#vagabond boots

[nyc-looks]

Madeline, 31

“I’m wearing a Miaou corset under a vintage Betsey Johnson cardigan and a trench that I got secondhand. My boots are from Vagabond, and my necklace is Ninfa Handmade. I bought my butterfly scarf at a small silk store in Rome that I desperately wish I remembered the name of—I never leave home without it. I’m most inspired by good costume design. There are certain fashion films I’ll be referencing forever: Parker Posey in Party Girl, the cardigans in Jawbreaker, the shoes in Romy and Michelle. Oh and I love anything costume drama… corsets, petticoats, bloomers, that kind of thing.”

Mar 16, 2023 ∙ Tribeca

[fashion-boots]

Tiffany Hsu in vagabond boots

[babblingstacey]

What was soon apparent is that everyone was across the street at a little festival. So Anna went on over to get some food and meet some new people.

Rudely, the vendor closed up show just as Anna was going to order.

[alyandajstyle]

Aly performing at BottleRock Napa Valley | Napa, CA | 29 May 2022

–––––

Missoni 'Sequin-embellished knitted shirt,' $1,865 – on sale, $1,329 [available at Farfetch]

Missoni 'Sequin-embellished striped crochet-knit straight-leg pants, $1,480 [available at Net-a-Porter]

Vagabond Shoemakers 'Blanca Boots' in Multicolour embossed leather, $180 [available at Vagabond Shoemakers]

–––––

Follow Aly & AJ Style on Instagram!

[ostentacyjnie]

I'm in love with my new pair of shoes 😩

[wardrobesinspiration]

Who: Blair Eadie

What: Vagabond Nour Boots in Leather Brown ($450.00) Where: Instagram - December 27, 2023

Worn with: The Namesake jacket, Zara jeans, Manu Atelier bag and Velha sunglasses

[lunasilvis]

Hunting down the marketplace for the perfect vintage chore jacket (Dickies/Carhartt) is a very tiring undertaking... I think I need a 3-day stay at a tavern inn from this exhausting harsh expedition to regain my powers... i'll be back again lol

[cladventress]

x

[lucy-hale-fashion]

What: Vagabond Alina Leather Boots in Off-White - Sold Out Where: Out & About in LA - March 4, 2023

Worn with: Madewell jacket

[the-californicationist]

he trims his beard

Pirate!Price/Reader

God, I want to write thirty damn chapters about Pirate!Price so badly. Someone tell me not to, please? Lol. Otherwise, y'all might be getting thirty chapters of Pirate!Price...

MDNI/18+ TW: virginity reference

Summary:

Captain John Price is king of the Seven Seas, and after he saves your life, you owe him a debt. His fee? To take you as his wife.

The Mediterranean Sea, 1708

“I just can’t…ARGH!” Price slammed his hand down on the porcelain basin as he tried to shave his chin, unable to use his right hand after the accident. 

You pitied him, but you were still terribly afraid of him. When he rescued you, you thought he had been Death riding in on his ghostly white ship. But, now that he had been with you going on a fortnight, you realized the hardened, gruff exterior was but a hard shell encasing the soft, warm center of Captain Price, leader of the Queen’s special unit of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. 

You’d been marooned on Cassadaga Island for two days, stripped of your jewelry and purse, beaten within an inch of your life, and left for dead. Your would-be husband had planned the whole attack, hoping to cash in on the dowry money. The joke was on him. Your father had a gambling problem and had not two coins to rub together. The musket he kept above the mantle didn’t even have any gunpowder in it, you were so destitute. As soon as your fiancé found out about your lack of adequate funding, he tossed you overboard on his father’s ship. When Captain Price found you there, you were barely hanging on. 

The captain had nursed you back to health, promising to chase down the vagabond and kill him for his dishonor. He’d been true to his word, slaughtering the lot of them, but during his vengeful assault, he’d been shot through the hand with a musket. You’d cleaned the wound, and he had yelled at you for the pain. Now, you were cowering in the corner of your shared room, back to being a prisoner. 

He eyed you from his shining mirror above the basin, 

“C’mere, girl.”

You edged closer. It wasn’t quick enough for him, so he crossed the room, his black leather boots banging on the ash wood of his quarters.

“I said come here,” he growled, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you over to the wash bowl, razor in his uninjured hand. 

He let go of you, straightened himself, and sighed, fixing his harshness into a more genteel tone,

“My apologies,” the words came out of his mouth oily and practiced, not at all his natural verbiage, “Would you be so kind as to trim my beard? With my injury, and my left hand being more useless than a fuckin’ hook, I am at your mercy.”

He handed you the razor and you took it from him, 

“Yes, sir - I mean, Captain. Yes, Captain.”

You were stuttering, full of abject fear at his possible retaliation. 

As you approached his face with the razor, your hand was trembling and he noticed it. Something in him softened, his icy blue eyes melted just enough for him to hold you around your waist and gaze down at your face,

“It’s okay, pretty girl. My bark and my bite are both nasty, but I won’t harm you.”

His warm body was so close to yours, and with him leaning over you, breathing into your space, you could smell the tobacco scent that lingered in his clothes and beard. His long, braided hair was adorned with gold coins, bent and twisted into it to make little beads, and he had been caramelized by the sun. At the top of his sternum, you could see thick tufts of curly hair poking from his shirt. You tried not to stare. 

“Captain,” you asked as sweetly as you could, “Can you sit, sir, so that I may reach your cheek?”

He smiled, 

“Alright, love.”

He sat on his down mattress. The bed creaked at the addition of his familiar weight. 

At this more convenient angle, you were able to reach his face and neck, so you began your task. You applied the foam in thin layers, working gently as you went, mindful that the captain kept his blades sharp enough to cut steel twine. What you hadn’t realized was that, by requesting that he sit, he was in full, direct eye sight of your heavy breasts. They were corseted up, as was the fashion, but without your normal over-dress to cover you, your nipples ghosted through the thin chemise, hinting at little pebbles beneath the surface. He had not stopped staring at them since you began to shave him. 

You looked down while you were cleaning the blade, trying to discreetly glimpse at his growing passion, curious and fearful all at the same time. His breeches could barely contain him, and his thick phallus pressed into the join of his pants. He caught you staring, and he laughed at your rosy complexion, rolling his eyes,

“Ha! Embarrassed at your thirst, pretty girl? Surely those vagabonds did not leave you a virgin during your ordeal.” 

“They did, sir,” you admitted, returning to your work, sad at having been discovered sinning with your abject perversion. 

