#and always made sure to throw something out in dutch to each other as we left

[psqqa]

the person behind me is having a whispered conversation with someone and their desk and my brain keeps trying to go down the path “oh no it’s because they’re talking about how much they hate me!” and i keep having to drag it back to the extremely obvious and fully rational “oh they’re trying not to disrupt anyone’s work, super appreciate them for that”.

like human brains are for real the dumbest, most terrified little animals in existence. calm the fuck down my dude our colleagues aren’t going to kick us out of the cave to fend for ourselves against the cold and sabre-tooth tigers.

[flemingsgirl]

Long way

TW: Mention of an injury, self doubt

This is your story of rising in your team and the growing friendship on this journey.

Your story starts way back in October 2012 when you were called for camp for the under 17 championship qualification on home soil in Oosterwolde and Meppel, your first ever call up for the Dutch national team.

It was unbelievable to you and your family for you to take a further step and play for your nation. Playing at Twente you have seen some of the player on the pitch already knowing how strong and talented they are, in the back of your head the though manifests itself you’re not fitting in, not being worthy for the bagde to be worn by you.

After the arrival at the camp, the first hours of the day were used to gather the player in the prep room, and all the instructions for the training week were shared. Further, the rooming was hung up.

Jill Roord, Vivianne Miedema, Laura Strik and Y/F/N Y/L/N

All well-known names in the Vrouwen Eredivisie. As you read Jill’s name, you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Miedema’s name often came up whether it was in the TV, the talks at home or in your team, she is one of the faces of the Dutch football believing she’ll have a massive impact for changes.

An arm sling around your shoulder, “no one’s ever going to separate us,” she winks at you.

“No never,” you shake your head in agreement bringing your arm around her middle.

Well, you and Jill played in Twente since you can think, going to the same school, spending free time outside with her brothers most time playing football, you two would always win against your opponent’s indifferent if they were three or four.

“I’m really glad you’re finally called up as well you made such progress.”

“Wow thank you Jilly. I’m so excited,” you two jump up and down as you waited for the elevator.

As you step into your room, the other two are already making themselves at home. The voices of Jill and you as you chatter about all and nothing, fill the else silence air. “Well look at you Vivianne,” Jill opens her arms for the older one to embrace her. “Looking fine in something other than your football kit,” the pair chuckled and entangled from one another. “Laura,” she steps over to the other girl, hugging her as well. “This is Y/N,” she points at you, and you wave back to them. “It’s her first call up, so let’s not frighten her too much.”

Vivianne is the first to make a move and you hold your hand out to her she ignores it and throws her arms around you, her scent somewhat flowery and sweetish lingers in your nose, calming your body. “Nice to meet you, I can imagine how nervous you must be.”

“Yeah well, words can’t even describe my state,” you drag a chuckle out, and Viv gives you a one-sided smile. “But I think I’ll get over it.”

“That’s for sure.”

The first days of training were hard. You didn’t quite fit into the group other than your three roommates, but it was on good tracks. It was game night for the whole team, and you were split into groups constructed that the rooms didn’t pair. The conversations came quite easy and felt light, much laughter were exchanged, and you felt involved, not the first time call up attained in the group.

On your way back to your room, Viv reaches your side as you stand in front of the elevator. “I was thinking maybe you wanna go on a walk,” she rubs her neck, her eyes avoiding you.

“I’m up to it.” The brunette smiled shyly and leads the way.

Strolling around the campus and partly in the near spinney, you get to know the striker. “With your name everywhere there’s a lot of pressure on you, right?”

“Yeah, you can say that. Mostly hope for the nation.”

“Oh yes, promising the change and leading to wins and all that,” you gesture with your hand.

“Right. Did we play against each other?”

“Last matchday,” you chuckle. “It was my debut for Twente in the senior. But only twenty minutes or so.”

“Sorry for crashing it,” she shoves your shoulder as she chuckles.

“Don’t worry I’ll get over it.”

“What’s your impression on camp after your first days?”

“Everyone’s so nice and calm and lovely. It had quite a bad start, but it’s all good now. I’m enjoying the time.”

“That’s good to hear, thankfully. We’re like a family.

“Seemingly yeah. But I don’t think I’ll get much time to play. No experiences and new.”

“I wouldn’t say that in my first year I had my starting eleven debut and got to play.”

You roll your eyes, “well, yeah, but not everyone is Ms Vivianne Miedema.”

She places her hand over her heart. “Ouch.” She says while brushing off a fake tear. “Jealous?” Viv’s head turns towards you, and she winks at you.

“Just ambitious to reach that as well,” a smirk creeps on your lips, nudging her side. “You don’t need to hold the whole nation on your shoulder. Taking some package from you.”

“Sweet of you, no one ever offered me.”

“I mean you’re young shouldn’t be doing it all by yourself.”

Vivianne raises her arm to lay it around your shoulder, stopping, you notice out of the corner of your eye and you rest your arm around her lower back, pulling her closer to you, she takes it as an invitation places her arm down.

“I was starstrucked when I knew you’d be here,” you broke the silence that fell between you.

“Why? I’m as much a girl as you.”

“Well, you’re still Viv Miedema.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem, your name precedes you.”

“In a bad way?” You lean closer into her side, bringing some pressure on her figure.

“No, never just blown away by it, making it difficult to get to know you, the real you. Being impressed by your talent and reputation.”

“I understand. But it’s getting better, right?”

“Yeah, it does,” a light laughter is exchanged between you. “Mostly cause you’re not on the field.”

“I can make it easy for you.”

You caught as breath is stuck in your trachea. “How do you imagine?”

“Doing something in private.”

“We’re already doing something...."

“Yes,” her head lowers, eyes glued on the ground, and a pout settles on her face what you couldn’t see. What you could sense was how her arm backed from you, no longer spending warmth to your slightly shivering body.

“You alright?”

She shrugs her shoulder; you stop, but she keeps walking, and you reach for her arm. “Viv,” you spin her around her eyes, avoiding you. “I think we can get a coffee the next day if that’s all right with you.” The corners of her mouth slowly turn up as she moves her eyes to lock them with yours, stars sparkling in them.

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

The days flew by and sooner rather than later your time at the Dutch camp is over. You got a few minutes in the game, which were celebrated by the team, but mostly with Jill and Viv. Both came running to you after the final whistle was blown, and they lifted you into the sky.

You make your way back home ready to continue the season, with many new formed friendships. Keep in touch with some girls, and every now and then calls you sometimes meet up with a smaller group, including Jill and Viv, as well.

Getting called for the next round of the qualifiers didn’t excite you that much knowing Viv wouldn’t be there due to an injury that happened in one of the latest games in the season. “Stop moping around. You got me rabbit,” Jill shoves you in your seat next to her.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes playfully, and the girl just huffs. “What would I do without you, Jill Jamie Roord,” a sarcastic tone lingering in your voice.

“I hate you too,” she turns away from you and starts a conversation with some other players.

To say Jill was right, oh absolutely, how you were moped and devastated that the familiar warmth and her loving smile couldn’t support in the games you were playing in the line-up. Nevertheless, the losses you went through and the fact you couldn’t qualify.

Arriving back at home, you were met with your family, and as soon as their embrace spent you warmth and support you, let all the tears flow. You were repressing the whole journey. The ringing of the doorbell interrupts the trembling of your body. “Hello Mr. Y/L/N,” her voice singing in your ears, bringing you back to earth. Turning your tired body around your reddish eyes wander over to the girl in the doorframe. You dry some of the tears, giving her a half-sided smile.

“What are you doing here?”

Your parents took the cue and left you alone. “Well nice to see you too,” she steps closer, her arms tracing around your figure, pulling you into her, your head resting in the crock of her neck. “It’s alright,” her finger cradled your head. “We can’t always win.” A quick peck was placed on the crown of your head. “I’m proud of you, so much, starting eleven, how excited. The new face of the Dutch.”

A caught escapes your lips closely followed by a giggle, “oh shut up.”

“Your first goal as well. You don’t love it?”

“Well of course, yes, but it hasn’t helped us. Out of the tournament.” You buried further into her, “and couldn’t celebrate with my favorite person,” you whisper against her skin, the warmth of your breath causing goosebumps to form on her body.

“Can you repeat yourself?” she breaks your closeness, her blue eyes darting at you.

“You weren’t supposed to hear it anyway.”

“I heard something with favourite person.”

“That’s all you need to know.”

Qualifying for the under 19 European championship the next year, you started every game behind Vivianne and beside Jill, the perfect trio, creating chances, great crosses, and even better goals. Carrying your team into the finale. You met Katie McCabe the first time in the qualifier as she tackled you, mostly successfully separating you from the ball, but mostly. This one time, her studs meeting your ankle, you wrap your hand around it as you fell to the floor, face scrunched in the pain, and wince escapes your lips you were subbed off.

Your next encounter followed three months later in the semi-final. You hold no grunge against the Irish player. She’s a talented young woman, and she knows it. Knocking them out was your revenge.

And when the final whistle blows in the last game, you sank to your knees, your face buried in your hands as you let them meet the ground as well. Crying and chuckling that’s the state you were in when Viv throws herself on top of you, the two of you crashing onto the ground. “I can’t believe it!” her scream fills your ear. “You were so unbelievable.”

You turn under her body now facing her, tears running down her cheeks as well. “You scored the game winning goal,” you shout back.

“With your assistant!”

“Crafty Ms Miedema,” Jill lays her body on top of you two. “We made it!”

[pixeldistractions]

She made this camper so cozy. Who would have thought you could bake bread from scratch in a Dutch oven over the campfire? She served blackberry preserves on toast, planted herbs in tiny pots on the counter, then she filled the produce baskets with actual fresh produce. “That’s what they’re there for, silly,” she said. She watched camper hack videos on YouTube—a cutting board over the sink for more counter space. How clever. She noted the dimensions, and he cut it to size for her. She bought string lights to hang under the awning, a decorative citronella candle for the picnic table.

“You shouldn’t buy so much,” he said. “You don’t need to. If you wait, I’ll buy it for you.”

But he couldn’t, not really, not while also fixing the solar panel and manifesting walls out of scraps and sending back money for his boys. She shouldn’t have to wait for her home to feel homey. He wanted her to feel at home here, so he kept quiet and tried not to notice if she went to Target again for throw blankets or rugs, or towel racks and pot holders. He would just unbox the hardware and install it for her.

It was a silly idea anyway that if they lived simply enough, frugally enough, he might provide everything they needed and wanted, and maybe he could imagine himself the exact opposite of the freeloading loser Colette always said he was.

But Jordan did pick up some work. Very good work, actually. He snagged a small contract with a local university, upgrading their dorm plumbing, and that would keep him occupied for a couple of weeks. It was a nice chunk of change, though of course, Colette would want some of it.

Still, he would have enough money to finish the last of the major repairs. Finally. The only thing left was to replace the solar battery converter, ironically, now that they were plugged into the power grid.

The nights were longer now, but still cozy enough in the lower altitudes of Nevada to spend the evenings outside. They had dinner by the sunset’s last light, then they settled in beside the campfire.

“You don’t have to spend all your money on that battery thing,” she said. “I can pay for some of it.”

“No, you don’t have to. I’ll just pick up a couple more jobs.”

He was weird about taking her money, and she wondered why?

“Okay, I need you to talk to me,” she said, hushed, after taking note that Johanna wasn’t paying any attention to them.

He looked startled, like he was in trouble. She smiled. “No, it’s not like that, don’t worry,” she said. “But, there’s something I’ve been wondering about… why don’t you want me to pay for anything?”

His eyebrows raised, lips pinched.

She stroked his fingers while he refrained from answering her question. “You’re my best friend, you know?”

“You’re mine, too,” he said.

“And best friends tell each other things.”

“I’m… embarrassed of it.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Okay…” An audible swallow, a slight squirm, a deep breath. “I was younger, twenty-two, after my dad died. I was in a lot of trouble with the foreclosure and some credit debts. So when Colette and I got friendly again, I let her help me out with it. But it didn’t stop there. It was like I would never live that down for the rest of my life, like even after I paid her back, no matter how much money, no matter how much effort, no matter that I stayed home with the boys for two whole years while she finished school, I could never pay her back enough to be even. I still can’t.”

“First, that’s really cruel,” Maria said. “Second, I wouldn’t do that to you. Third, it’s only $800, we can go halves.”

“Yeah, it’s only $800, then I can earn that much in three jobs. Will you let me?”

Every time she felt she might have found an opening to confess her terrible secret wealth, the moment proved to be exactly wrong. “Yeah, of course. But next time, I’ll help. Deal?”

“Sure. But you need to let me make it up to you for all those cozy pillows you bought,” he said, smirking now. She was glad to see that startled panic gone.

“Those pillows were nothing,” she said. “I got them in the clearance section.”

She didn’t know how to tell him that the battery converter would make barely a dent in her savings, and she also wasn’t convinced he would see that as a good thing. It seemed important that he paid for this himself. So she would let him. This time.

— “boxes and squares #5.2: come down from the clouds” (2/10)

previously: a freeloading loser // that money is not for spending on your boyfriend

Next -> // 5.2 start // index

[bearratic]

Get to know the mun ! repost, don’t reblog.

——— BASICS.

NICK[NAME] : Benjamin. [Benji/Bear.]

PRONOUNS : He/Him.

ZODIAC SIGN : Aquarius - Feb 7th.

TAKEN OR SINGLE : Single.

ANYTHING ELSE? : Real fuckn dutch. Made of stroopwafels.

——— THREE SERIOUS FACTS.

Writing gives me the time and space to gather my thoughts. I use it as a practice in conveying emotion, which makes it easier to do so and thoroughly explain reasoning. I use writing as a base for learning human psyche, soul, mind and spirit which interests me deeply. I try digging deeper into feelings and actions - reasons why some are done and linking them together.

I pick muses based on some hint of personality trait I see of myself in them. I find myself often asking what I want so having muses that at least correlate to my thoughts are a better fit for me than just a choice at random. It can be big as the way they think or it can be as small as sharing a favorite drink. Exploring their interests based on their world and adding on to it makes it way more enjoyable for me to write, story and world building is important to me.

I fucking love everyone I have ever written and will ever write with. This has been nothing but a warm and loving experience for me.

——— THREE RANDOM FACTS.

My nickname is thanks to my father, who even though he named me one thing, found it often too long and switched it to another lol.

I go to at least 3 concerts every month. Mostly rock in genre if I get to chose but I never say no when friends ask. I will always be your +1 to any event.

If I had to pick a country to move to it would be Scotland, sorry but I have a light obsession with that place.

——— EXPERIENCE.

Zero dude. Literally none. I just picked it up as a hobby and passed my blogs one year birthday last august. I have been truly active in the writing community for only half a year in total.

I go with the flow, I enjoy coming up with things on the spot. Diseccting my muses and throwing them into any type of situation just to write myself out of it. Or-... make it worse for them. Keep it interesting you know?

I write through and together with music, I let it guide me often. This is kind of the reason I am a slow replier, I have to really feel what I want to put down and then I can stick to it. Besides that, English is not my first language so I have to switch back and forth in my brain real often. It can be a bit tiring but I gladly do it for my writing partners. Much love.

——— MUSE PREFERENCE.

Give me anything with a background we can explore and me and my muses are in. I thoroughly enjoy talking to you about your muses and mine, from their favorite pairs of socks to their family drama, idc I want to know.

I need a lot of building together, plotting and anything to truly write my muse closer to yours if you want anything deeper. I build through writing together. From something silly to movie scripts. Let them get to know each other to their deepest point.

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT.

FLUFF : Yeah definitely, I’m a sappy dude. I like to daydream.

ANGST : Also yeah! I enjoy making problems for my muses, it makes me understand them more. Dread is and can be intense so be sure to be in the right headspace and let me know.

SMUT : Sure, though with my lack of writing experience bear with me on this one. I really have to know how you write and your muse for this to work, I do not wish to overstep boundaries either yours, your muses or my own. Which I am unable to know if we do not at least have a talk about it.

