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heli-writes · 2 months

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A dragon's heart

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: Heavy violence in the last part, throat cutting and gutting of human people, mentions of rape (no visual description!), swearing

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2

Series Masterlist

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People don't dare to speak about them out loud. Afraid that it would manifest them. They would only speak about them only in whispers behind closed doors. Fathers would tell their sons that it's better to flee than to fight. Don't play the hero. You can't win a fight against them, no one can. Mothers tell their daughters about the horrors they commit. You'd rather be dead than be captured by them. The women they don't kill after they're done, don't last more than a week. Y/n heard all the stories growing up. Some are more horrifying than others. Y/n has never lived in one place for too long. Her people have always been wanderers, offering their services and wares to the villages they pass through. So, she's come to hear a great deal of stories in her lifetime.

In the past two years, life has been unfortunate for y/n. The wandering folk have always been victims of bandits waiting on the side of the road. They've found ways to defend themselves but bandit activity has risen in the past years due to the barbarians attacking and raiding places all over the kingdom. Like sharks smelling blood, other low-life criminals start to crawl out of their holes, sensing an opportunity to gain some coin and women for themselves. Y/n's group has been attacked quite a few times over the last two years, decimating their numbers bit by bit. Having lost people, coins and wares, the last winter was harsh. Those, who didn't starve to death, died due to the harsh cold or infection that followed soon after. After that winter, there weren't many left of them and the survivors started to question if their way of life was still liveable in the current condition. Eventually, the group dismembered. Not all at once, but one by one. People found other work or opportunities in the villages they passed through. A better prospect of life. Even y/n's elder brother, her only surviving family member, left this spring and enrolled in the military service of the king. He tried to convince her to come with her and settle down in the capital. But y/n can't imagine such a life. Being used to living in the open, in tents and wagons, she developed a distaste for sleeping in houses made of stone. It gives her nightmares. The thought that the house might crumble and its stones burying her alive, scares her to death.

Eventually, y/n ends up alone. Only her, her tent, and a wagon her parents left behind. She tried keeping up the life of a wanderer until her donkey died of old age and she had no coin to buy a new one. Having no opportunity to continue to pull her wagon, she was forced to settle closeby to a small settlement. Here's the thing. Villagers are usually nice to the wandering folk. They're happy to trade with them and the change of pace and stories they bring with them. However, they are not keen on having them in their life permanently. It's nice to have them around for a couple of days, but it's also good when they move on. Then there are the prejudices. Often people put y/n's kind into the same box as other people without a permanent residence like bandits, homeless people, or moving brothels. So, people weren't too happy when y/n put up her tent close to the village entrance.

You see, most people don't treat y/n unkindly as long as she keeps her distance and has the proper coin when she needs to buy something. They even trust her enough to buy her wares but they're not very inclusive. So y/n does not really find any friends or social connections and she is aware of the demeaning glances and sneers people give her when they think she's not looking. She's trying to save up coins for a new donkey and hopes to find her brother. Maybe convincing him to leave the military. Or at least to find a more inviting place than where she is now.

Today's the celebration of the long day. It's the longest day of the year and the people celebrate the daylight for blessing their fields and fruits. There's a festival in the village with dances, beverages and lots of music. It gives y/n some consolation that the village people are celebrating this day. It's a big festival for her people with different traditions and rituals that are held all day and night. This year y/n tried to do as many of them on her own, but it's just not the same without your family around. So, she's glad she can go into the village and take part in the buzzing celebration. Though 'take part' is probably a bit too much. She probably will buy a cup of fruit wine and watch the hustle and bustle of the villagers. It's not like anybody would want to dance with her. After all, she has no real prospect of marriage around here. Nobody would let their son court and marry a woman like her. Not that y/n is interested in any of the young men she's seen in the village. She finds most of them quite close-minded and not very driven.

Y/n wears a flower crown she's woven today and one of her mother's dresses. It actually might be the one she got married in. She wanders the town square and watches old men toast with full jugs of beer and young couples sneaking around, waiting for the music to start. She gets herself a cup of wine and a sugary piece of cake and settles on the ground next to the bakery stand. Cross-legged, she bites into her cake and takes notice of some middle-aged women looking in her direction and whispering behind raised hands. Y/n shrugs it off as the music starts to play and people start to dance. She watches the commotion and whips her feet to the music. She really would love to dance. At midnight, the villagers dim the lanterns and lit a fire in the middle of the square. Curiously, y/n blends into the mass that gathers around the fire. She bumps into a man her age. She apologizes and gives the man a small smile. The man looks at her in bewilderment and his friend gives her a mean look, pulling the man away from her. Slowly, silence befalls the square and the old storyteller of the village makes his way to the middle of the square, next to the fire. Y/n buzzes with excitement. She loves stories. Before starting his story, the man lets his gaze wander through the people and takes a deep breath.

Far away from here, behind the mountain range we call bear fangs, lays the territory of the dragonblood tribe. These beasts of men managed to tame the greatest monsters known to mankind: the dragons. Over 12 feet high, spewing raging fire, these creatures are nothing more than steel-hard scales and razor-sharp teeth. While normal people, like us, would fear for their lives encountering these monsters, the dragonblood tribe has lived together with them for centuries in what they call harmony. There's no doubt you have to be a special kind of person to survive an encounter with such a monster, let alone live with them. Tall, strong, cunning and unafraid of death. All characteristics the men of the tribe possess. Some say they even mixed their blood with their dragons and gained impenetrable skin and superhuman strength.

A strength that they still use today to bring terror and fear into our lands. However, a few winters ago, a horrible sickness befell the women of the dragonblood tribe. Most of them didn't survive the season. Having lost their women, the dragonblood men lust for female flesh. Flesh that they seek nowadays in our lands.

We've all heard stories. From an aunt or uncle living in other parts of the kingdom, from passing merchants or the wandering folk about them. They do not care for day or night, they attack whenever they feel like it. There's no plan or logic to their attack, just chaos and violence. They burn houses, skin men alive, put children on spikes and do unspeakable, terrible things to our women. We should fear every single one of them but... there's one we should fear the most. Their leader: Bakugou Katsuki. He's the cruelest, strongest, and meanest of them all. He managed to tame the biggest and most dangerous dragon of all kinds: A hellfire dragon. With scales red as blood and fire as hot as a hundred forges, no one can escape this beast. And no one can escape its master either. With an insatiable hunger for coin, gold and women, their leader and his men continue to invade this country and raid its villages and towns. Greedily acquiring riches and kidnapping and taking our women whenever they please. You never know when they strike, but when you see a sliver of burning red in the sky... Take your little siblings, put your old mother on your back and leave farm and home behind, and run as fast as you can. If you're lucky, and cunning yourself, you might just be able to escape the terror of the dragonblood tribe and live another day to tell the story.

As the storyteller finishes his story, the market square lies in eery silence. Nobody dares to even move. Only when the musicians start playing again and the lanterns are lit again, the tension eases and the gathering around the fire dissolves. Y/n gets up from the place she was seated in and rubs her arms. There are goosebumps all over her body. What a creepy story to tell during such delightful festivities, she thinks. She grabs her cup to return it to the vendor. In passing, she hears someone say: "Why on earth would he speak of this? Doesn't he know it's a bad omen to speak it out loud?". She returns her cup and lets her gaze wander over the square once more. Some couples picked up dancing again but it's obvious that the atmosphere has shifted. Y/n notices the man she bumped into earlier watching her from across the square. She gives him a nod and then turns around to leave.

Y/n set up camp not too far away from the village, but far away enough to have some peace and quiet. The wandering folk often set up camp in a forest or closeby a river, living off the land around them. So, y/n has a short walk by foot back to her tent. The moon stays high in the sky, illuminating her surroundings enough for her to comfortably find her way home. Deep in her own thoughts, y/n doesn't notice the dark shadows following her. She's been walking for a while when she finally hears the snickering of male voices behind her. She looks over her shoulder and sees three male silhouettes following her. "Hey, y/n, wait a second!", she hears one of them yell. The voice is familiar. One of the villagers. She stops for a second, a stupid mistake on her part. One of the men jog up to her, the others following closely. "I'm sorry, can I help you with anything?", y/n says calmly. "Actually, there's something huge you could help me with.", the man she bumped into earlier grins. Y/n pretends not to catch on the allusion. "If you need help with something, it's best to work on it tomorrow. Also, we probably should talk to your father first since he handles business in your family.", she states. She hopes the mention of his father will intimidate the guy. "Oh, I think it's best to work on it tonight.", the man answers and his friends snicker behind him. "Sorry, I'm tired. Let's talk about it tomorrow.", y/n tries to advert him once again. "It won't be any work for you at all. You'd just have to lay down. Or stand up, depending on how you like it.", the man says and leans close. "I'd like to go home. Alone.", she tells him and turns to leave. "C'mon don't be like that!", one of his friends grins behind him, as the other one grabs her arm. "You're drunk. You should all go home, too. It's best to sleep it off.", she tells them and pulls on her arm. "Why are you like that? You don't think we're worth your time?", the third one coos. Y/n pulls on her arm again. "I'm sure you're all great and we can talk about everything tomorrow. Right now, however, I'd prefer to go home alone.", she tries again. "Not even for some coin? I heard your kind does everything for a little bit of gold.", the man holding her arms sneers. Not for any gold in the world, y/n would like to say. She knows better than to offend them. It's already a dangerous situation she's in. No need to escalate it further. "C'mon, babe. At least let me feel you up a bit.", the guy says and tries to pull her closer. Y/n decides that she has had enough of this. She balls her fist and swings it right into the man's face. Not expecting the blow, he lets go of her arm and stumbles back. Y/n doesn't waste a second and makes a run for it. Immediately, she leaves the well-known path and darts into the woods. She hopes that the trees give her enough cover to keep out of their sight. She runs in a zigzag, changing her direction multiple times. She hears the man behind her, trying to keep up with her. Unfortunately for her, they are bigger and faster than her and it's hard to shake them off. Eventually, y/n loses them. She climbs up a tree and stays unmoving for a long time. She doesn't hear them anywhere close by and her heart slows down a bit. It's not the first time she had to run away from men with bad intentions. She knows it's not a smart idea to return to her tent immediately. So, she stays up on the tree for most of the night. Her eyes fall close a couple of times but after she almost loses balance one time, she stays awake for the remaining night listening closely into the woods.

