#wiLl yOu dAncE with me….miss..mary beth…

[trevortheprotohipsterrrr]

this is taking me the fuck out. jesus christ dude

[nalitali]

bewitched woman

Javier EscuellaxF!Reader

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Summary: Javier is teaching you to dance. As simple as that..right ;) Warning:…none? Fluff with a bit of spice maybe? I was listening to Billie Bossa Nova while writing this. Guys don't get your hopes too much, I smell that some angst it's on a way W/C: 2868

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You and the others have been sitting by the campfire on the fallen log, on the chairs or simply, at the ground. The sounds of the night was complimented by Dutch's gramophone playing a vinyl, sweet tones combined with the singers harmony voice. Making it a fine nice evening.

Molly and Dutch dancing in each other embrace, their hands held together, leaning on each other bodies. Smile tugging at her lips, she was finally happy for a moment, shining like a bright star. You were sitting next to Tilly, chatting and laughing with her about whatever came onto your slightly tipsy mind. Creating calm atmosphere, enjoying the fine momentum.

Mary-Beth rose from one of the wooden box, asking Arthur for a dance, and when you seen him trying to decline, you only encouraged him to 'just join her' with a smile.

Been a while since he had some piece of a joy.

Then you turned your attention back to the flames from fire, sipping onto the beer bottle, when Tilly asked you "how come you never asked for a dance?"

You glanced back at her, putting the bottle to your lap. "I never learned to dance" you answered, with your finger tracing onto the neck of the bottle. Like sure - you understood the moves, you could dance by yourself if you wanted. But dancing in the pair? Eye to eye? Looking straight in the eyes of a man? To hold him and let him hold you? No, thank you.

Tilly covered her mouth at that, almost laughing at you. "I don't believe you! You can shoot anyone between their eyes and not dance?"

You rolled your eyes in funny matter at her, knowing the mocking tone was more than friendly from her. "Yeah, yeah, go and laugh to my face. I ain't no housewife, cannot dance properly, what a disgrace am I-"

"-I can teach you"

Your head turned quickly to the source of that voice that cut you off. Javier was still sitting by his usual spot on the bedroll, guitar now being in the back of his 'tent'. You looked at him with half questionable and half amused face.

"That would be nice to look at" Tilly whispered into your ear, you couldn’t help but smirked at that, stood up from the dead wood, placing the beer bottle to the ground. The smirk still present. And at your standing move, Javier quickly rose from the ground, brushing off the dirt that could be potentially present on his pants, and walked to you.

Of course he was going to take the opportunity to teach you.

Not missing any second, he guided you a bit to the left side, gently held you by your forearm to get you closer to him. So he and you were facing each other comfortably. There weren't need for many words between the two of you. Not now, not ever. Javier always acted, you barely asked - a perfect duo.

The small gesture already stirred some strings in your stomach, the funny feeling in your gut started to act. You didn't meet his eyes yet, just placed your left hand onto his shoulder. He held onto your waist, bringing you much closer to him. His touch shooting a warm feeling directly to your heart, and then you gathered the already owned courage to rose your eyes to meet his.

"You are always so eager Javier?" You couldn't held back the tease, seeing the playful fire in him. Yet - he kept himself, he wasn’t all over you like those fools you sometimes meet in saloons.

“Can you blame me?” He smirked, his hand on your waist holding you gently, softly squeezed you, the feeling in your heart only increasing. “I’ve got a pretty little lady in my arms, no?” he added. His voice was always smooth like silk, even though his English was more than good, but how you loved to hear his Spanish accent.

"I will stumble on your toes" you tried to get away your nervousness with laughter.

“No you won’t, cariño.” He said quietly, the smile playing in the corners of his lips, Javier's hand moved on your lower back. You chuckled once again, holding onto his shoulder and the other hand in his hand. Swaying softly into the rhythm.

“There we go" Javier whispered "you’re doing much better then I expected” He began slowly leading you, guiding the both of you, dancing around.

"So, you thought I would be bad?" You rose your brow, enjoying the tease set in motion. Letting him lead, from time to time looking at your feet not to mess it up. Just quick glances down and then right back up.

“Oh you know I didn’t mean it like that.” He chuckled, his eyes not leaving yours. Never even glanced down to check the movement. “You aren't even falling flat on your pretty self.” Javier said, his hand smooth in yours. Almost like they were always meant to be held like this.

"…my pretty self?" You spoke lowly with a question at his words "I always know that you are not the smoothest at the flirting, but damn that's a line" You gently poked the bear with the stick. Soft smile painted on your lips.

“Ay-” He pouted jokingly, but just shook his head afterwards, leaning a little closer to you, his hand on your waist starting to run up and down your side. You took your hand from his shoulder to take his and get it back in it's rightful place. The challenging look in your eyes.

"We are dancing Mr. Escuella" you reminded him the most obvious thing.

"We are dancing yes, but who said I can’t touch a girl I dance with?" He said back, the present cockiness just made the mood flow even better. Swaying in the rhythm.

"Do you think of me as an easy girl?" you asked him, eyes connected like roots are to the ground - never breaking, never leaving. "because I was never easy, I never am" you added. Even thought it wasn't needed.

“I know.” Javier hummed, his hand tightening on the small of your back. Your bodies were almost touching — the only thing separating the two of you was the thin layer of clothes, and maybe the present eyes of the folk, but that wasn't near your radar, not even his. It was just you in his eyes and vice versa.

"And I wouldn’t have you any other way, querida"

You couldn't help but chuckle. "And that was a smooth line" you hummed. Javier smiled lowly. He continued guiding you, pulling you around, gently spun you, so you both danced in sync with the music.

“There’s few things I take pride in. And one of those things just happens to be my ability to be a smooth talker.”

"Only a pity that you lack in it…sometimes" You told him back, still present soft smile on your lips. "but don't worry, I like you just how you are."

He feigned being hurt, acting as if he took major offense to your words.

“Sometimes?” Javier chuckled, his smirk growing wider. “You’re a little more cruel than I thought.”

You moved your hands around his neck, breaking the hold. Feeling the fabric of his shirt, feeling his skin under your fingertips.

"Just a little" you said under your breath.

Javier wasn't much behind his moves. When you wrapped your arms around his neck, he took the chance to pull you right to him. His hands rested on your hips, holding you firmly against his chest. Body on body.

“That’s not something to be proud of”

Your gaze was now fully on him, looking deep into his brown eyes. "Could have asked different woman to dance." You whispered.

He laughed quietly, his breath warm on your skin.

“You’ve got a point, there miss” He mumbled, his arms wrapping around your waist. “But you see, this cruel woman just so happens to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on..” He whispered those words to you. Like they just didn't set the desire on fire.

"...just like a devil, right?" If Javier want to play those dirty games, why not just enjoy it, so you whispered to him in low tone. Giving him back his cards, to taste them.

There was a mischievous glint in his eye and a hint of a smirk tugging at one corner of his lips, his grasp on your waist tightening. “Yeah, just like a devil..” He mumbled. “A cruel, bewitching devil..”

"Wouldn’t it be a shame to let the devil consume your soul?" You continued with the whisper. “Maybe…” Javier bit his lip as he felt you move your hips to the music, his hands on your waist guiding you to keep in time with him. Following the tempo you both set.

“But I’d rather my soul be taken by a devil as beautiful as you, than an angel who can’t even compare to your beauty.” He muttered to you, his voice sounded even smoother with this words.

"Should've become a poet, not an outlaw" you spoke under your breath. “You think so?” He asked, his eyes watching your lips as you continued to whisper. “You think I’d be good at that? A poet?”

A small smile was forming in the corners of your lips. "If you got someone to tell you what is wort putting down on the paper"

“Maybe you should tell me what’s worthy" He hummed “I’d put all of my thoughts about you onto paper if I could.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest, you would bet that he could feel it too. Since our bodies were so close to each other. You took all the courage you had in yourself, and brought him a bit lower.

"that so..?"

A low chuckle escaped from his mouth. His head was now hovering just above yours, your faces only a few mere inches away from one another.

“Of course it is…” He mumbled, his eyes still glued to your lips. “Every little thought — about just how beautiful you are. How much I admire you. How I’m completely and utterly obsessed with you.” Javier spoke very lowly, giving all the attention he had to you.

