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hazelfoureyes · 6 months

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I just need you to know this story has had me in a chokehold and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it. This is gonna be a weird smutty slow burn, so still smut every post but full p in v sex will be a reward you have to work for?

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Redsmut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedysmut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

「warnings/tags: HumanAlastor x FemaleReader, implied attempt to SA, fingering, plot with porn?, Multi part work, bad kind of choking, blood kink, blood licking, just in general blood, Non-Sex repulsed Ace Spectrum Alastor, stalking, murder obvs, finger sucking, smoking kinda kills if you squint, Public sex acts, garter belt, You have a stage name but no one important uses it, Greed, Lust, Human Alastor is a little different than Demon Alastor. 」

minors dni 💅🏽

Part 1 Pretty in Red

The marriage between burlesque and jazz wasn’t unexpected. Before the Great Depression took the nation into a stranglehold, both Jazz and Burlesque were immoral wastes of time only the most barbaric sought out.

And oh, did you love it. Everyone who was made to feel like nobody flocked to your theater and the surrounding neighborhood. Men, women, the people who didn’t agree with either. The biblically inclined, those closer to sodom, the sapphic dolls. Everyone was equal in the halls of jazz rooms and theatres where burlesquers were welcome.

Because of the inclusive nature of such places, you often saw familiar faces. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone from Thursday night to be seen Saturday at a different locale.

That presented certain opportunities and challenges. When you found a good mark, it was easy to be wherever he was and play it off as fate and common interests.

And when you gained a new stalker, someone wanting a personal show, it could be hard to tell until it was too late.

Maybe it was your greed, or just your love of attention, but you found yourself focused almost entirely on a particularly well dressed man one evening. You’d seen him around before. Clean cut, sharp suit, a welcoming smile always on display. He looked like he had money, the most attractive quality of any man you could meet.

So focused on his gleaming stare from the side booths you hadn’t noticed the man at the stage front tables. You barely noticed him the night before, or the night before that, either. Because Smiles, as you took to calling the handsome stranger in the back, had been here three nights now too.

You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

Groans, mass begging from the audience. Your stage name a chant now, a prayer. “Autumn! Come on!”

As the band slowed, music dying to mark the end of your number, you scanned the crowd. Eyes blinking coyly, you mouthed, “More? Did you want more?”

People were jumping to their feet, not Smiles but that was fine, you were focused now on the adoration of the crowd. The music ended, a second of silence.

You winked, the drums hitting one last beat as you let the fan close.

Fanfare! Men whistling, women clapping. Someone shouted a marriage proposal. You took a bow, twirled on the balls of your feet and slipped gracefully behind the curtains.

Your hands wound to your spine, rubbing blood flow back into your skin as the staff removed your headdress. Someone slipped your robe over you and you nodded a thanks, aching feet carrying you to the dressing room. It was chaos, as usual. Women buzzing around, tits and ass here and there. You smiled. You happened to enjoy this part of the job. Soft bodies in shiny costumes, lovely smells and sweet voices. If you could get dressed quickly enough, you could still take a tour of the room and slide into Smiles’ booth.

“Enjoy the show?” You’d ask. He’d lean in, maybe blush, “Always when you’re here.” Or something like that. You’d cozy up to him, flag down a waiter for something strong and pricey, and get him properly drunk. He’d wake up outside, fine and dandy except his missing cash.

You’ll call him a drunkard if he confronts you, accuse him of getting himself robbed after you refused his advances. You’ll say it too loudly, and he’ll run off.

You danced a little in your seat, another game of cat and mouse about to commence. But first, a smoke.

Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

He didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for him. So he took to his hunt, following the man to come to his own conclusions. The pattern of behavior was obvious, and though he hadn’t seen what ended the last obsession, it was clear one of the performers at this club was being stalked as the next victim.

He watched your dance with half lidded eyes, just as much as he watched the man give dirty looks to the other men cheering. Heard the, “Marry me!” shouted at you.

Yes, it was obvious to him now.

So when the target of his interest got up and pushed his way into a staff only door, well, the well dressed man was sure to follow.

The great thing about confidence and a nicely tailored suit is that no one questions you about why you are where you are. So while the brute he tailed had to shove past people to get wherever he was going, people smiled and made room for the gentleman who was not far behind.

He caught the street access door before it closed, allowing it to stay open just a sliver. Enough for one golden brown eye to watch the events unfold.

“Can I have a light?” The stranger asked you. You looked at him, then to the staff only entrance he just came out of.

“I don’t think I know you….,” you handed him the lighter but he instead leaned into you, cigarette hanging from his lips. “You… new?”

You sparked the flint with a practiced thumb, taking three tries to get it lit, and put your hand out. The man didn’t budge, eyebrows rising, “You really don’t recognize me?” He asked, motioning with his hand to come closer. Your eyes glanced down the alley, cars slowly moving past the street. When you looked back, the man took your wrist in his hand. He held you so tightly that the muscles in your palm locked and you dropped the lighter.

“What the fu-,” his hand came across your face, halting your sentence.

“I’m your best customer. Every show. I’m the one who brings flowers.”

Dozens of men bring flowers, especially on the weekend shows. You held your cheek, skin burning. Your hand pulled back, the corner of your lip bleeding from his rings. Scrambling, your mind was searching for the right words.

With a forced smiled, your shaky voice finally piped up, “Oh! Yeah! Oh geez. I am so sorry, doll. I’m just so tired, and the alley is so dark. Here, let’s go inside so I can get a better look at you.” You tried to take your wrist from him but he didn’t loosen up.

“Nah, you ain’t tricking me. You owe me.” He pulled you into him, large hand gripping your face with ease, “You can’t lead on men like this and think you don’t gotta answer for it.” He kissed you, forcing your face into his. “Bitch! Did you fucking bite me?” He threw you into the tin trash cans beside the wall, knocking the wind out of you.

No purse, no sharp object, not even a heeled shoe to defend yourself with. You cursed, so preoccupied with Smiles you forgot your wits.

You spit out the copper saliva, his blood and yours. “I’ll keep biting, too.”

Why scream? The sounds of the next act were bouncing off the brick walls. Upbeat jazz and applause echoing around you. No one would hear you. Men can break your body but you never had to give them your dignity. Never give them the satisfaction of a response.

No. No screaming. You instead spent your energy trying to get to your feet. He took hold of your neck now, throttling you. It wasn’t what you had expected, but as he lifted you off the ground and your little dressing room slippers fell off, you thought this was actually better.

“Well I think that’s quite enough.”

You felt warmth, then registered wetness. Your shin scraped on the asphalt as you were dropped without warning. Trying to open your eyes, you found you couldn’t see. Wiping and blinking away the foreign liquid, you watched your attacker fall to his knees.

Blood was shooting from between his fingers around his own neck, each pulse becoming weaker and weaker, evident through the stream.

When he finally fell over, drained, you were startled to see another man with you. The light reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, the knife still in his right hand as he did so.

“My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

Is that was this was? A rescue? You took his hand with both of yours, pulling yourself up.

Smiles? You blinked away the shock, time to shift into your next part. Damsel. You weren’t out the woods yet.

“You saved my life!” As you pressed yourself into his chest, you tucked your head beneath his chin. You tried to make yourself small. “I owe you! Please let’s go inside, drinks on me!” You looked up, batting your lashes.

“I don’t think that’s wise, dear.” His gaze panned down your dress, soaked through. He could see the thinking behind your eyes.

“No, right….,” You gripped his vest, “We gotta get outta here, fast. There’s a hotel just behind the threatre.” You started to pull his suit jacket off, slipping it over yourself. “No cops, the theatre will get raided. Just— take me somewhere safe?”

You watched him look you over, arm finally extending to let you hook yours with his.

As soon as the hotel door closed behind you, you slipped off his jacket and ran to the dressing table mirror.

Your face was painted red, navy dress now black and sticky. It was good you stayed from view of the reception staff. “I didn’t get my rescuer’s name,” you licked your thumb and rubbed at the blood around your cheeks.

“Alastor. It’s a pleasure.”

You laughed, “Is that what you call a pleasure?” Turning, you pulled the mostly still dry handkerchief from your pocket and dabbed the corner on your tongue. You brought it up to the frame of his glasses and wiped the blood from the metal. “I’d hate to see what you call a bad time.”

Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

His lips opened, tongue licking the blood stained finger before placing it directly into his mouth.

Your stared, horrified, as he sucked the digit clean.

His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” You tried to sound as in control as possible. Calm. Unwavered. Offered a timid smile.

He chuckled, “You could say that. May I?” His fingers lifted your chin. You didn’t know what he was asking. His soft smile looked downright loving. He smelled so good, notes of something earthy rising above the copper.

You nodded, because part of you wanted to see where it would go. And part of you thought you didn’t have a choice.

As his face came to yours, you instinctually closed your eyes expecting a kiss. But no, instead you felt his tongue wipe across the cut at the corner of your mouth. His breath blanketed your cheek. Then his hand left your chin, the warmth of his body gone entirely.

You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

You just stood there in the silence left behind. But as if on cue, the adrenaline waned and your knees buckled under you. You were moments from death, now somehow spared. But what had he— Alastor, been doing there? Did he follow you, too? The cat and mouse had been flipped, or perhaps now this was a fox and hound?

Gripping the dressing table, you pulled yourself up and into the view of the mirror again. Face streaked in dried blood save for the one clean spot where your lips met cheek.

You felt like a ghost the next day. It would be nice to tell someone about what happened but, “Hey a man tried to kill me and then another man killed him! Then he licked blood off my face and I let him. It was the most disturbingly erotic thing to happen to me in months!” would get you tossed into a wagon.

“Are you rude or just stupid?” The theatre manager pulled you aside by the arm when you came into rehearsal. “You can’t just disappear like that, people were waiting.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Was… my absence really the most exciting part of the evening? Not the John in the gutter?”

He huffed, “So that’s it? Got a beau?”

“Wait— nothing else happened last night? After I left?”

“This show doesn’t revolve around you. Plenty happened.”

“Excuse me,” you hurried into the back, “And sorry!”

You opened the street access door and looked into the alley. Trash cans neat and tidy, no dead man, nothing strange or telltale.

You ducked back inside. Had Smiles done this? Obviously, actually. No stranger just cleaned up the dead body. If the flatfeet had found him, the club would have been under scrutiny.

Good, you thought, and went about your work.

Rehearsal dragged on. Little details summoning you back to the night before.

“You okay?” Another performer asked, grabbing your hand and inspecting the blood around your cuticles.

“Oh it’s not mine!” You laughed, she laughed, you walked off before she could clarify.

When applying your makeup, you remembered his hands on your face. They were so soft. Definitely a man of means. A brief intrusive thought, the other hands on your face last night.

You pranced on stage, going through the motions of your routine. Even in the empty hall, your eyes wandered to the booth he’d been in. And as you took the stage in earnest later that night you searched the crowd for the glint of his glasses and found nothing shiny nor promising.

Back in the dressing room you took a moment to wonder what the actual fuck you we’re doing. He murdered a man in front of you, why were you hoping to see him again? He had half a mind to kill you next.

But would that really be so bad? Your life was routine, boring even. The only thing keeping your lungs expanding was the applause. Maybe the headlines of your death would cause such an uproar, dancer struck down in her prime, that you could bask in the loving glow all the way from hell.

One way to remain famous, you considered. A dramatic death.

Not that you were famous. You weren’t part of the national circuits. Just your local theatres, a common face and body to the sinners of Louisiana’s most infamous city. But, well, fame is relative. For the scene you were in, you were your own little star.

A shining light. Shimmering. The faint light reflecting off— Blood. For a second you could only remember looking through bloodied, heavy lashes.

“You’ve been so out of it. Trouble in paradise?” Ruth, the curviest of your coworkers and arguably the favorite of the crew, rested her chin on your head. Looking at each other in the mirror, you offered a soft smile.

“I’ll letcha know when I get there.”

She pinched your cheek, “Tommy said you had a new guy. I just figured-,”

“That isn’t,” you clenched your eyes shut, “no, no guy. I just got locked out last night in the alley. The sticky-,” sticky and viscous blood, “back door wouldn’t open up. I didn’t want to come in the front in my slippers so I just hoofed it home.”

She patted your head, “if you say so! Be careful out there though. Dangerous these days.”

An understatement.

You enjoyed the spotlight, but more than that you craved the attention doted on you after. You’d walk through the hall to the bar to adoring looks and free drinks. It bothered you that Tommy was telling the girls you had a man. You didn’t want to appear too closed off, or for word to spread to the customers.

Last thing you needed was men passing you by for more available options. Not that the pay wasn’t fine. Ends were being met, but grifting added an element of thrill. You really did love the chase. Finding someone and deciding he would be yours, he would fall under your spell and be at your feminine mercy. It made you feel powerful, almost mythical. And the money was nice. Sometimes you didn’t even need to steal, the men would just lavish you in gifts and you’d let it fizzle out naturally. Normally their wives would snatch them back or they’d just get tired of waiting for you to leave the stage and dance into their domestic dreams. A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

From your view at the bar you knew he wasn’t there. But with a nod you decided the chase was still on. You were going to get your victory. If anything, this would be easier. You had dirt on him. Blackmail would be simple enough. Bloody clothes and the perfect alibi; being a woman. No cop would think you took down that hulking man.

Ah, right. There was no body.

That would be an issue. He had to have taken it somewhere. Just find him and follow. Worst case scenario, you play the usual game and steal whatever cash was in his wallet.

Well, worst case you die.

You slept sitting up to keep your hair set, during the day your makeup barely was there but a red lip always the star. You had three nice dresses (well, you had had four) so you figured three nights to find him before moving on.

You slinked through the crowds of the hot and sweaty dance club Moxie. Swinging music kept bodies moving, and though you kept your eyes open you didn’t catch sight of this Alastor fellow. Which was fine! You enjoyed a few dances, swing always making you feel energized. Not a waste of a Friday night.

Saturday was easy, the lounge on fifth. Smooth jazz, plush chairs, rich men. Definitely a place you could imagine Smiles to frequent. The whisky was all top shelf, and many gentlemen offered you a lap to sit. Sure, no Alastor, but you didn’t go home empty handed.

You weren’t a particularly great singer, but if the room was small enough and the piano loud enough, you could please a crowd. Your friend had you on a semi-set schedule most Sundays at her little dive too many blocks from Main Street. Her darling played piano, you sat and sang to the couple dozen patrons stuffed into the one room bar. When you finished your set, you took your bows and looked for your friend. You needed to tell her you wouldn’t be staying.

Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

“Oh, a sight for sore eyes. Mr. Alastor.” Your face lit up, you could see it in his glasses.

“You’re too kind. Here, I apologize for the delay. I wanted to return them clean.” In his hand was your yellow handkerchief, folded neatly. You took it and found it uncharacteristically heavy.

When you unfurled it, your brass lighter fell into your waiting palm. Your thumb caressed the engraving.

Alastor watched your face as the lighter tumbled out. “I figured it was important, given the condition and detailing.”

You tested the weight in your hand, “Did you fill it?” You looked to him incredulously. He nodded.

It was a surprisingly kind act, and you needed a second to regain your composure. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Your quick wit failed for a moment, but rebounded fast. “Except with a drink. My treat. To my rescuer.”

He mulled the idea, your reaction to him was interesting. Alastor had thought if he approached you first you’d show a little more fear, or shock. But you looked downright chipper to see him there.

“Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Your smile dropped. How did he know you were here? Had he been carrying— no, he said he had them cleaned. Had he seen you here before, before the incident? A chuckle, smile brought back, “My luck is terrible. You always flee me. I hope you don’t see my company as deadweight.”

Alastor’s smile twitched, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “Not at all! I think you’d find I’m quite comfortable with-.”

“Lugging people around?” You said. That constricted pupil again, eyes wild. A chill ran down your spine. Alarms were going off. Wrong answer. You straightened your back, popping the items into your purse, “Next time.”

Alastor nodded, “Yes. Next time, then.”

You fucked it up. You knew you had, but suddenly his words felt like a thinly veiled threat.

You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

Alastor knew he needed to do something about the clearly clever woman who was seemingly expecting him. He had followed you for several days, surprised to find you not spreading word about the murder. You hadn’t spoken to anyone, really. Even the man you left the lounge with, you just smiled and nodded nearly all evening while the man dominated the conversation. So, your sharp wit took him off guard. Who were you pretending to be? And why?

All of your cleverness fell apart when you tried to follow him. It was almost comical. He felt bad. This was going to be embarrassing for you.

He took several right turns and stepped into the park just outside of the bar. You thought perhaps he had gotten lost and considered turning around after you realized you’d lost sight of him. As you passed a large weeping willow, you were pulled under the curtains of hanging moss by your waist.

Back against the large tree, you could only pout.

“What are you after, stalking a man in the dead of night?” Alastor had you pinned, both hands on either side of your head. His body boxed you in, not that there was much more to see than moss and darkness.

You blinked several times. What a question. You answered honestly, “You.” He cocked a brow. Then you lied, “Your affection. Your time.”

Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

He seemed frozen under your mouth, lips taut. Your hands roamed his face, messing up his hair and glasses. Mind reeling. Play the nymph. Be the whore the men always said they hated. Be too strong, too forward, too much and he’ll run off like men do. You could try again another day.

Your hand reached for his lap, his hips instinctively jerking away. Perfect. Men these days can’t get it up for a woman who takes the lead.

Alastor was entirely unsure what the fuck was happening. You were wildly unpredictable. When you grabbed at his dick, he thought his eyes would cross from the shock. Is this what ‘affection’ meant to you? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand you. Were you really just lustful? Even after what you’d seen him—

You bit at his bottom lip, pulling slightly. Big eyes looking back at him. Your breath was already running away from you, adrenaline seemingly synonymous with Alastor. Staring up at him, you waited. His move.

It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps.

His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

It had been so long since someone else’s hand was on you. Someone whose hands you genuinely enjoyed, who you wanted to be on you.

Is that right? You wanted him to touch you?

Maybe it was the stare, or the smile. Probably just the adrenaline.

His hand found its place again, middle finger bending to part your folds and feel your wetness. You whimpered, hand coming to cover your own mouth.

“Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

No. Maybe. You nodded yes.

“Will you be satisfied now? No more tailing me?”

No. Probably not. Another nod.

His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

“I always end up dripping around you, Alastor,” you whispered through your fingers. His ring finger joined. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why did you have to bring up, well, the murder?

“A common problem for those I take an interest in.”

Oh no. You moaned softly into your hand. Sharp mind made dull by his fingers so you didn’t, couldn’t, process his double meaning.

Oh no. The sounds of footsteps, a pair of lovers sneaking into the park for privacy. You heard their giggles, the sounds of kisses interrupting their walking.

“Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.

Whispers. The silhouette of the two interlopers was visible through the willow’s curtains. You watched from over his shoulder, pussy clenching around him. Three knuckles deep, bottoming out.

Fuck it. You moaned freely into your hand, wiggling down onto his hand. Hips rolling, you let your little sounds of praise flow.

The couple laughed, “That’s the spirit!” A man said, a woman hushing him and pulling him away.

Alastor grinned into your neck, immensely amused. He would have better luck predicting a dice roll than your next move.

You hadn’t realized how hollow you’d been until now, feeling so full. When alone, you focused on just cumming, fingers on your clit and mind on memories. You never bothered much with anything else.

Your hunger intensified. You wanted more. Both hands reached for his crotch again, finding nothing there for you. You could have cried. How were you a wet mess pressed against a tree and he was soft as a newspaper in a rainstorm?

Your pride stung. Men usually stood at attention around you. A half sob into the air earned you a chuckle from Alastor. “It’s no reflection of you, darling.” His nose nudged your ear lobe, “I need a little different stimulation than most.”

“Do you play for the other team?” You considered how you could momentarily switch.

A louder laugh, “I don’t have a team.” He leaned back now to look at you. His freehand came to press on your lower stomach, gently pushing your womb down. Your brows knit, why did that feel so good? Hands going to the tree behind you for stability.

“Sure feels like you know how to play. This is-,” his hand switched from thrusting slowly in and out to moving front and back. It sent vibrations up into you. Your eyes rolled close. Shut up. Stop talking. Focus. Close.

He kissed around your open mouth, “Well, it’d be unamerican to not dabble. When necessary, or when the conditions are right.”

Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

Alastor’s head fell back as he laughed earnestly, most likely alerting anyone in the immediate area. “Ha! No, this is more fun.”

“Oh fuck you,” you brought a hand around to your throbbing clit to quicken your release.

“Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

“Oh god-,” Your head fell onto his chest, your joint effort bringing you to orgasm.

“A little late on Sunday for prayers, don't you think?”

A tiny scream into his suit pocket, his hand not stopping until your thighs finished twitching around him. Even after his hand stopped moving you gripped him by the wrist and rolled onto his fingers a few more times. The pleasure ebbing but still spiking every time he moved against you.

Ah, greed. That was it. He understood a little better. This wasn’t lust, not alone. You were definitely a mix of the two. With a sigh, you released your hold and let him slide out of you. Already you felt lonelier. Already you wished to start over.

With his dry hand he smoothed out your dress. You weren’t ashamed but you suddenly felt too embarrassed to look him the eye. But you did, hearing him hum as he sucked his fingers clean.

Why were you only ever in his mouth in the strangest ways?

“You always taste so sweet, dear. Now!” You wanted to say something clever and salacious like, ‘there’s more where that came from’ but he didn’t afford you the opportunity. He offered you his hooked arm, “It’s dangerous in the park at night. Let’s get you to a cab and on your way home.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Your legs were wobbly but otherwise fine. “Illegal activities in public?”

“Funny, I was just wondering the same of you. Stalking is a crime, dear.”

You bit your lip. “Touché.”

He flagged down a taxi, “Tell him where to go.” You slid into the back seat and half-whispered to the driver. Alastor leaned into the passenger side front window and after paying the man, went to close your door, “You’ve been an entertaining sparring partner. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

With a thud of the door and a growl of the engine, you were driving away from him. You could see him in the rear window. He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t need you following another step of his.

Which was unfortunate for him, as you were already scheming how to find him again.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

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@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

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ozzgin · 6 months

Note

Hello!

🌟 here again! I'm here with another request for our lovely bodyguard yandere.

Have you ever seen videos of fans jumping up onto stages with kpop idols? Then get carried away by security behind stage?

I'd love to see how our lovely violent baby girl would react to not being able to react with immediate violence as a reaction given all the eyes and cameras on him. Would he be stone faced just carrying the stage crasher by the collar like a cat? Or would he be dragging him by the legs into hell?

The reactions of fans to the bodyguard would be interesting too, I could see Reader being jealous over people thirsting over bodyguard on Twitter or something lol. Or bodyguard confused on why people would say stuff like "he could snap my back like a twig and I'd say thank you" about him.

Hope you are taking care, and I have my fingers crossed to hear from you eventually

Sincerely

-🌟

Long overdue and I'm terribly sorry about that! I had the ideas for a while now, but I could never find the proper words to assemble everything. ;-;

Yandere! Bodyguard x Idol! Reader (III)

Your bodyguard has gained sudden Internet fame after dealing with a crazed fan on stage. Naturally, he couldn't care less about anyone else, but that doesn't stop you from trying to make him jealous in return. Someone will have to be the sacrificial lamb to his murderous possessiveness.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence, death, reader and yandere are both psycho

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

The screen of your phone lights up again and you only need a quick glance to know what it is. Another post about last night’s event. About your bodyguard. You sink your nails into the leather chair and look ahead towards the mirror, exchanging a smile with the hairstylist.