Only when the sun starts to rise again and wafts of mist waver over the cold forest ground, y/n climbs down from her spot. Her joints are stiff and she's chilled to the bone. Cautiously, she starts her way back to her tent. Of course, she did not watch where she was going last night and it takes her multiple hours to find her way back. When she arrives at her campsite, chills run down her back. Apparently, these men were not only relentless but also petty. Her entire campsite is destroyed. They absolutely trashed the place and set fire to her tent and wagon. Y/n takes in the sight. She tries to stay calm but her blood is boiling. It's not like she cared much about the possessions. The wandering folk always packed lightly and only what they could carry. It's the disrespect for her. Also, the little things that she did own were necessities. It's still early in the morning, so y/n decides to salvage what she can and take her leave. She knows men like this. When they don't get what they want, they don't rest until they absolutely destroy everything.

Unfortunately for y/n, the devil works fast and these men work faster. She just started piling up things that were still usable when she hears clamoring just a mile away. "Let's go! She must be back by now! No way she leaves her witchcraft stuff behind!", she hears a man yell. Y/n debates for a few seconds whether or not to stand her ground but decides it's better to avoid confrontation. She quickly grabs a small bag and retreats to the forest. However, she doesn't make it far. Only a few meters into the woods, an arrow flies by her head. "There she is! I saw her just beyond the tree line!", she hears a yell behind her. Immediately, y/n breaks into a sprint. She tries to lose them by zigzagging again but the broad daylight makes it easier for them to spot her. Being used to walking all day, y/n has quite the stamina and hopes to tire them out. However, she didn't sleep all night and the men seemed to have prepared for a longer hunt. 'Hunt' is the appropriate term here. They keep shooting arrows at her and seem to track her trails.

The forest no longer looks familiar to y/n as she keeps pushing on. Her heart feels as if it's about to explode. In a bad way. She's sure the men on her tail can hear her heavy breathing from a mile away. She's also sure that they start to catch up to her. She can hear them closer and closer behind her. They are whooping and whistling as if they are making fun of her. So sure that they can catch up to her. Suddenly, an arrow flies close to her face again, cutting her ear. She can feel blood dripping down the side of her face. "Come out, come out, wherever you are! You can't hide forever, you little bitch!", she hears one of them call out behind her. She gathers all her strength and pushes her legs to run even faster than before. Panic sets in and she hears an arrow hit the ground behind her. Trying to look back in order to estimate how far they are behind her, she stumbles over the roots of a tree and falls to the ground. "Over there!", a voice yells closely behind her. She gets up as quickly as she can and a piercing pain jolts through her. She must've torn or broken something in her joint as she fell. She limbs on trying to use the trees for cover. Another arrow hits the bark of the tree right next to her. She pushes herself off the tree, trying to bring more distance between herself and the men hunting her. Suddenly she loses her footing and finds herself sliding down a slope. Thorny bushes cut her legs, arms and face. The impact leaves a ringing tone in her ears. Her entire body hurts now. For a moment, she's tempted to just lay there and accept her fate. But when she hears the howling men above her, she fights to get back onto her feet again. Her bones feel heavy as she staggers on. She can hear some of the men sliding down the slope as well. Suddenly, she smells smoke in the air. Somebody must be close by!, she thinks. This thought cost her a valuable second and suddenly a pointed force to her right shoulder knocks her down again. Next, she feels a soaring pain from the very same place. When she turns her head to her side, in terror she realizes that an arrow is stuck in her shoulder. She can barely lift her arm now. On her hands and knees, she frantically looks for smoke in the air. Y/n fixes her eyes on the dark clouds of smoke rising into the air just a yard or so from her. It's my only chance, y/n decides. These people might be able to help. They can't be worse than the men that are hunting her. Little did she know, it was quite the opposite. Having found new hope, y/n gets back onto her feet. She starts sprinting again. Ignoring the pain in her foot joint, she pushes her body to the limit. Avoiding arrows out of sheer luck, she manages to avoid getting killed. Finally, she stumbles onto the clearing where the smoke was coming from.

Her eyes fall onto the fireplace first, then at the man sitting next to it. The man only wears dark pants and a pair of boots. He's got blonde spiky hair that stands up in different directions. Necklaces of teeth hand from his neck. All things y/n doesn't register in her panic. That and the giant, red dragon sleeping at the other side of the clearing. The man gets up immediately and grabs a sword that laid across his lap just seconds ago. He looks at y/n angrily, ready to yell or behead her or both. However, he does not get a chance to speak. Y/n's body gives out and she falls onto her knees. "I'm begging you!", she yells out, tears streaming down her face. "Please help me! If you have just an inch of good in you, please find the mercy to help me! They are going to kill me!", she continues to yell. The man looks at her in bewilderment. Nearby, the village men yell in her direction. In horror, she pushes herself up once more and stumbles in the direction of the strange man in front of her. She falls straight into his chest, clinging onto his arm. For a moment, the man looks as if he wants to push her back to the ground again but he doesn't get a chance to do so. One of the men hunting y/n stumbles onto the clearing with a knife in his hand. "There you are, you little slut!", he yells. In fear, y/n clings to the man in front of her. Suddenly, the stranger grabs her right arm. Pain shots from the arrow wound into her fingertips. She looks up and sees the stranger look at the wound with narrowed eyes. Another villager reaches the clearing. This one carries a bow and arrow. The stranger quickly makes the connection between the arrow stuck in y/n's shoulder and the arrow in the man's hand.

The stranger yells something non-understandable and pushes y/n to the side who falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The impact sends more pain through y/n body. "Who the fuck are you? That one belongs to us, find your own toy to play with!" the knife man says and raises his weapon. The stranger exclaims something loud and angry. Again y/n can't understand him. He must speak a different language than her. Suddenly a rumble pierces the air. Y/n's head whips around and the dragon rises to his feet. Y/n's mouth hangs open in disbelief. The man with the arrow yelps in surprise and lets go of his arrow sending it flying in an arbitrary direction. The stranger in front of her doesn't waste a second and uses the distraction to cut the knife guy's throat in a swift movement. In horror, y/n watches as blood gushes out of the horizontal wound and the man chokes on his own body fluids. The man with the bow stumbles backward onto his butt. His eyes are still fixated on the dragon to his right. The stranger harshly steps onto the man's foot. The disgusting sound of breaking bones rings through the air. The man yells in pain and throws his head back. The stranger grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head forward. Angrily, he yells at the villager and when the man only groans in pain, the stranger sticks his sword into his side. The villager lets out a bone-chilling scream. When the villager continues to not answer him, the stranger starts twisting his sword in the wound. The villager throws up on himself and his eyes roll into the back of his head. Y/n can't advert her eyes. She doesn't really comprehend what's happening in front of her. When more yelling is heard at the edge of the clearing, the stranger pulls his sword diagonally through the man's abdomen, creating a wound that makes squishy red things fall out of the man's body. Y/n feels like throwing up. The stranger drops the twitching man and makes its way to the edge of the clearing. What happens next is not registered by y/n who can't help but stare at the gutted man in front of her who keeps twitching until the light has left his eyes. She doesn't hear the screams of terror and death from the other side of the clearing. She doesn't even see the giant beast watching her every move.

Only when the stranger returns with blood dripping down his sword and chest, y/n's consciousness finds its way back into her body. The stranger looks as angry as he has since she entered his clearing. He sounds angry too. He's saying something to her. Looking at it backward, y/n is sure that she wouldn't have been able to understand him even if he spoke her language at this very moment. Only when he stomps closer to her with a raised sword, y/n springs to action and pushes herself backward with one leg, still sitting on the ground. This is it, she thinks, I'm going to die. The man grabs her uninjured shoulder and shakes her. She stares up at him with wide eyes. Suddenly, her vision starts spinning and her hearing starts to fade. Before she understands what is happening, her world fades to black.

