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edenesth · 2 months

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The Way to His Heart [15]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 14 | Fic Masterlist | Part 16

"I still don't understand why you had to creep around instead of just approaching her and introducing yourself properly," Jongho remarked, rolling his eyes as Wooyoung clicked his tongue in frustration, "Oh, come on! Can you blame me? She's so beautiful, I got nervous, alright?! I've never had to talk to her before, and I just... I panicked!"

The assistant squinted at his friend, "You do realise if the general catches wind of any of that, you'll be out of a job. Don't tell me you have a crush on our mistress..."

"And you don't?!" The private investigator squeaked, eyes widening in disbelief as Jongho shook his head, unamused, "That's inappropriate. Don't you ever suggest such a thing again."

Wooyoung kept his mouth shut, realising that his friend would be the last person interested in hearing him gush about how pretty he found you. He was fully aware that you were his employer's wife and therefore off-limits. Still, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in the innocent fantasy of being a secret admirer.

Besides, he still valued his life, and it wasn't as if he was actually in love with you or anything. Deep down, humans are all visual animals, and he found his tiny crush on you completely justifiable.

Turning serious, Jongho inquired, "So, what did the mistress need help with? She's been secluded in the study ever since Prince Yeosang's departure and hadn't spoken to any of us until you showed up. Something must have happened."

With a smug nod, Wooyoung responded, "Ah, it seems I already know more than you. How does that feel, senior assistant Choi?" His grin disappeared when the younger man did not react as expected, only staring him down intimidatingly, as if daring him to continue with his playful shenanigans, "Ugh, fine, sheesh. The fourth prince invited her to his birthday banquet happening next week. She's really anxious since it's her first royal event and without General Park. She wants guidance on dealing with the royals."

Head shooting up at the revelation, the assistant knitted his brows together in concern, "The fourth prince... invited her to his birthday banquet? Did he say why?"

The private investigator shrugged, a hint of nonchalance in his tone, "He mentioned that since General Park is away, he hoped Lady Park could represent him this year."

A troubled expression clouded Jongho's features as he processed the information, his mind racing with possible implications. The idea of His Highness extending such an invitation seemed out of the ordinary, sparking unease within him.

Noticing the younger man's troubled demeanour, Wooyoung nudged him on the shoulder, concern evident in his voice, "Why do you look so bothered, man? What's on your mind?"

Jongho's stomach churned as he mulled over his thoughts, his voice tinged with apprehension as he responded, "I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been any of the other princes. But Prince Yeosang? He hasn't hosted a single birthday banquet in years. And besides, his connection with the general is minimal at best. So... what do you think he wants with our mistress?"

That revelation made the private investigator sit up straight, suddenly grasping the complexity of the situation. If what his friend said held true, it meant the fourth prince was plotting something. A surge of protectiveness for you washed over him, wanting to ensure your safety and not let his role model down.

Turning to the assistant, he asked, "Damn, I don't like the sound of that. So what's our move? Should we warn her?"

Jongho shook his head adamantly, "Absolutely not. She'd panic, and that's the last thing we need. I'll fetch the dressmaker; he's one of the general's closest friends, and along with Physician Jung's help, we'll try to figure this out."

"Oh, one more thing!" Wooyoung interjected, grabbing the younger man's attention, "Lady Park did mention that it would be great if she could somehow get in touch with Royal Secretary Choi. It seems she believes he's the only one who can offer helpful advice for navigating the royal event."

Pondering this information quietly, the assistant nodded, "Fortunately, I've corresponded with him on behalf of the general several times. I should be able to reach him easily."

Jongho furrowed his brows, noticing the unsettled expression on the investigator's face, "What's bothering you now?"

Wooyoung sighed, his expression clouded with uncertainty, "The lady also expressed her doubts about whether the royal secretary would even consider helping her. She's unsure if someone as busy as him would take the time to assist her."

Shaking his head, the assistant offered reassurance, "Don't worry. Royal Secretary Choi is genuinely one of the kindest people you'll ever meet. He shares a friendship with the general and will certainly lend a hand to our mistress if she needs it."

That would soon be clear to them all when San arrived to grace everyone in the general's estate with his presence in just a few days, leaving Hongjoong, Yunho, and Wooyoung in awe as they watched the handsome man with an exceptionally fit physique—perhaps a little too fit to be a mere secretary—walk past the three of them, who were sitting in the living hall, with a respectful nod and courteous smile.

Jongho exchanged knowing glances with them as he ushered the royal secretary into the estate and towards the study, where you awaited his guidance with your studies.

"Am I the only one who thinks that guy seems more suited for the battlefield than the royal office?" Wooyoung quipped, prompting a reluctant nod from Hongjoong. For some inexplicable reason, he found the private investigator mildly annoying, almost like a younger brother, "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right about that. He does give off that vibe."

Yunho, known for his wisdom and maturity, offered a shrug in response, "We shouldn't judge someone solely by their appearance. Perhaps the royal secretary excels in matters of intelligence rather than physical strength."

Rolling his eyes, the dressmaker fired back, "Obviously, we're just joking. Lighten up a little, Yunho, or you'll never find a wife with that boring ass attitude."

The physician pursed his lips at the jab, while Wooyoung watched with amusement as the banter between the two friends unfolded, "Says you? You're older and still single. Perhaps the problem lies closer to home."

Hongjoong scoffed in disbelief and placed his hands on his hips, "Excuse you, I'll have you know there are plenty of women vying for my attention every day. It's not my fault I have standards."

"I could say the same." Yunho retorted.

Before the banter could escalate, Jongho intervened with a heavy sigh, "I leave for a minute, and you're already arguing. How is it that all of you are older than me?"

"I agree, assistant Choi. Their behaviour was rather immature," The investigator remarked, feigning innocence when the doctor raised an eyebrow, "You're the one who instigated the whole thing."

Just as Wooyoung opened his mouth to defend himself, the assistant rubbed his temple wearily, "Oh my god, enough. Let's not forget why we're here today—to figure out the intentions of Prince Yeosang regarding our mistress."

"Is that the purpose of this gathering?" Eunsook queried as she appeared by the entrance of the living hall.

The four nodded in confirmation, and the head maid sighed before joining them, "If that's the case, I believe I may be of help. I was with the mistress in the palace on the day the master discovered he had to depart for war. Something happened with the prince while we awaited the general's return from his emergency meeting."

As she recounted the incident at the cherry blossom garden, a dawning realisation settled over all of them. Suddenly, it all clicked into place: why Yeosang, known for despising his own birthday due to its reminders of his painful existence, was now planning a celebration and extending an invitation to Lady Park, of all people. It was clear to the group that the prince had set his sights on the general's wife, and this elaborate scheme was likely his attempt to lure you away from Seonghwa.

"I understand we're all concerned about what His Highness might attempt to win over our mistress, but I believe we should have a little faith in her. Her devotion to General Park is undeniable. I don't think she would easily forsake him after all he's done for her." The physician suggested, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

As the others visibly relaxed with the reminder, the dressmaker appeared to be the only one still troubled, "Yeah, about that..." The dread in the room heightened at Hongjoong's uneasy expression.

"What is it?" Jongho inquired cautiously.

With a frustrated expression, the eldest man among them ran a hand through his hair before recounting the recent encounter with Jinjoo, your stepsister, and the doubts you were starting to entertain about your husband, "I'm sorry, it's all my fault."

The elderly woman's stomach sank at the revelation, but she shook her head to reassure the dressmaker, "No, Hongjoong, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known her stepsister would be there. No matter how much we deny it, the truth has a way of surfacing. We can't hide it from her forever."

The others nodded in agreement, though filled with worry at the implications. They knew Eunsook was right. Eventually, you would likely discover the truth. They just hadn't expected it to happen so soon, especially with Seonghwa away at war. The thought of you being possibly swayed by the fourth prince's charms sent shivers down all their spines.

Well shit, that's not good at all.

"San, you're an absolute lifesaver. Thank you so much." You expressed with gratitude after the lengthy crash course he had just given you on dealing with royal figures when attending such events, offering a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Returning the smile, the royal secretary noticed the fatigue and stress evident in your expression. He sensed there was more to your distress than just the fourth prince's sudden invitation to his birthday banquet. Perhaps his close relationship with his elder sister had sharpened his perception of women's emotions.

Observing your troubled expression, San gently inquired, "Are you feeling quite alright, Lady Park? If you're worried about the general, I can assure you that he is being partnered with only the best military strategist in all of Joseon. They have yet to lose a single battle thus far, I'm sure this time would be no different."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you at his words. On one hand, you appreciated his attempt to ease your worries about your husband's safety. On the other hand, a nagging curiosity gnawed at your mind, Jinjoo's words still lingering, urging you to delve deeper into the mysteries surrounding your family's punishments.

San's position as the royal secretary and his close friendship with the general made him an ideal source of information. Surely, he would know the intricate details of the case and could provide you with the answers you sought. However, the thought of uncovering the full truth filled you with trepidation.

What if reality's more than you could bear?

You wrestled with your inner turmoil, unsure of whether to broach the subject with Royal Secretary Choi. Part of you yearned for closure, to finally understand the events that took place without your knowledge. Yet, another part hesitated, fearing the potential consequences of unearthing Seonghwa's carefully buried secrets.

As you glanced at San, who was patiently awaiting your response, you grappled with your decision. Would you dare to confront the shadows of your fears, or would you continue to dwell in uncertainty, afraid of what truths lay beneath?

To hell with it.

Taking a deep breath, you responded, "Thank you for your reassurance regarding my husband's capabilities. However, that's not precisely what's weighing on my mind..."

He arched a curious eyebrow, intrigued by what other concerns could possibly be bothering you besides Seonghwa's safety, "I'm all ears, my lady." He offered, inviting you to share your thoughts.

Lowering your head, you recounted your recent encounter with your stepsister and the unsettling doubts it had stirred within you. Then, with a hesitant tone, you inquired, "May I seek clarification from you regarding my husband's role in the Jang family's punishments?"

San maintained a composed smile, betraying no hint of shock at your revelation. With a calm demeanour, he laced his fingers together before him, "I empathise with your concerns, Lady Park, and I want you to know that they are valid. While the details of the case are confidential, I can offer some clarity to ease your worries."

You held your breath as he continued, "The truth is, His Majesty was responsible for determining your family's physical punishments, but the general took charge of overseeing the entire process."

So, it's true.

Your heart sank at the confirmation.

"Understandably, you may find his involvement frightening. However, you need to know that this has always been the nature of his job. If you think him cruel, remember that every drop of blood shed was in service of this nation's security. He's doing what only a few have the guts to do. And in this case, it's out of love for you that he was determined to ensure that those who harmed you and your mother faced justice. My lady, can you truly fault him for that?"

His words struck you like a boulder, and you realised he might be onto something.

The royal secretary grinned as he observed your expression, knowing his words were making an impact, "Besides, you've been here long enough to witness how good he can be to those he cares about. That includes you, all the staff in this estate, as well as his loyal friends currently seated in the living hall. Surely, there must be a good reason why these people choose to remain by his side, wouldn't you agree?"

Noting your silence and contemplative expression, San understood that you needed time to digest everything. While he hoped he had made a valid point, he knew that your conflicting emotions wouldn't dissipate so easily. Nevertheless, he had done his best to encourage you to keep an open mind and speak the truth.

Ultimately, the next steps were up to you.

"As much as I'd like to stay and chat, I have another appointment scheduled in an hour, so I should probably head to my next destination." He announced, rising from his seat opposite you.

His words snapped you out of your reverie as you got up after him, "Ah, yes, of course. I can't thank you enough for everything, San."

As you escorted him towards the exit, he smiled warmly at you, "You're most welcome, Lady Park. Don't fret too much about the royal event next week. I'm sure you'll do splendidly, especially considering you've already managed to impress the fourth prince. He's not an easy royal to handle, so that's quite an achievement."

Prince Yeosang is... not easy to handle?

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the royal secretary was already boarding his carriage. With a defeated sigh, you waved at him as the vehicle began to pull away.

Heading back inside, your mind reeled from his words. His Highness had never seemed difficult around you, so you struggled to comprehend what San meant. Besides his slightly playful demeanour, you didn't find the prince hard to handle in any way.

Before you knew it, your head began to throb with the endless thoughts swirling around. Eunsook rushed over in concern when she saw you swaying, your hands pressed against your temples.

