#it really is all water under the bridge now isn’t it

[oddishblossom]

Logan’s wife, his lover, his ex-wife, and his ex-lover walk into a bar his funeral memorial

SUCCESSION - 4.09 CHURCH & STATE

[yurinaa-world]

"𝐼'𝓂 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒟𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Moze, Jing Yuan, Jiaoqiu, & Sunday x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: not recognizing them while drunk

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, Alcohol, Spelling mistakes

𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

“Enough drinking for you.” Taking the shot glass from your hand—it filled to the brim with hard liquor and it was obvious that if you kept on drinking at this pace, you were going to have the worst hangover in the morning—“Excuse me, who do you think you are—“ you slurred out, annoyed by him.

he takes your hand and tries to take it away, leading to you snatching your arm back. “How dare you touch me! I have a husband,"

“I’m your husband.” He just sighs at your drunkenness, he really should have prevented this. “Please, I know what my husband looks like, he’s not as ugly looking as you.” Wow, he's ugly to you now?  His eyes can’t help but twitch.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, deciding just to play along and use this to his advantage. “Do you even know where your husband is?” Like clockwork, you just start looking around, head sharply turning side to side.

No husband in sight. Stranger in front of you. And No way to get your husband.

“Well…” you just start to panic. that’s his qui, again grabbing you but this time deciding to put you over his shoulder, with your complaints completely ignored, “I know your husband, I’ll take you to him.”

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈"

Mind hazy and incoherent for any sober thought, staring at the little table blankly, taking the little shot glass to your lips, the more you drink the funnier it gets. 

“Seems like all that drinking has caught up to you, dear.”

Your half-lidded eyes finally looked up to take in Jing yuan in front of you, yet for how drunk you are you haven’t even realized it was Jing yuan, in your eyes it was only just a creepy man. 

“I have a husband, and I’m not your dear.” You slur at him, going to pour yourself another drink, yet he takes the bottle from you before you can even grab it.

“Your husband? He doesn’t have to know.”

“Do you even know who my husband is?”

“Hmm? Who is your husband?” Now he’s just messing with you. Glaring at him with a smirk on your drunk face, “He’s the handsome general, of course, you couldn’t stand a chance.”

“He isn’t with you right now, is he? He wouldn’t have to know about us.” He puts down the bottle in your hand and his hand goes to intertwine yours.

“He doesn’t have to know because I’m not giving you a chance!” You rip your hand away from his grasp, “Wait until Jing Yuanhears about this.” you mutter under your breath while going to grab your phone to call him—he already knows where it's going to end.

“Tell him in great detail about my shameless actions.”

“I will!”

𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

“My husband wouldn’t like it if you touched my waist like that.”

Sputtering while Jiaoqiu has you lying your head against his shoulder with his arm around your waist to keep you upright. 

He’s taking care of you! Honestly, without him, he already knows that you’re going to wake up with a killer headache because you thought it was such a good idea to drink till you can’t even recognize his face or voice.

“Your husband wouldn’t want you to be sick because of all of your drinking.” Gently put a glass of water in your hands, Ensure you don’t drop it on yourself or anywhere else. 

“Well….I guess you're right but are you sure my husband will be fine with this? I don’t want him to be jealous.” 

Still so cute, how can he not take advantage of this situation to have some fun and mess with you a little, you’ll be so embarrassed when you’re sober and he’s planning to soak up everything.

“You must love your husband that much to be worrying over what he might think.”

“Of course I do! He’s very hardworking and is good at helping, not to mention he’s very handsome…” you start to gush over him, going off about every detail you like about him, his hair to the small things he does for you.

“So many things you like about him? I’m quite jealous of you.”

“You better be! He’s my husband, and no one else will have him.”

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝒶𝓀 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎"

“I miss my Sunday...”

You’ve been whining in his ear about how you miss ‘Sunday’ for a while now, yet too intoxicated to even realize that it was Sunday you were clinging onto.

“Dear—“

“I told you not to call me that! I’ll make sure Sunday has your head for being a creep! You know what to call him right now!”

You whine yet here you are clinging onto him, and then switching up by telling him orders that he can’t follow because of your intense grip on him.

He really shouldn’t have left you alone with the consequence of you getting very drunk. The quick changes of your emotions just makes Sunday unsure of what to do with you.

Pressing the side of face against his chest, before silently sulking? “What’s the matter? Why are you sulking?” He worried, patting your head as if you were a child. “I just realized that you probably don’t know where he is since he’s always so busy…”

“How about I take care of you first, and then we find your husband.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#59: The Eternal Love (1.06)

What The Ones Who Live made clear is that even before this world belongs to those who can fight, it really belongs to the ones who love. The ones who don’t let this world permanently change or destroy their ability to love. And so of course that means this world belongs to Richonne. 😌👌🏽

And Rick and Michonne’s indestructible everlasting love is at the foundation of this finale’s explosive final act 💥❤️...

The events of the bridge in season 9 and the devastating aftermath that kept Rick and Michonne apart for years have now led them to know that there are ways in which they won’t always be the ones who live. But even though they won’t literally live forever, they know their love will. Their love is eternal. 🥹

Just when all seems lost, Richonne sees Beale step out of the tent and they make a run for it. Michonne tells Rick to pull the flag down over them as she douses them in liquid to fend off the effects of the explosion.

Pearl is in shock seeing Walker Beale and before she can fully process it, the bombs and gas explode, instantly killing all those CRM higher-ups…except Pearl somehow. 🤔 Now, outside of plot armor, I'm not exactly sure of a plausible explanation for how Thorne survived this with how close and unprotected she was. But we move. 🤷🏽‍♀️

gif cred: @nerd4music

The base is smothered in that chlorine gas and the CRM soldiers have turned into walkers. Rick and Michonne are okay as they stay under the flag and are covered by the water. Pearl shows up with a mask still on the prowl and Rick tells Michonne that he’ll rush Pearl for her gas mask while Michonne grabs the other one.

Michonne asks, “Why you?” And Rick replies, “You’ve got the sword. We go?” And Michonne assents, saying, “We go.” It's a small thing, but I like how this moment always reminds me of their Say Yes scene when Rick tells Michonne he gave her eight walkers to take out because she has the sword.

Next, Rick and Pearl get into a fight and Pearl yells that he destroyed their chance and "destroyed the whole world." Which Pearl, ma'am, that's a little much. The CRM is not the world. As Rick passionately said in ep 1, this isn’t everything.

Pearl and Rick continue to fight and neither are holding back. Pearl starts to get the upper hand but then she grabs Rick’s hair and you already know how Rick feels when someone tries to touch something that belongs to Michonne - so he has to yeet her.

gif cred: @nerd4music

When he tosses Pearl, he gets surrounded by CRM walkers. There’s something symbolic about Rick being surrounded by these masked CRM walkers. They’re like the embodiment of the dead soldier Rick lived a long time as and how the CRM was constantly trying to consume him. They tried to turn him into just another lifeless member of their force and now they try to turn him into another lifeless delt. 

Pearl looks like she’s trying to aim her gun at Rick but then she joins the long list of people who learn the golden rule - never come for Rick in front of Michonne. You’ll get handled everytime. 💯 So sure enough, Michonne approaches and takes a swing at Pearl with Beale's sword.

I gotta hand it to Lesley having to take on a role where you go toe to toe with both Rick and Michonne. Thorne had to go at two heavy hitters back to back. 😅

gif cred: ricksmarlene/nerd4music

Now, Pearl's fight with Michonne goes a lil different because she doesn’t ever get the upper hand in this one.

Pearl says, “You were the one he was always trying to get to. How did you get to him?” I like that she says, always trying to get to. She knows Rick was real relentless in his pursuits to get to Michonne. 👌🏽

And then one thing Michonne is never afraid to do is tell you about yourself so, knowing what she knows about Pearl from Rick, Michonne says, “I didn’t give up. I didn’t give me up like you did.”

According to Richonne, there is always time to throw a little shade. And as Pearl has tried them both, not even poisonous gas was gonna stop Michonne from letting Pearl know...

But also, I like Michonne noting how she didn’t give up and didn’t give herself up because Michonne knows if you lose yourself you lose your way. She knows it from personal experience, as we saw at the start of her TWD journey.

It makes sense that Michonne was the only character in TOWL who refused to give herself up. Her briefly having to be Dana was like a more external version of the way the CRM internally makes everyone feel like they have to trade who they are to be what the CRM expects them to be.

While Michonne tried to play along to honor Rick’s request for five seconds, she ultimately decided that this place does not get to change her because what they make you is a cog in their machine and so detached from who you are at your core. Again, when you give in to that you lose yourself and then you lose your way.

And considering Michonne's way is meant to lead her back to her babies she was never going to let them take her from her. Then once she found her husband, she was also never going to let them take Rick from her again either.

Even when Michonne left that apartment in ep 4, while I think she was always going to make a choice that led her back to her kids, I don’t think Michonne would be able to live with just knowing Rick was out there externally and mentally imprisoned. So I think at some point she’d absolutely try to save him again. She’d have to. Saving him is saving her, it’s saving their family and it’s always been made clear that Michonne will never give up on her family. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

Determined to find Rick yet again during this fight with Pearl, Michonne yells “Where is he?” a couple times until Pearl finally tells her to turn around.

(Side note: I always feel like this whole exchange between Pearl and Michonne would have been the perfect organic opportunity to have Michonne declare she’s Michonne Grimes. Like if Pearl asked who she really is, after having asked her a similar question in the arena in ep 3, and Michonne said her name is Michonne Grimes...that would have had me turning up, ijs 🤩) 

Rick is struggling as the pile of CRM walkers grows and nearly overtakes him. Pearl fires shots at the walker that Michonne ducks behind. And then the way Michonne rises up when Pearl's murder attempts against her don’t work...it’s giving baddest chick in the game. 💅🏽

And Pearl seems to be realizing she’s come face to face with the baddest as she gets more desperate and says, “You don’t understand. In a dead world, love is dead.” Michonne shakes her head and says, “Love doesn’t die. Watch.” And then she grabs Beale’s sword and plunges it into Pearl as Pearl gets to learn this Dana lady is real good with a sword. 😋

Again, it’s quite ironic for Pearl to die by Beale’s sword. The sword she swore on and the symbol of the CRM philosophy she so badly wanted to believe in ended up being her demise.

And Rick had it right - he and Michonne really are the sword that kills and gives life. So much so that both Rick and Michonne used this same sword to take out two opponents within a short time span of each other. A couple that slays together stays together, it’s just the truth. 😌

gif cred: @nerd4music

Michonne repeats, “Love doesn’t die” and again I'll admit I wasn't crazy about the dialogue throughout this fight scene. It was a bit heavy-handed and I felt the 'love doesn’t die' sentiment could have perhaps been expressed with more subtlety and subtext but again...we move. Plus, Danai’s such a gifted actress that she makes that line work more than it would in lesser hands. 👌🏽

'Love doesn’t die' is clearly said one; because it’s one of the main messages of the show and two; because they want you to worry for a second if those are famous last words based on what happens next.

Cuz then Rick is swarmed by walkers with seemingly no way out and he has to use a grenade which leads to Michonne just seeing a big explosion.

In a moment that parallels Say Yes, Michonne drops her sword when she thinks she’s seen Rick explode. The moment also parallels Rick's last full TWD episode, as now Michonne has to think she's seen Rick blow up for the second time after he seemingly 'exploded' on that bridge. You just know that tragic bridge memory popped into Michonne's head after hearing the grenade. 😞

gif cred: nerd4music/michonnegrimes

I was thoroughly convinced that they were not going to have either Rick or Michonne die in a show called The Ones Who Live so I was positive Rick survived this explosion. Even tho, for just a split second there I did have to acknowledge this is the final episode and it’s a finale where Rick and Michonne aren’t as untouchable as previous finales so...maybe…but fortunately, the universe loves them some Richonne so Rick survives by covering himself in walker bodies. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

When Rick emerges, he immediately goes to Michonne and she runs to him and they embrace which is heartfelt. Especially because the last time something like this happened and it seemed Rick had blown up, they weren't able to run into each other's arms afterward and instead had to go years without seeing each other again. So you know it means a lot to them to be able to hold each other right now like they so longed to do that day on the bridge.

gif cred: @nerd4music

It's sweet that even amid these circumstances, Rick and Michonne still seek this moment of connection to let each other know they're glad they're okay. And there's big Say Yes vibes with this hug being similar to how they ran into each other's arms and embraced in 7.12, so you know I’m here for it. 🥰

As they make their way out, they stand over a wheezing Pearl and she expresses that she’s come to see that Okafor was right, but she adds, “You just have to hope Beale was wrong.” And then Pearl hands Rick the mask and it’s sorta like a final peace offering between them.

Rick silently takes the mask and then he and Michonne fight their way through walkers and make it to some upper ground. Again, the walkers have some practical use as Michonne uses them as a stepping stool. And it’s sweet seeing Rick urgently pull walkers away who are trying to grab at Michonne. 😊

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

Rick gets one more signature him-against-the-horde moment as he shoots a bunch of walkers. It made me think about the many iconic Rick vs Everybody moments he's had over the years in TWD.