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[Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters]

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shhh-secret-time · 1 month

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Yeah so this is in fact going to be a two part fic! This request came from AO3 and we were able to hash out more on this fic! I pitched the idea of making it a cowboy AU and they seemed to really like that idea! So here we are! Please enjoy and look forward to part 2!

Warning: Strong-Language, Gun Violence, Blood (Minor), Writer doesn't know how guns work!

Pairing: Gunslinger!Kyle x Fem!Reader

Colorado was an untamed lawless wasteland, at least that's what most people out East would tell you. Between talks of untapped land and the rumors of gold mines out that way, people were scrambling to find out there. But not all men had fortune and discovery in their hearts. Some had things to hide, pasts they intend to bury deep in the desert sands.

You were one of those people. As an heir to your family's printing press, it was only natural that from the time you were born a target would be painted on your back. Distant family members, friends of the family, hell even the butler once thought if they got their hands on you, they could use you as leverage. Kidnapping, attempted murder, blackmail, and threats all before the age of sixteen. You'd seen and heard it all. And every time it got harder and harder to want to stick around.

Now here you were twenty something and unwed. Parents long buried having left you everything as they always said they would. You were alone with all the money one person could ever need, and it was so incredibly lonely.

After a while you just kind of became desensitized to the attempt at your life. But no one really gets used to being so alone. How were you supposed to make a connection with people, when all that ever came up was the talk of marriage or your money.

Truly you were grateful for your parents, and you did love them! After all they were good to you, they protected and loved you. That protection morphed and twisted into an overbearing relationship. Up until now you weren't allowed to go out on your own, they decided who you interacted with. Your tutor you had known for years had to go through a background check by the Pinkertons every few months just to remain employed.

So, again, when they passed it was like being thrown out into the ocean and told to swim. If the business was to stay afloat you would have to learn to be sociable and professional. Learn to swim in the shark infested waters of a male dominated field.

Or you could sell the company to the highest bidder and bounce. Which is what you decided to do. Auction out your family’s printing company and try to retire in the lap of luxury. Maybe start your own book using all that tutoring your parents got you.

But it could never be that easy, could it? Once word got out about your plans to sell it all, certain people started plotting against you. It all came ahead one night when you were getting ready for bed. You blew out the candles that kept your bedroom lit, closed your windows, and locked your doors. Double checked them a few times before finally deciding to lay your head down for the night.

A lot of good that did. As soon as you close your eyes, a gloved hand cups your mouth. Another pair goes for your arms and legs, you feel the coarse hemp rope across your skin. Another night, another attempt at your life.

Your attackers must've not heard that the heir to the printing press was no damsel in distress. Quick as they came, your hands shot under the pillow next to you, the side of your bed that lay bare. Except for the .38 derringer that you slept with; two shots loaded in the chamber. Two intruders and still two shots were all you needed.

Click. Bang.

You stand there watching the sheriff and his posse drag the intruders off in their wagon, a blanket thrown over your shoulders by said sheriff. He sits next to you with his badge gleaning off the dull light from the city’s lampposts, a cigar tucked in between his teeth.

"You know this is the third attempted break in this month." He says puffing on the brown tobacco.

"I know." You mumble, bringing the blanket closer to your form.

"And the third time my men had to take in men with bullets in their chests. You're lucky you're a fine shot or I'd have to take you in for murder." He doesn't look at you, but you can hear the danger in his voice. See the way he inspects the cigar, holding it between his fingers.

"Sheriff?" You look up at him with furrowed brows.

A chill runs down your spine when he finally meets your eyes. The smirk that slowly creeps up his lips says it all.

"Now that's not to say I don't believe you. From what I've heard you got quite the record when it comes to things like this." He gestures vaguely with the tip of the cigar before continuing, "just find it kinda odd it keeps happening to you."

"You think I ask for this?" You ask back with a little more frustration in your voice than you should. Could you really be blamed for it though? The sheriff who was supposed to protect you, keep you safe from things like this, was sitting here blaming for the actions of stupid men.

"I don't think you do anything to prevent it. Just strange that a lady in her prime lives alone and isn't going about means of protection besides what...a gun under her pillow?" He blows out smoke that illuminates under the same light that touches his badge, the heavy white smoke lifts from his lips towards the night sky.

You honestly couldn't believe what you were hearing. That shiver that went down your spine spread throughout your body, making your blood run cold. Men breaking into your home you could handle, but a person with actual power? This was a battle you couldn't fight, not alone anyway.

"I'm sorry sheriff." You bite your tongue until you taste blood. "You're right. I should do something about this."

That was the best advice that asshole could have given you. To find someone in your corner. To find someone who can smuggle you out of the state and across the country. Finding someone who you could trust to not immediately shoot you in the back or run off with your money.

After searching around and pushing the word out there as subtly as you could, you finally catch wind of someone who fits the bill. You'd have to push a few dollar bills into the right hands, greasy palms, and all that, but you eventually get a name.

Kyle Broflovski.

That name carried weight, made your tongue feel heavy when you said it. The kind of reputation that he had wasn't one to take lightly. Over thirty bounties turned in alive and done by hand. While the number of bounties he brought in may not have been the largest out there, it was the fact he took down only the worst of the worst. The number on the bounty poster meant nothing to him, it was all about what the target had done. He was exactly what you were looking for, a man who could see past the money.

Now it all came down to arranging a meeting with him. Even a shut in like yourself knew the best place to find what you were looking for was the local saloon. The only thing left to do was dress down and try to convince the famous gunslinger that you desperately needed his help.

The smell of cigarettes and cheap booze was the first to greet you and you hadn't even opened the door yet. You could see boot prints made in the sawdust scattering across the floor. The cheery show tunes being played behind the door almost drowned out the sound of laughter. Before you could push open the door, a man came flying out being thrown by another gentleman. He hits the stairs and slumps down next to your foot. The poor man hit his head pretty hard, enough for it to put him to sleep.

With a little gulp you ignore the shaky feeling in your legs and push the dark wooden doors open. Maybe the thick brown cloak thrown over your form wasn't doing the best job at helping you blend it, but on the other hand most of the people here seemed to be enthralled by the women playing upstage to even care that you walked in. The girls dressed in flashy clothing were dolled up in the brightest makeup you've ever seen. They were gorgeous and the performance they put on brought life to this place, it was no wonder why people could lose themselves.

Your eyes scan the room as you scurry away from the door. People coming in and out, pushing past you like you weren't even there. The entire situation made your anxiety spike, being in such an unfamiliar place.

Somehow your legs carry you over to the bar. Taking a seat at the scuffed wooden counter, you note just how many empty shot glasses are covering the surface. Empty plates that looked like they were dipped in grease. Stained glasses that had thick amber liquid, the kind that burned your throat just looking at it. You tried not to look at the bar too much when you caught sight of faded red stains.

You take a deep breath and steady yourself before trying to flag down the bartender’s attention. A woman with tan skin and dark red hair. The bags under her eyes are so dark you don't think she understands the concept of sleep. Two cross tattoos just under her amber looking eyes lead your own down to her outfit. The light blue vest she's wearing makes her skin pop, somehow her nail polish isn't chipped or scratched in anyway. You watch as she takes a bottle of liquor by slotting it between her index finger and her middle finger.

She must have sensed your eyes on her because she side eyes you for a moment. The woman flips the bottle over and pours a clear liquid into a small shot glass. Once the drink is poured, she slides it down the bar and it lands in the hand of another patron. It takes her but a second to put the bottle down, wipe her hands off, and then approach you with a cigarette dangling from her lips.

"You're new here, aren't you?" She asks like she already knows the answer to that question.

"I... I am. I was just...looking for a drink." Not a complete lie, at this point a drink would help calm your nerves.

"Is that so?" Her brow shoots up. The bartender takes the cigarette from her lips and blows out a thin wisp of smoke. She crosses her arm under her chest and gestures for you to continue.

You look up towards the various brown and orange glass bottles behind her. Brands and names you've never heard of before lined the shelf. It isn't until you get to the higher up shelves that you find something you recognize. A bourbon, darker than most. Something your father used to have from time to time.

You lift your finger and gesture to the bottle. She follows it and lets out a little hum.

"The bourbon? Hm. Color me shocked. Alright."

"Two shots...please."

She stops and looks back at you with the bottle in her hand. A small smirk plays on her lips. "See that's how I know you're not from around here. Most people don't say please. Much less recognize a good brand. Most of these assholes just drink rotgut like it's the end of the world."

"I am a bit out of my element." You run your fingers over the wood, brushing your fingertips over the carvings. Wondering what the story was behind each little chip and groove.

Like before she takes two shot glasses between her fingers and places them down on the bar. The bottle is uncorked with a satisfying thoonk. You watch as the liquid catches the bright lights of the bar, making the amber shimmer with the candlelight.

"No kidding. What brings you here?" Once she's finished pouring your drinks she puts the bottle back under the counter. Her hands make themselves busy by collecting the dirty glasses, putting them off to the side.

"I'm looking for someone. Someone said I could find him here."

