#Horse Thief Mile

[atzfilm]

the leaders. (m)

pairing/wc; woosan/f.reader, 14.7k summary; you wake up in a rusty cell, an oddly familiar helping you out. once you step out into the world, it hits you – this is in fact the wildwest, and somehow, the singers you adore are cowboys? content; wild-west au, violence, guns, murder, smut. overuse of cowboy terms/slang, obsessive behavior note; again, may seem familiar since i have written this before on a different blog with different characters ♡

You gasp, eyes flicking around. Bars surround you, dust underneath your fingertips. You move forward, tugging on the iron that prevents you from leaving. A groan leaves your lips.

“How the hell did I get in here?” You grumble.

“Pretty ladies like ya aren’t supposed to be cursing,” You hear a voice say behind you. You roll your eyes at the words and turn, eyes widening. He wears a long brown trench coat, leaning against the bricks behind him as he looks up, before his gaze meets yours. You could remember those bright eyes which are now partly covered by the shadow from his hat.

Choi San. And here he is, odd sounding and covered in dirt and grim, probably from trying to get out like you were just doing. But there’s something different about him. He doesn’t resemble the man you remember from the shows. More country is the only way you can describe it.

“I think you would curse too if you wake up in a cell,” you murmur. “Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at a show or something?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I ain’t no puppet, darling. And my boys will be here soon.” He stops talking, listening to the shouts outside. “Speaking of which…” He moves away from the wall, leaping forward to bring you into his arms. You shove against his chest, ready to cause a scene before the loud sound of a bomb exploding breaks your eardrums.

The walls blow down, San covering you with his body as debris flies. After a few more seconds, he kicks open the jail door with remarkable strength, running out. Before he jumps through the hole, he looks at you. You can see the gears running through his head as he thinks, before dusting off his black hat.

"We don't have all damn day, S!" A voice rings out, bringing you both back to reality. San rolls his eyes.

"Well, my chucklehead pal W over there could use some explaining to do, but he's not the ripest apple in the bunch," San points over to a man too far away for you to spot, his hand holding out for yours. "But I always have room to help a lady. Take my hand here, and I'll be off your back in a jiffy."

You stare at it for a moment before he takes in a big gulp of air, pulling you from the ground. You yelp, tumbling into his arms.

His smile widens as he sees how close you're pressed to his chest, a wicked grin plastered on his cheeks. "Ah, I don't seem to remember the last time a fine lady like yourself fell into my arms." He holds you back, tipping his hat once.

"S, I swear on my mom’s grave—!"

"Ah, I'm coming ya deadbeat!" He looks back at you sympathetically.

"Unfortunately, I don't have time to be more gentlemanly, my partners get a bit under the weather whenever I delay. I gotta hop on outta here before the sheriff comes and see what’s the hustle and bustle, but I do think I'll be seeing the likes of you soon enough." He nods his head once at you, before hopping onto his horse.

"See you in a hog killin' time, pretty lady!"

He coaxes the horse forward, yelling out a loud yip before galloping off. If you squint hard enough, you can see a few more horses running off into the sunset. Your mind runs miles per minute, glancing around. Old stables and buildings surround you, too real and old to be just an amusement park or a movie set. You walk slowly into town, glancing over at a poster that’s nailed into the side of a tree.

Wanted:

$10,000 REWARD!

Mischief group of bandits called “The Leaders”

Bribery, Murder, Thief

Please contact Sheriff Kim Hongjoong if spotted.

Portraits are displayed below, but one sticks out to you. One smile that you’ve seen just moments ago, busting you out of your prison cell that you have no idea how you got into. You blink slowly. Shit. Shit. You pinch your skin, wincing at the pain. So this isn’t just a dream. They are actually in the Wild West, and you’re… well, what are you?

"Hey there!"

Your head whips over to a man that's slowly walking over to you, his hands on his waist as he takes you in. Your eyes widen as you trail over his fingers. Spokes on the back of his boots, slacks dirty from wear and tear, pronounced belt head that still barely manages to keep his pants up. Best tucked into that, a silver sheriff's badge hanging on his shirt pocket. Your eyes flick up to his face, eyes popping out of your head as you realize who's standing in front of you. Hongjoong stands there, eyes narrowed as he takes you in.

"You don't look like you're from 'round here, young lady."

Young lady? There's barely a difference in your ages, not enough for him to speak like that to you. But you clear your throat, trying your best to sound at least a little like them.

"Howdy." Shit. For effort, you'd give yourself an A+, even though the grinding teeth and wink probably drops that down to a failure. His hand slowly wavers over his gun, and you could imagine this now. Being killed by Kim Hongjoong? Not sure if that's your life goal, but it's not a bad reputation to have. "What if I told you that I'm from the future?"

"I'd think you're trying to play games with me, miss," he says simply, slowly taking his hand away from his waist. "Where you from?"

Taking your chances and saying you don't remember is the best bet. If you even explained that he was from a popular band and you have no clue why you're suddenly transported into a wild west, starring them as if this is a horrible, yet fascinating dream. Amnesia path it is.

"I don't remember. I just woke up in a cell, and then this guy kicked me out of jail with dynamite? And he said something about having to leave and—"

"Wait one second!" Hongjoong holds up his hand. "You were involved in that escape that yahoo just did? Do you know each other?"

Yahoo. This man, with his full chest, really said yahoo. Trying to stifle back a laugh, you shake his head.

"I've never seen him in my life, and if I did I don't remember it. But," you gesture to the wanted poster next to you. "I'm assuming he's a notorious criminal."

Hongjoong paused, eyes flicking between you, your outfit, and the poster. He moves his hand away from his belt, crossing his arms as he sighs. "We've been trying to catch him and his group of bandits for months and we've just caught up with him. But yet again, he slips through our fingers." He runs his fingers through his hair, eyes moving to yours. "You couldn't be part of them anyway, too soft and they wouldn't be leaving any strays behind."

Wow. You don't know whether to be offended or pleased that he believes you. At least that gun of his isn't being pointed at you.

His gaze is focused on the destroyed wall behind you. "Why did he help you out, do you know? Because I don't even remember you being kept in there, but it's strange that he'd take the time to rescue a lady. Those men don't have any morals, at least any that I can see. Do you mind coming with me, miss...?"

He waits for your name expectantly.

"y/n. It's y/n. And I wouldn't be able to tell you why he helped me either, usually I'd say it's from the kindness of his heart but since he's a criminal..." you trail off.

He clicks his tongue, nodding once. "Ah, yes. Don't remember hearing your name round these parts neither. But your talk is a little fancier than mine, maybe you're from some town far away. I can bring you to the town doctor, but I'd rather we go on foot. Just in case you got something wrong with your organs or whatnot."

Hongjoong gestures in front of him, and you walk alongside him. "Do you know anything about our little town? Ah, wait," he rubs the back of his neck, a soft blush creeping on his cheeks. "You wouldn't know even if you did, since that memory loss of yours. We here are in a little town of mine called Mist."

...Mist.

"Not many folks pass by and stay, so most of these people you see walking down these streets are their mama and pop's third or fourth generation of family. We are a crop growing town, not a mining one. We aren't the richest or the poorest, just right in the middle. My pap and his pap before him were corn crackers, but I ended up being the sheriff, much to their dismay." He smiles down at you, his teeth shining in the burning sun. You'd never thought you'd be standing this close to him, but you'd rather not dwell on it.

It looks like Mist is ripped straight out of the history books. Streets lined with a saloon, a library, small homes and other knick knack shops. Rust covers most surfaces, horses neighing as you walk by. Your hand itches to pet the glossy fur, feel their hair between your fingers. But you know you'll just scare them off, and being kicked by that brunt force isn't on your agenda.

Hongjoong talks on and on about the history of his home, explaining that San used to be a citizen of it as well. "Strayed. Found that being here wasn't his cup of tea, wanted to make a name for himself. We were good pals back in the day, some would say brothers. But I wanted to walk the straight and narrow, and that was too good for him. Wonder what could've happened if I arrested him that day he robbed the general, what would've become of him." Hongjoong sighs.

"I still wanted to fix our friendship, you see. Even now, I still see the good in him, between his robbing and stealing. I see the Choi San who wanted to be a farmer when he was younger, before he banded the Leaders."

"Do you know the other people who are a part of it?" You ask, and Hongjoong shrugs.

"All we know is that there's many of them. W, a few others, and San. Our people haven't been able to identify anyone but San and a few others, since they are the face of the group. Know him enough that he'll keep the people he cares about hidden. Kept away from the public eye. Which makes me think why you aren't someone special to him," he smiles at you. "Not sure if you'd want to be, miss. Being with him only leads down a treacherous path. Full of murder and blood on your hands."

"I'll keep that in mind," you nod softly. Is this what San would be like in an alternate world? In this alternate reality? Dangerous, full of anger and greed? You just can't imagine the kind man being that cruel. There has to be more behind it, more than Hongjoong even knows.

He clears his throat, standing in front of a door. He knocks once, glancing down at you. "Doc should be in."

The door flings open, showing the town doctor. You should be used to it, seeing the members hanging around. But seeing Choi Jongho in all of his glory, standing in front of you only makes you smile, your mouth struggles to hold back your squeal of delight. He smiles at Hongjoong, before looking at you.

"Ah, what do we have here? Another one of your one nights, Hongjoong? Have you slipped up again?"

Hongjoong hits his arm, his ears burning red. "You know I'm a gentleman, doc. Don't make miss y/n assume things about me!"

Jongho grins, leaning against the door. "Ah, but you’re known as the town heart breaker. So many of our ladies throw themselves at you and you don't budge. Some even thought you swing the other way," he winks. "Not that I would mind. Patient room's always open for you. And for you, miss y/n. What seems to be the problem?"

Whiplash. The only way you can describe it as pure whiplash. This man is a mystery in itself.

"I'm at a loss," Hongjoong mumbles, scratching his head. "She ended up in a cell, next to San and he let her go? Can't recall anything before that."

"Ah, amnesia." Jongho opens his door wider. "Mind taking a seat? Just want to make sure your head is screwed on okay and you don't have any injuries," his eyes flick to your arms. "Although I already see some bruising on those pretty arms a' yours."

You walk into his office, Hongjoong following as they shut the door behind the three of you. So much for doctor-patient confidentiality? Did they not practice it here?

“Usually the sheriff wouldn’t be with a female patient,” Jongho explains, walking over to his tool table. The list of items there are very limited; bandages, an assortment of drugs, syringes, and a few knives here and there. He grabbed what you can only assume is a stethoscope, turning to you. “But this is an extenuating circumstance, is it not?”

He glances over at Hongjoong for a moment, before asking you to breathe in and out as he listens to your heartbeat, looking for any oddities. Hongjoong looks away, his ears burning red. The only thing this sheriff could do is blush, but you don’t mind it. It’s endearing, how he hunts down criminals but turns red when he’s watching you being examined.

“Are you nervous, doll?” Jongho asks, raising a brow at you. “Your heartbeat is rapid, like you just chased a herd of rabbits!”

Hell yes, you’re nervous. Jongho is literally inches away from your face, measuring your heart rate. Who wouldn’t be jumping out of their socks? Oh no. Your thoughts, they’ve turned cowboy and it’s only been a little over an hour.

“A bit,” you confess. “Not really sure where I am or how I got here. Just want to go home, wherever that is.” A small white lie. If you’re really dreaming, hanging out with the men in the wild west isn’t such a bad experience.

“Ah,” he mumbles, resting the scope on his neck. “Does your head hurt? Any throbbing feeling in your limbs?” You shake your head. “Hm, well this is a bit odd, if I think about it.”

“What’s odd?” Hongjoong asks, finally turning back.

“Don’t see any signs of injuries besides her physical cuts and bruises,” He grabs the homemade bandages off the counter. “But this could be something we can’t quite see from our eyes, Joong. Might be some brain disturbance. Can tell she aint lying about the amnesia,” he crouches in front of you, wiping your arm with the antibiotic, lightly wrapping the gauze around your arm. “Has those honest eyes. Bright,” Jongho smiles at you. “Reminds me a bit of Hwa-”

“Ya know not to mention him,” Hongjoong utters, Jongho sighing softly.

“Times are different, you know. Maybe he’ll come back to Mist, see the brighter sides of things…”

“He won’t. San manipulated him. His parents are still in a rut over it.” Hongjoong rubs his neck.

Seonghwa. So he’s part of San’s rebel squad as well. You’d like to ask more about it, but prying into their lives would only make you look suspicious, and you’d rather stay under the radar. Even though Jongho believes you, not everyone will. You’d end up in one of their hospitals rather than home. Somewhere you’d at least want to see one last time.

“But we should bring y/n to the motel. Yeosang owes me a favor, anyway. At least until she recalls her home.” Hongjoong glances at you. “A ways away, it would be better to take Angel.”

“Angel?” You ask, and Hongjoong’s eyes light up.

“My lady. You’d like her, she’s the sweetest gal in this town.”

Jongho rolls his eyes. “Stubborn. Can’t get her to listen to a word, gets all ruffled up. But she might like you, she prefers women.” Jongho clears his throat, stretching his back. “Time for a nap, don’t you say? Keep mind of your head condition, and I’ll give you some bandages. Nothing really happens ‘round here, so we have a large supply.” He passes you a roll. “Fixing to see you ‘round here more often, yea? Maybe Joong will have a more special lady.”

Hongjoong scoffs, his hair growing as red as a tomato. You’d definitely not get used to it. “Ah, shut your mouth, Jongho. Let’s go, ‘fore he makes up some more nonsense.” Hongjoong opens the door, gesturing for you to go ahead.

You hop off the stool, “Thank you, Jongho. Hopefully, I see you without bandaids.”

His eyes sparkle. “Please do. It gets lonely ‘round here without some company. Leave Joong behind, I’ll show ya a good time.” He winks, watching as you go.

-

Hongjoong stands in front of a horse, patting her coat softly, feeding her a carrot. “Hey there, Angel. How’s it goin’, beautiful lady?” He whispers, his smile the widest you’ve seen it. “This here’s y/n, a visitor that’ll ride me with you, so don’t be too mean. Can’t have her runnin’ to the Leaders.”

Hongjoong looks at you, a teasing glint in his eyes. You roll your eyes. Tentatively, you run your fingers along her coat. She whines, moving closer to your touch. Hongjoong nods appreciatively. “She likes you, so that means you're a good one.”

“You’re beautiful, Angel,” You said, and she neighs, pressing her face into your cheek. “How did a lady like you end up with a scruffy sheriff like him?”

A groan falls from Hongjoong lips. “Hey, I grew up with her, mind you! Took care of each other, feeding each other. This’ my best friend, right here.” Hongjoong presses his lips to her coat, before tugging on her saddle, leaping up onto her back with ease. He holds out his hand for you, and you stare at the height.

No fucking way.

“Never hopped on a horse before?” he teases, but you nod. Shock crosses his face. “Wait, you ain’t kidding?”

“I’ve never been this close to a horse.”

He blinks quickly. “Ah, you must be from the city, then. Everyone for miles has been on a horse since a babe. Give me your hand, miss. Won’t be too hard to help you hop on her. You’ll be sitting in front of me, so make sure you don’t fall off the saddle.”

“… Can’t we just walk?”

Hongjoong’s eyes almost boggle out of his head. “What? Did I hear that correctly? It’s a long walk, miss. Too far. And you just been in a traumatic accident, can’t have you falling to the dirt from lack of breathing. Easy once you get the hang of it. Trust me, you'll be clean and clear.”

You grab his hand as he instructs you to put your foot into the stirrup, pulling you up with his full strength. You’re surprised at how strong he is, the lack of effort shown on his face as you sit in the saddle with him. You're partly sitting on his lap, and you’re thankful this time that you don’t have the chance to see his face.

“Keep your self pressed against me, alright? And hold on to that horn- yes, that. We’ll be going slower for you but once you get used to Angel, we’ll gallup the rest a’ ways.”

Hongjoong flicks the straps, and Angel walks forward. You yelp, your hands clawing into his thighs. His breathy laughs tickle your ears. “Ah, you’re definitely gotta be from one of those fancy places. It’s cute.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Sheriff,” You grumble, only causing him to laugh louder.

“And the fancy words too. You'll be fine, I’m here for you, and we won’t be burning the breeze so you needn’t worry ‘bout that.”

You hold on tightly the rest of the way there, Angel slowly going into a steady gallop. Hongjoong chats your ear off about everything and anything, and you’re grateful for his presence. The stardom away, he’s just like anyone else. At least, in the cowboy sense. He’s funny and charming, and you’re a bit curious as to why he hasn’t snagged himself a partner in life yet. From what Jongho says, he’s popular. Popular enough to reject everyone that’s ever appeared.

“Are your standards high?” You ask after a joke of his.

You can’t see his face, but you can only imagine his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pardon, miss?”

“Doctor Jongho was talking about how you reject everyone that’s interested in you, and I was just wondering why, as all. I mean, you seem like a good guy from what I can see, I just don’t understand why you haven’t picked someone special for you. Even Jongho was interested.”

Hongjoong quiet as Angel walks on the grassy path. You quickly think you’ve overstepped, opening your mouth to apologize.

“I didn’t mean to- pry.

“No need to say any sorries, miss.” You hear Hongjoong rub the slight scruff on his face, thinking. “All of their advances felt disingenuous,” he confesses. “They wanted to be involved with me because of my position, not my personality. As you can see, I don’t lack in that department.”

You laugh, not seeing the smile that graces his lips.

“Haven’t gotten along with any people except for long time pals a’ mine. Kinda hard to meet new folks when you're in a town like ours, you see. Same folks and same faces day to day. Gets a bit dry.”

“So I assume that you’re happy that I’m here,” You joke.

You don’t see the panic crossing his face, the gulp as he looks away from your head for a moment. “I am, miss y/n. You bring bit a’ spring to my step… Ah, we’re here!” He reigns in Angel, resting her at the stall slightly away from the building. It’s only two floors high, but it’s long, probably home to a dozen or so rooms. Hongjoong hops off of Angel, holding out his arms as he helps you down.

You trip a bit falling off, landing in his arms. He steadies you easily, the usual pink on his face. “Should be more careful, miss. Some men aren’t as kind as myself.”

“Oh, you kind?” You hear a laugh, and turn to the new voice. Blond hair tucked into a hat, he leans against a pole that holds up the building, looking between the both of you. “Not used to seeing the Sheriff entertaining traveling folks. Assuming that you’re y/n?” His eyes flick to you, and you nod. “Ah, the woman spotted with one of those Leader men. Surprised you didn’t arrest her immediately, Sherriff. Loose ends don’t end up tied ‘round here as of late.”

“Ah, Yeosang, be nice for once, will you? She’s not involved with ‘em. Can’t even think back to before today. One of those fancy folk, you know? Probably came from the city.”

Yeosang’s eyes trail over your figure, narrowing his eyes as he takes in your clothing. You’re wearing a t-shirt and jeans, completely different from the corsets that you’ve seen the women wear around there. You wished that Hongjoong offered something so you didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, but to no avail. And you’re a guest to this town, so asking for something when you’re already unwelcomed would be pushing the little luck that you have.

“Didn’t think to give her a new pair of those? She’s practically in the nude in that wear.” He leans up from his spot, walking over to the both of you. His walk is lazy, stare matching. He holds up a bit of hay to Angel, her eating it out of his hands as he eyes Hongjoong. “No wonder you wanted to ride Angel over here. Haven’t felt another in a bit, hm?”

“You and Doctor Jongho seem to like to tease,” You say, earning a raised brow from him.

“Joong here grew up with us. Feed the same bread and wore the same trousers. Families closer than two peas in a pod. Joking is in our blood. Would ya like a new pair of clothes? Get you in something that won’t make the men ‘round here ogle you , their minds aren’t that pure as you can see.” He gestures to Hongjoong standing just feet away from you. “Didn’t even bother offering, his dirty mind.”

“Hey-!”

“I would like that, thank you. But, could I wear some trousers instead? Those skirts are too tight fitting and I can’t move in them.”

Yeosang’s grin slowly spreads across his face as he looks at you. “Thinking that I’ll like you more than the other misses he brings ‘round. Anything you need, miss y/n. Speaking of needs, Hongjoong. Why’d you bring her in these parts? It’s not the calmest area in our town. Could get hurt.”

