#he said FOR LENT? and i DIED

[sidras-tak]

Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 2) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 14.5𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩��𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢 (nothing too graphic but please be warned!!), 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

note: it's here 🤲 header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

the next morning you woke, Ghost was gone again, much to your chagrin. you were beginning to pick up on a pattern—a strong tendency to disappear without a trace. his clothes were absent from your room and the kitchen table, where you haphazardly undressed him without thinking about the evidence left behind for an unsuspecting one-four-one and Kate to see. 

the only trace of Ghost’s presence in your room last night was the neat pile of undergarments and clothes on the ottoman nestled in the corner of the room. after washing up, you slowly redressed that morning. in the mirror, your neck was covered in swollen purple patches—a parallel image to the softness of your bruised inner thighs. you were lucky enough to have been lent a high-collared blouse from Kate, mulling over everything with a bitter distaste in your mouth. 

it only grew when you stepped into the back room, Soap looking positively smug and Gaz avoiding your eyes. John looked undisturbed as he paged through a book, sipping at his coffee mug with his boot neatly crossed over the other beneath the kitchen table.

“good morning,” Soap sang, practically skipping to you and handing you a sticky, cinnamon bun, rolled up in a sweet delight.

“thank you,” you said with a polite dip of your head, sitting beside John at the table.

“you know, Gaz,” Soap said suddenly, turning to his friend who only paled in response, his face looking sour. “i could’ve sworn i heard something last night—”

you withered with shame, but luckily, Gaz kicked him hard in the shin to shut him up. immediately they began to bicker, and John only gave a disapproving grunt.

“where’s Kate?” you asked, meek, and desperate to escape the three men in the room. 

John jerked his head in the direction of the main store room, and you whispered a quick thank you to him, wiping the last crumbs on the back of your split skirt rudely before making a beeline out the room.

Kate was tending to the shop, lounging behind the counter as two customers perused the catalog. she was stitching together pieces of leather with a wax thread and needle. 

you carefully noted the absence of Ghost in the store room as well, but didn’t comment on it when she shot you a fleeting, knowing look. it was gone as soon as it came and yet it made you burn with shame nonetheless.

“Ghost is out on business again,” she explained, sewing with a practiced hand, and you frowned.

“I wasn't…” the words died in your throat. instead, you implored, “let me join one-four-one today.”

she paused her ministrations and sent you a look of grief. “why? so you can run away?”

that irked you. “you know i won’t.” in a meek voice, you added, “where would i even run too?”

she shrugged, returning to her leather pieces. “i don’t know. maybe off into your own rich glory.”

you resisted rolling your eyes. smoothing the front of your split skirt, you folded your hands politely, posture straightening.

“are you really going to ransom me to my daddy?” you challenged, and her hands paused

“because if you are, i know your secret base of operations. i know all your names, one-four-one’s, and Simon’s. i know what one-four-one looks like and that you’re working with los vaqueros.” 

her eyes narrowed, brow pinching.

you continued. “i think all that information would come very handy for Turner and my daddy.”

“so what are you going to do?” she snapped, “run straight to Turner and cry at your daddy’s feet?”

“no,” you said cooly, “i think you don’t plan on giving me back to my daddy at all.”

her eyes flashed and you contented with her glare, meeting it with the strongest one you could muster.

“because if you did plan on it, i’d tell them all that and more in a heartbeat. so why’d you let me in on all that information in the first place?”

taking a shaky inhale, you hoped to god you were right. “i know too much. i think you’re planning something else for me.”

she stared at you for a long moment before heaving a long sigh, screwing her eyes shut, surprising you when her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped grin, her blue eyes crinkled with a wild look.

“Ghost said you were a smart girl.”

she returned back to the leather work, finishing off the needlework by snapping the string with her teeth, pulling it taught with a knot.

“but no,” she said with finality, and you balked.

“no…?”

“let’s say that maybe Ghost is planning something for you. something big,” she dramatized with a mocking smirk. “you’re still our hostage. you stay here, the boys ride out. simple.”

she shot you a displeased look when she finished. “if you weren’t here, i’d be riding out too.”

you swallowed, shoulders falling slowly. all that pent up energy deflated from you like a balloon, defeat curling in your stomach. looking out the front store windows, you saw Sugar dozing at her fence post. you eyed her saddle on a rack behind the store counter. 

nodding, like you were deep in thought, you stepped away from the counter. “right,” was all you offered and she gave you a mixed look of pity and irritation. 

as if on queue, the one-four-one boys clambered from the back room, murmuring low words to Kate so that you couldn’t hear. Soap tipped his hat to you on the way out, and he began to turn away when you clutched at his elbow. 

“where are you going?” you asked, casual, and his brows raised, looking from you to John to Kate.

after a long look, she just gave him a slight nod.

“five miles north. ‘nother nearby town,” he relented with a shrug, and the way his lips tightened let you know he was leaving something else out. you cocked his head at him, pressing with curious eyes, and his mouth fell open but Gaz grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him out the store, Soap shouting in protest.

“be back before sunset,” John said, gruff, closing the door behind them with a resounding thud. 

you watched as they saddled up in the bright noon light. Kate sighed. the look on her face let you know she was lamenting just as much about their departing as you.

you lazed about the main store room, eyes flicking between the leather crafts items. belts, wallets, holsters, a few couple saddles. the clicking of the wooden clock suspended on the opposite wall served as your entertainment for the afternoon.

when Kate finally excused herself to close the shop for a lunch break, washing up first, you knew you had to make quick haste. sneaking down the hallway, you passed by the bathroom as quietly as you could, you were surprised to find the basement door unlocked.

maybe they did trust you, a small voice spoke in wonder, but you mentally swatted it away. your desire to find out what the hell was going on burned brighter than anything else.

you descended quickly down the stairs, wincing at every creak and thud, till your feet met cobblestone. sweeping around in the darkness, you pulled out the matches you pocketed last night. lighting one with a quick stroke, the room lit up in a warm orange glow and you scrutinized the place.

in one main room, preserves of fruits and veggies, miscellaneous barrels, and leather working stations littered with various tools and supplies crowded the room. you could only assume the doors branching from the main room were one-four-one’s bedrooms, and you confirmed as much when you tried turning the knob of each one, finding them all firmly locked.

cursing, you wished you could remember that lock picking trick Tommy used at the schoolhouse to prank teachers in your childhood. you clambered through the space, squeezing between a nook of filled shelves, pausing when an old bookcase caught your eye. by it was a small circlet of space, several chairs, and a desk sprawling with papers. you walked to it, hand smoothing over the map littered with marks, lines, needles shoved into the wood at certain locations.

the writings made no sense, all in their own code. a large portion was circled in red with a big T scribbled in the middle. you squinted. Turner, most likely.

it was north of the town you were currently in, or so you assumed by the small star bead shaped from an ivory bone pinned down on the map. like Ghost said, you were on the border of southern california, your mama and daddy most likely twenty miles to the east in Arizona. below southern california lay another red circled portion, dipping into mexico and southern texas. LV, it read, in a smaller, less menacing font. los vaqueros.

blue circles stretched from the west to the east, centered around towns and cities, big and small. one location in particular was familiar—jackson county, missouri. all that blue, stretching from california to louisiana, was one-four-one territory. you balked at the physical size of it.

the more passing seconds you took to study the map, the more you worried Kate may emerge from the restroom and find you snooping in their basement. if she did, you dreaded the thought of being locked up in your room for the remainder of your possibly indefinite stay.

a piece of paper caught your eye. it was a letter addressed to Turner from your… your daddy. you poured over the note, running over the quill grooves in your hands.

Mr. T,

my darling belle has been stolen by the devil. you promised me that working with you meant no harm to my family. i want her back. i don’t want no man getting the idea that they can steal my things from me.

you shuddered. his things, he had called you.

i want your men on every one of one-four-one’s outposts. none of their towns will be safe. i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

your eyes ran over the line again. social?

if Ghost won’t give me my daughter, i’ll make him.

your daddy didn’t sign off the letter. carefully, you put it back down in its place. how did the letter even get there in the first place? had Ghost intercepted its messenger during a shootout in a northern town?

you swallowed. did Ghost find it in your own daddy’s house? your house?

the thought of your daddy, keeled over his desk with a bullet wound in his temple, blood oozing out in a puddle as Ghost loomed overhead, pocketing Daddy’s letter in his trench coat, made you sick to your stomach. 

you thought of what Ghost said the night prior. i searched half the plains for your horse.

did that include your daddy and mama’s house? your breath hitched. was your mama alright?

you steadied yourself against the nearby bookshelf, distracting yourself with its contents instead. fictional literature stared back at you, and you brushed your fingers down their spines in a slow descent until you met the very bottom row. a line of small journals, so small you could squeeze them into the extra space in your pocket, stared back at you. picking one on the very edge, your eyes widened at the title scrawled over it. 

GHOST.

you opened it to its latest entry, dating back to the day you were taken by Ghost. in all capital letters it read:

PICKED UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

beneath it was a sketch of your profile and… numbers. there wasn’t an exact order or sense of them but they littered the page.

despite the numerical mystery, you found your eyes lingering on the catch of light conveyed through Ghost’s drawing, the twinkle in your eyes and the barest smile on your lips. you admired the attention to detail before flipping through to earlier pages.

a familiar, blaring title stuck out to you that dated back several weeks ago.

PICK UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

there was more writing below it.

RANSOM: $25,000 REFUSAL → PHASE TWO

you flipped to the page after it to find another entry on a typical grocery list. you thumbed through more pages with a frustrated huff, finding nothing more on phase two or a ransom. just more sketches of wildlife, horses, and scribbled dull paragraphs on irrelevant business investments.

you mulled over the strange entry and its date from weeks prior. the night Ghost had taken you had been an arranged dinner out of the blue with only a few days of notice. but the date of this entry suggested that Ghost had been arranging the dinner for much longer. 

more than that, Ghost had forced your daddy to make a decision at the dinner table—pay up or let Ghost steal his daughter as collateral.

Ghost didn’t necessarily know that your daddy would go with the latter. but the entry already had a resolute ransom for your safe return, and a phase two plan for when your daddy refused the ransom. which, to your knowledge, has not happened yet.

in spite of your confusion, there was a relief knowing that your suspicions from the conversation with Kate earlier had been confirmed. they wouldn’t be giving you back to your daddy.

right?

quickly, you pocketed it, hoping no one noticed its absence as you weaved out the basement and up the stairs. the door was still shut as you left it, and you blew out the match, slowly opening the door, your heart hammering. there was a silence on the upper floor, a warm draft passing through the narrow hallway, blinding light streaming in through the windows.

you noticed movement beneath the bathroom door, and let out a shaky breath. what felt like hours in the basement was only minutes.

but you knew you didn’t have much time left.

you made your way down the hallway and into the main store room. hooking Sugar’s saddle over your forearm, you made a quick haste to your horse who lazily drank at the water basin by the fence. patting her shoulder, you saddled her up in record time, hitching the cinch tightly with the grind of your teeth. untying the reins, you grabbed the horn, hoisting yourself up by the stirrup.

as you backed Sugar away from the leather crafts store, you heard Kate shout, your head whipping to see her already moving with a terrifying speed to her own horse, a burly and strong looking thoroughbred that snorted heavily.

with a slap of your reigns against Sugar’s shoulder, and your heel digging into her flank, she took off with a pitched whiny. you always thought she was a crazy wild thing, but you were more glad for it now than ever.

the rush of the wind at your face didn’t help the scramble through your mind for the mental image of the town. the bell tower pointed to the north—head on a swivel, you pressed a hand on your stetson to keep it from flying away. conveniently, the thing chimed, making it known it was two hours past noon to the town

you pulled sharp on Sugar’s reigns, spurring her on through the sparse crowd that scurried out of your way as you headed straight for the tower, and out the town. the cobblestone path underfoot quickly fell into a dusty dirt and you headed dead on into the forest.

weaving between the sparse trees, ducking beneath them, and wincing when some prickly pines brushed at the exposed skin on your cheeks, you steadied on for a gallop for as long as you could muster before you were sure Sugar needed a break.

when you slowed to a standstill, listening for the breaking of a horse through bushes and leaves, met only with chirping and the rush of the forest, you nudged Sugar to walk on.

she hung her head low, winded, and you rubbed at her neck in comfort. 

Soap had said the town was five miles north. your eyes sweeping across the barren terrain, you hoped that you wouldn’t come across a different town five miles north of one-four-one’s hidden base.

after another thirty minutes of short gallops, followed by slower canters and trots, you eventually wandered far enough to spot a town on the distance of the horizon.

you startled when a big boom resounded across the land, shaking the earth beneath you. something—a building maybe—that spearheaded the sky fell with a crash. Sugar whinied wildly, stuttering backwards with jerky movements, but you urged her on ahead with clucks and a heeled boot at her flank.

you rode fast to the town, swerving around the masses of people running around it. a woman, tugging on her floral, broad brimmed hat, carried two children under her arms and ran into the woods with next to nothing. some men rode out on horses, charging ahead without a glance back. 

as you neared the outer wall of the town, you could hear the ricocheting gunshots, loud shouting, screaming, crying, the beating of horse hooves.

you cursed yourself for not thinking to grab a firearm. trotting along the wall, between a stretch of two buildings a man rode past in a flying gallop, twisted back to shoot at something—someone riding after him. you recognized his raucous, wild laughter.

Soap.

you spurred Sugar forward, creeping through a break in the walls where more townspeople leaked out in a panic. on the main dirt pathway, a horse tied to its fencepost tossed its head wildly. a revolver flashed in its saddlebag.

riding around the building, narrowly avoiding running people underfoot, you flanked the horse and pulled the revolver from the horse, then leaned down to untie the poor, squirming thing so it wasn’t in the line of fire. you grit your teeth, trying to mentally will your own horse from wriggling so much. once its reins were pulled loose, the horse bucked and made a beeline for the woods.

“hey!” an older man, beard flecked with gray, ran at your horse with a wobbling, drunk ire. the owner, you presumed, by the gun he was loading in his hand.

pressing hard into Sugar’s flank, she sidestepped him and you took the butt of your newfound revolver, jamming it into his jaw hard. he slumped to the ground ungraciously.

turning your horse in a fast pan, you rode from street to street, revolver swinging as you searched for familiar faces. it was a dizzying panic. you didn’t know who was who, or what was what, in the mass alarm. 

“that’s her!” whipping your head over your shoulder, a group of men sharply turned their horses in your direction. Turner’s men.

cursing, you spurred Sugar on in a wild gallop as they pursued you.

you checked the cylinder of it—it was only half full. three bullets. cursing yourself over and over again, you gave them a wild chase, weaving between buildings and people into a marketplace. a cart of vegetables went flying as Sugar lurched, last second, to leap over it.

the movement jerked you, and you slipped to the side, world turning over as you fell to the dirt and skidded a good ten feet, knocking back into another cart. your revolver lay discarded a short length away, stetson thrown somewhere else.

Sugar galloped off without a second to look back.

scrambling to pick up the revolver as the group of Turner’s men approached fast on horseback, you gasped when your ankle completely gave out on you, falling once more to the ground. the adrenaline pumping through your veins didn’t give you a second to hesitate, crawling forward to grab the gun.

you shot into the group blindly, satisfied when one man shrieked, holding his arm where crimson poured, and slipped off the side of his horse. picking yourself up, you limp as fast your could leg could let you move down a branching dirt path, thunderous hooves coming from behind you. 

you checked over your shoulder. they were dangerously close now.

the closest man’s hand—a turquoise bracelet glinting on his wrist—came down and swooped for your hair, missing when you ducked. but he groped for a hold on your clothes, when suddenly, he crumpled into the dirt behind you. blood splattered across your back, and you bit back a scream when a strong arm hefted you up onto their moving horse.

“i got you, darlin’,” John gritted out, and you clambered into the front of his saddle, clutching desperately at the mane of his chestnut mare as he spurred his horse on faster through the streets with one arm around your waist.

a rider approached your right flank, trying to maneuver close enough to shoot John and not you, but John was too fast and blew his head clean off. you couldn’t suppress the scream that tore from your throat. 

John barked over the roar of the wind. “i’m gonna need you to cover my blindspots, eh?” 

you nodded rapidly, panning your revolver over your shoulder as another rider neared.

“deep breath,” he commanded, swerving his mare to get out of range, bullets whizzing past your head.

you took a deep breath, watching the rider edge closer to your left as he slapped the reins against his horse’s shoulder, willing it to go faster. his eyes blew wide when you caught a glimpse of his gaze under the brim of his stetson, mouth parting in shock when you fired.

the bullet hit his chest dead on, and you watched in horror as his eyes went cold and empty, whole body slack as his shoulder crumbled forward in the saddle of his horse, before slowly slipping off the side and falling to the ground with a crash. his horse thundered on without him, blood soaking the dirt in a crimson halo around the corpse.

“good bloody shot!” John roared in your ear, and you turned your attention front again. the roads were emptier now with the stragglers having evacuated the town.

John slowed as he neared the town’s center square, and one man on a grulla and the other on a bay circled the fountain square in a pan, shooting at the men who came barreling down each pathway. each one dropped like a fly.

you counted about a dozen bodies on the floor of the square.

the man on the grulla laughed maniacally, who you instantly recognized as Soap. the other rode with a tight rein with a mechanic movement.

John pulled his horse to a sliding halt, almost making you fly over the shoulder of his chestnut if it weren’t for the arm around your waist.

“picked up a straggler!” he shouted, turning into the fray as another trio of Turner’s men came down an alleyway on horseback.

Soap flanked your horse, shooting two of Turner’s men down as John finished off the other. flies were whirling around the dead bodies on the ground. you wanted to puke.

“first time gunslingin’?” Soap asked, a poisonous glint in his steel eyes.

you didn’t have time to respond because Gaz was shouting— “your left!”

John was whirled, but not in enough time before two bullets hit his chestnut with sickening thuds. she whinied, rearing, and for a second time, you were sliding to the dirt, ungracefully landing on top of John in a winded pile.

you scrambled off him and he crawled to his knees as he reloaded his revolver. your own was thrown somewhere away—obscured from view as a couple of Turner’s men slid off their horses, striding towards you at a dangerous pace.

head on a swivel, you scurried backwards, a low throb in your ankle blooming. the adrenaline was wearing off as a thickening dread seized you. Gaz and Soap were occupied, grappling a thickening trickle of Turner’s men into the town square.

a man with a gold tooth, you recognized as an affiliate of the man with the turquoise bracelet from a few minutes prior, swung his leg back and kicked John straight across his cheek.

two other men seized you by the front of your blouse to hoist you up, but you kicked and screamed, biting down hard on a hand that came to pull on your hair. he cursed, throwing you back down into the dirt, and you skidded till your back struck something hard. 

eyes widening, you twised your arm behind you to feel a familiar, cool handle. this time, you let them yank you up, letting the revolver fall into the loose cuff of your loose sleeve and holding it there.

the man with the gold tooth gripped your cheeks tightly and spat at your feet. his breath was grimy, alcoholic, and made your skin crawl.

“you’ve been giving us a hell of a time, angel.” his other hand stroked down your chest.

you twisted to bite his fingers and he slapped you, the strong sting bringing tears to your eyes. the two men were holding your arms back in a bind, one pressing his front into your shoulder, mouth almost to your ear.

“he’ll kill you,” you seethed, dead serious. the man with the gold tooth laughed.

“so you really are the devil’s angel?” he leaned back, hands on his holster, a menacing look twisting his lips. “thought Mr. Tuner was bein’ dramatic. looks like Ghost’s got a pretty missy now.”

the man by your ear chuckled, hot breath down your neck and you reeled, fighting against him.

“i’ll kill you myself if i have to,” you hissed, both to the man in front of you and to the one digging his hand into your backside, squeezing.

the third man sounded considerably younger, more nervous. “whadda’ we do with her, Charles?”

your eyes went wide. you remembered the man at the cabin, the one who said—

let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that’s what he had said.

a coiling fear seized your chest, your breath trapped and lungs stuttering. you looked to John, flattened and forgotten by Charles’s feet. you internally begged him to get up. when he didn’t move, you looked up behind Charles to Gaz and Soap, bloodied and firing round after round. 

when the men hefted you to your feet, half-dragging you down the dirt road, you struggled, tears welling in your eyes. “no—” Charles tried to cover your mouth but you bit his hand hard and he snarled.

“no!” you screamed, fighting even when they yanked you into an empty saloon and threw you against the bar top.

Charles held you down with an iron grip, and other man unbuckled himself with a malicious grin. you felt overcome with an intense fear, trying to squirm up the side of the bar counter, but Charles held you steady. 

you should’ve never come here. this was your fault. this was your fault.

the third man was just a boy, shaking as he stared at you splayed across the counter. 

help me, you mouthed, but he just turned away so his back was to you.

this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault.

soon, your struggling subsided, and your mind drifted to a far, far, far off place.

the cool gun tight in your grip kept you tethered to your sanity when Charles kissed your now exposed calf. you tightened around the handle, feeling its silver embroidery, the men too distracted to notice the click of the safety.

an eerie calm drifted up in you as they continued their movements, Charles’s hand slipping underneath your skirt and drawers. you noted the glass bottle half full of beer abandoned right above your head.

you waited for the second man to float upwards, till his mouth was on your neck, and you shoved your sleeve right under his chin.

his eyes widened in surprise at your compliant behavior, humming something like approval before you pulled the trigger and blew clean through his face. he fell to the floor with a thud, half of his face gone, and Charles shrieked, looking down at his body in horror. that’s when you snatched the glass bottle of beer over your head and lurched off the counter to strike him in the head—over and over and over again.

your body was a machine, moving mechanically. the bottle shattered and alcohol pooled into blood. you didn’t stop until you couldn’t see the gold shine in his gaping mouth, until two arms gripped at your wrists, pulling your back into a broad, strong chest.

the musk of bourbon, smoke, and earth cleared your mind.

“Simon?” you squeaked, returning to yourself. 

the familiar cold of his mask against your neck brought you back down to the ground. 

he slowly pried the shattered bottle from your hand, only the neck and jagged shoulder left behind. he folded your hands into his gloved ones, crossing over your chest in a tight bind, crushing you to him.

you should’ve felt like you were debilitated, or trapped even, but you never felt more safe in his arms as you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. he was the only thing holding together the pieces of you right now.

he shushed you, smoothing a big hand over your chest as he rocked your entwined bodies.

“it’s alright, lovely.”

“it’s my fault,” you chanted, voice raw with effort. “it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

Ghost didn’t respond to that, and instead began explaining with a calculated, low murmur into your ear. “i told the boys that there would be some Turner boys in this town. nothing they couldn’t handle. but there was an ambush.”

your breath hitched at that, cries dying in your throat.

