from the thought, or any semblance of it, even as their stomach heaved with the residual ghost of it.

The tracking chip was fine and they didn’t care about it and they wanted it to stay there forever because it wasn’t coming out.

Legs now taking on an appearance that ever so slightly more resembled gelatin, the villain leaned upon the railing, ascending with a considerable additional difficulty up the stairs. In the very brief tour they had been given, their bedroom had been identified as the dark spruce door at the hall’s end.

Moving to it was a struggle on its own, insides still twitching and squelching with the remnants of acute nausea. Yet, their agony was only internal. They made it, and, all the way, kept their mind empty. Thoughts clear.

Not thinking of anything that could make them fall.

The bedroom was a bedroom. A dust-coated vanity. A small attached restroom. A nightstand. A bed.

At the very least, the quilts had some color to them.

Struggling in an attempt not to clutch their own stomach-- an action that they had learned, time and time again, only made the organ flip-- Villain shuffled to the piece of furniture that had been designed for use when they slept. Dust coughed from beneath the covers as they lifted them, crawling under.

Laying down helped, at least in some slight way that may or may not have been a placebo. It meant they could close their eyes. Make unwise thoughts that much less likely to happen.

For a moment, Villain succeeded in blackness. A blank mind. A world unmarred by the horrible jolts within their brain, the firings of neurons, the innate jostling of their frontal cortex.

Yet, it only lasted a moment.

With a jerk, they curled to a fetal position, legs bent and tucked beneath arms. Their body struggled as though weeping, though they had long ago learned not to cry. It was terribly difficult to produce tears, after all, when the metal drew their eyes to unbroken wakefulness.

This was a nightmare. They were certain of it.

That had been their first thought, of course, when the news of their liberation had been shared with them-- after it had been shared with the wider public. Things did not reach their cell very quickly. They had believed it to be a dream, for there was no other possible explanation.

Villains did not deserve freedom. They knew that. Violent little scumbags.

When they had been driven to the house, that was when the orinique connotations in their mind had flipped-- when dream turned to nightmare.

It was their home. Such had been stated clearly, so many times. Upon a thousand channels of media syndication. They had been given the keys, had stared at them for an agonizing moment. Watched them dangle between their fingers.

Hero had practically had to shove them through the doors, and even so, their attempts at escape ceased only after the fourth time they had been reprimanded for them.

Somewhere, something mechanical twitched. Moved. Buzzed. One of the cameras. They knew they were here, obvious, blocky, black eyes. At the very least, they provided some semblance of comfort.

Of home.

Of safety.

Oh, how desperately Villain wanted to go home. Everything had made so much sense there! Was so fantastically, wonderfully simple! If they were placed in their cell, they stayed in their cell. If offered food, they ate. When seated in their chair, they watched.

It was so easy. So invariable. Strict and stringently controlled, as the life of any vile beast who called themself a villain should be. Not a chance they could make a mistake, that they could do anything wrong. Only the slightest opportunities for their mind to slip, their thoughts to wander, to go somewhere bad.

Somewhere that would send them to their hands and knees, heaving and retching.

Food came often, with how difficult it was to keep it down. They’d counted once. Certainly the chefs must have become tired after preparing thirteens meals in a single day. Yet, in the end, they had only managed to fully digest one.

Especially since that was only the day on which they had counted-- it certainly wasn’t notable.

Now, there were no chefs. No cells. No chairs. No screens to watch. Order was gone, and chaos reigned.

Terrible, bloody chaos.

The house was far too large. So many times, Villain had begged for a schedule. For orders. For what they were meant to do-- when to get up, when to go to sleep, what to do inbetween.

Yet, the answers always came the same: A shrug, and four terrible words. “Whatever you want to.”

That which they wanted was not that which should be carried out! They were a villain! A terrible, retched thing! A monster! A devil! Their thoughts deserved no attention, their wants deserved only the click of the IV.

The sickness.

Somehow, despite the inherent maleficence that it most certainly carried with it, an idea manged to work its way through the folds of their brain. A thought. A plan.

A good one. One that did not incite their stomach to heaving.

Certainly, if they laid here, in this bed, then their freedom could not lead to the harm of anyone else. The world would remain safe, regardless of their liberty. And, when the cameras at last noticed, the heroes would be forced to return. To bring them back to the cell and the chair. To return them to where they belonged.

It was perfect-- though that wasn’t to say that anything they created could possibly be good.

Thus, they put the plan into action. Beneath the chains that were covers, upon the chair that was a bed, Villain waited.

Their plan worked for perhaps an hour.

An hour. Then the door was kicked in. This time, that which seized their chest had nothing to do with nausea, nothing to do with conditioning. Everything to do with terror.

Even their wildest dreams, their most optimistic ambitions, did not expect that the heroes would have come so soon. If they had, they would have knocked.

They curled tighter into their fetal position, fingers gripping skin until both turned white. Desperation and willpower, even together, could not stop their mind from tracking the noises as they moved through the house. Through the kitchen. The living room. Up the stairs. To the hallway outside.

Certainly, they would have noticed the lack of dust on the bedroom’s doorknob.

Perhaps it was a member of the public, come to take their righteous revenge. Such would certainly be deserved. Or, perhaps, a wayward hero, disliking the arrangement that had been made. Having decided to take the matter to their own hands. They deserved that, as well.

But, when the voice came, Villain knew that their hopes were as far as could be from the truth.

“Villain?”

Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind don’t think.

Beneath the blanket, they twitched.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Footsteps dashed to the bedside. Hands upon them. There was such a wholehearted relief to the voice, an unimaginable burden relieved.

Yet, such was impossible, as villains did not have hearts.

“We were so worried, so, so worried. You have no idea! Come on, come on.”

A hand, to the top of the blanket.

“There’s about a thousand cameras in here, buddy, so we need to get going. Everyone at base has been so nervous, all day. Ever since we heard... My car’s just outside, we need to go, quick.”

Villain’s only solace was torn away.

“Buddy? What’s wrong?” The voice was practically a whisper. “It’s me. It’s-

Supervillain.”

A blank mind, filled with thoughts.

The initial strike of nausea was enough to make them wail, even as they had no ability to. They hardly remembered getting to their hands and knees, hardly remembered as they began to heave. No. They registered only the horrid, green-and-brown mess that exploded upon the pale white bedspread.

Again, again, a thousand exhausting times, the heaving struck them, until chunky vomit was spilling off the side of the bed, ruining the antique carpeting. It only ceased to spill when their insides were well and truly empty.

That was when they were picked up.

It was a caring, warm hold, tucking them close to the chest of a vile demon. Yet, they had not the slightest ounce of energy to resist. Any muscles not exhausted by fatigue went back to work, heaving and coughing, even as nothing more emerged.

“I’m sorry.” With a broken voice, Supervillain spoke. “I’m so, so sorry. Let’s go back to base, okay? Everything’s going to be okay, I promise, I promise, buddy.”

No.

With evil like this in the world, nothing was even going to be okay again.

#villain whumpee #whump #whumpblr #medical whump #doctor whumper #hero whumper #hero x villain #hero villain whump #whump community

[voidcat]

– a case of bad luck

7. moon upon a stick

m.list ; prev ; next ; wc: 2.2k

warning same as last chapter, desensitizing and losing a touch from reality one by one (both of which i'm trying to write a little open but also vaguely/slowly so the feeling can sink in better as if you are the one experiencing it, but not fully)

a/n: i have to go several months before updating huh,,, last chapter i said we weregetting to the good parts (that i wanted to write bc a scene is what started this whole fic for me) then i jsut... ended this chapter like this...... anyways red knew and still couldnt remember, lets see/hope some of u guess what i meant/hinted at in that small detail by the end&lt;3

Time passes and sleep only becomes a little fruit fly in your eyes. Better to ignore than to try and swat it away, is it worth the effort spent when the inconvenience it presents doesn’t affect the whole of what is happening that greatly?

Maybe you are just a fool for dismissing the importance of sleep.

Well, too late to be worrying about it, or all the other things that you stuck away in the back of the cabinet, shut it to never open again.

Plus, oddly enough, the lack of sleep hasn’t been as much a problem since the incident from few nights ago. One thing to thank the bastard for perhaps, but no, not really, since the problem wouldn’t be present in the first place if he had never dragged you into all of this-

Stopping in your tracks, you take in a breath, then let it out. Breathe in, make sure the belly pokes out and as much oxygen can get in, then push it all out again, make use of the diaphragm, focus on that, and only that, and the taste of the air coursing through your lungs, nothing else but this moment of calm matters now.

Until the horn of a car stabs into the air, and the secure bubble you had around yourself, and drags you back to reality once again. At least being out means sleep, inbetween classes, or ones you deem unnecessary- better if the teacher doesn’t seem to care for anyone attending.

Step after step, your feet carry you to the destination –the route taken beyond familiar, one you can take with eyes closed, senses blocked, even without a conscious present.

Waiting in the same spot, one foot crossing the yellow line, the train passes swiftly, making the other standbys go back a step. Sitting down next to the door and head finally rested against the window, you let out a breath and close your eyes.

The train roars back into life and you can feel each and every trembling of the rails. One earbud in, you press play, the loud music filling your ear soon enough and lulling you to sleep as you watch the world blur from the window across you.

You don’t wake up until the train reaches the last station and startles you.

For all its mess and haste, public transportation has a calming air to it.

A familiarity that grows over within time, never forced down on either sides.

Anyone you meet or come across is like a one time thing. One use only friends, one use only seat mates, one use only air deodorants when it’s actually someone’s overly sprayed perfume for the day.

It feels like a fresh breath of air. It is an escape.

Nothing that happens on here is real. The world passing by from the window isn’t real. It’s but a mere drawn scenery, pastel work, if you were to guess it.

The rumbling of the engine feels like a cheap massage as the sun sets down.

The person next to you that can’t stop shuffling as you stare ahead at the rising sun feels worlds and worlds away.

A pocket dimension of safety, of gathering yourself, to allow yourself to dissipate in safety, to get a little bit of much needed sleep.

Crossing the little space ahead, you wait for the train to take you to the opposite side of the line.

The dark wine in the sky is all you need to know it’s more or less around time to make way back to the house -hopefully in time for dinner, you hope there will be minimal small talk and fake chitchat.

Finding a seat to your liking by the door, you recall how a little ago you’d revise some of your notebooks, just for a little longer. Were it few months ago, you’d probably be stuck in a classroom, studying now.

Maybe it’s to your advantage that, as nosy as they are, your friends don’t seem to care enough to ask about your whereabouts.

A little ‘I’m back.’ And a ‘how were classes today?’ and the clanking of cutlery later, you’re free- as much as you can be.

As the footsteps signal them going to bed, you roam back inside the kitchen, grabbling for the biggest and sharpest knife.

One side of your face meets the cool of the bed, the upwards arm pulls the covers, the one underneath you makes way under the pillow, its grip on the knife ever as tight.

Your new nightly routine.

The nosy footsteps do not come knocking for the night, but this does nothing to ease your nerves.

By the time the new days rises, and your knuckles are turned white from never wavering their hold.

“Let’s try something new for the evening.” Dazai’s voice echoes.

‘Something new’ cannot mean anything good for anyone but him.

Something new means more screams, more wailing, pleas, more weight for the following days.

And you cannot help but think, what an amazing tool human brain is.

How it can adjust to certain situations, adopt to environmental changes, be exposed to something for long enough and it will become the new normal, the default.

Be exposed to violence, or displays of it, even just on screen more and more, there will be not much left to surprise you, the emotions will dull, and in time you will numb.

And yet, the guilt still eats away at you –no, not guilt, but what your logic tries to force on you as it. It is normal to grow used to these more and more, but isn’t this just an excuse you go hide behind after all? No matter how familiar you become with certain things after a chain of events that do not seem too many when you look at it from a certain angle.

No matter how numb, these should be haunting you, screams and cracking of the bones fill your head, your senses, what is left of you.

But the real culprit remains; to be haunted in your dreams, first you need to sleep.

One sheep, two sheep, three sheep and counting…

Four and five and six –they’re all looking.

The sound of the rail tracks rise again, the sheep sit right across again, all in human bodies, all waiting, counting, are they counting me?

“Hey!”

The bubble bursts, the sleepy, snoring ‘baa’s evaporate. Eyes on you, Dazai waits for a response.

“If this-“ you twirl your hand in a shaky motion “is to continue onwards until god knows when, then I want a guarantee to hide my identity.”

The face he makes at the mention of god is one you expected. Yet besides that he looks… indifferent, unaffected, bored out of his mind, like this is some kind of party or an event he was dragged by someone else and the air doesn’t match his vibe.

A series of seconds passing with each blink and staring later, he speaks: “I was hoping you’d have something more interesting to say.” And with it, his left hand moves from where it was hidden under that coat a while ago, turning his back he walks away.

Something interesting, huh? What kind of intriguing behavior he expects that won’t end up with your head bidding farewell to your neck?

That is, if you are to be taken out in a way like that. They always said the mafia had their own style to kill, didn’t they?

The black object clutched in your hand, you don’t spare it a glance, instead shove it down your bag.

For later.

To reminisce about all that will happen in few minutes here, and for all that has happened since you’ve had the unfortunate to survive and meet him.

The night is cold under the pale light of the moon. Not gentle like the sun, it doesn’t burn, it doesn’t cool you down– all it does is to bring out everything right shut behind locked doors and tightly secured jars.

The once a saving grace clouds move away, as if they cannot stay any longer in this wretched city either, and the moon light enters again.

To bring out the worst, the avoided, all that is unnecessary, just to push you down from the shoulders and bury you deep under the cold stale ground.

And for all those feelings that do not exist? The void only becomes more evident.

As if right socks worn for days until your legs take the shape of them, veins reshaped because of them, less and lesser blood being circulated each passing moment–

As if your hands keep going and going but there is no sync, no harmony, you can feel one but can only control the other; until it gets stuck, it hits a rock bottom, until you can no longer feel the keys under your finger tips, arm locked up, unable to breathe–

You are unable to breathe.

Unable to have your heart pump enough blood for every part of you.

Gotta make a sacrifice, you’ve got to compromise, gotta give up a piece, here and there, what will it be?

Doesn’t have to be physical, doesn’t have to be the somatic nervous system, you can always sacrifice something you never had any control over.

There isn’t enough blood traveling to bring every cell oxygen, and there isn’t even enough oxygen– or so it seems, so it feels.

How does it even feel?

Feels hollow, it feels empty, it feels like nothing, like there is a lack of everything in the middle somewhere. It’s the void, it’s a black hole embedded inside your chest, feeding, waiting, watching.

It’s not the only one waiting.

Your cat, once peacefully sleeping besides your arm, gets up in a sudden and jumps off the bad, scratching the door open and leaving.

Her tiny footsteps do n or make enough sound to cover up his.

All those nights have become fruitful then.

But what was it that you were planning any way? Was there even a point to all this?

Just like the previous time, Dazai begins walking around. Picks up something rather light, the sound of the papers flipped sound familiar.

There is no such thing psychoanalysis through unsolved sudoku, right?

He keeps moving, inside the room, inside your head. The room is more of a mess than last time he was there.

Note to self: let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t ‘tsk’ for when he leaves.

Even the very idea of this is funny. You could bet his room conditions are worse then yours, no matter how often you call it a battlefield during the day.

Steps once muffled by the carpet come rising again, he must be by the window, or near the chair now.

Can he see the piece of fabric discarded on the back of it? Stuck somewhere between putting it into a shape or leave it as it is, you chose to ignore what he gave you for the evening.

Would he even laugh if you were to customize it in some way, would he not even bother to roll his eyes – for it was so predictable from the beginning? Will it indicate some sort of acceptance? A sign of accepting this newly found routine, of the role you’re forced upon?

It doesn’t matter what he thinks or what face he will make; the thoughts, he never reveals, the faces, he wears as a mask.

A car passes by the road and lights up the room for a second.

The both of you wait still in your positions.

Maybe he has met Jeff just now.

Jeff by the window, in a pot.

Maybe you shouldn’t be complaining about your conditions when Jeff has lived through the gate that separates life and death– at your hands no less.

Jeff the small cactus by the window, by your desk, by your books, at whichever location you pick for him each day.

Jeff who has died and stayed that way for five years no less and returned just by a slim chance, a trick of fate.

Jeff the twin, the lover, the father- wasn’t that a poem? Or the subjects of a poem, though you cannot recall from where.

Time doesn’t pass, not a noise is heard, not a single breath taken, unsure, uncertain, clueless about what is happening, tired of anything you’re not understanding– is he living, is he moving? What is he looking at? What is he thinking? What is the purpose of all this? Why am I not as worried as I should be?

The hole in your chest deepens, that hallow feeling of emptiness evolves into something worse, something deeper, darker, far more emptier, without a single thing inside– numb wouldn’t even begin to explain it. A black holewould make it sound something bigger than it is, make it seem extravagant.

‘There is a little space inside my heart, where the weeds take root…’

When will it be your turn to be set free?

(When will that hole cease to exist, or be filled, when will it all end and something anew begin?)

The grip loosens on the handle, eyes begin to fall. With a half awake mind, you can make out of a thump crashing onto the bed.

Your mind drifts off before you can react to it in any way. As the vertical route it takes begins, you can feel yourself taking a horizontal route, what little stream of conscious you’ve had already departing away.

songs mentioned/quoted in order: I'm So Tired (Fugazi) & Lotus Flower (Radiohead)

the poem mentioned is 'You Are Jeff' by Richard Siken, from thebook 'Crush'

#a case of bad luck #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #dazai fanfiction #dazai osamu fanfic #dazai x reader #dazai x you

[keanan1501]

Notable swaps: Dream & Tubbo, Fundy & Ranboo, DreamXD & Micheal

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentioned child death, attempted child murder, intrusive thoughts

Short synopsis: Tubbo escapes prison and heads to Logsteadshire to deal with Dream once and for all, instead he finds something intresting in Logsteadshire... or should i say someone? Tubbo swings his sword in a lazy arch, a pleased grin on his face as the sword's enchantments hum under his hand "This is perfect" he breathes, turning to face his three companions with a bright smile "You three did wonderfully! Sam, consider your debt repayed" The creeper hybrid huffs, eyeing Tubbo as if the younger male was nothing but dirt beneath his shoes "Whatever, just don't expect me to come running when that cranky hog starts chasing" Tubbo giggles, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him down, allowing Tubbo to pet Sam like one would pet a dog, the ram hybrid is blissfully ignorant of the creeper hissing in protest "Awe, Sam~ It almost sounds like you care for me~" he coos, and his bright smile transforms into something more sinister "Let Techno come, i escaped his 'unescapeable' prison after all. There's nothing that stupid pig can do that i can't counter"

Sam nods, a short and tight one, before he turns around and takes a few steps away from the group "Also, Tubbo. Keep away from Fundy, or else" Tubbo blinks, tilting his head slightly as Sam walks off, he'd known Fundy had moved in with Sam and Ponk shortly after L'manburg exploded, but for someone like Sam, who had rumors surrounding him about his heartlessness, warming up to the cheeky fox hybrid? That was something he didn't expect, he could feel excitement bubbling inside of him, Fundy was his little spy, and Sam and Ponk were both very powerful people, if his motto wasn't "the higher the risk the better the reward" he would have felt fear, unfortunately for Sam and Ponk, he only sees this as a challenge.

"Tubbo, everything alright?" right, he isn't alone. "I'm fine, just scheming" Tubbo shrugs Purpled's concern off, and smiles at Tommy, who is looking at him like he hung the moon and stars just for the blond, maybe he had, the white streak in Tommy's hair certainly proved he had. A small chuckle escapes his lips as he thought back to his now dead ally, Quackity, the duck hybrid had given him the revive book, allowing him to bring his two favorite toys back to life after their deaths, both now sporting a white streak amongst their usual brown and blond hair, proudly showing off the fact that they belong to him, that they're his toys, and noone else could ever hope to claim them.

Sure, Wilbur would have protested with every inch of his being if he could hear Tubbo now, but Tommy had accepted it, embraced it even, all he has to do is give Wilbur a nudge in the right direction, and his favorite toy will fall back into place, just like he'd done during exile. And Tubbo knows exactly how to give said first nudge, who better to target than Wilbur's best friend, his emotional support, his other half, his Dream?

Tubbo digs inside of his pocket, taking out a slightly dented but otherwise beautiful and functioning compass, the words "your Wilbur" carved into it with so much care, Tubbo could insult Phantommy in a lot of different ways, but he can't help but compliment the late ghost's designing skills and steady hands. Phantommy had given the compass to Dream, giving a similar one to Wilbur, except Wilbur's was labled with "your Dream" during exile, Tubbo wanted to tear Phantommy a new one right then and there, but he knew better. Phantommy wasn't Tommy, of course the silly ghost would think Wilbur belonged to Dream, he simply made a mistake, Wilbur belonged to Tubbo, not to Dream! So when Dream, Schlatt and Ranboo were attacked by a horde of creepers Tubbo swooped in and stole the compass, giving it to its rightful owner.

"I'm going to give a short visit to everyone's least favorite president" Tubbo announces, clicking the compass shut and stuffing it back into his pocket "Tommy, i trust you can distract Wilbur and Fundy long enough for me to have a pleasant chat with Dream?" the blond nods quickly, and Tubbo affectionately rolls his eyes, Tommy knows his place as Tubbo's toy, but even Tubbo is sometimes suprised by how much Tommy wants to please his "hero". The poor boy hadn't learned a thing in Pogtopia, had he? As soon as someone more powerful comes along Tubbo would drop Tommy like a stone, but until then Tubbo could enjoy soaking in the pure wonder and awe Tommy has for him.

The blond scurries off, and Tubbo turns to Purpled, smirks and winks, which causes the purple-hoodied male to grumble in either disgust or adoration, Tubbo liked to believe it is the latter "Don't forget i left Ranboo at the alter for you!" Tubbo shouts teasingly as he runs off, laughing as he could hear Purpled make fake gagging noises, definitely disgust.

The trek from the prison to Dream's new village... what was it called again? Logsteadshire or something? wasn't long, and Tubbo cringed as the buildings came into view. Sure, the odd mish-mash of dirt, stone, wood and diamond were passable as houses, but Dream never did have the best eye for design. Tubbo was glad Dream let Schlatt, Ranboo, Fundy, Ponk and Techno do most of the rebuilding for L'manburg, Blood God knows what Tubbo would have done if that stupid country was filled with Dream's odd shacks.

He wasn't here to bash on Dream, he was here to get his armor and weapons back, most notablely his sword "Wasp's Stinger" otherwise known as one of, if not the, most powerful weapon in his land. The dry sand crunches under his feet as he walks confidently across the sand, he could see Eret's kid, Junior, peeking out of one of the holes in the second biggest dirt shack, which must mean that Dream lives in the biggest shack.

Tubbo throws the door open with reckless abandon, walking in to the space like one would walk into their own house, he knows Dream isn't home yet, a good predator waits for their prey after all. He plops down on the couch, his ram ears perking up as the couch lets out a creaking noise, he can't help but wonder if the couch is older than him.

Then he freezes as hurried footsteps thunder down the stairs. Had he been wrong? Is Dream home? Is someone else here to housesit?

"Daddy! Daddy! Look!" Tubbo relaxes as a young ocelot hybrid comes around the corner, the kid couldn't be older then three, which means there is no threat. The kid is beaming, eyes screwed shut and a large droopy smile on their face as the kid proudly holds up a drawing containing four stick figures.

"I'm not your dad, kid" Tubbo chuckles "Sorry to disappoint you" the kid gasps and their round big cat ears pin back, their green eyes wide with both curiosity and fear. Tubbo blinks, and suddenly the ocelot hybrid is gone, and in their place is a ziglin, looking at him like Tubbo was the savior of the world, back then it had felt nice to have someone depend on him, now? It fills his chest with a burning emotion he can't quite place, a mix between grief, anger, confusion and betrayal. Michael can't look at him anymore, so why is he still looking at Micheal?

"Come sit kid, i won't hurt you" Tubbo pats the seat next to him, kids tended to overshare, he was going to use the kid to get some info on Dream, that was all, he wasn't being nice because the kid reminds him of Micheal, he's just being tactical. The kid slowly shuffles over, clutching the drawing like a lifeline, once the kid decides they're close enough he stops, and Tubbo leans forewards to inspect the drawing.

For a three year old he had to give the kid props, the lines looked good and he could make out who was who. Dream and Fundy are standing close together, the kid inbetween them, Wilbur is off to the side, but just like the three in the foreground the kid had drawn him with the biggest smile.