Hongjoong glances around, seeing obvious sketchy people walking around. Some spot him and turn in the opposite direction. “Need a favor. She needs some place to stay-”

“So you thought it would’ve been an excellent idea to waltz over here and give her to me. Have enough of those skum walking through my doors, don’t need more eyes to cover an innocent virgin.”

You scoff at him, and he looks at you sympathetically. “In their eyes, you are.”

“Please, having her at my home won’t be proper, you know how the townspeople talk. City slicker in my home will only lead to chit-chatting.”

Yeosang places his hat back on top of his head, thinking. “How long?”

“I can’t quite tell ya that. Don’t know when her memory is going to come waltzing back in and saying howdy. Give her a few weeks, give or take.”

Yeosang grumbles, but nods. “Favors gone now, sheriff,” his eyes move over to you. “Let’s get you set up in some proper cow-poke slacks. Wouldn’t mind seeing you in some fancy clothing, though,” His grin widens as he looks at you.

That was flirting. That was definitely flirting. Your face warms as he tips his hat to Hongjoong, gesturing for you to walk ahead. You turn back to Hongjoong, and he nods once, lifting his hat up slightly.

“I’ll be in contact with you, keep your ears clean and your eyes open. Those bandits could be anywhere, and Yeosang’s place is prime time for their kind. Won’t be surprised if they slip ‘round here, causing a ruckus.”

“Not in my place,” Yeosang grumbles.

“Thanks, Sheriff Hongjoong. For bringing me here, and trying to keep me safe.”

Hongjoong flushes, “Ah, no need to thank me, miss. It’s only my job, even if you’re a city slicker.” He teases. He gets back on Angel, whistling at you once before disappearing down the dirt path.

Yeosang clears his throat next to you. “I’ll show you to the back. Can't quite find your size, but pick off these racks here and sure enough find something."

Yeosang holds the door open for you, gesturing to the racks in front of you. "Don't quite trust you by the way, miss y/n. Popping up 'round here out of the blue and yip yapping about some amnesia. Jongho a doc, but he ain't the brightest tool in the shed."

He eyes you. “You don’t even talk like a city-slicker or country folk. Can’t quite pin you down yet. Just don’t bring no trouble ‘round here, and we’d be peachy. Got that?”

“I do,” You say, Yeosang completely reading you. He’s even analytical in the wild west, but you shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re surprised Hongjoong or Jongho didn’t peep a word about your accent. Maybe they think you’re from some far off town, a place where no one speaks in their slang. “I won’t cause a ruckus, either. Thank you for your hospitality.” You try speaking like him, a grin on your face.

He only rolls his eyes in response. “Nice try. I’m leaving your key hanging on your door, just outside. Grab it whenever you’re ready and your room will be prepared. Some gal will be bringing you more clothing for your stay.”

He gives you a wave as you thank him, closing the door behind him. You stare at the racks in front of you, grabbing whatever looks close enough to your size to wear. You tuck your feet into the boots and stare at the hats. It tempts you, your mouth watering, thinking about living out your cowboy dreams. But you sigh, giving them one last, longing gaze before leaving.

You’re already an eyesore, everyone looking at you wherever you go. Wearing a hat would only cause more people to ask questions, many you can’t answer. Where did you come from? Why do you speak like that? Wait, you don’t know what “insert term” is? You shower everyday? Endless questions that’ll only leave you in a stuttering mess, palms sweaty. You should probably grab a dress and corset and shove yourself in one, but who do they think you are? Walking around uncomfortable from day to day?

You grab the key that’s hanging outside your door, walking slowly down the hallway. Thankfully your room isn’t too far. You insert the key and unlock it, glancing inside. How the lady or man came into your room quick enough and dropped off clothing is beyond you, but you thank them silently, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The room couldn’t be more than ten by ten, a small window with the thinnest panel you’ve ever seen. You run your fingers along the quilt, humming softly.

What do you do now?

You remember seeing a bar just off the hotel, and nod. Sure, this couldn’t be scary. Just a normal bar in the Wild West. Probably some gunfights and glasses thrown everywhere, but that’s normal enough, you suppose. Maybe you’ll come out with an honorary bloody nose. You walk out of your room, locking the door behind you.

You turn, bumping into a body just outside your door. The impact is rather hard, making you stumble on the rug that’s on the floor. Before you can fall back, a hand grabs you, holding you steady. Your eyes look up, ready to thank the mysterious stranger. Dark eyes stare down at you, thick brows just above them, His hair is long, brushing against the nape of his neck. You never thought during this time there were piercings, but you can see them tracing up his ear, small gold studs. He pulls you up, eyes never leaving yours. You can recognize that man from anywhere, his face so distinct.

“Are you alright, sweet pea?” Wooyoung asks, his deep voice resonating in the quiet hallway. You nod, as he lets you go. He wears black from head to toe, boots shining with a line of silver around the heels. His hat rests on a string, hanging on his neck. He tilts his head, wavy hairs falling to his forehead. “Don’t remember seeing a gal as beautiful as you ‘round.”

You don’t know how to respond, and you can tell by his face that he knows the effect he has on you. He chuckles slowly, ring covered fingers running through his hair. “Fine night, isn’t it? Too dangerous out there for a sweet pea like you to be alone. Where you going?”

You purse your lips. “It’s dangerous out there, like you said. I can’t tell strangers where I’m going.”

He laughs. “Ah, you’re a slick one. I like that.” His eyebrows flick up slightly.

Fuck. The charisma from this man is dripping from his every word, every flick of his eyes. But you keep yourself grounded enough to roll your eyes, giving him your back. You’re not here to flirt.

…

Well, you aren’t sure why you’re here.

“Never had a lady give me her backside,” Wooyoung walks next to you, arms resting on his back. “Haven’t told you my government yet, and you’re already running. Let me at least say a bit more before you make me into a bad egg. Didn’t see a ring, so assumed you were an Angelica.”

“Angelica?”

His eyebrows furrow for a moment. “Ah, must be small-town lingo. Not tied down, I presume. No lover.”

“Why does that even matter?” You know. You can feel the heavy flirting between his words, the smirk on his lips. And you’re tempted, but something is different about him. There’s an aura around Wooyoung, more than the flirting. Mysterious, intimidating. Something you can’t quite point out. You reach to open the door, but he opens it for you, gesturing for you to exit. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you. You make any cowboy balmy.”

He walks along with you to the bar, no longer trying to start a conversation with you. You embrace the silence, but his mere presence is intimidating in itself, his looming finger just behind you. As you make it to the outside of it, he opens the door for you once more, his smile hidden on his face.

“Came here to bend an elbow as well. A bit glad I didn’t go to the bed-house, found better sights here. See you ‘round, miss…” He waits for you to say your name, but you don’t give him the pleasure. “Hard to get, I see. Admire that.”

You walk in, him just slightly behind you. The bell rings, eyes of the patrons looking over to see who entered. Their loud talks slowly dissipate, an audible hush falling amongst the crowd. You notice that they’re looking behind you, so you step to the side, letting Wooyoung walk in front. He looks back at you, an evil glint in his eyes.

“Name’s Wooyoung. But you’d’ve learned soon enough,” he takes your hand, lightly pressing his lips against the back, intense gaze on yours as he flicks his eyes to your lips, letting go. He seems to ignore the stares as he walks to the corner of the bar, a familiar silhouette there as well. But you can only see their back from where you’re standing.

You walk to the bar, sitting on an empty stool. Some of the men next to you eye you but don’t utter a word, probably assuming that you’re with Wooyoung. You don’t mind it at all, trying to figure out how to get back to your time is what you’d rather do. Although, hanging out with them isn’t half bad.

“Joong’s gal?”

Your eyes look up into softer ones, his contagious smile and plush cheeks easily recognizable. He holds a glass in his hand, cleaning it slowly. He leans against the counter. “Could tell by your trousers. No lady ‘round here would dare.”

You snort. “And what does that mean? I’m not a lady?”

Yunho looks at you in shock, his lips in the shape of an o. “Absolutely positively not, sweetheart. You’re different, bettermost from the others, makes you more fascinating, you see. Make any get one hellofa brick in his hat. Makes you a target as well, but you’re safe enough.”

“How so?”

He grins. “You’re with me. Talk more after I get these men outta da way.” He tips his head, walking over and sliding people their beer.

The saloon is bigger than you expected, probably about fifty or so people hanging out and about. There’s few women around but Yunho’s right; all of them are dressed to impress, makeup perfect on their faces. You spot Wooyoung, and finally, get the chance to see who he’s with.

San slides laid back in his chair, legs manspread as his eyes lazily trail along the crowd. You can't move, knowing that if you even tried his eyes would immediately land on you. So you try your best to keep attention away from yourself, sitting on the edge of the barstool as Yunho makes a drink for you.

The hairs on the back of your neck raise, knowing the heavy gaze that now rests on you. You thank him for the drink, using it as an excuse to down it quickly, eyes flicking over to where San is. His gaze is focused on you, a sly smirk slowly forming on his lips. He drags his tongue along them, eyebrow raised slightly, as if he's challenging you.

"Involved with a fella like him?" Yunho interrupts, forcing your eyes away. "Could only lead to bad endings, sweetheart. Only keep you on your toes long enough to say hello. Throw you right into the dust."

"Do you know him?" You ask, and Yunho laughs.

"Know him? We part of the Leaders together." He watches as the shock slowly crosses your face, his smirk rising. "Too bad he don't like to share."

"Share what?"

Yunho only winks.

The Leaders. San, Wooyoung, and Yunho. All of them are part of the bandit group. You’re a bit shocked that Yunho is, why would he be a bartender? But now you’ve figured out why Wooyoung feels so off. He’s a criminal, his dark gaze filled with more than just lust. He’s seen things you can’t imagine, things you’d rather not think about. San probably has blood on his hands as well as Yunho, his eyes taking you in as you think deeply.

“Never thought I’d see the likes of you again, darling.” His voice is next to you now, one you’ve just heard earlier today. “Can’t say I’m disappointed. W was just chatting about you, telling me about this daisy damsel, a city-slicker. Got me curious, I reckon, but when I saw you eyeing me, dead giveaway.”

“Was it a coincidence,” you mumble, not daring to meet his gaze. He doesn’t smell like alcohol at all, not even slightly. You’re a bit surprised, but don’t comment on it. “I didn’t expect to see you again either.”

“Ah, it’s not a bad thing,” San nudges the man next to you. The man grunts, ready to start something. But once his eyes scan San, a frightened look crosses his eyes as he stumbles from his stool, moving far away from the two of you. Hongjoong talked about how notorious and dangerous they are, but it didn’t sink until you entered the bar. They’ve made a name for themselves here, and not in a good way.

He rests on the stool, half sitting. “Never told me why you were in the calaboose. Don’t really look like the doozies that creep in there. Much calmer, strange.” He sees the look on your face, and chuckles. “In a positive way, darling.”

His eyes grace over your figure, a teasing glint in his eyes. He slowly brings the glass to his lips, eyes unblinking as he watches you through the blurry glass. His lips wrap around the lining of the glass cup, before placing it down to the counter. "You’re quite a mysterious one, miss y/n."

Your blood runs cold. You haven't uttered your name around him, or Wooyoung. How did he even know it? He sees the puzzlement in your eyes, gaze moving away from you to Yunho, a few feet away serving someone else.

"Town's small and townspeople chat. Hard not to figure out who you were. Cant get the details on your background, no matter how much pig digging. Not even your sheriff knows, and seems like you don't know either. Don't believe that in the slightest." He waves over another bartender, their quick pouring of the drink showing you in the simplest ways San's power in this town.

The shaking hands of the man as he pours, the laser sharp gaze of San as he watches, as if he'll jump over the counter if the man makes the slightest mistake. Wooyoung and he command attention and obedience with their presence. Completely different from the soft energy around Yunho, flirting smiles as he continues to intoxicate the saloon customers.

"We own this here saloon, love. The Leaders. Imagine my shock in seeing you stumble through those doors, W just behind ya. I saw the looks he was givin' you, that poor bastard..."

"Ah, talking about me while I'm not here to defend, sir? No wonder my ear was itching."

You're so absorbed in San's every word, ignoring the slow walk of Wooyoung behind you. He doesn't even bother asking the man in the opposite seat to move, the person leaving on their own accord. Unlike San, he molds his body into the stool, letting out a soft sigh before moving his eyes to you. A small grin teases on his lips, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"Care to share?"

"Not interested. In either of you." You clench your ice tea, alcohol free. You don't see the looks they exchange over your head, wordless communication.

"Heard you talking to the sheriff," Wooyoung says.

"Wondering if you told any tidbits about our encounter. Isn't wise if you did," San adds. "Could be life risking, if you ask me."

You can feel the intense stares they give you without even glancing their way. Your eyes move to Yunho, who watches you from the other side of the bar. It's too loud for him to hear what you're saying to them, but you can tell that he knows. The blank expression he gives you is enough to know. Are they going to kill you? There isn't even any information to give Hongjoong, even if you wanted to.

"What could I say to him? He knows who you are, what you look like. And you barely exchanged three sentences with me before riding off into the sunset," you sip slowly on your drink. "Is that why you came over here? To bother me?"

San chuckles dryly. "You’re a smart one, hm? Think we can put you in your place?" He moves closer to your ear, a breath away from his lips touching your skin. "Can tell you’re flustered, your fingers are all shaky. Scared?"

Wooyoung leans on the counter, head resting on his hand. You notice his arm covered with tattoos and bracelets. His gaze is heavy, eyelids hushed as he licks his lips, flicking between yours and your eyes. "Pretty gal like you may be thinking 'bout something different though. Could tell right when we met, the look in those beautiful eyes of yours. Full a' wonder, and... ah." He reaches out, inches away from your hand, before pulling back.

"The things I want to do."

From the thumping in your ears to the breath of San tickling them, to the seductive look Wooyoung is giving you, it's overwhelming. You leap from your stool, ignoring the chuckles falling from their lips.

"Leaving so soon? Haven't even heard our proposal to you," San pouts. "It's worth a wild."

You hesitate in your steps, glancing back at the two of them. "And what is the proposition?"

Wooyoung leans back on the counter, legs outstretched in front of him. "Distract that sheriff. Tell him falsehoods, get his nose away from us. In exchange..." His heavy gaze moves up your body, before flicking to your eyes. "Join us."

.

..

...

....

"...join you? Why in the living hell would I ever join you?"

A dark look passes through both of them. San jaw clenches, fingers straining against the glass in his hands before he takes a breath, closing his eyes and opening again. He looks at you calmly once more.

"We need a lady in our ranks. Some things a man just can't do. You’re already a criminal, can't judge us."

You blink rapidly. "How am I...?"

Your mind trails off to your first meeting with him, in prison. He's assuming that you're as bad as them, that you'd break the law. But the worst thing you've ever done is kick a ball into someone's face, and you cried after doing that. Breaking the law? You could barely break a pencil, let alone the law.

"No." You say briskly. "I've changed, I think. Started anew. My past is behind me."

Wooyoung snorts at that. "Oh, is it now? Every soul in here sees you talking to us. Probably got to the sheriff already. He must be suspecting by now that you’re in cahoots with the Leaders."

They're trying to bait you. You've watched enough movies to know the moves. The evil glint behind the friendliness. The way Wooyoung's fingers rest on his hip, inches away from his pistol. It's subtle, but you know if you deny, they'd probably retaliate somehow. But Hell, you’ve dealt with men like this before.

"You're underestimating him. See y'all around." You tip your invisible hat, earning a chuckle from Yunho who watches. You turn your back to them, push the double doors open and leave.

Wooyoung goes to stand, but San grabs his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. He looks at him in confusion. "We won't stop her?"

"No. Sooner or later, she'll come crawling to us."

"Not too sure 'bout that," Yunho says, walking to them. "Gal seems independent. Can't see her listenin to you."

San quirks his brow. "She'll learn who I am soon 'nough."

-

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths just outside the bar. Your eyes flick to the sound of heavy panting, seeing a black stallion in the darkness. Its eyes glow faintly, focusing on you for a moment before huffing again. You try to calm your heart rate as you take in its calming presence, a soft neigh echoing in the night.

Your head is filled with several emotions; fear, confusion, lust. You can barely keep up with the heavy waves. The beating slowly drops into a more steady thumping, your eyes flutter as you take another breath, walking through the grass to meet it. It stomps its feet, warning you with gestures. You hold your hands up in surrender, showing it that it shouldn’t be afraid. It slowly stops moving, letting you stand next to it silently.

You don’t dare run your fingers on its coat, too afraid that it startles easily. You stare off into the night, eyes on the sky. The stars are the brightest you’ve ever seen; they glow their own lights in the small town. You glance around, seeing the flickers of torches and stakes, loud voices of people entertaining themselves. The horse neighs softly as you pout, running your fingers through your hair.

“I don’t belong here,” You say softly, glancing at the horse. “I have no idea what to do, how to get back to my home. But I have to admit, it’s nice being around here. The fresh air is completely different. Feels more natural out here.” You hear a crash behind you, but don’t even give the sound the light of day, continuing to hum softly.

“It’s a bit chilly out here too, and all I have is this shirt,” You pull at the material, frowning. “It’s barely thick enough to cover my boobs from showing through.”

“Boobs?”

You jump at the sound, turning to see a man, hair wild as the wind blows through it. He wears a dark blue outfit, cowboy boots shining in the darkness, probably from the flickering of the candle in his hand. He cocks his head, eyes watching you curiously.

“Is that the fancy way of saying bosoms?” You can hear the innocence in his voice, although the scars across his face tell a different story. “Strange city slickers.” He grins, walking to you. You’re not sure how he is compared to the rest of the bandits you’ve encountered, but you don’t take any chances.

“What do you want?”

Confusion is drawn in his expression, before he mumbles something to himself softly. “Ah… you’re with my horse. Seems a bit suspicious, don’t you think?” He points to the horse next to you, patting it softly. “Surprised he didn’t try to kick you. A feisty one, he is. Probably thinking about doing something to you.” He grins again, winking at you.

You move away from the horse and Seonghwa takes a step to it, pressing his lips against it. It nudges against him softly, and he giggles. You blink rapidly. Him. He is in a bandit group, an infamous group. You don’t even feel the dangerous aura around him, not like the other three. He’s much softer, calmer. He looks at you, still petting his horse lightly.

“Heard ‘bout you from the others. Potentially joining’ our ranks,” he looks you up and down in thought. “Don’t know why they’v’d even consider, don’t look impressive to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ah, pardon my behavior. It's true, though. You’re light on the eyes, but that’s all I see. Don’t look like you’ve even held a pistol, and from the looks of it, probably run your bazoo and snitch,” he wrinkles his nose. “I ain’t as trusting as the others. For good reason, too.”

He lets go of the stallion, leaning next to him as he watches you. “San trusts you, though. We aren’t what you think, what the chit chatting be saying about us. Hiding among the willows, filled with bug juice. It’s nothing of the sort.”

“Then why don’t you defend yourselves? Everyone is convinced you’re the worst criminals there are, that you’d shoot before anything else.”

There, you see it. The flicker of fury in his irises, the locking of his jaw, the dark glow to his eyes. But as quick as you see it, it fades away. He smiles again, and this time it doesn’t seem as genuine.

“Some of those rumors are true. Don’t be so beef-headed, miss y/n,” he tilts his head as he watches you. “Standing in front of this bucket of blood. Right where you stand, Yunho murdered a man.” Seonghwa flicks his gaze to the grass, pursing his lips. “Speaking of that, being alone is risky. This town ain’t as safe as the sheriff makes you think. Better to get to your home, something’s going down in a few clicks or so.”

Another shout comes from the bar, and Seonghwa sighs. “Go ta Yeosang’s place. Lock your doors, and don’t go by those windows.”

He kisses his horse’s face once more before walking around you, his arm brushing lightly against yours. He glances at the spot, eyes focused on yours. His expression is unreadable, and he nods once before, pulling his gun from the holster, kicking open the bar doors. You take that as your cue, half running, half jogging to the hotel. You ignore the whistles and shouts from the people standing not too far away from the front, running to your door and shutting it behind you.

The gun shots ring around you as you cover your ears, shaking as each one shoots through the air. A deadly reminder that you don’t belong here, that you should be home in modern society. That no matter how cool it is to be in the wild west, it isn’t cool to think about one of those gunshots ending up inside of you.

You need to get home.