Like something straight out of one of your penny and dime novels, she begins cleaning the inside of the glass with a rag. When she doesn't say anything, it makes you shift nervously in your seat, but she eventually nods expecting you to continue.

"He's a gunslinger. Tall from what I've heard. Bright red hair?" You do your best to describe a man you've never met. You make a gesture with your hands by your head of his rumored fluffy red hair.

Before you could continue the woman stops cleaning the crystal-clear glass. She puts it down with a loud thud making the men next to you jump and look away. You hadn't even noticed your conversation was garnering attention. She lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah, you really aren't from around here. Let me give you a little advice. The man you're describing has a bit of a reputation around here. Only comes around when he's intending to collect."

You blink up at her.

"Bounties sweetheart." She snuffs out the cigarette with a little chuckle. You must have looked like a newborn dear the way you looked at her. Blushing a bit at the thought, you try to push it down. Suddenly the little glass of alcohol in front of you looks far more interesting.

"But my contact said he'd he here."

"Your contact isn't wrong." She pauses for a moment. "Man at your six- don't look." She hisses as you go to turn your head.

"Sorry." You squeak out, snapping your head back towards her.

"Man at your six is wanted in four different states. Highway robbing, harassment, nasty attitude...a perfect blend of asshole."

"Oh..."

"Men like that bring the gunslinger. Now I don't know what you want with someone like him, and I don't want to know. But if you want his attention, when he gets here you had better work fast." She looks down at you as she rubs her neck.

"Wh... why?"

"Because he'll drag that idiot out to the streets and probably duel him. Win. Tie him up and take him into the sheriff's office. Collect his bounty and move on."

"You talk like you know him." It was time for that liquid courage. You knock back the drink and grimace at the taste. It burns and claws its way down your throat.

The bartender lets out a little laugh at your reaction, or maybe it's your question. "I've been around for a while."

"She's also full of shit. She talks like I'm a gun lovin' nut." The low whispering voice next to you makes you turn in your seat.

He's a bit shorter than described but still pretty tall. His hair is exactly as you imagined it to be, curls sticking out from under his usual green cowboy hat. The way his emerald, green eyes peer down at you makes you shrink in your seat. They widen a bit as you squirm away, so he decides to move his head up towards the bartender who's got a smirk on her face.

"You gonna tell me I'm wrong?" she asks, tilting her head to the side.

"No, no just that you make me sound much more dangerous than I am. Just a simple man tryin' to earn enough to eat." He says with a chuckle.

And when he smiles at her, lips curled up so softly. Every part of this man looks so gentle. Even the green tattered sarape around his body looks warm and inviting. It was hard to believe someone so soft looking had a reputation. On the other hand, it made it easier to approach him, maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

The drink you bought for him would probably help too. You recall all the times your father would pour his business partners a drink before pitching a new idea. So, you take the shot glass and scoot it towards him. He blinks down at it before letting out a little chuckle.

"You've got this backwards ma'am. S'pose to be the other way 'round. Man's supposed to buy a pretty woman a drink." Despite it all he takes the shot, and in his hands, it looks too small. He holds it up to you and downs it without blinking. The corners of his lips twitch and his hooked nose wrinkles a bit, looks like he wasn't expecting the stronger stuff.

His compliment makes your cheeks burn; you twist the material of your cloak in your hands. "Well...nothing says a lady can't buy a gentleman a drink, does it?"

"I reckon not. Just ain't used to it s'all." He puts the glass down with a gentle tap. "But you're sittin' in this here bar all by your lonesome askin' for me. So... here I am. Somethin' I can help ya with?"

How much of your conversation with the bartender had he heard? Enough to make you nervous that other people were listening in. Your hands lowered to the derringer strapped to your thigh, under the long skirt no one knew it was there. You palmed the handle and took a deep breath. There was no real plan to use it, but it brought you a little comfort. Just a reminder that it was there.

"Yes I-"

You're cut off by the sound of screams. From a few of the waitresses and working ladies to be exact. You look over your shoulder, it's coming from your six. Where the bartender told you not to look.

A burly man stands up and when he does, he looms over most of the men in this establishment. Slicked back short black hair tucked inside a crumpled up old bowler. For all the grime and dirt on the man the one thing you could give was that his handlebar mustache looked nice. The rest of him, not so much.

His voice bellows out, bringing an end to upbeat show tunes. "Broflovski! Yous here fer my head ain't ya!"

The man grins like he's proud of the fact that he's garnered such attention. The way he carries himself almost has you fooled if it wasn't for the bead of sweat trailing down the side of his face.

"Not at the moment, no. I was in the middle of havin' a conversation. Rather rude to interrupt a lady Knucklehead." You don't know if Kyle is calling the man a knucklehead or that's just some stupid bandit name.

Either way he sneers and with a flick of his wrist he tosses the gamblers table to the side. Chips and cards go flying up in the air, the poor dealer scrambles to get out of the way.

"I don't care if you was havin' breakfast with the fuckin' Queen of England! You shoulda know better than ta come in 'ere without a lil' backup. See I ain't one fer duelin' so we're gonna have ta do this the ol' fashion way. With yous layin' face down in the dirt bleedin' out ta death!" He whistles and a few more men sitting at other tables stand up.

Couldn't have been more than five or six, every single one of them equipped with some kind of weapon. Rusty nails pushed into wooden boards. Chains being spun around so fast it creates a little breeze. The sounds of their spurs jangling as they start to step closer.

Kyle puts his hands up defensively, the laid-back smile he had on his face falls when they get closer. "Now come on, can't we talk this out. Like I said, I ain't finished my conversation. It'd do you well to learn some manners. Call your men off."

He's not asking. The way he narrows that dark greens at the man makes the room feel cold. For a minute you think you see a spark in those eyes, a glint of something dangerous.

"God damn it..." You almost don't catch the bartender behind you mumbling, but you do hear the rack of a gun clear as day.

It's quiet all except for the way Knucklehead growls, deep and low in his chest. Despite having all these men, he still somehow looks like an animal backed into a corner. The bead of sweat trailing down his face travels lower. Down his cheek, towards his jawline where it hangs. Then...it falls. Drips onto the sawdust covered floor.

Plip

Click. Bang.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling someone's hands on your shoulder. You're hoisted in the air and thrown over the bar, you can hear the way glass shatters. Another collection of screams, and then nothing but groaning. When you open your eyes, you're in the arms of the bartender, the woman has the both of you pulled down and tucked behind the bar. Safe certainly isn't the word you'd use here, but it was better than being in the crossfire.

She's got another cigarette lit in her mouth; a shot gun pointed up towards the ceiling. You strain your ears, but you think you can hear her counting in Spanish. You can smell the gunpowder in the air, it's almost as thick as the tension. Then there's a different sound. A grunt of pain and the sound of a chair being broken.

"Thought you could really take us all on?! You're fucking daft!"

The gunslinger lets out a strained laugh, wiping the blood off the corner of his mouth. Splinters of the wooden chair catch in his curls. The man took a hit from the gorilla and is still standing. Well, more like leaning over the side of the bar for support, but nevertheless his eyes are still open.

"Daft is a big word for you Knucklehead. Gotta give it to you!" His voice sounds strained and broken. You catch the way he's struggling to breathe yet still has it in him to snap back.

Without thinking you take the shotgun from the bartender and before she can protest you lower the barrel towards the man. He seems surprised to see you jump up from behind the bar, he must have really not cared that you were there. But a loaded gun that can shoot slugs the size of an acorn sings a different tune.

"Now missy...this ain't got nothin' ta do with you. Yous don't wanna get yourself wrapped up in somethin' I don't think you can handle." Knucklehead's eyes lower to the gun in your hand, the gravity of the situation sinks in. Not enough for him to let the gunslinger’s throat go, but enough to where he's contemplating backing away.

"Let him go. Let him go and back away." You keep your voice steady, that nervous air about you slips away and a different mask comes on.

That mask you've had to wear every time you look danger in the eyes. You don't see a man choking a bounty hunter to death, you see a large target. A light you could snuff out with a twitch of your index finger. You can see it in his eyes, the way he looks down at Kyle, whose smirk has returned. Then back up at you, staring down the barrel of the shot gun. It's cold double barrel unblinking eyes.

"Whattya say Knucklehead... feelin' lucky?" Kyle is able to put a little distance between Knucklehead's hands and his throat. Enough to take another gasp of air and spout some cocky one-liner.

It must have pushed the brute over the edge because he went to move again. If you had to guess it would be to lift Kyle up and use him as a shield. But he doesn't get that far. Doesn't even make it past a muscle twitch because your trigger finger is faster. For the second time that night shots ring out, but this time it's only the bandits scream that fill the air. He goes flying back letting the red head go.

If it wasn't for the bartender, you would have gone flying back as well. The force of a shotgun wasn't something you were used to. Compared to your derringer’s little kicks, the shot gun was in a league all on its own. Her hands keep your body steady, holding you by the waist. She lets out a puff of smoke and sighs.

"Nice shot." Once she realizes you're okay to stand on your own, she breaks the silence with praise and lets you go.

