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astroprompts · 2 years

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✧ —𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 [𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟐]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐃 𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒

“You ready for more yet?”

“You haven't met him yet, you haven't had the chance.”

“The sun comes up and the world still spins.”

“Now the work at home begins.”

“So what'd I miss?”

“My home sweet home, I wanna give you a kiss.”

“I traveled the wide, wide world and came back to this.”

“I haven't even put my bags down yet.”

“I guess I better think of something to say.”

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 #𝟏

“We fought for these ideals, we shouldn't settle for less.”

“Oh, if the shoe fits, wear it.”

“It's too many damn pages for any man to understand!”

“Welcome to the present, we're running a real nation.”

“Don't lecture me about the war, you didn't fight in it!”

“You think I'm frightened of you, man?”

“Damn, you're in worse shape than the national debt is in.”

“Turn around, bend over, I'll show you where my shoe fits.”

“Such a blunder, sometimes it makes me wonder why I even bring the thunder.”

“You wanna pull yourself together?”

“They're being intransigent.”

“You have to find a compromise.”

“They don't have a plan, they just hate mine.”

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊

“They think me Macbeth, ambition is my folly.”

“Do you have to live an ocean away?”

“Take a break.”

“There's a little surprise before supper and it cannot wait!”

“I'll be there in just a minute, save my plate.”

“Hey, our kid is pretty great.”

“Run away with us for the summer.”

“I've got so much on my plate.”

“We can all go stay with my father.”

“There's a lake I know in a nearby park.”

“You and I can go when the night gets dark.”

“In a letter I received from you two weeks ago, I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase. It changed the meaning, did you intend this?”

“I'm coming home this summer at my sister's invitation.”

“I know you're very busy, I know your work's important.”

“You're not joining us? Wait--”

“I know I'll miss your face.”

“Screw your courage to the sticking place.”

“Take a break and get away.”

“If you take your time, you will make your mark.”

𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒

“There's trouble in the air, you can smell it.”

“I hadn't slept in a week.”

“You've never seen a bastard orphan more in need of a break.”

“I know you are a man of honor.”

“I'm so sorry to bother you at home.”

“I don't know where to go, and I came here all alone.”

“I don't have the means to go on.”

“You're too kind, sir.”

“I don't know how to say no to this.”

“I wish I could say that was the last time.”

“Uh oh, you made the wrong sucker a cuckold.”

“Time to pay the piper for the pants you unbuckled.”

“So was your whole story a setup?”

“Stop crying, God dammit, get up!”

“I didn't know any better!”

“I am helpless, how could I do this?”

“Just give him what he wants and you can have me.”

“Whatever you want, if you pay.”

“How can I say no to this?”

“Nobody needs to know.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒

“I guess I'm gonna have to finally listen to you.”

“Well, hate the sin love the sinner.”

“Decisions are happening over dinner.”

“No one else was in the room where it happened.”

“No one really knows how the game is played.”

“I know you hate him, but let's hear what he has to say.”

“Maybe we could solve one problem with another.”

“Wouldn't you like to work a little closer to home?”

“We never really know what got discussed.”

“Click boom! Then it happened.”

“You got more than you gave.”

“When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game.”

“You don't get a win unless you play in the game.”

“I wanna build something that's gonna outlive me.”

“If you stand for nothing then what'll you fall for?”

“The art of the compromise, hold your nose and close your eyes.”

“We want our leaders to save the day, but we don't get a say in what they trade away.”

“We dream of a brand new start, but we dream in the dark for the most part.”

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃

“Sometimes that's how it goes.”

“No one knows who you are or what you do.”

“They don't need to know me, they don't like you.”

“You'll always be adored by the things you create.”

“People think you're crooked.”

“I've always considered you a friend.”

“I swear your pride will be the death of us all.”

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 #𝟐

“The only person you have to convince is me.”

“Revolution is messy, but now is the time to stand.”

“He knows nothing of loyalty.”

“Everything he does betrays the ideals our nation.”

“You must be out of your GODDAMNED mind.”

“We're too fragile to start another fight.”

“Frankly it's a little disquieting you would let your ideals blind you to reality.”

“Have you an ounce of regret?”

“Before he was your, friend he was mine.”

“I bet you were quite a lawyer.”

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

“Every action has an equal opposite reaction.”

“Try not to crack under the stress, we're breaking down like fractions.”

“We smack each other in the press, and we don't print retractions.”

“I get no satisfaction witnessing his fits of passion.”

“This prick is asking for someone to bring him to task.”

“I'll pull the trigger on him, someone load the gun and cock it.”

“If we don't stop it, we aid and abet it.”

“Well, somebody has to stand up to his mouth.”

“If there's a fire you're trying to douse, You can't put it out from inside the house.”

“Follow the money and see where it goes.”

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

“I wanna give you a word of warning.”

“I don't know what you heard, but whatever it is, [name] started it.”

“I need a favor.”

“Relax, have a drink with me.”

“Let's take a break tonight.”

“Pick up a pen, start writing.”

“I wanna talk about what I have learned.”

“You have to serve, you could continue to serve.”

“Your position is so unique.”

“Why do you have to say goodbye?”

𝐖𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖

“You are uniquely situated by virtue of your position.”

“Virtue is not a word I'd apply to this situation.”

“To seek financial gain, you stray from your sacred mission.”

“The evidence suggests you engaged in speculation.”

“I hope you saved some money for your daughter and son.”

“You don't even know what you're asking me to confess.”

“I don't have to tell you anything at all.”

“If I can prove that I never broke the law, do you promise not to tell another soul what you saw?”

“I may have mortally wounded my prospects, but my papers are orderly.”

“I never spent a cent that wasn't mine.”

“You sent the dogs after my scent, that's fine.”

“Yes, I have reason for shame. But I have not committed treason and sullied my good name.”

“As you can see, I have done nothing to provoke legal action.”

“Are my answers to your satisfaction?”

“How do I know you won't use this against me the next time we go toe to toe?”

“Rumors only grow.”

“We both know what we know.”

𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄

“In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet. For just a moment.”

“When I was seventeen, a hurricane destroyed my town.”

“I couldn't seem to die.”

“I wrote my way out.”

“I looked up, and the town had it's eyes on me.”

“Total strangers, moved to kindness by my story.”

“I wrote my way out of hell.”

“I wrote my way to revolution.”

“I was louder than the crack in the bell.”

“And when my prayers to God were met with indifference, I picked up a pen, I wrote my own deliverance.”

“I was twelve when my mother died.”

“I'll write my way out.”

“This is the eye of the hurricane.”

“This is the only way I can protect my legacy.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐓

“Have you read this?”

“That's one less thing to worry about.”

“I came as soon as I heard.”

“All the way from London? Damn.”

“Thank god, someone who understands what I'm struggling here to do.”

“I'm not here for you.”

“I love my sister more than anything in this life.”

“I will choose her happiness over mine every time.”

“Put what we had aside.”

“You could never be satisfied.”

“God, I hope you're satisfied.”

“Hey, at least he was honest with our money.”

“You ever see somebody ruin their own life?”

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍

“I saved every letter you wrote me.”

“Be careful with that one, love.”

“When you were mine, the world seemed to burn.”

“In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives.”

“You've married an Icarus. He has flown too close to the sun.”

“You and your words, obsessed with your legacy.”

“Your sentences border on senseless.”

“The world has no right to my heart!”

“The world has no place in our bed.”

“They don't get to know what I said.”

“I'm burning the memories, burning the letters that might have redeemed you.”

“You forfeit all rights to my heart!”

“You forfeit your place in our bed. You'll sleep in your office instead.”

“I hope that you burn.”

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘

“The scholars say I got the same virtuosity and brains as my pops.”

“I'm only nineteen, but my mind is older.”

“Gotta be my own man, like my father, but bolder.”

“I shoulder his legacy with pride.”

“He disparaged my father's legacy in front of a crowd.”

“I'm making my father proud.”

“God, you're a fox!”

“How 'bout when I get back, we all strip down to our socks?”

“Shh, I'm tryin' to watch the show!”

“Ya shoulda watched your mouth before you talked about my father.”

“I didn't say anything that wasn't true.”

“Your father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, are you.”

“I don't fool around, I'm not your little schoolboy friends.”

“Well, see you on the dueling ground. That is, unless you wanna step outside and go now.”

“I doubt you would have let it slide, and I was not about to!”

“I came to ask you for advice, this is my very first duel.”

“They don't exactly cover this subject in boarding school.”

“Did your friends attempt to negotiate a peace?”

“He refused to apologize, we had to let the peace talks cease.”

“Everything is legal in New Jersey!”

“When the time comes, fire your weapon in the air.”

“But what if he decides to shoot? Then I'm a goner!”

“To take someone's life, that is something you can't shake.”

“Your mother can't take another heartbreak.”

“You don't want this young man's blood on your conscience.”

“Make me proud, son.”

“I'm a little nervous, but I can't show it.”

“You talk about my father, I cannot let it slide.”

“I'd rather skip the pleasantries, let's go.”

“The duel will commence after we count to ten.”

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 (𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄)

“Where's my son!?”

“He lost a lot of blood on the way over.”

“The bullet entered just above his hip and lodged in his right arm.”

“I'm doing everything I can, but the wound was already infected when he arrived.”

“You did everything just right.”

“Even before we got to ten, I was aiming for the sky.”

“Save your strength and stay alive.”

“Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this!?”

“Who did this!?”

“I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me.”

“You would put your hands on mine.”

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍

“There are moments that the words don't reach.”

“There is suffering too terrible to name.”

“There are moments when you're in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down.”

“I never liked the quiet before.”

“You would like it uptown, it's quiet uptown.”

“They say he walks the length of the city.”

“You knock me out, I fall apart.”

“Look at where we are, look at where we started.”

“I know I don't deserve you, [name].”

“Hear me out, that would be enough.”

“If I could trade his life for mine, he'd be standing here right now.”

“I know there's no replacing what we've lost, and you need time.”

“Just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough.”

“There's a grace too powerful to name.”

“We push away what we can never understand.”

“We push away the unimaginable.”

“It's quiet uptown...”

“Forgiveness... Can you imagine?”

“They are going through the unimaginable.”

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝟏𝟖𝟎𝟎

“Can we get back to politics?”

“I love the guy, but he's in traction.”

“He's not very forthcoming on any particular stances.”

“Ask him a question, it glances off. He obfuscates, he dances.”

“You need to change course, a key endorsement might redeem you.”

“You've created quite a stir, sir.”

“You're openly campaigning?”

“Honestly, it's kind of draining.”

“Is there anything you wouldn't do?”

“I'm chasing what I want. And y'know what? I learned that from you.”

“The people are asking to hear my voice.”

“I have never agreed with [name] once.”

“Congrats on a race well-run.”

“I look forward to our partnership.”

“You hear this guy?”

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓

“I am slow to anger, but I toe the line.”

“I look back on where I failed, and in every place I checked, the only common thread has been your disrespect.”

“If you've got something to say, name a time and place, face-to-face.”

“I have the honor to be your obedient servant.”

“I am not the reason no one trusts you.”

“I will not equivocate on my opinion, I have always worn it on my sleeve.”

“Even if I said what you think I said, you would need to cite a more specific grievance.”

“Here's an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements.”

“I don't wanna fight, but I won't apologize for doing what's right.”

“Careful how you proceed, good man.”

“Answer for the accusations I lay at your feet, or prepare to bleed.”

“I stand by what I said, every bit of it.”

“You stand only for yourself, it's what you do.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

“I wish I could tell you what was happening in his brain.”

“My fellow soldiers'll tell you I'm a terrible shot.”

“It's him or me, the world will never be the same.”

“This man will not make an orphan of my daughter.”

“If I throw away my shot, is this how you'll remember me?”

“What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

“Teach me how to say goodbye.”

“My love, take your time. I'll see you on the other side.”

“History obliterates. In every picture it paints, it paints me and all my mistakes.”

“I survived, but I paid for it.”

“Now I'm the villain in your history.”

“I was too young and blind to see.”

“I should have known the world was wide enough.”

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒, 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

“When you're gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame, who tells your story?”

“I put myself back in the narrative.”

“I stopped wasting time on tears.”

“When I needed her most, she was right on time.”

“I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time?”

“You could have done so much more if you only had time.”

“When my time is up, have I done enough?”

“Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?”

“Will they tell my story?”

“I can't wait to see you again.”

“It's only a matter of time.”

#rp meme #ask meme #sentence starters #dialogue prompt #hamilton #hamilton the musical #some songs i left out bc they were either too short or didn't have much to work with #but this is most of them!

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spiked-mall-goth · 1 year

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so i had such a day today omggggggg

so got up early as hell to go see saw which was at 12:15pm. theaters a ways away and we wanted to go to the flea market.

at the flea market i saw this cute halloween tin and was like oooOOOooo !! but i picked it up and it rattled, and was full of halloween JEWELRY!!! sooo i obviously got it, bc it was only $1(usd)

keep walking and a very big lamp catches my eye, idk why but i HAD to go look at this lamp. so i mosey on over take a look at the lamp and hidden under a pile of stuff next to the lamp is a little woodstock figure!! hes in a valentines heart chocolate box and i literally was like YIPPEEE!!! so i got him for a dollar and put hm in my little halloween bucket.

keep walking and my brother stops to search a toy bin for go bots, and i find a SNOOPY!! hes a 2018 mcdonalds toy and hes sitting on a cloud holding woodstock and when you roll him is EARS SPIN. literally the coolest thing evr def screetched a lil dont even worry abt that. hes now also in my bucket.

so we move on and this booth has some really nice halloween stuff set out so i go over to look. and the older lady who owned it saw my halloween bucket and was 'that is so cute!!' and i was like 'right?? it was only a dollar and it had jewelry!!' so i open it to show her and she sees my snoopy and woodstock and is like 'HOW CUTE COME LOOK AT MY BOBBLE HEAD' and pulls me over to look at the snoopy bobble head she had as decoration. and ofc im like 'OMG HOW FUCKING CUTE' and we chit chat and then shes like hey i think youd like this, and then pulls me over to a glass case with a DRACULA TROLLS DOLL IN IT. and ofc im FREAKING OUT BC HOLY SHIT ITS A DRACULA TROLLS DOLL. anyways i did not have $25 to spare today :<

so we leave the flea market and go get movie snacks to smuggle in (im so poor btw), get to the theater and buy tickets. the worker is like 'yep saw x, youll be in theater 8' so me and my brother walk in and sit down just to be greeted by paul dano in a santa hat staring straight at us telling us about the stock market and nfts. we are like ????? check the tickets. they moved the time from 12:15pm to 1:50pm.... we have made a terrible blunder. we debate what to do b4 walking out of the theater and going up to the front like 'heyyyyyyy so we totally got the wrong time, can we come back later with the tickets or do we have to stay here?' and she was like 'yeah totally. i noticed u walked into dumb money a few minutes ago and was like hmmmm i wonder if they noticed.' SHE WAS GONNA JUST LEAVE US IN THERE. that is so fucking funny to me.

we go kill time at a thrift store, my younger brother buys a vial of holy water.

we come back, still terribly early but whtvr. me and my older brother play the worst game of pocket tanks this world has ever seen. my younger brother texts to let me know he stopped at a different thrift store on the way home and got me AN X FILES VHS FOR FIFTY FUCKING CENTS !!!!!! YIPPPEEEEEE!!!

we watch saw. very bad movie omg. come home, breath once then right back out the door for my older brothers band to practice and then a boring ass social event. there were burgers there tho,, damn fine food.

thats all the interesting stuff but im already here typing and your already here reading. i had a fight with my printer trying to print the notes i needed for rehearsals tmrrw (i waited last minute whoops). my cat did the most rancid thing i've ever seen. she propped her hind leg on the rim of the water bowl to lick her tosies.... i cannot even describe.. maybe i'll draw it later if i have the time. i set up my new figures on my desk (its so crowded lol) and i worked a little on the sculpture im making. yesterday my brother accidentally yanked my arm weird. he kinda pulled on the elbow i have previously fractured and it hurt but was fine, then tonight i was saying bye to my friend and he also yanked it. ouch. wearing a brace rn bc woof. i finished up some of the choreography i was working on for my next show, although i have no idea if it will actually work bc i did it alone in my room and not with like the 7 other ppl. i had a stange fruity drink, didnt taste good. my best friend texted me panicking bc she took smth WILD and was off her gourd. (shes on a business trip btw). i also did the laundry.

