#don poncho

[huevocartoons]

Movie

[artemisia-black]

Wizarding clothing and fashion

This meta/list of HCs has been sitting in my drafts for a while. But here is my meta about wizarding fashions. 

1.0 An insular culture with its own unique dress

No shade to people who enjoy seeing and drawing characters in muggle clothing, but I think that the majority of wizards and witches dress in wizarding clothing. 

Indeed, the fact that most wizards can’t dress as muggles and are quite conspicuous is mentioned in the first chapter of the series: 

“People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.” PS 

And then becomes a sort of running joke: 

“Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho” GoF

And in DH it is (partly) how Harry recognises that people are watching Grimmauld Place: 

“The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.” DH

Side note: it is peak Londoner to barely take notice of something odd. And this also implies that robes and cloaks are all year wear and that wizards potentially don’t have seasonal clothing.

Given that wizarding culture is very insular (with its own economy, government, and education system), it would make sense that while it may occasionally borrow trends from the muggle world, wizarding fashion and clothing are unique. 

In fact, only the younger generation are seen in muggle dress, with Harry commenting: 

“Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness.” GoF

2.0 Class and generational differences in dress

The previous quote demonstrates two things: much like in real life, there is generational and class stratification of dress. The condition and quality of wizarding clothing serves as a non-verbal cue about a character's economic status. This disparity is not just a background detail but is frequently brought into focus, such as through Draco Malfoy's derisive comments about Professor Lupin's tattered robes.

“ Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the delapidated suitcase.” PoA

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.” PoA

Even Harry comments on his robes and observes that: 

“Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes”

The patched and frayed nature of both Lupins and Weasley’s robes seem to indicate that robe repairs can’t be done by an individual (or when it is done, it is really visible). Another example of this is when Ron removes the lace from his dress robes and leaves: 

“...the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.” GoF

Additionally,  in Padfoot returns Sirius’s prison robes still appear tatty despite him having had a haircut and left the country. This indicates that he either can’t obtain new robes or can’t/hasn’t bothered repairing his Azkaban robes. 

This is interesting, given that Molly Weasley is able to make jumpers and scarves yet can’t seem to alter robes. While knitting and sewing are separate skills, it seems odd that there aren’t means of repairing robes. 

This suggests that robes can only be repaired and bought at official vendors such as Madam Malkins/Gladrags/Twifitt and Tattings. 

 It is also interesting that both Fred and George buy clothing when they become successful (also a parallel to the real world). They gift their mum:

“….a brand-new midnight blue witch’s hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.”  HBP

However, things being ‘frayed’ aren’t always an indication of poverty. Tonks is first introduced wearing an outfit that is a mix of muggle clothing but with something that is distinctly wizarding: 

“Tonks stood just behind him…. wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS.” OoTP

This outfit is heavily reminiscent of Sirius and James in the Elvendork prequel: 

 “Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.”

3.0 The underwear question

Something that gets bought up a lot is whether wizards wear underwear. 

Harry (who was raised by muggles certainly seems to): 

“He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.” GoF 

And:

“He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear…”  DH

So does Neville (in the UK, Pants means underwear)

“He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.”

And infamously, so does Snape: 

“Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.”

Also we get some information about witch’s underwear from Sirius’s very Freudian joke: 

“Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers.”

Bloomers are a type of historical, baggy underpants (think boy shorts, but make it victorian). 

In conclusion, Archie, who wanted a breeze around his privates, was probably an outlier.  

4.0 Materials and accesories

So what is wizarding clothing made of? 

For robes and cloaks the materials most mentioned are silk/satin and velvet: 

“ She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.” GoF

Additionally in GoF, we learn that even witches and wizards from other countries wear robes and cloaks: 

“Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred.” 

And 

“...Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold.”

Other materials include Dragon hide which appears to be used to make practical gloves and boots but also fashionable jackets. 

“... followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin.” HBP

Additionally, robes can be embroidered: 

“ The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread” DH

“Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver” HBP

“Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street toward them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing gown embroidered with dragons.” HBP

Interestingly, both men and women appear to wear heels: 

Dumbledore: 

“He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots” PS

Madame Maxine: 

“Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage..” GoF

Monsiour Delacour: 

“However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing toward Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.” DH

Madame Rosmerta: 

“ Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels,” POA

Furthermore, witches carry handbags: 

“Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly” COS

“ She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.”  GoF

“Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag”  OoTP

“Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.” DH

5.0 My HCs

When I imagine what male robes look like, I imagine something akin to a Morrcan thobe or an Indian Sherwani.

I imagine robes to be enchanted to move and in my fic Pietas, I describe my OC Aeliana’s robes as follows: 

“She smiled slightly, smoothing the front of her dress, which was decorated with embroidered flowers and birds that had been enchanted to flutter their wings.”

I also HC some cultural variance in robes- with certain countries using different cloth or the skin of magical animals that are native to their countries. With hotter countries, having lighter robes and cooling/anti-perspiration charms.

[bowandbrush]

You mentioned your doing prompts? I got an idea(sorta based on Indy 3: Last Crusade), so here it goes: There’s something that the turtles need to get, but it’s stuck in an alternate universe that’s completely overrun by Kraang, so Donnie makes portal tech to get there, and they’re overlooking this place covered in red and Splinter says, “Beware, my sons, for we are pilgrims in an unholy land,” as everyone has varying “oh crap” expressions. Hope this is alright?

you are. A genius

I’m going feral with story ideas. I’m just going to pack in a lot of details of what I could possible jam in there.

also I couldn’t fit splints sorry about that

I can imagine they would have to suit up a bit more and wear/bring more fabric just in case. Raph and Leo wear their ponchos for air cleansing and Donnie and Mikey wear masks (Mikey’s mask being his scrapped “Dr. Rude” design from the unaired ep.)

there would be a moment where Leo finds his sword from this dimension. Haha angst go brrr

Donnie finds a backup drive made of ninpo from his future self, so it couldn’t be destroyed and was safe to be found by only hamatos. Some really heart-achy stuff about future Donnie talking to his past self (not really, just recording) because we all know Don prepares for everything.

another amazing scene could be where they walk through desolate resistance bunkers and see visions and ninpo ghosts/memories (ex: Frozen 2 lol)

idk I kinda want to turn this into a thing now 💀

[mari13606]

Oh nothing, I'm just thinking about how Scar started secret life with his poncho showing sunflowers, which symbolize loyalty, longevity, and the sun. Y'know, the sun like the way we equate Grian to being due to him living and winning in the desert and being a disastrously bright person. And the loyalty he pledged and kept to Scar even after his debt was repaid. The longest standing players. I'm just thinking about the way it switched to lilacs and poppies when he went red. Y'know, like the lilacs and poppies he offered to Grian when he turned red hoping they could stay a team. Lilacs, which symbolize love, rebirth, and new beginnings. And poppies, which symbolize peace, sleep- and death. And I'm thinking about how he won Secret Life once he turned red, when he threw off the sunflowers and donned lilacs and poppies to pave a bloodstained path.

And I don't think that was an accident.

[celtic-crossbow]

Whumpuary Day 1-2

Prompt: Snow

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; head injury

gif by r66dus

“Why are we patrolling when we can’t see ten feet in front of our faces?” You were yelling into the wind, only satisfied that the archer may have heard you when he turned halfway. 

“Wha’?” Daryl called from beneath the bandana that shielded the lower part of his face from the biting cold. 

Taking a deep breath, you moved your scarf aside and shouted louder. “Why are we—” The slightest crinkle next to one eye gave away the smirk hidden beneath the black and white patterns. “I hate you!” You could barely hear him chuckle. 

“No, ya don’!” At least he was kind enough to wait for you to trudge through the steadily deepening snow to reach his side. “Ya should head on back if it’s that hard on ya!”

“Please. Like I’d leave you out here alone!” You sputtered indignantly when he ruffled your toboggan hat. The man knew exactly how to rile you up, and he did it as often as possible. Though you acted perturbed, you actually enjoyed the times you could see a smirk or a small smile. 

Daryl smiled a lot more these days. It was one of your favorite things in the chaotic, dystopian world. After Rick and with the Whisperers still lurking, you wouldn’t blame him for wearing a permanent scowl like the old days. 

“We can cross over here n’ circle back.” He pulled down his bandana and motioned toward the frozen river. “Froze solid. Won’ fall through but be careful anyway.” He started across, sensing you weren’t following. “Wha’re ya doin’?”

“Keep going. I’ll catch right up.”

“Y/N, wha’re ya doin’?” He repeated more sternly. 

“I need to pee, Daryl!” You frowned when he smiled and there was the slightest bounce to his shoulders. “It’s not funny.”

“Yer gon’ freeze yer ass off.” The ‘literally’ hung in the air, but you knew he was thinking it. “G’on then. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve not seen b’fore.” 

You pouted. “You can’t watch me pee!”

“Ya do it ev’ry mornin’ while ‘m brushin’ my teeth.”

“Yeah, but this is more…open!” When he titled his head with a look that clearly stated you can’t be serious, you huffed. “Shut up, that’s different too!” Your cheeks were suddenly warm, even against the frigid gusts. Daryl had been up close and personal with your lady bits more than you could even begin to recollect. 

With a grin, he held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep goin’. Slow. Wanna be close jus’ in case.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, daddy.” When a dark brow arched, you feigned displeasure and grabbed a gloveful of snow and tossed it at him. “Go away, pervert.” He was still grinning as he turned to put a little distance between the two of you. Pants and underwear were down to your knees quickly, the urge nearly unbearable by the time you’d convinced him to keep moving. You couldn’t stop the relieved groan even if you’d tried. 

You had expected to hear him laugh but thankfully, the wind was just too loud. With the wonderful lack of toilet paper, drip-drying was the only option left to you, though you were certain your vagina would be full of ice by the time that happened. After several moments, you pulled up your pants and secured the button and zipper, then your belt, curling your lip at the yellow patch of snow. The apocalypse was gross. 