“i was stationed with Alejandro and a lot of his boys in a town two miles west of this. we thought Turner would tear through there.” his thumb smoothed over your exposed neck. “he didn’t.”

it fell into pieces now. one-four-one stationed here, expecting less than a dozen of Turner’s men, when instead, they crawled through this town like ants. an ambush.

“Kate rode into town like a wild animal. i thought someone died.” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “i thought you died.”

you remembered the lashing tendrils of panic you felt in pressed against the wall in the back room, Ghost bleeding out a couple feet in front of you, the billiard parlor up in flames across the street.

had he felt the same?

“the boys,” you began instead, pushing the memory away, “how are they?”

he gripped your chin, turning your face to his and pressing his forehead to yours. the swirling darkness of his eyes was more comforting than anything you had ever known.

“they’ll live.”

you shivered at that and he soothed you with a shush, gently pulling you to your feet. wincing, he caught your wobbling body immediately.

“hurt?” he asked cooly, but you could hear a sharp edge in it.

you gave him a sheepish look. “my ankle.”

he just nodded, sweeping you into his arms like you were his bride. even if it was so improper, the exhaustion that furled around you like a fog had you curled into his chest as he stepped over pools of blood.

over his shoulder, your stomach curdled at the sight of Charles, his face a gaping wound of pink, mangled flesh. he was half-beaten into the ground, and his associate was sprawled near his shoulder. the boy was nowhere to be seen.

you closed your eyes against Ghost’s neck, pressing your nose to its steady pulse. you barely registered the light that enveloped you when he stepped outside, the light crunching of dusty dirt under his boots a mile away. there was murmuring, new and foreign voices coupled with old ones. no more gunshots. no more shouting.

you let the foggy undertow pull you somewhere softer and sweeter—right into the roughness of your mama’s hands brushing your hair by the fireplace, Daddy reading an old book aloud behind your shoulder.

it was the rhythmic clatter of steel tracks against steel rail that stirred you from a light slumber. your sweet dreams had stretched into grotesque, bloody depictions the further they ran on, replaying scenes over and over in your head.

Charles’s face split open on the floor. red running from Daddy’s temple. a knife through your mama’s heart. Turner’s wrinkly hand on your thigh as he shoots three bullets through Ghost’s heart—his eyes wide as blood poured down his maskless face. but beneath the blood, he was faceless, skin smoothed over and pale, till his face morphed into Charles's deformed flesh and it replayed again.

a soft stroking along your thigh brought you further from the murky haze, and you pushed up against a solid form. you opened your eyes to find Ghost’s, blinking down at you.

there was an endless, crushing relief to see his mask still firmly clasped to his face. 

you tried to push away any lingering curious voices in your head, but they pushed through the weak pockets of your mental blockade, whispering out, what’s under it? 

you prayed that you wouldn’t find a faceless form beneath the red gleam of it.

his arm was wrapped around your shoulders and back, fingers digging into your waist and thigh. you were practically half in his lap, cheek pressed to his chest, his big trench coat slung over your curled up body.

for the first time, you realized, you awoke to Ghost’s presence by your side. you would’ve happily nuzzled back into his warmth and fallen back into the nightmares that clutched at you, if you didn’t realize that you had an audience.

eyes snapping open, and sitting up straighter, you blearily tried to shake the sleep away as you met the stares of several foreign faces sitting in chairs opposing you. save for the weary one-four-one—John dozing lightly, a new splint in bandage over his nose, Soap’s face a remote grim shade, Gaz’s and Kate’s attention trained on you.

you noticed Soap’s arm in a sling with a bitterness.

shifting, you looked out the train compartment window moving through the arid, weedy forest, sun dipping far into the horizon in a crimson-purple hue. 

“good morning,” Ghost greeted, pressing the nose of his mask to your hair. muffling a squeak, you tried to shift away because it was improper, but his strength held you close, hot gaze burning into your cheek.

you cleared your throat, looking to the man nearest to you. his hair was slicked back in dark curls, a toothpick between his teeth. he gave you a wild grin.

“we finally meet, chica,” he said in a beautifully lilted accent. he stood to offer his hand politely, and you would’ve stood to curtsy if Ghost’s hold on you wasn't so… possessive.

instead you put your hand in his and he kissed the back of it with a sly look.

Ghost tutted, muttering an impatient, “Alejandro.”

your brows rose when Alejandro released your hand with a laugh. he gestured to a clean-shaven, handsome man beside him.

“this is my most trusted right hand—Rodolfo.”

he smiled at you politely with a slight nod but made no move to shake your hand.

you nodded back. “pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Alejandro gestured to the other men littered around the room, leaning back in their plush seats. “and these are my men. los vaqueros.”

your breath hitched, looking around the room in a slight awe. these men were legends you heard of in childhood—iron fists of justice in the south that grappled with corrupt conglomerates and drug-dealing cartels. they also dabbled in their own bouts of illegal trouble. their hard-lined faces stared back at you.

instead you croaked, “where are we? and where are we going?”

you jumped a little when Ghost thumbed at your cheek, almost forgetting he was there. “we’re mid-way through southern california, bound for san francisco.”

your eyes ran over the los vaqueros, donned with bandoliers and sombreros, then one-four-one, looking much smaller and more meager. you couldn’t help but give them a weary smile, a warmth spreading in you when Soap perked up a smile of his own.

“why?”

Kate leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. you were eternally grateful for the comfort in at least one other female presence.

“we’re going to war.”

you stiffened. “what?”

Soap quickly followed. “against the Turner boys.” his eyes darkened. “they’re wreckin’ all our towns. they won’t stop and we don’t have enough boys to get ‘em.”

Ghost’s grip on your hip tightened. Gaz pushed on. “we’re going straight to the source.”

in san francisco?

you remembered the map in the basement, the large red circle over midwest california that included the bustling hub that was san francisco, with a scribbled T in the middle. a feeling of dread gripped your stomach. this was going to develop into a gang war—or something like it at least.

“does it really have to come to that?”

you grimaced when a terse silence followed.

“this is more than about money, lovely,” Ghost said with a thickness to his accent. “this is about revenge.”

you summed that much up from the dangerous flicker in Soap’s eyes, but you worried more about where you fit into the equation. you thought back to Ghost’s journal, a sudden apprehension for the arm coiled around you tightly. 

did phase two include you? were you of use once your daddy refused Ghost’s proposed ransom? and if you weren’t?

Ghost’s journal burned a hole through the pocket of your split skirt—maybe it was selfish, maybe it was childish, but a flurrying panic rose in you at the thought of going back home. you just couldn’t.

you bit back your tongue as Kate and a half-awake John moved to discuss with Alejandro in quiet murmurs that you couldn’t hear. they circled around a table, Soap and Gaz leaning into the conversation behind them.

you felt Ghost’s hand twitch on your hip as he shifted, gaze still trained on you.

sighing, you inclined your head in their direction. “go.”

he pressed his masked lips to your cheek in, what you deciphered as, a silent thank you. 

you just swatted at him with a blush as he helped you to your feet, drawing his trench coat tighter around your shoulders. Rodolfo lended you a gracious arm to lean on as Ghost neared the table, your ankle an irritable throb in the back of your mind. the crowd split, his broad form pushing through, and merged again, Ghost’s stetson half-obscured from view.

you wanted to join their circle, or lean in at least, and absorb their low murmurs, but instead Rodolfo helped you limp out of the train compartment into a plush hall.

you must’ve been in a first class sleeping car because you had not seen something so lush—springy green carpet beneath your boots and a ruby red wallpaper that crawled with patterns of roses and prickly vines. the lights overhead were gilded in gold.

Rodolfo must’ve caught your gaze because he gave you a half-smile, clarifying, “Kate pulled some strings.”

you just nodded weakly. the thought of one-four-one’s influence spreading to big railway conglomerates was staggering, but at this point, didn’t sweep you into shock.

he led you to a door with a carved brass knob and chiseled key hole, fumbling with a circlet of keys in his hand. you looked down the hall and startled when, at the end of the hallway compartment, you spotted a man staring straight back at you. he wore a fashionable black jacket with silver buttons and embellishments, a cap on his head that read pullman porter on a brass plating.

his eyes flickered from you to the door Rodolfo opened with a soft click, before he drew the hallway compartment door shut with a slam. you watched him stride away fast through the window, other first class passengers lounging lazily in the opposite compartment. 

“senorita?”

Rodolfo held the door open for you and you thanked him quickly, pulling yourself together and stepping into the luscious, but cramped, bedroom. politely, he closed the door, and you were left in a relief crushing silence.

the bed bowed beneath your weight as you sunk into it, kicking off your boots and laying out Ghost’s trench coat, falling back on it. you itched to loosen the strings of your corset but it was buried beneath too many layers of clothes for you to care about that now.

instead, you emptied the pockets of your fraying split skirt. you lined up Ghost’s journal, the matches, bunch of rope, and extra ammo on the bed. at the sight of it, you couldn’t help but lament the continuous absence of a revolver in your inventory.

you wondered if it was one-four-one’s intention to keep it that way as you picked through the room. there was an oil lamp on the nightstand—a carved cherry wood piece you took a moment to admire before moving to the equally exquisite armoire. opening it with a gasp, a bright bunch of fabric spilling into your face and almost knocking you back.

the thing was stuffed full of dresses and fancy garments—dresses, skirts, blouses in silk and chiffon with lacey embellishments. for a moment, you panicked. was this your designated room?

from outside the door, you heard someone taking slow steps down the hall. the knob was hallway turned when you swept up the stolen items you had laid out on the bed and shoved them back into your pockets. 

Ghost slinked into the room without so much as a word and a tired look. your heart was still beating out of your chest.

“ever heard of knocking?” you frowned deeply. “what if i was indecent?”

he huffed an amused sound at that, eyes twinkling as he sat on the bed. “i’ve seen you indecent before.”

your stomach curled at the memory. suddenly, being in such close proximity alone with Ghost felt like a sinful thing, and a heat snaked under your skin, traveling up to your cheeks till it burned in your ears.

he cocked his head at you but not unkindly. “we need to talk, lovely.”

you nodded. “yes.” then, curiosity overtook you. “but what’s this?” you gestured to the open doors of the armoire behind you. 

he cleared his throat and avoided your eyes, shifting on the bed. “they’re for you.”

your brows shot up. that’s what this was?

you looked from Ghost twitching on the bed to the stuffed armoire. you could imagine him picking out dresses and blouses and skirts at a tailor shop with Kate by his shoulder as you slept away the afternoon’s traumatizing events, then boarding the luxurious train with you curled into his arms.

a romantic gesture?

before you let your thoughts run away from you, sitting beside him on the bed, you had wanted to thank him in that polite manner your mama has always taught you, but you find yourself wanting to tease the apprehensive tenseness in his shoulders instead.

“it’s going to take a lot more than money to charm me, Simon,” you called softly, leaning into his side.

even if he had plenty of it, you thought dreamily, eyes running over the expensive fabric of his black suit.

he just scoffed, turning his head completely from you, but didn’t lean away. you inched behind him to smooth your hands over his shoulders which seemed to impossibly tighten even more.

“so tense,” you said in his ear, massaging your thumbs into the fleshy parts of his back. head tipping back slightly, his slow, deflating exhale didn’t go unnoticed. 

“we need to talk,” he repeated, voice gruff. you leaned over his shoulder to peer at his face, but his eyes had already slid shut beneath his mask.

humming, you rubbed circles into the back of his neck, then inching back down between his shoulder blades and along his spine. one hand on his back, you slid the other to the front, watching the way his shoulders laxed with wonder.

when your fingers fiddled with the button of his vest, his gloved hand caught your wrist, heavy eyes looking over his shoulder at you with a warning that dripped with something darker. you squirmed under his gaze, skin feeling impossibly hot, a familiar clench in your stomach.

“you minx,” he said, voice a low rumble that coaxed a whine from your throat and only darkened the look in Ghost’s eyes.

he began to push you over to the bed with a hand on your chest, towering over you with a glint in his eye, but you yelped, squirming away from his hold. the movement tipped you over the edge of the bed and you crashed into the nightstand, almost knocking over the oil lamp. your ankle screamed in protest, but the images flashing through your head cut right through the pain.

the man unbuckling his belt. Charles’s hand holding you down in an iron vice, rough lips against your skin. his hand digging into your naked flesh beneath your undergarments. both of them looming over you with black eyes, and the glint of gold—

“lovely?” Ghost steadied you with an arm around your waist—but not in a way that constricted you. his eyes searched your own.

“what is it?” he demanded, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

“nothing.” you laxed, curling over him and instead pressed him down so his back hit the bed with a thud. “it’s nothing.”

you clambered over him clumsily, allowing his hands to guide you to a comfortable position, legs hooked around his waist and hands braced against his chest. it was solid and warm beneath you, like a rock that swelled slowly. you bit down on your lower lip, trying to the best of your ability to ignore the sharp stabbing of your ankle.

“you sure?” from his warm grip on your hips, and the narrow of his eyes, you knew he didn’t believe you for a second. you didn’t think he was stupid enough to not know why.

but you nodded with a stuttering breath anyway. “just let me…” you searched for the words, finding your head back in the place where you laid with him only a night ago. “take care of you.”

you unbuttoned his vest as he worked on your blouse, pulling it off with an ease that sent chills down your spine. you squeaked with surprise when he pulled you flush to his chest, sitting up to throw his vest to the floor and strip off his dress shirt. untangling yourself from him, you stood to undo your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles.

you looked up to Ghost who watched you from the bed, eyes a hungry, smoky glare. you studied the muscled gleam of his torso, breath hitching at the sight of his stitches. the wound was a raw pink and dangerously loose.

huffing an impatient noise, you yelped when he pulled you back onto his lap, pressing his mask into your neck and hair. it screamed such a Simon gesture that it had you melting into him, clutching at the fabric on the back of his head. 

this was Simon. any dread furling at the edges of your mind dissipated. but still, you couldn’t hold yourself back from worrying— 

“your stitches?” you gasped, feeling him pull up the fabric of his mask and press his hot lips to your neck, tongue sliding out.

a breathy noise left your lips and you squirmed, bracing your hands against the brawn of his shoulders to push him back down to the bed again. he gave way easily, to your surprise.

in the low light of the day, his lips looked pretty and full as he licked them. “they’re fine.”

you ran your hands over his chest, gasping when he pressed his hips up gently into you. there was a hardness in his pants that felt delicious against that painful ache of your core.

you muffled a sigh, allowing his hands to drag you over that hardness once more, then you gasped again. your eyes snapped up to his and he smirked, teeth glinting in the light.

“feel good?”

your head tipped back, hands scrambling for purchase. you gripped tightly at his forearms.

“i’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you whined out as he rocked you back and forth.

“you are,” he grunted through gritted teeth, head lolling back against the pillows, his muscled neck bobbing with a heavy swallow. your eyes followed the movement with a hunger, feeling a strange desire to lick over it.

even through your drawers, the friction felt like heaven, and as his movements grew faster, the tightness of your corset felt constricting around the heavy pants of your breast.

noticing this, Ghost moved to quickly unstring it, your hips endlessly canting against him. you felt a wonderful burn in your core, traveling up to your chest, throat, and tingling behind your eyes that were screwed shut.

you gasped when the corset fell away, a coolness enveloping your bare skin, jolting when you felt something hot and wet at your nipples. looking down, you moaned at the sight of his tongue swirling around the hardened buds of your breast, suckling one into his mouth. it left your chest tingling, the feeling raw and sensitive and foreign, but you only wanted more.

“that’s it. moan for me, princess,” he purred, one hand trailing down your bare spine and stopping at your backside, massaging it down into his hardness, spurring your hips forward.

you barely registered his words, biting down hard on your lip to keep the growing noises at bay as Ghost led you closer and closer to an inevitable precipice. he drew away his tongue from your chest, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. you whimpered in its absence.

“louder, pretty thing.” he tugged back a bit on your hair, so your head tilted back and your lax jaw fell open, releasing a slew of pretty sighs that had him humming approvingly.

“good girl.”

his husky words sent you hurtling over the edge, and your body shook with pleasured delight, vibrating across your skin in seizing spams. you would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for the strong arms that circled your middle.

“Simon…” you whined, clutching weakly at his arms as he scattered kisses all across your jaw, neck, chest, breasts till the murky colors exploding in your vision faded.

he lowered you back down to the bed, and you collapsed beside him, panting. he stroked at your hair, turning onto his side with a warm fullness in his gaze. your lips stretched into a weak smile and you craned up to kiss his neck softly, licking over that swollen appendage in its center like you had wanted to earlier.

you relished in the way his breath hitched. eyeing over his body, there was still a bulge in his dress pants that stirred your curiosity.

sending him a silent question with your gaze, his knuckles dragged over your exposed arm. he cocked his head. “i’m alright, lovely.”

“but…” your face heated up. “i want to see.”

he shifted on the bed, black eyes darting over your face. for the first time since you’d known him, Ghost looked… nervous.

“why do you want to see?”

“because…” the words died in your throat. his lips stretched into a wry grin.

“you don’t need to. i like you like this,” he sighed, twirling your loose hair between his fingers.

your brow furrowed. “like what?”

his grin grew fuller. “innocent.”

you mustered your most bitter look and threw it at him, mood plummeting when he let out a throaty laugh.

“you really want to see that bad?” his eyes went dark again, and you nodded eagerly.

with a long look, a hand twitching at his side, he just sighed and willed you closer with a beckoning hand. you sat up with a sharp clarity to your mind, inching forward towards his pants. he remained leaned back against the pillows, one arm stretched over his body and cradling the back of his head as he unbuckled his pants with one hand.

he pulled himself out of his undergarments, the flesh heavy, swollen, firm, and drooling a thick fluid at the flushed tip. your whole body heated up with something—shame, embarrassment, longing, or something even deeper.

“oh,” you squeaked, avoiding his gaze entirely, though you knew it was burning into your cheek. he grabbed your chin, turning your head to meet it.

“we can stop here, but i don’t know if i can hold back if you just—” he swallowed hard, “watch me like that.”

“like what?” you asked, lips parting and eyes growing doe-like.

he cursed, and you watched in amazement when his hand flexed around his length, abdominal muscles flexing in time with it, tip oozing out more fluid. weirdly, saliva pooled in your mouth, and you resisted the urge to swallow it back.

you wanted to put your tongue on it.

“like that,” he rasped, throat strained with effort. 

you gazed at him wordlessly, hands feeling restless. you wanted to touch him.

he cocked his head. “what’s wrong?” 

when you said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line, starting to tuck himself back into his pants, and you felt a growing panic in you. “i told you i’m alright pretty girl—”

“no!” you lurched forward to snatch his wrist away, his length straining against his stomach. his eyes snapped up in surprise and you felt your entire face go red with embarrassment. “i mean,” you inhaled deep, “no. i… i want to…”

you swallowed hard. Ghost lips twitched, a very amused expression stretching his face.

“can i…?”

his hand rubbed over your thigh, squeezing. “can you what, pretty thing?”

you whimpered, clutching at his hand. “want to put my mouth on it.”

the growl from the back of his throat should’ve scared you but it only spurred you forward, settling closer to the side of him, your thigh firmly pressed against his as you sat your backside over your ankles. one experienced a stabbing pain, but the sight in front of you cut right through the nagging sensation.

Ghost’s gaze was intense, heavier than you ever felt before, even with his body laxed back into the pillows, one arm hooked behind his head.

“go ahead, lovely.”

tentatively, you reached out, brushing your fingertips over the very tip of it where all the fluids were spilling out in rolls down his length. the hiss he let out made your core shiver, vibrating back to life in slow, hot pulses.

“what does it feel like?” you whispered, and his eyes closed.

“good.”

“how good?” you pressed, dragging your fingertips down the underside and back up again. his breath hitched when you brushed over a sensitive spot nestled beneath the tip. massaging at it with your thumb experimentally, his eyes snapped open again, snatching up your wrist.

your heart skipped a beat, a new worry clouding your mind. had you done something wrong?

on the verge of apology, you stopped short when he pressed a kiss to your inner wrist.

“you have to tell me if you want to keep going or not.” his eyes flashed. “if we do, i won’t want to stop, and i don’t want to scare you.”

even beneath the layers of his mask, the way his jaw was set in a grim clench, you could see the sincerity in his face.

“i want to make you feel good,” you said with finality, and his lips twitched up.

“i know you do.” he rubbed your cheek with affection. “such a polite girl.”

“tell me what to do,” you almost begged, squirming in his hold, and he guided your hand back down to his swollen length, gasping when he wrapped your entire hand around it.

it was wet, sticky, warm, throbbing.

“feels good when you squeeze tighter,” he said softly, eyes going hazy when you immediately obeyed. slowly, he dragged your hand up and down its length, going completely lax against the bed.

you watched in amazement, clenching your thighs together as your entire hand went up and down it in a rhythmic grind, the swells of his chest rising faster with every ministration. his eyes fluttered close periodically, sometimes tightening his hold on your hand, then going loose, altering speeds between painstaking slowness and a quick jerking movement.

“doin’ good, princess,” he panted, and you flushed at the praise because you really weren’t doing anything.

scanning over his body, you remembered the way his breath stopped short when your tongue was on his skin. 

you wanted to hear those sounds again. 

leaning down, you shyly mouthed over the skin at his neck, sucking there, and you were immediately spurred on with the low groan that left his lips.

your lips traveled down past his collarbones, to the plush muscle of his chest, tongue circling his nipples now, and he jolted in beneath you, hand stuttering almost to a stop.

“christ,” he gritted out as you sucked there, thighs squirming together for an ounce of relief.

you found it when Ghost snaked a hand beneath your drawers, seeking out your puffy clit and eagerly discovering it, rubbing firm circles against you.

your lips fell away from his chest, and you almost crumpled onto him, grinding down into his hand with a greediness that bloomed through your whole body. he hummed approvingly in your ear, kissing the shell of it gently, when you jerked your hand over his length on your own—matching the movements of his fingers on your clit.

“fuck, just like that,” he rasped, sounding a bit desperate now.

his hand fell away from yours around his length, gripping at your hip instead to steady you. when he sped up, so did your hand, sparks flying beneath your eyelids as you keened loud. his lips were on your neck, and your whole body went numb, but your gaze was intent on his own length that throbbed deliciously strong in your hand.

it twitched, then shuddered, and you felt Ghost muffle a groan against your neck as his hips stuttered up, watching in amazement as fluids spurted out from the tip in rhythmic pulses, rolling down over your hand in a milky substance.

you both shuddered through mutual pleasure, and once the last of the wracking waves struck you, you crashed forward into his chest, a sticky and sweaty mess.

you caught his eye, tired and half-lidded, a bead of sweat going down his neck as his chest rose rapidly, and you couldn’t help but laugh—feeling giddy from the open display of his own pleasure that Ghost had just revealed to you.

his lax face shifted into one of amusement, craning down to kiss your nose. that’s when you remembered—

“i didn’t put my mouth on it,” you realized with a cracking disappointment. 

looking down to his length, now softer and still covered in the fluids, you leaned down to press your tongue to it, but were pulled back suddenly by a soft hiss.