-

“Won’t be that bad of an idea,” he says, brushing off her coat slowly. You lean against the tall pole next to his stall. He eyes you for a moment, scanning your skeptical expression before sighing. “We need to arrest them, y/n. Take them in for their crimes.”

“And why do you need me? I was in that jail for a reason, one that I don’t know. You’re being so harsh on them, and easy on me.” You flick off a leaf that falls, waiting for his response. You might be digging yourself into a hole, but it’s the only thing that you could think would stop him from this crazy idea of his. There’s no way you’d try to infiltrate their ranks, the risk is too high. These men aren’t like the ones back home.

“You’re not a threat. Don’t sense the bad mojo on you, can tell by looking into your eyes. You'll be safe; no harm will come to you. Bet a cat’s foot on it.” He snaps his fingers, winking at you.

You narrow your eyes. “Bet your life.”

Hongjoong widens his eyes as he looks at you. “I… no, miss y/n, that’s-”

“Yea yea, superstition and all.”

“You don’t believe in that?” He asks, watching as you shake your head. “Gotta be careful, miss. You’re a good one, that I know.

“Do you?”

“Mama ain’t raise no fool,” He says simply, patting Angel. “Be careful, you hear? Those men aren’t as kind as they may show you. Killed too many to consider them friendlies. Those men ain’t nothing but trouble. Don’t want to see you hurt. But if you don’t accept their invitation under the eyes of me, they might insist in ways I cannot help you with.”

You purse your lips. They’re walking freely through the town, through the darker sides that you don’t see right here. It’s a bit strange; shouldn’t they be put in jail? You’re sure that Hongjoong knows that’s their bar, and yet he hasn’t stormed it and arrested them. Angels neighs softly, stomping her feet. Hongjoong mumbles something against her fur, brushing hairs away from her eyes.

“Why don’t you just arrest them? You know where they’re at, right? Or is there some law that doesn’t allow you to?”

“Ah,” Hongjoong nods slowly. “Forgot about that place. Can’t arrest them if that town doesn’t want me to. You see, they’re infamous bandits in Mist, but not there. I dropped you off just outside of Mist, a smaller town called Halazi. Because the laws are different there, those slickers didn’t cause any ruckus there, so they ain’t going to be arrested. Deputy doesn’t allow me to’ even arrest any bodies there, especially those men. Brings in money to their town. Ain’t going to give that up anytime soon.” Hongjoong’s eyes flick to you.

“Assume you've seen them? Have they spotted ya?��� You don’t respond, and he sighs. “Ah, you have then. Just… don’t get too close then. Please. And if you do, at least let me know before something happens. So I can keep an eye on you.”

You nod. “Of course, I won’t.”

-

“Joong’s paranoid. You’ll be fine. These boys don’t mess with no innocents, only the likes of them,” Jongho says, cleaning off a tray with mysterious blood on it. “Can’t believe he didn’t chain you to a fence, in all honesty. That Sheriff is a good one, but scared of a fly.” He clicks his tongue, washing his hands before looking at your wound again. “Ah, it’s healing well, ain’t it? Your skin is going to be pretty again, miss y/n, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” You say, smiling. “But I think he has reasons to worry. I didn’t exactly tell him the complete truth.”

Jongho raises his eyebrows. “Hm?”

You rub your arm, looking at the healing cut as you speak. “I met the guys. All of them; San, Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa. They wanted me to join their ranks, something about me being alluring. I refused, but then they responded that I won’t be refusing for much longer? I have no idea what that means, but in my honest opinion-”

“Sounds like a threat,” Jongho whispers slowly, and you nod. “Joong ain’t tell you ‘bout their crimes, did he? Nothing except the little flyers he has hanging round town?” You shake your head.

“San can tell his own story; it’s a big one, one that’ll take too long,” he grins. “The others joined after he decided to leave. Joong and them, friends for a long time. Since they were little ones, until he left. Yunho used to be my assistant, until he went away. Wooyoung is a mystery; lived here his whole life but decided to leave when Yunho did. Seonghwa was Joong’s partner, unofficially. Glued to his side like a worm in the gravel on a hot day. When they had a falling out, he was distraught, choosing between his two friends. Joong ain’t never going to forget when Seonghwa left him.”

“Their crimes are not as serious as it seems. Yes, they burglarized and murdered, but thestories behind each of them are cause for protest. They ain’t ever raised their pistols to an innocent, that’s why Joong ain’t that worried about you in that regard. Only murderers and people who gone against them but for good reasons, in my humble opinion,” Jongho begins cleaning off your cut.

“Then why does Hongjoong want them arrested? If they didn’t actually do anything horrible?”

Jongho thinks for a moment. “In a way, it’s ‘cause he’s heartbroken. But also, just because a person is bad don’t mean you go ‘round killing. There’s due process; jail, and from there punishment.”

He grins as he looks at you. “Like Wooyoung, for a teeny example. He killed many, but all of their crimes were dark, too explicit to even tell ya. Seonghwa hasn’t killed, that I know of but most of the others have. Yunho usually sits in the bars at night, though. More of an informant if anything.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t tell Hongjoong then,” you mumble to yourself, Jongho listening along. “He has a grudge and rightfully so, but some things should just be kept to myself. I think he’d take me out of Yeosang’s hotel immediately if he found out,” You tease, causing Jongho to chuckle.

“He would've, My lips are sealed, swallowing the key. But I’m still keeping an eye on you, don’t you forget that. Keep your ears cleared and your eyes open, miss y/n. Them guys ain’t that bad, but there’s trouble always surrounding them. Don’t join them, not even under fallacies. Those boys can sniff a rat amongst the willows.”

He taps your arm as he finishes. “Come back again, no one ever comes to see little ‘ol me.” He leans against the counter, looking at you. It looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t do anything but give you that signature grin. “Tell them, especially Yunho, I said howdy if you ever come ‘cross again. Big part of me thinks you will.”

He winks.

-

You’re not sure how you ended up here. In the middle of a field, flowers and other plants are seen for miles. Taking a small hike, you only expected more dirt and pesky bugs. You’re not sure if any diseases from the mosquitoes are actually cured by now, but it frightens you whenever one of them lands on you. You hum to yourself softly, letting the soft breeze swirl around you. It’s been a few weeks in between Mist and Halazi. You’ve seen San, Wooyoung, and the others more often than you’d like, their words enticing you more and more. But you’ve resisted for the most part, avoiding them whenever you turn the corner.

San and Wooyoung have been particularly insistent. You already moved out of Yeosang’s hotel, and into a room and board, farther away from the bar. But it seems like every time you step out of the doors, those two aren’t as far away.

Despite your very thinning resistance, you’ve ignored their requests for the most part. Even though Jongho told you that their crimes aren’t as bad as you may think, you don’t want to involve yourself with them. Hongjoong is happy as well, hearing from you that you didn’t dare join them. In a weird sort of way, it feels like a mouse and cat game, the duo dropping their cheese in front of your nose, and you running away from it.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here,” A voice behind you hums lightly. You yelp, turning to the voice. Wooyoung stands there, hands tucked into his slacks as he looks at the peonies around you. He tilts his head, eyes flicking to yours. “Thought you left, S was a bit ruffled.” He hums softly, leaning against a rock.

“Did you follow me out here?” You ask sternly. “I told you two I’m not joining your little crew of bandits-”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Ah, watch your words, miss. Just ‘cause we been nice, don’t mean we can’t stop.” He motions his hands in a scissor motion, winking at you. “And I ain’t follow you. Here’s my resting place, ways away from commotion of Halazi. And it’s my mama’s land, so you’re intruding, not I.” He grins at you. “Could get yourself shot, miss y/n.”

Your heart drops to your stomach as you scramble to your feet, panic in your eyes. “Shit- I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

Wooyoung wiggles his fingers, shaking his head. He reaches back, putting the hat on his head as he watches you. “Mama ain’t so easy to forgive, lucky she ain’t see you out here. But, since I did catch you,” He taps his finger against his pouty lips, pretending to think deeply. “You owe me now, don’t you?”

His eyebrows raise as his lips slowly curl into an evil grin. You mentally slap yourself. What were you thinking? All land must have been owned around here, it is a small town after all. And look at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Wooyoung watches as you go through the hoops in your mind, your nose scrunched up as your eyes flick back and forth. He rests on the rock easily, humming again.

“What do you want me to do?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Can’t think of any at this very moment. Get back to you?” He says, “But we gotta shake on it. Can’t be having some white lies told, you know?” He holds out his hand. If you looked closely enough you could have seen the slightly wicked look in his eyes, the pure lust as your fingers curled around his for a shake. He lifts up your entwined hands, pressing his lips against it lightly.

“Best get a move on, Mama be home soon enough. Can’t be having any daisies ‘round, she carries the big guns.” Wooyoung flicks his head, “Unless you’d like to stay. I have enough room for a visitor.”

You’re at least fifty percent sure he’s asking for you to twist the sheets with him, as they say. Or in your language, fuck. Your face warms furiously as you pull your hand out of his, shaking your head.

“As you said, I need to get moving.”

He watches as you walk past him, eyes struggling to keep them on only your head, nothing lower. It’s not common to see a lady dressed in tight-fitting clothing, and little did you know, they were luring away the men who dared to creep on you. Stares are fine, but the words that Yunho heard in the bars... Speaking of that, his eyes move to look in the distance, at the cowboy that’s been watching you as of late. Wooyoung moves away from his rock, fingers lingering to his holster as he begins his approach.

-

“They’ve killed again,” A voice says softly between the crowd. You don’t pay any mind, knowing who they’re talking about. You can’t quite keep up with the drama that happens with the Leaders, their names constantly at the edge of people’s tongues. Instead, you push your way through and stay in the library, also owned by Yeosang.

He sits in the corner as you read through books, trying desperately to find a way back to your time. You think you’ve had enough of the sand in places you’d rather not mention, and the lack of water to take showers in. You’re sure someone saw you trying to clean yourself in a pond. Oddly, though, the guys didn’t smell bad. But you’d rather not dwell on that thought.

“You've been here for three days, miss,” Yeosang says, glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. “Can just ask what you're looking for, youknow.”

You shake your head. “What if I told you I’m trying to figure out a way to go to the future, where you’re part of a boyband?”

Yeosang stays quiet for a moment, before he chortles to himself, shaking his head. “Spent too long with Jongho, sounding just like him. Boy band? Is that some sort of Sheriff department?”

You hold back your laughter, “Maybe I have been around Jongho too long.” These books in front of you could barely help you, most just telling you about folk tales, things you don’t need to know about right now. You put the books back on the shelves, thanking Yeosang before walking out. You hear a loud crowd in the distance, and squint, seeing men wearing black, surrounding someone on the ground. Your stomach drops once you recognize the figures from this distance.

Stay away, you say to yourself, keep under the radar. They already want you a part of them, and involving yourself in things like this would only entice them more. Make you tied up in drama you have no business being in. You look away, despite the growing yelling. This isn’t Hongjoong’s town; he’d never show up. But some part of you tells you to look, and you see someone running up to them. A shotgun is in their fingers, the Leaders’ backs to him.

Your eyes widen. He’s going to shoot them. He’s going to kill them with their backs to him. Your body immediately starts running, barely keeping yourself on your two feet as you breathe through your nose, pushing through randoms walking around. The man is so close, so very close. You might be too late, you might see one of them being killed -

San stands just over the man on the ground, an angry sneer on his lips as he aims his gun at him. Wooyoung stands next to him, Seonghwa on the opposite side with Yunho staring down at him. They don’t see the man aiming his gun, eyes narrowed as he adjusts his shot.

“San, move!” You scream, feet away. The shotgun man turns around as you yell, but turns back, finger slowly pressing on the trigger. You leap, shoving your body against San as the shot rings through the air. You’re not too sure where the others are, too focused on getting him out of danger.

You both fall to the ground in a loud thump, his body somehow rolling on top of yours. You hear commotion behind the two of you as you take heavy breaths, eyes on one another. He looks between yours, flicking around your face. A hand reaches out, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Shit, you got a cut. What the fuck were you thinking, funning in front of a shot like that?” He curses, anger in his voice. But you can only see the worry reflected in his eyes as he looks over you. “Don’t be stupid,” he hisses.

“If you paid more attention to who’s around you maybe I wouldn’t have to be stupid, stupid.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Stubborn gal.”

“Quit kissing faces and get up,” You hear a voice above the both of you, anger dripping from his words. You look back, seeing Wooyoung staring down at the both of you. “No time for flirting. Gotta show them no mercy.”

San looks down at you, a silly grin on his lips. “W sounds a bit cheeky, don’t he?” He lifts himself away from your body, holding out his hand to help you up. Reminds you of the first time you’ve met him, saved from the prison. But this time, Wooyoung helps you up from behind, San slowly dropping his arm.

Wooyoung glares at the blood dripping from your forehead, ignoring the scowls his partner gives him. “S is right, you know. Keep yourself outta trouble, you here? Ain’t want you to join us this way.” He grabs something from his back pocket. It’s a roll of cloth, he wraps it around the small wound, whistling.

He secures it with a metal clip, smiling lightly at his handy work before straightening his back, looking at the others. Yunho and Seonghwa stay silent, exchanging looks, while San’s fuming, his glare having the potential to melt any man who receives it. You can tell that Wooyoung knows he’s furious but chooses to ignore it, eyes moving to the man on the ground that attempted to kill them.

Some people that you don’t recognize hold him down. San crouches over, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Lucky this darling here is watching,” San stands. “Hwa. Take care of him, have other matters to tend to.” His eyes look at you. “Follow me.”

-

San paces around the room, Wooyoung sitting in the furthest corner. He watches you silently, darker eyes blinking rarely. His trenchcoat that drapes to the floor is oddly terrifying, making your eyes look over to him every so often. A part of you itches to speak up and ask exactly why he isn't blinking, but now seems like the wrong time. Yunho and Seonghwa are dealing with the man who tried to assassinate San, somewhere in the Halazi station. You bite your lip nervously, wondering why they insisted on you coming with them. They gave you room to refuse, of course, their gentlemanly cowboy ways superseding their need to speak with you.

San finally stops pacing, stopping a few feet away from you. "You’re strange." He says softly, eyes looking through his hair. "Can't seem to' wrap my noggin 'round you. Cold Cool as a winter's morn' but warm as Mama's sweet apple pie."

...

"Um—"

"You tell us to stay away, and we do for most parts." San nods at that. "Keep them sleazy men away from you since you insist on wearing revealing wear." He eyes your pants, before looking away. If you squint, you can see a slight color change to his cheeks.

If they call your pants and very thick shirt revealing, you could only imagine them in your time. Seeing short sleeve shirts and ankles. They'd go mad.

"But you saved me," he mumbles softly, rubbing his bottom lip. "Woo," his eyes flick to his partner. "Don't you think it's awfully strange of miss y/n to help us? Aught to make one wonder.“ He strokes his chin, humming to himself.

Wooyoung’s brows raised slowly, clicking his tongue. “You’re right. Why she helping us? Could’ve just left us for dead. Let the vultures pick off the bones. Seems like this lady cares ‘bout us.”

You can’t help but scoff at them, eyes-rolling. You don’t catch the clenching of Wooyoung’s jaw, San’s eyes narrowing at your action. “Talk about being full of yourselves. If you were anyone else I’d still do the same thing. Don’t try to stroke your ego.”

Wooyoung’s rings glisten as he moves away from the wall, taking slow steps closer to you. “Can’t help but talk like that, hm? It’s been a few now, you should’ve learned.”

“Learned what?” You say, keeping your voice steady. You hear a slight crack in your tone, hoping that they don’t notice. But from the slow curving of their lips, they know.

“Learned that the Leaders are called that for a reason, sweet pea. Learned that we only tolerate so little, and you crossed the line more than once,” he raises his fingers, flicking each one up as he counts. “Too many to even add up, you see.” He slowly tucks his hands in his pocket, chain glistening against his neckline.

San nods along. “That pretty face a’ yours only seems to get you in trouble. You know how many men we’ve fought off? Your feet are golden, darling. And you still walk around here like you own the town. Makes us look weak, and we can’t have that, hm?” He tilts his head, earring brushing against his skin as he eyes you. “Heard you owe Woo a favor.”

You don’t know whether to be frightened, scared, or a third thing. You watch as Wooyoung places his hat to the side, loosening his jacket. Your eyes glue to his exposed skin like you’re a deprived man from the 1700s seeing ankles for the first time. He reaches for his rings, but stops himself, smirking.

“You like the rings on me, don’t you?”

You swallow slowly, and San raises his eyebrows at you. “Answer the question, darling.”

“I do.” You say, seeing Wooyoung glance back at you. He slowly takes off his vest, leaving the loose-fitting shirt the only thing covering his chest from the both of you. San’s eyes drift over Wooyoung’s figure, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. But you can see the piercing gaze that Wooyoung gives him, the need dripping from his pupils as he looks back. Your heart pumps in your chest, quickly realizing what’s happening.

“I have the favor ready,” Wooyoung says softly, loosening the first few buttons. You see the golden shine of his chest as he moves closer, now inches away. “Ready to hear?” His voice rumbles in his chest, surly. His eyes lazily slide to your lips, before moving back to your eyes. San slowly approaches, taking off layers of his skin as Woo stares you down.

“Yes.”

He sneers, finger slowly trailing over the curve of your chin, stopping at the corner of your lips. He presses lightly on the skin, “Here’s my favor. Try not to scream, sweet pea.”

“Doubt that, don’t you think? Lady looks like a faucet,” San’s tongue trails over his lips as he watches Wooyoung’s fingers slowly go down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your eyes flutter through trembling breaths as the rough pads of his thumbs dig lightly into your hips, slowly sliding you closer to him.

“There’s always room to say no, sweet pea,” Wooyoung says, barely above a whisper. “We love our ladies rough, but we always respect them. Like true gentlemen,” he snickers lightly. “Well, the gentle part isn’t as true.”

“Remember seeing you for the first time in the calaboose,” San says, watching as Wooyoung’s hands slowly slide underneath your shirt, rubbing lightly against your skin. He keeps his eyes steady on yours, biting his lip each time you twitch under his hold. “Thought you were an owl hoot, there to serve your time, but I suppose not?” He throws his hat to the side, fingers gracing over his pistol, before he lays it on the counter of the saloon.

Wooyoung distracts you, pressing his hips into yours. He slowly brings your body forward, light moans each time you rub against his hard bulge. You try to concentrate on San’s words, but Woo is taking up most of your attention, head leaning down and peppering kisses against your skin.

“Too pretty to be in that place, covered in dirt. Didn’t think I’d see you again, but look at what we've been through! Pistol whips, visits, bumping into one another. Don’t believe in soul’s meeting, but,” San walks to the door of the bar, locking it behind him, putting the closed sign on the outside.

It was open this whole time? Anyone could have walked in, seeing Wooyoung pressing himself against you as San watched. You tremble at the thought, Wooyoung biting your skin lightly.

“You smell too good, sweet pea,” he whispers against your skin. “Wonder if you smell good in other places.”

“Ah, you're spoiling her, don’t you think?” San nudges Woo’s arm. He presses one light peck to your neck before moving back. San stares at you, tilting his head in thought. “Wanted to see you like this for a while now. Didn’t expect to have ‘nother in the room, but that only makes things interesting.”

“Take our time?” Wooyoung asks, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Bar opens in less than a nick’s time. Can’t have any ol’ seeing her like this.”

San sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Choices?”

Wooyoung rubs his chin, glancing at you. “Wait ‘til tonight, might be-a few hours, passed drunk fighting. Or, have sweet pea here and now, tonight can be round two.”

San nods slowly, eyes moving to you. “Your choice, darling.”

“Now.” You say simply.

San’s lip twitches in the corner. “Now? Can’t wait for us, can you?”

Wooyoung snickers, “Look at our sweet pea. She’s trembling just thinking ‘bout what we’d do to her.”

“Or that you’re taking too long to even start,” You say softly, eyebrow flicking in challenge. “Two boys in front of me but neither are even trying.”

You hear a low rumble from Wooyoung’s chest, taking a step forward. San stops him, quirking his brows. “Can’t stop that mouth of yours, hm? Still haven’t learned.”