And, being the resilient man he is, of course, Rick Grimes is the one still standing after all those fights and faceoffs.

So then Rick makes it to the top of the platform as Michonne helps. Once they're finally out of the swarm, Rick and Michonne remove their masks and have a moment as they look at each other and look around at their plan being a success.

I love the little moment of Rick putting his arm around her and then Michonne putting her arm around him. 🥰That’s another thing about Richonne - they’re gonna make any moment a coupley moment. 👌🏽

gif cred: @taiturner

So as they zoom out and we get a shot reminiscent of the end of the TWD pilot ep, I love how in contrast to the pilot - Rick isn’t alone this time. 🥹 He found his other half in this crazy apocalypse and Michonne is by his side through it all. Including taking down the most powerful people in the most powerful military.

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

After looking around, Michonne and Rick start to hop from platform to platform to get up out of there. They did it, y’all. Mission accomplished. 🥳 As always, our beloved Richonne proved that they are...

And now, at long last it was finally time for Richonne to complete their ultimate mission and go home. 😭

And home isn’t just a place. For Rick and Michonne, most of all, home is their children. 👌🏽🥲

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: Bakugou dies but comes back to life, “comes back wrong” trope, implied fighting, angst

When Bakugou died, you’re not sure how you went on living. Grief had taken over your life, sat you in the passenger side while it cruised off the highway into icy waters. And even then, you couldn’t find the energy to drown.

It’s why there’s a sudden uptick of energy when you’re promised to have him back. Some top scientists contact you months after his death, tell you to hurry down to the headquarters labs, come and rejoice for what you’re about to witness. And you’re horrified, to say the least.

“This isn’t my husband.” Are your first words when you walk in, watch the figure on the other side of the glass examine its own hands. It looks like your husband but—but his hair isn’t the right shade of blond all over. His nose bridge had a slight bump after a scuffle with a villain. He had a scar on his hand but—but it never looked like it was to sew a pinky beside the other fingers.

“Is that really my husband?” You ask next in disbelief, slowly entering the room. Bakugou’s head snaps up, his eyes a little brighter than you remember but—they hold so much emotion. So much memory, so much panic, so much guilt.

“I left you.” He mutters, his voice raspy and ragged, and you wonder if it’ll always be like this now. It makes you cry a little harder than it should, but you only embrace each other. He’s cold and his shoulders don’t hold the same mass and his back doesn’t carry the same scars. There’s one, jagged and rough, running down his back, and you think, you think that’s where they slipped a new spine in.

“Welcome back home.” You tell him, weeks after meeting him again, new and not totally—Katsuki. He’s stiff and he doesn’t immediately take off his boots when he enters, and it worries you. Makes you think if you’ve just let a stranger into your home, one that has stolen your dead husbands face. Makes you wonder if he’ll be as loving as Katsuki once was, or if he’ll become your monster looming over you with the guilt of not being able to rest anymore.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You whisper against his mouth one night, a little while after he’s moved back. You don’t know why you lay under him, why you let him nestle himself inside of you, why you let him hold you against his chest. Katsuki always ran his hands over your cheeks and neck whenever he held you like this, but this…man, only holds himself up with his hands resting beside your head. It’s alien, how he looks at you, how his hips are methodically measured with every thrust, how he kisses you every 8 seconds. You wonder if he’s more robot than Frankenstein monster.

“Why did you come back to me like this?” You ask him one night, barricaded in the bathroom away from him. You can hear his sobs on the other side, his pleading to be let in. He tells you he never wanted to come back if he had to be like this, that he’s sorry, please let him in, he misses the warmth of your skin, he’s never been so cold before, he’s never liked the cold.

“Is this considered cheating?” You ask yourself aloud one night, when Bakugou is forced back to the lab when he becomes too…un-Bakugou. To sleep with a man that is your husband in every way but? Your husband has been dead for a year now, and yet you stroke the chin of the man that tries so hard to be him everyday, but fails so miserably at it every time.

“I’ll come back to you right this time.” Bakugou promises to you when he’s strapped down to leave for the lab and before he’s sedated. But you don’t believe him—you never did. Your husband is dead, and this animated corpse has been nothing but a cheap mockery of everything you’ve lost and something you will never truly get back.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Baby, it's cold outside

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 27

Prompt: Coffee shop/bookstore/tattoo studio AU

Rated: M

CW: Alcohol; Implied sex

Tags: Coffee shop owner Steve; Tattoo studio owner Eddie; Christmas fluff; Flirting; Sexual tension; Getting together

Notes: Continued from my December microfic, but can also stand alone

Eddie swivels morosely in his desk chair, stretches until something in his lower back pops. He glances out the window and immediately regrets it. If anything, the snow has gotten worse, the dark street outside near invisible behind the curtain of flakes that's been falling for hours. 

The blizzard hit just in time for Christmas, grinding all air traffic and most of the roads to a standstill. Eddie called Wayne to break the news, groaning and grumbling all the way, only to be gruffly told off.

“Ain't nothing to be done about it, kiddo. You be safe and I'll see ya when it clears.” 

He was right, of course, the old shit. Eddie is a sensible adult who knows this. And so he holed up at the tattoo studio for some long overdue paperwork. A perfectly reasonable, adult thing to do on a lonely holiday.

Except it's boring as fuck and his back hurts and the cold is creeping in from outside and now he's feeling like a little boy who's had Christmas stolen by the fucking Grinch. 

To top things off, he isn't even sure he'll make it back to his apartment with how things are looking outside.

He's just resigning himself to a night on the foldout in his office when there's a sharp rap against the front door. Eddie almost falls out of his chair. 

“Jesus fuck-” he mutters, bridging the distance and fumbling to unlock the door. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Steve stomps inside, shaking off snow as he goes. Even though it isn't more than a few steps from his door to Eddie’s, he's positively covered in the stuff, hair weighed down and uncharacteristically droopy. Cradled against the chest of his cable-knit sweater is a tray. Eddie spots cookies and two mugs overflowing with copious amounts of whipped cream. 

He watches how Steve sets the tray down on the table in his waiting area and runs his hands through his hair to get the residue snowflakes out. It leaves him looking deliciously disheveled, all mussed-up strands, golden skin flushed pink from the cold. Eddie finds his mouth watering for reasons not exclusively related to the scents wafting off the tray.

Steve is looking at him, like he's waiting for an answer, and shit, he said something, didn't he?

“Sorry, what?” Eddie asks. 

“I said,” Steve shakes his head, but there's no malice behind it. “Dig in, it's not getting any warmer.” 

Eddie crumples down onto the couch, hides his face behind one of the mugs … and blinks in surprise.

“Alcohol?” 

“Grand Marnier,” Steve says, settling down beside him and taking the other mug. Eddie has no idea what the fuck that means. Somehow though, the way the words tumble off Steve’s tongue, low and rumbly and distinctly French, really does it for him, so he doesn't complain. 

“Cheers,” he says and clanks their mugs together before taking a tentative sip. A firework of flavors bursts across his tongue - bitter coffee and thick, sweet cream and something heady and boozy and orange-flavored? 

“Good?”

“So fucking good, dude!” 

Behind his own mug, Steve's mouth tugs into a smile. Eddie isn’t quite sure if the heady rush that floods him is entirely due to the coffee. 

*

“Soooo,” Eddie slurs. The boozy coffee is long gone, as is the second helping Steve got from his shop. He's brought the entire bottle of the fancy French, orangey stuff though, pretty little genius that he is. Eddie giggles and takes another swig. “How c’me you're even here, huh? No family to visit, no girls to kiss under mistletoes?” 

“Have you looked outside?” Steve snorts, swaying into his space to snatch the bottle back. God he is pretty - cheeks flushed from the alcohol, cookie crumbs at the corners of his mouth. All Eddie would need to do is twist his fingers into that preppy sweater of his, yank him closer. Lick them off. 

“-not exactly on visiting terms with my folks,” Steve is saying and Eddie jerks back to attention. “Or speaking terms. My best friend was gonna visit, but I think she'd end me if I so much as brought a mistletoe near her. Anyhow, she can't come, what with the blizzard and all…” 

“So what?” Eddie grins, tongue loosened by alcohol and sugar and the way the light brings out the gold in Steve’s hair and eyes. “You decided to drop by out of the goodness of your heart and save my holiday like some perfect little Christmas angel?” 

Steve blinks. Averts his eyes. Flushes a whole new shade of pink. It blooms on top of the blush that has settled over his nose and cheekbones, like a fresh layer of color on a painting. Eddie thinks of all the other parts of Steve’s body he'd like to paint like this.

“Whatever,” Steve mumbles, “Just thought we'd both feel less alone, if- … It's getting late, I'd better-” 

“Go?” Eddie catches the sleeve of his sweater just as he's about to stand. Steve falls back into the couch. “Where? You're not gonna trudge home through that weather, are you?” 

Steve licks his lips, pink and glossy. Eddie wonders if they still taste like coffee and cream and oranges. His fingers find the soft skin of Steve's wrist under the hem of the sweater. 

“Just stay. You're right, I don't feel like being alone tonight.” 

“Stop it,” Steve's eyes are impossibly bright in the low light. “Please, I … I'll put up with your teasing any other day of the year, but not today.” 

“Steve …” Eddie rumbles. The heartbeat under his fingers flutters. “Stay … and I'll show you how serious I am.” 

He leans in, breathes his next words against the shell of a pink ear. “If you wanna, I'll even call you angel again.” 

They do end up using the foldout, the cold quickly forgotten.

All my holiday drabbles

[cloudcountry]

Aur naur requests are open!

Can I request Vil,Leona and Azul (separate) with a fem!reader s/o reading a horror novel and they ask what she's reading and she explains in great detail the terrifying disturbing things in the novel. I'm reading the novel Misery and I'd recommend it. It's a great horror novel!

SUMMARY: Their S/O describes something morbid from a book they're reading.

WARNINGS: Death (Azul, Vil.) Torture (Vil.) and Murder (Azul.)

COMMENTS: i pulled out my own horror novels for this (and some really freaky history shit. i'm going to talk about the bloody countess btw)

ALSO IF YOU CATCH WHAT IM REFERENCING IN LEONA'S I LOVE YOU

i took vil's in a different direction because i was inspired so yeah

When Leona asked you what you were reading, he didn’t expect you to absolutely light up. You scoot close to him and place the book on his thigh, and Leona decides to humor you even if he was trying to nap.

“One of the characters is running for their life right now.” you say, giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world, “There’s this creature that he’s hallucinating due to a goopy thing that got injected into him on a bridge—no I’m not going to explain so don’t ask—and it leaves goopy footprints everywhere. It goes from just standing there to running after him and when he looks back there are handprints on the ground too. It’s so creepy to think of something bounding after him that he can’t even see!”

Leona pauses to soak in the information you just dumped on him before groaning. If that’s what you’re into, he’s not going to judge. Just as long as you stop giggling so he can sleep.

When Azul asks you what you’re reading, it’s a simple attempt at small talk. He rests his arm on the booth you’re sitting at and leans over your shoulder, curious.

“This is a good part,” you beam, scooting over in the booth so he can sit down, “This guy just got killed and his corpse is all bloated. It’s like water has been forced under his skin and filled up his lungs as he gargled for mercy...his mouth is still open and everything too, and it's like his jaw has been stretched by all his screaming. His limbs are all twisted up and his eyes are rolled back and oh, don’t worry about it!! He was shitty and I hated him. He deserved it!”

Azul blinks, slowly processing everything you just told him. Ah, so that’s what you like to read. Very interesting, however morbid it may be. Perhaps you should talk to Jade, no? He would find this just as fascinating as you.

When Vil asks you what you’re reading, he does it as a way to start a conversation with you. You seem very intrigued by what you’re reading, scribbling down notes on a separate sheet of paper.

“It’s a biography on the Queen of Hearts.” you explain, not looking up from your paper, “I read a lot of novels about women who killed back in my world, so I wanted to compare her to them since she executed her citizens without much consideration for their lives. See, the Bloody Countess is one of the more notable ones, torturing her servant girls by pouring honey on their bodies and letting bugs bite them in the spring. In the winter, she would pour cold water on their bodies and watch them freeze. She would also jam sharp objects under their nails and—”

Vil nods along to what you’re saying, intrigued by your train of thought. He obviously isn’t aware of what your world holds, so hearing about it in relation to his world is fascinating.

[sailor-aviator]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eleven

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger Warnings: Reader expresses doubt, Reflection on relationships, Flirting, Mildly suggestive conversations but not really, Chaste kissing, Jake being handsy, The boys being idiots, Magic, Siren songs/mind control, Reader is lured, Identities revealed. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3.2k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

Trust was a funny thing, when you really sat down to think about it. You could believe someone with every fiber of your being, but there will always be a single shred of doubt, no matter how small. That’s where trust comes in.

Trust isn’t belief. Trust is the bridge between belief and fear. Trust is what you grip on to when everything else tells you to give up hope. Trust is the thing that prevails when all else seems lost, that morphs itself into hope. It’s the thing that will always keep you going.

Which is why you were sitting on the edge of Nat’s bed, thinking back on your conversation with Jake just a few days before.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she commented, eyeing you carefully as she strolled back into the room with her makeup bag in hand. “Have been for the past couple of days, actually.”