“Oh, it looks lovely! You always do such a great job.” You compliment the woman as you tilt your head both ways, admiring the gentle curls. Now get the fuck out already.

“I’m so glad! Is there anything else you’d like me to-”

“No, that’s all. You can go”, you respond curtly.

The stylist collects her products and waves at you, exiting the room. The phone vibrates once more with a new notification, and you promptly throw it against the door. It scatters in large chunks of scrap across the plush carpet.

The whole ordeal happened within seconds. You were performing the final song of the evening when a fan hurled himself over the security barrier and onto the stage. The people standing at the very front began screaming and some took their phones out, scrambling for a good angle to record everything.

“Please, (Y/N), I’m your biggest fan!” the man pleaded, approaching you with shaking hands.

You froze in place, observing his actions with the same indifference of watching a TV ad that goes on for too long. Before the stranger could even reach your proximity, your bodyguard effortlessly and speedily threw him over the shoulder, giving you a reassuring nod and retreating backstage. He had that smile on his face that signaled he was pissed, and your mouth hung open in realization: You wouldn’t be able to witness the massacre.

You knew that expression all too well. That man would never see the light of day again, and under normal circumstances you would be right behind your bodyguard, cheering him on and suggesting ways to further torment of whoever dared to get too close to you.

And yet, your little ritual had been interrupted. You stood there on the stage, baffled, as the other idols gathered around you with worried looks. You poor thing. That must’ve been terrifying. The audience was shouting words of support, encouraging you to continue as if nothing happened. With pursed lips, you tightened your grip around the microphone and reassured everyone of your well-being. The show had to go on, regardless of your bloodlust.

This morning, you woke up to hundreds of posts online about the incident. Or rather, the way your bodyguard dealt with it. You scrolled through photos, videos, and confessions regarding the mysterious stranger who protected you from harm.

“I need a man like that in my life!”, “I know, right? So cool!”, “Imagine how easily he’d pick you up”, “The broad shoulders! I’m in love <3”

You don’t even have time to be properly upset about it. Your schedule for the day is packed with interviews and photoshoots. You glance in the mirror one final time and exit the room. The bodyguard has been waiting for you, resting against the wall with crossed arms.

“I need a new phone”, you tell him in a casual tone.

“What happened to the previous one?” He inquires, somewhat confused by your sudden request.

“Just do it!” You snap at the large man, rushing past him without providing any window for a reaction.

Ideally, you would very much like to tell him that the sudden influx of attention irritates you beyond comprehension. Then he’d reassure you that his indifference towards everyone else has not changed whatsoever, and thus your worries are entirely unfounded; but, if you need an outlet to release all that stress, he can easily find an empty changing room and service you like he always does.

Unfortunately, there is no time for that.

The bodyguard follows your movements with raised eyebrows, perplexed. What could’ve gotten you into such a sour mood? Has someone caused you to be upset? Are you still pouting after the missed playtime? He ponders the possibilities as he searches for an assistant.

The employee is visibly startled upon hearing his deep voice calling her. She turns obediently and nods, flashing her best customer-facing smile.

“Can you get (Y/N) a new phone?” he asks plainly.

“Huh? Sure…Did she specify any preferences? What was her previous model?”

He stares in confusion.

“…Can’t you guess?” she insists.

“I’m not good with these things.” The bodyguard rummages through his pocket and pulls out an old, cracked device to prove his point. “I don’t use phones much.”

Why would he? The only time he needs a phone is when he’s apart from you, which hasn’t happened since the Christmas incident. He previously considered a more modern option, so he could stalk your social media and make sure you don’t have any perverts sliding into your messages. That proved to be unnecessary, as you frequently leave your phone unattended or involve him in the process: most of your photos posted online nowadays are actually curated by his truly.

“Oh, so you don’t know about the recent craze?” The woman chuckles and takes out her own phone, speedily tapping on the screen before presenting it to the man. “See? You’re trending!”

He scans the multitude of messages. Ah, so that’s what it was. His lips curl into a grin. To think he’d witness his spoiled idol struggle with jealousy.

“That will be it for today!” the photographer announces, gesturing with his hands and guiding his helpers with the expensive equipment.

This was it, the last photoshoot. You unscrew the cap from your water bottle and take a healthy sip from it, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your other hand. The only good part about the continuous work was that you couldn’t check more of those annoying posts drooling over your bodyguard. Remembering it is enough to increase your heartbeat. The male model you were paired with for this campaign walks in your direction.

“Say, do you have anything planned after this?” He questions smugly. “You could come back to my place.”

What a ridiculous idea, you think with a grimace. Does this asshat think he’s worthy of your company? After a second of contemplation, you’re flooded with the same disappointment you felt back on the stage, watching your fan being carried away like a mere piece of cardboard over the much larger frame of your bodyguard. You might just consider the stupid offer. Why not? It’s not fair to be the only one plagued by jealousy.

“Sure. I know a better place, though.”

Your eyes narrow in a bright smile and you lead the young man towards your backstage room. As you pass by your bodyguard, you remember to mention in a low voice: “Make sure no one disturbs us.” He doesn’t answer, merely gazes at you with an empty expression.

“Man, that guy is scary as hell”, the model remarks as he throws himself in your vanity seat. “Are you not afraid to be alone with him?”

“Not really, no”, you respond idly. “You, on the other hand…”

“Excuse me?”

Now then. To set the scene, you gingerly climb into the man’s lap and adjust your arms around his neck. What a frail little human in comparison to your bodyguard. You blush in anticipation and begin counting in your head.

“H-hey, what did you mean-”

The young man is interrupted by someone’s abrupt intrusion. Your bodyguard throws you a quick glance before turning to close the door behind him. Alright, he can’t be too excited. He must pretend he’s furious, baffled, out for the hunt. You went all the way out for him. He even checked his watch to make sure you had enough time. He can’t let his enthusiasm betray him.

You jump out of the model’s hold with a gasp.

“It’s not what you think~!” you exclaim with feigned surprise. “He started flirting with me and I…” Your words trail off and you rub your arm nervously.

The bodyguard approaches the other man with monotonous movements and grabs him by the collar.

“Wait, you can’t possibly…he’s a well-known model!”, you protest with a fake cry.

Sweet little darling. Worry not, he won’t disappoint you. He’ll put on the best show for your sake. Anything to soothe your innocent heart.

“Could be the President himself”, your bodyguard confesses with a dash of theatrics, “and I’d still break his fucking neck for touching you.” He pulls out his pocketknife and looks at you. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, Miss.”

Your knees weaken and you have to rest against the vanity table. Among the screams and pleads for mercy coming from the poor butchered model, you can only focus on one thing: the violent fucking you’re about to receive.

Your bodyguard truly knows you best.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere fic #yandere male #obsessive love #female reader

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marvelsswansong · 10 months

Text

show and tell

summary: a white rose at the train station. his hand in yours at the zoo. his mother's golden mirror. does he love you or is he simply trying to gain the public's favour and secure the Plith prize? you're unsure. and so is he, until he very much isn't.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, slow burn (ish), fluff, angst, technically a happy ending but quite dark, purely based off the movie but I take some creative detours, CW for violence, mentions of starvation, toxic/manipulative behaviors and a semi-dark!snow (please read at your own discretion, take care of yourself above all else :))

☆ word count: 5.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Coriolanus hates waiting.

The stillness, the eerie silence of an early morning at the Capitol train station. It eats away at his core.

His mouth tastes like copper, his throat's starting to itch from the dryness and there's a brief moment of fear as he ponders if he's making a huge mistake. A sharp whistle ringing through the station signals the train's arrival, and as his eyes adjust to the billowing grey smoke and a sea of white (the peace keepers), the flower in his left hand suddenly feels heavy. As if the weight of the situation is starting to bear on his shoulders.

He wasn't supposed to be here. If all had gone to plan, he would've already been the recipient of the Plinth Prize and taken the first car back home to buy his grandma'am some chocolates and Tigris a new dress. No more worrying. No more surviving on dwindled fortunes. No more pretending to fit in with high society.

Then, of course, the rules had to change. Viewership was down and it was of both Dean Highbottom's and Dr Gaul's opinion that what was missing was spectacle. Now, whoever the best mentor was in transforming their tribute into prime entertainment would win the prize.

"Your role is to turn these tributes into spectacles. Not survivors."

The silence that hung after this announcement in the Academy was heavy, but Coriolanus knew better than to show his true emotions on his face. After all, if there was one thing that he knew how to do as the star student of the Academy: it was to plan. And when he saw your... unruly introduction to the public, sneaking a snake down a woman's dress before cussing out the audience, it dawned on him that it would be a tall order to endear you to the public.

But not impossible.

The sounds of the tributes being roughly unloaded off the platform snaps him back into reality, his eyes easily landing on your figure as you jump off the train, your upper arms supported by the tribute (Jessup, Coriolanus recalls his name being) standing next to you. Pushing through the soldiers, the blonde nearly breaks into a small sprint to catch up to you as you turn your head upon hearing the sound of hurried footsteps.

"Welcome to the Capitol." the strange man in front of you says, before holding out a pristine white rose. It's a peculiar looking flower, you think, a kind of flower you've never seen before (at least, certainly not back in your home district). It looks almost artificial, you think, with how perfectly white and untouched its petals are.

The blonde assesses your cautious glance - the sunlight hitting the under color of your irises perfectly in a glistening twilight - and a fleeting thought passes by, that the tv camera didn't do your natural beauty justice. He has to suppress a smirk when you finally respond, narrowing your eyes at him with your arms crossing above your chest.

"You seem like you shouldn't be here."

He chuckles at that.

"I'm not supposed to be. And yet here I am." A pause. "But I'm your mentor. Coriolanus Snow."

That's a first, you think. Mentors for tributes.

"And what does my mentor do except bring me roses?" you question, flicking the buds with your fingers. Coriolanus just smiles.

"I do my best to take care of you."

Your supposed mentor says it so sincerely, you think, and he's obviously charming with his devilishly handsome looks and low whisper. But there's something that stops you from holding out your hand and taking the rose from his fingers. You suppose he isn't lying - after all, what would be the point of it - but there's something in his eyes that you can't quite explain.

Something that makes your stomach flutter in both excitement and dread.

"Move." the soldier behind you then barks, shoving you and Jessup forward. You decide to give your mentor one last grin and a quiet "see you later", thinking that's going to be the last you see of him for a while.

The last thing you expect is for him to jump into the back of the vehicle alongside the other tributes, drawing the eyre of a few who pin him against the moving vehicle and start taunting him with violence.

"You look rather out of place." the tall boy pinning Coriolanus drawls.

"I'm not, I can assure you. I'm here for (Y/n). I'm her mentor."

That puts the unwanted attention on you, as the other tributes begin to circle around you with sinister expressions twisting on their lips.

"Mentor, huh? How come little miss music gets one but not the rest of us?" a brunette girl drawls, eyeing you up and down.

The boy pinning Coriolanus down applies stronger pressure to his neck, and you rise in an attempt to intervene, but he meets your gaze discreetly and motions for you to remain seated.

"You all have a mentor, they're just... not here." he croaks.

"Right, and we're all supposed to believe you?" another girl, this one from district 4 you believe, taunts. "What's to say we shouldn't just kill you now?"

The blonde shoots you a nervous look and that's when you feel pity. Just like you, he's in a foreign environment and pretending to be brave. You suppose also that he's your only ticket out, your only chance of potential success at surviving in the games.

So you intervene.

"You could kill him. But then the moment this truck stops you'll all be gathered round and killed by the peace keepers. He's clearly Capitol. And if they're willing to hang District people simply for stealing, can't imagine what killing a member of the Capitol would mean for punishment."

That scares them off and Coriolanus sits down next to you, breathing heavily in an effort to catch his breath, before quietly thanking you.

"You really wanna thank me?" you quirk, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Start by thinking about how I can actually win."

The truck then suddenly comes to a halt, and the next thing you know the truck is being tipped over and the doors fly open. Coriolanus grasps your arm in lightning speed, pulling you close towards him so that he'd hit the harsh ground first, absorbing most of the impact.

When you shakily stand up on your feet, you realize you're enclosed in a large metal cage akin to that of an animal enclosure. There's even an over enthusiastic TV presenter in the background, who now seems to have noticed your mentor and begins to call out to him.

"Where are we?" you breathe out, already shivering from the autumn cold.

The blonde barely shifts, only dusting off his suit in a calm manner.

"(Y/n) (L/n) from District 12, welcome to the Capitol Zoo. Would you like to meet my neighbors?" he jokes, eyes slyly shifting to the right to refer to the small audience that has now gathered around the TV presenter.

You hesitate, but then he takes your right hand in his before leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"You want to win, right? Good. I'd like to win as well. And the first thing you'll need to do? Perform for the cameras." Coriolanus accentuates the end of his sentence by sliding the rose behind your ear, a gesture which draws an excited reaction from the crowd.

Is your mentor doing it for the cameras or for something else? You're unsure. But given your desperation to win, and the fact that he clearly knows more about the games than you do, you decide to play along.

Warm hands twisting in the cold, Coriolanus drags your enjoined hands towards the TV camera as he does what he does best. Lie, smile, and charm the audience. Even when the attention turns to you, as Lucky Flickerman (that's his name, you learn) directs questions towards you, the blonde never lets go of your hand in his.

Before he leaves, as news of his rule-breaking spreads amongst the members of the public, you grab him out of desperation one last time.

"Please get us some food, we've been starving since the Reaping."

The blonde nods, but you can't help but feel anxious: not knowing if his previous gestures of kindness were just for show.

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

"Who's that for?"

Coriolanus had meant to sneak the sandwiches and cookies into his spare napkin discreetly, but of course Clemensia had to be two steps behind him, interrogating his every move.

"Just not very hungry, that's all." he nearly grits through his teeth, forcing a fake smile.

The dark haired girl chuckles at that, shaking her head sideways.

"You don't have to lie to me, Snow. Especially me."

"... It's for (Y/n)." he quietly admits. She hums at that, picking at her own food from across the table.

"That's awfully nice of you. What, already going soft for some girl you met yesterday?" she teases, and it immediately elicits an angry refusal out of him.

"It's not like that." Coriolanus snaps, his sudden harshness making his classmate flinch in surprise. "I just... can't have her dying before the games even begin because she's not as well fed as the others."

Clemensia scoffs, flicking the rest of her orange peel into the trash.

"Honestly, Snow, I don't know why you bother. She's clearly not going to survive. I mean, have you seen the tributes from districts 1 and 3?"

Ignoring her comments, he wordlessly slips away from the table and hails a ride down to the zoo. News of his intentions travels fast and whilst he doesn't mind Sejanus' company, it takes intense effort to force himself to look away from Arachne when she tags along and decides to taunt a caged tribute with a glass bottle.

"You came back." you mutter, staring at the neatly wrapped napkin in disbelief. Coriolanus dislikes how surprised you sound, then hates himself more for caring about what you think.

Why do you care what she thinks? he scolds himself. She's just a tribute you're mentoring.

"Of course I did. Can't have my tribute dying before the games even begin, now can I?" he teases, feigning nonchalant.

The presence of academy mentors seems to have attracted a crowd, with a few photographers even pointing their lenses towards you and Coriolanus as his hand slips through the metal gates to meet yours to hand off the food. When your fingers touch his, a part of you wonders if he would've ever came back if there was no PR involved.

Too grateful and too hungry to care, you just say thank you, before breaking off a piece for Jessup and offering half a sandwich to your mentor.

"Oh no, I'm not hungry." he says out of instinct, surprised by your offering. You raise your eyebrows in response, pursing your lips.

"You sure about that? Because I could hear your stomach growl from a mile away." you retort.

"Right. Uh, thank you."

Biting into the soft bread, you chew, savoring every bite. A silence settles between the two of you as you both eat, right before you ask him a quiet question.

"... Did you get into a lot of trouble for what you did for me yesterday?" your eyes shine with worry, you nervously looking up at him for an answer. He finds himself again surprised by how much you seem to care.

Yes, he wants to say. I nearly got myself disqualified as a mentor and it would've been the end of my family's future in the Capitol. But he swallows his thoughts down, alongside the dry taste of the tuna sandwich.

"Not much. Actually, I was able to convince the gamemaster, Dr Gaul, to implement a few changes to the games."

"Really, like what?"

"To let the public send you donations. That way, I could send you supplies you needed into the arena - food, water, medicine. It'd mean having to do the extra job of playing to the public and getting them to root for your survival, but with a voice like yours, the songbird of Panem -"

Your smile drops at that, your gaze turning stern at his suggestion.

"I only sing when I please for an audience I choose." your eyebrows furrow, your usually sweet expression melting into something more sour. It's oddly cute, he thinks.

"I know, but I'm really going to need you to try. It's for your own survival. Our survival." he emphasizes, staring right into your eyes. You can't suppress your sad smile at that, crumbling the empty napkin in your hands.

"Are you sure it's not just for your survival?"

Your question haunts Coriolanus that night, alongside the sounds of broken glass and pained gasps as Arachne lies bleeding on the ground, having been stabbed in the neck by one of the tributes. When he quickly runs to his classmate, he doesn't get to see your expression, as you're ripped away by Jessup pulling you into safety in an instant and peace keepers swarm the scene in an effort to remain calm.

When he's back home and the crimson blood coating his hands have dried from where he was holding his dying classmate's wounds, he wonders if there's any truth to your answer.

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

Everything changes at the arena tour.

You've not had much sleep. You're confused, you're angry, but most of all you've been haunted by your conflicting feelings towards your mentor and the name he'd called you - songbird. A silly little songbird, you think spitefully.

To sing and charm the very same public who had doomed her to a violent game of death.

It was absurd, really, that he'd even ask that. It made your stomach churn and your head ache at the thought of cheapening your craft for something so juvenile.

And yet, when you spot the familiar red suit and white blonde hair in the mass of other mentors at the arena, you can't help but feel warmth in your chest and stomach. A part of you even feels lucky, given that the other mentors seem to waste their time insulting their tributes or being too afraid to talk to them. Whilst Coriolanus, on the other hand, seems to be full of ideas to ensure your survival.

"The game master liked my suggestions. So the donations system is going to be implemented, with a broadcast beforehand for the tributes to get a chance to endear themselves to the public for donations." He's speaking so fast that you almost think he enjoys explaining the games to you. "Now what this means is that assuming you get enough donations, when the bell goes off, you don't go for the weapons. You don't fight. You just run as fast as you can, hide and stay alive for as long as you can."

"How can you even be sure I'll get enough donations for you to be able to send supplies?" you mutter, looking around at the other tributes. "A lot of these folks are a lot taller and stronger than I am. They've got a much better chance at surviving than I do."

Coriolanus surprises you by taking both of your hands in his, squeezing your palms tight in his cold palms.

"I know, but we have something none of the others have."

You scrunch your face in confusion.

"What's that?"

"A story. A strong connection between you and me, a Capitol mentor and a District 12 tribute. Not to mention, your incredible singing and songwriting. Match that with my knack for public relations and we'll have enough donations to send you any supplies necessary for your victory in the games."

You realize then that Coriolanus is unlike anyone else you've ever met. So confident, so sure, so perceptive of other people and their secret desires and pitfalls. His unwavering commitment to his beliefs is admirable, if not almost foolish, but you keep that part to yourself.

"How're you so sure I'll even survive the first few minutes?" you push back, still unconvinced, though you don't pull away from his hold. "And, again, I don't just sing for anyone."

The blonde opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted when a sudden cascade of dust and fire crumbles down from the ceiling of the arena. The sound of a bomb exploding reverberates as you're both thrown off of your feet by the impact. Your head is still ringing from the chaos when Jessup pulls at your sleeves, commanding you to walk away from the wreckage.

Rising onto shaky legs, you even spot another tribute running from the guards towards a blown out hole on the side of the building. And when your eyes meet with Coriolanus' frantic ones, his lower half trapped underneath rubble, you both recognize that you now have an unbridled chance to escape -

But you don't.

To the blonde's complete shock, you instead shove your friend off, screaming as you lift the heavy cement column with all your strength in an effort to pry the debris off of his body. With the help of a few peace keepers, it works, but Coriolanus falls into unconsciousness quickly as he succumbs to the excruciating pain of crushed ribs and bruised limbs.

The last thing he sees before he fades into darkness is your teary eyes, a sight he so badly wants to fix by wiping away your tears with his fingers...

When he eventually wakes, it's in a dark hospital next to his grandma'am and sister. There's a roar on the television screen as you're brought onto the broadcast, shy smile and a glittering guitar in hand. It hits him that you're actually going to sing.

"I didn't have a chance to... uh... write a new song. But I'd like to dedicate this performance to someone very special who's recently been hurt." you say into the mike, your eyes clearly brimming with nerves and doubt.

As you sing, there's a tight sensation in Coriolanus' chest once the lyrics settle into his mind - a small voice whispers in his mind that it's jealousy, for you singing about a boy back in your home town who broke your heart - but it's overwhelmed by the feelings of gratitude and awe that you'd ended up doing what he asked you to do. All that, after selflessly saving his life.

"A...are you okay, Coryo?" is all Tigris asks, brushing his hair back and gently guiding him back down onto bed upon seeing his expression twist into one of discomfort.

"She could've run."

"What?"

"At the arena. The blast blew open a large opening on the side of the stadium. I saw one of the tributes actually make it out that way." he lets out a shaky breath, hating you for what you've done to him to make him feel this way. "Damn it, Tigris. She could've run. She could've-"

A single tear drops from his left eye and onto his injured palm, his weak voice giving away his true emotions.

"She could've saved herself from even having to participate in the games. But she stayed. She fucking stayed behind to lift the debris off of me."

"She saved your life." his sister finishes for him, the atmosphere turning somber as she wraps her arms around his shoulder. "I'm just so glad that you're both safe."

As you retreat from the screen, the donation numbers only piling up higher as Lucky Flickerman closes out the broadcast, a hot fire lights up in Coriolanus' stomach.

He has to save you.

No matter what it takes.

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

"You know he's just using you, right?"

After the broadcast, once it's revealed that you were given the largest amount of donations out of all the other tributes, Coral from District 4 corners you backstage.

"Pardon?" you fake ignorance, a small smile playing on your lips, which only seems to aggravate the girl further.

"Your pretty boy mentor. He's only been faking all sweet for you to get the public to send you donations. In fact, I bet he didn't even bother to try and pull himself out of the wreckage so that he could get more public sympathy.

You snap at that, all fake modesty melting away in an instant.

"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Coral. Coriolanus isn't like that." you spit, but all she does is look down at you with a nasty smirk on her lips.

"Oh really? And how would you know, little songbird? Think he'd care about someone from district 12? And why do you think he wants you to win so badly? Because he's a good person?" she mocks, her face now a mere inches away from yours. "No. I reckon it's more for the prize money."

You can't sleep that night at the zoo, tossing and turning in the dark. Your mind can't seem to rest, torn between the adrenaline and dread for the games tomorrow, alongside the constant worry over Coriolanus' wellbeing and doubts over his genuinity and trustworthiness.

Coral's just trying to get in my head. you repeat to yourself, over and over again. You're on the edge of sleep, exhausted and upset by your conflicting emotions, when you hear a familiar voice coming from the darkness.

It sounds like Coriolanus.