“don’t,” Ghost rasped, and you gave him a wide-eyed apologetic look. 

he just shook his head. “it’s different than this—” he smoothed a hand over your clothed cunt, and you gasped with embarrassment at the blunt movement, “—s’more sensitive after i orgasm.”

you tilted your head. “orgasm?”

he brushed the hair from your sweaty forehead. “your climax,” he elaborated in a seductively smooth voice and you blushed, pushing his hand away as he smirked. you knew what he meant.

your gaze traveled back to the pool of fluid on his stomach, a curiosity brewing in you. “is that what this is?”

he followed your gaze. “mhmm. it’s what this is, too.”

he snaked his hand back into your undergarments, and you jolted with a gasp, squirming when he pressed two fingers against your entrance. when he pulled them back to show you, there was a sticky wetness on them—similar to the one on his pelvis.

“oh,” you said, flushed with embarrassment at such blunt displays of education.

you mentally chided your mama for teaching you absolutely nothing about this. though, you assumed she would’ve told you before your marriage about… lovemaking.

before a crashing guilt could consume you, the view of Ghost wrapping his tongue around his fingers that were sticky with your orgasm startled you back to reality.

“Ghost!” you exclaimed, pulling his fingers out of his mouth. 

his brow furrowed as he huffed with frustration. “what?”

“that’s improper!” you slapped at his chest. “very improper! and…” your face screwed up. “unsanitary.”

that face-consuming smirk of his stretched his pretty lips. “don’t forget i was drinking it straight from the source last night.”

with your hand to your mouth, you gasped, pushing yourself completely off the bed as he shook with quiet laughter, delirious with it, even.

“i’m done with you,” you said with a roll of your eyes as he beseeched you to come back, but you refused to comply, clasping your corset back around you.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him mop up the wetness on his body with his balled up dress shirt before he padded over, swiping your hair over your shoulder.

“let me help.”

you felt him lace the thing back up, and tug it close loosely. you sent him a look over your shoulder, instructing him to tighten it more, but he just grumbled, barely tugging it tight and you ended up shooing him away to do it yourself.

he gave you a grumpy, reproachful look and you had to bite back a grin at his behavior—that intimidating stoicism returned as promised as a rising ocean tide.

from the armoire, you picked out a loose nightgown, bodice embroidered with small bows and lace, sleeves pulling into a wide bell shape at your elbow. Ghost was still half-naked, leaning back on your bed with a sleepy gaze. he gave you a highly approving hum when you pulled it on before excusing yourself to wash up in the lavatory.

drawing Ghost’s trench coat back around your shoulders, and stepping into the hall, you muffled a shout when the same pullman porter was stationed at the end of the hallway, eyes boring into you. in the darkness of the night, shadows were cast strangely across his face, and his eyes looked like they were a pure black.

resisting the urge to step back into your room, where a very dangerous and strong outlaw lay, you just gave the porter a polite nod to move to a lavatory in the opposite direction. the porter stood stock still in the dark, not even moving to acknowledge you.

bitten with fear, you sighed in relief when you pushed into the private lavatory, locking the door behind you. inspecting your appearance in the mirror, you cringed at the disheveledness of it. there was a dark, purpling circle of exhaustion under your eyes and a swollen pink hue to your face—not to mention the frizzy circlets of hair defying gravity on your crown.

you took your own washcloth and dipped it in the basin, turning the faucet, praying for hot water. when none came after you stripped yourself of your nightgown, you grimaced as you scrubbed the cold washcloth over yourself. you wet your hair and brushed it back, splashing your face with the icy water, toweling off, then redressing yourself in the nightgown.

a hand on the lavatory knob, you worried about the porter at the end of the hallway. what if he had moved? what if, when you opened the door, you’d open it to his face—the all-encompassing black of his eyes?

suddenly, events just hours prior came crashing down on you. men looming over you. the sickening thud of the bullet hitting that man on his horse, face going black, before falling to the ground with a crunch. the clink of a belt.

gunshots were in your ears, an intense ringing after each click, trigger, pull, boom and smoke.

“no,” your hands shook as you slid down the lavatory wall, covering your ears. 

the banging became louder. with each boom another body dropped dead, blood unfurling around it like a bad omen, its tendrils snaking. snaking towards you. 

“no, no.” you couldn’t stop shaking.

this was your fault.

you had killed three men today. one, on the horse, second, bullet through the face, third, beat him to death in the ground. beat him to death.

this was your fault. this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault—

“HEY!” you jolted back to reality, breath in a dizzying flurry. really dizzying flurry. when you stood, you felt nauseous, almost keeling over and throwing up. you pressed your forehead to the cool of the wall, swallowing back the bile hard.

there was a banging knock on the door.

“how much fockin’ longer are ye going to take’n there?” you tried to work out your voice but all that came out was a scraping rasp.

“sweet mother of mary and jesus, what does a man need to do to piss ‘round here—”

you swung the door open suddenly and Soap jumped back with a yelp, pressed flat against the opposite of the narrow hallway. the soft, yellow lighting poured out into the dark hallway and bruises you didn’t notice before littered Soap’s cheeks, his right eye a pocket of swollen, purple flesh.

his anger dissipated in a second at the sight of you, giving you a nervous, wry smile.

“sorry, lassie, didn’t know it was you—” he paused suddenly, face contorting. “are ye cryin’, lassie?”

you touched your fingers to your numb face, pulling back to find a wetness on your fingertips. you just stared at him as he fumbled awkwardly, mouth opening and closing.

you spoke for him. “i killed three men.”

he didn’t even react, expression deflating as he nodded. “it happens, lass.”

he reached out a hand tentatively, just barely brushing his good hand over your shoulder, the other still hanging limp by his chest in a white sling.

how can murder be normal?

“no, i killed them. on purpose.” something in you broke. “i wanted them to die.”

he just shook his head again, gripping your shoulder tightly now. “they would’ve done worst te you if you didn’t, bonnie.”

you chewed that, finding it indigestible no matter how you looked at it.

Soap continued quickly, “i enlisted when i was sixteen. saw things in a war i shouldn't've. luckily one-four-one and Laswell had my back…”

he smiled fondly before shrugging. “war happens. death happens, lassie, whether you wish it on someone or not. those men had it comin’ for ‘em.”

nodding slowly, you barely mustered a tight-lipped smile when he patted your shoulder brazenly, beaming with a grin. behind him, a grumpy looking blonde materialized in the hallway, her hair tousled and still in full riding attire, grip tight at her holster. Soap’s grip dropped immediately.

“what’s goin’ on here?” Kate demanded, looking from you to Soap.

you jolted, the roughness of her expression pulling you back to reality. a creeping shame rose in you—crying in front of a man you barely knew, confessing your sins to him in your lacey nightgown in the middle of the dark, narrow hallway. Kate’s gaze hardened, and you balked, struggling to find an explanation when Soap interjected.

“i was just waitin’ to use the loo!” he tossed you a smile, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that told you to play along. “funny meetin’ you here in the hallway, princess!”

like ice water dumped over your head, you were strung back into your body. 

you rolled your eyes. “don’t call me that.”

“right,” Soap sang, “only Ghost can say it. apologies, lass.”

you stepped out of the lavatory with Ghost’s coat around you and Soap slid in after you, shutting the door. looking into Kate’s furrowed face, you could see the red-rimmed bloodshot of her eyes and the bags beneath them. she looked exhausted.

beyond her, down the hall in the compartment where you ventured from earlier, John, Alejandro, and Rodolfo were still engrossed in conversation.

Kate followed your gaze with a sigh. “don’t even ask, missy,” she warned with a warm hand at your back and you suppressed a smile.

you were grateful as she led you back down the narrow hallway to your room, the porter still in the same spot from earlier, eyes dead on you. eyes looking dead as well.

you tried your best to ignore him but his head jerked, cracking it, rolling back his shoulders from the stiff position. rushing a bit faster, you could feel Kate’s hand tighten against your spine as you fumbled with the room key.

you jolted when she called down the hall.

“what the hell’re you lookin’ at?” she griped at the porter, who finally turned his head to the window beside him.

her eyes narrowed, and she grumbled low into your ear, “don’t go venturing off in this train alone at night, as much as i know you love to explore.”

there was a dripping sarcasm in her voice that you chose to ignore as you swung the door open, bidding her a soft goodnight as she gave you a tight-lipped smile before it dropped from her face into a scowl. but the full look in her eyes made you feel as though you may have grown closer than you thought over just the past three days.

shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it, sighing out, before turning to find Ghost in a sprawled out position like before. your spent clothes for the day were folded in the corner on a plush chair as well as his own. you couldn’t help but smile at that seemingly persistent habit of neatness he had as you laid down his coat over the back of the chair.

you neared him but he didn’t turn to look at you, just leaned his head against the wall.

you crawled onto the bed and brushed your knuckles over the red mask. you were disappointed to see the black fabric beneath it pulled down over his jaw again.

“have a good wash?”

he blinked owlishly out the window on the opposing wall, desert passing by serenely, washed in a cool blue tone by the sweep of the moonlight. the rattling of the train clinked through the room.

you opened your mouth before swallowing down hard. 

no one has to know about your episode.

Soap had made sure of that in front of Kate, and you felt endlessly indebted to him. how would Ghost react if he knew you were having… mental struggles? you could only pray under your breath that it wouldn’t persist, but you doubted god was listening to your meek voice after the sins you’ve committed today.

shivering, you just nodded with a smile. “refreshing.”

“good.” his face swung to you, a hardness to his eyes. your brow furrowed but you buried it with another smile. “we need to talk.”

blinking, you slinked away from him and sat on the far edge of the bed, which wasn’t very far at all in the cramped room, his outstretched foot resting against your hip. you leaned back against the window, the moonlight casting his mask in a blue gleam.

“we do,” you agreed, though about what—you didn’t know where to begin.

what exactly would happen once you reached san francisco? would you be included in their business, or would they shut you out like before? a stranger and a hostage? 

you one-overed Ghost’s relaxed form, to the muscles of his torso, the veins spidering up his arms, and the distant look in his eyes.

what was going on between you and Ghost?

what exactly was phase two?

you thought back to this afternoon in the basement and what you had found—the intercepted letter from your daddy and Ghost’s journal. your eyes darted to the pile of clothes in the room.

“looking for this?”

you jolted when he tossed something onto the open space of the bed beside you, stomach dropping at the words scrawled over it.

GHOST.

a snaking dread sized you, any lingering warm feelings of your shared night sliding off your body like icy water.

your eyes snapped up to his—cold and dark. 

like the porter’s, a traitorous voice in you called out, but you immediately willed it away, because this was Simon.

“you can’t blame me for snooping.” your jaw clenched when he didn’t respond. “you took me and confined me to the shop. no one told me what would happen to me. i needed to know if…”

you swallowed around your next words. “...if you were going to ransom me back to my daddy.”

Ghost made no move, didn’t even blink, hand twitching on his bare chest.

“you want the truth?” holding your breath, you gave him a curt nod.

“i was going to,” he chewed out, and you blinked. “last night i was still deciding.”

last night. when you were curled up in his arms and he had taken your first bout of innocence from you. a spark of something dark lit within you. as of recent, it seems he’s taken a lot from you in general.

your gun, your innocence, your parents. your home.

“did you go see my daddy that day?”

that day when you said you were searching for Sugar, you wanted to challenge, was it all a lie?

you thought back to the intercepted letter—your daddy’s anger seething through the note, and his promise to wrung one-four-one of everything until he got you back. maybe the proper term was rescue.

Ghost’s jaw clenched. “yes.”

you sucked in a breath, a spiraling panic coming back to you like the one in the lavatory before. you willed it away best you could, pressing cool knuckles to your temple as you closed your eyes. images flashed—your daddy dead, blood everywhere, all over his papers, letters, clothes, a bullet in his temple and Ghost with a revolver to his head. was he dead?

did Ghost kill your daddy?

“is he alive?”

you waited for the answer with bated breath.

“‘course. even if he tried to kill me.”

a whoosh of air left you, and you leaned your head back against the cool window, taking in Ghost. his head was tilted, a curious glint in them that you ignored. 

his voice was cold. “anymore questions?”

you gave him a hard stare. “what changed your mind?”

“about?”

you scoffed. “not selling me away after…” last night. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

his foot pressed into your hip but you ignored it. he sighed out.

“i went to your father to offer a ransom.” your brow raised. “$25,000.”

this sounded familiar. 

“but he refused.”

you flinched at that, somewhere between a crushing weight of disappointment and embarrassment falling on you. you wiped away a brewing wetness in your eyes. Ghost couldn’t return you if your daddy didn’t want you in the first place.

“so?”

his foot dug deeper into your side.

“he told me something else.”

you finally met Ghost’s gaze, his head tipped forward and brows furrowed. you could tell from the way his eyes pinched with a haunted glare.

after a long silence ensued, you poked at his foot. “what was it?”

the void bluntness of his voice told you it wasn’t anything good.

“he refused the ransom because of his pride, but also because he didn’t want to ransom you when…” Ghost sucked in a breath, “when you already belonged to someone else.”

your mind reeled at that.

“what?”

“he thought it wasn’t fair he had to pay. he was already working with a businessman to make you his mistress.”

your stomach curdled, heart beating out your throat. “no, that’s…” you choked down some tears, “that’s not true.”

the end of your words turned up in a weak tremble that you desperately wanted to hide but Ghost pinned you down with his eyes.

“he was going to make you Turner’s mistress. that was part of their deal.”

your blood chilled at that, body going impossibly numb. what did this mean for you now? you scrambled to find purchase in your mind, in anything that would slow the spinning of the room. what did this mean for you now?

were you still of use to one-four-one? would they abandon you in san francisco to fight a war, leaving you to the streets? and if they did, would your daddy accept you back in his home, or turn you right over to Turner as his personal whore?

you shook, vision clouded over.

even if you didn’t choose your daddy, you still wish he chose you over everything.

you were his only daughter after all.

“that doesn’t make sense,” you said thickly, “why would he do that?”

Ghost was as still as a rock, his only sign of life was the hand that came down to play with the hem of your nightgown.

“bigger investment and more money, ” he said, voice eerily empty, and an iciness passed through you.

just another one of Daddy’s business transactions. 

you remember what Ghost called out at the dinner table that night.

you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?

your eyes flickered to Ghost again. had he known all along? or had he just taken a great guess from doing so many years of business with your daddy—who you really didn’t seem to know at all?

a weak, strangled noise came from the back of your throat.

“but in that letter,” you groped, clawing for anything, “he said he would do anything to get me back. he said that.” 

your voice rose and Ghost’s eyes slid away from you to the window behind you.

you felt like a whining, whimpering child. a mile long chasm was being torn straight through the room, and when you looked to the other side, Ghost was the older, war-torn man he always was and you were just… you.

hopeful, naive, innocent.

you.

you balled up into your chest and let the tears stream from your eyes in the most silent sobs you could muster, only the gentle clinking of glass on metal in the room, train chugging on relentlessly, dragging you in tow.

had you really thought, only five days ago, that you could become a gunslinger alongside Ghost? a cowgirl with a great shot and a tough spirit?

you felt so far from all of it that you dug your nails into the soreness of your ankle, relishing the way the sharp waves of pain brought you back down to earth.

there was a sigh in your ear, and two strong arms that wrapped you up, but you twisted in them immediately, your nails digging into the flesh of Ghost’s arms as you shoved him away. 

“don’t you dare,” you hissed, pressing yourself as far as you could from him in the diminishing room. your eyes flickered to the ceiling above his head. it really looked like the room was getting smaller—the ceiling shrinking by the second.

he only watched you with an eerie calm, a nauseous feeling climbing in you.

“you did this,” you spat through tears. “a couple days ago i was with my mama and daddy and everything was fine until you showed up.”

your breath shook. “you devil.” 

whether Ghost was hurt by it, you couldn’t tell, because he only blinked harshly, but you regretted the words anyways. because you knew that Ghost was telling the truth. even if you did stay with your mama and daddy, and Ghost had never taken you, you would’ve been swept away to Turner’s big estate in san francisco anyway.

but the bile poured from you like a sweltering, infected wound. “i would’ve been married,” you cried out, tears dripping from your trembling chin onto the breast of your nightgown. of Ghost’s nightgown.

liar, a voice in you hissed, but you pushed it to the furthest corner of your mind. 

“you stole me from my parents, took my honor, and you’re a liar!”

Ghost cocked his head at you, eyes glazed over and mask glinting. you hated that stupid mask. you just wanted to rip it off his face.

you jolted when he spoke, grumbling out, “i didn’t mean to.”

if there was a revolver slung in your holster, you would’ve shot him dead three times in the heart by now, just like your mama said.

Mama, a little girl in you cried, i’m sorry. i should’ve listened to you that first night in the cabin when he fell asleep.

he continued with gritted teeth. “i wanted revenge against your father for betraying me and i wanted revenge on Turner.” he wouldn’t look at you now. “i wanted to steal something of theirs and make it mine.”

of all the things he could’ve said, nothing in the world prepared you then. you lurched for him, vision red and wrapped your hands around his neck, wanting to see a flicker of fear in his eyes—or something other than the cold, dead wall you were talking to.

but he just flipped you easily in a calculated movement, weight keeping you pinned as you mindlessly struggled, arms in a bind above your head.

he talked over your cries and shouts now, voice in your ear— “i knew your daddy had a daughter. but i didn’t know she was so young and full of spirit and…” your struggling subsided. the look in his eyes seemed something like defeat. “...lovely.”

you spat right onto his mask but he didn’t even flinch.

“liar,” you hissed, working up into a frenzy again, squirming against his bone-crushing hold. “liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“i thought his daughter would be some rich, prissy girl who didn’t want anything to do with outlaws. then she told me she hated her happy, small town life, and her two parents that loved her.”

“liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“she told me that she could be a gunslinger if she wanted to be. she rode like one, too.”

you tried to scream and shout over his words and block it out of your brain, but his low murmur against your ear cut right through it all.

“when i realized what’d i’d done, that i’d stolen a girl who was a thief, it was too late. you saved my life when i got shot. i thought you would’ve ran away and left me for dead.”

his voice dropped even lower, the forehead of his cool mask pressing against your jaw. “i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

at that, your struggling subsided, confusion welling up in you like a stormy cloud.

“i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

he pulled back to press your arms to your chest and loomed over you.

“i wanted to be dead for what i was doing.”

you kicked out under his legs, knee connecting with something soft, and he dropped his hips with a hiss to pin you down.

“what were you doing?”

his voice was deceptively soft. “i was using you for revenge.”

more tears ran from the sides of your face like fleeing raindrops.

then a fast anger cooked in you, a slower simmer turning to a hot boil.

“i hate you,” you seethed, staring right into the wall of his mask. there wasn’t a human being beneath there.

just a calculated animal.

“i hate you,” you said again, voice breaking.

“good,” he nodded, though his tone was broken. “honest to god, i didn’t know your father was going to give you to Turner.”

you hissed, “how can you be honest to god?”

he ignored you. “i would’ve returned you to your family if they paid the ransom. even if they didn’t, i would’ve given you back eventually. but they didn’t want you and you didn’t want to go. it was always about Turner—we didn’t care about the money. your father happened to betray us and we found the perfect bloody outlet to Turner.”

you dug the side of your face into the side of the bed, refusing to look at him as he held you there. a pool of your tears formed beneath the swollen fleshiness of your cheek.

“i needed Turner to take the first step in this war. and he did. i got lucky when i happened to steal his future mistress.” his eyes flashed. “Turner hates it when his things are taken.”

“since, you’ve gotten what you want,” you cried, voice raw “what do you still need me for?” 

he closed his eyes. “i don’t know.”

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

you fell limp at that, feeling every ounce of energy drain from you—like the devil was sucking away your life force.

you wanted that poisonous, gurgling voice inside you to breathe out another liar, to call Ghost’s bluff for what it was, but it fell silent the moment you needed it most.

closing your eyes, Ghost’s body draped over your own, warm and solid and flushed together. he pressed his mask into your hair. 

bourbon, cigarettes, and the musk of wood and dirt and sweet spruce. 

you couldn’t even fight it. you don’t even think you wanted to—because even if no one wanted you in the world, not even your daddy, Ghost did want you for something. one thing. 

revenge.

“get out,” you whispered, and he didn’t move, a big, swelling rock above you.

“get out!” you shouted, straight into his ear, but he didn’t even flinch. after another long pause he slid off you with a gentleness, a fleeting caress of his hand against your swollen ankle before he slinked away. there was a soft click of the door closing, Ghost’s boots thumping against the floor in the hallway.

you stayed in that position for a long time, pressed to the mattress right where he had left you. 

it was like, if you moved, the invisible imprint of him against your skin would disappear like his physical form, lost into the night. 

maybe this is what you needed, you decided. maybe, if you could convince one-four-one of your usefulness, that you were important to them, even beyond Ghost’s revenge ploys, you would become a permanent member and carve out a space in their lives. but not Ghost’s. never Ghost’s.

a withering, squirming dread in your stomach made it known that it would be impossible. at this point, you were too tired to even try and convince them to let you stay.

so you turned over and forced yourself into a relentless, exhausting sleep.

ok that was kinda crazy. but i promise the angst will not last forever. chapter 3 coming soon.........

i hope you guys enjoyed!! <;33

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @tomiesdiet @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mr-sol

[puteetup]

Talking Stage

Hi Tumblr! It's nice going back here. It's been a long time. Daming ganap and stress and all. Biggest painful and heartache was my dad's gone. He passed away due to many complications and I saw everything, my family and I have been through a lot. And I was really tired and feeling down but still acting up as a strong independent woman because I have no really choice. HAHAHAHAH.

Ayun, been crying and sad for days, trying to distract myself thru ML, watching movies and series, I tried Bumble. I was shocked maraming naglalike. Me being the ugly duckling. And I talked to different people, but there's this 20 yr-old bb boi na nakausap ko. And dahil siguro ambait nya. Kaya nituloy ko lang syang ichat sa IG. He had a problem - lovelife, family and his studies. And it turned out he's just 18. :( Ang lala. Kasi 12 years gap namin.

Nung una kasi panay view nya sa stories ko, and gising pa sya ng madaling araw. HAHAHAH. And I was starting to get worried sa kanya. Ayun. Hanggang sa nasabi nyang may problem sya, and I offer if gusto nya bigyan ko sya ng part-time. And he agreed later on. And I also lent him money for his enrolment sa OLFU as first year college. And I think that's the start of Sugar Mommy Era ko. HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA. Lord naman ee.