He made a small noise, unable to talk while you were shaving his prominent chin, careful around the curve of the bone. He liked to keep the sides long, trimming them with shears, but he always shaved his chin. You followed the razor’s line down his neck, careful not to knick his protruding Adam’s Apple. 

“Is that so?” The captain purred. 

“Yes, sir. At my fiance’s order.”

“Ah, I see.”

He was silent again, his eyes growing hungrier at the sight of you. His hands returned to your hips as the waves tossed the large vessel on the high seas. You stilled, feeling your belly flutter, wondering if it was seasickness or excitement from his newly focused touch.

“You alright, love? Bit choppy tonight. Storm’s brewin’.”

“Oh,” you nodded, finishing with his neck, “There. All finished, Captain.”

He moaned, holding your hips tighter, situating you between his open knees,

“Shame, that. I was enjoying your skillful hand, pretty girl.”

You blushed, setting the razor cleaned back in its case,

“Thank you, Captain Price. And thank you again for your rescue. I would be dead if not for your mercy. I am in your debt.”

“Aye,” the Captain eyed you slyly, “a steep debt at that. Your dowry should solve that for us. Then, you’ll be on your way. When we land in Málaga, your father can pay me.”

“Sir,” you gasped, “I don’t have one. My father took it to the game house and lost it on his cards.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you looked down at him in shame, hoping his mercy was deeper than his greed. 

“Hmm, I see. Then, perhaps you would consider a captain as your betrothed?”

You looked up at him in shock, and he was amused by your fear. He used one hand to hold you by the hip, and his other, uninjured hand delicately pulled at the silk ribbon of your bodice, aiming to free you from your painful restraints. 

“Y-y-yes…sir,” you could feel the heat on your cheeks, “My family would be most pleased with such a match.”

“Bugger your family, girl. They left you for dead. If you’re mine, you’ll be only mine. Once I have a bounty in my grasp, there’s not a man on God’s green earth who could take it from me. Does that scare you, girl? Do you want to run off home, turn to the cloth, become a nun instead?”

“No,” you shook your head, “No, sir. I owe you my life, and if it is my hand that you wish, I must oblige you.”

“I wish not your hand, love…” His tone was darkly suggestive, “Well, maybe at first.” He laughed warmly. 

It was a joke that you had missed, but you knew it was your innocence that kept you from divining its meaning. In your core, your body yearned for him. Seeing him command his men, the fiercest swords on the Seven Seas, watching him take down pirates and vagabonds like it made his heart beat in his breast, it was mystifying. His huge muscles and broad bones made his tall figure all the more imposing, and every port you landed in, women swooned over him while the men cowered in fear. Yes, you’d enjoy him as a husband. No one would ever dare lay a hand on you again. 

“What are your terms, Captain, should I accept your proposal?”

He ran a finger into the hole he had created in your leather bodice, letting you feel his warm touch through the thin fabric of your chemise. It electrified you.

“You’ll be mine, and only mine. I’ll be yours, and only yours. When I fill you with my seed, you’ll carry my children, and you’ll love them in earnest. You’ll sail with me, and learn the trade. There’s no comfortable manor house awaiting you, girl. What say you?”

“I agree to your terms, sir. But, I have one of my own.”

“Name it.”

“You’ll not lay a hand to me or our children, no matter the height of your rage.”

“Never. You have my word.”

Looking into his eyes, softened and vulnerable now, he meant it. You felt relief for the first time in weeks. Safe, protected, cared for, and welcomed into his adventures. It was everything you’d dreamed of. All of your childhood friends had dreams of servants and painting rooms and buying linens, while you had wanted to see the world. Here he was, offering it to you. 

“I accept.”

“As do I, love. Now,” he finished removing your corset and bodice top, letting it fall to the floor, “as your husband, I’ll have what I’m owed.”

“Yes, Captain. But, please,” you felt a tear roll away from your wet lashes, “be gentle with me.”

“I promised no such thing,” he said, lowering his mouth to your nipple, sucking it and wetting the silk of your chemise, using his hand to pull down the fabric on your other breast, exposing it to the sea air. 

You gasped, feeling his hot mouth explore your skin, your nipples tightening in the heat of his attentions. He was using his tongue to flick back and forth across the tip of your breast, not caring that you were trembling at every swipe of his tongue or thumb. You moaned, involuntarily, as you felt the sparkle of pleasure rush into your belly, making you wet under your skirts. While you had explored yourself plenty of times to discover the hidden secrets of your body, to have a man - especially such an aggressor like Captain Price - do it, it was so much more exciting. His forbidden fruit made you clench your legs together, upset and tingling within your core. 

“Mmm,” he praised you, “Like that, love?”

“Yes, Captain,” you whispered softly, placing your hands on the back of his neck, rubbing the firm musculature you discovered there. 

“Good girl,” he told you, pinching your nipple cruelly to make you moan again. 

He kissed you then, full and with his long, ravenous tongue, forcing it into your mouth to feel your tongue and throat, the silky skin of your cheek. As he kissed you, he was busy rucking up your skirts, searching for your dripping heat. He found it, and he stilled. Barely moving, he stopped kissing you and looked up into your eyes with his stark blue ones, a look of pure delight on his face. 

“Oh, my stars. There it is. You’ve been hiding it from me. So willing? Tell me the truth. Have you been hungering for me as I have been for you?”

It would not be proper to confess such a thing, even to a man who would be your husband. You shook your head in denial, pressing your lips together to keep from telling the truth. 

“Say it! Tell your naughty thoughts to me, love. This is not the cunt of a frightened girl.”

You blushed, red as a rose, unable to meet his gaze. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he moved his finger inside of you then, gently sinking into his drooling sheath, ready to send home his sword to it.

“Y-yes,” your voice was barely audible.

“Yes? What have you been thinking of?” He returned to your nipple, pressing his finger deeper into you, massaging your walls as he explored.

“You…when you fight pirates, sir. You look…”

He chuckled, biting your firm nipple softly, teasing you,

“You like seeing me murdering those devils, do you? In all my days, I never thought I’d find a lass who had a taste for war.”

“Not the war, sir. Just the warrior. You seem to be in command of the chaos, and my body…well, I guess…I am unsure how to describe it.”

He pulled you down to the bed and tossed you on your back, rutting against you with his length, letting his hardness press into your core through his breeches. 