"Who did you draw?" Tubbo asks, looking at the kid with a genuinely curious expression, the kid glows at the question, and points to each stick figure in turn "That's my papa Dre! That's my daddy Funwy! And un'le Wilby! And me!" Tubbo nods, a small smile on his face, so what if the kid reminds him of Michael, noone would get hurt if he entertains the kid for a bit, right?

"Owl?" the kid asks, poking Tubbo in the leg and Tubbo chuckles "I'm not a owl, i'm a ram" he helpfully informs the kid, who pouts in response "Owl?" the kid asks again "You want to go see Wilbur?" Tubbo asks back, knowing Wilbur's wings were often compared to those of a owl, but the kid shakes their head, grabs a book, and flips through the pages. The kid holds up the book and presses it against Tubbo's face "Owl?" Tubbo backs away a bit so he can read the words on the page, it's a classic toddlers book, going over different animal sounds, and a lightbulb turns on in Tubbo's head "Are you asking me who i am?"

The kid nods, gleeful that Tubbo finally understands "I'm Tubbo, can you try saying my name?" Tubbo crouches next to the kid, gently grabbing the kid's hand and writes each letter of his name on the kid's palm, as the kid reads them out loud "T-u-b-b-o" a second of silence "T'bbi!" the kid cries victoriously, and Tubbo just puts his arms up in celebration with the kid, not having the heart to correct them.

"T'bbi, out?" the kid asks, looking at him with the biggest puppy eyes Tubbo's ever seen, how does this kid know his one weakness? Tubbo signs but smiles, opening the door, the kid rushes out and throws themself into the sand, letting out a screech of excitement "Daddy and papa do not let me out!" the kid babbles, making sand hills with such vigor that Tubbo can't help but admire the kid.

Would Micheal be like that if he'd hadn't...? His hand twitches. It was Dream's fault. The handle of his sword felt cold against his hand. He could get revenge. He takes a step forewards, his sword hanging limply by his side, when did he take it out of the scabbard? He could make Dream feel the same pain, the same dark spiral that he went through. His eyes flicker across the kid's body, quickly finding every weak point that would ensure a quick and painless death. He wasn't heartless, he wouldn't let the kid suffer. He puts his hand on the kid's cheek, the kid leans in to the touch, leaving their neck vulnerable. He wasn't a monster like Dream, he wouldn't leave the kid to bleed out, scared and alone.

He snaps from his thoughts as he feels  something rumble beneath his hand, his ears face towards the kid, flicking whenever he could pick up on the faint sound of purring. Tubbo quickly sheaths his sword, noone deserves to go through the loss of a child, not even his greatest enemy. He lets out a sigh and pats the kid on the head, the kid purring even louder.

His ears flick backwards, and he realizes someone is approaching, probably either Fundy or Dream, and as much as he wanted to stick around and taunt the two, the ocelot kid was too young to get wrapped up in their silly game of chess. "Hey kid? I have to go" the kid whines as Tubbo pulls his hand back, short stubby arms reach out to his hand, trying to grab hold of it, but Tubbo is faster, he jumps up and silently runs to the other side of house that the approaching person is coming from. He could hear the kid yell "Daddy!" loudly, the kid's feet kick up sand as they run towards Fundy, the fox hybrid's orange hair standing out against the pale sand "XD?!" Fundy asks, worry coating his tone like Tubbo coats things he likes with honey "How did you get outside?! Is Dream here?!"

"T'bbi!" the kid answers simply, and Tubbo could almost see the fear rolling off of Fundy in waves "Y-you aren't try-ing to say Tubbo, are you?" the kid doesn't answer verbally, but from Fundy's sharp intake of breath he could tell the kid confirmed Fundy's words.

"Tubbo?! I know you're here! I'm calling Techno!" Fundy barks, and Tubbo peeks around the corner to see Fundy typing something on his communicator. With a ease that clearly shows he's done this many times before Tubbo pulls out a bow & arrow and shoots, the arrow goes straight through Fundy's communicator, breaking it, leaving Fundy with no way to call for help, and judging by Fundy's startled yip, the fox knows it. Tubbo steps out in the open, and the kid reaches towards him with a delighted cry "T'bbi!" Fundy grabs the kid's arm and pulls them close, baring his teeth at Tubbo. The ram hybrid just smiles and walks towards them, hand already on his most dangerous weapon of all, eyes unmoving from Fundy's stone-still form. Tubbo whips out his most dangerous weapon and fires, Fundy letting out a screech as he's assaulted by twin streams of thick honey. Tubbo knew repurposing those water guns into honey guns was  a genius idea, he can't believe Sam doubted him.

"What?! Why?!" Fundy groans, trying to brush the sticky liquid out of his coat, but only succeeding in smearing it out more "Because, you and me, we're friends Fundy, best friends even!" Tubbo replies, walking past Fundy like he didn't just doom the poor fox to being a bee attraction for the next week "We're not friends!" Fundy snaps back, and Tubbo turns to face him, blue-green eyes almost seeming to glow in the light of dusk

"If we weren't friends, why would you help me so much? Blowing up the community house, spying on important events, guarding Wilbur's music disc, setting off the TNT trapping Wilbur in prison. All of those things are things that you did, things i asked you to do"

#dream smp au #dream smp #dsmp au #tubbo #fundy #dreamxd #swap au

[hopeassassin]

Rally’s Scribbles in the Work

So after that lovely anon blew my mind away with their kind words and wonderful support, and because I keep telling you guys about my writing plans without actually giving you even a teensy little detail, I have decided to stop being coy and actually likely get your hopes up a bit by dilvulging small details and bits of plots of what is currently going on in my G-Drive. 

This will be a brief recount of what I have currently baking in the AoMomo oven, so let’s dive right into it! Please note that the numbers are in no particular order - I just keep revisiting each of these stories and writing a bit more to them whenever I feel like it. So there’s no ranking and no importance, just a number to keep proper count.

1. “Knight of Renown” Dragons and Knighthood AU, based on that one AoMomo pic with Momo ithe Knight and Dragon Aomine that I reblogged a while back and I actually let me imagination go a bit too much in the tags. I ended up actually rather enjoying the premise I set up in the tags so I actually started writing that one out!  Completion rate at about: 5%? I’d say? Less? :D 

2. AoMomo Music AU - a dearly beloved project that I am pouring a lot of love and attentioin to. That’s why it’s coming along super slow. It’s been in the making since November and I chewed it and mulled through it so thoroughly that I’ve grinded to a halt with it. Intending for there to be 2 chapters, and I am at about 25-30% of chapter 1 currently ready currently. At the pace I’m going, it might be another full year before you actually get to see this bad boy up, but when you do, I’m sure you’ll see all the care and effort that went into making it perfect. Honestly, no joke here, I am intending for this to be one of my rare masterpieces in this tag. So I’m not gonna rush it!

3. AoMomo Car Accident AU where Daiki barely manages to save Satsuki from being run over by a hit-and-run and ends up being the one run over instead. This was my first piece of writing after coming back to AoMomo last summer and yet completion rate is a sad thing. I want it to be flawless, a perfectly agonizing, thrilling type of torturous read that gives you a great sense of relief by the end of it. Needless to say, the clusterfuck of negative feelings is a bit difficult to hold onto for a prolonged period of time and the work is coming along slowly. Planned at about 5 chapters, I have 2 complete ones and the 3rd one is at about ... 30%? Hopefully before this year’s whumptober, we’ll have a finished piece!

4. AoMomo bond character study, which went in a direction I did NOT expect nor intend. It was suppsoed to be an idea that you will see also listed below. But I started this one from their early childhood and somehow, instead of focusing on the kids and their bond and their weird interactions with each other and their first moments of realizing they are of opposite genders, it turned into something much too fun to let go of and the ideas for scenes just kept piling. It’s going to be a long one, very explorative and very in-depth character study on the bond between these two and how it changed over the years, and their first encounters with their sexuality inbetween (because that was really the main idea that I started with... xDDD;;;) Currently at 1 chapter complete, chapter 2 somewhere around 50-60% completion, and at least 6-7 chapters to come after that, soooo.... :’DDDD YEAH. THIS ONE AIN’T SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY ANYTIME SOON.

5. AoMomo deciding to practice stuff on each other, because I am a sucker for this trope.THIS will be what the idea under previous number 4 was SUPPOSED to be like, but it instead spun out of control. So this one, under number 5, is going to be the smutty, idiots bumbling through physicality to discover that they actually have serious feelings for each other kind of piece. Chapters are planned at about at least 6-7 or so, but not my usual monstrocities! :D First we start with practice kissing, and we move our way up from there! 

6. “The Evil of Humanity” AU - a dystopian futuristic kinda mecha AU, sort of an amalgamation of some of my favourite anime in the genre - a bit of NGE, a bit of Gurren-Lagann, a lot of Darling in the Franxx rewrite and improvement, in distinctly AoMomo colors. I poured a lot of thought and love into initial outline of main moments for this one, and I really hope to make it an epic, thrilling action/adventure with a big dash of romance kind of read! Chapters currently not even planned properly, because I need to sit down and consider this seriously. It will definitely be more than 10-15 though, and they will be my usual chapter lengths so.... likely no time soon. :D 

7. Aomine Fanclub - I got a plot bunny some time ago and I shared it here and my friends were spurring me on with it, so I started trying it out a little more. I’ve written out like... maybe 30% of this one as well, but need to re-read and reconceptualize to get it back on track. The issue with this one is that I’m not really sure where I want to take it, thus it’s on the back burner at the moment.

8. KagaKuro AoMomo double-date kind of story, where Aomine is asking some curious questions of Taiga about going to America and pondering if any of his immediate friends know what Satsuki wants to do with her life. I’m really invested in this one but haven’t started properly writing it out yet beyond just sketching out the idea so I don’t forget it. (I’d say 1% complete here.) Really looking forward to using the idea of Kagami being super impressed with AoMomo perfect sync when playing as a team in arcade games!

9.Laws of Attraction Chapter 2 - You might be surprised at this, but I’m actually super invested in this one. Likely the reason why I am delaying so much working on it - I feel like all my great scene ideas are just too chaotic and I have a hard time starting the chapter flowing properly. I had like 4-5 false starts already and I’m feeling a bit skittish with picking it up. But I have such AMAZING concepts on where to take it after it revvs up the engine, so... Maybe sometime this year! Completion rate: 0% written, but at least about 30% ideas built up for the installment!

10. AoMomo college rooming together story - sort of an expansion on my fill for one of the prompts way back those years ago in AoMomo week. I really dig the concept and the trope of sharing spaces with someone you consider nothing more than a friend and then gradually learning to appreciate each other for something so much more. I am definitely doing this one some day, but not anytime soon, likely.

11. A random idea bit me the other day (read: a month ago) and I actually wrote out like... maybe 25% of it already as well. A random comment from Wakamatsu miffs Satsuki but then she realizes why he’s asking dumb questions and she comes to realize that something is wrong with the equation: either Dai-chan likes someone really close to them and she hasn’t realized, which is unlikely, or Dai-chan likes HER and is super blase about it in a way that betrays his feelings not at all, which is even more unlikely. Being a curious  individual, she sets out to find which it is! Some hilarity should ensue but mostly just some mess-with-Dai-chan fun!

12. Touou summer training camp at the sea - progress is practically 0, I wanted to write a summery piece and set my mind on this, but nothing beyond has come to me, so I’m not forcing it.

13. AoMomo cultural festival fic in second year of high school (meaning something approx end of Oct -> beginning of Nov.) with Daiki being in a distinctly Haruhu Suzumiya role at that festival (has anyone even seen this anime? I adored that episode to freaking bits, man, it’s engraved upon my soul) and singing Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” and one more song just like Haruhi did. And Satsuki just beholding the phenomenon he becomes in no time flat while he lays bare his passion for life for all the student body to see. Shippiness will happen in private afterwards!

14. You Can Leave Your Hat On Chapter 2 - Probably like 2-3 years ago while I was still in the damn woodwork and wrestling with real life and adulting being crap, I remembered this AU premise and I got super hyped on the idea of Club Owner Dai-chan being a flirt with innocent Satsuki who got dragged to his joined and fell in love at first sight with his shenanigans. I’ve already played around for like 7k words with the second chapter of this but I’m still not where I want to be at, so it will take a while longer to flesh it out.

15. Idol Worship - a story that I promised my mate aricana some 6 years ago the premise for which I am super hyped for but not quite engaging with it yet. The idea was that Momoi finally starts gettiing the dates she has been pesting Kuroko for for years, and Daiki feeling terrible about beholding that, whilst Kise is being pestered by Horikita Mai for a date and instead ditches her with Daiki because he knows his former Teikou classmate is a huge fan of her. Mai-chan isn’t particularly happy but somehow ends up enjoying her time with Daiki and starts considering actually pursuing him instead of Kise when she sees what an interesting soul he is, with the torch that he’s carrying for some girl in his life he doesn’t really talk about but is evident from the little things he drops off as hits. AoMomo shenanigans will start to ensue properly when Satsuki realizes that Daiki is actually having a close female friend who is not her but is Horikita Mai instead, Dai-chan’s perfect woman, practically. She doesn’t take well to the news and has to grapple with why that is! And what to do with these newfound frustrating emotions!

16. Obstruction of Justice Chapter 3 - MAYBE SOME DAY, I WILL GET TO WRITING THIS. Last summer I inteded to do just that but instead, Wild Side of Justice was born. And it became a spin off of sorts on its own. ORZ. I WILL FINISH THIS SOME DAY, I do have some plans for it and I do have the desire to pursue them. I just need to be in the right headspace for it ahsjkfhkjaf

17. A PWP story of Kagami arriving early for a practice match at Touou and somehow walking in on AoMomo getting busy with each other in very unexpected and explicit ways that Kagami did not see headed his way. Because, we need more PWP in this fandom, honestly.

18. And since we DO need more PWP, recently when checking the 30 lemons community on LJ (shut up, I’m not ancient, YOU’RE ANCIENT) I was wondering how exactly a smut plot around the “Taken by the Faceless Stranger” could work for Aomomo and I came up with this Masquerade ball that they end up both attending because of their friends and meeting each other and hitting off fantastically just chatting the night and then banging in a niche in the long castle-like premise of the ball. :’DDDD Cuz it’s me and if I don’t have something like that in the works, you know i’m likely sick.

ALL OF THESE I am planning on eventually finishing one day. ONE DAY!

For now they are in various states of completion and in various stages of being cared for and improved on with more ideas added and fleshed out.

I am not joking when I say I am very invested in this fandom. I just have difficulty getting to writing out these ideas when I spend like 60% of my free time playing my mobile games. :D 

So there you have it. I didn’t want to say anything about these because 1) I don’t want to get your hopes up. You Can Leave Your Hat On 2, for one, has been in the making for 3 years, very on-again-off-again kind of way, and I just... can’t do that to you guys. I have decided against posting any incomplete fics so I don’t torture you guys and my muse doesn’t abandom me forever for them. So when something is complete, it gets posted promptly for your viewing pleasure!

And 2) If I divulge too much of the story, I feel like my hype of it may disappear completely. Ehh, my muse is a willful creature, what can I tell you... 

So let’s hope at least SOME of these get to see the light of day soon!

#my scribbles #here you have it #a rather complete list of incomplete AoMomo stuff I'd say #Rally's works in the making #tagged as: #AoMomo #because it's all AoMomo #sorry for spamming the main tag with nonsense #Kuroko no Basuke #will I ever finish any and all of these? #here's to hoping! #a little bit insider info from the kitchen #fanfiction #writing

[thejamesoldier]

A Single Frayed Rope

AO3 Link

Chapter 3

A/N: sorry for such a long gap between uploads, i’ve made this chapter extra long as an apology! with the pandemic and having to figure out a stable financial situation, its been super rough for me, but coming back to write this fic made me feel good for the first time in a long time :) I hope you enjoy!! xx

Chapter 4 - Horseshoe Overlook II

First order of business is to wash.

You've never been so soiled in your entire life, and you're pretty sure your stench could be picked up at least a mile off if the burn in your own nose whenever you take a breath is anything to go by. There are a million things you want to focus on besides bathing -- like finally getting some decent fucking hours of rest, but you work to pace yourself and not give in to the scattered anarchy your brain keeps descending into whenever you let it go blank for too long. Breaking off small pieces of a larger horror is the only way you're keeping yourself sane at the moment. The previous hold you had on your impulses is frayed down to nothing now that the ropes are gone and you have the freedom to do things as simple as itch your nose. It makes you twitchy, off-kilter in a way that sometimes yanks you out of your own mind. It's like pushing with all your might against a wall of stone that suddenly turns to air. It's a reaction you weren't expecting, and its exhausting.

One of the girls -- or women you should say, volunteers to take you down to a river near by to wash. Freckles. Pinned curls. Kind. Mary-Beth, your memory supplies as she leads you to a secluded spot away from what she warned was a more heavily traversed part of the bank.

You say nothing on the hike down the hill the gang has mounted itself atop of, though Mary-Beth doesn't attempt much conservation. Arthur, who at first had out right refused to let Mary-Beth go anywhere unescorted with a 'wild crazy woman', eventually relented after receiving a firm but undecipherable look from Hosea. It was an effort on your part to care even a little, all you wanted was to fucking clean yourself, rebuffing the disrespect of a man who had no high-horse to give any sort of morality speeches from was the least of your concerns.

"Watch your step here, the ground's a little loose," Mary-Beth warns as she lifts the front of her dress up a respectable amount in order to see where to place her feet.

Again you say nothing, only follow her example and lift the filthy hem of your own skirt and try to walk in her footprints across the patch of mud. You hug your change of clothes tighter to your side (those of which were donated by Mary-Beth this time) with your other hand as you both slowly make your way out of the slippery vat, and onto a shore of grey pebbles. Thick green growth encases you two in a private alcove where the river branches off in a tame half-circle detour before rejoining its main body down stream. The sound of the bubbling water, birds chirping in the canopy above you, and the sun splintering through gossamer emerald leaves would have made you smile in any other circumstance. Nature this untouched is rare and beautiful yet you can't find it in yourself to care, there is no room in you to feel joy right now. It's all instinct and survival, you feel so...rabid. Maybe feral is a better word for it. You simply don't feel all that in control of yourself, like if something unexpected were to happen, you'd react like a wild animal -- fight or flight and nothing inbetween.

In all honesty you feel a bit crazy. There is this buzz in your brain that peaks when you're nervous but never quite dies back down when you're not, it only returns to this constant unnerving hum that's begun to reveal itself as an opposing force to your effort towards a clear present mind.

"Um, Miss?"

It underlies everything you do, like you're getting constant shots of adrenaline every minute. This excess energy burns like poison in your veins and you know it'll sicken you eventually, but even if you wanted it to stop, you wouldn't know how to turn it off.

"Miss? Are, are you okay?"

It's a sign you're spiraling but hell if you have any mental space to pick at that particular ball of yarn on top of everything else. And holy fucking hell I time traveled --

"Y/n?" Mary-Beth's voice echoes a little over the noise of your turmoil, and you find yourself unsure if you turned to face her too fast or too slow as your vision swims.

Time violently warps then and you're grasp on sanity in turn takes a sharp slip -- the world is suddenly tipping itself upside down and you're falling, falling, falling...

You try to remember how to breathe because suddenly you can't.

"Wait," The word wheezes itself from your lungs as your mouth opens and closes in attempt to slog air down your throat, "Wait,"

Mary-Beth pales and you know you're scaring her, and if you could you would try to reassure her that you're fine but you honestly can't remember how to speak --

"Wait!"

-- so you continue to stand there and shake, repeating a sound that tastes like a word but you're not sure --

"Wait! Wait!"

Mary-Beth stands there another beat before making a run for it. She sprints by you the way you both came, and the second you're alone you collapse to the ground, knees digging into the pebble shore through the soiled fabric of your dress, fresh change of clothes forgotten as both of your hands start to claw at your throat, trying to breath -- why can't I breathe ?!

"Wait!"

As you gasp and hyperventilate, struggling to remember where you are and how you got here, it dawns on you that what you feel crawling under your skin and suffocating your throat is panic. You're...you're panicking. You thought you were taking this nightmare one horrible bite at a time why -- where did this tsunami wave of panic come from? You were doing so well holding it back, holding on, why --

Firm hands are suddenly gripping your shoulders and it takes you too long to realize that there is a small group of people standing around you, above you, closing you in, trapping you -- you're trapped who are they what do they want ?!

Your vision blacks out though you can still feel things, still hear things though it comes to you in disconnected pieces, out of order.

"WAIT!" You cry into the black, voice hoarse and broken as you try to breathe around the sound that won't stop coming from your mouth, your face feels wet, "WAIT!"

--

Kieran was shaken when Mary-Beth -- a complete worried mess -- discreetly came up to him at camp, whispering about Y/n being unwell by the river. And now as he slips through a patch of mud before forcefully parting thick shrubs into a small alcove, he sees her kneeling on the ground, hands at her own neck, struggling to breathe. Kieran's heart plummets down to drop out of the bottom of his feet.

"Y/n?!" He goes to his knees in front of her and grabs her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Mary-Beth keeps her distance, covering her quivering mouth at the scene.

"WAIT!" Y/n yells, though it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper then a scream.

"Y/n! It's me! It's -- it's Kieran! You remember me?"

"What do you all want?! Who are you?! Why are there so many of you?!"

Kieran and Mary-Beth exchange a look, its only the two of them in the clearing. No one followed them down.

"Th-there's no one else but Mary-Beth an' me, see look! Just me right here in front of you -- there you go, see its just me, you see me? Then look, behind me, right there, see Mary-Beth?" Kieran coaxes gently, watching the logic he's laying out for her slowly collect the mania that scattered the sense in her eyes.

--

Realization dawns on you at the same time your sight returns. You let Kieran carefully take a hold of your wrists and pull them away from the red abused skin of your neck. You let him ground you, you let yourself acknowledge sensation one piece at a time: the pain in your knees from the pebbles digging in, the ache in your head, the raw skin of your back, the dryness of your throat, the burn in your tearducts -- and suddenly, before you can bottleneck it into a trickle, the whole world comes rushing in on you at once.

The smell of moist dirt, the sound of running water, the warmth of the sun, the caress of the wind against your wet cheeks, the privacy provided by all the surrounding vegetation. But even with all this reality, the figures remain. You're scared to look up, scared to stare at anything but their feet. Kieran's voice is getting more desperate though, you have to look up -- have to let him see you're recovering. With a shaky in take of breath you raise your gaze so it lands squarely on Kieran. In your peripherals these...figures, don't do anything but stand there. In fact they don't speak, don't move, don't even look like they're breathing. As Kieran fusses over you, his voice slightly muted as the ringing in your ears refuses to recede completely, you chance a glance over his left shoulder. As soon as you shift your eyes over to the figures they disappear, or more like blur, like its a trick of the light. You can still see them in your peripherals, just not the ones you're trying to look at directly. You slide your eyes back to Kieran, and notice that the figures you just tried to look at reappear.

Your breath struggles to find a comfortable rhythm as this new horror piles onto your fresh panic. Have you lost your mind? Is this part of time traveling? God, like time traveling wasn't enough to stop your heart, now you see ghosts?  

"Breathe, you're breathing that's good -- in through the nose out through the mouth, that's it," Kieran instructs, attempting to not to let you look away from him again, his hands gentle where they cup the outsides of your arms helping to dictate the pace in which your shoulders rise and fall.

You let out a shuttering breath and watch Kieran's own chest fill and empty, trying your best to match his movements. Eventually you do manage to wrangle your palpitating heart back down to a normal rhythm, and with this steadier beat comes your sense. The figures remain, though once you close your eyes to take one last large inhale to truly settle yourself, they're gone when your lashes lift again. Your hands are clutching the outsides of Kieran's forearms and you release them instantly, as if burned. A flush of embarrassment rises up to lick at the skin of your neck, it heats up your collar as you try to give Kieran a reassuring smile that ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. Kieran's face, previously pinched tight with worry, relaxes though so you figure you calmed him enough. The guilt hits you like a sledgehammer when you catch sight of Mary-Beth over Kieran's shoulder standing a few steps away, looking for all the world like she'd seen a ghost.

You wonder if that's what you looked like when you first saw the figures. You hope it was less alarming, though you figure having a full blown panic attack negated any possibility of that.  

"Y/n?" Kieran says softly, hands no longer touching you but still hovering just in case. The guilt guts you again.

"I'm fine," You murmur through a tight throat. At the doubtful look Kieran gives you, you add, "Now, I'm fine now."