"Mistress! Are you feeling alright? Oh dear, you look exhausted," She exclaimed, her worry evident in her voice, "That's enough studying for today. Go and rest. I'll bring you dinner when it's ready."

Throughout the rest of the week, Jongho and the others couldn't bring themselves to warn you about the potential advances of the fourth prince. They noticed how visibly stressed you were, dedicating all your time to refining your ladylike etiquette and practising formal speech with the head maid. Your determination for perfection in your debut at a royal event was clear as day.

After receiving all the help you needed, you were finally ready for the banquet. Standing before the mirror, you inspected yourself, admiring the delicate red flower the dressmaker had once again helped you paint on your forehead, perfectly complementing your new hanbok, "Are you pleased with the look, Lady Park?"

You nodded enthusiastically, "Absolutely, Hongjoong. You never disappoint, and you know that."

With newfound confidence, you departed from the general's estate, accompanied by Jongho and Eunsook. Mentally reviewing the list of potential royals in attendance, you appreciated Wooyoung's efforts in the past week as he assisted you with retrieving specific books from the public library and studying the royal family tree.

The private investigator lingered near the estate's entrance after seeing you off, his jaw slightly agape. He had always found you pretty, but seeing you all dressed up and with the flower on your forehead, he was struck by your ethereal beauty. Just as he was about to entertain the thought that Seonghwa must have saved an entire country to deserve someone like you, he realised that might actually be true.

"Excuse me, Jung Wooyoung. That's not your lady to be ogling like that. Behave yourself, or I'll have to whoop your ass on behalf of the general." Hongjoong warned, rolling his eyes as the younger man pouted before sulking back inside the estate.

As your carriage approached the familiar high palace walls, Jongho and Eunsook exchanged determined glances. They had agreed to stick by your side at all times, wanting to protect you from whatever schemes Prince Yeosang might have planned for the event.

"We've arrived, mistress." The assistant announced as the carriage came to a stop.

With the head maid's assistance, you stepped down from the carriage with slightly less ease than when your husband carried you, feeling a pang in your heart as you were reminded of him. Despite your complicated feelings, you couldn't deny the longing for his presence. You hoped he was safe and well while you attended the birthday celebration of another.

Approaching the grand entrance of the hall hosting the fourth prince's birthday banquet, you noticed that the palace staff responsible for announcing guests had recognised you immediately, sparing Jongho the need to introduce you. As you reached the entrance, the staff announced in a loud voice, "Miss Jang, eldest daughter of the former Minister of Military Affairs, has arrived."

Your shock was palpable as the announcement rang out, your eyes widening and your stomach sinking at the unexpected introduction. The last thing you wanted was to be associated with your father, especially not at such a prestigious event. You had been specifically told by the prince that you were here to represent your husband. So why would they announce you like that, using your past title, when you now held a new and official one as the general's wife? The discrepancy left you feeling uneasy and out of place as you stepped into the grand hall.

What's the meaning of this, Your Highness?

« Preview of Part 16 »

"General Park! Letters for General Park!"

The messenger's urgent cry echoed through the camp, drawing attention to the main tent where Seonghwa typically conducted his affairs between battles. Bursting into the tent, the messenger gasped for breath, his eyes darting around, "Sir, may I enter?"

"Come in," A deep voice replied, but it wasn't the general's. Officer Song, the military strategist, sat alone inside, his gaze fixed on the newcomer, "General Park is uhh... preoccupied elsewhere at the moment. What brings you here, soldier?"

Handing over the stack of letters he carried, the messenger answered, "The general has received a few missives, one from his assistant and another from His Highness, the fourth prince."

Mingi's brow furrowed in confusion, "The fourth prince?"

The messenger nodded vigorously, "Yes, His Highness mentioned it's regarding an urgent matter and should be delivered to the general as soon as possible."

Officer Song nodded in acknowledgement, "I see. Leave it to me, soldier. I'll ensure it reaches him as soon as he's available."

As soon as the messenger departed, Mingi's curiosity overwhelmed him, and he unfolded the letter from Prince Yeosang. His breath hitched as he absorbed the concise yet weighty message. The prince started off by conveying gratitude for Seonghwa's service to the nation and extended well wishes, reassuring him not to worry about returning.

However, the content took a surprising turn with his final paragraph.

'Out of respect for you, I am writing to inform you that I will be proposing to Miss Jang. I believe she deserves the freedom to choose her own husband. Perhaps what she needs is someone who can remain by her side and not cause her any worry. If you truly care about her happiness, you would understand.'

Once again setting the stage for the main event HAHA sorry for the (sorta) filler chapter, but I promise there will definitely be drama in the next part.😈

Also, thank you so much for 1.3k followers! As always, thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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Tag list (cont.): see comment/reply section

#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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coldfanbou · 7 months

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Warm Water, Warmer Bodies

Jiu in the shower with the added stipulation of her being your stepmom for day 8

Length 1.6K

Jiu x Mreader

You struggle to open your eyes. Your room is still dark; reaching out for your phone, you find it on the nightstand and click it on. It’s just past one in the morning. You feel thirsty, and your drowsiness is wearing off. Throwing the covers off you, you get out of bed and make your way toward the kitchen. Along the way, you hear moans coming from your stepmother’s room. Curiosity takes hold of you, and you walk toward it. Her door is slightly ajar, and you peek through the small gap to see her fingering herself. Jiu’s fingers are quickly pumping in and out of cunt while she pinches and pulls on her nipple. You hear her increasingly loud moans and watch as she turns onto her stomach. Jiu raises her ass into the air, curves her back, and moves her hand in quick circular motions around her clit. The sight entrances you, and feel slight pain as you become aroused and your cock hardens in your pants. “Fuck, fuck fuck!” She yells, reaching her climax. You watch your stepmother’s body relax, and her fingers slowly leave her slit as they move upward, and she tastes herself.

Knowing you'll get caught if you stay any longer, you move away and head back to your room. You remain distant from Jiu for a while afterward. Anytime you see her, you can’t help but get turned on, so you avoid her as best as you can. Your mind becomes flooded with the images of her that night and the thoughts of wanting to take her.

Jiu notices your sudden distance, where usually the two of you would have talks, that quickly went away. She considered all the possibilities and determined that she couldn’t have said or done anything wrong. She talked herself into confronting you soon enough. She had no inclination that you had seen her masturbating then. That night, you thought about what you saw and couldn’t get Jiu out of your head. You grew hard, thinking about her body and her moans. You start to masturbate, thinking about Jiu. Unbeknownst to you, she had walked up to your room and opened your door slightly to see you playing with yourself. The sight of your cock made her gasp, but she had enough wherewithal to slowly close the door to not bring your attention to her. She stood beside the door in her nightgown and coat, thinking about what she had just seen. She felt herself get wet, and a hand unconsciously moved down to her nether region. She bit her lip and opened the door again, just enough to see you masturbate without being spotted. Once in sight, she began to finger herself, imagining what it must feel like to have you inside her. After a few minutes of fingering herself, Jiu realizes she’s about to cum and stops herself. She closes the door and heads back to her room to finish the job.

For weeks, you rarely talked to Jiu, and she to you. You would think of each other at night as you masturbated in your rooms. The awkwardness between you continued to grow until Jiu decided to make a drastic decision. One day, while you were in the shower, she entered. You were unaware until the shower door opened, and she stepped in, already naked. “What are you doing?” You say while covering yourself. Jiu spreads her arms out and hugs you. You feel her soft breasts press against you. As the water from the shower begins to soak her, Jiu’s nipples become hard and rub against your skin.

“I just want us to be close.” She says calmly. You’re taken aback at her words. There were many different ways to get close, but this wasn’t conventional. In Jiu’s mind, she was struggling with a lot of sexual frustration. It had been a while since she and your father had sex; she just needed something to calm her body down. Her words are just what she was using to justify her actions. She reaches down and takes hold of your cock. You grow hard in her hand, and she smiles after seeing what she’s doing to you. You can’t help but moan as she strokes your cock. “It’s okay; let me take care of you.” She says with a sweet smile on her face. She kneels before you. “You’re so big,” She says as she kisses the side of your shaft.

Her soft lips feel good, causing you to groan. “Let Mommy take care of your every need, then you can help me.” She says before swallowing your cock. She took it all quickly, only struggling as she got near your base. You can hear her gag for a moment before her throat relaxes, and she’s able to reach your base. You throw your head back and feel your knees about to give way. You’re forced to keep your hands against the shower walls in order to stay standing. Jiu pulls back, keeping just the head inside. While she strokes your shaft with one hand, the other is by her cunt, sliding along her lips as she readies herself mentally to take you in. Jiu’s mouth is wrapped tightly around your head as her tongue quickly swirls around the head. You feel yourself nearing an orgasm quickly. Jiu takes notice of your cock throbbing and slows to a crawl before speaking. “It’s okay to cum, let Mommy taste you.” She says before bobbing her head as she continues. You look down at Jiu; she stares right back with pleading eyes. Unable to hold on any longer, you start cumming in her mouth. Jiu eagerly drinks it all up, savoring the taste from the moment it hit her tongue. She strokes your shaft as you’re nearing the end of your orgasm, hoping to get more out of you. Jiu slowly rises, continuing to stroke your cock until you get hard again.

Jiu leans in and hesitantly kisses you before putting more passion into it. You react in kind, placing your hands along her back and feeling her body. Her body was toned from the dancing she did, and it felt terrific in your hands. Jiu moans into the kiss and feels your cock poke her belly. She looks down and marvels at it. “I need you,” She says. “I know you want it too. Please, fuck me.” She says while angling your cock toward her cunt. While you think about it, Jiu rubs the tip of your cock between her lips. You struggle to contain a moan as she teases you.

“I want you, Jiu.” You say. JIu smiles and slides the head of your cock into her. You push in slightly; you grab her ass and lift her, trying to get a better position. She sinks onto your cock, gravity pulling her down until your length is buried inside her. The water falling over your body adds something to the atmosphere. You feel more connected to Jiu than before. You plant your lips on hers and tell her you want more by running your tongue across her lips. Jiu lets you explore her mouth. You pin her against the wall while you kiss her; you start moving slowly, etching the details of her body into your memory. Jiu has her eyes closed, too busy feeling the relief and pleasure of having sex after so long.

“Fuck your Mommy, fuck your Mommy.” She repeats as she wraps her hands around you. She aids your efforts by lifting herself when you pull out. Once the head is left inside, Jiu slams herself down on your cock as you thrust. Her modest chest bounces, attracting your attention. Water continues falling over you; you watch it run down Jiu’s chest and drip off her nipple. You kiss Jiu’s neck as you start to thrust wildly. Her moans just got louder as you began to impale her with every push. You felt her nails dig into your skin as she struggled to contain herself. “More, more!” She screamed. With every thrust, Jiu would moan louder as she began to near her climax. She kept one hand on you while the other toyed with her breasts. She squeezed it roughly and pinched her nipple before rolling it between her fingers. Seeing her go wild turned you on, and you felt your cock start throbbing inside her. Jiu noticed, too. “Give it to me, give it all to me. Cum inside, Mommy,” She said while driving herself crazy on your cock.

The water matted Jiu’s hair down, yet she looked beautiful. She held an expression of lust and ecstasy, and as you thrust, you saw the hunger in her eyes. You couldn’t hold on any longer. As you buried your cock inside Jiu and filled her with your cum. She had a satisfied smile on her face, one that you had never seen before. In the next moment, you feel Jiu’s walls clench around your cock. She squeezes the cum out of you, draining your balls as you remain inside her. Her grip over you softens as she comes down from her orgasm. You let her cum runs down her legs and is washed away by the falling water. You remain staring at each other before coming together and kissing again. Your hands wander each other's bodies until you break the kiss. A new dynamic between the two of you now that you’ve had sex.

You would touch each other when the opportunity presented itself, never straying further, knowing that if either of you did, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourselves from what came next.

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #dreamcatcher smut #jiu smut

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months

Text

My tears ricochet

Previous chapter

summary: There are thunder clouds in the horizon that threaten Eris’s chance of being a high lord. Rhys strikes a deal. The only thing left to find out now is who gets out of this deal alive?

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You have been watching the flames dance in the fireplace ever since. Blazing right in front of you. It felt as if it was a theater, and this was just a performance. One that had struck you to your core. Or maybe one that you had seen so many times that you had grown numb to it. The shouts? You no longer heard them. Turning them all out into the background noise. Making sure that all of it would blend into one unidentifiable mush.