“You like seeing me in charge, hm? Your captain, barking his orders, tossing those traitorous rats into the drink, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you confessed, rolling in the broiling pleasure he was building inside of you, his hand knuckle-deep inside of your core. 

“Good,” he said smugly, “Then, I have a command for you.”

You looked up at him, watching him roll your skirt up above your knees, his eyes never leaving your dripping folds. He smiled when he saw it gleam for him. 

“What do you ask of me, my love?”

“Open your legs, girl. Feed yourself to your Captain.”

[nyc-looks]

Apollo, 26

“I’m wearing a black metal tassel shirt and pants from AliExpress, and chelsea boots from ASOS. Typically I like the dark western look with goth elements so I like to pull from western vagabond meets I talk to the dead on Sundays.

May 20, 2022 ∙ Greenwich Village

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— happy home day + eijirou kirishima.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — exactly one a year after adopting from the pound, kirishima plans a special surprise for you, his special little puppy hybrid, on their birthday.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, smut, fluff, hybrids, lingerie, collars, creampies, dumbification, possessiveness, pet-names, body-worship, orgasm-denial, dom-sub, unprotected sex, praise!kink, daddy!kink, breeding!kink, afab!reader, puppy hybrid!reader, pro hero + owner!kirishima.

⭑ words — 4.3K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! i wanted to post something so had you guys vote on what you wanted to see next. the winner ended up being kirishima <3! this was a birthday fic commissioned by my baby @eijirhoe ( who has given me permission to post ) and was beta read by the lovely @vagabondings!! i hope you enjoy !! kiss kiss - m.list ✩

“for fucks sake, kirishima, that is not a fuckin’ guard dog.” 

only katsuki bakugou could be this miserable in an adoption centre for adorable hybrids— kittens, bunnies, mice and puppies alike. the redhead gives the employee standing nearby an apologetic mix between a smile and a grimace, the poor thing shaking in their boots at the proximity of the dynamight.

“katsuki, don’t yell. you’ll scare the ‘lil thing,” he pouts, sticking his fingers through the wire bars on the cage— coaxing the little hybrid inside closer. “and i thought you said german shepherds made great guards!” kirishima wiggles his digits again, pursing his lips to make those kissy sounds that are usually used to call to cats and crouches down to the height of the enclosure. 

bakugou smacks him upside the head but takes a stance beside his rioting hero friend before signing dejectedly. “wrong sound idiot, you’re meant to whistle,” the two strong, and surely intimidating men spare a glance at the cowering hybrid as katsuki whistles in an attempt to gain some trust. “and they usually do, but this one looks like they might shit themselves if someone looks at them funny. not a guard dog.”  

“but bakugou—“ 

“i hate to interrupt, mister riot. mister dynamight.” the employee from earlier steps in, steeling her nerves as she gestures to the cage the puppy hybrid is in. “but if this one doesn’t get adopted soon, i’m afraid they’re going to be put down. we don’t have the space for slightly quieter and apprehensive hybrids like them, no one really wants them if they’re not overly friendly or energetic and…if they do it’s usually for the like…” 

“hybrid farms,” bakugou finishes for the kid, his voice thick with disgust. “just shut one of those down the other day. awful fuckin’ places.” 

kirishima pouts again, peering into your cage— noting the gloss in your big pretty eyes and how you shrink in on yourself, tail pinned to the ground without the happy swish to it that other puppy hybrids in the centre have. “so…” he can’t imagine what you’ve been through, what you’ve seen to have ended up here. “if they don’t get adopted today, they’ll be put down? isn’t there any other way? that hardly seems fair.”

“to us it’s a little more humane than ending up at a hybrid farm or those indecent love hotels exclusively for sex with hybrids…” the employee trails off again, nervously fidgeting with their fingers. in the distance, a bell chimes with the notification of more customers— a mother and her child, probably looking to adopt one of the younger, nosier hybrids for their family. “if you’ll excuse me…” 

“i’ll take ‘em!” red riot blurts without even thinking, the employee not having taken two steps away from him and his angry blonde friend who looks at him like he’s gone bat-shit crazy. “this is their only chance, right? i have to do something, they don’t deserve to go out like this.” the blonde closes his mouth, holding his protests thoughtfully. 

he’s right. kirishima is right, his kind soul always is. “ai’ght, fine. but don’t expect me to train that thing, they ain’t nowhere near close t’bein’ a guard dog.” bakugou grunts, folding his arms across his broad chest with a faux look of dismay— not admitting how impressed he is with eijirou. 

eijirou kirishima has a heart of gold, he’s always been like that— putting others before himself because he believes in them. he takes in strays, builds up their strength and their confidence, letting them know that he’ll always be the sturdy figure they can fall back on in times of need. katsuki was one of those strays, an unwanted dog just like you. he’d bared his fangs to the sweet redhead in fear of letting in someone that would hurt him, but as it turns out, becoming friends with someone as selfless as kirishima was just what katsuki needed.

the employee sighs, shoulders sagging with relief as they glance between the two pro heroes. “should i be getting the adoption papers then?”

with an enthusiastic nod, red riot peers back at you with affectionate eyes and a smile you can trust— one that only widens when you bump your head against his fingers over the bars of your pen and let the tips of them just brush your lush puppy dog ears. “yes please,” he says warmly, his gaze never leaving you. “don’t you worry about a thing little one, it’s you and me now, got it?” 

and for the first time in forever, your tail wags happily, and you don’t feel worried at all.

being adopted by eijirou kirishima most probably saved your life. 

he’d been eager to get you out of that shelter, with the promise of a better life written against his lips and lost under his tongue as he babbled about your new home and how excited he was to have a puppy hybrid of his own. a timid, sweet faced and jumpy german-shepherd hybrid nothing like their breed— with big eyes, a set of pointed and twitchy puppy dog ears and a tail that stays pinned to the ground with nervousness. there’s a lot for him to undo, a lot of trust to build up.

kirishima was patient when introducing you to his home that only big time pro hero money could buy— he let you sniff out the place, scenting areas that made you feel safe even having his comforting, large presence right beside you was enough to make your ears perk up and heightened senses go wild. he let you pick out the biggest spare room in the house and had even felt sad for you when you stated that you’d never had your own before. 