“Done!” You announced cheerfully loud. 

“Wash yer hands?” He chuckled when you were close enough. 

“Oh, shut up and walk.” A handful of poncho enabled you to spin him around and shove him forward. You were smiling to yourself when the hairs stood on the back of your neck. It wasn’t from the cold. “Daryl.” It felt like someone was watching you. Your eyes met his. He had felt it too; was already pulling his crossbow from his back. 

“C’mon.” He motioned you closer while you each surveyed your surroundings. The Whisperers had been absent since the cold had set in, but it was possible they had returned. Over the scream of the harsh wind, neither of you heard the low growls coming from below. 

Daryl yelped when a hand caught his ankle and gave a sharp tug. You could only watch as his boot slipped and he tumbled, the back of his head bouncing off of the ice with a sickening crack and splatter of red across white. His weapon slid to a stop several feet away.  

“Daryl!”

The walker was trapped in the snow, only one arm and half its face exposed. Enough for your blade to find its mark. Dark, congealed blood covered your knife as it fell next to the archer, your hands on him immediately. He remained unresponsive to each shriek of his name, but you had to find some measure of calm to assess his condition. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

The frosty vapor that formed in front of his lips showed him to be breathing. You quickly removed a glove to press your fingertips to his neck, finding a thready pulse rather quickly. With the gentlest touch you could manage, you slowly, carefully lifted his head, nauseated at how boneless he appeared. You were terrified of moving him. Head and neck injuries were never a thing to play with, even in the old world when hospitals were abundant and functional. 

Holding his head only slightly off the ice, you whimpered at the moderate amount of blood that had covered the pale surface. Head injuries bleed a lot. He’s fine. He is fine. Your teeth were nearly puncturing your bottom lip while you probed the back of his head blindly. Through his wavy hair, it was difficult to find the injury straight away. Once your quickly numbing fingertips pressed onto a swollen split in the skin, you were forced to turn his head for a better look. 

The laceration was small but deep, most likely near to the skull. You couldn’t see bone, but the snow and blood made that nearly impossible. For now, you needed to take care of the blood oozing from the wound and over your fingers. The cold would help with the active bleeding but you unwound your scarf and placed it behind his head. Why the fuck didn’t you bring medical supplies and food on patrols when shit like this was a distinct possibility? 

“Daryl.” You said loud enough to be heard over the wind but with a calm that betrayed the panic stirring within your chest. You had to move. The two of you freeze if you remained. There was also the possibility of walkers or Whisperers, and you were sitting ducks. “Come on, baby, wake up.” The pet name flowed out easily, reserved for intimacy or comfort. 

You were met with unrewarding silence for a moment that seemed to last forever but finally, your archer groaned and grimaced. He made to turn his head before even opening his eyes, gagging almost immediately from the pain that surely accompanied the movement. 

“Stay still for a minute. You’ve got a concussion for sure but I’m worried about more.” You soothed, rubbing his chest in lieu of touching his face or hair. “Getting back is gonna suck. Take some time to get yourself ready.”

“Survived worse.” He slurred. You didn’t need to see his pupils to diagnose the head injury. He had hit so hard that you wondered how the ice didn’t splinter from the impact. You kept a sharp eye on the surroundings to buy him some time. Both of you knew what the journey back to the gates would entail, short as it would be. “Le’s get outta ‘ere.” Daryl shifted toward his side to get an arm beneath him. He had yet to open his eyes, likely knowing the tilt of the world that awaited. 

“Slowly.” You kept your hands on his arms, his shoulders, prepared to assist and comfort. “That’s it.” The archer barely made it to a sitting position before retching, cognizant enough to turn the opposite direction from you. Your hand rubbed circles over his back, a grounding comfort that was also a display of gratitude for not vomiting on you. “I’m sorry.” Your heart ached with a need to draw the pain from him and take it upon yourself. The whimper that followed the sick was the only indicator of the agony the action had likely caused. 

“M’ready.” He panted. 

“Okay, let me grab your crossbow.” You scooped up your scarf, stuffed it into your coat pocket, took carefully swift steps to collect the weapon and strapped it to your back as you returned to his side. “Okay, grab my shoulders and pull yourself up slowly. I’ll help balance you but you go at your pace, okay?” There was the slightest dip of his head in an almost nod before he thought better of it and mumbled an ‘okay’ that you couldn’t even hear. 

You planted your feet, watching the area for any signs of threats while Daryl used you to begin levering himself upward. At the first pull of his weight, you grunted and he let go. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby. I promise you won’t hurt me.” You smiled, hand on the crook of his shoulder with your thumb stroking his collar bone. He didn’t balk at the endearment, not even the usual scoff. 

“Okay.”

The process began again. Daryl was stout, but the challenges of surviving had helped you build strength. While it wasn’t easy, it was not impossible for you to bear the added weight. On his feet, the archer swayed and granted you the first glimpse of his unfocused blue eyes. One pupil was noticeably larger; worrisome but you couldn’t do anything about it. He needed medical attention that the infirmary could hopefully provide. 

You were quick to grab his elbows and steady him when he stumbled backwards. “You’re vertical. I’d say we’re making progress.” One of his arms pulled across your shoulders, the two of you embarked on what promised to be a difficult trek home. 

You’d only been walking for about five minutes, when Daryl lurched forward and vomited, painful heaves that made keeping him upright nearly unattainable. He groaned, clenching his eyes shut and spitting onto the dirt. 

“You can do this. Just hold onto me.” You frowned at the hardened blood on the back of his neck, frozen into flecks by the bitter cold. 

The process repeated several times and by the time the gates were a looming shadow beyond the whiteout, Daryl was putting nearly all of his weight on you, toes of his boots dragging with each slow step. 

“Almost there.” Your voice was no longer reaching him. As the gates opened, the archer went down and dragged you along with him. You began shouting for help, silhouettes of your friends growing more perceivable with each hurried step. “Help! Daryl needs help!” 

Your worry for him was overriding the urgent voices surrounding you, blurred hands coming into view to settle on your archer. You had no choice but to step back and allow them to take him, following in a daze while more hands guided you along. The panic you had stored away was finally able to break free. 

You cried. 

Stitching the wound had been a brutal excursion. Daryl needed to be held down as the near frozen skin, hypersensitive in the heated infirmary, was forced together. Aaron and Gabriel assisted, their guilt for the required intervention was evident in both faces. You sat in front of him, whispering encouragement and reminding him how much you loved him. The archer vomited from the pain alone before unconsciousness mercifully claimed him. 

Without the means to confirm, Daryl was released on strict bedrest in case of a skull fracture. He could sleep as long as you were near to monitor for any changes in his vitals. He would become confused, nauseous, and irritable. You were there to hold back his hair, mindful of the stitched wound. You needed to remind him of where he was and what had happened. At one point, he had even asked for your help in finding Merle, who had died years before. 

After a while, he settled and dozed, Dog on the bed with his furry head on the hunter’s thigh. You finished your list of chores quickly, placing a steaming bowl of soup and a cup of tea on the nightstand by your side of the bed. Daryl was awake the moment you had stepped inside the room. Damn hunter’s senses. 

“Hey, Humpty Dumpty. How are you feeling?” Settling yourself with your knees resting against Dog’s side, your fingers gently brushing back Daryl’s hair. The archer hummed, and caught himself seconds before he would have moved his head to scowl at you for the nickname. 

“Had worse.” He croaked. 

“Doesn’t mean this can’t hurt like a bitch.” You countered immediately. The archer hummed once more. It probably hurt less than speaking. You had helped him clean up just after his release to recover at home. If he was stuck in bed, you were going to make damn sure he was comfortable. The flannel pants and Ozzy t-shirt at least made him smile. “Do you need anything?” You adjusted the blanket Carol had left once during a visit. 

“Jus’ you.”

You smiled, your face and neck flushing. You pressed your lips to his temple, the brush of your mouth against his skin but a mere whisper. 

“You’ve had me for a while, Mr. Dixon. That’s not gonna change now.”

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

Cardinal Sins and Other Desires

Okay, I know I have other requests that were submitted first, but I this weekend is a writing weekend because I need to decompress my mind and I wanna do something fun

But this one was requested by @cantchoosejust1 who offered a very interesting idea of Arthur and reader having to disguise themselves as a priest and a nun....and have some...interesting times. 

I-

The idea is so juicy I had no choice but to do it. 

This is my take on it but of course @cantchoosejust1​ if it doesn’t match your expectations I’d love to take another stab at it!

It’s also probably gonna be a bit of a longer read, so strap in!

So

With that being said 

Warnings!: NSFW, Uhhh religious type things but it’s sexy so like....if that offends you don’t read, arthur being delicious, female reader 

Tags!: @mrsarthurmorgan7 @kieropal @photo1030 @pcotarelo @6kaja9

Alright, that being said, everyone, hold onto your butts, let’s get this horny train rolling!

“Dutch, this has got to be your dumbest idea yet.” 

Arthur scoffs as he looks down at the ridiculous looking outfit that Hosea and Dutch have managed to just barely squeeze him into, his arms raised out to his sides. 

A set of Priest’s robes that match the Nun outfit you’re wearing, and you can’t help but agree with him, you feel absolutely idiotic wearing the long black robe with it’s white accents and hood. 

The black robe Arthur dons is plain, matching black buttons, and something similar to a miniature poncho rests against his shoulders, that signature white collar sits around his neck, but if it’d been a single size smaller he’d be choking. 

“I have to agree.” You sigh and look down at yourself, and at the rosary beads that Hosea had placed in your hand. “This is a stupid idea. The two of us couldn’t pass off as religious figures, are you kidding me? I couldn’t quote a single thing from the Bible.” 

Arthur snorts in agreement and puts his arms down to his sides, looking up at his two father figures with a grimace on his face. 