You sighed, offering her a smile that felt half-assed even to you. Grimacing, you shifted on the bed, running your hands over your thighs as you watched her set up her vanity with everything she would need.

“What are you going to do when I’m not around anymore for you to treat like a living doll?” You joked. Her eyes met yours in the mirror, and she raised an eyebrow at you. You squirmed under her gaze, letting out a sigh as you grimaced. “It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing if you’re worrying about it so much,” she countered, sitting down in the chair across from you, her brow pulled together in concern. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“It’s just,” you paused, chewing on your bottom lip, “I found out about what the mating bite entails.”

Her head jerked back in surprise, her eyes growing wide as she absorbed what you just told her.

“You…what?”

“I was talking with Cole when I went to pick up the masks the other day,” you murmured, eyeing the masks in question as they sat on the vanity. “He told me more about the mating bite and the legends surrounding it, and truth be told, it’s all I’ve been able to think about since.”

“Have you talked to Jake about it?” She frowned.

“Yeah,” you nodded, your cheeks heating up at the thought of the other night. “I’ve talked to him. He told me that it was all true, but that he’d never hurt me.”

“And?” She pressed. You glanced up at her, confusion plain on your face.

“And what?”

“Do you believe him?” She clarified, crossing her arms and leaning back. “Do you believe that he’ll never hurt you?”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Jake had never given you a reason to believe that he would hurt you in any way. Still, even the slimmest possibility that you might not resurface from the depths of the water when Jake pulled you down under had the familiar sinking sensation of anxiety fill your belly, a chill running down your spine at the thought.

But then again, there was no doubt in your mind that you would let him pull you under in the first place. It wasn’t a question of “if,” but “when.” Jake was many things, but someone who intentionally hurt others was not on that list.

“I trust him,” you settled on finally. “I trust him with my life.”

“I know it’s scary,” she murmured, eyes searching yours for any sign that you might be having doubts. “After all, the claiming ritual is what the old myths and legends of mermaids and sirens are based on, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

“But those stories are wrong, Skipper,” she said, leaning forward to take your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Those stories are born out of fear of what people don’t understand, of what they want to believe. The monsters in the stories aren’t the people we know and love.”

“What are you trying to say, Nat?”

“I’m saying,” she paused, sucking a breath before letting it out slowly. “I’m saying that you can hear as many things as you want to hear. Whether it’s good or bad or somewhere in between. It’s okay to be scared of what you don’t know, but don’t let it keep you from the things that you do know. Don’t let fear keep you away from a lifetime of happiness.”

You stared at her for a moment. Of course you knew everything she was saying was true. You knew that Jake, Bradley, Javy, and Reuben weren’t the monsters in the stories you’ve heard. They were your friends.

Reuben was smart and funny when he wanted to be, having taken time to show you how to sail when the gang would take the boats out on the sunny, summer days. He made sure you stayed hydrated when Jake wasn’t around to do it instead, who acted so much like an older brother towards you.

Javy was another brother you never realized you wanted. Teasing you and making sure you got home safe when the others were busy or when he picked you and Nat up to take you home. Even when it was just the three of you, he always made sure you felt included and never like the third wheel you knew you were being.

Bradley rounded out the trio of your new older siblings. Always making sure you were safe and out of harm’s way. Sweet Bradley who coped with the loss of his security at such a young age with an easy smile and flirtatious nature. The man who never once made you feel like an outsider in the longstanding group of friends.

Then there was Jake. A man who was perfect by no means, but was clear about his intentions with you from the first moment you met. Who would rather suffer the wrath of others than lie to you even for a second. Who made you feel safe and wanted even when you thought your own mind was playing tricks on you. He was everything you wanted.

“I won’t, Nat,” you smiled, squeezing her hand back. The brunette let out a relieved sigh, smiling softly back at you before standing from the chair and dragging you towards the vanity.

“Alright, we’ve got a lot of work to do before the festival starts, so let’s get to it.”

The sun was slowly nearing the horizon when you set foot on the boardwalk, a sizeable crowd already gathered on the boardwalk. Several booths and stalls were set up along the sides, the local vendors doing their best to advertise items from their shops to the tourists that stopped to look.

Everyone was dressed like they were going to a party. The women who walked down the streets were dressed in a rainbow of different outfits - mainly dresses. The men were dressed more casually, but some still wore suits as they escorted their dates up and down the festival walkways.

“I’m definitely getting some stir fry for dinner,” Nat beamed as she looked over at Javy. He chuckled, resting a hand on the small of her back as the three of you waited by the entrance for the rest of your friends.

“We said 6:30, right?” You murmured, glancing down at your phone before back up at the crowd that parted to pass your tiny group.

“Don’t you worry, Skipper,” Javy smirked, waggling his eyebrows at you. “I’m sure those nerds will be here any second. They probably wanted to make sure they look nice and pretty for all the girls tonight.”

“Aren’t they wearing masks?” Nat asked, arching a brow up at her boyfriend. He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned his attention to the crowd in search of the others.

“Yeah, probably.”

“You’re so helpful.”

“I know,” he grinned, raising a hand to wave to someone in the crowd. You followed his line of sight, sucking in a breath when your eyes met green ones. A smile found its way to your lips as Jake picked up his pace, nearly running to stand next to you. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently to him as you rested a hand on his chest to steady yourself.

“Hey,” you breathed, practically in a whisper as you gazed up at him through your mask. His lips pulled into a smirk as his grip tightened on your waist, your cheeks heating up at the gesture.

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning down so that his lips hovered over yours. “Missed you.”

“Missed me?” You giggled. “How could you have missed me? You saw me just this morning.”

“Always miss you,” he hummed, letting his lips rest against yours. It wasn’t a kiss, not really, but your heart fluttered in your chest nonetheless. His face was half covered by a white mask with golden accents, the offending object bumping against your own, causing another chorus of giggles to slip past your lips as he smiled. You heard a gag from beside you, and you glanced over to see Bradley gagging as the others watched you.

“You two are gross,” he asserted, wrinkling his nose. “Get a room.”

You rolled your eyes, squeaking when Jake chuckled and pulled you impossibly closer.

“If you insist,” he grinned, moving to pull you back towards town and away from the boardwalk. You stumbled after him, lurching when a hand grabbed your upper arm, pulling you back and away from Jake.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nat snapped, shooting a glare at the blonde. “I worked too damn long and too damn hard for you to steal her away this early. She deserved to be showed off.”

Jake pouted at her, but considered her words for a moment. The smile once again finding a home on his face, he offered you his arm, which you took gratefully.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” He taunted, already pulling you towards the festival. “Let’s get a move on. I have a lady that needs showing off.”

The others followed the two of you with rolls of their eyes, and you looked back grin at Nat excitedly.

“So, what’s first?”

“Well, I’m starving,” she declared, rushing past you with Javy in tow. “I say we get something to eat first and foremost.”

“What are you thinking?” Bob asked, his eyes darting down to look at where Nat and Javy’s hands sat intertwined. His eyebrow arched slightly, blue eyes meeting yours for a brief second behind his silver mask. You shook your head slightly, and his face told you that the two of you would most definitely be talking about the development later.

“Stir fry,” Nat grinned, wagging her eyebrows at him. Bradley scoffed, earning a glare from the brunette.

“We’re not getting stir fry,” he said, an edge of disgust in his tone as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We are treated to delicious fried food but once a year, and you want to waste this opportunity getting stir fry?”

“The stir fry is the best damn thing here, Bradshaw, and you know it,” she fired back, letting go of Javy’s hand to cross her own arms as she glared the man down.

“Why don’t we just get our own things?” Reuben suggest, coming up to stand next to the two, placing gentle hands on both of their shoulders.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Mickey chirped, rubbing his hands together as he scanned over the different booths, shooting a dazzling smile to a group of girls huddled by one of the jewelry stalls. The girls giggled, whispering amongst themselves as they eyed your group in appraisal. Reuben let out a low whistle as he followed Mickey’s line of sight.

“Damn,” he murmured, a charming grin sliding onto his face.

“We’ll, uh, catch you later,” Mickey threw over his shoulder, making a beeline for the other group with Reuben hot on his tail. Bob rolled his eyes, already moving to follow them.

“I’ll go make sure they stay out of trouble,” he muttered. Bradley gave him a broad grin, letting out a loud cry of encouragement that set the bespectacled man’s cheeks ablaze.

“Yeah!” Bradley called, clapping his hand and earning a few looks from the passersby. “Go get’em tiger!”

If looks could kill, you surmised he’d be dead ten times over with the glare Bob shot back at him.

“Can we go now?” Nat groaned, looking around at the rest of you. “I’m starving here!”

“Yeah, but we’re not getting stir fry,” Bradley asserted once more. Nat bristled, and you watched as the two went in for round two of their argument. Jake leaned down so that his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a tingle up your spine that nearly took your breath away.

“They could be at this a while,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your cheek as his arm came to wrap around your waist. “Let’s get out of here and go find our own thing to do.”

You nodded, allowing him to lead you discreetly away from your friends and towards the booths. The two of you walked in silence for a moment before he turned to look down at you.

“Are you even hungry?” He asked, stopping as you looked at the jewelry at one of the booths.

“Not really,” you murmured, eyeing a set of the handmade earrings on display. “Are you?”

“Nah,” he replied, wrinkling his nose. “We can just walk around for a little bit, if you want?”

“That sounds just fine to me,” you smiled, meeting his gaze and stopping. For a moment, it was like everything else faded away and it was just the two of you, standing and staring at one another. Jake’s eyes began to glow an iridescent green the longer he stared at you, his breaths coming out a little more ragged. You could get lost in those eyes, you were sure of it.

“Can I help you find anything?”

You jumped, turning to the woman behind the table as she smiled at you.

“What?” You asked, breathless as your mind scrambled to catch up. “Oh, no! I’m just looking right now, but thank you!”

The woman nodded before turning her attention to another customer. You looked back at Jake who looked like he wanted to say something. Before he could, a chime sounded, and he dug in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out, scanning the message before casting an apologetic look towards you.

“It’s my mom,” he explained, gesturing at the phone. “She wants to talk to me. Do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all,” you smiled, waving him off. “You go ahead, just text me when you’re finished and we can meet up again, yeah?”

He gave you a small smile, leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a gentle kiss before turning and walking away.

You perused several different booths before the pangs of hunger made themselves known. You decided to get yourself a bag of popcorn to tide you over while waiting for Jake to text you that he was done, bouncing excitedly at the thought of the buttery treat. You scrolled on your phone while you waited in line, skimming different articles as the line inched forward slowly.

Skipper.

You glanced up, expecting to see one of your friends, frowning when you didn’t. You could have sworn you heard your name, and an uneasy feeling made its way across your skin, clutching at the pit in your stomach. A low hum could be heard on the breeze, and you noticed a few of the vendors glance around uneasily.

Skipper, come find me.

You looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Several other people looked around with frowns on their faces, but you paid them no mind as you scanned the crowd frantically.

Come find me, and everything will be fine. Don’t you want to find me?

“Yes,” you whispered, stepping out of the line, eyes still searching for the source of the honeyed voice. “Yes, I want to find you. Where are you?”

Follow my voice, Skipper.

Your head felt light, your body like it was floating as you took another step into the dense crowd. Your eyes still scanned the crowd, stopping as they made contact with glowing green. They stared at you intently from behind a solid black mask, the top half of the man’s face covered entirely. His lips twitched up into a knowing smirk as he watched you, slowly raising his hand in offering to you.

There’s a good girl. Do as you're told, and everything will be just fine.

The fact that his lips weren’t moving should have concerned you, but you were so focused on getting to him that you didn’t even notice. You took a few steps towards him, only stopping when the mark on your neck pulsed.

Come on, Skipper. You’re almost there. Just a few more steps and then we can live happily ever after. Don’t you want that?

You hesitated. Did you want that? You were sure you did, but somehow this felt wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The mark on your neck pulsed again, almost as if it were pleading with you not to go. You frowned, reaching up a heavy hand to run your fingers over it.

Ignore it, Skipper. Listen to me. You want to come with me, don’t you? I would never hurt you. I can give you everything. Trust me.

Yes, that was what you wanted. You wanted to go with this man. How could you have thought otherwise? This man looked at you so intensely, almost like he was driven mad with need as he called for you.

Just a little more, sweetheart. Then we’ll have nothing to worry about ever again.

You were only about a yard away now, so close and still so far. You wanted to please him, make him proud. All you had to do was take a few more steps, and-

You let out a grunt as someone bumped into you, nearly sending you to the ground with the force of it. It was like everything came rushing back to you all at once. The floating feeling stopped, and suddenly you were aware of your surroundings once again. You looked around at the surrounding crowd, noticing how a few of the local vendors stared at you with unease, their eyes flickering away to focus on something else. No, not something. Someone.

Your head whipped up, locking onto the figure who stood before you. Your eyes widened in terror at the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with a mix of anger and despair as you fought for coherency once more. You knew those eyes.

Someone bumped into the man, startling him, and you watched as he let out a strangled cry filled with frustration and anguish. The passerby stopped, raising his hands to put some distance between the two of them.