“with me, i’ll make sure you have everything you want ‘n more, kay pup? things will never go back to the way they were for you.” the red head swore to you, crossing his heart — that was the first time you’d ever felt love like that. 

the two of you quickly fall into an easy routine; kirishima would leave for work in the mornings after making sure he’d set out the perfect meal a growing pup, like you, would need— using all sorts of kibble that his explosive friend katsuki had recommended. occasionally he’d spoil you with pieces of turkey bacon that he knew you weren’t allowed to have, but what was the harm in spoiling someone who hadn’t experienced luxury before? plus he liked the way your German shepherd tail would wag and your pupils would dilate at the sight of the meaty meal. 

eijirou made sure you had all the toys possible to play with while he was away for work— you didn’t like sitters and nearly chewed out the last one katsuki had recommended for a nervous puppy such as yourself. you didn’t like her scent and how it had gotten all over your owner. you preferred to be alone, surrounded by the pinewood and musky husk the redhead would leave behind. and, by the time he came home from being red riot, you’d be sitting right by the door with big bambi eyes to welcome him home, the little bell on your store-bought collar jingling as you rush to meet kirishima at eight pm sharp each day.

though you’re pampered with treats and pretty things and ear scratches 24/7– kirishima does have you trained by that awful bakugou. you’re by no means a guard dog, despite what your hybrid breed might indicate— but you’re disciplined with house rules and how to sit and act properly. bakugou is mean and he snarls at you from time to time, but the praise and kisses you get from your darling and sweet red haired owner make the training completely worth it. 

nowadays, katsuki doesn’t even question when you scamper onto the couch or perch yourself on eijirou’s lap whenever they have their boys nights to watch the hero rankings live. “pampered fuckin’ pooch,” is all he grunts from over his can of beer. 

“hey,” eijirou will huff, his hands on the fat of your waist or twirling through your fluffy brown and black tail. “don’t be mean, katsuki. they don’t know any better.” 

even with all that house training— you still sneak into his bed when being on your own gets too much. his warmth calms you, and eijirou doesn’t seem to mind the brush of your thick and soft tail against his thighs in the morning. “pup, you’re not s’pposed to be on the bed,” he’d tried to scold you the first time it happened, he really did, but your ears lay flat against your skull and you gave him those eyes and kirishima was quick to dive in next to you— asking you what was wrong. “nightmares huh? of the pound? well, those can’t be very nice. maybe you should share a bed with me tonight. one night won’t hurt, will it?” 

except one night, becomes every single night.

repeatedly, each night, eijirou scoops you up into his flexing, toned arms and carries you to his room instead of your own— tucks you under his weighted duvets not yours, and swamps you with his body heat. he runs like a furnace during the later hours, not that you mind, it’s nice to be close to him. to feel adored like that.

yourself and kirishima are touchier than most hybrid-owner pairs, you’ve noticed. bakugou thinks it’s because you have a clingy-attachment style, the red head because you’ve been deprived of the affection that most pups deserve. he goes beyond headpats and chin scratches, and the ones that itch right behind your floppy fluffy ears. kirishima keeps a hand on the slope of your waist when he takes you for walks on sunny days, he holds your hand instead of your leash most of the time and his lips linger against your forehead a little longer than normal for a hybrid that’s just a housepet. 

you think it’s normal at least, you’ve never been cared for like this and having eijirou’s attention some, if not all, of the time feels like a dream come true. you know that he loves you when actions of endearment become more passionate— when innocent cheek kisses become sloppier lip-locks and when hugs turn into desperate attempts to grab at your flesh, also when your heat cycles become less about finding a mate and more about begging kirishima to ravage  you against the nearest surface, soothing the instinctual ache in your bones and lower tummy. 

he loved you, and you loved him— and you knew that you owed it all to kirishima for the better life he gave you. taking a chance on a shy little puppy hybrid at risk of being put down.

taking a chance on you.

“angel, ‘m home!”

the rustling of brown paper bags, heavy foot-steps and keys jingling in the front door make your puppy dog ears twitch and you perk up from your place deeper in the house at the sound of kirishima coming home from a long day’s work. you scramble up to meet him half-way into the kitchen, tail swishing a mile a minute behind you, nose wriggling in anticipation. “e-eji!” you breathe, fingers itching to reach out and touch him. “you’re back!”

you’re so cute, so loyal that it warms the pro hero right down to his core. kirishima nods once, giving you the go ahead to latch onto him since you’d waited so patiently and lets out a small chuckle as you tuck yourself into his side. “i always come back, don’t i?” setting the bags on the marble island, he frees up a hand to brush over your head softly, using a knuckle to rub behind your ear. “have you been good, baby?” moving to cup your cheeks next, he presses a gentle smooch to the tip of your nose. “‘course you have, you’re always good f’me…but, i gotta know— did ya miss me?”

“i always miss you,” you say a little too quickly, nuzzling into the palm of red riot’s large hand, tail wagging even faster. “can i…can i have a kiss, eiji? please.”

for a moment, a primal look flashes through the hero’s eyes before being replaced with something softer, something that mirrors the smile he gives you. “only ‘cause you asked so nicely, baby,” he says playfully, sliding his hands from your face down to your waist and tugging you nice and close, your hips flush against one another. “c’mere puppy, gimme some sugar, hm?” your body can’t help but bristle, keening into kirishima’s touch as he subtly lowers his voice and guides you into following his command.

you stand on your tiptoes without even realising it, tilting your head upwards as kirishima coaxes your mouth open with his mellow moving tongue—sighing sweetly against your lips until he’s captured them properly in a slow kiss, not giving you too much but pouring enough words into it to let you know how much he cares for you. he pulls away so things don’t too heated, but still keeps his hands on you before you can whine in protest. 

“what’s that?” you ask softly, cocking your head to the side when you notice the bags behind him.

“oh those? well,” kirishima swoops down to your height, nipping your nose with pointed teeth— only serving to make it scrunch up adorably. “i heard it was a certain pup’s birthday today…and it also happens to be the one year anniversary of their adoption. so i got ‘em a lil’ somethin’ to celebrate.”

he lives for the way you smile, almost dies at how your eyes sparkle. “c-can i open it eji?”

“not all of it, pumpkin,” eijirou briefly lets you go and you really do whimper this time, knowing better than to claw at him to stay when you know he’ll be right back. the burly redhead turns to grab a perfectly wrapped package from within the brown paper bag and passes it to you with an eager grin. “go put this on f’me, will you baby? then meet me in the living room once you’re done, for the rest of your present, kay?”

“okay! i’ll be quick!” you practically squeal, vibrating in your place.