#spikes rambles #okay goodnight #mwah mwah mwah #long ass post sorry

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phanfictioncatalogue · 1 year

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Dancer!Phan (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

Dancer (wattpad) - tcosmos

Summary: A fanfiction where Dan Howell, the confident and self centered professional ballet dancer meets Philip Lester, the blundering 17 year old guy who started taking classes not so long ago.

Dance With Me - cocktailaunt

Summary: Popular!Phil wants to ask Shy!Dan to the school dance.

Drink Up Your Movements (Still I Can’t Get Enough) (ao3) - obsessive-fics (xoPrincessKayxo)

Summary: All Dan, an extremely skilled ballet dancer, wants to do is make it through the next dance competition. So extra rehearsals with Izzy, a ballerina he’s known forever, are just another step towards the win. What he doesn’t expect, is the constant, extremely distracting presence of Izzy’s older brother, Phil.

Falling for you (ao3) - Phantje

Summary: Moving out is probably the most exciting thing that has ever happened in Dan's life so far. It's an overwhelming experience which he wasn't too keen on having in the first place. Now that it's settled that Dan will move, he only has to worry about the normal stuff: making his new apartment feel like home and finding friends. All of this is already really crazy for Dan who has not yet seen much of the world. Of all the things he didn't anticipate, falling for a voice on the phone wins the price by far. How is he supposed to concentrate on his work when his life keeps taking unexpected turns?

Got It (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan surprises his partner with a little stress relief while traveling on tour.

Here We Go (ao3) - beware_phangirl (dantiloquent)

Summary: in which PJ’s shooting a ‘kinda romantic’ film, Phil’s dancing with other youtubers and Dan is just coming along for the ride.

i'll spend forever wondering if you knew (ao3) - rosecolouredjosh

Summary: Dan came to his parents house in London for the annual charity event where his mother is responsible for the catering. As he had been helping her in this event since he was a kid, he was already preparing himself to the feel extremely out of place and lonely.

But maybe, someone could help him enjoy the night a little more.

its just a dance, lover (ao3) - lilyxxxooo

Summary: When at his brother's wedding, Phil can't help but feel sad that he has no one to dance with. Briefly based off "Lover" by Taylor Swift

Lightyear Groovin' (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: In a galaxy far, far away, there’s an abundance of 70s clubs. On Krithoo, local party freak Dan Howell works as a waiter at an often overcrowded cantina, Virgo Volans. And maybe, just maybe, has an infatuation with the extraterrestrial dj frequenting their stage.

Lucky (ao3) - lilyxxxooo

Summary: Dan and Phil are at a Lester family party with their two children: Emily, 7 and Colby, 2. Phil spends the night twirling them both on the dance floor and Dan spends the night watching his husband and wondering how he got so lucky

Oh Well, Oh Well (ao3) - incandescentphan

Summary: Phil never expected to find a home in the arms of a dancer.

Pleasers (ao3) - philsbignaturals

Summary: In which Dan is a former stripper and Phil appreciates their services

Shut Up and Dance (ao3) - spacemanlevi

Summary: Dan finds a beautiful man at a friends wedding, he just hopes he can work up the courage to ask for a dance.

Strictly Come Dancing but make it GAY (ao3) - natigail

Summary: @danielhowell: maybe i’d actually consider doing @bbcstrictly if they allowed same-sex couples. who wouldn’t want a sexy man spinning you around? it’s not just a girl’s dream. c'mon people let’s see some pretty and fierce girls pair up and handsome and strong boys get it on. i dare you.

Dan Howell calls Strictly out on Twitter for not allowing any same-sex couples and accidentally volunteers himself to be one of the contestants if they were to change that. It was a joke. It had so clearly been a joke. Why did they take him up on it?! He’s sure he’ll trip over his own feet and hate every second, but then he meets his partner, the endearingly clumsy dancer Phil Lester.

take a breath and dance (ao3) - lyricallyharley, writtennotsung

Summary: When Phil takes his friend's daughter to dance lessons, he doesn't expect to meet a dad who has a passion for dancing himself, and who's story is, well, interesting to say the least.

thrill me, chill me, fulfill me (ao3) - sadlybunny

Summary: Phil is playing Rocky in an upcoming production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and is sent to work with a choreographer for extra help on a song. A choreographer that turns out to be extremely fit, and a song that turns out to be extremely sexual.

Tiny Dancer (wattpad) - tipsy-mermaid

Summary: Dan is a ballet dancer and Phil just really likes watching him when he's not practicing for his next boxing match.

Will it All Turnout Okay? (ao3) - katicanteven

Summary: Dan is a dancer. Phil stumbles into the studio with the intention of taking some ballet classes, but ends up with more than just good technique.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #au #dancing #dancing masterlist

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charley-and-the-swap-machine · 2 years

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CATSM: RE-INK'D (Chapter 4, Part 5)

colossal blunders

The Voice Of Joey Drew

I believe there's something special in all of us. With true inner strength, you can conquer even your biggest challenges.

You just have to believe in yourself and remain honest, motivated, and above all, who you really are…..

….Ok, let's stop it right there. I can only do so many takes of this trash a day.

Hey, and tell the guys in writing I want more use of the word 'dreaming' in every message. Keep railing on that, get it?

“Dreaming! Dreaming! Dreaming!” People just eat up that kind of slop.

Hmm, what? It's still on?

Well, turn it off, damn it!

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Henry sat himself next to the ball toss as he took a short break in the warehouse. No harm in one, after all.

Stretching his arms and his back, he let his mind wander a bit. What’s Barley doing all this time that I’m gone? He must be…what if…..?

His mind soon pictured something as cartoonish as what he used to work on, right down to the monochromatic colors. He imagined Barley in a magician’s box with his normally anxious expression—Wasn’t that a cartoon? I think I saw a poster for that—as Edgar came along with a saw and a comically evil grin as he sawed him into two, moving the pieces of the box apart to reveal two dark halves of Barley’s body leaking dark ink.

Yeah right, that’s stupid. He’s doing far worse to him…I need to hurry up.

Standing up, Henry rushed his way to the next room.

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Henry soon stopped at the lifeless body of a Herald, standing and examining it for a moment.

With the stiff way its body was twisted and its bones shatter, it appeared to be flung across the room somehow. But...by what?

Turning around to the room before him, he soon found himself frozen in place as he stared in awe at the contraption before him.

It was a gigantic octopus ride, the center covered with windows shut tight and swirling painted patterns, scratched and faded with time. Long, crane-like arms sprouted from it, ending in 8 carts that seemed to be a cross between roller coaster carts and chariots on a carousel on each end. Henry flashed back to the blueprints from before, knowing he had seen it somewhere in that room.

He couldn't help but gaze up and marvel at the mechanical wonder lying before him. It's....it's amazing. Joey, how...how did you do this...?

As he stepped closer to get a better look at the gigantic attraction before him, he soon lurched back as the lights adorning the base and arms flickered on, the machine spinning itself to life.

A booming voice soon echoed from the embedded speakers that Henry presumed once played music, as he could hear the faintest fizzle of it in the background noise.

"The biggest park ever built, a centerfold of attractions.

Each one more grand than the one before it.

It makes my eyes come to tears at the thought.

But then...oh, Mister Drew. For all your talk of dreams, you are the true architect behind so many nightmares.

I built this park. It was to be a masterpiece! My masterpiece!" The monologue skipped and repeated over itself like a broken record as the unseen man shouted, then went on.

"And now you think you can just throw me out? Trample me to the dust and forget me? No!" Henry jumped as the arms slammed onto the ground almost like clenched fists slamming on a table in anger.

"This is my park! My glory!

You may think I've gone..."

Our hero's stomach dropped as the panels of the ride opened to reveal a gigantic grotesque face of a man, mouth agape and eyes bulging out of their sockets. He didn't move his lips at all, but he stared at Henry as the speakers seemed to speak for him. "BUT I'M STILL HERE!"

The ride violently spun and slammed down nearby Henry as he grabbed an axe and dashed away.

Shit...how do I attack him? Unless I find an opening, he'll break my fucking back if I try going in head-on... He thought, running around the mechanical monster as it continued to attack him.

Of course, the once-alive man wasn't invulnerable even as a machine. Henry noticed the machine stop and set down his arms almost as if he was taking a rest. He saw this as an opportunity to take out one of his arms, and son hacked off the bolts holding the crane together, it popped off and spewed sparks from the base, and Henry backed away quickly as Bertrum readied to attack again.

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

Henry caught his breath as the final arm remained, carefully waiting for the ride to stop violently spinning so he could take him out.

It seemed, however, that the monster had caught onto his strategy, and refused to stop attacking. Thinking up a hasty plan, he gripped onto his axe and ran directly towards the arm and jumped into the cart, stumbling onto it and holding on tight. Steadying himself, Henry hacked off the bolts as he tried not to get dizzy.

As the final bolt popped off, Henry jumped out of the cart and rolled onto the ground as the speakers coughed and crackled, the machine gushing sparks and ink onto the floor in puddles.

"NO, NO! YOU CAN'T....YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME AGAIN! I CAN'T....I CAN'T-"

The man's words soon fell into violent coughing as his face made the only and last movements Henry would ever seen from him, until he froze and his eyes rolled back into his head, the steel flaps closing in on him as the machine came to a permanent halt.

It was silent for a few seconds until he heard a small pop in the machine, the cracks of the doors gushing ink for a short second.

Henry pulled the switch in the room and stared at the octopus ride on his way out of the rubble.

It's a real shame. At least....at least he's at peace now, I think. I'm sorry, stranger.

He took a deep breath and walked out of the area.

No time for pity. Just one more to go.

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

Henry carefully stepped downstairs into the dark room that awaited him. It was generally empty, filled with ink and a few crates filled with....ink hearts, of all things. I thought I got a break from organs....

He glanced around the area warily. ..So no monsters? No creatures? No beasts out to get me? Huh.

Shrugging it off, he slowly reached for the lever and pulled it. As he calmy stepped back towards the exit, he heard something slowly rise out of the ink, and he felt a light on his back as he heard a screech. ...Here we go again.

He raced into the nearest Little Miracle Station, shutting the door behind him and looking through the crack as the Projectionist paused in front of him, before turning back around. Before it could make a blind step down the stairs, Henry watched as a familiar figure slumped in the doorway next to him.

The Projectionist turned towards "Charley" and gave a static noise with a note of confusion. The ink-drenched man made no response, only growling as it shuffled towards the projector head and grabbed it by the neck, ripping it clean off as the Projectionist struggled. Ink painted the walls as "Charley" threw the head aside, hissing and dragging itself out of the room.

Henry carefully opened the box he was hiding in, looking around and leaving the ink-spewing body of the monster to dissolve.

Glad that's over with. Hang on tight, Barley. I'm comin' for you.

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #batim au #batim joey #joey drew #batim henry #henry stein #batim bertrum #bertrum piedmont #the butcher gang #batim charley #batim barley #batim edgar #the projectionist #“pen to paper” 📽️

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amyfevernight · 2 years

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What i learned from All Engines Go without actually watching the show (Season 1 + Shorts)

i’ve got the season 2 episodes but season 2 ain’t done yet so eh also race for the sodor cup isn’t here because i’m thinking of doing the movies seperately

done in the same format as MLP’s “What I Learned Today”/”What I Learned This Time”/”What I Learned This Other Time”