“I will cut your eyes out," Mor howled as she trashed in Azriel’s unmoving hands. His arms too meet the anger seeping through her. Sharp nails dug right into his flesh as she hissed at her cousin, “Let go of me or else...", “Calm down, Mor." Azriel tried to reason for what felt like one hundred times that night. You could tell that he was frustrated. The spymaster simply hated showcasing his emotions. Reading him was impossible most of the time. Yet you saw the way he had glanced at Cassian even back in Autumn. A look alone clearly showed that the two were just as clueless.

“How can you just sit here?", Mor shoved at Azriel, her eyes now finding another victim. Cassian. Who had practically folded into the chair the moment everyone had returned. You had always been close. At times, you even thought that he was more your brother than Rhys himself. So his slightly shaken form didn’t surprise you all that much. “He will not agree," Rhys muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. Mor stopped for a moment before her hands found the roots of her perfectly wavy blond hair that had long lost the natural curl from all the pulling. “Have you hit your head or something?", she chuckled in disbelief. “I think it’s the or something part because, what the fuck, Rhys?", Cassian growled for the first time, his hands gripping the armrest of the chair.

“Do you trust me?", Rhys looked through the room, trying to capture everyone’s eyes, even for a second. He was hoping to pour out his hopes. Ideas. Something into his family. "No," everyone hissed in unison, making the high lord shake his head. “I couldn’t say anything because it would have ruined it", Rhys tried to justify his actions once more, only to be cut off by Mor, who once again had launched forward. “At the cost of YN?" she growled right as Azriel caught her mid-jump.

You let out a sigh. And for the first time that evening, everyone turned to you. The person all of this affected directly. “Why aren’t you saying anything?", Mor muttered angrily, “Say something?”. You knew that her intentions were good. Mother strike. You had sat with her and bandaged her wounds when she was brought back from the border. You had turned into her shadow. She had quickly become more than a cousin. She was a sister. In a way, filling up the role of your older sister. One that cruelly got taken from you.

“Can I go?", you muttered. Staring right ahead. Too tired to look at every one. To watch their faces. Their emotions. “I’m tired," it was barely a whisper as you pushed your chair back. You felt their eyes on you. And only now did you understood that they had no idea what was set into motion. “My darling," Rhys muttered, but you only gripped the note that had sat in your palm for the entirety of this circus that had been happening. "I will meet you at breakfast," you muttered, “Have a calm night.”

Eris didn’t sleep at all that night. While he had spent the nights after his father’s death cooped up in his chambers, tonight he couldn’t stand the idea of being anywhere near that house. It held too much power over him. Too many memories of pain and suffering still lingered. He could swear that parts of Beron still lingered there, and while on other nights Eris could battle that, tonight wasn’t that night.

The two dogs stiffened by Eris’s legs. Low growls filling the silent forests. But the high lord didn’t open his eyes. Simply scratching the hound's ears - a clear sign that they didn’t have to worry about anything. Because he wasn’t worried about anything. “You look like shit," A little smile crept onto Eris’s face as your voice echoed. Followed by the rustling leaves beneath your feet. “Thank you; I can only say the same about you," he mustered teasingly. “Your eyes are closed, asshole," you huffed, stepping from beneath the branches to fully come face-to-face with him.

“Did you read through it?", with the question, Eris’s eyes snapped open, piercing right through you, even in the dark. You simply nodded your head. You had just gotten back and were angrily undoing your corset when a piece of paper fell out. Your initial thought was to ignore it. That was most likely just a grocery list you had forgotten on your venture earlier in the day. But the more you looked at the brown paper, the more you felt the urge to look at what was written on it.

“Thoughts?", Eris crossed his arms over his chest. Assessing your every move. Every reaction. This too, in a way, was a test. One of his own. "Diabolical," you smiled at him before shaking your head, “Want me to keep going?”. Eris only rolled his eyes, his hand coming up to rub at his chest. "Fine," he shrugged. But that fine stirred something deep within you. It wasn’t all that simple. And the answer wasn’t easy to give out. Especially to a man like Eris.

“You can be executed for shit like this," you tapped at your temple, letting the tiredness of today sink in finally. Or maybe it was the fresh autumn breeze that practically screamed for a cozy blanket and a nap. Not a midnight meetings. “Oh, would you look at that?", Eris muttered, clearing his throat with a cough that he tried to hide. “You care about me, little bird?" he asked, moving his eyebrows suggestively. “Get over yourself," you huffed, reaching out for the black pup that had been nudging your leg all this time. “I would be the first to claim your head.", you threw Eris your best angel smile, making the high lord laugh. “And hang it in your room so you could look at me," he whistled in delight. “More like shoot arrows at," you cut in quickly to correct him”, before adding, “We do it my way."

Eris shook his head immediately, “We won't." You shot him a daring look, but Eris didn’t seem phased by it. “Then no," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "Y/n," Eris growled. "Eris," you mimicked his tone in return. “Compromise? Have you ever heard that word woman?", he huffed angrily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Not when it comes to you," you chirped back.

“You are so fucking..." he had started to say as another cough slipped past his lips. “Lovely, I know," you finished happily, but Eris didn’t return your smile. He turned back as another cough made his shoulders seize. A strange feeling ran right through you. Watching him lean against the tree... "Eris," you called out, not sure what was happening. He raised a dismissive hand, but you weren’t about to leave him like this.

"Eris," you muttered, stepping past the two whimpering hounds that suddenly, truthfully, looked like two terrified puppies. “Hey, what’s going on?", your hand touched his shoulder. It felt as if he was on fire. And not in the autumn male way. It felt as if he was burning from within. "Eris," you hissed, pulling your hand away quickly. He turned his head slightly, his fingers coming up to dig at his throat. "Can't," he mouthed. Your heart instantly skipped a beat. An unknown panic filling your body.

“Let me," you breathed, your cold palms reaching out to rest on Eris’s chest, slowly letting your cold magic seep into his burning flesh. “Come on," you muttered, no longer sure if their words were directed at you or Eris. You stood like that for a couple of hearts only. Yet it felt like two heartbeats were too long. Because Eris never lost control. He was one of the males who knew how to carry himself.

“What was that?", you muttered once Eris’s heartbeat evened out. The high lord tilted his head towards the starry night, letting out a deep sigh, "nothing." You huffed at his unbothered tone. "Nothing, my ass! You were choking," you huffed, pulling back, nearly tripping over the dogs, eagerly waving their tails now. “It’s nothing," Eris claimed once more. You watched as he slowly moved his head in circles, followed by his shoulders and hands. As if stretching. As if he had now filled out his own body. I was uncertain as to where the limits lay. “Eris Vanserra", your warning tone made Eris finally look up at you. You could see him contemplating his words for a moment. His eyes drilled into you as he no doubt ran through the worst scenarios. “The magic hasn’t settled yet," he said so casually, yet it pretty much knocked all oxygen out of your system.

"What?" you muttered in disbelief. There’s no way because... “I'm not fully in control," Eris admitted as he flexed his fingers. “I know what that means." You frowned, “It’s just... they can kill you," you whispered, but Eris didn’t seem to worry about it that much considering that his laughter filled the space between you two.

“The joy you must feel," he chuckled, reaching out for his hounds. “Don’t joke about it," you frowned. Hate it or not. Death was not something you would wish for anyone. Even if that person was Eris, "Careful, I might start to think that you care." His blazing eyes found yours, taking you off guard for a moment. “Get over yourself, Vanserra," you rolled your eyes, gathering your skirts up as you turned back from him.

You had barely made it down the stairs the next morning when someone caught your hand, pulling you through the door of the closet study. “I have a plan," Mor muttered breathlessly. The dark circle under her eyes was a clear evidence of her sleepless night. "Mor...", you muttered. Rhys had called you into a meeting that same morning, but you had chosen to ignore his offer. You didn’t want to miss the sunset, and the river bank was way more to your liking than your brother’s office. “No, listen to me," she said, grasping both of your hands. “We will hide you. We’ll get one of the high lords involved”. She rambled on, but you quickly shook your head, “Did you talk to someone outside our family about this?" A slight panic ticked deep within you. She looked up at you in confusion but quickly shook her head in response, “Good, Mor, no one can know about this." Now it was you who had pulled her closer. “Do you understand?", “This is bullshit," she huffed, pulling away from you.

"Mor," you pleaded, but her distress was way too strong by now. “You can’t go. I won’t let you go”, she continued her rant, pacing the room. "Sweetie," you said, moving in front of your cousin, taking her hands in yours. “You’ve seen the scars. You’ve seen...", she muttered, her eyes slowly filling up with burning tears. You reached up to cup her cheek. Offering her a soft smile because no words were going to make this any better. “That man has no soul; Satin has nothing against him," Mor hissed through gritted teeth, right as you wiped the angry tear away from her cheek. “Maybe he hasn’t met Satin yet”, you muttered under your breath, resting your forehead against hers.

“What about the borders? There have been breaches”, the booming voice sent shooting pain through Eris’s scull. It had been the fourth meeting that day, and if his patience was thin in the morning, now the male could barely find any fragments of it. “I already sent out another handful of soldiers to monitor the outskirts," he said, trying to keep his cool. His people deserved better. Way better than what his father had given them. Autumn could be a court like the others. Not full of scum and drunken lords.

“When will the payments roll in?", another angry tone echoed through the hall, and Eris all of a sudden regretted offering the merchants to join the meeting. “I’m looking through the scrolls," Eris said through gritted teeth. Yes, he had stopped the money flow because, with his father’s death, a lot of the men who had drained this place to the last drop had planned on running away with their pockets full of coins. “People are starving," another claimed. “Beron would have sorted it out by now," someone added which had Eris frozen in an instant. Eyes scanning the crowd till they land on the male who had just slipped up. The high lord pushed his chair back, clapping his hands on the table. "You," he pointed an angry finger at the order farmer, “Who do you think you are?" The anger deep within Eris bubbled. Why was it so fucking hard to earn respect? Why did every move he made meet with so much resistance and always mention that monster?

"I...", the male muttered. "I... I… crapped your pants already?", Eris clipped. “I’m your high lord, and you yap at me like I’m nothing," his voice echoed now. Drowning out the crowd of people who had gone dead silent. His anger flared, fires burning so brightly that the vax started to drip, drip, dripping down onto the floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty." The male had pulled his hat out, now clenching it right against his chest. “What do you need? Coins?", Eris reached into the side drawer, scooping down a handful of silvers before throwing them at the man. The metal clicking against the stone floor was now the only ringing sound. The old man had been left to stand all alone. Anyone who had been throwing demands alongside him now stood with their heads stooped low at far corners of the room.

“Go ahead, pick it up," Eris gestured to the floor. "Forgive...", the man had started, his face now as white as paper and his legs shaking as he barely found his footing. “Pick. It. Up," every word came out like a growl louder than the one before. The man fell to his knees. A crooked smirk stretched onto Eris’s lips as he reached for his sword, rounding the table. “Please… I have kids and a wife”, the man pleaded. Eyes as big as the moon. “Why not think of them before you speak?", Eris assessed the blade, running his finger along the rim. “I did... We're starving”, the farmer whispered, now almost lying on the floor as he threatened beneath Eris’s cold glance. “Pick up the coins," The high lord’s bitter tone sliced the light sobs.

“Your Highness," the male tried to plead his case once more, but Eris only let out a growl. "Pick…," but his voice died down. As if someone had cut his vocal cords. It felt like a whisper. A cold touch. Most of the candles went out in a cloud of smoke. Suppressing the scolding heat that Eirs had thrown at the hall. Then there were the cold fingers that snaked down his wrists, stilling his hand, ready to strike. Reaching for the blade.

“Let him go." It was barely audible. Eris doubted that anyone besides him heard it. But his whole body. Every fiver within perked up at the sound. “For me," it pleaded, “This is not your way." Bile rose in Eris’s throat. It wasn’t his way. This was his father’s way. His father’s methods. Pain. Suffering. Terror. The oldest Vanserra felt his face seize as fear of that monster rooting within him washed over him.

“Breathe through it," Eris turned back from the man, coming face-to-face with purple eyes staring right up at him. "Out of all of you," you ordered, pulling the blade out of Eris’s hand and pointing it at the gawking crowd. It seemed like no one had to be told twice as people rushed out, pushing one another in the process.