It was early evening, and Shady Belle seems far more inviting than going out into Saint Denis, into a Church of all places too. 

“The two of you need to look on the logical side of this!” Dutch crosses his arms and stares at the two of you, his nostrils flaring in annoyance. “That Church has money in it, I know it does. We got a decent tip on it, and this is the best way to get in there and get it without causing a huge scene.”

“Why us though?” You can’t help but let the question slip out of your mouth.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like working with Arthur, quite the opposite actually. Arthur was fantastic to work with, he got the job done right, and he got it done quick, usually, if he could. He was precise, and he was good at what he did. 

The only problem between the two of you working is that you were often distracted watching him work. It was obnoxiously attractive to watch him reload his gun in the middle of a gun fight, his back against his wall and the calmest look on his face, sometimes annoyance, but never fear. It was one of the best things about him.

That was about the only thing that ever-caused problems working with him.

That and the fact that the two of you tended to get along a little too well if you’re left alone for too long. 

In both of your defenses the two of you have been together for nearly two years now, so it was only natural that it happened. 

But, your question, it was more directed at why the two of you for THIS specific job.

If anyone was suited for this kind of job it was Mary-Beth, Karen, maybe even Hosea himself, but Arthur? You? 

Arthur wasn’t exactly known for his play acting, or for his subtly.

“Because, the two of you are the best we have, you’ll get the job done, and the two of you are the only ones without jobs set up right now.” Hosea chimes in and quietly he walks towards Arthur, adjusting a part of his costume. “You’ll know what to do.” 

“Arthur’s not exactly...” You swallow, trying to think of a nice way to say what you needed to. “He’s not really the stealthy type.” You finish.

“That’s why you’re going with him.” Hosea huffs. “We were told that there’s a stash of money in the basement of the church, as long as you and him can get there and get it that’s all that matters, if he goes to step out of line then you can step in and steer the situation right.” 

“Don’t I get a say in all this?” 

“No Arthur, you don’t.” 

“So why not just send me in by myself?” You furrow your brow and cross your own arms now. 

“Because you can’t pass as ‘Father Morgan’.” Dutch snorts. 

“Ugh....’Father Morgan’.” Arthur shakes his head and looks towards the road leading out of camp, his horse and yours stand next to each other, grazing at the grass nearby. 

“Come on you two! It’ll be fun, go out for drinks afterwards! Our treat!” Dutch moves closer to the younger man and claps his shoulder with a hand, shaking Arthur slightly with a huge smile on his face. “It’s just one job, I promise, no more outfits for you for a while after this one Arthur.” 

Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes, but swallows and nods before taking a step towards the horses. 

“C’mon Darlin’ let’s get this done with.” 

You roll your eyes as well but follow behind offering a bit of a timid wave to the two older outlaws, moving quickly to keep up with Arthur, who even in his new outfit seems to move much faster than you could. 

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur looks over his shoulder at you as the two of you reach your horses. “Look at this, look at me, I look stupid.”

You chuckle and smack his shoulder with the back of your hand as you mount up.

“You aren’t the only one Arthur, I look stupid in this get up too.” 

“Not as stupid as me, I’m surprised this damn thing hasn’t ripped yet,” He sighs and mounts his own horse, struggling slightly with the tightness around his arms. “They couldn’t find anything bigger than this?” 

“Apparently not,” You nod towards the road leading out. “Let’s get going cowboy, the sooner we get this done the sooner we can get out of these things.” 

“You’re right, I know.” 

He offers another sigh, but then turns to lead the two of you out of camp, setting off at a decent pace.

............

You lean your head against the side of Arthur’s bicep as the two of you lean around a wall, staring at the Church placed in a rather unfortunate location for the two of you.

It’s situated in nearly the center of attention, it’s not in an area that’s exactly easy for the two of you to sneak into it, the only way to go about it was to walk in with confidence that your disguises would work. ‘Stealth’ in the traditional sense wasn’t an option for the two of you two.

“Alright, so...” Arthur adjusts himself, standing a little straighter. “I guess we just walk in?” 

“I guess, try to seem Pious, straighten your back, look confident for once Arthur.” 

“Hey, I’m confident-” 

“Yeah when you’re drunk and when you’re robbing, just....Imagine you’re....”

You stop and huff, turning to face him as he stands against the wall of the building the two of you have hidden yourselves behind. 

“Play Dutch.” You finish.

“Play Dutch?” 

“You know, be....fuck Arthur just be obnoxious. Everything you do, pretend it was planned out, if you’re confident about it they won’t question a single thing.” 

“You think Dutch is obnoxious?” Arthur makes a sound that borders between a snort and a full laugh as he looks at you.

“Of course I do, but that’s not important right now.” You look back towards the church. “Just...Like I said be confident.” You reach up and gently move a lock of his hair behind his ear, it’s not too long, not enough seem out of place, but he definitely should have gotten it trimmed. 

“I know, it’s a mess.” He huffs and reaches up, covering your hand with his own. “Didn’t get the chance to stop and cut it with everythin’ goin’ on in camp. It’s gettin’ too long.” 

“Just keep it out of your face, you did good with your stubble, looks clean.” 

“Good, now, gimme a kiss before we do this.” 

You can’t help but smile at him, and offer him a quick kiss, which he makes longer as one of his hands grips your waist tightly when your lips make contact with his. 

He has a habit of deepening those kisses that you mean to be quick pecks, little messages of love that turn into something far more...promiscuous. 

You finally manage to pry yourself away from him, suppressing a laugh. 

“Arthur, come on, we’re gonna get caught, now go, I’ll follow.” 

“Alright, alright-” He starts to move away from you, but you grab his robe sleeve quickly.

“Sorry, don’t forget this.” 

You thrust a bible into his hand, and then give him a slight push. 

“Confidence Arthur!” 

“Alright, I got it, I got it, jus’ come on, you gotta come with me anyhow.” 

You wipe your hands on the front of your robes, feeling the palms of your hands get sweaty.

You stand a little straighter and follow after him as the two of you walk towards the church, trying to control the sudden set of nerves that have overcome your body. 

It’s late, the sun had set on the way into Saint Denis, in theory there shouldn’t be anyone in the church, or at least there shouldn’t be too many people in there. 

It was the middle of the week, there wasn’t a Sunday Service. 

Hopefully things would be easy for the two of you, as long as you could keep the charade up.

Nearing the church you could see two nuns talking to one another outside the front door, arms held in front of themselves, one hand over the other, and you quickly mimic the posture as the two of you continue. 

Luckily as you pass the two of them they do nothing but nod and smile at the two of you, which each of you return. 

As you pass through the doors you lean a little closer to Arthur, keeping your voice quiet.

“You’re doing great Arthur.” 

“I ain’t done anythin’ yet, that’s why.” 

You shake your head and swallow back the remark you want to say as you look down at the rosary in your hand. 

“Just look around, where’s the stairs to the basement in this place?”

“Don’t know, I ain’t ever been in here, I avoid the city and most religious places like the plague,” he whispers. “I’m surprised I ain’t burned up in flames yet.” 

You elbow him as subtly as you can.

“Shut up, if anything the both of us would be in flames by now if that myth was true.”

“Mhm...Awful crime, that premarital sex.”

“Arthur, I think it’s several other crimes that would cause us problems before that one.” 

“I guess you’re right, probably all the murder and robbin’.” 

“You think?” 

He offers a quiet chuckle, one of your favorite sounds, low and breathy, short and sweet. It’s cut off quickly as he looks to the left, seeing a door off to the side of the main room, away from the pews and podium.

“You think that leads down?”

“Don’t know, we’ll have to take a look.” You sigh and look around the room, it seems completely empty, at least from what you can see. “Let’s be quick about it.” 

“Right.” 

He leads you off towards the door, and as you reach it he opens it up, only to reveal a small closet that’s nearly empty, despite a broom in the corner and a few extra bibles on the top shelf.

“Damn, not it... We should look-” 

“Get in the closet!” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

Your body is sparking with a sudden rush of anxiety, a sound from your right had sent it through you within a matter of seconds. Voices, is what it sounded like to you, quiet, but there.

“Just get in!” You shove him into the closet and follow after, closing the door in front of you.

The two of you are shrouded in darkness easily, and your body brushes against him, your back to his chest, and you listen as he grunts after hitting his head on the shelf.

“Jesus Y/N, the hell are you doin’?” He’s whispering, but there’s a familiar anger in his voice, well, perhaps its more annoyance.

“I’m sorry I panicked! I heard voices over by the pews...” 

“Well we’re dressed like this for a reason-” 

“We can’t get out of here now, they’ll wonder why we were crammed in here together.” 

“What, you’re sayin’ Priests don’t get freaky now and then?” 

“Arthur you know they don’t.” 

“It was sarcasm darlin’.” 

You take a shaky breath and Arthur’s arm snakes around your waist and he pulls you flush against his body.

“It’s alright Darlin’, we’re fine. What’s goin’ on with you tonight?” 

“I don’t know...something about a church, I feel like getting caught here is worse than getting caught in a bank.” You mumble.

“What, all that higher power nonsense?” 

“I don’t know, society does not take likely to thieves of the church.” 

“Darlin’ society don’t take a likin’ to any thieves I’m afraid.” 

You chuckle quietly and lean against him.

“You always know what to say, you know that?” 

“Mhm...I try...Now...you think you can take a peek out there, see if they’re gone?” 

You take a breath and do as he suggests, opening the door quietly and slowly, peeking your head out just barely. 

You listen, hardly moving, hardly breathing, until you realize you no longer hear anyone speaking.

“I think we’re good.” 

You step out of the closet and Arthur follows suit, and that’s when you see another door.

It’s straight across from the one that you just exited, and without another word to Arthur you head towards it, and pull it open, a feeling of relief flooding over you as you see stairs heading downwards.