"O-oh...um thanks." It makes your face flare up; the fact the entire bar’s attention is now on you. The wondering eyes make you squirm and want to shrink back down behind the bar.

"Shoot a man dead in his chest and ya get a little flustered over a compliment." Kyle laughs in between trying to catch his breath, his coughs sound painful.

You avert your eyes from him, like it will do your blushing face any favors. Trying to ignore the way his laugh makes your body burn. Something about it makes you feel a bit tingly. It's either that or the adrenaline coursing through your veins. They land on the man bleeding out on the floor. He's clutching his sides spouting so much profanity you feel like you need to confess at the church just hearing it.

Just as Kyle finally gets the ability to breath properly again, the sheriff and his men come bursting through the door. The same sheriff who you had a problem with. The same one who put you on this crazy path. Once again, things could never just be simple. Every little fucking thing had to get in your way.

His eyes fall on the man first, then on you. Then on the gun in your hands and you immediately groan. Of course, he had to come in just as you slugged a man. With a scoff, he gestures to his men to round up the other bleeding bandits. Kyle was able to take down the other group by himself. Their leader using the men as bait so he could close the distance.

You push the shotgun back into the bartenders’ hand and sigh. Kyle watches as you lift your skirt and put your foot on the counter. Without a second thought he offers you his hand and helps you down off the bar. You take it and allow yourself a quick smile. One the sheriff is quick to wipe away.

"It's always you. I guess I didn't make myself very clear." He says with a sneer. "I thought you were smarter than this, seems I was the one mistaken."

You shoot him a look, brows furrowed in confusion. "Sheriff, I didn't start this! I was just defending my um..."

Friend? Soon to be employee? Guy I just bought a drink for. Shot another man for?

"I wasn't talking to you woman!" He snaps, eyes flickering between yours and Kyle's. When they land on the man his eyes narrow. "Was talkin' about this one! Coming into my town, causing trouble! Think just because your daddy was a lawyer you're above the law!"

The look the red head gives him would be enough to kill. Death himself would answer that call. You watch a vein pop out from the side of his temple, his hat and hair barely covering it. Kyle didn't even show that much anger towards the man who threatened his life and interrupted his conversation.

"Sheriff Cartman I wouldn't have to come to this town and clean up your mess if you and your men did your fucking job!" Kyle hisses through gritted teeth, emphasizing the word this like he's reminding the sheriff the town doesn't belong to him.

"I should've known better than to think you could be anything but trouble! I should haul you in with the rest of 'em!" Cartman's voice is dangerous, completely immune to the looks he's getting from Kyle.

"On what grounds?!"

"On the grounds that I'm the fucking sheriff and I'm sick and tired of your bullshit!"

"That ain't enough to bring me in you fat son of a bitch!"

"Let's go ahead and tack on threatenin’ a man of the law to that too! Wanna keep going Kyle?!"

Cartman uses his first name so casually. The air grows heavy again as the two men get into each other space. Neither go for their weapons instead fingers curl around the collar of each other's shirt. Kyle looks like a lit fuse ready to blow and Cartman is just adding fuel to an already dangerous fire.

"A-Actually Sheriff! If I may!" You don't know what compelled you to put yourself in between the two bickering men. Guess there was a little left in the old adrenaline tank, taking down a man twice your size will do that to you.

"What?! Get in my way and I'll make sure to slap you with a fine as well! Helping a criminal won't look good on your record!"

"Criminal!?"

"Gentleman! I believe the lady is trying to talk! Now you either let her talk, or you take this shit outside!" The bartender cuts them both off by slamming her hands on her bar. Her voice isn't loud but it's enough to make both men stop.

The sheriff mumbles something under his breath that makes the bartender narrow her eyes. He turns to you giving you the floor.

"Sheriff just...please hear me out." You've dealt with men like the sheriff before. Men who think they're the smartest man in the room, so it's best to just make them think they're right.

"Fine. Go ahead."

"Thank you. Y-you see...I was just following your advice! You told me to find some help and that's what I did!" As you explain yourself Kyle's brows furrow in confusion. "I was looking to hire Mr. Broflovski here."

"Didn't realize you were selling yourself out now Kyle. Bounty hunting too hard for you?" The sound Kyle's teeth makes as they grind together makes your breath hitch.

"If Mr. Broflovski here agrees, I'd like for him to take me out west. If you think about it this is the best outcome. You wouldn't have to deal with me anymore and I'd be taking him with me."

"Now hold on-"

Cartman cuts him off like he's not even there, at this point Kyle's face matches his hair. "You're leaving? Jesus christ why didn't you lead with that!"

"Yeah..." You smile and let out a little sigh, the whole situation would be a lot funnier if it wasn’t you.

"I tell you what...you leave tonight. You and that ginger fuck get out of my town, my state, my side of the country! I'll give you an hour and if you're not out of here. I'll run you down like dogs!" Sheriff Cartman looks pleased with himself and the whole idea, but the more he speaks the more it comes through gritted teeth.

"Two hours."

"One and a half, only because I'm in a good mood." He clicks his tongue and turns on his heel. "Plus, however long it takes for my useless deputy to book these assholes." Cartman turns his back on both of you and walks towards his posse.

Great. You had an hour and a half to get out of town and you hadn't even asked the famous gunslinger if he was even willing to do this.

"Well, I reckon we outta be on our way." Kyle breaks your thoughts with the sound of his voice.

You look up at him with your eyes widened. He smiles down at you and flicks up his hat, moving the brim out of his face.

"No need to look at me like that. You told the Sheriff we'd be outta here so let's get a move on." He speaks.

Kyle makes his way towards the double doors without so much as a goodbye. You go to follow him but stop, turning back towards the woman behind the bar who is just picking up the broken glass scattered around the bar.

"Um...ma'am." When you call out for her, she turns and looks in your direction.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

".... You’re welcome, now get outta here. You wouldn't last a day behind bars, so go on. Get."

A soft smile plays on your lips. She was right, you had a long road ahead of you.

The bartender looks back over her shoulder when she hears the double doors close again. She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. As she stands up with the metal pan filled with broken glass, her head lulls to the side.

"What I wouldn't give to be a tumbleweed following them. Ya got your work cut out for you Broflovski." A smirk plays on her lips.

Kyle leads you out towards the stables where he kept his horse. She was a pretty horse, a blend of brown and whites painting down her back. She doesn't stir much until Kyle gets closer, when he's within reach she bends down and presses her head against his hand.

He smiles and touches the side of her face, petting the sides gently. There was that soft and warm feeling you got when he first sat down next to you. Even after the bar fight and the whirlwind of events that happened, he found a way to go back to being so gentle. When he turns to look back at you, you quickly find something else to look at. Suddenly the saddle on the back of his horse looks so very interesting.

"I don't s'pose you got your own horse, do ya?" he asks as he unhitches his horse from the post.

"No, I don't. I... wouldn’t even know how to go about riding one." That seems to catch him off guard.

"Hm... We’ll have plenty of time to fix that. For now." Kyle walks over to you and whispers a, ‘pardon me'. His gloved hands cup your hips and lift you up. He lifts you like a child would their doll, like you weigh nothing. He sets you down on the back of his horse, guiding your legs over the side of the large creature.

It feels so strange, the way something so powerful just stands there letting him do it. You cling to the saddle for dear life as it takes a few steps forward and then back. If you had to guess she was just as surprised as you were.

Kyle swings himself up onto the horse shortly after. He puts his arms around your waist, being oh so careful on where he lets his arms rest. His hands find the reigns and it forces him to get closer. Close enough to where you can feel his chest against your back.

You can feel his heart beating against his chest, it makes you feel a little better knowing he seems to be just as nervous as you. At the very least that's what you're telling yourself. You can't see his face, unable to move any part of your body out of fear of falling off.

No, you can't see the blush that’s creeping across his freckled face. Can't see the way it trails down his neck, disappearing behind the layers of his clothes. You would never know how much he's mentally screaming at himself to get a grip.

"Gonna be a little uncomfortable at first. Just bear with me for a while. As soon as we hit the next town, we'll see what we can do about gettin' you your own horse." With that he clicks his tongue and snaps the reigns.

You let out the smallest squeak as the horse goes from a gentle little trot to a full-on sprint. Your hands fly out to grab onto Kyle's arms using the cowboy to steady yourself. A part of you thinks about asking him to just go ahead and drop you off at the holding cell. At least then you could die behind bars and never make such embarrassing noises again. The other part of you felt a twinge of excitement when you heard him chuckle. Feeling the way it made his chest vibrate low. It kept you warm against the cold wind that rushed past you.

It doesn't take long before Kyle feels your body go slack. He peers down at you and feels his heart leap up in his throat. You were tucked up against his chest, arms wrapped around your frame fast asleep. He only wishes that he could slow down so he can take off his sarape and bundle you up in it. Instead, he settles for pulling you closer, caging you in his arms. He'd do everything in his power to make sure the ride was at least a smooth one and by the time you'd wake up, hopefully, he'd have you out of town. And hopefully then he can get more details about this job he blindly accepted from you.