You shift your gaze back to Mary-Beth and feel your cheeks heat at the realization that at your most vulnerable you were watched, made a spectacle.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, I-I didn't mean to, I, I haven't ever -- that's never happened to me before," Comes your wobbly explanation, all heart and no thought.

Mary-Beth hesitates a beat, taking a visible gulp to steady herself, before making her way closer only to kneel down beside Kieran in front of you. You flinch at the proximity, shame weighing your head down so much it lowers.

"I was only worried is all, didn't know what to do to help," She starts, voice shaky but kind, always kind, "I'm glad I went to get Kieran."

"Thank you, it -- I'm grateful for your, um, discretion."

"Sure thing, Miss," Mary-Beth nods, a soft smile lifting one corner of her mouth.

"Y/n, you can call me Y/n."

"Okay," She says with a breathy laugh, still a little shaken but being incredibly generous about it as she attempts to hide it.

There's a pause where you knot your fingers together, gathering the courage to face Kieran.

"Thank you Kieran, I --,"

"No thanks necessary," Your face jerks up at him at his words, his face goes soft at your surprise, "My Ma used to...worry, like that, after my Pa died."

"O-Oh." You mumble, utterly overwhelmed but you're not sure by what.

Silence throbs between you three for another moment before a twig cracking in the distance snaps all three of you out of your shared stillness.

'I-I best get cleaned up or the whole gang will think I murdered Mary-Beth," A nervous laugh catches in your throat, the muscle and delicate skin over it sore and red from all the scratching you did to it.

"Right," Kieran says, remaining kneeling with you as Mary-Beth rises to a stand.

You stare at Kieran for a moment, waiting for him to process what you said.

"Right!" Kieran's voice cracks as it finally sinks in and in a mad scramble that makes Mary-Beth giggle, he makes his way back through the brush leading back to camp.

He slips in the bit of mud on his way out of the alcove and this time, you join Mary-Beth in a timid laugh at Kieran's expense.

--

After washing yourself with a bar of crudely made soap Mary-Beth provided you, you slip into your shift and frock trying not to shiver. It takes you so long to figure out how to tie yourself in, guessing what layer goes under what, that Mary-Beth -- who had washed and dressed too -- approaches you to help.

"Still feeling...worried?" Mary-Beth uses the same term Kieran did when describing your panic attack as she steps up behind you to tie the strings of your skirt properly. You're grateful she attributes your lack of knowledge on how to properly dress in these period clothes to you still being a bit unsettled.

I mean you still feel quite shaken, but you have your nerves under control -- steady.

"I'm much better now, thank you," You assure as she gently turns you around to then adjust the frilly collar of the blouse that's been lent to you, "Thank you Mary-Beth, for everything."

She slows her ministrations for a moment and lets her gaze drops to yours, the weariness that sat in her eyes earlier fully evaporates, like mist under the high noon sun.

"You're a good woman, I think, at least no worse than the sort I'm familiar with. We shall be friends, Y/n."

"Okay," You allow, unsure what else you could say to that, though the sentiment does lighten the weight in your chest a little.

You guess she's okay to trust at least on some level, she was the one who regularly fed Kieran and you when you were still considered prisoners. Never tossed curses or insults at you either.

"Come," She urges as you both collect your soiled garments off the ground, "Let me introduce you to the other ladies, I promise they're much kinder than you might be expecting. Even the men, though a bit rough I admit, are mindful of us at the very least and quite sweet at their best."

You doubt you'll ever see them that way, in fact you'd bet your life on it, but you keep that to yourself as Mary-Beth leads you both out of the alcove and back up to camp.  

--

The other women aren't too bad.

Tilly is young and sparky, Karen is loud and lonely, Abigail is protective and torn, Susan is stubborn and proud, Molly is insecure and loyal, and Sadie is broken and hard. You match your personal interactions with them, with the impressions you had of them while tied up, reminding yourself to never forget everything they did or said to you while you were the enemy. They take to you easily enough you suppose, though Sadie keeps to herself and Susan -- or you should say Grimshaw, believes herself a level above them all. Not unlike Molly who hadn't even spared you a glance from the perch she'd claimed in Dutch's tent planted in the center of camp. Mary-Beth seems closest with Tilly, Karen, and Abigail, absolutely determined to pull you into their tight knit group and brush off any doubts they had about you being an O'Driscoll whore. You allowed her to do this but only to an extent and only out of respect for Mary-Beth, you didn't trust them -- barely trusted them to be civil like they are being now. In the end it was Kieran who you felt safest with, felt like you could really breathe around. The only ally you had in this place -- an equal.

You seek him out once the sun starts to set after kindly refusing Mary-Beth who offered a place for you to rest with the other women. Kieran is with the horses, though he's got his eyes on the tree line opposite of where he stands. With a twang of worry at how focused he is, you follow his line of sight but only see tree trunks and shadows cast by the setting sun.

"Kieran?" You call tentatively as you walk up to him. He jumps, completely startled, and whips around to face you.

"Oh! Y/n I, I didn't hear you,"

Your eyebrows knit at his expression, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I was just, uh, waiting for something."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"Well, my - my horse, Branwen, she's -- well she's quite a loyal girl. Found me at Colter she did and followed us down from the mountains, saw her when we was walkin' behind the wagon. She hasn't had the nerve to approach the camp, what with all the noise and the unfamiliar herd of horses millin' about."

"I didn't know horses were that loyal," You say in quiet astonishment, you always thought that kind of stuff only happened in those cheesy horse flicks.

"Oh yes! If you treat them right and earn their trust and respect, they'll do almost anything for ya."

Your eyebrows jump lazily at this, "Go figure."

"What?" Kieran asks, confused at the term.

"Uh nevermind, so, have you a found a place to sleep?"

"Sleep?" His throat sounds dry all of a sudden.

You stay silent, waiting patiently for a response, wondering why he's become so skittish. He licks his lips, maybe a nervous habit, and can't seem to look you in eye.

"Well, yes I have, but surely Mary-Beth has found you somewhere suitable."

"I don't trust any of them to not kill me in my sleep."

Kieran backs up a step as if you'd struck him, "Mary-Beth wouldn't --,"

A harsh huff blows from your lips.

"No she wouldn't. I, I don't feel like I could sleep among so many...strangers." Comes your quiet admission.

Kieran observes your face for a moment, really takes in your expression.

"I know how you feel," He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, "How about you sleep while I watch?"

Your head snaps up and you eye him with potent suspicion, but before you can comment or become truly alarmed Kieran trips over himself to clarify.

"N-Not watch you! Not like that! Christ alive no, m-more like watch your back -- stand guard, that way you can sleep without havin' to worry."

Something very close to amused fondness rolls through your chest and clears out any doubts on Kieran's intentions. A giggle escapes your lips at how flustered he is at the notion of what you'd initially thought he meant.

"How about we take turns, I sleep for half the night, and then you for the rest? That way we both get sleep without having to freak out."

Kieran looks like he's about to argue, but he watches you place your hands on your hips very very deliberately, and relents with a sigh.

"Oh alright, but I have first watch!"

You break out a triumphant smile, a real one, and give his left shoulder a friendly punch.

"Deal!" You confirm.

Kieran rubs at the place where you punched him, a bit confused at the gesture but still finds himself laughing with you.

It turns out Kieran picked a sleeping spot near the outskirts of camp behind one of the wagons far from where anyone would disturb you. Some sort of campfire set up for whoever was on guard duty sits a couple paces away. The fact that there was a twenty-four hour patrol routine frayed on your nerves more than you wanted it to. It reminded you that these people were hunted, that if something were to happen you'd be caught up in it as well, even be killed because of it. The idea of dying for these people made you sick, but you never let yourself think about it too long or your anxiety rose to dangerous levels.

As you settle down on the bed of hay that serves as your bed, Kieran plops down cross legged behind you.

He gives a weary sounding sigh, "You know folk'll talk, with us sharing the same sleeping space an all. You sure you want to deal with that?"

You twist around, finding yourself staring at Kieran's hunched back as he picks at the grass near his ankles.

"I don't care what these people think of me. They can say whatever the fuck they want," Kieran jumps a bit when you curse, "I trust you, I only care what they say if you care Kieran."

A pregnant pause grows between you two then, something cold twinges in your chest.  

"Do you? Care?"

"I care only for what might be said about you, I know you say it don't matter, but we're already hated. The women at least seem to like you, you -- you could be one of them, be part of the gang I mean."

You sit up and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder, gently urging him to turn to face you.

"Kieran you have been my only ally since all this started, I could care less about being part of this," You wave your hand vaguely to the camp.

"Well you should care, what other option do we have? We know too much about them, we can't ever leave. You understand that don't you?"

Your face begins to drain of blood. For some reason you hadn't thought of it like that. These people weren't just hunted, but they hunted as well. You knew their faces, could identify them if asked to. You knew their names, their habits, their whereabouts. They'd never let you leave this gang, not alive.

"Oh my god," You say in quiet horror.

Kieran notices this but remains silent, sharing your sentiments. The need to travel back to your time becomes even more of a priority than before if that's even possible. You needed to find a way to escape, and hopefully you could help Kieran get free too.

"We'll find a way Kieran, I promise I'll get us out."

Kieran firmly shakes his head, turning back to face forward and away from the determination in your eyes.

"There's no where for me to go even if we did manage to escape without bullets in our backs. I have no money, no trade, no skills."

"You've said you're good with horses!" You try but Kieran only shakes his head again.

"You have to have some sort of reference or be known to be respectable to work at a stable, even one in a town and especially on one of them fancy ranches. Plus I'd wager that by the time we would have the means to escape, our faces'll be plastered up on wanted posters along with the rest of the gang's."

You try not to blanch further at this, not having considered that either.

"We have to try and work our way into this gang Y/n, its either that or die. I know this kinda life, done it before, I know our options and I'm tellin'em to ya now."

Kieran shifts to look at you over his shoulder, his gaze insisting things you don't want to hear.

"It's the only way."

There's a sting in your eye that you swiftly ignore by blinking hard against the feeling. Your breath shutters out through your nose, and without another word you lie back down. Kieran watches you do this, his mouth parting as if to speak but he shuts it and turns back around. Silence reigns once more, a gap stretching between you that's worrisome. Keeping the nerves out of your tone, you promptly break the quiet.

"What did you do when they took you to the O'Driscoll hideout to convince them to let you be part of the gang? What did you say to try and convince them of my innocence? You seemed so sure you could untie me when you came back." You ask in a murmur, having been wondering about this since Kieran came rushing back to you tied to the tree, whispering about being free now.  

Kieran shifts a bit and huffs, "Well I first swore I'd never seen you until you were being tied next to me behind that wagon in Colter, but they didn't believe me. So I then said that Colm didn't usually stick with one whor -- uh, lady of loose morals, that he liked, er, variety. They again said they didn't believe me, so I told them the truth. Any woman Colm spends a night with usually doesn't come out of it unmarred."

"Unmarred?" Something in your gut sinks in horror.

"They always leave pretty roughed up. He's not, he's not gentle with 'em. And I said that if you was his, if he had...acquainted himself with you and often enough for you to know some of his personal secrets, you'd have been in a much worse state than they originally found ya in."

"You mean besides being naked and freezing to death?" You scoff, disgusted with this Colm person and starting to understand why everyone in camp seemed to hate Kieran and you so much thinking you associated with that kind of man.  

Kieran clears his throat, "Besides that."

There's a pause, then, "Forgive my lack of delicacy, but you were found n-naked? Why? If you don't mind my askin' of course!"

You manage to choke out, "It's a long story."

"How did, how did they take you back to camp?"

"I don't know, all I know is that Arthur is the one who saved me. Though I wish he'd left me to die instead of bringing me here."

"Mr. Morgan saved you?" Kieran asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," You confirm rather sourly, "The one who doesn't seem to have a merciful bone in his body."

"Well I'm not dead because I shot an O'Driscoll and saved his life at Six Point."

You take a moment to consider this information.

"Owing a life debt is not the same as mercy." Comes your stubborn rebuff, refusing to give Arthur even an inch of sympathy in your mind.

The both of you quiet again, and this time the silence isn't heavy with unspoken words. Just before you're about to fall asleep, you find the extra fabric of Kieran's coat with your fingers, and twist the rough material into your closed hand. Your dreams consist of a warm chest pressed to your front and the worn fur lining of a coat wrapped around your back, a pocket of safety tucked between an arched neck and a stiff flipped up collar...

--

You wake to the noise of the camp, birds twittering high in the trees, and Kieran's jacket laying over your body that's curled tightly in on itself during the night.

With a sore grunt you sit up, body still aching from all the abuse its been through. Kieran hadn't woken you, he'd let you sleep through the whole night. You feel a flare of guilt and frustration rise in you, followed quickly though by begrudging fondness. You should have known he'd do something like that, the softie. Getting to your feet, you wipe the stray pieces of hay stuck to your skirts off and groan internally at how uncomfortable it is to sleep in these old fashion clothes (thank god they hadn't stuck you in a corset). Though its leagues better than nodding off tied to a tree. Once you make your way into camp proper, Mary-Beth bumbles up to you all smiles and simmering questions about how you slept last night while leading you to a wooden pail that she informs holds the water the women use for their personal hygiene.

"Heaven forbid we're made to share with the men!" She exclaims good-naturedly as you approach the mini bathing station set on a stool by the women's tents.

You watch Karen finish splashing water in her face before scrubbing and rinsing her teeth. She spits the water out onto the grass beside her and not back into the pail (which you are grateful to see), then scoots over with a mumbled good morning directed at you when Mary-Beth ushers you forward to do the same. You hope that you can get your hands on some soap that is possibly softer against your skin than what you used yesterday by the river. If you don't wash your face twice a day you know you'll break out, and though acne should be the least of your concerns right now, the familiar motion of splashing water on your face pushes the domestic thought to the forefront of your mind. As you dab your face dry with a clean cloth that Mary-Beth hands you, distractedly you wonder if the water you are using was cleaned or prepped in any way. Surely washing your face with river water wouldn't do your skin or your tastebuds any favors. Fighting a grimace, you scrub and then rinse your teeth but find that while the water doesn't taste like algae as you feared it might, it doesn't taste like the bottled water you have in your fridge at home either.  

Once you're done, you thank Mary-Beth for her guidance and are about to turn to go find Kieran, when Karen appears at your right and hooks her arm through yours, pulling you over to their tent where a small crude vanity is set up.

"Do you wear makeup Y/n?" Karen asks, "Only Mary-Beth, Tilly and I use this station, though Grimshaw likes to sometimes steal the face powder and pretend she's not wearing any, the old hag."

You don't know what to say, a bit shell-shocked at the familiarity they're employing, as you catch a glimpse of Molly across camp, just a step outside of Dutch's tent, carefully applying red lipstick. She brings the pretty little decorated hand held mirror she's using closer to her lips to inspect her work, turning her face slowly from side to side, utilizing the early morning sun's soft glow.

"Uh, sometimes," You start but quickly backtrack when you realize you know nothing about the makeup from whatever time period this is, "But not enough to really know how to do it myself, my --,"

"Yourself?" Karen interrupts, Mary-Beth and her both stilling in their fussing to face you, "You mean you had someone to do it for you? What, you some kind of heiress or somethin'?"

The questions make you nervous, but you school your features so as to not let that show.

"No, nothing like that. My older sister did it for me, she always liked to dress me up in things." You lie.

"Oh a sister? That must be nice, what's she like?" Mary-Beth asks, not unkindly.

Fuck.

"Like all older sisters I guess, she's nice until I borrow her stuff without asking." It's vague but believable, you hope it convinces them.

Karen lets out a snort and Mary-Beth shakes her head with a smile.

"Sounds about right," Karen says as she directs you to sit.

"I-I really don't think make-up is necessary," You warn as Karen begins to rummage through the little that's laid out in front of you.

"Lord's sake! We need to get into town, we've got barely nothin' left that didn't freeze to sludge up in Colter!" Karen grumps, completely ignoring you and continuing to search finger through the tiny bottles and tin trays.

Mary-Beth laments Karen's statement with a sigh, neatly pinning a curl up into the mass she'd collected into a bouquet near the crown of her head, using a corner of the mirror you've been sat in front of as a guide.

"Uncle was sayin' yesterday that he'd been meaning to go into town today, maybe we can catch a ride with him." Mary-Beth suggests.

Karen rolls her eyes, "Let's hope that out of us women, one of us can drive. I wouldn't trust that ol' geezer to steer a spoon into a bowl."

You're about to once again attempt to excuse yourself and look for Kieran, when Tilly walks up to the girls and you with a distinct scowl on her face. She plops down under the awning of the tent, pulls out some sort of sewing project and sets to work without a word.

"What's wrong Tilly?" Karen inquires almost as soon as Tilly had sat down, ignoring her show of clearly wanting to be left alone.

"Grimshaw." Is Tilly's only response though this seems to be explanation enough for both Karen and Mary-Beth, they both groan in sympathy.

"If you don't want to wear any make-up, let me at least do something with your hair," Mary-Beth pleads, turning back to you, as Karen elbows you off the stool when you duck away from her hand holding some sort of powder puff.

"Um,"

"Just a brush through then? Your hair is, well it's just a bit tangled." She furthers as Karen leans in close to the mirror and starts putting on what seems to be this era's version of eyeliner.

"A bit? It looks like rats have taken up occupation in there." Karen scoffs as she holds her eyelid taught with one finger and uses her other hand to drag a fine brush along her lash line.

"Karen!" Mary-Beth admonishes as Tilly giggles down into her sewing across the tent.

You only sigh, still uncomfortable with them pretending like they didn't all hate your guts a couple days ago. Except for Mary-Beth. You sigh.

"Okay." Your surrender is met with a wide grin from Mary-Beth.

"Mary-Beth loves to do hair," Karen explains unnecessarily as she moves onto her other eye.

You're then sat on a different stool facing out towards camp, and Mary-Beth begins the long grueling process of brushing out your hair that hasn't seen shampoo in over a week and a half.

--

It's around mid-morning when Mary-Beth finally finishes with your hair. You're a bit surprised she stuck with it, you thought after about twenty minutes with only a small portion of your hair untangled to show for it she'd give up. But she was oddly determined. Karen and Tilly had gone to ransack Pearson's wagon in search of breakfast and brought back a few loaves of bread with a can of peaches. They laid the pre-cut slices of fruit heaviest with juice over the loaves of soft bread they'd thumbed open. It was delicious. After a week of only eating crumbs it was comparable to heaven. Once you finish, you ask if there is any left that you could take to Kieran.

"The O'Driscoll?" Karen scoffs, licking her fingertips clean of peach juice.

All previous good will she'd been building with you disappears. They had all watched as Kieran and you suffered and did nothing. A fuzzy memory of Karen tossing a still lit cigarette bud in Kieran's face resurfaces and it sours your frown into a hateful scowl. These women are not your friends, a part of you feels ashamed you let them trick you into thinking that, even for a moment.

"He is not an O'Driscoll."

Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly freeze at your tone, Karen seeming at a loss for words at the look you're giving her. All previous levity dives into insufferable tension.

"Sorry," Karen apologizes in a voice very unlike the brash snark she'd been using all morning.  

You don't say another word, you only collect the last loaf of bread, the near empty can of peaches, and storm off in search of Kieran.

You find him coming out of the treeline near where the gang's horses graze, with a new horse in tow. Kieran has a smile on his face. As you make your way over to him, avoiding contact with anyone else, you realize you've never actually seen Kieran smile before. This time Kieran sees you coming and the grin on his face grows, it warms your heart, reminding you who your true friend is.

"Is that Branwen?" You ask through a smile of your own, walking around the herd to one of the hitching posts near the hay wagon Kieran is making his way over to.  

"It is!" Kieran replies as he gently guides his horse to stop before the post, giving her dirty mane a loving pat, "Been coaxin' her to me all morning."

"She's pretty," You offer as you come to stand next to him, being careful not to move too fast, unsure how to handle yourself so close to a horse.

"Oh she looks like a two cent nag with all the filth she's got collected in her coat."

"Well I can tell from the," You gesture with the peach can towards the mare, "Colorings, that she'll be super cute when she's all clean."

Kieran blinks furiously at the terms 'super' and 'cute', but you rush into another sentence in the hopes of distracting him from your odd terminology.

"I brought you breakfast," You present the bread and the peach can to him.

He looks down at your offerings and only stares, "That's kind of ya, but where did you get it? Did Pearson give it to you?"

You shake your head, "The women shared it with me."

Kieran stares at you for a moment, then blinks up at your hair, seeming to just know realize it isn't in knots anymore.

"Oh," He says dumbly, "Oh."

"So, breakfast?" You say again, trying not to laugh.

"I should really care for Branwen first," Kieran begins to say but trails off at the look on your face.

"Thanks for waking me up last night to switch guard shifts," You muse, rolling the peach can between your fingers. Kieran's eyes drop to watch the motion and he gulps, "Really appreciate waking up feeling like a worthless friend."

You know you're going hard on the guilt trip, but you can't help it. He's easy to tease but you are truly peeved he didn't wake you.

"We had an agreement Kieran," One more moment and --

"Okay I'm sorry!"

There it is.

"I knew you wanted me to wake you up to switch, but I couldn't help it! You looked so tired, I just couldn't do it." He whines.

You pretend to ponder on this, shifting your weight to sit in one hip.

"I'll only forgive you if you eat first, then you can care for Branwen."

Kieran looks so genuinely torn by this you almost relent, but he caves before he makes you feel guilty and grabs the food from you. You stay, wanting to make sure he eats it all.

"Wait!" You cry as he stuffs the entire loaf into his mouth.

He startles and stares wide eyed at your outstretched hands.

"You're supposed to put the peaches on top," You pout, "That way the juice sinks into the bread and it isn't too dry."

Kieran only shrugs at this, chews the bread for another moment before swallowing (though you feel like he should have chewed a mouthful that big a bit longer; seriously that must have hurt going down), before sticking his fingers into the can to scrape out the last few slices of peach. You roll your eyes at this.

I guess men will be men no matter the time period.

"Okay I'm done, can I wash Branwen now?" Kieran asks your permission, though you suspect this is done more out of fond spite than anything else.

You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again as you snatch the can from him, and answer him anyways, "Yes."

Kieran gives you a quick thanks before rushing back over to Branwen, cooing at her sweetly, before starting to remove the weather worn saddle from her back. You place the can by your feet, ready to sit down in the grass and watch Kieran for the rest of the afternoon, even offer to help though you don't the first thing about cleaning a horse, when someone clears their throat behind you. You swivel your head over your shoulder and find that its Mary-Beth. She looks sheepish at best, guilty at worst. The softness in you hardens.

"Um me and the girls were wonderin' if you wanted to ride into town with us," She waves a hand towards the main entrance of camp and you see a wagon hitched and ready to go. Karen and Tilly are sitting in the back looking at you across camp, while the elderly man they called Uncle and Arth --

"I'm fine." You decline automatically when you spot Arthur sitting on the driver's bench next to Uncle, fiddling with the reigns.

Mary-Beth pauses, her expression tensing like she had expected that response. You hear all the noise behind you quiet, you know Kieran has turned around to listen.

"And usually that'd be fine an' all but, we need to get you clothes of your own, seeing as you can't keep borrowin' ours." You must make some sort of face because she steps forward, voice thin with nerves, "We don't mind! It's just we don't have many outfits to spare, it'd be more laundry, more work. Plus we wanna put what money we have left together to get you something to wear of your own."

"I don't need your charity," You snarl before you can stop yourself. If they think a new dress is going to make up for almost two weeks of torture --

"That's not what this is! It's..." She sighs in frustration, though you have a feeling she's not frustrated with you.

"They're tryin'," Kieran murmurs behind you suddenly. Mary-Beth looks up at this and for a startling moment you think she might cry.

"Yes, we're tryin'," She says on an exhale, giving Kieran such a profound look of gratitude it makes you consider her offer, "An' we don't know your sizes, or we'd save ya the trouble of the trip. Though, we thought you might like an afternoon out of camp."

Before you can put the pieces together yourself, Kieran crouches down to get eye level with you and bumps your shoulder with his.

"This is good Y/n, it's a sign of trust. They're lettin' you outta camp." He tells you softly, meaning the words for your ears only. The look he had in his eyes last night reappears now, it makes you want to hit something.

Your gaze gravitates back to Arthur sitting in the driver's seat, smoking with his hat tilted low over his eyes and looking for all the world like a hero straight out of one of those old western movies. He resolutely doesn't look your way even though the entire rest of the wagon, including Uncle, are staring unabashedly at Mary-Beth and you.