You sit up straight, and it's true: he's here, and he's whispering your name repeatedly, beckoning you towards the front of the cage and away from your sleeping competitors. Suddenly, the overwhelming exhaustion and fatigue disappears, and you find yourself gravitating towards the only person you've been thinking about for the past 24 hours.

"Coryo, you're... you're alright." you sigh out, almost overwhelmed with relief. You don't even realize you're crying until his hands reach up and brush away your tears, his warm hand a stark contrast to the freezing cold of the night.

"I am. All thanks to you, songbird." he breathes out, his fingers tracing the ripples of your cheeks. His head feels dizzy and his hands tremble as he searches his pockets for his mother's golden compact mirror.

"Don't call me that." you weakly laugh, as he does too. "What's this?" you ask, staring at the object he’s folded gently into your hands.

"It's for you to use in the arena. Now listen to what I say very carefully. Don't breathe this in, don't spill it on yourself, and only use it when you really need to." he slowly explains, as if he's terrified that you're going to harm yourself by merely carrying it in your pockets.

"Is... is this allowed? For you to sneak in and give me this?" you whisper, looking around your surroundings, but it's pitch black.

The blonde purses his lips, using every muscle in his body to keep his expression neutral.

No, it's certainly not allowed. I am risking my life, as well as my family's future, by doing this.

"That's not important. What is important is that the blast from the arena has created a hole leading out to a bunch of service tunnels. I tested it out myself, it leads towards the outside, far away from the peace keepers."

"Wait, I don't understa-"

Desperation grabs a hold of him, and it's a foreign feeling - the crushing despair of wanting to protect someone that he can't, the burning urge to want to put someone else ahead of him for once.

"What I need you to do tomorrow, (Y/n), is to run. The moment the alarm rings, don't even think of running towards the weapons or fighting the others. Don't even hide anymore. Just… just run towards the tunnels, by yourself, and get out."

"But what about Jessup-" you hiccup. Your head's spinning, confused and horrified by your mentor's change of plans and the prospect of leaving behind your friend to die in the arena.

"Forget about him." Coriolanus snaps. Suddenly, his eyes are cold and his voice is firm, commanding you as if you have no choice in the matter. "In there, he's as dangerous as the other tributes. You can't trust anyone, not even your supposed friends, okay? The games, they-" he chokes on his own words, and there's something again in Coriolanus' eyes that you can't quite decipher. "They bring out the worst in people. Promise me you'll run."

It makes your stomach twist in anxiety.

"I-"

"Please."

As he begs, his face crumbles, his voice so desperate and feeble that you can't find it in yourself to say no.

"I... I'll try." you relent, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your agreement.

"Good. Perfect." He takes your head in his hands and softly kisses your temple. "I won't let you die in there, okay? Just like you took care of me after the explosion. I'm going to take care of you."

"I'm your mentor. I do my best to take care of you."

Coriolanus' words from the train station echo in your head as you nod, pocketing the mirror deep inside your dress to hide it away from plain sight.

"Will I... will I be able to see you, after the games?"

You immediately feel stupid for even asking that. Everyone knows winning the games merely allows your return to your home district. And on all logical accounts, it wouldn't make any sense for the man to give up his life in the Capitol to follow you back to 12.

But he smiles at your innocent question, only nodding whilst squeezing your hands in the dark. To your feeble heart and mind, it feels like a genuine promise.

"Of course, my songbird. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." you whisper.

"I never do."

And for the first time, you think you actually believe him wholeheartedly.

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

You can't believe it.

You've won.

You were so sure you were going to die once the snakes had been released, eyes closing shut once the venomous snakes began to crawl up your skin, but as you continued to sing... The reptiles simply slithered by your side, remaining docile and non-threatening. And based on the snakes' sudden change of behavior and Highbottom's scowl when he announced you as the victor of the 10th Hunger Games - "consider yourself lucky, little girl, as it seems your mentor was willing to break more than a few rules for you" - your stomach churns at the realization that Coriolanus kept his promise.

He did whatever it took to get you out.

Even cheating.

You've only heard whispers of the punishments for cheating at the Capitol. But based on the frequent hangings of rebels in your home district, you can't imagine that the punishment would be very kind.

Weeks have passed since your victory, since the last time you've even seen Coriolanus, but it does nothing to erase him from your mind. You still see his faint silhouette in the mornings, when your eyes have barely adjusted to the morning light and there's a pile of clothes sitting on the chair beside your bed. You think you hear his voice amongst the sea of strangers’ conversations, calling out for his 'songbird'. And you swear you see his face in every crowd at the bar.

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus is having the same struggles on the opposite end of the country. Luckily, bearing the last name Snow meant his punishment for cheating was to be lighter than the usual hanging: mandatory military service. District 8. But he's sure to bring his last few bills to bribe the immigration officer for a transfer to 12.

All to come find you.

He suffers through the first week of training - grueling hours, hanging ceremonies, endless ramblings from Sejanus about making a change for the better. He pretends not to notice Sejanus establishing connections within the rebel community, until he can’t ignore it anymore. After all, Coriolanus simply can't afford his friend’s idealism and recklessness to get him killed too, and potentially you, when you're thought to be linked to the movement by mere virtue of association.

Especially not you, Coriolanus thinks.

After the games, of having to watch you bleed, sob and fight for hours on end as he stood helplessly, only able to watch: even the passing thought of your death elicits a violent reaction in him. He'll do anything for you.

Even if that means turning in his only friend to prove his loyalty to the Capitol.

It's an unremarkable Wednesday night for you when you're singing a song at the bar, black guitar in hand and the smell of booze thick in the air, when your eyes come across a familiar face.

It takes you a few seconds, of course. You almost think it’s a hallucination, if it wasn’t for the sea of other soldiers surrounding him, validating his presence. His fluffy white locks are gone, replaced with a clean buzz cut. He's lost a bit of weight, his shoulders more broad and rough from military training, and the lack of expensive bright fabrics draped around his figure is jarring at first. But it suits him, you think.

The song can't finish any faster before you're slinging your guitar to the back and rushing up to Coriolanus, immediately throwing your arms around him. He stiffens in your embrace before relaxing, his arms finding your waist and squeezing you tightly. And you can't help but savor every essence of his being: he smells of sweat and coal (unlike his Capitol uniform which always smelled of florals and clean linen) and you can feel the cool metal of his dog tags press against your collarbone at this angle.

"You came back for me." you breathe out, still not believing that he's in front of you. Your ex mentor just smiles, tapping your cheeks with his hands.

"Said I'd never break a promise, now didn't I?"

As the next performer goes up on stage, recapturing the attention of the audience, you pull him away towards the back room, far away from the bustling crowds and twinkling lights.

"I've thought of you every day, my songbird." Coriolanus whispers against your skin once you two are away from the crowds, his head falling forwards into the nape of your neck.

Your cheeks warm at his comment, your fingers coming up to play with the dog tags around his neck, before a light chuckle escapes your lips.

"What's so funny? Did you not miss me?" the blonde teases, and you shake your head sideways in denial.

"Of course I missed you. I missed you more than you could imagine."

"Then what's the chuckle for?"

You let out a short sigh, not knowing if it’d be wise to bring it up. But all he does is encouraging you, looking deep into your eyes and nodding, urging you to say what’s on your mind. You relent, shoulders sagging.

"It's just... when I won the games, Highbottom congratulated me. But not for winning the games. But for surviving you." you awkwardly chuckle in hopes of diffusing the seriousness of your question. "Is it true, Coryo?"

"What are you getting at?" is his response, coy and low. You can't tell if he's amused, annoyed or disturbed.

Or all three at once.

"There's rumors, you know. I heard that you... you had to kill a tribute." you whisper, as if what you’re saying is the biggest secret in the world. "Is it true?"

Coriolanus pauses at that, the smirk on his face dropping for a fraction of a second before he's cupping your face and lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. His stare is so strong, so unwavering, almost to the point of unnerving you. But it's matched with such warmth and softness in his touch as he strokes your hair.

"You have to understand, darling… It was just like the snakes. If I hadn't rigged the game by getting the snakes used to your smell so they wouldn't attack you, you would've died. And if I hadn't killed the tribute charging at me when I had to sneak into the arena to rescue Sejanus-" he sighs, slow and long. He looks as if he’s thinking hard. "I had to, my songbird. I had to do it to protect you. To take care of you." he emphasizes.

You're not sure what kind of an answer you wanted, but you're unable to respond immediately, as it slowly dawns on you that this man both cheated and killed another person for you.

His response to your silence is a swift kiss, calloused hands dropping to your waist to pull you in close, the gesture desperate and messy. Breathing heavily when he parts from you, he kisses you once more, this time a short peck which is more rough and demanding.

"I would do anything for you, (Y/n) (L/n). Anything for you."

Coriolanus chooses to keep quiet about the fact that technically, he could've just injured the tribute charging towards him instead. Or that it felt freeing to have ended the tribute’s life. Or that just a few hours ago, he tipped off the Capitol about Sejanus' rebellion. All in an effort to secure your unbridled safety. So that he doesn’t ever have to let go of you again.

"Now, where are your manners, my songbird? Aren't you going to thank me?" he whispers against your lips, smoothing out your hair.

"T-thank you, Coryo." you manage to stutter.

He smiles at that, kissing the top of your head as he sways you from side to side.

"Of course, love. Don't worry. We’re going to be just fine. In fact, everything will be fine from now on."

As you peak out from under his embrace, you're not so sure if you can believe him anymore.

a/n: leave it to a new hunger games movie and Tom Blyth playing young!Snow to make me return from my 1.5 year long writing hiatus.

I'm quite nervous about this one as it's my first time writing for a semi-dark character and also because it's been so long since I posted my writing on here... But I hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment, like, reblog, etc if you liked it. If this one is received well I might go ahead and post the other Snow fics currently sitting in my drafts!!!

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x you #hunger games x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow oneshot #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #1k

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just-a-ghost00 · 4 months

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Who's coming towards you and what do they bring to the table?

Group 1 - Spider lilly

Who are they? In Japanese culture, the spider lily is believed to bloom near graves. It is associated with the afterlife and the notions of death and rebirth. This flower holds a very scorpionic energy. It is also a symbol of eternal love. This specific white lily shown in the picture is also a symbol of purity and innocence. If we take that into account, the person coming towards you can be viewed as mysterious and deep, somewhat cold. But once you get to know them, you realize that they are rather outgoing and pure, kind and childlike. They marvel at the beauty of life and want nothing but to love and be loved.

Looking at the different cards you got, there’s a lot of emphasis on communication and voicing one’s opinions or truth without fear. This person could have a beautiful voice. They could be a singer or a spokesperson, an advocate or any other profession that involves speaking to a large audience. This person seems to be shy and rather harsh on themselves. They take pride in what they do and the values they stand for. When their actions are not in alignment with their ideals, they tend to criticize themselves a lot. They are represented by Bismuth and Turquoise, both blue crystals. The throat chakra holds an important significance to this person, as well as emotions, intuition and water. Blue could be their favorite color. This person could burn themselves out often by being present for others more than showing up for themselves. They could get throat sickness quite often, especially when they are repressing their truth or telling lies. They have a sharp tongue. They use their voice to shed light on what is contradictory or what needs to evolve. They help people shift their perspective. Teaching could also be their career path.

What do they bring to the table? - Queen of pentacles, 7 of wands, 4 of cups, The Moon, The Fool, Judgement, White Numen

This person brings in major shifts in your life. Renewal is the best way to describe it. They will literally put your world upside down in order to help you gain perspective on what is going on. They’ll show you that there’s nothing wrong in standing for what you believe in. They’ll also teach you how to be the bigger person and choose your battles wisely. They’ll help you introspect and listen to your intuition, take a new start in life and get retribution by accomplishing what you were meant to do in this life time. This person will help you find your true calling and your voice in this global cacophony that is the world we currently live in. With them, you will create a reality in your image. They will also help you value yourself more and set yourself free from any dependence or addiction. They’ll help you detach yourself from people’s judgmental views. Significant zodiac signs for this group are Taurus, Cancer and Scorpio. You can wear blue or connect to the energy of Bismuth and Turquoise to understand this person better on a spiritual level and manifest them into your life.

Group 2 - Lavender

Who are they? Lavender is known to have soothing properties. It is often used in aromatherapy to ease the mind and release tensions related to anxiety, stress. Lavender is a symbol of devotion, serenity and grace. With its purple petals, it could be associated with the spiritual realm. This person is very delicate and kind hearted. They consider people with a lot of care and kindness. They have a pure heart and make people feel safe. They remind me of Taurus and their Venusian sensual and loving energy. This person is down to earth and wise beyond their years. Their crown chakra is highly active. It wouldn’t surprise me if this person already connected with you through your dreams. They could very well be a therapist, a reiki practitioner, a healer that uses alternative medicines or unconventional practices like crystal healing or sound healing. This is further confirmed by two cards of the Threads of fate deck that are related to air and ether : share wisdom and The Sage. This person is a guide and mentor to others. They could be a teacher, some type of guru or an important public figure, a coach, a counselor. This person is very powerful and influent. They could have published a book or a study or shared their experience and what they learned over time online.

They are represented by the hammerhead shark. They have a lot of determination and drive. They are also incredibly mature. They could very well be older than you. I’d say at least ten years older. Purple and blue could be their favorite colors. If they were a major arcana, I think this person would be the Hermit. So Cancer could also be relevant. They are also represented by Kyanite and Amethyst. Kyanite is advised to people who feel restless, who overthink or get caught in their mental space too often. This shows that this person is a deep thinker. They take things seriously and meticulously. Amethyst is often used in spiritual practices to deepen our connection to the spirit realm and gain clarity. To hone our psychic skills. This person feels very connected to their higher self. They know who they are, what they were meant to do and where they’re heading. They are focused on their mission and won’t lose their time with insignificant matters.

What do they bring to the table? - 7 of cups, 3 of wands, 9 of cups, Temperance, 4 of swords, The Lovers, 5 of swords Other significant zodiac signs are Gemini, Sagittarius and Pisces. This person will teach you how to identify your needs and choose a path that is in alignment with your higher self and your highest good. They’ll help you find balance and emotional satisfaction in the projects that you pursue, the actions you take. They’ll teach you how to recognize the symptoms of anxiety and being overwhelmed by life so that you can retreat and protect yourself. They’ll teach you how to pick your battles wisely and ignore petty attitudes from your peers. They’ll help you handle the pressure of being your true self and choosing yourself over others. They’ll teach you how to love yourself and how to love, how to be in love and receive love. I can say here that this relationship has romantic potential. Surprisingly this part of the reading is the shortest but I feel like there’s no need to overanalyze this because this person will be pretty clear with their intent : they’re here to help and support you, "and that is all you need to know" they want to add.

Group 3 - Sunflower

Who are they? I associate the Sunflower with the bold and brave Leo. I heard in my mind "only the brave" which is the name of a perfume from Diesel. So this could be this person’s perfume. With it’s bright colors and relation to the sun, it is safe to say this person has a bright personality. They are outgoing and friendly, like to be seen and admired. They take great care of their body and appearance. Hence the fragrance reference. This person is cheerful and ambitious. They don’t like lying down and contemplating. They would rather act first and think later. They could have anger issues and sometimes be jealous. The signs of Leo and Aries could be significant. Blue and green could be their favorite colors. This person is represented by the whale shark and the octopus. They are very clever and resilient. They have a strong moral compass and always lead their life according to their values and principles. They remind me of Changbin from Stray Kids. This person likes to make their own mind instead of following others. They’re a natural leader and a loner. With The Creator card and the Withdraw card from the Threads of fate deck, this tells me that this person is creative and works independently. They could be a fashion designer, a writer, a producer, a webdesigner, an architect, a freelance artist in any domain. This person could be known on social media. On the withdraw card is a sleeping fox. This tells me that this person likes their solitude. They need time alone to recharge and create. They don’t like showing people their tricks. They like to surprise and impress. The creator card shows a hand holding a wand. This for some reason reminds me of Harry Potter. Maybe your person is a potter head. In this case, they’re the typical Gryffindor : athletic, loyal, thinks with their heart (or something else a bit lower when the heart isn’t functioning). They have a strong sex drive and are pretty sensual. Their body matters a lot to them. They go to the gym often.

What do they bring to the table? - 2 of cups, ace of swords, page of wands, ace of pentacles, six of cups, The Tower, 7 of wands

To put it simply, they bring love, sex and a whole lot of fun. But this will be challenging for you, as you are not used to this type of energy. Significant zodiac signs are Scorpio, Sagittarius and Pisces. They bring in new opportunities and a new start romantically speaking. They bring in new experiences and that includes sexuality. They will help you reconnect with the past and make amends with it. They will help you heal your inner child and release trauma regarding intimacy. They will challenge you and push your buttons to get the best out of you. That is their way of showing you love. This is the type of person that will wake you up one morning and get you out of bed to work out with them, and gently scream at you positive affirmations while you’re working on that "summer body" you always wanted. They’ll show you how to have fun with life and explore all the hidden parts of you that you were burying because you were afraid of rejection. They’ll cut through your walls and uncover your masks for you so that you can finally get the happy ending that you deserve. They’ll be your knight in shining armor except that instead of saving you they’ll get you to save yourself. If you ever try to push them away, they’ll only come back stronger and needier. You won’t get rid of them easily.

#pick a card #pac reading #love pac #spiritual pac

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vivmaek · 6 months

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Total Solar Eclipse in Aries: Predictions

✰ my masterlist This eclipse season is highlighting themes of forgiveness, both towards others and towards ourselves. It's time to turn a new leaf, and to take responsibility for mistakes made within the past. Doing this will allow a particular area within your life to transform. In October 2023 it may have felt like you lost something. Whether that was a friend group, a career opportunity, or a romantic relationship depends on your chart. However, because this solar eclipse is conjuncting the North Node, it will feel as though you have gained something. Issues from October 2023 will find a resolution.

General predictions:

ꕥ Sudden/unexpected military action.

ꕥ The development and discovery of new weapons. (Specifically with bombs and explosives.)

ꕥ Veterans speaking out against the country they once served.

ꕥ World leaders unexpectedly stepping down from their positions.

- Many world leaders are going to be dealing with extremely poor health which will “eclipse’ their power.

ꕥ It's going be a hot summer, and the effects of climate change will become all the more obvious.

ꕥ Bad wildfire season.

ꕥ An increase in self-immolation as a form of protest.

ꕥ An increase in reckless driving, speeding, and road rage.

ꕥ An increase in violence against women, and people who are non-binary or transgender .

ꕥ Issues regarding gender will become even more polarizing.

- Women across the world will continue to assert their independence and will fight back against outdated standards.

- Women will become more willing to embrace the unknown. Many women will fully commit to the idea of never getting married or having children during this time frame, and they will do so with enthusiasm.

- Some women will choose not to get married or have children as a form of protest

ꕥ An increase in narcissistic behavior, as well as an increase in being able to recognize narcissistic behavior.

ꕥ Celebrities responding to public criticism with arrogance will witness a downfall.

ꕥ The Summer Olympics will be especially entertaining this year. This event will be explosive and dramatic. Some athletes will gain a significant amount of fame during this event.

ꕥ LOTS of new music. Artists are going to be pushing the boundaries of genres. Audiences are craving something completely new.

ꕥ People are DONE living in fear. This will result in widespread, collective action that will effectively make big changes. More protests, more boycotts, more strikes, more uprisings.

Predictions for your Rising Sign:

Aries ♈︎

𖦹 Explosive relationship issues

𖦹 Facing “the final straw”

𖦹 Reuniting with yourself

𖦹 Making a significant change to your physical appearance

𖦹 Detaching yourself from others

𖦹 Making bold statements that shock people

𖦹 A boost in confidence

𖦹 Reconnecting with your desires

𖦹 Realizing that you’ve outgrown people

𖦹 Becoming easily frustrated

𖦹 Not recognizing the person you were two years ago

𖦹 Taking decisive action

𖦹 Being forced to defend your beliefs

𖦹 Heightened sense of physical energy

𖦹 Gaining a sense of control over your impulsivity

Taurus ♉︎

𖦹 Confronting fears of the unknown

𖦹 Showcasing a strong sense of perseverance

𖦹 Psychic dreams/ uptick in strange dreams

𖦹 Reflecting on the past

𖦹 Spending time alone

𖦹 Receiving some sort of news that shakes you up

𖦹 Building trust in your intuition

𖦹 Finding yourself zoning out all of time

𖦹 Turning towards food, drugs, and alcohol to find comfort

𖦹 Intense emotions coming forward

𖦹 Facing an uptick in stress and anxiety

𖦹 Rumors and lies being spread about you

𖦹 Secrets coming to the surface

𖦹 Feeling exhausted/needing more time for rest

𖦹 Developing a stronger connection to nature

Gemini ♊︎

𖦹 Heightened sense of compassion

𖦹 Giving out unsolicited advice

𖦹 Networking!