Pero ayun nga, me being so drawn into a person who needs help - Marlon, Patrick, Edwin, EJ, Renan, Kervin and there this bb boi. I literally helped him, gave him gifts. And here I am still supporting him. And malapit na kami sa isa't isa. :( First boy na katalking stage ko. First na nagtiwala sakin and he still sends goodmorning and goodnight chatsand mwaaas. HAHAHAHA. We had deep talks already. And I don't even know what to feel. The fact na he's so young, I know na he can change his mind anytime. Just like what he said na if ever tataya sya ulit sa love, he will choose me kasi sakin lang sya unang nagtrust at naging comfortable. But I know it was maybe his first time to have someone like me.

I am happy talking to him. I am happy how he sends updates on me. And I feel sad everytime he took a longer time to reply. And ang mga ex ng bb boi, hang gaganda. For sure chix din talaga gusto nya. Haiys. Ang hirap, di na nga ko maganda, mas sobrang tanda pa sa kanya. Di naman din sya kagwapuhan, but he's a good person. I know that. Lahat naman ng nagustuhan ko mabait. HAHAHAH. Chix lang mga hilig, e di ako chix e. Huhu. Parang ang naiisip ko, magbabago din kasi isip nya e. Kahit pa sinasabi nyang di sya mawawala. baka nag iistay lang sya kasi kailangan nya pa ko. Baka kaya sya nagchachat pa din para lang di ako mawala kasi kailangan nya pa ko. Saka he's still friend with his ex. Sinasabi nya na di na nya mahal, pero for sure may feelings pa sya. He still cares for her. Anong laban ko don, maganda na yun, kasing age nya pa, tas kalapit bahay lang nya. HAHAHAH.

And we have plans, sya nag aya. Magpupunta sa horror house. HAHAHAH yung totoo? Unang date sa horror house? HAHAHAHAH looking forward to it. But I don't know what to do anymore. I want to help him 'til the end, but I am afraid na mawala ko na naman yung sarili ko. And gusto ko na ba sya? Gusto na ba nya ko? Baka we're just filling up this void in our hearts temporarily, kasi pareho kaming may pinagdadaanan. Dko din alam if gusto ko na sya at baka namimiss ko lang na may taong kinecare, and this is the first time na nagcare din sakin yung tao kahit pano. HAHAHAH. Si Kapre naman din, kaso kasi pasulpot sulpot yun. And this bb boi naman, minsan ganun din, but he's being consistent kahit pano. Tho lagi ko syang inaasar sa iba and he asked one time but ko sya laging pinupush magkajowa, gusto ko na daw ba sya mawala sa buhay ko. HAHAHAHAH Very cutie. Kinikilig ako minsan, but naiisip ko, pano nga kung maging kami? First bf ko sya tas sobrang bata. Ni hindi namin magagawang ipakilala ang isat isa sa mga parents namin. HAAAAAIYS.

LORD BAKA NAMAN. HAHAHAHAH Pero nakakatawa na yung time na di nya namention yung ex nya na isa tapos nakita ko IG profile ni gurl na may pics nila, umiyak ako at nasaktan. Kasi iniisip ko baka nga sila pa at niloloko nya lang ako. That same day, shinare nya yung about don, nagcall pa kami. HAHAHAHAH Hangkulit lang ng timing. Na parang naramdaman nya na nagdaramdam ako. HAHAHAHHAH. Tas dun nya nga nasabi na if ever magmahal sya ult, ako daw pipiliin nya. AHAHAHAHAH TALAGA BA BB BOI?

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIYS. Tanda ko na Lord para sa ganito. HAHAHAH Ganito nalang ba talaga role ko? ANg mag alaga ng mga kailangan ng kalinga? Pano naman ako? HAHAHAHAH. LOL.

Miss you tumblr. SALAMAT ANDYAN KA. Iniisip ko na magsend ng confession sa FEU Secret Files ee. HAHAHAHHAHA. lol.

Byeers!! Sa susunod ulit.

[heartfullofleeches]

Practice

College Yan + Older Neighbor Reader [M + G.N]

Summary: A friend requests a favor from you after a rough night

Warning: Legal age gap, mentions of alcohol and drugs, emotional manipulation, groping

-

12 missed calls....

"..Hey, Y/n. Just realized you're probably still at work right now....l I just wanted to say thanks for everything. Without you - I don't think I'd be out here tonight.."

"Y/n - hey! Oh... just missed you I guess. I just arrived, and... honestly I'm really nervous. There's more people than I thought there'd be and I don't know anyone. You mind if I call again? Even if you don't answer - it's nice not being alone."

"Y/n... things are going pretty good so far. Someone just came up to me and handed me a cup. I've never drank before, but I have too many regrets already to have another. This goes out to you."

"Are you afraid of dying alone?.... it never crossed my mind until my grandad died a few years back. Nobody liked the guy so he just.... wasted away alone in his house. I don't want that to happen to me. I wish you were here."

"Y/n?.... fuck... please don't listen to that last message. Can you come pick me up? I sent the address to you earlier, but I forgot to tell you. I think I drank too much and I know it's late but... fuck."

"You're coming to pick me up...aren't you? You wouldn't leave me behind like everyone has... I'm so happy I-"

Message Saved.

You didn't need to hear the rest. Teddi was the sweetest guy you've met in recent years. A little rough around the edges, sure, but it's a given with everything he's been through. Once you cracked that shell, he revealed that dorky, loveable self of his who still cried when animals died in movies yet gushed for hours about his fascination with horror media as a whole. You thought you were doing the right thing by trying to get him out of his comfort zone - keep him from turning out like you.

Breathing through your teeth, you toss your phone into the passenger seat as you exit the vehicle. Beer glasses and someone's glasses left out in the field crunch beneath your feet as you cross the lawn up to the house and adjacent door. Poking your head through the crack; a sea of young adults and their peers overcrowd the living space - egging each other into boisterous acts and having the time of their new lives. Realistically you couldn't be a few years older than the older face in the crowd, but this wasn't your click. You walk up to the nearest, unattended person and tap them on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, looking for someone. Thick glasses, nose ring, blue...ish hair? Should've brought my phone out-"

"Oh!! You must be Ted's partner. Y/n - right?."

"We aren't dating. I'm their neighbor."

"My bad - he's just been talking about you all night so I thought - anyway, he's up on the roof. Said he needed the fresh air. Just head upstairs, the ladder to the attic should be right there.

"Alright. Thanks." You push past them and up the stairs - bracing your foot on the ladder rails that creek under your weight as you climb up into the attic. The room is foggy, musty fog filtered out the open door leading to the patio. You reject an offer for its source as politely as you could as you brush by the individuals occupying the space, pulling your shirt over your nose as you step out into the chilly night. Laying on a blanket made of someone else's coat, Teddi sits beneath the stars wearing the jacket you lent him about a week ago. He takes the blunt offered by a peer, breaking off its tip as he pulls it to his lips. You knock on the door frame twice - smoke violent exhausted from his nose and lungs as he turns around to see you.

"Y/n." Teddi staggers to his feet, legs tangled in his makeshift blanket as he trips and stumbles his way towards you. He sports a dopey grin, fixing your jacket to his shoulder. "Hey, we were just talking about you - this is.. uh.." He snapped his fingers. "Fuck."

"Trudy."

"Trudy! Right, haha - they're great, but not as great as you."

"That's great." You wrap an arm around their shoulder, turning them towards the door. "We're leaving."

Teddi slurs out a whine, leaning back - trying to pull you with him. "What? But you just got here. I wanna introduce you to everyone first."

"Maybe later. I need to get you home." Your right hand finds the small of his back, locking around his waist. "Car - now."

His pink face flushes further. "Okay...."

-

Loading Teddi into the car, his head slumps against the passenger window as you shut the door. The ride home is mostly quiet - his hand glued to your lap no matter how many times you nudge him away. His head rolls over to your shoulder and the alcohol on his breath fans your face as he speaks.

"Do you think somebody will ever love me, Y/n?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"I meant someone tonight."

He studies your face. No twinge of jealousy or sadness. You almost looked relieved. He swallows, buring the ache as he continues. "I meant someone and.... I know they're way out of my league. Kind....smart....when they smile it's like the whole room lights up. We hadn't known each other for long, but they've always been there and... I can't imagine life without them now that they're here. Despite our differences I know we are meant for each other."

You ease your foot off the gas. "....Ted. You're a good kid. If I had known a guy like you back when I was your age I would have loved to get to know him."

Teddi sits upright, looking down as he rubs his face. "Quit talking like you're so much older than me..."

"We're here."

Teddi glances outside. Always when he works up the courage to talk to you.. You park outside your house and round the car to help him get to his. Teddi clutches your arm as you face his yard.

"Please don't make me go home tonight, Y/n."

His nails dig into your shirt. "Please."

You sigh. Helping him up the driveway and into your home, you guide Teddi into your bedroom- afraid of what's happen if you give him the couch. Teddi relaxes as you cross the threshold into your living room. The familiarity of your home, just the two of you in this vast space - he wouldn't give it up for anything. The lingering stress melts from his face as you lower him into your bed, resting on the pillow you lay your head on every night. You set his glasses on the dresser and bring him a glass of water - wishing him good night as you turn off the lights. Hovering over the bed, he grabs your wrist as you turn to leave.

"Y/n..... please stay with me tonight."

He brings a hand up to your face, stroking your jaw as he pulls you closer. "Kiss me, Y/n."

".... how much did you drink, Teddi."

"Alot, but - I need you... to help me I mean. I've never kissed anyone before, and I need the practice if I'm ever going to tell them how I feel. You're the only person I can turn to for this. You promised that you would always be there for me."

You knew that would come back to haunt eventually. "Ted, when I said I'd help you with anything, I meant like teaching you how to do your taxes or change a tire. This isn't something we should be doing."

His cheek presses against your neck, fresh tears staining your skin. "We can forget about it in the morning.... They're all I have. You're all I have... Please don't leave me too."

"....show me."

"Huh?"

"How you would confess. Show me."

You sit on the edge of the bed. Teddi props back against the frame, tucking his hair behind one ear and fixing his shirt. He chews on his bottom lip - the moonlight reflecting off your skin basking you in that heavenly shine he always saw. He looks down. "I'm gonna use your name just to make it easier - okay?"

Teddi takes a deep breath. "Y/n - you... you're the most amazing person I've ever met. When I'm with you, it's like opening my eyes for the first time. You're someone I know I can trust through thick and thin... you've always been there for me, and I want to be here for you... forever."

He scoots closer, placing a hand on your lap as he cups your cheek - leaning in til his forehead rests against yours. "I like you...I love you. Please, stay with me."

Teddi slowly closes the distance; fingers restricted round your thigh as his lips fall flush against yours. It feels like a crime - your soft skin beneath his chapped, bitten lips. He presses deeper, engraving every each of you into his memory and being that his mind would allow. His tongue ghosts your lower lip, snaking against your teeth. His hand clasps the base of your neck as he adds his weight to your chest, pulling you up on the bed as he brings your hanging leg up to his side.

"y/n....."

He cards his fingers through at your hair - the taste of whiskey and desperation hot on your tongue as you wince from the abrupt tug at the back of your skull. The depth of your mouth is more indicating than any substance he had all night. His fingers sink into the flesh of your leg, working towards the curve of your ass as a moan vibrates through your teeth centered from throaty whine he makes as they close around his tongue. His lip ram yours as he tilts his head for a better angle with enough force to bruise, and by god he hopes it does. Biting down doesn't stop his tongue from barreling down your throat - ball piercing sucked to the roof of your mouth. He gives pause only when he finally accepts the stars dancing in view are from the lack of oxygen rather the magic of the eve- falling to your chest with a few links and kisses between greedy intakes of air and your scent. He giggles, hiccuping as his arms shoot around your waist.

"My first kiss...... I made sure to tear off the end when I smoked with that girl so I wouldn't lose it even indirectly. Was I your first too? Can you by my first in other ways too?"

You pull from under him as he nips at your shoulder. "You're not into Trudy?"

"Trudy?" The name rolls off his tongue with such disgust and confusion. "Heck no. The person I like is so much more special than her. I'm lucky to even be in their presence. I wanna give them the world. My heart. I love you.... them- so much."

You fall silent as he nuzzles his face against your torso, eyes growing heavy. "It's late, Teddi. Go to bed."

"Will you sleep with me?.... Stay with me until the morning?..."

".....Always."

Teddi cuddles up to your side as you join him in bed - fighting exhaustion to treasure your sleeping face beside him.

[cowboybeepboop]

Midnight betrayal

“SHIT, I FORGOT A CONDOM,”

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem! Reader

Genre: mainly just porn

Word count: 3411

Summary: Steve finally makes moves on you after years of lusting over you, and he makes it count.

Warnings: unprotected sex, Steve being a creep, lots of mentions of cum, p in v, oral sex (fem receiving), slight hair pulling, hickeys, some biting, idk what else, forbidden sex but also not really? Anyways there might be more I forgot, also not proofread

A/N: For context, reader is like 11 months older than Robin, so Steve’s age roughly. Y’all i recommend you listen to notice me by role model because I listened to it on loop while writing this ☃️ Steve has a huge thing for reader, like a huge thing. This is my first like stranger things oneshot so idk, hopefully you enjoy. Also sorry for disappearing i had some pretty crappy writers block 😍🫶 also Steve uses your real name when he realizes it’s really happening, not just a day dream.

There’s one thing you’re certain of. Steve Harrington is off limits. I mean who goes around fucking their sisters best friend?

That wouldn’t be you. There would be no betraying Robin, especially not tonight. Especially not when she left for the weekend and forgot to tell Steve not to drop by.

You were surprised to see him but you just couldn’t turn down his offer to stay and keep you company while everyone was out of town. I mean technically he was just doing you a favor, no one said you couldn’t be friends.

Steve on the other hand. Knew you were home alone. He was prepared to stop by just for you. He decided it was time to finally make his move. He’s had his heart set on you since sophomore year when you accidentally hit him in the face with a soccer ball at lunch.

You were the quiet type. Which isn’t what he usually goes for, but the second he saw you standing above him, fear in your eyes as you quickly looked him over making sure he wasn’t hurt. God damn, it felt like he died and went to heaven.

You knocked the air out of him and made his nose bleed. But he felt his anger disappear as quickly as it came. I mean how could he stay mad at you? You looked so innocent and we’re doing everything you could to help him out.

You lent him your sweaty shirt (ik gross but you didn’t want him bleeding all over his white shirt, AND he didn’t seem to mind) as you frantically made sure he was all right.

Having you bent over him, tits practically falling out of your bra, your soft hands roaming his skin, it made all his blood flow into his dick. Steve was unbelievably hard, his balls felt like they would burst at any second.

Once you got him back on his feet all he could focus on was the difference in your heights, you didn’t even reach his shoulders, plus your hands were so small compared to his forearms.

The second he got home he sat on the edge of his bed, your shirt in one hand, his dick in the other. His mind drifted to you: your soft touch, the way your lips parted as you helped him to his feet, and how red your cheeks were. Fuck, it was torture.

Steve kept his motions slow and steady, imagining how gently you would jerk him off. How your hands would barely be able to fit around his cock, how you’d peer up at him through your eyelashes while your lips parted just enough for you to fit the very tip of his length inside of you.

He lifted your shirt to his nose taking long drawn out breaths, as if he was sniffing glue. As your perfume mixed with your sweat flooded his senses, he came, thick white cum spilling from his dick.

Steve couldn’t help but jerk himself off to the smell of you the whole weekend, it was like he was a 12 year old boy again, just figuring out what playboy was and realizing how fun it could be to cum. Over and over.

No one ever compares to you, you were the only thing on his mind. Ever. Even when he was with Nancy all he could think of was you being under him as he fucked you senseless.

_________

“Hey, Steve,” your plump lips curl up into a smile, “didn’t Rob tell you she wasn’t going to be here for the weekend?” You motion for him to come inside.

“I think she must’ve forgotten to tell me,” he closes the door and locks it, “I’m sorry for the trouble, but do you mind me staying?” He smiles innocently while trying to come up with some dumb excuse as to why he needs to stay with you.

“Sure! I’d actually really like that, I hate being home alone at night,” you wrap your arms around his waist giving him a soft hug. “It’s really good to see you, I thought someone was trying to break in.” You laugh awkwardly as he hugs back.

Steve bites down on his bottom lip roughly as the familiar burning sensation builds in his stomach. “I didn’t mean to scare you princess, I hope you can forgive me,” you giggle, your tits bouncing slightly as you take a step back.

“Of course I forgive you Sir Steve,” he plops down on the couch, man spreading and taking up the majority of the space. “I’m gonna go take a shower, maybe we can order a pizza or something later? Unless you’ve already eaten.”.

“Yeah, anything you want love,” he grabs the remote and begins flipping through the channels. You run up to shower, oblivious to Steve palming his cock through his jeans.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the fucking death of me Princess,” Steve whispers to himself, throwing his head back as he pictures you rubbing soap all over your naked body.

He didn’t realize just how far he took it until he was about to cum right there in his jeans, on your couch, surrounded by pictures of you and Robin. As much as he tried, he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for what he was doing.

He found a glove wedged into the couch cushions and instantly recognized it as yours, Steve couldn’t help but take the opportunity that was sitting right in front of him.

He unbuttons his jeans, pulling his stiff dick free and slipping your glove over it. His hips buck up into his hand, a few strokes later and your favorite pink glove is filled with his hot cum.

Steve releases a content sigh before he hears your soft footsteps nearing the stairs. “Shit, why the fuck did I just do that.” He frantically looks around for somewhere to throw your sullied glove, running around with his dick exposed.

He finds a small basket of your dirty clothes, he tucks his cock away and quickly zips his jeans up. He makes a hole in the basket, burying the now very, very dirty piece of clothing. Steve’s fingers graze a pair of your panties, his eyes close in on the white stain on the inside.

“Hey, Stevie where’d you go,” his heart races as he tucks the panties into his Jean pocket, turning around with a smile.

“Sorry, I was snooping around. Looking for a movie that we could watch,” he scratches the back of his neck, hoping you believe the lie.

“Oh, yeah we have some tapes but they’re over here,” you point in the opposite direction, Steve goes over to choose a movie while you order food. “Is a pepperoni pizza good?”

“Anything you want princess,” Steve decides on a horror movie, hoping he’ll be able to cop a feel if you get scared. A small smirk pasted itself on his face as he put the movie in, dimming the lights and grabbing a blanket.

“So what movie did you pick?” Using your towel, you finish drying your hair the best you can.

“Can I take off my jeans? They’re gonna be a little uncomfortable, also I’m not telling you, it’s a surprise.” His smile widens, while you throw your towel at him.

“That’s fine, and you know I don’t like surprises Steven,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I know,” he chuckles as he takes his jeans off, folding them up and making sure your panties stay tucked away.

“Ugh you’re so mean,” Steve sits down, patting next to him motioning for you to sit by him.

“Steve, you’re in the middle of the couch there’s no room for me,” you sigh with a roll of your eyes.

“You like to lay down, right? So why don’t you just lay across my lap.” He winks at you.

“Seriously steve? You’re not gonna budge?” He shrugs and starts to scoot over but before he can you’re sprawled across his thighs, your boobs flush against him.

His eyes scanning up and down your body, the oversized sweater you were wearing is now pulled up showing off your unbelievably tight shorts. His cock twitches at the sight.

Ever since he became close with Robin, it’s almost as if he’s horny all the time because of your skimpy little outfits, Steve is honestly surprised his dick hasn’t fallen off or shriveled up. You know just how to turn him on.

For the sake of not creeping you out by having a boner in your face, Steve throws the blanket over your body. Stealing one more glance at your ass. He unpauses the tv and you instantly recognize the intro as the exorcist. A movie you’ve been too scared to finish since your dad first rented it.

Steve feels your body tense up and starts to think that maybe this isn’t the best plan. “Hey, love, do you want to pick a different movie?” His voice is unusually soft as he rubs circles into your back.

“No it’s okay, I picked the food, you picked the movie.” Giving Steve a toothy grin you try to ignore the building heat between your legs.

__________

About 15 minutes in and you're already regretting letting Steve choose the movie.

Steve on the other hand has been focused on you the whole time, watching every twitch, enjoying having you spread out over his legs as if it’s an invitation for him to slap your ass.

He licks his bottom lip as he slides his hand under the blanket, his fingers ghosting over your thigh before he sets his hand down. Steve squeezes your leg lightly, rubbing circles into your smooth skin.

You bite back a moan, closing your eyes as his hand nears your covered pussy. A loud knock on the door interrupts your intimate moment and causes you to jump into Steve’s body.

“Calm down babe, it’s just the pizza.” He pulls you off his lap and goes to open the door. Handing the pizza delivery guy a $20 bill, taking the pizza box in the other hand before shutting the door and locking it again.

“Did you lock the door?” You ask meekly your eyes locked on Steve’s.

“Yes, I locked it,” he sets the pizza down on the counter, smiling at you as you wrap yourself in the blanket before walking over to him.

He hands you a piece of pizza, “eat up darlin’” a few minutes of silence pass before Steve speaks again. “How about we play a game,” you perk up as a mischievous look paints itself on your features.

“What kind of game?” Taking another bite of pizza Steve hops down from the counter he was sitting on.

“How about truth or dare?” You huff softly.

“But there’s no way to win,” pursing your lips you decide that anything is better than going back to that horrible movie.

“Okay I’m in, but only if we don’t do boring questions and dares,” you answered curtly, finishing the crust of the pizza you’ve been munching on.

“Deal.” Steve pushes his plate to the side, You bite your bottom lip as you contemplate which you’re going to choose.

“Okay little lady, truth or dare?”

“Dare” you nod your head, proud of being the first to say dare.

“I dare you to.. call the last person you hooked up with.” You laugh softly.

“Seriously?” He nods with a small smirk, you go over to the landline, dialing the number of Jonathan. “Okay so before I actually call, what am I supposed to say?”

He scratches his chin “I dunno, maybe something about how you’re home alone and miss him?” Steve seems proud of himself for what he’s come up with and you sigh.

He grabs the other phone so he can listen in on your conversation, you nervously chew on your lip as the phone rings.

“Hello?” You could tell Jonathan was asleep based on his sexy morning raspy voice. Steve grits his teeth, watching how your eyes light up and your legs squeeze together at the sound of his voice.

“Hey John.. I miss you,” you bite down on your lip, sucking in a deep breath, “my parents and Robin are out of town.. I’m all alone and I just couldn’t stop thinking about you,”

“Y/N you know I’m with Nancy again, it was a one time thing. We were both just needing to blow off some steam, it wasn’t supposed to come in between us.” Jonathon practically whispers the last part of his sentence.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for calling, i'm a little tipsy, thank you Jonathon,” Steve observes your facial expressions looking for any sort of disappointment.

“Try to get some rest, and let’s not mention this again okay?” You cringe.

“Yeah, thanks again John,” he hangs up and you look over at Steve. “God that was so fucking embarrassing,” he laughs.

“You chose dare,” he walks back over to you leaning against the counter.