"You," you called out, making the farmer stop in his tracks. The man had barely made it off the floor. The sudden joy of being freed disappeared impatiently at your next words, “Pick up the coins." His bottom lip quivered. "Please," he seemed in his later years. The grays had started to show. Hands cracked, clearly from the long hours in the fields. “There’s no catch," you said softly. You handed the sword back to Eris before stepping to the side. “Pick them to buy food," you crouched, picking the silvers yourself. Reaching for the pouch at the side of your skirt to neatly place them inside, “If there’s none to buy, stop by the kitchen tonight." The farmer's eyes watched you move, too stunned to speak. “There will be food to spare here,” you smiled at him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, “Even better, stop by to eat with us. Bring your family with you."

“But miss...", the male stuttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, please. Let this be our way of settling peace. This court deserves it after all the years”, you muttered, watching the msn taking a deep breath and nodding his head at your words. “Thank you. Mother will never forget your kindness, my lady.” Bowing, the farmer reached for your hand, placing a kiss on it. You watched him hurry towards the door with his head bowed low. No doubt, still frightened.

“What the fuck are you doing?", Eris’s rough hands clasped over your shoulder as he turned you over to face him. You simply raised your eyebrow at him, “Saving your ass twice now." His nostrils flared as he tried to suppress the frustration bubbling inside. “You have no word in this house," he growled, moving to step closer. Towering over you. You could feel the heat pouring in waves from him. "Wrong”, you crooked your head back, tapping the tip of his nose, “If you want to play this game, then we are equal in this." His lips thinned into a tight lines. His jaw clenched so firmly that you had no clue how his bone hadn’t cracked. But you enjoyed him like this. Frustrated and bubbling inside. Smirking slightly, you crossed your arms over your chest, "So, Eris Vanserra, are you playing along?”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @hnyclover @slytherintaco @fxckmiup

#eris vanserra x you #eris x you #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x reader #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar eris #acotar eris x reader

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goldenhourwriter · 10 months

Text

•✮🕷️𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐤𝐢𝐝🕷️✮•

part one • part two (you are here) •

⋆pairing: miguel o’hara x wife!reader

⋆warning(s): i got translations from spanish dict, if i did something wrong, please correct me. i tried to use the right definitions/context to use those definitions in! also pregnancy.

⋆a/n: oh i love writing sassy spider-people

"And then the hot sandwhiches in the cafeteria suck ass, like, at least melt the cheese. I don't want some luke warm sandwhich that can't decide whether to be hot or cold!"

I hum absentmindely, playing with my bracelets as Ben Parker keeps mumbling and moping on and on about how his life is so terrible compared to all the other Spider-Men. Honestly, when I said he was allowed to get some things off his chest, I thought he meant telling me about the mission that went bad with him, not his whole life story from birth to this moment. He sighs dramtically, plopping his head down at the table we're sitting at, and I flinch at the sudden jolt of motion, my eyes lifting to look at him. He lets out a low, dramtic wail. "See? You don't care either!" He drawls. I roll my eyes.

"Nobody is looking at you, Ben, quit it." He rolls his head to the side with the most awful puppy-eyes I have ever seen. I give him a sarcastic, annoyed smile.

"Sorry, correction. Nobody is looking at you as if they hold any sympathy for you," I tell him as I stand up, having to take a moment to regain my balance from the whale that I am now. He sneers at me, his hair all dishelved from the way he's been tugging at it for the past hour. "I'll have you know that many people give their sympathy to me! There-there should be a book written about me! Or-or even better, a movie!" He calls out with frustration as I walk away from him. I scoff, not even bothering to justify his shouting at me with a glance over my shoulder. The doors to the cafeteria open and then close, and I heave out a sigh.

I think I'd hurl myself out the window if I hear his life story for the 30th time. It's a topic he loves discussing.

"Hey! Y/N!" I hear a familiar voice call out to me. I whip my head around. It could be any spider-person calling my name. From any floor, wall, ceiling, corner, web, anything. You never really know where to look when you work at a place like this.

The voice calls my name again, and this time it's more clearer, calling out behind me. I turn around and see Gwen walking towards me, a smile on her face. I let out a small breath of relief, grateful it's at least someone I enjoy being around, and not like one of the mind-numblingly boring Spder-Men who can't quit talking about how rough they have it. I hope you get who I'm referring to.

I walk a few steps, beginning to speak and raise my hand to wave in greeting, but she stops me with her hands. "No! No! Please, we'll meet you there."

Considerate. I love it. But I also hate it.

I put one hand on my belly, and one hand on my hip, jutting it out with. I give her a soft smile. "You're awre I can still walk, correct? I'm not toally useless," I sigh. She shrugs, not really responding. She holds her hand up to gesture to....something. But I don't really see what it's supposed to be.

"This is Miles," she smiles, with a hint of annoyance in her eye. I look to the side of her which she's gesturing to, but I raise my eyebrows.

"Gwen? Have we really drove you that crazy that you're making people up?" I ask, looking back at her. Her face drops in confusion, and she looks to her side. She groans, throwing her hands down into fists and spins around. I look past her, and I see another teen, presumably Miles, awe-struck and looking around everywhere. He seems a bit lost, but that doesn't hold a candle to the child-like wonder that is clear on his face.

"Miles! I told you not to fall behind!" She shouts at him. Immediatley, he snaps out of his daze, and he looks at her like a lost puppy. I've seen that before. I um, the pieces clicking in my mind, and I watch on with amusement.

This is the kid Gwen usually doesn't shut up about.

I snicker.

Cute, I think to myself as he smiles at her and mumbles an apology. They both clearly have feelings for one another. But, there is that air of nothing is established. A sort of tension. He looks at me finally, and his eyes immediatley drop to my stomach.

"You're pregnant?" He blurts out, and, despite his dark skin, I can still clearly see him blushing at his outburst. I furrow my brows at him, a bit worried that he might faint. Gwen closes her eyes, annoyed, and elbows him in the gut. I bite back a smile while straightening.

"Yes, I am pregnant. And don't even think about apologizing, all the new recruits have the same reaction." I smile as I think back to all of the young adults and teens I've met, each wondering in shock how I'm able to fight crime with two babies in me.

He goes to talk, and stick out his hand for me to shake, but Gwen hits him again.

"He's actually not a recruit, Miguel needed to see him. He's caused a bit of....well..." she trails off. I let out a small sound of understanding as I look at her while she's explaining. I look back at Miles.

"Well, I've already heard so much about you. I really do hope to see you joining our ranks someday," I say politely. I stick out my hand this time, and he takes it, a bit awe-struck. "Well, you know what they say," he says. He holds my hand as I look at him, expecting something. I quirk my eyebrow up. "What? What do they say?" A beat of silence.

"I have no idea."

I stare at him for a moment. Gwen didn't tell me this kid was so dorky. The again, all the Spider-People come from dorky backgrounds. I nod slowly, my hand retracting from his as I put it to my chest. "Great..." I trail off. I shake my head, and I look at Gwen again.

"I was actually just about to go see him, he hasn't had lunch, and I grabbed him an empanada, he usually goes nuts for them," I giggle, holding up the small container in my hand, which was long-forgotten while Ben shared his deepest, darkest corners of his soul. Again.

Miles lights up at the sight of the empanada.

"My grandma used to make those! Fueron los mejores (They were the best)," he beams, putting his hand on is hips, his chest expanding with pride. He bumps his shoulder intp Gwen's, who looks like she wants to crawl into a hole at this moment. I watch with endearment. It is endearing, how he gets all excited. I was the same way learning Spanish, wanting to expand my knowledge for Miguel. I wait for a moment for him to explain himself, my lips quirked up in a small smile.

"See? I know Spanglish," he chuckles, clearly getting prouder of himself. I smile widely.

"Que maravilla (wonderful)," I respond. His face drops, and he looks down, rocking on his feet, his voice growing quiet. I chuckle. "Oh...I see you...know..." "If you don't mind, Miles," Gwen says through gritted teeth. She looks back at me, her smile still strained. "We're going to keep moving along."

I shrug.

"I'll come with, give Miguel his empanada." I walk over to Miles, putting my arm around his shoulder. This throws him off, his eyes growing wide. He glances to the side, then back at me, not knowing what to do. I point to his chest with the empanada-hand. "También me encantaría escuchar más de su español (I'd also love to hear more of his Spanish)," I grin.

✮•

"Oi, there's the little child-bearer," Hobie announces as he gets up from his spot, walking over. He goes to put an arm around me, but I dodge, smacking it away. "Call me that again and I will give you something much, much more painful than giving birth," I growl. He doesn't even looked shocked, he loves riling people up. He pats my head, and walks a bit ahead of us. I scoff at his back, his guitar hanging so loosley off of it it makes me wonder how it's even managed to stay on for that long. I glance over my shoulder at Miles, who still walks a bit behind the rest of us. I slow down my pace, and when we're at the same speed, I whisper to him.

"You okay, kid?" His shoulders tense at that name, so I put my hands up in retreat. "Sorry, I wasn't the biggest fan of it either at your age," I chuckle. He glance at me, trying to find the amusement, but his laugh just comes out....dead. I sigh.

"Listen, Miles, I don't know what happened before you got here. I frankly, maybe I don't want to know. But just know it's nothing we can't fix, alright?" I mumble, bumping my shoulder with his for some light encouragement. He smiles just a tiny bit, his hand coming up to rub the shoulder I bumped bashfully. "Yeah...thanks."

I watch as he walks a bit ahead of me, and I watch as he looks at Gwen with...almost a longing gaze. A bit sad, too. I frown. I know how rough this kid has had it, Gwen's told me, and sometimes I would see him come up in the feed occasionally when I would cover for Miguel, giving him some much-needed rest time. I watched just as I did now, a frown etched on my face, wanting to reach out and tell him that this job does get better, but he wouldn't know I was watching. He still doesn't know I'm watching as we walk through the doors and into my husband's office. I fall into line with the teens, and look up at my husband and his beloved platform. Going down. Slowly. Inch by inch.

I groan inwardly.

This thing again.

I remember my first day here, I thought it was the most terrifying thing, seeing his broad back, all hunched over menacingly over the screens. Then, his mask came down, and I couldn't focus the entire time he was explaining everything to me, I was too focused on his face.

He claims he didn't know what I was doing, but I know that he was just as distracted as I was.

Miles glances at Gwen, and she shakes her head, indicating him not to talk. "I know, it's slow," she says. Miles still looks confused, and he looks over her shoulders and at me. I wave my hand in the air dismissevly. "It's his thing," I mumble under my breath, so Miguel can't hear us. God forbid we ruin his whole macho-'I'm so menacing,' act.

"Miguel O'Hara, meet, Miles Morales!" Gwen announces. No response.

"Ay, ¿Qué tal, tío? (Hey, what's up, dude?)" Miles smiles. "Yeah, I speak Spanish," he announces in front of me for the second time today.

I heave out a sigh, letting my head roll to the front. I look up again, and when I speak, my voice comes out in a shout. I have no idea what he can or can't hear from his mountain hideout.

"Amor, lo entendemos, puedes dominarnos. ¿Apuremos esto, por favor? (Love, we get it, you can overpower us. Let's hurry this up, please?)"

He grumbles something in Spanish, but I can't catch it. He spins around, shooting me a glare. "Glad to see you've met my wife," he says to Miles after giving me a hard look. Miles looks between me and my husband, his eyes scrunched together. He doesn't dare speak yet, however. Miguel smiles angrily, baring his fangs. "Something I had, like most things here now, no control over. Funny, considering I run this place!" His voice gets louder and a bit more sharp as he continues talking, and his hands come to his hips. I roll my eyes, making a sound of annoyance. I heave out a sigh. Miles steps forward, his hands moving while he speaks.

"Listen, man, I'm really excited to get going, I got some fresh new ideas on how to catch the Spot. You know, he just wants to be taken seriously-"

"Oh! Great. Uh-huh, uh-huh," my husband mumbles with a small, pestered smirk as Miles speaks. He lets out a very loud, very agressive roar as he hurls a piece of technology at Miles. Gwen and I both shout with shock, jumping out of the way, and Miles covers his head. Miguel doesn't even stop to consider what he did.

"You were worried about Spot, I'll worry about Spot!" he continues to yell at Miles. Miles is shaking, his eyes bulging with fear at him.

Gwen looks violated, and a bit worried for her friend. "Miguel! It's not his fault!" Miles agrees with her, nodding repeatedly.

"It was his fault, he blew another hole in the multiverse!"