“Good Girl...” Arthur’s voice is nearly a growl in your ear as he leans over your shoulder, he knows how that gets to you, he does, but in this instance you’re fairly certain he’s done it unintentionally.

He’s got a habit of making things attractive when he doesn’t mean to.

“Thanks Father.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Would you prefer Daddy?” 

“Not unless you wanna cause more problems for yourself Darlin’.” 

You chuckle and begin to head down the stairs, Arthur following you and closing the door quietly behind him.

The basement is dark, and almost damp feeling, you can’t see a damn thing and Arthur doesn’t have his trusty lantern with him.

“Well now what?” 

Arthur’s breath comes out warm against your shoulder and an arm wraps around your waist. 

“I don’t know, let me think.” He mutters. “I got my matches in my pocket.” 

“Your robes have pockets?”

“Course, yours don’t?” 

“No, it’s a fucking dress, so is yours I didn’t figure you’d have pockets.” 

“Please don’t refer to it as a dress, you’re ruinin’ my masculine reputation.” 

You roll your eyes but your hand finds its way to his thighs, patting along the robe in an attempt to find said matches

Of course he has matches on him, he can’t go more than an hour or two without a smoke. 

“Mhmm...careful, you’re gonna hit somethin’ else while you’re down there.” 

“Why the hell are you so horny right now, I’m not even wearing anything revealing-”

“Maybe I’ve been possessed, need some holy water...” 

“Arthur please, can we find the money?” 

“I’m sure we can, but I’m sure I’d be a lot more focused after...”

“Are you serious right now?” 

“Yeah, serious as a heart attack Sugar. Somethin’ about this place...somethin’ about that....the...shit...the idea of somethin’ like that in a place like this, a church...” He lowers his voice. “In public.....it’s doin’ somethin’ to me.” 

You know he means it, you can feel his hardness against your rear, you’ve been able to feel it since the closet, you just refused to say anything.

The basement seemed like the safest place, if you were going to do this.

Not only that but Arthur wasn’t the only one who had this sort of feeling.

The idea of being caught...It was exhilarating, and the idea of being dressed as a nun, yet committing such lewd acts...

You swallow, and grip the rosary in your fist fairly tightly.

“Possessed by the devil, not a demon.” You mutter.

“Maybe you should exorcise me....you are a nun after all.” 

You turn, and your eyes are finally adjusting to the darkness, you can see the look on Arthur’s face, the haze of red beginning to cover his cheeks.

“Maybe we need to fuck it out of you.” 

“Seems like it’s what he wants...” Arthur murmurs and his hands reach for your waist, and that’s when you catch him.

The rosary slips around his wrists easily, it’s a long beaded string with a cross on the end, longer than it needs to be, but long enough it works perfectly.

You know he can break out of this makeshift bondage easily, but he won’t, at least not on purpose.

He watches, his eyes hungry as you wrap the rosary around his wrists as many times as you can. 

“That’s new.” He snorts. 

“Maybe that demon will be more willing to leave with a cross on him...”

You have no idea what’s convinced you to slip fully into this sort of romanticized sort of scenario. You know he isn’t possessed, you don’t even believe in that kind of stuff, but....the idea that the only way to expel that ‘demon’ is to fuck it out of him...

It’s doing something to you. 

Luckily Arthur can catch on easily, and he follows your lead.

“Well, what the hell are you waitin’ for, you gonna fuck this demon, or are you gonna leave me tied?” 

Quietly, you step forwards, and unbutton the lower buttons of his robe, following after that his union suit which even in the dark you can see the outline of his dick pressed against his thigh.

His cock springs out the moment you get it unbuttoned, and without much of a thought you lick the tip of it, listening as Arthur sucks in through his teeth.

From there you move to the base of him, and lick along his shaft, moving towards the tip before taking him into your mouth fully, and that lovely voice of his comes tumbling out of his mouth in a groan.

He rests his tied hands against the back of your head, gently pushing his wrists against it in an attempt to partially guide you, gripping, or at least attempting to grip, at the hood of your robe.

“Fuck....I didn’t....shit I didn’t realize I was that...sensitive...right now.” He breathes out.

You hum against his skin as you bob your head, and again he lets a groan out.

You don’t do this long, and his dick comes out of your mouth with a satisfying pop.

“Nah, that....that ain’t fair-” 

“I said we’re gonna fuck it out of you Arthur, me sucking you off isn’t exactly a fucking.” 

He’s silent at your remark and watches in the dim light as you shuffle and manage to get your undergarments off.

He watches as you kick them to the side and then motion for him to near you.

He follows orders, the opposite of his usual dominating demeanor, but that’s going to change soon.

You simply turn around and face the wall nearest to you, placing your hands against it, and then arching your back out towards him.

“Oh....shit.” 

Arthur swallows, and it’s only a moment before his mind seems to be taken over.

His hands are still tied, but thanks to your earlier endeavor his dick is exposed, and all you have to do is pull up your skirt.

His arms come over your neck, his hands still confined, now settled against your collar bone as he manages to get his cock lined up with your slick.

He pushes into you roughly, enough to make you cry out, and from there he’s unable to move slowly.

His hips snap against yours, deeply, roughly, needily.

“Jesus Christ...” He huffs.

“He ain’t doing...much to help...you right now.” You manage to get out as your cheek rests against the wall, your body moving in tandem with Arthur’s, back and forth, your breasts grazing the wall.

“No...he ain’t....fuck....you sure you ain’t the devil?” 

You twitch your hips, moving against Arthur in an attempt to get a deeper angle.

“Maybe...” Your face is hot, your neck too.

You listen to the sounds he makes, each little grunt or groan pushing you forwards.

“This ain’t very....fuck....this ain’t very holy of you.” 

“Sometimes....you need different....solutions..” 

There’s a noise the sounds from upstairs, and suddenly Arthur’s hands are pressed against your mouth as he continues to rut into you. 

“Shhh....quiet Sugar...you don’t want us to be caught do you?” He whispers.

His thrusts get harder, and you bite down on his hand, the area you can get to, you think it’s the side of his thumb, doing your best not to hurt him, but it’s the only thing you can do to stop the moan building in your throat.

You love it when he’s rough with you, and this position, these clothes, getting caught now would only make things hotter.

You know exactly how Arthur would react, and a part of you hopes that someone will, but you know it’s for the best if they don’t.

“Fuck....’demons’....jesus...fuck...” Arthur’s attempt at another suave sentence fails as his hips smack yours again and again.

You lick his hand, leaving hot breath against his skin, and listen to him do his best to suppress a sound that rises to his throat.

“You tryna get us caught? For a Nun...you’re kinda....a slut...” He huffs out. 

“Yours Father Morgan...” The words are uttered against the side of his hand in a whisper, but he hears it and he swallows, trying again to keep his voice from raising.

“Please....Harder...” 

“Christ Woman, maybe you are possessed.” 

“Harder...” You plea again, pushing your hips back against his, roughly hoping he takes the hint, which you’re lucky and he does.

“You know....I...fuck...I could finish you...if I had my hands....” 

You offer a grunt in response and watch as he pulls his wrists apart and the beads scatter around the room, pinging against the floor in every direction.

His hands fly to their places almost like it’s instinct.

One against your throat and the other to your clit.

He circles it, matching up his speed with the thrusts against your ass.

“You thought you could keep me like that, but sorry Darlin’...I just couldn’t do it any longer.” 

His voice is breathy, and he leans forwards, kissing your neck, listening to the sounds that escape your mouth,.

He only stops when the sound of the basement door comes. 

He’s quick to move, his cock still buried inside you as he pulls you around the side of a wall.

No one would see you there, not unless they walked around.

He places a palm against your mouth and he leans his back against the wall, only to thrust upwards into you, slowly, making sure his body and yours wouldn’t make a sound.

“Someone down here? The church is closed for the night I’m afraid!” 

Arthur moves slowly, his hips still gently rocking against yours, it’s nearly torture, and you want to beg him to move faster, but to quell it you bite his palm, just as you’d done earlier.

“Hello? Anyone?” 

His dick pulls out gently, and he has to do his best to keep a groan in his throat.

“Must be hearing things.” 

The two of you listen as the person heads back up the stairs and the door closes.

You let out a deep breath and as soon as you do Arthur’s pace picks up.

He’s fast, thrusting into you with a speed that seems like he’ll die without feeling you clench against him.

His hand comes back to your neck and the other back to your clit.

He’s persistent, and after a moment you know why.

His hips begin to get erratic, the rhythm and speed are off, and his breathing against your neck gets hotter, they turn from deep breaths into panting.

“Sugar....you nearly there? Princess...I’m....soon.” 

You can’t do anything but nod, leaning your head against his shoulder as he keeps you moving.

The hand around your throat moves to cup your breast, squeezing it through the cloth.

“Love the way these bounce...” He mutters. “Even clothed it’s a sight...” 

“Arthur,” You close your eyes, your arm moving to come around his neck, the other slapped against the wall.

“Mhm....you’re almost there, I can hear it in your....fuck...in your voice.” 

It’s a few more of these hard fast thrusts and then suddenly there’s a warmth that fills you and you yourself come apart as Arthur’s fingers continue to circle your clit.

Arthur groans in your ear and puts his forehead against your shoulder, breathing deeply, trying to catch his breath.

You’re silent for a moment.

“You broke my rosary.” 

“Oh, like you were ever gonna use it after this.” 

“Maybe on you, back, back I say, may the power of Christ compel you-”

“Oh, you need more than Christ to compel me Darlin’.” 

You chuckle and the two of you manage to get untangled, not before Arthur whispers in your ear about the mess he’s made.

“Gonna have me all over you, hidin’ under that outfit of yours....you ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary are you...”

“Shut up Arthur, the ‘demon’ is supposed to be gone, let’s find that damn money and get out of here, I’ll let you do whatever you want with me when we get back to camp.”

“Good, not like you were gonna stop me anyhow.” 