“good pup, i’ll be waitin’,” he turns you around with a grip that's barely there, handling you as if you’ll break with too much force and patting you on the bum softly as you go. 

by the time you return to the living room, it’s been completely transformed. 

the lighting is dimmed, a ruby glow filtering through and the soft hum of your favourite song reverberates against the walls and high ceilings. kirishima seems to be fixing a box on the coffee table by the couch before he notices you, a slick and sexy grin tugging at the corners of his lips as you approach him. “there’s my pretty puppy,” he rasps lowly, sending a shiver from the tips of your ears right down to your toes. “god, i think i made the right choice pickin’ that cute lil’ number out for ya, looks so good on you, hun.”

heat pulses under your skin like buzzing kinetic energy, making you tuck the swell of your cheek into your shoulder bashfully, fluffy ears flattening against your skull. “you think so?” said number is a darling little babydoll dress, made of black silk and red lace lace accents that tickle the backs of your thighs with hearts embroidered at the chest.

“it looks perfect on you baby, you’re breathtakin’,” kirishima tells you earnestly, holding his hand out for you to hold— which you take shyly. “c’mere, twirl f’me? wanna see all of you. show off for me, cutie.” every single one of his compliments has your tail swaying from side to side and blood rushing to your brain, making you dizzier than the cute little spins you do for him while the pro hero sinks into the couch to watch you.

he leans back, thighs spreading wide— and you have to fight the urge to drop your gaze between them. “that’s it pretty thing, my puppy’s such a fuckin’ stunner.” kirishima swallows thickly, ruby glossed eyes darkening with desire. “come t’daddy pup, wanna give you your other gift.” 

you quickly shift to stand between his spread legs, quivering like you’re cold has large and rough hands swallow your waist and bunch your night dress up at your hips. he presses sloppy kisses to the softness of your tummy over the material. 

“sit.” he commands simply, tugging on your hips to pull you down with him

“yes daddy,” your breathing is ragged as you sink into kirishima’s lap, thighs apart so that you can straddle him properly.  you wonder if he can hear your heart racing from its place in your chest— your heightened hybrid senses can already pick up on his, kirishima’s pulse sky-rocketing now that you’re on top of him. “c-can i have my gift now?”

his calloused hand pushes the black silk up and over the curve of your ass, red riot digging into the fat of it to rock you back and forth over is hardening girth. “r’member your manners, puppy. yer s’pposed to ask daddy nicely.” nonetheless, he relents and snatches up the box on the coffee table— handing it to you to unravel. “open it up, baby.”

excitedly, you tear through the daintily wrapped package, revealing a red patent leather collar—decorated with red and black bows, and a heart shaped tag with the letters ‘EK’ inscribed into it. collaring was a big deal in the hybrid community, it meant a permanent mark, belonging to someone, being in love.

“let me put it on you,” eijirou simpers, readily slipping the leather around your neck and sliding two fingers underneath it to tug your lips up to his. “i love you, pup.” he confesses, licking into your mouth hungrily and grinding up into your dripping heat.

it’s embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten and so fast, dumbly following him to the forest fire of lust, sucking on his tongue like a parched puppy lapping at the first drink it can get. hybrids slick up faster when aroused and kirishima turns you on like no other— somehow finding your panty covered clit between your salacious bump and grind. 

slumping against his beefy chest, your nails dig deep into his shoulders and whistle tone dog squeaks bubble up on the swell of your lips each time eijirou swipes the pad of his thumb over your swelling pleasures nub, encouraging your juices to gush over his hard on—glueing you both together by strings your arousal.

“i love you too…p-please e-eiji!” the air in the room feels heavier, tainted with the lust that clouds your logical thought. in fact, you can’t even think right with the way your owner toys with you.  he drools against your puppy tongue, curses into your heated mouth all while you’re riding his fingers like your life depends on it, kirishima pinching at your sticky clit just to hear more of your needy whines. “p-please daddy,”

the hand that once sat lightly against your neck now trails over each dip and curve of your body, barely brushing over your nipples or digging into the meat of your ass and thighs. “you look so fuckin’ good in the things i buy you, hun, drive me fuckin’ insane,” kirishima fights back a moan, cock twitching against your ass, desperate to be inside of you. “so beautiful in that lil’ dress, with my name around your neck. fuck… ‘m so lucky. my pup, daddy’s sexy fuckin’ puppy.” he rambles and praises you all at once, giving you whiplash, making you clench and ooze sweetly around nothing.

you’re sure that the redhead is almost as brainless and as fucked out as you are just from dry humping his darling little pup… but through his own grunts and groans, hips wildly bucking up to meet yours— kirishima still manages to dominate you, make you feel like you don’t even have to think around him. “you want me, pup, is that it? want me to fuck you?” he hums huskily against the shell of your ear, pinging your collar against your neck when you nod your head yes wordlessly. “gotta—fuck— gotta use your words f’daddy, c’mon now, you know that.”

“y-yes daddy, want you. badly.” you slur, and suddenly, your world tilts on its axis. your back hits the sofa with a bounce and you're pinned against it by the weight of your owner above you, your knees being pushed into your shoulders.

“a-always such a good…obedient lil thing f’me,” eijirou groans at the sight of you beneath him. “so perfect, ‘m so lucky t’have such a beautiful puppy all to myself, shit!” your silk baby doll gathers at your hips, soaked panties tucked to the side and your glistening, pulsing mound on display like an attraction made just for him. he wastes no time in yanking down his sweats and boxers in one go— revealing his bright red and angry dick, covered in a thick layer of gooey white precum. all for you. kirishima slaps the length of himself against your slit once, twice before his forehead falls against yours. 

“p-put it in eiji, c-can’t wait daddy…”

even though your cute little sex makes him a wreck, eijirou still manages to hold control over you— teasing you as he forces his fat tip past your tiny, creamy entrance. “so impatient, cutie, i should make you say please… but fuck, i need you so bad right now. might not last long…”

the pair of you let out strained moans as kirishima pushes in and he reaches the hilt—your sweaty bodies flush against one another, both of you covered in layers of each other’s arousal. your pussy flutters at being filled up so fast, clinging onto the pretty blue veins that spiral around his chubby, swollen cock— a low whine rumbles in your chest as the redhead sets a rough stream to his thrusts, milky cockhead brushing against each pulse point on your sensitive walls. 

it’s almost like you’re being knotted, squelching as kirishima tries to pull out of your snug sex that grips him selfishly. all the while, he pounds you to hell and back. you're so full, you’re a slobbering mess already teetering on the edge of insanity. red riot leans over you, washboard abs pressed against the backs of your thighs to force you down into the creaky couch— each time he withdraws from your messy and wet walls, your ears fall back and your tail thumps hard against the cushions, coated in your viscous nectar.