——— PLOT / MEMES : Thanks to you I know how much I enjoy plotting. I know I'm rather slow with DM replies but please don't take it personally I am just truly busy and can only do one thing atta time. Memes! Starters! Send me them all day everyday, I might not get to them immediately but I will and I will love it.

TAGGED BY : @sanctissimx I adore. Thank Yououou.

TAGGING : Cool ppl but no pressure. @cherriedrage @penandswords @patronsxints @carminewill @heterochromatica @ofcursedenergy @modeinthemiddle @huntershowl & You.

[asherlockstudy]

How to do perfect staging: a lesson from Italy

I mentioned at some point I might actually make a post drooling over Italy's Måneskin performance and staging. I was kinda bored to be honest and decided against it but then all those trashy rumours that try to bring the winners down seemed so disgraceful and embarrassing to me that I decided again to do it. Now, the truth is that their performance was a little better in the semi-final introduction act. Perhaps this was due to the anxiety of the Grand Final. This is why I am going to use photos and gifs from that act and perhaps this will show to some that the perfect package might need a little bit of everything, and not just slap your language on the audience's ears with the expectation that this alone is always enough. *Did I make this too personal?*

Anyway, I digress. And I don’t mean that the Grand Final performance wasn’t still the best of the night, I just mean it wasn’t at the same God Tier level as the semifinal one.

Here's why the Italians took advantage of the Dutch stage until its very last millimeter and way more cleverly than any other country.

This is the only act that starts from the back of the stage, where the singer Damiano David waits for us alone.

Even with the rest of the 25 competing countries, this intro makes you forget that you are watching a contest with 26 countries as guests. Unlike anyone else, Italy looks like the host, like this place belongs to them and the frontman waits for you to show you around and possibly drag you to the world of Måneskin. In fact, you almost forget it’s Eurovision - this now looks like a Måneskin concert or, even better, a more private space of theirs with an ominous industrial feel. One of the most impactful things now is the lighting. Take a look at it. Almost all contestants throw all the lights on themselves or on some important prop they have prepared. The Italians are the only ones who chose to just light the stage itself. The simple white lights on the black stage give the impression of depth and it is the only act which shows emphatically the size of the stage. Why this? Well, we already established that in the first seconds the viewers feel they are in a new space belonging exclusively to Måneskin - the lights make us feel that their area is vast and dark and we are about to be drawn to its depths.

Damiano indeed guides us to the front as he sings, where the rest of the band are on the top of a platform. The other members won’t come down and join Damiano until he sings the appropriate verse “Buona sera, signore e signori” (=Good evening, ladies and gentlemen) and accompany it with a theatrical flamboyant bow (that feels very Italian). That’s when, technically introduced to the audience after the official greeting, bassist Victoria de Angelis and guitarist Thomas Raggi come off the platform and join Damiano.

There’s nothing excessive about the visual effects. Only the use of white lights that give the perception of depth and in the background the big shadows of the group’s silhouettes. They are in the front and they cast their shadows in the back; they create to you a feeling of being trapped by them but do you really want to escape?

When the second verse starts, Victoria and Thomas take the paths left and right of the stage and leave Damiano alone. They take even more advantage of the stage and in a typical classic rock band way. These two play with the side cameras but the focus is more on Damiano, whose verse sounds more like a tongue-twister. Since the cameras are rightfully on Damiano, I must now address the elephant in the room. Damiano is particularly attractive. In fact, the whole band is almost mind-bogglingly attractive and they clearly take a lot of care about how exactly they are going to look but Damiano, as the frontman, does especially so. So let’s talk about the outfit. They all have essentially the same outfit, however it is cut differently for each based on the person’s looks and personality. Isn’t it fantastic?

Damiano, who oozes confidence and sex appeal, has accordingly the most “provocative” outfit of the four. His chest and arms are bare so that his many tattoos can be seen. I’ll talk about the other outfits later as they all have their place in the... uh... white lights.

During the second chorus Victoria and Thomas return at the center and after the chorus it is time for the first solo; Victoria’s. The cameras are now on her but the lighting remains modest to accentuate the dark beat of her bass.

Victoria is the only girl of the group and the most dressed of them all - how refreshing! Her outfit is more similar to Thomas but she is buttoned up in the front. How does she wish to underscore her uniqueness as the woman of the band? But of course, with long flamboyant girly sleeves that come to delicious contrast with her aggressive stomping and her wide strides. Both her hairstyle and her outfit is inspired or basically just outright 70′s classic rock look.

It’s time for the bridge of the song right after her solo and Damiano has his attention on her and also draws the viewer’s attention to her some more. This part of the song is lower and softer - in relative terms - that’s why Damiano “chooses” her to sing it to. The lights now turn red, the intensity rises but there’s light flirtatiousness between them, with many smiles to each other and the camera that turns around them as they launch at each other playfully.

Then the song gets darker, more intense, the guitar stronger than the bass and Damiano’s voice turns to a scream. For this part, he turns to his bro, guitarist Thomas and he now draws the attention to him.

He grabs Thomas by the neck in an intense, intimate way (that doesn’t mean sexual, just intimate. His interaction with Victoria wasn’t sexual either). It is clear that through different ways Måneskin want to stress how good and close their relations are and that their singer, who is apparently a show stealer by birth, wants to ensure that they all get equal amount of attention from their audience. I love this.

True enough, nobody is left behind! The last chorus starts with a drums solo and Damiano goes up to the platform to now meet and introduce to us Ethan Torchio. Ethan stands up and his giant shadow is on the now blue background: this is the moment for the - so I hear - somewhat shy drummer to shine in his own aesthetic. The Italians leave none of their assets to fall down and Ethan’s impressive hair rightfully steals the show.

Just like Victoria and Thomas look alike, so do Ethan and Damiano, that’s why their costumes are the most similar. Ethan has a vest that covers him more than Damiano but leaves his arms bare. Because whose else the arms do you need to see if not the drummer’s?

This song has something peculiar because it was not a song originally written for Eurovision; it slows down in the end and  does not end on some impressive note from the singer as usual but with the last solo we expect, that of the guitarist, because everything is fair in Måneskin! The focus has to leave Damiano, so now it’s the time for the visual effects to finally catch fire, literally,  because nobody is allowed to take their eyes off them! Måneskin use a huge amount of pyro that however feels appropriate for the intense chorus and the ending guitar solo.

Thomas steps up for his solo and I forget we are in 2021. This is the most 70s thing I would ever hope to see.

In a hell of pyro, Thomas looks like he was tranferred right from a 70s rock ‘n roll concert. His outfit would be gladly taken by Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones. The unbuttoned jacket with this boho tie, such a classic 70s fashion touch. His haircut and even his FACE are the epitome of the 70s - what an ending sequence!

But hey we reached the end and this is Eurovision, the song slows down dangerously. Like I said, the Italians forbid us to get distracted. The attention must return to Damiano ASAP. Damiano says one last line and takes the audience with him to the very end with a death drop.

There you have it. Måneskin had me holding my breath for the full three minutes and I did not want to take my eyes off my TV. There are countless shows that are awesome - in this very Eurovision as well - but I was impressed by how they seemed to have found the perfect balance for everything in every single moment. They found the perfect stage concept for the song, they relied on visual effects only when they needed them and they stressed every twist and turn of their sound with a perfectly fitting move or interaction. They also all effortlessly could hold your attention and they made sure that they all would, with members often helping bring out other members. This performance was beautiful and, above all, clever which is why it was undoubtedly the worthiest of the win.  

[soyouthinkucanwrite]

The money thing (part 1/2) - Daniel Ricciardo

It's always the little things, isn't it? The smallest stupidest things make almost no difference and then make all the difference in the world. They make everything special, but they also have the power to tear everything appart.

You and Daniel fight about money for the thousand time and he's had enough of it.

Warnings: super angst, but with a happy ending :)

Guys, this turned out WAY BIGGER than I expected, so I'm just gonna do a part 2, okay? Okay, thanks for understanding!

Song that inspired me: A list by HVOB

You and Daniel had been dating for a couple months now, having met through a common friend and hitting off almost instantly. You lived in Amsterdam and he, well he lived all over the world really, but his "time off" (meaning not racing) was spent between Monaco and London (for work), and Amsterdam now too, of course.

The changes were small and subtle at the beginning, like your weekends being spent traveling to meet him wherever in the world he was and consequently spending almost all your savings on plane tickets. You never complained to him (you planned on spending the money traveling anyway, so you didn't see the point), but didn't accept when he offered to buy your tickets, either. There's been some awkwardness around the subject but it usually died on its own.

*beginning of flashback*

"You’d have gotten here in time if you'd gotten the early flight like I told you" you remembered him saying that time you got in the paddock after the qualifying session had begun and couldn’t kiss him good luck.

"Baby, I told you. It was crazy expensive! Absurd even!"

"(y/n) for god's sake! What are we saving money for? I told you, you have my credit card number, I've offered to get you one, this is ridiculous, I can't believe I literally earn millions and my girlfriend wasn't there with me because the ticket was too expensive! I'll fucking fly you private if I have to!" he was almost yelling in his driver's room. You could only stare from the corner.

He took a deep breath running his hands through his hair. "Sorry. It's just... it was crap out there. I needed you" you grimaced at his words.

"Sorry. I really am..." you tried to approach him. "I'm here now?" you touched his arm. "It can't have been that bad, you're still on the top 10 and we both know what you can do from the 8th car..." you smiled at him.

*end of flashback*

He started to spend much more of his time off with you at your place, so you decided to get a place by yourself (having a roommate was great for company and splitting the rent, but having a roommate there while you guys just wanted some much-needed privacy was not working). Then there were more traveling to meet him, furniture for the new place, clothing for all the events (GPs or not), uber rides here and there... all of that without mentioning that you weren't being able to get the freelance jobs you used to get to make some extra money, so yeah, to say things were tight was an understatement. You tried to do all your shopping alone, so he wouldn't offer and you wouldn't refuse or be awkward about it, but Daniel seem to be glued to you whenever you were in the same city (not that you’re complaining).

He started to spend much more of his time off with you at your place, so you decided to get a place by yourself (having a roommate was great for company and splitting the rent, but having a roommate there while you guys just wanted some much-needed privacy was not working). Then there were more traveling to meet him, furniture for the new place, clothing for all the events (GPs or not), uber rides here and there... all of that without mentioning that you weren't being able to get the freelance jobs you used to get to make some extra money, so yeah, to say things were tight was an understatement. You tried to do all your shopping alone, so he wouldn't offer and you wouldn't refuse or be awkward about it, but Daniel seem to be glued to you whenever you were in the same city (not that you’re complaining).

The thing is, you always had trouble dealing with money. Sure, you liked to pay for your own stuff so as to not owe anything to anyone (especially boys), but it was so much deeper than that. Ever since a kid, you hated asking for money from your parents, and sometimes even the thought of buying stuff that was a bit more expensive made you sick. You couldn't explain why, you just felt guilty having so much and knowing that most people have never even seen that amount. It's not that you didn't want to spend it and save for the sake of it, you just didn't handle the idea of money very well. Needless to say, dating a millionnaire was bound to cause trouble in the relationship for you.

You were currently at his place in Monaco. It was the summer break and you had decided to spend some days just chilling at home, just the two of you - which you were glad since going out means hair, makeup, clothes, accessories, shoes... and, let's be honest, the kind of places he usually took you is not the kind of places you just throw something together last minute (the Instagram models and other driver's girlfriends looking you up and down were enough to make you think about spending money you did not have to hire a stylist or something like that). The whole situation was really stressing you out and you knew you would have to be honest with him eventually, instead of only dodging the subject and refusing most of his offers to pay. You tried to. You kind of tried. You suggested staying at home, in bed, most of the time, and he gladly agreed, but that strategy wasn't gonna work forever. You had to be honest with him. But at the same time, you knew what he was going to say and do, and the thought of him spending money on you, even if just by handling the restaurant bill, wasn't something you were much more comfortable with. Besides, it was only a matter of time before the "gold-digger" term starts to fly around in the small world that was the F1's.

You were laying on his couch, the Olympics playing on the TV but you were too busy overthinking the money thing to pay attention. Daniel was laying with his head on your lap, absently caressing your thigh and watching the TV. His phone went off and he moved to pick it up.

"Hello?" you watched as he answered the phone. "Hey mate, how's it going? Uh nothing, we're just chilling at home. Getting some rest... Yeah, I'm getting rested, you dirty-minded son of a bitch" you rolled your eyes while he laughed out loud on the line with someone. "Yeah, I know... the 19th is it? No, it's fine. Yeah, yeah. I'll be there. Alright, mate. Thanks for calling. Have a good one! Bye!" he hanged up and leaned in to peck you on the lips.

"Good news?" you asked him.

"Not really. Just wanted to kiss you" he shrugged, smiling. You smiled back and hugged him, pulling him in for another kiss. He was always so caring with you, always finding an excuse to kiss or touch you. You knew some people didn't like it, but you loved it. Physical touch was definitely one of your love languages.

"What's happening on the 19th then?" you asked him once you guys set apart from the kiss.

"Gotta be in London. Gonna run some testings and other boring race stuff..."

"Hum..." you hummed in understanding.

"You know what would make it less boring though?" he asked and you just looked at him, you already knew what he was going to ask you and it wasn't that you didn't want to spend every minute of the day with him, but you simply couldn't afford any more traveling, especially not in such short notice. "If you came with me. Huh? What do you say? A week in the Queen's land? Then we can fly together to Spa and after the race, I can go with you to Amsterdam. The next one it's the Dutch GP anyway, I'll just get there sooner" he laughed. It was crushing you, the man of your dreams was literally beaming at making plans with you, talking about spending the next few weeks glued together and you couldn't say yes.

"Dan, I have to work" you smiled sadly.

"Can't you work from distance? Or, I don't know, I mean... I know it's tiring, but you could come to London and fly home a bit early, then just meet me in Belgium?" great, his solution includes even more flying. And the thing is, you really didn't mind the flying. You always slept during the whole thing anyway, so you never got tired and the jetlag was minimal. You could work from distance, sure. Your boss wouldn't mind, as long as you got there eventually to check in on everything. But the whole logistics were just too expensive. There was no way you could afford it.

"I... sorry, I don't think I can" you said sadly and watched as his face dropped.

"That's fine, baby. I get it. I'm asking too much, all this traveling... don't worry about it" he tried to mask his emotions but you knew better. He knew you could in fact work from distance, so he was probably thinking the reason you couldn't do it was because you didn't want to.

He got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Meanwhile, you couldn't help but bury your face in your palms. This was so frustrating!

"You wanna go for a run or something? Maybe get something to eat?" he called from the kitchen, already moving on from the subject. You knew this whole thing was only gonna keep build up till he got tired of your excuses or you blowing up, probably the former, but you just keep going.

"Yeah, sure" you answered, getting up from the couch.

You and Daniel were both very active so going for a run, hiking, riding bikes, or whatever in the middle of the day was really routine for you. The Monaco summer weather was as beautiful as always and the sun was shining bright. You enjoyed the rest of your afternoon racing each other, kissing in the harbor, and just taking in the views, spending quality time together. Money wasn't even a thing in your bubble for a while.

"I'm getting hungry" he said on the way back home.

"Me too, and I'm super hot. I could go for a juice or something right now" you were all sweaty from the running, but you didn't care, he was too.

"You're always hot baby, I don't think juice gonna help with that" he grinned at you and you just rolled your eyes at him.

You passed by one of his favorite spots for food, nearby his place and he suggested getting some take-out, to which you agreed.

"Green juice, and a chicken wrap?" you tried to decide while the both of you waited in line.

"I'll never understand how you drink that"

"I've seen you drink that too, it's actually very refreshing"

"Because I'm forced to, I'm a high-performance athlete baby. But I'm on a break, so I'll have a coke, thank you very much" you laughed at him. He was holding your hand and tried to kiss you, wrapping his arm around you, you didn't dodge his kiss, you would never, but still laughed at the fact he wanted to kiss the sweaty mess you were right now.

"I'm gross, only you" you laughed.