[qxurugosk]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Backed Into a Corner.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

(TW: Implied Death Threats)

A dark, fairly spaced room laced heavily with several red curtains and covers fill the space in an elusive manner that was donned with only a few furniture that worked as platforms or storage containers for the person living here. It was decorated with roses; others neatly kept in a vase while the others seem to have overgrown across the structure, barely trimmed, yet it posed a unique taste of decoration. Only leaving parts of the area dimly lit by crimson red candles, emitting a soft glow of fire gently wisping above the string keeping the flame alive. At the middle of the room was a halved, round couch with a wooden yet glossy circular table in front of it, above it rests the same red candles held inside a small dish to prevent the hot wax from leaking into the platform. The room reeked of the gagging, horrific stench of blood, and a mix of floral fragrance coming from the roses that adorned the room— it looked like a mess, but it was designed to the liking of the owner.. odd.

A somewhat messy, soft tufted figure stands just a few lengths away from the center of the room, clad in a vermillion, loose dress that latched onto their body, graced over with a bright red poncho and a mask etched by a disturbing smile. She stands poised with her arms crossed, her left hand's fingers tapping in annoyance against the surface of the silky sleeves she was fashioned with. A groan rumbles from the Ferret's throat, facing the opposing as she uttered— “We need to talk.” The voice she left was tied to exasperation as she slowly raises her chin.

“Hey.” The Ferret growled. “I'm talking to you.” Beneath the mask, her eyes would narrow into sharp, pointed glares. “I don't care what you're doing with your face, I need you to face me while I talk.” Her patience was beginning to wear thin. Not even she could fathom the stressful situation that rests on her shoulders, what rests on their shoulder.

...

..There was no response from the other across the room. Still occupied with their little procedure to even bother with the Ferret inside of their chambers, much to her chagrine.

Grit. Her canines gritted against each other, her left hand tightly gripping on her sleeve. “Are you deaf or do you want to make things harder for yourself!?”

They peer a gaze at the mirror, looking at the reflection of the Ferret that had been caught in view.

...

Hum...

Reluctance. They silently sighed and trailed their gloved hand to grab their mask and began to wear it as usual. “Why the aggravated tone, my dear?” They stare at their masked reflection before slowly glancing behind their shoulder, locking eyes with their little 'companion'. “I trust that I have told you that I dislike such negativity inside my chambers.” Their voice was quite suave and smooth, like melted chocolate glazing each word with grace, leaving an alluring mystique to their voice. As they pivot around to fully face her, they advance forward and headed directly to the couch, midway through, they removed the cloak that voluminously draped over their body and placed it over its plush, back frame, revealing what seems to be a laced, long sleeved blouse that was tight at the torso but loose at the arms, wearing a fairly tight corset around the waist while the blouse was matched with flared out pants with the ends leaving in ruffles resembling rose flowers.

The Ferret hissed. An ire-filled glare encapsulates the horned entity as they lay down and lean on the arm rest in a lazy, yet comfortable position, resting their free arm on their stomach. The Ferret stepped closer, nothing but a bitter feeling rushing through her veins. The mere sight of them made their blood boil, though restrain herself she tried, nobody wants to pop a blood vessel now. “Listen here,” She muttered. “You are helping us with this plan, and I don't want to hear any excuses from you why you aren't able to help.” Her words ended with a slight snarl of venom carving into her voice.

The horned creature lightly tilts their head, musing for a moment with hinted amusement through a quiet coo. “How important is this?” They remain motionless, however, they kept a fixated gaze on the Ferret that opposed their positions on each side of the room. “Based on its severity, I'll.. think about it.” Their fingers pressed against the arm rest's surface, “This best be more than what I am expecting currently.” followed by a somewhat audible, muffled grumble from the horned entity.

“That's because it is.” She replied in a strained hiss. “Dimwit.. have you not heard what the rest have been discussing, or have you stayed numb to the circumstances?!” A fine line of a snap was beginning to draw, neither are pleased with each other, with the horned entity contrasting the Ferret's impulse of anger that was slowly growing cracks.

“Mmmm...” In a air-headed fashion, they tilted their head to the right, tapping their chin. “Well, I have been staying inside my chambers for a while. It is so much more comforting than what ruckus you 'lot have to offer, hm?” From their voice alone, it felt like a face stretching a sly smirk from their lips, full of smug sarcasm.

The Ferret bristled intensely, puffing out in anger and stomping forward with all her might. “You NUMBSKULL!” Great, they were getting underneath her skin. “The Supreme has asked the rest of us to orchestrate this! And if you don't help out, you're nothing more than a stain in OUR reputation!” Yowled the Ferret, her voice reaching volumes and levels of rage. “Not only are you making things difficult for us lately, but you've been going rogue all of the sudden and have been silently distancing yourself away from the other Cultists! What has gotten INTO YOU?!”

“And you want my help?” A pause.. then, they chuckled. “How absurd.”

Despite all of this, they remained oddly calm, unfazed even. Blankly staring at the enranged Ferret right before their own eyes. Hell, they were.. amused.

“I have my.. 'reasons'.” They raised their hand, humming. “Besides, I perform my duties given out to me by our Lord. I have no reason why I should be bothered to help when I have more important things at bay.” And they were aware of it. They were aware of the anger that they were digging into her flesh. Leaving out a twinge of frustration as they progressed further into it. Good.

She narrowed her eyes into glares and gritted her teeth, her hands clenching to form fists. “You want this to be more difficult? Fine then.” As she stood with a dim gaze, her staggering glares pierced through them.

“If you don't provide any assistance, I'll make sure that not a single one of your followers will ever breach the light of day again. None of them will. I could use more ways to get rid of an opponent, and what better way to start that than use a test dummy to commit to the bit further?” ...A wry smirk hides beneath the mask. “The moment you refuse this one more time, it'll be all over for you and their precious lives. There's nothing you can do, afterall. They'll die, and it'll be your fault. All your fault.”

...

Silence. Silence streaked the room for a good minute. Neither of the two uttered a single word or a noise out of their mouths, leaving an eerie atmosphere within just as the flames of each candle slowly started to dim, one by one. What a quick turn of events. What an escalation. This felt.. strange, but it wasn't foreign. A deck of cards had slid towards their table, and all of them were full of venomous threats. Threats that.. they simply could not ignore. They can't. This was the last straw. From a smug disposition to a silent reign of shock and heavy feelings. No— they can't let that happen. They can't.. not again.

..They were still reluctant... But they can't refuse either way.

“..Fine.” The horned entity breaks the silence. They lower their head, bangs hanging low where the carved eyes of their mask were barely seen anymore. “I'll go. As long as you don't do anything rash.” Grumbling, they glare back at the Ferret, rattling a growl within their throat.

Hmph. She glares back in return, holding her chin up high. “Wise choice.” She won.. hah. Pathetic.

She pivots, taking one final glance at them. “The others and I will wait for your arrival at the Gathering Hall,” She muttered. “Be there or I'll make sure you'll regret it.” After that, she left. The sound of her footsteps straying away into faint thuds down the hallway, leaving the masked entity inside of their own chambers, alone and contemplating. Barely moving from their current position.

They grit their teeth, clenching their fist. Their perception of the world had shifted into pure crimson, streaked of midnight that provoked heavy emotions of negative distress that battled with one another from within. It was pathetic, completely out of their zone. The way they were backed into a corner so suddenly in just a matter of moments was baffling to them just as it was tiring and frightening to hear. Kill them? What a vermin thing to do.

Peace of shit.

“I'll find a way.”

“And I'll make sure you won't forget it.”

── ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ──

(This is before the Gala Episode! Thought I'd give some insight about what Gilded's currently going through, plus some lore tidbits that I wanted to add into the mix.)

(Mrs. UnNamed belongs to @fishy0bishy and the Space Riders Au belongs to @onyxonline!)

[gamerbearmira]

I quite literally have no idea

Yeah, originally I was gonna do the vampire au, then the werewolf kids au, but then it just. Morphed into this. Enjoy it, idk <333

ESKIETET

—————

Mirabel walked with Camilo in the village. The pair of five-year-olds were giggling wildly at a joke Camilo made, a rather dumb one. But who could blame them? They were only 5, and it was a funny joke.

As they walked, they passed by a cart. Mirabel's eyes lit up, and she skipped up to the cart, Camilo hot on her heels. "I want a cone!" Mirabel said, her voice practically a demand. The ice cream vendor wasted no time and scooped the ice cream from the large cold basin into a cone.

Mirabel got her way. She always did. When her ceremony failed, her abuela just couldn't bear to see her Mariposita so unhappy and got her a room. And she loved it, and she loved her Abuela for doing everything just to get it for it. Mirabel was adored by her family, and she was well aware of that fact. It wasn't said out loud by anyone in the village but...Mirabel was spoiled.

Very spoiled.

She always got her face. And she was fiercely defensive of her family. She loved them to pieces and reveled in the attention that was showered on her. She would do anything to keep them happy, just like how they had done for her on her second attempt at a birthday party.

Mirabel smiled as the ice cream vendor handed her a cone. As she went to enjoy it, she saw Camilo fiddling with the fringes on her poncho. She stopped for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing before she looked at the man again.

"Give him a cone too. Now. And make it fast," Miravel said, pointing to her primo. Camilo's eyes lit up at the idea of also having ice cream.

The man looked towards Camilo. His expression changed, and with no hesitation, he flat-out told him a prince. "50 pesos for two scoops."

Camilo hesitated before digging around in his pockets. He left his pocket money at home. Mirabel noticed his saddened expression and the ice cream vendor's indifference. The fact that the ice cream vendor was charging him anyway irritated her, but she would fix this.

"Just give him a cone! He always helps out in town! I saw him yesterday helping you move your cart up the hill," Mirabel said, and she wasn't wrong. Just the other day Camilo had shifted and helped him, among the many other villagers.