For now, he'd let you sleep as he rode out towards the moon. Nothing but the wind at his back and the large pale light to his front.

Next Chapter ->

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tyrin1350 · 11 months

Text

Thanks to @notsobadaart / rizal badar on instagram

I just had to hope on the MerMay band wagon

Heavily inspired by my favorite sea creatures

Great Hammerhead shark

Giant oceanic manta ray

And the Mimic octopus

#tyrin1350 #tyrin’s tumblr #disney #king triton #ursula #the little mermaid #merman #mermay #mermaid #Atlantis #atlantica #black manta #manta ray #hammerhead shark #mimic octopus #cecaelia #mer shark #evilmanta #merfolk

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aheathen-conceivably · 1 year

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🎶 Stick a jazz band on my hearse wagon, raise hell as I stroll along 🎶

Antoine hadn’t told Zelda about the bribe. He saw no reason to worry her with such unpleasantness, and he knew that if he looked after the accounting himself he could find a way to make it work.

So a few hours before the club was set to open he went downstairs and laid out their entire liquor supply. He was counting the bottles, trying to see how much he could squeeze the profit on each one, when two uniformed police officers walked through the doors. Antoine looked down at all the liquor bottles, shining brightly like illicit jewels in the electric lights.

Shit. Smile, Antoine. Stay calm.

The younger officer saddled up to a barstool, clearly comfortable in a saloon, “I take it you must be Antoine, chap. I’m Officer Murphy. This here is my partner Officer Brauner. You see, we know your friend Giorgio and his dealings down at the office. It’s nice having connections like that, ain’t it?”

Antoine stayed quiet, understanding a trap when it was laid before him.

“The silent type, huh?” the officer said flashing a grin, “Well no matter. We both know you don’t have too much of a say in this anyway. You see, what you’ve got going on here is mighty illegal...”

The door to the apartment opened and the beaded curtain rattled. The officers turned in their chairs and locked eyes with Zelda, who’s gaze narrowed as soon as she saw them sitting there.

The officer smiled triumphantly, “Well well well…I see you’ve got yourself a little live-in doll too, don’t you, chap? Tsk tsk, now you’re really racking up the violations, huh? Go back upstairs, little doll, this has nothing to do with you.”

Zelda took a step toward the officers, the beads of her dress ringing loudly in the quiet club, “This has everything to do with me. You’re in my home, now please leave.”

The officer let out a laugh, one filled more with malice than merriment, “A little doll with a mouth on her, huh? You flappers just don’t know your place anymore. Stay then, little flapper, this doesn’t need to be difficult. Think of us as your protection. The same way we kept that pesky assault charge out of your hair, we’ll keep all this liquor and these more…personal violations under wraps, huh? It’ll just be a little cut of the profits, a little payment for us as your private security.”

The officer had posed it as a question, but Antoine wasn’t stupid enough to think that it was. Ever since he was a boy his mother had cops on her payroll. It was the way it was done here, the reason why even in the throes of prohibition, liquor could still be found on every block. He was amazed that they had left him alone all these years, only now he was on their radar, and like sharks in the water, they could smell his blood.

“Fine. You can come back on Friday. Now get the hell out of my club and leave my family alone.”

The officers stood to leave, satisfied that they had gotten what they came for. Officer Murphy stopped on his way to the door, tipping his cap with one final grin, “No need to be so aggressive, sir. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.”

#1926 #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1920s #antoine duplanchier #zelda darlington

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anathemafiction · 1 year

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Q&A

Favorite animal for all the ROs and Beka.

Hadrian prefers dogs. There's just something about them that naturally clicks with him. He never owned one, but, in those rare moments Hadrian allows himself to dream of a different life, of a house somewhere with a garden on the back and rolling hills in the front, dogs are always a part of that fantasy. Little ones hanging from his lap when he's sitting, and large ones sprawled at his feet.

He can't help but smile every time he sees a dog. Their waggly tails are a joy.

Alessa also prefers dogs. They are reliable, loyal, and smart. If she must take an animal as a companion, she needs one she can trust, and she knows she can trust a dog. That they have big, soulful eyes, and adorable ears and twitch and turn when they dream is unrelated. That her lips quirk whenever one goes running like mad when they see their owner is also irrelevant.

'Tis not important how pure they can be. How cheerful. How different they are from her. A sturdy, reliable companion. That's what Alessa would pick, if she had the freedom to. If she led a different life.

Alain likes all kinds of birds. He likes watching them, likes listening to them, likes to imagine what it'd be like to flap a pair of wings and fly wherever one desires. To have the sky as your home. Yes, he wonders, wine in hand, eyes on the ceiling.

He likes all types of birds but, if hard pressed, Alain supposes he prefers those little sparrows. They're not impressively handsome, they don't have flashy colors or large plumes or wings that take up the whole of the sky. Their song isn't very complex, nor is it particularly beautiful. They are just... little beings, flapping around, but it is their voices he hears first thing in the morning. Every day, without fail.

Alain can count on it. To hear the song of the sparrows.

Ysabella adores horses. She adores them. She could spend hours looking at them, eating grass on a hill, running on a track, or simply laying with their big bellies on the ground, tongue lolling, hooves sticking in the air. She adores them.

She wishes she could ride one every day. She envies those that can, the guards that roam the city streets, the merchants that leave on their wagons, and the peasants who ride with their wares. Oh, how she envies them all, standing near her window, looking out onto the world.

It is in her dreams, in their freedom, that she rides one while wearing trousers with her hair free in the wind and a large, unladylike smile on her face. She jumps over walls and races other riders, and, in the end, she sits with her mare beside a creek and shares the shade and the cold water. A friend, a companion. A soul as free as her, in the depths of this dreamland.

"I have no need for little beasts," The Pirate King would tell you, eyes firmly set on the horizon, beard swaying with the wind. His clothes would be swaying too, long coat tails flapping near his chins and a loose shirt covering and uncovering his chest.

He has no need for pets. He doesn't mind seagulls, for they warn when a storm is coming, but their cries are like knives to his ears. Dogs are too destructive, and horses are a nightmare to maneuver. He keeps falling off the saddle, and they never listen to him, and The Pirate has steady legs, but he turns into an awkward halfwit whenever he rides one.

Fish are fun to look at, especially when he comes across the bright pink and blue coral reefs. The Pirate sees the multitude of little fishes there as well as big ones, and fat ones, and ones so long and slippery, it reminded him of tight ropes. Once, he saw a great shark, skin grey and head as large as a boulder, patrolling the shallow waters, and The Pirate supposes that was impressive enough. But fishes rule the seas, and no man has any right to own one.

He has absolutely no need for beasts. Humans are more than enough, he doesn't need anything else on his hands.

But... but. He's been seen, oftentimes, scratching the heads of stray cats on the various docks he travels to. And he thinks their noses, so tiny, can be quite fond to look at. And their eyes, so round and big on their tiny heads, are like the moon on a cloudless night. And The Pirate would never admit it, but the sounds they make have him biting back a smile.

They make so many strange, nonsensical noises. They rumble like birds sometimes or yell like a babe crying for their mother's tits, and there's this one cat, this one black and white stray who he swears he's heard saying "no" once. He swears on all the rings on his fingers.

And the way they wiggle their butt when they're about to tear the throat of a poor mouse has him cracking up laughing.

The little devils. The Pirate has no favorite animal, he's not a soft-hearted fool. But, if he had a sword to his neck, if he had to absolutely pick one... he supposes he'd keep a cat on his ship. At least, until he could find it a better home.

Neia used to rest her forehead against the forehead of her horse. The horse who burned alongside her, the one whose screams she listened to before she started to scream herself. Her horse, Dawn. Her bloody horse.

Neia doesn't have a favorite species, she cares for individuals. She cared for Dawn. That's who her favorite animal was. To hell with anything else.

Lance likes to think of himself as a lover of all animals. Squirrels, rats, magpies, butterflies, cats, pigeons, worms, and even spiders, hanging upside down from their marvelous webs. Once, the same moth kept coming near his night candle for three nights in a row, and Lance mourned when the little thing — which he baptized as Lucy on the second night — didn't return for a fourth.

Lance likes them all, but only one has his heart and that is, naturally, his dear Chouriça. His old lady, the dog that landed on his lap when she could barely open her eyes, and a younger Lance swore then, that he'd be there when it was time for her to close her eyes for eternity. He'll be there in the final goodbye, with a bleeding heart and a crying soul.

But he'll be there.

Rafael likes them quick, clever, and lithe. The kind that escapes, that uses its wits to trump over those who are more powerful and naturally gifted. Fuck that. It's not fun to have it all, you have to earn it. So, Rafael respects the prey who doesn't fall for the predator.

Whether it's rats, too quick for them cats to catch, or rabbits, twisting away from an eagle's claws at the very last second. Or a little ferret, scarring up a tree to escape from a hound's maul. He likes to sit on the ground when he's watching a building that he'll rob later, and leave pieces of cheese on the palm of his hand.

Sooner or later, Rafael will see the little snout of rats sniffing the air, and his lips will twist in the barest of smiles. A long enough watch will have those little buggers coming closer and, the next day, closer still. Until, eventually, they'll take the cheese out of his hand and scurry away.