"He didn't know any better!" Gwen shoots back. Miles doesn't quite know what to say, standing there awkardly, as if he and his friends' mom are fighting.

I step forward now, my head lowering as the platforms still moves slowly down.

"Miguel, think about throwing wires at someone! He was just tryng to do what Spider-Man does!" I try to rationalize. His head looks sharply to me, his eyes glowing red. It doesn't faze me, however. I've been on the receiving end of that look a few times, so I'm used to it. "Y/N, you're supposed to be on maternity leave!" He shouts. He holds up a hand, holding in a breath.

"Just...nevermind. You all knew what the risk here was! Gwen! You did! And you-!" Miguel looks to Hobie, pointing at him. Hobie is sliding down a metal arch, head first, on his back, just...enjoying life. As if this is really just his entertainment he threw together. Miguel sighs. "I was gonna try to ignore you," he pauses, before looking away again. "I can't, I just can't-"

"I ain't even here," Hobie mumbles in his thick accent. Miguel shakes his head, his thumb and index finger squeezing the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head as he walks a bit down the platform. I glance towards Gwen, who is already looking at me, silently begging me to say something, anything to try and calm my husband down. I sigh.

"Miguel, darling," I begin. Hobie groans.

"You know, just as a heads up, how married are you two gonna be today? Because I'm debating whether or not to sit here through all the pet names," he says, very annoyed, as he gets up from his seat, walking over to me and putting his arm on my head. He looks down at me, expecting an answer. I let a glare linger on him, and I look back at Miguel.

Miguel turns around again, his gaze boring into my eyes. "You fixed the whole catastrophe on Earth 199999, we can fix this. Don't go so hard on the kid!" I exclaim, gesturing towards Miles. He puts one hand on his hip, and another up to drag across his face, stretching it out.

"No, no, Y/N. He blew another hole in the multiverse! And that little...nerd and Doctor Strange fixed it. Not me! I'm just there to clean up stuff they don't know about so their lives can continue on, all happy and perfect!"

We all stay silent. Hobie lets out a low whistle, and Lyla appears on my shoulder. "I think he's projecting again," she whispers in my ear.

Miguel gestures for me to come over, once his platform has hit the ground, and I sigh, walking over.

"Can you just-just take my side on this? You've seen what these things can do," he murmurs lowly.

"Frankly, I think you should go lighter on him. He hasn't been here for more than 10 minutes, this is all very new. Quit yelling!"

"Uh-oh, mommy and daddy are fighting!" We hear a different, slightly older voice calling.

Hobie calls out. "Oh boy! Humbling reality Spider-Man has arrived!"

Miguel's whole body tenses, and his eyes shut with annoyance and anger. I turn to the door, and in walks Peter B. Parker. The man who practically trained Miles, and the man who thinks he's Miguel's best friend.

He walks in wearing a pink robe over his spider suit, and a baby carrier, but, no baby. He chuckles, a warm smile on his face. "Besides, Y/N's right, don't be so hard on the kid. He had a terrible teacher! He had no chance!"

"Peter!" Miles bounds over to him, giving him a big hug. Peter chuckles, patting his head. "Hey, kid! Don't mind my friend Miguel here, he looks scary but he's got no bite!"

Miguel growls, turning his back towards everyone, mumbling some curses, followed by Peter's name. Peter then makes eye contact with me. "Y/N! You're getting so big!" Miguel turns his head around sharply, his eyes glowing and his fangs baring with rage at his comment.

He winces immediatley. "Forget I said that."

Miles begins to ask him a string of questions, but his eyes travel down to the baby carrier. "Wait-what's is that? You have a baby!" He asks, pointing to it. Peter pats the carrier proudly.

"I have a baby!" He exclaims, mimicking Miles' excitement. At that perfect moment, Mayday crawls down from the ceiling, cooing. I get happy instantly, and she sees me, and squeals. She begins crawling on the walls, cooing and talking to herself in a string of babbles as I wave towards her, beckoning her over.

"Kid's an anarchist," Hobie mutters to himself. I frown at him, but I can't help but feel a bit of amusement at this.

"Don't forget to keep your daypass on, honey!" He calls out. He chuckles, and he begins to climb up the wall too, calling out to his child. Miguel shakes his head, letting his head rest in his hand, muttering "no puedo más," in a low, stressed voice. I put a hand on his back.

"Sólo aligerar (just lighten up), it's a baby, amor."

"¡No voy a entrar en esto ahora mismo! (I am not getting into this right now!)" He hisses, I hold my hands next to my head, signalling fake surrender, and turn back to father and daughter.

Peter laughs, reaching out for Mayday, but she swings away with her own webshooters. She swings next to me, landing on one of the consoles, and I pick her up, nuzzling my nose against hers.

"I knew I was gonna regret making her that webshooter, I shouldn't have done it, that's an actual mistake." Peter hops down, watching me as I play with Mayday. She reaches out to Miguel, and I put her on his shoulder. Besides, I'm not supposed to be carrying anything heavier than 20 pounds. Miguel just stares ahead. Peter perks up again, taking out his phone. "You guys wanna see pictures?"

He runs over to Miles and Gwen, putting his arms around their shoulders.

"Are-are you sure? She's right there..." Gwen trails off when Peter turns on his phone. "This one is the studious one, and-and, oh! The next one you're gonna crack up! Oh-oh, Miguel's gonna die" He laughs. I beam at him. He seems so proud and such a loving father. I put a hand over my pregnant belly.

Peter runs over to Miguel, showing him pictures. "You know I'm trying to hold a serious, adult conversation here," Miguel says quietly as he tries to keep staring ahead. Mayday crawls all over him, sometimes hitting him gently. Peter groans.

"You know, you're the only Spider-Man who isn't funny, we're supposed to be funny!"

"The fate of the multi-verse-"

"You always lose me with that!. You say "the fate of the multiverse," and my brain dies!" He exclaims. Mayday rolls on Miguel's shoulder, sqeualing when she falls. Miguel catches her, holding her like a....football. I roll my eyes. "Será mejor que no seas así cuando tenga a tus hijos (you better not be like this when I have your children)," I say to him. He shakes his head, his eyes wide with shock and offense. "Wha-I-no! I'm just not the biggest fan of the Parkers! Sabes que puedo ser muy amoroso cuando él no está aquí para molestarme, ¿verdad, mi amor? (you do know I can be very loving when he isn't here to annoy me, right my love?)" He says through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice to a level so that only I could hear it. I put my hands on my hips, giving him a 'then show it,' look. Peter puts his hand over his heart in mock offense.

"Wow, you truly hurt me. And Mayday. You want a baby's feelings being hurt on your conscience?" He stops, and sniffs the air, then looks at Mayday. "You smell that guys? Mayday took a crap. She's a Parker!" He calls out, taking her from Miguel and walking towards where he came in. "That's what hapens when a Parker eats an avocado..."

Miguel sighs, walking over to me and putting his forehead on the top of my head defeatedly, shutting his eyes. He's exhausted, I know that, and our height difference allows us some very interesting advantages. I reach around his neck and pat his head like a little kid as I watch Hobie pick Mayday up, saluting her.

Miguel straightens again, stepping away from me. He addresses Miles again, this timecalmer, but he's still annoyed. With everyone around him. Well, not me. I smirk. He could never be too annoyed with me.

"Miles," he begins, putting his hands on his hips. "You disrupted a canon event.

"Canon event?" Miles asks, but before Miguel can explain, Peter B. pops up again, a full spider web now formed as Mayday crawls and bounces on it.

"The kid wasn't thinking. That's not how he works!"

"That's insulting."

Miles takes a few steps to the right, looking at the ground thinking. "Wait," he looks bakc up at Miguel. Miguel raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. "What are you upset about, I saved those people!"

Miguel fully steps off his platform. I give him a look, silently shushing him.

I take a step towards Miles, putting a hand on his shoulder, looking at him. "That, unfortunatley, is the problem here," I sigh, looking at him, implying an apology with my tone. Confusion is etched onto his face, and I can't blame him.

"Lyla," Miguel calls out. The hologram appears. "Do the thing."

"The thing?" I ask. Lyla smirks. "What thing?" She continues for me.

"What do you mean, what thing? The information explain-y thing!"

I scoff, taking my hand off of Miles' shoulder. "You're sounding like a mob boss, sweetie. We're not that kind of powerful," I tease, poking him in the side. Lyla laughs, but pulls up the vast, complicated web of canon events, similarities, and differences of all the Spider-People.

"Woah."

Miles steps forward, turning in a circle around himself, oogling at the intricate design.

"What's this?" He breathes out.

"This, is everything."

#miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 #spider man #spider man into the spider verse #across the spider verse spoilers #miles morales #gwen stacy

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aechii · 10 months

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getting into a argument w jude before a big match and him thinking you two aren’t on good terms but before the game starts he spots you in his jersey in the crowd and has that extra boost of confidence to do well bc he considers u a good luck charm

₍⁠₍ DRiViNG FORCE ₎⁠₎

A/N ?! nothing much to say, other than, expect ALOT of jude works this next week heheh 🤭

in retrospect, jude's frustration was justified. blinded and consumed by workload- both her own and favours [y/n] had hesitantly agreed to take on- which had ultimately caused her deathly amounts of stress, she had missed jude’s past 5 games. it was something both her and him found distasteful, and after a long conversation, they had come to the (forced) agreement that she would show up to his next one, no questions asked.

so, of course, when she had informed him that she was due in for an extra day of work, unprecedented, jude’s uplifted mood and focused mindset merged into a catastrophic ensemble as annoyance and disappointment took over. and as she rushed around the kitchen to gather her things, jude remained stagnant and stood by the table as he watched her, frowning.

“you’re really not coming?” jude questioned indignantly. it came out harsher than he intended, but with all due candor, he didn’t have the heart to care.

[y/n] hurriedly leaned over the counter to grab her keys, but her boyfriend beat her to it, swiping it into his hands before shoving them into his pocket.

“what the hell, jude?”

“are you not listening to me? i asked you a question.”

jude’s stubbornness triggered [y/n] as she threw her arms up in the air.

“what does it look like?” she retorted, annoyed, “i’m sorry but i really have to go.”

she attempted to reach for her keys, but was stopped by jude. his face turned frigid and a tide of disbelief succumbed him, “are you being serious right now? [y/n]- you haven’t been to any of my games for weeks!”

she checked the time, getting more desperate as she noticed it was 5 minutes past the time she was supposed to leave the house.

“jude, i’m sorry, okay? but i'm going to be late, we can talk about this later.”

he didn’t move, but rather stayed rooted in his spot, arms crossed as he glared at the girl before him. he was swallowed by fury, his mind trailing off on its own, and his mouth just let angered words tumble out.

“you’re so selfish. fucking go then.” his hand digs through his pocket, hurling the keys on the table before shoving his way back to the living room.

[y/n] stood there, stilled with bewilderment as she attempted to process jude’s outburst. she understood that he had been m.i.a for the past few weeks, and hadn’t shown her face in support of jude. so much so, that fans started speculating that they had broken up, forcing them to reach dire needs of posting travel photos to compensate for her absence.

but he needn’t call her that. they had talked about it many a time that [y/n] wasn’t ready to give up her job any time soon, and jude, albeit reluctantly, agreed for her to continue going. she knew it would be hard for him to understand as her work involved shifts and being called in spontaneously to fill in missing staff.

[y/n] faded out of her shock, scoffing as her frustration lead her conscience, “if you want to be like that, then be like that jude,” she shouted to him, snatching her last belonging off of the table and heading to the door.

she would've cared if she wasn't so pissed at jude, but she instead slammed the door behind her after jude slipped in his last attack.

"i'll just find somebody else to wear my shirt then!"

+_-

jude could already feel how skewed his mind was the second his cleats sunk into the grass. he felt guilty, in all rights, for what he had said, but he truly was upset for the lack of [y/n]'s support. he realised that his game had dipped just bit, whether they lose or win, and consequently, his name was losing its shine on the scoresheet.

everyone knew he performed better when she was there. gio had called her his 'good luck charm' to which jude replied with a sound of agreement because he thought so too. jude always had the urge to impress her even more, as if she wasn't vehemently aware of his talent, and it had him dominating the attacking line.

he could excuse 2 games maximum of no show, but now that this was turning into her 6th disappearance, he was getting fed up.

"you look like there's a stick up your ass, what's wrong?"

gio had commenced a side step circle around jude, in an attempt to dizzy the boy. it evokes a light look of judgment instead, but jude said nothing.