“fuck, this puppycunt sounds so dirty, gorgeous…feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he whispers to you, words damp on your cupid’s bow. “my perfect puppy, a dumb lil’doggy on my cock…s’such a fuckin’ dream.” your brain empties, becomes a void that’s filled with only eijirou kirishima and the way he fucks you deep, hits every spot, touches your body like a man worshipping a higher power. “‘m so lucky baby, really am.”

your collar jingles, the pendant with his name on it bouncing every time kirishima’s cock bullies its way into your gooey insides until they give into him. you’re the lucky one, you think— lucky to be loved like this, to have been rescued from the pound and pinned down on a dick that aches to be inside you, wrapping around his pulsing length to the point where you’re practically milking him already.

“d-daddy!” you hiccup, big fat tears clumping in your lashes, your face a beautiful mess to the man above you. “i can’t…”

the pro hero reaches down between your bodies, close to cumming just from listening to you howl over the sounds of skin slapping on skin, and tugs at your soft slick tail—stroking it until your pussy quivers and gushes around him, painting your babydoll dress and his half rolled down sweats with a fresh wave of your essence. every time he pets the fluffy appendage, you get wetter and wetter, tighter and tighter and your moans loud enough to wake the neighbours. 

heavy hips rock into you, even heavier balls clap creamily against your fleshy ass and kirishima lets his head drop to your neck—biting and sucking possessively at exposed skin just above where your collar lies. “yes you fuckin’ can, your daddy’s good pup right?” he slurs hungrily, writing his claim against your throat. “when you get close, hold it f’daddy, be obedient ‘n you’ll get your reward.”

you feel like everything’s on fire, every nerve ending in your body buzzing with anticipation— the knot in your stomach seconds away from unwinding. “b-but daddy—!”

“hold it.” eijirou warns sternly, though his breath stutters— every instinct that he has threatening to breed you up full with a load of his hot cum. “h-hold it, hon,” you sob at the pain and pleasure of holding off, thighs twitching, tail hitting the couch hard and puppy ears flopping over your face. you’re so adorable like this, jolting up the piece of furniture as the redhead languidly canters into you. he finally breaks when you let out a weak cry of his name, his first spurts of cum pouring into you. “f-fuck, let go for me puppy, make a mess on daddy’s cock—shit, thats it. so good, all over me, wanna see you cummin’ with me…”

white hot ropes of seed paint your insides just as your eyes roll back into your skull. he feels so warm, coating your insides with a layer of his cum as if to claim you from the inside out. there’s so much of it that oozes out of your entrance thickly, like a running tap of honey  that ruins your pussy lips with opaque white—triggering your own orgasm. kirishima holds you close, whispers sweet nothings into your ear as your release crashes over you, rocking your world while your juices splatter out against his pelvis and all over your cute little gown in clear streams.

“happy birthday, beautiful,” the redhead mumbles to you sweetly, kissing his initials on your pendant and right up to your lips. “i love you.”

“t-thank you eiji,” you whisper back— a sleepy, full and content puppy. “i love you too.”

[junosmindpalace]

DOWN IN THE MEADOW

🎧 deep in the brook, catfish are waiting for the hook!

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

synopsis: you, a former saloon girl, and your relationship with arthur through a song in accordance with the seasons.

content: family dynamics, domesticity, relationship timeline, a little bit of insecure arthur, horrible transitions between jack and arthur povs, messy intro and conclusion, soft gentle love thats the fic

wc: 2.9k

a/n: i haven't posted anything in nearly a month...SO sorry about that but here's this! i promise i've been working i've just been pickier with what i choose to post + theyre all lengthy as shit. this is different from what i usually write but we're trying some new stuff </3

Something that not many people were aware of was how very boring the outlaw life could be.

More often than not the lifestyle meant a whole lot of housekeeping, hunting and fishing; and that was only if you were old, strong, and experienced enough to handle such activities. To Jack Marston's misfortune, he was none of those things. 

Life as an outlaw could be especially boring for a young boy such as himself, with no one of his size to cancel out each other’s boredom by becoming playmates. His momma and various aunts and uncles did their best to entertain him when they had the spare time, and he too found amusement in the beauty and wonder of the outdoors.  

Fortunately, the worst of winter's wrath was over with, and beside the occasional snowfall, the weather was tame enough to settle down in a new camp and lounge about.

Because he cannot leave the camp very often, Jack settles for sitting by its outskirts. And it’s one of these even days that become odd when he spots his Uncle Arthur return from a trip into town accompanied by a stranger on the back of his horse.

Jack was closely acquainted with every member of his misfit family; he could recognize every worn face within it. Who wore which scar and where, which voices were more often fussy or brimming with glee, and even the ones that one day disappear and never return. This face that his Uncle Arthur brought back with him was a face he didn’t recognize, kind and curious as he observed it to be.

The small boy had been taught from a very early age not to trust strangers. There are few people in this cold and cruel world that wholeheartedly care for him; the vagabonds in this makeshift home of his were a couple.

But Uncle Arthur had brought her to them with reassurances that she would fit in just fine within their family, to them and seemingly the timid woman herself, who looked onward on at him for guidance. And Jack trusted what the older man deemed safe to accept this new member with hardly any worry in the back of his mind.

It didn’t take long for all of camp to learn that she had been a saloon girl from the town over where Arthur had been frequenting on business. It explained why she had arrived with nothing but a dagger in a holster sewed to her boot and a guitar on her back. 

The strange woman, however, adored Jack from the moment she had introduced herself to him, sitting in the tallgrass and braiding its strands. Jack observed, outside of her initial nervous demeanour, that she had kind eyes and a wit about her that he observed in many members of the gang, including those he loves and cares for the most. A mouth that his mother found often laughing as a result of and along with, and one that spun tall tales in the form of song and dance with various camp members. 

However, everyone was expected to contribute to bringing about funds and resources for the gang. It meant Arthur, the primary enforcer, spent most of his time out of camp running errands. 

You often asked to tag along in the shotgun seat of his wagon, whether to satisfy your own intrigue of the terrain or on Miss Grimshaw’s orders, but the extension of his hand gently escorting you on board was confirmation that Arthur didn’t have very many qualms with his company. 