"Look I can just...give out free cones. Bad for business. You're lucky I gave you one," the vendor argued, and Mirabel's top was about to blow. And Camilo could tell.

"Mirabel, it's fine, let's just go to the bakery or something," Camilo tried to reason.

"No! You want ice cream, and you deserve it. It's not fair!" Mirabel tapped her foot again, and by this point, her cone was melted. She paid little attention as she turned back to the vendor. "You WILL give him a cone! You have to!"

"Why? It's my business!" The man argued back. He wasn't entirely sure why he was arguing with a 6-year-old, but he wasn't going to lose.

"It's our Encanto! You wouldn't be anything if it weren't for me and my family! Especially Camilo!" Miravel snapped. She threw her cone to the ground. With a strong kick to her cart, Camilo finally pulled her away, pushing through the crowd. "You hear me? Nothing! I'll make sure no one buys from you again"

Camilo pulled Mirabel aside into a small alley, still holding her hand. The girl was breathing heavily, and Camilo pulled her into a hug. His jokester façade fell away, revealing a more gentle side that he only reserved for family, and even then, only Mirabel.

The girl eventually calmed down and Camilo pulled away. "You didn't have to do that. We could've just gone to the bakery."

"But that's not fair!" Mirabel said, stomping her feet. "I never get what I ask for, the villagers are mean!" Mirabel cried into her hands.

Camilo frowned at her prima's reaction. He pulled her closer, his hand on her cheeks, copying what his mama, tia, and abuela always did whenever Mirabel started crying like that. "Please don't cry Mirabel, it's not that big a deal."

"You deserve an ice cream cone! The whole family does! I don't like this village," Mirabel huffed, tears still in her eyes. With a sigh, she rubbed her eyes. "We should move."

"Or! We can still go to the bakery! Señor Marcelo always gives us treats there," Camilo suggested and Mirabel nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go," Mirabel grabbed Camilo's hand, rushing him out of the alley and towards the bakery. Camilo shook his head at the sudden mood swing. But he was happy he could make her feel better.

—————

Literally just one of Mirabel’s old concept designs with a few altercations. She’s very mf spoiled in this au. But the only people she’s a brat to is her family.

That’s all I got y’all, I just didn’t wanna leave y’all wit no content 💀💀

[daddy-calkestis]

Lost In Space: A Star Wars Story

Summary: You’ve been hiding out on Bracca for years in the remnants of your old ship that crashed down on the planet. You have little to no memory of the life you had before you came to this glorified junkyard and little to no way of escaping. So you’ve made a sort of life for yourself. You get what you can from a few kind engineers who work in the shipyards, sell what you can to the scrapers who live further away and just keep your head down. That is, until the war came knocking at your *makeshift* doorstep. Now you must fight, both the Separatists and with your own memories of what happened to you before the crash with a little help from some Jedi. endgame: reader x ?

Read on AO3 for tag list

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43756357/chapters/110038711#workskin

                                                    Chapter One:

It was raining on Bracca.

Shocking.

Every single fucking day on this planet, it rained. You had no idea it could rain this much anywhere, even on plants covered in greenery and teeming with wildlife. The rain was barely needed here considering this planet is basically a junkyard. There were no trees, no plants, nothing. It was a miserable place to live, let alone be stranded. Why anyone would actively chose to come here was beyond your comprehension. Everyday you were a little closer to getting off this maker forsaken plant, you just needed a couple hundred more credits and you were gone.

Everyday it was the same thing, ever since you woke up here three years ago. You jolt awake to the sound of alarms going off in the distance, indicating it was a shift change for those engineers who worked the night shifts in the shipyards. So you would roll off of your bunk and make a quick cup of instant caf, also known as the one thing you “splurged” on here. It wasn’t really a splurge but with the rain, it left everything feeling raw and cold so it helped to not only wake you up, but warm you up too. It was the one luxury you allowed yourself.

After donning your ever loved navy blue poncho that you "borrowed" from some clueless engineer on your first day here, you would set off on your day which either consisted of scouring the scrap around your humble abode for valuable parts or heading over to the shipyard to snag what you could from a few of the engineers who pitied you. They were kind and always looked the other way when you picked through their scrap piles. They would also supply you with some of the ration bars they had stowed away too. Then you would haul your findings to the outpost of scrapers and sell what you could.  You’d snag whatever food was cheap before making your way back to the wreckage of the ship that you woke up on three years ago then do it all over again the next day.

Today was the same as every other day before it. You woke up to alarms in the distance and groaned. You rubbed the palms of your hands into your eyes, rubbing until you saw sparks of white light dancing behind your eyelids before sitting up and putting your boots on. You took your poncho down from the hook next to your bunk and threw it on to chase off the morning chill.  

You quickly undid your hair, running your fingers through it to detangle some of the knots before trying it back into another braid and shoved yourself up. You quickly padded over to the small hotplate you scrounged up from some of the wreckage of your ship and filled the small kettle with the rain water you collected before leaving it to boil. You trudged over to the small opening you had covered with a wool blanket to keep out the wind and pulled it back. Immediately you noticed something was off.

Normally you could always hear the sound of the machinery blasting away first thing in the morning from the shipyards but it was quiet this morning. Eerily quiet. Goosebumps licked the skin along your forearms under the long sleeve shirt you wore as you sat in silence, waiting. Dread curled in your gut in anticipation for something to happen, but you had no idea what. The kettle started to sing behind you, but you didn’t move from your spot. Your senses told you something bad was about to happen and you've learned to trust your gut over everything at this point in your life, especially living on a planet with some less than decent men.

You stood there for moments, just watching. It was like time had stilled around you as you tune your senses into the environment around you.  Even the random stray critters were silent this morning. The kettle was rapidly boiling at this point so you move to quickly shuffle to turn it off and make your instant caf before returning to your spot. That’s when you hear it, the first explosion in the distance. Quickly, you grab your energy bow (that you definitely didn’t steal that off a destroyed ship full of dead Zygerrians, nope, not you) and head back to look outside. The sight before you was filled with sheer horror.

Looming in the sky high above the shipyard was a massive Separatist Dreadnaught. “Shit.” You whisper to yourself as you watch the scene unfold before your eyes. Drones of droid dive bombers fly with quick speed away from the dreadnaught, dropping their payload of what you could only imagine were tons of explosives into the shipyard as they fly overhead before zooming across the sky towards you. You quickly duck behind the durasteel wall to hide from sight as the explosives detonate in the distance. You barely hear the dive bombers overhead over the roar of the explosion, the shock wave vibrating the cold metal floor under your feet. You quickly peak out your small opening to see the carnage of the shipyard. It was engulfed in flames that rose high into the sky, the smell of explosives drenching the air.

“Double shit!” You whisper as you quickly search your small living area. You quickly grab whatever weaponry you had laying around including a small blaster and a vibroblade. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now. You hear explosions going off once more, this time much closer to you. You manage to quickly grab your pouch of credits and wrap the string tightly around your neck before another explosion goes off a little too close to you. The hull of your ship vibrates rapidly and you grab onto the shelf to keep yourself steady.

You quickly pull up your hood and push away from the wall. You sling your energy bow over your shoulders, strap your knife and blaster to your belt and quickly make your way outside. You run fast and hard away from your crashed ship, keeping to the shadows cast by the piles upon piles of scrap before another explosion goes off behind you. You quickly turn to see that your ship is now engulfed in flames. You feel your eye twitch as your anger rises in your chest before quickly shoving yourself back into the scraps as more droid bombers fly overhead.

“Oh you fuckers are going to pay for that.” You grumble to yourself as you push forward. You ran as hard as you could, leaping over mounds of metal scrap and ducking between the piles as you move further from the carnage. You wanted to be nowhere near the shipyard, hell no. The further away you were from the Separatist's target, the safer you were going to be. That is until you started to hear the screams. You stop to listen. Not only did you hear screams, you heard the distinct sound of blaster fire. Then your gut was pulling you.

“No, not happening.” You spoke to yourself. Your gut pulled you again, screaming at you to go help those people.

“This isn’t my problem. This isn’t my war.” It pulled again, this time harder. You could almost hear the voice in the back of your head.

“Those people need help! They helped you! They were kind to you! You need to help them. They will die without your help.”

You groan to yourself, tilting your head back dramatically. Maker, help me. Before you even register what you’re doing, you take off towards the shipyard. You dodge and weave your way around the fires that now litter the landscape, seemingly unphased by the steady rainfall that pounded against your chest. Your legs are screaming at you by the time you make it to the outskirts of the Republic grounds.

You slow your pace, sucking in lungfuls of air as you creep closer to the sounds of blaster fire. You quickly wiggle your way under the opening in the fencing, jogging over to the small security building that sits near-by. You firmly press your back against the cement wall and listen inside.

“Wow, that was easier than I thought!” A whiny metallic sounding voice comes through, muffled by the stone.

“Of course it was easy!” Another, similar voice pipes up. “We bombed them before anyone could fight back!” You hear a metallic smack.

“What was that for?”

“Being simple!” You move along the wall, looking carefully around you before peering around the corner of the door. Inside the small hut were two B1 battle droids.

Ugh, these things are so fucking stupid.

You groan as you pull down your bow, firing a bolt across the yard and into a pile of random scrap, a.k.a your pile that they left for you.

“What was that?!” You wait as the two droids run outside, blasters aimed at your pile. You shake your head at their own stupidity.

“I could have sworn-” you fire a bolt at the first droid's chest, its shell falling to the ground with a thud.

“What the?” The remaining droid turned towards you. “Who are yo-” you shot a second bolt, knocking the now dead droid down. You move quickly, pulling their bodies inside the security building before looking around to make sure no one saw what you had done. You didn’t hear another droid but the blaster fire continued on. You quickly look at the security cameras to find the source. You scan the monitors quickly before your eyes grow wide at the screen in front of you. You watch as a handful of droids rain blaster fire down inside one of the hangers that isn't too far from this building. People are trying to flee, but get cut down the moment they leave their cover. You see a handful of men hiding behind a massive gunship, cowering in fear. You recognize some of their faces too. You had maybe minutes if they were lucky to get to them.