"That's my baby, with no makeup she a ten" he rapped shrugging and grinning.

"Alright Lil Wayne, I know that one, don't even finish the verse" you laughed at him, making him laugh out loud, getting everyone's in the restaurant's attention.

"It's true, though"

"Sure..." You just shook your head smiling. Then you heard someone call his name.

"Hey! Daniel!" you both turned around to see Charles and Charlotte sitting in a corner, him waving at you two. You had met Charles a couple of times before but never spoke too much to him. They seemed to be leaving anyway, so they walked towards you guys, instead of towards the door.

"Hey mate, how's it going?" Daniel greeted him with a handshake. "Hey, Charlotte! You know (y/n) yet?"

"Hi! I don't think so, hi! How are you?" she greeted you smiling.

"Hi! Nice to meet you. Hi, Charles!" you said.

"Hey, (y/n). You're keeping him in line during the break? Char won't let me cheat my diet either" he laughed.

"Oh, that ship has sailed long ago! Daniel will just roll into the paddock if it's up to him" you laughed back.

"Hey! I think I've earned the right to some extra calories, we've been working out extra hard lately" Daniel said waving his eyebrows suggestively, making Charlotte giggle, Charles rolls his eyes and you go even redder than you were from the actual workout, while he just laughed out loud.

"I don't even want to know" Charles said. "Always great running into you mate" he was getting ready to say goodbye.

"Are we seeing you guys tomorrow?" Charlotte asked you.

"Tomorrow?" you asked her.

"Stefano's birthday" she said like it was obvious. Stefano Domenicali was the President and CEO of Formula 1, but you didn't know that yet - still, her tone made it seems like it was someone Daniel knew, so you just looked at him. He just rubbed his neck, looking a little embarrassed. "Oh, wait. Please tell me I didn't just said something I shouldn't" she looked at Charles.

"No, no. He invited me. Us, actually" Daniel reassured her. "I don't think we're going though, forgot to mention to you" he said looking at you.

"Uh mate, I wouldn't skip that if I were you. He didn't even invite all the drivers I heard" Charles said. "Maybe just stop by to say hello?"

"Stop by... a yacht... at the sea?" Charlotte said grinning at him. Daniel looked at you.

"You feel like going? It should be fun" he asked you.

"Sounds fancy... I mean, I don't mind if you go" you said.

"Common... I’m not going alone" he nudged you.

"I don't even have anything to wear, Dan" you told him.

"Oh! We can go shopping together!" Charlotte said and you had almost forgotten they were still there.

"Perfect!" Daniel answered for you. You could only imagine the types of stores she shopped.

"Tomorrow morning, then? Daniel can text your address to Charles for me? I'll pick you up!" she was being really nice about it.

"I thought you wanted to go today?" Charles said.

"That's when I thought I would have to go shopping with you, so I could use the extra time since you're the worst shopping partner ever!" she laughed at him.

"Burn!" Daniel laughed.

"His fashion taste is not the most reliable, let's face it" she laughed and kissed his cheek. "It's a date then (y/n)?" she looked expectantly at you. You didn't want to let her down, it was so hard to make friends with the girlfriends of other drivers, they were usually so... not nice. You could always just help her and find something to wear in your own stuff later.

"Yeah, sure! See you tomorrow, at 10?" you said simply.

"Perfect!" she beamed.

>>> end of part 1 <<<

[ragingbookdragon]

All The Small Things...That Show How Incredibly Pissed She Is

Batboys x Reader HC/Imagine

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Here's some humor for y'all at the end of the semester. Enjoy! -Thorne

Dick:

Dick wasn’t a fool. He might seem like that to some people, certainly anal-retentive supervillains and seasoned superheroes who weren’t particularly impressed by him, but even if he paraded a bit of thick-headedness (Batman’s influence) every now and then, Dick wasn’t a fool. And he sure as hell realized when she was angry at him.

Well, angry wasn’t the particular word. She wasn’t angry, and honestly, in the entire year they’d been dating, he’d yet to see what would even made her fume. But sure as shit, if she didn’t get annoyed at things, and right now, he knew it was at him. And really, the only reason he did realize it was because she didn’t stick a note in the thigh pocket of his suit before he left on patrol.

It was something foolish, she’d said when he came home and asked her about it the first time she did it. A simple little folded paper, the same kind that hung on their refrigerator for the grocery list. All it had said was, “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee—good luck out there, Dickie!”. When he found it, he about busted himself at the seams from laughing so hard, but at the same time, he found it endearing that she had left it for him to find. That had been on a Friday night and every day of the week leading up to it, she put a piece of candy in his pocket, saving Fridays for the little notes. And this Friday he didn’t find a note—he knew she wouldn’t forget, and that was all the clue he needed that she wasn’t happy about something.

And so, to remedy it, he picked up a bottle of red wine and a dozen red roses—sue him he’s a romantic—ready to do whatever she wanted to fix what he’d messed up.

Jason:

He didn’t hate the color pink, but he didn’t wear it unless it was a particular occasion, or unless the shirt he liked was pink. Most of Jason’s outwear wardrobe consisted of black and blue jeans, dark and white shirts, combat boots, and leather jackets. His outfits screamed, “I’m the epitome of ‘Bad-Boy’.” And most of his leather jackets were dark, so he typically wore white or light gray shirts, so it didn’t blend.

They shared chores in the house—he cooked most nights, and she did laundry; they both cleaned the apartment. Jason looked in the dryer for a white shirt because it was white’s day the night before and found a whole load of white shirts that’d been dyed pink. Of course, at first, he thought it perhaps an innocent mistake, but when he pulled the load out and found a single red sock, Jason knew he was in the doghouse.

He pulled on a baby pink shirt and grimaced at how tight it felt on his body—so she was really mad because she must’ve washed these in hot water because they’d shrunk two sizes. The thought of asking what she was mad about crossed his mind, but he figured he’d be better off figuring it out on his own and fixing it rather than having her tell him.

Jason was a grown man; he could figure it out himself—the only bad thing was that Jason, in all his glory, was still a man—and boy did he have trouble telling what his lady was mad about sometimes. Ice-cream, he figured. Dutch Chocolate Ice-cream and bourbon was her go to when she was upset—hopefully, she wouldn’t throw his underwear in the wash before he got back from the store.

Tim:

He’d long grown used to being stared at, considering the fact that when he was a young child, and an academic prodigy at that, people liked to examine him like he was a lab rat. So, at first, her way of communicating that she wasn’t pleased with his course didn’t occur to him. Of course, when he finally turned his attention from his laptop screen and caught her cocked eyebrow and unimpressed look, Tim couldn’t stop the flush of crimson that split over the bridge of his nose as he babbled an apology.

She usually responded with a grunt of recognition, but it was anything but amused or interested. And he’d flash that dopey grin and kiss her knuckles until her eyes filled with humor rather than annoyance. And then he’d go back to his laptop and the process would start all over again when he finally realized she was boring holes in the side of his head.

The only time she wanted to prove she was mad at him was when she’d pull out her phone and do those stupid, “Which Member Of The Batfamily Are You?” and she’d do everything in her power to not get “Red Robin”, typically getting “Red Hood” because she knew it’d make his jealously bubble in his chest.

And then Tim would slam his laptop shut and toss her phone off the bed with it and yank her down onto his bed, coiling his arms and legs around her like a cage, while she giggled relentlessly and teased him about being “green with envy”.

So really, while it usually started with her being mad, it became a “How Much Can We Annoy The Other Before We Blow?” game—she was winning so far…much to his dismay…and love.

Bruce:

His wife was outspoken and independent, not ever once requiring help with any task. If she couldn’t figure it out herself, she’d cut her own foot off before asking him to do it for her, because she knew he took that little pride in doing what she couldn’t. Their marriage was built on a foundation of love, for each other, and for their family. But that third peg was absolutely competition, and by God they were gonna prove who was the winner before they both died of old age.

So, whenever she got mad at him for anything, it would be obvious that she would announce it—but oh no, see, when she got mad, she was passive aggressive about it and she waited for Batman to figure it out. And she typically showed her annoyance through clothing.

Her favorite way to piss Bruce off was to wear an emerald green t-shirt around the house that said, “My favorite superheroes wear green!” and the stupid graphic tee had Green Lantern and Green Arrow symbols all over it. And that sadisti—lovely witch did everything in her power to make him look at it—at her.

And Bruce knew her plan of showing her irritation was working because that maddeni—gorgeous smirk always crossed her lips when he glared—stared at her. He still didn’t know what she was mad about though. Her purpose only served to show she was upset with him—so much for the World’s Greatest Detective.

Unfortunately, Bruce knew the only way to appease her would be to submit to her the entire night and let her know that she was now in the lead for their competition. Darn…and he’d just leveled the score too, and now she was one ahead…again.

[palettepainter]

How the teachers play favourites

We all know Aizawa and All Might have their favourite UA child, Shinsou and Midoryia. And yeah I know Bakugo and Todoroki are also their UA kids but shhh, Midoryia and Shinsou where the first UA kids they adopted. 

And you can’t tell me Aizawa and All Might play favourites with them, All makes Deku lunch like..hello?? Aizawa gave Shinsou his capture weapon, HELLO?? 

So here are some dumb headcannons for how the other teachers play favourites to their UA kids

Ectoplasm and his UA kid Jiro:

-When he gives back marked tests he’ll sometimes write small encouraging notes for his students to read, he does this to some students when he feels they need a pick up but he always leaves a positive one on Jiro’s 

-During lessons where students are allowed to study in the lesson Ectoplasm lets them listen to music on their phones, everyone thought he would say no so everyone - mostly Kaminari and Mineta - peer pressured Jiro to ask. To no ones shock except Jiro’s Ectoplasm replied with a calm “Sure, but only if you use your headphones”

-Jiro talks about new songs that have been released and Ectoplasm will listen to her geek out about music

-Sometimes Jiro will tell Ectoplasm what her and the rest of the band (herself, Kaminari, Momo, Tokoyami and Bakugo) have been doing and if they’re working on any new songs in-between their studies. Jiro jokes that Ectoplasm is their biggest fan but Ecto is genuinely supportive of their band and admires their creativity

-Jiro once entered maths class and said “Hey miter Ecto, what’s shakin’ bacon?” and while the whole class was stood there in silence thinking Ectoplasm wouldn’t reply he said “Not much double dutch” and then Jiro went to her desk as thought nothing out of the ordinary happened. Kaminari tried to do the same thing to him and Ectoplasm just went “Kaminari your shoe lace is undone-” Jiro was very amused

Powerloader and Hatsume:

-This one started out more like this - Powerloader: Who’s idiot kid is that?....*realises it’s Hatsume* Oh shit- THAT’S MY IDIOT KID-

-Hatsume showed up at the design studio and never left basically, so Powerloader got used to her. He knows Hatsume overworkers herself so he keeps spare energy bars, fruit and bags of crisps in the design studio. He brought a small microwave and kettle for the winter so Hatsume could make hot drinks and food since she insisted on finishing her ‘babies’

-Say’s he doesn’t worry but still insists she goes to recovery girl when she gets a scratch or blows up the studio, sometimes dragging her there himself, ranting all the way about how she’s an idiot. One day Hatsume ended up breaking her leg during a bad explosion and Powerloader very nearly had a heart attack-

He kept a close eye on her while she worked from a wheelchair at her desk

-Makes her wear a god forsaken jumper in the winter when the design studio is freezing, stupid dumb teenager you’ll catch your death of cold

Present Mic and Kaminari:

-This man is shameless with playing favourites

-He greets Kaminari with his signature finger guns and an enthusiastic “AAAYYYY KAMINARI!” Kaminari shoots finger guns back with an “Ayyyyy teach hozit hanging?!” Everyone in class knows Kaminari is a teachers pet despite how Kaminari insists he’s not

-Mic knows Kaminari has a crush on Jiro and Kaminari is an embaressed child who is like “omg msiter Mic STOP-” while Present Mic is coeing and being all like “Aw that’s adorable!”. He always puts Jiro and Kaminari together in group projects, Kaminari shoots him a flustered glare cuz Present Mic knows what he’s doing 

-Kaminari teaches him meme/slang language for laughs and everyone in class hates it, Kaminari finds it hilarious. Eventually Mic gets the hang of it but he sucked at using the language correctly at first 

-Calls him lil listener and Kaminari calls him loud mouth 

Midnight and Yaoyorozu

-Another teacher who is shameless with playing favourites

-Midnight being a teacher does have to enforce the dress code if she sees a student wearing their uniform incorrectly - loose tie, untucked shirt, odd brightly coloured socks, chockes, etc. Midnight really doesn’t care all that much if a student’s socks aren’t the sae colour as their shoes...buuut she’s a teacher so she has to enforce it. Except when it comes to Yaoyorozu. Yaoyorozu one day had to wear light blue socks into UA as her tights where damaged, and she was worried she’d be called out for not following the dress code. Midnight saw, and turned a blind eye. She was in the middle of telling someone off for not dressing correctly, saw Yaoyorozu with the odd coloured socks and went “-Oh hello Yaoyorozu you have a good day sweetheart! ^^”

-Always complients Yaoyorozu when she comes into class. Oooo did you try a new hair style? Honey it suits you! New note book, such cursive hand writting! Glad to see you got those new pair of shoes, trying a different shoe brand this time? Very stylish!

-Had been tempted to kick Mineta like a beech ball on more then one occasion when he wouldn’t back off from Yaoyorozu

-The kind of teacher to say “I taught her that~” when Yaoyorozu uses one of her combat techniques

-Girl gossip. She tries to guess who Yaoyorozu will get with, meanwhile Momo is just blushing and blabbering because that isn’t very appropriate for history work. Midnight bats a hand is like “Pft I’m the teacher I can gossip in my own lesson”. Puts her with Todoroki during group projects and she, like Mic, 100% knows what she’s doing

Hounddog and Shishida

-Hounddog: I am not soft....*holds up Shishida* EXCEPT FOR MY 1B CHILD WHO IS VERY STRONG AND HE’S GOING TO BE A HERO DON’T @ ME HE’S AMAZING-

-Encourages Shishida to let loose with his beast form, with his rish upbringing Shishida isn’t used to embracing his more wild and uncaring side, having been raised to always be propper and polite when not in combat. Hounddog geuenily puts in effort to be a little less grumbly around Shishida cuz he doesn’t wanna peer pressure him, he’s giving him time

-Keeps a spare cloth so Shishida can clean his glasses off when and if they get dirty from training

-I imagine Shishida having a quirk called beast and having a more posh upbringing prolly has a little bit of anxiety, having to always be polite and propper even with a quirk called Beast. Sometimes he vents to Hounddog about this and he listens, insisting that it’s better Shishida get it off his chest when he apologises for drowning on

-During training Hounddog basically throws him about like a beanie bag at first, Shishida was still a kid and Hounddog had years of experience. The day Shishida finally knocked him down with a hard punch to the side of Hounddog’s face he felt...bad. But Hounddog was beaming! Shishida may have cried a little bit

Snipe and Hagakure (picked hagakure inspired by a suggestion @snipe-enthusiast made a while ago)

- Protective af

-Hagakure screams the innocent dorky girl of 1A, and thought Snipe makes sure none of the girls deal with Mineta’s bull while he’s around he’s especially protective of Hagakure just cuz...well, have you seen the way she acts? She’s innocent, peppy, happy, cheerful, and Snipe does not want that tainted by Mineta’s preverted ways

-After the exam with Hagakure and Shoji Snipe apologized for what happened and so did Hagakure, admitting that she over-reacted. 

-Hagakure admits one day to Snipe that she’s worried she won’t make it as a hero cuz her quirk isn’t flashy like her classmates. Snipe reassures her by saying that no one thought he could be a hero when he was little (this headcannon was inspired by @frelmidja and a post this did with Snipe) - guns weren’t exactly considered heroic and he got teased in the beginning when his quirk first activated. He told Hagakure to keep working hard and that she had the potential and the drive to be a hero, Hagakure was very thankful for the reassurance

-Hagakure really wants to see what Snipe’s face is like and constantly asks him if he could take his mask off and show them, Snipe has yet to break and take off his mask but Hagakure is very persistant 

Cementoss and Bondo

-Chill babies, they sit and have tea together. 