SEASON 1

A Thomas Promise: HAVING A PISSING CONTEST IS JUST GOING TO MAKE THINGS WORSE Thomas Blasts Off: THOMAS IS AN ATTENTION WHORE License to Deliver: CAN SOMEONE GET PERCY A DOCTOR, HE LOOKS LIKE HE’S GOING TO HAVE A PANIC ATTACK Rules of the Game: THOMAS IS AN ATTENTION WHORE: ATTENTION WHORE HARDER A Quiet Delivery: BUY EARMUFFS. OR TAKE A DIFFERENT QUIET ROUTE, JESUS CHRIST. Kana Goes Slow: STOP BEING SUCH A DAMN SPEED DEMON Dragon Run: THOMAS IS AN ATTENTION WHORE: THIS TIME IT’S PERSONAL The Biggest Adventure Club: HEY LOOK, THE SPIN-OFF NOBODY ASKED FOR, SANDY IS ALSO AN ATTENTION WHORE Percy’s Lucky Bell: DON’T TAKE BELLS I GUESS? Sandy’s Sandy Shipment: I HATE SAND, IT’S COARSE, ROUGH AND GETS EVERYWHERE A Wide Delivery: HOLY SHIT THOMAS, STOP BEING SUCH AN ATTENTION WHORE Counting Cows: COWS ARE AWESOME Music is Everywhere: THAT ISN’T MUSIC, THAT’S NOISE Backwards Day: DON’T BELIEVE RUMORS, IDIOT Chasing Rainbows: RAINBOWS ARE FUCKING AWESOME Nia’s Balloon Blunder: BALLOONS I GUESS? Capture the Flag: STOP BEING A FUCKING SPEED DEMON, HOLY SHIT DUDE Mystery Boxcars: GET. A BIGGER. BATTERY. Super Screen Cleaners: MOVIES ARE AWESOME I GUESS? AND CLEAN SHIT, I DUNNO Overnight Stop: JESUS CHRIST CAN SOMEONE GET PERCY SOME MEDICINE OR SOMETHING, WE’RE GETTING WORRIED ABOUT HIM NOW The Joke Is On Thomas: BEING AN OBNOXIOUS DICK IS OKAY AS LONG AS YOU SAY “IT’S JUST A PRANK BRO” Lost and Found: STOP TRYING TO TAKE SHORTCUTS, STUPID Thomas' Day Off: THIS EPISODE IS FILLED WITH LIES, DAYS OFF ARE AWESOME The Real Number One: IMAGINE HAVING YOUR EGO SHATTERED BECAUSE YOUR FUCKING NUMBER GOT COVERED Roller Coasting: GET. PERCY. SOME. FUCKING. HELP. No Power, No Problem!: IT IS A PROBLEM. BECAUSE YOU ARE TRAINS. SPECIFICALLY FOR THE ELECTRIC ONE. The Tiger Train: THE RETURN OF THOMAS BEING AN ATTENTION WHORE Can-Do Submarine Crew: YOU’RE TELLING ME THEY CAN DELIVER A CHINESE DRAGON BUT NOT A FUCKIN’ SUBMARINE? Eggsellent Adventure: THE GREAT BRITISH BAKE OFF IS AWESOME Calliope Crack-Up: ISN’T THIS TECHNICALLY MURDER Tyrannosaurus Wrecks: DINOSAURS ARE AWESOME The Super-Long Shortcut: GORDON IS GOING TO GET SCRAPPED SOON, ISN’T HE A Light Delivery: HAVING PISSING CONTESTS MAKES THINGS WORSE: THE SEQUEL The Paint Problem: THOMAS IS AN ATTENTION WHORE AND THIS EPISODE IS JUST ALL IN VAIN BUT WORSE Wonderful World: HOW DO YOU LOSE FUCKING TREES?? Whistle Woes: WHISTLE GO TWEET TWEET OR SOMETHING Letting Off Steam: “LASHING OUT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER” ISN’T A GOOD MORAL, NIA Nia's Perfect Plan: NIA IS AN IDIOT Something to Remember: EYO WASSUP, IT’S YA BOI DEMENTIA Sandy Versus the Storm: SANDY IS ALSO AN ATTENTION WHORE 2: ATTENTION WHORE BOOGALOO An UnbeLEAFable Day: MOTHERFUCKER, I WILL BEAT YOU FOR THAT PUN. A Rusty Rescue: THOMAS DIDN’T LEARN SHIT FROM THE LUCKY BELL Ghost Train: HELLO DOCTOR? YEAH, IT’S PERCY AGAIN Hide and Surprise!: DIESEL CAN YOU PLEASE STOP GETTING INTO PISSING CONTESTS Pop a Wheelie: YEP, GORDON’S GETTING SCRAPPED. ALSO, THOMAS AND DIESEL, WILL YOU TWO STOP FUCKING HAVING PISSING CONTESTS. Goodbye, Ghost-Scaring Machine: FINALLY, PERCY GOT SOME FUCKING HELP More Cowbell: USE MY MOTHERFUCKING MEMES AS EPISODE TITLES AGAIN AND I WILL FUCKING BREAK YOU. Sir Topham Hatt's Hat: IT’S A FUCKIN’ HAT DUDE. Nia's Surprising Surprise: BIRTHDAY EPISODE I GUESS A New View for Thomas: HOW DID HAROLD NOT FUCKING DIE Skiff Sails Sodor: >IMPLYING ANYONE CARED ABOUT THIS ONE Song of Sodor: WHAT DID YOU EXPECT, IT’S A BENCH. ALSO SOMETHING SOMETHING BUY OUR TOYS

====

SHORTS

Diesel’s Rules: KANA LITERALLY WON THE TRAIN GENE POOL AND YOU’LL NEVER BE BETTER THAN HER Nia and the Ducks: DUCKS ARE AWESOME Muddy Thomas: TOPHAAAAM, THOMAS IS JUMPING INTO STUPID BETS AGAIN Kana and the Butterflies: TEEHEE GIRLS LIKE BUTTERFLIES: THE SHORT Percy’s Perfect Place: GODDAMN LET PERCY FUCKING SLEEP Crystal Cavern: THOSE CRYSTALS ARE RADIOACTIVE. CAN TRAINS DIE FROM RADIOACTIVE ACTIVITY? PROBABLY NOT James and the Dragon: JAMES IS A FUCKIN’ PUSSY Diesel’s Seagull: LITERALLY DIESEL AND THE DUCKLINGS AGAIN, SEE ME AFTER CLASS. Thomas and the Troublesome Trucks: THE TRUCKS ARE DICKS, WHAT A SURPRISE Surprise!: THIS IS JUST A SHORT VERSION OF AN EXISTING EPISODE, SEE ME AFTER FUCKING CLASS. Too Loud Nia: STOP BEING AN ANNOYING LITTLE SHIT Lighthouse Disco: [RISE DUNGEON THEME INTENSIFIES] Horrible Hiccups: TRAINS CAN GET HICCUPS NOW I GUESS The Big Balloon Breakout: MORE GODDAMN BALLOONS JESUS Sandy Tidies Up: TIDY, SHIT, YADDA YADDA Carly and Cranky’s Big Lift Off: DO YOU EVEN FUCKIN’ LIFT BRO??? Hay, Now!: MOTHERFUCKING HAYSTACKS Red Light, Green Light: LITERALLY A GAME OF RED LIGHT GREEN LIGHT WHO CARES Confetti Car Kerfuffle: CONFETTI IS AWESOME Skiff Upon The Sea: SERIOUSLY DOES ANYONE GIVE A FUCK ABOUT SKIFF

#all engines go #ttte #thomas the tank engine #ttte aeg #aeg

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buttertheflame · 7 months

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First Thoughts on The Ones Who Live (1x01) ❤️⭐️🧟

To start, this love story speaks my language. My blog the mad lover is the home of all the little things I collect, canon content and headcanons alike, and is named for one of my favorite classical songs.

I have many other loves; music, shows and books I don’t blog about. The Walking Dead is one of them. I had nothing to say when the spin-offs from the main show started, though they are good. But this post isn’t about them. I just wanna say one thing. I remember the Talking Dead days, when many viewers were curious to hear from the cast and crew how they pulled off each episode. There were ups and downs on the storyline front, including up to Andy’s s9 departure from the show. (This was the occasion of Rick Grimes’s assumed death which prompts the Ones Who Live spin-off.) But by s10 I could see that TWD was fermenting; they knocked it out of the park with the Whisperer war. Despite the following mishaps, that occasion of brilliance gave me hope that they would strike out once again. And well—

Here we are.

This first episode is risky, confident, and concise. AMC has done it again—lightning in a bottle. Many in the TWD fandom have wondered if we’re gonna get 2 seasons. But with this level of storytelling and the punch it’s packing, I think they have a definitive ending in store for the sixth episode. And I’m more than fine with it.

If you like horror, don’t mind monsters, and could use cheering up with a love story, tune in and watch it. Especially this first episode which introduces us to the Big Bad.

For the long-term watchers, this is the moment we’ve waited 5 years for! I watched live with family and friends since s5. I was there for all their blunders and struggle sessions. On spin-offs too.

So, I thought they were gonna be lame and catch us up on Michonne first—which is not the hype. (We’ve seen hesitant and insecure writing like that in the later years too—looking at you, s11A). But they didn’t do it! They showed Rick’s story, delivered atmosphere, tone, poetry, themes and I believe, teased at the rise of a metatextual theme. (Looking at you, “Monsters that get the monsters—that’ll be over soon.”) The best part is that it’s a spin on the walking dead theme. This absolutely concise story tells me we’ll get Michonne’s years on the search for Rick in ep 2 leading up to their reunion. I do believe they will make it back to Alexandria/Commonwealth etc. What consequences come before then and what follows, I could not say with any confidence. And I love that.

They are clearly up to the task of surprising and wowing us. The one thing I will put my money on is seeing the execution or destruction Okafor’s vision for the CRM—and a connection to that new metatextual theme, in his quote above. There is SO MUCH Rick and the other 90% of the CRM don’t know, but we do, from World Beyond. And I think they are going to flip Okafor’s vision not once but twice for the viewers by the time all is said and done. They were so thorough that I have a few guesses for the military’s future, and the civic republic’s future, which I’ll write up later this week. Bravo once again, to team behind The Ones Who Live. Bravo to us, for being the audience they want to entertain.

#I must have watched the premier 2 or 3 times on Sunday #it was too good #*#amber speaks #tv shows #twd #the ones who live

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myownredqueen · 1 year

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It's a huge disappointment when you're scrolling along and you see someone you like and respect post stupid fuck shit. When they mania out to the world, and splat.

The moron vibe is strong. The nausea, the headache from spinning the option of responding to the ridiculous statement.

The flash backs to other moments of...

Holy shit.

This person is a complete dope.

Let down.

Hard.

I wonder how any times something I did caused this reaction?

Repellent, eye brow raising, what-the-fuckery.

A cloud of thoughts,

mashing together in a moment.

Persistant to present

As imperative,

Or humerous.

Blathering out

without a valve to stem the tide

Unrelenting torents of words and feelings

swirled to confusion

Spilling out

Apologetic eyes save no one

Until, finally

The spazm stops

Valve engaged

Mouth closes.

I'm sure I have repelled my share.

I suppose all I can do is try to be aware of it.

Try to cut back as I can,

not freeze myself up trying to fix my every flaw.

Perhaps

I should allow these moments to be

Moments

Delirium, mania, anxious blather

What ever

A moment

A while

A chapter

A portion

Of life.

But not all of it.

I'm not a blundering buffoon all the time

But I am sometimes.

I suppose I'll just scroll on.

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divinolenta · 3 years

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genshin characters as songs

thinking about a certain someone? reminiscing about the high and low tides of a relationship? take a trip to the tavern to listen to the bard artfully spin tunes of romance and bittersweet farewells

character x reader, fluff + angst/sfw

additional notes: these hcs they're more like whole ass fics wtf were intended for the first year anniversary of this blog as well as for the 1k milestone, but it's late and i apologize for that ! i only had someone say they wanted childe and thoma included so the rest of them i simply used the ones i had ideas for so apologies to those who were hoping for characters not included here.

albedo

now playing: flower by johnny stimson; a song of hesitant but mutual pining

"what if i can't get you out of my thoughts? what if my seasons don't change?"

fingertips tracing each other's skin in a timid, almost hesitant manner, your relationship with him felt like an evanescent rainbow in the mere moments after an ominous storm. neither one of you would dare the next step to establishing what exactly you had with each other until the rainbow eventually dissipated like a mirage.

albedo treated you with a touch only reserved for lovers, yet you were not his and he was not yours.

it felt wrong, so, so wrong yet so perfect at the same time. lingering kisses pressed against the expanse of your neck, hazy cerulean eyes fixated intently on your face to gauge your reaction as he draws saccharine sighs and gasps out of your throat.

occurences like these were brief, usually spent in his laboratory when you give in to the game that albedo plays, searching for the prize that he dangles over your head. it is like a game of chess, but albedo is the genius who artfully manipulates your move so that you blunder blindly into checkmate. wistful glances are thrown in your direction with smiles that are too fond to be called friendly, only for the alchemist to approach you stiffly the next day, too polite to be considered anything more than colleagues, leaving you wondering if you had simply imagined it all.

it didn't matter how determined you were; albedo slipped out of your grasp as easily as grains of sand. perhaps you are not meant to be, but then why do your hands fit perfectly within each other, your hearts in sync?

the kreiderprinz is fully aware that you do not belong to him, but he tastes bitter jealousy as he watches you bashfully converse with a knight, flushing when they lean down to brush hair out of your eyes with a flirtatious smile. fearing that you are now realizing how futile it is to continue trying to pursue him, albedo marches towards you, grasping your wrist while excusing himself coolly. he does not have the intention of losing you to someone, even if he is, decidedly playing hard to get. the knight looks ready to object, but wisely decides to keep their mouth shut when the chief alchemist sends them a withering glare while pulling you along with him. realizing that albedo will not provide an answer to where you are going, you apologize hastily to the knight and stumble after him.

"what's wrong?" you ask, searching his expression for answers when albedo finally stops in an alleyway shielded from the rest of the knights, the shouts and hurried sounds of footsteps resonating on stone fading away.

irises of aquamarine fixate on you, and albedo wonders if you know how you affect him so. your presence alone makes heat rise to his face and his even voice stammer, and your visage haunts him in both his dreams and sketchs. taking a deep breath, albedo grips your hands in his and your eyes widen, taking in the faint blush that settles on his pale skin.

"forgive me if i am too forward, (name), but i'd like to court you. officially, that is." he utters, studying your reaction closely. you open your mouth but you find that you are unable to voice your thoughts from his sudden confession. you avoid meeting his piercing gaze but ever the perceptive man, albedo catches sight of the smile that threatens to surface on your face.

"i'd like that, albedo." you respond, dipping your head quickly before stealing a bashful glance at him.

he likes the way his name sounds on your tongue, warmth spreading in his chest. before you can leave to return to your duties, he moves close, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek that has your breath catching in your throat and heat rising to your face.

"i'll see you around then." albedo brushes a speck of dirt off your cheek before turning around on his heel to continue on his journey to the laboratory. you nod, eyes fixed on his retreating back with a giddy smile.

he conceals his own smile as he quickens his pace towards the waiting experiments, but there is a small, almost unnoticeable skip in his step.

a slow start, he muses, but a start nonetheless.

childe

now playing: pride by kendrick lamar; a song of uneasy love

"love's gonna get you killed but pride's gonna be the death of you"

love was already so vicious by itself; a flower that permeated its surroundings with an innocuous, nectar-like scent yet bore thorns when you closed your fingers around it.

childe's "love", his loyalty towards the tsaritsa was equally as, if not more dangerous. being a harbinger naturally attracted an abundance of eager enemies waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike him down. from terror, wrath was created, and from wrath festered resentment and loathing.

his love towards his family was his fatal flaw, his achiles heel. despite being safely tucked away in the secluded town of morepesok, paired with his efforts to smother any information of his family from anyone with malicious intents, if they were captured......no, you wouldn't let yourself think of the consequences.

likewise, your position as his lover hold the same difficulties and as the tsaritsa's plans for conquest begin to struggle, you find yourself pleading for him to grant you release from his hold.

eyes of ocean harden into glaciers, and he immediately refuses with a tone that rivals even the harshest bite of snezhnayan winters. you are not doing this out of selfishness and self-preservation, you reason, but rather for his own sanity. if you or his family are wounded in any way, you know that if he must, childe will go to the ends of the earth to save you, and you will never forgive yourself if anything happens to him on your behalf.

his pride of his prowess as a warrior will ultimately bring his downfall, for it is destructive and you fear that blind reliance on skill and instinct will be futile when it matters most. like a tidal wave, his hushed words of reassurance wash over you as you cling to him, unable to command your body to stop shaking. he promises to be more vigilant from now onwards, but how can you believe him when you witness his reckless bloodlust in the throes of battle?

as childe murmurs sweet, comforting words into your hair, you slump and weep quietly. he is a man of his promises, but you can't help but wonder if they will be enough to preserve the life he is living right now, walking the precarious line between both life and death.