You bolt out of the security quarters, making your way across the shipyard to the hanger you saw marked on the monitors. You stop outside the massive doors, before peeking inside to see no droids were in the doorway. The few droids were further inside, closer to the center of the bay so you quickly slip inside, sticking to the shadows of the room. You see handfuls of bodies thrown across the room as you move inside, all unmoving and bloody. You take a deep breath, choking down the bile that threatened to escape as you come up behind the line of droids. You quickly look around for cover before looking up. Above you there are gunships hanging from cables between the catwalks that run the length of the hanger. You quickly find a ladder and scramble your way up, the noise you make hidden under layers of blaster fire.

You swing over the catwalk, keeping your feet light as you make your way to the gunship that hung over the small crew of men hiding.

“I think someones in the rafters!” A droid speaks, firing a blaster just as you swing into the ship. You press your body against one of the walls and look over the ledge. From this angle, you could easily fire off your shots and take them down. The cover was good and you banked on the stupidity of these droids would cause you to have a slight tactical advantage.  

“I don’t see anyone!” You hear as you quickly draw your bow and look below. Six droids, six shots. You take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. You let the bolt fly before quickly pulling back once more, aiming for your second droid. You move quickly out of sight before, hiding before they even knew what hit them. You take your aim out the other side of the ship, quickly hitting another droid.

“Hey! Where did that come from?” One droid calls out. "I told you someone was up there! Blast 'em!" Another calls! The remaining three aiming their blasters for the ship and firing. One of their shots hits the support rope for the ship, lurching it precariously to one side. Lucky shot. You know what’s coming, so you take a breath and take a running jump out of the ship before it falls, taking aim at another droid mid air and letting the bolt fly right into it’s chest. You hear more shouting as you tuck and roll, landing at the feet of the fifth droid before letting another bolt fly. This time the droid's head flew off, landing across the room somewhere. You scramble to your feet, dodging the shots of the last remaining droid with ease before ramming into it at full force.

“What the-'' you grab its neck, swing your leg up and over its shoulders before taking out your vibroblade and embedding it into its head. You jumped off, landing on your feet before the shell even hit the ground.

“Maker, I fucking hate these things.” You speak to no one in particular. You still don’t know why, you never had a run in with these things before now. Or did you? Something seems a little familiar. Maybe I've just seen enough of them dead in the scraps.

“Kid?” You hear someone call your nickname from somewhere behind you, quickly ending your thoughts. You turn to see Davis sticking his head out from behind the torn apart gunship they used as cover.

“Are you guys okay?” You throw your blade back into its place at your hip before shouldering your bow once more and jogging over to them, crouching behind the durasteel. There were twelve men hiding here but you only recognized Davis, Walker and Jensen who worked in this hangar.

“You gotta get out of here, Kid.” Jensen whispered to you. His normal gray mustache was now black from the soot, his normal cheerful smile gone. “It’s not safe!”

“No shit it’s not safe, the Seppies are here!” Another man you don’t recognize shouts. "We need to get the fuck out of here!"

“Keep your voices down.” You whisper back. You hear a patrol of droids approaching, their mechanical footsteps giving them away. You peer out, watching as a whole squadron walks by the massive doors, a few rows peeling off into the hanger. There were at least 20 droids heading your way. You clench your jaw and grind your teeth in annoyance. Of course my gut told me to run to my certain death,  naturally! That bitch. Whatever, might as well take as many as I can out with me. No way I'm making it out of here unscathed.

“Shit, we’re all going to die!” Another man practically sobs. You hush them, waiting. The mechanical footsteps come to a stop just inside the building.

“You heard the commander, clear the hanger!” You watch the droid at the front wave their squadron forward and into the hanger opening.

“Can any of you fire a blaster?” You whisper to your group. Eleven of the men shake their heads in unison before Walker nods.

“I can.” He whispers back. You quickly pull yours from its holster and hand it to him. You peak back behind the ship to see the droids have made their way closer to the center. You look up to see another half assembled gun ship hanging right above the group.

“Okay listen to me. I’m going to draw them to me and away from you. You need to shoot the cables holding that gun ship up.” You gesture to the one. “The blaster should be enough to break the cables holding it up. The second the droids are down, you all run like hell to the hole in the fence. You think you can do that?”

“What about you?” Jensen asks, concern whirling in his deep brown eyes. He was the oldest of the group, probably in his early fifties. He always gave you food and any spare clothing he could find. He was a sweet and caring man. He was probably the one person you actually liked here.

“Don’t worry about me. You guys need to get out of here.”

“Are we really going to take orders from some trash?” One of the other men of the group speaks up, his face contorted with anger.

“If you want to die here, then be my fucking guest and stay. But this trash is trying to help, as well as took out the droids who were trying to kill you so I suggest you shut your fucking mouth and do as I say.” You growl. You look back at Jensen, nodding to him. “I’ll find you once this is over. Use the scrap piles to stay hidden.” He nods in acceptance but as you turn, Davis grabs your arm. You turn to look at him to see a soft smile on his round face.

“Thanks kid. Knew you weren’t so bad.” He smiles softly before letting you go. You smile back before slipping into the shadows once more.

The droids were turning over random crates in the room, looking for survivors when you strike. You find a place with some decent cover so you take aim. Shot after shot you fire from your energy bow, taking down as many as you can before ducking behind metal shipping containers.

“We’ve got a live one. Blast it!” Loads of blaster fire come flying past your hiding spot, embedding into the wall. You turn, firing more bolts into the small group before you hear the distinguished creaking of the gunship above.

“There’s more of ‘em!” You hear another droid call out. They spotted the small group and start firing at both you and them. You look over, watching as Walker attempts to shoot the remaining cable. He’s quickly getting flustered, his aim all over the place so you push back from your crouched position and start firing into the droids once more.

“Come and get me you fucking chipbrains!” You scream at the droids, drawing all their attention to you.

“It’s a girl!”

“What did she call us?”

“...I’m more than a chip!”

You fired bolt after bolt. Come on, Walker. You got this. You’ve probably taken down 15 of the droids,but they just kept coming like more were waiting outside. Sweat starts to pool between your brows as you try to keep the droids distracted. You hear more footsteps approaching the hanger and you hope it’s not more droids. You don’t know how much longer you could hold out here!

Finally Walker nails the last cable and with a groan the gunship comes crashing down, smashing all the remaining droids to pieces. You let out a deep breath and run back towards the hanger doors only to see rows and rows of B1 droids. They slowly turn, looking right at you.

“FUCK!” you scream as you signal the men to stay put. You turn to hide once more as the blaster fire comes in a steady stream past you but only to hear more ships approaching. You peek out to see 6 gunships with the Republic logo on the side land close by, letting off troopers. Immediately you feel a sense of relief crash over you.

“Clones!”

“Get ‘em!”

All the droids have turned away from you and have started marching towards the Republic troops. Now that they are distracted, you could get these men out of here. You wave them over to you with Jensen leading the way. “Go while they are distracted!” You point towards the hole in the fence you always used. "Get out of here! I'll find you when I can!" Walker tries to give you your weapon back but you shake your head. “Later. Go.” You give them cover as the men file out one by one, making a B line for the fencing. A droid turns when it hears the running but you quickly fire and take it down. Of course that draws the attention of it’s fellow B1 droids. You ready your bow, taking aim but before you could let your bolt off a very large Lasat drops in front of you and ignites a lightsaber.

“JEDI!”

The droids start firing at the tall Lasat, but he easily blocks their shots with the blue double bladed saber, twirling it effortlessly before reflecting the blaster fire to the droids. You turn to run, knowing the best thing to do in order to protect yourself is put some distance between you and this place but before you turn the Lasat turns and peers down at you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t know why or how, but something in you stops your movements. You blink up at him, frozen in place. He gestures to the rows of droids in front of him and you instantly know what he wants. You groan inwardly, knowing deep down it would be a dick move to leave this guy here to fight an entire fleet of droids. "Damn it" you groan before sighing and turn back towards the battle in front of you, drawing your bow. You fire at the droids, their fire solely concentrated on the Jedi and not at all concentrated on you. Before you know it, a gunship turns and flies towards you, dropping explosives on the rows of droids. The Lasat grabs you, pulling you into his chest and turns, shielding you from the blast. For some reason, right here, your body relaxes like it knows you don't have to be fearful of this being.

You don’t even have time to dissect that thought before he grabs your shoulders and pushes you away from his chest to look at you. You hear a gunship land behind you but you stay frozen in his stare. He looks you up at down, for what you have no clue but when his green eyes land back on yours, you see his gaze soften slightly.

Slightly.

“Get on the ship.” His deep voice rings in your ears. You blink a few times in confusion.

“Wait, what?”

"I will not ask again." He lowers his voice sightly. You furrow your eyebrows up at him, you lips dipping in a frown.

"I didn't  hear you ask at all! I'm not getting on your damn ship!" You wave your hand towards the ship. "Look, I appreciate the rescue, but no thanks." You turn to leave but he holds you still.

"Get. On. The. Ship.” His voice is much more stern.

“Fuck no, dude! I’m not getting on the ship!” You shout back. Who does this guy think he is?! You turn to run, only to find yourself being held in place by some unseen force.

“Stop being difficult _____, get on the ship. I'm not in the mood for these games.” Wait, what did he just call me? Does he know me? Is that my name? I don't even remember my name. How does't a Jedi know who I am. Did the force tell him? Is that how that works? Panic bites at the back of your throat as the bonds keep you in place.

“WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?! LET ME GO!” You struggle against your invisible bonds. “I NEED TO FIND THOSE MEN, THEY HAVE MY BLASTER AND I WORKED REALLY HARD TO GET IT!” Your chest is rapidly rising and falling. Your heart pounding hard in your chest as you continue to struggle to get free. "LET ME GO! PLEASE! LET ME GO!"

"You are safe now." WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! The large Lasat raises his wrist to his face as you continue to struggle, ignoring your request entirely as panic threatens to engulf you. “Commander Heat, do you copy?” He speaks into what appears to be a comm link.

“Yes, General. We pushed the Separatists back from the shipyard and are holding the lines. Scanners indicate more ships are on the horizon so aerial support is on it's way.” A deep voice with a slight accent comes through the com. It rings a bell, sounding almost familiar?

“Excellent. Please send a message to the temple. Take Cal and meet me back aboard the Albedo Brave.”

“Regarding what, sir? ”

He eyes you up and down, smiling softly at you as your heart rate hits an all time high. You barely hear him over the pounding in your ears. “Master Plo Koon’s lost padawan.”

[ddixons-angel]

Marshmallows & Fluff

Fanfic Advent Calendar 2022 Day 17 - Daryl Dixon

Hi guys! So it’s my turn for the 2022 Advent Calendar and I present this super short piece, I have to admit, it was hard to get back into writing and since I took a (unintentional) break over the year, this is probably lacking but I hope you still enjoy it! Please let me know your thoughts, love you all for continuing to support my writing! 

Prompt - “You don’t like marshmallows in your hot chocolate? Why do you hate love?”

Reader shares her hot chocolate with Daryl as they reminisce about the old world during the holidays.

Hilltop - Season 9

(I know the gif is not at all the right era but it’s the perfect expression for this, I swear!)

Winter has always been your favorite time of year. You loved how the snowflakes danced in the wind, covering the ground in a mystic sheet of white. How the festive lights of red and green reflected off the ground, spreading the joy of the holidays to anyone who laid their eyes on them. Even though the modern world had ended and no one put up any festive decor, it didn’t take away your absolutely favorite thing about this season: being able to cuddle with your favorite person by the fire. 

Your body shivered slightly as you were hit by the icy breeze once you stepped outside the Barrington House, it didn’t matter that you had a cozy blanket wrapped around you or a cup of hot chocolate in your hands. Regardless of the cold, a warm smile spreads on your lips as you look towards the stables, the faint glow of light from the second story draws you to it like a moth to a flame. 

“Can’t believe you’re able to sleep out here, it’s so cold,” you say as you reach the top of the stairs of the second story of the stable. 

Daryl turns to look at you at the sound of your voice and a side smile pulls at his lips, “Dog likes it up here.”

You chuckle at his words as you walk towards him and Dog and sit beside Daryl, “you’re gonna get yourself sick if you stay out here for too long.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine, got my poncho ‘n’ Dog,” he says then after a purposeful pause, “an’ you.”

“You also have hot chocolate,” you say, trying to not give him the satisfaction of making you blush, you give him the cup of hot chocolate to which he takes with a chuckle, “sorry there’s not marshmallows though.”

“Don’t be,” he shrugs, “never liked ‘em anyway.”

You gawk at him in disbelief at his words, speechless. Daryl catches your look just before taking a sip and he blinks in confusion at your expression.

“Wha’?” 

“You don’t like marshmallows in your hot chocolate? Why do you hate love?” you ask, there was a hint of genuine concern in your voice.

“I don’ hate love I jus’ never really had ‘em, ain’t no big deal,” he says, shrugging again.

You pout at him, “you never had marshmallows?” 

“Had em’ once when I was a kid, came home one day ‘n’ there was a bag of ‘em sittin’ on the table, I don’ even know where they came from bu’ I took it an’ ate ‘em,” Daryl tells you.

“You ate a full bag of marshmallows?” you ask, amused by his childhood story, you continue when he nods, “and you somehow still don’t like them?”

“I got sick after eatin’ ‘em,” he defends.

“Of course you did! You ate a full bag of marshmallows all in one go!” you say, your tone was one of amusement rather than scolding, then you look at him seriously, “I have to ask, were they the little ones or the big, fluffy ones?”

“The big ones,” he replies, then eyes you playfully when you start giggling, “ya laughin’ at me?”

You try to contain your giggles as you speak, “I’m sorry, but the image of you as a kid stuffing your face with huge fluffy marshmallows is too cute.”

Daryl scoffs and rolls his eyes then finally takes a sip of hot chocolate, he looks down at the cup in his hand, pondering something. You study the thoughtful look on his face then scoot closer to him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as you snuggle close to him.

“Next time we’re out on a run, I’m gonna be on the lookout for marshmallows so you know the joy of having them in your hot chocolate,” you tell him.

Daryl chuckles and wraps his arm around you under the blanket, pulling you closer. It was his way of telling you that you appreciated the gesture. It seemed as though Dog felt that he was left out of the cuddlefest since he got up from his spot and wedged himself in between the two of you, making you and Daryl laugh. 

“A’right, we’ll get ya some too,” Daryl says as gives him a few pats on the head. 

---

Like I said, super short but still fluffy! Please let me know what you all thought!

Taglist | Click here to be added/removed

@soraitmnt​ | @lilythemadqueen​ | @jodiereedus22​ | @molethemollie​ | @m-7770 | @kissofvenom922​

[blindmagdalena]

hear me out…..

wild west hl au🫶

JUST THOUGHTS FLOODING MY BRAIN OF HIM DRESSED LIKE A COWBOY AUAGGHRHHH

you know, he DID more or less refer to himself as John Wayne. i bet that would be one of the easier costumes to convince him to don for halloween or something! the boots, the poncho/cape, the big ol' belt, the high collar, he's most of the way there! he would make an excellent cowboy.

now you'll have to forgive me because the only western i've ever seen was Slow West (for michael fassbender ofc) so i'm really of no help when it comes to an actual AU, but i will say i'm weirdly into the idea of Homelander on a horse. 😂

[yuliyaana]

— THE ANIMATION AND ARTSTYLE USED FOR THE VISUALS

The amazing use of both 2D and 3D elements mixes perfectly with the animation and the art style and it really reminds me of the animation of Into the Spider-Verse. Everything’s an eye candy and wallpaper-worthy. The vibrant colors and the lighting?? The visuals and the background art, they're just so GORGEOUS! Like you can see those little paint brush strokes on some parts of the film. You know the movie’s gonna be good when they apply this kind of style. This movie is an absolute masterpiece. *chef’s kiss*

— THE WORLD BUILDING

OKAAAAY I WILL NEVER GET OVER WITH THE WORLD BUILDING ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY WENT TO THE DARK FOREST— it’s just so hilarious when Puss and Kitty got depressing and dangerous path/terrains while Perrito got the easiest path because he’s a carefree and cheerful pure-hearted therapy dog who sees the positivity in life (despite his sad “funny story” like he said) and it really shows that whoever possesses the Star Map judges the character of those who holds it.

— CHARACTER DESIGN

Can we talk about Goldilocks’ character design? I really, really love how they designed her— like every details of her design reflects the way she got raised by her bear family. You see those mismatched earrings? They resemble Mama Bears different earrings. Her necklaces? Baby Bear also got a chain necklace. And the faint scar she got on her left eyebrow later on? Now it resembles Papa Bear’s scar on his left eye. Okay I love this her golden blonde hair so much. It really fits her name ESPECIALLY her two huge buns resemble like bear ears! Her outfit got dirtied in the dark forest making it look brown, like her family's brown fur plus she got those little fangs omg. She's so cute but she can also kill you. TvT

Jack Horner, okay this chaotic huge man got pink hair and chubby cheeks. He��s got the perks alright? Hear me out, his pink tie resembles an icing piping cream pastry and he got those small printed pies on his purple vest. He BIG.

And finally, this big bad lobo himself and his name is DEATH, like literally. He’s the Grim Reaper of Shrek Universe. His design freaking SLAPS! Oh man, this brooding wolf deadass got the hardest drip for me ngl. The black poncho fits him perfectly for a grim reaper like him. The fact that his eyes always stand out making him look even more intimidating and menacing. We all know that the universal look of Grim Reaper is a skeleton in a long black cloak with his scythe while DreamWorks made Death as a wolf with his signature dual-sickles (likely as a reference for Grim Reaper’s Scythe), for me it’s an interesting detail because his main target was Puss in Boots coming to punish him for recklessly wasting away his past eight lives mainly because he’s a cat, and wolves are known for being a natural predator. Not to mention, he was always there whenever Puss dies. He was so patient enough to finally get to his prey. Another interesting detail of him is the dark part of his fur in his face, donning a skull-like shape because he’s literally the Grim Reaper. Overall, he’s 12/10 for me and my most favorite antagonist so far.

— THE LESSONS BEHIND PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH

Sometimes whenever we wish for something that we want, we didn’t realize that thing we were wishing for was already there all along.

Puss himself already learnt his lesson to value his remaining ninth life at the end of the movie because every ounce of moment in our lives are precious and we need to appreciate them fully. We will never know when our time comes. As Perrito said to Puss, having one life in enough.

Sacrificing your personal needs to save someone you truly love and care about. Like how Goldilocks ditched the Wishing Map when she was one way of granting her wish and instead, she helped saving Baby from disappearing to the Star Wall.

...and they lived happily ever after.

[surachelledraws]

sketch page of a guy I doodled at work a few months ago.. he’s part of a roving band of cowboy mercenaries. He’s mute. He’s a strawberry blonde (meaning yes Ive designed another pink haired OC). He never takes off the mask and never lets anyone touch the wings, but someone got close enough once to SWEAR for the rest of their life that those things are really growing out of his back. He’s very good a dismembering things with his guns. Very partial to cute fluffy animals. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a proper shirt, but can be convinced to don a poncho in the coldest of cold weather. A bit of an airhead. Goes by Tex.