"….you always say those things to a lady while having a dance?" You asked with whisper, lips millimeters away, breaths mixing with each other. Music was out of your radar, you couldn't hear it, couldn't see anything. It was just you and him. All the tension build within a years working together. Living together. Those stolen glances you would give him over your shoulder. Looks he send you when he thought no one was watching. Bottled up feelings were right about to spill from the glass bottle.

“No.” He uttered, his hold around your waist getting even tight, he stopped swaying into the music, and you did too. “Not to just any lady.”

He leaned his head down, his lips hovering right above yours. You could feel his breath on your skin, the warm feeling igniting in your heart once again.

“Only to the cruel, bewitching woman who’s completely enraptured me.”

A shiver ran down your spine, a breath escaped your lips. His eyes were switching between your eyes and your lips. God, you were driving him feral. He wanted to kiss you. He needed to kiss you, to feel your lips on his so badly.

But he didn’t.

He needed you two to be alone.

So, he grabbed your hand, not even giving you a second to understand - because you didn't need to. You always saw right behind his every move before, so of course you saw this also. Letting him lead you away from the others, damn like you would care about the others.

He lead you to the edge of the camp, where no prying eyes were. (like that would matter. Like no one saw the sparks between the two of you)

When the closest tree came in your direction, you don't remember who done what. You only know that the second your lips met his, a wave of pleasure shot through him. Your hands found his face, his hair. Your mind was stained by him - and only him. He was everywhere, all your senses were possessed by one thing, and it was him. A low groan escaped him, his arms around your waist pulling you firmly to him, your bodies now fully pressing against each other.

His lips moved hungrily in sync with yours, a hand moving up to your jaw, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. Javier's hands were all over you, a fire inside him igniting from your kiss, your touch, your moans.

Javier let out a huff of breath, his lips moving down from your mouth to your neck, taking your skin between his teeth and leaving small trails of love-bites in his path. “You drive me crazy, hermosa” He mumbled, his hand on your jaw tilting your head back to expose more of you. His mustache brushed against my face — rough, but somehow tender.

You would love to let him explore you, to let him kiss every inch of your skin. But you need him like the air you were breathing. So you pulled his mouth back to yours, kissing hungrily, like a starved woman. Every touch you shared done only one thing, it created a need for another. Like you didn't even know how to walk properly, but was running a race. A primal need of another body.

His lips were kissing you harder, his hands gripping you firmly, just like your hand was gripping onto his clothes. His body pushed yours back a little, pinning you against the tree, pressing his body firmly against you.

"Javier-" you breathed out “Shhh..” he hushed. He had you pressed up against the tree, his body trapping you, his hands roaming over you. He was lost in his desire for you.

You couldn’t hold back the soft chuckle.

"...if Mary-Beth accepted your dance. Would you also call her bewitched woman and kissed her like this?" You asked, even though you knew the answer straight away. You only asked to tease, to provoke.

“Hell no.” He growled. “You’re the only one I call a bewitched woman. And you’re the only one I want to kiss.” he whispered to your lips.

"that's what I wanted to hear" you spoke, your hands roaming all over his neck, going to your shoulders, your chest. A hand tangled itself in your hair, holding you. He then moved back up, his lips returning to yours. He kissed you desperately, wanting to taste you, wanting to feel you. His body pressed you harshly against the bark, his hands roaming over you.

“The only woman I want. The only woman I need..” he mumbled against your lips. His hand then move to the back of your thigh, pulling it up and hooking it around his hip. Your pants rubbed against his. Denim onto denim.

“You make me lose all sanity” he uttered, you cold hear the desperateness in his voice. You couldn't help and laugh at that.

“What’s so funny..?” He mumbled against your skin, his lips travelling to your collarbone. His hand on your thigh gripped you tightly, his hips now grinding into yours, the growing bulge in his pants pressing to your burning core. The other hand went to cup your breast through the fabric of the shirt. You didn't even have a need to hold back the pleasant moan.

"Where is your saint religion Javi?" you hummed to him as you pecked his lips. He let out gruff laugh.

“There’s no god. No saint. Nothing.” He mumbled irritably as he stared down at your with darkened eyes. “There’s just the cruel, beguiling woman who’s bewitched me. Whose made me obsessed with her.”

"Oh, poor you. This cruel woman you seemed to be bewitched. Falling in her grasp, just like she want you" You whispered to him, the erotic atmosphere only taking volumes.

He chuckled breathlessly, his fingers digging into your thigh, holding you up.

“You have no idea how much I’m enchanted by you, querida”

He let out a low moan as he felt your body, his hips grinding into yours, the bulge in his pants becoming harder, his desire for you growing.

"Maybe one day I will be worshiped" you hummed, kissing Javier gently with hold of raw passion. He chuckled again against your lips, his hand gripping and pulling at your thigh, wanting more. Needing more.

“Worship you? Oh I already do…” he said, his nose running along your jawline, pressing kisses into your skin.

“You’ve completely consumed me, you’ve entranced me.. I’d do anything for you darling” he muttered like a desperate man he was now. And you? You only smiled at him, your hands went to his belt.

"…show me how much you crave me Javier Escuella"

He groaned at your words, his hands gripping you tightly, his eyes full of hunger and desire, his breath hot and heavy, his body hungry for you. But he didn't need to starve any longer.

[08melancholie]

favourite micah camp interaction?

I've been looking blankly at this ask for so long because I literally cannot decide which interaction is my favourite. There are so many that I find to either be interesting, humorous or sad about him, so I'll have to pick three.

The first one is the interaction during chapter two, where the gang is dancing during Sean's return party, (I think) and Micah asks Mary-Beth to dance with her. However, she declined his offer and his response is one of my favourite parts of it: "I'm not a monster, Miss." From the way he nervously goes up to her, stammering and barely able to get his words out, to taking the rejection in a way I wouldn't expect him to, this deserves to be on the list.

The second one is, I think, chapter two or three, where Micah talks to Reverend, I'm assuming, since he talks about 'damnation'. This is what he says: "Maybe there is damnation."; "But I think I know what that'll be like."; "And I'm gonna be right at home there." Genuinely, I just think the lines go hard and that its so interesting how he's aware that, if hell is real, he's going there—whereas many others will try to find a way around their wrongdoings to try and convince themselves that they were good, and deserve the other ending.

The third and final one might just be Micah talking about his dad and how he was raised, and these just make me involuntarily sympathise with him a lot. My favourite quote of all: "My daddy always taught me; sympathy is for the weak." It shows immediately that Micah was definitely influenced by family, more than anything. Sadly, I couldn't find the exact clip where he says that.

Finally, a few links for you to watch the interactions if you've never seen them yourself:

This is Micah asking Mary-Beth to dance.

(credits to Point Zero)

This is Micah talking about damnation.

(credits to Point Zero)

This is Micah talking about his family.

(credits to Point Zero)

[purehypnotic]

Loved your John headcanons! Can we get some for Javier??

hope u don’t mind that i picked these up instead of sadie, but enjoy!!

javier escuella x reader headcanons

sfw, gender neutral

ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈

-When blistering summer days simmer down into blue evenings, a familiar feeling of longing catches up to Javier.

-A refreshing cool breeze on a warm night reminds him of his sister’s laughter, and he sees his mother’s face in the crackling of a toasty campfire.

-But he swallows down the longing like a dry pill. Some nights, Javier is still just a boy who misses his mama. but home is on American soil now, and even if he returns to nuevo paraíso, he’s still got blood on his hands that will never wash away.

-he’s so focused on wiping the violence off his childhood memories that he barely notices you plop into the spot next to him.

-he has half a mind to tell you he isn’t in the mood for your usual antics before he catches the look on your face. It’s full of care, with worry curling your eyebrows and filling your eyes with an unspoken “what’s wrong, jav?”

-the urge to lean in closer to you is like a sixth sense. it’s dangerous how easy it is for him to open up to you.

-he tells you that he doesn’t regret leaving Mexico, but he’s choking on the guilt of missing it so much. he hated being helpless to the abuse of the government, and the day Dutch found him was the day something healed.

-and then he reaches for your hand, holds it close to his warm chest, and whispers to you that despite all the reasons he left nuevo paraíso, he misses having someone to speak his mother tongue with.

- and all you can do is lean in closer and say “teach it to me, then.”

-javier grabs hold of the guitar that hardly leaves his side and begins strumming a sweet spanish tune. As he sings the lyrics, you repeat the foreign words with a tenderness that steals javier’s breath away.

-as his tune grows louder, mary-beth drags arthur for a dance in the center of camp, and in all of your beautiful joy, you join and sway as javier plucks the notes to el reloj.