"It's not a sign of trust," You whisper, turning your head towards Kieran so only he can hear you, "It's a test."

Without another word you rise to your feet, trying not to wince at the ache still present in your back.

"If I go then Kieran gets to come too." You state firmly -- nonnegotiable.

"Of course!" Mary-Beth agrees quickly.

Kieran makes his way back to Branwen though, who had been standing so patiently behind you this whole time, and begins to lead her towards the water pails kept by the herd.

"I'm staying," He says, and at your look of minor betrayal he adds, "Gotta clean up my girl, plus I'd have nothin' to do in town."

You know he's only saying that to avoid conflict, because no matter what Mary-Beth agrees to, you have a feeling Arthur wouldn't approve of both O'Driscolls coming along. Your bitterness grows distinctly more potent. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest when Kieran gives you an encouraging smile, nodding his head towards Mary-Beth urging you to go.

"I'll be fine, now go!" He says when you refuse to move still, unsure if you can.

This was in part about sticking with your ally yes, but also you didn't feel safe going with them if Kieran wasn't by your side. Who's to say Arthur wouldn't suddenly decide to beat you even though he'd chosen not to before? You didn't know him, didn't know them. You only trusted them to do what they'd always done, and that was be cruel and unfeeling towards you. Mary-Beth less so than the others but still. Arthur terrified you the most out of all of them. He had such anger in him, the kind that made a man destructive to himself and others. Whatever other complexities he might have, he is undoubtedly dangerous and that's the last thing you wanted to defend against right now.

"She'll go," Kieran says for you when you remain quiet.

Your eyes close as you struggle to contain the knot of emotion roiling in your gut.

"Okay," Mary-Beth murmurs, unsure.

"When I get back," You say, voice low, as you turn to face Kieran, "I'll want to see Branwen in all her glory."

Kieran gives you a ghost of the smile he'd had earlier, and nods in acquiesce.

Without another word you pivot on your heel and walk towards the wagon, brushing past Mary-Beth. You hear her scurry to catch up with you after a few beats, though you make sure to keep your eyes down at the ground as you approach the wagon, unable -- or more like unwilling, to let anyone see the riot of emotion wrecking havoc in your eyes. Once you reach the lip of the wagon Mary-Beth waits for you to climb up, before hauling herself up too. You sit on the right bench across from Karen and Tilly, Mary-Beth sliding in next to you.

"I can't believe we're going to see civilization," Tilly suddenly starts as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon jerks forward, "It feels like weeks since we did."

"Yeah, Valentine, the very embodiment of civilization," Uncle interjects with a wet sounding cackle, "You ladies are gonna love it!"

"Okay then," Arthur starts as he pulls the wagon out of the cluster of woods that hide the camp, "Let's go!"

Everything in you turns to stone at the sound of his voice, so many conflicting experiences with him -- with that voice, jamming themselves to the front of your brain all at once. You're so tense Mary-Beth tenses beside you too. Before awkward silence can settle over the group, Uncle twists to face the women in his seat.

"Ladies! Sing us a song!"

It seems to be the right thing to say because after a short chorus of giggles, Karen cues the girls in with a nasally but not unpleasant song about a girl in Berryville. They sing loudly, carelessly, and happily, relishing each other's company, the sun, the fresh air, and the views. Refusing to enjoy anything, you keep your gaze down on your hands that pick at the material of your skirt. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. There are bound to be newspapers in a town right? They had books in camp so you know printing presses existed. You could possibly figure out where the hell you were and what time period you were in. It had occurred to you that asking Kieran for the date not just by day, but by year would come across as odd, even if he would tell you without many questions. The last thing you wanted to do was compromise the trust Kieran had in you, your only ally. You still have your eyes glued to your lap when you hear a panicked,

"Woah! Woah there!" A stagecoach comes barreling past the front of the wagon, Arthur having to pull the reigns up short to avoid a collision, kicking up huge clouds of dust that descend down around you.  

"Look at that coach! He's...he's all over the place," You hear Uncle mumble under his breath.

The women are still singing, though slightly distracted now as you all crane your necks to see what the commotion is about. Arthur encourages the wagon's horses left onto the main road where, just ahead, the horses of the runaway coach come to a reeling stop and with an audible snap, break free of the reigns.

--

"Oh goddammit! Oh shit, the horses!" Comes the cursing from the coach driver.

Arthur slows the horses to a walk as they come upon the stopped coach, one of the shires -- a big white stallion -- takes off in a fury towards a thin copse of trees on the other side of the road. Before he can grapple with shoving down the instinct to help the man, Tilly pipes up from the back.

"Is one of you gonna get that feller's horse?"

"Oh I got lumbago! It's very serious," Uncle immediately deflects without hesitation, like he had the excuse ready.

Arthur refrains from saying anything especially cruel to the old man in response, knowing he'd only make himself look like a fool. A part of him wants to push the wagon into a full gallop, leave this small choice behind him in the dust. He feels her eyes staring holes into his back though, and it makes him uncomfortable. Out of spite he wants to ignore the man, just to prove to her -- to himself that he can...that he's still cruel and angry enough to ignore a person in need. Arthur growls internally at himself. He has no idea what he's on about. With a sharp inhale and a quick clench and release of his jaw, he wordlessly hops out of the wagon, tossing the reigns at Uncle and getting the petty satisfaction of watching him fumble to catch them. Arthur lets himself do this despite feeling like he's chipping away at something important, something he needs to protect himself. Because if he's not angry he's empty...but she's staring --

"I'll see what's going on." He says through a tight jaw, promptly interrupting his own train of thought, "Lumbago, really," He mutters petulantly to himself as he makes his way over to the driver.

The stagecoach driver, catching sight of Arthur coming round to his side of the coach to help, hops down from the driver's bench and lands on shaky legs.

"You alright there friend?" Arthur inquires as the driver steadies himself against the side of the coach looking like a colt just learning to walk.

"Oh hey! You couldn't help me get my other horse back from over there, could you?" The driver says in leu of a response.

Arthur ignores the lack of manners, taking in how frazzled the fool truly is. Must be new.  

"Sure, no problem." Arthur says, briefly thinking of stealing the horse but waving the thought away as quickly as it appeared -- old habits.

"Thanks mister, its the white one over there." The driver instructs with a sigh of relief.

Arthur isn't sure how to feel about how simple -- how easy being kind is, it feels so foreign yet familiar, so natural and good that for a moment Arthur's heart stops. He actively ignores his thoughts and her watchful eyes from the wagon, following him as he makes his way across the road and into the smattering of trees where the white shire has taken refuge. Arthur coaxes the stallion to him easily enough, the beast coming up to him only after Arthur made him move his feet a little to earn his trust, show him he was the leader. He grabs hold of the dragging reigns and checks to make sure the horse didn't hurt his mouth by stepping on the reigns when fleeing or when he ripped clean away from the coach. The horse's soft mouth seems a little tender but no serious damage has been done, lucky beast. Arthur clicks at stallion to follow and leads them both back to the stagecoach driver currently wrangling the other shire back into the coach restraints.

"Here, here you go." Arthur announces himself and the returned horse.

The driver whips his attention over to him, stopping his fussing over the horse's tack, and exhales heavily in relief and gratitude.

"You're a gentlemen, sir, a gentlemen!" He exclaims as he takes the reigns from Arthur.

Arthur's chest aches at the praise, like acid in his stomach -- unworthy.

"No, not really...I was just," Arthur glances over his shoulder at the wagon, "Tryin' to impress the women."

He hears the girls giggling at this, though he knows which one of them remains silent.

The driver gives a hearty chuckle, "Well, anyway, thank you!"

Arthur nods at the man, biting back the warning about the shire's sensitive mouth and to go easy on the reigns next time, and heads swiftly back towards the wagon.

"C'mon!" Uncle urges as Arthur hauls himself up into the driver's seat.

"To Valentine!" Karen cries as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon lurches forward.

Arthur's grateful no one is bringing up --

"You're turnin' into a regular ol' fairy godmother there, Arthur!"

The urge to push Uncle out of the wagon takes a fierce hold of him. He only tightens his grip on the reigns instead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grits out, delivering Uncle the most unfriendly glare in his arsenal.

"It means you've gotta heart!" Mary-Beth interjects from the back, "A small one perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one!"

Her words are a surprisingly odd comfort, but they mostly confirm his fear. Its simpler if he's just fury and hate. The idea that beneath all that is something truer than what he is now, that's something he absolutely does not want to deal with right now. Or ever.  

"And you haven't! You repulsive old lizard!" Mary-Beth crows at Uncle, the girls all murmuring their adamant agreement.

"Lizards have hearts!" Uncle argues weakly, though Mary-Beth doesn't dignify that with a response.  

"Well Arthur," It's Tilly this time that speaks up, "I'm proud of you."

God were all of them gonna praise him like he just saved a newborn child from certain death? He doesn't think he can take much more of this. Arthur attempts to remind them all who he really is.

"To be honest, if you lot hadn't been here, I probably woulda robbed 'im." He says, hoping to regain some semblance of the intimidating image he'd carefully curated over the years. A bit concerned it could be knocked so easily, and over an act as simple as helping a stranger.  

Uncle wheezes out a dark chuckle at that, Karen joining him, but Mary-Beth speaks up again strangely determined to drive her point home.

"Well, you didn't!"

Arthur wonders belatedly if this is Mary-Beth's way of trying to endear him to the her, who has remained silent this whole exchange and ever since she got in the damn wagon. Something twists suddenly in his gut but Arthur smothers it on reflex, dawning his armor of anger. Good, he thinks, let her fear me, and laughs along with Uncle and Karen as they cross the railroad that circles through the town and lumber past what looks to be the station and post office.

"Smell those sheep!" Tilly says as they pass by a couple sizable livestock pens at the same time Arthur hears Mary-Beth promptly snap out her fan, and begin beating it quickly against the smell of shit.

Karen gives a hearty scoff, "Or is that Uncle?"

"Oh very funny," Uncle grouses in a slump beside him.

Arthur can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

"This looks like a decent little town." Mary-Beth insists even as she continues to vigorously work her fan.

"Other people," Tilly groans, "Finally!"

"Look at all that snow on the mountains! Sure don't want to be back up there," Mary-Beth points out, everyone in the wagon turning to glance at the icy peaks in the distance and all sharing a collective shiver.  

"You think we should have asked Molly to come with us?" Tilly wonders after another moment of taking in the bustling town.

Arthur is quickly assaulted with the image of Molly walking past the livestock pens getting mud and shit and who knows what else on her shoes, most certainly ruining the hem of her dress, and almost lets out a bark of laughter. Molly O'Shea would rather die than be subjected to an afternoon in a town like this. Karen, as Arthur knew she would, jumps at the opportunity to tear into the Irish woman.

"Oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us, or to do any real work. She's a society lady now!" Her tone bleeds heavily with sarcasm and bitterness, Arthur wonders if Dutch is aware of how much animosity lies between some of the women of the gang. Sure they all bit chunks out of each other once in awhile, but this divide between Molly and the other ladies was far wider than Arthur felt was smart to ignore.

"Okay, take a look around ladies," Karen buffers on, not lingering on the negativity she created for too long, "Let's see what we got here."

They're all silent as they keep an eye out for possible opportunities. Arthur carefully navigates the wagon down the main road of Valentine, weathered wooden buildings sinking in mud line the path, paint chipping, signs swinging in the slight breeze, and folk coming and going. He catalogues a sheriff station, a general store, a hotel, a saloon, a gunsmith, and even a doctor's office. Not bad for a livestock town. The sounds of horses whinnying in a decent sized stable at the end of the street catches Arthur's particular attention. He perks up when he spots a good place to park the wagon near a building under construction adjacent to the stables. Maneuvering slowly to their destination, he stops the wagon with a gentle 'woah' to the horses once he's brought the bulk of the wagon out of the way of traffic.    

"Alright! Here we are, just like I said," Uncle boasts as everyone stands to unload, "The cultural center of civilization, man at its finest!"

Arthur only rolls his eyes at Uncle's attempt at humor and effortlessly hops down from the driver bench.

"Uncle, what're we doin'?" Arthur asks before the old fool spews anymore nonsense.

"Well, we're gonna do what any other self-respecting maniac does," Arthur signals a stable hand over to feed and water their horses as Uncle talks, pushing a few dollars into the boy's dirty hands, "Put the women to work."

Karen snorts, "With pleasure, we'll start at the saloon."

As Arthur comes around to the back of the wagon, he notices Tilly struggling to find her footing on the lip of the wagon under the layers of her dress. He quickly offers her a hand which she immediately takes.

"Thank you Arthur," She murmurs in gratitude as, with the help of his hand to steady her, she easily braves the large gap between the wagon and the mud below.

He nods at her once she's landed safely on the ground, but grunts as she thanks him again. She shouldn't waste her kindness on him. Arthur tries his best not to look at her as the women all gather together after unloading off of the wagon. He finds himself quite annoyed that the urge to is so insistent.

"Alright," He begins once Uncle finally makes his way over to stand beside Arthur who in planted firmly in front of the ladies, "Remember to stay outta trouble and don't get yourselves noticed."

Mary-Beth hooks arms with her as he talks, though he only makes eye contact with Tilly and Karen, avoiding her side of the group entirely. Karen rolls her eyes at him and when he's done, playfully pushing past him before motioning for the other women to follow.

"We know Arthur, you don't have to be such an over protective nag about it."

A noise of unfiltered indignation rips itself out of Arthur's mouth at her words, something embarrassing between a scoff and a squawk.

--

"See Arthur's not so bad," Mary-Beth murmurs in your ear as she leads you after Karen and Tilly who are striding confidently towards a building with literal swinging doors, "A right mother hen when given half the chance!"

You try not to let her words irritate you. She means well, you can acknowledge that, but her continuous attempts to humanize Arthur are more annoying than helpful. It feels like you are being forced to forgive a man that has purposefully tried to terrify you and while never having beat you, was okay with watching others do it. No amount of helping strangers or chivalry will convince you he wouldn't kill you dead without hesitation if he felt it was necessary.

You only hum at her claim, still largely uncomfortable with the physical familiarity the women keep attempting to engage you in. It takes all your strength to stop yourself from yanking your arm out from the loop of her's. Mary-Beth must sense your unease though, and wordlessly releases your arm. You're grateful she doesn't comment on it.

"C'mon ladies!" Karen exclaims, still leading you all up the street, "Imagine we're in Paris!"

"I imagine Paris and Valentine are easily confused," Tilly remarks rather sharply, her mouth twisting a little as mud squelches under their feet with each step.

You raise an eyebrow at the comment, sympathizing with her remark as you narrowly avoid stepping in a vat of what you assume is horse shit. It certainly smells foul enough, plus the flies are a dead give away. Eventually you all stop before the rickety steps of a saloon that looks like its come straight out of a movie or a high budget reenactment set. The swinging doors, the drunk piano playing wafting out from inside even though you dare say its only noon, completes the the full effect. You stand there a moment and just stare at it, stare at the people walking in and out, at their clothes, at the way they walk, at the way they talk, just everything. The town really cements the fact that you are no longer in the year 2020. An odd mixture of adrenaline and anxiety shoots through your veins then, and its difficult to process it all.  

"Newspaper," You hear yourself mutter as you continue to stare wide eyed at the saloon.

Mary-Beth hears you and turns to shoot you a questioning look.

Realizing you had just said that out loud, you blink back an embarrassed flush and clear your throat.

"I'd like to check out the newspaper that kid was selling, the one we passed on the way into town. I don't need to buy one, I just want to look."

"What are you checking for?" Mary-Beth asks, suddenly becoming very guarded, the most you've ever seen her in fact.

You panic a little, "Just the date and where exactly we are. I'm not from around here, not really familiar with this part of the country."  

Her eyes sharpen and proceed to methodically take apart your expression, examining every twitch and blink like it held a secret. You figure she's weighing whether or not this will be a threat to them -- to the gang. It further emphasizes the void between you. They would always be a them. It would never be a we.

"Alright, I'll come with you. Then we can go get you some new clothes." Mary-Beth eventually agrees, turning to wave at the other girls -- signaling your departure, before Tilly and Karen enter the saloon.

You both trudge along in silence, your anger flaring up at this blatant display of distrust despite all of her efforts so far to prove to you she's 'trying'. Once again you attempt to not to let all the emotion get to you. Trust goes both ways, and no way were you going to take the first step. If they wanted to earn your respect, it would have to be their necks they stick out first, not the other way around. You finally make your way to the boy holding up one of the newspapers he's selling, shouting today's headline. At your approach his eyes light up at the prospect of a customer,

"What will it be ladies? Two copies or one to share?"

You feel a little guilty at getting his hopes up, but you dust off one of your best customer service smiles and watch as he takes it in, a bit shocked at the easy generosity of it. Poor boy's probably used to getting snuffed all day, you can relate, having worked your fair share of minimum wage jobs.

"I'd like to check something actually, just a quick peak at the date if you wouldn't mind?" Comes your question dressed heavily in your matching costumer service voice -- tone smooth and low and friendly.

The boy blinks at you a moment -- stunned, then his cheeks promptly color a splotchy red. Thoroughly flustered he glances at Mary-Beth, but his blush only deepens as she hits him with a lovely smile of her own.

"W-Well I --," The boy begins to stutter.

"I don't even have to hold it," You interrupt before he can refuse, taking advantage of him being caught off guard, "But if I could just take a quick gander at the top right corner there..." You trail off as you do exactly what you're currently suggesting, and lean in slightly to squint at the date.

May 17, 1899, it reads.

1899?! You kick your customer service skills into overdrive, years of using it the only reason why your face doesn't crack into full panic as you force yourself to read a little more.  

The State of New Hanover, The Heart of the Heartlands

This is before they officialized the fifty states, the American civil war happened about three decades ago. Oh god.

"H-Hey are you gonna buy or not?" The boy attempts to assert himself, swinging the newspaper behind him, looking adorable with his face the color of a tomato.

"Unfortunately not, but your kindness is very much appreciated." You sooth, voice like honey, as you give him one last smile -- making it as stunning as possible, before turning away and heading back down the street.  

You make it a few strides out of the boy's ear shot before Mary-Beth elbows you gently in the side. Glancing up, you find her giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

"You never told us you could work a man," She remarks, raising one of her eyebrows in arch amusement.

You can't stop yourself from scoffing, "Man? He was barely thirteen."

"Well either way, I can tell you have a lot of experience handling people."

A shrug serves as your answer, you guess working a minimum wage job does leave you with a certain skill set. Though why Mary-Beth is hinting that it can be utilized in more unconventional ways is beyond you. Eventually you both make it to the general store. You stumble in your stride when you spot Arthur and Uncle sitting on a bench out in front of the store, sharing a large glass bottle of strong looking liquor you assume is whiskey. That's what all the cowboys in the movies drink right? It seems fate loves a good cliché.

For the first time since being tied to the tree, Arthur and you lock eyes. The two of you freeze, Arthur mid drink and you mid step. The whole world seems to grind to a halt as your gazes wrestle, the feeling in your stomach akin to the breath before the first drop of a roller coaster. The moment ends abruptly, before either of you are ready, and at the same time you step in a huge pile of shit, Arthur spills nearly the whole bottle of whiskey down the front of his shirt.

"Fuck!" You squeal in disgust.

"Goddammit!" Arthur curses loudly as he shoots to his feet so the alcohol doesn't splash onto his crotch.

Mary-Beth puts a scandalized hand over her heart at the fowl language, and Uncle coughs his way into a fit of laughter. In a squeamish panic you try in vain to wipe the shit off your shoe, though you only manage to make it worse as the mud proves to be even messier and smears the shit higher up the leather of your shoe. You can hear Arthur continuing to grouch and curse as he shoves the bottle at a wheezing Uncle and leans forward, plucking the fabric of his button-up off his chest in an attempt to stop it from sticking. Almost like an afterthought, Arthur begins flapping the shirt gently as if that'll help it dry faster.

"Better get you some new shoes as well," Mary-Beth suggests through a tight throat, trying her best not to laugh at your expense.

You level her with a very unimpressed glare (which does end up making her giggle) and squash your way to the stairs leading to the store. Once on solid ground you amble your way up onto the deck, trying your hardest not to stare at the sliver of exposed torso Arthur is revealing as he continues to hold his shirt off his stomach, the cotton completely soaked in alcohol.

Taught skin, a trail of hair, a muscled iliac furrow...

"Actually, Y/n?" Mary-Beth calls from behind you, you swivel around and realize belatedly that she hadn't followed you up, "I'm going to check on Karen an' Tilly in the saloon, why don't you an' Arthur go purchase some clothes together? Then we can all meet back up later!"

It shocks you that you feel slightly betrayed by her at the suggestion. You chance a glance at Arthur from the corner of your eye and find him staring at Mary-Beth much like a deer stares at headlights. Great. You valiantly reign in a groan and without another word, turn back around to push your way into the shop. Arthur is least likely to do anything harmful to you in front of a witness like a shopkeeper anyway, the sooner you get this over with the better.

--

Arthur spends another moment squinting suspiciously at Mary-Beth, who only smiles innocently at him before all but skipping off towards the saloon. Uncle has now devolved into slapping his knee in between taking swigs of what's left of the whiskey. Arthur wonders why the Almighty sees fit to test him so vehemently. After a moment of reflection he figures its the least he deserves considering the extent of his sins. Grumbling to himself, he tries not to stomp after her into the general store, mentally calculating how much money he has left on him as he shoulders open the stiff door. Upon entering the shop, the owner looks up and gives Arthur a polite if slightly confused wave -- probably recognizing him from when Arthur came in the shop earlier with Uncle. The shopkeeper promptly goes back to describing, with what sounds like great enthusiasm, various different outfits for...Y/n...to consider.

His heart reels at simply saying her name in the privacy of his own mind.

She's holding herself stiffly, probably as uncomfortable as Arthur is and for as many different reasons as Arthur is too. With the way her head is bent and her eyes track the movement of the shopkeeper's finger as he drags it across page after page, he can tell that despite her studious expression and how easily she nods along with what's being advertised to her, she's overwhelmed. Arthur isn't sure how he figures that exactly, but he does. Fighting with himself for a moment, he debates on whether or not he should insert himself into their conversation. He doesn't want her to misinterpret him and think he cares or anything, but she is taking forever and the slide of his wet shirt against his chest is growing more unbearable by the second.

"Just pick what you like best and get on with it," He grumbles at her, not too unpleasantly as to alarm the shop owner, but firm enough to encourage her to hurry the hell up.

Arthur had taken a few steps forward before speaking, it placed him very close to her side. Closer than he'd meant. He expects fear or hatred to color her expression as she turns to look up at him, but instead her face displays a confusing mix of gratitude, deep mistrust, and most hilariously the embodiment of the word: HELP. It honestly gives Arthur a headache to look at, not envious of the turmoil she's clearly experiencing right now in the slightest. He blinks at her for a moment before shifting his gaze down at the catalogue and flipping back a few pages.

"Do you prefer skirts, dresses, or pants?" Arthur bites out, not quite believing he's doing this, and stares pointedly at anything but her.

"Pants!" She answers in a rush, like she'd just been told she'd inherited a few grand from a dead relative.  

"Okay," Arthur drawls as he quickly finds the female pants section, the options limited to two different cuts, both of which look exactly the same to Arthur but he was never one for fashion (or so Dutch tells him).

"Pick," He instructs, sliding the catalogue back under her nose at the same time she leans in to take a look.

Arthur's temper rankles at how nice the warmth radiating off of her feels against the chilled skin of his chest, even through his soaked shirt. She takes a moment to consider the two different pants, and after what sounds like a defeated huff sheepishly points to the second one. The shop keeper nods and scribbles something down on a notebook he'd grabbed from a drawer behind the counter. Wordlessly Arthur then flips to the significantly more diverse selection of shirts and blouses, blushing furiously as he passes the women's undergarments.

Why in all hell had Mary-Beth not done this with her? She's a woman, surely that would make this more comfortable for Y/n?

But the woman in question seems unconcerned as she scans the options Arthur has displayed for her, nibbling half-heartedly on the fingernail of her right thumb as she appraises the many different tops. Arthur grits his teeth against the softness rising him. They need to hurry this up or he fears he'll...he'll...well he doesn't know, but he knows whatever it is, it's a final kind of feeling and god Arthur fears it. With the hand not pressed to her lips, she points to a plain looking button up, the cheapest one.

"Another." Arthur blurts.

He doesn't realize how that sounds until she shoots him a very indignant look.

"Pick one more for colder weather." He clarifies, mystified he had managed to say that without missing a beat and without stuttering.