“Okay, truth or dare steve,” you huff, narrowing your eyes on the beautiful man before you.

“After that, I can only imagine what you’d make me do if I choose dare.. so truth” he takes a deep breath to prepare himself for what you have in store.

“That’s no fun,” you roll your eyes “What was the last wet dream you had?” Steve tenses up in response to your question.

“Uhm, it was about Bo Derek, from 10. God she’s so fucking sexy in that movie,” you laugh harmoniously, and Steve relaxes. It’s obviously a lie, you’re the only one he ever imagines naked and seducing him. But you don’t need to know that.

“Truth or dare, babe” Steve admires you as you hop onto the counter.

“Mm, truth.” He smiles wickedly.

“How many times have you orgasmed? Or more specifically did Jonathan ever get you to orgasm?” Eyes going big you clear your throat, shock evident on your face.

“To be honest, I haven’t ever,” you look at the floor, face bright red, “I kinda just figured I’m not able to..” your voice trails off.

Steve bites his lip, wiggling between your thighs and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Maybe I can help you with that princess,” he whispers in your ear, sending chills of pleasure down your spine. Your body instinctively pushes into his, Steve runs his hand up your thigh.

He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, “Fuck, babe are you not wearing any panties?” You’re at a loss for words, every part of your body feeling like it’s on fire.

“Princess,” Steve presses a rough kiss on your neck, “I asked you a question. Be a good girl for me,” he lightly pulls your hair from the scalp, giving him more access to your neck.

“No, I’m not wearing any panties.. I forgot to do laundry and they were all dirty..” you moan softly as his hands roam all over your body.

“Darling, you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this,” he cups your cheeks, kissing your lips with gentle hunger. You run your hands down his chest, pulling at the waistband of his boxers, Steve moves his head, sucking red marks all over your neck.

His fingers fumble with your shorts as he pulls them down, you push firmly on his chest gasping for breath.

“Steve..” your voice is barely over a whisper, “we can’t, fuck, we can’t do this,” he grips your waist tightly.

“Come on Y/N,” he lowers himself to his knees, “you want it just as much as I do,” his nose rubs into your pelvic bone as he spreads your legs, pulling your ass to the edge of the counter.

“Tell me you don’t want it and I’ll stop,” Steve stares into your eyes, stroking your thighs. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, you twist your fingers into his hair.

“Stevie, I want you. I need you,” moans spill from your parted lips, his eyes darken.

“Say that again for me,” Harrington pulls your shorts all the way off, exposing your soaked cunt.

“I want you, Harrington,” he moans in response, biting your inner thigh.

“Good girl,” Steve sticks a finger into your leaking hole, “you’re my good girl.” Wrapping his arms around your legs he keeps them spread, he kisses wet kisses up your thighs sucking in a deep breath as he reaches your throbbing clit.

Your body twitches in anticipation, he licks a long stripe between your folds, his lips landing on your pink nub. Harrington sucks on your clit gently, pressing his nose into your warm flesh.

You moan loudly, arching your body into him, “oh god,” he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. Sending shivers all over your body, his fingertips squeeze into your flesh.

Steve pushes two fingers into your cunt, moving them in and out at a achingly slow pace, he sticks his tongue under your clit hood. Running the tip back and forth, before flicking upwards, he used his thumbs to keep your pussy lips spread. You feel a pressure building in your core, like an itch in your gut.

“Steve, Steve..” you chant out his name while pulling on his hair roughly. Your toes curl as you try to squeeze your legs shut. Harrington keeps a strong grip on them, pulling them further apart.

He sucks your clit hungrily, pulling you closer to his mouth until he can barely breathe against your body.

“Stevie, it feels so weird,” you moan, throwing your head back, squeezing your eyes tight. He slows down his pace helping you ride out your orgasm, he sticks his tongue into your seeping hole, lapping up all of your juices and his nose teases your sore clit.

Steve slowly rises from his knees, kissing your exposed skin as he goes. “Christ Steve, you’re so good,” he smirks while wrapping your legs around his hips, his hard tip poking into your ass.

“I know, darlin’” he carries you up the stairs, squeezing your ass before tossing you on your bed. “How about we keep the fun going?” Steve kisses your jaw, grinding into your bare pussy, as he massages your breasts.

You flip the both of you over, pulling your shirt off and throwing it off to the side. “Steve, take your clothes off,” his eyes light up while he caresses your bare waist.

“God, princess, you're so hot right now.” He pulls off the remainder of his clothes before undoing your bra. Pressing your chest against his, kissing him gently, Steve slaps your ass then squeezes it roughly.

“Steve,” you moan into his ear, grinding down on his cock, “Please,” you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Fucking hell Y/N,” he groans loudly, his eyes rolling back. Steve guides his dick into your pussy, pushing until he’s balls deep, he grabs your ass slowly moving you on his length.

You put your hands on his chest, throwing your head back as cries of pleasure escape your lips. You grind down on his cock as he wraps his arms around your waist keeping you against him.

“Shit Y/N you’re going to drain me,” he sits up getting a better angle, pinching your nipple roughly. You bury your face in the crook of his neck biting down on the skin, Steve moans in response. Bucking his hips up into you, he grabs your chin forcing you to face him.

“Let me see your beautiful face, little lady,” you feel the tightening in your stomach again. Your moans become louder and more frequent as you find yourself getting closer.

“Steve, I think,” you gasp, “I think I’m gonna cum” he sucks a hickey onto your collarbone.

“Me too Y/N,” he moves his fingers to your clit, rubbing hard circles into the throbbing muscle. “Cum for me pretty girl,” Steve whispers into your ear, nibbling on the love softly.

“Fuck Steve,” you moan loudly as your legs shake, your pussy tightening around his dick. He throws his head back, eyes rolling into his skull as you milk his dick.

“SHIT, I FORGOT A CONDOM,”

Y’all please check out pt. 2 if you have the chance

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 11

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday (i know it's tuesday that's my bad 💀). every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

and if you're warm, then you can't relate to me by remrose

They get stuck outside from a 3AM fire alarm. “I call it the ten-pound-quilt.” Will winked like it was a secret, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “I lent it to one of my siblings once and he said it was like being suffocated by a wet cement pancake. I love it."

will 'problem causer and embarrassed about it' solace so so real. this fic is also stellar bc nico is lowkey aware how much will likes him. that is how the dynamic should be i think.

2. Those walls I built didn't even put up a fight by @sazandorable

"Is it morally okay to stab a medic with their own scissors?" Nico asked Cecil. (Not that he usually cared about morally okay, as Octavian might demonstrate.) Nico's three days in the infirmary go by faster than he'd thought, and Will just won't stop flirting.

bruh this fic made me LAUGH. it wholly deserves the nearly quarter million hits it has jfc. i 100% clicked for the 'jason is a very embarrassing and very supportive ally' tag and it TOTALLY lived up and it was hilarious. he is. will's characterization was SO SO good and the whole fic just had me giggling!!

3. this is my kingdom come by remrose

Five times Nico and Will pretended they were dating. College AU.

the slow and unnoticeable slide from fake dating to real dating. fucking kills me every time. like oh yeah maybe i do love you. maybe you are everything to me. maybe i do want to spend the rest of my life with you. maybe loving you is this easy. GOD. god. insert seinfield gif her bc it fucking gets to me alright. it gets to me.

4. Days Gone By by @ghostystarr

Everyone was afraid of him, the boy who could talk to ghosts. Will just really wanted to know if his goldfish was haunting him every time he used the bathroom. AU Solangelo.

i am a sucker for childhood friends to lovers alright. and modern au with medium nico is art. so what if it is on the nose. it is amusing. and posting this ghosty ass fic on halloween the year solangelo came out is fucking camp idc this author ate up.

5. Patience and Patients by skyrat

Will Solace didn't mean to get a crush on the most exasperating demigod he'd ever met. But once he started watching Nico di Angelo he couldn't turn away. The lines between intentions and feelings got blurred. But how do you tell if the guy you like feels the same way when he's never around?

will having a crush on nico for a thousand years is literally my favourite trope like i love him actually. his pining ass will never get old! it will never get old. i will never get tired of reading it. also this is unrelated but i read this for the first time the day it was posting, which was the Day after i turned twelve lol time truly flies.

thank you for joining me this saturday tuesday sh don't worry about the actual date friday!! happy reading!!

[maniculum]

An Excerpt from the Aberdeen Bestiary

I've started preparing the bestiaryposting, and have encountered one entry that doesn't really fit into what we're doing. Not only is it one of the longest entries, but instead of "let me tell you about this animal", it's taking more of a "we all already know about this animal, so I'm going to share some stories about specific ones" approach. But out of a sense of completionism, I can't just not post it, so here you go.

Dog

The Latin name for the dog, canis, seems to have a Greek origin. For in Greek it is called cenos, although some think that it is called after the musical sound, canor, of its barking, because when it howls, it is also said to sing, canere. No creature is more intelligent than the dog, for dogs have more understanding than other animals; they alone recognise their names and love their masters.

There are many kinds of dogs: some track down the wild beasts of the forests to catch them; others by their vigilance guard flocks of sheep from the attacks of wolves; others as watch-dogs in the home guard the property of their masters lest it be stolen by thieves at night and sacrifice their lives for their master; they willingly go after game with their master; they guard his body even when he is dead and do not leave it. Finally, their nature is that they cannot exist without man.

Also of the nature of dogs

We read that dogs have such great love for their masters, as when King Garamentes was caught by his enemies and taken into captivity, two hundred dogs went in formation through enemy lines and led him back from exile, fighting off those who resisted them. When Jason [Licio] was killed, his dog rejected food and died of starvation. The dog of King Lysimachus threw itself in the flame when its master's funeral pyre was lit and was consumed by fire along with him. When Apius and Junius Pictinius were consuls, a dog that could not be driven away from its master, who had been condemned, accompanied him to prison; when, soon afterwards, he was executed, it followed him, howling. When the people of Rome, out of pity, caused it to be fed, it carried the food to its dead master's mouth. Finally, when its master's corpse was thrown into the Tiber, the dog swam to it and tried to keep it from sinking.

When a dog picks up the track of a hare or a deer and comes to a place where the trail divides or to a junction splitting into several directions, it goes to the beginning of each path and silently reasons with itself, as if by syllogism, on the basis of its keen sense of smell. 'Either the animal went off in this direction,' it says,'or that, or certainly it took this turning.’

Again on the nature of dogs

Often, also, when a murder has been committed, dogs have produced clear evidence of the guilt of the accused, with the result that their unspoken testimony is for the most part believed. They say that at Antioch, in a distant quarter of the city at dusk, a man was murdered, who had his dog with him on a lead. A soldier had been the perpetrator of the deed, with robbery as his motive. Undercover of the growing darkness, he fled elsewhere. The corpse lay unburied; the crowd of onlookers was large; the dog stayed at its master's side, howling over his sad fate. It happened that the man who had committed the crime, acting confidently in order to convince people of his innocence - such is the cunning way in which men think- joined the circle of onlookers and, feigning grief, approached the corpse. Then the dog, briefly abandoning its doleful lament, took up the arms of vengeance, seized the man and held him, and, softly singing a pitiful song, as in the epilogue of a tragedy, moved everyone to tears; and the fact that the dog held that man alone, of the many that were there, and did not let him go, lent weight to its case. In the end, the murderer was at a loss because the evidence in the case was so plain; he could not clear himself by objecting that he was the victim of anyone's hate, enmity, envy or spite, and he could no longer rebut the charge. Because it was very difficult for him, he suffered punishment, because he could offer no defence.

A dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it. A dog's way of life is said to be wholly temperate. A puppy's tongue is generally a cure for internal injuries. It is characteristic of a dog that it returns to its vomit and eats it again. If a dog swims across a river carrying a piece of meat or anything of that sort in its mouth, and sees its shadow, it opens its mouth and in hastening to seize the other piece of meat, it loses the one it was carrying.

In some ways preachers are like dogs: by their admonitions and righteous ways they are always driving off the ambushes laid by the Devil, lest he seize and carry off God's treasure - Christian souls. As the dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it, the wounds of sinners, laid bare in confession, are cleansed by the correction of the priest. As the dog's tongue heals man's internal wounds, the secrets of his heart are often purified by the deeds and discourse of the Church's teachers. As the dog is said to be temperate in its ways, the man who is set over others diligently studies wisdom and must avoid drunkenness and gluttony in every way, for Sodom perished in a surfeit of food. Indeed, there is no quicker way for the Devil, his enemy, to take possession of man than through his greedy gullet. The dog returning to its vomit signifies those who, after making their confession, heedlessly return to wrongdoing. The dog leaving its meat behind in the river, out of desire for its shadow, signifies foolish men who often forsake what is theirs by right out of desire for some unknown object; with the result that, while they are unable to obtain the object of their desire, they needlessly lose what they have given up.

Some dogs are called licisici, wolf-hounds, because they are born of wolves and dogs, when by chance these mate. In India bitches are tethered at night in the forests to breed with wild tigers, by whom they are mounted, producing very fierce dogs, so strong that with their grip they can pull down lions.

[sword-is-bored]

Can I request a botw Link x reader. They we're best friends pre calamity and they awake in the shrine of resurrection together. Link realising his friend would've had to die in order to be resurrected but it makes no sense bc his friend wasn't in battle. His friend unalived so he wouldn't be alone when he woke up

OH MY GOD YES

The Bestest

Tw!! SH and Su!c!de mentions!

Those fuzzy words. Link. They echoed in his head. He sat up in the water, looking around the place. It was cold and confusing, stuffy as well. He tried to move his legs and found he couldn’t. Link peered down, finding another body with him. He wanted to panic, his instincts told him to panic. However, seeing another person laying opposite to him was calming. He looked down and noticed scars trailing up his torso, his hands and arms littered in the scars as well.

The person who laid with him had a single scar across their neck. Link reached out and gently shook them, their eyes fluttering open. Their body and face were familiar to him. They slowly sat up, the water dripping down their side and they looked around. Link was nervous to speak, it’d be so long since… actually he didn’t know. The person in front of him turned and a smile crept on their features. “You’re alive. And so am I. Thank the goddess.” They crawled over to Link and wrapped their arms around him. Link realized they were both painfully naked. He hugged back and pulled away, a confused look on his face. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Their face fell for a moment, before their smile returned. Softer, this time. “At one point.” They reached out and tucked a stray hair from his face back in.

“I’m (Y/n). We were friends. Best friends. I heard this is where you were going when you were in war. So, the only way for me to be with you was to come with.” Link’s hand reached out and trailed the scar that ran across their throat. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” (Y/n) said quietly, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “I was told you might lose your memories, so it’s alright.” They reached out and caressed his face. Link felt himself sigh and lean into the hand. It was nice to have someone who knows you with you.

It had been a few months since the two woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection together. Link had regained most of his memories, and even remembered who (Y/n) was. However, there was something that bothered him. (Y/n) wasn’t a warrior, how were they brought back by the shrine? How did they die? Why… why did they die? “I figured you’d ask.” (Y/n) had said. Throughout their journey they’d bought themselves clothes. Right now, in their Rito outfit, they attempted to show Link the scar. “When I found out you died, I was distraught. Someone made the mistake of telling me where you were, so I clawed my way to you. You’ve always been my everything. I knew the only way to be with you was to wound myself as badly as you’d been. So I came prepared. I remember staring at you as you slept in the water. I never wanted to die, but to be with you? You shouldn’t have to be here alone. I remember falling into the water with you, and trying to turn so we could wake up holding each other. I was unconscious by the time I tried.”

Hearing someone killed themselves for you was never a romantic thing. Link stared at (Y/n), admiration filling his chest. “Oh wow.” He whispered. (Y/n) blushed and pulled their shirt back up. “It’s nothing much.” They murmured. Link’s eyes fluttered shut and (Y/n) realized he was remembering something. They quickly steadied Link so he wouldn’t fall over, these memories took a toll on him each time. He was doubled over, gasping for air. “Link, are you alright?” (Y/n) asked softly. “Come here,” Link whispered. (Y/n) lent their ear to him. “I know who you were to me even better now.” (Y/n) turned to ask him a question and their lips were captured in his. Link straightened his stance, pulling (Y/n) with him. They melted into the kiss before he pulled away, smiling at them. “You were my best friend, weren’t you?” The jig was up, wasn’t it (Y/n)? “The bestest.” (Y/n) smiled, a blush spreading across their face.

[shyvioletcat]

I love this au, you love this au. Let's just get to it.

~ Masterlist ~

~~~~~

Today Aelin was only booked in for a half day at the aquarium. It was off-peak, middle of the school term and the usual slow Wednesday crowd. There weren’t many visitors to the aquarium besides the odd school group and to keep it fair the mermaid shifts were split. Aelin had the morning and Lysandra would do the afternoon. 

There was about an hour between performances and Aelin had just finished shedding her tail along with all her other mermaid accessories. She was only dressed in her swimmers and was on her way to the showers when Lysandra walked into the dressing room. 

“Hello, hello,” she greeted brightly. 

“Hey,” Aelin replied, pulling out her clothes to make sure she had everything she needed. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d accidentally left her underwear on the bed.

“Isn’t that the sweatshirt Mr Hot ‘n Loaded lent you?” Lysandra said, sighting the jumper that had just been unloaded from the bag and flicking the cuff.

”Maybe.” It was all Aelin was willing to admit, and quickly stuffed it out of sight, diverting the conversation away from it. “Speaking of, I could have died.”

Despite the seriousness of the words, Lysandra laughed. “You were not dying. We’ve been over this. And you had a far better saviour than me, let it go.”

“Not the point,” Aelin deflected, “and you know I know how to hold a grudge.”

“You’re just jealous,” Lysandra said with a casual shrug and a self satisfied smile. 

Aelin huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m very proud of you for taking the opportunity of casual sex in a bathroom.”

“It was a bedroom, actually,” Lysandra corrected. “Apparently there’s at least three guest rooms.”

“Semantics. What I’m saying is that there is a time and a place, and that was neither.”

Lysandra dropped her bag onto the chair in front of the vanity mirror. “The way I see it, thanks to my little escapade with that very handsome blond you were able to get your own dose of flirting in, you just aren’t game enough to do anything about it.”

Right, because when Rowan had undressed Aelin in that pool room, desperately trying not to look, and really except for one teasing line she had missed her opportunity. She had been too cold and frazzled to take advantage of the situation. Aelin could feel herself blushing even though she hadn’t been shy in the moment. Maybe it had been because of the onset of hypothermia or maybe it was because she had found Rowan’s own embarrassment so entertaining, either way the pink in her cheeks was damning right now.

”I have no idea what you're talking about,” Aelin tried to bluff, even though on the drive home while yelling I could have died every five minutes, she had gone into heavy detail about what had occurred. Right down to how soft Rowan’s fingers had felt as they brushed over her skin. 

“Yeah, huh. You still have his number, right? Call him, text him,” Lysandra pulled her tail from the wardrobe. “Do something about it.”

For good measure Lysandra flicked the centre of Aelin’s forehead, like that would banish the remains of the hesitancy swirling around in her brain. Swatting the hand away and hissing, Aelin scowled after her friend disappeared into one of the cubicles to start getting ready. 

What Aelin couldn’t figure out was why she was hesitating. It was clear there was mutual attraction ignoring the lack of tact Rowan seemed to have when interacting with her. She had busted him checking her out more than once. And it seemed like he was a decent guy when he wasn’t accidentally propositioning her for shifty sounding private events.

On the other hand, there was a vibe that Aelin had got from the woman she assumed was Ivy’s mother. She had never addressed Aelin directly but there was a definite feeling that she wasn’t happy with a mermaid being in attendance. Rowan had been very clear that he was divorced, so that came with the implications that his ex-wife wasn’t entirely in his life. There was obviously some kind of coparenting situation going on but Aelin didn’t know much more than that. There was so much falling into the unknown category, and there was only one way to fix that and find out. 

Aelin grabbed her bag and left the dressing room. She didn’t need Lysandra hovering and goading her into action. When she got to her car Aelin dug out her phone from where she’d thrown it into her bag and scrolled to the message thread with Rowan. She just needed some kind of opening, something casual to test the waters. The cuff of the borrowed jumper slid over her hand, almost swallowing the phone. Since the party it had lived in her car and she had worn it more than once. It was insanely comfortable and had that nice male kind of smell about it. And it was her ticket. 

Going off their previous conversations, Rowan didn’t seem like much of a texter, so Aelin took the plunge and hit the call button instead. It rang for longer than she expected, and then she realised he was most likely at work, working a real job with real hours. Aelin blushed again and was about to hang up when it connected.

”Rowan Whitethorn speaking,” his tone professional.

”Hi, this is Aelin Galathynius, mermaid extraordinaire,” Aelin said, hoping her quickly summoned bravado covered her nerves. 

“Aelin, hi,” his tone immediately dropped into something more casual. “What can I do for you? Did the money not go through?”

”No, no that’s all fine,” Aelin replied. “You were more than generous.”

”You went above and beyond. Ivy had the time of her life.” She could swear there was a smile in his voice.

”I’m glad.”

Aelin was leaning on the car, fiddling with the too long sleeve on her free hand. She was grinning as well, pleased with herself for doing such a good job.

“I don’t mean to be rude or rush you, but I’m in between meetings,” Rowan said, breaking into her thoughts.

”Oh, yes!” Aelin blurted. “I wanted to return your jumper and maybe say thank you for helping me not freeze to death after I was left for dead by my friend.”

Rowan chuckled and Aelin ignored how it skittered over her skin. 

“What did you have in mind?” He asked.

Aelin’s confidence had returned and she went for it. ”Dinner, Saturday,”

“Just give me one second,” Rowan said and there was some clicking in the background. “I don’t have Ivy, this weekend. She’ll be sad to miss you.”

And he’d gone and missed the point by a mile. “I meant just you and me, Rowan. Like a date.”

There was a heavy beat of silence, then Rowan laughed again, this one astounding significantly more self deprecating. “You should see how red my face is right now.”

”I’m sure I can imagine.” Aelin had already had the privilege of seeing it before and could picture it perfectly. 

“That sounds wonderful, Aelin. We’ll text and work out a time?” 

”Sounds great,” Aelin said, nodding even though Rowan couldn’t see.

“Bye, then.”

”See ya, Rowan,” Aelin replied and hung up the phone. 

For a moment she stood there, smiling, proud of herself for getting a date so smoothly. The whole misunderstanding of Ivy being there would be forgotten and never spoken of again. This was a triumph and Aelin was ready to celebrate, which would start with some polite bragging. 

>> I got that date you were bugging me about. Now you have to help me figure out what to wear.

When Lysandra sent back an emoji of a smiling devil Aelin knew they were about to cause some havoc and Rowan would be their target. 