-Javier realizes that his life here, with this family of outlaws and vagabonds, is better than his old life in many ways. Sure, the violence stayed the same. But the company got better, and he’s fed regularly now.

-(he knows he hasn’t faced the one true reason that he’s happy to stay here)

-humming in the center of camp, at the center of it all, is you, you, you.

ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈𖤓ᨒ𓆈

as always

love, katie 💌

[nthspecialll]

The softening of a badass

Tilly Jackson's character profile on her fanwiki describes her personality as being considered sweet and innocent [..] and is well-liked." which I feel like might be a bit misleading to how she actually is and what her mindset is.

I think the best way to describe her is to start with the girl trio we normally see her with. Mary-beth is this very happy, gulliable and positive person while Karen is the exact opposite, being a pesimist and outspoken, Tilly lays perfectly in the middle of those two.

Tilly allows herself to dream, and encourages others to as well, such as telling Mary-Beth to become an author, but she isn't one to plant false hopes and dreams of things she actually doesn't believe can happen. This can be seen in another camp interaction with Mary-beth where they talk about going to the moon, and while Mary-Beth happily talks about wanting to go there Tilly gets more realistic and sarcastically says "you planning on sprouting wings and flying?" to which Mary-beth answers "oh Tilly you are just so sensible," Tilly sighs and answers "that is me, little miss sensible."

A similar thing can be seen with Kieran when he is tied up, she is willing to give him water but when he asks for a pair of dry shoes she asks "sure, some champagne too?"

She can be sweet, sure, such as joking with Mary-beth when Sean proposes to them or asking to borrow a romance book, dancing with Karen but there ain't a scene where I would describe her as innocent. She is aware of the danger she is in just being down south, she handles a shutgun just fine and she stays and saves Jack when the rest of the gang is gone.

There is also the fact that she believed in Dutch almost up until the very end, she looked up to Dutch in chapter 5, asking him for help, she believed Susan was right in shooting Molly and while she admits being scared, she did not run though she had plenty of options. Mary-Beth, Karen and Reverend, she could have gone with them, but she didn't. She held her ground.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Her Knight In Shining Armor - Logan Howlett X Female Reader

Series Title: Her Knight In Shining Armor

Chapter 4: Dreaming Of You

| Last Chapter | Current Chapter | Next Chapter

James 'Logan' Howlett (Knight) X Female (Princess) Reader

Additional Characters: Mary-Ann (OC) and Beth (OC)

WC: 1,332

Warnings: Royal AU, sunshine x grumpy, knight x princess, slow burn, longing, banter, flirting, teasing, suggestive dream (very vague), slight angst, and fluff (let me know if I missed anything)

You could hear a faint voice calling to you, distant at first, then growing louder, “Your Highness...” The voice echoed.

You frowned, the comfort of his presence now fading as the voice called out again, much closer this time, “Your Highness, are you alright?”

Suddenly, your eyes snapped open, your breath catching in your chest as reality came rushing back. You sat up in your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs. You blinked rapidly, your heart still pounding, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of his presence that seemed to cling to your skin. Your cheeks flushed, your hand instinctively reaching up to rub the side of your neck. You glanced up, realizing your two maids in waiting were standing near your bed, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Your Highness, are you unwell?” One of them - Mary-Anne - asked, her tone soft but laced with worry.

You blinked again, still disoriented, and forced a smile, attempting to push the lingering thoughts of the dream away. “I- I'm fine. Just... Just a moment of confusion.” Your voice came out quieter than usual.

The maids exchanged uncertain glances but didn’t push further. “We heard you calling out in your sleep,” The other maid - Beth - added gently. “Is there anything you need?”

You shook your head, looking away as the heat from the dream still burned beneath your skin, images flashed in your mind. “No, nothing. Just... Give me a moment, please.”

You took a few moments to compose yourself, trying to push the remnants of the dream out of your mind as you got ready for the day. Tonight was a special night, one that you couldn’t avoid. Your father was hosting a grand ball, as he often did every once in a while. But to you, these balls were never something to look forward to. The classical music, the laughter that always seemed too forced, the stiff, formal dances - it was all a bit too much. You weren’t the biggest fan of balls.

It wasn’t that you disliked the idea of socializing or celebrating, but the pressure, the expectations of being the perfect princess, all while the room buzzed with well-meaning but oftentimes insincere compliments... It made you feel boxed in. Still, you knew it was important. Your father was proud of these events, proud to show off his family, and tonight, like all the others, you had a role to play.

You sighed, shaking off your reluctance as you finished dressing with the help of Mary-Anne and Beth. Tonight would come with its own set of challenges.

Would James be there? This was going to be the first ball since he was tasked with watching over you. Would he dance with you if you asked? A twinge of uncertainty made its way into your thoughts, and you absentmindedly adjusted the folds of your dress, trying to ignore the nervous energy bubbling in your chest.

As you finished dressing in your morning dress, with the help of Mary-Anne and Beth, you must have had a somewhat distressed look upon your face, since they both gave you a soft smile, their eyes gentle with understanding. They reassured you that you would do great tonight, that you’d handle everything just fine.

You smiled back, though it lacked the usual confidence. It wasn’t that you doubted your ability to play your part, but it was something else, something deeper. You didn't even know what word you were looking for, but whatever it was, it hung heavily in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“It’s not the ball I’m worried about,” You said softly, as Mary-Anne adjusted a strand of hair, glancing up at you through the mirror. Beth, with her usual practicality, raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to elaborate. But you didn’t have an answer. Maybe it was the dream. Maybe it was the quiet flutter of nerves over what tonight could bring, or maybe it was the soft tug at your heart whenever you thought of James. Whatever it was, it gnawed at you, an uneasiness that wouldn’t settle. “I’ll be fine,” You finally said, though the uncertainty in your voice wasn’t fully masked.

Mary-Anne gave you a look as if she knew better than to question your words further. “Of course, Your Highness.”

And as you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that this time, things might be different.

You had to get away after breakfast, to clear your mind, and so you found yourself at the training grounds. You nocked an arrow and drew the string back, releasing it with a sharp twang. The arrow sailed forward, hitting closer to the center of the target than before but still not quite there. A small smile tugged at your lips. Progress.

Over the days and weeks that followed your first initial day of training, you returned to the training grounds again and again. Each time, your aim grew steadier, your release smoother. The ache in your shoulders and arms was a reminder of your efforts, but it didn’t deter you. Instead, it fueled you.

"Your stance is improvin’," He remarked one morning as you shot another arrow, this one hitting just shy of the bullseye.

You glanced at him, surprised by the faint trace of approval in his tone. "Is that your way of saying I’m getting better?" You teased, lowering the bow.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk ghosting across his lips. "You’re not as hopeless as ya were before," He said, though there was no bite in his words.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you turned back to the target. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

It became a pattern. Each time you improved, James had a comment waiting for you.

“Your draw is steady. For once.”

“That wasn’t terrible.”

Though his words were laced with sarcasm, you could hear the underlying pride in his voice. It was subtle, but it was there. And you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you longer than before, how the faintest hints of a smile tugged at his lips whenever you succeeded.

After finishing your studies, the training grounds became your favorite retreat, the only place beyond the castle walls where you were allowed to go. You still longed for the woods. It was still your favorite place. 

As you drew your bow back and released the string, you held your breath, watching as the arrow flew through the air. A gasp escaped your lips when you saw it strike the target - right in the center, a perfect bullseye. Your eyes widened in disbelief before your excitement took over, and you jumped up and down, unable to contain your joy.

“Did you see that!?” You exclaimed, looking over at James with a smile so bright, the sun was dull in comparison, “I did it.”

James nodded, “Not bad.”

Your shoulders dropped, a small pout forming on your lips. “That’s it? I finally hit it, and that’s all I get from you?”

James shrugged casually, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “I said it was good.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Not even a little ‘well done’ or ‘you’re amazing?’”

“Not really my style,” He replied, his smirk still in place.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in mock disbelief as you both began to walk back toward the castle, “I knew it, though. Deep down, past that gruff, tough exterior, you’re really just a big softie, aren’t you?”

James shot you a sideways glance, his expression unreadable, but there was something about the way his gaze softened just a bit. “In your dreams,” He said, a teasing tone in his voice.

You smirked right back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, trust me, you’re definitely in my dreams,” You shot back, your voice dripping with playful confidence.