-I imagine Bondo to be the kind of person to accidentally call Cementoss dad, it happened once during one on one training and he got so embarrassed. Cementoss kept telling him it was fine but Bondo left in a hurry after

-Bondo tried to make certian shapes out of his glue one time but ended up getting himself stuck, Cementoss helped him out and reassured a disheartened Bondo that everyone makes mistakes and that he was progressing well 

-Being one of the taller boys in 1B he often has to hold back Monoma from going over to 1A when Kendo isn’t around, often tries to diffuse conflict before it gets worse, Cementoss is very proud

-After one on one training the two go to the lunch hall to get a hot drink after cleaning themselves up, Bondo tries to bring a different type of tea sweet each time - something like biscuits or chocolate. Cementoss returns the favour by bringing Bondo manju to have after his training

Thirteen + Gunhead and Uraraka

-Proud mum and dad because I couldn’t decide between the two

-Uraraka researches into the affects of zero gravity and how to better use her power, due to this she’s become a bit of a space nut and enjoys thinks like star gazing. When she was a kid and saw Pro Hro Thirteen on the TV she was ecstatic! Her parents brought her a Pro Hero Thirteen plush on her seventh birthday, Uraraka still has that toy. One day the toy got misplaced in the students washing and got mixed up with the teachers, Thirteen was a bit confused why a plush of her - and a well loved one by how old it looked - ended up in the wash. Uraraka hurridly rushes over to explain when Thirteen comes into the students dorms asking if it belonged to anyone. When Uraraka explained she got it when she was younger cuz she’s a big fan of Thirteen...heart squeeze

-Asked Uraraka if she could teach her the gunhead martial arts move, Uraraka was so honored she got to teach one of her idols a combat move! Through the gunhead martial arts move Thirteen met Gunhead and the two become good friends

-One day when Gunhead is teaching Thirteen the martial arts move with Uraraka to help demonstrate Uraraka wanted to take a picture of them all together. Gunhead was too tall to fit into the picture so he kneeled down to be at the same height as Thirteen and Uraraka (he did bunny ears behind Thirteen’s head and Uraraka thought it was adorable)

-Gunhead pretty much puts two and two together with Uraraka having a crush on Midoryia, so one day when Thirteen mentions in passing conversation how giddy Uraraka gets when she’s around this one green haired kid Gunhead just chuckles behind his hand. Thirteen and Gunhead think it’s very sweet how Uraraka totally has a crush on him (unlike Mic and Midnight thoug they don’t force anything and let Uraraka figure things out on her own)

[itjazzbicch]

The Big Bang

Pairing: Hook x Fem Reader

Summary: Hook and the reader have been friends since high-school, making it together in pro wrestling and a part of Team Taz. The problems within Team Taz become too overwhelming for them, they try to ignore it and when Ricky explodes on the reader, Hook explodes on him…

Warnings: The reader gets shoved down, but that’s about it

Requested by: No one, but I hope you all enjoy! (This is my first time I’ve written for Hook, so I hope I did well!)

Word Count: 2224

Tag List: @demonqueen29 @jessiebean00 @new-zealand-chic @crowleysqueenofhell l @justamess44 @thatpanpal @hungmanhorsecarriage @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @linziland13 @xxx-jazz-xxx @writtingrose

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF

“I’m not going to tell you guys again!” Taz yelled, coaching Ricky, Brian, and Hobbs, “We are a team! The best team and you all are gonna start acting like it!”

Being a member of Team Taz was killing me right now. The whole team was a ticking time bomb, except for Hook and I.

[You trying to get out of here? I can’t stand this rn] I texted to Hook who was sitting next to me.

He looked up at me with a small smile, texting back:

[I was going to ask you the same thing. Let’s get out of here]

I quickly looked to see Taz still lecturing the guys , none of them paying attention to us.

Exactly when they had their backs turned, we snuck out. Whenever we made it far down the hall, I let out a deep breath, huffing:

“I don’t know about you, but all their arguing is getting on my nerves.”

“Welcome to the club,” Hook sighed, “They are being so childish like just shut up and wrestle.”

“Yeah no kidding,” I murmured, walking slowly next to him, “Wanna go to the football field?”

“Yeah,” Hook smiled, “I’m down.”

Hook and I have been best friends for a long time, trained together and now, in AEW together.

We thought it would be awesome to be a part of the same team, but the only team there truly was, was Hook and myself.

When we made it to the football field, I went into the center and just laid in the grass.

“I just wish we could wrestle our own matches and get away from all the guys’s bullshit,” I groaned, looking up to see Hook standing next to me.

“Wanna wrestle?” Hook teased, “Then let’s wrestle.”

“A sparring match?” I smirked, sitting up.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Hook murmured, looking away when he said, “More like a test for you. I’m obviously stronger.”

“Oh?” I chuckled, standing up, “You’re gonna get it now.

“Bring it on!” Hook encouraged, going into stance whenever I came at him with a lock up.

At first, it was a challenge to overpower him, but to gain the advantage, I stepped on his foot, then put him in a headlock, quickly doing a snap headlock take down, putting him in the grass.

“What was that about being stronger?” I teased, rubbing my knuckles against his hair, “Come on, Hook! Bring it on!”

At first, I thought he was crazy when he started laughing, but then he start tickling me!

“HEY!” I yelled out with laughter. I was trying to fight it off, but I couldn’t handle it for very long, I was way too ticklish.

“You cheater!” I screamed over his laughter, the tickling becoming too much.

I let go and ran away, but Hook jumped right up, chasing me.

“Come on! What about our match?!” He laughed, sprinting to catch up with me.

It didn’t take long till he caught up to me, both of us laughing when he wrapped his arms around my waist, reeling me in.

“Hook, stop please!” I laughed, trying to break his force, but he was too strong, tightening his grip.

“This is what you get for running away!” He laughed, somehow still tickling me.

I needed to get out of his grip and finally, I was able too. I was able to squeeze my arms down, slithering away, crawling backwards between his legs then jumping on his back, putting him in a sleeper hold.

“Time to go night night,” I chuckled, not really trying to put him to sleep.

We would play fight like this all the time, we met in high-school and our friendship never really changed. Hook was always the quiet type, but when we became friends, he opened up to me and we always had fun like we were little kids. It was only with me because of how strong our bond was, still play fighting now as young adults.

Like usual, Hook found a way to reverse. He used a lot of strength to swing me and I screamed because I almost fell off of him, but with one arm, he pulled me back up, swinging me around and holding me in both arms.

We were both out of breath, but smiling when our eyes met, staring into each other’s eyes deeply.

“Can we call it quits?” I huffed, still laughing a bit.

“When are you gonna grow up and stop being so ticklish?” He teased, tickling me one last time.

“What do you mean?” I scoffed, “You just can’t stop being ticklish!”

“Take a joke!” Hook groaned, but smiling, his voice a little deeper when he whispered, “I don’t mind. Your laugh is cute.”

“Is that why you tickle me so much?” I said nervously, feeling my cheeks heat up.

“Maybe,” He smiled, his tongue darting across his lower lip.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I chuckled, about melting in his arms when I saw his head leaning towards mine a little.

I even let my eyes close, but we both jumped when we heard:

“WHAT ARE YOU TWO OUT HERE FOR??”

It was Taz. I forgot how loud he could yell and he about scared me half to death.

“We have to get out to the ring now! Come on!” Taz yelled louder and we just ran, following him.

When we finally made it to the stage, I wasn’t surprised. Ricky and Brian were fighting, AGAIN.

Ricky had the FTW title for some reason and at the same time, they were distracting Hobbs, which made him lose to Adam Page.

They didn’t even care about that. Brian was yelling in Ricky’s face, demanding he give him back the title. Then Hobbs came over and none of them would listen to Taz.

I had enough of this. I couldn’t stand it anymore. So, when Ricky’s hand swung back, the FTW title swinging along with it, I grabbed it.

They all stopped, staring at me and I stood in front of them all, pleading:

“Guys, this needs to stop! We’re a team and a good one when you guys aren’t bickering like children. Please, just stop! We are better than this. We really are!”

“Y/N is right,” Hobbs agreed, nodding his head.

It felt like a moment of peace between us, for the first time in what felt like forever.

Hobbs made me smile with that comment and now that everything was silent, I sighed, “Here, Brian. You’re the champ.”

Brian was smiling too, going to take his title whenever I began to hand it to him, but when I did, Ricky shoved me, knocking me to the ground.

I got slammed right into the titantron, hitting my head hard. I held my head quickly, looking up to see Ricky scared shitless because they were all ready to kill him.

“You son of a-“ Taz began to yell, but all I saw was Hook, knocking Ricky to the ground, throwing punches.

“Hook! Hook!” They all began yelling, Ricky yelling and clenching his injured neck.

“Hook! I said stop!” Taz yelled, but there was no stopping him.

I have never seen Hook so enraged like this before. Hobbs was the one able to contain Hook , turning him to Taz so he could say:

“Son, I don’t blame you for being angry. I know how you feel about her and I’m proud of you for whoopin his ass, but you need to stop.”

Finally, I snapped out of it, Brian kneeling in front of me asking, “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I groaned, watching Hook.

His chest was heaving, his eyes animalistic and the moment Ricky picked up his head and looked at Hook, all hell broke lose again.

Hook must have had a crazy adrenaline rush in order to break free from Hobbs grip, going right back to Ricky and about punching his face in.

There was so much yelling and commotion, Hobbs and Brian now trying to hold Hook back, one of them had each of his arms. Hook was still fighting and that’s when I realized that I needed to do something.

Quickly, I jumped to my feet, running at Hook and hugging him.

“Hook,” I stressed, holding his face so he would look me in the eye, “I am just fine, okay? Please just stop. Ricky is not worth the energy.”

Finally, Hook settled down, but was still ready if Ricky even dared to stand up.

“Guys, let him go,” I asked politely, Brian and Hobbs listening.

As soon as they let go, Hook’s arms latched around me, one of his arms around my head, his hand rubbing right where I hit my head.

“You sure you’re alright, baby girl?” Taz asked, “You hit your head hard.”

“I’m fine,” I assured, “I promise.”

I laid my head on Hook’s chest, hearing how hard and fast it was pounding, that increasing when we both looked to see Ricky on his knees.

“We have to go,” I sighed, looking up at Hook, “We can go back to the football field, somewhere.”

Hook still had his eyes set on Ricky, but he quickly looked to me and nodded his head, but before we left, he gave Ricky a death stare, then he kissed my forehead.

“Let’s go,” Hook whispered to me, hearing all of the anger in his voice that deepened.

“Brian, take them to where ever they’re going,” Taz commanded, then pointing to Ricky, “And you?! Your ass is coming with me! Get the hell up!”

Brian came to our side, walking through the tunnel with us and once we were far away enough, Brian said:

“Good job out there, Hook. I enjoyed watching him get his ass kicked.”

His comment made me chuckle, it even made Hook smirk a little despite how angry he still was.

We began to go towards the football field and once it was in sight, I stopped walking, my eyes meeting with Brian’s.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but can Hook and I have some time alone?” I asked sweetly.

“You’re fine!” Brian smiled, “Take your time. I won’t be far if you need me.”

“Thanks, Brian,” I smiled back, “And thanks for walking us out here.”

Brian gave me a simple nod with a smile, then began to walk away. When I turned around, I saw Hook stepping on the football field, kicking at the grass.

I had to jog a little to catch up, but I caught up with him, his pace slowing down once he noticed I was behind him.

“Hook,” I sighed, taking a deep breath when he turned around, a blank expression was on his face, but I smiled, “Thank you.”

Hook looked at me as if he was surprised, curious as to why I was thanking him, at first is expression gave off the feeling that He was ready for a lecture.

“You’ve always had my back,” I smiled, “And I love you for it.”

When I said the word love, a bright smile he was trying to fight appeared but there was no fighting it.

He took a few steps towards me and I thought he was going to say something, but his arm hooked around my hip, pulling me in and his lips crashed right into mine.

It was like the big bang theory blasted in my mind when I felt his lips against mine. A kaleidoscope of colors turning behind my eyes when I felt all the sweetness, a lot of built up emotion, like he had been waiting forever to do this.

My whole body broke out in goosebumps, all of those emotions rolling right off his lips onto mine and every bit of it was so strong.

I made sure I kissed him back with the same amount of passion, so much of it built up inside because there was no trying to hide the truth. The truth that I’ve been dreaming about this for years, happy that we finally gave in and crossed the barrier of friendship and turned into something more.

When my hand stroked his cheek, they were so warm, finding his jaw line and keeping it there, holding it a little tighter when our lips parted and we both gasped quietly.

Our lips were just an inch away, Hook titling his head up just a bit so he could look into my eyes. Slowly, I pushed the little part of his hair that was blocking the view of his eyes, his eyes glowing, brightening when he whispered:

“I wouldn’t have done what I did if I didn’t love you, Y/N.”

I couldn’t stop smiling when he kissed me again, whispering against my lips, “I love you.”

After one more kiss, he hugged me, keeping my head to his chest. I had never been happier in any other place like I was in his arms. Even after that huge fight, our night ended up being beautiful.

“You’ve always had my back,” Hook sighed, looking down at me, “And I will always have yours. You are my girl after all.”

Just when I thought I couldn’t smile any brighter, I did. My cheeks hot again and being raised by my smile, saying to Hook, “Wouldn’t want to have it any other way.”

[mamahex]

His Boy.

Arthur had been gone for nine days.

We knew he'd gone to see Isaac; he'd ridden off all tight lipped and moody, as he always did when going to see his boy, his face set in the tangle of emotions I knew he must have always felt, going to see a son that was more long distance aquaintence than family. My heart always ached for him, watching him ride off into the distance, going to snatch small precious time with his son.

We knew something was wrong by the fourth day when he didn't come home. None of us really spoke of it at first. The fear very slowly began to curl itself through camp, touching each of us tentitivley, at first. A glance over to the treeline, the extra food we made, for no one, the glances we exchanged.

John suddenly blossomed into a helpful man, bringing coffee unasked for, helping around camp. A stark contrast to the sullen and arragant young man we knew and loved. Susan became even more overbearing, if such a thing were possible. She barked orders and overtidied, overfussed, overdid everything, really. And Dutch...well, Dutch is always harder to read. I would watch him gripping whatever book he was pretending to read while he stared through the pages. He would be lost like that for a while, and then shake himself from whatever dark thoughts were plaguging him, throw his book aside, and get up to pace. He would find me watching him, and we would stare at one another, and even though the words weren't spoken aloud, I could feel them through my bones: What are we going to do...

Neither of us were sure of the exact location of Eliza's home, so we couldn't race off to find him. And the fear that something terrible must have happened kept us glued, silently, to camp.

I started to ride into the nearest towns every morning, asking around, reading the newspapers. I was a concearned citezan, enquiring about outlaws in the area that me and my darling family were hoping to buy a homestead in, because you can't be too careful, and we had heard rumour of a big young man getting arrested of late...but there was nothing.

By the ninth night, Dutch finally pulled himself out of the angry silence he had wrapped about himself and came to me.

"Hosea..." Dutch looked wretched. I know just how much he loves his boy, same as me, I suppose, but the look on his face that night shook me. I hadn't seen him look so grim since the night we found his beloved Annabelle...

"Dutch..." I found myself reaching out to grip his arm, suddenly overwhelmed with feeling. Perhaps I, too, had been swallowing my fear.

"We are going to have to go looking."

I nodded, sighing. We both knew it was futile, we both knew we wouldn't have a hope of finding one man out in the wilds, we both knew that he could have been anywhere, if he were even still alive...

We heard the horse snort, right then as we stared into each other's eyes in shared terror. We both stared into the treeline as Arthur's horse materialised, and we both let out a ragged breath.

Our boy was alive.