~~~~~

I already have Aelin's outfit planned and she'd gonna wreck him

[clarionglass]

so i have been bitten by the sam reich!master bug courtesy of some phenomenal art by @northernfireart and uh. as is too often the case i had to write something otherwise if i didn't get it out of my brain i would go absolutely insane

(there may be more vignettes coming if i have ideas..... there are definitely other episodes i'd like to give the Treatment to, plus with the new dw series coming out on the weekend i may have ideas for how to incorporate the dw gang! however, i promise neither more writing or no more writing. that said, this was a lot of fun so there'll probably be more at some stage :D )

this has full spoilers for the game changer ep "escape the greenroom", but hey that's been out for a while now so,,,, if you haven't seen it i'd highly recommend it as an episode!

so, without further ado:

--

Samuel Dalton was a complete fiction, of course, but that didn't mean that when Sam Reich snuck back upstairs to get tied up in the “out of order” bathroom, the Sam that remained on the monitor, laughing at the contestants, was a pre-recording. And if Brennan, Siobhan and Lou had snorted at the idea of a time-travelling evil magician great-grandfather (for good reason), going in with the actual truth of the matter would have sounded like jumping the shark.

It sounded bizarre, but the time travel bit was the only part about his new partner in crime that was confirmably real. Admittedly, the jury was still out on “evil”—he gave off a weird vibe at times, but so far, no lines had been crossed, and it had all been funny as hell—so for now, Sam was willing to roll with it. But perhaps most surprisingly, there wasn’t even the possibility of blood relation between Samuel Dalton Reich and the guy who had shown up out of the blue one day with his exact face and a plan to really fuck around with things on Game Changer.

Yeah, the whole alien thing had really ruled out that particular prospect.

There had been various bits and pieces of confirmation that this guy wasn’t human through the time Sam had known him, but the final nail in the coffin for that one was when his doppelganger had looked him dead in the eye and tried on one of the heart rate monitors—sorry, “range extenders”—for As a Cucumber. The damn thing had literally sparked up, then died completely. Trying to process input from two separate heartbeats at once would do that, apparently. 

His doppelganger was a Time Lord, or so he had nonchalantly said one afternoon in casual conversation, though Sam still wasn’t sure if that one was a joke or not. It was hard to tell, sometimes, because he said the wildest things with the straightest face, and so far, most of them had turned out to be one hundred percent certifiably true. The time travel, the space travel, even the changing faces thing—it sounded objectively insane, but the proof was undeniable. 

There were some notable exceptions, though. Saying he’d been trapped for aeons inside Neil Patrick Harris’s gold tooth went just that bit too far to be believable, though Sam did appreciate his double’s slightly warped sense of humour.

It was that offbeat line of thinking that lent itself well to game design, as it turned out. He had a knack for coming up with ideas for Game Changer episodes, albeit with the occasional suggestion that went way beyond the bounds of good taste, and, as in the case of Escape the Greenroom, had devised some blinding twists on concepts Sam had already half-formed. The letter puzzle unlocking the secret door? It was perfect.

Understandably, Sam’s doppelganger had wanted to observe the fruits of their labours in real time, rather than watching the recording later. It happened, sometimes, particularly when it was one of his ideas that had made it through to the episode list—they’d swap places for a session, with nobody being any the wiser. Watching those edits back always felt a bit weird—it was uncanny how flawless the mimicry was—but hey, the guy was right. It was always fun.

Escape the Greenroom, specifically, with its “Samuel Dalton” conceit, provided them with a unique opportunity. Instead of swapping out the camera feed for a recording when the cast piled into the tiny secret room behind the wall, as per the original plan to get Sam in position to be discovered in the bathroom, they could just swap out the people. Sam would go upstairs, and his double would take his place at the podium, ducking out of sight when everyone came back to the main stage to “defuse the bomb”.

Sam was keen—hell, if their situations had been reversed, he’d want to be there to watch, too—but caution raised a flag. “You don’t think it’s too risky?” he’d asked when the subject was first raised. “Both of us being in the same place?”

His doppelganger had shrugged one shoulder with supreme unconcern. “The crew won't notice.”

At the time, Sam had shot him a sceptical look, but right now, Sam-Reich-in-a-purple-tie and Sam-Reich-in-an-orange-tie were standing backstage post-record, clearly visible and and calmly chatting, and not a single member of the crew had given them so much as a second glance. 

…Hardly even a first glance, come to think about it. If anyone looked over their way, their eyes seemed to… not exactly go through them, but slide over the two of them like water. He was tempted to wave to Nico or Ash or someone, just out of pure curiosity, but something in the back of his mind told him that wouldn’t be the world’s greatest idea. He had a funny feeling he wouldn’t like to see what would happen next.

(He’d given the prop bomb back to the crew once the cameras stopped rolling, and though it looked the same as the one he remembered from before he’d headed upstairs, it felt different in his hands. Heavier, more… serious, somehow. He was sure nothing would have happened—but at the same time, he was suddenly very glad that the cast had cut the correct wire with no less than a minute fifteen to go.)

(The jury was still out on evil, after all.)

“Worth coming in for?” he asked instead.

“Absolutely,” his double replied with relish. “Locking those three in a small room for an hour? Brilliant, fantastic. Inspired. It was absolute chaos.”

“Have you seen up there?” Sam asked, a smile starting to spread across his face. “They messed up the set real bad.”

His doppelganger smirked at him. “You know it took literally two seconds from you telling them to escape the greenroom for Lou to smash that guitar?”

Sam shook his head. “Oh my god. Yeah, they were stressed.” 

“Mmm. Some real panic in that room,” his doppelganger agreed, and Sam chose to ignore the faint note of satisfaction in his voice.

He shifted his weight, settling back to lean against the table behind the set, in the exact instant his double decided to do the same thing. It really was freaky how similar they were, down to the smallest mannerism—like looking in a mirror, only weirder, because the face that looked back at him was truly his own face, not mirror-reversed. Even now, it still caught Sam off guard from time to time, but at least it had faded into a more comfortable kind of strange. He had an exact lookalike who was an actual time-travelling alien. Cool. Doesn’t everyone?

The pair shared a companionable silence for a few moments, before a thought Sam had been turning over for a while rose to the top of his mind. He shifted again, this time on his own, and he felt his double’s regard swing up to fix on him like a magnet. 

“Okay, real talk,” he started, and his doppelganger frowned back in an approximation of confused innocence. “What’s all this for?”

“Who says it has to be for anything? Aren't we just having fun?”

Sam hummed, considering. “Yeah. No, I'd believe that, if I didn't sometimes walk into production meetings and find out I'd apparently been very specific about the people I wanted for certain episodes.”

“Point for Sam,” his doppelganger acknowledged with a grin. “You got me. Wasn’t hard to make a few phone calls on our joint behalf.”

“Yeah, but why?” Sam pressed. “I mean, Siobhan, Brennan and Lou are always great comedy value when you put them together, and it was awesome to have them for this, but I get the feeling you’re thinking of something other than making good content.”

“Who, me?”

With that, his double gave him a look of such overdone pantomime innocence that Sam suddenly and thoroughly understood why, not half an hour earlier, Brennan had very seriously threatened to push him down the stairs. 

He rolled his eyes, which earned him a smirk for his troubles.

Dropping the act, his doppelganger continued. “I’m expecting an… old friend, I guess, to show up at some point, and—well, I’d like to put on a really special show for them. I thought it would be a good opportunity to try a few things out, you know?”

Ominous pause aside, that was actually kind of sweet. Sweeter than he’d been expecting, that’s for sure—he was half anticipating the revelation that he and his cast were subjects in some weird experiment. Hey, that still couldn’t fully be ruled out, but still.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Well… just let me know, next time? Before you start ordering in my cast like takeout?”

“Who says they’re your cast?” his double shot back with a twinkle in his eye, and Sam snorted.

“Fine. Our cast, then. But seriously, let me know?”

His doppelganger nodded, which, if not quite fully convincing, was good enough. 

“Oh, and do you know when your friend might be arriving?” Sam asked. “Because if you wanted to plan something, we can—”

“I don’t know,” his doppelganger interrupted. “So yeah, we’ll have to move fast when they do get here. But I’ve got it under control.”

He broke off, then shot Sam a mischievous grin. “In the meantime, though, I’ve had this fun thought about time loops…”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I love pecharunt soo much..could u do headcanons for a poison type trainer caring for Pecharunt and Pecharunt loving his new trainer? (Reader gives Pecharunt a new loving home!) 🥺 Maybe some thoughts on the Paldea squad still not trusting Pecharunt (maybe sum jealous Arven bc reader is paying more attention to the pokemon instead of him.?)

Obviously, Pecharunt tried to stay closed-off after what happened between him and his original caretakers.

His quest to satisfy their ever-growing wishes soon led to tragedy..and he didn't wanna suffer through that again.

So after waking up he turns the whole town of Mossui against you and your friends, not wanting to let anyone in.

But in his eyes you seemed determined to make him feel as miserable as possible..especially as you sent Okidogi, Fezandpiti, and/or Munkidori against him after defeating Nemona.

The betrayal stung, seeing his former friends who died to protect him from Ogerpon now siding with humans and attacking him.

After being caught and lifting the town's "curse", he feels humbled, hiding away in his shell even as you introduce him to the rest of your team:

One made of poison types.

Although most of them looked scary and seemed difficult to care for, you learned how to tend to their needs without getting yourself hurt by their toxins, and that made your bonds with them grow stronger by the day.

You hoped to achieve something similar with Pecharunt, knowing it'll be a challenge but willing to try.

He was reclusive around your party members, but not you.

In fact, he quickly grew to love having you as his trainer, yet he was convinced that making mochi was the only way to secure that connection with you--and that if he couldn't win every battle, you'd think he was weak and abandon him.

But you knew that 8x weakness of his would be a problem, and even with an impressive defense..losses were inevitable, and you'd have to calm him down whenever he throws a fit over losing or if you refuse to send him into a fight you knew he won't win.

You eventually learn his story (and why the Loyal Three meant so much to him) through some old texts Kieran's grandparents lent you, and after reading them you just give him a hug and say "I'm sorry."

That's all you said.

It was so simple, yet enough to make Pecharunt cry and realize you would unconditionally love him and give him a permanent home. No mochi necessary. He had nothing to fear.

Of course, though, even after you share all of this and his growth with your Paldean friends, they still warn you to be careful around him.

Arven was more upset about being forced to do a stupid dance than being forced to battle you, still giving the mythical 'mon the cold shoulder every time he sees you two hanging around.

"You embarrassed me in front of my best friend..don't think I'll forget that." He always remarks while Mabosstiff gives him the side eye(tm).

You, however, know he's just getting jealous of you giving more attention to some Pokémon (like a certain legendary dragon) than him and tease him about it.

Of course, Pecharunt is still up to his mischievous ways: he'll mess around with Arven by snuggling up to you, sneaking mochi into his sandwiches, and just being a little shit in general.

Are you fully aware of this? Yes.

Will you stop it? Probably not. It's amusing.

[trashy-tries-writing]

Hii there's absolutely no pressure but I love your writing and thought: what about Ravine working with the 141 on a mission where drugs are related and they need to find them (or something of that sort, I'm no expert in military stuff) and they bring a k-9 with them that is known for being aggressive and attacking if not treated with utmost precision, only for it to warm up to Ravine and snuggle up to him even tho he's the scary and "mean" one?

Pictures: Cooper with Ravine VS Cooper with anyone else

Dear Anon, I love your magnificent brain for coming up with this scenario!!! And thank you so much!🤗 Also no worries I don’t know anything about the military either :’)) I hope I wrote this how you imagined, do let me know 🙌

Warning: Mentions of drugs, PTSD, amputation, transplant- Probably wrong military name usages and stuff. Maybe OOC?💧

Let me know if you want a part 2 of this, where they chase down the drugs with Cooper 😀

Drug mission with an aggressive K-9 who only turns putty for the "mean” Ravine. The boys are conflicted about who to feel jealous of- Cooper or Ravine, both who usually don't let themselves be touched.

Ravine, who just finished his massacre, was sent to 141’s base once their mission to get intel turned into a drug chase. Along with the confiscated information, they found a hidden stash of high class heroin on the boat, therefore they wanted the soldier to join them.

Laswell had tracked the owner later: Caro Edgar, a well known drug lord that has been long enough on the wanted list. Price decided it was time they get the man behind bars- or dead.

Someone from the DATR (Defence Animal Training Regiment) was delivering their best narcotic detection dog to the squad per Price’s request. Some of the boys were ecstatic to have a little furry friend with them…

Until the dog actually came into the base.

The K-9, Cooper was a menace to deal with.

He bared his fangs at the men in front of him once his cage was open. Gaz, who was excited to greet their four-legged friend, took a sudden step and Cooper was already in his face, mouth ajar to bite his head off, if it weren’t for the chain being pulled back by the dog handler.

Soap flinched back from the sudden hostility and that owned him a bunch of barkings while saliva flew from the K-9’s mouth.

Safe to say, both men backed off and used Ghost as a human shield. Said man glared at the canine, his shoulders tensed. Price on the other hand looked at the soldier with a questioned look, who lent them the aggressive canine.

“I apologize but he is the only one qualified with the mission, the others aren’t ready or already on duty.”

 For the past two days, they tried to get along with the aggressive K-9 but it wasn’t getting any better.

If they moved too fast, he barked.

Breathed wrong? He growled.

Too close and shifting wrong? Cooper jumped them if it weren’t for the chain stopping him. They had to fill his bowl and slide it over from a distance due to Ghost almost losing his hand the first time he tried to fill his plate.

Price was 100% certain that Soap was having nightmares of the dog ripping him to shreds while he slept. Gaz refused to come near the devil spawn and walked along the edge while pressing his back to the wall. His eyes never left the four-legged demon when he passed around it.

Ghost? He and Cooper had a glaring contest every single time the dog started barking and growling like a feral animal when they came across each other.

 On the third day, Ravine finally reached the base and the dog hadn't lessened his bullshit which made the Task Force slowly lose it. Cooper made noises throughout the night when he felt like they didn’t suffer enough trying to take care of him.

The dog trainer admitted that she was a little afraid of the Belgian Malinois herself. The previous owner died on the mission so the dog was passed down to her. Cooper was one of the best K-9 they had so they had to keep him even if he was being hostile to the other dogs. They had to separate him into solo training with a group of supervisors to get the K-9 under control.

They were all currently all out in the open, trying to make Cooper listen to their commands. They couldn’t keep waiting due to the risk of Caro Edgar shipping a whole warehouse of drugs underground.

“Steaming bloody Jesus!”

Soap jumps back, close to losing his footing when Cooper jumps up to meet the man face to face.

“This isn’t going anywhere! We need a new dog damn it!”

Price sighs and opens his mouth to agree but notices the collar ripping from the sideline.

“Get away from him, NOW!!”

*Snap*

Cooper wastes no time to attack, Gaz who he seems to be running to, screams in fear and throws his body to the side. Only to reveal Ravine appearing from behind him, the men panic at the soldier staring at the report in his hands.

“RAVINE DUCK!”

Their hearts skip a beat when the dog comes slamming down onto him from above. Papers flew through the air as Ravine couldn’t even finish registering what Ghost was screaming about until a blur of black and brown came into his sight.

They run towards the fallen soldier, expecting blood to pour from his shoulders or any part Cooper decided to bite into.

But Ravine laid on the ground unharmed with a hand holding the front legs and the other grabbing tightly on the dog’s mouth like a muzzle as he proceeded to get the K-9’s face further away from his.

“That was close. You good mate?” Soap warily inches closer but stops when Cooper starts growling again.

“Aye.”

Ravine sits on the dirt for a moment before casting the dog to the side. As if the squad felt the change in their newcomer, they huddled together on the sideline with the dog trainer holding a brand new collar in her hands.

Cooper shakes his fur, his fangs out, ready to pounce at the threat in front of him. Ravine on the other hand stood calmly on his feet, his height casting a shadow on the dog as it came flying towards him.

“Sit.”

The dog flinches at his voice, hesitates for a split second then prepares to pounce, his jaw open-

“Sit.”

What some humans didn’t know was the highly sensitivity of a dog to pheromones. Cooper feels it, the malice from the stranger standing before him seems to grow and expand to an immeasurable size, all pointed at him and him only. Cooper was lost inside, alone, hunted down like a prey. If he didn’t listen now- he knew he was actually going to perish.

So he sat down, lowering as far as his body allowed.

 Gaz glances between Ravine and the dog in worry. “He doesn’t actually think this is going to work, is it?” His hands feel sweaty as he wiped them down on his clothes, his eyes peeking at Ghost and Soap. “He wasn’t here to see how dangerous it is.”

“I don’t think he’s dumb to believe that.” replies L.T. with crossed arms, the thought of shooting the little menace crossing his mind if the mutt decided to take a bite out of him.

“Sit.”

They suddenly find themselves on the ground before they hear Price cackle loudly on the bench. Soap’s legs felt like jelly when Ravine ordered them- the dog with a tone he hadn’t heard him use before.

Ravine stared at the quartet on the ground and Price on the bench, curious what the Captain found so funny at him getting the dog to lay down. He might never know because they avoided looking into his general direction.

Soap laid on his back, his face in his palms, Gaz pushed his hat down to hide his expression and Ghost was lucky to have his mask on as he grabbed his arms while turning away, the dog trainer pushed her head into her knees that were pulled towards her chest.

And lucky Price, who was already sitting, continued to crack up towards the squad with the occasional whines being let out from Cooper in the background.

Ravine thought the Captain told a joke that made the others react so strongly and didn’t bother questioning it, to their relief. When everyone calmed their hearts, they mentally agreed to never talk about this situation ever again but they knew Price would never let them live this down.

 They decided the little demon was Ravine’s responsibility now.

And at first they were glad to not have to risk their limbs anymore.

Cooper listened to every word Ravine spoke and slowly throughout the day, the dog started to waddle around without having to be leashed although he would still snap at the other’s who weren't Ravine.

What started out as an aggressive attack dog, turned in half a day into a puppy longing for affection and attention.

 On the fourth day, 141 was slowly getting fed up.

At one point they were jealous that Ravine gets to be on the menaces' good side. He gets to ruffle the dogs fur, pet it while they get a face full of teeth and saliva. Along with Cooper sitting on his lap, his thighs making it look really cozy to touch, the K-9 performed tricks and wagged his tail like a love-sick puppy yearning for cuddles from the man.

As if the four-legged demon didn’t plan to give Gaz a nose transplant, a hand amputation for Ghost and PTSD for Soap.

Then they couldn’t approach Ravine without Cooper getting in between them.

They weren’t allowed to be near him and had to stay at least a good few feet away. They couldn’t even hand him things over without the damn dog scaring them, so Cooper could bring the stuff to Ravine like some newspaper.

At the meeting to track down Caro Edgar, Cooper decided to interrupt by going in between his legs and standing up to put his front legs on Ravine’s chest. He wouldn’t stop bouncing until his human put an arm around him, his hand laying on top of his head for scratchies.

Price’s content that Ravine was a help to get the dog under control. They couldn’t risk flunking the mission caused by a misbehaving K-9. He lets his eyes linger on the duo, a smile spreading on his lips when the faceless man doesn't repulse from the physical affection.

He wanted to go back to the report but noticed that no one was really paying attention anymore besides Ravine, who was looking at the documents on the desk.

Gaz is tempted to pull at its tail beneath the desk so the K-9 would stop bothering Ravine so much. He snaps his eyes away from it when Cooper looks directly at him. The menace threw his attention back to the man petting him when the smell of fear slowly radiated off of Gaz.

Beside Ravine sat Soap as he wondered if one day the slouching male would give him a hug too. For a while he stared at the demon disappearing and replaced by a puppy in Ravine’s embrace.

Ghost gawks at the mutt in irritation. He fed him and got his limp nearly bitten off and now the same mutt is squeezing his teammate’s chest like some paw toy. He knows that Cooper was given him side eyes and showing his sharp fangs to mock him. Ravine looks down to check on the K-9 and there it goes acting all innocent.

‘Cunt.’

 On the sixth day, the dog trainer already left while the team wanted to get the mission done and over with, so they could immediately return the K-9 back to her.

Soap’s mind wanders around until he thinks aloud, his eyes following the dog wagging his tail at the tall man trying to train in peace. He grimaces at it for stealing his chance to bond with Ravine all to itself.

“Do you think that brat sleeps in the same bed as him?”

“I’m sure it does-” Gaz sips loudly from his bottle, his eyes glaring down at Cooper when the K-9 gets to snuggle closer to his chest before being pushed to the side, “Look at it! The dog gets to hug him before I even get the chance for Ravine to let me touch his shoulder!”

“I don’t even get a high five from him.”

“Me neither.”

Both turn their heads towards Ghost, silently edging him to answer the question. He sighs under his breath. “Negative.”

They all turn back to watching their friend from afar, occasionally cursing the dog under their breaths when they see how physical Cooper was getting with the man who was known to back away from people who wanted to touch him.

Even Ghost wasn’t that stingy.

Hell breaks loose when Cooper starts to put his paws on the man’s ass.

“ThaT’S IT-”

“Wait Soap, don’t dO THAT-!”

“JOHNNY DON’T-”

Terrified screams could be heard through the base along with a string of curses and a dog’s vicious barking. It ended with Ravine ordering Cooper to back off from his friends with a slight edge to his voice which scared the dog into laying on the ground shamefully.

On the other hand Gaz and Soap grin victoriously and pull faces at the dog behind the safety of the soldier’s back. Ghost silently curses the mutt for acting inappropriately while Price is hiding in the back, recording the whole situation to send to some people.

[spookytragedyshark]

Jason Todd and The Ghost Zone

Danny just wanted to have time to be a kid. Ironically the closest he could act like a real kid was in the zone now. So, when he looks like a teen everyone respects it and gives him his space, but it is not the same. There is no one like him.

Now Ghosts know he is their king instinctually, so they cannot treat him like a kid not truly. However, the child ghost Infront of him who looks to be a few years younger is deafeningly out of touch with instinct and Danny can see why. He is absolutely covered in scars and seemingly unaware crying for his dad, Bruce. The kid is covered in what Danny can only descried as rotten ectoplasm.

Grabbing the kid Danny rushes to his ghostly home and summons for anyone who might know what to do. As it turns out the "scars" were wounds that the boy died with. Danny feels sick noting all of them. There are whispers among the ghosts before one steps forward.

"The corruption will be purged over time as long as he remines in the zone, but it will be more affective to stay with you as you are the very start of the zone."

Holding the boy helps a little bit but it takes days before he stops wailing and almost a week and a half before he is awareish.

The first thing the boy asks for is to see his dad. Danny is not sure if the boy is actually awake or not. "I promise as soon as you are healthy enough I'll look into finding your dad."

Through some misunderstandings Jason comes to believe Danny is a servant of the king of the ghost zone and has been lent kingly power to help in situations like his because "why would a king have time to deal with someone like me?" Danny almost corrects him but instead decides this is his chance to have a friend.