"childe," you whisper, "promise me you'll keep yourself safe."

he doesn't answer for a moment, instead intertwining his hand with yours and simply staring at it. from where you are situated with your back against his chest, you cannot see his face nor the emotions that may flit over it but you can't bring yourself to care when you were too desperate to find solace in the sense of warmth and security of his body.

"danger will always be present if i continue to stay with the fatui, you know that, right?" he swallows, voice lacking the usual boisterous confidence, and you deflate when you receive the answer you are not seeking for.

"but for you, sweetheart, i'll try my best, i promise."

kazuha

now playing: two birds by regina spektor; a song of farewells and departure

"two birds of a feather, say that they're always gonna stay together but one's never going to let go of that wire"

"please." you beg, clutching on to his sleeve until your knuckles turn white.

"i wish not to jeopardize your safety, my love." kazuha murmurs, gently prying your hand off of the fabric of his attire, eyes darting back and forth from your face and the shadows of the forest.

he was lucky to have chanced upon you rather than the shogun's soldiers during his flee from the tenshukaku yet his hand burns with agony, reminding him of what had transpired, reminding him of why he must leave. kazuha knows there is a famed ship from liyue about to dock at inazuma, and it presents him the precious chance to escape from the raiden shogun's unrelenting pursuit.

knowing that kazuha is firm on his decision and nothing you say will change his mind, you swallow, brushing away the tears that linger. "at least let me wrap your hand for you." your voice is displeased, and his heart twists at the thought of leaving you like this, your last memory of him an unpleasant and pained one, but he must severe any connections to you, lest the shogun detain or execute you. kazuha watches as you tear off fabric from your sleeve before wrapping his hand with the white strip, eyes avoiding the angry red of his rippled and ridged skin.

"i apologize, love, but i cannot-" he begins, but you interrupt him. "i understand," you turn away, your lips pursed. "you should leave before kujou sara and her soldiers find you."

do you hate me for leaving you? i wish to comfort you... but even i cannot determine if i will ever see you again.

"wait."

kazuha kneels before you, gently lifting your hand to his lips. shocked, you allow him to do so, and you're vividly reminded of why you fell for him in the first place as you watch him twist to tenderly brush his lips against your inner wrist before releasing, your hand falling limply to your side.

"farewell. may we see each other soon, though i hope during less delicate circumstances."

you look away as kazuha rises, and all you can hear is fabric rustling and the pounding of your heart in your ears when he moves until your eyes meet, tilting your chin up with his hand so that you cannot hide from the love he holds for you in his gaze.

"don't be so cold, dove. i am certain i will find my way back to you, even if it takes an eternity, and even if i cannot be with you in the near future, i will always love you." he offers you a sweet smile, placing a final kiss on your forehead before pulling back.

archons, he wants so badly to take you with him, but he can't, can he?

kazuha surveys you, your eyes again avoiding his and your trembling lips pressed into a thin line. he allows himself to admire you for one last moment before disappearing into the forest without even a glance back. all that remains of inazuma's fugitive are the leaves that flutter down in autumnal shades in his wake.

only when his soft footsteps fade away do you look up, a terrible sadness weighing your heart down.

"do me a favour, kazuha. forget me and never look back." you whisper, eyes fixed in the direction where he had vanished, fingers pressed to your wrist as you finally allow vulnerability to creep back into your eyes.

for looking back means facing the consequences.

thoma

now playing: this side of paradise by coyote theory; a song of puppy love

"i'll be yours if you'll be mine, 'cause i'm lonely, i'm so lonely, if you hold me, I'll be your only"

komore teahouse was silent save for the bubbling of the hot pot, and the occasional content sighs as you savour the food until ayato produces a bottle of the finest sake from seemingly nowhere, a mischievous look on his face that makes you shift nervously. ayaka pays him no heed, delicately picking away at the food before her.

"here, thoma. let me pour you a drink." he announces, snatching thoma's porcelain cup away before he can protest. ayato hums to himself as he offers you some, but you shake your head, and he raises an eyebrow but graciously does not insist.

"a toast to the resistance and to the traveler!" ayato declares, raising his cup, and the rest of you follow, repeating his words, though you and ayaka with cups of tea instead. after clinking his cup to everyone's, ayato swallows the sake heartily. thoma meekly sips away at his, barely concealing a grimace, and you choke back a snicker when you remember that he particularly dislikes alcohol.

you recline a little on the soft cushion as you watch ayato continuously refill thoma's cup, ignoring his objection, enjoying the atmosphere of the room, with golden lights basking it in a warm, homey glow, as well as the cheerful mood everyone is in. soon after, thoma's face is flushed, and it's obvious that he's intoxicated as he slumps over, and though he's only had a few cups of sake, you're not surprised, knowing that his alcohol tolerance is terribly weak.

"(name), if you don't mind, could you take thoma home? my sister and i would like to exchange a few words in secret." ayato mentions casually, gently prodding thoma's shoulder with his fan in hopes of waking him, but he doesn't stir. unbeknownst to you, ayaka glances at ayato, concealing a sly smile behind her cup as she sips at fragrant tea.

you nod wordlessly, not even bothering to pry into what it is exactly that he and ayaka are secretively talking about. with ayato's help, you lift thoma, supporting him with an arm around his waist while his dangles from your shoulder. somehow, after leaving the teahouse, you manage to make a good distance back to the kamisato estate, bearing his entire weight before thoma shifts, eyes adjusting blearily.

"(name)? what..." thoma slurs, and you can't help but laugh at his blatant confusion.

"i'm getting you home, you drunkard." you tease, but freeze when thoma turns his head, hazy viridescent irises studying you, and completely preoccupied with thoughts of he's so pretty as well as archons, he's so close, you make the mistake of stumbling, and you and thoma fall to a heap on the grass.

you panic when thoma falls on his face and doesn't move, but when you roll him over onto his back, he groans, eyes fluttering shut.

"c'mon, thoma. it's not too far off, let's get you home." you try to tug him up, but fail horribly, and to your horror, you fall on top of him, squeaking out apologies as you scramble off of him in a hurry.

"are you trying to flirt with me?" thoma asks, genuinely bewildered, and heat rises to your face, immediately refuting with "no, no! it was a mistake!" you cover your face with your hands, repressing the urge to scream at how embarrassing everything was turning out. warmth envelopes your hands as thoma takes them off of your face and holds them in his.

"it's okay, i really like you." he confesses, eyes gleaming with hope, and you gape like a fish, stunned into silence as your mind tries to register this piece of information. gathering your wits, you clear your throat. thoma looks so adorable, eyes large and pleading as he eagerly awaits your response, cheeks dusted with pink.

"you, mister, have had too much to drink." you chide, yanking him up, and to your amusement, thoma lets out a whine at your lackluster answer. "but i do! i like you so much, see?" he moves your hand to his chest, where you can feel his heart beating rapidly.

"tell me when you're sober, thoma." you laugh, deciding to tease him for a while longer and he follows you like a lost puppy, whining about how you won't accept his feelings, oblivious to the fact that you reciprocate them when you offer him your hand to hold.

drunken words are sober thoughts, but you can wait a little longer to confront him.

zhongli

now playing: homage by mild high club; a song of nostalgia and memories eroded by time

"someone wrote this song before and i could tell you where it's from."

loving zhongli is intimate.

there's something nostalgic about the way he smiles tenderly at you with striking amber eyes but you can't seem to understand why. it is similar to trying to recall that one melody, yet you suddenly realize that you don't quite remember the exact tune nor its origin.

you find that you have no explanation for your dreams either. floating in subconsciousness, you often see liyue, but it differs slightly from the city you know and are so fond of. the harbour is smaller, and its architecture different. liyue is quieter, and although it still sprawls over fertile land, the city is less cramped with fewer, stout buildings, and you see no hint of the merchants and ships that you are so accustomed to.

in these dreams, you meander along this picturesque city that is both home and foreign, mostly alone but occasionally accompanied by a male clad in exquisite white and gold robes. you may forget his face when you wake up, but you will never forget the rich baritone of his voice and his gentle touch that contrasted the rough calluses on his hands as he tucked a flower behind your ear.

oddly enough, the man that recurringly appears at night reminds you of zhongli, though you can't seem to muster the courage to confide in him about this, convinced that he would merely laugh at your outrageous words.

loving zhongli is unfaltering as well, like you are reliving the same tale but perhaps in another lifetime.

lying together in tangled sheets, you admire the way the moonlight reverently bestows kisses on his face as his fingertips dance along your face, memorizing the lines of your features like you are the deity that he, as an acolyte, must worship.

"being with you...it's like i've known you in the previous life." you sigh fondly into the dark, and zhongli stills, hands hovering over your face. his amber eyes are wide, and although you can't quite interpret his expression, something akin to hope fleetingly surfaces on his face before disappearing just as quickly.

there is a pause before he speaks, and zhongli takes the opportunity to place your hand on his cheek, leaning into your touch with his eyes closed.

"i do believe that we've met before, my beloved." he replies firmly, and you stare intently at him, perplexed by his serious tone. surely he had to be entertaining your foolish statement, yet he sounded unnervingly certain. shaking your head, you choose not to respond, instead stroking over his cheekbone, admiring the elegant and lovely angles of his face. zhongli tucks you closer against him, and to your surprise, begins to hum an unfamiliar lullaby, or one you initially thought was unfamiliar.

for some reason, you remember the way the notes weave to form a stunning melody but can't recall where you last heard it from. the melody rumbles pleasantly in his chest, and you find yourself listening closely with slightly furrowed brows.

"zhongli, where is this from?" you pull back to look at him, and he opens his eyes at your question, rosy lips slightly parted.

"you recognize this?" he asks, incredulous. once again, the same, unknown emotion flashes in the depths of his eyes but you're too absorbed by your own curiosity to notice. you nod wordlessly, and zhongli chuckles quietly, mischief glinting in his eyes.

"i'm afraid that i can't tell you, dearest. as i said, you recognize it because we have adored each other in lifetimes ago." his voice softens into affection so tender at the end of his sentence that it makes you look away, heart beating wildly.

after all, they say a red string connects two soulmates, one that can transcend time.

although you are eager to divulge more answers from him, he hushes you, promising you he will tell you if you rest. you listen, closing your eyes and nestling yourself impossibly closer to him, and soon, you fall asleep, breathing deep and even. zhongli's smile fades and he sighs wistfully, smoothing your hair with one hand as he turns his gaze towards the floor, where the moonlight casts a mosaic of light.

"when shall you remember?"

211 notes · View notes

blackacre13 · 2 years

Note

Please make part 6 of The proposal AU ;((

Part 11 (yes, the real part 11, my blunder now corrected was here):

“Then what’s with all this secrecy?” She whispered. “And I mean, of course she’s stunning. That’s clear. But the way you’ve spoken about her for all these years…”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Debbie sighed, feeling defensive. “We just…didn’t tell anyone, alright? I mean it’s hard. I’m her assistant. She’s high up at the company. What would people think? What did you guys think? Things…change, mom. I don’t know.”

“They do say the line between love and hate is rather thin,” Darlene thought aloud, considering her daughter for a moment. “I should be mad at you. But gosh, I’m just so excited! I mean a wedding! Debbie, this is big.”

“It really is,” the brunette grumbled, starting to follow her mother towards the house.

“Oh!” Darlene exclaimed, suddenly spinning around. “I have the most wonderful idea! Danny, listen. What do you two think? For Ida’s birthday this weekend. What if you and Lou got married right here?”

“What if pigs could fly?” Danny snickered under his breath as Debbie swallowed thickly.

Here's part 12!

“Mom, I don’t know. We sort of are trying to just enjoy the whole engagement bliss or whatever. We haven’t really even started planning. And it’s not fair to Lou. I mean her family isn’t even…” Debbie paused mid-thought. Lou never really mentioned family. Parents, siblings, anything. All Debbie knew about was her revolving door of dates and hookups and Debbie knew there were only so many of them because Lou was never one to be “tied down”.

Imagine that, Debbie thought, her face blossoming red before she cleared her throat, looking back up at her mother, trying to fabricate some excuse.

Lou stepped in, luckily, literally stepping into Debbie’s space and taking her hand. “Sweetie,” Lou smiled sweetly before turning to her mom and grandma. “Like Debbie said, we want to take the time planning. And of course, Ida, we couldn’t crash your birthday party. This is your weekend! Why would we celebrate us.”

“Yes. That. Exactly,” Debbie nodded, grateful for Lou’s reasoning. “It’s already too much that we’re sharing the engagement. This is a big birthday. It’s grandma’s spotlight.”

“Deborah,” Ida chuckled. “Dear, you know nothing would make me happier than to watch you make a commitment to the person you love. It’s a grandmother’s dream! You hush about me and this being my time. That’s utter nonsense. Louise, dear, you’re too sweet. I insist.”

Debbie couldn’t breathe. She started fidgeting with the corner of her top as Lou looked at her with a mixture of concern and annoyance.

“Can we, maybe, you could show us to our rooms?” Debbie managed, as Darlene clapped her hands together, all too excited.

“Plenty of time for us to decide and talk wedding details!” Darlene agreed with a grin, nodding her head towards the hallway.

“Well, not too much time,” Ida winked.

“And don’t think you’ve weaseled your way out of telling us the story,” her mother added.

“What story?” Debbie panicked. Had she given a tell already? Were they onto her and Lou?

“Of the proposal, honey,” Lou spoke, through gritted teeth, as if she couldn’t fathom how Debbie couldn’t keep up with this fantastical mythical catalogue of lies and trickery that now involved her family.

“You’ll be staying in here,” Darlene announced, gesturing to a gorgeous guest bedroom that Debbie hadn’t even had the chance to see. A swoop of guilt washed over her as she realized it had been years since she’d last been home. But not all of that as her fault. She’d tried, she knew. A lot of it was the job. Was Lou. Lou relied on her. Had her on call. There wasn’t really time for….she didn’t want to even think the thought.

“Sorry,” Debbie coughed. “Which one of us? Lou, right? I figured I’d just stay in my…”

“Oh, dear,” Ida laughed. “I’m afraid your room is sort of mine now, Debbie. Ever since I moved in. It’s just easier for me since it’s downstairs away from the steps. Less of a walk. And you wouldn’t want to sleep in a pink room now that you’re a grown woman anyway, right? Don’t you worry! We’ve stored all your dolls and beanie babies and posters in the attic.”

Lou tried and failed to bite back a laugh, snorting at Debbie’s exasperated face.

“And even if we still had it, we wouldn’t want the two of you squished together in a full size bed,” Darlene laughed. “I mean, imagine! You’re our guests. And don’t worry, I’m under no illusion that you two haven’t slept in the same bed before. Wink wink. I mean, please. How naive do you think I am?”