He sat slumped on his saddle, his chin resting on his chest. Dusk was falling thickly about us, so we only saw him in full detail as he rode closer to the campfire. He was filthy, dishevelled, and he reeked of whiskey. When he lifted his head, the firelight showed he was bruised, yellow-bright marks under both eyes, a scabbed, half healed cut across his bottom lip.

Dutch sprang forwards. "Arthur...what's happened to you...?"

I watched Arthur slowly turn to Dutch, his eyes unfocoused, at first. His face fell into a grimace. "Leave me the fuck alone," he slurred, as he leaned over to dissmount. He slithered off his horse, and would have fallen had Dutch not caught him.

We all approached him then, Susan in the lead. "Arthur Morgan," she began her chiding mother hen theatrics, "what on earth has gotten in to you and where have you been?" But Susan's voice died on her lips, and she suddenly became unsure of herself, as Arthur glared at her with nothing but hatred.

I spoke then, and I could hear my heart thudding through my voice. "Susan...we need some space, please..." She wrenched her glare from Arthur and stared at me.

"He...he needs..." she began, but I slowly shook my head, and her words died.

Something was very wrong, and we all knew it. We had all seen Arthur drunk before but never mean.

Dutch tentatively reached out for him then, and I was moved by his gentleness. "Come on, son, we need to get you to bed..."

Again, Arthur rounded on Dutch, pushed him squarly in the chest with such force that he slammed into me. "Don't fucking touch me!"

"Arthur..." I tried, but words failed me. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. I can't say why, but seeing my boy this way...I was terrified of what we were going to discover, but I think both Dutch and me had a pretty good idea of what may have happened already.

John sprang forwards then, his face flushed with anger. "The fuck man..." he sneered.

And this was the fight that Arthur was looking for. He stumbled towards John, a sick grin spread over his already bruised face. "Come on then, little baby, you got somethin to say to me?" The way Arthur swayed and slurred, any other man would have backed off. He was clearly drunk, distraught, and asking for a fight. But John, being the impetuous youth he was, was riled into the fight in a heartbeat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" John demanded, and squared up to him.

"John..." I started, but I already knew it was too late.

"The fuck is wrong with you more like, you whiney, moody litle shit-"

John punched him square in the face.

Susan screamed, Dutch yelled, I said something unintelliagble, and Arthur fell heavily to his hands and knees in the grass.

"Fucking child!" John all but screamed, but I could see his rage begin to melt from his face as he stared down at Arthur, to be replaced with concearn, confusion. He turned and stormed away through the trees.

Dutch and I were down beside Arthur almost the moment he had fallen. Arthur began to laugh, the drunken, maniacle half sob, half growl that I wont forget.

"Susan," I managed, "go after John, please..." She stared down at us, clearly reluctant to move. "Please, Susan..." She eventually huffed and marched off after John.

Dutch exchanged a look with me then, and, as always, I knew the meaning. Our boy needed us...

Dutch was behind Arthur, his hands on his arms. I got down before him and sat him up, and he slumped against Dutch. He was still laughing, but his voice was catching in his throat that was tightening, and it sounded more like sobs.

"That's it!" he screamed into the night, "that's it, you fucking run away! Come back and finish me off!" He did let out a shaking sob then.

I held his face steady and forced him to look at me. The reek of wiskey was foul in my face. The cut on his lip had been reopened and was bleeding slowly into his beard. "Arthur...Arthur...come on son, we are going to help you, but you need to let us..."

His glassy eyes managed to focus on me briefly. "No...no...leave me be Hosea..."

I felt his tears run down onto my hands, hot and slow.

"We can't do that son", I said, gently as I could, wiping his tears off his face.

"Let us help you, son," Dutch said. I noticed then that Dutch was holding Arthur steady, one arm around his chest, the other hand stroking the sweaty hair from his forehead.

Again, me and Dutch locked eyes.

Arthur moaned and suddenly wrenched away from us. I managed to swing aside just in time as he doubled over and began to wretch. He heaved and heaved, vomiting pure liquid alcohol onto the grass. I stood up and watched Dutch hold him steady until he was done.

"Come on, son," Dutch spoke, and his voice was so gentle and full of feeling that I honestly felt such love for him then. "We need to get you into bed."

Together, we managed to get beneath Arthur's arms and heft him up. We half walked, half dragged him to his tent and lay him down. I wrenched his boots off and left him uncovered, and together, we turned him onto his side. Dutch went and found a bucket and placed it by the side of his bed, I got a jug of cool river water and left it nearby. We both sat, crouched before the bed, watching our boy as he fell into a fitful, drunken sleep.

I looked over at Dutch, who was peering into Arthur's face, almost as if he could pull out the hurt from his boy by his gaze alone. "Something must have happened to the boy," I said.

Dutch wrenched his eyes away to look at me. He sighed, deeply, through his nose. The pain on his face was unhidden. "I know..."

Arthur moaned, then, in his sleep, like a wounded animal caught in a snare. "Isaac..." he moaned, and we knew.

***

John and Susan returned to camp, not too long after, John looking upset. But he went straight to his tent without another word. Susan wanted to know what happened, but I merely shook my head, lost for words.

Dutch and I stayed close by Arthur through the night. He tossed and turned and weaped in his sleep, moaning for his son. Dutch didn't leave his side, and each time Arthur cried out, he stroked his hand through his hair to still him.

Even though Dutch isn't really old enough to have been Arthur's father, he clearly loves him as much as I.

"We musn't let him ride off when he wakes," Dutch said to me, his voice a whisper. I nodded, thinking the same.

"Ahh, Dutch... how are we going to get him through this?" I asked. I was suddenly very tired.

Dutch looked at me in that way he has, his dark eyes peering right inside of me to pluck at my very soul. "The same way we got through Bessie, the same way we got through Annabelle... together."

I felt my heart clutch at me then, at the mention of my love, and all the thoughts of her death tumbled through me then, like a sudden storm. I thought, too, of us finding Annabelle and her blood blooming like a rose in the snow...

I swallowed my feelings and nodded at my friend.

I must have fallen into a half sleep at some point because movement wrenched me from dreams I ididn't want to remember.

Arthur was up on his feet, and very early dawnlight was spilling in through the canvass of the tent. Dutch, too, was pulled from sleep.

"Sick..." Arthur gasped and ran from the tent.

We followed him out of the tent to see him heaving over by the trees, wretching out the last of the alcohol.

We looked at one another, silently asking if we ought to go to him in case he should make a run for it...but we both stayed at a distance. I heard him spitting, moaning, and pissing against a tree.

Morning mist had clung to everything, covering the woodland in gossamer. Birds sang, the nearby river chattered, and everything was still and calm.

Thankfully, Arthur made his way back towards us. We both ducked back inside his tent, so he didn't know we had been watching him. He wordlessly slumped back down onto his bed, staring at his bare wet feet. Dutch and me exchanged a glance, once again...this was going to be hard...

I sat myself beside him on the bed, close enough that my shoulder was just touching his. Dutch sat on a small chair in front of him.

I was suddenly reminded of Arthur as he had been when we first took him in, that scared and traumatized boy...

It was Dutch who spoke first, his voice quiet and soft. "What happened to them?"

Arthur didn't look up. He let out a ragged sigh, still staring at his feet. I felt him shrug beside me. I draped my arm across his shoulders and pulled him closer in to me. He resisted, at first, but then his body relaxed slightly, and he let himself be held.

"Graves," he began, and his voice was horse and quiet. "I went there, and there were graves. Two graves..."

Arthur put his head in his hands then and began to weep. I pulled him closer, my hand going to stroke his hair like I used to when he'd have nightmares as a child. It was automatic. I felt my heart hammering, and even though I had never met either Eliza or Isaac, my heart broke for the man I loved as if he were my own son.

Dutch held him too, his hands on Arthur's hands that were wrapped around his face as he tried to hide his grief from us.

The three of us sat that way for some time. We let Arthur weep and simply held him.

Mine and Dutch's eyes met, and I could see his eyes were shining with unshed tears. The love we felt for our boy was like a physical manifestation, then, wrapping the three of us together in an invisible embrace. Again, I thought back to losing Bessie, and how those two men had held me, and how the three of us had sobbed together as we buried Annabelle...I was overwhelmed with feeling then, as Arthur cried into our arms, and I'm sure that Dutch was feeling and thinking the same as me.

Arthur began to quiet, his breathing slowing, his hitching breath becoming more regular. I slowly eased the tightness of my embrace but kept my hand on his back. Dutch let go of his hands. He slowly sat upright, scrubbing the tears and snot from his face, sniffing and sighing.

"My son..." he said, his voice unrecognisable in its grief. "My son is gone..."

Dutch rested a hand on Arthur's leg and peered up at him. "Do you know why? Who?"

Arthur shook his head. "A nearby farmhand stopped by and told me they was robbed, he thinks. They was robbed for what little they had and...and...killed...two graves."

Fresh tears began to fall then. "I know I barely knew him...but-but-he was my son..."

"It's all right, Arthur, you're all right," I found myself saying, but I knew that he wasn't.

After his tears were brushed away once more, Arthur looked at me, then looked at Dutch. "Ahh, I'm sorry, last night...I been drinking for days... and fighting..."

"That's all right, son," Dutch said, "you don't need to say sorry for that."

"I was drunk for a year after Bessie passed," I reminded him. "And I probably did some very stupid things. So you are in good company here."

"Ahh Hosea..." Arthur sighed, and he leaned in to me once more, his face pressed into my neck. I held him, and Dutch moved to sit on his other side on the bed.

He still reeked of alcohol and his speech was still slightly slurred, and I knew he needed to sleep it off some more.

"I know it hurts, son," Dutch said, and I felt his arm wrap around Arthur to rest over mine, "but you aren't alone. Remember that... we got you."

Arthur nodded his head and sat up. "Thank you...I'm-I'm so sorry..."

"It's ok, Arthur," I said, again stroking his hair back like I had done when he was a kid, "it's all going to be ok..."

He nodded. "I need to sleep," he said, his eyes heavy.

And so we left him then, reluctantly. He was asleep again as soon as he laid down. Together, Dutch and I covered him with a blanket and left him to rest.

We stood outside his tent and stared wordlessly at each other. Dutch caught me completely off guard and pulled me into a tight embrace. I found myself clutching him, suddenly overcome with feeling that I hadn't really known was there until his arms were around me. We held each other for a good few moments, and then he let me go and walked off, back to his tent.

I slept a little, until noon, my dreams jumbled and unkind. As soon as I woke, I went to check on Arthur. I peered through the crack in the door flap, just to make sure he was still there.

He was not alone. He was still sleeping, flat on his back, breathing the deep sleep of alcohol consumption. John was sat beside his bed, peering down into his face. He was frowning, and he looked afraid. But there was a look there on John's face I hadn't seen before; a tenderness. He very gingerly reached out and stroked a stray lock of hair back from Arthur's forehead, still peering down at him.

Arthur murmoured very lightly in his sleep, and John snatched back his hand.

Smiling, I backed away from the tent before he might see me.

I looked up to find Dutch watching me, a gentle smile on his lips.

[sequinsmile-x]

Gentle

Well, it’s been a HELL of a 24 hours in the Hotchniss fandom, and I thought we could all do with some fluff. So, here it is in the form of a domestic Hotchniss mini-fic.

This is set in my Full House universe, which also has a follow up called Empty Nest 

Words: 2,242

TW: Pregnancy/Sickness/Labour 

It was her turn to put Ivy to bed, the little girl insisting for once that Emily did it. She didn’t complain, her daughter's requests were so rare for her that she jumped at the chance to do it. To watch her fight sleep as she read her a story, her grip on Emily’s clothing loosening as sleep finally won out. 

Emily gently closes the bedroom door behind her and goes in search of her husband. She has to stop when she gets to the bottom of the stairs, breathlessness caused by the baby in her belly still taking her by surprise even at this stage of her second pregnancy. She feels her little girl shift around and smiles. She spots the dining room light is on and walks towards it, seeing her husband sitting at the table, intently watching his screen, headphones on. 

He spots her almost immediately, and closes the laptop so quickly it makes her raise a brow at him. He takes his headphones off, and attempts to look nonchalant.  She rounds the dining room table and stands next to him, hip resting against him as he sits. 

“You know I don’t mind if you watch porn, honey. I’d just rather you didn’t watch it where our children eat breakfast.” 

Aaron flushes immediately, an outraged look flooding his face as he looks at her. “I am not watching porn, Emily.” 

She holds her hands up and can’t help the smile that blooms on her face at his irritation. “Well what are you watching then?” 

He sighs and opens the laptop, the screen displaying a YouTube video of a woman braiding a little girl's hair. 

“Ok, not what I was expecting.” She lowers herself into the chair next to him, hand pressed into her baby bump as she does so, a grateful smile aimed at him as he helps her settle. 

Aaron places his hand on her belly, smiling when he feels their daughter move around under Emily’s skin. “Ivy keeps insisting that I do her hair.” 

“Because you’re her favourite.” Emily grumbles, the irritation in her tone fake as given away by her still present smile. It irked her sometimes, that their daughter was obsessed with Aaron when she was the one who had brought her into this world, but then she’d see them together and her heart would melt. 

Ivy was always seeking Aaron out, wanting to curl up in his lap at any opportunity, or be carried by him everywhere. The way they looked at each other made Emily’s entire body sing with happiness, and it made every single thing that they had been through, together and apart, seem worth it.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t currently holding out hope that the baby she was currently pregnant with would be a mommy’s girl. It seemed only fair. 

“Ivy keeps insisting that I do her hair.” He repeats, ignoring her comment about favouritism. “And I want to make sure I do a good job.” 

He gestures towards the notebook next to the laptop, and that's when she realises he had been taking notes. 

Emily has to bite her lip to stop the pure happiness that bursts in her chest from pouring out. Not for the first time she was wondering how on earth she had gotten so lucky to marry Aaron, to have his children. She still berated herself sometimes for not noticing him sooner, for the time they had lost in the years where they both just ignored what was clearly there. 

“I love you so much.” She says, the words flowing from her so easily. “You’re such a good dad.” 

Aaron smiles at her, and dutifully ignores the fact that she absolutely has tears in her eyes, a complete slave to her hormones at this late stage of her pregnancy. “I love you too, and you’re an amazing mom.” 

She smiles at that, and a tear falls onto her face which she quickly wipes away, her frustration at her constantly wavering emotions clear. “You are so getting lucky tonight, Agent Hotchner.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yes. As soon as you help get me out of this chair.” 

______

Emily yawns as she reaches the bottom of the stairs the next morning, excited to drink the one caffeinated drink she was allowed a day, and is stopped in her tracks at the adorable sight in front of her. 

Ivy is sitting on the kitchen counter, something that would usually make her nervous, with Aaron standing behind her putting the finishing touches on her hair, two dutch braids holding their 2 year olds unruly hair into place. Emily wonders how on earth their tiny daughter managed to convince Aaron to braid her hair before 7am on a Sunday, but it didn’t overly surprise her. The little girl was quickly learning there wasn’t much she couldn’t get her father to do. 

“Daddy done?” Ivy’s sweet little voice asks, shifting on the counter like she’d been sitting there patiently for hours, when Emily knew it was likely only minutes. 

Aaron chuckles and Emily watches as he secures the final hair tie. “Almost, sweetheart. You certainly got Mommy’s patience as well as her hair, huh?” 

The look he throws over his shoulder lets her know that comment was purely for her, his first acknowledgement that she was in the room. She rolls her eyes at him and walks over, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she joins them at the counter. “Is Jack up?” 

“He’s awake but still in bed.” He explains as he finishes his task, immediately picking Ivy up and hoisting her onto his hip. “All done.” 

Emily smiles as her daughter grins. “You look so pretty, baby.” She leans forward and presses a kiss to Ivy’s cheek. “Maybe Daddy should do my hair.” 

Ivy frowns at that, her grasp on Aaron’s pyjama shirt tightening. “No, my Daddy.” 

Emily narrows her eyes at her husband when he laughs. “Well, how about Daddy makes us all breakfast?” She tickles the little girl's belly, smiling when a laugh escapes her. “And you and me go watch some cartoons?” 