Danny trains him to use his powers and learns about who killed him. This joker must be sending off the corruption in waves. Ironically with corruption ingrained like that the man cannot die or be brought to the ghost zone. Danny explains everything to the boy and how often people change names after dying. So Jay has mostly healed, has control of his powers, and knows his obsession.

At first Jay hates it because rebirth and second chances really? How could he forgive the joker? Danny sits beside him "That man has had more than a few second chances you should not feel bad for not giving him another." The being that is the joker might not even be in his original body they discover. Danny knows that he will have to do something about all this but Jay needs him first and foremost and there is little he can do other than clean up the after math.

Jay does not tell him about being Rodin or how he died. He feels fiercely guarded on those things. Danny explains that it is normal to feel that way and that he only needs certain details to help him and to go to the right dimension and time period to see his dad and brother. Jay freaks out about the multiverse for a bit.

When Jay is recovered enough Danny brings him to his funeral. Jay sees them morn for him. They stay there well after the funeral..

Long enough to see Tim climb down from a tree and place flowers on his grave..

Jay asks Danny if he would also like to visit his own grave. Jay knows how important they are to ghosts. Proof they were alive and that they meant something.

"I do not have one. No one really knew or at least accepted I died. We sould look after your family for a bit something does not feel right" Jay would have cried at that but he had been crying the whole time anyway. He could not make himself visible not now at least. Danny said once that there was a possibility after he was completely healed.

Jay convinces Danny not to fallow any of the secret passages. Danny agrees to respect their privacy since they clearly are not evil. Jay panics and says that Bruce is Batmans sugar daddy and that his brother is dating nightwing. Danny just mumbles something about fruitloops. "You are well enough to say on your own for a bit. I'm going to go investigate the corruption do under any circumstances leave Gotham and always be back in the mansion by day light."

This becomes their normal every days they come to Gotham. Danny finds the voice of Gotham when looking for the source of corruption.

"you have greatly helped one of my knights. You my child will always be welcome here. What are you searching for?"

It is from Lady Gotham that Danny learns of the artificial ectoplasm. He destroys the artificial ectoplasm corruption from Arkham and immediately the patents get better little by little but the joker is not there so he can not stop him yet.

Jay sees Tim force his way into Bruce's heart. Jay sees how Tim views himself and wants to tear his hair out. Of course, he gets a baby brother, and his own death is what messes up Bruce's communication skills this time. Jay follows Tim home a few times and honest to God thinks Tim is an orphan for a few months because who leave anyone unattended that long.

"Danny I know there is no way for me to interact with the human world but is there someone, maybe the king who can?"

After Jay breaks down and explains the situation. "He checks their flight records to know if they are coming home and they never are." Danny sighs because explaining he is only half dead and kinda abandoned his home reality because of the government is not something he wants to do. but that's how all the cameras in the bat cave stopped working and Batman found his computer open to the Drakes flight records. Tim was adopted and Jay was almost ready to let go of his human life. Danny was so proud.

Then Jason was thrown in the pit literally ripped away from Danny. It was agonizing to be filled with corruption after almost being completely healed. Then there was his body always filled with rage. Then the old man and the ticktack that tried to convince him he was not avenged and to turn on his family. He saw what nightwing did to the joker. The joker was alive somewhere but had also been killed at lest twice since his death. The only reason he stayed and pretended to go along with it was to see if Danny would find him and get information on the artificial ectoplasm corruption in liquid form. Then there was their heir. He looked like Bruce. It took a while, but he found out yeah that kid was his brother. He slowly drove the kid away form the mindset that they put in him. He told the kid about the constant rage.

Then one night him and Damian disappeared.

Danny was livid. Jay was in pain. he saw what it was doing to him as it was ripping him from the ghost zone. Jason Todds grave was empty and Lady Gotham could not give him much information. Danny searched the planet, but he found more pits as they called them, and it was overwhelming even if they were thousands of years old. So when redhood and demon make it to Gotham and start taking out multimer offenders Danny does not find out till he feels a pull. In Wayne cemetery were Jason Todds grave used to be. They are holding a funeral for Danny Fenton.

The relief is Immedient because there is Jay, but then there's the flowers and acknowledgement. He did not even know he wanted a grave that much, but here he is so overwhelmed by his emotions. He accidently changes into human form and is crying. Jason older now the same age as Danny hugs him. Why is the 10-year-old glowing green...

Bonus:

Jason breaks into Titans tower.

"You are coming with me"

"why would i do that"

Jasion puts phone on speaker

"Come with me or the kid gets it!"

Damien in the tiny scared kid voice Jason helped him perfect

"Help me Help me Mr Robin"

Jason carries Tim like a sack of potatoes back to Gotham and throws him on the couch beside a chilling demon.

"were is the kid" He says

Damien giggles "Help me Help me Mr Robin'

"I thought you were a tiny adult what the hell"

"Nah he like 10 and its movie night. I assume you hit your sos botten so dick and Bruce and maybe Barbra should be here soon. Damian is picking out the movie first then you and then me and so forth so on." Jason takes off his helment and Gets a snack plater from the kitchen.

"Big bro do not hand Jay anything during the movie mk cuz the pit takes over if he gets emotional and just look at that" Damian points the corner with at least 12 TVs impaled by increasingly strange objects. "we have extras but the last one was the old care bears and he got to sentimental."

Bonus Bonus:

every bat ever to Damian "NO KILLING UNTILL YOU ARE 18"D

Damian never actual takes up being an assassin again.

[cookieswithay]

"🕸No...no way🕷."

Thee Miles Morales x female reader😜

●•°○°•●•°○°•●•°○°•●•°○°•●

⚠️Warnings: Kinda angsty, spelling mistakes, slight cursing and the biggest part of all...

⚠️SPOILERS!!!⚠️

(Well not exactly, but you'll know what I mean when you watch the movie.)

Don't read this, if you haven't watched it, Okay!🤠

●•°○°•●•°○°•●•°○°•●•°○°•●•°○

• Y'know, most people would go see parents when they're upset. But Miles, he needed to see YOU. Even though his pops life was soon gonna be at stake, he still needed to cool down. Get his head screwed back on straight. Yes, yes, this was selfish. And reckless. But if anyone could heal a black heart, it was his girlfriend.

• About 5.2 seconds later, he crash landed on your balcony. Normally, that would've hurt, but the adrenaline was still coursing through him. He took a shaky breath, and knocked on your window.

• Please be home.

• Miles chanted in his head. The curtains were drawn. Were you asleep? Godammit. He shouldn't of came here anyway. Knowing that Miguel guy (and everyone else he thought CARED about him) he was probably followed. You did NOT need a bounty on your head just from association. He was ready to hightail it, when he heard the curtains spread.

• "Miles?"

• You barely got the word out before you were tugged into a tight embrace. By...spiderwebs?

• "Um...sweetie pie?"

• You squeaked. What was wrong with him? Silently, he picked you up, and slipped through the window. (Still hugging you, btw) He put you down and sighed.

• "Sorry, Y/N. I...I just been through some stuff."

• "Stuff?"

• You asked, with a raised eyebrow. Sure, he's been scarce for a few days. But the crime was still low.

• "Remember when I said I had to figure out what Gwen was hiding?"

• You nodded slowly.

• "Well, uh...this is gonna be long. Um, listen, turns out I'm part of a long line Spidermen. But every gen, a police captain dies. And just recently, Dad got promoted and-"

• "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Pump the breaks for a sec, handsome."

• Was he talking too fast? Or was this still a information dump? You gave him a bewildered look.

• "You're saying your pops is getting promoted?"

• The chocolate hero nodded. You were at that party. Did you forget the deets already? (Although he wouldn't be surprised, you guys were kissing A TON that day)

• "Honey pie..."

• You said with a confused and now concerned look.

• "You're dad passed last year... remember?"

• Miles blood ran cold. Died last ye- What were you talking about!? He was alive! And he was gonna stay that way! Noticing your boyfriend's panicked expression, you gave him a hug.

• "Aww, Is this why you needed to see me?"

• "You'll be okay."

• Sadly your attempt to comfort him was in vain, his heart was still racing. He was home...right?

• "Go on, hug me back."

• You said into his chest. His arms naturally raised up, but he forced them to stop when he took a look a you. You...you looked really different. Instead of one of the many sweaters he lent you, you had one a tattered jersey with the sleeves torn off. Along with dragon tattoos littered on your arms. Even your iconic hairstyle was different!

• "Y/N..."

• "Hold that thought, let's get outta the dark."

• You said. You let him go and headed to the light switch. Miles watched as you did so, although it was kinda hard. His head was spinning like crazy. What was happening...?

• "Okay."

• You said. You turned on your heels.

• "Back to the kiss and make it bet-"

• You paused. You gave him a shocked look over. What was this new style? You chuckled as you crossed your arms.

• "Jeez, you dip for a few days, and become a whole new person."

• You flicked the lights back off.

• "But...I kinda like it."

• "It's not every day, I see your hair down..."

• Miles tensed as you walked up on him. This wasn't you...well not the one he's dating. You leaned on him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

• "It's nice,"

• You snickered.

• "Kinda gives a Huey Freeman vibe."

• Well, at least you were still clever. BUT, he didn't have time for this! He had to get his family! And protect Brooklyn from that spot weirdo in general! So much to do and so little time. He pulled your arms off.

• "Y/N, listen. I gotta-"

• His words fell when his Spider sense suddenly kicked in. He yanked you towards him, and hopped to the right. Just in the nick of time too. The door blasted in.

• "Y/N!"

• Miles ear rang. That voice...sounded oddly familiar. TOO familiar.

• "Miles!?"

• You shouted. Miles!? Like Miles Morales? The dark figure turned.

• "Y/N!? Oh my god, I'm so glad you're okay-!"

• YOUR boyfriend stopped in his happy tracks A awkward silence filled the room. Miles was now face to face...with HIMSELF. Well, a more tormented kinda intimidating version of himself. Where the hell is he!? Both of the males faces slowly went from shock, to deep frowns. YOU, on the other, was STILL shocked. Who the hell was holding you right now!?

• "Miles or...Miles-es?"

• "Who..."

• They both started, slowly yet angrily.

• "In the matrix hell..."

• "ARE YOU!?"

●•°○°•●•°○°•●•°○°•●•°○°•●

HAHA! Bet no one saw THAT ending coming. Except the peeps who watched the movie too. Anywho, gotta finish a ROTTMNT ask. As always, Stay cool!😎

[straightbaittournament]

may the best bait win! propaganda under the cut:

bellamy and clarke:

They start off as a rivals-to-lovers kind of arc, the actors are married and have a kid in addition to (allegedly) being friends with benefits in the early seasons They have multiple intense romantic moments even while they're with other people, the actors were told to play them romantically and have spoken up about it, and are now married, they once won a "sexiest moment" award despite it just being him pushing her hair back, they get married in the books, they constantly tell each other that they need each other, and call themselves "the head and the heart"

they get married in the books the actors were told to play them romantically for seven years, but in the final season, clarke KILLS bellamy because the showrunner hated his teen girl fanbase. they also had multiple almost-love confessions, and constantly said things like "i need you" and called themselves "the head and the heart"

"m/f pairs who have some kind of weird fucking thing going on that is never explicitly named platonic or romantic" "couples whose romance is teased but never confirmed as such" No matter how much the showrunner tries to deny it, it was quite obvious from the beginning that Clarke and Bellamy were supposed to end up together. But then Clexa happened, and the massive backlash to Lexa's death (understandable) pretty much killed any chance they could manifest that romance. I'm okay with that, because it allows Bellarke a complexity that most straight pairings don't have. But the chemistry, and the chemistry was strong - so strong that the actors got married!

They're canon in the books the show is based on, and their plot seemed like it would be a slow burn enemies to friends to lovers, but the producer actively made fun of fans for shipping it and ended the series with clarke killing bellamy.

janeway and chakotay:

Janeway is the Captain of a Starfleet ship lost so far from home it will take decades to reach. Chakotay is the Captain of a Maquis (rebel) ship also lost there. They decide to work together to get home and combine their crews when the Maquis ship is destroyed, and Chakotay becomes her second-in-command. Because of the seriousness of the situation, Janeway feels that she cannot afford the distraction of a romance and so they never get together. They have NO personal space and look longingly at each other quite often and one episode has them forced to abandon ship potentially forever and they live together in a little house and he builds her a bathtub because she complains about not having one and they share a romantically charged massage where he tells her a made up story about a warrior and the woman who inspired him which he openly admits is made up and actually about them. Also he holds her while she cries about their chance of going back to the ship being destroyed. In a different episode she “dies” and he cradled her body while weeping about it. They also have candlelit dinners regularly and she lent him a copy of the book her ex-fiancé gave her, and every time the show conspires to make one temporarily unaware of the other, they flirt hardcore. An episode designed to show how they wouldn’t work as a couple only makes more people ship them. Also a young version of Janeway meets older Chakotay via time travel and asks him if they’re together in the future despite her being engaged at that point. He declined to answer directly.

they have a lot of Tension thruout the series & a very deep relationship, but Janeway has someone waiting for her back home & Chakotay ends up in a romance plot with another person in the last season (that I personally felt came from out of nowhere but whatever) I rooted for them! I rooted for a str8 couple! I did not care that Janeway had someone waiting for her back home even tho I usually do! but I did not care! they deserved to fuck!

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Love is a killer that never dies (part 1)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!! Discussion of dub-con.

Sex Pollen!AU for the short series that began with Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). Can be read as a standalone.

This is part one of four.

Title taken by another song by Beast in Black -Born Again- since it's not part of the main continuity. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

*****

Dracule Mihawk was in a conundrum. 

That was more than a little unusual for him, since as a rule there was very little that had the power to actually catch his interest, and when that happened he was inevitably powerful, well-connected and, on occasion, intimidating enough to get what he wanted without too much hassle. Most of the time he was content, even happy with his life, and with what he owned, and he rarely found himself wanting for more.

Well, it appeared life still had the power to surprise him, because at his age, after years in which no opponent had been able to seriously trouble him and he had grown bored with his occupation as one of the Seven Warlords, he suddenly found himself highly interested in a certain matter, something he deeply desired, that he craved, even that he physically needed, and that at least for the time being was not only outside his reach, but Mihawk had not the faintest idea of how to make it his.

Well. He said something, and it, but somebody, and she, would have been more appropriate; a she who had a lovely smile, and very pretty hair, and a particular way of walking that made her hips and backside sway in such an enticing way…

“What are you thinking about?” (name) asked, looking curiously at Mihawk and unknowingly distracting him from thoughts that not only concerned her, but she had a protagonist role in “I’m sorry, I’m boring you…”

“Not at all.” he rushed to reassure her, forcing himself to swallow and act normally; he had not made a fool of himself in front of a lady when he was a hormone-prone teenager and surely he would not start now that he was decades older “I just… got distracted. I’m very impressed by all of this; you and your mother must be very proud of yourselves.”

It was the third day of his permanence on (name)’s island, and the woman had brought him to visit the site of her newest project: a museum, which was going to be inaugurated soon in a large building that had previously housed the island’s chamber of commerce. Once the organisation had moved to a new headquarter, closer to the centre of the city, (name) and her mother had decided to repurpose the old location, destining it to the preservation and display of works of arts and other culturally significant pieces. 

“There are excellent schools on the island, and libraries, and even an astronomical observatory.” (name) explained as they crossed one of the still half-furnished rooms, that according to the panel hanging out of the door was destined to house archaeological artefacts “But no museums. I got the idea reading about the inauguration of an art gallery on the paper; I have visited quite a few, as well as botanical gardens and other institutions, when on holiday with my parents as a girl or on my own; but not everyone here can travel freely as I can, and I want my people, especially children, to learn to appreciate art, and that learning doesn’t necessarily happens inside a classroom.”

Mihawk nodded; he admired how dedicated his friend was to the well-being of her island, and of the people she would one day rule over. “What about the collections? How did you acquire the pieces to fill all these rooms?”

“Well, the art section will mainly house paintings owned by my family; they will look better here than in rooms that no one but me and my mother have visited in years. Some others have been donated, or lent, by larger institutions my mother has written to; and a few… well, my latest two bounties were particularly high, and after I bought a new dress there was more than enough for a few antiquities.” she answered proudly “I can’t wait for this place to open, I was thinking about inviting the lords and ladies of a few other feuds to the inauguration…”

The two spent a while walking around; they were alone, the construction workers having left an hour before. Mihawk did his best not to look uninterested in the project the woman next to him clearly cared so much about, but as he listened to her talk, and saw her proud smile as (name) described the way the artefacts would be arranged in the various rooms, and how she had invited the kingdom’s leading archaeologist to attend the museum’s inauguration, all he could think about was how pleasant would it be to take advantage of that solitude to press her back against one of the building’s unpainted walls, rest his hands on her deliciously feminine hips, and kiss her long and hard enough to leave both of them breathless. She would taste heavenly, he was sure of it, but what he wanted the most, what he would give half of his blood to experience just once, was to hear her say his name in the throes of passion, their bodies pressed against each other, his mouth avidly swallowing her moans as her lovely hands, that Mihawk had seen delicately holding a fork or a pen, and then confidently clench around the butt of a gun, caressing and stimulating his skin under his clothes.

“M-Mihawk… don’t stop… oh, Mihawk, I want you so much…”

Gods. He could get hard just by thinking about it; what was happening to him? How could he manage his urges… and, more importantly, the feelings that had aroused them? 

“I’m sorry if all this feels dull to you.” (name) said later as they, sitting in the small but elegant horse-drawn carriage, looked at the people and building of the city pass in front of them on the way to the fortress; Mihawk saw many passers-by respectfully bow their heads at the vehicle’s passage, no doubt imagining who was riding inside “I love my island, but there is not much to do, especially for a guest who is used to a more… active lifestyle; also, I have so little time…”

Mihawk smiled - briefly, and only for a moment, but sincerely. “You have nothing to apologise for; I don’t need to be entertained every waking moment, and I understand you have duties to attend to.”

(name) smiled, relieved and almost shy; Mihawk saw her bit her lip -her lovely, rouge-tinted lips, that he recently had found himself dreaming of more than once- and briefly move the hand resting on her lap, apparently without a reason… or maybe, Mihawk allowed himself to believe for a moment, to touch his, only a few inches away. 

“Still, you are my personal guest; it is my duty to make sure you are well looked after, and do not regret accepting my invitation.”

“You don’t need to fear in that regard; you are an excellent host.” he reassured her. “I am actually enjoying my stay more than I expected.”

“I’m very happy to hear you say so.”

The two of them spent the rest of the ride home in a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence as they always did - with each other, and few other people besides. When the carriage stopped in front of the fortress’s main gate, Mihawk allowed a servant in livery to open the door, stepped out and then offered his hand to (name) to help her descend, receiving another smile as a reward. Gods, her smile, he thought; that alone could be enough to make his self-control crumble.

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“It was my pleasure, my lady.”

They were about to walk inside when the servant cleared his voice. “Apologies, my lady, but the lady Veressa asked me to inform you that lord Theon has honoured us with a visit.”

Looking at (name), Mihawk thought the woman didn’t seem to feel particularly honoured; rather, she had the face of someone who had been told they would never celebrate their birthday again. “You mean today? Now?” she asked “He was supposed to come for my mother’s birthday, next month.”

“Yes, my lady; he arrived less than an hour ago. He is in the banquet hall with your mother.”

“Alone? I mean, are his wife and son with him?”

“No, my lady. He came alone.”

(name) frowned. “Which means he could want to stay a while. Just what I need.” she muttered, clearly unhappy; realising she had actually uttered those words instead of simply thinking them, she rushed to dismiss the servant, who bowed low and left.

“I gather this guest is not of your liking.” 

“He really isn’t. He… well, Theon is my cousin. If unpleasantness were a sport, he would be a world champion, but since he is one of my closest relatives besides my mother I can’t always avoid him. He has the unspoken right to come visit whenever he pleases, a privilege he makes large use of with the sole purpose of vexing me, even though he doesn’t enjoy my company any more than I enjoy his.”

 “Why has he come visiting, then?” Mihawk wondered; he thought the question harmless, but he saw the woman in front of him frown, the good mood of the afternoon spent together disappearing like snow at the coming of spring.

“Well… you remember I told you I can’t have children?” she said in the end, not even attempting to hide how painful it was for her to discuss that topic. It had been unintentional, but Mihawk mentally kicked himself for leading their conversation towards such a difficult topic.

“Of course.”

“Theon is not simply a close relative of mine… he is the closest, obviously after my mother, which technically makes him my heir. He’s two years older than me, which means he’s probably not going to enjoy being the lord long, but five years ago he had a son, and since I was still unmarried and childless, he formally asked my mother to exclude me from the line of succession, naming him her heir. My mother obviously refused, which only helped exacerbating Theon’s resentment against us both.”

Mihawk tensed. “You think he could attempt to depose her? Or hurt one of the two?” he inquired, and (name) actually considered his hypothesis for a moment before shaking her head.

“Theon is an idiot, but he’s not a fool; he knows the people of this island would never accept him if he took power by force.” she reasoned “He only wants to check whether my mother is in good health, clearly hoping she is not… and if I have a partner who could get me pregnant, since we have kept the fact that I am now infertile secret. He’s becoming more insufferable every passing year…”

She looked decidedly unhappy, an unusual circumstance for a normally self-assured woman, her eyes downcast as her hand almost unconsciously brushed against her stomach - against her womb, that would never grow heavy with a child. 

For a moment, Mihawk seriously considered offering to tell (name)’s cousin she did have a partner - him, a powerful and menacing pirate with a six foot four sword hanging from his back, who would have no qualms defending her from any unpleasant comment or insinuation; the woman could take care of and stand up for herself, but she might be forced to be polite to her cousin, while he would happily introduce the fool to Yoru’s cutting side to save her the torment. 

“I’ll have to ask him to dine with us.” (name) muttered as they both set off towards the inside of the fortress “I’m so sorry, Mihawk.”

“I don’t mind.” he lied “To be honest, I can’t wait to meet your cousin.”   

His desire was fulfilled only a few minutes later when, crossing the banquet hall to reach their quarters, they met the lady Veressa, deep in conversation with a tall, well-dressed man. The older woman smiled seeing them come in, but her gaze grew tense a moment later; she clearly did not appreciate Theon’s visit any more than her daughter did. 

“Hello, my love; Mihawk. Was your afternoon pleasant?”

“It was, mother, thank you.”

“Good. Look who came to visit us.”

There was a vague resemblance between Theon and his cousin and aunt, Mihawk found, even though the man’s face was devoid of the beauty they had been blessed with; he was tall and broad-shouldered, but a weak chin was visible under his well-kept beard.

“Theon. We were not expecting you.” (name) pointed out without a smile, fake or otherwise.