James huffed, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “You’re impossible.”

~~~

Taglist is Open! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

~~~

Main Masterlist | X-Men Masterlist

[anna-proxx]

𝑾𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑰 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚?

just a silly little something as I wait for my highlights to set in at the hairdresser.

Arthur – Of course I’ll invite my husband. I’d ask him to dance with me and then sing together when he gets drunk.

John – Absolutely. As long as it’s not a pool party, then he’d probably feel a little excluded (unless we give him a float; imagine him floating around on a pink donut).

Dutch – Maybe, but only if he doesn’t talk about business and his plans.

Hosea – Yes, can’t have a birthday party without my favorite dad!

Miss Grimshaw – Yes, she’d probably keep everyone in check, though she should definitely just have the night for herself.

Sean – Can’t have a party without him! Come on, have a seat next to me.

Lenny – Invited for sure, I love him!

Mary-Beth – She’s the sweetest, of course I’ll invite her. And put some candy and flowers to the invitation.

Sadie – Is that even a question? For sure!!

Karen – Of course I’ll invite you, just don’t overdrink and you two keep it down if you sneak out with Sean.

Tilly – She’s invited for sure!

Molly – Yes sweetheart, you’re invited, but girl, we need to talk, that man doesn’t deserve you.

Bill – As long as he behaves, yes! You’re invited. And I’ll make sure nobody insults you.

Uncle – I’ll invite him, he can sing drunken songs with us and I���ll let him sleep if he passes out.

Charles – MY LOVE, of course you’re invited.

Javier – Invited as well, he can play guitar and sing Spanish songs to me. <3 And kiss me if he wants to.

Micah – No.

Strauss – Hmmmm maybe, I’m still mad about the debts though.

Swanson – Yes, just keep your “bible” at home please.

Kieran – Yes he’s invited and I’ll make sure to include him, not like in the camp where he’s constantly on the side. :(

Pearson – Sure, he can tell us about the navy, I’ll let him.

Abigail – Yes queen, you’re invited, I love you!

Jack – Of course he’s invited! I’d make sure to bring lots of candy just for him.

Trelawny – Yes, he can make cool tricks and keep the party going.

Cain – Can’t forget this honorable member of the gang, he can stay and at least he can be safe away from Micah. >:(

[defjux]

Here are 81 of my favorite albums of 2024 If you noticed the lack of hip hop albums on here, that's because i already posted a separate list for hip hop which you can find here if you're interested. Chart with album titles included I probably listened to the Chelsea Wolfe album more than anything else here but the cure album was such a pleasant surprise for me that I had to put it as number 1. I thought it was a great year for music overall though. I'm really happy with the first few rows on here and those are for sure the albums i'd recommend the most, even though i think everything on here is worth checking out. If you believe there's something i might've missed or your favorite albums of the year aren't on here, let me know! Feel free to leave your own list in the comments, i'd be interested in seeing it. As always, i'll make it so the album titles are a hyperlink that'll take to wherever you can hear it. Peace. 1. The Cure - Songs Of A Lost World 2. Chelsea Wolfe - She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She 3. Iglooghost - Tidal Memory Exo 4. chat pile - Cool World 5. Frail Body - Artificial Bouquet 6. Whirr - Raw Blue 7. OKSE - OKSE 8. Blood Incantation - Absolute Elsewhere 9. Trauma Ray - Chameleon 10. Gouge Away - Deep Sage 11. drive your plow over the bones of the dead - Tragedy As Catharsis 12. Thou - Umbilical 13 . Moor Mother - The Great Bailout 14. Terry Green - PROVISIONAL LIVING 15. Krallice - Inorganic Rites 16. Nala Sinephro - Endlessness 17. Punchlove - Channels 18. Beth Gibbons - Lives Outgrown 19. Tenue - Arcos, bóvedas, pórticos 20. Crumb - AMAMA 21. Hammok - Look How Long Lasting Everything Is Moving Forward For Once 22. Infant Island - Obsidian Wreath 23. Meaningful Stone - Angel interview 24. Kamasi Washington - Fearless Movement 25. Arooj Aftab - Night Reign 26. Ulcerate - Cutting The Throat Of God 27. Camila Bañados - Viento 1. 28. Nilufer Yanya - My Method Actor 29. Oranssi Pazuzu - Muuntautuja 30. Mary Halvorson - Cloudward

31. Nails - Every Bridge Burning 32. Godspeed You! Black Emperor - NO TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28,340 DEAD 33. showmore - Liquid City 34. Blushing - Sugarcoat 35. Magdalena Bay - Imaginal Disk 36. Lip Critic - Hex Dealer 37. Joel Ross - nublues 38. State Faults - Children Of The Moon 39. geordie greep - The New Sound 40. Candy - It's Inside You 41. SATOKO SHIBATA - Your Favorite Things 42. Julia Holter - Something in the Room She Moves 43. Gigan - Anomalous Abstractigate Infinitessimus 44. Knoll - As Spoken 45. Jaubi - A Sound Heart 46. Cindy Lee - Diamond Jubilee 47. Blind Girls - An Exit Exists 48. Julie - my anti-aircraft friend 49. Milton Nascimento & Esperanza Spalding - Milton + esperanza 50. Hiatus Kaiyote - Love Heart Cheat Code 51. Isleptonthemoon - Only the Stars Know of My Misfortune 52. Liana Flores - Flower of the soul 53. SML - Small Medium Large 54. Maruja - The Vault 55. Spirit of the Beehive - YOU'LL HAVE TO LOSE SOMETHING 56. Fievel Is Glauque - Rong Weicknes 57. Leaving Time - Angel in the Sand 58. Rita Payés - De camino al camino 59. TURQUOISEDEATH - Kaleidoscope 60. Babii - Daredeviil2000 61. Jessica Pratt - Here In The Pitch 62. HERIOT - Devoured by the Mouth of Hell 63. Dim - planted in the soil 64. Contention - Artillery From Heaven 65. Convulsing - Perdurance 66. The Body & Dis Fig - Orchards of a Futile Heaven 67. Uboa - Impossible Light 68. Melt-Banana - 3+5 69. DIIV - Frog in Boiling Water 70. Amiensus - Reclamation: Part 1 71. Ginger Root - Shinbangumi 72. Hannah Frances - Keeper of the Shepherd 73. Ravyn Lenae - Bird's Eye 74. Garden Home - Garden Home 75. Aara - Eiger 76. graywave - Dancing in the Dust 77. Martha Skye Murphy - Um 78. Mo Dotti - opaque 79. Luna Li - When a Thought Grows Wings 80. Pluma - Não Leve a Mal 81. Twine - New Old Horse

[2demondogs]

While Summer Dances | Molly/Mary-Beth

Tags: canon divergence (Molly left w the others), post-canon, pre-relationship confusion and pining <3, character study where Molly is depressed and learns how poverty works (like, for real this time), referenced VanDerMatthews Words: 2k A/N: A snippet of life. Struggling to have the drive for anything rn honestly. So kinda just working on what is striking me.

When she first came to America, Molly never thought she would find herself living in a tenement.

In fact, she turned her nose up at them any time she rode through town with Dutch. He never cared for that, either. She does not care for him anymore, but she understands why, even if he only ever saw in the poor a self-aggrandizing glory. He was the giving hand of God.

If it came to her, she'd spit in its palm.

She's grown past her own biases. Made headway in doing so, at least. Having tasted poverty, it's as difficult to stomach when it is shoved down her throat and takes root in her very own belly. How could anyone live that way? She had wondered, but came to find it was not exactly a choice.

Now that she's been forced to mend her own things, since Mary-Beth hasn't got much time, though she considers mending her things to be far less of a chore for some reason; to cook her own food, though Mary-Beth prefers to do it because she's not worth much in a kitchen, or to find a neighbor willing to spare half a meal between the two of them; to help make their money— all of which Molly had never expected to do until she found herself a husband.

Even then, what an unthinkable thing it was to have a husband who could not afford servants. Blasphemous, a husband who would make his own wife work beyond keeping what little of the house was left for her to keep so that she did not grow cabin-fevered in whatever lavish, wealthy prison such a wife might find herself in.

No, being poor should never do for an O'Shea. It certainly would be an embarrassment to her family the way she lives now, and at times Molly is thankful that they likely believe she is dead. Returning wasn't an option for the shame of failure, anyways, although it eats at her despite the fact a handful of people know the truth of where Miss O'Shea has ended up. It keeps her awake at night despite her inability to explain, when Mary-Beth asks her, what she sought in this country and apparently did not find. Love had came to her by instinct, but that was so girlish.