Ivy seems to consider it for a second before nodding, reaching for her mother with tiny hands. Emily gladly accepts her, shooting down any protests from Aaron on whether she should be carrying her when she’s 8 months pregnant with a single raised eyebrow, and holds her daughter close. 

Emily presses a kiss to the little girl's head. “What do we think for breakfast? Pancakes?” Ivy nods enthusiastically and Emily smiles at her husband over their daughters head. “Pancakes it is.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes but is already getting the pans out by the time Emily leaves the kitchen. She walks to the living room and places Ivy down on the couch before sitting next to her, the little girl immediately cuddling into her mother’s side, her hand pressed on her belly. 

“Baby.” 

Emily looks down at her daughter and pulls her slightly closer, lamenting briefly that her bump made it close to impossible. “That’s right, sweetie. Baby.” 

Ivy frowns slightly at that, a look that makes her look exactly like Aaron, no matter what he said. She then cuddles into Emily, tiny hands grabbing at her shirt. “My Mama.” 

Emily smothers a laugh by biting her lip, and mentally makes a note that they will have to talk to their daughter about sharing, again, before the baby arrives.

_________

He looks so worried when he enters her hospital room it makes her heart ache. Aaron gently slips into the room and closes the door behind him, their hours old baby in his arms. 

“Hey, honey.” Emily rasps out, cringing at how exhausted she sounded even to herself. “You ok?” 

Aaron fixes a look at her and walks over, sitting on the edge of her hospital bed. Expertly holding their tiny daughter with one hand so he can grasp one of Emily’s in his own. “No, I am not ok. You almost died.” 

She tilts her head at him and smiles, her chapped lips sticking together. “I’m fine, Aaron.”

“You lost half your blood volume, Emily.” 

“Hey.” She reaches up with her other hand and cups his cheek, the terror in his voice briefly overriding her need to hold her baby. “I’m ok. It was scary as hell, and I can’t imagine what it must have been like to watch, but I’m ok.” She smiles as he presses a kiss to her palm. “She’s ok too, right?”

He smiles then, the first real one since he walked into the room, and looks down at the sleeping bundle in his arms. “She’s perfect.” 

“Can I hold her?” She had only held her for a fleeting second before everything went wrong, the baby snatched from her chest as quickly as she had been placed there when things started to get really hazy, really fast. 

Aaron doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.” He passes their newborn daughter into her arms, careful not to knock any of the many IVs Emily has attached to her following the emergency that had come shortly after their youngest’s birth. 

Emily smiles broadly at her newborn. “Hi sweet girl. Hi Audrey. You’re so beautiful.” She raises her up, her arms feeling weak, and presses a kiss to the baby’s head. “You look just like your sister did when she was a little baby.” 

“You mean she looks just like you.” Aaron says, reaching forward to straighten the cannula Emily had her nose that was delivering oxygen to her. “I called Jessica, she’s going to bring the kids by in the morning. I’ve held the team off too, I thought you’d appreciate some time after what happened.” 

She tears her eyes off of her baby and looks at her husband. “Thank you, I don’t really feel up to any visitors right now.” She looks back down at Audrey. “Plus I must look a state.” 

“You look beautiful.” 

Emily looks up at him with a raised brow. “You’re a liar, but you’re sweet.” She looks at Audrey. “Daddy is lying, Mommy looks terrible but you’re worth it.” 

She flicks her head back, the hair that had been in the loose bun she had put it in at the start of labour escaping into her face. She makes a frustrated noise when it immediately falls back. 

Aaron looks at her and gets off the bed in search for her hospital bag, digging through it until he finds her hairbrush. He moves back towards the bed. “Shift forward a bit.” 

Emily looks up at him questioningly and shakes her head when she realises what he’s offering to do. “Oh, Aaron no. My hair is disgusting.” 

“Em, sweetheart, we’re married. I’ve seen worse. You do remember your bachelorette party right? Or the aftermath at least.” 

She knows if she was well enough she would have blushed, memories of him sitting with her on the bathroom floor when she was throwing up, cursing the day Penelope Garcia was born. Crying as he wiped tears, and vomit, from her face whilst she asked if he was still sure he wanted to marry her. 

“Fair point.” She says, wincing as she moves forward enough for him to slip in behind her. Audrey cries out, and Emily’s attention is immediately back on her baby, soothing her with gently rocking and noises as Aaron does her hair.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You always are unless I ask you not to be.” She quips, smiling when he grips her shoulder and mumbles something about her being ridiculous under his breath. 

She sits there and feels as he brushes it through, trying not to cringe when stringy parts of it fall in her face as she thinks about how much she really needs a shower. It feels nice when he braids it, being as gentle with her as he is with Ivy, and she thinks it might be one of the most intimate things he’s ever done for her. 

When he’s done he flicks the braid over her shoulder and pulls her back to rest against him, placing the brush on the bedside cabinet. 

“Thank you.” She says softly, leaning her temple against his. “Ivy would be jealous.” 

He laughs, wrapping his arms around her. “She can never know.” 

Emily lifts Audrey to kiss her again, marvelling in the smell of her baby’s skin. “I better be your favourite, little one. Considering I almost just died bringing you into this world.”

“Emily.”

“Too soon?”

_________

All of their daughters, including the twins when they come along, end up insisting Aaron does their hair, and over the years the styles he can do get more elaborate. 

It’s something she never shares with anyone, not even JJ and Penelope, because she knows he would be embarrassed by it, even though it was one of her favourite things about him. How much he loved their children, how absurd his huge hands looked braiding the hair of tiny little girls, so gentle in his touch that they never complained. 

Years down the line when Ivy gets married she nervously asks Aaron if he’d do her hair for the day, one final reminder of her childhood, something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. 

He’s thrilled. But insists on practising on Emily since he swears he is rusty at it now, the times when the girls would line up in the living room to get him to do their hair long gone. A fleeting memory of when they were small, and their house was full. 

Emily lets him, and playfully argues with him as he insists on trying just one more time. She tells him, having had one drink too many at her eldest daughter's wedding, that she’s always liked him doing her hair too. 

[novaiya]

It’s Getting Better - Dutch x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Based on this request “I’ve never requested anything before and I am begging you to write some like caring Dutch Van Der linde smut? Like idk you were unhappy & he made you feel better?”

Words: 2197

Warnings: smut, reader has female anatomy.

A/N: It took me longer to come up with the title than to write this fanfic lmfao

It was a particularly beautiful day at Shady Belle. The air was heavy and wet, but that didn’t stop the current occupants of the land from taking big gulps of it, enjoying it more than the cigarette smoke that usually filled their lungs.

Outside, the stagnant pool of water sparkled under the yellow sun. Jack stood right next to it, by the docs, throwing rocks and sticks into the water. Abigail was not far away, sitting on a log, knitting and periodically looking up to check on her son.

Pearson was preparing yet another pot of stew. He knew the recipe by heart, and by now could probably chop all the vegetables and meat with his eyes closed. The smell of it carried all throughout the manor, filling every room with its mix of vegetables, meat and spices.

There seemed to be a lot of chatter both inside and around the house. You, however, didn’t pay attention to any of it, holed up in the big room on the second floor, wallowing up in your sorrows. You haven’t been able to be a productive member of the gang for some time now, still shaken up from everything that has happened in Clemens Point just a few weeks ago. There of course have been some victories since then, like getting Jack back, but you still couldn’t forget Sean and what happened to him. It didn’t help that Miss Grimshaw screamed at you when you were spacing out while washing clothes. You knew she didn’t mean to hurt you, she too was grieving and was trying her hardest to keep everyone and everything together. Still, that didn’t stop you from bursting into tears and running up to the bedroom you and Dutch shared.

You were laying on your side in the bed, your back to the door when you heard it open and close, footsteps approaching the bed.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Dutch said as he sat on the bed next to you, his hand reaching out and running down your hair.

You sniffled and used the cuff of your shirt to dry out the tears on your cheeks. You wanted to tell him how you felt, what was on your mind, but you were afraid; afraid that if you opened your mouth, tears, along with every thought that was in your mind, would release in a flood wave like water from a breached dam.

“C’mon sweetheart,” he said, his voice having a hint of sternness, but still soft and loving, “tell me.”

You turned around on the bed, sitting up a little bit to be able to see Dutch.

“I’m just-” you turned your face fully towards Dutch, your reddened eyes staring at his own-“I’m scared.” You took another, shaky breath and kept on. “First Arthur, then Sean, and then Jack, and then we had to flee. How long before we have to move again? How long before someone else dies?” Without you noticing your voice was getting louder and louder with each word you said. Before you knew it, you were practically screaming every one of them, and tears that you’ve tried to dry not a minute ago were back in full swing.

You could’ve probably kept going for hours, spilling out every single thought that was on your mind, but you were momentarily stopped when Dutch embraced you, holding your body to his. No more words escaped your mouth, except for occasional sobs and weeps. You were clinging to Dutch, holding for dear life to his shirt as he ran his hand down your hair and your back, occasional saying “it’s okay” You weren’t sure how long you were crying for, or when you stopped, but when you finally did, you were lying down on the bed, your head on Dutch’s chest, his hand still soothingly running over your hair and shoulder.

You blinked a few times, trying to get your vision to go back to normal after all the tears blurred it. You looked up at Dutch; he was already looking at you.

“How are you feeling?” he said.

“I’m okay,” you said, before taking another moment and adding, “I just need time. It’s been a lot.”

“I understand,” he said. “It’ll get better, sweetheart, I promise you.”

You smiled. Dutch didn’t have to promise you anything, you already believe in him, you always did.

You reached out towards him and kissed him.

“I know,” you said after breaking the kiss, your lips a hair away from each other. He pressed his lips back towards yours, his hand now on the back of your head, holding you close to him. His other hand was following the curve of your body, running down your waist and stopping at your hips. When it came to Dutch, even such small actions could instantly get a fire burning in you.

You moaned, much to Dutch’s delight, when he pushed his tongue in your mouth. You were clinging to him, your nails threatening to tear his vest apart.

He maneuvered you on the bed, pinning you down, his broad frame towering over you.

“Dutch,” you said breathlessly.

“Let me take care of you.” He placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb running small circles on your skin. You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes and nodding your head.

You felt his lips on your neck, soft and gentle, paving their way down with kisses and nips. You started to work on the buttons of your blouse, your excitement evident by the way you couldn’t get them to open right away. Once all the buttons were off, Dutch took over, pulling the blouse down and off of you, revealing your breasts. His mouth watered at the sight of your naked chest, your nipples standing at the attention, asking to be licked and sucked. He covered one of them with his mouth, using his hand to tweak and pull at the other.

“Dutch.” Your sighs and moans of his name only spurred him on more and more. He released your nipple from his mouth, kissing down your stomach and reaching the band of your skirt. You lifted your hips up, helping him to pull it down off of you, leaving you only in your drawers, which soon enough join the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

You were now completely naked in front of Dutch, nothing but a thin sheet of sweat covering you. Dutch’s eyes were all over you;  on your breasts, your perky nipples, your naval, your mound. The heat in his eyes was infectious, and it was making you feel sexy, aroused and aching all at the same time.

He was sitting on his knees, situated right between your spread legs, all of you open to him, running his hands all over you. You were starting to get impatient, so you moved your hips towards him, biting your lip when he gave you a curious look.

“Impatient today, aren’t we?”

“I always am when it comes to you.”

Dutch laughed. “I know, darling. I promised you I will take care of you, didn’t I?” he said as his fingers ghosted over your slit. The action, albeit small, was enough for you to buck your hips toward his fingers, wanting, needing more. He obliged, collecting your witness with his finger and pushing in. After all the ministrations, just his finger-long and thick-felt like too much. He started off slowly, his movements timed, his thumb doing soft circles over your clit, watching your face, your expressions. Your eyes were closed, your mouth slightly open, warm sights and moans coming from it. You were writhing under him, your hair a mess on the pillow, making it look like a halo over your head.

“Dutch, please,” you said. “More.”

Dutch smirked, and added a second finger, picking up the pace.

Your moans grew louder, which only egged Dutch on. You were now moving your hips in tandem with his fingers, meeting him at every thrust of his wrist. Dutch loved seeing you like this; so completely drowned in pleasure. He could go on for hours, bringing you to new heights, seeing your face during your undoing being his biggest reward.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your toes curling when you felt Dutch add a third finger. One of your hands reached behind you to grab at the pillow, needing something to hold on to, while the other traveled down your naval and to your heat. Your eyes met Dutch’s as you started to rub your clit. His face was flushed, your was probably too, and his intense gaze was enough proof of how much he was enjoying this. Your eyes traveled down, looking over his neck, his exposed chest, down to his pants where you could see an outline of his cock, straining over his pants.

As if sensing what you’re thinking about, Dutch said, “Cum now, darling, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that was forming. Dutch knew you very well, especially when it came to things like this.

“Dutch,” you moaned when you felt your peak near. A particularly deep thrust of Dutch’s finger was all you needed to throw you over the edge, your body twisting and turning on the bed, Dutch’s name falling from your lips over and over again.

You opened your eyes, your orgasm finally faded. Dutch were smiling at you, the sight of you being lost in pleasure never getting old for him. He leaned down, kissing your chin, your cheek, your forehead and finally your lips. You weaved your fingers into his hair, bringing him impossibly close to you, so close you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.  

One of his hands was on your waist, while the other reached down to pull down the zipper of his pants, pulling out his cock.

He moaned your name as he slowly started to push in, your warm walls enveloping his member. When he was all the way in, he stilled for a moment, savoring the feeling of your wetness, of your body under him, of your scent filling his senses. He was addicted to you and he couldn’t get enough.

His hand found yours, interlocking fingers. His lips met yours once again, devouring you like you were the last drop of water in a desert.

Your hands were on his forearms when he started to move, his thrusts pushing you deeper into the bed.

It was getting uncomfortably hot in the room. Your activities, combined with the humid air surrounding Shady Bell made beats of sweat form on your forehead just like they have on Dutch’s. Both of your moans, sighs and hot breaths filled the bedroom, seeping through the cracks in the floor and gaps in the doors, bound to be noticed by anyone who walked past.

Dutch’s thrusts were becoming quicker and deeper. He was hitting all the rights spots inside of you, and if he kept up like that you were bound to come apart in a few moments.

“Dutch,” you moaned. “I’m gonna cum.”

At your words, he sneaked one hand down between your bodies, finding you clit and rubbing it in tandem with his thrusts. That was all you needed. In seconds, all you could do was hold to Dutch for dear life and repeat his name like a mantra, the thought that anyone could hear you being the last thing on your mind.

Your release, combined with your sensual moans of his name, was bringing Dutch closer to his own. The feeling of your wallas spasming around him was too much. He dropped to his elbows, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His thrusts became slower, but rougher and deeper. You could feel his lips on your neck.

With a moan of your name, he came in you. You could feel his release coating your walls, some of it already dripping down your thighs. He kept moving his hips a few more times before stilling over you. One of your hands laid on his back, caressing him. Both of you were catching your breath, trying to bring your breathing back to normal before anything else. Finally, he pulled out of you, laying down right next to you.

You scooted closer to him, laying your head down on his chest and closing your eyes. The feeling of his chest rise and fall down was having a soporific effect on you.

“Feeling better?” Dutch said.

“Much better.”

“I’m glad.” He kissed the top of your head.

The two of you stayed like this for a while, not bothering to go back to your work or continue on with the day. You’ve been running for so long, that you simply couldn’t run anymore. You stayed like that all till the evening, your bodies entangled in each other. Only when you heard Pearson’s jolly voice announce “Get it while it’s hot” did the two of you emerge from the confines of your room.

It might be a while till you felt completely better, but with a man like Dutch by your side, you knew that it wouldn't be long.

[allthingsmustfall]

For @rockscanfly ‘s prompt of “charles gets to watch arthur do embarrassing shit all the time. whats one time that arthur saw charles do something embarrassing?” which ate my brain and made me cackle incoherently to myself.