You reach for your vest, slowly unbuttoning each one. Their eyes trail to your fingers, watching each one come loose. Once you reach the bottom, you toss it to the side, your smirk mirroring there’s from earlier. San moves first, pressing his lips against yours. It’s in no way gentle, feverish as you let him pull off your shirt. Your teeth clash against one another as he loosens his belt, throwing it to the side. You hear a crash, your head slightly turning to the sound. But San’s wandering hands feel your breasts, a soft moan falling from your lips.

“You’re a pretty thang, aren’t ya?” He whispers. You’ve forgotten about the other for a moment, at least until you feel his ring covered hands slowly moving underneath your trousers, tugging them down. San leans back slightly away from you, lifting you up against the counter as Wooyoung takes them completely off, leaving your bottom bare against the counter.

You shiver at the cold of the counters. San slowly spreads your thighs, flicking below. “Ah, you’re soaked, darlin’. Gonna make my bar all dirty.”

You feel the metal of Woo’s fingers press against your core, a low growl falling from his lips as San flicks your nipple, squeezing your breasts. He slowly presses kisses into your skin, covering your nipple with his lips, lightly sucking. You wrap your fingers in his locks as Wooyoung slowly inserts two fingers into you.

“Sucking me right in,” He mumbles, a featherlike kiss pressed just above your clit. You moan as he chuckles, tongue slowly trailing over the nub. Your hips lift forward at the touch, his fingers moving in and out of you quickly. “Feel you squeezing around me, sweet pea. How can I even fit if you’re already this tight?”

He sucks on your slit, enjoying you trembling at his ministrations. San takes your other breast in his mouth as Wooyoung increases the pace, another finger added. You feel him pressing his thumb into the other hole, slightly spreading your ass. You widen your eyes as he uses your slick to press two fingers into it.

“Shit,” You gasp. The buildup to your high is quick, Wooyoung’s eager growls into your cunt, skilled fingers sucking him in with little resistance; San’s soft lips, teeth biting lightly. Plump lips wrap around your slick as your cunt sucks in his fingers with little resistance.‌ Your eyes roll back as you spasm against his fingers. You push him away as you slowly reach the point of overstimulation, his head moving away. You can see your slick covering his cheeks, fingers covered in you.

“As sweet as a pumpkin pie, sweet pea,” he says softly. “Would give Mama a run for her money.”

San rolls his eyes, “Talking bout ya momma right now?” He strips off his pants, your eyes immediately flicking between his thighs. His cock springs out onto his belly, dripping with precum. You groan at the size, until you hear the ruffling of another pair of pants. Their eyes scan your body, too clouded with lust to think of anything else. San’s eyes scan yours, waiting for your consent.

“Both of us, at the same time. Think you can handle that?” He rubs his length slowly, enticing you.

“Think you can handle me?” You say, smiling up at him.

His eyes go dark, your face reflects his eyes as he leans down, pressing his lips lightly against yours. “Lift up for me, darling. W is gon’ take your behind, I’ll take you right here…” he cups your cunt.

You get off of the counter when he lets go, Wooyoung replacing you. He looks at the clock, worry in his eyes. “Less than cooking time now.” He looks at you. “Your words say a lot, let's see if we can prove it true.”

You slowly move forward, San slapping your ass as you press your lips against Wooyoung’s. His fingers curl in your hair, kiss much more gently than San’s. His tongue plays with yours slowly, before he pulls back. Through the lust, you can see the tender look he gives you. Something you haven’t seen from him.

“You’re doing so well. Can’t wait to see you sitting on me.”

You roll your eyes, turning around as he laughs. He helps you sit on his lap backward, his cock twitching against your ass as he groans, licking the curve of your neck. “Ready for me, sweet pea?”

“Yes.”

You slowly sink on his cock, fingers digging into his thighs at the stretch. His descent into you is slow, his lips pressing against your neck as you groan, trying his best to distract you from the burning feeling. You sit there for a moment, the overwhelming feeling of your ass being filled distracting you from San for a moment. Wooyoung continues to press kisses into your skin, until San clicks his tongue.

His cock looks as if it's almost vibrating, waiting. “Ready for me, darling?”

San watches as you nod for him, moving towards you. He wastes no time; rocking his cock a couple of times before sinking into your cunt with vigor. You didn’t realize how long he is; the head of his cock nudging at your cervix. You moan, his balls resting at the entrance. You feel more full than you’ve ever did before, your mind consumed with only them.

Wooyoung moves tentatively, fingers digging into your hips as he moves.

“Relax up, y/n,” San mumbles, rubbing your arm softly. You wrap your arms around his neck, forehead pressing against one another. “Can feel you movin’, W.”

“Move, fuck… move, or else I’ll cum right into her,” Wooyoung says through clenched teeth, moaning every time he feels your rim squeeze against his cock. San lets out a breath as he slowly drags his cock out of you. His gaze moves between your legs, watching as Wooyoung’s cock moves, his disappear in and out of you.

“You look so pretty underneath me,” he mumbles.

You open your mouth to reply, but he takes that chance to sink into you quickly, pressing lips against yours. Your combined moans echo in the room as they move in sink; San in, Wooyoung out. Wooyoung pushing in, San moving away. The rolling of San’s hips hitting yours with ease, skin pressing against your clit each time he pushes in. Wooyoung’s hips move with the force of San; not stuttering once.

“Faster,” You encourage, causing Wooyoung to laugh behind you.

“You’re real different, y/n,” he says, but his body agrees with your request, picking up the pace. The feeling of being moved between both of their bodies, Wooyoung’s shirt covered chest pressing into your back, San’s sweat dripping onto you makes you weak, your breaths stuttering.

You hear a knock on the door. San’s pace quickens, hips becoming bolder as he collides with you, the squelching sounds echoing in the small bar. Wooyoung’s grip is so tight, you’re sure he’s going to leave a mark. They don’t seem to care about how loud their being, the knocks disappearing quickly.

San groans as he slowly reaches his high. “Gon’ empty in you, y/n. Tell me no, if you don’t want it.”

“San,” You struggle through your gasps, and he grins at you, your eyes moist and head thrown back. “Please.”

“You’re doing so well for me, y/n. Look so pretty underneath me. But I n-need to know-”

“Cum in me,” You say through gasps. “Both of you.”

His groan makes your body tremble. Your fingers are probably putting cuts into Wooyoung’s thighs as you scream, cunt squeezing against their cocks as you finally cum.

Wooyoung’s muscles strain as he holds you up, veins popping out on his arm as he revels in the feeling of your cunt around him. His hips seem to only go faster and faster, trying to hit his high. But once the squeeze of your rim tightens against his cock, he groans, pressing in once more. His hips sputtering as his cock-squeezing out his cum.

San isn’t too far away, desperate gasps as he slams his balls against your cunt. He pushes in once, twice, before his hips sputter, his balls slapping against you. You feel the hot of his cum hit your walls, his warm body pulling you into his chest, pressing kisses into your forehead. Wooyoung wraps his arm around you from behind, your pants echoing around the room.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. We got five,” San mumbles, his cock popping out of you. The smell of sex surrounds you all as he quickly grabs a piece of cloth from the side, slowly cleaning you off. He grins at the mess they made between your legs, Wooyoung taking his cock out. San presses the fabric into your holes as you whine, pushing him away.

“Wait.”

“Can’t have the children on the floor, darling,” San winks. “W, bring her to the back. Can’t have her ‘round when the doors open.”

Wooyoung wastes no time in picking you up with a yelp, holding you gently as he carries you to the doors behind the bar. He looks at you, pushing your hair away from your face.

“Haven’t seen you more beautiful than now, sweet pea.”

He lightly places you on the bed, looking around for a water bucket. Once he finds it, he slowly cleans you up, humming softly. You don’t know what to say. What’s your relationship now? Are they going to throw you away right after this, a one time thing? You’re not even sure if you want to continue it, but the thought of never seeing them again makes your stomach twist.

Wooyoung seems to see the conflicting emotions on your face, because he stops bringing the pants up your legs, lightly cupping your cheek with his hand. “We ain’t gon’ give you up that easily, sweet pea. If you want us, that is.”

You widen your eyes, holding back your smile as you look at him. “So, this isn’t a one time thing? You’re not gonna toss me away?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “When you hit gold, do you just throw it away? No, you cherish it, keep it as your own. We want you as ours, sweet pea.” he looks into the distance. “All of us do.”

“…All of you?”

Wooyoung gives you a lopsided smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You thought we two were the only ones?”

[ohhcinnybuns]

Nerdy video gamers 18!SKK stumble upon each other in a fantasy game and immediately have beef.

Chuuya, a new player, creates a grizzly dwarf champion and stumbles upon an elf loremaster sitting on a rocking chair in Hobbiton, smoking his weed pipe with zero care. He figures the Lore-master is too high into his roleplay to care about questing, which gives him the advantage of finishing the area rather quickly.

Chuuya looks around the farmland to see various NPCs with quest rings and no one else. He thinks it's a perfect place to grind XP as they are repeatable quests, and he goes to accept them.

At the same time, Dazai, as the elf loremaster, decides he is now ready to participate and complete achievements in the area, unknowingly accepting the same quests as Chuuya.

He didn’t recognize the area, which often happened because he never understood his map and explored solo, so he decided to sit down and smoke his pipe in the lovely, peaceful little hobbit village.

As they soon learn, the quest items can only be picked up by one person before waiting for the respawn timer, and that wouldn’t have been an issue… Chuuya could have shared the area and the quest items, had the loremaster not decided to stun him and take away his item like a thief right under his nose.

CorruptionDestroyer says, “That was MINE”.

BigBrainLoreMaster says, “You snooze, you lose, short stuff.”

CorruptionDestroyer says, “…I’m not short. I’m still drinking my milk every night.”

BigBrainLoreMaster says, “And what is that, a cup a night? You need a whole gallon to be as tall as me, Chibi.”

Chuuya does the only thing he can think of at the moment to show his irritation with the elf and uses his /fish slap emote on the annoying loremaster.

BigBrainLoreMaster says, “…”

Dazai returns the /fish slap emote, and their characters stare at each other unmovingly. Chuuya thinks about running off, but instead, he's upset at this stand-offish LM with audacity and goes to emote the fish slap again until he accidentally hits the groan button, and it comes out as a drawn-out moan. Chuuya’s cheeks redden.

Now, both characters are staring at each other awkwardly, and Chuuya wants to bang his head on his desk in embarrassment because he looks like he enjoys the rough treatment. Ugh, that was not what he wanted to do! He glances at his screen to find a new private message from the lore master in his chat box.

BigBrainLoreMaster: If I had known you liked it rough, I would have done it harder.

CorruptionDestroyer: THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT TO DO.

BigBrainLoreMaster: Ah, your screams of embarrassment are music to my ears. It’s like I can hear you from a thousand miles away. It makes me want to dance.

CorruptionDestroyer: Please, don’t.

BigBrainLoreMaster: …

BigBrainLoreMaster: Hey, accept the trade, yeah?

CorruptionDestroyer: No, why?! You’re probably going to take my loot.

BigBrainLoreMaster: That’s not how it works.

Chuuya hesitantly accepts the trade and finds all the quest items he needs to turn in his quests. He flutters his eyes at his inventory and raises an eyebrow in confusion, only to find a new message waiting for him and the loremaster gone.

BigBrainLoreMaster: Apparently, I had already completed these quests once before and didn’t need to do them again. :’) I guess that’s what I get for not knowing how to read the map.

CorruptionDestroyer:… but you’re level 80.

BigBrainLoreMaster: It sure does look that way, huh? Well, hurry up. Catch up if you can, Chibi… or do you need motivation? ;)

CorruptionDestroyer: SHUT UP!

Chuuya spends the next month grinding levels and storming through the game, much to Dazai’s shock and curiosity. They stumble upon each other often and are soon playing end-game raids together and talking mechanics.

They talk for hours and horse around doing silly things half the time, playing hide-and-seek or doing parkour over the Bree rooftops. Sometimes, they explore the valleys of Rivendale or ride through the meadows of Rohan when questing becomes too much of a chore.

But as soon as one entered a PVP match, the other had to join too, and they quickly became the deadliest duo in fantasy gaming with Chuuya’s physical double axe prowess and Dazai’s crowd control skills and healing/support. They always had each other's backs through the thick of it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Note: So, only a few people (IRL) know that I met my husband playing video games (everyone else assumes we met on Tinder when I use the word "online"), but we met playing Lord of the Rings Online back in 2012-2013'ish.

When we first met, one of my favorite inside jokes was using the fish slap emote to greet each other. Then it escalated to using the groaning dwarf emote, and it had me laughing so hard that I had tears in my eyes 💀. These are the best memories!

[verdemoun]

Ok you made like one post about an au where Kieran survives and that is not ok. We need much more than that.

assuming you mean this kieran survives au!

kieran is in a bad way. like - he's been through blessed are the peacemakers but he was already underweight. completely delirious with fever, rambling apologies while his eyes dart back and fourth but completely clouded and not dilatating. chalk white with black, purple and blue bruises that heal to a sickly yellow. there are cuts towards his eyes, completely macerating his face, but it was heat and smoke and physical trauma to his eyes. he would be considered legally blind, night blindness and light sensitivity but can actually see things as blurry shapes and colors.

a lot of his injuries are more personal than arthur's gunshot wound. chest adorned in both deep and shallow cuts like they were planning to carve him up for serving. injuries that were clearly just fists or blunt weapons being used over and over. his left knee, specifically, is shattered. how he managed to get up on branwen and actually stay on almost all the way to shady belle is a miracle

he's so starved he throws up the first bowl of watered down stew they give him and it clicks this is going to be a long, long process.

hosea immediately gives up his room, because they need to keep him inside and warm in a clean environment to stop any more infection

arthur, being a good doting son, immediately insists that hosea take his room and he'll be fine sleeping on the floor in the main living area. little changes --

because, well, now hosea is just down the hall from dutch. and with how stressed he is and how 'demanding' molly is, who would blame dutch for taking comfort in the presence (and bed) of his longest companion?

whole time micah is whining because they're back to robbing coaches and doing small jobs until they figure out a new plan, because admittedly most of their best gunmen are distracted by ensuring there is always someone there taking care of kieran. they thought they buried him. they mourned him, and regretted how they treated him. getting him back, even in that state, seems like the first kindness the gang have experienced in a while

also who the fuck was the headless guy the o'driscolls sent into camp. did they really kill a random guy with a similar build to kieran assuming he died after escaping just to fuck with the gang??

no one ever calls kieran 'o'driscoll' again. when he starts getting his strength back, and of course desperately wants to see the horses, almost the entire gang are discreetly trying to follow him like ducklings in case he needs help.

mary-beth is constantly having to tell them to back off because it's overwhelming all these people who seemed apathetic to him suddenly doting on him and kieran is too soft to remind them he needs space. the gang joke she's been hanging out with sadie too much but mary-beth is constantly reminding them she fended for herself for a long time before the vdls picked her up, is a very accomplished thief and con artist and she will cut a bitch

dutch, with hosea back in one ear and micah still whispering in the other, gives micah his blessing to head back to blackwater and try to get that money back. and surprise surprise, micah gets killed barely a quarter mile across the border. oops

molly has her 'i loved you, you goddamned bastard' breakdown at shady belle, calling bullshit on dutch and hosea's affair when dutch had once said he loved her and completely brainwashed her. with no mention of pinkertons, dutch gave her enough money from the lockbox for a ticket and told her to fuck off back to ireland if she meant something there

dutch sucks and hosea reminds him he sucks and dutch swears he will do better but the gang need to move they've already pushed it being so close to saint denis too long.

dues-ex-kieran duffy. in his timid way, he suggests going back out west since everyone constantly talks about wanting to go west but he knows a whole list of abandoned o'driscoll camps and a rough but doable north-west route around west elizabeth that the o'driscolls used to avoid blackwater after the VDL disaster.

the gang make it out west. they stop to shoot up hanging dog ranch, colm included, along the way. the pinkertons lose their trail. arthur still gets diagnosed with tb, but he's somewhere warm and dry and without the physical and psychological strain of guarma they reckon he has plenty of time left.

the gang naturally disperses. the marstons decide to find their own fortune, uncle and javier in tow. uncle escuella might be sleeping with his dad but jack deserves multiple father figures and javier will always take jack fishing or actually ask about his books even if it is just to complain about the english language. abigail is content living the this is my ugly ass groom john and his boyfriend javier. i hate them both but affectionately.

charles leaves to help the wapiti people only to return the second he hears that arthur has a slow but terminal illness, and they have many years of blissful domesticity together. lenny goes off to school and somehow lives darragh macguire's life as both outlaw and politician. he keeps a photo of sean in his dad's pocket watch. hosea and dutch admittedly return to running cons and robberies because they feel like they're too old to change but it's smaller-scale with less mouths to feed and they get away with it the rest of their natural lives.

bill of all people ends up being the one who went with charles because as problematic as he is robbing the military sounded fun after they fucking booted him, only to end up falling in love with captain monroe and going off on a rainbow-filled adventure of fleeing from the government, the military, and awkwardly helping people out along the way. monroe calls him out on racist bullshit and bill just immediately apologises because wants to be better for his man

grimshaw, who needs to be taking care of people to feel self-worth, takes karen under her wing and saves her from her alcoholic spiral. tilly still meets her husband and becomes a wealthy lady in saint denis, technically employing grimshaw and karen as housekeepers but it's really just an excuse to keep her found family together

kieran and mary-beth stay at the gang's original settlement and accidentally end up running a stable. mary-beth gets to write her novels but she does develop a soft spot for helping out in the barn because kieran talks so passionately about horses she can't help love them too

everyone's happy enjoy a fix it au the end

[paintbrushnebula]

Have you ever thought about making a Ghostflower Tangled AU? Because I can't stop thinking about Miles with 70 feet of blonde dreads, and Gwen's failed smolder and begrudgingly guiding Miles to see the lanterns. It just works so well in my brain.

Hi! YOU! YES YOU! You've got my number! Because I LIVE for Ghostflower x New Dream. Gosh, I live for Spider-Verse x Tangled, period! I've had it rotating in my brain for about a year now, although I guess I've never really talked at length about it or shared any of my ideas for a proper Spider-Verse x Tangled AU, have I?

I was a little embarrassed before, if I'm being honest 😅. But if y'all wanna indulge me, THEN HYYYES IMMA WAX POETICALLY ABOUT THIS AU TILL THE END OF TIME AND SPACE.

Rapunzel - Miles Morales Eugene Fitzherbert/Flynn Rider - Gwen Stacy/Ghost Spider Mother Gothel - Olivia Octavius Captain of the Guard - George Stacy King Frederic - Jeff Morales/King Jefferson Queen Arianna - Rio Morales/Queen Rio The Stabbington Brothers - Tombstone and Ben Reilly/Scarlet Spider Maximus - Widow (Web-Slinger’s horse) The Snuggly Duckling Pub Thugs - The Sinister Six (they’re soft-confirmed to appear in Beyond the Spider-Verse after all) Pascal - isn’t in this AU.

So the overall plot of Tangled remains relatively the same, with the cast of Spider-Verse implemented into it, of course.

18 years ago, King Jefferson used the sundrop flower to heal the dying pregnant Queen Rio of Corona. Prince Miles is born with golden, ultra kinky 4c hair and magical healing powers, gets kidnapped by Mother Olivia, locked away in a tower deep in the woods, the whole shebang.

Now, Gwen Stacy is the secret identity of masked legendary thief Ghost Spider, currently a respected, high-ranking member of the Spider Society, a crime syndicate run by The Kingpin in the neighboring kingdom of Vardaros, the most powerful in the Seven Kingdoms due to its members' all wearing masks that hide their faces, rendering their identities completely unknown to anyone and impossible for any law enforcement to track them down. Recently, Ghost Spider has been commissioned by The Kingpin to steal the Lost Prince of Corona's crown from the palace.

So Ghost Spider has been on the run for years from the Captain of the Coronan Guard, Captain George Stacy, her father, who has no idea the masked thief he's hunting is his own daughter.

And don’t think I haven’t thought about the TV series exclusive characters!