Her temper relaxes back down to its usual simmer and she returns her gaze to the catalogue. After a few moments of silence she taps Arthur's hand that's spread wide over the upper edge of the book, calloused fingers holding the catalogue open flat on the counter for her. He snatches his hand back so fast it startles the shopkeeper. The owner gives the two of them an odd look but remains quiet, still wanting their money. She turns the page and points to the second least expensive shirt. It's of a similar cut to the first she'd chosen but the material is wool instead of cotton.

This process repeats for the coats, socks, shoes, gloves, and most embarrassingly -- undergarments. All the articles of clothing she chooses are the cheapest available. Something prickles in Arthur's chest when he realizes she's trying to be considerate. When the shopkeeper asks about her sizes though, she seems at a complete loss for what to say. It's like she's never shopped for clothes before. Though deeply curious, Arthur refrains from asking her anything, feeling like all the energy he had this morning has been thoroughly drained from him even though its only an hour past noon. He's exhausted and he doesn't quite know why.

The owner gives her a measuring look, eyeing her body proportions as best as he can from his spot behind the counter. The shopkeeper is not a proper tailor, so the wrinkle in the man's forehead isn't anything but confusion, and thus Arthur finds himself getting more and more agitated the longer the man stares at her. A breath before Arthur says something stupid, the owner turns and goes to retrieve the garments in the sizes he believes will fit her best. It only takes a couple moments, but its a couple moments too long to be left relatively alone with her. The tension between them is so palpable he could cut it with his hunting knife. The feeling worsens in intensity with each beat of his heart, nearly rising to insurmountable levels before it swiftly plateaus at the arrival of the shopkeeper, who returns with multiple garments draped over his forearm.

"Here Miss, go and try these on to make sure they fit." He instructs politely, nodding to a door down the hall just around the side of the counter.

With a quiet thanks, she collects the clothes and makes a beeline for the dressing room. Arthur doesn't realize his eyes follow her retreat, sticking to the dressing room door even after she disappears behind it, until the shopkeeper clears his throat. Arthur only scowls at him in response and orders a replacement shirt for the one he'd been wearing.

Thank god I didn't ruin my blue one, Arthur thinks as he pays for his new two toned muted grey and red button-up, and all the items Y/n had gotten.

Hosea and Dutch like to tease Arthur about his favorite blue and white striped button-up he's been hauling around for years now. It has holes, the seams are loose, the colors have faded, and it has permanent stains on it, but something about it feels...comfortable. More comfortable than anything else he's ever worn.

(Arthur refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's the first garment of clothing he bought for himself with money he'd earned all on his own, hence why it means so much to him.)

Arthur tries not to pace as he waits for Y/n to finish trying on all her various new clothes. He knows she has a lot to get through but --

"Oh," Arthur finds himself saying, easily gaining the shopkeeper's attention, "Her shoes?"

The shopkeeper raises a finger as his memory sparks and quickly goes to retrieve the humble looking pair she'd picked out earlier. When he brings them out, informing Arthur he'd given his best guess on the size, Arthur nods his thanks and takes the pair from him. Before he can second guess himself, he makes his way over to the dressing room door. Weary of the owner's eyes on his back, Arthur raps his knuckles in two deliberate consecutive knocks against the aging wood of the door. A series of sounds that suggest Y/n had been thoroughly startled puts a grin on Arthur's face without his permission.

"Your shoes," He starts, "I'm leaving them outside the door."

Arthur then demands himself to tell her to hurry up, but no words form, in fact his lips once again act against his will and gently press shut.

"Oh, okay," She replies tensely.

He hovers by the door another moment before the intimacy of talking to someone -- a woman no less -- like this really registers with him, then he thinks of how this probably seems to the shopkeeper and deep color promptly rises along his cheekbones. Arthur takes a shaky step back, then another, until he's in the front of the store pretending to browse the meager collection of pocket watches.

--

You wait until you hear Arthur's footsteps fully recede from the door before continuing to fumble with your undergarments. You have never so desperately wished for a simple modern bra in your life. The shopkeeper had suggested a corset of some sort, but with the clothes that you had picked -- pants, and a 'decidedly unfeminine looking' set of button ups according to the owner -- wearing a corset under all that seemed more of a hinderance than anything else. You'd ended up choosing a version of whatever shift thing you are currently wearing, as it provided enough support for the girls but didn't constrict you entirely like you figure a corset might. Most of the time spent in the dressing room has been you struggling to shuck off your current clothes without resorting to simply tearing them all off. Though you have been spending an equally egregious amount of time trying to correctly adjust all the little strings and ties and clips of your new shift. The slim bloomers you are wearing were made to be worn with the pants you'd ordered, and they were simple enough to slip on, though the extra fabric you'd have to get used to. You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to wear boxers as you finally finish securing your shift and pull the pants up the length of your legs. They fit surprisingly well, a little tight around the ass but in all honesty, at this point you don't care. You just want this torture over with.

The rest of your clothes you try on with more ease, everything fitting okay except for the coat that was about ten times too big but you find you kind of like it that way. Making sure to carefully remove your shit covered shoes without dirtying your hands, you gingerly place them by the door before replacing your used socks with your new ones. You gather your previous clothes up, hoping the shopkeeper has a bag of some kind you can use, and open the door. Infinitely grateful that no one else has walked into the shop, you quickly slip on the shoes Arthur has set neatly in front of the door like he'd said, and immediately find that they're too small. Ignoring your slight flush from all the changing and nerves from trying on so many foreign clothes, you approach the shopkeeper and politely request the next shoe size up. He nods and bumbles to the back again. When he brings you the next pair, you apologize for being such a hassle and quickly exchange shoes. You drop the new pair to the floor and lower to kneel as you stuff your feet in, praying these fit.

"Can we get something to wrap all this up?" Arthur's voice rumbles through you, like the bass notes of a song played at one of the clubs you used to frequent a lot your first year of college.

You clench hard against the urge to jump at how close he is, not having heard him come over as you'd been focused on figuring out how your new boots laced up. They reminded you a little of modern day men's work boots, comfortable and well suited for all the wilderness trudging you figure you'll be doing. The shop owner hands Arthur a few sheets of brown parcel paper, which Arthur immediately tosses down at you. You catch the squares of paper before it hits your face, ignoring his rudeness and weighing how helpful he's been to you in the shop against the desire to say something satisfyingly nasty.

Noticing your restraint Arthur wordlessly brushes past you, broad shoulders barely seeming to fit through the doorway of the dressing room, before closing the door firmly shut behind him. While he changes out of his wet shirt, you struggle to wrap up all your new clothes neatly, feeling bizarrely like you're wrapping a Christmas present when the shopkeeper hands you a rudimentary string to tie everything together. After you finally manage to wrangle all the clothes (save for your oversized coat and all that you're wearing out of the store) into a compact enough bundle, you take the second sheet of paper and repeat the process with your soiled clothes and ruined shoes. You feel bad about the shoes since you'd borrowed them, maybe you could scrub out the shit? Though you don't know how plausible that will be without the aid of stain remover and fabric softener.

You've just finished organizing all your belongings when Arthur emerges from the dressing room in his new shirt. The colors suit him, the fabric hugging him in all the right places too. With his dark hat, tan over coat, and heavy footfalls due to his boots, he almost --

Deeply alarmed at the direction that particular train of thought was going, you angrily remind yourself he's a bloodthirsty killer who would not hesitate to end your life if he thought it was necessary. Despite all that though, he did just pay for your clothing and help you navigate the shopping process with little to no complaints. Torn between saying nothing and thanking him, the habit to be courteous, ingrained in you by your mother, wins out.

"Arthur," It's the first time you've said his name, at least in direct address to him.

His name tastes dangerous on your tongue, a thrill not unlike taking a shot of something strong knowing you're already well over your alcohol limit. You'd stopped once you'd stepped out of the shop behind Arthur and he pauses with his back to you, going completely rigid, having just been about to wake up Uncle who lists precariously in a drunk stupor on the bench where you'd both left him.

"Thank you." That's the second time you've thanked this man, not fond of the fact that its slowly becoming a regular occurrence.

Arthur turns around after a moment and his eyes, shaded under the brim of his hat but very much visible now where they'd only been dark with violence before, are the first things your gaze is drawn to. They're really quite a stunning color, blue shot with green, like an ocean tide caught in a shallow tide pool. The brimming emotion in him blunders against the stiff wall of that anger you'd first caught a true glimpse of when you were tied to the tree, it holds an avalanche of sensation back. You marvel briefly at how it's held so much back for so long.

"You owe me thirty-two dollars and thirteen cents." He says in leu of accepting your gratitude with any sort of grace.  

You only glare, already having expected that he'd ask you to pay him back, though you figure it's the very least he could do after watching you suffer for nearly two weeks straight despite being completely innocent with no proof otherwise save their paranoid suspicions. Not to mention being wrongly accused of being an O'Driscoll and almost getting shot in the face by his gang leader for the apparent crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time! Unlike Arthur, you let your emotions flow freely, righteous fury undisguised and plain to see rotting away the last traces of the odd domesticity you'd formed with him in the shop.

"You, are one of the most fucked up assholes I have ever met." You say in a tone of voice you had only ever used with your abusive ex.

Instead of being taken aback at your words, you watch something in him rise to meet your anger -- a broken kind of relief overtaking his features, like he's finally back in his comfort zone. Something he's familiar with, something he's good at. It simultaneously sickens you and breaks your heart. Everything only ever defined in extremes when it comes to him. Before you two can really tear into each other though, the call of your names by a familiar voice pauses the cataclysmic collision that is moments away from occurring.

"Arthur! Y/n!" Mary-Beth pants as she jogs up to meet you both on the shaded deck, "Oh, Uncle! I didn't see him from over there," She huffs out in a laugh as she closes the distance between the three of you.

It doesn't take long for Mary-Beth to pick up on the truly foul mood Arthur and you share. Her face falls.

"Did, did the shopping not go well? I see you've..." She trails off as she takes in your new clothes.

You suspect in an attempt to lighten the mood, she puts her hands on her hips in mock disappointment and shoots Arthur a significant look.

"What in the blazes have you dressed her in Mr. Morgan? She looks like a ranch hand!"

Arthur seems to struggle to swallow the worst of his temper, apparently not wanting to take it out on Mary-Beth.

Oh so Mary-Beth deserves to be spared but not you?

Your bitterness towards him promptly deepens and suddenly you're exhausted. You miss Kieran -- no, actually you miss your home. You miss your own time. You miss your friends and family.  

"Don't look at me, she picked it all out herself!" Arthur deflects, holding his hands up in surrender.

Mary-Beth purses her lips at this claim but does eventually shift her gaze over to you. She immediately notices that your energy has plummeted, but you can't summon the will to care.

"But if you like it Y/n, then that's all that matters!" Mary-Beth rushes to assure, worried her comment about your fashion sense but more so your previous conversation with Arthur is working against her efforts to find some middle ground with you, to start building some semblance of trust.

You let her search your eyes and put together the realization that she failed. In fact you imagine instead of taking one step forward, you've taken three leaps back. But why bother with them anyway? There's no need to deal with these people any more than strictly necessary. You will find a way to return to your own time, and you're determined to figure it out by any means necessary.

--

Thoughts? Share them if you’d like!! xx

Masterlist

#A Single Frayed Rope #thejamesoldier #my writing #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

[strrawberrii]

wildflower {one}

What happens when you start to fall out of love with your husband? What happens when that husband is Kim Namjoon?

pairing: idol husband Namjoon x reader

tag / warnings: mild allusions to smut but very briefly and very much just about y/n remembering how things used to be, Namjoon’s long fingers and not much else.

author note: thank you to everyone who liked the preview!! I’m excited to continue wildflower and I hope you like this chapter!!

The descent down the elevator made my stomach churn. Yumi bounced up and down without a care in the world while I just stared blankly at the reflection in the elevator door. Who even was this person staring back at me? She was so unknown at this point. My life practically just consisted of being a single mother with the ever constant absence of my husband. I had no job to speak of, no career...no dream. Not anymore as that had long been given up in favor of Namjoon and his pursuit and career; his dream.

Thoughts raced through my head a mile a minute as the ding signaled that we were at our destination and as I began to walk Yumi to her preschool all I could think about was the man upstairs in our apartment. How much of myself had I given at this point? How much was there even left to give?

“Mommy!” My thoughts were interrupted by Yumi. My Yumi who looked so much like her father the older she got I was starting to get scared that no part of her would resemble me; the person who has cared for her more often than not.

“What love?” She was still so small and every fiber of my being felt like I needed to stay in the situation I was in just to appease her childhood and make it the most positive environment I could. But I was also starting to become so broken down at this point I wasn’t sure I could feel any kind of love or otherwise and that scared me above all. Who was I becoming? So callus and worn down that nothing, not even the return of my husband, could make me feel a positive emotion? He was, after all, the person that was supposed to do just that. Our life together had started off so great, so full, but now it was dying and at this point I was starting to let it.

“Aren’t you excited? Daddy's home!” Excited was an extreme overstatement but I couldn’t exactly tell her that so I just smiled and beckoned her forward into the preschool doors. She was still enamored by her father and it broke my heart to think of him; no longer my Namjoon. He was such a stranger to me as he was never home and it terrified me to go back to the apartment and continue my normal routine. So much so that I walked the city for hours until it felt like blisters had found my feet and I could finally go back to collect Yumi. To my surprise and horror however, as I arrived back at her school, someone was already there waiting.

“Hey Love,” Frowning as my husband stood at my approach and smiled at me, I made sure to stop far enough out of his reach so that from a distance it looked as how I felt; that we were strangers to each other. “I thought I would surprise you both since you never came home.”

“Surprised indeed.” I continued to frown as he stood there; tall, broad, and totally handsome and so totally not mine. “I thought you didn’t even know where Yumi went to school.” Even though my words were seething he didn’t flinch like expected. Instead he beamed again and started to approach me.

“You don’t give me enough credit. Now,” He went to sling an arm around my shoulder and I flinched, moving away. He gave me a dark look but didn’t press on the matter and instead moved forward towards the door. “Let’s get our daughter.”

I paused in the inbetween - hanging completely. If I moved forward I would have to brush past him but if I stayed behind our daughter would be left waiting. Moving forward ever so slightly and slowly so that precious Yumi wouldn’t be left wondering where I was, Namjoon’s chest came in contact with my shoulder and as he moved forward he pressed hard against my back.

“Babe,” He said low and in my ear, sending chills up my spine. “Don’t look so disgusted. You’re mine after all.”

***

To say that Namjoon being around Yumi made her exuberant was an understatement and she always got this way when he came home, for however brief it may be. She was simply too overjoyed. Too young to understand that this was all just temporary. That this man, who used to be our Namjoon, was just going to leave again and in the process leave us behind; alone and waiting. He would go off like he always did; travel constantly, go and see the world, get showered by love and compliments by enamoured fans all the while we struggled silently because he wasn’t there to see our pain and comfort us. He wasn’t there to see the aftermath of devastated Yumi who demanded she slept in his spot until she felt okay again. He wasn’t there to help with the havoc he created just by being.

But I knew the truth about him.

How cruel he could be, how dark. How he monitored my friends and forbade me to become one with any other man that wasn’t in his inner circle. How he insisted that he have a tracker on my phone, even to monitor me when he was away. How he would ghost me for weeks at a time and later claim that it was all work, that things were too overwhelming and he just couldn’t deal with it and us all at the same time and he needed to prioritize. But then, watching all the content they would put out to appease little Yumi’s desire to see her father even when he was on the other side of the world and I couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him, I would catch glimpses of him having true fun and it would just make my skin crawl.

I couldn’t be happy for him, not anymore.

Not after all those times we needed him since he just reminded me of so many horrible things now. Not after that time Yumi had the flu and was puking and shivering and running the highest fever she had ever had and I cried myself to sleep once her fever broke and I could rest. Not when she was so small and tiny, in the hospital begging for her father as I sat there and tried to be both, tried to soothe her, tried anything I could to comfort our daughter and felt so terribly rejected every time she asked for Namjoon. Not when he was off somewhere filming, performing, enjoying his life without us.

“Love,” He interrupted my thoughts as I sat at the table with him long after Yumi went to bed. Namjoon actually took the time to play with her before shutting himself in his studio just in time for me to do all the ugly work of making her go to sleep. “You’re picking at your hands and they are starting to bleed. Stop,” He was so quick, so unbelievably quick, as he grabbed my hands and enveloped them in his massive ones. Long fingers curled around mind and he looked at me again; darkly. I knew what he was thinking in that moment but the last time he touched me like that, with those long fingers, was right after Yumi had been born. He was gone too often, smelt of different smells and not the Namjoon that I had grown to love when I was younger. He wasn’t the same. He had changed. “You shouldn’t do that you know. It makes me mad.”

When he looked at me it was still filled with a hunger I used to thrive on. Now though, he was so unbelievably different and no matter how familiar his touch at that moment felt like I had to remind myself of that as I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I had been holding, excused myself to the restroom and cried silently into a towel as I left Namjoon and his hungry gaze alone in the kitchen. Long ago, when I was a different person, I would have fed into the hungry gaze; let him ravage me and have total control. Now was so drastically different and even if he couldn’t understand why it didn’t matter because I knew. I was still crying and with Namjoon I was somehow always finding myself like that; broken and alone.

Later, when it was time to sleep and I had pulled myself out of the bathroom, I was so unbelievably relieved when the late night fell and he shut himself away in his studio. I would be able to get to sleep before he would come crawling into bed at whatever hour in the morning. At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with him. Brushing out my hair after scrubbing my face ragged so my eyes didn’t seem so puffy I began to really think.

Namjoon.

The Namjoon who was idolized all over the world was just down the hall from me and I, the person who was married to the man that millions loved, would have rather been anywhere else at that moment.

Why? I couldn’t help but ponder.

Why was it that so much had changed between us?

Was it when he stopped bringing me flowers before he came back home no matter how long he was away for?

Was it when he missed the birth of our daughter because he was stuck in Japan for promotions and filming?

Was it when, after all of the events he missed, after all the nights that had gone by of sleeping alone, after all the firsts of Yumi’s gone unwitnessed, that I started to feel numb around him?

“Love,” Shocked, I jumped at the sound of his voice coming from the doorway. “How long have you been sitting there? It’s almost 1am.” Frowning I turned towards him. He stood there, looking like the most delicious thing I had ever laid my eyes on. If I wanted to I could let him have me, take total control and use me for whatever he wanted. But that woman had long been suppressed and instead there sat the woman who just shrugged, put her brush down and walked towards the right side of the bed to pretend to sleep so she could avoid talking to him.

“Goodnight,” I spoke softly, shutting the lamp off that sat on the bedside table next to me. In what felt like a different life that table used to be filled with photographs and memories long since past. Taken down in favor of an empty space and to appease my stomach so I never had to get nauseous looking at them again. There used to be pictures of us in Jeju long before I had become pregnant, us on our honeymoon in Italy, us in Paris at night right at the front of the Louvre all lit up behind us, us as an us long before the us became him and then me. Namjoon caught it though just before the darkness consumed us. Slipping into bed with me I felt him shift closer, his hand slink up my side, arm to envelope my stomach. He tugged lightly, trying to pull me closer in a nice way but I stubbornly laid planted, rooted to my spot.

“Tomorrow we’ll put the pictures back.” He said finally after I refused to move. “We’ll have breakfast like a family. You’ll take Yumi to school with me and after,” He sighed, a warm breath that reached the nape of my neck as he scooted closer to put his chest to my back for the second time that day. “You’ll be all mine.”

tag list: @amordesiempre01​ @namucries​

#bts namjoon #bts kim namjoon #bts #bts x reader #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #bts fanfic #wildflower #strrawberrii #namjoon x reader

[radioactive-butterfly]

There was Spike, on another day of duty, doing the very same things he used to do, every single day. Routine. Repetition. Manlabor. Hard, stiffened joints supported Spike's workforce on yet another "cattle task". He was sick of that, but he had no other choice. He had to make a living, and that shitty job was the only thing he had at the moment to do. A boring-ass, repetitive, stupid job; but an honest job, nonetheless. Spike was so filled up with anger and frustration that he couldn't muster to look at the passer-bys. He had a pretty normal life: normal grades, normal high school, normal college, normal career choice. Yet there he was, a victim of circumstantial unemployment rates and civil unrest due to the new automation wave from the joint effort inbetween the now Unified Eastern Bloc, led by Russia, China, Japan and Malaysia. Thailand was also starring in the automatons algorithms. It was a disaster for the West, that felt shortly after Britannia's downfall.

Yet, Spike cared none about this shit. All he cared was that the United States remained Unified, and still reigned free (or as free as liberty can be) in the Americas. Spike couldn't complain much about his life, especially compared to those low-life latinxs, who lived mostly in those dirty and gruesome favelas, menacing communities that could mean the end of your life in the blink of an eye, would you dare to not behave properly in the strict rules that they themselves create for them. Such an outlaw place was, of course, nowhere near where Spike lived and worked: downtown valley, East Coast, on the West Side of the Greenwich meridian, near LA. A richie’s place.

Spike’d had a somewhat of discriminatory preconceived notions of the latinxs folks, associating them with crime, robbery and smugness. This sickening repetitive job had this kind of advantage: Spike could let his mind fly high, because the shit wage that was paid was more than enough to keep a relatively decent lifestyle.

Pretending not to notice, but still taking a glance at the new passerby, Spike took notice of a distinct dark-skinned person walking near where Spike was cleaning his spot.

"You're not from here, white boy" said the dark-skinned person. Spike kept his cool, in spite of a single teardrop of sweat befalling on the back of his head. It wasn't routine for Spike to have a gun pointed at his head; regardless, Spike was used to having his life on the line.

"Bold of you to think I'm white" retorted Spike, on a surge of audacity.

After stopping to take a deep breath and blinking heavily,

the dark-skinned person replied:

"You're a jackass, but you at least got a vein of comedy in you, so I'll concede to you the honor to know the name of the one who'll kill you: Elektra."

"I don't intend to die right now, m'lady" retorted Spike in a surge of adrenaline.

By letting go of his stable gravity center, letting loose of the hang of his legs, Spike quickly dropped into the floor while at the same time striking his elbow against Elektra's elbow. The impact of such a blunt made them shoot the gun in an unconscious reaction. Spike, though, a war-veteran, was well accustomed to gunshots and kept his adrenaline-rush cool whilst at the same time keeping the adequate and precise amount of tension and bloodflow in his members, so he could be ready for any action in that moment of life-risk-gambling.

With a quick Tiger Palm strike on Elektra's gun, he struck it away from their grasp. He felt an unusual tenderness when their hands swiftly, briefly, though intensely, touched.

Using his mop to swipe even further Elektra's gun, he prepared for a fight to the death against that uncanny, unusual, yet somewhat of a hot dark-skinned person. The reason behind their death threat to him was unknown, yet he had no time to think about trivial motives now. He had a fight for his life to fight, and Elektra was an opponent of respect: it wasn't anyone who managed to make Spike drop an ice-cold sweat of nervousness.

In a sound-blasting fast kick, Elektra managed to go to knockout Spike. Had he not spent a gruesome, yet valuable short-intense-season-training with the Brigadiers, he would have fainted to that blow. Moreover, his agile reflexes granted him the privilege to see Elektra's strong leg just above his head, quickly stroking his also spiky hair and blowing his hat off. Spike had no other choice but to let his soldier side kick in and to get ready for a serious battle.

However... Spike's air missed from his lungs in a rapid gasp when he saw that Elektra wore a chest armor, instead of just a normal shirt. Why the fuck do they had such a piece of armor in the place of a normal cloth?

He couldn't help but to keep his eyes on them, whilst also noticing that they had a collar. What was the meaning of such a piece of garment, carefully placed on their neck?

By carefully managing his breath and his composture, Spike could notice that Elektra groaned while throwing their strikes. The groans that Elektra let out were uncanny, and somewhat feminine. This caught Spike's attention.

Elektra's aura was also beyond warmness — it had an intrinsic hotness that, probably coming from their sweat, inebriated Spike in the heat of the battle.

The battle raged on, and they were intense in their lashing out of their fierceness. None of them intended to go back home that day, probably sick and tired of blindly following others’ orders, or simply not giving a fuck about anything else but the heat, the melting heat of the moment of such a dynamic exchange between two persons with nothing else to lose anymore.

Spike struck the first hit, and to his yet another surprise, Elektra couldn't help but to let go an unexpected feminine groan when struck on their back. This raised Spike's suspiciousness bar, and this also made his breathing get more intense as the two of them danced the dance of Death itself: their life on the line, in an unusual barter of sensations and blows: anything for the sensation of feeling alive, maybe for Spike.