"[y/n] isn't coming today… again."

his friend's face turns sympathetic and he stops his ministrations, walking up to him, "man, really?"

jude nodded, "yeah. and even if there was a slight chance she could, i've fucked that up too."

gio rolled his eyes, exhaling melodramatically, "what now?"

"i said that if she doesn't come then i'll just find someone else to wear my shirt." shame riddled his being, and his words progressively depleted in volume as gio looked punched by shock.

"jude, what the fuck?" he tsked, "and how did she react to that? pissed? because it's very much deserved. matter of fact, i would've broken up with you."

jude's face turned hard, yet he felt his heart drop at the possibility. what he'd said was absolute shit, and it had given his girlfriend options, one of which was to leave him.

over his dead, fucking body.

"don't say that and no, we didn't break up. she just slammed the door and left."

"as if that makes anything any better, jude," gio retorted, arms crossed. he knew jude was quite an amateur when it came to gripping the reins of his feelings, but more times than not, it seemed like it was vice versa.

marco noticed them slacking off, running up to them before they were being forced into a couple more training drills. jude knew that his playing headspace had to be on, but his conscience dallied between that and pondering over his fallout with [y/n] and he gave up, knowing that he was going to have another off-game.

+_-

by half time, jude wanted out. they were 2-0 down, and marco was completely livid. his coach had watched them with complete confusion, trying to find the break in the circuit. if he had, and noticed that it was, in fact, jude himself, it was as if he was sworn to secrecy because most players but him were subbed out.

jude had spaced out during the locker room talk, and his legs were on autopilot as they walked back into the field. his eyes were trained on the mass of black and yellow, in an attempt for a last string of hope, before he's interrupted by gio's voice.

"jude, look!"

he pointed to the vip box, and jude squinted before his eyes set upon the undeniable stature of his girlfriend, dressed in his shirt.

"no way."

his mind failed at formulating words, and the second they made eye contact, jude smiled and blew her a kiss. she didn't catch it, but rather gave him a humorous look that said, 'impress me'.

gio watched the whole ordeal with a grin, hooking his arm around the boy before whispering in his ear, "fix the game, loverboy!"

jude snickers back, feeling his limbs light with exhilaration, "bet."

and the second he scored, he ran up to the stands, hands structured in his girlfriend's initial before making a heart.

the smile she gave her would remain in his memories forever.

#work de aechii 🫧#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham romance #jude bellingham #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham fanfic #borussia dortmund #football imagines #footballer x reader #footballer x you

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princeblue · 1 month

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Sometimes I think about how the fandom has this perception of Giyuu as someone who is mercilessly bullied by the Hashira and can’t defend himself when that is literally not true, like. Giyuu continuously digs a hole for himself when he is around them, he uses these words like “im not like you guys” after he decides he’s going to walk out of the Hashira meeting because he thinks he can’t unlock the demon slayer mark.

And who wouldn’t look at Giyuu, a stoic man who hardly interacts with the other Hashira and uses words in a monotone voice saying he’s different from everyone else and not think “this guy thinks he’s above us” which is literally what Sanemi thinks when he sees Giyuu and Giyuu’s behavior.

Sanemi grew up a poor child in a poor town with people who did look down on him for his very existence, why would he not challenge and provoke someone who, in sanemi’s eyes, is saying he’s better/different than everyone else without no real proof?

And again, Giyuu is given two opportunities to explain himself, to actually say what he thinks about himself and his status of a Hashira. But he does not, and when he’s given the second opportunity (sanemi asking him “what do you mean by that”) he instead brushes off his fellow Hashira and continues to walk away, once again affirming this ideal of a person who thinks himself higher above the others.

At most the majority of the Hashira think of Giyuu with either curiosity or nothing at all, Sanemi and Obanai are the only ones who really don’t like him and voice their opinions on him which is always with contempt and Shinobu is the only one who is generally kind to him because she wants to be, and even then she has her moments of frustration and cruelty (“nobody likes you” in the mountains) which is what I assume is from how Giyuu holds himself and possibly her having the same ideal as Sanemi/Obanai but because of the persona she’s garnered for herself she’s not outright cruel and merely more passive aggressive but again, also curious. Which is where their friendship is sparked.

And this isn’t to say that Giyuu should spill his hearts and guts out to the Hashira, he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to. Depression affects people in many ways and there’s no denying he’s someone with an extreme amount of self hatred and depression, but he’s also a Hashira who held his own against an Akaza who was legitimately trying to harm him and unlocked his demon slayer mark, he is capable of defending himself, he is capable of saying “shut the fuck up.” When someone says something about him that is meant to harm his feelings, he’s not some uwu precious bean and if Giyuu had expanded what he meant, “im not like you guys, im weaker.” The Hashira; specifically Obanai and Sanemi, would have regarded him differently and might not have been as cruel.

All in all, it’s very justifiable that Obanai and Sanemi held contempt for him, again Giyuu only continued to make himself look worse in their eyes, but he’s not mercilessly bullied by everyone he comes into contact with, because while we’re at it he’s also a snarky asshole (“why don’t you go train more” when he ties up Inosuke, calling sanemi a simpleton when he says he can’t wait to unlock the demon slayer mark, calling Tanjirou weak/stupid when he’s a traumatized child who just saw his entire family dead and now this strange man is trying to kill his sister)

And it really really fucking bothers me when people hate on Sanemi and Obanai for this, Obanai is a little bit more harder to dive into for me personally, but I feel like his dislike is garnered by being a supposed special person above others and it only brought him pain and death. To him there’s nothing special about being special so why would he like someone who “claims” they are?

Again this isn’t to say that Giyuu owes everyone an explanation, but he’s not owed any kindness or comradeship when he appears as someone who is indifferent or views themselves as simply being higher than others.

#demon slayer #kny #blue rambles #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #shinobu Kochou #Obanai Iguro

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bloobluebloo · 2 months

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I'm just thinking back to that poll, about whether Zelda would restore the monarchy or not, where the majority voted that she wouldn't restore the kingdom. The reasoning was fascinating, so many people citing the way her father had treated her, or how running a kingdom was stifling her and what she wanted to do, or how she was seemingly better off working directly with Hyrule's communities so she didn't need to restore the monarchy. Then now with the recent post I reblogged, where thinking of the fact that you have a singular form of government that rules on divine right for thousands of years, where the ruler has the blood of the goddess running through her veins, and people respond with "Well, Zelda has to be good! Because she's Hylia! Because she has the power of a goddess!" as if this is enough to offset the horror of having one. singular. monarchy. ruling.indefinitely.

I'm endlessly fascinated on how fixated people are on Rhoam as a shitty parent. I'm sure it's because many people who had strict overbearing parents could relate to how Zelda felt being reprimanded by her father for not being enough. But, there is a bigger picture to consider here. If Zelda is indeed this divine goddess reborn that radiates goodness and is set up to be Hyrule's salvation, can you blame Rhoam for his behaviour? He is Hyrule's king, and he is being faced with what is the worst possible thing that can happen to Hyrule, the key to its defeat laying in the hands of his daughter. Can you imagine having this threat that is looming over the horizon, that can appear at any minute, and then seeing your daughter, the princess with the power to stop it, busying herself with her interests while her powers have yet to be unlocked? You can't imagine getting frustrated even a little in this scenario? This is not me defending Rhoam, or belittling Zelda. Being a teenager burdened with the fate of your country and being unable to unlock the powers she needed must have done a number on Zelda, and having her father belittle her for her interests on top of that must have just added to her sense of uselessness instead of actually helping her awaken her powers. That being said, they are both playing on an entirely different field than the rest of Hyrule, and both Rhaom's inability to help his daughter in a productive way and Zelda's inability to unlock her powers in time came at a major cost to Hyrule. Anyways, the point of all this is to say: it is so weird how people really bend themselves out of shape to justify Zelda's goodness. I feel like the basis for so many people arguing that Zelda wouldn't restore the monarchy is because monarchy is "bad", the monarchy only hurt her and didn't allow her to do what she wanted to do so she wouldn't restore it. However, in any other case, Hyrule's monopoly on power is good because Zelda is Hylia and she is good and she is ruling with goodness so they should maintain power. It's just so fascinating that people are justifying their arguments on Zelda and her self-serving interests instead of asking if the way she chooses to make decisions and run Hyrule is actually good for Hyrule. Then they will turn around and argue that Ganondorf's desire for Hyrule is only based in selfishness.

#admiral’s log

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sleepynegress · 8 months

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A COMPREHENSIVE & AUTHENTIC UHURA LOVE/HISTORY POST

The above is where Roddenberry 1st employed Nichelle Nichols [click to watch the full clip]. It was a military show based on Roddenberry's own experiences, the episode is called To Set it Right (I highly suggest reading the wiki article about it).

You should note two other actors, whom he later pegged for Star Trek are in the episode.

They dated briefly and then became good friends way before Trek came about.

Miss Nichols was already an accomplished singer and dancer who performed regularly w/ Billy Eckstine and Duke Ellington

Roddenberry's 1st show, The Lieutenant, was canceled/pulled from the air before these scenes bluntly dealing with racism could air (there's blackface as punishment for the racists at the end of the show, in a case of 'he 'a little confused but got the spirit' for the times, so tw)

He created Star Trek to try to soften the blow of all the social messaging he wanted to insert from his military experience. Star Trek was basically, a submarine drama placed in a sci-fi setting. He made it diverse on purpose because the military helped him travel and serve with all kinds of people. Roddenberry was inspired by that.

Uhura was the first person to read for Spock and in fact, helped to shape the character with her reading and based many of the traits of Uhura (formerly Uhuru) on Spock.

She was basically a glorified secretary. She played the part with poise, joy, and the 60's style womanism she got to play out for those times... Everything from her mini-skirt (which Nichelle herself called very comfortable) to her smile, and teasing lines, and quips were about her playing "big" in a small role. She made every moment, every look, every line, and movement count:

Roddenberry cracked jokes about the fact that the network never figured out that Uhura was fourth in command.

Nichelle was the only main cast member who was not salaried. She was paid by the hour. This attempt at marginalization actually resulted in her being the highest paid at times, because of the long hours.

Nichelle was not let in the front entrance at times, her fan-mail was kept from her, and she grew frustrated with the constant cutting of her scenes, lines and storylines. This is why she justifiably attempted to leave. The bigots in production did not like her being there (and if we're being real, were it not for Janice Rand's actress Grace Lee Whitney having gone through so much and thus losing her job in the 1st season...Uhura might have had even LESS presence)

The lost context in MLK convincing her to stay was that YES she was minimized and could make more money and be more fulfilled on broadway, but her symbolism and presence meant so much at a time when Black women weren't on TV unless as a racist caricature cleaning a house, and even that was rare...that she stayed.

One of her best allies was DeForest Kelly, who threatened to quit if they fired Nichelle. George Takei was her absolute best friend on the show and in life (she served as his Best Woman at his wedding).

There was an unfilmed episode in which Uhura and Deforest would have played reverse roles in "racial dynamics" on a planet they visit

Spock and Uhura were originally supposed to kiss in the alien mind control episode, but Shatner demanded to do so for the publiicity.

Her work to recruit marginalized people as astronauts, as in personally going to colleges and talking to candidates after the show is a staggering achievement that arguably is the most potent of any castmember in any of the Trek series post-show. Sally Ride, Guy Bluford (she personally recruited the 1st woman and 1st black astronaut), Mae Jemison (the 1st black woman credits her for inspiring her to become an astronaut).

Uhura did finally command the ship in the animated series. She would not have gotten to voice the role, but for Leonard Nimoy making it an obligation that all the original actors voice their parts for him to come on.

Scotty and Uhura in the film was definitely a pair the spares situation, in which both were the leftover senior citizens with the writers just going "why not?"

it was beyond insulting and she did protest about the scene where she's bumbling through a giant translation book to speak to klingons for laughs in trek 5 ...but her best moment IMO is her pulling a gun on the young ensign in the transporter room in Trek 3...sadly her ONLY scene in the damn movie.

Miss Saldana got to play to MANY corrections in JJ Abrams rebooted Trek, from being amazing at languages to having an actual life & love, to confidently turning down Kirk at every turn.

FUN FACT!! Both JJ and Bob Orci both expressed disappointed shock that the love story between Spock & Uhura got more hatred from fans than BLOWING UP PLANET VULCAN.

another FUN FACT!! The love story between Spock & Uhura is what grabbed the old school Star Wars fan (JJ Abrams) enough to come aboard to direct. Yep. JJ ships Spock & Uhura.