“Woah, man,” the stranger said, eyes widening as the man tore his mask away in anger, glowing eyes seething as he bared his teeth. “I’m sorry, okay? It was an accident.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you continued to stare, your mind trying desperately to reconcile what you knew with what you were seeing.

The man looked back at you, tears now in his eyes as he let out another anguished cry, turning on his feet and racing through the crowd.

Cole.

A/N: Welp...here's the reveal, at long last. What do you guys think? Was it worth the wait? What's going to happen next?? Only two chapters left! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you enjoy my work, consider leaving me a tip! You can also find my works on AO3 under the username sailor-aviator!

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[anonymous-dentist]

Or: a pirate au

-

Before having the nerve to turn Roier in to the Navy, Spreen had this to say:

“I have no compassion for anybody.”

And then he had leaned forward and driven both the metaphorical and literal-actual-goddamn sword in between Roier’s ribs, and he had whispered right into Roier’s ringing ear:

“You’re lucky I’m not drowning you.”

And then he had kicked Roier off of his ship and onto the Navy’s, and he had sailed away, free to live and fight another day while leaving his best friend and first mate behind.

But, well. Joke’s on him! It’s been a year since that fateful day, but Roier is alive, and he’s free, and he’s got a gun and a sword and a ship of his own, and he’s gonna make Spreen pay.

But first? Breakfast, and fast. The Navy is after him, and he doesn’t want to get captured this early in the morning. (Foolish would never let it go!)

The Barcoier docks just after sunrise, and Roier is off the ship and speeding down the pier before Jaiden even has the anchor weighed.

The island is small, so small that it’s just a town and some farms and a couple of trees and a single lake smack in the center of it all. It’s so small it doesn’t even have a name, but that just makes it all the better for hiding from the Navy on; if it’s too small to be on a map, it’s too small for those idiots with the Navy to pick up on.

Maybe Roier is a bad pirate captain for leaving his crew to tie up the ship and run errands while he gets everyone breakfast and tries not to get arrested. But also:

(“We need a chef,” Jaiden complains. “No offense, dude, but your cooking sucks.”

Roier sniffs, hurt, but he doesn’t argue. He’s a better chef on land than he is on the water.

“I’ll get us a chef,” he promises. “But only if you-” He pokes Jaiden between the eyes with a corner of his hardtack biscuit. “-get us better food! Nobody can cook with this!”

He smacks his biscuit hard enough against the table to crack it [the table.] Jaiden rolls her eyes, but she shrugs.)

Where there’s a good breakfast, there’s a good chef. And, on an island as tiny as this one is, said chef might just be desperate enough for a change of pace that they’d agree to become a pirate. (It’s how Spreen got Roier, after all.)

How hard can it be?

…Really hard, actually, especially now that the Federation and its Navy are starting to crack down extra hard on pirates. They’ve moved on from life imprisonment to public executions, and all because most of the pirates left on the seas have started to unionize under the guidance of the feared Captain Bad Halo.

But, who knows? Maybe today will be the day!

Maybe…

-

The town’s only restaurant is closed for renovations, but the town’s bakery is open, thank God.

The bakery, much like the town it’s based in, doesn’t have a name. It does, however, have a wooden sign hanging above the door with a donut painted on it. The donut’s center, rather than being a hole, is a bright yellow-irised eyeball. Freaky.

The door jingles like rusted keys as Roier enters. Someone swears from the back room; otherwise, the bakery is entirely empty.

“Coming!” Roier hears.

“No worries!” he responds. “Take your time!”

He doesn’t exactly have time for the baker to take, but he isn’t exactly going to get himself a chef by being rude, is he?

So Roier waits, and he takes the opportunity to look at the display cases by the front counter. Donuts, of course, some muffins. An… abnormal amount of meat pies. Sure? Why not! Every place has its specialties.

A few moments pass, during which Roier starts mentally counting how many of each item he’s gonna need, and then footsteps from the back and an apologetic, “Sorry, I’m just-”

The baker cuts himself off as Roier stands up and looks him over. He’s… handsome, okay. Okay. More importantly, he already looks more piratey than half of Roier’s crew: pierced ear, scar across the bridge of his nose, solid build. Hot.

“You’re a pirate,” the baker says, much calmer than most regular people would be. Good, he’s brave, pirates need to be brave.

Roier leans forward against the counter, propping himself up on his elbows. He smiles, head tilted juuuust so.

“Who, me?” he asks. He shakes his head. “Naaaah. I’m just a regular guy looking for breakfast, you know?”

The baker’s eyes trail over Roier’s head and shoulders like he’s memorizing him. Creepy, kinda. Hot, kinda.

Roier continues, “But I’ve never been here before, so… any recommendations?”

He winks. The baker’s eyes widen slightly, and then he smiles himself and leans himself against the counter, his arms just inches away from Roier’s.

“Well,” he says, “the donuts will last longer on a long trip, if that’s what you’re asking. Everything else has fresh ingredients in it.”

“Who says I’m going on a long trip?”

The baker rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the counter to start unloading donuts into a bag. “Please, nobody actually wants to stay in this shithole. I’m used to tourists.”

He has nice arms. Maybe he even knows how to use a sword already.

“Sooo… you want to leave, too?” Roier asks.

The baker shrugs. “Maybe someday.”

That isn’t a no…

So it’s basically a yes!

Roier beams. “What if today was your someday?”

The baker gives him a flat look. “I’m not a pirate.”

“Maybe I’m not, either. But I do need someone on my ship who knows how to cook, and you wanna get out of here.”

The last donut is dumped into the bag, and the baker ties the bag shut and plops it onto the counter. He leans over it with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not a chef, either,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be hiring someone that can actually cook, Captain Roier?”

At Roier’s gasp, the baker nods his head towards the wall behind Roier. On it is a bulletin board with wanted posters for nearly every pirate on the seas, Roier included.

Whoops.

Whatever! The baker hasn’t called the authorities yet, so he’s fine.

Roier opens his mouth, ready to try his pitch again, but he’s rudely interrupted by a cannon ball sailing through the bakery’s front window and slamming into a cabinet full of flour.

The room explodes into white, sending both Roier and the baker reeling.

“Fuck!” Roier coughs. He fans the air in front of his face, blinking rapidly to get the flour off of his eyes.

The bakery’s door is slammed open by a heavy boot. Its owner, a Navy officer, follows it in with his sword drawn and pointed at… the baker.

“Hands in the air,” the officer sneers.

Roier looks at the officer. He looks at the baker.

The baker looks at him. The baker looks at the officer.

He raises his hands slowly, holding the donut bag with it for whatever reason.

He looks at Roier again, a small smile on his handsome, yet flour-dusted, face.

“Thank you for having me aboard, captain,” he says.

The officer just then seems to notice Roier, but the poor bastard is just a bit too late because, just as he’s turning around to slash at the very obvious pirate captain in the room, Cellbit chucks the donuts at the idiot’s head. The bag makes contact, and then it makes the officer stumble right into the pointy end of Roier’s sword.

What a shame.

Roier pulls his sword out of the guy’s stomach with a grimace, wiping the blood on the bakery’s shredded window curtains.

He turns to smile at the baker, then.

“Glad to have you aboard…”

“Cellbit,” the baker supplies.

Now, where has Roier heard that name before…?

Whatever! There’s time for that later.

For now, Roier has a ship to get to, and he has a chef to deliver to it.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Birthday Boy

A/N: couldn’t miss out on the birthday celebrations for my favorite fictional man <3 I am wishing the happiest of birthday’s to Mr. Joel heartthrob Miller. P.S this is not proofread. It’s definitely a little silly and fluffy but that’s what my man deserves on his special day (let’s just pretend the outbreak never happened 😇)

~word count: 2.1k~

Pairing | horse dad! Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: it’s your first time celebrating Joel’s birthday after starting the transition process of moving in with him and Sarah. You want to make sure the birthday boy knows just how loved he really is.

Warnings: none! Just a lot of fluff, feels, cheesy banter from our favorite horse dad!, implied smut bc it wouldn’t be a birthday without some birthday sex, teasing, family love, light swearing, no outbreak! This takes place in the blue jeans universe but can be read as a standalone, Joel is 35 and not 36 in this universe, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

master list series master list

September 26th 2003: Joel Miller’s birthday. He wasn’t particularly a huge fan of his special day. He never was the type to enjoy any kind of spotlight. He preferred a more simple and quiet birthday compared to some extravagant party where he would have to worry about entertaining his guests. No, he would much rather enjoy a night in with Sarah on his one side, and you on his other. Your only request was make him a cake. He begrudgingly complied to your thoughtful request, but before any cake baking could take place, you had to wiggle your way out of his death grip that he presently held on you under the soft duvet of his bed. The whole sleeping over every other day was proving to be an easy transition for all three of you, and at this point you were practically moved into the Miller household.

Your mornings always started with Joel doing his utmost best to keep you tangled between his legs for a few minutes longer. This morning however, you were all his. You had slept with him intimately enough times to pick up on all his specific quirks and mannerisms that were tailored to him. He snored, but only when he was laying on his back. If you got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or get a glass of water, he would be cuddling with your pillow until you returned. Sometimes his feet would get cold and he’d tuck them under your thighs to keep them warm. He talked in his sleep on the rare occasion. Most of it was gibberish, but you’d hear Sarah’s name and yours like the faintest of whispers.

You knew he was awake by the way his bare arm tightened around your waist as he lassoed you against his chest. His fingers were gently splayed under the soft cotton fabric of your sleep shirt (his of course) as he buried the bridge of his nose against the back of your neck. You could feel him inhale deeply through his nose before exhaling a warm breath of air that caused gooseflesh to pebble on your skin.

“Is the birthday boy finally awake?” You softly mused with your eyes half open like a crescent moon as you stretched your legs out under the warm confines of the comforter.

“Mmm, nope. The birthday boy is not awake right now. You’ll have to try again later my darlin.’” He teased, voice thick, gravelly and sticky with sleep as he pressed what felt like a dozen open mouth sweet kisses to your soft skin.

“Joooel” You giggled, warm and sweet as your hand brushed across his that rested across your middle. “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Baby, you can’t be mean to me when it’s my special day. Y’take that back right now.” He chuckled as he pulled you as close as he physically could. It never was enough, of course. He’d do anything to just crawl inside of your skin and make a little home for himself there. (not in a deranged way you sickos). That’s just what love did to him. It made him turn into this ushy- gushy softy that sometimes used you as his own personal heater.

“Well, if the birthday boy isn’t awake, then he doesn’t get his present.”

Well, that did it.

You barely finished your sentence before your man was nearly rolling over on top of you with a soft grunt from the ache in his back. “Okay, okay! The birthday boy is awake, and ready for his present.”

“Gotcha.” you peeked one eye open to find his not so impressed expression as a stray curl cascaded across his forehead. Dear god, he was truly so handsome, it hurt.

“You’re a lil’ tease, Y’know that? Gettin’ me all excited jus’ to go’in and break my heart!” He grasped his fist to his chest in mock despair as your sweet giggles filled the domestic air.

“Relax, Shakespeare. I’m only teasing!” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at his theatrics before you playfully pushed him onto his back just so you could straddle his hips.

“Shakespeare? Nah, I ain’t no Romeo, baby cakes, but you can be my Juliet?” He had a shit eating grin plastered on his kissable lips as you grabbed his wrists gently and pinned them above his head.

“That was so painfully lame, even for you, cowboy.”

“Yeah, but I jus’ know it made your puss–” You cut him off with a swift kiss to his lips that sent his heart melting into a puddle. Sweet, and filthy. What a lucky son of a bitch.

“Is the birthday boy going to be good so I can give him his present?” You mumbled against his lips as he kissed you back languidly.

“Ain’t I always bein’ a good boy for my baby?” He hummed as he rolled his hips slowly against yours.

“That’s a coin flip, cowboy.” He could feel your mischievous little grin blossom like flower petals as you slowly followed the rhythm of his hips with your own.

“Christ. Y’gonna fuck me or get me all riled up, baby? C’mon, please fuck me, honeybun. The birthday boy shouldn’t have’to beg.” he spoke with that deep Texas twang that always had you caving on the spot.

“We’re getting to that part, cowboy.”

Some gibberish followed by a deep moan that traveled deep from within his chest when you finally sank down around him.

“Shell?” Joel asked with a small grin and arch of his brow as Sarah set a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon in front of him.

“Yep! Saved some just for you.” She teased. “I’m just kidding, Dad. There’s no shell! I promise.”

Joel seemed unconvinced as he used his fork to play around with his plate of scrambled eggs. “Hmm..are ya sure about that, kiddo?”

“Daaad.” Sarah placed her hands on her hips with a huff which only caused Joel’s grin to grow wider before he was reaching out and pulling his baby girl in for a hug as he pressed a gentle kiss to her mess of curls. “I trust ya.”

Sarah wrapped her arms back around him in a gentle hug, but she was smart to move away quickly when he attempted to tousle her hair.

It wouldn’t be a regular day in the Miller household without Tommy showing up with his own shit eating grin as he made a b-line straight for the fridge.

“Help yourself, why don’t ya?” Joel muttered with a mouthful of eggs.