Always a smart kind of girl — spoken admiringly, though Molly once insulted her with it — she says maybe her failure was a lack of purpose. She thinks about that, too, when she cannot sleep.

Still, she finds herself day-dreaming of arguing her — their — case to her parents and governess. She doesn't know what needs those thoughts fulfill, but she supposes that thoughts don't really have to fulfill anything. Maybe they remind her that despite it all, she is strangely satisfied when the strain eases and she is sitting at the small breakfast table with Mary-Beth, learning to play card games and being teased about strip poker until she cries for her to stop talking nonsense. It's an old joke, but it makes the woman laugh when Molly acts a little prudish. Or maybe the thoughts just sit there, same as she does, and rot away into different ones once they've driven her sufficiently mad.

Mary-Beth says that it's normal to feel that way sometimes: a little mad. Molly doesn't understand much of what is normal, apparently.

This discrepancy between them alone is slowly chipping at the façade of superiority she finds herself clinging to. The ugliness rears its head when Molly sees something horrible. For instance, that mother in the next apartment who they cook for now and then. She hasn't got a husband to feed her baby, and can barely scrape rent together even though she sews the prettiest dresses Molly has seen in years.

The family name tells her: she is below you. Whatever, much kinder, thing that's growing in her believes only that the man who left those two babes deserves to be six feet below, and perhaps a little further down— straight into Hell. Molly knows what being left feels like, and that woman's relatability only ends because she doesn't believe she's got a talent of her own that'd even be worth wealth.

Oh, how angry being poor has made her. She's always been angry, but she's only just learned of it. Molly can't remember a day she was not angry, or mad.

The strangest part of it all is that Mary-Beth doesn't seem to mind either one as long as it's not about her. Really, she hadn't even cared when it was about her. She's probably got something very smart to say about those months after Dutch began following her tail, too, but it's been only a year on their own and Molly is less than ready to hear her wisdom. She has barely been ready to hear any of her other good opinions.

They always sting a little, which she guesses is part of what makes them true.

What strikes Molly most is that they haven't done anything to deserve this. They both work very hard. She makes nine dollars a week keeping the books at a general store; in the evenings, she does them for the landlord and is paid with discounted rent; Mary-Beth writes for the paper, though the readers only know her as Johnathan Price. And that lovely woman next door, and the families they all know by name, and the cats on the street— what have they done to be sneered at for living here?

When she is most desperate to find a reason, she even thinks of Dutch and his gang, and discards the morality she finds missing from them all by reminding herself that blood seeps through soil and colors the soles of bystanders just the same. Where did their hard work get them? That stupid old island he wanted to go to, like some child wishing to jump to the moon? She doubts it.

Molly'd been angry, yes. This dwindling sense of entitlement inside her is screaming with nowhere to run to. A familiar self-loathing is starting to take its place instead.

They are as lucky as they can be, at the end of the day. The wood may be rotting in places and it may smell a little when she forgets to perfume the air, but it is four walls — four blessed walls, and a floor, and a solid ceiling — and usually food, and so many kind folks who have been through worse and therefore do not judge. There's been no word from Karen since they left, so she can only imagine she is dead or in prison. Tilly was quite lucky to find Pierre, although she didn't explicitly say that Molly was also invited to the wedding when she wrote to tell them about it. You should come, but it was only addressed to Mary-Beth, as her letters always were.

Molly wondered, then, if it's because of how she was or if it's because of what this looks like: two women living together, sharing one bed, one working a man's job and the other, a tomboy's. Her family is argued with, inside her head, about those things, too, though she always comes up short with a way to describe how things actually are. Enough words come to her to write, when she can, but those poems are to never be read again. They are only for her journal, and Molly might die if anyone, herself included, ever laid eyes on them.

Never has she been good at holding her tongue, despite that. Mary-Beth had only blushed and told her not to ask things like if Tilly disliked inverts. Molly believed, at first, that she had disgusted her with the implication they could even be a pair of them. Then she said Dutch and Hosea raised Tilly to know better than that, which Molly once again rolled around in her head for evenings, wondering what exactly she had meant by it.

For once, she did not ask. Really, she already knew.

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster. Molly doesn't remember who said that, because she consumed far too many books in a cluster when Mary-Beth first learned she was literate but not well-read. This one and that one, and some Shakespeare, and this one's not very good but I think you'll enjoy it, it's romantic.

She never questioned where she procured all those novels, but she's certain they were stolen. Regardless, she read them and continues to read them, every now and then, because Mary-Beth is nice to her. Acting interested is the least she can do.

It felt a little more sensible to read for pleasure when she was shown just how fun romances can be. Such a concept was foreign to her in childhood, and Dutch's books were drivel. Even if romances make her a little sad, a little envious at times.

Mary-Beth won't hand over her own drafts still. Molly has tried when the woman was asleep, but apparently the empty space in the bed or the sound of the wrong papers shuffling is an instant remedy for her fatigue. She doesn't shoot up, but her voice is always sharp calling the diversion of: "What's wrong?"

Always what's wrong, never why can't you sleep. Molly wonders if these haunting dreams are also normal, and simply no one ever told her. Not a word of them has been spoken to Mary-Beth, yet she seems to understand why she wakes up so often to smoke.

Another bad dream wakes her this morning, and she feels like the green-eyed monster for it. Vague, shifting, the way dreams always are, but she remembers the terrible feeling of emptiness she felt and when she rubs the sleep from her eyes, they are damp with dried tears. Familiar faces, distorted by separation and left only to the black holes of hatred she assumed laid beneath them when she did know those women; all lacing corsets without her, all watching, all laughing at the girlchild — because for some reason she is young again in all of these dreams — who does not fit.

Molly doesn't tell her about these dreams because they feel silly, even though they ache. They ache a lot as she sits up in the bed, the dream settling into her back and spreading soreness over the shoulder blades.

She's never fit, that much is true. She doesn't even fit in her own skin, it feels, or else it wouldn't hurt like this.

Mary-Beth isn't beside her, but she can hear her in the kitchen making breakfast. It is Tuesday; they both work today.

Like usual, she looks at her spot and considers why they allow themselves to sleep this way. Studying the narrow mattress and the wrinkles in the fitted sheet, she finds there's no reason not to. It's comfortable. There is no room or money for another bed. She'd feel very bad if she kicked her to the sofa, and she would refuse to sleep on it herself. When Molly stretches across the bed to slide one of Mary-Beth's cigarettes out of the package, the pillow smells like her perfume.

Lately, it's become a little less usual to doubt this, but those dreams always make her feel so unsure.

How funny that life goes on without one's blessing. Molly thought she would die without him. Maybe it's the feeling that she will die without her that keeps her going, but it's funny how life changes, too.

Changes, and leaves her behind. Molly dresses herself and thinks how much easier it would be to have someone do her corset for her. Sometimes they do just that for one another, but usually she is unlacing Mary-Beth's when she is stiff from sitting all day or is tired because she's had to go around town for an article. Molly's job is tiring, too, but she doesn't seem to feel it the same way she does.

Women do up corsets with so much more prowess than men. Dutch had always had to let it back out some, hadn't seemed to remember she needed to breathe to keep sitting pretty for him. Mary-Beth's got practice with it. The few times she's laced Molly's, it's been the most comfortable it's ever felt; like a second skin, and not a layer of clothing.

Molly allows herself one moment to acknowledge that she takes that same sense of— something from the fact she undoes her corset, sometimes. After that moment, it's back to the shallows of her thoughts that it goes.

[mischiefxbrew]

yarrow and fern!

𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 : what inner wounds does your muse hide? do they hide it behind humour or confidence? do they hide it at all? Sean must have learned quite young that grief is only dangerous if you let it sit. Grief, when it's left to linger too long, grows legs, teeth, and whispers all sorts of doubts in your ear when it's late at night. Sean learned to grin and bear it, to spit it out before it chewed him up on the inside...but not without a little song and dance to see it out. That's what everyone thinks of when Sean's the topic. The noise he makes, the missing-tooth grin, his nonsense. There are wounds he has that are scabbed over but he sometimes picks raw, like his dad, Darragh's death. His time at the reformatory school where it is certain (historical context) that at these establishments, children were often abused and neglected. Those sorts of wounds he wears like a war medal and polishes them up all nice. Sean always talks about his dad, much to everyone else's chagrin. But what Sean doesn't say, what he won't say, I think, is what happened after. This stuck with me because there's a little camp interaction after Sean's return (and his party) where Dutch tells him to smile. That always stuck with me, and I look for it every time I play because Sean is a deeply haunted young man and it's clear there. It's clear, too, when Sean tells Dutch in a different camp interaction that "it just ain't what it used to be". (So everyone who says Sean would have sided with Dutch and Micah can kiss my ass!) I think being captured by Ike Skelding's boys is probably what really began to grind Sean flat. There's dialogue between him and Arthur about how he suffered. Beatings, they pulled his teeth, poured scalding hot water over his feet (which is also why I believe he walks around bare foot...I don't know if any of the other men do, the ladies do & Jack). I don't think he talks about the pain. Not really. He probably jokes about all of it, too worried that if he doesn't someone will look too close and then they'll see that he never really did come back from it. He takes on his role then, he's the comedic relief. He's loyal and loud and still causing mischief. Laughing so no one has to worry. He makes the jokes so no one notices he hasn't slept. He keeps talking for the same reasons. To play the fool so well that no one would ever think to ask him what it cost. 𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐧 : are there any details from your muse's childhood that sticks with them - good or bad? I could go on about how sad Sean actually is, imo but I will bring up a good memory. There's a companion mission with Sean and Mary-Beth and Arthur tells Sean he could beat anyone in the camp (in a fight) and Arthur sounds genuine about it (whether it held up is yet to be debated). I think Sean's one hell of a scrapper! It is my headcanon that Darragh was actually a really great dad, taught Sean a lot of things. I think a memory that Sean sort of keeps in his back pocket like a lucky coin or something is his dad teaching him how to fight. Sean's all heart, even in a brawl. It might be why he likes fighting so much, it makes him think of his dad. Makes him remember that there was a time in his life that was bright, where he didn't feel like a burden or another mouth to feed. He was somebody's son, someone's baby, and he was worth teaching, protecting, and loving.

[thinkingofausername]

Arthur: "Whatchu want, Micah?"

Micah: "I want a friend. I want hope. I want tomorrow to mean more than today. I want this whole shitshow to have some kinda meaning I haven't understood."

Micah: "O-on this beautiful day, will you dance with me, Miss Mary-Beth?"

Mary-Beth: "No, I will not. You're... I have two left feet."

Micah: "I'm not a monster, Miss."

Mary-Beth: "Of course you're not. You're not that interesting."

Micah: *heavy breathing* "Very funny."

I know that any support towards Micah will get me hate, but as time goes on I'm more and more sure his character was severely misinterpreted.

He's largely viewed as a thoroughly irredeemable, heartless, undebatable villain. I always have to pount out that I'm not excusing or forgetting his racism and sexism and whatnot but I truly believe that there's more to him than people are willing to believe.

Both his father and grandfather were shitty men. He was weaned on violence, crime and cruelty. His brother got away and (presumably) healed but he evidently couldn't.

I'm convinced his offers of robbing, his comments and remarks were some twisted way of his to interact with people the only way he knew how.

People love to say he manipulated Dutch and hid his true nature but I believe there's a possibility he genuinely had something better deep down and Dutch saw it and gave him a chance.

I'm convinced his whole "Life is meaningless, I believe in nothing" thing was either a facade or his way of convincing himself in something he didn't really believe in.

He's never seen sleeping or eating in camp and he's always spectating from the side, indicating he might have issues with vulnerability.

He said his father "never suffered fools" which could mean countless different things.

All in all, I don't want this mistaken for the whole "White girl defends disgusting man" thing people like accusing of, I just think that Micah might be a more complex character than he's seen as.

[janiemcpants]

2024 Reading Roundup, Part 2

The rest of the books behind the cut!

Four stars, continued: The House on Abigail Lane by Kealan Patrick Burke (2020) The God of the Woods by Liz Moore (2024) The Dark Between the Trees by Fiona Barnett (2022) An Art Lover’s Guide to Paris and Murder by Dianne Freeman (2024) Helpmeet by Naben Ruthnum (2022) Margaret the First by Danielle Dutton (2016) Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights edited by Patrick Weekes (2020) [reread] Someone You Can Build a Nest In by John Wiswell (2024) Murder Under the Mistletoe by Erica Ruth Neubauer (2023) The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder by David Grann (2023)

Three stars: Mistress of the Art of Death by Ariana Franklin (2007) She Came Back by Patricia Wentworth (1945) In the Balance by Patricia Wentworth (1941) The Chinese Shawl by Patricia Wentworth (1943) Miss Silver Deals with Death by Patricia Wentworth (1943) The Clock Strikes Twelve by Patricia Wentworth (1944) The Key by Patricia Wentworth (1944) Dark Threat by Patricia Wentworth (1946) Latter End by Patricia Wentworth (1947) Wicked Uncle by Patricia Wentworth (1947) The Case of William Smith by Patricia Wentworth (1948) Miss Silver Comes to Stay by Patricia Wentworth (1949) Through the Wall by Patricia Wentworth (1950) The Ivory Dagger by Patricia Wentworth (1950) The Watersplash by Patricia Wentworth (1951) Vanishing Point by Patricia Wentworth (1953) The Benevent Treasure by Patricia Wentworth (1951) The Alington Inheritance by Patricia Wentworth (1958) The Girl in the Cellar by Patricia Wentworth (1961) Blood from a Stone by Dolores Gordon-Smith (2013) After the Exhibition by Dolores Gordon-Smith (2014) The Chessman by Dolores Gordon-Smith (2015) Heirs of the Body by Carola Dunn (2013) Footsteps in the Dark by Georgette Heyer (1932) Why Shoot a Butler? by Georgette Heyer (1933) The Unfinished Clue by Georgette Heyer (1934) Death in the Stocks by Georgette Heyer (1935) Behold, Here’s Poison by Georgette Heyer (1936) They Found Him Dead by Georgette Heyer (1937) The Ghost Slayers: Thrilling Tales of Occult Detection edited by Mike Ashley (2022) Her Princess at Midnight by Erica Ridley (2023) The Mistress of Bhatia House by Sujata Massey (2023) Guardian of the Horizon by Elizabeth Peters (2004) [reread] The Camelot Caper by Elizabeth Peters (1969) [reread] A River in the Sky by Elizabeth Peters (2010) Silhouette in Scarlet by Elizabeth Peters (1983) [reread] A Brazen Curiosity by Lynn Messina (2018) A Scandalous Deception by Lynn Messina (2018) A Nefarious Engagement by Lynn Messina (2019) A Treacherous Performance by Lynn Messina (2019) A Sinister Establishment by Lynn Messina (2020) Where the Dead Wait by Ally Wilkes (2023) Gorgeous Gruesome Faces by Linda Cheng (2023) Midwestern Strange: Hunting Monsters, Martians, and the Weird in Flyover Country by B.J. Hollars (2019) Death on the Sapphire by R.J. Koreto (2016) The Soldier’s Scoundrel by Cat Sebastian (2016) Promethean Horrors: Classic Tales of Mad Science edited by Xavier Aldana Reyes (2019) The Palace Tiger by Barbara Cleverly (2004) A Touch of Jen by Beth Morgan (2021) Go Hunt Me by Kelly deVos (2022) Pursued by the Rake by Mary Lancaster (2020) Abandoned to the Prodigal by Mary Lancaster (2020) Married to the Rogue by Mary Lancaster (2020) Unmasked by Her Lover by Mary Lancaster (2021) The Autumn Bride by Anne Gracie (2012) Beast in View by Margaret Millar (1955) A Gentleman in Search of a Wife by Grace Burrowes (2024) The Conjure-Man Dies by Rudolph Fisher (1932) The Titian Committee by Iain Pears (1991) Still Life by Louise Penny (2005) The Keep by F. Paul Wilson (1981) The Dancing Plague: The Strange, True Story of an Extraordinary Illness by John Waller (2008) The Night Wire: And Other Tales of Weird Media edited by Aaron Worth (2022) Grim Root by Bonnie Jo Stufflebeam (2024) The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix (2020) Ten Lords for the Holidays by Jennifer Ashley et al. (2023) The Crime at Black Dudley by Margery Allingham (1929) The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley (2024) The Midnight Feast by Lucy Foley (2024)