Zoe's iteration became the 1st version of Uhura to speak confidently in Klingon

Celia Rose Gooding becoming Uhura brings around a lot of Uhura's qualities full circle, IMO. As she is also from theatre (like Nichelle) and has a beautiful singing voice as well as the charm. Zoe's iteration was sharper, and much more protective, professional, & mature, about her life and love.

Celia Rose has the youthful curiousity and stars in her eyes and had vulnerability from her first intro... I loved the eagerness the crew showed to being in her orbit, seeing the glow of her talent and being drawn to that, to have a part in nurturing that.

As I've said... Celia IMO has the most dazzling smile, giant warm brown eyes, fantastic curves, and an energy that feels essentially Uhura, & that is all light, joy, a bit of uncertainty, -from the light singing (!) and the growth to her joy in discovery... I'd love to see her writing move away from serving and be more about her wants needs and growing in friendships/loves.

But Celia is a gift and is perfectly cast.

Essentially Uhura = femininity, graceful carriage, gorgeous smile, excellence in engineering and translation (canon!), ability to sing and play the Vulcan lyre, sharp womanist wit, love for her U.S. of African-Kenyan culture and being beloved by all crew...

When Miss Celia hummed those gorgeous notes to the alien entity on that comet?? That Solidified that she IS Uhura IMO.

I 100% think they fucked up by killing Hemmer, because that mentor-mentee relationship was giving marginalized coming together and bonding over everybody else's bullshit and I was here for it...it was giving me Data and Geordi updated...and since then, IMO they've lost track and given us the same kinda backwards wingwoman role BS, that people who like to pretend to be her fan shoehorn her into.

...but I have high hopes that they'll course-correct.

All this to say ALL OF THE ABOVE is Uhura and anyone calling her ugly, bossy, pushy, annoying, whatever is just sad little hater who doesn't know wtf they are talking about.

#uhura #celia rose gooding #zoe saldana #nichelle nichols #nyota uhura #star trek #star trek 2009 #st: snw #star trek: strange new worlds #star trek strange new worlds #strange new worlds #meta #anti-misogynoir #see how easy it is to talk up Uhura w/o pretending the only reason she's allowed to be is to get two dudes together?#see how easy it is to post something about who she is beyond a photo and just claiming she's your fave?#Youtube #another tidbit is that my man karl urban who gave the most direct and authentic playing of his reiteration IMO...#IS a true trekkie who spoke up for canon moments Spock and Uhura share in TOS when they got questions about Spock/Uhura in the reboot #p.s. yall got scammed by the gofundme for nichelle #her son moved her to new mexico and sold her house out from under the grifter because he was squatting there #yall just gave that fanclub lady free money #fanclub lady was making her work and sign autographs through dementia for the grift too #note yall aint see where 70k went since her passing have you?#sadly

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tacticaldiary · 8 months

Note

Hey there! Love your stuff! I was just reading some of your work for our favorite Scotsman and I was wondering if you would be so kind as to feed me more.

Picture this, Soap and Reader have been a thing since like forever. On the “Alone” mission or something, reader goes on a rampage to find her sweet sweet Johnny.

A Still Beating Heart

Pairing: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"Like hell I was leaving you." Clicking her tongue, she shifts her focus on his wound that's bleeding through the hasty patchwork. "Not letting you bleed out now."

"You gonna kiss it better, hen?" A poor attempt at a joke.

"I'll kiss you all you want once we're safe."

A/N: This turned out way longer than I expected-

Masterlist

Rain obscures her vision as she runs, the image of Johnny hitting the ground after being shot playing over and over again in a dreadful loop.

He got away. He's gotten away. He's alright.

She chants it in her head over and over whilst navigating the winding streets of Las Almas.

"Watch it." Ghost barks yanking her to the side roughly when she almost crashes head-first into a crumbling brick wall. "Get your head on straight, Sergeant." Muted anger coats his words as he spits them out.

She grits her teeth in response, taking a second to survey her surroundings. They've stopped in an alleyway a good chunk of the way into the town. There's no doubt that Graves would be on their heels, they couldn't afford to stop for long.

Leaving two deadly soldiers who are witnesses wouldn't be a risk he'd take.

Three. She reminds herself with a fierce determination. Three soldiers.

How dare he. How fucking dare Graves turn around and betray them like he hadn't been their brother in arms for the last few weeks. The fact that he'd turned on them without remorse, shot her boyfriend without batting an eye was unforgivable.

Rage, hot and fierce scalds the blood running through her veins. Her mind is a storm of conflict, a desperate chant of Johnny's name on repeat. Between the anger, there's the blinding worry that accompanies it. It had all happened so fast she didn't get a chance to see where exactly he got shot, just that he'd fallen with a pained grunt, then Ghost was shouting at him to go.

Part of her rages Ghost him as well, for the way he'd roughly stopped her from lunging into the open to get to Johnny. It's not justified. Ghost had done his job as Lieutenant, had gotten them both and Johnny out of there in time.

Just barely in time.

While Ghost ventures farther into the alley, she clicks on her radio, switching through different channels. "Transmitting in the blind, does anyone copy?" She says into the device, frustrated when there's no answer, she flicks through the channels again and-

A raspy cough, a weak, familiar Scottish drawl.

She switches to it immediately, bringing the radio up to her mouth. "Johnny? I read you." The relief is palpable in her voice, a creature that settles with its claws still out. "What's your location?" She holds her tongue and her questions upon hearing heavy, raspy breaths from the other side. "Johnny?"

"Aye. 'S good to hear your voice." He manages. "I'm in...at the corner of a street. Edge of the town somewhere." There's a grunt from the other end, the rustling of gear and clothing as he sits up. "Is Ghost there?"

"Affirm." Her eyes snap to the man as he talks through his own radio. "There's a Church north side of the city. We'll recon there." His scouting must have resulted in something, then. It's a good plan, she'll admit. A structure with a solid vantage point gated off and less likely to be surrounded with its many exit points. Smart.

"Copy." Johnny's short response makes her frown.

"Can you make it?" She presses him. The short beat of silence has her heart sinking.

"'Course I can." He laughs but it's hollow. "Don't worry your pretty head about it. You'll see me in no time."

"Get moving, Soap." Ghost shuts down the conversation tightly, peering into one of the cracked open doors that lead into what looks like a clothing store. "Stay on my six," He tells her. "It's a straight path there, but we don't have a count on-"

"I'm going fetch him." Ghost exhales slowly, not turning around. "You and I both know he's lost an unknown amount of blood. I'm not risking losing him to that motherfucker." She snarls.

"You don't have his location."

"I'll scour the outskirts until I find him. You provide overwatch from the church. I will find him."

The fire in her eyes, the tight-strung posture...Ghost has little doubt that she would. They meet eyes, but she doesn't back down for a second, daring him to order her otherwise.

Finally after what seems like ages, he jerks his head behind him in silent, begrudging approval. "Thirty minutes, Sergeant."

"I'll only need ten."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tucked behind the counter of a grocery store, Soap clenches his jaw as footsteps pass through the window above him. This entire situation was a shit show.

The sting of betrayal was almost as painful as the insistent throbbing on his shoulder. He's already sure the bullet is lodged in there from the quick once-over he gave himself. Admittedly, it had taken him longer than he expected to get his bearings. Judging by the puddle of blood he woke up in, he'd already lost a good amount of blood before he'd roughly packed the still gushing wound.

Guerrilla warfare was bloody and made something vile crawl through Soap's veins. Every time he ties together rope and metal to pry open a door, or fashions a bomb out of a mousetrap, he can't help but think of the bodies he'd encountered on his path to the church. Children, women, men...nobody was spared by those fuckers.

It was vile, a kind of justice he didn't enlist to take part in. The very thing he's sworn to protect people against...

Soap is snapped out of his thoughts by Ghost's voice. They'd had some back and forth whilst they were moving, and Soap knows it's partly to keep him alert and present. Underneath Ghost's rough words, there was always a twinge of worry lacing his tone only someone familiar with the exact lilt of his mannerisms would pick up.

Once the footsteps recede, Soap groans quietly, pushing himself up to his feet with help from the wall. His legs protest, his arms ache and a deep exhaustion infects his mind, begs him to sit down for a few minutes and let go.

In an attempt to shake off the thoughts, he takes a deep breath and reaches for his radio to hear the one voice that always makes him snap to attention.

Soap's been thanking whoever was up there that she'd ended up safe with Ghost. It didn't ease his worry but it soothed it into something more bearable. She wasn't incapable by any means, but even the strongest person benefitted by someone equally capable by their side.

God, he hopes he reaches the church before he collapses.

Swaying suddenly, Soap curses under his breath and reaches to grab the counter to steady himself. In his haste, his arm crashes against a vase, sending it crashing to the ground.

The noise is accompanied by the yells of Shadows outside the store. Soap barely has time to curse himself out and make a lunge for the stairs before the soldier from before peers into the store, rifle at the ready.

Gunfire rains down on him, grazing his arm when he presses himself behind a brick pillar for cover.

Fuck. Fuck.

Sweat beads down his back as he struggles to keep himself upright, shaky fingers patting down his pocket for the knife he'd yanked out of a soldier's head an hour ago...has it been an hour? He doesn't know anymore.

Cautious steps approach him, his heart pounding against his chest as adrenaline pushes itself through his system.

It was strike now or get struck down. The element of surprise was the only advantage he had. His shoulder aches like a bitch but he sucks it up and tightens his grip around his knife.

It all happens at the same time.

Soap lunges out of his hiding spot, weapon raised as much as the fuzz around his vision will let him.

And he watches as someone else tackles the Shadow to the ground.

Soap stops in his tracks, tensing at the vicious way she slits the man's throat. Familiar hair, a body he's mapped out with his hands and mouth over and over again.

Her gaze snaps up to meet his, a shock down his spine.

"For someone so loud, you're good at staying hidden." She huffs, wiping the blood off of her cheek.

No. No, she couldn't be here. She was supposed to be with Ghost, not roaming the streets crawling with Shadows for...

For him.

The thought warms him from the inside out despite the situation. Who the hell is he kidding? He would have done the exact same thing for her.

The moment her hands touch his arms, all the energy seems to snap out of him. Johnny's knees give out, her hands barely catching him to lower him gently to the ground.

"Shit, Johnny?" Panic laces her voice. A hand slick with blood cups his cheek, slaps it gently to prompt his eyes to flutter open. "You gotta stay awake, okay baby? Come on." She doesn't relent until he listens, a hazy gaze focused on her.

"Ya shouldn't be here." He rasps out.

"Like hell I was leaving you." Clicking her tongue, she shifts her focus on his wound, bleeding through the hasty patchwork. "Not letting you bleed out now."

"You gonna kiss it better, hen?" A poor attempt at a joke.

"I'll kiss you all you want once we're safe." Hooking his uninjured arm over her shoulder, she helps her stand. Her heart clenches at the pained groan he tries to muffle. It's good that she had the sense to come back for him.

She doesn't want to think what might have happened if she'd been a second too late.

"That a promise?"

"A threat." She corrects as they stumble towards the backdoor. The weak snort she gets in response is more than enough to loosen the knot in her chest an inch.

Soap's laugh dies in his throat when they hit the streets.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He mumbles, looking around at the roads bathed in crimson.

Bodies and bodies of Shadows lay scattered around almost every alleyway they hobble through. Peeks through to the main roads show the same results. Black masked figures slumped over, limbs twisted and odd angles, necks slit open brutally.

"Had some fun getting to me, did ya?"

There's no response from her but a shrug.

There's no sorrow or remorse for what she had to do to get to him. A mantra of his name playing through her head, the desperation of getting to him and the rage of the situation mixed together had made each swipe of her knife, each broken bone easy.

She's painted the town red.

Johnny. She needed to get to Johnny and whoever was standing in her way had met their demise by viscous hands and an unforgiving sentence.

"I'm surprised you made it that far on your own." Keeping him talking was important. "Graves will face hell for what he's done." They duck into a street, the church in plain view.

"It's a bleedin' a war crime." Soap says. "Makes me want to commit a few of my own." His voice dips down to a growl. She shares the same sentiment.

"Amen." She mumbles back, peering out into the courtyard in front of them. A couple of figures patrol the area, breaking off of each other to peer behind parked vehicles and doors to different shops.