“What’s it look like I'm doin?’” The younger Miller brother responded with a cheeky wink as he pulled out a container of leftover chicken wings from the fridge. “How old is grumpy today anyway, 50?”

“Do I look like–”

“He’s 35, but who’s really counting?” You chimed in as you pressed a quick kiss to Joel’s cheek before sitting down beside him.

“35 and he’s already gettin’ some gray’s I see. Gonna have to wear diapers soon.” Sarah teased as she took a bite of her eggs.

“Who says I don’t already?” Joel quipped back as he washed his eggs down with a big swig of coffee.

“Babe?”

“Yes, my darlin?’”

“Your shirt is inside out.”

Joel tossed his fork down with a huff as he wasted no time to pull his t-shirt over his head and switch it the right way around.

“Y’girls still plannin’ on bakin’ me a cake?” He asked as he checked the time on his phone before standing up.

“You bet your fine Texas tush that we are. It’s going to be the best birthday cake you’ve ever tasted.”

Joel probably would have said something highly provocative if Sarah and Tommy weren’t listening in, so he opted for a quick kiss and a slight ass grab.

“Bus is leavin’ in five. Can’t wait to come home later and taste this delicious cake that you’re gonna make me, baby.”

“Gross.” Sarah nearly gagged as she picked up her plate and brought it to the kitchen sink.

“Hey, sugar? You think you can spare me a bit of cake too?” Tommy asked cheekily as he ducked down before Joel could thwack him upside the head. “Y’gotta be quicker than that, big brother.”

“G’nna kill him one of these days, I swear.” Joel mumbled as he looped his arms around your waist and pulled you in close. “Y’gonna pick Sarah up from school still? Dunno what time I'll be home later, but hopefully it ain’t too late.”

You looped your arms around his neck as your fingers gently played with the curly tendrils of hair that rested along the nape of his neck. “I’ll be there to pick her up. Try to not be home too late, okay?”

“G’nna do my best for my girls.” He closed the short gap between the two of you with a sweet affectionate kiss with a mumbled I love you before he was reluctantly pulling away when he heard Tommy beep from his truck in the driveway.

“Did you get it fixed for him?” You asked Sarah as she climbed into the passenger seat of your car outside of the watchmaker's shop.

“Yep!” She beamed brightly up at you as she held the watch box up proudly.

“He’s gonna love it, kiddo.”

“What did you end up getting him?”

“Well, a little birdie whispered in my ear and told me that Curtis and Viper 2 is his absolute favorite movie. It’s the version with the deleted scenes.”

“Oh, wicked! He’s going to be soo happy!”

“As long as we don’t royally fuck up this cake. I don’t know the first thing about baking. Do you?”

“Well, if we happen to burn it..we can always cover the burnt spots with frosting?” Sarah suggested as she carefully slipped the watch box into her backpack.

“You’re a genius.”

“Oh, I know.” She winked before buckling up.

The cake turned out to not be a disaster..well, minus the first cake mix not rising properly. The best part was getting to decorate it with Sarah’s help. She insisted on the frosted red hearts while you piped out the letters spelling, happy birthday. It was nearing 10pm when Joel had finally arrived home. He was already feeling guilty for the fact that he was home later than he promised, but that all washed away when he found his two favorite girls cuddled up on the couch watching re-runs of Property Brothers on HGTV.

“Sorry I'm late. They gave us the wrong size for the headers. Took way longer than I was expectin.’ What are we watchin?’ He softly asked as he kicked his heavy duty work boots alongside the doormat.

“Property Brothers.” Sarah mumbled with her cheek gently pressed against your shoulder.

“They’re pretty good lookin.’” Joel added as he maneuvered his way over to the couch and plopped down. “Y’all make that cake you’ve been ravin’ about?” He gently draped his arm around the back of the couch where your head was presently resting.

“Well, we almost had a serious mishap, but it’ll still be the best damn cake you’ve ever eaten.”

“G’in get it f’me, darlin.’” He nearly yawned from being exhausted on the job all day as you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his temple before you got up and headed into the kitchen.

“Y’all didn’t burn it, right?” He asked his daughter who had shifted positions so she could cuddle up with him now.

“Nope. The first batch didn’t rise correctly, but two-times a charm, right?”

“That’s not how it goes, baby girl. Good effort though.” He chuckled softly as he wrapped his arm around her just as you came out of the kitchen with one hand supporting the base of the cake while the other was held close to the candles to keep them from burning out. Joel could see your eyes twinkle brightly from the flames of the candles, as a soft smile spread across his lips.

“Wow, y’all made this? Didn’t buy it from the store?”

“Homemade, just for you, baby.” You smiled warmly at him as you set the cake along the coffee table in front of him.

“Well, I'll be damned. That’s one fine lookin’ cake.” He nearly whistled.

You and Sarah sang Happy Birthday to him under the soft light of the candles glow while Joel listened proudly with happy tears glistening in his warm espresso colored eyes. All three of you were wearing silly little party hats from the dollar store, despite Joel’s protesting. (He looked damn cute in that hat) The cake was nothing short of delicious, and he was more than appreciative over both of his gifts. He might not have always been the biggest birthday person, but he was now all thanks to his favorite girls.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: II

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧.

series masterpost part I

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 5107 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), blood play, knife play, gun play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers, violence, murder, choking, low honour Arthur being sexy af (yes it needs its own warning) authors note: okay, it's been a whiiiile for these two crazies, but part 2 is finally here!! i gave this one my all, i hope y'all enjoy <3 i have a plan for this series that's mostly built on requests ive received, so if y'all have any suggestions please feel free to drop them in my asks!!<3 as always thank you to my darling Bea for being my cheerleader throughout getting back to writing. couldn't do it without ya <3beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola

Thanks to Arthur, and your own terrible decisions, it is far from the easiest ride back to camp, your bare, sticky skin uncomfortably grinding against your saddle with each movement your steed makes. Also thanks to Arthur, ironically, it isn’t the roughest ride you’ve ever had. You’d actually be hard pressed to find a harder ride than the one you experienced just minutes ago. It infuriates you, how unbelievably satisfied you feel despite everything. It’s bone deep and unlike anything you’ve felt with any of the other men you’ve been with. It even dopes your mind up enough to allow you to reach the bridge out of Saint Denis before the real regret sets in like a gypsies fuckin’ curse. 

You urge Tybalt, your snow white Arabian, faster, almost frantically squeezing your calves and verbally ordering his gallop. The saddle burn is searing, but it’s not nearly as bad as the ice water that feels as though it’s being dumped over your head when you realise what you’ve done. 

Arthur Morgan.

Arthur Fucking Morgan.

Fucking Arthur Fucking Morgan.

You don’t even really remember how it happened. It’s a complete blur of pleasure and pain and the smell of Arthur’s smoky breath and the feel of his calloused hands against your softest, most sensual parts. One minute, you’re gathering information, planning just how you’re going to loot the bastard, the next you’re bleeding for him, burning for him as he takes you under the orange glow of the streetlights.

The wind whips at your cheeks painfully, the skin of your thighs ripping against the hard leather of the saddle. The faster you ride, the more it hurts, but you’re grateful for it. It's the perfect punishment for what you’ve done, a painful distraction from the thoughts plaguing your mind of you fucking someone who considers your father’s killer a father to him. To add insult to all the injury, you have to go back to camp empty handed. You didn’t even think about the job Morgan is probably off finishing right now after finishing you, which is probably exactly what he wanted.

“God fucking dammit!” you scream out into the swamps of Lemoyne, scattering a few birds from the trees into the inky night sky. 

Tybalt carries you home, but in your current state you simply cannot face your family and the other gang members. It's 4am before all the lanterns are distinguished and you can finally hitch up and bring yourself to enter camp, tying Arthur’s jacket tighter around your waist and walking as quietly as you can back to your tent. You don’t sleep, despite longing for nothing but your cot the whole time you were waiting. 

Your jeans burn faster than expected. 

If only you could burn the rest of the night to ashes just as quickly.

═══════☆═══════

It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen Arthur Morgan. Actually seen Arthur Morgan, that is. Three weeks of good old Uncle Colm handing you the shittiest jobs as punishment for your failings. Three weeks of trying so damn hard not to bring yourself back to that night every time you’re alone in your tent, but finding it near impossible. It takes 9 days for the bruises on your thighs to fade and 14 for the cuts on your neck, though the constant reminder of your sins lies just on your inner thigh, where Arthur’s knife ripped your skin as you came undone in his arms. The scar shines in the candlelight, only seen in the dead of night when you’re alone, shamefully tracing the same lines Arthur did with your fingers over and over, chasing that rush you know deep down you won’t find without him. He haunts you, and yet you’re infuriated each and every time his cocky goddamn smirk somehow shows up in your deepest fantasies. 

It’s not your fault. You can’t even get yourself off without brushing against the mark he left on you. Hell, he may as well have branded his name into your leg. Bastard.

These are the grievances you grumble to yourself near nightly, the battle you fight with your subconscious even now, as the lock to the gunsmith’s clicks open in your nimble hands. The old door screams out the tale of years without oil for its hinges when you push it open, stepping inside into the dark, empty room. You’re far too focused on everything you shouldn’t be focused on right now to check over your shoulder before slipping inside, but in your years as an outlaw that mistake is yet to cause an issue.

The moonlight streams through the windows, the panes casting shadows of crosses on the shelves and the weapons adorning them. Your tired eyes scan your surroundings, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lip at the sight of those beautiful weapons, all yours for the taking.

The owner of the store almost certainly lives upstairs, so when the weight of your boots on the wooden floorboards makes them creak underneath you, you wince. Yes, you’re more than prepared for any disturbances, but you’d rather not have to deal with the hassle of shooting some guy in the face. A quick job, in and out, and you can get back to camp victorious and not think about Arthur Morgan.

You start with the ammo, loading the leather bag up with all the little boxes. The shells and bullets make such beautiful music to your ears as they clatter around their cardboard boxes, a song of abundance and a successful loot that you could listen to all night. When all the side pockets are full, you turn on your heel, spurs scraping against the wood as you begin to survey the shelves upon shelves of weapons. They appear to be organised well, the rifles in one corner, repeaters next to them, there’s an entire wall of pistols, some glinting in the moonlight that breaks through the dusty window, with all the other types delegated to an area of the shop each. It’s a beautiful sight for an outlaw, especially when you see the cabinet of knives and start to imagine all the different places you could shove them into Arthur’s ridiculously muscular body…

You’re getting off topic. 

The floorboards groan under your weight again the moment you start pacing the shop to grab at least two of each kind of gun. For each that goes in the bag for camp, you grab another, ever so slightly better one for yourself. You’ll carry them out separately and tie them up to Tybalt once you’re out of this place. That’s the plan, at least. 

It takes you the longest to pick out the knives, each one possessing a captivating reason to be your favourite. The carvings on all of the different handles are stunning, each blade almost glowing right to their pointed tips. Guns are great, but you’ve always been fond of the art form of blades. You reach for one, an ornate dagger that seems to shine brighter than the others, its handle carved into a beautiful, twisted scene. There’s a woman in the middle, flames wrapping around her legs and waist as the Grim Reaper holds her from behind. The detail is incredible, each bony finger of Death himself gripping into the woman’s hip. It almost takes your breath away, but something beats it to it. Someone beats it to it. 

“Aw, shucks, I caught another stray!” Arthur exclaims, all sarcasm and bravado as your gasp gets stuck in your throat. How the hell did he sneak up on you? You can’t even breathe without the wooden floorboards threatening loudly to collapse in on you. 

You set your jaw, grinding your molars and letting out a long sigh through your nose. You don’t turn around to face him, not wanting to look at him for fear everything will come racing back again.

“Fuck off, Morgan. This job’s mine. You’re too late.” 

He takes two long strides forward until he’s right behind you, which you only know thanks to the buzzing of energy tickling your back. How you can feel him without actually touching him, you may never know. But you do, and it clouds your mind something awful. 

“Now now, little stray. Don’t we share jobs? I seem to recall you tryna’ claim some of my takin’s a few weeks back.” 

Your grip on the ornate handle of the knife gets tight enough to turn your knuckles white, but you still refuse to face him, telling yourself it’s so you don’t have to look at his stupid face and absolutely no other reason. 

“And if you’ll recall, I took nothin’ from you.”

“Not for lack’a tryin’, princess. I think we both remember just what I had to do to you to stop ya’...” he taunts, low and gravelly. It vibrates against your back.

Even with your back to him, you can picture so clearly exactly what shit eating smirk he wears right now, as Arthur reaches up to the nape of your neck, running his knuckles so softly down each vertebrae of your spine, melting your very bones. For some reason, you allow yourself a moment- just a moment- to indulge in it, to let that tingling feeling spread like ripples in a pond crafted by his hand, before the immense effort you have to put in to not moan audibly slams you back into reality. You spin to face Arthur, braid whipping the air around you from the speed of it as your new weapon is pushed against Arthur’s throat, the tip threatening to slice open his jugular.

“Now you listen here, Morgan, and you listen good. That night never happened. You had a knife to my goddamn throat, you took whatever you damn well wanted from me and I’ll be damned if you take one more single fucking thing. Now get out of my fucking sight and let me do my job.”