𖦹 Joining new social groups

𖦹 Finding a sense of belonging

𖦹 Engaging in volunteer work

𖦹 Developing new goals and dreams

𖦹 Interacting with lots of strangers

𖦹 Feeling in touch with the future

𖦹 Participating in interesting conversations on a daily basis

𖦹 Initiating and organizing group activities

𖦹 Developing new friendships at a fast pace

𖦹 Heightened sense of popularity

𖦹 Fearing commitment

𖦹 Heightened sense of conversational skills

Cancer ♋︎

𖦹 Stepping into a leadership position

𖦹 Learning how to balance your private life with work

𖦹 Becoming a stay-at-home parent

𖦹 Hard work paying off

𖦹 Facing competition within your career

𖦹 New responsibilities

𖦹 Challenges with authority figures

𖦹 Being forced to stand up for yourself

𖦹 Setting boundaries within your career

𖦹 Your reputation becoming a source of stress

𖦹 Becoming someone's caregiver

𖦹 Learning how to avoid burnout

𖦹 Becoming a source of motivation within your workplace

𖦹 Feeling extra sensitive towards criticism

𖦹 Working with a family member, or someone who feels like family

Leo ♌︎

𖦹 Being forced to look at the big picture

𖦹 Stepping out of the sidelines

𖦹 Deciding to expand your mind

𖦹 Traveling/ big journeys

𖦹 Coming across as overbearing within serious situations

𖦹 A change in long term plans/goals

𖦹 Becoming a teacher or mentor

𖦹 Beliefs being challenged

𖦹 Dominating discussions with other people

𖦹 Craving adventure

𖦹 Gaining a new perspective on life

𖦹 New opportunities in education

𖦹 Embracing a newfound sense of excitement

𖦹 Seeking out recognition

𖦹 Gaining wisdom through creative ventures

Virgo ♍︎

𖦹 Joint resources being brought into focus

𖦹 Seeking reciprocity within relationships

𖦹 Having a realistic approach to intimate relationships

𖦹 Realizing you give too much/too little

𖦹 The judgements you’ve made about other people being challenged

𖦹 Making investments

𖦹 Burning bridges

𖦹 Creating a new budget

𖦹 Resentments within relationships being brought to the surface

𖦹 Paying off debt

𖦹 Confronting your desire for profection

𖦹 Close relationships becoming a source of stress

𖦹 Healing intimacy and trust issues

𖦹 Seeking out deeply emotional connections

𖦹 Finally recognizing hidden patterns

Libra ♎︎

𖦹 Showing up more authentically

𖦹 Confronting communication issues

𖦹 Fixing a misunderstanding from the past

𖦹 Being honest about wants and needs

𖦹 Asking for help and receiving it

𖦹 Developing skills in diplomacy

𖦹 Placing your aspirations before a relationship

𖦹 Letting go of responsibilities that don’t serve you

𖦹 Ego and pride creating conflict within relationships

𖦹 Starting a collaborative project

𖦹 Holding yourself to the promises you’ve made

𖦹 Receiving some sort of justice

𖦹 Healing your fear of being alone

𖦹 Seeking out compromise

𖦹 Recognizing how indecision has held you back

Scorpio ♏︎

𖦹 Putting your dreams into action

𖦹 Experiencing tension within the body

𖦹 Confronting control issues

𖦹 Your sense of motivation being reawakened

𖦹 Implementing new routines

𖦹 Prioritizing health

𖦹 Finishing projects from the past

𖦹 Feeling more energized

𖦹 Lack of support from others

𖦹 Becoming more organized

𖦹 Stress becoming a cause for health issues

𖦹 Challenging your own self-criticism

𖦹 Developing a greater sense of concentration

𖦹 Exploring alternative treatment approaches

𖦹 Becoming a workaholic

Sagittarius ♐︎

𖦹 Starting a new hobby or project

𖦹 Newfound relationship needs/standards

𖦹 Taking relationships risks

𖦹 Seeking out pleasure

𖦹 Connecting with your inner child

𖦹 A spike in creativity

𖦹 Having fun with your sense of self expression

𖦹 Being able to forgo responsibility

𖦹 Joining the dating scene

𖦹 Starting a family

𖦹 Caught up within daydreams

𖦹 Developing a sense of contentment

𖦹 Pregnant and ready to give birth (this could be a literal child or a new idea)

𖦹 Taking initiative

𖦹 Everyday life becomes exciting

Capricorn ♑︎

𖦹 Possible career change

𖦹 Starting a garden/buying plants

𖦹 Gaining an understanding in generational trauma

𖦹 Moving at a slow pace

𖦹 New living situations

𖦹 Change in family dynamics

𖦹 Heightened sense of intuition

𖦹 Finding stability

𖦹 Tending to unhealed wounds

𖦹 Arguments with your parents

𖦹 Working remotely

𖦹 Reconnecting with your ancestors

𖦹 Seeking more time spent alone

𖦹 Home renovations

𖦹 A death or birth occurring within your family

Aquarius ♒︎

𖦹 Being more active on social media

𖦹 Speaking before thinking

𖦹 An uptick in the amount of texts/emails you receive

𖦹 Overactive mind/imagination

𖦹 Attending lots of social engagements

𖦹 Oversharing

𖦹 Challenging your negative thought patterns

𖦹 Creating some sort of content

𖦹 Busy schedule

𖦹 Buying a new vehicle/changing your commute to work

𖦹 Moving into an environment that's more stimulating

𖦹 Learning new skills

𖦹 Changing the way in which you communicate

𖦹 Chasing after the things that make you curious

𖦹 Spreading gossip

Pisces ♓︎

𖦹 Financial management

𖦹 Your foundations being tested

𖦹 A person in need taking advantage of you

𖦹 Developing security

𖦹 Redefining your values

𖦹 Losing or misplacing a valuable object

𖦹 Selling your impulsive purchases

𖦹 Overcoming insecurities

𖦹 Feeling more stubborn

𖦹 Strengthening your self-worth

𖦹 Building your savings

𖦹 Earning money from your artistry

𖦹 Cutting back on expenses

𖦹 Donating your money to charity

𖦹 Turning to spiritual practices to ground yourself

729 notes · View notes

hidden-poet · 2 months

Text

To have and to hold.

1/1 Disclaimer: I have not watched Billy the kid. This story is based on an internet search, and a can do mentality. No cannon events or characters.

Warnings: Dark!billy-the-kid, non-con, light stalking, technical kidnapping, spit, mature, 18+ only, porn-with-little-plot, non-fandom based writing, Reader POV, reader not described but can be picked up, definitely not historically actuate but you are reading about getting railed by billy-the-kid so you can fuck off if you have a problem with it. Dead dove, do not eat.

A/N: I am so sorry that this was late, and also rushed. The tent scene felt like I was pulling teeth out. I had no idea where I was going with it.

unedited.

You always knew Billy had a crush on you.

You would catch him staring at you from across the market. He would try to talk to you every chance he got. Always trying to find out more about you. He was awkward mostly, unfitting to his position of power. Despite his eager attempts to gain an audience with you, his eyes often floated around the room, and the conversation topics only always grazed the surface.

Nevertheless when you excused yourself from him, he always seemed disappointed but never stopped you.

You never minded the attention. You were flattered by it. Before him, none of the town's men paid you too much mind. Your family wasn’t rich, and your face was too plain to gain attention away from the wealthy girls.

It helped too that it was handsome. Dangerous. Big broad shoulders and striking eyes. He was good at his craft. Some say the best.

He was good enough to keep the vultures away from town. For a price. Him and his gang kept the town safe for a portion of everyone’s profits. It was a small profit compared to what he could have asked but added up quickly amongst the business that bloomed with his protection.

The regulators became the law after running out the corrupt and keeping out wild gangs that would come and pillage.

There were worse men to be left in charge. Overall his reputation was good but money was to be paid, or houses were to be burned down.

He had men to look after. They had to be fed and housed with a few extra dollars in their pockets to halt their boisterous nature.

From the few times he did use a heavy hand, it left a strong reminder to the community that Billy’s word was law.

Even with his sheriff- like position, he was still considered an outlaw. Wanted in multiple counties. Wanted in yours not too long ago. Before he and his crew became the new law. So you had to keep your distance as much as you could, and avoid situations where you could be seen alone with him. The town mostly thought of you as a poor target for Billy but a few whispers about you were already causing damage to your reputation.

Anyone connected to the regulators was treated differently. People wanted to distance themselves from the group that controlled the area. Anyone found being too friendly with the Regulators were ostracized. Your family couldn't afford to be outcast. The family business relied on steady connections and loyal customers.

So you don’t mind the flirtatious talk in private or burning stares so long as it never proceeds from that.

To help this, you avoided him where you could but some days it felt as if he knew your schedule better than you did.

You tried to switch it up by going to town a day earlier than you usually would, but fate had it that it was the same day as Billy’s collection.

People hush as Billy and two of his men come into the convenience store. Some leave while others push themselves to the back of the store. You try and hide your face behind a series of hanging baskets as you watch the group walk confidently in.

Billy greets the shopkeeper respectfully but the men he is with are arrogant and begin playing with the objects on display. You knew them as Jim Greathouse, and Tom O’Folliard. Both long-standing members of the Regulators.

“Good evening, Mr O’Conoly. How are you today?”

“Good, Billy. Thank you”. The shopkeeper places a pouch of money on top of the counter for the men to take.

Billy takes it first and places the small pouch in his pocket, thanking the man, and asking about his family.

You try to make your escape moving from behind the baskets towards the door. Your face heated with just the thought of talking to Billy in a room full of people. In passing or at a public event was unavoidable, your townspeople knew that, but talking so friendly in a shop. It would bring your family shame if it came across too familiar.

But you were too hasty in your exit, your feet too hard against the floor. The shuffling caught his attention. Worried that he might be offended with your behavior, you pretend to look at the pears on display as if contemplating.

The sound of his feet against the floorboards matched the beating of your heart.

You pretend to look busy as you inspect the pears but could feel his searing stare as he approached you.

“Miss y/n”’ he took off his hat as he spoke as a sign of respect.

You nodded your head towards him as a sign of respect back, “Mr Bonney”.

“Billy. You can call me Billy”.

You nod back with a tight smile, keeping your eyes focused on the produce in front of you. To encourage Billy by calling him by familiar terms may give him the wrong impression.

"You look awful pretty today"

"You say that every day, Mr Bonney".

“I mean it every day”. He stands close to you, leaning his frame over yours. With his height it could have been intimidating but you knew he meant no harm.

“Did you need help shopping today? I could carry your basket for you” His fingers reach out to your basket but you tug it back against you.

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, but I will not be buying anything today. I must get home. I suddenly don’t feel well”.

“Wait” He reaches out and gently captures your arm to stop you from turning. It was the first time he had ever touched you. It felt like you had been zapped with electricity.

You pull quickly out of his grasp and look around the shop. People were staring at the scene. One wrong step and it could be the end of your family's good name. You step further back from him, solidifying that he was the same person to them as he was to you.

Billy holds his hands flat out in surrender, telling you he had no further plans of touching you.

“I was just wondering if you planned to be at Maria's wedding?”.

Maria was a friend of yours, of course you would be at her wedding. You wondered why he was asking, he knew this too.

She was often with you when he approached. More than that her soon-to-be husband was friendly with Billy, and borrowed from the Regulators to finance a farm.

Because of that, would he now be invited to the wedding? Would you be stuck avoiding him the whole night?

“I do,” you respond. If you lied and he was invited it would be an uncomfortable evening, but has telling the truth now placed you in a difficult spot?

“I was wondering if you might fancy a dance or two with me?”

A sudden loud clanking noise stole the spotlight from you. Jim had knocked a table of grain and spilled it over the floor along with the serving cup. Tom bellowed at his friend's mistake, kneeling over from laughter.

“I am sorry, sir” Billy said to the shopkeeper, “He will pay for that”.

Tom laughs louder, earning a shove from Jim.

“Clean it up” Billy demands with a click of his fingers. Jim snatched a nearby rag and kneeled upon the floor under Billy’s stare. You make a quick exist while he is distracted but he follows you across the floor.

The shopkeepers goes to help clean up the mess by bringing a broom but he is insulated by Jim as he nears. He throws the dirty rag at the man and questions why he didn’t bring a broom sooner.

Billy’s attention is once again caught. He looks at you as you pass through the door but Jim continues to hurl insults at the undeserving shopkeep. Billy turns direction away from you to deal with the situation.

“Hey. He’s paid his dues. Leave him alone” was the last thing you heard as you raced down the steps and to the path back home.

You bash your hand against your forehead as you take the dirt path back to your home. It felt good to release some of the tension you felt. You had kept your composure through your walk through the back of town but could feel it bubbling under the surface.

You should have left as soon as he entered the store. Now you were left in difficult position and only the feeling of dread around your friends wedding.

How would you be able to avoid him for the entire time? Your only hope is that he will avoid you while you are with your family.

You swing your empty basket. The trip to town and back was a 40 minute walk across a hard pebble road. You’d have to make it again tomorrow.

You wondered if you would see him again. Billy normally placed himself in town to correspond with your schedule.

Would he ask for a dance again or had you wounded his pride? What is the right answer?

Yes would leave the town talking for weeks. Might even affect your fathers business.

No might make you an enemy of the Regulators. Which is the last thing you wanted to be.

Perhaps if you took more chores, your sister would take your trip to town.

She was stubborn though. Would want more than her fair share to swap tasks. You begin your negotiations in your head.

Preparing for when you get home, when the sound of galloping horse upon the gravel approaches you. You move from the path to let the horseman pass, but it slows next to you.

You look up at the rider, just making out his face under the sun.

“Mr Bonney. What are you doing?”.

You eye the area to see no one else. A blessing and a curse.

He swings off his horse next to you.

“You said you felt ill. I thought it was best to see you home alright”.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr Bonney”.

“Please, I insist. Riding would be faster than walking”.

“How would that look, sir? Sharing a horse?”.

“You could sit, and I’ll walk him along,” he suggests. His hat covers his face in shadows. It made it hard to see how he was processing your words.

“No, thank you, sir. The walk would be good for me. You go on now”.

“I’ll walk alongside you”. He readies the reins of his horse between his hand for a walking pace.

“There’s really no need” you try.

“There’s also nothing stopping me” he returns.

It puts you back on one foot. He had never spoken to you like that before. Conversations about the weather, and upcoming community events were the only things really talked about. Sometimes he would ask after your family, and your health. But he found that broader, more unfamiliar topics worked best to elicit a conversation.

You once helped him pick out a ripe watermelon when he asked you but he had never refused to stop bothering you.

He walked beside you with his shoulder almost touching yours. You try to create distance by walking on the edge of the road. The rocks slip off the edge of the road under your feet. It makes for an uncomfortable walk, in which your ankle twists from the uneven ground.

“It looks like rain” he looks up to the sky and its dark forming clouds, “I sure hope it clears before the wedding”.

You tense as he brings up the wedding. It was surely a ploy to reintroduce his offer. In an attempt to discourage him, you only offer him a nod.

One wrong step and you tumble of balance towards the surrounding dirt.

“Careful” he hand latches on to your arm, pulling you back on the path. He moves himself and his horse over to the center of the road, pulling you along with his hold, “Don’t want you breaking an ankle before our dance”.

You paused to consider a broken ankle as your way of escaping the dance, but it would immobilise you and Billy was sure to sit by your side the entire night.

“I don’t dance, Mr Bonney. Two left feet I am afraid”.

“We’ll get along fine”

“I might not be well enough to attend anyway”.

“Oh” he looks ahead at the road, “That would be a shame”.

The horse kicks, impatient with her pace.

“Settle” he commanded with a pat to its nose.

“She’s used to going fast,” he tells you.

“Please, Mr Bonney. I would hate to upset your horse”. You gesture for him to go forward and leave you.

He laughs at you. A sweet, airy laugh.

“She'll be fine”.

You knew he meant you no harm. Even as you walk with him miles from anyone you felt no fear. So you walk in a comfortable silence next to him, your feet falling into step with his own.

“If you need a break, let me know,” he spoke.

You wondered why he said such a thing, forgetting your own lie. Quick in your recoup you bring your hand to your forehead

“I will be fine. Home is not too far off”.

He offers you a drink from his water flask which you decline. He had reached for it although from his saddle and you still him with a hand on his shoulder. It freezes him.

In return his eyes freeze you as he peers back over his shoulder.

You’re not sure why but an apology falls from your lips.

“No” he assures, “No-I”.

Neither of you were sure where to go.

He puts the flask back, turning to you with empty hands.

You didn't notice that you had stopped walking until his horse kicked impatiently.

“I have to get home” you state.

You pick up speed and return to the silence as you walk alongside him.

Out of nowhere and somewhat timidly he reaches a hand out and places it on your shoulder.

You jump back at the unexpected contact. Half expecting the hand to claw and punch you down to the ground. But it releases.

He squints his eyes at you, surprised at your reaction.

“You don’t think I would hurt you. Do you?”

You weren’t sure. He’s never been aggressive towards you. But stories of him being a dangerous man made their way around the community.

“No, Mr Bonney”.

With home so close it urges you to pick up the pace. He keeps it easily.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to walk you home? Because you thought I would hurt you? Y/N, I would never”.

His hand once again goes up to touch you but you knock it away.

“Mr Bonney, may I remind you that you are a stranger to me. That I am an unmarried woman, and you are an unmarried man. If some one were to mistake this situation, it could cause great damage to my reputation. My family's reputation, and livelihood".

He looked hurt that you had spoken to him like that. He stopped his fast pace beside you, and you took the opportunity to continue on without him.

“Well we ain't strangers” he says as he nestles up beside you again.

The walk turned silent again and it remained that way as you passed through the wide field to your home.

Your small family home comes into view, and thought perhaps you could shake him. But he doesn’t leave you as you open your gate.

“Thank you for seeing me home, Mr Bonney”, You try.

“Anytime Miss Y/N. Maybe one day you could invite me around, and we could have tea”.

You slam the gate shut between you. By allowing him to walk you home, does he think that you were opening up to him?

“I am not sure my father would approve”.

Billy’s eyes fall to the ground. He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“I see”, he states, “Well, rest up and I’ll see you at the wedding”.

You hear the talking of your mother and sister as they bring the washing back up to the house. If they came too close, he would try to start a friendly conversation with them. The risk of your father seeing, and shooting is already high. You needn’t add to it.

“Goodbye, Mr Bonney”, you bid.

You leave him at the gate, scoping your mother and sister into your arms and back into the house.

—

The day of the wedding came. The whole house woke up in excitement but you felt more heavy than you should have.

You tried to strike a balance between dressing nice and dressing too nice that Billy would think you dressed up for him.

Luckily, Miara relied on you the whole day to complete last minute things. While the others were gathered in front of the church, you were in the field gathering flowers for her bouquet. After that you helped her dress and do her hair. It all kept you away from the guests right up to the wedding.

You dash inside the small church to find your seat before the bride was ready to come in.

You saw not only him but the entire group of the Regulators sitting at that back corner out of the way. They were all clean and dressed nicely to Billy’s request. Their hats were taken off their heads in respect, and not one of them spoke.

Billy’s body shifted as he saw you. It straightened, slightly turning towards you as you walked up the aisle to your family. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked. You couldn’t help looking back at him.

You took your seat next to your sister in time for the band to start the wedding march. Maria slowly walks down the aisle, you try to keep you focused on her during all of the service but his stare burns a hole in the back of your head.

All too soon the ceremony was over. Maria and her new husband stop to greet Billy as they pass. Maria’s husband gets a firm handshake as Billy says something to him and Maria is brought in for a kiss on the cheek.

They acted like old friends despite their true relationship as debtor and debtee.

Once the newlyweds make it to the door signaling for the rest to follow, you form a barrier of your family to keep you away from Billy as you pass him. The Regulators go to move out before the rest of the guests but Billy blocks the path by putting his hand on the front pew. Manners were important to Billy but less so to his group.

Billy and the Regulators walked behind the guests to the reception held in the field of the newlyweds' new farmstead. The couple had hired a live band, and borrowed tables and chairs. Candles and a large fire was lit as it darkened. People danced and laughed amongst the Regulators, but you found yourself trying to keep busy to avoid any conversation.

If you remained for too long in one spot, you could feel Billy closing in. Only the request from your friend on her big day made you pause. She needed help dishing up the punch as the speeches would begin soon.

All your efforts of the night were wasted as you distributed the drink into the many cups. You were a sitting duck, and you could see Billy closing in. You rush, half spilling the punch on the table. People distracted him as he made his way over. It gave you hope you could finish before he reached you.

“Whoa, slow down” Maria jeered.

“Sorry. Can you find someone else to do this? Mr Bonney is coming over and if I get trapped talking to him it will ruin my night”.

Maria slaps your arm hard causing you to spill a whole cup of punch.

“I won’t hear that talk about Billy. Not after what he did”.

Your friend goes back to pouring but she has now peaked your interest.

“What did he do?” you ask.

Maria places her cup down and leans closer to you as if it was a secret.

“Our wedding present was the farm. We own it. Debt free. He let us off”.

An expensive wedding present from a man who barely knows the couple. It was also a dangerous thing to do. How many people will now be expecting debt to be wiped free after every major life event.

Billy made his way over. You don’t turn from Maria but she ecstatically greets him.

“Can I lend a hand, Maria?”. He stands too close, your shoulder almost touching him.

Maria declined his offer of help but he picks up the empty cups and holds them out for you to fill.

You don’t speak to him as you work but he continues to swap the cups under you.

“Let's start passing these out” Maria spoke to you, picking up a tray and disappearing into the party. You follow suit, picking up your tray without a word, but Billy takes it from you, placing it back on the table.

“I was wondering if you were ready for the dance you promised me?”.

“There are many girls here, Mr Bonney, who are dying for a dance”. You hint at him. You look to your father who is watching you from his group of friends.

“That may be so”. He is resolved to his position. Although you knew it was unintentional his hand went to his gun holster light resting on the leather belt.

It was best not to make a scene so you give him a curt nod and head towards the crowd of people dancing. A dance at a wedding is hardly anything scandalous. He follows close and when he feels like you are far enough into the dance floor he takes your wrist into his hand and spins you towards him.

“Are you having a good time?’’ he asks as you move together to the festive music.

“Yes”. You wish you could have said more but your brain felt muddled with him so close. You could feel his strong shoulders as you rest your arm around his neck, and his strong fingers squeezed around yours.

“It didn’t rain” he comments.

“No” you agree.

“You look beautiful in that dress”

“Thank you. I borrowed it from my sister”.

A man calls out to Billy, taking the attention off you for the second that it took Billy to give an acknowledging nod.

You spin out from his arms in sync with the other girls. It reached the part of the song where partners were swapped but Billy held tight to your hand and spun you back into him, leaving the next man looking for his new dance partner.

Billy jerks his head in the direction of the girl who was supposed to take your place.

“Over there” he suggests.

The dance continues and you resume your position as Billy’s dance partner.

“That’s not how that dance goes” you scold.

“Not going to let you go that easy”.

He spins you out and back in again, “You told me you were two left feet. You seem to be doing alright to me”, he says as he holds you close.

You push yourself out of his hold and back into dancing formation. Cozy in the arms of the judge, jury and executor is not a good look.

“That may be because you are two right feet”.

He laughs causing you to giggle with him but you were acutely aware of your fathers protective stare.

“See we make the perfect pair” he boasts.

His remark silences you. Too many flirtatious exchanges could leave the wrong impression.

“How are you feeling?” Billy asks softly, “I ain’t spinning you too much, am I? Did you want to sit with me for a bit?”

“No” better to get the dancing out of the way for the night, “no, I feel fine”.

He doesn’t spin you again. Instead keeping you close in a gently swaying motion. You follow his lead around the floor. A few stared but most were too consumed with themselves to notice. Only your father paid true attention.

“Maria told me that you forgave the debt on the land” you said after a moment of nothing but dancing.

He nods back, a small smile on his lips as he looks out to the other dancers. He was pleased that you knew.

“I did. We want to see prosperity in this land. Farmers are important in that”.

Suddenly his jaw became hard, and his hold loosened.

“Wouldn’t that be right, Harold?”.

His change confused you. Instead of dancing with you, he had pushed your body behind his, gripping the fabric of your dress around your waist to keep you still, and had his gun pointed straight.

You move as much as you could to see Harold Fern, the baker in your community. He looked disheveled as he held out a shotgun. His hair was a mess, his clothes half done up and wrinkled His cheeks and nose burned red with intoxication.

“You son of a bitch” slurred Harold, “You took everything from me”.

“I don’t know what you mean, but you better get that gun out of my face before I put you down”.

You shrink yourself as small as you could against Billy back. His hold tightens as he feels you move.

Harold scoffs, “You ain’t that quick”.

“Yes, I am” he threatens.

Harold sways as he thinks about Billy’s statement giving Billy the time to try and talk so sense into the man.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harold. Don’t make me. Whatever you think I have done, I am sure we can fix it”.

“Your taxes put me out of business. My fathers business, my fathers’ fathers business. You and your gang come in demanding a share from the work you don’t do”.

‘I am sorry, Harold, Truely. But your business would have been gone long ago if it weren’t for us. You think the Casa gang would have left anything if they were successful in their attack? We stopped them. What do you think would have been left of this town if we didn’t?”.

With the man subdued, you move from where you pressed up against Billy’s back to move from the line of fire. But Billy’s hold on your dress would not loosen. You resumed your spot against his back, hoping that the bullet would not go straight through.

“If it’s a loan you need I can give it to you, but I can also send you to the grave after your father if your finger itches towards that trigger anymore”.

“Billy!” you hear a voice of one of the regulators. The surrounding people gasp as another gun is brought out.

“It’s alright. Harolds here just had too much to drink. Why don’t you take him back to his house and i’ll be by tomorrow to see if we can figure out a solution to his problem”.

Harold must have chosen to drop the gun because you heard the shoving and shouting from Billy’s man and not the ricochet of a gun.