Between light-hearted conversation, the two of you admire the thick blankets of shiny snow that had built up over various days of steady snowfall through squinted gazes as the light reflected back into your eyes. It glimmered and gleamed under arrays of sunlight, and crunched satisfyingly beneath each turn of the wheel. Your boots are thick and comfortable enough that you’re also able to enjoy the crunch beneath your feet when you arrive into the nearby town and hop off the wagon, with Arthur assisting in steadying you on your way down. 

You scout the town for work while Arthur does his shopping, and it isn’t all that long until you find it in nearby saloons. A couple of standalone gigs for a fair sum of money is perfect for your circumstances. Arthur offers to drive you into town nearly every day, the exception being when he’s already out of camp prior. It’s your primary contributor to the gang’s stability, besides helping around camp when you could. 

Uncle Arthur and the saloon girl often accompanied one another in their errands, by the shore of a river, or on a log beside the campfire. Jack could often find the two of you exchanging everything from anecdotes to laughs to something more shy and intimate. There are a set of unspoken social customs and courtesies when it came to confronting such curiosity, but Jack was too young to understand such customs; and far too curious.

So curious as to go so far as to one day innocently ask his Uncle Arthur if he was sweet on the girl—in front of her. His bluntness had the poor man choking on the rum from his flask as his cheeks flushed from either the suffocation or the embarrassment he felt over the situation--or perhaps both.

“Wha…N...No, you can’t just—“ he attempts to recollect himself, letting out a couple of coughs into the crook of his elbow before inhaling a strangled breath in. His eyes dart nervously between you and the boy. “You can’t just ask things like that, Jack. It ain’t polite. Where'd you even learn that...?"

But your warm eyes only crinkle in amusement as you laugh.

“I don’t mind. Besides, what does your lot know about polite?” 

Jack liked her songs, and found his feet eagerly carrying themselves over when he hears her by the campfire with Javier, guitars out and voices in sweet harmony. Sometimes she’ll get up and dance, and Jack will join her on her feet. One evening, there's already someone else swaying with you to a melody, and your gleeful laughter is paired with Arthur's bashful chuckles.

Oh, curse his northern attitude for leaving him so stiff, burning under the intensity of your warm gaze. The ambers from the campfire leave a little twinkle in your eye that makes his stomach stir uncomfortably, his muscles seize up the slightest bit. But your appreciative smile and courtesy as he bows playfully tells him there was nothing to forgive in the first place. 

Spring eventually sprouts up from the ground, and with it, more opportunities for leisure activity. Abigail kindly asks if you would take little Jack with you and Arthur to bask in the serene nature trails by the meadows, to which you happily oblige her request. 

Arthur leaves camp with you on the back of his horse or on the shotgun seat of the wagon more often than not. Sometimes--Jack overhears--it's on Miss Grimshaw’s orders. Other times, one or the other is in need of some company to assist with a personal chore. And very occasionally, the reason lies solely in wanting to be around one another (though this is more speculation on the gang's part, who by now have also taken note of that lingering something, and coming to this conclusion from the longing gazes as if it were obvious). 

In the back of the wagon, you observe the thawing of the snow with Jack through the harmony of your guitar, each firm, yet soft, strum ringing through the warm spring air. The smiles in your voices coupled with the gentle hum of your singing soothes something hard and tense in Arthur’s soul as he too basks in the sweetness of your melody while he drives at the front, melting it to the equivalent of the sludge of the snow. 

When Mr South Wind sighs in the pines

Old Mr Winter whimpers and whines

Down in the meadow, under the snow

April is teaching green things to grow

From prairies to creeks to small forests, your journeys take you in all sorts of places. The grass only grows greener, the sun only shines brighter, and the day is perfect when the wind is cool, too. More and more often are you and Arthur out of camp, and every time you return, Jack observes, you’re both in quite high and satisfied spirits. 

Arthur sits cross legged in a meadow just along one of the trails he takes to and from town filled with wildflowers. His journal sits in his lap, and he carefully sketches a scene not too far down from him. Just a few meters away do you sit with Jack by the wagon with your guitar on your leg as you sing affectionately, with grins plastered on both of your faces as you sway with the rhythm. 

When Mr West Wind howls in a glade

Old Mr Summer nods in the shade

Down in the meadow, deep in the brook

Catfish are waiting for the hook!

You participate in crafting jewelry out of the yellow flowers alongside the boy, using the back of your guitar as a makeshift table as you carefully pluck the dandelions and daisies surrounding you, watching one another as you weave the stems and excitedly present the final products to one another. Later, you’d teach him how he can store all kinds of leaves and flowers and herbs between the heavy pages of his storybooks. That was just the sort of thing you did; bring about this an innocent wonder and awe into peoples lives like no strange character Arthur has ever met; and he’s had quite his share of encounters with strange folk. 

He doesn’t remember the last time the world has brimmed with so much color, full of a kind of special magic. He finds it impossible to replicate the scene to perfection in his journal, but each additional detail--your tooth peeking out from your smile, the crescent shape of your eyes, the gentle dexterity in your hands-- reduces him to some sort of breathlessness.

And each time he picks up his book and flips back to his illustration, he returns to that beautiful day, the same feeling of sheer admiration returning with it, so maybe he didn’t do too terrible of a job.

Arthur's journal holds a dirty secret: that perhaps he was in love with you.

A fair portion of the pages were filled with sketches of you, whole portraits and mini doodles, of passages detailing your endeavours together, transcribed song lyrics of yours, and worst of all, the ever changing feelings of his toward you. They aren't very becoming from a man such as himself, but perhaps nothing good really was. A sort of guilt and hefty embarrassment weighed on his heart the more he reflected on it, too depressingly for a man who should be only elevated by the realisation. But what other than sorrow did love ever promise Arthur?

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow is waving at the moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump, bump

With the magic of June

It’s Jack’s favorite part of the song because of a little smack! you give the body of the guitar over halfway through the verse, and he either claps or slaps his own knees along to the rhythm with a giggle. 

As dusk approaches the horizon, Jack finds the two of you sitting on the shore of the river just beside camp, and through the gaps between tall pine trees and tents with their equipment alike, Jack can see your legs thrown over Uncle Arthur’s lap. A gentle hand of his rests on your clothed thigh, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt as the other is placed behind him, keeping him upright. You play around with the placement of Arthur’s hat on his head. For whatever reason, it amuses you to no end, and the unimpressed look on Arthur’s face only fuels your laughter. Still, he’s only able to maintain the expression for a moment before it morphs into one of endearment. 