And Rafael will laugh, delighted. Cute little bastards.

Beka doesn't like dogs. They're friends of the blue-capped pigs, and they guard the pretty houses with high fences full of coin and food and trinkets Beka can only dream of. She doesn't like horses either because they help the guards run faster than she'll ever be able to. She doesn't like cats, those round-eyed creeps, always watching her when she tries to be silent. She dislikes pigeons because they carry away pieces of bread on their stupid beaks, and Beka can't reach them on top of the walls.

She doesn't like... many things.

But she never hurt one of them stupid animals either. Once, the kids were having fun playing with a snail they caught on some leaf. They were trying to separate it from its shell, and Beka knows she couldn't hear it screaming, but she swears it was. She picked up a rock and cracked the nose of the leader. Beka left that fight with a black eye and a busted lip, but the snail had been safe in her palm.

She also found a white puppy once, so small it couldn't walk, freezing in a corner on a rainy winter night. The thing was full of fleas and reeked like hell, but he was shaking and whimpering, and Beka took him in her arms and curled around him until they both fell asleep.

The puppy never woke up. Beka will never admit to the hot tears she had shed, nor will she tell anyone about the patch of dirt she dug to bury him.

Animals are stupid and worthless, and they don't do anything but make her life harder. But Beka would rather cut off her own hand than hurt any of them. They don't deserve it.

What are the ROs thoughts on children and marriage?

I will admit, at this point in their lives, none of the ROs can seriously think about marriage and children or anything ahead of what is the immediate future. They all live... very unstable lives at the moment, and those circumstances don't allow them to think much of what stability can look like.

Hadrian doesn't think of the future much. He doesn't like to. He also doesn't particularly like to dwell on the past. Which puts him in a difficult position, because Hadrian isn't one of those people who can breeze through life with their heads in the clouds, a shrug on their shoulders, and a smile on their carefree lips. Events matter, choices matter, and they matter because they not only affect others, but they affect himself — they affect his future.

(...)

The complete piece is available on Patreon!

#Patreon #Alessa #Hadrian #Neia #Rafael #Lance #The Pirate King #Alain #Ysabella #Beka #The Golden Rose

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mae-cohl3 · 6 days

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Unfinished The Passenger Fic - Part 1

The bones of a story really

I don't usually write fics (this is one of my first real tries), but this movie made me want to try.

Let me know what you think.

-R-

Randy sat looking at his hands. His nail beds are an urgent sort of red and the skin puffy from endless biting. It’s starting to hurt, but he can’t stop.

The motel room is silent and looks uninhabited, save for their shared backpack on the floor and Randy hunched over on the bed.

He can feel Benson, even when he’s not in the room. He hates that he doesn’t really mind it — the cold tingles down his back, the stone sinking deeper into his stomach, and the heat filling his cheeks. The feeling of Benson’s calloused hand grasping his face is ever present. He can still feel the heat of the large hand swiping away the tears from his cheek and blurry eyes. It’s become ingrained in his mind.

Is liking Beson even an option? Is like even the right word? Why does it feel like I do? Am I fucking crazy? I mean he’s out of his mind, so maybe it’s the only way I could feel this way about him.

Heavy footsteps sound from outside the worn down motel door. Randy wants to sink into the floor. No, he wants to run into Benson’s arms and hold tight. Maybe he wants to beg him to go home, to be set free. God, no, he wants to taste his mouth.

Fuck just kill me already.

The door opens and Beson walks inside, his movement slow like usual, as if every step is thought out and calculated. He moves like a shark conserving its energy. Randy stays still and looks up at Benson through his sparse lashes, his hands gripping the shitty motel quilt like it’ll save him. From what, he’s got an idea — the cold mouth of a shotgun pressed to his temple.

“Pack up ur shit kid, we gotta go.”

Randy’s breath hitches in his throat. “Wh-where are we going?”

We. It’s become “we” now.

Benson’s eyes sharpen. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it and frowns. He looks frustrated, it’s not obvious whether it is with himself or Randy. “ I don’t fucking know Randy, just get ur ass up and moving.”

——-

A silence fills the air, one that slithers beneath Randy's skin and grinds against his bones.

How much longer do I have?

The old station wagon shook with every slight jerk of Benson’s hand on the steering wheel. Randy sat hunched over in the passenger seat. His head rested on the window, his body pressed against the door as if hoping that it would consume his form.

“I can hear your thoughts from here Randy.” Benson tilted his head towards Randy’s hunched form. The silence that followed felt like an offer, an offer to speak. Randy had no idea what to say. He sat for a moment, pulling at the neck of his too large t-shirt, one formerly belonging to Benson.

-B-

Benson gave Randy a quick once over, taking notice of how the boy shivered as the wind from the open window blew onto him. The clothes Randy wore didn’t do much to hold against the biting wind. The shirt hung off the boy’s neck, showing a bony clavicle and even the pants he wore seemed to hang off his hips. Benson tried to damper the thought, file it away in a cabinet deep within his mind, but he couldn’t — he liked the way Randy looked in his clothes, with his tear stained eyes, and slight pout. The clothes seemed to swallow the boy, just like he wished that he could do.

He flicked his cigarette out the window and shut it with the rusted hand crank, hoping to give the boy some relief from the chill. A sort of unspoken apology.

Sorry for kidnapping you. Sorry for scaring you. Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for wanting you…

He didn’t know how to proceed, but he knew that he wanted Randy by his side. He’d always kept an eye on the boy when they still worked together. At first it was just a passing glance at the pretty boy who seemed far too fragile for their rural Louisiana town. But then he started getting bullied at work, and Benson couldn’t stop himself from watching as the boy stared at his aggressor with tear filled eyes. The tears never fell, they sat steadily on his bottom lids. But now Benson has seen those tears be shed, as he was the root cause of the boy’s cries of sadness and terror. Seeing the boy’s tear filled face and frozen form in response to the murders of his manager and coworkers had been the moment Benson knew that the boy would either be his everything or his end.

Randy didn’t respond to him, but Benson understood. The boy was scared, most likely thinking that he was next in Benson’s list of murders and attacks. This hurt Benson, but he’d hurt the boy and scared him senseless in the last few days. He didn’t deserve the sound of Randy’s shaking voice, but he craved it. He just needed to get them away from that town and those people, somewhere he could show Randy a better version of himself.

After he beat his former teacher to near death, they fled, or at least Benson made them leave town. They were on the run. Maybe this (forced proximity) would move the boy towards warming up to him, he could become his friend rather than his forced passenger. Maybe, maybe they could become more.

I want more, no, I need more.

#randy x benson #Kyle gallner #benson the passenger #randy x ben #stockroom syndrome #the passenger 2023 #fanfic #fandom #m/m

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tedsies · 7 months

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Before Aly had even finished serving up her lunchmeat sandwich platter to the welcome wagon, she'd seemingly already found herself at the heart of a sudden and unexpected love triangle.

She was left wondering - was she simply that desirable a Sim? Was it more-so a case of sharks circling at the coveted opportunity to join a legacy? Or were there just that few newcomers to Strangetown?

#ts2 #ts2 gameplay #sims 2 #the sims 2 #tedsiealphabetacy

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mcflymemes · 1 year

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YELLOWSTONE PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the television show

leverage is knowing if someone had all the money in the world, this is what they would buy.

i remember.

there's sharks and minnows in this world. if you don't know which you are, you aren't a shark.

that's it. that's all there is.

where's the fun in wrecking a single man?

words are weapons.

just like your mother.

"i'm sorry" are two words you never have to say to me.

we're enemies now.

i'm gonna give you one last chance. you leave now or you never leave.

you know what work is, don't you?

you can't unmake family.

i don't choose the way. i make sure no one questions yours.

you're either born a willow or born an oak. that's all there is to it.

i want you to move it.

our home is here.

well, that's what it means.

i need you to learn how to use them.

your grandfather used to say you can't fix a broken wagon wheel, but you can use the parts to make a new one.

it means that you have me, that i'm yours. it means come live your life with me.

soldiers don't tell war stories anymore, because wars these days... it's just about trying to live through them.

that's a conversation for another time that we'll never have.

you're gonna grow up and i'm gonna grow old.

if you act like a thief, i will treat you like one.

what do you want from me?

you are the trailer park. i'm the tornado.

no one has a right. you have to take a right, or stop it from being taken from you.

i look at every day with you as a gift.

you know, you did something that no one does. you've outlived your past.

i'm chopping your family tree down.

don't scream.

i'm asking you to marry me. will you do that?

nobody's gonna mess with us.

the only thing i ask is that you outlive me so i never live another day without you.

lawyers don't scare me.

i'm reasonable until i'm provoked.

everything i do is for him.

does that make sense?

you ought to listen to this.

i have been down this road many, many times before.

lawyers are the swords of this century.

karma comes in all shapes and sizes. guess it's me today.

god sure finds interesting ways to put people out of business.

you know what that means, don't you?

if it's gonna be all right, why are you taking a gun?

i hope i never meet the first man who thought it was a good idea to ride a bull.

i look at you, and the thought fades.

you know, when you boil life down, it's funny just how little you need, isn't it?

let's go get them.

i believe in loving with your whole soul and destroying anything that wants to kill what you love.

i made two bad decisions in my life based on fear, and they cost me everything.

like it or not, that choice is coming.

when you say no, it must be the death of the question.

i can't stop the river from flowing.

i don't want you to stop it.

when they go away, they never come back. ever.

you would have made a hell of a cowboy.

a man who puts a hand on a member of my family never puts a hand on anything else.

where'd you learn that kind of language?

do you think some day an explorer will find our bones and wonder what happened to us?

i don't know you.

the exploring's all done.

it's the truth.

just tell me who to fight.

all men are bad. but some of us try real hard to be good.

everything's gonna be all right.

these problems have to go away before i do.

for someone with no spine, you've sure got a lot of balls.

do you know who did it?

you never knew your grandmother, did you?

nice try, kid.

bullies need to be big, and i'm bigger than you.

every so often, you say something that makes me think you're smart.

you build something worth having, someone's gonna try to take it.

you ever had someone look at you, and your whole world just stops?

i like his home better.

i'm not judging. i just don't understand this place.

i'm just meaner than you.

from now on, what i do is for me.

when the misery is bad enough, tomorrow is rarely factored into decisions.

you should try zumba. get your cardio up.