Cassandra - Lyla (you have no idea how happy I was when I came up with that) Lance Strongbow - Hobie Brown/Rebel Spider Kiera and Catalina - Peni Parker and Margo Kess (they’re not kids in this though) Uncle Monty - Aunt May Varian - Miles G. Quirin - Aaron Davis Adira - Jessica Drew Hector - Miguel O’Hara The Baron - Kingpin (obv) Anthony the Weasel - Web-Slinger Baron’s Henchmen - Spider Society Lord Demanitus - Peter B. Parker King Edmund - Spider-Noir/King Benjamin Hamuel - Spider-Ham/Hamuel (he’s not called “Spider-Ham” ofc but he is still a talking anthropomorphic pig in this) Zhan Tiri - The Spot

Your concepts about Miles with golden dreads, Gwen's smolder, her taking him to see the LANTERNS OOHHHHHHH yeah imma just have to draw all that, sorry. Talking about it aint enough. Expect a buncha Tangled x Spiderverse fanart to be flooding my blog soon XD

[enqmind]

Why didn't this occur to me before? It's so obvious.

Price/Dragonborn!reader.

Is she a native Tamrielan? Has she been transmigrated into the body of her own player avatar? I dunno, both work.

Either way, you're going through the standard opening but there's another man there.

Like you, he seems to be unaffiliated with the Stormcloaks. Unlike you, he isn't panicking.

If anything, it seems like he's used to this sort of thing. Quiet, watching.

He warns the horse thief not to run, watching with a shake of the head as he does anyway and dies via arrow volley.

Looks at you, eyebrow quirked.

You nod.

Yep, you do what he says if you want to make it out of here. Got it.

The man seemed intrigued, but not perturbed, by the roars that approached Helgen.

(Ulfric looked much the same.)

For a moment you wonder... but no, this other man? He just doesn't look old enough. Unless he was a child soldier, he couldn't be a veteran of the Great War.

He kept quiet right up until GeneralTullius finished his speech at Ulfric.

"Execute him first."

Everyone looked at him.

"You've already killed one man, at least make sure his death and mine aren't pointless." He motioned at Ulfric. "Kill their commanding officer first."

He shot him a false smile.

"Unless he's willing to watch his men die one by one, hoping for a miracle to save his own arse?"

Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the man and nodded his head.

When the miracle came, all black scales and fire, the man had already grabbed your arm and was dragging you away.

In the chaos, you didn't spare a thought to how his hands got free, only worried with not being hit by falling debris or fire being breathed at you.

It was such a whirl that you didn't really understand how he managed to get you out of there.

The man in the cart and the soldier checking the list were left behind at the keep as you were smuggled out by means you didn't even really understand.

He pulled you to the south, cutting your binds on the way with a kind of dagger you'd never seen before.

After a mile or so, you summon up the courage to ask.

"Who... are you?"

He gave you a warm smile, one his beard had the side effect of making look rather cute.

"John Price."

[prolix-yuy]

For the 500 celebration, Pero & everlasting love!❤️

Okay, I'm cheating just a little bit. The request will be in here, it might just take a little while to get to it. Because you asked for Pero and all I could possibly write was for him and his Guerrera...and I've been dying for an excuse to share their sequel...sooooooo...

Coming Due

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader (sequel to Stop That, Right Now)

Summary: Tensions rise after last night's quarrel, and Pero must find a way to make it up to his Guerrera.

Word Count: 7.8k (I KNOW I am the architect of my own misery)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, insensitivity to the perils of women in this time period, references to violence against women but nothing described, Pero being a real big asshole for about 4 minutes, angst, oral sex (f-receiving), fingering (f-receiving), sorta safe PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), biting, an obscene amount of banter, Pero learns to be a consent king, FEELINGS.

Notes: Back by popular demand! Pero has stolen many of our hearts (and our nethers) and I couldn't wait to write more of these two. I left everyone hanging in the balance after the first drabble, and while The Debt gave us some more background I KNOW what we all actually want to see - what happens the next day?

Enjoy these allies to friends to enemies to lovers figuring their shit out!

Morning comes too quickly for Pero, barely settled in the stables for the night before the cock crows and light filters in through the wooden slats. He’s itchy, over-tired, in need of a bath and hungry from the night before.

The low sigh he breathes out, coupled with work-cracked hands rubbing over his face, brings the events of last night back into stark relief. A groan follows, this one deep and exasperated.

Pero’s mother told him that God only gave him a mouth so ravenous because he put both feet in it so often. Which, of course, he did once again. He could blame it on many things - the poor quality of his dinner, aches from the road, the raucousness of the tavern - but all would be a lie. It was the shock of your dress, baring those soft swaths of skin he’d contemplated many nights, hand itching to fist his cock. It was your smile, teasing and knowing all in one. It was the touch you left on the inside of his wrist that he swears he can still feel. Everything swirled together in a mess of light and noise and hammering heartbeats and instead of succumbing Pero fought like the idiot his mother hoped she didn’t raise.

Rolling up from the hay, swatting stray straws from his armor, he begins saddling up his horse. On any other day he would saddle yours too, save the fact that she faltered on the way into town and the farrier deemed her front left hoof too injured to travel. You’d sold her to him, a few quiet moments spent with the mare who carried you for many miles alongside Pero. Now down one steed with a job hastening you to the next town, your travel arrangements would be all the more troublesome.  

“Idiota,” Pero grumbles to himself as he pulls the straps snug, checking the saddle bags for supplies. Once he opened his mouth he knew he’d made a grave mistake. And the more you fed him vitriol, the more he spat back. You brought out the best and worst in him, but always forgave and moved on. There was never bad blood between you.

The door to the stable snaps open, your frame silhouetted by the morning sun at your back. If Pero entertained any delusions that you might have forgotten last night, they’re dashed away when you stride in fully armored, not a word spoken. No forgiveness either, the dark scowl on your face slashing across his own like a thief’s dagger.

“Good morning, hermana,” Pero says gruffly, making the final check of his tack. You pick up your own supplies, slinging them over your shoulder now that you have no horse to bear them. 

“Let’s begin, the day is already warm and I wish to be at our destination before nightfall,” you say curtly, turning on your heel to exit the stables. 

“Hermana, give me your supplies, Caballo can carry them,” he offers, reaching a hand to graze over your tack. You dart away, always so much faster than him, and stalk out. Pero sighs, curling his fingers back into his empty palm. 

It’s worse than he imagined. Not only was your desire for him revealed, but he’d crushed it beneath his boot.

Pero sways on top of Caballo, watching you stomp along beside him. He tried to convince you to ride, let him walk for a time. Then he snarked that you’d be better off riding together, which you scoffed at. It would not be the first time you’d shared a saddle, though with all the anger simmering below the surface you might set him ablaze if you sat so close. 

Pero lets himself drift to the few times you’d let down your guard enough to settle on Caballo with him. When your mare needed to play pack mule, or when you were recovering from a poisoned arrow. Pero had hauled you up in front of him, settling you between his thighs, arms caging you in. Protests quickly quieted; those few rides were mostly spent in silence. You were stiff to start until exhaustion overtook you, melting into Pero’s broad chest. One he believed you settled he would rest his hands on the saddle pommel, forearms criss-crossing your thighs, and relax into the warmth of a body pressed flush to his. When you were weak with recovery from the poison, Pero even took to wrapping one arm around your waist to keep you upright, even when you weakly refused his help. 

And now you were being exactly the stubborn mare you’d left behind, trudging through half-wet mud and dirt rather than riding with him. It would boil his blood, your refusal, if the shame of the reason why didn’t snuff it out.

Your foot comes down on a deceptively slippery spot, and with a yelp and a thud you’re splayed in the mud, supplies in a heap and fire in your eyes. Pero sighs, bringing Caballo to a stop and swinging down from the saddle. Already up on your knees, you pull your tack out of the muck with some unladylike curses seeding the earth. 

“This is ridiculous, give me your things if you will still refuse to ride with me. You are slowing us down with your stubbornness,” Pero growls, coming down to a knee by your side. You snort, blocking him with your shoulder. A brief peek of the fateful dress you stuffed into your pack pangs in Pero’s chest.

“I can manage quite well without you, Tovar,” you spit back. Pero rolls his eyes. You only ever call him by his family name when you’re exceptionally upset.

“You can manage shit, stop being a mule and get on the horse,” he huffs, one hand easily yanking your saddle supplies out of your slippery grip. You make a noise of heated indignation, coming nose to nose with Pero as you both kneel in the mud.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to stand being near me, with all your talk,” you taunt, a scowl across your face but challenge in your eyes. A frustrated rasp wraps around Pero’s words.

“I did not mean what I said…” he tries to apologize, but this is a fight you’ve clearly been preparing for.

“Oh, you didn’t mean to call me a whore, is that it? You think women are only meant to be quiet little wives or holes to fuck?” Pero’s fists ball at his side, words clattering against his teeth but none coming out. You were wrong, and right, and infuriating, and beautiful in the cool morning light. 

“I’m sorry…” he tries again, but clearly he let this sit too long. You’re too pent-up, sneering into his face as he fights to stay calm. 

“Spare me your morality, Tovar. I have lived in the world long enough to know what men think of me, and I do not care. I will eat what I want, say what I want, fuck when I want, and the devil can watch in glee. I don’t need you,” you hiss, moving to stand from the filth in the path. The tightening in Pero’s pants at the glint in your eye when you enunciated fuck makes him bolder than he can control.

“That is not what I saw last night,” he practically purrs, mocking your own grimace. The tables turn sharply; your eyes widen at his impropriety, teeth bared as you swing your fist to land a blow on his face. He catches your wrist, unbalancing and toppling you backwards on your ass. Before you can scramble up for a repeat attack, Pero wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and drags you towards him, sliding your hips up his thighs until your core is pressed tight against his growing cock.

Fuck, you’re hot and soft and silent for once, the shock of his boldness stilling your tongue. He keeps a vice-like grip on your hips but chances a roll of his own against them. 

“Is this not what you wanted, guerrera? When you took off the armor and sat before me, did you not want me to claim your cunt?” He digs his fingers into your flesh, another retort ready on his lips but more inclined to kiss you first. Weeks of simmering tension finally coming to a head, he folds over to taste the mouth so full of fire for him. 

“Don’t you dare, Pero,” you roar, legs kicking out to find purchase to flee. Pero grimaces, trapping one leg under his armpit and pulling tight to his body. The other he catches under his ass, pinning it between his calf and thigh. You swipe muddy hands at him, but he’s just out of reach with the way your spine is bridged up his body. 

“Tranquila,” he tries to soothe, to show his true intent, but you’re a rabid fox in a trap now. Your hips buck wildly, mixing searing hot pleasure with adrenaline as he tries to calm you. The situation is slipping away from him, turning uglier as he speaks over your anger.

“Mierda, guerrera, listen to me, amor de dios…” Pero curses, but your hand finally finds its way to your boot, a sharp little gutting knife now shining in your palm.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” you rasp, making a wide arc with the blade. It almost skims his cheek, snapping his head back just in time, but the fact that you’d raise steel against him boils his arousal into anger. He releases your legs, one hand in the center of your chest slamming you to the ground, the other pinning your arm above your head. 

“Qué coño, hermana?” Pero pants, and when he can see your face through the haze of his outburst he realizes he’s made a mistake. An enormous one. Your face is ripped wide with a grimace, teeth gritted and shining with spittle. Your eyes are wild, but tears gather along your lashes. 

This is worse. Multitudes worse than being an ass in a tavern.

“Mierda, hermana, perdóname,” Pero murmurs, backing off to sit on his heels. He keeps his hands in his lap, turned upward while taking in shaking breaths. He’s never put a hand on a woman, not one that wasn’t asked for, and in a second he’s terrified you. A man who easily pinned you, roughed you up, teased you and did not let you go when you shouted - that was a man never to be trusted. Bile rose in Pero’s throat that he for a moment was that man.

You stumble to your feet, covered in mud and disheveled. Pero follows, extending a hand when your balance falters. Righting yourself immediately, you point the blade at him, standing as far away as you can manage. He retracts his gesture, letting it hang limply at his side. 

“Don’t you dare,” you croak out, and Pero can see the tremor in your arm. Easily blamed on adrenaline, but he knows better.

Thundering hooves interrupt the stalemate as Pero unsheaths his sword, your bow quickly in hand and nocking at the ready as a small crew of horses curve the corner. A familiar face rides at the front.

Pero lowers his sword, flinching at what he knows will come.

“Hail William!” you shout over the din, in a voice remarkably stronger than before. Pero sneaks a glance. You’re offering a crooked smile, hip popped out and a lazy wave to the blond Irishman as he pulls the company to a stop. How many times had you done this before? Had to put on a brave face when you’re anything but okay?

William hails you from atop his horse, bright smile plastered on his face.

“I was sure you’d beat us to town,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at the sorry state of your armor. 

“Unfortunately we’re down a steed, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare?” you ask, stepping closer and away from Pero. He stands listlessly behind you, wiping mud from his hands as you converse with William.

“Of course, we can ride in together, enjoy a meal before the job tomorrow,” he agrees, motioning to another man to pull out a horse. 

After some redistribution of supplies, you’re sitting on your own black steed, riding beside William as he asks how your travels have been. Pero trails a length behind, head tilted down and listening carefully. You describe the perils of the road, the few coins you’d gathered, events in neighboring towns. Nothing of last night, or the moments just before their arrival.

Pero chews on his sour tongue, the scene replaying in his head. The tension coming to a head, his challenge meant to spur on something more. He wanted you sprawled below him, laughing at the mess in your hair and on your skin, as his mouth roamed your face. He would have wiped his hands before sliding them into your pants, teasing your slick folds before testing how hot and wet your cunt was. He desired to know what your face looked like shattering with pleasure, and what would spill from your lips as he brought you to your peak before sheathing himself inside. 

But he didn’t temper the anger with lust. Instead he put hands on you that were unwanted. Of course they were, ever since he spoke rashly in the tavern. Why would you want his brutish touch, his rough hands and rougher manners? A glance back up at you and William conversing amicably only settles loathing deeper in his stomach.

The drip of water is a welcome change after the ruckus that followed you all day. From the rowdiness of the tavern, to the poor sleep you got in the noisy room, to the thundering of hooves as William and his men escorted you into town, you’d been surrounded by sound.

Well, save for the short period of tense quiet you experienced on the trail.

If William suspected anything he kept it to himself, which you appreciated. Your heart was still thundering in your ears, hands shaking and breath coming out in soundless sobs when his company broke your stalemate. Pero had been silent since, a shadow slipping along behind you. You then turned your attention to his sunny companion, letting adrenaline slowly seep from your bones like tree sap.

Lifting the rough cloth from your bath basin, you lather it with one of your precious soaps and begin scrubbing filth from your skin. Too angry to bathe last night, coupled with the altercation, left you woefully soiled. Every pass darkens the water, but rebirths you clean and renewed.

The forced cheerfulness continued through your entrance to the inn, the purchasing of rooms (Pero grunted and tossed coins on the counter), and supper in the common area. Breaking bread with William was an unexpected pleasure you gained from Pero’s friendship, and the moments you got to share with the garrulous blond were bright spots in the tedium of most days.

Your hand slows on your calf, eyes unfocusing. To say you have a friendship with Pero might be a stretch. A begrudging connection at first, yes. A growing fondness, no doubt. But now…you didn’t have words to describe what your feelings towards Pero were.

Anger had morphed into spite by the morning, your dreams fitful and heart tight at his swift rejection. Never mind the flare of foolishness you tamped down repeatedly at trying to be a lady for him, all softness and femininity enticing him to your desires. If he had reciprocated, touched your hand and called you one of those foreign names that lick heat under your skin, you would have taken him to your bed. 

Instead you were not only humiliated once, but twice when he put his hands on you in the mud and debris. Fear had laid heavy in your chest, but it warred with thick lust when he rutted against you. If he had only spoken his desires, maybe dragged his gorgeously curved nose along your neck and whispered to you, you would have forgiven him, leaned into any caress he bestowed. 

That dream was dashed now, replaced with the pig-headed desires of cruel men. You’d had to unsex yourself many times on your travels, hide your shape from slithering eyes and keep a hand on a knife in seedy taverns. But you never feared Pero. You respected him, wheedled him, annoyed him and on those few occasions endeared yourself to him. Until you felt the strength he used against you, Pero had been one of the few good men you called yourself lucky to know. That list is even shorter now.

Pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, you empty out a sigh that releases tension in your shoulders. It was to be expected. All men want only one thing from a woman, and will take it in any way they deem fit. 

Stepping out of the bath, you dry yourself and stand by the fire, letting the flickering warmth relax you further. The fury finally lifts from you like morning dew, and come sunrise you will share words with Pero. 

As you dress for the night, a loose shirt over leggings and wool socks, a knock rattles your door. Much too late for a messenger, or the tavern owner. Might be trouble, might be William wishing you a pleasant evening. A small blade in your hand for the second time today, you stalk to the door.

“Who calls?” you ask, and are met with shuffles.

“Pero, hermana,” comes the low rough voice on the other side. 

All thought flies out of your mind. Pero. You didn’t expect him to seek you out, not after the distance he put between you on the ride, at supper while you laughed with William, in the stables where he bolted at your presence. Sheathing the knife, your hand hovers over the door handle. 

Why leave for tomorrow what you can do today, you think dryly before opening it a crack.

“It is well past the social hour, Pero, can it wait until morning?” you husk at your once-constant companion. He’s discarded his armor, clad in boots and breeches and a rough-looking gray tunic. His hair is lightly damp and skin lacks the grime you associate with him. One expansive hand rubs the back of his neck, his scowl deepening.

“It cannot,” is his short answer, so with a sigh you open the door and usher him in.

He fills the small room with his broad shoulders and dour mood, waiting for you to close the door and face him before speaking.

“I have committed an offense against you, and I am here to beg your forgiveness,” he says lowly, and you realize his mood is not dark, but regretful. His hands hang limply at his sides, occasionally balling into fists like he’s preparing for a blow. It wouldn’t be unfounded after the last day. 

“What am I to forgive, Pero? The desires of men? Your quick temper? My foolishness? I only have so much grace,” you reply, moving about your room to continue preparing for bed. His eyes press along your shoulders, the back of your head, as you busy yourself in his presence. 

“I hoped you would forgive my behavior. Last night and on the road,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Chancing a glance, he does look remorseful. You’re sure he is. But you’ve already made your decision.

“I have forgiveness in me,” you begin, and Pero’s shoulders lift briefly, his brow raising as you speak. “What I do not have is trust, or understanding. I thought…well, it does not matter. I know what must be done.” With even strides you cross to open the door, noise from the tavern below bursting into the solemn room. “I free you from your debt, Pero Tovar. You have fulfilled it tenfold, and for that you have my gratitude and appreciation. I would like us to part as friends, and allies should we ever cross again…”

Pero’s hand snatches the handle, and in a moment he’s so close he could brush his nose with your own. You swallow a gasp, trying to keep your face calm as he crowds you.

“No,” he rasps, rough and desperate. His eyes flicker with fire as they bore into yours. “Hermosa, please do not do this. I will suffer any punishment you see fit, but please do not send me away.” 

Silence reigns, caught between the soft crackle of the room and the harsh merriment of the patrons downstairs. You have never seen Pero like this, wild-eyed and desperate. It lets words slip from your lips unbidden.

“That’s not what you call me,” you whisper. Pero’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“Hermosa. You call me hermana. You told me it means companion. What…what did you just call me?” Tongue thick and lungs heavy, you barely register Pero’s hand coming to cup the back of your head. His eyes soften, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Beautiful. It is one of the many names I hoped to call you one day. Bonita, mi vida, amor…” 

“I know that one.”

Time passes in fits and starts as you hang in the balance with Pero. 

“You said, last night -”

“Many stupid things.”

“And the trail -”

“I meant that to go very differently. I regret ever putting my hands on you.”

“And now?”

You hold your breath, the heat of his palm spreading over your skin. 

“I would very much like to put my hands anywhere you will allow.”

Heat blooms in more places, and a small smile plays across your face.

“And your mouth?” you tease, but Pero is already leaning in so close his breath kisses you first.

“Here,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, cautious, like you might bolt at just the feeling. His hand cradles your head as he parts from you briefly, then follows with a bolder one, firmer and fuller. A swipe of his tongue against your lower lip spreads goosebumps down your back, and a thin moan slips out. 

Suddenly your back is up against the door as Pero slams it shut, nosing your jaw with a scratch of teeth.

“I want those pretty noises only for me, hermosa,” he growls into your ear, and a moment of clarity pulls giggles from your belly.