Elektra threw another one of their deadly kicks, much to Spike's surprise, and yet again his military training permitted him to survive that deadly blow: he dodged with a catseye's reflex instinct.

He gained the upper hand, cornering Elektra against the wall.

Elektra resisted fiercely, defending themselves with a martial posture. Spike projected his hips forward to gain space and dominate Elektra, who was cornered up with their back against the wall. Their heavy breathing’s scent could almost reach Spike, had he not projected his head backwards for safety against their deadly punches.

Spike had Elektra cornered. He could end the battle in an instant. But, once again, their necklace stood out from his perspective, and he quickly understood that Elektra was a woman. She also immediately realized Spike's perceptiveness, and her eye showed the almost imperceptive glance of lust, tinted with the melting heat of the exchange between the two warriors. Spike realized what was supposed to be Elektra's top secret, and she perceived Spike's realization. The stakes of the battle between the two raised above the normality of a life and death battle.

Spike let loose of his ferocity for a brief instant, with a self-dominating smile. He displayed an over-confident attitude, which maybe was intended, to make Elektra more comfortable and less hateful towards him.

Using one of his infamous tricks, he let from his sleeve a button and played with it with his fingers, whilst keeping his stare at Elektra's feline eyes. The intent behind this attitude from Spike was clear: he showed that he would rather massage her nipples instead of beat her.

Elektra didn't take such audacious move lightly; she took it to the heart. Yet, nonetheless, a part of her displayed willingness to engage in a more intimate contact with Spike. Such part was shown for but an instant in her facial expression.

Spike was taken with infatuation from her menacing look. Was it just infatuation, though? Was it the height of the flame of a burning yet ephemeral passion? He let down his guard for a nanosecond, a piece of time that was abruptly taken by Elektra, who lashed forward towards Spike.

Elektra jolted towards Spike, as he enjoyed more and more the exchange between him and her.

Whilst Elektra was displaying a primarily frustrated stance towards Spike, he was thrilled and excited with this sensual and misterious person that came out of the blue to kill him. Spike was used to putting his head on the line, though this time was totally different: he developed emotions AND feelings towards the person he was fighting against. This had never happened before, since Spike was like a lone wolf, untethered by the nefarious grasp of love... until now.

One more kick from her muscular legs and Spike could not not think about the remote, yet not impossible, possibility of getting between those legs in a different activity than a fight.

Now it was Elektra who threw a Tiger Palm against Spike, who dodged miraculously to his right, saving his skull from being crushed mercilessly against her wrath.

Their eyes crossed and Spike felt the air on his lungs and belly freeze against Elektra's heat. Spike was usually regarded as being hot and athletic, but what the heck was wrong with that girl? She kept striking him furiously and he kept enjoying it more and more. Spike was treading the thin line between life and death and he cared none about that, only about getting more of that feeling of being alive; that joyful experience shouldn't ever end on a draw. Who would penetrate the counterpart's defense first?

Spike wouldn't say it out loud, but perhaps he wished to be penetrated by her, only by her, and only that first time. Maybe this allowance from him boasted her self-confidence to the point that, this time, she was the one to corner Spike with a martial uppercut that caught him by surpise.

On a transient moment, Spike noticed against the sunlight the casting of shadow on Elektra's collar, and then suddenly everything became clear to him. They were both equal. They were the same: warriors destined to engage against each other until one of them died: either a small death or the grand death.

Spike jolted his mop forward, aiming for Elektra's mouth.

She dodges and he lungs his body forward, trying to conceal his hardness from the battle.

Nonetheless, Elektra perceives Spike's erection, and she herself becomes filled with a craving for more.

Spike himself, in spite of being erect towards Elektra's body, keeps his upper head cool, without, though, not displaying a pleasure in his expression towards Elektra. They both knew about each other's intimacy to a deep level, and they both were enjoying this exchange to the fullest.

Without a second moment to think about it and to give in to her desire, Elektra quickly reorders her blood flow from her hip area to the knees on a deadly strike against Spike, who uses the mop's counterweight to help him avoid the lethal blow on his crotch.

She lunges forward and penetrates Spike's ぜたいぼおぎょ, almost rendering him useless if not for his mop, who stuck firmly against her forearm.

She grabs his mop, and he suddenly realises she was also hard from this exchange. She wanted him to come near her, perhaps not to strike her down, but to kiss her softly. By the force she grabbed Spike's mop, he realized she wasn't overkill on this exchange, and she was helding back to not erase his beautiful yet shameful existence from the face of the Earth. Yet, she couldn't not get excited about this fight, and so couldn't Spike not be astonished by her presence of Spirit.

On an instant of lust, she grabs with both hands Spike's wood and pulls him towards her. Spike gasps at this unprecedented move, and butterflies swarm his stomach. What the fuck was happening to this veteran's training?!

She Scorpion Kicks him, and he notice that her well-developed glutes hold her butt firmly even when stretched. Spike couldn't not desire this woman with everything he had.

Her fierce and callused palm destroy Spike's mop, and he noticed how well-developed and fierce she can be. Elektra is rampant against Spike, and he's enjoying it somehow.

He uses the counterweighted part of the mop against his muscular body to swiftly go for her cheek, but Elektra prevents this foolish attack by dodging it majestically.

Spike's whole body stiffens at this point. He displays no sign of mercy, tensioning all his muscles and all his tonus Crane Stance power, concentrating his life against Elektra's might.

Elektra turns away her look, probably intimidated by Spike's fierceness.

Spike uses this opportunity to carefully almost strike Elektra, abd she lets out a high pitched gasp that also makes her blush in embarassment.

Spike couldn't resist any longer. Had he continued the fight against Elektra, he would probably give in to his animalistic desires and would lose his nectar against that woman. Spike used the gambit of the beginning of their fight in his favor now, running from her and her deadly presence.

Elektra does what he wanted, after all. She goes after him. Spike wanted to be held, not in a fight, but against her arms, tenderly. This probably wasn't the wisest move of his part, but at least he got to take a look at her armor... and her loaded gun.

"Stop or I'll sh-shoot!!!"

Though Spike didn't stop. He was too far beyond that now. At this point, all he knew was to run away from that powerful woman. He jumped what could as well be a bottomless cliff, way too far away from the deadly claws of Elektra.

And she herself didn't give a damn anymore about her duty. Fuck that. She went after him, to at least get his number, or better: to get between his legs.

#korean novel #japanese novel #novel

[1dfangirls35]

Voir Dire (N.H.)

A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates and risking it all for love

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think!

twenty-one

Niall couldn't help but feel out of place. 

As he sat in the near silent waiting room, surrounded by mother's cradling their baby bumps, holding hands with their partners beside them, and chasing after children, he began to wonder how he'd ended up in this place, sat beside Krystal as they awaited her very first OB appointment.

His palms were sweating, which probably had something to do with the fact that with every passing minute this became more and more real. He was going to be a father. In six short months he would have a child; a miniature version of him staring back at him.

It wasn't that Niall didn't want to be a father. He'd always pictured it as part of his future. Chasing a giggly toddler around the living room. Kicking a soccer ball back and forth in the green grass of his backyard. He'd even envisioned himself changing a few smelly diapers. But when he'd imagined it, it had always been with someone he loved beside him. A child created because he loved someone so much that he couldn't wait to bring another person into their life together. He'd never thought he'd become a father in this way- knocking up his fake girlfriend in a one night stand because both of them were lonely.

Niall looked over at Krystal. She was twirling a piece of her long blonde hair around her finger, over and over again, her eyes fixated on the blank beige wall in front of them. She hadn't said a word since Niall had picked her up this morning, well, except for a very soft 'Krystal Hoffman' to the lady at the front desk. Niall knew that for every ounce of fear he had in his body, the number was a thousand-fold in Krystal's. This wasn't what she'd planned either. She was supposed to be getting ready to land her first acting gig, not preparing to have her life changed forever by a child.

He reached his hand out, placing it on top of hers with a reassuring squeeze. Krystal turned her head and gave him the smallest of smiles, but Niall saw right through it. Her eyes revealed that she's just as terrified as she was when she broke the news to Niall almost four weeks ago.

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

After their "hook-up", Niall chose to act like it never happened, and lucky for him, Krystal chose the same stance. Maybe they'd both realized it was a poor decision, made in a vulnerable, emotional moment. Things returned to normal for a few weeks, they went on their last few PR dates, they maintained their friendship, and Niall still  returned home at night feeling like his life was in shambles. The light at the end of the tunnel was that the end of the contract was in sight. The promo was done, the concerts sold-out, all that remained was one final blockbuster-worthy break-up to get Niall that last ounce of publicity.

But then something changed. One day Krystal was cracking jokes with Niall as they walked down Rodeo Drive hand in hand; three days later she was nearly mute, speaking only when absolutely necessary. She seemed unfocused- like her mind was in an entirely different place than her body. He'd tried probing her, thinking that maybe she'd talk to him about it- the boy that was on her mind or the audition she was stressed about . Instead he was answered with a sharp "It's nothing. I'm fine" and the most forced smile he'd ever seen.

Niall attributed it to the nerves of this all ending. He told himself that Krystal was simply looking into auditions, trying to find her next step after the split from Niall. Niall didn't even consider the idea that there was something bigger eating her up inside. Much bigger.

"We need to talk," Krystal said one evening on a PR sighting out to dinner, her eyes shifting to look out the window.

"Go ahead, I'm listening," Niall laughed. They were talking. That's all they'd been doing at this table where a few paparazzi had come to take some pictures. The media had died down slightly, perhaps because the newness of Niall and Krystal had faded. Perhaps they were on to the next celebrity couple- at least for the time being.

"I think this is a conversation that would be better to have in private." Krystal's voice shook every so slightly as she spoke, and Niall couldn't help but notice that she can't seem to look him in the eyes.

"Okay," he responded cheerfully. His insides, however, churned in anticipation of what Krystal could possibly have to say to him in a private conversation.

His insides continued to churn. While they exited from the restaurant with Krystal's hand intertwined with his. While they drove in near silence back to Niall's house. And now, while Niall sat impatiently on his sofa as he waited for Krystal to speak. 

She was staring at the black and white framed photo of The Eagles positioned on Niall's wall and Niall could have sworn that she hadn't blinked since they'd arrived. He watched as Krystal twirled a piece of her hair inbetween her fingers, her chest rising and falling in deep even breaths as if she's concentrating on her own respirations.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out suddenly, her words leaving her mouth so quickly that Niall's not even sure he heard them correctly.

At first, Krystal's statement didn't even register in Niall's mind. It made sense to him- why Krystal would be acting so anxious, why she seemed like her mind was on something else. And then suddenly, his brain comprehends why she's telling him this. His stomach lurched. It couldn't be.

Niall's mind scoured for any recollection from that night. But there were hardly any pieces to be found. He remembered Krystal showing up at his door, her remembered comforting her, and he remembered laying in bed afterwards feeling like he'd been punched in the gut- but the in between? That was all a bit blurry, like his emotions had blocked it from his mind.

"But," Niall began, as if protesting what Krystal had said would somehow make it less true. "Didn't we use..."

"I don't remember," Krystal spat, as if she'd suddenly gotten her voice back. "But I'm on the pill and I mean I guess sometimes I forget or a miss the alarm but I swear I always take it when I remember and..." Krystal began to ramble.

Niall didn't hear the rest of what she said, her words sounded muffled, like Niall was underwater. He certainly felt like he could be underwater. Like he was drowning- the outside world slowly slipping from his grasp. 

"Fuck," Niall muttered under his breath. He felt his pulse quickening, his head  pounding, and his breathing becoming ragged. He couldn't be in here, in this space with this announcement. He rushed towards the back door, flinging it open with a bang and rushing out onto the green lawn.

"Where are you going?" Krystal shouted but Niall didn't even hear her.

He stood there for a moment, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He felt like he was not even in his own body. Like he's watching a movie of his life- a very bad one at that, where everything that could possibly go wrong for the protagonist does. Niall looked up at the blue Los Angeles sky. He figured that at any moment, the skies would open up in a torrential downpour, to really set the mood. They didn't. Instead, the sun shined back at him and he felt that maybe he should curse at the world for all the bad cards he'd been dealt as of late. But he couldn't do that either, because this -this was all his own doing. It's the wake-up call that Niall  had needed for so long. The shock to his system that finally made him realize that he was on a path to self-destruction. And in that moment he realized that his life was never going to get better if he didn't start taking back control. And that started with facing the consequences of his actions. 

Niall heard Krystal sniffling as he re-entered the house. He watched as she quickly tried to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, but even that couldn't hide the puffiness that now surrounded them. He instantly felt guilty for running out on her like that. She'd probably been terrified to tell him in the first place, and here he was bolting like a total dick.

Niall didn't say anything at first, sliding onto the couch next to Krystal and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She laid her head against him as he whispered "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like that."

He half expected her to lash out at him. To yell at him for leaving after she just told him something so serious. To lecture him that his actions were nothing like that of a father, and that he had a long way to go if he wanted a place in this child's life. She didn't.

"It's okay," she responded in a shaky voice that proved that it was far from okay.

There were a million questions racing through Niall's mind, including the looming question of whether or not this was even his baby. He knew it was a possibility, but it was a small one right?   They'd only ever slept together once. 

"It's mine?" Niall asked, "You're sure?" Niall wasn't sure what transpired that night, but he swears he is starting to remember grabbing that foil package from his bedside drawer. He was always careful. Always.

Krystal  quickly nodded. "I've looked at the dates a million times and it... it just adds up that way." Niall could have sworn he heard some hesitation in her voice, but maybe that was his brain trying to hear things that weren't there, searching for a way out of this. Krystal wouldn't lie to him. Not about anything this important. Not about something that would change the course of  both their lives. He suddenly regretted ever asking about the paternity, thinking it likely made him look desperate for a way out. 

"I'm sorry, I debated not even telling you, and I know we have the contract meeting next week and..." Krystal's eyes began to glaze over again. "I just want you to know that I completely understand if you want nothing to do with this. I'll keep quiet about it- even to your management."

Niall looked Krystal in the eyes. He could see the fear filling her hazel irises, and he began to think about just how much strength it had taken Krystal to tell him. The turmoil that had likely been going on inside her head day in and day out . And though every ounce of him wanted to be angry, at himself, at Krystal, at his management for every putting him in this situation in the first place, all he could feel was an ache in his heart for Krystal.

"Krystal, look at me," he said, taking her hands into his.  "I will support you in whatever decision you make. You aren't going to go through this alone."

Krystal nodded, but her eyebrows were still laced with concern. "I'm going to keep it," she murmured softly, as if she was hesitating to vocalize her decision aloud. "Maybe my mom's right and I've made a terrible mistake and I'm ruining my life, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise? " Niall could tell that Krystal was still trying to convince herself of that last part. He wanted to press her about her mother, but he knows know is not the time.

Instead, he wraps his arms around Krystal, hugging her tight. "You're going to be an excellent mother, I just know it."

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

Niall and Krystal came to the conclusion that they had to mention their news to Niall's management, especially since their upcoming meeting was supposed to be all about how to break things off. Not to mention the fact that Niall was supposed to be on tour during the time Krystal's online due date calculator indicated the baby would be arriving. Niall found it a bit ironic, for so long he had longed for the day when he would be free to spend time with whoever he chose again, and here he was willingly giving Capitol a reason to continue to dictate his personal life.

Mr. Michaels was perched behind his desk with a sinister grin plastered on his face like always as Niall and Krystal entered his office to discuss the status of the contract. Entering the Capitol Office never got any easier, and Niall wondered what bombshell Mr. Michaels had to drop on Niall's plans this time. Niall wasn't thrilled with the idea of extending the contract, but he wasn't sure what else there was to do at this point. He was trying to do the right thing. And if the right thing meant continuing to fake a relationship with Krystal- that's exactly what he would do.

He took a seat in the chair next to Krystal, rubbing his palms against his grey trousers as Mr. Michaels began to clear his throat. "As you both know, the contract is about to expire. So we need to discuss how we will wrap this relationship up," Mr. Michaels announced.

"Before we discuss that," Niall interrupted hesitantly, noticing that his voice cracked. "We have something to tell you that may...influence how the ending of this is handled."

Mr. Michaels raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

"I'm pregnant," Krystal blurted out before he had a chance to ask questions.

Mr. Michaels was silent for a moment, and Niall took small satisfaction in knowing that for once he had caught the man off-guard. "I see," Mr. Michaels paused, tapping his pen against the metal surface of his desk. "Well in that case we can certainly extend the contract as needed, although  it's not what we had planned for promotion I can't say that this won't generate its own set of publicity..."

"No," Krystal said suddenly, causing Mr. Michaels to look up abruptly.

"I'm sorry," he asked, giving Krystal a confused glance.

"No, I won't sign another contract," Krystal repeated, her voice firmer this time. "I'm simply notifying you so that you can alter your plans. If Niall wants to be part of this child's life, I want it to be by his choice and on his terms."

Mr. Michaels looked startled, like that was the last thing he expected to leave Krystal's mouth. Niall wondered if he looked shocked too, because he also hadn't even considered the fact that Krystal would refuse signing the contract. 

"You didn't have to do that," he said as they entered the elevator to leave the Capitol building, having come to an agreement with Mr. Michaels that their relationship in the public eye would fizzle out without any outside interference and that Niall's tour dates from mid-February to March would be rescheduled. 

"It was the only thing I could do Niall. I don't want this contract dictating your life anymore, and I certainly don't want you to resent me or this baby because of it."

"Thank you," Niall replied softly, but he knew even those words weren't big enough to express just how grateful he was to finally be out of Capitol's control- or at least partly. 

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

In the time since they'd met with Capitol, there had been many rumors circulating. Rumors that Niall and Krystal had broken up when their sightings together disappeared. Rumors that they were expecting a baby triggered by the suspicious rescheduling of some of Niall's tour dates. Even rumors that the two had broken up because of the baby. 

They weren't together- not in a romantic sense- but Niall had committed himself to being there for Krystal in whatever way possible, especially after learning that her mother had effectively disowned her when she learned she was pregnant. He knew he was doing the right thing- but that didn't make the right thing easy.

He often laid awake at night wondering if this is what his life would become, a platonic co-parenting relationship with his former fake girlfriend. Fearing what this would do to his career. Imagining what this news might do to the person who still had a grasp on his heart, no matter how much time had passed. A part of Niall wondered what would have happened if all those months ago, Capitol hadn't decided he needed a girlfriend to promote his record. Would he be where he was now? Or was his life always meant to be this way?

"Krystal Hoffman," the nurse called out, entering the waiting room with a clipboard in hand and snapping Niall back into reality.  Krystal stood abruptly and Niall noticed her hand shaking as she reached to grab her purse. He reached out, setting a hand on the small of her back and leaning over to whisper in her ear. "We can do this." 

But he's not sure who needed more convincing- Krystal or himself.

Tag List: @awomanindeniall​​ , @ihearthemcallingforyou​ , @niall-is-my-dream​​ ,​  @stylishmuser​​​ , @thicksniall

#I WILL POST CHAPTER 23 THIS WEEK AND I PROMISE YOU WILL LIKE IT #but here's maybe some of the answers you've been looking for? #writingby1dfangirls35 #voir dire #niall horan #nh #niall ff #1dff #nhff #niallff #niall x ofc #fake dating ou #secret relationship ou #niall ou

[howardpotts]

Could I possibly get smut prompt 54 with Steve? Maybe he doesn't even say it but gestures to his lap and the others are shocked by how nonchalant he is about it. Whatever you write I'll be happy with. 💙💙💙

Of course!!

Bored out of your mind. That’s what you were. You had your fifth day off and had no clue of what to do to make the time go faster. 

Lazily you zapped through Netflix, but you weren’t really in the mood for a movie or a series. You weren’t in the mood for anything that this house had to offer. And the most annoying thing of it all was that Steve had busy days at the office so he couldn’t be here to help you out. You had to wat for at least a few hours before he was back to cuddle with you. 

You wish you could just find something to make the time go faster, to make it feel like those hours turned into minutes. 

Oh. But there was.

It seemed as if a little lightning bulb appeared above your head as your raised from the couch. You could either wait and sit out your time, or you could cheat time and just go to his office now.

+++

“Babe?” You opened his office door. Steve’s head quircked up at the sound of your voice. He didn’t expect to hear it in his office. 

“Hey, come in”, he gestured. For two seconds his eyes were on the paper before closing it and giving you his unprovided attention. “Something wrong? What’s going on?”

You stepped into the big office. His desk might be gigantic, but it’s still too small for Steve’s liking; papers and other kind of stuff were sprawled on the entire surface. Two chairs, that were normally empty, but now seated by Bucky and Sam. 

“N-No”, you say nervously, not expecting the two men to be here. You give them a friendly smile before turning to your boyfriend again.

“Then why are you here?”, he asks, still as patient and nice as he ever is. 

“W-well, uh, I was bored at home and-”

“-and you got here to get all cozy with goodie two shoes”, Sam chimed in. Your cheeks flush as you nod as you give Sam a quick glance. In the corner of your eye, you see Bucky smirking.

Steve’s eyes were slowly going over your figure. He did that whenever he was thinking, whenever he was trying to fit the pieces together. And when it clicks, his eyes are peering in yours. 

“Well, why don’t you come sit on my lap than, hon? You can sit til I’m done working”, he suggests, rolling his chair backwards. 

“And why don’t you guys get the hell out of here?”, he nods to his friends.Both look like they’ve seen some sort of alien before they get up and hurry to leave. You chuckle as you take place. 

“I needed a reason anyway to get them out of here”, he grins before giving you a little kiss. “Now, where was I?”

He opens the documents in front of you again, much to your annoyance. You are literally sitting on his lap and all he can think about is work? Not on your watch. Now that you were here, you wanted the attention.

“Babe, why?”, you whine, arms around his neck as you give him another kiss. “I’m here. Can’t you give me a little attention now?”

Steve sighs as he throws his arms around your hips, eyes on you again. “You know I can’t do that. I have a lot of work. Would’ve been home if I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but a little break can’t hurt, right?”, you argue. Again you give him a kiss, a bit longer now, trying to make him give in by the affection you’re giving him. 

“Stop it, kissing is cheating and you know it”, he smiles. You only grin and shrug your shoulders. Alright, no lip kissing. 

Your hands slowly find their way up. From his broad chest, to his wide shoulders. Thumb going over his jawline while the rest of your hand tickle his neck, going to the back of his head. The little hairs feel soft, but the higher your hand goes, the stiffer the hair becomes. 

A small groan is leaving his lips, his fingers gripping your hips tighter, pushing you against his chest and your core against his slowly growing hardening cock. 

Your hands go back to his chest and find the upper button of his blouse. Slowly you undo the first two buttons, but you make sure to touch him too. You have to make him crazy in order for him to give in. 

“Hon, I gotta-” A small groan interrups his sentence when you flick your hips forward. You know he said that kissing was cheating, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

Hot wet lips sucked lightly in his neck, slowly making their way to his sweet spot. You could feel the goose bumps appearing. God, you sometimes forget how much effect you could have on this man. He could throw you over the desk, his hands could stop you easily from what you were doing, but yet you made him weak. 

There was this exact moment where you knew he snapped. His hands found their way to the end of your dress and sliding under it. He squeezed your ass harshly as he threw his head back against the headrest. 

Slowly you started to straddly him, lips now sucking lightly at his sweetspot. Little satisfying hums vibrating over your lips. 

You could feel his hard cock pressuring your folds as you rode him, even though there was a lot of clothing inbetween. 

One hand of his went to your head, removing it harshly from his neck and pushing it back to make space for him to devour yours. 

“Ah- Fuck”, you whisper as he bites at one of your favorite spots, his tongue soothing the same space a second later. 

Your hands work on his belt, the clinging echoing through the office. His hands are moving up and down your upper leg, while you try to undo his button. 

Both of you let out a breathing laugh when you can’t seem to unbutton it. He leans a bit backward to give you a little bit more workspace. It seemed like that was all you needed, the button was undone in two seconds.

“Fuck my cock, hon”, he whispered in your ear. You bit your lip and nodded in excitement. You were about to fuck him in his office, while he clearly had important work stuff to do.

You lowered his underwear a bit to get his cock out. Your own panties were shoved aside. 

Before you sank down on him, you pressed his cock on your wetness, making it ready for you. 

You both let out a breath when you lowered yourself. You’ll never get used to the feeling of him in you, how he stretches your walls perfectly and gives you this weave of hotness. 