The grip on your dress is released and Billy turns towards you placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”.

You shake him off, aware of the audience still staring at you. Billy follows your gaze around the crowd.

“It’s alright everyone. Let’s get the music going again’’

Billy raises his hand to your arm once more but you are pushed away before it lands. Your father had come to your rescue quickly pushing you through the crowd. You look back at Billy. He doesn’t move. Just stares until you are out of sight.

You don’t see Billy for the next week. His men did his collections. You only saw them around town, never him. You figure he was laying low after the wedding incident.

Your days became dull again without the excitement of Billy. Your chores became chores again without the added threat of Billy laying in wait.

Miss may be a strong word, but something felt off when he wasn’t around. You figure you had gotten so used to a state of anxiety that normalcy felt strange.

He would return, you ensured yourself, just enjoy it while it lasts.

On the tenth night of his absence from your life you think that maybe he had skipped town, and you would never see him again. The Regulators would need a new leader and you shudder thinking who it could be.

You sleep with the thought of him on your mind. Who would protect the town if not him? Who would fill your days with excitement and wonder? You scold yourself for the latter thought. He was an outlaw. A villain. Blood soaked his hands. He was a bad man. The leader of bad men. You sleep with hateful thoughts of the Regulators and their leader.

You wake with the sound of your dog scratching at your door. Begging to be let out. The night was cold. Even with a large blanket and the windows shut, you shivered.

You sigh as you get up, quickly looking for your robe. It would do little to keep the cold away but something was better than nothing.

It was odd for your dog to wake to pee. It only happened when he was a pup and that was long ago.

You follow him as he races down the steps, trying your best to be quiet so as not to wake your family. The dog is energetic, scratching at the main door.

You ‘sh’ him as you open it. You’re greeted by a wave of freezing air.

The dog ruined your plans of staying on the porch as he disappeared into the darkness forcing you to follow down.

The cold grass sinks into your feet, the moisture soaking your soles. You could barely see your dog in the dark with his black fur. Only the sound of him peeing told you he was still there.

You stretch as you wait, looking up at the night sky. Slowly rolling your head in a circle. In doing so, you could see a small flame in the distance. A candle still going just outside of your father's shed.

You go to blow it out before it catches anything on fire. Another odd occurrence. Your father rarely lit candles due to their cost. He was sure to blow it out before he finished. Still he is old like your dog. They are both slipping from their good habits and you would need to learn to be more gracious.

You bend down and with one quick blow, the flame is gone. Rising once more, you decide it is time to return to bed and go to call your dog over.

His name never gets off your lips. It’s sealed shut by a strong gloved hand pressed over your mouth, and the feeling of a cool barrel of a gun pressed into the side of your head.

“Sh, sh, sh, be quiet”.

Your gut dropped, you knew the smooth voice of Billy. With faith he wouldn’t hurt you, you try screaming into his hand. He shook you a bit but no harsh hand was used to silence you.

“I said quiet”.

You do. You once heard that he shot a man off his horse a mile away. Now with a gun pressed into your head you didn’t need too much persuading to do as he said.

“We’re going on a little trip, you and I” he whispers in your ear.

Where was your dog? You wondered. Why couldn’t he sense you were in danger and come save you. You were no match for Billy.

“Okay?” he asks. You nod in response.

“Okay, move”. He keeps his hand across your mouth, and his gun buried in your back, using it to move you forward.

It’s not too far before the sight of his horse is seen only thirty feet from your house. He releases you and halters his gun so he could cup his hands to help you onto the saddle.

You look back at your house, not too far in the distance. If you ran could you make it? If you screamed could your family hear it?

“Come on, now. Don’t keep me waiting”.

Deciding you couldn’t make it, you slot your foot into his hands, and he hoists you up to the saddle. He got up more easily, and with a swing of his leg he saddles up behind you, bringing the reins and his hands down upon your lap.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s not far. Just some place I go to think”.

The horse is ridden at a leisurely pace. The cold air attacks you, and you find yourself curling into Billy’s warmth.

He doesn’t speak to you again but you could feel him trying his best to protect you from the cold wind. His body barricaded around you, trying to keep you warm. At one point when the wind blew especially hard, he planted his large warm hand over the side of your face and pressed the other side of your face into his chest.

With the amount of shock running through your body, you weren't sure if the ride was short like he promised. It felt like an entirety by his side.

When you arrived at the camp, the fire was already going, and a tent was set up.

He dismounts first and then reaches back up to help you down.

“Why have you brought me here?”. You accept his help down, his horse wouldn’t go without him.

“To talk. Some place where you can’t run away”.

His words should have carried more weight, but you knew they were said in a non-threatening manner.

There was a log near the fire that you used as a seat while Billy remained across from you.

“I’ve missed you these past few days. Been real lonely without you”. He kicks the dirt under his shoe and watches as it jumps from his force.

“We were never friends, Billy”.

Billy. The name seemed to have just fallen off your lips.

The sound of his name gave him courage to look up at you.

“You’re right. You’re right. We skipped that stage”.

His eyes go back down and he is silent once more.

“Y/N, your daddy’s never going to approve of me”.

“No” you agree, “No, he’s not”.

His eyes flick up back to yours, his stance hardens, his shoulders square and his eyes peer down at you.

“So. Where does that leave us?” he asks.

A large gust of wind blows through the camp, straight through you. Your body hunches from the cold

“Are you cold?” he asks in a state of shock that he could ignore the obvious. He doesn’t wait for your response, gone into his tent before the question fully parted from his lips.

He brings out a thick wool blanket, and wraps it around your shoulders before going back to his side of the fire.

He rubs his hand across the bottom of his face, his other hand positions on his hip. You wondered what he was thinking. Why he looked so worried when he was the one in the position of power?

“Billy?” you asked softly. His eyes flicked from the ground up to you. “Billy, take me home”.

“You know God told me that you were the woman for me’’.

“Did he?” you ask cautiously.

“Years ago. I saw you in town, I said ‘God, if she’s the one make her drop her bracelet’. And you did”.

He reaches into his vest pocket pulling out his pocket watch to show you the chain. He brought it over to you. In the light you could see that he had melted the gold of your bracelet to his small gold watch and fashioned it into his pocket watch that he carried daily. The ends of the bracelet were melded but the gold that was braided together looked identical to the bracelet you had lost.

It was your bracelet. One you lost nearly three years ago. The clasp was broken, you shouldn’t have been wearing it but it was one of your favorites.

“It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything” you said. A broken bracelet was hardly uncommon for a woman who had little money to fix it.

This seemed to anger him. His face scrunched up and his movement became rough and short.

“Coincidence? Was it a coincidence tonight? I had a burning desire to see you and you just so happen to be outside waiting for me”.

“I wasn’t waiting for you”.

“Well something brought you outside to me. You don’t call that fate?”.

“My dog”. Your eyes slowly weep as Billy the kid turns into Billy the outlaw.

To run a group of outlaws. To kill men, and control a town, you knew he had to have a dark streak. No matter how well he hid it, there must be something lurking underneath to be able to exert the violence needed.

His hand flys to his forehead, rubbing it as if you were causing him a headache.

“You ain't listening. Me and you. We’re connected. Meant to be”.

“Okay” you agree. Unsure on what else to do. “Billy, I am really cold and would like to go home now”.

“Here” he comes closer to you, bending down and helping you to your feet.

He picks up a lit lamp by the fire, and tries to lead you forward.

“It’s warmer in the tent”.

Your heart jumps. Alone in a tent is the last place you want to be.

Your arm jerks from his touch as you speak, “Take me home now”.

His hands grip your arms too tight.

“Home? What if I gave you a new home? One where we could be together”.

The cold air no longer bothered you. Billy was the law. Whatever he did would be met with no consequences.

“I’ve been thinking, if your daddy won’t approve no matter what. Maybe we shouldn’t ask him” he continued.

You struggle against Billy. How quickly after all this time that his touch became hurtful.

“I need my father's blessing,” you state.

“I was worried you would say that” he remarks.

The force on your arms changed from holding you still to pushing you forward.

“Billy get off” you shout.

“You won’t listen to reason” he retaliates.

The door of the tent wasn’t tied so you were easily pushed through the fabric. You fall onto the laid mattress with no strength to raise yourself while Billy does ties up the door to keep the cold air out.

“Billy” you cry.

He lays down next to you, wrapping his arm around your back and up your neck.

“Everything is fine. I’ll take care of you”.

“Billy, don’t do this,” you pleaded.

“If I can’t make you see my love, I can make you feel it”.

He rises to rid himself of his suspenders. You sit up on your legs in front of you, with no harsh hand pushing you back down.

You capture his head between your hands, only talking when there was no attempt to shake you off.

“Billy, think about what this will mean for me”.

His eyes feel cold as they graze upon you, “I am thinking about you. About us. He can’t deny the marriage if what is done is done”.

Feeling his head push forward under your hold, you go to make one last plea before his lips meet yours.

“Bil-”. His kiss is hard and possessive.

His body soon follows, and the weight of him presses you to the floor.

Shoving at his shoulders doesn’t do much to deter him. After a handful of hard kisses, he changes positions, straddling your waist so he could sit up and unbutton his shirt.

His movements are quick and rugged like having to get rid of the clothes was an annoying chore.

Despite his dangerous line of work, and the odds, his body is free from scars and bullet holes. His tone chest and strong shoulders flex as he moves to throw the shirt to the corner of the tent.

You’re memorized by his beauty until his hands reach for his belt. Your hands spring up to stop him, only this does he resist.

“It’s alright. It ain’t going to hurt” he places a hand on your chest to keep you down while he undid his holster’s belt buckle, “I told you I would never hurt you”.

With the leather belt free, he slides the gun in the holster up along the ground.

The button of his pants only takes a twist of his wrist and he is left in his underwear on top of you.

“Get off” you yell at him but he continues by dragging you up to where the pillows are laid.

He positions one of the pillows directly under your head for your comfort as you kick, your head rises and falls into it.

His hand loosening the front tie of your nightgown stills the fight you had.

“Billy, wait” you request.

“I have waited. Nearly three years”. The nightgown is pushed off from your shoulders, and pulled down the rest of your body.

The shake of your body is attributed to many things, the cold air that swarmed you, the shame and fear of it all, the fact that it was your first time being bare to a man. Billy took it to mean the cold and adjusted the blankets so they were pressed up against the sides of your body.

The hand on your chest left as you stopped moving and both hands were moved to unbutton your underpants.

“I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry’’.

He leans down to kiss you again as a distraction to get between your legs. He is there before you know it.

He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them. You wondered what he was doing before he brought them down to your sex.

You try to tell him to stop but your brain couldn’t muster it. Only a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him enter you.

Its uncomfortable at first and you squirm away from him

“Stay still. It’ll get better” he promises.

In an attempt to aid the friction, he leans his head down, spitting into cunt.

The extra moisture does help your arousal. Soon you are wet enough for his fingers to sink into you.

He takes them out, not wanting you to finish too early, and brings his fingers to his lips to suck off the moisture.

His hand comes down next to your head as lifts himself up to take off his underwear.

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask. There was no point in begging. You had reached the point of no return.

“Maybe. For a little bit, but it will feel good too. I promise”.

He lines himself up with you, and with a final kiss he plunges himself into you.

It feels as if he hits a wall inside of you. You were certain it was as far as he could go but his hips hammered into you determined to break through.

You were about to tell him that you had taken as much of him as you could take when he does break the wall. It was a searing pain as if he had cut you. You let out a tisk of pain, reaching up and clawing at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Billys’.

‘Sorry. Sorry. I know” he says, but the rhythm of his hips remains the same.

The pain subsided after a couple of thrusts that felt terribly uncomfortable and sore. It was replaced with the pleasure he promised you that built in your stomach, and tingles between your legs.

Still, this was not how it was supposed to go. Not in a tent in the middle of the night. Not outside of marriage and not without your father permission.

You throw your head up from a particularly hard thrust, and notice his gun still in the holster just beyond your fingertips. Your head was too scattered to form any thoughts. Otherwise, you never would have reached for it. Even if Billy had been a stranger from the saloon, you could never kill a man.

You had no intention of killing him. You had just wanted to touch it. The gun of Billy-the-kid.

“What? What do you want my gun for?” As he leans up to reach for it and you feel his cock push up into your stomach.

He brings it out of his holster with the barrel pointed at your head, but his finger is far from the trigger.

“Don’t you know a man’s gun is part of him? You should ask a man before you touch it”.

The gun pushes further and down to your lips. Billy’s eyes were dark. The awkward boy that used to court you was buried in the furthest part of him.

“Open your mouth” he commands.

With the taste of metal at your teeth, you do part your lips enough for the tip of the gun. A struggle could lead to an accidental misfire.

His thrusts in time with the movement of the gun. His eyes focus on your lips, the way they curl around his barrel.

The metallic taste overwhelmed your tongue and your nose. It felt as if you could still taste the smoke on it. You are slow in your movements so not to startle him as you pull your head back.

His stomach flutters and he loses his composure as you do.

“Fuck” he sputters, his eyes close and he picks up pace, “That was hot”.

You shake your head, pushing the hand that held the gun away from you.

He drops his wrist down from your face, and slides the gun back over to his holster in the corner.

“It’s gone. It’s alright, it’s gone”.

The hand is repurposed against the side of your face, and his rhythmic pace is returned.

“I wouldn’t hurt you” he tells you once more.

“You’re hurting me now” you groan.

His face scrunches up, and his thrusts come to rest.

“No,” he says, offended.

“No. That aint what I am doing”.

His hands on the back of your shoulders lift you up against his chest, as he hoists your bodies together into an upright position.

Your hands grip on top of his shoulders, and you rest your forehead against his collarbone from the pressure of him inside of you as you sit on his lap.

“Look at me” he orders, but your position suited you just fine.

You rock your head against his shoulder blade in response, which satisfied him.

“The only way I would hurt you now is by leaving you. No man but those desperate or widowed would have you after I am done. Your family would never recover their name. Now I’ve made it clear that we are to get married, so no hurting is being done”.

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that there was sure to be bruises littering the skin tomorrow.

“Ain’t no sin for a husband and wife to become one”.

“We are not married,” you remind him.

“What’s marriage but a commitment to God to have and to hold the other? I’ve made that commitment. You have too. I know you have. If it wasn’t for your daddy we’d be married a long time ago”.

“Billy” you groan. The lack of movement frustrated you. He had started an itch that now needed to be scratched.

To ease your discomfort, he brought his hand down between your bodies and began to gently swirl his finger around your pearl.

“I built you a house, you know. Told myself I couldn’t touch you until I drove the final nail in, and the day I do, you appear at the market a day earlier than you usually would. We’re connected. Every bad thing has led me here to you”.

Your nails dig into his flesh as the pressure builds in knots within your stomach.

A frustrated sound makes its way from your throat when he suddenly stops, moving his hands around the back of your neck and around your waist so he could lay you down and finish.

His pace is faster and harder. It cuts off his ability to talk any longer. Only groan and grunt.

As you tighten around him and pulse as you come, it invites him to join you.

As soon as he is off you, you turn to your side away from him. What would happen now? Would Billy leave you here? Would he kick you out into the forest? You worried that he spoke of marriage out of lust that had now been fulfilled.

He seemed content with your presence, as he reached out to gently scratch the back of your neck.

You can hear animals outside the tent as they scurry around. Billy regains his stamina beside you and the silence between you both stretches into the night.

You focus on the sounds of the frogs and crickets as they perform in perfect harmony. The sounds and sex lull you to a tired state, but Billy wasn’t through with the night.

With a small kiss to the back of your neck, he was pushing back on your shoulder to lay you flat again.

“No” you protest, too tired for much more than a simple plea, “Not again”.

It was late. Possibility early morning. Your body wanted nothing more than to shut down, now that the adrenaline has faded.

“Yes. again. We gotta make sure we put a baby in you”, he states, positioning his body once again over yours.

—--

You woke up alone in the tent. Two blankets were laid on top of you keeping off the cold, but the dull ache between your legs told you to get up and go back home. You found your clothes on the floor, noticing that Billy had taken all his.

The sight of Billy eating on a log relieves you as you exit the tent. You had no way of getting home without him.

He gets up from his seat as he sees you push back the fabric of the tent.

“Good morning” he greets, “How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home. Now”, you demand.

He looked like a spoiled child getting told off by a parent. His head lowers, and he clasps his hands together in front of himself.

“Yeah. We should be getting back” he agrees.

His head rises again and he beckons your forward with his hand.

“You need to eat something before we do. I made porridge”.

You take his place on the log in front of the fire and his jacket. Without a word, he takes his warm jacket off himself and helps you put it on.

A bowl of warm porridge is placed in your hands, and then he leaves you be. Giving you space to process your emotions.

He packs up the tent and gear while you sit, unable to eat what was given to you.

Even in all the time it took him to pack away the tent and all the camping equipment, you had yet to take a single bite.

You watch as Billy kicks dirt into the fire, smothering your warmth.

The bowl is gently taken from your hands where Billy flicks the food away, and rinses it with his water bottle before packing it away.

You follow him to the horse and he helps you up on the saddle the same way as the night before.

The swing of your leg as you try to hook it over the saddle is executing.

You shout from the pain, feeling the mussels as they pull to extend your leg.

“Easy” he soothes, helping you back steady on your feet.

You shove him off. It was his fault. Your body was in pain and your life was over because of him.

He stubbles back from the sudden shove but he comes back without reproach.

“Here” he says.

He swings up to the saddle, leaning his body down to pull you up. You sit across the horse’s saddle, legs together to ease the pain.

Billy rides slowly for you. The day was sunny but a chill still hung in the air. You wondered how Billy went on without his jacket.

The ride took you through trees and along a stream of water. It was not far from your home but you had never been there.

With a twenty minute ride your home came into view. While distant you could see your family as they gathered on the porch.

The galloping of the hoofs stopped their discussion with a loud relief.

“She’s here!” your sister yelled back into the house, “She’s back”.

Your father runs outside to the porch watching with hard eyes as you and Billy ride.

Billy halts his horse a meter away and slides you down the saddle onto the ground. He is quick to get off behind you, holding your reluctant hand in his.

You saw your father disappear into the house as you crossed the distance. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what Billy had done. The shame must have been too overbearing for him.

The rest of your family were all still in their robes as they stood on the path waiting for you to come near. Your mother held out her arms but Billy stopped ten feet away under the shade of the large oak tree.

“Ma’am” he greets your mother, “I am sorry for the distress I have caused your family, but as you can see she was safe with me”.

The stickiness between your thighs became apparent as he spoke the words.

You tug your hand back but he keeps it in his tight hold.

The front door is kicked open and your father appears holding out his shotgun.

Billy is quick to act, pulling you back behind him but he doesn’t draw his gun.

“You get off my land” your father demands.

Billy nods, “I will. We just came to collect a couple of things”.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your father was not a very good shot. He was old and aim was crooked. Billy was a far better shot. He wouldn’t miss.

“Ain’t no we, boy. You get your filthy hands off my daughter, and you get out of town, or I'll kill you”.

Your mother growls her husband's name as she moves the rest of her children to the side. Only your father was under the illusion that he could take Billy on and live.

“Now I plan to do right by her” Billy states with authority, “I’ll marry her”.

“The hell you will” your father roared.

“It doesn’t have to end like this. You could live. See your daughters married with children. Die of old age like God intended”.

“Draw” your father commands. To kill an unarmed man was murder, but your father was worried about the courts and not the Regulators who were sure to come seeking vengeance.

You latch onto Billy's arm to stop him drawing his gun, or at least delay his aim so your father could have a chance.

“You won’t mind if I get your daughter out from under me, now?” Billy asks, “Your aim has been off since you first pointed the gun at me. You could hit her instead”.

With the agreeance of your father, Billy brings you back from behind him with a tight hold on your arm.

“Go to the tree” Billy nods in its direction but you could hear your father calling for you to come to him.

As soon as he releases you, the direction you go is not to the tree but to your family.

You arm is caught and shoved to the right,

‘I said the tree” Billy reiterates.

You follow his command this time, hugging yourself to the large oak tree.

Billy takes his gun but holds his hands outwards in a surrendered position.

“Just let me show you something” The crowd follows Billy’s eyes over to the work yard, “You see that paint tin over there?”

A small paint tin rested on the lank of wood that was going to become the new fence. If you weren’t looking for it you would hardly see it from the distance.

“What about it?” your father asks. The gun is unstable in his hands. It slightly bopped as he pointed it. He was scared, and you wished you could do something that would deescalate the situation.

“Just watch”. Billy turns to the tins direction and aims his gun with a steady hold.

The first bullet sprayed the white paint as it went flying in the air. The second bullet hit it before it landed, flinging it further away and higher from the force. The third bullet shot it down with a hole in the center.

“Now we can continue if you want, and I can take her away without a father, or we can be joined together by marriage. That means no taxes”.

Your father contemplates his options. He wanted to kill Billy, you could see that plain on his face, but could he?.

The answer was no. The gun was lowered and your mother let out a sigh of relief.

Billy beckons you back over, taking your arm back in his grip once you get close enough.

“Pack your things, and get changed” he commands, “If you think about holding up in there, I’ll bring Jesse back and we’ll burn the house down”.

You nod spitefully. His eyes looked over you once before turning back to the house.

“Go” he orders, letting you go.

Your family is quick to squabble around you as you trek into the house. There were too many words flown at you.Too many hands touching you as you moved.

Only your father stayed away, Slumping into a foyer chair with his gun still in his hand.

You were determined to do your tasks quickly and lead Billy away. The ache between your legs was ignored as you fling open your wardrobe and shove what you can into your travel case. It filled quickly, you only had two more dresses in your wardrobe but you left them favoring to take your make-up and hair accessories.

It hardly zips, and lands on the ground with a heavy thud.

You weren’t sure how long it had taken you, but the less time keeping Billy waiting the better. You grab one of the last dresses you owed out of your wardrobe, side stepping people as they went to hold you.

“Help me with my dress” you call on your sister.

“You aren’t honestly leaving with him?” your mother took a seat on your bed as if you had punched her.

Stepping into the green dress and waiting to be laced up, gave them the answer that they ignored.

“Billy is the law,” you remind them.

Your sister silently agreed by stepping forwarding and lacing you into your dress. You put Billy’s coat back on to show him you still had it, and take the time to hug and kiss them all. Billy was not the kind to keep you from your family but it would be the last time you would see them as their daughter and sister.

Your father was still sitting in the chair as you came down. He doesn't move as you bend down and kiss his forehead.

Billy was waiting outside, his gun resting on his thigh was holsted once more in his belt so he had hands to take your bag.

He straps it to his horse in no time, turning to wait for you.

You took one more look back at your family on the porch before you were ready.

You raise your arms up to Billy on the horse and he pulls you up to the saddle once more.

The ride to the Regulators camp was silent and quite a distance. Billy had taken his hat off as the sun went higher in the sky, and placed it upon your head.

It felt strange to wear Billy’s coat and hat. Less than 24 hours ago he was little more than a stranger. Now he was your self-proclaimed fiance. You could very well be carrying his child. It all happened so fast. Your head spun trying to piece together the facts.

The noise of the Regulators as Billy’s horse approached did not help your scrambled mind. They whooped and hollered.

You could hear Billy’s smile as he greeted them but his horse never slowed. Moving past the building where the men sat drinking, to the furthest field where a wooden house stood tall.