“Is that what started all of this, Pero? You were jealous?” you scold, and he huffs against your skin. “I wore that dress only for you, you idiot,” you rib as his hands come around your waist. When he pulls back his lips are flushed and shiny, eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“They did not deserve to see you. Not without knowing you the way I do,” he says, and the honesty in his tone delivers a pang of sentimentality to your heart. You cup his scruffy cheeks in your hands, thumb tracing the termination of the scar on his cheek.

“A gentleman at heart, but maybe not in execution,” you say, eliciting an eyeroll. 

“Must I be scolded at every step?” he sighs, pulling you away from the door and not so subtly towards your bed. 

“When your big mouth stops getting you in trouble, I will consider giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you hum thoughtfully. Pero stops at your bedside, hands wandering from your hips to squeeze your ass. 

“I have other uses of it that may get me in trouble. If you desire,” he purrs into your ear. Fingers skimming along his waist make his stomach clench, and before you can ask he grabs the hem and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. 

His chest is littered with scars, but glows golden in the firelight. Your fingers slide up his softer stomach, dance along his ribs and settle on the powerful planes of his back. He shudders once under your touch as you lean forward and press a kiss to his chest. 

“Let me undress you,” he pleads, hand already sliding up the back of your shirt and spreading wide over your skin. Your hum is permission enough, shirt joining his on the floor. The room is pleasantly warm, but your nipples peak at his rapt attention. 

“Mierda, hermosa, you are a dream,” he says, voice reverent as he sits back on the bed, face turned up to you. “You have been with a man before?” he asks, a brief concern passing over his features. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, slipping your thumbs under your leggings and dragging them down.

“You won’t sully my reputation, Pero.” Standing in front of him, his eyes wide and hungry but hands still soft, power thrums in your core.

“I am more concerned about wrecking your cunt,” he teases, and you’re about to throw another quip back when he unlaces his breeches and slides them down to discard. His cock juts thickly between his legs, flushed and leaking shiny precum from the tip. The concern is not unfounded; how the hell does he sit on a horse with that in his pants? He palms it briefly, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the fat head slick with his arousal. 

“I will not be giving this to you until you are begging for it, hermosa,” he says smugly, and you snap back to his face with embarrassment. You should be the one making him dumb with need.

“Then what do you suppose we do? I am nowhere near close to begging.” The shift of your hip and curve of your smile pulls control back briefly. Pero lets you have it, eyebrow raised, but when his hands slide up the outside of your thighs your resolve shakes.

“I would like to make you wet and aching to start,” he says thoughtfully, tracing your bellybutton with one thick finger. “Then I will open you up with my fingers until you are trembling from pleasure.” His smile widens when your knees buckle briefly, but you try to stay aloof.

“All men make such grand promises,” you begin, but with a tug Pero pulls you onto his lap, spinning you until you’re on your back in the bed with his head between your legs. 

“All women have such little faith,” he mimics back, one hand pressed on your stomach while the other wraps around your thigh. His breath skims your curls, and your mouth slows to a stop when he drags his aquiline nose along the delicate skin below your navel. 

“I would like you to cum here first,” he says, and before you can retort he buries his face in your cunt and licks a long stroke through your throbbing folds.

It’s…okay. Pero laps at you like he’s trying to lick up your arousal, but doesn’t quite tease the places you need him. It’s not unpleasant, but won’t make you cum in the way he seems to think it will. You tilt your hips down to drive him closer to where you want, but even when he slicks his tongue over your clit it’s too soft and not nearly enough. Burying your fingers in his curling locks, you urge him to look at you. His eyes are dark and mischievous, lips flushed red and shiny.

“Are you going to cum on my tongue, hermosa?” he rumbles, skating his hand up to cup the underside of your breast. His thumb brushing over your nipple unfocuses you, but you snap back when he dips his head to pass his tongue along another uneventful path.

“Not with what you’re doing right now,” you huff out, a crooked smile gracing your face when his darkens with a scowl. 

“I have made many women cum just like this,” he grumbles, and his surliness shakes your chest with restrained laughter. Pero’s eyes light on your jiggling breasts as you slip a hand down to his mouth, brushing his soft lower lip with your thumb. His attention shifts to where you slide your fingers into your folds, parting them to reveal where you need him most. A few practiced strokes have your thighs tightening around his head.

“More, here,” you gasp, his grumbling only half heard as he bats your hand away.

“Next you will be telling me how to fuck you,” he sasses, but drops his mouth down and flicks his tongue over your clit. “Like this?” he asks almost begrudgingly, but he does slow and wait for your reply.

“A little harder, Pero,” you reply, and his hands tighten on your flesh. An idea skitters across your mind. “Did you like that? Hearing me moan your name?” You can only see his mop of curls as he breathes in your scent, nose gently nuzzling your mound.

“I only want to hear you scream it,” he challenges before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, fast hard passes that make you choke on your words.

“Oh fuck, Pero, yes, there, that’s…fuck, yes,” you gasp, Pero’s throaty chuckle vibrating in your core. The worry that he’ll stop pangs your chest, but he keeps up his relentless ministrations. The wet noises coming from between your legs make your skin hot and itchy, your thighs beginning to lock up as your orgasm approaches.

“Pero, please,” you whine, the sound foreign but nothing stronger surfaces. He pauses briefly, panting into your cunt.

“What do you need hermosa? Say it and it’s yours,” he grunts, and before you can answer he starts laving his tongue in undulating passes. It’s all you can do to hold on and squeeze out what you’re trying to ask for.

“Fingers,” you finally beg, reduced to a shaking mess as your orgasm mounts and your cunt aches to be filled. Pero’s head tilts, eyes flashing up at you. Seeing him buried in your cunt, mustache tickling along your sensitive lips, drives another wave of arousal to your already thrumming core. 

“Of course, hermosa,” he rumbles, and one thick digit slides into your soaking channel as you moan long and muffled behind your hands. Buried to the knuckle, he strokes his finger along your velvet walls and with a press to a spot you struggle to reach inside yourself, you’re cumming hard and burying your cries in the crook of your elbow. 

“Mierda, bebita, you’re so fucking tight. Never made a woman cum that hard before,” Pero admits, still softly stroking inside you and pressing open-mouthed kisses on your thighs, your stomach, your hip. When you finally get enough air back in your lungs you hum in response.

“I suspect your technique has needed improvement. Every woman should cum that hard when you do it right,” you snark back, his nails digging into your soft flesh.

“How am I to know if a woman acts like it is the best fuck of their life? Did I not do as you asked?” he growls with a surly downturn of his mouth. You slide your calves off his shoulders so he can lift to his knees, still palming your cunt with his clever fingers. 

“That you did. But I’m sure you’ve paid for many of your conquests - the performance is half of the coin, is it not?” you ask, adding another eyeroll to your collection. “And then there’s all of you, of course.” Trailing off, you see the implication land on Pero’s face. He sits up on his knees, free hand coming to stroke along your hip. His mouth opens, then closes as he grits his teeth, brow heavy before he speaks.

“I do not wish to ever scare you again. If I do…if I make you feel that you cannot refuse…know that I will always stop if you tell me so. The debt is only mine, and I will repay it in any way you see fit.” Regret paints his face, rough fingers dancing nervously on your hips. Reaching down you stroke his fingers with your own.

“I’ve released you, Pero, you are no longer in my debt,” you say quietly, the nicks and scars telling stories under your fingertips. With caution you observe curiously, Pero slides your fingers together, lacing them with his own. He leans over your body, pressing your clasped hands by your head. 

“I do not wish to be free of it. It is the only debt I have ever desired.” Emotion wells in your throat.

“Kiss me, Pero.”

His mouth descends to yours and this time it is hungry, sharp nips of teeth soothed by softer brushes of lips. He laps thickly at the seam of your lips and you part for him, his tongue coated with your flavor. It fills your mouth, stroking against your own as you explore just as liberally. Groans and puffs of air pepper your skin, and with mounting need Pero’s fingers stroke through your folds again, gathering wetness before he presses two inside of you. You break the kiss with a gasp, back arching as he pumps them deep, his mouth now set to worrying at your jawline. 

“Fuck, bebita, this cunt is perfect. Look at how well you take me,” he groans, the obscene slick noises of him slipping them out making your face hot with embarrassment. “I want to be buried deep in this perfect hole. Can I fuck you, hermosa? Are you ready for my cock?”

“I…” Your voice fails when he pulls back to capture your gaze. The hesitation blooms understanding on Pero’s.

“I will not finish inside you, or be careless with my seed. And if it hurts, I will stop until you feel nothing but pleasure again.” 

You believe him, even after all that has come between you the last few days. It’s too vulnerable, needing the shield of your clashing swords and quick words to protect the softness you feel for him.

“If you continue to take direction as well as you did, bedding you may at least be tolerable,” you sass, nerves making your voice shake briefly. Concern takes a harsh turn to lasciviousness, and with a rough chuckle Pero flips you onto your stomach, lifting your hips to press against the hot velvety length of his cock.

“If you continue to goad me, I’ll have to give you something to keep your mouth silent,” he grits out with little threat, the thick head of his cock slipping along your folds, brushing your clit as he grinds his hips.

“If you are still awake after I fuck you, I’ll be impressed,” you shoot back as Pero’s grip tighten. A few low curses bleed from his lips as he presses the tip of his cock just at your entrance, barely breaching you. Another fear grips you, your hand flying back to Pero’s thigh. He stills.

“Hermosa?” he questions, strained.

“Slowly. Please. Just to start,” you ask, and the gentle request is met with Pero’s firm body folding over you, one arm banding your waist, the other planted in the mattress.

“Like this?” he whispers, mouth to your ear as he presses just the head inside. The shallow stretch drops your mouth open, a sigh letting you know Pero is equally compromised. 

He thrusts smoothly, sinking into your cunt inch by inch before backing away. The precision and control is more than you expect from the brutish warrior, his breaths measured as he slides in a little deeper each time. Your body opens for him, pressing back when your need outmatches his pace. Adjusting, he rolls his hips just a few more times before he’s seated deep and full inside you.

“Pero, fuck, move,” you gasp inelegantly, grinding harder but he remains still around you. 

“First, I want you to be so close to cumming you are begging for it.” You bark out a laugh.

“I don’t beg, Pero,” you rasp, but when he rolls his hips impossibly deeper his name devolves into a low, desperate moan.

“Not with your mouth. But your pussy is begging for me to make you cum again, and this time I want to feel you squeeze around my cock.”

The pace he sets is torturous, slow slides out before firmer strokes back into your molten heat. Head hanging low as you gasp through his methodical fucking, all you can focus on is his hand pressed into the folds of bedding below. Blunt, work-worn fingers, dirt always under the nails. The pattern of veins. The light dusting of hair creeping up his forearms. Arms you wish to hold you close, if you could ever allow your pride to accept it.

“Bebita, you are better than anything I could have dreamed,” Pero gasps into your spine, the soft slap of skin on skin harmonizing with your combined panting. “Can I…I would like to…do…” he tries to say, every attempt defeated by another aching moan he cannot resist.

“Yes, Pero, do it,” you encourage, backing up against his thrusts. He shouts like you’ve punched him in the gut, leaning back so cool air dries the sweat that gathered between you. 

“Fuck, hermosa, this cunt is made for my cock. Fuck yourself on me, show me how much you like it inside you,” Pero growls, hands wrapped around your hips as you slam against him. The choked out moans and curses make you turn to look.

He is pure lust, head tilted up to the ceiling and veins standing out along the thick column of his throat. The clench of his stomach, arms flexed with effort but hands still soft on you, all paint him like a god of dark and deadly sin on the candlelit canvas of your quarters. Your hips slow, rolling back on him as his gaze falls to your face. Eyes dark and ravenous, he looms over you while his hands roam your skin.

“Come here,” he manages to say, and those powerful welcoming arms pull you up from your hands and knees to hold your back flush to his chest, legs framing his thighs. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, breath caught in your throat as he palms one of your breasts and splays his other hand over your belly.

“Is this good?” he asks, to which you nod vigorously. “Good,” he adds right before his hips snap into you and your world goes white with a starburst.

The intensity of fucking Pero increases tenfold as he keeps you tight to his body, thrusting up into a place that rips throaty cries from your chest. You register the slide of teeth along your jaw, nipping at your ear, before he sinks them into the meat of your shoulder, just hard enough to bloom pain and pleasure in equal doses. It’s sure to leave bruises, rings of his teeth on your skin, but the ecstasy is worth the mark. He suckles over the offending marks each time before picking a new spot, some overlapping with a hiss that he quickly corrects. He's frantic, plunging into you, chasing the high you keep delaying for a few moments more.  

“Hermosa, you feel divine like this, but I want to see you this time,” Pero finally gasps, and with dizzying speed you’re on your back in the bedding, his hips slotted between your thighs once more. He pauses above you, hands posted by your sides. The urge to take him in hand wins out, and a few slow strokes of his cock makes his legs shake with need. You’re no better; you’ve edged yourself for too long, and release is just beyond your fingertips. If you could concentrate on cumming you could tip into ecstasy, but Pero’s awe-struck face above you fills your lungs.

“I do not want to be apart from you. Not now, not in this lifetime, not even if you hate me. I am bound to you, by forces greater than I would ever challenge.” He lowers to his elbows, urging your arms around his neck as he brings your foreheads together. The rough-soft touch of his fingers on your cheek makes you realize a few tears have slipped out, now lost beneath his caress. 

“Then I will never release you, Pero Tovar. You will never do enough to be free of me.” At this Pero slides back into your cunt with a long exhale, curling into your heat as his mouth interrupts your speech over and over again. “Every time you think you’ll be free…you’ll go do something stupid…that makes me extend your debt…you will never be without me…I promise.” He seals the deal with a kiss, deep and breathtaking, his face crashing into yours with a whimper. 

“I will never be without you,” he pants as he begins rolling his hips again, engulfing you with heat and protection and words you have never found reason to utter to any living soul. You want to say them now.

“I will never be without you,” is what you settle on instead. 

Pero chases your orgasm with a single-minded intent, slipping his fingers between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub at his new favorite part of you. A few hard, quick passes have you cumming around his cock, the force of it close to pushing him out if he didn’t fight to stay inside. Once your whole body isn’t locked around him, he chases his own release with a handful of overwhelming thrusts before pulling his cock out to spill on your stomach, painting you both with his cum as he shoots and dribbles it liberally. 

The silence that blankets you after leadens your tongue. Sweat-slicked and sticky, covered in each other’s essences, you briefly wonder how much of what Pero said should be attributed to lust-drunk confessions to be forgotten in the morning. The question is answered swiftly; he leans over you to wipe his cum off your skin with his wadded-up shirt, the tired lines around his eyes deepening as his body slows. Once a semblance of tidy, he flops on his side and wraps you in his arms, guiding your head to his chest so he can tuck his nose into the crown of your head. Slowing heartbeats pull at your eyelids, but before you can drift off he whispers to you:

“All of it, I promise.” 

A smile curls your lips.

“Then I will take it all.” 

His meaty chuckle slips you into unconsciousness.

The stock around his neck is beginning to tighten Pero’s shoulders, flexing his hands to force more blood into them. The unnatural weight of the heavy wood circling his neck and wrists pulls his spine into an uncomfortable curve. The chain bolting him to the wall is too short to sit properly, another means of punishment. It’s almost bearable if the mouthy guard wasn’t making so much noise. 

“...surprised you came so quietly, a man of your size and stature. Thought you would bloody your face before we took you alive.” Pero rolls his eyes at the burly man, leaning back to rest against the cool stone wall behind him. 

“I have spilled enough blood to know when it’s not necessary,” he grunts, one ear on the guard, the other on some ruckus making its way towards him. He tries to hide the quirk of a smile. 

“Yet you still struck down the city official? God blessed you with strength but no sense,” the guard laughs, quaffing ale just out of reach. The noise is closer, whistling arrows and steel on steel. The guard takes little notice. Pity for him.

“You will thank us when your livestock stop mysteriously dying,” Pero says, sliding on his short lead to look down the narrow hallway. Light flickers closer, shadows playing on the wall. One tall, lithe and powerful, stopping to let arrows fly. The other smaller, swinging a sword with practiced ease and ferocity. It looms larger as its owner approaches. “Besides, God blessed me with something even greater than sense.”

“I fail to see what graces follow you into this place,” the guard mocks, but the noise finally rouses him from his station. Pero’s smile widens as the guard moves to stand in the entrance, his hand on his sword hilt.

“An old friend, who has been steadfast for many years,” Pero says nonchalantly, the scuff of boots hailing his salvation. “And a guerrera who would only allow me to die with her permission.” 

The guard stiffens and falls, revealing your battle stance in the damp darkness of the dungeon. Pero’s heart soars at the blood splattered on your armor, the shining song of your blade, and the triumphant smile on your face as you saunter up to him.

“It looks like you have gotten yourself into a mess, Pero,” you tease, folding your arms and cocking your hip to regard your shackled companion. He sighs deeply, but cannot remove the grin from his face.

“I had thought you both to be better fighters. I expected you an hour ago.” Your eyes flash with faux offense he knows he’ll pay for later. He’ll enjoy his penance though.

“Oh I see, so when William and I fight through half a garrison to free you, our thanks is a complaint. Next time we will let you sit in your shame through the night,” you hiss, but pack precious black powder into the keyhole of the stock lock. A quick flame, a shouted “Mierda!” from Pero at the small ignition, and the stock unhinges from his neck. He rubs his wrists and neck ruefully as you drop his weapons at his side.

“Pero,” you breathe, for a moment softening before him. He takes your face in his hands, pulling your lips to his grateful mouth.

“Mi guerrera,” he whispers in the still moment you steal, “Mi vida.” 

“I recommend we save the celebration for when we’re on horseback!” William shouts down the hall, driving you and Pero upright. He shoulders his sword, palming his ax for a violent escape.

“I will thank you properly for the rescue when we are safe and out of earshot,” Pero murmurs in your ear. You smile knowingly up at him.

“I’ll add it to your debt,” you whisper back, “You will never be without me.” It’s the closest you have ever come to saying you loved him. He presses your foreheads together.

“You will never be without me,” he repeats, a truer declaration something he will save for tonight.

END

Next: Teamwork

[homiesondaweb]

Shout out to @frogs4frogs for finding these picrews for spidersonas for shawties that can't draw! I didn't want to hop on her post with her Sona and rambles for jt, So! I made my own to ramble on lol.

This is Etta Hampton (Ezy) aka The Recluse the one and only Spiderwoman of New Tulsa on earth 9539

Etta is 17 and lives with her Uncle Barney who owns the Urban Stables that most people in North use for boarding. Etta's lived with her Uncle Barney since she was seven after the death of her parents in a mysterious OzCorp Refinery explosion. She has an army of aunties and cousins that live on the East Coast in Old York or DC.

Etta is incredibly smart, soft spoken and caring. She loves ATV or horse trail riding, welding, pottery, and botany. To the point she plans on triple majoring civil engineering, mechanical engineering and sculpture after she graduates from the Parker's Gifted Academy. Her uncle is her biggest supporter for her education and hobby pursuits and gave her her own garage/studio to work in.

Etta is best friends with the fire chief's son Bart Brown (9539's Hobie), the Bugle Radio's owner's daughter Merry Jameson ( 9539's MJ) and Harry O. (9539's green goblin who just causes more chaos over harm, absolutely hate his father) who the world fattest crush on her and she is 100% oblivious to it.

When Etta was 14 she stormed off after an argument with various of her visiting aunties about her "manish" pursuits she took her four-wheeler and went off trail to a forbidden zone that was the contamination and closed of remains of the OzCorp Refinery. While exploring the remains, Etta was bitten by a radioactive Brown Recluse when security guards had cornered her and she was forced to hide in one of the old R&D offices.

She has the usual power set for a spider person: Spidey sense, the ability to stick to walls, super strength and super agility. Along with long sharp nails that are extremely durable and sharpened canines that have a paralytic and necrotic venom. Etta has two specialty abilities: one is to produce different kinds of acid from her hands and apply it to her organic webs to create different kinds of traps or help her to escape. The other is an ability to control her temperature to the point she can send heat waves of energy off her body or stun/shock others with a fridged touch.

As the Recluse her biggest foes are Cyclone Sandman, Cotton Mouth, and King Scorpion. She has a half allyship with the for hire thief/ spy Prowler (Miles M. Davis) and Green Goblin (she usually just catches and releases with his antics) the fire chief and sheriff work well with her. In school as her regular persona her academic rival is Miles.