“So tight for me”, he hisses. You bite his neck lightly as you bottom him out. Before you move, you let yourself get used to him. You didn’t have a lot of foreplay, so you’re a bit too tight to give it your all right away.

When you felt that unpleasant feeling going to the background, you started moving up and down. His hands were on your hips, helping you move and set a pace that you both enjoyed. 

“Fuck baby.”

“Like that, hon.”

The chair creaks a little when you move. It echoes through the entire room and it might even be hearable from the outside. But you didn’t care at all. All you cared about was Steve and his cock that were about to give you your orgasm.

His hands stopped you in your tracks. 

“On my desk. Now.” The words sent a jolt of excitement through your body. You got off him and looked at the papers in front of you. That might not be the most convenient place to have sex on. 

He saw how you watched, the confusion in your eyes. His hand quickly removed the papers to the other side of the desk. It’s probably one big mess he had to search out later, but that wasn’t his concern right now. 

“Turn around”, he commanded. Even though Steve normally definitely leads in bed, he never really was one to command. But now that you were at work, he probably felt a bit more in his Captain America role than he did usually. And god, you loved it.

“Like this, Captain?”, you tried as you bent down, showing your still covered ass. 

He threw the material over your back, your panties were on your knees in a second. “Fucking- yes, doll, like that.”

Doll? That was a first. What a beautiful nickname. Kinda hot as well.

He shoved in you with ease. A loud and quick ‘Ah!’ left your lips, but you bit on your tongue to held in the rest of it. You were in his office after all. People could hear you. 

Steve set a relentless pace, one where your legs were weakening every second. Your hands hold on to the end of his desk, knuckles turning white. You felt how there was knot growing and growing in your stomach, but you were pretty sure that Steve was coming closer too.

“Babe, I’m gonna come”, you warn. His hands tighten around your hips.

“Me too. Come for me. Make me feel you cum”, he breathes. Grunts leaving him with every trust. 

Your body shocks when you come. Full body falls flat on the table, his hands keeping your hips up to thrust him to his own orgasm, which makes him stutter against your ass. His warm cum fills you up, sending an extra wave of your orgasm through you. 

He slides out of you when he’s sure that you both had your high. You get off his desk, fixing your dress and your hair. He puts everything in to place as well. 

When your eyes meet, you both laugh.

 “I can’t believe we did this”, you smile. “You think people heard?”

“Oh, I know they did. Especially those two perves who were in here.”

#Anonymous #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers drabble #sort of #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut

[spellnbone]

Edgar writes the Theatre & Arts Column for the Daily Prophet. His philosophy is that if someone has a voice, they have to use it to do good; this means that on the one hand one has to push art to its limits or even further, and on the other hand one has to make those voices heard which don’t have a platform yet.

Edgar’s Introduction to Theatre

Much like most families with comfortably filled wallets, the Bones would take their children to the theatre on the weekends quite often. Most of the children adored it but also took it somewhat for granted -- which made the culture shock of moving to England only worse. There are theatres in Hastings, yes but they are small and not at all as dramatic and colourful as what the Bones had grown to know in Mexico. They lacked imagination! And since there was no theatre club at Hogwarts either, it was only on his first trip to London at the age of thirteen that Edgar rediscovered his love for this art.

After that, he began reading and loving play-scripts more than novels, eventually writing down his thoughts, comparing, analysing, interpreting with fervor and a very new, strange sensation growing within him: passion. For someone who found interest in literally anything he encountered (except Quidditch), it was a surprise to many to see Edgar so into something (though one might not forget that his new love for theatre came around the same time as he was beginning to grow apart from Amelia). His friends from school might still remember that one of the best ways to get Edgar talking in a social situation was by expressing a badly thought-out opinion about theatre. Suddenly the shy boy who so often was accused of boot-licking would throw himself into passionate speeches about love, death and every other grand topic of life inbetween.

(One of his favourite topics, that is, urban legends he loved to ramble about for hours was Mundungus Fletcher. Each and every article covering the fiasco was bought six times and each and every time Fletcher’s photograph was cut out and glued to various surfaces; Edgar’s notebooks, the under-side of the topbunk above him, the walls in his room at home. It was the same grotesque-fascination-turned-unstopple-obsession that the Muggle play Cats had about ten years later).

It was during this time also that Edgar began reading the news. Initially he only ever snatched the arts section (despite its terribly boring focus on mainstream theatre), he’d eventually also begin reading the other articles, finding himself growing more and more educated and opinionated about political topics, too.

His passion ended where the stage began, though. He never tried to direct a play, write one himself, or -- Morgana forbid! -- tried to star in one. He was quite content to be but an observer. However, after graduating and leaving England to finally go back to Mexico, he fell in love with an actress of a small travelling troupe (and shortly after with her brother, the director), and before he knew it, he was travelling around the world with them.

When he came back to England, he wrote for the hebdomadal East Sussexian Wizarding paper, simply because the owner was a good friend of the Bones family and needed someone to fatten up the paper with some think-pieces. Edgar neither saw his calling in that nor ever made a name for himself, he was mostly just passing his time, trying to figure out what he really wanted to do with his life. It was only when he met up with Ainsley Abbott again around his 19th birthday that he began considering journalism as a proper career. She’d told him that the Daily Prophet was looking for a new arts columnist and remembered that he had always had a thing for theatre.

London’s Theatres

Contrary to movies, most other Muggle art isn’t completely disregarded by the Wizarding World. Of course one will always find some bloodpurists who think that all magicless art isn’t worth their time, but the more commonly agreed upon opinion is that when it comes to old-fashioned art, Muggles aren’t all that bad at it. The Daily Prophet has therefore always covered the Wizarding Westend as well as the Muggle Westend productions, giving the former more attention but never discriminating between them all too much. They are, after all, similar in many regards: the leads will most likely be traditionally good-looking, born and raised in this country and culture, and introduced to the director by personal connections. The themes of the plays perpetuate conservative values and ideals and have to please the broadest audience possible, therefore not contain any smut or controversial themes.

They’re usually even located in the same buildings as the Muggle theatres, either in magically hidden back halls or underground:

“Two, reserved on the Daily Prophet.”

The lady behind the counter, despite looking just like the other ticket vendors next to her, gave it a nod and handed them their keys. They were small little copper things, meant for a one time use of a door that was titled: “Staffs Only”.

Muggles had this thing to believe that theatres were haunted. The possibility of that, considering just how few people actually died in such places compared to normal apartment houses, were slim, and the idea absurd once you knew what truly caused the mysterious whispers, the unexplained floor-board creaking, and distant moaning: A second theatre down below. Wizarding. Vibrant, crowded, cheerful.

Not having even yet reached the first floor below, the music already met Edgar and Amelia. The chit chat was lively, and unlike the Muggle theatre above, time had not changed the customs of exhibitions and shows here: Roasted-nut sellers were walking around with their goods on a tray hanging down their neck, a fire-spitter was entertaining a group of kids in a corner, and on the stage stood one of the actors, cheering and shouting blurbs about the play in an attempt to motivate the audience. No seats but on the upper balconies, were ladies sat whose robes were so fluffy and wide that their companions for the night attempting to sit next to them probably needed to shout to have their words heard.

The idea to even pay attention to those independent artists who always seem angry or angsty, who always seemed so desperate to speak up about issues that no respectable Wizard would care about? It was unheard of by the general Wizarding Public who didn’t have a great variety of news outlets.

It was only when Edgar accepted his job as the new arts columnist that the ‘Off Westend’ productions -- that is, the exhibits shown in garages, the plays held on rooftops, the stories told by otherwise drowned voices -- were finally given a platform through and by the Daily Prophet.

Edgar’s Own Private Resistance

For about eight years now, Edgar’s been publishing little articles of about 300 to 500 words a day which are usually reviews and recommendations, as well as longer think-pieces on the Sunday edition. They’re all signed E.V.Bones (or at times solely E.V.B when the space is spare), much like his letters, so it all depends on the wit of a person whether they know who is writing the column or not. It’s earning him 6 to 10 galleons per piece, that is 40 to 70 galleons a week, which (at least in modern equivalent) is 210 to 350 pounds a week, so he’s not poor but also far from becoming rich with this. As of now, he never considered changing his job, though. Partly due to the fact that he gets to see all sorts of plays for free, partly because he usually does all his work at the office only once a week (usually a 12 hour work day) and has the rest of the week to deal with Order business. But most importantly he’s still at the Daily Prophet because it allows him to fight this war in his own, quiet terms.

Upon reviewing a play, Edgar always asks two questions: how does this further the progress of art, and how does this further the progress of society? While the opinions in his writing are always expressed quite subtly (as otherwise, Edgar’s arch nemesis Kenny Mack, his editor and son of the Daily Prophet’s current owner, will simply censor out what might be too controversial for the general readership), they’re never suppressed or gentle, certainly never excuse conservative, problematic productions.

(It was because of one of those harsher reviews of his that he met the then-adored Lydia Avery, who he had equated to a piece of morning toast -- something you thoroughly enjoy in the moment itself but would never crave if hungry or a somewhat interesting person. Most of his review had been about the blatant racism of the play, though, and and yet, while up until this day Lydia might still be upset about it, Edgar never left their conversation with anything other than appreciation for her. He’s well aware that actors are a symptom of an ill society, not the illness itself.)

The idea that he could use his job for something bigger, something good, came the night after Ainsley had suggested he take the job at the Daily Prophet. “Me?” he had asked over a cup of tea, not even 20 years old then, not yet in the Order, not yet jaded and made brave by war, not yet used to the idea that every helping hand counted, “Reviewing art for the whole of Britain? Why would anyone care about what I have to say?” “They don’t,” Dell had replied in this earnest way of his, “but it’s not about you anyway. It’s about them. There’s people out there who have no one who listens to them, even though they have something to say, even though so many others want -- no! need! -- to hear what they have to say. It’s not about you. It’s about them. And you’re the one who’s going to make sure they’re heard.” “But the Daily Prophet? It’s so conservative.” “Not your column, it won’t be. Not if you write it.”

What his brother Dell was saying and what Edgar grew to understand over the years, was that there are so many Muggleborns and Halfbreeds out there who never see themselves represented in a positive, hopeful light in stories, or at least by the actors telling those stories. The mainstream theatre productions simply do not care to show such representation, to tell such diverse stories. It’s the back-alley theatres that dare to break the rules of what is acceptable, to break the norm, to help society and art evolve. And Edgar hopes that by writing about this, more people will be able to realise that they’re not alone. That there’s others like them, out there, everywhere. That despite the way the (relatively neutral) Daily Prophet reports it, Voldemort doesn’t have that many people on his side, at least not compared to just how many people are against him. By drawing attention to those smaller plays and their values, he helps to grow and foster a community where like-minded people can meet and share their opinions and realise that they’re not alone at all.

And thus, Edgar had accepted the job, his agenda of political nature, safely tucked between 8 and 11pm, and sometimes also during matinées.

#{ it’s rotten work } #{ wisdom begins in wonder } #m:mundungus #m:lydia #did i just equate mudnugnugus fletcher to andre wlws cats? #maybe so!

[readerstories]

The Boxer and the Italian - Bonnie Gold x gender neutral!reader

Gender-neutral since the anon didn’t specify :) Starts sometime in season 4, ends sometime inbetween season 4 & 5. Also, can’t figure out how old Bonnie is supposed to be, so I’m putting him at 22 like his actor. The reader is a bit older than him (no specified age), felt that was natural since reader is working for Changretta. If you see any typos, please tell me. (AO3)

Warnings: swearing, older reader, smut, hints of angst, some fluff, excessive drinking

Wordcount: 7629

Request: A bonnie x reader where they meet because y/n came to England with Luca Changretta

God, you fucking hated England. You had agreed to go to this shit-hole of a country to help Luca Changretta with the vendetta against the Shelbys. You had worked for him for years, you considered him a friend, but you are starting to regret it.

You are on your way to the shops, seeing if you can manage to find even some halfway decent food when it begins to rain. Again. You swear, always with the fucking miserable weather. You clamp your hat down on your head, breaking into a light jog as to get out the rain quicker. You run to the closest shop, a bakery, to seek shelter. 

You are too preoccupied with not loosing your hat and getting out of the rain at the same time that you don’t notice the door to the bakery open and a man stepping out. This causes you to run right into him, sending you both stumbling into the shop. 

The man is holding a paper bag with something, nearly loosing it before righting himself. That he is cute is the first thing you notice as soon as you have righted yourself. He can’t be very old, maybe just over 20, dark brown hair, a clean shaven face, and brown eyes that are now looking at you with curiosity. 

You try to shake off some of the rainwater before speaking up, remembering to have some manners even if you are in a shit-hole shaped as a country.

“Sorry about that, had to get out of the rain, didn’t see you before I ran into you. Hope you didn’t lose anything on the floor?” You look up from your coat, catching the boy staring. He shakes his head, as a no or to clear his head you are not certain.

“I didn’t and no worries, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” The boy watches you again, you can also tell the baker is keeping an eye on you both, but too busy with another customer to do or say anything. 

“You are not from around here are you?” You scoff; adjusting your hat on your head so it’s looks more proper.

“Whatever gave it away? My accent, my clothes, my whole fucking being?” The boy has no time to answer before the baker speaks up, interrupting your conversation.

“You going to buy something? If not, you can get out of my shop.” You look at him, irritated. You think about shooting him for a split second, before calming yourself down. It’s not him putting you in a foul mood; it’s his fucking country. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fucking buy something.” You look over the selection of bread and pastry, trying to pick something to get, as not to annoy the baker any more than you already have. You notice then that the boy you ran into earlier is still standing there, looking at you.

“What are you looking at?” You bark at him. His eyes widen, looking away quickly.

“Nothing.” He says, opening the door and leaving into the rain you just escaped. You snort and turn back to try to figure out what to buy.

---------

You don’t think anymore of the boy from the bakery until you run into him again, this time as literal as the last time. This time however, it’s him who runs into you. 

You are on your way out of a restaurant, one of the only decent ones you have been able to find, talking quietly in Italian with one the other mobsters when someone collides with you. 

You stumble sideways, managing to catch yourself and the other person before either of you hit the ground. 

“Fucking hell, watch where you are going kid.” You then notice who it is you are holding the arms of. It’s the kid you ran into at the bakery.

“Fucking you again. Wasn’t once enough?” You say, totally ignoring that last time was your fault.

“Sorry, I’m running late for a meeting, didn’t see you.” That seemed like a reasonable explanation, the sidewalk was fairly crowded, so you let go of his arms so he stands on his own again. 

“Again, so sorry.” The boy takes his hat off, bowing deeply like an apology. You exchange a glance with the other mobster.

“My apologises, but I do have to run, going to get punished if I get any later than I already am. Bye!” And with that, the boy is running off again, disappearing into the crowd.

“What and who the fuck was that?” You shrug.

“I don’t fucking know, and I do not care. Let’s go back to the hotel, sure Luca is getting impatient waiting for us.” The other mobster nods, and you start walking away. If your mind keeps going back to that meeting and that cute boy for the rest of the day; that is no-ones business but your own. 

Bonnie is very much in the same situation as you, even taking a punch he could have dodged during training and getting yelled at by his coach.

Truth was, Bonnie had seen you through the window of the restaurant when he walked by earlier. He had wanted to introduce himself properly, but didn’t know how to go about it. The fact that you weren’t there alone didn’t help the situation either. 

He had ended up standing on the street corner out of sight of the restaurant for far too long. This led to him actually being late for his practice, but also led to you actually leaving the restaurant, and that was when he got his brilliant idea. 

It had kind of worked, he had gotten to speak to you again, however brief it had been. He needed to find a better way to meet you again. 

He’s sure if he kept literally running into you every time you met, you would tire of him real fast. Or maybe shoot him. Either or could happen. 

He keeps running towards the gym while trying to formulate some sort of plan.

---------

Off all the things you had expected to find in England, a regular bar was not one of them. The bar was a short walk from the hotel, but decidedly less fancy and more anonymous. 

No one there gave a shit about you as long as you paid for your drinks and kept to yourself. Which fit your needs perfectly. 

You just wanted to have a place to drink alone and get drunk without anything or anyone bothering you. Luca respected that you sometimes just needed to be left alone, it was something he was used to after knowing you for as long as he had, so he let you go even in the middle of the vendetta. Which you are grateful for. 

This also leads you to be super annoyed when someone slides into your booth one night. Just because you are sat alone in a booth instead of the bar does not mean you want company. You had told many a person (often a whore) this, and are ready to say it again until you notice who it is in the booth with you.

It’s the pretty boy that you ran into and who ran into you earlier. He looks nervous, you let him squirm, taking another drag of your cigarette while you wait for him to speak.

“Fancy meeting you here, you come here often?” You snort at that.

“Really kid, that’s what you go with.” He shrugs, trying to look you in the eye instead of staring a hole into the table.

“What do you want kid?” You voice is not unkind, you are genuinely wondering.

“I want to get to know you.” It almost sounds more like a question than an answer. 

“Know me? You don’t even know who I am.”

“But that could change. I’ll go first, name is Bonnie Gold.” The name rings a bell somewhere in the back of your head, you file it away to think about later. You give him your name. He mutters it under his breath, as to file it away forever. Maybe that is what he is really trying to do.

“Is that Italian?” You nod affirmatively. 

“It is.” You watch him in silence for a few seconds, cigarette smoke drifting between you, trying to fill the space.

“What is it you really want?” Bonnie seems to have gathered some courage from somewhere, as he leans back slightly as to appear more casual.

“I do really want to get to know you. Have a few drinks, talk, and then maybe more if you’ll allow me.” You raise a brow at that. Is he trying to flirt with you?

“Is that so?” 

“Yes.” You take another drag of your cigarette, thinking.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard-”

“I haven’t heard anything at all. I just knew after our last, eh, run-in that I wanted to get to know you. You seemed.... Interesting.” You tilt your head at that, Bonnie rubs his neck, breaking eye contact. 

“Alright then.” Bonnie snaps his head up, smiling.

“Really?” You nod, gesturing towards the bar. 

“If you buy me a drink, then we can talk.” He up and out his seat before you can tell him what you want, so you just watch him go. At least he has a nice ass, you think as you watch him order something. 

He comes back with two glasses, both filled generously. You take one sniff at it before taking a sip. Rum; and the good shit to. Bonnie watches you take your first sip, seeping happy with your reaction to the drink.

“So, what do you want to know?”

---------

It’s the end of the night, way too late by any decent standard. Been a long time since you actually gave a shit about that, especially with this good company. Bonnie had turned out to be a wonderful person to talk to, much to your surprise. 

You could joke with him, and he gives back as good as he takes it. It takes the bartender less than gently telling you that the bar is closing for you to leave.

When outside, you light yourself a cigarette, taking a long drag and letting the smoke out in a large cloud. Bonnie snickers at the sight, more than a little drunk. 

You are also pleasantly drunk, feeling like you are almost floating, but still very much present in the moment. Which is why you know that neither of you want to leave. 

You nearly finish your cigarette in silence before either you of do anything. You just look at him , thought churning in your head on how to do this. 

You let your cigarette fall to the ground, taking Bonnie’s hand and pulling him into the alleyway next to the bar. You press him against the wall there, crowding as much as you can into his personal space. 

You push one of your legs in-between his, pressing up. You don’t know what to call the noise that leaves his mouth, but you know you want, no need, to hear more of it. You speak directly into his ear, voice barely above a whisper.

“This is how it’s going to go. I am going to give you the name of the hotel I am staying at, the floor my room is on, and my room number. You are then going to wait here for fifteen minutes after I leave. At the hotel, walk straight to the elevator; speak to no one except the elevator operator to give him the floor number. Go to my door, and then knock on it four times. Is that clear?” You nip at his ear, hearing him swallow heavily. You can feel him leaning into you and grin.

“Yes.” As soon as you have your answer, you let him go. Bonnie has to prevent himself from falling forwards. He looks dazed, even after just a short period of time. Makes you wonder how he’ll be after hours.

“Fifteen minutes.” You point at him, not letting your thoughts go too far. He nods, not trusting his own voice. With that, you turn on your heel and leave. He looks after you in a daze, watching you disappear out his sight. 

He takes a deep breath before taking a look at his pocket watch. Fifteen minutes is going to be torture.

---------

Fifteen minutes have passed, and yet there is no knock on your door. You pretend like you aren’t filled with impatience. You pour yourself a drink and light a cigarette.

Twenty minutes pass. No knock, no Bonnie. You are done smoking, but have barely touched your drink.

At twenty-five minutes, you start thinking about just getting ready for bed. If he isn’t coming, he isn’t coming. You down the rest of your drink.

Thirty minutes have passed when you hear a knock on your door. And then three more. Happy that he fucking finally showed up, you open the door quickly.

“I got lost.” Bonnie offers up as an explanation. You roll your eyes, not really caring. 

“Come in.” Bonnie carefully steps in. You give a quick look down the hallway while his back is still turned, just making sure that no one saw him coming. When you turn around, you are met with a surprisingly shy smile from a man you have asked to your hotel room to have sex with. 

His smile makes your heart speed up, so you do the only thing that seems natural. You take a hold of his wrist, pulling him into you and smash your lips to his. 

As kisses go, it’s perhaps the messiest one you have ever had. Yours and Bonnie’s coordination is off, teeth almost clashing. But it makes Bonnie let out another, new, wonderful sound, which you also need to hear more of. 

Slowing down slightly, you fall into a better rhythm. Bonnie is clutching your hips like a lifeline. You press into him and can feel the outline of his hardening cock against your crotch. 

You start to push him backwards towards the bed. Even as tempting it is to just do it right in the middle of the room, you have certain standards you try to follow. When Bonnie hits the edge of the bed, you push him down on it. He goes willingly.

You start to take of your clothes, standing between his legs. He just watches you, before you give him a look that says to get with the program. He follows your example; soon you are both naked. 

You almost absentmindedly note to yourself that even if he looked skinny under those clothes, without them he looks to be in excellent shape. You can see the power of those muscles hiding right beneath his skin when he shifts his body to lean back on his elbows, feet still on the floor.

You give him a single kiss, and then practically drag him into the middle of the bed. Bonnie lets out a noise close to a squeak of your show of power. You smile, trying not to laugh. So fucking cute it should be illegal.

You straddle him, going back to kissing him, because that is something you definitely want more of. Bonnie kisses back with passion, rolling his hips into yours, one hand on your hip, the other in your hair. 

Your own hands roam over as much of him as you can reach, making him feel like you are leaving a trail of fire and desire in your wake. 

When your hand grasps his cock he can’t help the shocked moan that escapes his mouth and into yours. You grin, breaking the kiss so you can watch his face while you stroke his cock. Both his hands go to your hips, clinging onto you for dear life.

Bonnie looks beautiful, all slack jawed and big eyes, staring at you with wonder. You grin at him, leaning down to give him a quick kiss. You move down to his neck from there, making your way down his chest. You give each nipple a quick kiss before moving down the rest of his torso. 

You shuffle down a bit, still stroking his cock, his hands falling on the mattress. You plant a small kiss just above his hip, looking up at him. He looks divine. 

You go down even further, slowing down the stroking of his cock to near nothing. You give him a long lick from the bottom of his cock to the very tip, making him gasp. 

One of his hands go over his mouth, you are up there with him in seconds, moving the hand away.

“No, I want to hear you.” Bonnie pants, saying nothing, but nods. You go back down, one of his hands going behind his head, the other into your hair. You let him, giving the tip of his cock a quick kiss in approval.

You take the tip in your mouth, sucking on it slowly. There is nothing that can stop the moan that comes out of Bonnie’s mouth. You need to hear more of them. 

You go down deeper, varying between sucking on his cock and just letting it fill your mouth. You swallow down as much as you can, covering what you can’t take with one of your hands. 

The other hand alternates between fondling his balls and holding down his hips when he tries to buck up into your mouth.

You don’t know how long you are down there, just enjoying listening to all the sounds you can make Bonnie let out. You do however know he is close to coming. 

He tries to warn you, tries to tug you off his cock. You are having none of it, instead you keep sucking, making him let out even more wonderful noises. 

It’s not long before he is spilling into your mouth with a cry of your name, tugging on your hair hard. You drink it down, and then give his cock a last, long lick before sitting up. 

Bonnie is panting heavily, just watching you, trapped in a post-orgasm daze. You smile at him, crawling into his lap once more. 

You bend down to kiss him, letting him taste himself. He finds that he doesn’t really mind the taste as long as you lips are on his. 