Across from the house was a horse corral where they trained the horses. In between your house and the first house of one of the Regulators was the stable where the horses were housed.

In addition to the tax, you assumed the men also traded horses to earn a wage.

It was a decent size of land and well kept. The house in front of you looked strong. It was two stories of wooden panels, and a large porch was wrapped around the entire estate. If you were to take Billy at his word, it must have taken him a long time to complete such a house.

He stops the horse in front of the house, swinging off first to tie the reins to the railings of the porch.

He assures you that he will take your things inside when he comes back out to tend to his horse, but he was eager for you to see your new home.

With help down, Billy leads you into the house. It was furnished. Nothing decorative but tables and chairs. The entertaining lounge had a large fireplace, and the kitchen had a large stove and a large window above the sink that pointed out to a field of flowers.

It grew a distaste in your mouth. He had designed this home with you in mind. He always knew this day was coming and expected you to swallow the news joyfully and quickly.

‘And this” he opens a door just beside the living room to show a smaller version. A dark red armchair and matching leg rest faced a small fireplace. An arched window that Billy had built in a reading nook and decorated with mismatched pillows, provided light into the room.

“This is your room for when you need your space. I won’t step foot into it”. He looks at you expecting you to be overjoyed but finds you glaring back at him.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

‘I have your cum dried between my legs, and you are asking me if I care about a room?” you bit.

He closes the door quickly and takes you by the arm to lead you up stairs,

“I’ll get you hot water for your bath”.

Billy boils the water over the stove as you sit in the chair and wait. A hip bath was placed against the wall in the kitchen. You go and expect it. Your family was too poor for one. A basin did the job fine. But you always wanted one.

He doesn’t let the water get too hot, only luke warm before joining you.

“Do you mind if I stay?” he questions as he gently places the water and rag cloths on the floor by your foot.

You don’t look at him as you talk. Your fingers reach for the laces of your dress but they touch his as he unlaces the dress for you.

“What does it matter? The sin has already been committed”.

Your dress falls to the floor around you. You’re quick to leave your undergarments alongside it so you could climb into the tub.

“You need to know I won’t ever do that again”. He squats next to you in the tub, bringing the warm rags up to your skin. You take one and focus on scrubbing the seaman off your thighs while he focuses on your shoulders and neck.

“I’ll take care of you. Respect you like a good husband should. I won-”.

“Your words mean nothing to me” you cut him off.

He shifts as you lean back into the tub.

‘I’ll prove it to you”, he resolves.

—-

The wedding was small with only your family and the Regulators in attendance. The priest married you quickly and you were placed on Billy’s saddle once more. No big party predeceased it. Your family went home, and the Regulators went back to their camp where bottles were opened.

You could hear the Regulators as they used your marriage as an excuse to play from the comfort of the house Billy built you.

He remained with you despite the protests from his gang.

He remained quiet as you figured out the swell of emotions inside you. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. A quiet relief lingered in the back only causing more distress.

When he bought you the dinner he had made for you an emotion finally stuck.

Acceptance.

William. H Bonney was your husband now.

He kept true to his words. Patiently waiting for your permission. You slept next to him every night, but besides a gentle kiss goodnight, he never touched you. His patience granted him two willfully-born sons.

He was a good husband and father.

You and your children were never left without.

You watch him from the window as he shows the boys how to ride. They were too small for the lesson to be anything more than a pony ride but it gave you time to put dinner on the table without them under your feet.

He winks at you when he catches you staring. Unconsciously your hand goes to your belly.

‘A little girl would be nice’, you think.

#tom blyth #dead dove do not eat #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid #dark!billy the kid #coriolanus snow

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rebelliousstories · 1 month

Text

Desperate Times and Desperate Measures

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by @infinityfandoms

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Fighting

Word Count: 1,505

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: She always said she would be about as useful as a wet paper bag in a fight. Good thing she never skips leg day.

Consider Donating: Here

“And who is this? I don’t think audiences have had the pleasure of meeting you yet.” The man in the red mask asked, looking at the woman behind Gambit. She looked up, startled at the sudden attention being brought to her.

“Um, hi.” She offered her name, but was still confused as to what was going on with these new people.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re ‘The Druid’ aren’t you,” Deadpool gasped, “sparkle hands.”

“Sure, I guess if that’s how you want to know me. Haven’t heard anyone call me that in years.” She turned back to her bandages that she was wrapping back up. There were footsteps coming closer to her, but someone stopped them.

“Until I know whatcha gonna be doin’, ya ain’t gettin’ no closer.” Gambit snaps, charging a card near the red masked man.

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to her. I’m a fan really. From one person with a regenerative healing factor to another, I applaud you, my dear.” Wade clapped his hands together and bowed dramatically. She giggled and set down the bandages, before walking over to Gambit.

“We’re alright, hun. He’s just being friendly.” With a hand on his chest, the man turned and caught her eyes. Letting the energy fizzle out and back into his body, Gambit wrapped an arm around her waist to tug her close.

Later that evening, as they prepared to go to bed in preparation of the big battle the next day, she was checking and double checking her stash. Different salves, elixirs, and dressings were being packed away in her satchel to take with her. As she was placing the last bottles and jars in, hands creeped across her waist and pulled her back into a firm chest.

“Neva’ gonna get tired of seein’ you work like dis, chere. Amazes me each and every time.” Remy drawled, pressing kisses to her neck while she leaned back.

“All to make you guys better, hun.” She replied, loving the feeling of his affections.

“Listen, when we in da lair tomorrow,” he began, “you gonna stay back righ’? Stay in da car?”

“Of course, I am. You know I can’t fight.” Her snort made the man smile as he pressed a kiss to her head.

“Good. Don’t want you gettin’ mixed up in all dat.”

Her hands came in front of them, and both of their attentions were on it. In a matter of a few seconds, a magnolia blossom was blooming from her palm. Taking it from one hand to the next, she passed it back to her lover. He held it to his nose, and breathed in deeply. The sweetest scent flooded his senses. Gambit tucked the flower into the top of his chest plate, right near his heart.

“Everything is gonna be alright, Remy. We’ll be fine.”

Those seem like famous last words now.

She was staying in the background. Behind the car because she was just not going to stay in an on fire car for anything. So far, no one had noticed her and that was just how she liked it. Keeping an eye on her boyfriend and friends, the chaos around them almost made her lose the line of sight.

An explosion next to her gained her attention, and made her squeak in surprise. Thankfully, she was still virtually hidden from the rest of the fighting going on. Locking eyes on Gambit’s coat once more, she was shocked to see someone sneaking up on his. Of course, all the fighting and shouting made the odds more optimal, but it was still an incredible task to do that to him. When he did not seem to be turning and looking at the attacker behind him anytime soon, she knew she had to do something. Looking around her, she tried to find something that would draw both Gambit’s attention to the attacker, and the attacker��s attention away from Gambit.

So she threw a shoe. Some random shoe that had gotten blown off of someone was what she picked up to throw. And somehow, it worked.

“Uh oh. We done messed up now.” She muttered, seeing the new set of eyes on hers. Taking off, she began weaving through the structure. But that man was close behind.

Gambit only noticed when he heard the sound of footsteps running behind him. A card blew up the spot that those feet had stood in the second prior. Taking a look around, he noticed that there was someone now chasing his girl all through the maze of bars that was Cassandra’s lair. Remy took off after the person, while trying to look ahead to see where she was going. Somehow, he remained just out of range for his cards to reach.

Ducking into a corner, she breathed heavily as she tried to catch her breath. A stitch was deep in her side, and her claves were beginning to cramp, but she couldn’t not stop now. Her life, Remy’s life, depended on it. All the noise around them meant that she would not be able to focus on the bad guy’s movements even if she wanted to. Poking her head out of her hole, she breathed a sigh of relief as she did not see him immediately. But that changed when, from the other end of the apparent hallway, he dropped down. She was trapped.

There was nothing that she could use as a weapon nearby, and her powers were defensive; not offensive. Breathing hard, she tried to steel herself against the awful smile that the man was now sporting. A cool metal bar was digging into her back. Her heart was speeding up. If she fell from this height, she would survive, but her bag would not and that was a greater travesty in her opinion. However, she did not have these thoughts long as a flash of magenta flew in front of her and sparked in front of the man.

“Ain’t ya momma eva’ teach ya how t’ treat a lady?” Remy was here. He shot a wink over his shoulder to her, before going after the man. His bo staff was out and charged, but for some reason it did not seem to be slowing this man down. Finally, he got close enough to stick a card to him, that promptly exploded. But as he walked away, this man just got back up and began to heal again.

Gambit groaned, and struck three cards to the ground, before running and grabbing his girlfriend from the railing. As they fell, an aftershock of the explosion knocked them in the air. He tucked her head into his chest, and cushioned their way down. Landing on the hard ground, both of them groaned as pain shot through their bodies.

“You good, chere?” Remy asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He was inspecting her face as his hands ran over the rest of her body.

“Yeah. You?” She replied, doing the exact same thing to him.

“Don’ worry about ol’ Gambit now. Gambit’s fine. I want you to go dat little hole in the side over der and stay der till I come get you.” The man pressed a kiss to her head, a brief one to her lips before rolling them over so he was on top. Slipping a card out from his pocket, he flicked it towards someone coming near, before getting up and joining the fray once more.

Once she had caught her breath, she did exactly what Remy had instructed of her. The little cave that she had found herself in allowed her to keep an eye on everybody, but stayed out of the fighting. She knew where her strengths lie, and she was definitely going to be most useful after the fight. As she watched, her mind kept forming different recipes and mixtures that she could use to help.

The fighting slowed until there was just a few people left. As the group finished them off, she stepped out briefly to watch their two friends jump into the glowing circle and away from the Void. As they disappeared, she ran over to her boyfriend and their friends. He welcomed her with open arms, and breathed a sigh of relief as they stood there.

Taking an assessment on her friends, she immediately set to work dressing some of the injuries that they had but could not heal properly. She felt Remy pat her shoulder lovingly as she was wrapping a spot on Elektra’s back. Turning to him, he just drew her in closer before allowing her to tend to wounds he may have gotten. This was a well oiled machine that had been established over the years.

As they piled into the Honda Odyssey after, their journey home was quiet. They did not know if they were going to be able to go home, or if they were stuck there forever. But one thing was for certain; that shoe was going to live in her head for a while.

#rebelliousstories #writing #remy lebeau imagine #remy lebeau #remy lebeau x reader #gambit x reader #gambit #gambit imagine #xmen imagine #x men 97 #x men comics #x men movies #x men imagine #x men #deadpool and wolverine

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kazekagevi · 2 months

Text

Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: dark themes, mention of suicide attempt, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam, reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, Jake Sully appearance, random Human!OC's, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies.

Summary: You settle into your new home at High Camp. You have a conversation with the Olo'eyktan, Jake Sully.

A/N and Disclaimer: If anyone would like to be notified/tagged in future updates, please comment on this post! Forgive any present tense inconsistencies.

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work.

Your adrenaline plummets. You rest for hours without interruption.

The room Max has put you up in is nice, but you know it’s too spacious to be permanent. You lie comfortably on a lumpy couch. Sometimes the dim lights flicker, there’s a constant mechanical hum, and the blankets are scratchy, but you nap peacefully for the first time since cryosleep. It’s homely. You need this moment of respite.

Hours later, you wake to the smell of something fragrant cooking. You’re so hungry that you feel nauseous.

As badly as you want to leap from the couch and venture into the kitchen, you lie still. You continue to cherish this time to yourself—you’re unsure when you’ll get such an opportunity again.

You let the events of the past week wash over you like a tidal wave. Tears come and go, just like mental flashes of the faces of the many women and allied wardens long gone. As demoralizing and dehumanizing the experience was, you became a tight-knit family because of it. Your pain is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before—as much as you miss them, you know they’re better off dead than being torn apart and transformed into the RDA’s breeding machines. It leaves a tart feeling in your mouth: it’s upsettingly bittersweet.

Wading through the water of your thoughts and emotions is treacherous. If you swim too long, you know you’ll drown.

You push away the blankets, then fold them neatly. You swipe beneath your tear ducts. After standing by the door for ten minutes, you gain the courage to place your palm over the entryway censor. You make it two steps out before you’re stopped.

You’re startled by a woman’s whistle—it’s reminiscent of a catcall. She leans against a doorframe with a toothpick between her canines. She’s human. She’s stocky and muscular. The woman wears a navy-blue jumpsuit and combat boots. You can tell her hair was once jet black, but it’s starting to grow in gray. “Welcome, new girl,” she says.

“Hi,” you reply sheepishly. You introduce yourself—first name only.

She does the same: “I’m Mia.”

You shake hands—you note that her palms are very calloused. Mia must be involved with hands-on labor.

“Listen, I don’t like to beat around the bush,” says Mia. She leans in closer, like she has a secret to tell you. “You need to shower,” she confesses, this time much quieter. There isn’t a lick of malice in her tone. “Like, immediately.”

You appreciate her honesty, but your cheeks flush. Mia pulls a chuckle from your chest. “I know,” you reply feebly.

And so, Mia takes this moment as an opportunity to give you a proper tour of the human’s facility at High Camp. You’re going to be living there, after all.

Admittedly, there isn’t much to see. Together, you stroll through the science shacks and a few vacant laboratories. You meet a few more scientists. You return to the two flex rooms, like the one you napped in; Mia shows you the barracks and bunk beds, the link units, and the kitchenette. Norm is cooking what he describes to be his very own fusion recipe: a soup that combines both human and Pandoran ingredients. In passing, you apologize to Norm for spitting on him, again—you’ve already apologized four times, but once more couldn’t hurt. He makes it abundantly clear that everything is well between you both.

“I would do the same if they captured me,” Norm confesses. “Much worse, in fact.”

Your tour ends at the showers. Mia leaves briefly, then returns with a towel, a new bar of soap, a plastic hairbrush, a few garments of clothing, and a toothbrush and paste. “This is all we have right now,” Mia explains.

It’s more than enough, you think.

Tears well in your eyes at the sight of these items; although necessary for most humans, to you, these things feel like a luxury.

“There’s hot and cold water knobs. The hot water alone won’t last long. Try to maneuver the knobs to use hot and cold at the same time,” she says with a short demonstration. Warm water spits out of the shower head onto the tiled wall in front of it. You hold out your palm—it’s bliss.

You’re solaced. You thank Mia one last time. She takes her cue to leave and gives you some privacy.

---

Despite the lukewarm water diminishing to icy-cold after only a few minutes, you spend a long time in the shower. You wash your hair. You scrub everything, at least twice. Your pruned fingertips feel foreign angst the metal knob—you haven’t been allowed a long enough shower since your past life on Earth.

The clothes Mia left for you don’t fit quite right. The pants drag on the floor and aren’t secure around the waist; you take a step, and your trousers pool at your knees. You have no choice but to create a makeshift belt with spare twine and an aptly-sized piece of elastic from Mia’s sewing kit. As you weave the components together, you realize her sewing kit doubles as her first-aid box. She must use the same thread to stitch seams on fabric and cuts on skin. You take this opportunity to gently reapply scar ointment and new dressing to the stitched slash beneath your collarbone.

The tanktop she gave you, on the other hand, was made for someone with slightly smaller anatomy. In comparison to the pants, it fits skin-tight snug. Luckily, the undergarments are trouble-free.

When you re-enter the common area, everyone is there. It’s down-to-Earth, you note—the thought makes your lips curl into a smile.

You spend a few moments observing. Most of the scientists look like regular people. They’re plain. Modest, simple. There’s nothing particularly special about any of them, barring their bright smiles. People involved with the RDA don’t smile like that.

It isn’t long before the “plain scientist” exception enters via the airlock entrance.

At first, you think he’s naked. You instinctively cover your eyes with your palms to give the guy some privacy. You faintly hear him yell something out the door through the glass—you can’t discern any of it, so it must be in Na’vi. You peek through your fingertips.

Once the front airlock closes, the human male removes his oxygen mask, hangs it on a hook by the entrance, and presses his hand to the entryway scanner. He strolls in casually, like he owns the place. The young man wears nothing but a loincloth and carries an old leather satchel. Painted, blue streaks mark his body in horizontal stripes.

It clicks for you quickly—he sees himself as one of them. He wears his loyalty to the Na’vi. It’s… admirable.

When he speaks again, he greets Max in English and makes an inside joke with Norm that flies over your head. He chucks his bag onto a nearby stool and smoothes his hands over his ash-blonde dreads.

Inevitably, you’re curious to know more. Your thoughts buzz with questions—instinctively, you’d like to interview him.

“Food’s ready!” Norm calls.

That’ll have to wait.

The room descends to orderly chaos. A scientist you’ve already forgotten the name of is gathering silverware. Another gives everyone a bowl or mug. Metal chairs scrape across the floor as people line up in front of the kitchenette. Mia is adamant about having her mug, which is bright pink with a broken handle. Norm serves stew with a metal ladle. Someone else passes out dethawed bread rolls from the walk-in freezer.

They make jokes in passing. They ask each other questions. Occasionally, they bicker, like when one of the scientists scolds Norm for giving him too big a portion. They’re a family. It’s lovely, you think.

Then Mia calls your name. “Please,” she says, “join us!”

The room quiets down. You briefly make eye contact with the semi-nude young male. He’s around your age—maybe a year or two younger.

Entering the common area takes only a sliver of bravery in comparison to the courage you had to collect in order to survive thus far; it’s still scary, nonetheless. You gulp.

You’re provided a bowl. Norm serves you a heaping portion of soup. Max pours you a glass of water from a large pitcher at the end of the table. You’re offered two dinner rolls—just this once, Mia says. People move their chairs to make room for you. Your heart swells.

“This is-” Mia begins.

Your interruption is far from rude—you introduce yourself instead. First and last name.

---

Dinner runs its course. It began with juvenile questions; the community simply wanted to know more about you as a person. They never banked on someone taking one of the empty bunks. They were all being used as precious storage. What’s your name? Where did you come from?

The spotlight is uncomfortable—blinding, even—but you squint through it. You want to interview these people, but it’s your turn instead.

When some of the scientists begin asking about the RDA, however, the group rears towards an unsettling interrogation. What was it like? they ask. How many were there? Could you spare any details on the escape plan?

With every intrusive question, you intake another mouthful of the fusion stew. It tastes funny, like a bad pun or cringey joke; but you’re too hungry to care.

“Did you ever see the General?” The human male whom you now know as Spider asks. “She was short. Blonde lady, resting bitch-face. General Ardmore?”

Mia snorts. Norm clasps his hands together. “Alright, everyone. I think that’s enough,” he states. "Let's not overwhelm the newcomer."

The scientists look at each other, humbled and slightly ashamed. They give you apologetic stares and quiet redresses.

Max offers to do the dishes. He knows he’ll regret this act of selflessness, but he does it for you. The rest of the scientists leave their empty bowls at the table and retreat to the barracks. Mia pats your shoulder before exiting with the others.

You turn to Norm once everyone’s left. You hold out your bowl. “Can I have some more?”

---

You’re on your third helping of soup and fourth glass of water when there’s a series of raps at the door outside the airlock. For a split second, you’re back in your cell. You’re reminded of your least favorite warden’s early-morning roll calls.

You flinch—your body instinctively jerks. But you don’t realize this until you’re swiftly saving your water glass from falling off the table. You rub your brow with the back of your head; you can’t break two things on your first day.

“Is it him?” Max asks Norm. Max is elbows deep in soap suds and dirty dishes. He starts scrubbing faster.

“Think so,” Norm replies.

Who’s him? You’re left to wonder as you scrape the bottom of your soup bowl and take your final bite; there’s no more stew left.

Norm stands from the table and strides over to the airlock. “Come in!”

You nearly twist your neck trying to turn around before the door opens.

A tall, blue humanoid enters. He has to crouch when breaching the threshold—the door frame is just too short. It’s the first Na’vi you’ve seen since your interaction with the Na’vi in the forest; spare for Grace, the one in a glass tube full of liquid in the common area.

For a moment, you think this Na’vi is the one who saved you. But as they grab a respirator mask and enter once the airlock is closed, your assumption is proved to be false.

The Na’vi nods to Norm. “Good to see ya, Max,” the male Na’vi says, peering into the kitchen. Notably, his English is fluent; but above that, his accent is strangely commonplace among humans. Nothing like the Na’vi from the forest.

Max peers at him over his shoulder. “You too, Jake,” Max calls back.

Your eye twitches. You face forward. Your visage pales.

“Let’s talk about all of this for a moment,” Norm tells Jake Sully. He agrees. Their footsteps get quieter as they walk away from the common room and round the corner. Max dries his hands with a dish towel and follows them.

You hear bits and pieces of their hushed conversation while you chug another glass of water.

“You’re sure?” Jake Sully asks. “Completely positive?”

“There’s no way,” one of the humans responds. “When she thought she’d been recaptured by the RDA, she tried to slit her wrists. A spy wouldn’t do that.”

Someone adds something to that point, but it’s indiscernible.

“You’re right,” replies Jake.

There are footsteps again. You keep your head forward.

Max clears his throat. “You have a visitor,” Norm says.

You push away the empty glass and bowl, then rise from your seat at the table. Your eyes meet pale yellow—the same shade as the other forest Na’vi’s irises.

Jake opens his mouth to speak. “I’m-”

“You’re Jake Sully,” you interrupt. He’s like a myth come to life. During your imprisonment, the girls and wardens talked about him nonstop. He’s a Pandoran celebrity.

Your face turns crimson. It’s one thing to interrupt Mia, but it’s another to interrupt the goddamn Olo'eyktan, the leader of his people. Not just any, but Jake Sully in particular. You’re mortified.

You’re unsure how to greet him properly. Should you kneel? Your body scrambles to do the right thing—you bow, curtsey, and offer your hand to shake all at once.

Jake Sully breathes into the respirator around his neck, veiling a small chuckle. He takes your hand and shakes it gently; due to his size, his engulfs yours.

“Have a seat,” he says. You do.

Jake Sully can’t possibly fit in any of the chairs, so he defaults to sitting on the floor. “I may be asking for a lot,” he says. “But in order to grant you asylum here, I need to know everything.”

He is asking for a lot. You’ve been through nothing but hell. Your face heats up just thinking about the things you’ve witnessed. You don’t want to relive it. Maybe Norm stopped the others earlier because he knew this was coming.

As you look into Jake Sully’s eyes, you know malignity isn’t his intention. It quite literally has nothing to do with you, actually. You know that the Olo'eyktan’s job is to keep his people safe. That’s Jake Sully’s motive. He has to know you’re safe. It’s a two-way street—in order to grant you safety, he must be able to ensure his own.

---

You relay your history on Pandora thus far. It takes over an hour to get through everything. It doesn’t help when Jake asks a dozen questions, and tangents branch off into more tangents. Half-way through the conversation, however, you already know you’re earning his trust. You pinpoint the exact moment, in which Jake admits the reason he joined the RDA and decided to come to Pandora when he lived in a human body.

It’s just the two of you now—Max finished the dishes a while ago and Norm left because he needed rest.

Jake avoids your eyes every time you mention something particularly harrowing about your imprisonment. You’re as precise as you are descriptive. Towards the end of your testimony, he looks at his feet for ten minutes straight, while you reiterate the prison break. He can’t say much in response. He acknowledges that the ordeal must have been horrific.

“Sounds like something out of this old dystopian novel,” Jake mutters. “I think it was called The Handmaid’s Tale.”