Etta tricked out an ATV to fit her theme and made it hover/wall fly so she can still get to places that don't have the highrises that need her help. She controls it remotely sometimes to help rescue people or lead the emergency services to a location/criminals she's taken care of. This causes her Uncle Barney to think she is a close friend of Recluse and works on her tech. He likes Recluse but is highly worried for 'both' their safeties.

The only "Canon Events" she has gone through is the death of her parents and giving up being Spiderwoman for a while after she failed to save a little boy's parents during a train derailment caused by Sandman.

Miguel sent Jess and Ben to recruit her for the Spider Society after she dealt with a Vulture variant and he worried over the fact that her Gwen Stacy event hadn't occurred yet (death of Harry in her case, his spine snaps as he is GG when she tired to stop him from plummeting after a mid-air battle) they haven't explained this to her yet. Etta tries to stay in her world but really likes collaborating on inventions with other spider-peoples and usually sticks to the R&D or repair department over missions.

Is works besties with Margo but highly distrusts Lyla. She partial mentors under Jess and let's Gwen stay in her dimension sometimes when Hobie's world is overwhelming.

Loves blooming onions and other savory snacks, it's not unusual to see her as Recluse snacking on jerky or street corn. Tamale ladies love her. Often wears overalls or jeans jackets over her spider suit. Has hella Spotify followers because her playlists are absolutely fire (even Miles admits this)

And that's kinda it! I have hella backstory about my girl, please ask about her😁💛

[luna-lokisdottir]

The Ultimate Bruh Moment - Music Giant AU Pt. 1

tw: unintentional fearplay, panic

----------------------

Once Upon A Time, in a far-off kingdom, there was a magical forest that held the most mystical creatures from Mermaids to Vampires to werewolves and, most importantly, giants.

So one day, a young thief named Tommy had gone into these woods to get away from the King's royal guard. You see, the teen had managed to steal one of the princes' crowns, and he was about to get away with it until the captain of the guards, Maximus, had caught him in the act and alerted the rest of his men that the crown had been stolen.

This led Tommy to run all the way into the enchanted forest. Unfortunately, despite the warnings of the forest being filled with creepy crawlies and monsters everywhere, the guards went in after him as well. The male looked behind him as the guards followed swiftly behind him, holding his satchel bag closely to his side so it didn't fly off or anything.

"Retrieve that satchel from him at any costs!" The captain shouted at his men, "Yes, sir!" they all replied in unison as their horses neighed to each other, Tommy internally panicked as he heard the guards' horses start to speed up, they were getting closer and he needed to find a place to hide.

And just his luck! as he was running, he spotted the entrance to a cave it was a pretty big one, too. What a coincidence that it just happened to be nearby, so he sprinted into the cave and hid the guards were about to follow him into the cave until they realized that a creature might be in there so they just went back to the kingdom and would search for him later.

After all, he couldn't hide in there forever. The teen sighed in relief once the guards were gone, taking off his satchel as he looked down at the crown.

"Ugh.. finally alone at last.." he chuckled lightly. Unfortunately, his peace ended up dying pretty quickly because as he took the crown out, the light reflecting off of it seemed to have awoken something from inside the cave he heard a loud groan coming from the depths of the cave followed by a yawn? it was pretty loud, so he heard it from miles inside the cave.

Oh no, did he enter some poor creatures home? oops.. at this point, it was too late to turn back because he heard something shifting, and all of a sudden, as he put the crown back into his bag he looked back up and he was met with two big sleepy looking brown eyes staring down at him.

The human stared up at them in shock for a while, watching as the giant sat up from her little makeshift bed rubbing the sleep away from her eyes and then watching as they lit up in recognition and she gasped in excitement:

"Human!" she exclaimed before instantly grabbing the poor teen and hugging him close to her face.

"Aw! I've never seen one of you before. You're so cute! how can one of you hurt one of us? You're adorable!" she smiled before pulling the human away from her face.

She couldn't wait to show her papa what she had found in her home, Tommy groaned as the young one pressed him against her face this was.. surprising he'd always hear stories from the villagers outside the kingdom of how giants were evil creatures who mindlessly ate people, but this one seemed almost.. friendly.

Then again, she was pretty young she looked about 5? maybe 6? she was pretty tall for her age, though she was at least 50 feet tall, maybe taller, "You're so small!" she said as she poked at him, giggling as Tommy used a finger to block hers.

"Papa's always told me that humans are dangerous.. I thought they were as tall as us, but you're no bigger than a pixie!" She laughed, Tommy laughed nervously.

"Well.. you know us humans, always full of surprises -" he replied before exclaiming in surprise as the giant spun him around in her hands, and then said, "Oh! where are my manners, I'm Tallulah! what's your name?"

He sighed as she stopped before catching his breath, "T-Tommy I-I'm Tommy." he panted, she smiled as he introduced himself. "Oh! I can't wait to show you to my Papa! I wonder what he'll say?" she asked herself, "He says humans are dangerous.. but I think--"

"Tallulah!" Tommy heard a voice exclaim from the entrance of the cave, she gasped.

"Papa!"

Tommy made an 'oof!' noise as she dropped him on the ground before parroting.

"'Papa?'"

There were more of them? oh boy.. this was gonna be a fun ride.

(Tags: @brick-a-doodle-do @munchkin1156 @local-squishmallow )

[martuzzio]

Sorry if this is weird of me, but your mideaval au has me in a chokehold, and I had to write it. I'm realizing now that I don't really want to post this anywhere without your approval, so I'll just send it to you for your sole enjoyment. I guess this is my submission for the longest ask ever, as well, damn.

Feel free to post it or throw it in the trash. Whatever works.

Soap was being followed. 

At this stage in the journey it was obvious; there shouldn’t be another human being for miles, and yet his horse is rocking nervously underneath him, and the shifting unease of danger boils in Soap’s gut. More than anything, Soap can just sense it. Being a knight of the king's guard has instilled in him a certain set of skills, and this sort of hyper awareness is one of them. 

The snow had started hours ago, and now covers the known earth in a blanket. It dampens sound, so much so, that the only real noise is the clink of metal on metal, and the slow, wet clods of Soap's horse. Soap turns to glance behind himself, again, for the fourth time in as many minutes, freezing wind needling through the cracks in his light armor and making it obvious where the vulnerabilities lie. Nothing tangible appears in the light storm, but Soap’s gut is rarely wrong. 

He's passing through a clearing, a relative dip in the landscape, which in warmer months is filled with tall grass and insects. Usually, Soap follows the river towards the next town, but the land that way slopes downward, to Soap’s disadvantage. With this new development, he’ll stick to the treeline farther up the ridge, and look for an opportunity. 

The sword hilt at his side is cold to the touch, but the dagger against his thigh is warmer. 

There’s a wedge in the landscape that breaks the forest’s edge, forming a small clearing in the trees. Soap abruptly yanks his horse into it and hopefully, with the gusting wind and swirl of snowflakes, it will appear as if he simply vanished. 

He ties his horse on a low branch, and quickly doubles back on foot, towards the mouth of the opening. Sword in hand and sweating now, Soap takes cover behind the wide trunk of a spruce and waits. 

Whole minutes pass, Soap partially convinces himself he was wrong. It's a pack of wolves, probably, or the result of Soap being cooped up in the castle for too long, with too many people to watch his back. He’s rusty, and perhaps paranoid. 

The storm slants strangely around a dark figure on a horse through the snow, and Soap grins despite the situation. Paranoid yes, but right. 

Soap is a man of honor, he’s no sneak-thief, like the figure through the snow. So, Soap steps out into the open and sheaths his sword along his side as he calls out. 

“If you’re here to kill me, your method of execution better be entertaining.” It’s his court voice, run through with rich tones so that it carries. 

There's the soft thump of a man dismounting his horse. 

Soap continues in a current of sound. He feels almost drunk with the feeling of being right, and he knows it’s coloring his voice happier and more smug than the situation calls for. 

Through the snow, the figure, at first, appears to be a knight, with chainmail softening his silhouette and the butts of weapons branching off of him like spines on a porcupine. But as he stalks closer–and Soap devolves into vague ranting–it becomes clear that the man before him is not a knight. 

He is tall, for one, and broad. But his face is covered, both by a black hood and a dark cowl. Soap can’t really see his eyes, only the white shine of them. 

The man stops a few paces away, and draws his sword. 

Soap has to clamp down on the instinct to draw his, in retaliation, and forces himself to continue to complain and wave his hands in the air. Something about King Price and the types of errands he has the audacity to send Soap on, in the dead of winter, in the middle of a war. Soap isn’t exactly sure what the words coming out of him are.

The man stands in the snow, and doesn’t so much as twitch. He knows who Soap is, that much is certain, and is clearly some sort of assassin. Maybe Soap can still charm him. 

After a particularly long string of syllables, Soap takes a deep breath to continue, but the man growls in frustration and takes a purposeful step forward. 

“Now hold on!” Soap says, cutting himself off, and puts his hands up in a placating motion. “There’s no need to do something you’ll regret.”

The man halts, almost exasperated, and raises his sword. “I am not surprised someone wants you dead, with your incessant chatter.” His voice is deep and rolls over vowels like butter.

Soap laughs. “Not everyone can be as charming as I am, but there’s no reason to be jealous.” He smiles sincerely, then gestures with his open hands. “Besides, a man like you wouldn’t kill someone unarmed and unawares. Don’t sell yourself short, there’s plenty of charm in that.”

The assassin huffs and Soap gets the distinct feeling that he would kill someone unarmed, but it’s only a passing thought. 

“Draw your weapon.” The assassin says, and swirls his longsword in a neat arc. 

Soap's feet shift in the snow, but he makes no motion towards his belt. “You’ve got to be joking,” he says, “In this weather? The frostbite will get my balls before you’ll draw any blood.” 

“Let us see.” He says and shifts to advance. 

“You’d run me through? Without any ceremony?” Soap is offended. But doesn’t yet break his stance, even with the closer proximity.

“There is no ceremony in death.”

“Right, obviously. Well, alright then, give me a go.” Soap spreads his arms out, christlike. 

“You’re just going to let me kill you?” 

“Well, I’m cold, and tired, so yes.” 

Soap thinks that the lines of the assassin's body look shocked, but it may be wishful thinking. 

The assassin hesitates, then without much warning, sheaths his sword. “Very well,” he says, then lunges for Soap bare-handed. 

Soap is barely able to evade in time, and he grunts in surprise. He kicks low, trying to sweep out the assassin’s center of gravity, but instead of knocking him off his feet, Soap meets more resistance than anticipated–its like sweeping a fucking tree–and only succeeds in hooking his leg around a knee. 

Arms come down in his peripheral and Soap reacts instinctively, going low and putting most of his weight into a grapple on the assassin's torso. Then they both twist violently, and go down. 

The wrestling match continues for a while. Soap discovers quickly that they are not, in fact, evenly matched, and the only thing keeping him up, and not pinned to the snow, is his lighter build and even quicker feet. 

Soap arches, last minute, out of a deadly hold and laughs. “You are fantastic.”

The assassin grunts, and feints right. Soap falls for it, and finds himself pinned against a chest and face down in the snow, arms around his neck and a leg pressing between his. He tries to laugh, but chokes, silently, and almost panics.

Soap taps his hands three times on the assassin's bicep, a universal concession, and immediately, he releases him. 

Soap sucks in a lungful of damp air, and slumps sideways into the snow, breathing heavy. He watches his assassin lean back on his knees and breathe too, and they make eye-contact.

“Well played, that was great.” Soap breathes.

His assassin only stares at him.

“I mean it’s not every day you meet someone who could kill you with their bare hands, but it's always a pleasant surprise.”

There’s an uneasy silence. Soap prepares himself to draw a dagger if and when his assassin makes a move, but he only cocks his head. It’s an infinitesimally small movement and it reminds Soap suddenly of a wolf spotting a bird in a tree. 

“You have horrible survival instincts.” His assassin finally says, and he sounds…defeated. 

“Thank you.”

His assassin nods, absently, then stands, keeping his movements slow and predictable. He offers his hand to Soap, who takes it and is practically lifted off the ground. 

Soap brushes the snow off his armor, and smiles winningly. “I’m knackered. If you’re looking for a good fight, we’ll do a rematch tomorrow. You should see me with a short sword, I’m a beauty.”

His assassin nods again, slower, and adjusts his hood. “May as well.”

LMAO this was HILARIOUS. The characterization was so on point that I felt like I was reading straight from my own brain :D Thank you so much for writing it!! You made my day <3

(I will say this scene turns out a little different in the... other thing that's currently in the works, but that doesn't detract from how lovely this piece was <3)

[exit-path]

Tumblr Post Compilation: A Masterpost

First of all, let me tell you what you're about to see.

This is a list of 118 "funny tumblr posts" taken from YouTube compilations in 2016. I tracked down all these posts on tumblr myself in Nov 2021. The post is broken up into two parts, and is available under the cut. Each of the links is named after a snippet from the actual post (effectively the "punchline"), and clicking on it brings up the full post, which you can reblog and interact with.

These posts are nostalgic to me because I watched these YouTube compilations before I came to tumblr. I recommend you scroll through these posts, as they bring up a form of humor that's rarely seen today which, I think, has almost been lost to time. Also, if you want to learn how to do this, there's some insight as to how I did this at the end of the post.

(This masterpost is a revision of this post, necessitated because the hyperlinks don't work anymore.)

1. outrageously angry man returning a lawnmower and it was our dad

2. Italian exchange student said “Look, the compressed horse.”

3. “im eminem!” “and I’m skittles?”

4. I JUST MISTOOK ANOTHER STUDENT FOR A TRASH CAN

5. he ate the reeses cup then stabbed himself with the epipen

6. “GODDAMMIT, MR. NOODLE.”

7. school on lockdown because someone put weed in the vents

8. Can’t cheat with those big ass galaxy phones

9. weirdly self-conscious about wiper blade speed

10. My brother told me not to slam the door and yell “Guess who’s home, motherfuckers”

11. drove by traffic camera 6 times thinking it was funny

12. drill sergeant made kid carry around potted plant to replace the oxygen he wasted

13. A list of things that do not offend people:

14. kid grabbed seagull out of air, all his friends were like “again tyrone?? really??”

15. “LOWERCASE LETTERS ARE FOR THE LOWER CLASS”

16. drunk man proposes to tree, gets rejected

17. “i’m on my way, the traffic is just slow, i’m coming” “mom i called the house phone”

18. a kid’s phone started siri, TEACHER STARTED EXPLAINING IT AGAIN

19. “watch my stuff” what if someone comes and actually tries to steal it

20. our goats think that now whenever they pee they get a treat

21. “it’s for your own good”, mom deleted the internet explorer icon from my desktop

22. a girl called me a lying slut because I was with her bf a lot. we’re siblings

23. I watched an old couple set off their car alarm and drive away… now that i think about it-

24. Rules to learning English: their our know rules

25. a kid got expelled for pretending to be russian for 8 months

26. a girl said she had two moms and a boy started crying, he said it wasn’t fair she had two

27. when a girl changes her clothes in front of you, she hasn’t spotted you in the tree yet

28. my mom is telling me “get a good job” but my heart is telling me “marry rich”

29. my parents split after they made me. i am a volcano. follow for more geological humour

30. I’m saying “excuse me” but I really mean “why the fu-”

31. nun goes “I’m allowed to look at the menu I just can’t order”

32. Hospitals are so weird

33. handed their BLIND SON a menu and he’s like “ah… thank you… I’ll just… read this”

34. on April Fool’s his mom called to say she was in labour, dad laughed and hung up on her

35. “why do I fear bears? because Chester Zoo is 30 miles away and bears can smell fear”

36. dropped her ipad but held tight to her pizza

37. her parents faked a british accent in front of her until she was 7

38. really religious girl who told people off if they swore, gets sworn at

39. he took her to the supermarket to watch the lobsters fighting in the lobster tank

40. so i was the official shia labeouf myspace but i was in fact a 12 yr old canadian kid

41. subway thief told suitcase has “a bunch of laptops” ends up stealing a dead dog

42. “I guess working in fast food just wasn’t my cup of tea”

43. I waited until the professor handed back the papers and angrily asked where mine was

44. so i started trying to kill classmates with my mind

45. my favorite thing is ask 14/15 year old kids on dates if they want a kids menu

46. I blacked out in Disney World, woke up with Mickey Mouse putting a cold towel on me

47. “wanna date me? yes: smile no: backflip” and she did a backflip

48. “do you wanna kiss” “excuse me” he pulled out a bag of hershey’s kisses

49. when beyoncé asked all the single ladies to put their hands up I looked at my bf and

50. 7th grade, his world of warcraft friends threw him a virtual birthday party

51. “she’s the bro and y’all bitches are the hoes”

[morrigan-sims]

Morri's DnD Characters:

So, @novac2281 expressed an interest in hearing more about my dnd characters, and here we are!

First off, I have a Notion database for all my characters and concepts. It looks like this:

The columns have data on the name, pronouns, race, and class of the characters, as well as showing which campaign (if any) they are from, and how well-developed they are.

Inside is a whole page of information regarding the characters, which is super useful and also fun to make. I have a template that I use for every character. I'm only going to be showing the top portion for each character here, but you get the idea, more or less.

Now, let's jump into the actual characters...

Fully Developed Characters:

First up we have Laverna. She's a tiefling rogue (thief subclass) and was the first dnd character I ever came up with. I've been holding on to her character idea for almost 2 years now, though her background and concept has changed a bit since then. (I actually came up with their concept for a simblr thing about 2 years ago!)

They were the child of a wealthy merchant family, none of whom were tieflings. (Pesky hellish heritage popping up at random times in the bloodline...) Their family treated her like shit, and they ended up breaking ties and changing her name when she left. Now she's a successful thief who steals from merchants and nobles in her home city. Also, she's a stabby rogue, not a shooty one. (All rogues are either shooty or stabby. It's just a fact.)

Next we have Zenara, who goes almost exclusively by Zen. They're a (purple) tiefling warlock (The Fiend subclass, Pact of the Chain).

They are a direct result of the early phases of my Critical Role hyperfixation. If you're familiar with CR, especially Campaign 2, then you might be able to figure out the weird mix of character personalities, backstories, and appearances that resulted in Zen. However, there's also a healthy amount of my own nonsense in the mix. As for backstory, Zen grew up in a small town named Hunter's Crossing with their parents and no other siblings. When they were about 17, raiders came and attacked their village. Everyone was either killed or captured, and Zen should have suffered the same fate. Except that they didn't. They dreamed of a terrifying fiery entity who told them that as long as they were useful they wouldn't die yet. They woke up with powers they didn't understand and the fear of their patron taking control of their body for its own uses. Bonus fact, since they're a Pact of the Chain warlock, they get to have a familiar, and that familiar can be an imp. So, they have an imp familiar who just showed up. But of course that would attract a lot of attention, so the familiar is always polymorphed into a raven, with red eyes, of course. The raven/imp is yet unnamed, and I need to come up with one soon, ideally before our next session.

Now we have Alarion, who I actually just totally retrofitted his character. He was originally supposed to be a sorcerer, but I realized that that didn't really fit his character (plus I have another sorcerer concept), so now he's a half-drow ranger (gloomstalker).

He was found, abandoned in the wood, by his adoptive parent who is a druid who lives in the woods a few miles from a village at the base of the mountains. In those mountains is a passage to the Underdark, and sometimes creatures from there escape into the forests around the mountains. Alarion is the one who hunts them down and either kills them or returns them to the underdark. Being half-drow, he gets weird looks from the villagers, but they at least respect his involvement in keeping the village safe. He has a horse who he's very close with, and he never goes anywhere without his longbow, a dagger in his belt, and his trusty cloak. Fun Fact: I'm shocked I didn't have a ranger character until earlier this week when I changed his class and background, seeing as I was completely obsessed with the Ranger's Apprentice series as a kid. In fact, I still have all 12 books on my bookshelf at home.

Next up we have Avra. She's a Shadar-Kai rogue (assassin subclass). They aren't currently part of a campaign, but I did get to use her for a oneshot where she was at level 12! She kicked ass with a rapier of wounding. (while she is a stabby rogue, she does have a hand crossbow to use if needed...)