This is the ‘like thieves in the night’ verse, after they get to Serendipity and before John’s in the know:

Arthur’s been loitering near the stables, avoiding Hosea’s endless dickering to make nice with some a new foal and its weary momma, so it’s only seeing Charles’ back go rigid that makes him glance up.

It’s a bright spring morning, just barely out of the grip of winter, and they’d ridden down to the Smit’s ranch to pick up a few head of cattle for the farm, something that Arthur figures should’ve taken ten minutes, but with Hosea there’s always twenty minutes of small talk and an hour of haggling over prices, so he’d settled in for the long haul while Charles inspected the herd.

Arthur leans out of the barn to get a better look at Charles, who’d been leaning against the fence, smiling vaguely as he looked out over the rolling hills. He’s not doing that now - his hackles are up and he jumps back from the fence like he’s touched a live wire, furtively casting around like he’s looking for cover in a firefight.

Doesn’t seem to Arthur that anything’s changed, really, Hosea’s still up on the porch with the owner, and it seems his eldest daughter has stepped out to join them. She’s a nice enough girl, just turned twenty with no ring on her finger, and she’s plush and soft in the way Mary was, like she’d break should Arthur so much as look at her wrong. Matilda, Arthur remembers suddenly, her name’s Matilda.

Glancing back to Charles, he finds the man has jumped the fence, making for the side door of the stable, creeping along like he’s hunting game.

“Charles!” Matilda calls from the porch, her voice bubbling with the kind of excitement that only comes with youth. She dashes down the steps, her skirts in hand. “Daddy didn’t mention you’d be coming down too!”

From where he’s leaning, Arthur can see Charles’ face through the side window as he’s caught, and his eyes go rabbit-wide, and he mutters a curse that Arthur has only ever heard him use when he’s talking about the Army or Dutch.

“Heey there, Matilda,” he says, voice strained as he turns on his heel, still backing away slowly.

Matilda is fussing with her hair, straightening her dress as she comes up on the fence. “I told you,” she teases, “My friends call me Maddie.”

Charles makes a strained noise and backs into one of the struts holding up the stable’s overhang. “I - yes. Sorry, Maddie. I was just - just going to take a closer look at the herd -”

“You know,” Matilda says, like she’s being subtle or shy, “I never did get a chance to thank you proper for seeing me home after Glenda threw a shoe.”

Charles throws up his hands, “No need for thanking,” he says quickly. “Just - being neighborly.”

“Lending me your coat,” Matilda goes on, oblivious, “Letting me squeeze up behind you on the saddle - “

Purposefully, Arthur bites down on his knuckles to stifle a laugh .Somehow, Charles has neglected to relate this particular little story of neighborly good-deeding. Funny, that.

“I just - the weather was real bad,” Charles says, still backing away. Arthur has seen him less wary around rattlers. “Just - best for all that you got home safe -”

“It was just so - heroic,” she says, wistfully. “Daddy says you’re an American? You used to be a cowboy out on the frontier?”

“Oh no I - I just - I - just ranching, mostly,” Charles lies, because if the girl wants heroic stories, then Arthur’s got a few dozen to fill her head up with. “Nothing interesting -”

Matilda sighs gustilly, fanning her chest as she positions herself in a way she must think looks enticing, but mostly seems uncomfortable. “It sounds so romantic.”

“It’s not,” Charles says, almost plaintively. “It’s really -”

“Oh no,” she says, purposefully letting an old handkerchief flutter into the muddy paddock. “I dropped my handkerchief.” She leans over the fence, making as if to grab it, but even from this angle Arthur can tell she’s just shoving her breasts together as she leans over, deepening her cleavage with a lot of creative positioning and hope. “Would you be a dear and grab that for me?”

Charles stills, looking from the girl to the pile of manure it’s landed in and says, deliberately, “I’d just as soon leave it, miss, I think it’s ruined.”

Arthur just about has to shove his fist into his mouth to silent a peel of laughter at that, almost doubling over.

The girl pouts, but goes on unperturbed. “You know, I’m a really good baker,” she says hopefully, perking up. “I’d love to come by Serendipity sometime, just to show my appreciation. Momma says no one makes pie like me, you know. Would you like a slice of my pie, Charles?”

Charles just about yelps, probably because he backed his way onto a loose, rusty nail in the side of the barn, cowering back like he’s never done for lawmen or O’Driscolls or the god damn US Army, but it’s just as well, because that sends Arthur to the ground, wracked with silent laughter, and the shout covers the noise of him sinking to the ground.

“I don’t - like pie,” Charles says shortly, which as far as metaphors goes, ain’t even a little bit wrong. “I. My. I been stepping out with Tilly Jackson for a long while now, and she makes, uh, some real nice biscuits, though -”

“You mentioned her,” Matilda says, her voice going a bit suspicious. “I saw her ‘round the market last weekend and she seems real surprised you told me about the two of you -”

I bet she was, Arthur thinks hysterically, another peel of laughter trying to claw its way out of his throat.

“Oh no,” Charles whispers to himself, quietly. Arthur claws his way back to his feet just to see how wide his eyes have gotten, and he’s not disappointed. There’s small rodents living out in the desert with less fear of hawks than Charles has for Matilda Smit in this moment.

“-and she told me you two called things quits? She said you’re a real gentleman but you broke her heart.”

“Did she,” Charles says darkly, in a tone of voice that promised later retribution.

“I think any woman would be lucky to have you, Charles Smith,” she says, earnest and sweet, blinking big brown eyes at him like a fawn in spring.

“That’s - uh, that’s real kind, but really, it was Miss Tilly who broke, uh, my heart,” he says quickly, “I’m just. A broken man about it.”

Tactical mistake, Arthur thinks. In his misspent youth, Arthur has used that line to the exact opposite effect that Charles is hoping for.

On cue, Matilda makes an anguished noise. “Oh you poor thing,” she says, hitching her skirts up to climb over the fence. “Oh, women can be so, so cruel, you deserve yourself a good wife, and lots of babies running around -”

“No, no, no, miss, please!” Charles says, pure panic in his voice, “You’ll muddy your skirts. You just. Stay over there.”

“You’re such an gentleman,” she says, almost as if it pains her, but she at least stops trying to go over the fence. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come around some evening,” she says, and her voice goes sly for a moment, “You know, my daddy is driving the herd down to Montreal the end of the month -”

If he was a good man, Arthur would stop this, but thank god he’s a bastard because the anguished noise that Charles makes at that invitation is one that will bring Arthur joy for years and years to come.

“I wouldn’t want to - to presume, Miss Smit -”

“Maddie!” the girl says sharply.

“Maddie! I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t want to bring you any trouble-”

“I like a bit of trouble-”

“And I just - the farm needs me -”

“You’re so responsible -”

“And I, I, uh, uh -”

“No need to get flustered, Charles,” the girl says, all sweet and understanding, “We both want the same thing-”

“Arthur!” Hosea calls jovially, striding into the barn and drawing up short when he finds Arthur doubled over, barely holding back tears of laughter. “What on earth are you-?”

“...Arthur?” Charles growls from the other side of the wall, suddenly glaring in through the window at the pair of them. “You been there the -”

“Mister Matthews,” Matilda says, sounding put out and sour, “Charles and I were just - “

“I’m real sorry, Miss Smit,” Charles says quickly, “We best be on our way. Gotta drive the cattle home -”

“Think Hosea and I could manage it the two of us,” Arthur says helpfully, palming away tears. “If you wanted to -”

“No!” Charles says, then more calmly, “No, no, I think it’s best we all three of us go, just to be sure. Sides,” he says, glaring at Arthur, “We got things to discuss when we make it home.”

Arthur flashes him a sharp, innocent smile, shrugging. “Don’t wanna get in the way of young lo-”

“I’ll go see to the horses,” Charles snaps, heaving himself over the fence and stalking away to where they’d reined up the horses, but not so fast that Matilda doesn’t have the opportunity to lean over, whisper too loudly, “End of the month!”

“What on earth was that about?” Hosea asks, frowning faintly after him.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll tell you the whole thing,” Arthur says, laughing despite himself. Charles was gonna skin him alive, but there wasn’t a force on earth that could stop him telling everyone back home.

~A few hours later~

Lenny is laughing so hard he can’t breathe, doubled over on the ground, looking near to passing out, and Sean and Karen ain’t much better off, both leaning against each other to stay upright.

“I think it’s entirely fair I said what I said,” Tilly says, unrepentant. “What on earth were you thinking? You know I’m thinking about letting Beau Montreau step out with me, and he’s skittish as a cat -”

“I’m just telling her I’m an invert,” Charles says wearily, headown on the table and, taking pity on him, Arthur quietly refills his glass. “It was a nice life here, but it’s time we moved on.”

“And break her heart?” Lenny manages, weeping with laughter. “You scoundrel.”

“Now I ain’t a jealous man,” Arthur says, enjoying this far, far too much, “But if you’re leaving me for her, best you just come out with it, do it quick like setting a bone.” Arthur makes a show of marshalling himself. “Do it now, quick, while I’m ready.”

Charles’ lashes out, but Arthur ducks the smack deftly, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his unresisting knuckles, only dropping it when the door creaks open behind them. John struts in looking pleased with himself, fresh back from town with the groceries. “Ya’ll will never guess what I heard down in town - seems Charles’s finally got himself a woman - hey, hey! What’s so goddamned funny!”

[inkrabbit]

Hi! So I was wondering if you could do a Sean Macguire x male!reader where they’re arguing because Sean unnecessarily risked his life and Sean tries to get out of the argument by saying ‘you’re cute when you’re angry’ and instead of reader getting all flustered and blushy, he gets even more pissed off and just says ‘oh fuck off’ then goes off to his tent. And a little while later Sean finds him and apologizes then promises to be careful and it just ends in fluff and sleepy cuddles before they fall asleep together.

Sorry this took so long! It's not the best, but I did what I could for the plot. Hopefully you enjoy <3

I'll work on the next request soon

Word count: 1,957

Sean had once heard that, in life or death situations, time would slow down. He laughed at those stories, wondering how that could be possible. Time and time again, life continued to speed by him and the gang with no intentions of ever slowing down.

That was until he had jumped in front of you, green eyes blown wide and his mouth hanging open, a strangled gasp escaping his throat. In that moment, time truly did seem to stop as he fell back. The yelling and cheering of the final O'Driscoll fell away, along with the gunfire as he slowly brought his hand up to cover his side. It hurt, and his blood stuck to his hand, warm and sticky as he gripped his jacket and skin in an attempt to stop the bleeding and quell the rising pain.

The sound of your panicked voice was the only thing that came through the white noise and ringing in his ears, still reeling from the damage. He barely registers that, in his daze, you've managed to get a clean shot off on the man who had originally wounded him. Now laying in only your presence, he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding in, shaky and filled with discomfort. Each breath he took, no matter how small, seemed to intensify the pain in his side.

“Are you okay?” Oh, but no matter how much pain he was in, that familiar goofy smile made its way to his lips as he stares up at you.

“Aye, I am now, love,” he chuckles softly, but his hand doesn't move from its spot. With arms still shaking from the adrenaline, you crouch down to help lift him up, just into a seated position. “Ah, watch it, lad! Still not feelin' meself, as ya can see!”

“I don't wanna hear it!” It wasn't often you shot back at him like this. Sure, he was used to the snooty remarks, and maybe the comments that would act as a slap on the wrist, but the roar in your voice made him feel like a child being scolded. He expected this from Miss Grimshaw, or Hosea; maybe even Dutch on a bad day, but to hear it from his boyfriend? Well, this was certainly new.

“I had it all under control!” you continue as you hook his arm over your shoulders and lift him up, ignoring the whining that reverberated in his throat. “All you had to do was stay behind cover, and you couldn't even do that!”

“Where's the fun in hidin'?” He tries to give you a cheeky smile as you two walk over to Ennis, and he notes how you're almost reluctant to help him up and onto his saddle. “'Sides, I was just tryin' to protect ya, love.”

“Oh, shut it,” Watching you mount your own horse, the two of you trot back to camp. Silence falls and Sean notices that you won't even spare him a glance. Still, he can tell by the way your brows are furrowed that now's not the time to make small talk. One hand grips the reins as his other covers the hole in his side. Maybe he would try saying something when both of you returned to camp?

To no one's surprise, Miss Grimshaw is the first one to start hollering across camp when she sees Sean struggling to get down from Ennis and the blood that soaked his clothes. She pushes right past you, demanding the Irishman to explain himself as she leads him over to the wagon. He can barely get any words out before the older woman starts talking over him. Being practically thrown onto the small stool, Sean peers around Miss Grimshaw as he watches you hand over the loot from your expedition.

Once more, a seed of guilt is planted in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn't have long to dwell on it before Miss Grimshaw is instructing he removes his clothes so she can take a better look at his wound. He moves slow, wincing as he feels the material try to cling to his body, and the pinch and burning pain as he moves.

“Just what were you thinkin'?” she demands as she picks up a cloth and some antiseptic. To the best of his ability, Sean shrugs.

“I just wanted to protect 'im,” he responds softly, sucking air in through his teeth when he feels the sting of the cloth against his side.

“You know Y/N is more than capable of handling himself,” He nods, almost sheepishly, as he avoids her stern stare.

“I know, but...” He watches you from across the way, standing before Dutch and Hosea as you rant, no doubt about his little act. You're stomping your foot and flailing your hands, your face red and your brows furrowed. He had never seen you this mad before. “Ya don't know what it's like watchin' people shoot at someone ya love.”

“Oh, 'course I do,” He finally turns to stare at Miss Grimshaw, green eyes waiting for her to continue. “You think Dutch and I were always safe? Things escalated more times than I can count. He couldn't take his way out of everything, even if he thinks he can.”

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe ask more questions, but his mind goes blank when you finally walk over with your arms crossed over your chest. The scowl is still cemented on your face, but that doesn't stop him from putting on that old, goofy smile and sending it your way.

“Ya look cute when you're angry, Y/N!” he teases, resting his elbow on his knee so he can bend over just slightly. He had high hopes you would give him something; a smirk, playful huff, or even a roll of the eye. But the way your jaw clenched only made his heart drop. Before he knows it, your hand is lashing out and smacking his cheek, jerking his head to the side. There's a ringing in his ear, and he barely catches the mild scolding Miss Grimshaw starts to deliver to you.

“I wouldn't be so angry if you weren't such an idiot!” Your tone is clearly angry, but he can hear that slight wavering in your voice; the slightest crack that he would've missed had he not been paying attention. His mouth drops open, ready to fire back in a desperate attempt to calm you down, but you've already turned your heels and stormed away towards your tent. He's left sitting there, a deep frown on his face.

“Oh, now look at what you've done,” Miss Grimshaw sighs, her eyes trailing you. “You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?”

“I gotta go after 'im,” He plants his hand on the stool, slowly trying to lift himself up, but the old woman is faster. She grabs his shoulder and forces him back down, a wince coming from the man.

“Oh, no you don't!” Her face is hard, brows furrowed as she glares down at him. “Now, I think you've done quite enough for one day. You just let poor Y/N simmer down before you go botherin' him.”

“But I just-”

“But nothin'! You're stayin' right here!”

Maybe he would've argued more if his side wasn't on fire, or if the woman hadn't had such a brutal grip on the base of his neck to hold him still. His eyes followed your direction, and he stared at the closed flaps of your tent. He hadn't meant to make you mad.

The rest of his medical treatment consisted of him barely listening to Miss Grimshaw's rant. Something about him being more careful the next time he's out, and how he has to be more aware of his surroundings and not make such stupid decisions. He absentmindedly just nods his head, eyes still trained on your tent. He went over the conversation you two would eventually be having repeatedly in his mind. Should he just apologize? Should he try to explain himself? Should he just try and forget it all happened and keep going on as if everything was normal? He supposed he would figure it out when he saw you.

By the time the sun slipped behind the horizon, everyone had heard about Sean's little event and nice slap he had received. Of course some of the members had poked and prodded for more information, and other teased him about what had happened. He never told them, of course. Just rolled his eyes and brushed them off. But the whiskey he was offered as a sort of “get well soon” gift was more than welcome. It helped calm his nerves for what was to come.