Lastly, you tell him about the Na’vi in the forest who saved you.

“Do you know him?” you inquire.

Jake nods. “I do. His name is Neteyam.” He chooses not to elaborate. He omits the fact that Neteyam is his first-born son, next in line for his title.

“Neteyam,” you echo.

Jake nods again when you mimic his pronunciation. It’s not bad, he thinks. Not as bad as Neteyam said, when his son was harping on your horrible accent after bringing you, a human, to High Camp on his ikran. Something Jake never thought he’d see.

“I’d like to thank him,” you say. “He saved my life. How do you say thank you or show gratitude?”

Jake rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should spend a week or two or three here. Take some time to yourself before you consider leaving the science shack and interacting with my people,” he says awkwardly albeit bluntly.

Your brows furrow. His tone of voice suggests there’s no room for protest.

“Spider, Norm, Max, and everyone else will teach you the ways of the Na’vi,” Jake says. “They all speak the language fluently. And if you want to interact with and live amongst my people, then so will you.”

You nod. You consider telling him the very reason the RDA chose you and your talents—that that was exactly what you came to Pandora to do. “So I will,” you reply simply.

“If you see us, then we will see you,” Jake says in Na’vi.

You catch none of it, but nod confidently anyway. He scoffs.

“Good talk,” Jake says lastly. He takes another breath through his respirator, then leaves through the airlock, just as he came.

---

A/N: Feel free to leave any and all comments on this chapter! The exposition is almost done, just hold on a little longer! The exposition continues in the next part, but Neteyam will make an appearance, I pinky promise!

Next part is projected to come out a week from today, Tuesday. I will try to keep a consistent posting schedule.

Thank you all so much for the kind comments and notes thus far! <3

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x human reader #self insert #self insert fanfiction #x reader #atwow

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

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The disenshittified internet starts with loyal "user agents"

I'm in TARTU, ESTONIA! Overcoming the Enshittocene (TOMORROW, May 8, 6PM, Prima Vista Literary Festival keynote, University of Tartu Library, Struwe 1). AI, copyright and creative workers' labor rights (May 10, 8AM: Science Fiction Research Association talk, Institute of Foreign Languages and Cultures building, Lossi 3, lobby). A talk for hackers on seizing the means of computation (May 10, 3PM, University of Tartu Delta Centre, Narva 18, room 1037).

There's one overwhelmingly common mistake that people make about enshittification: assuming that the contagion is the result of the Great Forces of History, or that it is the inevitable end-point of any kind of for-profit online world.

In other words, they class enshittification as an ideological phenomenon, rather than as a material phenomenon. Corporate leaders have always felt the impulse to enshittify their offerings, shifting value from end users, business customers and their own workers to their shareholders. The decades of largely enshittification-free online services were not the product of corporate leaders with better ideas or purer hearts. Those years were the result of constraints on the mediocre sociopaths who would trade our wellbeing and happiness for their own, constraints that forced them to act better than they do today, even if the were not any better:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Corporate leaders' moments of good leadership didn't come from morals, they came from fear. Fear that a competitor would take away a disgruntled customer or worker. Fear that a regulator would punish the company so severely that all gains from cheating would be wiped out. Fear that a rival technology – alternative clients, tracker blockers, third-party mods and plugins – would emerge that permanently severed the company's relationship with their customers. Fears that key workers in their impossible-to-replace workforce would leave for a job somewhere else rather than participate in the enshittification of the services they worked so hard to build:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/22/kargo-kult-kaptialism/#dont-buy-it

When those constraints melted away – thanks to decades of official tolerance for monopolies, which led to regulatory capture and victory over the tech workforce – the same mediocre sociopaths found themselves able to pursue their most enshittificatory impulses without fear.

The effects of this are all around us. In This Is Your Phone On Feminism, the great Maria Farrell describes how audiences at her lectures profess both love for their smartphones and mistrust for them. Farrell says, "We love our phones, but we do not trust them. And love without trust is the definition of an abusive relationship":

https://conversationalist.org/2019/09/13/feminism-explains-our-toxic-relationships-with-our-smartphones/

I (re)discovered this Farrell quote in a paper by Robin Berjon, who recently co-authored a magnificent paper with Farrell entitled "We Need to Rewild the Internet":

https://www.noemamag.com/we-need-to-rewild-the-internet/

The new Berjon paper is narrower in scope, but still packed with material examples of the way the internet goes wrong and how it can be put right. It's called "The Fiduciary Duties of User Agents":

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3827421

In "Fiduciary Duties," Berjon focuses on the technical term "user agent," which is how web browsers are described in formal standards documents. This notion of a "user agent" is a holdover from a more civilized age, when technologists tried to figure out how to build a new digital space where technology served users.

A web browser that's a "user agent" is a comforting thought. An agent's job is to serve you and your interests. When you tell it to fetch a web-page, your agent should figure out how to get that page, make sense of the code that's embedded in, and render the page in a way that represents its best guess of how you'd like the page seen.

For example, the user agent might judge that you'd like it to block ads. More than half of all web users have installed ad-blockers, constituting the largest consumer boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Your user agent might judge that the colors on the page are outside your visual range. Maybe you're colorblind, in which case, the user agent could shift the gamut of the colors away from the colors chosen by the page's creator and into a set that suits you better:

https://dankaminsky.com/dankam/

Or maybe you (like me) have a low-vision disability that makes low-contrast type difficult to impossible to read, and maybe the page's creator is a thoughtless dolt who's chosen light grey-on-white type, or maybe they've fallen prey to the absurd urban legend that not-quite-black type is somehow more legible than actual black type:

https://uxplanet.org/basicdesign-never-use-pure-black-in-typography-36138a3327a6

The user agent is loyal to you. Even when you want something the page's creator didn't consider – even when you want something the page's creator violently objects to – your user agent acts on your behalf and delivers your desires, as best as it can.

Now – as Berjon points out – you might not know exactly what you want. Like, you know that you want the privacy guarantees of TLS (the difference between "http" and "https") but not really understand the internal cryptographic mysteries involved. Your user agent might detect evidence of shenanigans indicating that your session isn't secure, and choose not to show you the web-page you requested.

This is only superficially paradoxical. Yes, you asked your browser for a web-page. Yes, the browser defied your request and declined to show you that page. But you also asked your browser to protect you from security defects, and your browser made a judgment call and decided that security trumped delivery of the page. No paradox needed.

But of course, the person who designed your user agent/browser can't anticipate all the ways this contradiction might arise. Like, maybe you're trying to access your own website, and you know that the security problem the browser has detected is the result of your own forgetful failure to renew your site's cryptographic certificate. At that point, you can tell your browser, "Thanks for having my back, pal, but actually this time it's fine. Stand down and show me that webpage."

That's your user agent serving you, too.

User agents can be well-designed or they can be poorly made. The fact that a user agent is designed to act in accord with your desires doesn't mean that it always will. A software agent, like a human agent, is not infallible.

However – and this is the key – if a user agent thwarts your desire due to a fault, that is fundamentally different from a user agent that thwarts your desires because it is designed to serve the interests of someone else, even when that is detrimental to your own interests.

A "faithless" user agent is utterly different from a "clumsy" user agent, and faithless user agents have become the norm. Indeed, as crude early internet clients progressed in sophistication, they grew increasingly treacherous. Most non-browser tools are designed for treachery.

A smart speaker or voice assistant routes all your requests through its manufacturer's servers and uses this to build a nonconsensual surveillance dossier on you. Smart speakers and voice assistants even secretly record your speech and route it to the manufacturer's subcontractors, whether or not you're explicitly interacting with them:

https://www.sciencealert.com/creepy-new-amazon-patent-would-mean-alexa-records-everything-you-say-from-now-on

By design, apps and in-app browsers seek to thwart your preferences regarding surveillance and tracking. An app will even try to figure out if you're using a VPN to obscure your location from its maker, and snitch you out with its guess about your true location.

Mobile phones assign persistent tracking IDs to their owners and transmit them without permission (to its credit, Apple recently switch to an opt-in system for transmitting these IDs) (but to its detriment, Apple offers no opt-out from its own tracking, and actively lies about the very existence of this tracking):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

An Android device running Chrome and sitting inert, with no user interaction, transmits location data to Google every five minutes. This is the "resting heartbeat" of surveillance for an Android device. Ask that device to do any work for you and its pulse quickens, until it is emitting a nearly continuous stream of information about your activities to Google:

https://digitalcontentnext.org/blog/2018/08/21/google-data-collection-research/

These faithless user agents both reflect and enable enshittification. The locked-down nature of the hardware and operating systems for Android and Ios devices means that manufacturers – and their business partners – have an arsenal of legal weapons they can use to block anyone who gives you a tool to modify the device's behavior. These weapons are generically referred to as "IP rights" which are, broadly speaking, the right to control the conduct of a company's critics, customers and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

A canny tech company can design their products so that any modification that puts the user's interests above its shareholders is illegal, a violation of its copyright, patent, trademark, trade secrets, contracts, terms of service, nondisclosure, noncompete, most favored nation, or anticircumvention rights. Wrap your product in the right mix of IP, and its faithless betrayals acquire the force of law.

This is – in Jay Freeman's memorable phrase – "felony contempt of business model." While more than half of all web users have installed an ad-blocker, thus overriding the manufacturer's defaults to make their browser a more loyal agent, no app users have modified their apps with ad-blockers.

The first step of making such a blocker, reverse-engineering the app, creates criminal liability under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, with a maximum penalty of five years in prison and a $500,000 fine. An app is just a web-page skinned in sufficient IP to make it a felony to add an ad-blocker to it (no wonder every company wants to coerce you into using its app, rather than its website).

If you know that increasing the invasiveness of the ads on your web-page could trigger mass installations of ad-blockers by your users, it becomes irrational and self-defeating to ramp up your ads' invasiveness. The possibility of interoperability acts as a constraint on tech bosses' impulse to enshittify their products.

The shift to platforms dominated by treacherous user agents – apps, mobile ecosystems, walled gardens – weakens or removes that constraint. As your ability to discipline your agent so that it serves you wanes, the temptation to turn your user agent against you grows, and enshittification follows.

This has been tacitly understood by technologists since the web's earliest days and has been reaffirmed even as enshittification increased. Berjon quotes extensively from "The Internet Is For End-Users," AKA Internet Architecture Board RFC 8890:

Defining the user agent role in standards also creates a virtuous cycle; it allows multiple implementations, allowing end users to switch between them with relatively low costs (…). This creates an incentive for implementers to consider the users' needs carefully, which are often reflected into the defining standards. The resulting ecosystem has many remaining problems, but a distinguished user agent role provides an opportunity to improve it.

And the W3C's Technical Architecture Group echoes these sentiments in "Web Platform Design Principles," which articulates a "Priority of Constituencies" that is supposed to be central to the W3C's mission:

User needs come before the needs of web page authors, which come before the needs of user agent implementors, which come before the needs of specification writers, which come before theoretical purity.

https://w3ctag.github.io/design-principles/

But the W3C's commitment to faithful agents is contingent on its own members' commitment to these principles. In 2017, the W3C finalized "EME," a standard for blocking mods that interact with streaming videos. Nominally aimed at preventing copyright infringement, EME also prevents users from choosing to add accessibility add-ons that beyond the ones the streaming service permits. These services may support closed captioning and additional narration of visual elements, but they block tools that adapt video for color-blind users or prevent strobe effects that trigger seizures in users with photosensitive epilepsy.

The fight over EME was the most contentious struggle in the W3C's history, in which the organization's leadership had to decide whether to honor the "priority of constituencies" and make a standard that allowed users to override manufacturers, or whether to facilitate the creation of faithless agents specifically designed to thwart users' desires on behalf of manufacturers:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

This fight was settled in favor of a handful of extremely large and powerful companies, over the objections of a broad collection of smaller firms, nonprofits representing users, academics and other parties agitating for a web built on faithful agents. This coincided with the W3C's operating budget becoming entirely dependent on the very large sums its largest corporate members paid.

W3C membership is on a sliding scale, based on a member's size. Nominally, the W3C is a one-member, one-vote organization, but when a highly concentrated collection of very high-value members flex their muscles, W3C leadership seemingly perceived an existential risk to the organization, and opted to sacrifice the faithfulness of user agents in service to the anti-user priorities of its largest members.

For W3C's largest corporate members, the fight was absolutely worth it. The W3C's EME standard transformed the web, making it impossible to ship a fully featured web-browser without securing permission – and a paid license – from one of the cartel of companies that dominate the internet. In effect, Big Tech used the W3C to secure the right to decide who would compete with them in future, and how:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

Enshittification arises when the everyday mediocre sociopaths who run tech companies are freed from the constraints that act against them. When the web – and its browsers – were a big, contented, diverse, competitive space, it was harder for tech companies to collude to capture standards bodies like the W3C to secure even more dominance. As the web turned into Tom Eastman's "five giant websites filled with screenshots of text from the other four," that kind of collusion became much easier:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

In arguing for faithful agents, Berjon associates himself with the group of scholars, regulators and activists who call for user agents to serve as "information fiduciaries." Mostly, information fiduciaries come up in the context of user privacy, with the idea that entities that hold a user's data would have the obligation to put the user's interests ahead of their own. Think of a lawyer's fiduciary duty in respect of their clients, to give advice that reflects the client's best interests, even when that conflicts with the lawyer's own self-interest. For example, a lawyer who believes that settling a case is the best course of action for a client is required to tell them so, even if keeping the case going would generate more billings for the lawyer and their firm.

For a user agent to be faithful, it must be your fiduciary. It must put your interests ahead of the interests of the entity that made it or operates it. Browsers, email clients, and other internet software that served as a fiduciary would do things like automatically blocking tracking (which most email clients don't do, especially webmail clients made by companies like Google, who also sell advertising and tracking).

Berjon contemplates a legally mandated fiduciary duty, citing Lindsey Barrett's "Confiding in Con Men":

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3354129

He describes a fiduciary duty as a remedy for the enforcement failures of EU's GDPR, a solidly written, and dismally enforced, privacy law. A legally backstopped duty for agents to be fiduciaries would also help us distinguish good and bad forms of "innovation" – innovation in ways of thwarting a user's will are always bad.

Now, the tech giants insist that they are already fiduciaries, and that when they thwart a user's request, that's more like blocking access to a page where the encryption has been compromised than like HAL9000's "I can't let you do that, Dave." For example, when Louis Barclay created "Unfollow Everything," he (and his enthusiastic users) found that automating the process of unfollowing every account on Facebook made their use of the service significantly better:

https://slate.com/technology/2021/10/facebook-unfollow-everything-cease-desist.html

When Facebook shut the service down with blood-curdling legal threats, they insisted that they were simply protecting users from themselves. Sure, this browser automation tool – which just automatically clicked links on Facebook's own settings pages – seemed to do what the users wanted. But what if the user interface changed? What if so many users added this feature to Facebook without Facebook's permission that they overwhelmed Facebook's (presumably tiny and fragile) servers and crashed the system?

These arguments have lately resurfaced with Ethan Zuckerman and Knight First Amendment Institute's lawsuit to clarify that "Unfollow Everything 2.0" is legal and doesn't violate any of those "felony contempt of business model" laws:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/02/kaiju-v-kaiju/

Sure, Zuckerman seems like a good guy, but what if he makes a mistake and his automation tool does something you don't want? You, the Facebook user, are also a nice guy, but let's face it, you're also a naive dolt and you can't be trusted to make decisions for yourself. Those decisions can only be made by Facebook, whom we can rely upon to exercise its authority wisely.

Other versions of this argument surfaced in the debate over the EU's decision to mandate interoperability for end-to-end encrypted (E2EE) messaging through the Digital Markets Act (DMA), which would let you switch from, say, Whatsapp to Signal and still send messages to your Whatsapp contacts.

There are some good arguments that this could go horribly awry. If it is rushed, or internally sabotaged by the EU's state security services who loathe the privacy that comes from encrypted messaging, it could expose billions of people to serious risks.

But that's not the only argument that DMA opponents made: they also argued that even if interoperable messaging worked perfectly and had no security breaches, it would still be bad for users, because this would make it impossible for tech giants like Meta, Google and Apple to spy on message traffic (if not its content) and identify likely coordinated harassment campaigns. This is literally the identical argument the NSA made in support of its "metadata" mass-surveillance program: "Reading your messages might violate your privacy, but watching your messages doesn't."

This is obvious nonsense, so its proponents need an equally obviously intellectually dishonest way to defend it. When called on the absurdity of "protecting" users by spying on them against their will, they simply shake their heads and say, "You just can't understand the burdens of running a service with hundreds of millions or billions of users, and if I even tried to explain these issues to you, I would divulge secrets that I'm legally and ethically bound to keep. And even if I could tell you, you wouldn't understand, because anyone who doesn't work for a Big Tech company is a naive dolt who can't be trusted to understand how the world works (much like our users)."

Not coincidentally, this is also literally the same argument the NSA makes in support of mass surveillance, and there's a very useful name for it: scalesplaining.

Now, it's totally true that every one of us is capable of lapses in judgment that put us, and the people connected to us, at risk (my own parents gave their genome to the pseudoscience genetic surveillance company 23andme, which means they have my genome, too). A true information fiduciary shouldn't automatically deliver everything the user asks for. When the agent perceives that the user is about to put themselves in harm's way, it should throw up a roadblock and explain the risks to the user.

But the system should also let the user override it.

This is a contentious statement in information security circles. Users can be "socially engineered" (tricked), and even the most sophisticated users are vulnerable to this:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

The only way to be certain a user won't be tricked into taking a course of action is to forbid that course of action under any circumstances. If there is any means by which a user can flip the "are you very sure?" circuit-breaker back on, then the user can be tricked into using that means.

This is absolutely true. As you read these words, all over the world, vulnerable people are being tricked into speaking the very specific set of directives that cause a suspicious bank-teller to authorize a transfer or cash withdrawal that will result in their life's savings being stolen by a scammer:

https://www.thecut.com/article/amazon-scam-call-ftc-arrest-warrants.html

We keep making it harder for bank customers to make large transfers, but so long as it is possible to make such a transfer, the scammers have the means, motive and opportunity to discover how the process works, and they will go on to trick their victims into invoking that process.

Beyond a certain point, making it harder for bank depositors to harm themselves creates a world in which people who aren't being scammed find it nearly impossible to draw out a lot of cash for an emergency and where scam artists know exactly how to manage the trick. After all, non-scammers only rarely experience emergencies and thus have no opportunity to become practiced in navigating all the anti-fraud checks, while the fraudster gets to run through them several times per day, until they know them even better than the bank staff do.

This is broadly true of any system intended to control users at scale – beyond a certain point, additional security measures are trivially surmounted hurdles for dedicated bad actors and as nearly insurmountable hurdles for their victims:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/como-is-infosec/

At this point, we've had a couple of decades' worth of experience with technological "walled gardens" in which corporate executives get to override their users' decisions about how the system should work, even when that means reaching into the users' own computer and compelling it to thwart the user's desire. The record is inarguable: while companies often use those walls to lock bad guys out of the system, they also use the walls to lock their users in, so that they'll be easy pickings for the tech company that owns the system:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

This is neatly predicted by enshittification's theory of constraints: when a company can override your choices, it will be irresistibly tempted to do so for its own benefit, and to your detriment.

What's more, the mere possibility that you can override the way the system works acts as a disciplining force on corporate executives, forcing them to reckon with your priorities even when these are counter to their shareholders' interests. If Facebook is genuinely worried that an "Unfollow Everything" script will break its servers, it can solve that by giving users an unfollow everything button of its own design. But so long as Facebook can sue anyone who makes an "Unfollow Everything" tool, they have no reason to give their users such a button, because it would give them more control over their Facebook experience, including the controls needed to use Facebook less.

It's been more than 20 years since Seth Schoen and I got a demo of Microsoft's first "trusted computing" system, with its "remote attestations," which would let remote servers demand and receive accurate information about what kind of computer you were using and what software was running on it.

This could be beneficial to the user – you could send a "remote attestation" to a third party you trusted and ask, "Hey, do you think my computer is infected with malicious software?" Since the trusted computing system produced its report on your computer using a sealed, separate processor that the user couldn't directly interact with, any malicious code you were infected with would not be able to forge this attestation.

But this remote attestation feature could also be used to allow Microsoft to block you from opening a Word document with Libreoffice, Apple Pages, or Google Docs, or it could be used to allow a website to refuse to send you pages if you were running an ad-blocker. In other words, it could transform your information fiduciary into a faithless agent.

Seth proposed an answer to this: "owner override," a hardware switch that would allow you to force your computer to lie on your behalf, when that was beneficial to you, for example, by insisting that you were using Microsoft Word to open a document when you were really using Apple Pages:

https://web.archive.org/web/20021004125515/http://vitanuova.loyalty.org/2002-07-05.html

Seth wasn't naive. He knew that such a system could be exploited by scammers and used to harm users. But Seth calculated – correctly! – that the risks of having a key to let yourself out of the walled garden were less than being stuck in a walled garden where some corporate executive got to decide whether and when you could leave.

Tech executives never stopped questing after a way to turn your user agent from a fiduciary into a traitor. Last year, Google toyed with the idea of adding remote attestation to web browsers, which would let services refuse to interact with you if they thought you were using an ad blocker:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

The reasoning for this was incredible: by adding remote attestation to browsers, they'd be creating "feature parity" with apps – that is, they'd be making it as practical for your browser to betray you as it is for your apps to do so (note that this is the same justification that the W3C gave for creating EME, the treacherous user agent in your browser – "streaming services won't allow you to access movies with your browser unless your browser is as enshittifiable and authoritarian as an app").

Technologists who work for giant tech companies can come up with endless scalesplaining explanations for why their bosses, and not you, should decide how your computer works. They're wrong. Your computer should do what you tell it to do:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/08/your-computer-should-say-what-you-tell-it-say-1

These people can kid themselves that they're only taking away your power and handing it to their boss because they have your best interests at heart. As Upton Sinclair told us, it's impossible to get someone to understand something when their paycheck depends on them not understanding it.