“Oh, Mrs. Ocean,” Lou protested. “I couldn’t. What we do at home is different than…and I mean, surely Ida…”

“Please!” Ida laughed. “I insisted. Love birds have to nest together. I wouldn’t keep you two apart. Besides, what would be the point? You’d sneak around to get in some cuddles and who-knows-what during the night anyway!”

Debbie didn’t miss the waggle of Lou’s eyebrows as she suddenly forgot to breathe, choking on her own inhale of air.

“Can we have a sec, mom? Get settled and whatever?” She gasped.

“Of course,” Darlene waved them off. “I’ll have Danny drop off your bags.”

“And don’t dilly-dally too long dears,” Ida smiled, giving them a big grin. “We have to celebrate the engagement! Everyone will be so eager to see you!”

The door closed behind them and Debbie flopped onto the bed, back first letting out a frustrated scream into a pillow.

“Love birds?” Lou hissed, banging her head against the door. “Debbie, this is insane. How the Fuck are we going to convince them that this is real but stall them from throwing us a wedding?”

“Gee, Lou,” Debbie rolled her eyes, sitting up as she pulled the pillow against her stomach. “I don’t know. This was your brilliant idea if you haven’t forgotten.”

“I figured it would be a dinner or two. Maybe a walk. Not an ambush gunshot wedding and a stay for two at the Ocean bed and breakfast.”

“Well, here we are,” Debbie shrugged. “It’s your mess.”

“It’s your job to keep me out of messes like this,” Lou sighed, shaking her head, before something seemed to crack, the blonde sitting down on the edge of the bed, her hands falling into her hair. “Debbie, I—I don’t know what I was thinking. It seemed so simple. A stamp here. A signature there. Some little white lies. But now…”

“Now?” Debbie asked, shuffling closer to Lou hesitantly, trying a gentle hand against her shoulder, smiling when the blonde didn’t flinch or move away.

“This is all kinds of fucked up,” Lou grumbled.

“Well, we’re in this together, right? For better, for worse?” Debbie tried, catching Lou’s blue eyes linger on her sparkling engagement ring for a second before she tore them away.

“Right,” Lou nodded. The moment of vulnerability gone as she jumped up from the bed, starting to pace back and forth like she did before presentations. “Grab a pen. Let’s make a plan.”

27 notes · View notes

silksaddle · 3 years

Text

The Traveler 3

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: A busy night at the saloon later pushes Jack to reflect on his past.

Word count: 12.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! drinking and mentions of alcohol, weapons (guns, lasso), lap sitting, Competent Jack Daniels, SMUT, unprotected piv sex, oral f!receiving, cumplay, tenderness, one last hint of plot before it gets crazy up in here

A/N: Thank you to @skyshipper for the amazing gif! And to my lovely friends who kept encouraging me to write this chapter! The song mentioned is an Appalachian folk song. You’ll find references to that, and it’s also important to recall the difference in dollar value back in the day. Get into the saloon mood with this! Wink wink...

Read Chapter Two ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Three: The Outlaw

“Ever been in here, little lady?”

Noise, noise, noise— it’s like the parlour room hopped up on a hundred more liters of whiskey, with more men, more laughing, and a drunken pianist poking away at the keys in a corner. Its walls are wider and taller than the floors back home— the floor you’re familiar with can’t hold a candle to the song and vibrancy and life before you.

It’s midnight, six long and loving days since you’d shot your first target tin, and Jack had swindled you away under his sturdy arm— only after confirming that your feet didn’t hurt too much, asking two times to make sure, three to get a rise out of you. He’d since had you try shooting at a pear, but you’d only managed to skim the side of it at best. Still, his hands were ready at your hips, his pride in you glowing.

Jack squeezes your shoulders firmly from behind you, his eyes fixed on the growing delight visible in your steadying limbs. As you take in the bunches of occupied chairs spread by roundtables, and the few but heavily buzzed dancers— swaying and stepping at random in the spaces between card games— the shaking of your head is delayed.

Just outside the batwing doors, on the threshold of entering the fast-paced world you still don’t know, you turn to him, gasping through your smile. All the aimless wonder you’d indulged in today from deciphering his comically sultry-toned question— “How much do your feet hurt?”— floods back into your system as you take another peek inside.

Blundering gamblers speed through the movement of coupled dancing— quick flourishes of colour springing to your eyes as the ladies spin on their tiptoes, the multi-coloured layers of their petticoats flying up then down. Among them are the focused card games, mental and speedy over brown tones. You don’t know how they focus with all the chatter and music, but they hold their cards to their noses and try to slip secret peeks at their left-hand opponent. This is the real bar, unlike the makeshift hot spot where only guests are allowed in your home. This is where people gather and where the trouble begins.

“Is this what all that fuss was about?” you grin, sneaking your fingers underneath a suspender, poking at his soft belly. He flinches and huffs, although any touch from you is pleasant in his rosy mind, taking hold of the back of your neck to silence you with a deep, soothing kiss. His eyes are shut as he makes his determined move, your head going fuzzy and your nerves settling down in your stomach.

He tips his hat back on his head to kiss you closer, your fingers finding the little curls at the nape of his neck.

“Had to be sure…” he murmurs hot against your mouth, and the grip on the back of your neck tightens as a breath of his heady scent blankets your face, “don’t need you hurtin’ more than necessary.”

“Oh, stop—” you jab his side again, easing back off to twirl a finger around his tie. “I never even mentioned it,” you whisper, voice shaking as it softens in consideration, “I’ve always wanted to come here.”

“I can tell those things about you, baby doll.” His hand slips down your front, riding the curve of your bust down your belly, along your forearm to your wrist. “Ready?”

Almost every piece of you is prepared, excited, anticipating, but that nagging uneasiness slowly creeps its way back around your shoulders. He notices in the way you hesitate, blinking up at the overhead beams, a furrow to your brow.

“What is it?” he asks softly, even sternly as he lines his feet back up with yours and holds the sides of your arms. The touch pulls the dreadful sensation from your limbs as his thumbs stroke your sleeves, your lip catching in concentration as you shift your eyes, looking at the girls spinning under their partner’s hand.

“What if we see someone we know?” you mumble, unsure if it’s valid enough to speak it clearly. There could be as many as forty people in there, and as far as you can tell, you can’t recognize a single person— your own patrons must be asleep back at the house, and there’s not a single chance Mrs. Adler would come spying, and the thought makes you giggle despite your concern. It doesn’t account for acquaintances who know the lady, who tell her things, who bring her news. Like the sheriff.

“Oh, darlin’,” he croons, leaning forward to place his lips at the middle of your forehead, soothingly pressing then retracting to give a reassuring smile, “I doubt anyone will be trottin’ around there lookin’ for you.” A single hand drops to his hip, where he lifts up the coil of his lasso, “And I know how to make a deal.”

The rich timbre and rumble of his voice sparks a dose of courage to rush in your veins, and the last dregs of apprehension still looming somewhere in your head slowly drown out in its wake.

“Can’t forget…” He reaches into his shoulder holster, where one side is equipped with a gun, and from the other side he pulls a detailed silver flask, twisting open the lid. You must pull a face with the gruff raise of his brow you spot, before he takes a swig and clears his throat. It bobs, rising and falling and mesmerizing you while you study him, glowing in the reaches of the interior’s orange light.

“Drink up,” he orders, breaking your focus and extending his hand forward. “It’s whiskey.”

“Why?” you chuckle incredulously, eyeing the engraved ‘S’ over the front. Silently you wonder what it means to him, evaluating its curvy detail before dismissing it as a company emblem of some sort. Tentatively, you take it from him and sniff the spout.

A crashing, creaking noise rattles from inside the saloon— bottles knocked from a table and rolling over the floor in a puddle, grumbling fading out into disinterested humming. It’s left like that, and the occupiers of that table simply stumble over in search of more drinks instead of tidying their mess.

“It’s a wild mess in there.” Jack nudges your hand closer to your mouth, and the flask catches on your lip.

“Where did you get this?” you query, inhaling the scent, guiding the silver back to your mouth. It pours down your throat, burning bright courage in your chest, and you can feel the shot moving thickly down your middle. You tilt your head back up with tight-shut eyes, wiping your mouth as he tells you he’d snatched it from the kitchen cupboard before knocking at your door.

“Jack. You’re lucky I like you too much to say anything…” you groan, acting ten times more exasperated than you feel, thrusting the flask back into his holster.

The face he wears is kind, a crescent in his lips forming a sweet smirk reserved just for you, and he catches your wrist in his snug fingers.

“Come on,” he grins, and your laughing protest doesn’t make it out of your mouth amongst the ruckus, your feet hardly able to keep up with him as he breaks you through the swinging doors and weaves you through a sea of jovial people in the gathering heat. It’s the most crowded room you’ve ever witnessed, where open spaces on the floor are scarce and shoulders brush against shoulders beneath the high-ceilinged, two story building. No one offers so much as a glance at you barging inside— razor-sharp focus in their own world prevents it, and a chorus of “sorry!” stumbles from your mouth nearly five times at all the bumps into random shoulders and hips.

“Slow down!” you cry, but he continues to tug you along, your free hand clutching at the length of your skirt to keep from stumbling on it. Another giggle bubbles out of your throat when you stumble anyway in your preoccupation, squishing your cheek right into the wool blazer on his back, bracing your hands over his shoulders for balance.

“Whoa,” he chuckles, turning on his heel to grasp at your elbows and set you upright. His dark eyes sparkle when you meet them, your fingers instinctively reaching to fiddle again with either his suspenders or his tie. “What first, darlin’? You’re the boss…”

Desperately, you seek out the new surroundings, distracted by the fancy shelves behind the bartender displayed like an alcoholic apothecary, the cozy alcoves off to the sides lit by small fires. A staircase towards the back of the room leads up to a second level with a wrapping balcony, making more room for the smoke to dissipate upward. Behind a couple of men, there’s a dartboard, not in use.

"I..." you don't know how to choose, and before any further words make it from your mouth, Jack pulls you face to face, lacing your fingers together.

“Well,” he breathes, guiding your free hand to rest at his shoulder, "I've been wantin' to do this for ages.”

"Do... what?" you suck in a breath as he swiftly turns the both of you, tugging you even closer to his chest and bringing his cheek to yours.

"Hold you in front of other people." Jack's smirk turns into a proper smile, glinting and sparkling. He sways you the other way, prompting an exhilarating thrill to chase up your back as a pound hits a table nearby, and someone has just lost another arm wrestle. He slides his nose down the side of your face as he indulges in you, and everything inside the room that had caught your eye in its newness slips from memory, his scent taking over.

His words sink lower and lower inside you, and his grip is harder now, his fingers wrapping and squeezing around yours.

“Closer, baby. Just you n’ me.”

Nothing more than a rasp; his lips catch the shell of your ear.

Closing your eyes, an anxious sigh expelled, you let him guide you forward, backward, clinging your cheek to his shoulder as he dominates your rhythm. He’s firm and steady as you know him to be, yet your eyes shut harder with the onset of self-awareness in the presence of so many.

Your lids flutter back open to find him watching you intently, a smile making those endearing crinkles appear on his face. And he’s right— just you and him, nothing else of importance but his face blushed with the twinge of pink and his broad shoulders, one covered by your hand. The knowledge of routine and coordination between anyone else means nothing now; they’re either weaving their way through the crowd with glasses of beer or clapping or jumping around in tipsy circles.

He keeps his gaze anchored to your eyes, even as he nudges your nose with encouragement.

“I never did learn any dances,” you admit quietly when your mouth is just a breath away, your voice rising just above the sound of strangers mingling drunkenly. He keeps you slow, his brow raising in question, but never moving his face from you.

“Can’t know everythin’,” he grins. As someone well-versed in life outside of work, he knows the steps that the others are taking. "Have a dance, then we’ll try those darts out, hm? See if you can beat me.”

Pressing his hips forward, a nearly silent sigh of relief blows from his mouth.

Uncertain steps transform into confident swivels on the toe of your boot, although you allow Jack to keep his guiding hand across the small spot he’d allotted for you, his ease in dancing sparking your curiosity. As he rotates your bodies, swaying you delicately, you burrow your nose deeper into his shoulder, the smell of leather and his warmth— the forming perspiration— clouding your senses, heady and calming.

In the midst of the comfortable silence between you, he pipes up again above the noise.

“I almost took you here first, did I tell’ya that?”

“First?” you echo. Your fingers travel up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he smiles bashfully, covers your hand with his own. From beyond his shoulder, you catch the angry exit of two men deep in a heated conversation, though their pistols are not drawn, and the surrounding people swinging by you in the dance hall area; a tipsy man bumping into a table off to the side and looking thoroughly displeased it wronged him by being in his way.

“First time I took you out. Figured I should get to know you a little better by myself...” he leans in, tickling up your side with his other hand, and it makes you splutter against his cheek, his satisfied hum felt on your chest.

“You did just that,” you chortle, stepping left, right, up, down the floor. “I’m almost certain you’re proud of it…”

“Mm,” his smile borders closer to a smirk with the sudden dash of smugness in his face, “would it be indecent to take pride in lovin’ on my lady?”

Throwing him a sharp look, the rapidity in which you smile again is quicker than gun-fire when he elects to step with you in a swaying-round fashion, revolving around the other pieces to this clockwork of a free-range dance, his lips dangerously close to your neck as he presses his face down into your shoulder.

“I suppose you do get special treatment,” you admit, your gaze softening as you glance at his plump, parted lips, his own expression mirroring yours as he enters his frequent mode of dazedness. His grin goes dopey, his eyes half-lidded, bright affection seeping into every crease on his handsome face.

“Ain’t that somethin’, comin’ from you.”

Jack’s chest grows warmer, as do his hands— hot and worked up, giggling when you step over his toes yet he doesn’t complain, only squeezes your waist with more pressure. The random flow of movement he creates across the floor with you becomes comfortable in the safety of his grip, although daunting once he begins to suggest motions beyond what you’d prepared yourself for, namely in the presence of other people— a strange thing for you, being cooped up every other moment.

“Show me a twirl.”

He guides you out and under his arm, fondly watching you spin for him— hesitant at first, then freely, a proper and carefree grin crossing your face as your skirt flits out against his leg— and you twirl again.

He coos proud and softly as he can when you return to him, but loud enough for you to make out, your grin widening for him when you bump your face into his shoulder once more. “That’s my girl.”

You realize what you like so much about it, the longer you caper with the others, just how lost in it everyone seems to be— they don’t fuss over what they look like prancing around, they don’t care whether they know what they’re doing, but not one face is downcast as you peek over his shoulder again. The ones who sit hunched over candle-lit tables are cheerfully clapping their friends over the shoulder or holding their stomachs in laughter, doubled over, shut eyes and open mouths.

“You’re a sweet little dancer,” he whispers, the ragtag band relenting into an easy melody with the slow hitting of piano keys, and his hands slide upward in a smooth motion over your sides to cup your chest.

“Jack,” you guffaw, haphazardly pushing his hands away from their proximity to your breasts, and he instead pulls you back into your original position of your hand on his shoulder, the other in his. “Later.”