Two stars: Star Flight by Phyllis A. Whitney (1993) Murder on Mistletoe Lane by Clara McKenna (2023) A Ghastly Spectacle by Lynn Messina (2021) The Devil’s Playground by Craig Russell (2023) The Cocktail Waitress by James M. Cain (2012) The Scoundrel's Daughter by Anne Gracie (2021) The Hazelbourne Ladies Motorcycle and Flying Club by Helen Simonson (2024) The Falcon at the Portal by Elizabeth Peters (1999) [reread] The Star and the Strange Moon by Constance Sayers (2023) Eternity Ring by Patricia Wentworth (1948) Mr. Brading’s Collection by Patricia Wentworth (1950) Anna, Where Are You? by Patricia Wentworth (1951) Ladies’ Bane by Patricia Wentworth (1952) Out of the Past by Patricia Wentworth (1953) Poison in the Pen by Patricia Wentworth (1955) The Fingerprint by Patricia Wentworth (1956) The Cruellest Month by Louise Penny (2007) Lady Gone Wicked by Elizabeth Bright (2018) A Murder in Hollywood: The Untold Story of Tinseltown's Most Shocking Crime by Casey Sherman (2024) The Marigold by Andrew F. Sullivan (2023) Horror Movie by Paul Tremblay (2024) Slimed!: An Oral History of Nickelodeon's Golden Age by Mathew Klickstein (2013)

One star: A Lady Awakened by Cecilia Grant (2011) A Boldly Daring Scheme by Lynn Messina (2020) Dangerous in Diamonds by Madeline Hunter (2011) A Promise of Spring by Mary Balogh (1990) Dark Angel by Mary Balogh (1994) Married by Morning by Lisa Kleypas (2010) Listen for the Lie by Amy Tintera (2024) The Spring Bride by Anne Gracie (2015) The Summer Bride by Anne Gracie (2016) The Catherine Wheel by Patricia Wentworth (1949) The Silent Pool by Patricia Wentworth (1956) The Five Red Herrings by Dorothy L. Sayers (1930)

[alligator-tearzz]

Why Didn't You Stop Me? Chapter 2

Masterlist

AO3 Link

Playlist

Chapter Two

The snow crunched beneath Rosa's boots as she patrolled the perimeter, rolling block rifle gripped tightly and eyes blinking away the sting of the cold every so often. Her breath came out in clouds and she caught Charles’ eye from beyond the treeline. He nodded once.

When she first spotted Charles out here she had decided to help him out with guard duty, but as the minutes felt like hours and her fingers started going numb, she started regretting her decision.

The disturbance of the snow and snapping of twigs behind Rosa alerted her to someone else’s presence. Whipping around, she was met with the shivering, but comforting figure of Lenny. 

“I got it from here, Rosa, go inside and warm up.” He reached out for the rifle, which she wasted no time in passing to him.

“Thank you, Lenny.” Rosa nodded, patting him on his shoulder once and moving past him, eager to get back into the cabin. She could barely call it warm, but it was definitely a lot less cold than it was outside. Her footprints in the snow eventually ran parallel to Charles’ footprints, who caught up with her after putting his rifle away. 

“Y’ okay?” His gruff voice cut into the loudness of the wind. Rosa nodded at him.

“For now, yeah. Let’s get into the cabin first.” He responded with a grunt of agreement and they both quickly shuffled into the cabin she initially couldn’t wait to get out of. 

The air was still thick with anxiety. Abigail anxiously fiddled with the frayed edges of her threadbare blanket near the back of the cabin and Rosa hoped to whatever higher being that existed that Arthur and Javier didn’t come back alone. Mary-Beth had taken to reading one of her many books, sitting on one of the rickety wooden chairs while Tilly sat beside her with her own borrowed book. Karen sat cross legged on the floor near the fire, nursing a flask as she stared into the flames. Rosa silently questioned whether that was safe for her to do, but ultimately opted to ignore it for the time being. Miss Grimshaw was thankfully nowhere to be seen for the time being.

Groaning as she sat down on the timeworn couch in front of the fire, Rosa patted the spot beside her and Charles was quick to take it. They both watched the flames of the fire dance around, snapping and cracking on the more dramatic moves. His presence was grounding to her, and she felt the tension in the air dissipate with each snap and crackle of the flame. Sparing a quick glance at Charles, she noticed he had closed his eyes, but hadn’t let himself relax enough to lean back into the couch.

“Charles.”

“Mmh,” he grunted, his eyes slowly opening and finding their way to Rosa's, “what’s wrong?”

She quickly glanced at Abigail and her anxious antics at the back of the cabin.

“D’ya think John’ll be alright?” He let out a quiet beaten sigh.

“For her sake,” he looked pointedly at Abigail, who paid him no mind, “he better be.”

Rosa huffed, which Charles took as his sign to keep talking. “He’s been through worse, though. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 

Unsatisfied with his answer, Rosa nodded slowly as her leg began to bounce worriedly. His large hand grasped her knee, gentle but firm, halting the movement altogether.

“He will be fine.” He reaffirmed, holding Rosa's gaze with his dark eyes. He seemed to take a bit of worry off her chest with that, and she nodded once more before electing to stare into the flames of the fireplace again.

The gang had seen far too many lives lost recently, and Rosa didn’t know if she could handle seeing the effects of yet another loss on everyone. Jenny, Mac, Davey, hell, no one even knew if Sean was alive or not. She knew the gang needed just a little bit of hope in these trying times.

~ 

Rosa was tired of the tension and worry that was hanging in the air in the cabin. She had been hanging around the improvised butcher’s shack that Pearson had decided to break in and call his own for the past hour, after Charles decided to head into the men’s cabin to rest his hand. Pearson sat with a dispirited look and a flask in one hand, much like Karen, but at least he wasn’t talking. Rosa had decided she was tired, once again, of Abigail’s fretting, and tried to find at least one place of solace that didn’t involve standing around outside in the blistering cold. 

Slouching on her chair, she allowed herself the luxury of resting her eyes. She could still hear everything around her. The wind making the bare branches of the deciduous trees whip and crack, the slight whistle of Pearson’s blocked nose, the creaking of the shack around her. 

In little time she also heard the thunder of hooves. Furrowing her brows, Rosa opened her eyes and straightened up in the chair. Her body was in alert mode, listening out to ensure these hooves weren’t intruders. Not a moment passed before she heard two familiar voices yelling out for assistance.

Arthur and Javier were back.

She watched the exchange from the shack. Abigail and the rest of the girls rushed out to help John off Boaz.

“Ay, careful, idiotas, it’s his leg!” Javier exclaimed, reaching out his arms toward John as if to magically steady his body from afar as they pulled him off. Rosa watched as he had a brief exchange with Arthur and Hosea, then tipped his bowler hat and walked off, toward the very shack she was standing in. 

She quickly turned away, ambling over to the chair she had just stood up from in an attempt to make it seem like she wasn’t watching everything that just happened. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but she felt a pinch in her chest and heat rising to her cheeks at the thought of Javier catching her watching him from afar. It’s not like it would’ve been abnormal to watch the exchange, everyone was worried about John, with the exception of Arthur, and she knew people were anxiously waiting around for the boys to get back.

Javier cleared his throat as he stepped into the shack, then nodded and greeted Pearson, who seemed to be perking up a bit more after noticing John’s arrival.

“Pearson.”

“Welcome back, Javier. Good to see Marston’s back in one piece.”

“Got a few nasty scars from wolves, though” Javier droned, before looking over at Rosa, only just realising her presence, “Rosa.”

She nodded once.

“Javier.” 

He smiled a bit, then walked toward her, pulling up a chair beside her and plopping himself down, heavily exhaling after what could only be assumed was an especially taxing outing.

“We got any drinks around here, Pearson?” He questioned, eyes roaming around the shack. She spared herself a quick glance at him, then to Pearson, who responded with a negative, then offered an alternative of navy rum. At the same time, both Rosa and Javier grimaced and shook their heads. He glanced at her and chuckled a bit, leaning against the back of the chair.

“You tried it?” He asked, still looking at her with one side of his mouth quirked up in a lighthearted smirk. Rosa mirrored his expression as she responded.

“Unfortunately. The weather got the best of me and I felt like I needed to be warmed up fast. God, what a lesson that was for me.” She remarked bitterly, looking at the ground and shaking her head at her past decision. He chuckled at her response, then sighed, viewing the raging snow outside the shack.