The only way to get a tech boss to consistently treat you well is to ensure that if they stop, you can quit. Anything less is a one-way ticket to enshittification.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/07/treacherous-computing/#rewilding-the-internet

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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mossdogs · 3 months

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my takes on the clones (+ scudworth and mr b) in the future :)

yapping under the cut

joan works as a director on her experimental arthouse films, which she shows at festivals. even though they aren't very successful, they managed to attract a few niche audiences. when she isn't working on her movies, she makes ends meet at hot topic. in senior year of high school, she and confucius decided to try things again, and both got married a few decades later (oh and also, she got her psylly legs cured!)

abe got a degree in history and works as a high school history teacher. he tried to get into law school in an attempt to live up to his clonefather but dropped out as soon as he realized that it wasn't for him. he gained a lot more confidence that his teen self, and even fixed his posture (would you look at that!)

jfk was at his peak when he played college football, managing to get into a few amateur yet prestigious leagues. now he works as a coach to younger (and sometimes irritatingly inexperienced) teams. he moved with abe to big city usa after they got married.

cleo began working as a model taking advantage of the fact that she's a clone of queen cleopatra (although people don't think it's literal). she went through a few plastic surgeries because she couldn't bear the thought of aging, even if they aren't that noticeable (still). she goes as far as dyeing her hair at least twice a week (grey hairs are for ugly old people, which she isn't!) and follows the same skincare routine she did as a teen, hence why she looks like she hasn't aged that much.

gandhi got thawed out approximately 30 years after the others did when one of the janitors accidentally broke the thermostat of the meat locker. if adapting to the 2020's was hard for the clones then 2053 is no easy task either. what happens after he gets out? i have no idea

harriet was an actress in a few plays for a while and even got to stage twister: the game: the musical at a local theatre, which recieved mixed reviews but got people talking for a while nonetheless. she lost touch with pretty much everybody else except for joan and frida: the three still hang out whenever they can.

confucius pretty much had his whole life sorted out after graduation: he was going to enjoy his foster parents' fortune and not go to college. however, his plans quickly went south when jernice and archibald were tragically mauled by a bear while attempting to hunt it, leaving their inheritance to confucius' foster sister. he works as a computer technician and sometimes helps his wife with her films. he occasionally phones jfk to chat for a bit, since the two remained pretty close.

frida went to art school and works as a painter, doing commissions and selling her art. she had a band on her youth with her college friends, where she was the lead singer and guitarist. after she and cleo moved out from exclamation, they adopted two cats and a xoloitzcuintle dog named señor xólotl, who is like a child to them

topher and the bleacher creatures became incredibly popular after cloney island was destroyed, given that villain village was a success. they received offers to perform in movies, series and attend interviews: people were fascinated by them. their fame was quickly cut short when a brand new, much better texas themed park was build where cloney island once was a few years later, stealing all the attention from them. topher now works as a janitor in clone high. when he isn't removing gum from under tables or unclogging toilet pipes, he spends time on his computer accompanied by his four therapy possums. he still hangs out with the bleacher creatures and they all make the lives of the most insufferable students miserable, just to lighten up his work a bit. some students who were littering reported snakes coming out of their lockers and biting them, and they never knew why.

scudworth and mr b live in a retirement home. the only one who visits them is joan, who sometimes phones or visits them whenever she's in town. because of this, scudworth has developed some resignation towards the others, which he spills out to mr b on an almost daily basis. despite this, deep down he misses them a lot and wishes he could see them.

the first pic's quality is dogshit on mobile for some reason so here's some closeups:

#clone high #again im not into this show as much anymore #but i wanted an excuse to spill out all the hcs that ive been keeping in my head for so long #abe lincoln ch #joan of arc ch #jfk ch #cleopatra smith #gandhi ch #harriet tubman ch #confucius ch #frida kahlo ch #topher bus #principal scudworth #mr butlertron #my art #drawing crusty ugly rotting miserable old man scudworth was the highlight of this honestly

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aceies-desiresxx · 3 months

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one of my favorite things to imagine in disney twst is yuu (your character) deciding to create a school wide publication. a school digital newspaper for the students of NRC.

the dates of all the upcoming unbirthday parties + plus a nit-picky checklist and particular rules that might apply that week to help out the heartsabyul students who don’t wanna deal with “having their head off”

constant updates of the week’s spell drive tournaments and games , + scoreboard for the season, as well as additional info about scouts and recruiters coming to visit said games to encourage the student athletes to reach out and do their best in hopes of their sports career, even a leader board + and mvps so far

monstro lounge’s weekly specialties and deals as well as hiring info incase students want to earn some extra money on campus, and how to contact azul if you’re from another dorm

reminders of important dates on the lunar calendar for both werebeastmen and scarabia students + the newest imports from foreign lands in sam’s shop that might make their dorm feel more like home

news about the newest fashion trends and movies + plus a gossip column that has features on particular students. it’s worded in a riddle, and all names are anonymous so the student body spends awhile trying to figure out who it’s about

new game releases, paired with student options on difficulty and enjoyment. students handles will be tagged allowing for their streams to reach a larger audience + showcases of student art

history on NRC and spooky stories that will be fun to theorize about. legends of trapped souls on campus ground and interviews from alumni and what they think of it or if they were witness to the history

you can also find info about clubs and their recruitment and how to join, when the housewardens will have another meeting with eachother so you can voice your ideas to them in hopes it will be brought up, dates for large student study sessions and after school help, dates for “leaked” pop quizzes or even large tests that you might’ve forgotten were gonna be later that week. tickets and shows to student performances even dumb quizzes to pass the time. you can find all staff emails and how to even duel your house warden to take their spot. but for some reason that tab doesn’t have a lot of viewers.

this digital publication keeps the student body of NRC well informed and is popularly visited, only gaining more traction as the school year goes on. so ofc students have been trying to figure out who’s been behind it.

all the crisp photos of the spell drive players, the leaked dates of tests, the gossip, sam’s stock. how’s one person able to get the news before anyone else is? no way azul would sign a contract with them, plus even azul doesn’t have access to all this info. if only he had some sneaky eels who love to be as slippery as they are in the water, above ground. or a few ghost friends able to go through walls and overhear things they probably shouldn’t. maybe sam IS in on it, wanting to spread awareness about his goods so he makes profit. even a cat small enough to sneak around when bribed with enough tuna could help out. plus a killer camera from the headmaster. maybe crowley knows what’s going on but is letting things play out. so far it hasn’t gone too far. plus. who would suspect the prefect from another dimension? they have a hard enough time as is. no way they’d be able to keep up.

#disney twst #disney twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #heartsabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia #pomefiore #ignihyde #leona kingscholar #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #diasomnia #malleus draconia #leona x reader #malleus x reader

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ashprince-of-bel-air · 2 months

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AN: So i'm hoping to make this a 2 part story if people like this, i'm basing it on a post I saw saying that Geta would treat Y/N like the pharaoh in The Mummy and paint them so nobody else could touch them. This is also my first time writing a fic because I was desperate for more Geta content so any constructive criticism would be nice!

Part Two

Treasure

Geta had always been possessive and selfish, that had been clear throughout his entire life. He detested sharing anything with his brother, Caracalla as they grew up together, whether it was toys, food or even just any basic attention. He despised the fact that he had to share the role of Emperor with him, never feeling that he was fully in control at any given moment, knowing he had to acquiesce some of his power to him. All of his resentment he kept boiling away inside of him, using it to advantage when he needed to intimidate his Generals or even dish out the Emperor’s justice in any way, helping him feed his public image of being a ruthless ruler. All this he used to his advantage whilst he plotted a way to dispose of his brother, he was happy this way, until he saw you.

It was a blazing hot day in the Colosseum, the smell of blood and sweat was full in the air as the Gladiator Games were now in full swing, the roaring of the audience was deafening, you had experienced nothing like this. This was your first time at the arena, your father had delayed on bringing you to watch the games fearing that you would not have the stomach for it, not wanting to jeopardise his ever climbing position by having you faint or scream in disgust in front of the other senators or even the Emperors. As you watch enthralled by the spectacle the sibling Emperors watch on the games with a touch of boredom, drinking their fill of wine to cool down in the hot sun, suddenly Geta’s eyes land on you, enraptured by your visage as if you were the physical embodiment of Venus herself. He leant forward slightly in his chair to gain a better look of you without alerting his brother to what he was so enthralled with. He could not turn his gaze away from the way the light pink tunic hung deftly on your skin, your skin looking so pure and untouched, he almost snarled at the thought of any of these lecherous old senators even thinking to touch you and defile you. Geta subtly heeded over a guard and commanded him to bring you to his palace after the games had finished, his mind no longer on the games as it raced with thoughts of you and how he wanted to keep you all to himself. All his life he had to share with his brother but in this moment, he knew he would do anything to make sure that you were his and his alone.

The games end and everyone begins to pile out of the Colosseum, you follow closely behind your father not wanting to be lost in the crowd. The pair of you begin to approach your carriage and begin the journey home, as you near the carriage door you both become scared and confused as to why two members of the imperial guard are stood at the door. You stand wringing your hands anxiously as one of them whispers in your fathers ear, you watch his eyes go wide and nod obediently at the guard, your father nods for you to enter the carriage and you make the journey to your new destination in silence as your father had commanded.

Once the carriage pulls up at your final destination you step out and are amazed to be at the steps on the imperial palace, your mind races with possibilities, “is this a mistake?” “Are we in trouble?” “has my father upset a powerful senator?” your mind coming up with endless conspiracies as you walk up the steps and enter the palace, none of your thoughts positive. The guards eventually lead you in through the palace and usher you into a room, it is one of the most magnificent rooms you have ever seen, adorned with rich cloth tapestries and a shallow marble pool in the middle of the room to provide an escape from the harsh Rome heat. You approach the man sat in the throne at the far side of the room nervously, waiting for something bad to happen. As you stand at the bottom of the stairs below the throne you notice that the tall statuesque figure looking down at you is none other than Emperor Geta, quickly you lean forward and bow as custom dictates and await his command for you to stand up to address him.

Geta watched you walk into the throne room, his eyes upon your nervous visage, you were like a deer ready to bolt and he was watching you like a lion watches his prey, a predatory look already in his eyes as you approach him. He chuckles softly as he sees you bow once you realise exactly who he is, he stand from his throne and walks towards you, circling you, knowing that he has you in his grasp. Geta eyes your father and speaks in a curt tone “you are dismissed, your presence is not needed here.” Your father attempts to interject however the guards escort him swiftly away and send him home in the carriage you arrived in. Geta walks to stand in front of you, still bowing politely which he found to be endearing, you feel his finger hook underneath your chin as he places pressure against it to pull you up to look into his eyes, you stare at them and notice the possessiveness in them. “what is your name little dove?” Geta demands as he hold your gaze, not letting his hand drop from your chin. “its Y/N, your majesty.” You barely whisper to him, intimidated by his towering presence. He leans his face closer to yours, his voice almost a whisper as you can feel his breath against your lips. “well Y/N, I was completely enraptured by your presence at the games today and I had to bring you here to be mine.” His eyes darken with what you can only imagine to be lust, not knowing the ways of men yet, you gulp softly not knowing what he has in store for you but how could you refuse an Emperor what he wants? Geta looks down at you scanning all the curves of your body, pure and untouched skin, he takes a lock of hair in his hand and plays with it, pulling it up to his lips kissing it and whispering in an uncharacteristic softness. “my treasure.”

#emperor geta #emperor geta x reader #gladiator 2 #joseph quinn #joseph quinn gladiator #gladiator ii #emperor geta x you

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0ciestiel0 · 8 months

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Hazbin Hotel has given me a new ship. Ok hear me out. RadioApple or Alastor/Lucifer. If you bear with me I think I can even make this work within a canon context. Alastor in ep 7 was told he’s an ace in the hole (tho he had no idea what she meant) but Rosie which is the audience clue to him being asexual but that’s also a spectrum.

I think Alastor lacks interest in sex and love and relationships because he is a complex psychopath. He very much gives me Hannibal Lecter vibes. In particular NBC’s Hannibal Lecter. He sees everyone as beneath him. Pawns, food, or both. How could he ever feel something for others when he has no equal. People are just means to an end for him. A tool to aid him in gaining more power. He understands putting up a facade. But underneath is something much more sinister.

Now. Lucifer. Lucifer has the potential to be his equal in Alastor’s eyes. Lucifer has the power that Alastor wants. The freedom Alastor wants. That’s also why I think he provokes Lucifer so much as well, because Lucifer has all those things but he’s wasting it in Alastor’s eyes. But we (not Alastor unfortunately) see in episode 8 just how powerful Lucifer can be. If that was the Lucifer Alastor saw I think he could see him as an equal. Or it could lead to that path. Give it another season maybe.

And like Hannibal with Will develop feelings for Lucifer. Well as much as a complex psychopath cannibal turned demon could anyway. If all we have in canon is an offhand comment by a friend of Alastor, I think it’s fair to theorize he could be demisexual. And if he found someone who he could see as his equal, much like Hannibal did, he could have a kind of romantic (loving to the best of his ability) and possibly even sexual relationship.

(Tho it’s fiction, if people wanna still ship him with people and draw fanart, write fanfic, have all the headcanons, regardless of canon I think that’s totally fine as that’s what people do with fictional characters. Most ships I see don’t follow canon anyway. And the canon will always be there.)

I really love these two as a ship. Such enemies to lovers vibes. And the way they provoke each other is gold. I love that Alastor the only one who wasn’t Adam to have no fear or admiration of Lucifer. Also because he’s a cannibal I’m very amused by how much RadioApple shippers have decided Alastor bites.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #radioapple #alastor the radio demon #Alastor and Lucifer #alastor #lucifer

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chukys-mouthguard · 3 months

Text

fight night

2.5k words

genre: angst, minor fluff, suggested smut

featuring: auston matthews x female reader

summary: after a fight results in auston uninviting you to the nhl awards, you both end up at UFC 303

“Look, you need to chill the fuck out okay? If you don’t like the people I’m hanging out with here, then don’t bother fucking coming tonight. I’ll just see you when I’m back in town.”

Before you could get another word in, Auston had hung up the phone. The two of you getting in a heated argument about the people he was hanging out with while in Las Vegas for a slew of appearances. The most important being the NHL Awards, which you were supposed to attend alongside him. But not anymore.

You didn’t hate Auston’s friend group per say, but he’d been adopting a new workout routine for the offseason, and they didn’t necessarily seem to be helping that. He’d been drinking a lot, something that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for him, but heavy drinking was not going to put him on good terms with his conditioning coach.

Having just expressed your concerns turning into a huge fight between the two of you. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t seen in each other in weeks, the awards show meant to be the event that brought you two back together. But now here you were, already in Vegas since you’d flown in that day, with your agenda now cleared. Your flight home not for two days as you anticipated spending time with Auston before flying back out.

As you contemplated rebooking your flight, a call came in from your manager, not something you had been expecting.

“Hey y/n, you’re in Las Vegas for a few days right?”

“Um, yeah, I’m in Vegas right now. What’s up?”

“Well, you know how we just closed that sponsorship deal for you with New Amsterdam Vodka?”

Truly you had no clue how your manager landed you that sponsorship, it being one of the best brands you’d gotten a deal with to date. You’d like to think it was because of how much you publicized your love for Pink Whitney, but who really knows.

“Well, they had some things come up. And long story short, can you attend the UFC fight tomorrow night? We’ve got Olivia on a plane flying in as we speak.”

Olivia was your podcast co-host that was also signed to a deal with New Amsterdam. The two of you were the hottest up and coming podcasters who were quickly gaining notoriety for your ability to talk sports and pop culture, while making it entertaining and understandable for all audiences.

“Um, yeah, I can definitely attend the fight. My schedule is completely free.”

“Great! We’ve got an itinerary for the both of you that I’ll send over shortly, because there’s gonna be some brand activation type things needed. And we’ve got stylists coming to your hotel tomorrow afternoon to help you girls with outfits, hair, and makeup!”

After giving you the last few details, you hung up with your manager. A bit shocked at the opportunity you were getting, but thankful to have some sort of distraction to look forward to and hopefully get your mind off the fight you had with Auston.

Entering T-Mobile arena, you honestly weren’t sure what to expect out of the much anticipated UFC 303, but it was something to cross off your bingo card for the year. Despite your lack of interest in the fights themselves, you were excited to attend and at least say you were there.

Olivia had gotten in late last night and you had to fill her in on everything. Why you fought with Auston, how he uninvited you from being his guest at the awards show. And how you were thankful for this appearance to get your mind off of him. The stylists had thrown together a more casual look for you: light wash ripped boyfriend jeans, a white tank top, and an oversized black and yellow racing jacket. Elevating the look a bit with some heeled boots. Olivia’s outfit complimenting yours well, both your hair and makeup done just enough to look minimal but still flawless. And with a few New Amsterdam cocktails already in your systems, you were ready to roll.

The arena had all the celebrities attending enter away from the general public, meaning you’d be passing some familiar faces in the tunnels as you were led to your seats. Everyone from Gordon Ramsey to Aaron Rodgers, even-your boyfriend.

“Well fuck…”

Immediately noticing the reason for your reaction, Olivia tried to block Auston from seeing you. But it was too late. His eyes went wide as he saw you, looking you up and down, thank god you looked this good. He was with fellow NHLer Clayton Keller as they awaited an usher to guide them to their seats.

Though shocked to see you at the event, he knew it must have been something your manager had pulled off for you. A soft smile on Auston’s lips as he watched you interact with the New Amsterdam reps, he couldn’t help but be proud of you. He’s seen how much you’ve poured into your podcast, and how hard you’ve worked for moments like these. Despite the argument, he still cared about you and loved seeing you in your element.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to say anything as you were quickly pulled off in the opposite direction. Most likely to film some type of ad for the brand. Pulling out his phone he shot you a quick text, making sure you got to hear from him in case he didn’t see you the rest of the night.

You look so fucking beautiful my love.

The text brought a smile to your face as you quickly typed back a response before you were pulled aside for an interview alongside Olivia.

“Lastly, y/n, I wanted to extend a congratulations to your boyfriend, Auston Matthews of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Winner of the Richard Trophy last night at the NHL Awards.”

“Oh thank you so much.”

The comment was a bit unexpected, though it wasn’t uncommon to get asked about Auston since your relationship was very much public.

“We didn’t see you in attendance last night with Auston, hopefully there isn’t any trouble in paradise there?”

Laughing off the comment you shook your head, “No, not at all! There unfortunately was some last minute conflicts that prevented me from attending. But I’m so proud of him, I wish I could have been there. Luckily we have a night like tonight where we can just have some fun, and celebrate. So, I’m glad we were able to both be here!”

The interview wrapped up and you took a deep breath, Olivia squeezing your arm in reassurance. ��I don’t know how you pulled that answer out of your ass, but that was so good!” The two of you laughed as an usher finally led you to your seats.

“I truly don’t even know what answer I gave, my brain was on autopilot. I’m just glad I didn’t say something stupid.”

“Are you gonna talk to him tonight at all?”

Stopping in your tracks as your usher gestured to your seats, your eyes settling on your boyfriend who was standing with his friends just next to where you’d be sitting for the night.

“Well I might not have much of a choice if I’m stuck sitting next to him.”

The two of you set your bags down at your seats, mingling a bit with the people around you. Remembering how your manager always preached to you both network as much as possible at events like these.

As you were talking with a rep from some coffee brand, trying your best to convince them to send some product to you girls to try, you felt an arm snacking around your waist. Immediately knowing it was Auston as your hand entangled with his at your hip.

Thanking the rep for their time, giving them your agents number, you finally were able to turn your attention to Auston. Who patiently stood at your side, a smile on his face as he watched you doing your thing.

“Hey baby.”

“Hi.”

He gave you a kiss before pulling you into his chest, rubbing your back as he knew you were still frustrated with him. Doing his best to try and make up for being an asshole.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight?”

He pulled you towards your seats, his hand immediately resting on your thigh as you sat down. Eyes fixated on you as he sipped his drink.

“Well, neither did I. Until I got the call ten minutes after someone uninvited me from their awards show last night.”

You shot him a glare as he gently squeezed your thigh. “Look, about that, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that and-“

“Auston, it’s fine. Tonight, I just want to have fun, we don’t need to talk about it right now. Especially because I’ve had enough cocktails that you get me riled up, you and I will end up in that ring as the main event.”

He smirked at you as he leaned in close, stealing a kiss from you. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Pushing him away as you tried to hide your blush, you ignored his horny thoughts. “Auston Matthews, we might need to cut you off. Someone is already feeling themselves tonight.”

A slight whine left his lips as he moved his hand, now draping an arm over your shoulder. “I can’t help that you look so good babe. Plus, I haven’t seen you in weeks, you expect me to not have my hands all over you? Most importantly, I need to make up for being such a dick last night.”

“Well that is very true. I didn’t even get to celebrate your big trophy win with you.”

A pout on your lips as you glanced up at him, deciding that you’d have some fun making him regret not inviting you. “I even brought your favorite blue lace set to wear under my dress last night, but, it just stayed in my suitcase since you didn’t want me there.” Fingers lightly playing with his chains as you spoke, making sure to really get under his skin.

The look in his eyes immediately turning to one of lust as he thought about the set in question. Baby blue lace that hugged your curves perfectly, and while it looked amazing on you he loved it even better on the floor.

“And I said I was sorry baby. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Tilting your chin up he brought your lips to his, clearly forgetting the two of you were in public as his tongue tried pushing past your lips. A slight chuckle leaving your lips as you pulled away from him.

“Babe, I love that you’re wanting to make it up to me. But maybe not front row for everyone to see, okay?”

He rolled his eyes as he obeyed, simply returning a hand to your thigh as the two of you watched as the main events were set to begin shortly.

You swore Auston’s hand crept closer and closer to your inner thigh with the ending of each fight. The alcohol mixed with the thoughts of you wearing his favorite lingerie clearly having him hot and bothered. And while you weren’t turning down the idea, it having been several weeks since you’d gotten your hand on him, you were still here for work and needed to act professional.

He luckily kept his cool for the remainder of the night, respecting when you had to remind him that you were there for work while he was there for fun. The two of you leaving hand in hand as he definitely was not letting you out of his sight. His mind focused on getting you back to his hotel and making up for not having you by his side at the awards show.

The second the door to his room closed you were pulled into his lap as he sat at the edge of the bed. One hand resting on your hip while the other pulled you in for a kiss.

“You do look fucking stunning tonight baby.”

A smile crept across your lips as your arms wrapped around his neck, thanking him as your eyes locked with his. “And, I’m sorry about last night. I should’ve never been that way, I needed you there with me. And, I let some dumb shit get me all worked up. I know you are just looking out for me, and I appreciate that so much. I love how much you care for me.”

Resting your forehead on his, you sighed, not even caring about the fight anymore. Knowing it was stupid, but appreciating his apology.

“I do care about you, a lot. And, maybe sometimes I overstep a bit. But it’s all out of love for you Auston. I wish I could’ve been there for you last night, but I’m here now. And there’s no place I’d rather be.”

“While I couldn’t agree more, I do wish I could’ve gotten to see that blue lace set on you last night. Would’ve been a nice way to celebrate that’s for sure.”

Slipping from his lap as he hands reached out to try and pull you back, you slowly discarded of your jacket. Standing in front of him with a smile on your face as he watched you in anticipation.

“Well, maybe we can still celebrate a day late.”

Pulling your tank top over your head, you revealed that you were in fact in the blue lace number. Auston biting his tongue at the sight of you in the bra, his hands wanting to make quick work of your jeans to see you in the matching thong.

“Fuck…but if you didn’t know you’d see me tonight, why wear the blue?”

“Shut up and just enjoy the coincidence Auston!”

Shaking your head you walked back over to him, pulling him in for a kiss as his hands made quick work of your jeans. Needing to see you fully on display in blue lace just for him. As you kicked off the jeans, he sat back on his forearms, lust filled eyes watching as you did a spin for him.

“God you’re so fucking perfect.”

Without warning he picked you up, lips crashing against yours while his hands rested under your ass gripping tightly as your skin and surely leaving a few marks.

You giggled as he tossed you on the bed, making quick work of his clothes, leaving him in just his briefs as he hovered over you. Tucking some hair behind your ear as his hips ground into your core, earning a moan from you as you felt him growing hard against you. The two of you taking your time, kissing for what felt like hours, no hurry as you wanted to savor every second of your time with one another.

“I love you so much Auston, and I’m so proud of you. But if you ever uninvite me from something like that ever again, so help me god.”

He rolled his eyes as a hand traveled down to the string of your thong, snapping it slightly as his fingers teased at your core.

“Relax baby, I’m gonna make up for it all.”

#auston matthews fic #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews smut #auston matthews #nhl imagine #nhl fics #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl blurb

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