“What? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little flirtin’...”

“If you call that flirting.”

But soon he’s cradling you, dipping you backward, clutching at you gently as possible to keep you safe from falling, and when you meet his eyes, they’re looking at you fondly. Your own drift closed just as you feel him coming closer, and it hits you.

His lips brush yours. Soft, familiar. The world moves on around you, but it’s the first time he’s kissed you for others to see— not that many would take much notice now, at the way his mouth is readily slanted over yours.

But it’s new, butterflies sending your stomach in flips and his gentle nip bringing you back to where you are, held comfortably in his arms.

“If that ain’t better, I’ll be beggin’ you to tell me how you want it.”

Still dipped in his arms, someone yells after Jack.

“Daniels!”

A deep and husky voice comes from some indeterminate spot, and your arm falls in the onset of horror. Jack’s first response is to wink for your comfort, and his hand briefly hovers at the holster before he turns to find the man in question. His other is protectively extended across your waist until he recognizes him in the dirtied blue button-up, his smile peppered by a light brown beard. It's too quiet for you to hear, but there's a rumble of a groan in Jack's chest, eager to spend his time here without interruptions.

“Arthur,” he greets, partly saying his name for you to measure the stranger, and he claps him on the shoulder with a big, albeit reluctant grin.

“I ain’t seen you around here yet,” Arthur remarks, and his eyes flash across to you.

Jack hums low, sliding his hand up to the back of your neck, urging you to step forward.

He’s a tall man, strong, a scar here and there on the exposed patches of his skin. You offer a smile to him, brightly looking into his face as he grins back, settling his hands in his pockets. Jack’s hand tells you he’s not entirely pleased with this interruption with its tensing hold, but he’s polite when he speaks to Arthur, who’s clearly already gotten himself tipsy.

“This is my girl,” Jack says proudly, and the title makes your knees weaken, thankful for the support of Jack’s body as you introduce yourself. You extend your hand out for a shake, the act seemingly normal as Arthur accepts it, until he raises it to his lips and kisses the back of it with a knowing smirk on his face.

“Charmin’— charmed,” Arthur murmurs, and you feel the grip on your neck tighten, turning your head to find Jack shaking his.

“Hey now,” he warns in a raspy voice, but in good nature as he hugs you harder against his side and you put your hand back on his chest to soothe the obvious flare of jealousy. He covers your hand with his own, rubbing out the spot where Arthur’s mouth had been. “Yeah, this here is Arthur. Partner of mine from the post office.”

“Heard a lot about you, miss,” Arthur adds, but Jack doesn’t seem to respond to that remark, instead puffing his chest out in pride. Happy that you know how solid his affection for you is.

“You sure got yourself a ramblin’ man. Chewin’ my ear off about you.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath as the conversation goes on, and Jack’s presence behind you now seems stiffer than before.

“Nothing too personal I hope,” you jab at Jack’s waist and he splutters, and Arthur immediately shakes his head. You notice he’s also bearing a gun, his holster a different kind than Jack’s— slung around his hips. His face seems kind, wrinkled around the eyes and mouth as evidence of frequent laughter, his eyes sharp in observance but soft in nature.

“I don’t think Jack would share that kinda stuff with a gun to his head,” he chuckles, his voice and accent thick and rumbling. He shoots back to Jack as he moves his weight into his hip, “Look, some of us are about to start a game; you joinin’? You can bring your lady.”

Jack shifts uncomfortably beside you, his mouth dropping open before he speaks. “Well, me and my lady, we came to—”

“Don’t be rude, Jack,” you smile, blissfully aware of what you’re playing at when you close your hand around his bicep. He looks down at you with half a frown on his face, breathing through his nostrils as you pinch him, “We would love to join you.”

It takes a prolonged moment before Jack finally agrees, “I won’t turn down a good bet,” in a gruff voice, leading you behind Arthur, across the floor, over to one of the tables by the wall where other men are sitting and drinking from half-empty bottles. They greet you with lop-sided smiles, and Jack offers a “gentlemen,” their way as he slides the open seat at the end of the table from its edge. There’s five of them in total; three strangers, Jack, and Arthur.

Jack carefully shrugs off his holster, “Would you take care of that for me for a second, darlin’?”

Two weeks ago you’d have jumped in fear at the idea, but since your run-ins with his own gun, merely holding it doesn’t seem half as bad. You accept the leather, running your thumbs over its length to occupy yourself as a dash of shyness around the group floods your limbs. He sheds his blazer, draping it over the back of the chair, and takes back the holster with another wink to be appreciative.

The last adjustment before he sits is the loosening of his tie. He slips the knot and leaves the long ends hanging over his chest, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt as you squeeze your thighs together. When he sits at the end of the table with spread legs, you cramp your hands over the back of the chair, trying to quell the pitiful rush of slick that joins your tensed muscles.

Arthur sits to the side of Jack, scooting his chair up with a bump and another swat at Jack’s arm. A few of them are watching you, but only Jack has your eyes when he peeks around at you, too, with a forming frown, quickly changing into a smirk when he realizes how to get back at you.

“You ain’t gonna stand while we do this,” he says, beckoning. “Come here.”

He grips your hand before you can make a peep, pulling you to the front of the chair. A gasp from your throat causes a chuckle to erupt from his, your waist then caught in his hand as he sets you down to sit on his lap, over his wide spread thighs in the chair.

“What’s the game?” he grumbles to his opponents, nonchalantly raising his heel and dropping it to make you bounce on his lap.

“Hey—” you whine, bravely circling an arm around his shoulders. It feels odd to do such a thing, but no one seems to mind your presence on his lap. It’s normal behaviour for a place like this. He pushes his nose into your hair without a word, and as you feel the fire return to your cheeks, his promise of winning for you is low and warm.

“Blackjack. Place ‘em,” one of them announces from the left side— the dealer— as he awaits the players’ bets. They slide forth five cents, ten cents, another five cents. Jack gives fifty cents after reaching into his pockets and bouncing you on his leg again, your huff gone undetected by everyone else.

Arthur leans into your shared space at the edge of the dark table, “You better hope for some fuckin’ luck,” he teases, his eyes sparkling before he tells you, “your man’s gonna go bust.”

You feel the exasperated grumble against your side as Jack rolls his eyes, his hand closing firmly around you as he brings his face closer to Arthur’s.

“I like high stakes.”

That short, gritty sentence has your thighs tensing over his until they burn, the arm slung around his shoulder digging into his neck. Jack seemingly likes that reaction from you, holding you down tighter on his thigh, making your core slide over his trousers. It’s firm and just enough friction that you fight with a swallow to keep your whine inside, but the extra raise of his leg forces you to cover your mouth. He doesn’t look at you, but you’re certain you’re the only thing of concern to him at this moment, his smirk growing when you finally lower your hand back to your own lap.

The dealer places the first cards around the table, face up. Jack eyes the two of clubs handed off to Arthur, whose brow creases under the low light.

“Good start?” he chimes in, his fingers playing leisurely with the back of your bodice.

His first card is a ten.

“Fuck you, Daniels,” the other man chuckles, “we’ve got a whole game to play still.”

“Yeah,” Jack hums, smiling up at you. “I ain’t worried.”

With the second round of cards dealt, Jack’s total is only twelve. A two-card joins his pile before the hand truly begins— Arthur sits at a seven, the other two players at a sixteen and fourteen.

The first man to make a move is the one to the dealer’s left, deciding to take a hit. He taps his fingers over his cards, receiving an extra in return, his face turning into a wide grin when he reveals a three that lands him at a count of nineteen. Jack perches himself forward in focus, all the while the busy folk melody rages in its happy tune, and he presses his cheek to your breast as he slips his hot hand up your skirt.

“Jack,” you laugh, “be sensible.”

“I am,” he throws back, “you know I’d do anything to be that petticoat.”

Lightly, he traces out your calf, tickling the spot underneath your knee and making you scoff pointedly. Although you try to appear as sensible as you want him to be, you have no true intention of making him stop or swatting him away. But the next time he speaks is so low and quiet, you think you’re imagining it. “You got somethin’ under that skirt for me?”

The next player goes overboard— the man, in a beat up suit and vest with the previous total of fourteen, decides to hit and gets dealt an eight, eliminating his hand.

He slumps into his chair as the dealer takes his money and slides it towards the middle of the table, his companion clapping him sympathetically over the back.

As Arthur studies his count of seven, he’s quick to tap his fingers for another card, and quick again to grin when his hand then adds up to seventeen.

“Alright darlin’. Hit for me. Be my hands.”

There’s something hard underneath you as you tap your fingers over Jack’s cards, grazing the side of your body. The dealer places a five down, and Arthur groans comically loud as Jack throws his head back in a hearty chuckle at his count of seventeen to match Arthur’s.

“Fuck me,” Arthur rolls his eyes as the dealer faces the three of you at the corner of the table, giggling.

“Any more?” he questions with a toothy grin, his red tie donning a spot of beer on its tail. Arthur begrudgingly gives a tap and waits with bated breath, praying for a three, a four, but the card he receives busts his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” he pounds his fist on the table and makes the bets jump and skitter, even you, as you scoot up on Jack’s thigh. “Thought I had it.”

Arthur rubs his face as Jack hands you another fifty cents, his other still fiddling with the stocking around your thigh, though Arthur doesn’t seem to take notice. “Double it.”

“Are you sure?” you poke, holding the money in your palm as your heart skips at the amount. “It’s a slim chance…”

He closes his eyes, leaning in, nodding. “There’s a good luck charm on my lap.”

You grin, although his sentiment is doing more to make you melt into a puddle on his clothes, and you place the money next to the first bet as Jack calls his doubling. “Prove me wrong, or you’re still a fool.”

“Your lady is right,” the dealer remarks, slowly bringing his hand to the deck. It hovers there, unwavering as he stares into Jack’s eyes with a challenge looming between them. “Slim chance.”

Unhurriedly, he picks up the card, extends his arm, turns it over.

Four.

A frustrated groan from across the surface mixes with your excited gasp of bewilderment, your lower belly warming at Jack’s confidence in his hand and the cocksure grin on his face.

“Would you look at that,” Jack remarks, the tension in his chest flushing out in a heavy breath, the hardness remaining at your thigh as he pokes your tummy. “I knew you were good luck.”

He places his palm over the space where your thigh is bare, sneakily shimmying you closer to his front, and in that moment before the dealer flips his own face-down card, you hear the other two strangers whispering amongst themselves.

“Heard they’re headed this way. Looking for a fugitive. Guess he left ‘em in a tight spot, huh?”

His partner chuckles in agreement and crosses his arms over his slim chest. “This town ain’t all riddled with outlaws though. Doubt they’re gonna find him here.”

“Don’t imagine they’d issue wanted posters when they’re bandits themselves…”

The strain in Jack’s chest returns, and his back straightens to a firm line as he tries to rub it out through his hand on your skin— you chalk it up to just the nerves of the game.

Music continues, voices chant, the bartender busies himself with impatient guests. All you can put your mind to is the threads of conversation floating form the other side of the table as a puff of smoke crawls up to the ceiling behind them.

“Figure it’s just a hoax. Them Statesmen ain’t ever come out to play before.”

Jack’s breath goes sharp through his nose in time with the last remark, his entire body stiffening beneath you and going hot under his button up. Still, you tell yourself it’s the game, convincing yourself with how long the dealer is taking to flip his card. In a subtle attempt to ease him, you slip your fingers underneath his suspender, letting the heat of your palm draw him out.

The dealer goes dark. Annoyed. All he needs is an ace to get a natural and sweep Jack’s money, but the odds are against him more than they were against Jack.

He finally flips his face-down, revealing merely a seven of spades. Arthur perks up in the corner of your vision with a supportive grin crossing his face for his friend’s victory, but your squeal is the sweetest reaction among them, your excited call of his name filling the table with a little more light among the brooding men.

The dealer clenches his fists over the table at his own loss, at his own dumb strategy to mirror Jack’s certainty. But the man beneath you is laughing deeply, reclining further into his chair and spreading his thighs open.

“Pay up,” Jack smirks, “one-to-one. Means I get your dollar.”

The dealer hesitantly reaches his hand over to determine what the next card would have been, sliding it from the deck and flipping it.

Ace.

“Damn it,” he groans again, gathering the lost bets from the other three, yet the sum still forces him to fish around in his pocket to make up the rest of Jack’s extra dollar. “Why you gotta be so fuckin’ expensive?”

As a decent player, he shoves the pile of money forward to Jack, albeit with a frown, as Jack rubs your arms and coos in his own delight.

“You fuckin’ weasel,” Arthur jabs, “shoulda left you two.”

“I always win a bet,” Jack smiles, shining in the warm tones of the room, relaxing.

“And on your first damn round.” Arthur loosens the kerchief around his neck, scratching at the greyish-brown stubble covering his tan face. “You sure you had nothin’ to do with it?”

He’s looking at you now, and you’re uncertain of the severity in his words with the small squint in his eyes.

You reach for Jack’s small flask from the holster and take another swig of the sweet, burning liquid before matching Arthur’s gaze with narrowed eyes, too, setting it on the table between the both of you.

“Clearly I’ve tampered with this deck of cards from my spot right here, no?” you speak softly, leaning your shoulders back into Jack’s chest, the drip of whiskey settling the lingering nerves in your limbs. “I don’t recommend gambling to men who can’t take it.”

You begin to smile at him, and the faces of the other men go grumpy and displeased, all the while Jack makes a quiet choking noise beneath you at your words, his hand clamping around your thigh.

Arthur chuckles and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when no answer comes to him, instead dropping his other fist to the table. “One day I’ll win you on somethin’,” he says to Jack, and uses his feet to push himself from the table.

“Don’t die tryin’.”

The rest of the men who had joined you chatter about Faro, eyeing the table at the other end of the heated room, though one keeps his gaze on the pile of glinting coins set before Jack.

“We’d better get some more time to ourselves.”

His gaze licks fire at you when he catches your eye, and Arthur is already up and standing before Jack’s sentence is finished.

“‘Course,” he mumbles, shifting oddly. “Keep out of trouble.”

“Do my best,” Jack says, watching you rise from his lap, his fingers lightly tracing out the length of your skirt as you move. “Be seein’ you at the— shit—”

The man from across the table who had narrowly lost to Jack’s count leans over to swipe the winnings into his palms and makes a rapid turn, starting to weave through the crowd. He moves so fast and heavy, his footsteps are audible among the noise. Jack goes after him in a heartbeat after your sudden yelp, launching himself forward into a run as the thief clumsily bumps into the surrounding people, creating a clearing in the low-lit floor for Jack to chase through as his hand pulls the lasso loose.

You watch in a strange kind of excitement beside Arthur, as Jack begins to circle the rope at his side, his knees bent and his eagle eyes pinning down his target bordering the swinging doors. The entire room hushes in attention, a quiet whipping sound of rope through the air before the opening binds tight around the waist of the man with Jack’s money in his pockets.