"should" is a useless word, almost as useless as hope.

all the angels are gone. there's only devils left.

you've already proved you're not scared of anything.

if i'm going to lose you, it's going to be about what i did, not because i lied.

#rp starters #rp memes #rp prompt #rp meme #rp musings #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #roleplay meme #writing prompt #askbox meme #ask memes #rp asks #ask meme #sentence starter #sentence starters #sentence starter prompt #mcflymemes #yellowstone

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amplifyme · 8 months

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Episode catch up~

The Watcher and A Distant Shore: Both have their merits and demerits; but I will say I liked the cast and the creative choices the writers took (keeping The Watcher anonymous, having Joe recommend Cathy, the lady in Cali helping out after news of her friend's death, etc.) ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT-- and what an incredibly fitting context (Nan, you genius.) Father hovering around Vincent during those episodes, worried about his son (and Cathy, too) and trying to cheer him up and distract his mind (impossible.) Mouse and the shell and Vincent's dream and reaching Cathy. Overall, I liked both in their own ways and wouldn't mind rewatching. Also, Joe continues to be stellar (really grew on me), Jenn and Rita have interesting appearances. ...Although, Cathy, I do have a bone to pick with you throughout all of The Watcher.

Trial: Enjoyed all aspects of the case; and that the episode tackled the injustices and inabilities of the system, the victims, and the society at the time. But it's a start. And all the characters and Vincent's dreams of the boy and Pascal's appearance and Joe's ups and downs. And most of all, their superior was right: they needed Cathy to fight the symbolic war right up against the murderer's shark lawyer-- there's a reason this guy's their boss.

A Kingdom by the Sea: Those were actually CIA?? Baffled. Elliot's back and Cathy needed to put several breaks on the whole debacle before it escalated to Vincent having to kill, being torn up over the kiss, and feeling that Cathy's cut earlier and his stab now were signals of life. Father continuing his worried streak with no pushback and maximum support is sweet if veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery telling about his read on Vincent's emotional state. Elliot's father's death was quite the turn; and their rotten relationship definitely explains the dreams of a man who wanted to prove himself by building the biggest tower possible. Two things struck me: Cathy listened to Vincent tearing those men apart and kept traipsing away in the tunnels, not addressing it later and pretty much over it compared to Vincent; and she didn't seem to notice how deeply that affected him, addressing only his confusion and grief and hurt at her fluctuations with Elliot. And secondly, her dismissal of Elliot's contradictions-- a man who is able to live with two warring sides and not let it drag him down or back-- by saying: “How does it matter, Vincent? It’s… life"; and that is incredibly indicative of the core of their relationship. Cathy doesn't seek to understand: roses bloom out of blood sacrifices; life is beautiful; there is ugliness separate from beauty; contradictions don't mix; Elliot must be all bad or really good deep down and didn't realize it himself rather than an intriguing mix of the two; and Vincent's hands are her hands, beautiful, but the blood they shed does not (read: cannot) stain his soul. And she is very, very wrong about all of those things.

Can't wait to hear your input! :DDDDD

Squeeee, you're getting so close to the trilogy! The Hollow Men is the perfect episode to lead into it. Please tell me you plan on watching all three eps of the trilogy in the same sitting. And you must let me know before you start S3. I have things to tell you.

More below.

I really like The Watcher now. I wasn't crazy about it the first time I saw it, but there's gobs of foreshadowing in it that I didn't pick up on until after the trilogy aired and then after the show was cancelled and I did my first rewatch and had time to think hard about the series as a whole. Keep in mind we had to wait 7 months between S2 and S3. Which back then was a long time for network shows. Lots of time to go back and pick up all the threads missed the first time around. Also tons of rumors flying around that summer (some true, some not) about what was going to happen in S3, or if we'd even get one. The Classic fans had already circled the wagons and decided they hated S3 before it even aired. But I digress.

Not sure if you've noticed this or not, but other than once, after Cathy gets beat up in An Impossible Silence (where he keeps watch on her while still being as close to outside as he can get), Vincent never steps foot in her apartment. So it's significant in The Watcher that he's actually considering her invitation to come in, because that's a line he's drawn in his own mind about what's allowable behavior and what isn't.

ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT-- and what an incredibly fitting context (Nan, you genius.)

Right?? I knew you'd pick up on that right away.

Mouse and the shell and Vincent's dream and reaching Cathy.

My favorite part of A Distant Shore was V & Mouse talking at the Mirror Pool (a scene GRRM wrote in order to get the ep up to the full running time) and Vincent in his chamber holding up the shell and then scooping up the sand and taking a big ol' whiff of the Pacific Ocean. Such a Vincent thing to do. Cast and crew loved working on this one since they all got to get off the sound stage and spend a few days at the beach. I remember being so amused that V & C acted like the four days she was gone was more like four months. 🤣

...Although, Cathy, I do have a bone to pick with you throughout all of The Watcher.

Care to elaborate??

Don't have much to add about Trial, except in response to this: there's a reason this guy's their boss.

I'm shoving my fist in my mouth so I don't let anything slip out. We'll touch on this later.

It was an okay episode, but nothing really memorable.

A Kingdom by the Sea (aka The Episode That Humanizes Elliot Burch). I adore this episode! I also adore Elliot.

Those were actually CIA??

Yep.

Cathy needed to put several breaks on the whole debacle before it escalated to Vincent having to kill, being torn up over the kiss, and feeling that Cathy's cut earlier and his stab now were signals of life.

Wasn't the scene on C's balcony that opened the show wonderful? Kissing her injured finger without thought and the heat of the look they shared and C refusing to let Vincent turn away from it. Lovely.

But, yeah, again with the death and desire symbolism, and blood as a sign of life. As Vincent said to Father, "The grave is a fine, safe place. But if we live, we bleed." That'll come back to haunt him.

Father continuing his worried streak with no pushback and maximum support is sweet if veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery telling about his read on Vincent's emotional state.

Like I've said before, Father knows his son very well. He has a lot of first-hand experience, after all.

Cathy listened to Vincent tearing those men apart and kept traipsing away in the tunnels, not addressing it later and pretty much over it compared to Vincent; and she didn't seem to notice how deeply that affected him, addressing only his confusion and grief and hurt at her fluctuations with Elliot.

Quick trivia time before I get to the meat of this. GRRM wanted the scene with V and C in his chamber to end with a kiss. He wanted V to lean in after she told him she wished it was him and take that kiss. Alas, Koslow nixed it. But I love that GRRM wanted it there. His scripts are always so, so good.

And meanwhile, as they're in the tunnels Elliot is like, "What the hell is that?? What was that??" Yeah, Cathy has grown very blasé about Vincent's killings, hasn't she? And she really seems blind to the effect it has on him. She's also blind to the duality within everyone, and specifically within Elliot and Vincent. I've always felt like Vincent posing those questions to her about the duel nature of man was him asking that question in relation to how she was able to process and justify what she sees in him, not Elliot. But it just flew right over her head, because despite what she thinks she knows about V, he tends to comes at things sideways, rather than directly. She never figures that out.

“How does it matter, Vincent? It’s… life"; and that is incredibly indicative of the core of their relationship. Cathy doesn't seek to understand: roses bloom out of blood sacrifices; life is beautiful; there is ugliness separate from beauty; contradictions don't mix; Elliot must be all bad or really good deep down and didn't realize it himself rather than an intriguing mix of the two; and Vincent's hands are her hands, beautiful, but the blood they shed does not (read: cannot) stain his soul. And she is very, very wrong about all of those things.

I have nothing to add to this. You've stated it perfectly. I'm so excited for you. You have no idea what you're in for. Buckle up, baby!

#beauty and the beast 1987 #season 2 #the watcher #a distant shore #trial #a kingdom by the sea #discussion

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