Avra used to be a member of an assassin's guild, where she served for 10 years. However, recently one of her missions went wrong, and she was captured and killed. Yes, killed. She woke up in the middle of the woods, half-buried. Since then she's been on a search for answers regarding her return to "life", as well as a potential betrayal by a member of the guild she belonged to at the time.

Next up (and the last of my strongly developed characters) we have Asra. They are a human fighter (champion subclass) who I used in a short-lived campaign at my university.

Asra was an orphan who grew up in a city near the coast. Upon turning 18, she moved to the kingdom's capital in search of new opportunities. Once there she was recruited to be essentially a bodyguard for a secretive organization. She was kept in the dark about the group's motivations and goals, so she did not know that the group was a cult to the god of war and tyranny, who were trying to provoke war between two kingdoms. She had a girlfriend who was also a member of the "army". At one point the cult decided to attack some important buildings, but failed. Asra's girlfriend was killed, and most of the cultists were captured. They fled across the ocean to another country and another city, where they have been pit fighting, taking some of the betting pool as winnings.

My favorite character to date is named Rook, and is a half-elven Swashbuckler Rouge. (I'm currently playing him in a campaign, and he is my Most Blorbo Of All Time at the moment. As you can maybe tell by all the edits I've done of him.)

He's the bastard son of a nobleman who ran away from his shitty father. He joined the crew of a pirate ship and excelled at it. He was named first mate at the age of 22, which made a lot of the older crewmembers jealous, so they plotted against Rook, drugged him and sold him to another pirate captain (who, unbeknownst to Rook has beef with his former captain, Zara...) who kept Rook as a prisoner for 2 years, torturing him until he escaped, setting the ship on fire in the process. Needless to say the captain, Kora Wolf, is not pleased. She vowed to hunt him down no matter what. He'd been hiding out in the Feywild, doing mercenary work until he met the party. He's an excellent duelist and exceptionally skilled with a rapier. He uses self-confidence as a shield to protect his very traumatized heart. He's impulsive and reckless to the point of self-destruction, and he would do literally anything for anyone who shows him the slightest kindness. He's currently really going through it in-game, both physically and mentally. From two deaths in 3 days to a demon's lord curse to sudden reveals about his former captain, he's been having a rough time. But of course that's what makes it fun...

My other currently active character is a fire genasi path of the storm herald barbarian / champion fighter multiclass. (We're doing Gestalt leveling, so we'll get to 20 in both classes.) Their name is Cyra, and she's a lot of fun.

She grew up in a Mad Max-style warband-cult after being captured during a raid on her village when she was a child. They were raised to be a soldier for the group, and they were very good at it. As a teen and young adult, she entered a relationship with the cult leader's daughter, a young woman named Talia. As Cyra grew disillusioned with the Brotherhood, they dreamed of leaving, and bringing Talia with them. But after witnessing proof that Talia would never leave the cult, Cyra stole a sand skiff fled, ending up on the dwarven continent of Terramor, where she met the party. However, she still has complicated feelings for Talia, which is something they will have to face when the party makes it to their home continent of Pyrothos. Especially now that Talia might just be the leader of the Brotherhood. Perhaps unusually for a barbarian, Cyra fights with a solid metal quarterstaff that she is able to summon from her chest. She has no idea the staff's true origins as it randomly showed up in her possession shortly after leaving the Brotherhood, but recently discovered that it was made using an Elemental Fragment, and might play a key role in preventing another explosion of the elemental nexus.

My next developed character isn't actually a DnD character, but rather a character for an eventual Pathfinder game that is who-knows-how-far-off. Her name is Morana Novak, and she's a fetchling witch.

She's an orphan and was kicked out of her home city as a teen after she was caught experimenting on corpses she dug up from the cemetery. After that she was apprenticed to a necromancer who was hell-bent on turning himself into a lich. Her familiar is a raven named Miro, who she rescued from being chased by a cat. Morana's naturally chilly demeanor, as well as her bluntness and lack of empathy often cause people to find her unsettling. Morana doesn't mind this in the slightest, as she'd much rather be left to her own devices in her cottage than have to deal with people. She's no stranger to gore, and is more comfortable around corpses than the living most of the time. (Fun Fact, her first name is the name of a slavic goddess of death and winter, and her surname is one that was traditionally given to people who were new in town, making Morana my only character with a name that actually has character-relevant meaning. She's also going to be a lot of fun for me to play and explore because as an autistic person with essentially zero empathy who has to mask that a lot, I'm thrilled to get to play a character who can just say the weird things that pop into her mind, no matter the consequences.)

My last developed character is Aspen Vale. They're a half-elven (wood elf) college of glamour bard / archfey warlock.

They wandered out of the woods near a small town about a year ago, with no memories. All they had with them were their clothes and a well-made pan flute. They named themself after the first thing they saw, an aspen tree. Though they remember nothing of their life before or during the woods, they have a talent for glamour and illusions, and the songs they know are haunting and utterly alien to the human ear. People are often disturbed by their unnaturally bright green eyes and "eerie" presence. They have the Feylost background, and unbeknownst to them, they were Pied-Piper'd into the Feywild as a child. They were there for years, and at some point while inside they met their warlock patron. But upon leaving the Feywild, they lost all their memories of their life up until that point, and have no idea that they even are a warlock. Their pact is Pact of the Talisman, and the "broken" compass they wear around their neck serves as their talisman. They follow the compass, which is influenced by their patron from afar. They also have a small woodland creature that travels with them that is actually a fey, and the patron uses it to spy on them. Also, they're autistic. <3

Semi-developed Characters:

I also have an aasimar (scourge) oath of vengeance paladin named Asola Riava Ashmark (or Sola for short). I used her in a campaign that was cut short for various reasons.

I never really got super in-depth developing her, but she didn't know that she was an Aasimar, and her powers only showed up when she really lost control of her emotions, which had only happened once to date when the campaign started. It happened again in the campaign, and she got force-shut-down by a god.

The next character is Elira, also known as Ellie. She's a high elf abjuration wizard.

She's rather naive, but incredibly smart and very academically talented. She's used to being the best and definitely going through some Gifted Kid Burnout. Also way too pure for this world and when she finally has to kill someone, she's going to have a very rough time. Oh, and she's autistic and has a grey cat familiar.

My next semi-developed character is Commander Saber, who goes by Sabe. He's a warforged fighter (battle master subclass).

[insert pic when it's done]

Sabe was made for the military, made for battle. But following his "escape" from the military with the assistance of his friend, a humanoid artificer, Sabe found himself without purpose. So now he's trying to find one. One that is entirely his own, not that of higher powers. He's tired of being a piece on the game board.

That's all the fully developed characters but I also have the following ideas:

a tiefling bard (college of swords) with the charlatan background named Havoc. (They're the red tiefling from my "creatures of legend" post.) (ended up getting turned into a bg3 character.)

a fire-based sorcerer named Orion. (maybe a custom subclass?? idk for sure)

a cleric to a death god who has zero issues with killing bad guys (or anyone, really) because "either I kill them now or they die of natural causes in 10 years. either way my god is happy."

a black Tabaxi monk (shadow subclass)

an older dwarven artificer armorer

a changeling thief rogue

a changeling lunar sorceress

an elven fey wanderer ranger

a shifter (lycanthrope-ish) moon cleric/stars druid bc I thought it would be funny to have a werewolf character who worships a moon goddess

If you made it this far, congrats! I love you!! Thanks for reading all about my silly little guys. I hope you found this at least somewhat interesting!!

[bzedan]

November was kind of a fucking lot! The middle-ish of this playlist ('Dance Hall Days' to 'Kiss from a Rose') is just the five-song playlist I loop on repeat for hours as brain static. Yes I play '30 Century Man' twice in a row, it's the law. Anyway, I apparently used this aural coping method so much it affected my Spotify Wrapped, something it hasn't done so notably in years, so that's the summary of November.

Related media to some of the songs:

There's a Cicada Omega song on here, though I think they've shown up before. We knew these guys (still know these guys some) in the 2010s, Chase took a lot of their promo images and they remain one of the few folks in this particular sliver of genre I enjoy.

If you haven't seen the video for 'Dance Hall Days' then it's worth a gander, I think this song would be what played for me in my personal version of the ballroom scene in Labyrinth.

'Run From Me' by Timber Timbre was featured beautifully in season 2, episode 2 of Our Flag Means Death (this scene is spoilers obvi), and then I FORGOT and I kept listening to it, wondering what I knew it from.

EMA is another musician who is a delight as a person, and one I forget I have known.

My BFF and I were talking about how songs were in the 2000s and 2010s and how sometimes a shitty rip of a song playing diegetically in a scene on a show was the only copy you had. One of those for me is 'Brian Down' by Thee Michelle Gun Elephant, a file from the early 2000s that has floated through our various drives and which is most easily sharable via listening to it on youtube, annoyingly.

Anyway here's a link to November's playlist on Spotify, with the track list below the cut.

And embedded, if you like that:

'November' - Lil Peep

'DANSE MACABRE' - Duran Duran

'Motorcycle' - Liz Cooper

'Marie-Antoinette - Sparks English Version' - Lio

'Milyonochek - Acoustic Techno' - Dobranotch

'BLACK MOONLIGHT' - Duran Duran

'Not' - Big Thief

'SUPER LONELY FREAK' - Duran Duran

'Are You With Me Now?' - Cate Le Bon

'NIGHTBOAT' - Duran Duran

'Anesthesia' - Type O Negative

'Only For Tonight' - Pearl Charles

'Heart and Hope to Die' - Tristen

'Capacity' - Charly Bliss

'Flatline' - Cicada Omega

'Wrong Direction' - They Shoot Horses Don't They

'Dance Hall Days' - Wang Chung

'The Brazilian' - Genesis

'30 Century Man' - Scott Walker

'30 Century Man' - Scott Walker

'Hungry Like the Wolf - 2001 Remaster' - Duran Duran

'Kiss from a Rose' - Seal

'What's Up' - O-Dee

'I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)' - The Proclaimers

'So Alive' - Love and Rockets

'Last Life' - Izzy Perri

'Gilgamesh' - King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard

'Change (In the House of Flies)' - Deftones

'There Is a Light That Never Goes Out' - Dum Dum Girls

'I'm Real - Murder Remix' - Jennifer Lopez

'One & Only' - Oliver Tree

'Oh to Be in Love' - Kate Bush

'Run From Me' - Timber Timbre

'Chang'e' - King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard

'California' - EMA

'Major Tom (Coming Home)' - Shiny Toy Guns

'Stray Cat Strut' - Stray Cats

'Inside Out' - The Mighty Lemon Drops

'The Prince - Remastered 2021' - Diamond Head

'Supermassive Black Hole' - Muse

'Help I'm Alive' - Metric

[laalaaisqueen]

Kingdom AU

Look I don't know if I'll touch this AU ever again. I just want space in my notes

Po-The Good princess, garden, riding horses, flowery dresses, pretty tiaras

Good just means she isn't evil.

She likes her life, she just wishes she could be free to indulge in her tomboyish activities. 

Laa-Laa: Rebel, fighting, climbing, adventure, riding horses

She was formerly a princess but she decided this princess stuff wasn't what she wanted.

Tinky Winky: The over tired princess, forest, books, art

Life is great, thanks for asking, it's not like he's always stressed thanks to Noo-Noo's expectations.

If Tinky doesn't get his daily reading he will probably go insane.

Dipsy: Rebel

I can just see these scenes of bro conversing with Laa-Laa like that cliche of the thief talking to the princess.

Except it's not a romance story.

It's more like 'I want to do those fun things you've been doing'.

They partners in crimes besties

Finn: Villain

My last remaining brain cells be like; He thinks his brother is dead and alright he's evil

Dutch: Adventurous villager

Bitch no dead and he's on his way to smack his brother with a newspaper, then a broom.

I got no info for king Lenny which is odd since he's my favorite character.

Guardian: Knight

No info either

Arrow: Rebel

Cave: The good king

Yeti: Rebel

I like to think these three had a falling out because angst I guess.

Miles: Villain

Anne: Rebel

Something similar, I like to think Miles, Conor, and Anne had a falling out and oh boy I think these three should just make up because Anne is NOT someone who want as your enemy. Bones will be broken, blood will be spilled.

[scotianostra]

On July 23rd 1637 Jenny Geddes threw a stool at the Dean of St. Giles Cathedral, shouting "Dost thou say Mass in my lug?", and so began the movement to the Covenant.

When James I came to the English throne and united the Kingdoms of Scotland and England, he wanted to unite the churches too. But the Scots reformation had run much deeper than the English, which still retained many Catholic customs, so the Scots were wary of any religious practices imported from England. James I backed off as a result, but his son, Charles I, decided to plough ahead with the religious unification. In 1635 Charles issued a warrant declaring his power over the Church of Scotland, including that they would be issued with a new book of liturgy to be read at services.

This new work, The Booke of Common Prayer, was known as Laud’s Liturgy after Charles’s then Archbishop of Canterbury William Laud, but it was actually written by a group of Scottish Bishops. Nonetheless, sour rumours abounded about the new book, which after some delay was commanded by the king to be read for the first time in churches in Scotland on Sunday, 23rd July 1637.

The first reading of Laud’s Liturgy on that day was by the Dean of Edinburgh, John Hanna, at St Giles on the Royal Mile. As legend has it, a woman called Jenny Geddes was at the service sitting on a wooden stool. Jeers came from the crowd when Hanna started to read from the new book, and Jenny picked up her stool and threw it at Hanna’s head, shouting “Deil colic the wame o’ ye! Out thou false thief! Dost thou say the mass at my lug?” (“The devil give a colic to your stomach! Out you false thief! Dare you say the mass at my ear?”). Others joined in with the stool throwing, so that the whole event was later called “The Casting o’ the Stules”, and the Dean and other officials had to flee. Stones were thrown at the Cathedral’s windows, and the streets were chaos.

The significance of what Geddes did is that the rioting that started that day grew, and opposition to the Anglicisation of the Church of Scotland grew with it. The next year, the National Covenant was signed by many Scottish nobleman, known as the Covenanters, railing against Charles I’s power. The Bishops’ War was the next consequence, eventually devolving into the Wars of the Three Kingdoms and the English Civil War. Jenny Geddes’s stool was, therefore, the first act of the revolutionary tumult affecting much of the 17th century. She’s a highly celebrated symbol of Scots independence; there’s even a brass plaque in St. Giles’ commemorating her.

Historians nowadays generally dismiss this story, but Jenny crops up tim and time again, the first time in print in 1661 in our country's first real newspaper the Mercurius Caledonius which only ran for 11 issues. She pops up from time to tim in other 17th century stories, and in the 18th century the English writer and spy also mentions her. Lastly when Robert Burns was in Edinburgh before his tour on The Highlands and Scottish Borders he needed a horse and bought a mare in the city for the princely sum of “over £4 Sterling”. When once, later, this loving and faithful horse unseated him, Burns wrote that she “trode over me with such cautious reverence, that matters were not so bad as might well have been expected”. And the name that Burns gave his horse? Jenny Geddes. I think there must be at least some truth in the story.

I have to add that the three legged stool on display in the Kirk is highly unlikely to have been the one Geddes threw, it is a different type from the one used back in the day, the National Museum have a stool, they say was Jenny's, as seen in the pics and drawings.

[adventuresloane]

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) - Chapter 10

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

Read on AO3

Other Chapters

The trains came to be their favorites. Up close, the sound was wonderfully brutal. Hurley's ribs clattered with the hiss and clank of it all, and it made them revel inside.

Sometimes the two of them went for the supply trains. Even the rail lines meant for carrying herded cattle to market typically had some cars stocked with other goods, rattling unguarded at the tail ends of the locomotives. If they were lucky, they could find supplies they needed and take them. When they didn't, though, they would sometimes ride in the rumbling black gut of the great creature anyway, stowing in the cars with room for them. (Hurley insisted they only do that if there was also room to load the ever placid horse, who traveled splendidly, thank the gods.) This way, they could travel in hours what might have taken them days otherwise. Hurley would watch the land blur as the train sped by. They learned to fall asleep to the din that wrapped around them like a quilt, to the shaking of the sliding car doors.

Sloane showed them how to pass between the cars as the train was moving. The first few times, Hurley had held their breath as they watched her skirt along the thin lip of metal that jutted out just above the wheels. It seemed that any misplaced jolt could knock her off and into the dirt. But she was calm and practiced about it, and Hurley would soon find that her hands had pads of callouses that let her keep her grip on one car while she edged toward its neighbor with her foot. She slipped between them in a fluid movement, graceful as a night-colored cat. Hurley got it eventually, with more than a little quite literal hand-holding, but they were always a little less adept, their arms and legs shorter than Sloane's. So it was she who went exploring from cart to cart for goods.

When they couldn't see each other as they traveled like this, Hurley would whistle in a pitch high enough to be heard over the constant noise. One note swinging up, like the sound of a question, into two short chirps. I'm here. Where are you? Sloane's reply came in the form of a slightly lower, two-tone whistle. Right here.

Because of her greater agility and experience, it was easily decided that, when it came to hits on passenger trains, Sloane would be the one to actually climb aboard, sneaking on once the steam engine had slowed enough to allow it. This was fine by Hurley. What they could do was ride.

This was where the true cacophony began. When the word of a train burglary in progress in the back cars reached the conductor and crew up front, the train would begin to strain desperately to outpace its thieves. Every furious sound in the world seemed to burst forth from it then. It banged and howled and screeched with its effort. And it never mattered. Hurley and the horse that worked so well beneath them would keep with it, get close enough to the moving metal for the shining stirrups to clatter against it, push into its wind. They felt it sting them through the openings of their mask.

(The mask is something that Sloane had to insist on, at first. "Someone could pick out those red curls from a mile away," she said one day before she abruptly dropped a piece of knife-carved, pale dead wood into their lap. It was light in their hands when they picked it up; turning it over revealed the visage of a hollow-eyed ram, with thick horns curling backward. To hide the top of their head if they were to put it on, they realized.

"Do you really think I need this? You're still the one actually doing the stealing, you know."

"You didn't see the same paper I did, huh?" she responded easily. "They're already calling you the Ram. You don't do anything by halves."

They did need to hide their face, of course. Even if they weren't going to stick with the thievery for long, just as long as they were traveling with Sloane, they would still need to ensure that they weren't seen. But Hurley didn't know how to explain that, at the time, they felt that there was a strange sense of finality to the mask, and not only for the way that it resembled a skull. They felt that they were about to lock themself into a narrative that hadn't really been of their own construction, donning a title that was not theirs.

Now they got it. Now it fit. Now they put their head down and charged.)

Hurley would ride to keep up with the speeding train, and sure as the sun, Sloane in her hat and bandana would appear at the windows of a car before long. When she did, it meant that she was ready. She would open up the window and, depending on what could be managed in that particular moment of chaos, either jumped deftly onto the horse or controlled her fall and rolled as she hit the ground. Either way, Hurley would be ready to pick her up and rush away. The gun, a large bulge at her side, would have remained undrawn for the whole affair. She had no need. The people onboard saw the Raven and did what anyone would do--and if they didn’t, the Ram, they were all slowly finding out, was there and ready to pull her out.

Ultimately, though, it wasn’t the noise or the wind that got to them most. It was the faces.

Hurley had known a number of faces. Some of them were baby-smooth and forever dustless. Some were neatly positioned between a shiny top hat and a crimped neckerchief, or between a lace hem and a hat with a great ostrich plume rising from it. All of these, they had known before. The same kinds had come before with shining white teeth to take their land away. For them, conquering the acres that had belonged to Hurley's family was as simple as presenting a paper.

It was easy to tell who on those trains with the red cushioned seats could afford to lose a little. They couldn't help but show it.

These were the people who leaned their heads out the train windows to watch them flee out of sight without fail, their witnessing while Hurley dodged bullet after bullet. They got drunk on it, sometimes. These were the ruffled chickens robbed by a fox in the false safety of their coop. To these people, as they road away, they become nothing more than a path of dust and a curse in the mouths of others. And then for the dust to dissipate but for the curse, for their name invoked, to remain bitter in the mouths that had tasted the silver spoon...how incredible. How impossible.

They adored the impossible.

And it wasn't just the faces of their victims. It was her face, too, when she turned around to see how they’d left their pursuers in the dust. How she looked, for just a moment, like she could pluck up the world for herself and stuff it in her coat pocket. That got Hurley too, that they could help to make her smile in the way that she only smiled after she had gotten well away.