“I’m returning home from a trip abroad, and I thought I would pay my family a visit before returning home.” Theon explained “Good to see you, (name);”

“And you. How are your wife and child?

At the mention of his family, a touch of sincere affection coloured the man’s voice.

“Very well, thanking all the Gods. My son has just started his classes with a tutor, the man says he has never had a cleverer pupil.” he said, before smiling sweetly at his cousin - the sort of smile one could expect from a snake ready to gape its jaws “And what about you, dear cousin? No man in your life… and no child in your womb?”

“Not for the time being, no.”

“You should hurry. After all you’re no longer a girl, am I wrong? I thought you’d be more interested in the future of your feud… even though I understand it’s not always easy to find the right person, when one is not exactly… well, of course there’s nothing wrong with having high standards…”

(name)’s expression had turned to ice; clearly she was used to her cousin’s subtle cruelty, but Mihawk could see the hurt in her eyes. 

“Did you spend your afternoon working in a construction site?” Theon insisted, before (name) could utter an equally biting answer.

The dress the woman had chosen that day was one Mihawk had seen her wearing more than once; she looked lovely -and oh, how deliciously she filled it, the shape of her body caressed by the fabric- but neither her nor Mihawk had noticed there were traces of plaster dust on her skirt and sleeves, no doubt a residue picked up at the museum’s site.

“Let’s say that is my new hobby. To be honest, I’m quite busy these days; unfortunately not all of us can spend our time hunting in the woods and playing chess.” she answered sweetly, without even attempting to hide or clean the dirt on her dress “Duties of the heir, you will understand. Or maybe not.”

Mihawk felt a smile tug at his lips; meeting the lady Veressa’s eyes, he saw the older woman hide her own amusement behind a hand. Theon, on his part, went red in the face; like all cowards, Mihawk thought, he enjoyed making fun of others, but was unable to defend his own honour when he was the one attacked.

“Theon, I don’t think you’ve ever met our guest.” the lady Veressa intervened, stepping closer to rest a reassuring hand on her daughter’s back “Meet Dracule Mihawk.”

Theon blinked; only then he seemed to notice the presence of the tall, menacing man in black next to his cousin. “Dracule Mihawk? That Dracule Mihawk?” he asked, disbelief evident in his voice “One of the Seven Warlords of the Sea?”

“I am not aware of another man with my name.” Mihawk replied, his tone icy. Theon gulped; both Mihawk and the two women saw him eye the man in front of him, and then the huge black sword hanging from his back.

“What… what are you doing here? Don’t tell me the Marines sent you…”

“I am not here on business; I am (name)’s guest.”

“Mihawk and I have known each other for many years.” the woman interjected, moving in turn marginally closer to the man; Mihawk felt her fingers brush against his “He’s a good friend.”

“R-really? I… had no idea…”

“I admire your cousin’s ability with a gun; I have seen her shooting a man between his eyes from a hundred and twenty feet away. Do you remember, (name)?”

“I most certainly do. It wasn’t a criminal I had been assigned to capture by the Marines.” she replied innocently, her hand now brushing against her faithful derringer, hanging from her waist in its holster “It was just someone who was irritating me and should have minded his own business.”

Theon gulped. He looked at (name) as if he was seeing her for the first time, seriously wondering if the woman would actually shoot him, rules of hospitality and familiar bond be damned; then his gaze moved to Mihawk, and even though he had just met him Theon did not doubt for a second the pirate would happily slice him without a moment of hesitation. 

“W-well, that’s interesting. I hope we’ll have time to talk some more at dinner… now, if you excuse me, I need to… you know…”

He quickly retreated towards the door; (name) almost didn’t wait for him to be out of earshot before laughing. “What an asshole!”

“(name), language.”

“I’m sorry, mother. But Theon really deserved it; one day I’ll use him for target practice!”

The lady Veressa giggled; she smiled gratefully at Mihawk, who silently bowed his head in response, and took her leave.

“Before I forget; your cousin has brought you a gift.” she added before departing, nodding in the direction of a large box placed on a nearby table “I don’t ask you to like it, but you should at least see what it is.”

(name) promised she would; she waited for her mother to leave, then she smiled at Mihawk, and after a moment of hesitation she took both of his hands in hers - a chaste, completely uncompromising contact, that nonetheless filled the swordsman’s heart with a feeling he struggled to find a name for. 

“Thank you.” she murmured “I’m sorry you had to deal with my cousin, but… thank you for supporting me.”

“You seemed perfectly capable of putting him in his place by yourself.”

“I am; I have been practising since I was maybe six. But having you near… made me feel stronger; safer, even. I’m sorry, you’ll think I’m an idiot, a weak woman who needs a man to protect her…”

Mihawk huffed. “I could never consider you weak, (name).” he murmured as he delicately caressed the back of her left hand with his thumb; his heart was pounding, hard enough it almost hurt “Nor could anyone who knows you. You must be one of the strongest people I know.”

Again that shy, grateful smile and Gods, Mihawk was this close to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. “Well, that is a great compliment, coming from one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.” she said “Anyway, I’m happy you are here, Mihawk.”

“I’m happy as well. Truly.” Mihawk answered softly. For a whole minute neither of the two moved, or spoke; they both looked down at their clasped hands, and then their eyes met. 

The world stopped turning. 

(name) was the first to look away; Mihawk was almost sure she had blushed. “Well, I should take a look at this gift; I bet Theon has chosen the least tasteful thing he could find.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… baby clothes, maybe? In the hope you’ll soon need these…”

“If he has done that I swear I’ll carve his heart out with Yoru.” Mihawk promised; Theon didn’t know (name) couldn’t have children, but still he had to have realised how painful the fact that she was yet to give an heir to her feud was for her “And I’ll offer it to you on a silver plate.”

The woman grinned as she left his hands to walk to the small table the box had been placed on. “Now that is a gift I would appreciate… oh. Oh, would you look at this…”

This was the content of the box, that (name) had quickly opened; a vase, its upper lip roughly as wide as a serving dish, from which a single tall flower rose on a long, thin stem, surrounded by a bed of tiny green leaves. The flower was closed, its bright pink petals secured around the central head; Mihawk knew vaguely the process had the purpose to protect the flower at times when pollinating insects were dormant. 

“It is… nice.” (name) almost reluctantly admitted “I mean, I don’t particularly like flowers, but… what’s wrong?” she added, seeing that Mihawk had frowned “What’s so weird about gifting flowers to a woman?”

“Nothing, I assume. It’s just… I think I have seen this flower already.”

“Where?”

“It was an illustration on a book; it was Shanks’, I saw it the last time we met. I can’t remember what it said, but there was something strange about this flower.”

“Is it dangerous?” (name) asked, clearly intrigued “Is it one of those carnivorous plants that eat any creature that comes close to them? Maybe Theon hopes I will keep it on my nightstand, and at night as I sleep the plant will come alive and devour me…”

The flower, still and barely a foot tall, didn’t look particularly threatening, but Mihawk wasn’t convinced; (name) seemed sure her cousin, unpleasant and resentful as he was, would not try to seriously hurt her, but he decided it was better to be safe than sorry. 

As usual, he was wearing the Kogatana on his neck, the deceptively small knife resting against his chest; Mihawk took it out of his sheath. “Stand back.”

“What are you doing? Mihawk, it’s a flower, you don’t seriously think…?”

“Stand back, please.” he insisted, and (name), clearly perplexed, obeyed. Mihawk slowly extended the knife towards the plant; he didn’t dare thinking about how ridiculous he had to look in that moment, pointing his weapon against an opponent whose kind was routinely cut to be made into bouquets and wreaths, but his instinct said he better be on his guard, if only to avoid (name) or the lady Veressa to fall into some kind of danger. If only he could remember what that book had to say about this flower…

Nothing happened as Mihawk let the blade of the Kogatana slowly approach the flower; then, when the tip of the blade was half a foot from it, the small plant seemed to quiver, as if it had perceived the presence of a threat. Slowly, its petals opened, and Mihawk and (name) found themselves staring at what looked like a pale yellow eye, surrounded by pink lashes.

“It’s lovely.” the woman murmured “I can’t believe Theon would gift me something like this…”  

A moment later two things happened in rapid succession, too fast for the two to be able to react. First, the tip of the dagger -tiny, but sharp enough to cut through a person’s body, if handled with sufficient strength- touched the flower head, that trembled again, as if in pain, and then, lighting fast, a shower of pollen erupted out of it, hitting Mihawk in the face.

“What the…?”

“Oh, Gods!” (name) cried; she quickly retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket, and used it to clean the grains from the swordsman’s face “Mihawk, I’m so sorry… are you alright?”

He thought about it for a moment, gently taking the handkerchief from her hand to clean himself; the smell of the pollen was too intense for his liking, unpleasant after he had breathed some of it, but the sensation was not painful… even if it did make him sneeze. 

“I’m fine.” he reassured her in the end “That had to be the flower’s defence strategy, a way to ward off predators. Curious…”

(name) frowned. “Clearly this is what Theon wanted; to pull a stupid prank on me, like that time when he was fourteen that he hid a lizard in my jewel case to scare me. He clearly hasn’t matured since then… I’m sorry you got involved…”

“No harm done, truly.”

A moment of embarrassment passed through them; Mihawk felt his fingers touch (name)’s as he returned the handkerchief to her. “Maybe your cousin should remember that, just like this flower, you also know how to defend yourself when someone threatens you.” he said, more gently than most people had ever heard him talk.

“Yes; maybe he should…”

A moment later, a valet entered, to announce (name) was expected at an audience she had granted to a few members of the court; the woman sighed, clearly unhappy she had to leave.

“I’ll see you at dinner, alright?” she asked Mihawk “Thank you for being with me today, I spent a lovely afternoon.”

“As I said, you are an excellent hostess.”

“Such a flatterer…!”

She smiled at him, now neither shy nor embarrassed, before leaving, stopping just to tell the valet to make sure her guest was well looked after in her absence; Mihawk couldn’t help following the movement of her hips, the delicate fabric of her skirt hugging her curves, as the woman walked away.

The valet bowed. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” he asked; a moment of reflection, and Mihawk shook his head in response.

“No.” he answered softly, more to himself than to the man in livery in front of him “I have everything I need already.”

*

Mihawk’s feelings for (name) had succeeded in what no opponent had been able to do in his life since he was maybe seventeen: they had snuck up on him, slowly growing in his heart unnoticed, and then revealing themselves once they had been too intense for the swordsman to be able to deny or suppress them.

The realisation had caught him off guard, since he had never given too much thought to love and feelings in general; he had never had a serious relationship in his life, and since he had reached adulthood the occasional night spent with a woman whose name he promptly forgot -or never cared to learn- had been enough to satisfy his needs. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women, because he did; he simply had never found one interesting enough to attract his attention for more than a few hours spent in an inn room.

In hindsight, he should have imagined (name) would be the one to break down his defences, if only because she had no idea she had done so, nor had she even tried to endear herself to him beyond mere friendship.

But she had. Gods, she had, and for months now Mihawk had felt his heartbeat accelerate every time (name) smiled at him. There hadn’t been a specific moment his feelings had grown beyond the pleasant, firm and deep friendship he and the woman had built in so many years to indisputably, irrevocably fall in the realm of romanticism. It had simply happened that one morning Mihawk had woken up in his bedroom at home on Kuraigana Island, and instead of getting out of it to quickly begin his day as he usually did, he had lingered for a while, looking at the other half of the double mattress and thinking how lovely, how right, it would have been if (name) had been there, sleeping soundly with her hair spread on the pillow or already awake, about to smile at him and wish him good morning with a kiss. That had been enough to make him realise he was lost already, completely and utterly enamoured, and for the first time in his life he didn’t know what to do.

While he hadn’t expected his feelings for her to change, Mihawk wasn’t surprised (name) had been the one his heart had turned to. They had been good friends -she was maybe the only one he had apart from Shanks, which was two friends beyond what Mihawk expected to have or felt the need for- for so long, and the swordsman sincerely respected her: (name) was clever, strong-willed, determined in pursuing her goals and didn’t let anyone doubt or demean her on account of her gender or origins. She could have lived a tranquil, privileged life on her island, far from danger and surrounded by the comforts she was entitled to as the lady’s daughter; instead, she had spent her youth learning to shoot, first taught by her grandfather and later on her own, and then she had become a mercenary and bounty-hunter -and an exceptionally capable one at that- spending her time tracking down pirates and other criminals to bring back to the Marines. Most of the berry she earned with the bounties were spent for the good of her home and people; she didn’t do it for the money, rather to prove how capable and resilient she was and could be, not only a noblewoman destined to rule over a small but wealthy feud, but a capable markswoman no one could afford to underestimate or challenge lightly. Mihawk admired her for that; he respected her intelligence, the quiet strength anyone who met her couldn’t help perceiving, and the way she had to fight for what she believed in and considered important, be it refusing to back off in an argument or pointing the barrel of her derringer against the temple of a killer and telling them to plan their first move carefully if they didn’t want to end up with a bullet in their head. 

And she was beautiful. He had thought that since their first meeting, how could he have not? (name) was simply gorgeous, even not considering the practical elegance she dressed with, the comfortable but refined dresses she liked to wear that only accentuated her natural charm, even though Mihawk was sure he would find her enchanting whatever she wore - or didn’t wear. He wasn’t the only one to find her good-looking; while (name) had confided him she felt completely incapable of flirting or making romantic advances, many victims had fallen prey to her captivating smile, not imagining that the pretty woman who looked so interested in what they had to say was already clenching the butt of a gun under the table, and Mihawk had once heard Garp mention that in the years of her collaboration with the Marines at least two officers had -unsuccessfully- asked her out. 

Yes, he had always thought she was attractive, but since he had become aware of his own feelings for her, Mihawk found he couldn’t stop looking at (name), and that his appreciation no longer stopped at the beauty of her smile or her elegance, but had started drifting towards other parts of her body. The morbid curve of her chest under her corset, the way her hips swayed while she walked, and the way her shapely -he had no way to know for sure, but he was sure they were; they had to be harmonious and well-proportioned, nothing that was part of her couldn’t not be- legs peeked out from under her skirt when a gust of wind lifted it… She was just so lovely, so exquisite in her natural sensuality, and every simple touch between them, even just his hand holding hers when he helped her dismount from the carriage, was enough to give him palpitations.

He couldn’t take it anymore; that situation was driving him crazy, worst of all because (name) had no idea of the effect she had on him. The fact that the woman had invited him on her island for a few days -or more, if you want; you can stay as long as you wish, you know I like having you here- had pleased Mihawk immensely, since it meant spending plenty of time with her, alone, but keeping his emotions in check in her presence got harder by the hour. (name) had already asked him if he was alright twice, which meant she had noticed his behaviour was somehow odd or unnatural; if he didn’t do something soon, Mihawk reflected, he would end up making a fool of himself, a problem for which he could see only one solution…

He had to declare his feelings for (name); he had to confess how much he cared for her, how special and beautiful and precious he thought she was. He had to tell her he was in love with her, that there was not a moment in which she was not in his thoughts, and in his heart, and that while he had always felt content and satisfied alone, with few people he tolerated and even fewer that he enjoyed spending time with, he had come to wish she would share her days, perhaps even her life, with him, an exclusive bond made of loyalty and affection and respect and yes, pleasure as well. He could make her happy, Mihawk was sure of it, and if he were lucky enough to discover his feelings were reciprocated, he would make sure the woman forgot any other man she had ever met or been with.

The problem was, he had no idea whether (name) cared for him like he did for her, and in that case, if she would actually be interested in a relationship. She was clearly fond of him, and enjoyed their time spent together, but that didn’t necessarily mean she could see him as a potential partner - as a lover. Like Mihawk the woman mostly kept to herself, at least while on the island, mainly to maintain her good name and avoid gossip about her love life, and occasionally took a lover while away on vacation or travelling around for her mercenary assignments, relationships she invariably abandoned after a few days at most. The arrangement seemed to suit her just fine; who knew if she would be interested in something else, in a more committed relationship? Maybe she was, just not with him, because she did only see him as a friend and wasn’t attracted to him at all…

Also, there were (name)’s duties towards her feud and people to consider. The lady Veressa was in excellent health, but sooner or later she would have to take her place as lady of the island, which would mean abandoning her activity as a mercenary and remain at the fortress to take care of her people and land. Children were regrettably something she didn’t have to worry about, but who knew if she would approve of him as her consort? (name) was not the sort of woman who judged people on their origins and he knew she valued his intelligence and strength of character, but perhaps she wanted someone different to share her responsibilities, someone who was born on the same island as her or at least who knew what it meant caring for a family of more than a thousand people. Mihawk himself wasn’t sure he could see himself in that role, given his intense preference for solitude and relative disinterest for what happened for most other people. 

Maybe they, or at least their inclinations and ambitions in life, were too different for him and (name) to be compatible as a couple; maybe the woman was not, and would never be, attracted to him. Simply considering that hypothesis was painful, especially because Mihawk knew finding out they wanted different things from their rapport would most likely mean the end of their friendship.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t remain silent; his feelings were too intense, too encompassing, too deep and real to keep them secret. He was already happy with (name) in his life, but what he really wanted, what he craved, was to have her by his side, to share his feelings with her as well as his thoughts and his time; he wanted to know no other man existed for her, because no other woman could ever exist for him. Perhaps his friend expected he would confess his feelings first, as was tradition for men to do, perhaps she had simply never thought about him as a potential partner and lover; that was fine, and he was confident he could change her mind. All he needed was a chance, just one, to show her how happy he could make her, how much pleasure and joy and empathy they could create and feel together…

*

Mihawk sighed as he closed the door behind him and contemplated the spacious chamber he had slept in for the last two nights. The bedroom his host had had prepared for him was almost as large as the one he slept in at his home, elegant and comfortable, with a lovely view of the city’s harbour out of the thickly curtained window; Mihawk had even heard a servant mention that (name) had requested the furniture moved to better suit his tastes, a consideration that had flattered the swordsman - even though he could not avoid thinking how even more pleasant it would have been to share that ridiculously large bed -but the mattress was firm, just like he liked it; he wondered if his friend had thought about that as well- with her, or to sleep in hers.

Nevertheless, not even the simple opulence of his apartment could comfort Mihawk at the moment; he had made a fool of himself in front of (name) with that stupid flower, and while she wasn’t the sort of person who would make fun of him, he could have taken advantage of that moment of intimacy after her mother had left to tell her about his feelings. He hadn’t thought about that -something he felt he would reproach himself for a long time- and this was already the third day of his sojourn on the island; even though (name) had told him he was welcome to stay for as long as he wanted, he had decided he would confess his feelings for her before leaving, and the time at his disposal was starting to run short.

But how? Could he start by asking her if there was someone important in her life, or if she ever thought about settling down with a partner who would one day help her rule over her island? Or was it better to invite her for a walk, make sure they were alone, and tell her he couldn’t stop thinking about her and he would give half of his blood just to know she cared for him as well? Or perhaps the right thing to do was to knock at her door at night, pick her up to carry her to her bed, and prove (name) beyond any reasonable doubt she was his already and he was his as he made her scream his name…?

He had no idea. Still a reasonably young man, Mihawk had done and seen more in his life than many people could even dream, but this was completely new for him - a veritable leap in the dark, and while the word fear simply didn’t exist in his vocabulary, he had to admit he felt… anxious at the prospect of discovering whether (name) shared his feelings or not, a mix of trepidation and worry he had never felt before…

A small but elegant desk was positioned in front of the window, with a set of writing instruments neatly placed on the wooden surface in the event the lady’s guest wanted to pass a message or leave a request for the servants. Looking at the small stack of white sheets, Mihawk felt more foolish than ever; writing a love letter was something shy boys did, which he was not, or men whose ladylove was physically distant from them, while his slept no more than a dozen paces from him. Furthermore, (name) deserved better than that; she deserved a declaration she would remember for the rest of her life, a confession that made her feel as special, precious and splendid as he thought she was, and he would give it to her; he would give her everything she needed and wanted, and the only thing he wanted in return was her heart.

He felt strangely tired all of a sudden, but not exactly the way he did at the end of a long training session; rather, it was a weird, uncomfortable drowsiness that had fallen on him like a wet blanket, making it hard for the swordsman to focus. Was he coming down with a fever? He had no reason to believe that, but he was sure he would feel better after he had rested for a while; he had plenty of time before dinner… but there was something else he wanted to do first.

Mihawk was sincerely glad no one could see him as he retrieved three sheets of paper and a pen from the desk and brought them to the bed, together with a book to use as a support. He would not confess his feelings to the woman he loved in writing, but perhaps it could help him to decide how to… address the issue.

My darling (name)

(name), there is something important I need to

Since the day I met you, I have known you were special

I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for you

Mihawk sighed; all those words, and the feelings they described, corresponded to the truth, but at the same time they felt reductive, because not even the greatest poet in the world could describe the depth and intensity of his love for (name); he sighed, partly discouraged but still determined to find the right words.

I love you. I have loved you for a long time, and if you gave me a chance to

I dream to hold you in my arms and kiss you until we both can’t breathe

I want to worship your beautiful body and to make you scream my name

I need to fuck you senseless and feel your wet pussy clench around me

Mihawk blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the piece of paper in front of him - specifically, at the last lines written in the elegant cursive his older sister had taught him to write in, a lifetime ago. Yes, that was without a doubt his calligraphy, and the pen was still in his hand, but he couldn’t believe he had actually written those words. Embarrassed, irrationally fearing (name) could somehow find and read them, he looked at the empty fireplace in the room and tore the sheet of paper into tiny pieces, making it impossible for anyone to read his incriminating desires.

What in the world was he thinking? Yes, he was attracted to (name) and he had fantasised about them together -what man worthy of the name wouldn’t? How could he look at her, at the shape of her beautiful body under her dress and not wish he could ravish her, feel her writhe under his body and stimulate her with his mouth?- but this was not how he wanted her to know! Mihawk was in love with her, a much deeper and more lasting feeling than a passing infatuation or the simple impulse to find relief between her legs; sensible and mature as she was, (name) was not the sort of woman who would faint or react running away if a man propositioned her, and he did plan on showing her how irresistibly arousing he found her body. But to convince her of his feelings, and that they could be happy together, was Mihawk’s first and foremost goal.

And he would accomplish it soon. But first he did need to rest for a while, the swordsman reflected as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Despite the pleasant breeze coming in through the open window he felt uncomfortably hot, his head swimming to the point the furniture of the room appeared blurred to his eyes; all of a sudden he felt as if he had been awake for five days.

I’ll tell her soon. Today, if I can; but not now. Now, I have to sleep.

He left Yoru propped against the wall, and the Kogatana on the table next to the paper and pens; he quickly got rid of his coat and boots, for once not caring where he left them.  Mihawk sighed as his head fell into the pillow - not too soft just like he liked it; he heard the birds sing on the branches of the trees in the garden.

He fell asleep with her name on his lips.