When the last drop of whiskey hit his tongue, he tossed the bottle to the side and bid everyone at the campfire a farewell. Some had wished him luck, expecting him to be thrown out of your tent within seconds of entering just by saying something stupid. And truth be told, that thought had entertained him for a while. He was worried he would say the wrong thing and receive another slap, only to have you throw him out seconds later.

Standing outside of your tent, he gnaws at the bottom of his lip. It was now or never, he supposed. While the alcohol still coursed through his veins and gave him that little bit of courage, he reaches out and pulls the flaps apart. You're laying down on your cot with your back towards the entrance, paying him no mind.

“Y/N? Can we talk?” he starts softly, only to be met with silence. With a soft sigh, he steps into the tent and lets the flaps close behind him. His strides over are slow, worried you'll lash out at any second. “Look, I just wanted to tell ya I'm sorry. I-”

“Like sorry makes it any better,” He finally reaches the cot, taking a seat on the edge to reach out and rest his hand on your shoulder. “You could've died, Sean!”

“Well, I'm fully aware of that...” He holds his breath, worried he'll be met with more aggression. When you don't respond, however, he decides to continue. “I just... I dunno. I guess seein' ya in trouble like that... it made me panic. I can't lose ya, Y/N.”

“So your first thought was to jump in front of a bullet?”

“My first thought was to protect you. Didn't matter what happened after.”

You slowly shift on the cot, sitting up and finally facing him. He can finally see your bloodshot eyes. Reaching out, he gently brushes his knuckles against your cheek.

“I just don't wanna lose you,” you sigh. A small creeps across his freckled face as he leans in to press his lips against yours.

“I'll try to be more careful.”

“You promise?”

“Well, best I can, love.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, this one lingering longer than the last.

“You ever do something stupid like that again, I'll kill you myself,” you murmur against his lips. He chuckles softly.

“I'd expect ya to, lad,” You help him slowly lay down on the cot next to you, letting his head rest against your chest as you ran your fingers through dirty red locks. He's softly complaining about the ache in his side, and you just remind him it's what he deserves after making such a stupid decision. Still, he gives you a smile as he promises to not pull another stunt like that again.

[spooky-luvur]

The Kiss List

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Some Kieran and Arthur x m! reader (kind of)

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(Warnings: use of the word faggot but only once)

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Something odd was going on. The ladies of the camp- minus Miss Grimshaw and Abigail- had been huddled at one of the tables, speaking in hushed whispers nearly the entire morning. No one approached them- John tried and was immediately snatched away by Abigail.

(M/n), bless his soul, was about as smart as Bill, and so he decided it would be a grand idea to figure out what was going on by casually strolling up to the table. He regretted it before he even opened his mouth.

“(M/n)! That’s who we need!”

“(M/n) may be into fellers but there’s no way he’d help with this, Karen.”

“I don’t know, seems mighty interesting, whatever you ladies are up to.” (M/n) puts his hands on his hips, peering at the three women curiously.

Before Mary Beth can stop her, Karen blurts out a question.

“Who’s the finest looking feller in camp?”

(M/n) doesn’t hesitate. “Hosea.”

Ignoring the loud, surprised sputter in the background, Karen grins but shakes her head.

“No, No, one that you’d be able to kiss.”

“Now, why would you be wonderin’ somethin’ like that, Ms. Jones?”

Mary Beths cheeks color rose, but nonetheless she shyly smiles and reveals their scheme.

“We’re tryin’ to figure out which one of the men we’d be able to kiss. Or, more specifically, you’d be able to.”

(M/n)‘s brow nearly meets his hairline from surprise. “Why?”

“No idea,” Tilly hums, resting her chin on her palm.

“Because it’s fun! And interestin’! And besides, it’s been so boring here, and we can’t go out anytime soon, unless we want law on our behinds. And we pick you to do our little experiment because we know there are a few fellers in camp who are sweet on you. At least, enough to where they won’t punch you soon as you touch ‘em.” Karen spreads her arms out. “So? You’ll do it?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Simple. All you gotta do is give one of the men a little smooch. Without getting killed.” Mary Beth says.

“Sounds easy enough.”

Karen hums, eyeing each of the men around camp. “Yeah, too easy. How about two men?”

(M/n) narrows his eyes. “You’re a witch.”

“We’ll give you some money if you succeed. And put in a good word at the shops in town.”

“...fine.”

—————

(M/n) had already crossed several men off the Kiss List, as Karen had called it.

Dutch

Hosea

Micah

Bill

John

Strauss

Pearson

Uncle

Swanson

That leaves Arthur, Charles, Lenny, Josiah, Kieran, Javier, and Sean. Although Karen said she didn’t mind if he kissed Sean, (M/n) didn’t want to mess with their already fragile relationship in any way. Biting his lip, his gaze falls on Kieran at the edge of the camp, messing with something in his hands. Now, Kieran, he liked. He was sweet on Mary Beth, sure, but (M/n) had also caught him staring at a few men in camp as well. Be out of fear or wanting, he wasn’t completely sure. Uncrossing his arms, he pushes off the tree he was leaning on and makes his way over to the nervous man.

“Oh uh, hey (M/n). You need something?” Kierans hands pause from polishing a small knife as he looks up.

“Yeah, actually. Nothing big, I promise.”

“Okay, do you need me to go into town?”

(M/n) sits down beside him on the log.

“No, not this time.” His gaze slides over to where the women were sitting and not so subtly staring.

“Then...what-“

He’s cut off by him own startled yelp as (M/n) suddenly grabs him by the shoulders and smacks his mouth against his own in a sloppy kiss. Falling off the log as (M/n) pulls away, his eyes were wide, but not disgusted.

“Sorry, I’m- Sorry, thank you, have a nice day.”

The ladies laugh at the embarrassed look on the poor mans face as he hurries back to the table.

“You nearly made him piss himself!” Karen snorts.

“Yeah, yeah, I feel bad.” (M/n) grumbles, sitting in the extra chair.

“Why? You just made his day!”

Kieran, with a dazed and flushed expression, couldn’t keep his hands from shaking as he attempts to go back to what he was doing, mumbling under his breath.

“But he’s sweet on Mary-“

“Oh, stop that.” Tilly lightly smacks his arm. “It’s alright. Ain’t it Mary Beth?”

The brunette nods quickly. “Of course!”

“Now,” Karen smirks. “Who’s next?”

“Hey, Arthur.”

The big man looks up from his journal. “Hey there (M/n).”

(M/n) fiddles with his shirt sleeve nervously. Shooting people, he could do. Robbing from the innocent? Always. Shooting them and then robbing? Not a problem. But talking to a handsome man, especially with what he’s about to (attempt) to do? God, he was gonna throw up.

“You help a lot. Could you help me? It won’t take long, promise.”

“Sure.”

Smiling a little at Arthur’s accent, he nods for him to stand up and follow him around to the back of Arthur’s wagon, where they were both out of sight from the rest of the camp.

“You plannin’ on robbin’ me?” Arthur huffs out a little laugh, which (M/n) can’t help but follow with his own.

Without another word, fearing for his reaction, the younger man leans forward and presses a kiss to the other mans lips quicker than you can say faggot.

Arthur reels back only a little bit, lips parted in surprise. But before (M/n) can stutter out an apology and/or explanation, Arthur all but gently grabs his face in his hands and gives (M/n) another kiss, holding the boy closer for longer than the last one.

(M/n) forgets to breath once Arthur pulls away, eyes wide and hands grasping at nothing.

Arthur smirks a little before laughing lightly. “Glad it wasn’t a robbery.” Is all he says before rounding his wagon and disappearing from the other mans sight.

“Well? Did ya do it?”

The three women look at (M/n) expectingly as once he sits down. He only stares down at the wooden table for several quiet moments before finally meeting Karen’s eyes.

“Let’s play again.”

——————

(Published 6-20-2020)

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[sweet-by-and-by]

Exit, Pursued by Consequences

Summary: John knows he's not supposed to bring anything else back to camp, but when he finds it all alone in the wilderness he knows has no choice. Hosea and Dutch be damned. A/N: Aka 1500 words of fluffy bs to soothe my poor Chapter 6 soul 💔 Apparently I'm actually writing again, so I've started using my AO3! I'll be posting over there, so check it out if you want to follow my fics! This one is heavily inspired by me STILL dragging my heels in chapter 6 of my replay, and needing something fluffy because everything is sad. No pairings, but some young!Van Der Linde gang family dynamics to soothe the aching heart.

AO3

“Arthur.”

“John.”

“Arthur.”

The two boys stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to break the tension and make the first move.

After a few more beats, John finally caved. “I see you’ve met our new friend here.” He started, trying to hold himself back from rambling in an attempt to explain himself.

“I suppose that I have.” Arthur hesitated, staring at the creature that stood before him as he tried to make sense of what could possibly have made John bring this beast home.

Arthur had been coming into camp after a day out hunting, a couple of deer and a few rabbits strapped proudly to his saddle. They were in between jobs while Dutch and Hosea laid groundwork on their latest tip, and the food supply had been looking a little low. After a day spent tracking, foraging, and admittedly a bit of drawing and snoozing propped against a tree, Arthur had loaded up his hard work and led his horse to turn everything over to Susan. He was proud and excited to show the others, trying harder to earn his place now that he had turned twenty three.

Until he ran into John, rope in hand and frozen mid-stride as he locked eyes with Arthur. Still frozen in place.

“I thought Dutch and Hosea told you already-” Arthur started into a lecture, but was quickly interrupted.

“I know they said I wasn’t allowed to keep bringing things back, but I couldn’t just leave him there all alone!” John pleaded, panic lacing his voice. Arthur’s eyes shifted to the mass of fur behind John, still trying to pinpoint the moment the entire camp had let John get away with so much that he thought he could bring a bear home without consequences.

A bear. A living, breathing bear cub — with a rope around its neck like a lead. Mewling at John as it paced happily behind him.

“John-” Arthur tried, but was cut off again by the bullheaded thirteen year old.

“I think some hunters got to his mother. I found him curled up beside her crying.” John said, shrinking as his gaze lowered to the ground and his voice grew somber. “They didn’t even take the pelt, I think they just shot her for fun.”

Arthur blinked at the bear cub again, watching as it rolled around and pawed playfully at the rope that hung from John’s hand. It paused at Arthur’s stare, blinking back and letting out an adorable roar.

Arthur looked back to John, his small frame shrinking even further at the threat of being in trouble. John looked up at Arthur, his eyes as wide as saucers and his bottom lip threatening to quiver.

“Oh, enough with the puppy dog eyes.” Arthur groaned, “Take it up with Dutch and Hosea.”

John shot straight up, his face splitting into a huge grin at Arthur’s words.

“I swear I’ll take good care of him!” John rushed, giving the rope a slight pull to get his new friend’s attention. The cub rolled over, flinging its paws to the ground and springing upright. It bound towards John, bumping into his legs and knocking itself down again.

Arthur shook his head, rolling his eyes and cursing himself for giving in so easy. “I swear, if that thing bites me, I’ll make the tiniest rug you’ve ever seen.” He warned, his words lacking any real promise.

John ignored his empty threats and took off towards camp, his furry little shadow following close behind.

--

Arthur held a peppermint in the flat of his hand, thanking his horse once he had offloaded his haul back at camp. Susan had been so shaken by the sight of John tugging a bear cub into Hosea and Dutch’s tent that she hardly had the mind to notice Arthur’s day’s work.

He hadn’t really done it for the praise though, and he knew Hosea would pick up on their overflow of provisions once things had calmed down.

Arthur glanced towards the large tent that stood tall in the middle of camp as his horse happily slobbered the last of the peppermint out of his hand. Giving one final scritch behind the ears and a grateful pat on the neck, Arthur turned his attention to the voices that carried.

The tiny cub had been tied to one of Dutch’s tent stakes, though Arthur was certain it could pull the peg out of the ground without much thought. Behind canvas walls, Dutch and Hosea’s voices could be heard, their back and forth muffled through the fabric of the tent.

Arthur lit a cigarette and leaned against a nearby wagon, waiting to see what the verdict on John’s latest stray would be. After a few minutes of murmurs with the occasional increase in volume, the tent flaps flew open as John shot through them. He threw himself to the ground in front of the cub, delighted as he pet the bear.

“So I guess we have our answer then.” Dutch chuckled, emerging from the tent with Hosea close behind him. He crossed his arms and puffed his cigar, hovering in the doorway as Hosea leaned against the support post between them.

“You need to stop letting him get away with this,” Hosea chided, shaking his head as both men watched the gentle petting turn into playful wrestling as John rolled in the dirt with the cub.

“Come now Hosea, he’s just a boy. Life will have plenty of boredom for him as he grows, let him have his fun.” Dutch remarked, a charming sparkle in his eye as waved his cigar.

Hosea’s face softened and he chuckled, still shaking his head. “Yes, I’m sure boredom will often be his problem in life.” He mused. Hosea looked to Arthur, catching his gaze beneath the brim of his ever-present hat. “Arthur, what do you think of our newest addition?” He asked, nodding towards the dying out wrestling match.

Arthur took a drag from his cigarette, pushing himself off of the wagon and throwing his butt to the ground. “I think you two have gone soft.” He ribbed, a smirk settling across his face. “I thought there were no more chances for little Johnny, you were putting your foot down next time he brought some sad critter home.”

“Well,” Hosea frowned, but his eyes still shone playfully “You’ll have to take that one up with ol’ Dutch. I was quickly outvoted.”

“I guess we know where John gets his habit of bringing home strays.” Arthur joked, settling his hands comfortably on his belt buckle as he moved to stand closer to the two older men.

“I believe we have all benefited from my propensity to bringing home strays,” Dutch rebutted, his voice dropping low and reverent.

Neither had any sarcasm to meet his response, so they watched in silence as John finally conceded his loss and threw himself onto his back. He flopped his arms out wide and panted heavily, his chest heaving. A huge smile stole his face, his grin stretching ear to ear. Arthur quickly looked to the ground and adjusted his hat for something to do, using the action to hide his own smile.

Hosea looked away knowingly, his gaze returning to the happy thirteen year old laying in the dirt.

“So son,” Hosea said, catching John’s attention, “I believe your friend here needs a name.”

John propped himself onto his elbows and moved to sit up, his face turning serious as he wracked his brain for ideas.

“I dunno,” John said thoughtfully, “I’ve never named a bear before.”

“I can’t imagine it’s all that different than naming a turkey.” Dutch said, recalling all of the other times John had wandered back into camp with some New Addition.

“Or a muskrat.” Arthur supplied sarcastically. “Oh, and remember the coyote?”

“Alright, alright.” Hosea chided, dismissing Arthur with a wave. “Let’s think now. What’s a good name for a bear?”

“How about Ursa?” Dutch offered, “Like the mighty constellation.”

“Nah, this one’s a boy.” John said, still deep in thought.

“Well there’s always Arthur.” Hosea teased, laughing as Arthur narrowed his eyes and scowled.

“Har-har.” He sneered, bringing his hand to his face and stroking his chin pensively. “How about ‘Oberon’?”

“Ahh, ol’ Shakespeare!” Dutch clapped Arthur on the shoulder and smiled. “So some of our lessons did stick with you after all!”

Hosea smiled too, pride in his eyes. “What do you think, John? is he an Oberon?”

John turned the name over in his head. “Oberon.” He tested, trying the name on his tongue. The bear poked its head up, mewling at John and rolling on top of his chest.

John laughed and reached down to rub the cub’s belly. “I think he might be.”

Everyone laughed as John picked himself up off the ground, untying the leash from the stake and taking the rope in his hand. Oberon followed him closely as they made their way towards the chuckwagon, looking for something to eat for both parties.

“Hey!” Arthur shouted, a thought suddenly crossing his mind. “You better find somewhere for that thing to sleep, it ain’t staying in our tent!”

Hosea and Dutch snickered to themselves as Arthur chased after them, ducking back inside to return to their planning.