Despite your white hot rage, despite the sharp metal nearly being forced through his windpipe, Arthur is still smirking, and by god if that doesn’t throw more fuel onto your burning fury. He scoffs a laugh out, swallowing hard enough for his Adam's apple to push back into the blade, making a point that he isn’t in the slightest bit scared of you. When he leans in, your arm follows, your resolve to slice his throat open dissipates into the thick air. Arthur reaches up, wrapping thick fingers around your wrist to pull it down away from him. For some reason, a reason you’ll spend an eternity searching for, you let him, you chest rising and falling as you attempt to merely exist without the growing tension cutting you apart limb by limb. His breath tickles your nose, and his lips are so close to yours you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but he stops no more than half an inch away from you.

“You know I took nothin’ from you that you didn’t freely give me, little stray.”

The insinuation shatters that lie you keep telling yourself, the version of events where Arthur forced himself upon you and none of this is your fault. You know he’s right, but admitting that to yourself would break you, does break you. But you can’t break in front of him, can’t allow the slightest crack for him to prise open and reveal your true self. You hate him so much, that much is the truth, but there’s so much hiding behind that veracity that you can never allow to see the light of day nor the glow of the moon. 

You grit your teeth, jaw painfully twitching from the strain of working the muscle so hard since Arthur’s presence has begun to drown you. The fire in your eyes burns threateningly, but it’s taking more and more to keep it aflame the closer Arthur’s wandering hand gets to cupping your cheek. Without breaking the stare tethering you together, you reach up with cat-like reflexes to grip his wrist, stopping him just before contact is made.

“Get out, or I’ll scream and everyone will know you’re here.”

You’re at an impasse yet again, Arthur clutching your wrist with a near bruising force, you gripping his with his hand suspended in the air. It’s silent, save for the deafening buzzing of electricity cracking between you. Arthur chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest and reaching the depths of you.

“You think that’s a threat, woman? Scream in fear of me, scream for me while I take that pretty little cunt of yours again, it don’t matter. Ain’t nobody gonna come runnin’ to save you.”

He lets go first, because he knows your threats are empty. He knows you’re clenching down tight on your molars because it’s the only sensation distracting you from the heat pooling between your legs and he knows you want him just as much now as you did that night in the alleyway. Arthur Morgan always gets his way, it would seem. And you’re no different. 

You don’t expect him to release you, so the silence between you fragments and slices you when you drop your blade to the ground with a loud clatter. Anybody upstairs definitely would have heard that, and you’re infuriated that Arthur is ruining the first decent job you’ve been given in weeks, as much as your anger is overshadowed by… other sensations.

“We’re… we’re trespassing. They’ll call the law, ain’t you a wanted man, Morgan?” There’s no integrity to your words, no more fire, only an apprehension that you pray to god he can’t detect. 

He sneers, “And you’re here to what? Clean this bastard’s floors? C’mon, O’Driscoll…” At that, Arthur kneels down, picking up your discarded weapon. He drags the blade lightly up your inner thigh, making it all that much harder to suppress the little moan building from the sensation. He spins the dagger so that the blade is in his hand, offering it back to you. You look down at him while you take it, enjoying the sight of the notorious Arthur Morgan kneeling before you like this more than you could ever admit to yourself. “You know we’re just as wanted as each other.” 

His words strike a chord. A lonely chord, in a lonely song of two lonely souls who can never let anybody else in. In your line of work, closeness is danger, it’s risk and it’s not worth it. Nobody outside could ever understand… except him. You know the stories of the Van der Linde gang, of Arthur and his son and suddenly it all makes sense, why he’s chasing you like a hungry cat after a mouse. It’s the same reason you didn’t stop him the first time, the same reason you haven’t screamed like you’d threatened to, the same reason why you’re going to let him do this all over again. That closeness… you need it, even if it is with a man you can’t bring yourself to stand. You’re just as wanted as each other… just not by anybody who matters.

He watches in real-time as you realise all this, as you figure out that the man you hate most in the world is the only one you could possibly let in. It’s maddening, infuriating, and now you need a distraction. And you’re going to take it. 

You meet each other's eye, spotting the challenge hanging between you to see who will be the first to break. You feel the tension infiltrating your body, stealing the breath from your lungs and setting your skin aflame and you know the only way to stop it isn’t through extinguishing the flames but fuelling them. You need to burn with Arthur until there’s nothing left but ash and soot. 

You spark, while your oxygen gets ever closer. Arthur takes a few slow steps forward, and it’s only when his smoky breath infiltrates your senses do you realise that despite everything, you have never kissed him. He backs you up against the display case until there is nowhere for you to escape, your lips so close you can nearly taste the whiskey on him. Your heart hitches in your throat, convinced he’s about to break the barrier you didn’t cross before. 

Arthur doesn’t kiss you, instead growling deep in his chest as he sniffs, trailing his nose from your collarbone to your jaw. You shudder, your shirt suddenly feeling much too tight on your form.

“W-What are you-”

“Exactly what you want me to, little stray.” He whispers, “Or should I-”

“No. D-Don’t stop, I-” 

He doesn’t let you finish your request, knowing exactly what it is before the words can leave your lips and you’re grateful, it means you can hold full deniability after the storm just like you did last time. Arthur grasps your collar in each hand, tearing your shirt apart and scattering your buttons across the floorboards. Your nipples feel the cool night air only for a moment before one is taken in Arthur’s mouth, the other pinched between his calloused fingers. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you feel the heat and moisture pool in your underwear at the very thought of what's to come. You need more. Now.

Your nails dig into Arthur’s shoulders, pushing him to his knees before you with a force enough to bruise him. It is an addicting view, Arthur kneeling for you, and it’s not one you’re about to pass up again. His hands are quickly on your belt, unbuckling it to access your buttons and zipper to slide your jeans and panties down your legs. Clothes discarded, he grips into your thighs and spreads them, diving into your heat like it’s a source of oxygen. There’s no teasing, no featherlight touches nor gentle licks… no, he takes your clit in between his teeth, the sharpness shooting everywhere as he begins to suck. It catapults you. To where, you have no idea, but it’s incredible, otherworldly, and enough to make you instantly forget where you are. You mewl, tugging at Arthur’s locks as he begins to lap your juices up like a man starved. Say what you will about Arthur Morgan- and you do, often- but by god does he know exactly how to make you feel good. 

You’ve never had a man take you like this, with you standing above him while he bows to you, and it takes near everything you have to not let your legs buckle beneath you. Somehow, you know Arthur would catch you, but you’d rather not find that out right now. 

“Fuck…” you breathe out amongst moans and whimpers, hips bucking against Arthur’s face. His stubble burns against your thigh beautifully, each and every sensation of the moment working harmoniously to send you to dizzying levels of pleasure. You ride Arthur’s face, bare feet pointed on your tiptoes to allow him better access as you climb closer to nirvana. Your nails scratch hard against his scalp, wordlessly letting him know just how close you are, silently demanding he doesn’t dare stop. Arthur sucks hard on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, his teeth catching it every so often in the sweetest pain you’ve felt in… well, about 3 weeks. It hurtles you over the precipice you’ve been dangled over, and you have to bite down on your lip so hard you draw blood. A coppery taste blooms over your tongue, your only sign that you’re still human despite the unearthly, ethereal sensations burning every inch of your body inside and out. 

When you reach what you assume to be the peak, the very edge of what you’re sure a human body can handle, the strength of your bite becomes no match for the need to moan out. It echoes around the room, a positively obscene sound that you can’t even really hear over the rushing of your own blood in your ears. 

“Quiet, goddammit.” Arthur grumbles, all but slapping his palm against your open, quivering mouth. Just as you think you’re about to come down from this immeasurable high, you feel two of Arthur’s thick fingers run over the part of your soaked slit that isn’t consumed in between his teeth. It’s the only warning you get before he plunges them deep inside you, curling to find that swollen spot he seems to have a map to. No barrier on this Earth or otherwise could stop the scream derived from pure ecstasy escaping your lips. The combination of the delicious suction Arthur has on your clit and the curved pumping of his fingers is a completely new level of euphoria. You feel so full before Arthur’s cock has even broken free from its denim confides and you’re not sure how much more of this relentless orgasm you can take without collapsing into him. 

You reach a crest higher than you thought possible, crashing back down into this realm as if your body is nothing but seafoam. Your chest swells with each laboured breath you’re finally allowed to take once Arthur removes his hand from your mouth, though you still can’t really see straight. Your mind is fuzzy, still trying to wrap itself around the concept that anyone could make you feel that good, so Arthur already has his zipper undone and is reaching to pull his cock out before you’ve even registered that he has stood.

After three weeks of Arthur only existing in your mind, you’d convinced yourself that your memory couldn’t possibly be accurate, that over a few lustful nights alone in the dark you’ve managed to exaggerate… but no. Arthur is, as much as you loathe to admit it, magnificent. Just as thick as you remember, with veins that wrap around his shaft like ivy throbbing with pure need. He’s almost too big, your overstimulated cunt seems to think, widening your eyes in awe to watch when Arthur begins to palm his leaking cock.

“I-I don’t think I can-“

“Oh yeah you fuckin’ can,” He grits, giving you no time to catch up with your own racing heart as he grips your thighs, lifting you up to perch on the glass counter of weapons and spreading you wide. Arthur surges up, spearing into you. He wastes no time, he needs not warm you up; after such a blinding orgasm, you’re already soaking for him. He feels your arousal, mixed with his own residual spit, coating his cock as he slides in up to the hilt. He groans viscerally, leaning right into the crook of your neck so his breath burns your skin. He takes your flesh between his teeth in a sharp, pinching bite and you yelp between mewls. Tears form in the corners of your eyes from the pure stretch and invasion of Arthur filling you so wholly, but you’re too far gone into this cloud of sensation to care if they fall. 

“See how much you need me, little stray… how much you fuckin’ need this cock, huh? Actin’ like you hate the big bad wolf, but I feel how your cunt weeps for me, how it wraps around me while I fuck you senseless.”

Your inner thigh is left with a burning red handprint when Arthur releases it to reach and rub hard circles on your clit. It makes it so hard to meet his eye without your own rolling to the back of your head in bliss, makes it near impossible to argue back when you can already feel another orgasm approaching, but your stubbornness persists enough to let you try and struggle out an argument.

“I can enjoy your cock and still hate you, wolfie.” 

Your less than affectionate nickname earns you a harsh slap against your clit, the pain bouncing through your every inch in the sweetest pain you could imagine. You cry out again, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as Arthur continues to relentlessly pound into you. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or ride for at least a week, but it’s a small price to pay for something so fucking good.

Neither of you are holding back, moaning into eachothers mouths, inhaling eachothers breaths, growling for each other and just barely avoiding your lips touching. You don’t hear the ceiling creak, nor the stairs groan under the weight of the gunsmith on his way to see who or what is making such grotesque noises in his humble little shop. All there is in this moment is you, Arthur, and his glorious cock fucking you insensible. Your ass burns from the friction of rubbing up against the glass display case, even more so when Arthur releases your other thigh to reach for something at his hip and the case is left to hold your entire weight. You see nothing but your big bad wolf, grunting and growling deep as you climb ever higher with him.

“What in the-”

BANG 

A gasp is ripped from your throat with the gunshot ringing in your ears. Your heart couldn’t pound any harder without breaking free of your ribcage, but a swift look to your left shows that you’re in no danger at all. Arthur’s arm is outstretched, smoking pistol pointed to the air above the now dead gunsmith. He doesn’t even look away from your face, contorted in such bliss as he continues to dangle you over the edge. He killed a man while buried so deep inside you, his victim’s blood now splattered across both your faces like crimson freckles. 

There’s no time to mourn, or even acknowledge, as grasps your jaw hard between his thumb and forefinger and forces your eyes back to him. The blood sprayed on his features suits him, you think, but that makes sense for the big bad wolf. The way he takes a life with such ease… it terrifies and enthrals you all the same. Your pussy squeezes around his shaft involuntarily at the thought of watching him kill again and again just to fuck you just that bit longer, at the idea that those measly mortal lives pale in comparison for his need to be inside you. 

“Oh, fuck, Arthur I’m gonna-” 

You’re cut off by a sharp slap to your cheek, and it burns so beautifully. The blood on Arthur’s hands smears across your skin, tainting you, body and soul. His hand quickly returns to its bruising grip on your cheeks, and you feel the heat of the pistol in his other hand pressing into your stomach. His finger isn’t near the trigger, and somehow you don’t think he would hurt you with it, but you suddenly realise the danger you could be in right now. You and Arthur hold a long-standing feud, your respective gangs have been fighting for even longer than that. The outlaw just executed a man ruthlessly for simply being in the wrong place, his own property, at the wrong time, and now he holds your life in his hands, literally. There is nothing stopping him from widening those jaws and consuming his little stray right here and now…

And what a way to go it would be.

You can’t bring yourself to care, can’t let the fear serve any other purpose than to pump the adrenaline around your veins and carry you back to the climax you’re searching for.

“Gonna cum, little stray? Come apart for me all over again? Hate me all you want, you n’ I know what you do for me when we’re all alone. Cum, little stray. Now.”