“Seems like desperate times for us right now. I hope we’re out of here soon, my body’s not built for this cold.” He stated with a grimace. Rosa hummed her agreement and watched the snow fall outside as well, appreciating the company she had and feeling slightly giddy. For the first time in a while, it seemed that Javier was actually content with her company.

She opted not to keep the conversation going, in hopes that she wouldn’t say anything wrong and ruin the moment.

Rosa felt like she was vying for his approval. In a way it made her feel a bit ashamed of herself, like she was abandoning herself for the approval of someone who didn’t really care for her. She was smart, she had always been able to hold her own in a fight and she was heavily depended on by Dutch when certain plans needed people with level heads and steady aim. Rosa was important to the gang, and she was never one to care if she butted heads with people. She had her fair share of spats with Bill, who, after over a year, still thought she should be staying at camp with the rest of the women, washing laundry and mending bullet holes in the men’s clothes. She couldn’t stand Micah and didn’t care if Micah returned her sentiment, so why was it that she was so caught up on whether or not Javier actually liked her as a fellow gang member?

He pulled out a cigarette from beside her, struck a match on his boot to light it, then tilted the packet toward her, his dark eyes searching hers for an answer to a silent question. Rosa pulled a cigarette out, held it between her lips then leaned in toward him. The ends of their cigarettes touched, and she held hers there until she was sure it had been lit. It was oddly intimate, and it had her feeling a bit embarrassed. She pulled back, quickly looking away. Inhaling then puffing out a cloud of smoke, she started bouncing her leg to get her newfound nerves out. Javier gave Rosa an amused look, but didn’t say anything.

Eventually, after Rosa's cigarette had burned to the butt and Javier took his leave, they both bid each other goodbye, and Rosa headed into the cabin that she shared with the girls.

[nthspecialll]

dont get me wrong, I dont endorse micahs actions at all, but it really feels like once a character genuinely has bad qualities, they shut down even trying to explore further. so do you think you could talk a bit more about Micahs complexities? or maybe some links to your posts I must have missed? :}

I actually haven't talked that much about it, I am planning to, I have an Amos Bell post in my head that I need to write down, but

This one is about Micah asking Mary-beth to dance with him which to me feels like him geuiently seeking out friendship and companionship, it isn't lustful like with Abigail or Susan, it isn't mocking like with Arthur, it is him actually being human and seeking out a friend.

Other than that, Micah is human, he is a person and just like anyone else he is going to long for friendship, people, trust, companionship, and he tries to find that wherever he can. he tried to reach out to his brother, but was shut down so he tries in camp and is also shut down.

He talks shit about not being scared of anything, yet he is too scared to sleep inside the camp or anywhere where he can be seen or found. He has a dream of a small, tight crew, but he gets scared and creates a big one instead.

He longs for the family he had but lost, his life was pretty much ruined from the start due to whom he was raised by.

[renee-writer]

The Heart Don't Lie Chapter 64

AO3

“No! No, no no!” her screams of pain echo through the A&E. She clings to the seat under her in the small chapel, otherwise known as ‘ the bad news room ‘, “She can’t be dead!” A few doors down in another room, a different doctor is given the same news to Beth’s parents. Speeding towards the hospital are the rest of the family.

 

“I am so sorry, Miss Fraser. She lost way to much blood. We tried replacing it but…”

 

Her eyes hollowed out in her grief, turn feral, “She did this! The bitch did it and she will pay!, “ her hands, still stained with her love’s blood, clinch into fist, “oh how she will pay!”

 

“I believe they arrested the…”

 

“My mother!” The young doctor’s eyes get wide. He had no idea the butcher was this lass’ mam.

 

“Miss Fraser, we have grief counselors available.”

 

“Thank you. Thank you for all you did. I need a few moments alone.”

 

“Of course.” He leaves her to plot her revenge.

 

“She is gone! My darling!” Mary falls boneless into Claire’s  arms. Kate wraps her arms around her too while Willa lets out a low moan. Her sister!

 

“Daddy.” He wraps an arm around her. Aye, he must find Rose. Claire meets his eyes and nods.

 

He nods to Simon, who is holding a weeping Pat. The other man nods back. Jenny and her family are right behind them and will offer attentional shoulders to cry on.

 

He and Willa go in search of Rose.

 

She still sits in the chapel, wearing her blood stained wedding dress. At seeing her daddy and sister, she collapses further. “Oh daddy, Willa, she is gone!” They have her in their arms.

 

He murmurs the same nonsense Gaelic words he used to use to sooth her as a baby. They sit on the floor of the chapel, a knot of pure grief and agony.

 

“I want her dead,” she announces, “Anna that thing that took my love away. Dead!”

 

“I know.” Her sister was thunderstruck at finding out who did it. The police told them after arresting her.

 

“It was the strangest thing. It was like she was waiting on us. Confessed immediately.” The officer told them.

 

“She was going after Mama Claire. She told me with a smile!” Her voice rises with the last word, “ A bleeding smile!”

 

Jamie shudders. They told them she has said that but not about the smile. She is well and truly obscenely evil.

 

“Jesus wept.” Her stunned sister utters.

 

“She took my love my future and then smiled. Who does that!”

 

“An evil person,” Jamie has a duty, “she is locked away.”

 

“Not good enough. As long as she draws breath and Beth doesn’t …” She falls into weeping once more. The hold her.

 

“That…” followed by a string of curses that is seldom heard even in the A&E. Auntie Jenny is told about Beth’s death.

 

Ian, Column, and Dougal look at each other. They know they will need to stay close to her, even with Anna locked away.

 

“I didn’t  think of the windows,” Column bemoans, “They were on the second floor.” He blames himself. A promise to protect his great-niece ended with this. Her fiancé dead. Pat and Mary losing their only child.

 

“It is a grand thing she is already in jail.” Dougal growls. His wife and Column’s remain at Lallybroch seeing to the children. There is none to sooth his anger. Claire would try but…

 

“I need to find Rose and help her out of her gown.”

 

It brings a sharper perspective to the horror. The lass is still in her wedding gown.

 

She moves towards the chapel.  Jamie stands at seeing her.

 

“Sassanach.” She takes his hand and squeezes it. Willa and Rose remain on the floor.

 

“Rose, my love?” She looks up, her face pale and wan.

 

“Mama Claire, she’s gone.”

 

“I know darling. I am so sorry.”

 

“I don’t know what to do.”

 

“One step at a time. We will help you through it. Starting with changing your clothes.”

 

She looks down at herself almost surprised at what she wears. “I forgot. We were supposed to be married, sharing a first dance right now.”

 

“I know baby,” She and Willa get her up, “Come with me.” She leads her out to the hospital showers were she has fresh clothes for her.

 

She helps her out of her blood soaked gown, takes her hair down from the high knot, helps her into the hot shower. As she weeps, her Mama Claire washes her hair and body, rinses her and dries her, gets her dressed , brushes her hair out, braiding it back. The gown is placed in a biohazard bag until they decide what to do with it.

 

Step one complete.

[gwidien]

@gaskills asked: ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  sentence starters (accepting)

The end of the year winds down, and he hadn't intended to meet her here.

Mary-Beth, several years older since he last saw her at Beaver Hollow, now an up-and-coming author, Leslie Dupont. She must have been invited here. Her newfound name may have gotten her foot through the door. Or perhaps she snuck her way in. Either way, in the heart of the city and inside a glinting, bustling venue, everyone dressed to the nines, they've reunited. 

She finds her way back to him with flutes of champagne, pale gold and sparkling. Trelawny thanks her, taking it by the stem. "This will hit the spot," he says, a punch to it. For a moment, he takes her in. "Let - me - look at you."

He hadn't had the time to before. Not really. There'd been too much in the way of it. The music and the how are yous. The surprise of seeing each other again. Light eyes and a red dress, the same but different.

"Aren't you the belle of the ball." He said it with gusto. Because she is. Because he flatters. He saunters on. "Making a name for yourself. From modest abodes," he recounts, lifting his hand, "...to silver spoons." He gestures back down to her. Then, he brightens. "You wear it well."

Beneath strung-up rosy ribbons and shimmering chandeliers, the lights throw themselves into Mary-Beth's eyes. They dance in them like little lighthouses. Like merry-go-rounds. And when she smiles, the clusters of her freckles bunch together, and Trelawny is aware of the fondness he has for this moment. One reserved for unexpected reunions. From the long years apart.

Partygoers buzz, jam-packed together, ready for the countdown.

He raises his glass to hers, as puckish as ever. "To happier trails, Miss Gaskill."