The water from the river sparkles behind the two of you as the scene unfolds before the boy’s eyes, and he’s forced to look away when he feels a tug at his arm.

“Oh, Jack, aren't you nosey? Let’s not bother Uncle Arthur right now,” his mother quickly ushers him away toward the opposite side of the camp, glancing between her son and the pair of you. “He’s busy.” 

Jack is able to spare one final glance over his shoulder in your direction, catch a glimpse of your foreheads resting against each other as your laughter subdues, before he turns away and allows his momma to lead him to help his pa with some of his chores. 

When Mr East Wind shouts over head

Then all the leaves turn yellow and red

Down in the meadow corn stocks are high

Pumpkins are ripe and ready for pie

Autumn, specifically, is an interesting time to be out and about. Arthur chaperones you and Jack on your scavenger hunt of various fall plants and beauties. The two of you point out the various colors in the trees and on the ground, the mushrooms growing between blades of grass, and the various herbs and flowers and crops that grow in the fields. Arthur doubles as a delightful treasure trove of knowledge, with some of the items already having a portion of his page in his journal dedicated to its likeness, and some he adds in as you go along. 

You entertain his insight as you walk arm in arm, and something about it is just so delightfully domestic, Arthur recognises, that it makes him feel like mush again.

For a moment, he nearly forgets what his life really is, what sort of gruesome deeds he’s responsible for, the consequences of this lifestyle, and he’s desperate to hold onto the moment. Innocent and peaceful, a life he's been unrightfully yearning after for a while now. The foraging all in all reaps well, yet Arthur can’t help but find the real reward in the way you lean your head against his arm as if he were a pillar of security, not an anchor that weighs you down.

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow's waving at the Moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump-bump

With the magic of June

Unfortunately, the magic of the warm weather does not last forever. Yet not even the encroaching winter chill could freeze up the warmth in your chest. But it did nip at your fingertips--at your’s and Arthur’s and Jack’s. 

The groups joint efforts are relied upon a hundredfold when the snow starts to fall and the chill breezes through the flaps of the tents in the camps. Like a clock tower bell, it indicates that it’s time to up and move and find more secure shelter, with stronger walls and better furnaces. Somehow the bitter cold doesn’t leave a quiver in your heart, and it's proven when you sit on the edge of Arthur’s wagon with Jack and Abigail and your guitar in your lap as you strum through a melody for Jack’s entertainment. 

When Mr North Wind rolls on the breeze

Old father Christmas trims over trees

Down in the meadow snow shoftly gleams…

The lengthy trip wears everyone down eventually, and after an indefinite amount of time consolidating the various paths, the gang happens along an abandoned town in which to take refuge from Demeter’s grief. 

By the time you arrive at the safe destination to set up camp, the stars have made themselves visible in the sky. Arrangements are quickly made to set up camp and settle everyone into a room with a place to sleep, wagons being unloaded and horses tied to posts. Thankfully, the snow has ceased attempting to bury the gang in a thick blanket, and the winds howl has lulled to a short whistle. Arthur’s sleeping arrangement differs for the first time in years; Miss Grimshaw tells him he now shares a room with you. 

As it is your first time relocating, the move takes a harsh toll on both your physical and mental exhaustion. Along with young Jack at the back of Arthur’s wagon you both lie dead to the world with uncomfortable expressions. Abigail raises the boy into her arms when she comes around with a huff, cradling him close to her jacket. 

“Alright little man,” she tells him with an affectionate, exasperated tone as she turns to trudge to her cabin, “let’s get you to bed now.” 

Arthur turns to stare at you, hugging your body in an unconscious effort to keep even the slightest bit warm and relaxed, and for some reason cannot find the heart to wake you from your uneasy slumber. So he huffs, strides over, and situates an arm under your legs and another behind your back.

“C’mere, sleeping beauty…” he grunts as he lifts you in a similar fashion close to his chest, slowly making his way toward your shared cabin. “Didn’t realize you were so adverse to traveling.” 

Then again, it wasn’t anybody’s particularly favorite part of the lifestyle. 

Yet an endearing smile plays on his lips when you unconsciously snuggle closer to him, and he knows that the love in your touch and the song in your heart would keep him warm even after the thaw. 

…earth goes to sleep and smiles in her dreams...♡

return to masterlist.

[hel-looks]

Iida, 22

“I had a little shopping spree the day before Flow! So I bought the golden vintage bodysuit from Beyond Vintage, the absolute favourite skirt from Zara, my dream chunky-ish boots from Vagabond, pearl bag from BikBok and the white furry shirt on my shoulders is an old favourite from BikBok. I get a lot of my inspiration from other people. Usually I like to mix soft pieces with something more rough to create a lovely, interesting balance. I also love vintage lingerie and often create looks around them. Pearls are also always my go to.”

11 August 2023, Flow Festival

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

FINALLY… MALT. My new RDR2 oc :)

Malt Vagabond (a pseudo name that no one has pressed them on yet).

21, He/them (they/them didnt exist back then but ssssshhh)

hunter and thief.

Not socialized very well; can have an unstable mood and varying dynamics with characters. Living alone in the woods meant they never had to work on how they interact with others.

deep appreciation for animals. That doesn’t mean they don’t want to kill animals. They’re more so a collector of animal bone and pelts and teeth. They’ve made animal clawed gloves and boots and masks and coats and etc. they’d get shot by a hunter if they went out at night in their animal-disguise.

animal associated with them is fisher (animal)

still not sure how exactly they joined the VDL gang but they joined at some point before Black Water. Charles likely caught Malt trying to steal a kill because of starvation in harsh winter. Dutch let Malt stay to collect their strength and have a meal. Malt ended up sticking around by offering help hunting and offering tips on where the best spots were.

Malt can fight and thieve and do missions, they’re just support. They wouldn’t be tasked with leading a heist or robbery.

^_^ men!!!! Malt living in the woods and lonely for so long, now they’re surrounded by so many men and they’re all so talkative and drunk and warm and silly and and and. Malt doesn’t know how to cope. Although not used to being surrounded by people and talking, Malt enjoys listening. Many of the men in camp appreciate having someone listen and drink with.

Too curious for his own good, he’d push and prod and bug the grouchier members of the gang. They’re especially interested in the mysterious people of the gang. They talk the most with the people who hang around camp (Jack, Abigail, Micah, Uncle, etc)

They injured their leg years ago while running from a cougar. Their leg never healed correctly and now their leg hurts after walking or running for too long. They rely on either their horse or someone else to get them around long distances.