He works the rope back in with a wink, one hand swapping in front of the other in swift motions, pulling the man back like a precious bounty. When the man arrives before him, stumbling on his feet, Jack extends his palm, and motions his fingers back. “Pockets. No trouble if you hand me the money back.”

A profound look of annoyance, or even embarrassment, covers the man’s dirtied face, and with difficulty of the rope around his elbows, he feigns fishing in his pockets and brings his hand back out with a once-concealed six-shooter. “Think you’re a cheater.”

A sharp gasp fills your lungs as the others surrounding you lean closer in focus, watching the gun poke at Jack’s stomach. But he’s not the slightest bit afraid.

His brows raise with a deep chuckle, unperturbed, as he briskly closes his hand over the barrel and points it down, tightening the rope. “Oh, none o’ that. Can’t cheat with chance,” he smirks, “I’m bein’ generous with you.”

The man winces at the dig of the lasso, and eventually drops his gun with the sweaty slip of his palm when Jack appears to whisper something to him. He digs for the coins with a shameful look, and drops them into Jack’s hand with a begrudging sigh, thrashing to be set free.

Pocketing his rightful winnings, Jack lets the man go with a forceful tug, his demeanor momentarily falling dark, and he kicks the gun toward the exit. “Outta my sight.”

You study the man’s hasty departure as Arthur makes a huffing noise, Jack stalking back to your side with the rope wrapped around his fingers. He takes note of your bewildered face, of your hands fisting your skirt, as the music returns full force, as the area fills with people again.

“There’s a real idiot for you.”

“Now, you enjoyed that,” Arthur remarks, knocking a fist into his shoulder. “I ain’t ever seen you use that skippin’ rope.”

“Ain’t you lucky.” Jack adjusts his hat, looping his rope properly at his hip. “I’d rather keep my money.”

“Sure you would.”

Before you can check on him, his hands close on your waist with a smirk, pushing you away from the table, your protests unconvincing with the stutter of your laughter.

“We’ll be gettin’ goin’ now,” he nods to his friend, who gives a tip of his hat in return, an exasperated smile crossing his face. “Don’t want more trouble than that.”

“It was nice to meet you!” you yell after Arthur over the quick tempo music, and Jack ushers you toward the back of the room where an exit door hides beneath the drape of a curtain.

“You’re impatient,” you remark with a laugh, his eyes still bearing a hungry look as he takes a large gulp of whiskey. Emptying the flask, he then draws you closer to himself by the hand at the small of your back.

And just behind you, missed by a second, Sheriff Branch enters at the front.

Jack holds his hat, his jacket, your boots, as you walk through the grass behind the buildings of the row, alleviating your heels from the added height of your shoes. The air is a cool and pleasant contrast to the body-heated saloon, your cheeks still set alight from his lasso tricks, and you near the edge of the street with his hand finding yours. He laces his fingers through like he had done at the dance, offering a sideways glance, dark underneath the stars and navy blue night.

“Look here,” he points, your eyes following along to the construction site of the post office, where the framing stands tall and sturdy at the end of the street.

The space for front steps is marked out at the center front, and he guides you toward it, walking behind you and relaying which exact parts are his work— the standing beams, first three from the left, last two on the right of the front side, cut and nailed and perfectly angled.

“You’re a handyman, Jack,” you pinch his shoulder, admiring the neat work, peeking through the open spaces where the rooms are mapped out by more beams for the office, the sorting room. And without a look back at him, you mount the raised floor, spinning back toward him on your toes and hanging onto the beams like pillars. “Very handy…”

You weave your way through, pretending not to notice that he’s joined you on the platform. The raw wood scrapes lightly on the ball of your foot, and just before you can reach what will soon be the sorting room, Jack wheels around with his arm extended by another beam, bringing his lips ever-near to yours in a hushed breath.

“You like these hands?” He reaches forward and pokes at your sternum, a single brow raised as his eyes are fixed on your mouth, your arm rising to push him out of that spot. He chuckles at your flustered face, his open tie swaying over his chest.

“I’d like to put them back to work,” you state simply, lifting your chin to match his imposing stature.

“Me too, darlin’.” He smiles, stealing a quick kiss before swiftly hopping off of the platform and offering his hand to help you after him. Your feet land back on the grass, not yet dewy with the night, but still cool and soothing. Before he turns, he makes a sound of consideration, urging you to halt your steps as he touches your back, reaching into his pocket.

“Hold it,” he starts, revealing that ever-so-small streak of bashfulness in his nature, and he produces his winnings from the night, extending them in his large palm towards you. “This is for you.”

They glint in the far-off light of the street, clinking on his hand, and you make a soft gasping noise at his thoughtfulness.

“I can’t take that,” you insist, your body adopting a melty sensation as you readily attempt to close his fingers back into a fist. “You won it. And you caught a man for it.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, withdrawing his hand from yours and bringing himself closer to you by a single step through the long blades. “Won it for you.”

At your next incoming protest, he gingerly brings your mouth to his, taking advantage of your distraction to fiddle with your skirt and slip the money into your own pocket, and although you feel the weight of it there, you bring your hands to his cheeks instead to kiss him back harder.

“I’ll find a way to repay you,” you tell him, “I swear I will. You give me too much.”

“You’re keepin’ it,” he chuckles against your mouth, just as a breeze whistles through the platform of the post office and the nearby tree, “bet you can get yourself somethin’ real pretty.”

The moment you re-enter your bedroom, Jack places your boots by your door and ushers you quickly towards your vanity, requesting to help you undress, starting with the bow at the back of your skirt. He pulls it loose, easing his fingers under its waistband.

“Did you hear ‘em singin’ in there?” he asks, scooping his hand into the pocket and letting the coins scatter across the tabletop, and hurriedly returning his hands to ease the fabric from your hips. You watch them shine on the surface, pondering how to make it up to him somehow, willing yourself to accept his kind gesture.

You’d been too preoccupied with Jack’s lap, with the game, to have heard what exactly had been sung in that room before you escaped by the back door. “I don’t recall?”

“There was a group,” he starts, bringing the skirt down to your ankles and standing tall again to nose his way into your neck, his hands squeezing at your waist. “Singin’ some Shady Grove.”

You smile, kicking your skirt away. “I don’t know that song.”

“‘She’s the darlin’ of my heart’,'' Jack hums, not in song, but with a deep, floating quality in his voice that nearly makes you whine, your back falling harder to his chest, “‘sweetest little girl in town’.” His lips drag openly up the length of your neck, gently sparking your insides. “Makes me think of a certain woman.”

“Oh,” you sigh, his hands pressing upward to your chest until he palms your breasts through your clothes. “What else did they sing?”

“Hmm?” he makes a noise to postpone his answer, adjusting the grip of his hands on your chest, squeezing his fingers into the flesh. He slips the buttons of your shirt, opening your torso still covered in undergarments to the clear mirror in front. You can see the devilish smirk forming on his face in the reflection when he eyes the lace trims underneath, letting the previous garment drop to the floor.

Deftly, his fingers pry you free of each last piece, his hard length pinned eagerly at your hip, and his hot mouth never leaves your neck, your shoulder, your ear.

“‘There ain’t no girl in this old world that’s prettier than mine’…”

The rest of the words are a rasping whisper that set your heartbeat running fast, your thighs squeezing together as his gaze remains riveted to yours in the mirror. His hair is still mussed, his shirt disheveled, and the smile stays plastered on his handsome face.

Taking a full breath to fill your lungs, you turn, and he watches your behind ahead of him through the reflection, taking you into the close wrapping of his arms.

“Tell me how to repay you,” you murmur into his chest, which stutters in a chuckle at your mild but sweetly threatening tone. He shifts, ensuring you can still feel his hard cock against your body and he draws a line up your spine with his finger, relishing in the way it makes you shiver. “I want to give you something you want.”

“You don’t gotta get even with me,” he insists, mouthing at your ear.

“Tell me,” you laugh as you push on his chest, and he finally relents, accepting your stubborn quest to return his favours, speaking in a dark voice to match his now blown-black eyes.

“Got only one thing on my mind, baby girl.”

He guides you backward to your bed, sitting against the headboard on the delicately patterned sheets, his eyes glowing darkly in the lamplight. He unbuttons and shoves away his trousers, freeing his thick length with a soft groan.

His eyes lock onto you as you crawl up to him, clasping your hands and leading your thighs to straddle his hips. “Ride me.”

Both bare, he inhales sharply at the brief slide of your nipples against his chest as you shift to get closer, taking a greedy grip at the tops of your legs. “Show me how you do it,” he presses on, and his cock rests heavy on his stomach as he sits up straight, taking you with him by the harsh grasp he takes on your ass.

His words make you bold, though you have to fight against the urge to lay and let him fuck you— you take hold of his cheeks and jaw, beginning with open kisses to his sharp structure, his subsequent groan of appreciation urging you to move faster for him.

“You’re so good to me, Jack,” you whisper, grinding and spreading your slick over the length of his cock, rolling your hips gentle as possible until he tugs your body down harder, forcing you to give him the pressure he wants. “Get me ready, dirty boy.”

Without talking back, his hand slips swiftly down to find your clit in a slow circle, his eyes flashing wide for a split second at the name. You think you hear a choked, hungry sound fall from his hanging lip, but you’re uncertain under the rushing in your ears and the haze taking over you as his fingers spread your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. Just like I knew you’d be.”

“Yes,” you breathe, whimpering as he finds a different angle on your clit than before. Your body jolts in response, making Jack’s smirk reappear. His fingers gain momentum, circling and stroking and rubbing you just right until another rush of your arousal covers the tips of them. He hums darkly, taking his cock into his hand, sliding it through the wetness.

“You drip like a peach for me,” Jack murmurs in satisfaction, though his words are softened by a moan at the single stroke of his own hand. “Let me feel it.”

You swat his hand away, swiping your thumb over the new bead of precum at the tip of his cock. The lines in his throat are striking and shadowed by the lamplight, burning him into a delicate orange hue— a sweet glow as you line him up at your soaking entrance and a shallow whine ghosts out of him.

Silently, you push your hands into his chest for leverage as you lower yourself, and though his cock is always a stretch, he’s sliding so easily into you that your hips fall down to his in one swift motion, making his eyes roll back.

It’s the sweetest welcome he thinks you’ve ever given him, and he hardly breathes for some moments as you perch yourself forward against his body. It makes the stretch of him wider, deeper, soothing sore muscles as you wait for it to settle.

With a gentle sigh, you start to roll your hips. Delicate at first, with the way he’s panting already, but it’s a difficult task to stop yourself from moving faster— raising your body and letting it fall, or moving slightly back and forth over him. His cock throbs needily, and he whips his head back up and groans with his brow set in a deep furrow.

“Jesus,” he moans, scraping his palms up your waist to cup your chest, openly staring before he meets your eyes again. The look he gives begs permission.

“Perfect, perfect angel.” Leaning up, he takes a nipple into his mouth, causing your movement to still. He gives a rut from beneath you while still occupied with your breast in his mouth, and you catch large tufts of his hair in your fingers as your spine curls over him. The sensation forces you to speed up, seeking the kind of high only he is capable of granting you, his tongue swiping across your nipple, then his lips closing around it entirely.

“Jack,” you sigh, letting everything overtake your body in hazy ripples of pleasure, losing mindfulness to the feeling of is cock filling you in deep hits to just the right spot.

He splutters on a breath when you give him a harder thrust, leaving a barely visible string of saliva from your chest to his mouth as he groans and digs his hands into your hips.

“Easy, girl,” he warns, and the silver thread breaks. “You’re gonna make me come too fast with that sweet cunt.”

His eyes, molten and blazing, flicker as you nod, expelling a thorough breath into the crook of his shoulder.

“Anything,” you murmur. Your voice is laced with sultriness and warmth as you return to rolling your hips, but this time slower, fuller. He keeps his hands placed firmly on your sides to guide you forward, a touch backward, and forward again with growing colour in his neck.

“Make yourself come,” he shoots back, obviously pleased with the new rhythm you’ve found as his shoulders strain and his torso lifts, “get my lap all wet with it. That’s what I want, I wanna watch you come all over me.”

You’re burning up under his heated touch, and there’s nothing you can say or do except give him what he wants; fucking him on his lap, grabbing at his hair. It’s messy when you kiss him, trampled by your desperate rolls, your lips latching between his. You take the opportunity to nip him like that, pulling his lip between your teeth and applying light pressure while you slide up over his cock and he follows your pull with his head.

“Thank you,” you whine, beginning to bounce rather than thrust or drag, “Can’t ever— fuck— make it up to you, everything you’ve— oh, everything you’ve given to me…”

His expression brightens barely from the liquified black. He sits upright, wrapping his arms as tight as he can around your back, tilting his head up to watch you from beneath.

“I like to give,” he growls, pushing his hips against your body and reaching something new inside, making you whimper too loud. His hand quickly clasps over the back of your neck to push your mouth to his shoulder, your tongue tasting the smooth skin there. “Like to give you my cock as much as I like to give you anythin’ else.”

The little moan you give vibrates in his neck. “I know, I make you feel so good, don’t I? I make that pussy feel good.”

Your hands find the sides of his face, and confident in yourself, you lift your head back up from his cozy shoulder, raising yourself up and coming back down as you meet his gaze. His curls are falling loose again, bouncing lightly every time you come down on his cock that glistens in your slick and his.

“Takin’ me so well in that tight cunt.”

You’re certain he’s trying to make you crack with his talk, the timbre of his low voice igniting further warmth at your core. You think you’re going to last until his thumb returns to your clit. He presses on it, the flat of his hand resting on your stomach as his thumb juts downward to stroke you, and he draws tight circles with the pad of it, making the bliss in your lower belly blossom. But to his own rapture, the touch makes you shudder, and you can hear it— the desperate hits of your skin to his when you come down and he fills you completely.

“Just like that. That’s a real good girl. Real good.”

Once more, his words make you bolder. You angle your nails to make them dig into his skin, and he moans brokenly at it, the sharpness in his shoulders earning you his eager rutting, and his thumb starts to slip over your clit with how wet he’s gotten you. It forms the softest, featherlight touch you’ve ever felt. It’s still enough when it’s him.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty ridin’ me,” he groans, his lips grazing your collarbone with the same degree of gentleness his thumb offers to your clit, “gonna think about it every single damn day. You and your wet— fuck— your wet little pussy. Your perfect tits.”

He ducks his head and takes your other nipple into his mouth, and you feel the determined lapping of his tongue over the peak. Jack shifts under you, until you’re dipped slightly backwards and his arms support you, his mouth tugging your breast up. Then he lets it go carefully, peeking up at you through his eyelashes. He breathes over the wetness his mouth left, cooling the area covered by his spit.

You unravel your arms from around his neck and place them firm on his chest, sending him backward into the pillows, desperate to come. He makes a huffing sound and wraps his hands around your wrists to keep you planted. “Go on. Make that pussy come. Show me how good it feels.”