And you do. You come apart not with a fizzle but a bang. A blinding, screaming bang, where your limbs tighten around Arthur and your skin fizzles at any contact. He never stops his thrusts, each one seeming to renew the sensations spreading around your whole body like waves lapping and crashing against you. The gun presses into your flesh, serving as a reminder of the danger Arthur is capable of inflicting, yet it only heightens everything. You moan into his ear, your tongue running across his lobe not by design but because you have completely lost control of yourself. In this moment, you’re Arthur’s. And you feel too fucking good to even worry about it. 

The fear that he could snap your neck with so little effort, or pull the trigger of his gun and blast you to bits, lingers, spurring on your frantic movements while you grind needily against his own thrusts. Part of you wishes he would, so the both of you could find some twisted hellish realm where this union makes sense and you can rule it, together. The big bad wolf and his little stray. It’s an alarming thought to have, but who could blame you? If the devil himself could make you feel this good you’d bow to him too, weapons or none.

Arthur’s movements become sloppier, less controlled, and his grip on your cheeks tightens. He’s close, while you’re still riding your high. There’s a sharp aching where the gun presses hard into your ribcage, giving your future self the perfect excuse as to why you didn’t make Arthur pull out. He curses loudly, though it comes out more a growl, before biting hard into your neck. He surely draws blood with the force of his teeth against your skin, but it’s difficult to find it in you to care. He’s pounding you so hard into the glass you’re worried it’ll smash beneath you, but being shredded by broken glass seems an easy punishment for the sins you’ve committed again with this man.

You both come down together, glistening with blood and sweat and tears. Arthur remains in the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breaths over your skin. There’s a few seconds of a silence only broken with exasperated gasps, and then a wince when Arthur slides out of your drenched cunt. Now you can actually think straight, your hand shoots to your swollen lips at the sight of the deceased gunsmith beside you. Arthur is covered in blood, and you’re no better, but by God does it suit him. 

Having not gotten fully undressed, save for resting his jeans below his hips, Arthur takes no time at all to right himself, holstering his gun and pulling his jacket over the bloodstained shirt. He looks over to you, the harsh shadows cast by the moon only exaggerating his smirk. It takes everything you have not to flinch when he reaches for you, though the panic quells when he runs his thumb gently over your jaw, leaving a scarlet trail in his wake.

“See you on the next job, little stray.”

[gatorlovebot]

this is a part of the king simon series, but takes place way before any of the events in the series. can be read as a stand alone. but read the rest of the king simon series here.

in your months of serving under the king you had few complaints. your duties were easier than you had expected with the king being nothing like you had expected. word around the kingdom was that the king was cold and withdrawn, having a distaste for people. and while the king certainly had a distaste for some people, he certainly wasn’t cold or withdrawn. at times he could be brutish and gruff, but you had taken to his humor quickly, feeling comfort and security in the laughs you shared together.

he was kind with you and seemingly had an interest in making sure you actually enjoyed your job. it was a far cry from what you were expecting, he wasn’t demanding or cruel to you in a way that a king could have been. but he was still the king and you job was to serve him, even on the days you didn’t want to.

your cycle had started early that month, having no care or concern about how you needed to be well rested and feeling your best to be able to handle your day to day tasks. it was only day two of your cycle, but as it was coming to a close, all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. but simon needed his weekly bath. it was a nonnegotiable routine for him, having a hot, steamy bath at the end of his week. getting enough hot water to fill a tub big enough for him was an ordeal, but something that you had grown to enjoy. until tonight.

your lower back ached as you lifted up the pot into the tub, hoping that that would be enough to fill it to the king’s liking. you stared at the surface of the water, how high it came up to the edge of the tub and begrudgingly accepted that you would need to fill up one more pot to get it full. you hoist the heavy, warm pot up on your hip, letting out a gasp of pain as you straighten your back.

you thought you had been quiet enough with your pained noises, but within a moment simon was rushing into the room. he only needed a moment to understand what was going on before he came over and took the heavy pot from your hands. “did you hurt yourself?” he demands, setting the pot back over the hearth on the other side of his grand bathroom.

you didn’t hurt yourself, it was your body betraying you during one of your last duties of the day, perfect timing. you try to stand tall, doing your best to ignore the sharp cramps in your gut and the aching pain in your back. “no, your highness,” you lie, trying to suppress the urge to grimace. “just lifted the pot wrong, i guess.”

he looks you up and down with a scrutinizing gaze. it wouldn’t be the first time you felt unsure and insecure under his gaze. you wish he would just drop it, let you both finish up your days and him send you to your quarters. but king simon was not one to just drop things. “you haven’t been yourself the past few days.” he remarks. the king was an observer, whenever you would cut your eyes to him during a meeting or a meal he would already be looking at you. “you started out this week being short with the rest of the staff, and now you’re in pain. out with it, then.”

you averted your eyes from his piercing gaze, needing a moment to think. you could lie again, but simon would know you were lying, he always knew when you were lying. you wrung your hands, nervous to tell him what was really going on with you. it certainly would only lead to more awkwardness, surely. but you took a grounding breath before speaking your truth, finally, “it’s my time of the month, your highness.”

if he’s shocked or disgusted by your answer he doesn’t show it at all, face not changing. he bridges the gap between you and himself, his bare feet stepping across the cold floor until he is standing in front of you. his gaze isn’t scrutinizing anymore, his features softening as he takes you in. he tips his head to look at the bath before looking back to you, “join me.” he says, easily.

you watch as he strips off his robe, not waiting for you as he steps into the tub, settling against the rim. he reaches towards the skirt of your dress, pinching the fabric between his thumb and pointer finger, tugging a little bit before meeting your eyes. “join me.” he repeats.

“i- i,” you stammer, no matter how tempting the steamy water looked you knew how unbelievably inappropriate it would be to join your king in a bath. you had seen him in various states of undress before and although it was awkward at first, it had become commonplace at this point in serving the king. but being naked with the king? unheard of. inappropriate. unbecoming. unprofessional. but the whole thing was just so. alluring to you.

the king was handsome, so handsome in fact that sometimes you had to look away from him to avoid blushing. even after months of serving under him butterflies would still flood your tummy when you would take notice of his muscles bulging and flexing underneath a delicious layer of fat. to you and every other women in the kingdom, the king was perfect. if you weren’t working for him this would be a dream come true. but you were working for him.

he interrupts your useless stammering, “please, it’s least i can do.” he reassures. “i’ve been a right prick all day, think of it as an apology.”

his small smile and soft eyes have you melting on the spot. he knows what he’s doing, being all sweet to you. you’re weak for him even after a couple of months. you reach behind you, starting to undo the bow of your dress. “close your eyes, your highness.” you instruct, smiling at the childish way he brings his hands up to cover his eyes.

you struggle with the buttons on the back of your dress, but you’ve been undressing yourself for years, fingers working all the buttons undone in a moment. you turn your back to him as you push the dress off your shoulders, working on removing your undergarments.

he still has his hands over his eyes as you lift your leg, dipping your toes on the opposite end of the tub. “no,” his voice startles you, making you set your foot back down on the ground, fearing you did something wrong. “sit against me,” he orders, “i can rub your back for you.”

your stomach drops at the instruction and at the way simon’s gaze never wavers from your face, having taken his hands away from his eyes. he’s daring you to say no. you don’t want to. you grip the edge of the tub, steadying yourself as you get into the warm water, sitting yourself in his lap. the hot water soothes your sore muscles and he chuckles to himself as you let out a big breath of relief.

“feels good, right?” he murmurs, large hands making their way up to your shoulders. his hands were large, spanning the width of your shoulders. you hum in response, thoughts lost to the comfort you felt in his embrace. “i’m always right, huh?”

you laugh, something short and quick, at is ego, but you can’t help but agree. “you were right about this, your highness.”

his hands trail down your back, fingers prodding at your lower back, soothing out the painful spots. “tell me next time. tell me when things get bad.” he urged, words demanding, yet tone soft.

you promised him you would. you would promise him anything.

[tianasficrecs168]

Venom fanfic recs

A black dot • means it's a one-shot

A heart ♡ means it's focused on Sexy times (it's pure filth PWP, or like, a plot focused on getting to the porn part lol)

Wildehack: “Intra-personal negotiation” (Eddie/Venom) • How fucked is that, that a compromise that ended with eating raw shark liver under the Golden Gate Bridge in the dead of night is probably the most interpersonally mature he’s ever been? Intra-personally, Venom corrects, not really paying attention.

Arahir: “Wrapped around your finger” (Eddie/Venom) • Venom goes about love in every wrong way he knows how. Thank god for late night television. “Me. They invited me for dinner,” Eddie insists, trying again to make his hair look some specific way in the mirror. He’s given up and started over three times. It’s a double date. Like on that show. “What—what are you watching that there are double dates? Jesus. I should cancel cable. Make you read a book instead.” No!

Impertinence: “Something Like A Pipe Bomb” (Venom/Eddie) Eddie already had enough problems, what with being a busy reporter with an alien parasite, when he caught one of his neighbors holding a fridge above her head. Now he has twice as many problems, including a kid who won't stop treating him like the big brother she never had and a moody alien parasite. Or: you can totally secretly pine while sharing a brain with someone else, as Venom and Eddie are both determined to prove.

Pepperfield: “That blessed arrangement” (Venom/Eddie) • That’s us, Eddie, Venom says suddenly, with a bizarre amount of intensity. We’re like these two fools. Eddie squints at the screen for a second before he understands. “What, married?” Venom is well aware that they live in a romantic comedy. Eddie isn’t, but he’ll get the picture eventually.

Dezemberzarin: “The no dating policy” (Venom/Eddie) • a two-shot series What’s the point? Eddie glances around to the other people hurrying along the sidewalk, lowers his voice until he’s muttering into the collar of his jacket. “I like sex! I want to have sex again in the future, so you’ll have to find a way to deal with it.” If you say so.

xzombiexkittenx: “Nice to Taste” (Venom/Eddie) • Eddie doesn’t do well when he thinks the symbiote died in the fire. He doesn’t tell Dan that suicide is the reason he’s in this mess in the first place. He didn’t go to the Golden Gate Bridge to throw Anne’s engagement ring into the water, he went there to throw himself but got distracted by Dr. Skirth’s messages and justice against Drake instead.

Tuesday: “Terms of Endearment” (Venom/Eddie) • In which there are accidental pet names, Eddie leaning into being in love with an alien symbiote, and an ill-advised kidnapping. — The first time Eddie called Venom dear, it was automatic. They were shopping, and Eddie bypassed the freezer section to pick up some chocolate first. Venom said, "Don't forget the tater tots." Eddie, well-trained by more than one serious relationship in his life, said, "Yes, dear."

Ottergirl: “Heartthrob” (Venom/Eddie) ♡ • He feels encompassing when Eddie says that, he feels like there's no end to him. All that affection in Eddie's voice and the knowing, knowing he wants to be with Venom, wants to belong to Venom. Eddie calls Venom by a pet name, and Venom likes it. Maybe a little too much.

MercurialTenacity: - “Nightlife” (Venom/Eddie) ♡  • Eddie is soft when he sleeps. During the day he’s wound taut, one thing or another always running through his head and keeping tension in his muscles, but when he’s asleep - oh yes, when he’s asleep his defenses melt away. All the hard edges smooth out, his body goes all loose and pliant, and his mind mellows into the background. Venom loves when Eddie sleeps, and he does it for hours at a time. Sometimes even eight or nine. Nine whole hours, and Venom has its host’s warm body right there to explore.

Redredribbons: “Storms” (Venom/Eddie) • The Symbiote struggles to understand human habits and biorhythms. Especially Eddie's, when his own brain seems intent on sabotaging him.

Stereobone: “No Idea That You’re in Deep” (Venom/Eddie) ♡  • If the last eight months have shown Eddie anything, it's that foresight is not his strong suit.

Surveycorpsjean: - “Lovesick Baby” (Venom/Eddie) Eddie spent his whole life alone in his head. Now he’s not sure he could ever go back. Sometimes, you want things you shouldn't.

[hypers-omniac]

NYMPH READER NYMPH READER

Omgggg love the idea of a water nymph reader and Price who swats at her like a bug LMAO. Annoyed to no end by the little thing hmm…

Cw: just a little fingering tehe. Got carried away and how could I not when it’s Price? Maybe a little degradation. This isn’t smut, it wasn’t supposed to turn into smut. But again I can’t help myself around this man

It starts when him and his team are sent off into the forest to try and get rid of something that’s been plaguing the local village. A cyclops, or maybe a basilisk or gorgon. Regardless, they send in the troops, scattering through the forest to try and locate it. They search for hours, coming up empty handed. It frustrates them all to no end- but at least they know it’s not a banshee.

Price stops at a watering hole, taking a short breather to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face. He’s pissed. Patience cut short after not even baking able to find the creature for so long. He squats down next to the water, rocks sinking into the rugged soles of his boots. His mood isn’t made any better by the harsh sun, beating down even through the thick canopy of the trees. It creates a greenhouse, just humid enough to irritate his bones and make him feel somehow even more achey than he usually is. All it takes is one moment of lost focus.