Knowing how boneless he feels right now, you take one of his hands and put it at your own crotch. The little gasp that he makes goes into the catalogue of noises you learnt that he can make today, and is saved for another time. 

You roll your hips lazily against his hand. He lets you, even pushing back sometimes to give you more resistance. You are in no hurry to chase your own orgasm, just enjoying the feeling if Bonnie’s hand on you and his lips on yours. 

Eventually, you stop your motions, body shaking with your own orgasm. You break away from your kisses, leaning on his shoulder to moan trough it. When you are done, you get off him, dropping onto the bed right next to him. 

You stretch, feeling how wonderfully loose your body is. It had been a while. Next to you Bonnie is staring at the ceiling, saying nothing. You don’t really mind the silence.

You get up from the bed, making your way over to the drink cart. You don’t bother to put any clothes on; you see no reason to. You pour yourself a glass of rum. 

You look up to ask Bonnie if he wants a drink, catching him staring at you. He blushes, looking away from you. What an odd person. You came by his hand just minutes ago, and now he’s acting shy about seeing your body?

“You want a drink?” You take a sip of yours; it’s not as good as the one from the bar. Damn. You should figure out what brand he had ordered.

“Yes please.” You grin, and pour him a glass of rum too. Ever so polite. You go over to the bed, giving Bonnie his glass before getting back into the bed, leaning against the headboard. 

He shuffles up a bit so he to leaning is on the headboard instead of laying down. He drags the covers up so it’s covering his and your legs. Ever the gentleman.

You both stare off into to space for a while, just letting the silence be while you occasionally take a sips of your drinks. 

It’s Bonnie who speaks first, after taking a big swig of his drink,

“That was.... I don’t even have words.” He chuckles.

“Wonderful, amazing, fantastic?” Your turn to him; not bothering to hide your grin. He slaps your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, all of those.” You both chuckle, taking another sip of your drink, enjoying the silence.

It’s not long after that Bonnie finishes his drink and gets out of bed. You guess that he has somewhere he needs to be in the morning and needs to go. You don’t mind, even if you wished he could stay for another round.

You decide to help him gather his clothes, as somewhere strewn across the room. One sock is even hanging off a lamp; you don’t even know how he managed that one. You get lightly dressed, just so you are barely able to walk around without too much nudity.

You bend down to pick up his coat, but freeze when you see what is sticking out of his coat pocket. It’s a cap, but not just any cap. It’s the fucking exact same one that the Peaky Blinders use. You hope to all that you believe in that it’s not. 

But that hope is shattered as soon as you feel the cold metal of the razor blades sown into the edge. You straighten up, quiet in your fury.

“What is this?” You don’t even turn towards Bonnie when you speak.

“It’s just my cap.” Bonnie sounds genuinely confused about what the deal about it is.

“You are a fucking Peaky Blinder?” You are almost screaming, but still mindful that these walls aren’t the thickest, and your boss is sleeping just a few rooms away. The boss that has a fucking vendetta against Peaky Blinders. 

The whole fucking reason you are even in this shit-hole country to begin with. At the confused look on Bonnie’s face, you sigh irritably. You gesture with the cap towards him first, then yourself.

“Peaky Blinders, Italian.” You watch at it dawns on him. The shock on his face, the horror when he realises what a fuckery you two had made.

“Fuck, I didn’t, I uhh....” He stutters, not sure what to say.

“You didn’t what, realise I was the fucking enemy? Have sex with me just to try to get some sliver of information?” You are angry, fury lazed in your words. Bonnie rushes forward at your words, crossing the room as quick as he can without actually running. He clutches you face, you have half a mind to punch him, but you don’t.

“I promise. I really just found you fucking attractive, and wanted to get to know you. After you ran into me at the bakery, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I even ran into on purpose the second time to get even the slightest shiver of a chance to talk to you.” He holds your face for a few moments, searching for something in your eyes. He doesn’t know what, eventually letting go to drag his hands over his own face.

“We’re really fucked up didn’t we?” He speaks from behind his hands, hiding his face. You sit down at the nearest flat surface you can find, which is luckily a chair. You lean your head back, staring at the ceiling.

“We did yeah.” Silence. It stretches on for what feels like forever.

“We could just... Ignore the whole supposed to be enemies thing you know.” You look at him like he’s crazy.

“What the fuck do you mean?” 

“I mean, neither of us are directly related to the two families in the vendetta, so it should be fine, right?” You blink, thinking. He has a point.

“Perhaps. I guess. I don’t know.” You tip your head back, closing your eyes. You can hear Bonnie moving around the room, and then you have a weight in your lap. You open your eyes and look at him where he has put himself in your lap. 

He is beautiful, breathtakingly so, so you have to look away. He grabs your chin; gently turning you back to face him.

“I would really like to continue this, whatever this is. We don’t need to let this thing come between us.”

“This ting is a fucking vendetta, not some petty arguing between families.” You try to sound aggressive, but your words have no bite. You are just tired.

“I know that, but still. We can work around it.” You say nothing, opting to just look at him, thinking, thoughts going faster than a runaway train. As if he can sense this, Bonnie leans down to kiss you. 

He gets no response at first, and then you are surging up to meet his kiss. You cling to each other, kiss desperate and hungry. When you stop, you lean your foreheads together, breathing in each other. 

You give him a last quick kiss before gently pushing him off your lap. At the confused look he gives you, you give him a reassuring smile.

“Do not worry, I still want to do this. But you need to go for now, so no one catches onto that you have been here.” Bonnie nods, giving you a tired smile. 

He gathers the last of his clothes, putting them on as he goes. His cap slides back into his coat pocket from where you dropped it on the floor. You stay seated in the chair the whole time, watching him. 

Bonnie gives you a quick kiss and makes to leave, but you catch his wrist. He looks down at it confused. You clear your throat. 

“Same place tomorrow at 9?” Bonnie smiles, nods, giving you another quick kiss before disappearing through the door. You let him this time. You sit in the chair long after he is gone, just thinking. You hope it’s all worth it.

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

After that first bar meeting, you make a habit of it. You never meet there directly again, trying to be discreet. Your meeting time is usually 9 at night, since that is when you are both most likely to be able to sneak away. 

Whoever is first will order a rum and settle into the booth closest to the exit, the one you can still see the bar from. Then they will wait for the other to show up. 

The second person to come will order one beer, drinking it standing at the bar. Since there’s a mirror above the whole length of the bar, it’s easy to spot one another without having to meet directly. 

You both drink up your respective drinks, leaving within ten minutes of each other. You meet outside, and then walk separately to a nearby hotel that neither of you stay at, rotating between a few, as to not be too obvious. You don’t go back to your hotel after that first night.

Most nights it’s Bonnie that is there first, since most times it’s easier for him to slip out. He sits at the booth then, his leg jumping up and down beneath the table. He knows it doesn’t look good, but he can’t help it. He just wants to be with you as much as he can. 

The nights where you are the first one to arrive are actually the ones you love most. You get to sit there, unwind while thinking of Bonnie and waiting for him to stroll through the door. 

He does indeed stroll, even though he denies it to high heaven. You definitely do not mind the way he walks, it makes him look even better and more irresistible.

Some nights, one of you can’t make it to the bar, and some neither of you makes it. You have an agreement that if the other one hasn’t show up an hour after the initial time, the other person should leave.

Those nights are the worst; they are spent alone in your respective ways, thinking about the other. You dislike those nights the most and you know Bonnie does too.

It’s also the fact that both of you know that the other one might be dead. With all the things happening with the vendetta it is a real possibility. You are of course the most likely candidate, but Bonnie isn’t out of the dangers way either with his and his family’s involvement with the Shelbys.

So you try to make the most of it the times you are able to meet, staying as long as you can, pushing the limits of how long you can be together without being missed or noticed. 

You have to leave the hotel room eventually, you returning to the hotel where the rest of the mafia is staying, Bonnie back home to where ever his father has him. You both hate it, not being able to sleep in each other’s arms like you want to.

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

When you find out Bonnie is a boxer, his body build suddenly makes more sense to you. The lean, but yet somehow still muscular shape of his body is a perfect build. 

You don’t really ask him about it, he just tells you out of the blue one night. 

You’ve just had sex, you are lighting another cigarette, like you almost always do afterwards. You have never offered him on before this night, almost seemed too intimate in a weird way, but tonight you do. 

He declines with a shake of his head, just lying in bed next to you.

“What, you don’t smoke?”

“I try not to, my coach says it would interfere with my boxing.” You blink down at him.

“You box? What, like a hobby?” Bonnie looks up at you at that, almost seeming offended. 

“Not a hobby, I’m going to go professional soon.” You hum, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

“Show me then.” Bonnie furrows his brow, flipping over so he’s on his stomach, still looking at you.

“You want me to box you?” He sounds so confused. You chuckle.

“No, I am many things, but a boxer I am not. I meant you get up and show me by yourself.” You lock eyes with him, taking another drag of your cigarette, blowing the smoke into his face. He waves the smoke out of his face.

“Okay then.” Het gets up, only in his underwear and takes up a stance on the floor. Even if he’s not even dressed, you can see the power in his stance. He throws a few jabs at an imaginary opponent; eyes focused somewhere right in front of him. 

You know very little of boxing, having never really had any interest in the sport, but even you can tell that his punches are powerful. He does some more moves while you just sit and watch. When he stops, he’s panting slightly.

“What do you think?” Bonnie’s tone make it seem like he’s searching for something, like approval perhaps? You smile at him. 

You beckon him back to the bed with a single finger, putting out your cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. He goes slowly, settling in so his back is against the headboard. You straddle him.

“I know fuck all about boxing, but you looked really good.” Bonnie’s smile is glowing.

“Yeah?” You give him a quick kiss.

“Yes. And to show my appreciation of your boxing, I’m going to do this.” You say as you start to suck on his neck and roll your hips. 

He moans, your hand sliding under his underwear, finding him half-hard already. You grin and start to make your way down his chest.

---------

Another hour later, you are laying next to each other again, both panting from your latest orgasm and looking at the ceiling. 

You have a cigarette between your lips, unlit, as your lighter has fallen down from the bedside table at one point, and you are still too blissed out to summon any kind of muscle control to get it. The silence is comfortable.

“You should come see me sometime.” Confused, you turn your head towards Bonnie. It takes you a while to figure out what he means. You then remember the earlier conversation.

“Oh, one of your matches you mean?” He nods, turning his own head towards you. 

“Maybe one day, if I can make it somehow.” You do want to, but you don’t dare making a promise that you might not be able to keep. It would be rude and maybe even bad luck. 

With that thought in your head, you get up with a groan to look for your lighter so you can smoke your cigarette. Bonnie watches your back while you look, saying nothing.

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

It’s not long before you give Bonnie a nickname. It’s not on purpose really; it just slips out of your mouth on night while you are kissing slowly.

“Bello, Bello.” You whisper in-between kisses, not even realising that you have done it until Bonnie stops and pulls slightly away from you.

“Bello?” He’s confused, you can tell. You are too until you figure out what happened.

“Oh, it’s a nickname for one you care for. It means handsome.” Bonnie grins, you through to fight the butterflies forming in your stomach to no avail.

“Really? You think I’m handsome?” 

“Yes, I do.” You lean in, kissing his briefly on the lips.

“My handsome Bonnie.” You kiss his cheek.

“My Bello.” You kiss the other cheek.

“Mine.” You give him a single kiss on his neck, which turns into several more, which turns into another round in bed. Neither of you mind that at all.

Bonnie tells you he really likes the nickname, so it sticks after that. You try to whisper it to him as often as you can, sprinkled in-between mutterings of his name, and sighs of pleasure.

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

“Where are you going every night?” You look up from where you had been cleaning your gun to catch Luca standing in the doorway of your hotel room, watching you. You take a drag from your cigarette that have been resting in the ashtray next to you while you worked.

“Since when do you care where I go at night Luca?” You go back to cleaning your gun, cigarette back in the ashtray.

“Since we’re in this shit-hole of a country and in the middle of a vendetta against the Shelbys.” His tone is sharp, but not unkind. You sigh. You let the lie you knew would have to come roll of your tongue.

“I’m fucking whores Luca, not like there’s much else to do here when we’re not shooting at someone or being shot at.” Silence for a few seconds, then the closest thing to a laugh you have heard from Luca in months.

“Yeah, just make sure you don’t get anything you don’t want from them.” You look up at him with a frown on your face.

“Thought you knew me better than that Luca, I do have standards and good taste when it comes to whores.” Luca snorts, hiding a grin behind his hand while pretending to scratch his cheek.

“I seem to remember things very differently. Remember, what’s her name, Elizabeth Rizzo?” You groan, this time Luca doesn’t even hide is grin.

“Ah yes, didn’t she follow you home at one point.”

“Okay, one bad fucking choice. Not my damn fault.”

“Whatever you say, I’ll let you clean the rest of your guns in peace.” Luca closes the door behind himself when he leave, grin still on his face. 

“Motherfucker.” You haven’t seen Luca joke like that in a long time. You doubt it will ever happen again.

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

You are there at the boxing match when it all goes down. You are watching Bonnie box from the shadows, not in your own clothes, blending into the crowd. Luca had sent you there to keep an eye on everything, to make sure that it all goes to plan. 

You are only really watching Bonnie in the ring, paying no mind to anything else but him. He is beautiful in the way he moves. 

You don’t like seeing him take hits, but you know he’s just waiting for an opportunity to strike. Or he has been told to wait, to draw out the fight to make it more exciting. If you were the kind of person to bet, you would have gone for that. 

In the fourth round Bonnie knocks Goliath out, to an uproar from the crowd. 

Then Thomas Shelby is in the ring, firing his gun in the air, screaming that his brother has been killed. He seems mad with grief. You pretend to be shocked and scared, playing along with the rest of the crowd. 

You manage to make it out of there without anyone catching on to your Italian roots. Your time with Bonnie had paid off in an unexpected way as you are able to mimic his accent to almost perfection when you need to speak. 

You make it out of the venue without any trouble, but are stopped just a block away by two men that are clearly Peaky Blinders.

“Mr Shelby wants to speak with you.” You shift your gaze between the two men, thinking about shooting them both and making a run for it. But you don’t. 

If Shelby wanted you dead, you would have been as soon as you stepped into the venue. So instead you spread your arms wide, showing that you are unarmed, like everyone had to be.

“Show me the way fellas.”

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

When Luca Changretta meets with Thomas Shelby for the last time, you are one of many that stand by, not doing anything when your boss and friend dies. 

He calls your name before anyone else’s, staring in disbelief when neither you nor anyone else says anything.

You stand there, watching him be beaten by Tommy Shelby, then shot and killed by the recently resurrected Arthur Shelby. Not like he was dead in the first place, but seeing the shock on everyone that believed he was is something else.

Before you came to England you would never dreamed of doing anything like this, but love changes a person and their priorities. 

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

When everyone leaves to go back home, you give some weak excuse about why you stay behind to the men. A few of them guess your real intentions correctly, but you don’t tell them how right they are, instead just telling them to fuck off, and to make sure they get on the boat before it leaves without them.

You stand on the docks, watching the boat leave and smoking when you are joined by another presence at your side. A quick look and you recognize Thomas Shelby, just standing there with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette in his mouth. You say nothing, keeping your eyes locked on the boat.

“Thought we told everyone to fuck off.” 

“I didn’t stay because of any of you, so don’t fucking flatter yourself.” The look he gives you is sceptical and calculating. You hadn’t expected anything less.

“I can’t really go back to New York now can I? My boss and friend got fucking murdered and I stood by and did fuck all didn’t I? And I rather not join this new boss. There’s going to be no trust there with my previous position and history. I got a better chance of staying alive in this shit-hole.”

“You seem fine with sending the rest of them home.” You glance at him, waving dismissively with your cigarette.

“They were low-ranking soldiers, not much more any of them except Daniel and Matteo. The real loyal ones you already killed, so there’s that.”

“We could always kill you.” You snort, taking a deep drag of your cigarette, finally turning to look at Thomas Shelby properly.

“Except there would no fucking point would there Mr Shelby? Luca is dead, the vendetta is gone, and as I already have said, I’m not here for you.” Shelby watches you, face made of stone.

“I guess not.” You take a last drag of your cigarette before you throw it on the ground, stepping on it to kill the flame.

“Thank you Mr Shelby.” You do a mock bow; this time it’s Mr Shelby who snorts.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I would rather be than on a shitty dock with you.” He says nothing, so you take it as your cue to leave.

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

You don’t see Thomas Shelby for a few months, which you are more than happy with. You much prefer spending time with Bonnie, the real reason you stayed behind in this country you supposedly hate. 

You are in a bar somewhere in London, tucked away in a private booth with Bonnie. It’s a slow night; you haven’t really done anything except talk and drink all night, just happy to be with each other. You are so glad Bonnie had managed to sneak away from his training and father for the weekend so you could spend time together. 

You know that some of that time will be spent in bed together, but for now you are content with this. You make sure to steal some kisses between the talking and people watching you two do, always quick and discreet. 

Your hand is on his thigh all night, almost absentmindedly slowly stroking it. You can tell it’s making Bonnie’s mind go places that you definitely don’t mind. 

He gets up for only the second time tonight, telling you he has to use the bathroom and then he’ll return with more drinks for both of you. You give him a quick peck on the lips before he goes. 

While you wait, you go back to just watching the other patrons in the bar. You are so preoccupied with trying to make up a funny backstory about the man with silver striped hair to tell to Bonnie when he gets back, that you don’t notice that someone new have slid into the booth opposite you before they give your shin a light kick under the table. 

You startle, ready to hurl whatever insult you can think of at the person, then you notice who it is. Thomas fucking Shelby.

“Mr Shelby.” Your tone is clipped, trying to very much tell him to fuck off without saying the actual words. He ignores it of course, the bastard.

“So this is what you stayed for.” He says, gesturing to the bar.

“I do believe that is none of your fucking business.” He gets out a package of cigarettes, taking one for himself before offering you one. You take one, hoping it will get him to leave quicker, and to make sure he has at least one less cigarette to enjoy. He lights his with a match, you light yours with your lighter.

“It is my fuckin’ business when you’re one of the people that tried to kill me and my family, and killed my brother, just a few months ago.” 

“I thought I made it very clear last time we met that I didn’t fucking stay for you, you obtuse prick.”

“So what did you stay for then?” Before you can give a similar answer to the one you gave just minutes ago, Bonnie appears next to you, bottle of rum and two glasses in hand.

“Mr Shelby?” Bonnie is one big question mark beside you. Shelby flickers his eyes quickly between you two before a slow grin appears on his face.

“Bonnie, nice to see you again. So this is where you have been sneaking off to ey’?” Bonnie stammers, slowly turning red. You pull him down on the seat next to you.

“Kindly fuck off Mr. Shelby.” Bonnie gapes at your rudeness, Shelby just grins.

“Okay, I can tell when I’m clearly not wanted.” He gets up, buttoning his jacket, looking every bit the bastard he is.

“Be sure to be back in time for you training on Monday Bonnie, don’t want your father to worry ey’?” Bonnie doesn’t answer, while you give Shelby the finger. He says nothing, another grin spreading on his face before he turns and leaves, disappearing into the crowd.

“You shouldn’t have acted like that in front of Mr. Shelby.” You don’t answer that, instead watching the crowd to make sure that his stupid cap is gone. You pull Bonnie into your side, making him let out a noise close to a squeak that he will forever deny making.

“I know I said I wasn’t here for him, but I do really want to shoot him right now.” Bonnie rolls his eyes, recognising your mood for what it is, mostly annoyance at having your night interrupted. 

He finally puts the glasses down on the table, pouring you both a glass of rum. He gives on to you, you take it absentmindedly, still making sure that Shelby is really gone. Bonnie taps your cheek, making you focus back on him.

“Ignore him. I’m here, you’re here, and there is no one else we should be focusing on right now.” You sigh. You know he is right. You lean in, giving him a quick kiss.

“Sorry, you’re right.” After that, you go back to what you were doing before you were interrupted, just enjoying each other’s company. 

At some time during the night, you leave the bar, ending up at your apartment, in your bed, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. And for now, you are happy.

#Bonnie Gold x reader #Bonnie Gold #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #reader #readerinsert #gender neutral #reader insert #written #4000 #smut #lemon

[foxgirlintestines]

I’m tired because i’ve been playing too much Pokemon here is a half asleep rant:

You know, I’ve been kind of no-lifing Sword recently and have noticed something. The game is good, the characters are interesting, the new pokemon have some good thought behind them and the addition of a mmo-lite aspect in the wilds is a step towards something pokemon fans have dreamed of for a long time. All that aside, the game feels rushed. We all know that gamefreak employees are being worked to the bone, we know producing these giant games on such a short span will have this effect. What I am saying is, there was a lot of good ideas put into these games and unfortunately there was not enough time to flesh it out. I honestly don’t mind the minor refresh on the pokedex. If you ever played either of the Colloseum games for the Game Cube you might have recognized that having a limited pool of pokemon makes for some more interesting runthroughs, and there are still two and a half times the amount of pokemon as there were in the first game. I think some of the inclusions were wierd to say the least though. A lot of gen 5 pokemon that were often ridiculed as well as many very forgetable pokemon. I might say its fair to argue about the choices they made of what to keep, but I don’t think sliming the pokedex is such a big crime. Sure, I am disapointed some of my favorites were not in the game, but I still found plenty of pokemon I like and still had a hard time figuring out which ones I wanted to put on my team. The story is where it really felt that they just were crunched and had to cut back. The story was not that good, and the game felt really short in comparison to the normal experience. You would hop from one gym to another with almost nothing inbetween as if there was something planned to be in these spaces and then they just couldn’t put it in the final product. Many things happen off camera, especially towards the end of the game. I think there was supposed to be some more plot there and it once again was cut and so they just put the filler of “Leon did something, don’t worry about it.” Many of the characters feel like their personality was starting to conflict at points as if there were arcs where they develop but they were just simply skipped. The motivation of the antagonists is not really fleshed out that well and so I couldn’t really relate or disagree with them, I was just confused. The post-game little substory felt like it was tacked on and it probably was meant to be something more ambitios as a way to revisit the region, but it just ended up being very reppetitive and obnoxious quest line to trudge through to claim your cover legendary. There were of course a few little hiccups in the coding as well, but overall its minor. Who cares if the animations of the others stop when you are climbing stairs or the view distance on a Pokemon game of all things? The only time I ever felt the sound was an issue was at the end of the main story when the cover legendaries kept being loud over and over again. Lets talk some of the good things though. They made a ton of QoL improvements to the game. The portable pc might feel a little strange but it made things easier in a good way. There isn’t really a difficulty attached to pc access, just inconvienience. The removal of HMs was continued which means more pokemon to have fun with instead of dragging around HM slaves. The daycare is now the nursery which does not level up your pokemon, just breeds and also allows you to teach egg moves to the pokemon in them so you don’t have to entirely remake a pokemon to get a move you want. They added a ton of stuff to help level up and train pokemon. Mints to change natures so you can enjoy your pokemon instead of being disppointed that one of the little stat modifiers was off. The EV overhaul is a lot bigger than you think. Not only are the vitamins able to be used to max, but the cap on each stat has been changed from 255 to 252, and though that seems like a random bunch of numbers it means you can’t overcap on a stat and waste some of your evs because evs only increase stats by multiples of 4. Legendaries have 3 guaranteed perfect ivs, Max Raid rewards are pokemon with 3-5 guaranteed perfect ivs, and ditto is one of them to help with breeding. It takes a lot of the drudging through breeding chains if you want to max out a pokemon’s potential, and it means you do not need to soft reset as much anymore. These things don’t matter too much to the normal player, but for competitive players (or people who are batshit ocd like me and are frustrated to no end when the numbers are not perfect) its a huge help. Many aspects of the game feel cleaner. The only thing I really did not enjoy was the constant Exp share, but at the same time it helped me to level up and evolve pokemon to fill th epokedex without using them. I’m not sure thats a good or bad thing as it removes the need to experiment and play with more pokemon but it does help to just fill up your dex. So, basically, it felt like this was a really grand project full of great ideas and they just ran out of steam. If this game wasn’t pushed to be released in 2019 this may have been possibly one of the best pokemon gamee they’ve ever made and one of the things to remember from 2020. It wasn’t though, which is why you should blame Nintendo’s higher ups for robbing us of the best version of the game that could have been made, not the devs at Game Freak who are probably just as disappointed that they couldn’t make the game how they wanted it and instead have their creativity stifled by deadlines and holiday marketing schemes.

#not MtG #Pokemon #Pokemon Sword and Sheild #Pokemon gen 8