“Yes, Jack,” you whine, impossibly light headed and woozy, the slick from your core spreading over the base of his cock. “Then I want you to come inside me.”

Those words force his hips to shudder, and grinding down on him, you feel yourself tightening, tightening, your eyes closing hard, your lower belly burning…

And then it all comes loose as your jaw drops and Jack’s hand quickly claps over your mouth as you cry, riding your orgasm out on his thick, wet cock.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, come on Jack, can you feel me? Can you feel me squeezing you? Come inside me, come on handsome.”

Suddenly, he’s pulling your calves from under you and wrapping your legs around his waist, rising to his knees as you’re sent into the incoherent mist of coming for him, and he starts to fuck you from beneath.

“That’s fuckin’ right, angel, I can feel you— just gorgeous, my perfect girl— fuck, fuck—”

One, two… three more thrusts inside your dripping cunt before he fills it with a raspy moan, dropping his forehead against your chest. You can feel the crease in his brow from effort, and he gasps after a moment, regaining his composure before he tells you, “All full of me. Like you should be.”

It’s spoken in the most breathless, incapacitated voice. Then he lays you down, taking you sideways with him and easing you into the pillow, his chest puffing against yours, his stomach rising and falling rapidly.

“There ain’t nothin’ you could offer me better than this,” he breathes, your heart strings pulling— you cling to him in silence as you try to come to, and suddenly you’re aware of the sheer heat between your bodies. He’s still inside you, throbbing.

“Don’t be so sure… There must be something…” you manage to pant out against his cheek and he grumbles, adjusting so that your head rests on his shoulder, your legs wrapped around him.

“I’m already sure,” he answers, and then he seems to ponder for a minute.

“I want to sleep inside you.”

Before you’ve fully registered what he said, you’re nodding and moaning, and when it does hit you, a little spark of excitement shimmers in your belly. He hasn’t started to spill from you yet, and he shifts, seeking your lips. He finds them in a thoughtful kiss, nothing more than that single press before he withdraws.

“Enjoy yourself tonight?” His fingers draw across the thigh spread over his hip, and he whines quietly as you slide, the movement pleasant on his cock.

“Each time is better with you, Jack.” You stroke his hair, mindful of the soft blanket beneath your bodies that you don’t need in the cool night; his warmth and yours is enough. “Thank you.”

“It ain’t nothin’ but my pleasure…” His nose nuzzles against yours, sliding the tip of his over the length of your face before he settles his head right atop yours, tucking your face into his chest. “Sleep, darlin’. I got you.”

Your breathing slows against his skin after he reaches over to diminish the light, and the darkness holds the both of you together on your bed, his heavy sighs dwindling away before resting at a steady in and out. His arms are heavy over your back, like a weight to ease you gently into slumber, and in the blur, you press your lips to the dip in his collarbone. Sated, his skin has finally cooled to a heat lower than the fiery temperature as he’d fucked up into you, and now steadies at a warmth agreeable to match your own.

The soft puffs from his nose tickle your hairline as you smile sleepily into his skin, on the brink of drifting off as you recall the night— the way he’d touched you under that table, the sparkle in his eye, watching you twirl. And by the time you’re barely conscious, you feel him move.

“Jack?”

Your mind foggy, you open your eyes to find his are still closed, but he ruts again. Hard and thick, his cock pushes into you, his cum spilling onto your inner leg as you gasp at the realization that he’s fucking you again in his tiredness. A rumble from his throat, and then he’s talking, rolling you onto your back.

“Need more,” he mutters, finally locking onto your eyes in the dark, grunting when he feels the tight way you’re hugging him and absent-mindedly locking your ankles over the small of his back. “Good girl.”

He’s quiet but grating, his voice rugged with use and wear. Faintly you feel his kiss, or the brush of his lips over your shoulder, before he puts more weight behind his movement and thrusts his heavy cock back inside you. “Made me all hard again.”

A soft smile forms in your mouth as you wrap your arms over his broad shoulders— he’s all you can see, covering the rest of your room from view.

You giggle at his words, “I didn’t do anything,” before he grinds himself up against your clit and your jaw goes slack.

Jack hangs his head low into the crook of your neck. “Oh, but you did,” he smiles, “bein’ so soft on me, how am I gonna stop myself?”

Tipping your head back, a shaking, low sound from your mouth surprises the both of you, and Jack perks up, propped on his elbows at either side of your arms.

“Right there?” he preens, and performs the same motion, grinding his cock deep and causing that pleasing friction on your clit. “That feel good, doll face?”

With a nod and a laugh, you draw him in closer with your thighs, your head falling into the pillow as your chuckles turn into gasps, “God you’re big.”

Jack makes a purring noise, rolling his hips back and forth as your words overtake him in a heady rush of odd pride. A puff of his breath ghosts over your neck, and he takes hold of the thigh wrapped around his left side as he seeks to fill you more, your eyes widening at the stretch, even though you’re wet and ready for him.

“I make you so full, hm?” he hums in question, and you raise your hips in response, causing him to rock harder into your body. “Can never get enough of you.”

“I don’t want you to,” you try to smile again, but the way he’s moving has your mouth opening in a choked moan, and he slides his forearms under you, rippling on the fresh sheets of the bed. His fingers press over your shoulders from behind as he leans his head, slanting his mouth over yours in a messy kiss that makes his pace pick up and your legs hug him closer.

“You’re just—” he pants, “fuckin’... somethin’ else—”

You thread your fingers deftly through his hair, gathering it between the digits and then tugging up, his next sound a fleeting sigh with his eyes fluttering closed and his cock twitching.

“Baby doll... lettin’ me fuck you, lettin’ me stretch your perfect little pussy… do it again.”

At his order, you tug his hair sharply and his face twists into a smirk, “Thought I’d be able to sleep inside you. Never been so wrong.”

Your soft moan shakes with giggles, having half-expected this to happen— but it was still surprising, to be nearly asleep and then rocked into with his thick length.

“Jack…” You clench over him, soon flattened into the mattress by the full weight of him, his thrusts, his pushes, his pulls, guiding you back to the precipice of overwhelming release. You struggle to speak and breathe as his chest covers your breasts. But you need to talk, need to make him fuck you just a little harder. “When you used your rope I got all wet, and you were so quick and— fuck— I wanna come again, please—”

“You will, sugar, I’m gonna make you.”

Letting yourself settle down beneath his thrusts, you vaguely catch one of his arms bracing up on the headboard behind you for leverage, and then his cock spreads you open by another inch as he thrusts harder.

“You were so damn enchantin’ on that floor, dancin’ for me,” he says, the tone of his voice shockingly sweet before it returns to its dark rumble. “You’ll feel me tomorrow. All day, the way I fucked you so good.”

“Do it,” you urge, “make me feel it.”

Wrapping his fingers over the edge of the headboard, he grips it hard and slides up, all the way to the base of his cock. “Yes ma’am.”

A breathless sound fills his ears— to all his pleasure— as you start to come. It bursts inside you before you’d even felt it coming, and it washes through from your head, all the way down, pulsing and making you whine into his mouth. He swallows each quickened breath, and you can faintly see his bicep tensing above you, caged in, as your vision comes around from being blurred. He’s so close, pumping himself toward it, panting out a small praise even though he needs the breath.

“So good,” he manages to whisper, “gonna— gonna fill you again…”

With a last restrained groan, his whole body stills and he comes fast, clutching desperately at your hip, moving to your shoulder, your breast. He squeezes it, and hoping to ease your obvious trembles, strokes your skin firmly under his thumb, keeping a mild but steadying pressure in your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you murmur again, and he breaks into a huge smile, breathing warm on your face as he tries to pucker his lips enough to kiss you. He’s still smiling when you feel his mouth, but so are you, taking his face in your hands to steady him. Your legs are shaking slightly, and there’s the hum of a tremble in your arms, but his mouth tastes like whiskey and his lips are soft; you can’t let him go.

At the first sign of it leaking, Jack leans back to try and feel for the cum slowly dripping from you as his cock slides out, and he traces a finger through the first part of it, trying to see in the dark.

You whimper at the loss, then soothed and quieted by his fingers pushing past your lips. You take them openly, clean them of his and your mess, licking the cum off him in such a way to make him sigh, silently releasing them from your mouth.

“Baby,” he says, “let me.”

Too tired to ask what he means and too content to deny him anything, you watch in interest as he moves down your body, placing a chaste kiss to your belly.

“Only gonna clean you up.”

And though he’s not meaning to make you come, you still let a brief and shallow moan carry through your throat when he tongues at your clit, scooping both your releases onto the tip of it.

“Oh, Jack, oh—” Subconsciously you’re reaching for him, but he catches your hands and lifts his head with a swallow.

“Oh, Jack,” he mimics in a deep, floating voice, hungry and needful, before letting your hands free, slipping his tongue shallowly inside you. “Too much?”

“Please—”

Another broad lick, and your thighs squeeze him, lungs shuddering under the pressure.

“Shh, darlin’. I’m almost finished.” He pats at your hips, then places a wide hand over your lower belly as he swallows again, circling your clit in search of anything he’d missed. It slides onto his tongue, and his breath is hoarse as he catches your scent and your taste, his eyes closing in concentrated pleasure.

“Taste heavenly,” he soothes, and closes his lips around your clit for a brief suck, stroking it barely inside his mouth with his tongue. Once pleased with himself, he peeks up at you through the lamp-less black, returning to lay at your side with an arm sneaking under your neck, and he carefully rolls you to keep your back against his chest. It happens slow, your thighs squeezing together, your core licked clean.

The night’s activities allow you to sleep heavily against Jack’s front, waking well-rested despite the lack of adequate time to sleep. Bleary-eyed, you shield the peak of sun coming through the curtain, rolling over with difficulty not to wake him. His lips puff at each breath, his hair mussed and his arm heavy around your back. You shift onto one elbow, carefully letting it dip into the mattress slow enough, then rest your chin on your hand as you let the other begin to card through his hair. It parts easily, smoothly under your fingers. Something twitches in his face, and then his hand is pulling you closer to him, still in slumber.

You lean forward, placing a neat kiss to the top of his hair, settling back down into the comfort of his shoulder and the warmth of his neck, and he remains asleep, in the same position he’d held you overnight.

Jack doesn’t wake for some time, but the soft breaths over your skin keep you settled in calmly, peeking up ahead to find the patterned wallpaper peeled slightly at the corner. Below it, the rocking chair is covered in his poncho, thrown over haphazardly without much care from another time when he’d been more concerned about getting bare than keeping warm in it.

He shifts when you become restless, lightly tapping your fingers over his chest. His breaths change pace, and a large sigh fills his lungs before his eyes flutter open, scrunching immediately into a small smile when he recognizes the weight of your head in the crook of his neck.

“Mmph,” he grumbles, turning over your body to ease himself onto your chest, his hair tickling the skin over your collarbone. His lips slide over it after a moment, opening just enough to tug at it and suckle, gentle enough not to leave a mark.

“Hey,” you murmur, leaving him more space to explore as your head falls to the side and your view becomes the sun streaked window, his lips finding that spot that makes your knees weak, even as you lay.

“Mornin’.” Jack opens his mouth wider on your neck, letting his soft, plushy lips slide up the length of it until he arrives promptly at your jaw. He nips the corner, tugs your earlobe into his mouth. His weight presses harder into you as your chest opens in a light flutter, and your fingers tangle themselves into his mussed mess of hair. “Sleep well?”

He brings himself lower, painting a wet path of kisses to the swell of your breast, letting his tongue poke out to slide and swirl over the peak of your nipple. It makes your back arch into him, allowing him enough space to wrap an arm underneath you, and he hugs you closer to himself as he pulls your nipple between his teeth, massaging its stiffness with his warm tongue.

“You gave me no choice but to sleep,” you smile, “you’re so hard on me.”

Your teasing tone makes him grumble again as he moves his mouth to your other side, licking a wide circular motion around it.

“‘M I cruel to you, baby doll?”

“No,” you start, “you’re— oh—”

He sucks carefully as he brings your nipple into his mouth, lapping at it, his hand closing around your waist and forcing his fingertips into your flesh. His mouth is hungry at your skin but softer than he had been as he kissed you last night. His lips are full of colour in their use, and he lets go with another broad lick, looking up at you with wide eyes.

His body settles back down, still sleepily blissful to wake to the feeling of you close to him.

“I’m what?”

“You’re eager.”

A chipper attitude keeps you through from the morning to the afternoon, after Jack had promised a mellow evening as he left for the post office. He’d been truthful with what he said before— he left an ache between your legs, a soreness— but you find yourself enjoying it wholly as the afternoon passes in the kitchen, kneading bread, baking it, leaving it.

And your memories of the night keep you better company than Mrs. Adler, even as she sits not far away in a chair by the staircase, attempting to stitch an edge of lace to a skirt hem. You think of your new friend, of the strapping way Jack had moved and held you, of the two dollars sitting on your vanity. It occurs quietly in the back of your mind by the time you’re finished at the counter, that Jack may have meant to take you to the saloon not only to participate in the trivial games, but for you to see the other people of the small town. He meant for you to make a friend, someone else to know outside of the walls of the house. It makes your stomach flip, makes your heart flutter, your hands going weak as you wipe the wood. Waiting for him to return in the evening feels longer than it ever has.

You try to ignore the floating gossip about the outlaw band between Mrs. Crockett and Adler as you move on to the cooking, but their grumbling voices keep you attuned, an unfortunate reminder of what you’d heard last night. A rogue. A fault. The way Jack’s hand had squeezed your leg at the mere mention of them. Does he know something more? Something important?

When all goes blue and deep, and as you’re folding the layers of your clothing, you take a seat before the mirror, stripped down to your chemise. Jack makes his habitual entrance to your bedroom looking worse for wear, a resigned look in his eyes mixed with the relief of seeing you.

“Jack?” you call, a concerned lilt in your voice.

He shuts the door behind himself, locking onto your eyes in the candlelight, and takes a knee before you at the vanity stool. His hands are cold when you feel them circle around yours. He swallows harshly as a perturbing dread seeps into your shoulders, and finally, he speaks.

“Darlin’... There’s somethin’ I need to tell you.”

It had weighed on him, keeping you in the dark, but some small part of you waited for him to give this to you. You don’t know what’s coming next, but what you do know is the way he’d stiffened underneath you the night before, the way his muscles had gone rigid. That he’d once told you he’s running. It comes back to you like a forceful wind, and with a nod, you encourage him on, breaking one of your hands away to smooth his hair back.

He swallows every bit of pride, and offers what’s left of him to you. His honesty.

“You know I’m just a traveler—” he closes a fist around the thin fabric of your chemise “—but it’s for a reason. And I think I was always lookin’ for a place I could really settle— so I could stop movin’ for one damn second. And I knew I wanted it to be this place the first time you said my name.”

The heat of tears rises in your eyes, and you take hold of his cheek, stroking his skin. He never lets your gaze break.

“It’s me who the Statesmen are after. Because I was one of ‘em.”

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