You damn near scare the piss out of him when he sees your eyes lookin’ at him from under the water. You got that blue-eyed stare, baby. Popping just your eyes out of the water- loose water lilies and foxglove getting caught in your hair. Your unblinking eyes are trained on him, and frankly, it’s creepin’ him out, sweetheart. He doesn’t think much of it. Water nymphs aren’t typically agressive, so he takes it as a sign that he should probably be on his way.

Except… you follow him. Hiding behind trees poorly. He knows you’re following him, you dense little thing. Your eyes are so wide, and you still haven’t said anything to him. Getting a little too close for his comfort as he grunts, radioing in occasionally to report still no progress on the entity.

You flit around him like an annoying little bug after that, still not saying anything, but your big ol’ doe eyes trained on the buttons on his uniform, his dog tags, his gun, his helmet- every part of him so so shiny, glinting in the light. He brushes your hand away whenever you try and reach, and you both grow increasingly frustrated until you huff at him, and start tugging him into the treeline.

He’s just about had it by now- the grumpy old man grunting obscenities at you as you continue to drag him along. He’s letting you though, too emotionally exhausted to really put up that much of a fight. Or nearly pisses you off more- just because water nymphs aren’t typically agressive doesn’t mean you can’t kick his ass! (You can’t. He’s like twice your size, babes.)

Then, you deposit him right in front of the thing his team was hunting. You tap your foot on the ground, looking up at him with a scrunched nose and narrowed eyes as he radios it in, mood immediately fixed. You snag one of his dogtags as your prize, flitting just out of his reach before he can try and stop you. He grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose while he waits for backup and decides he can just get another one.

Unfortunately for him, you’re spurred on by his acceptance of defeat. Approaching him cautiously like a stray cat, eyes trained on him as you reach for one of his buttons. You really only want the shiny metal, but he hasn’t quite put that bit together yet. So when you start unbuttoning his shirt, he’s confused to say the least- trying to brush your hands away.

“Reward.” Is what you mutter, indignant, as you scowl slightly. Still pissed by the way he cursed at you and brushed you off. He takes this.. the entirely wrong way, a short huff escaping him from amusement. He’s taking your hands and pinning you to the nearest tree, face too close to yours.

“Reward, sweet’eart? Is that what y’want?”

All bets are off after that. Thankfully his team can take care of the cyclops (or gorgon, or basilisk) on their own. He’s too busy with you as you squirm on his fingers, mocking you about the reward you earned as he pumps his fingers in and out of your needy pussy. He’s still irritated, though. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be coming back.

[cq-studios]

Do you have any screenshots of your favorite details from KHUX?

HAHAHAHAHA, yeah I do

Gonna just drop a read more here 'cause if y'all know me at all you know this post is probably gonna be 10KM long lol

So, I'm gonna try to hold myself back a little because I literally have like 10 pages of notes about specifically stuff in the backgrounds and I doubt the internet will find my bench and lamppost count interesting. (Also image limit lol)

I'll list just 4 things for now (in no particular order) and talk about them a bit underneath.

NUMBER 1 || STREET SIGNS

So there are four street signs that we’ve seen in Daybreak Town. Two are in the Fountain Square (A and B), one is in the Marketplace (C), and one is in the Clocktower Outskirts map (D).

For B and D it’s pretty easy to figure out what the represent. B is a clock, probably representing the Clock Tower… or maybe the best place to see the Clocktower because it’s in Fountain Square. The overall shape of it is different from the rest of the signs so I imagine that means something. D is a gondola or canoe of some sort, which makes sense because it’s next to stairs that seemingly lead to the canal that runs through town. Maybe there’s a ferry system of some sort?

A and C I’m less sure about. The designs don’t really bring anything obvious to mind. Maybe C is Munny because it leads to the Marketplace? I’m not sure.

NUMBER 3 || DOOR UNDER FOUNTAIN SQUARE

See what makes this interesting to me isn’t just the fact that apparently Fountain Square is hollow underneath (maybe for pipe repairs or something, I don’t know) but just the general fact that a lot of structures in this town, that maybe shouldn’t be, are hollow.

If you look even some archways have windows, so there has to be an open space inside, right? Most of them seem at least connected to houses so I assume they’re basements or something. (The one by murder house gets me tho, like that’s right under the bridge. Who’s living right under the bridge)

And I also feel like this leads into the fact that, similarly but not as extreme as in Scala, Daybreak Town is kinda built on top of itself. Maybe that’s a symptom of being around so many (and possibly on) mountains but I still feel like it should be talked about more.

NUMBER 4 || LIGHTHOUSE INTERIOR MAP

There is so much to unpack here but I’ll try to keep it brief.

So I’m pretty sure this is one of, if not the oldest building in Daybreak Town. Two reasons.

1. Instead of having little wall lamps, like the rest of the town and buildings, all the light seems to come from mounted candles.

2. There are swords (A) on the walls and not Keyblades. Why would the Keyblade town not have Keyblades on its little shield emblem? Is it possibly because it was there before Keyblades?

This staircase here (B) is also the only known (not sewer drain) way into the waterways. It leads into the sewers then out to the little dock below the Lighthouse with the boat, hence the sign.

There’s these maps here (C) that I don’t really know what to say about, but is definitely worth pointing out. They’re all the same and I assume show the layout of the area surrounding the town (the darker parts being water). It could be a world map though (darker part being continents)… I don’t think we’ll ever really learn lol

And also I don’t know what this is (D) but I think it’s interesting that it has writing on it. It kinda gives me the vibe of those flat on the ground gravestones…

NUMBER 5 || BANNER

Daybreak Town actually has a flag it’s all over the place and you’ll start to see it everywhere if you look for it. They also kind of look like the banners in Radiant Garden. The colours and shape/mounting are the same but the designs on the flag itself (and mounting) is different.

I have no clue what that implies, if anything, but I figure it’s worth pointing out ‘cause it’s interesting.

[days-until-burnout]

What about a angst fic with Tango x Jimmy in Double life with arguments? :D

one rancher with a side of angst coming right up! _____

📧 Day 53 -

Characters - Jimmy/Tango Words - 952 Time - 30 mins Content - Canon-divergent Double Life

Jimmy looked at his right hand, soot covered fingers wrapped around his wrist, ashy skin on scorching marks. It’d been a couple hours now, and no matter how long he submerged his hands, his arms, his body in the cool river, the heat remained blistering on his skin, marking him all over with licks of fire. He applied pressure on his wrist until he hissed, then again to suck a breath in. There were feelings rushing through him, mixed up in a mess of flames and sparks, a connection of heat under his skin, in his muscles, in his bones—not his own, that was all he knew. 

“I should’ve,” Tango muttered to the side, prompting Jimmy to look up at him, his eyes glossing over the burnt remnants of the Ranch. Charred walls decorated with charcoal, black like the void against the birch planks. His eyes drew to the holes where the moonlight seeped through, where the late afternoon wind snuck in, where their torches light and warmth escaped them. It was a tragedy, a broken foundation. “...killed him. I should have.”

“Tango? Rancher?” Jimmy called with a swallowed shiver, unsure if it was the creeping breeze or the smoldering burning under the soulbound. 

Slowly, Tango turned to him, eyes red like fire, just like earlier but controlled. Jimmy instinctively straightened, still damp wings fluttering behind him as he swallowed again. He squeezed his wrist one more time, a reminder of where Tango had grabbed him, someone out of control, tightly and burning claw-marks into his skin. There had been fear after, when everything died down and they were alone, just the two of them, and Tango had looked sad, horrified even. But expressions weren’t needed, not when their tied-up souls let Jimmy know everything. 

“We should’ve killed Scar. He burnt the Ranch. We should have killed him.”

“We already talked about this. It wasn’t worth it. You could’ve—”

No, Tango growled through the bond, disagreement unspoken as his face twisted. Something dark, something angry. Eyes with too small pupils, white breath turned smokey with every word, every exhale, claws digging into his palm and Jimmy’s. The ghost feeling. It was all there, on the table, for Jimmy to see.

“You– Tango, are you even listening to yourself? Don’t– Don’t be influenced by Scott and Cleo! They don’t care about, or us, or the Ranch! They– They just want drama, don’t you see it?!”

“No,” Tango shook his head, another stream of smoke escaping the sides of his mouth, “they knew what had to be done. They were right. They were right.”

“No, they were not! I know Scott! And– And you should know Cleo. They get into your head and– and, and they mess with you!”

“Who cares what they want!” Tango slammed his fist into the wall, snapping his head towards it. Another wave of heat. Suffocating. Scorching. Tango tightened his fist, Jimmy winced, quickly looking at his palm fearing pierced skin. He found a soot covered palm, black smudges against pale skin, trailing down to his wrist and his arm where touches of fire remained. “Scar deserved it. Scar had to die, for what he did. He had to! We had to kill him. We should have killed him!”

“He probably didn’t mean for it to get this bad, Tango, he’s your fri—”

Tango scoffed. Jimmy shut his mouth. He felt it, something ugly settling deep in his soul, an intruder making a home in his heart. 

“I get it now,” Tango laughed bitterly, lips twisted into a joyless and cruel smile, “I really get it now. Why everyone picks on you. Everything is water under the bridge for you, isn’t it, Jimmy? You think we can all get along after these games, don’t you?”

“I didn’t—”

“Scar meant to do this,” he continued, smile quickly wiped off his lips. There were thoughts running through his mind, ones Jimmy couldn’t tap into, ones far too dark, too far from Jimmy. His heart ached, feeling the distance ripping their souls from within. He didn’t even know that could be possible. “Scar isn’t stupid. He meant to do this. This wasn’t an accident, and right now, he is not my friend. No one is. There is no friendship here, no—”

“What about me? Am I nothing to you?”

Tango blinked at him, turned his head slightly and their eyes met again. This wasn’t Tango in front of him, he wasn’t sure who this was, but all he knew was that this wasn’t his Rancher. It couldn’t be. Their souls were tied still, tied with a knot rather than a union. When had it changed? When did he lose him? 

Did he lose him?

“What’s it matter what you are? We are going to die first anyways. We lost our home, and we will lose our lives. What does it matter?”

“Then why do you care what Scar did?!” Jimmy got a little brave, squeezing his fists as he took a step closer. He was angry, a by-product of Tango’s anger that he made his own. “You got us killed first, so you don’t get to whine about dying! That’s what happens in these games. Get over it!”

Something hollow sunk between them. Enough to make Jimmy gasp and stumble back, suddenly breathless, and he looked at Tango in a panic, every ounce of anger turned into worry. Desperation in his eyes, searching for the reason. His lips parted with questions, then it clicked. The too hot warmth under his skin, following Tango’s eyes down to the claw branding in his wrists. 

It hit him hard. This version of himself. Jimmy could do nothing but watch the flames die in his eyes. 

_____

*evil gremlin laughter*

[ohbo-ohno]

i’ve been stalking your most recent ask about the stuffy 👁️👁️, i had this sort of angsty idea on how one day jonny and the reader get into some sort of argument during one of jonny’s off days and out of frustration reader’s stuffy gets snatched out of her hands and torn apart. i can just imagine reader looking down at where the stuffy fell with teary eyes and wobbly lip and starts to absolutely lose her mind because it’s such a comfort item for her and now it torn shreads. i also the idea of both simon and jonny scrambling to stitch back together, jonny didn’t mean to destroy it :((!! he just got so wound up and wasn’t thinking straight!! he’s super sorry and groveling after everything said and done

- 🐏 (if it isn’t taken)

i've left this ask for a few days (so sorry) because i looooove it :(( its so soft and sweet like im MELTING

i do think that serial killer johnny is a little emotionally immature, very quick to overreact to things - especially when you're not behaving how he wants you to. if simon didn't keep him on such a short leash, your captivity with serial killer ghoap would be a lot more confusing and painful

let's imagine you and johnny get into a fight over smth while simon is out in town for a bit.

i can totally see johnny grabbing the stuffy from your hands and feeling vindicated when you get mad at him - cause he's so fucking angry at you and you're just scared so it makes him feel more justified in yelling at you when you're also yelling at him. but he gets really worked up, your anger just feeding his, and... he doesn't even really fully notice when he tears the head off your bear :( he just wants to make a point, yk?

but you're so upset. you let out this agonized little cry that has his heart stopping. that bear has been the one constant comfort you've had in this living nightmare, you genuinely don't know how to cope with the idea that it's gone

simon comes home to a bit of a wreck. you're just crying, absolutely inconsolable. and the more johnny tries to comfort you, the more upset you get. johnny's a little lost - he hadn't realized how severe your reaction would be to losing the stuffed animal, but it's kinda the last straw for you. you just break completely

ghost would probably be able to help you calm down eventually. sends johnny out of the room with a mean glare, makes it clear he'll be suffering for his misbehavior, and pulls you real close to try and fix things. promises you you'll get your bear back, good as new, that everything is ok, helps guide your breathing and holds your ear to his heart.

johnny spends his night agonizing over how to sew your bear back together :( hunched over the little guy with a needle and a thread, desperately trying to keep his stitches clean. he gets to see you the next morning to apologize and give you your bear back, then spends a few days taking his punishment in the basement

simon makes you give johnny all sorts of cuddles when he's allowed back up. tells you both that everything is water under the bridge now, to kiss and makeup <3