"Four hostiles in our path." A grimace. She gently lowers him down against the stone wall. "Stay here while I clear our path... not that you can go anywhere, actually."

Soap seems displeased about her going off on her own, but he knows that he's more of a liability than an advantage in a situation where stealth is valued. "Take 'em quietly."

"Copy." Her bloody knife spins in her hand. "Be right back, baby." Pressing a kiss to his temple, she slips out of the alley.

Johnny breathes out a shaky sigh, and lets his head hit the stone behind him. Itchy and restless from being able to do nothing, he loathes feeling so...useless. He's confident in her, how could anyone not be? But that doesn't quell the need to shield her from everything he can spare her from.

She was fiery and bright, everything he'd always wanted. She came into his life as a force to be reckoned with, butting heads with him and throwing insults back at his face as easily as he uttered them to her.

Love had hit him hard.

Stuck in his head, his eyes flutter shut against his wishes as he thinks. Just for moment, he tells himself. Just until she gets back.

Just a second of rest wouldn't hurt, right?

Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he knows that letting himself fall unconscious was the worst possible case in this scenario, but he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried. The blood loss makes him tired and lethargic and before long he's fallen into the inky depth of sleep.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It had all gone to shit.

Three of the four guards she'd taken down quickly. It had been almost easy how fast and quiet they went down, gurgling on their own blood as her knife slid across the chinks in their armour, the skin of their necks.

The third guard had been a little too trigger-happy, though. A twitch of his finger while he was choking had set his gun going off with a bang, a bullet embedded into one of the cars nearby.

It had been enough to alert every goddamn person in the vicinity.

She's glad she left Johnny behind, at least his position wasn't compromised.

Just as the street started filling up, her radio had crackled to life, Ghost barking that the church had been compromised and overrun, ordering them to meet him at the end of the street to secure a vehicle.

She was already there, all she had to do was keep her position and stop the Shadows from flanking her until Ghost got there.

"Copy." She mutters into the radio, setting up the rifle she'd swiped from one of the corpses over the hood of the cars she's ducked behind. "Eyes on a possible vehicle." She relays over comms upon setting sight on a blue truck close to her, relatively unscratched. Firing off round after round, the soldiers drop like flies. The armoured ones are a little tougher to deal with, and need a more precise aim but she manages somehow.

She curses under her breath as more of the pour from the stores and alleys into the streets.

Just a little longer. Ghost was almost here, then they could secure a vehicle, grab Johnny and get the fuck out of here.

Wrecking carnage in his path, Ghost emerges from behind a barrier after what seems like an hour, and together the both of them climb into the truck she informed him of. "Stop by the far alley and I'll haul Soap inside so we can get the hell out of here." She grunts, firing off shots from the back of the truck as Ghost starts the ignition.

She gets an affirmative and they're on their way, ducking at the sound of gunfire and barked orders following them.

She jumps out of the truck and runs into the alley where she left him. "Time to go Johnny, come-..." She halts in her tracks, into a dead stop at the scene in front of her.

Blood splatters the wall behind his shoulder, the wound aggravated and bleeding through the improvised bandaging in rivers of red down his arm. He's...he's pale, shallow gasps of breaths that are barely there making his chest move in movements too small to be healthy.

Ghost yells at her to make it quick, and it's her Lieutenant's voice that brings her crashing back to reality. Swallowing back her panic, she hoists Johnny up and drags him into the back of the truck, yelling at Ghost to move as she lays him down as still as possible.

Bullets ping off of the metal, but all she can focus on is pressing her hands to Soap's wound. She leans in close to feel him puffing out short gasps of air.

Still breathing, she tells herself as Ghost makes a sharp turn. He's alive, he's breathing, he's here, he's not dead. Alive, alive, still alive.

With hands shaky, she pulls out a proper roll of gauze from her vest, the emergency first aid pouch she carries is worth its weight in gold.

"Don't you fucking die on me, baby." She whispers, voice cracking. "It's not allowed." She wipes the worst of the wound with disinfectant before packing the hole with fresh gauze.

There was so much blood pooling beneath him in that alley...and how much had he lost before that?

He needed a medic, and fast. She wouldn't lose him. Not him.

Not her Johnny.

Not the person that could coax a smile out of her even if she was in the foulest of moods. Not Johnny, who always seemed to know what she needed, what made her feel better. Not the love of her life who she'd seen a life out of the military with.

Please, not him.

Time flies by and soon, Ghost pulls over in front of a safehouse. When he exits the driver's seat and comes round the back to asses the situation, his heart sinks as he finds her curled up over Soap, lips pressed to his forehead as she whispers to him, her hand carding through his dirty hair as if he might wake up to feel it.

"Let's get him inside." He says, tone oddly sombre. If he notices how wet her eyes are, he doesn't comment on it, merely helps her carry him in silence. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rudy had been a godsend. His safe house had been packed with supplies much more useful to Soap. He'd taken one look at Soap, at her wrecked and frantic state, and taken over. Ordering her and Ghost to start studying the maps to the facility they planned to break into, he started his own inspection of Soap.

She can't focus.

The maps mean nothing to her. The lines, the marks, the circles. It was meaningless gibberish to her when her boyfriend was-

"He'll pull through." She blinks back into the present at Ghost's gruff voice, head snapping up to meet his gaze.

"He better." A shaky inhale.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When Rudy comes back to inform them that Soap is stable, her legs nearly buckle under her with a wave of relief. She pushes past him immediately to seek her boyfriend out, and finds him laying on one of the old cots pushed to the corner.

She takes a seat on the floor next to him, resting her head against the mattress. "You're an asshole." She mumbles after a second. "Scared the shit out of me, you know that?"

He probably can't hear her, but it doesn't stop her frayed nerves from talking. Her hand finds his and she squeezes it gently trying to bring some of her warmth into his cold skin. Sighing, she presses his hand to her forehead, shifting her grip so her fingers rested on his pulse.

Each steady beat loosens the knot in her chest, reassures her that he is alive.

Would he wake up soon? Would he wake up at all? The latter thought is quickly chased away, because there was no choice. Johnny had to wake up, he had to.

A world without him simply wasn't one worth having.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her back aches.

Forehead pressed into the mattress right by his waist, it's the first thing she registers as she's roused from where she'd dozed off. Blinking sluggishly, she groans as she feels a hand carding through her hair.

Just the right pressure, the feeling so familiar and warm and soothing-

Her eyes widen and she snaps up straight to meet a pair of tired but amused blue eyes studying her. Johnny's sitting up right in front of her, looking down at her in that soft way he always did.

"Rise and shine." He rasps out, and she almost sobs at the sound. Pushing herself to her feet, she wraps her arms around him the best she can without injuring him. "Easy." He winces at being jostled but holds her just as tight.

"Thought you were gone." She chokes out, trembling. "I thought-"

"I'm right here, bonnie." He whispers into her hair. "Right with ya. Gonna take more than that to do me in, right?"

She laughs wetly into his shoulder, as he runs a hand up and down her back as if she was the one who needed comforting.

Pulling herself together was a more difficult task than clearing the streets of Las Almas. Every time she thinks she's calmed down, she remembers how still and cold Johnny had been and she spirals all over again.

He clicks his tongue and manoeuvres them gently so he's laying down with her on his chest, careful to avoid his good arm. Her head is pressed against the centre of his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat a balm against the rising and falling cycle of panic and grief she's stuck in.

Alive, alive, alive. Still alive.

Once her breathing evens out into something relatively stable, she tries to speak again. "Don't scare me like that again."

He hums. "I'll do better next time." A tired smile grows on his face as she pinches his side.

Alive.

He was still alive.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(3/09/2023)

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comradekatara · 3 months

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Re: Zuko sexism and fandom: I think that a LOT of people are just genuinely unwilling to actually view Zuko's bad behaviour as actually consequential. He gets "forgiven" by the Gaang and he has a big dramatic duel and then he rules the Fire Nation so it's fine actually. If it wasn't fine he wouldn't have been forgiven, like Jet! They use the lens of end-of-series Zuko, influenced by how the Gaang forgives him, to then retroactively handwave away his earlier behaviour and view it as if end of series Zuko is just misguidedly doing those things, rather than it being an actual expression of what he believes in and his morality at that point in time. Part of it is an abundance of sympathy and projection because he's the most explicit (and arguably only explicit, because other child abuse victims are never injured or attempted-murdered that we know of, and that's the bar for many viewers. Neither are any other than Zuko positioned piteously or as victims of Serious Injustice.) child abuse victim in the show and we see so MUCH of his internal struggle. For like a whole book. There's also a consistent trend of viewing the Fire Nation as Yes, Actually, being better than the other societies, they just shouldn't have tried to spread it via war, so yes Zuko is ✨indoctrinated✨ but in a feminist galaxy brained way not a bad fascist way. So the colonialism would've been fine if people had just agreed with how great the Fire Nation is! Pretty much the entirety of Zuko's bad behaviour is handwaved away as "he's a good guy who had a bad life! We forgive him for all of it, he's trying!" And to a lot of viewers, it's also "he's also hot and I've had a crush on him since I was like 14!". He's genuinely a huge asshole to pretty much everyone around him like, almost 24/7, for the majority of the show. And he has his reasons but he's still caused a lot of harm, and that we see? he's basically only revised his views on violent colonialism, making his Anger other people's problem, and some parts of racism. He only ever addresses what he's done to the Gaang and Uncle to. Does he buy Song another ostrich horse? Does he give Kyoshi reparations? Did he ever find out if that farming family with the kid Lee were harmed for harbouring a FIRE NATION PRINCE? What did he do to apologise to the Southern Water Tribe? Whatever he did to apologise to and thank Mai, if anything, I can guarantee it wasn't enough. That's just his personal stuff, never mind his policy choices as the New Fiery Dictator. It's so boring and frustrating how much people gloss over his jagged edges, because without those edges his narrative and how he fits into the world and story just collapses completely.

you’re so right about all of this. I think his final scene with mai is especially emblematic of how his resolution is framed as “and they all lived happily ever after” even though I remember perfectly well how he treated that poor girl so I’m just yelling at her to run away the whole scene. although I will say that stealing song’s ostrich horse was probably his most justifiable crime just bc if I was a disfigured burn victim and someone tried to touch my face without asking I’d also consider committing petty theft against them. ngl. he still does owe her a new ostrich horse though. and of course framing his ascension as some grand victory is thematically/telelogically appropriate, but I highly doubt he would be like. good at firelording. but that’s for another post. ppl really like smoothing out his edges and treating him as if he’s beyond reproach when everyone only finds him so compelling in the first place because his flaws are so obvious, so they assume he’s more “complex” than the other characters (and also more relatable, but that’s for another post too). it’s actually kind of funny if you think about it. “he’s the best because he’s so noticeably flawed and therefore so complex but also I love him so he doesn’t have any flaws actually and is probably a feminist socialist who loves eating pussy and listening to women.” and this is also lowkey how ppl talk about sokka too but at least sokka does actually do those things, zuko doesn’t even pretend to😭 anyway. i keep saying today that you guys couldn’t handle revolutionary girl utena, but you guys REALLY couldn’t handle revolutionary girl utena…

#which reminds me that I still need to finish that sokka/nanami essay #estra-die-ol #asks #also ofc zuko and mai are both gay. but that’s beside the point #zuko #hot takes #mai #song #sorry I know she meant well but I hate that girl!!!!#she has smug nurse energy 2 me #like no u can’t touch some guy u just met learn some fucking BOUNDARIESS #anyway. he was still wrong for stealing her mode of transportation lmfao

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nctluhv · 9 months

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Haechan x fem!reader (ft Nomin as Haechan’s best friends)

Warnings// stepcest, noncon, unprotected sex, reader is a BITCH, nomin are pervy, haechan fucks some sense into reader, humiliation of reader by being recorded, video shown to others

Don’t like it, don’t read. You are responsible for reading any further!!

Not proofread

Haechan knew what he wanted, and that was you. It frustrated him every time he would overhear you talking about another guy.

But something else that really frustrated him was the way you treated him. All of those times where you shot a dirty look his way, all of the shit talking you did to your friends, all of the insults that came out of your mouth. All it did was frustrate him.

Anytime his friends would come over they would only dwell in how hot you were and the slutty clothes you wore around them and specially them… short shorts and a tank top that showed so much cleavage it was surprising you’ve never had a nip slip before.

Haechan hates to think about how many times hes has his hand wrapped around his hard cock thinking of you. But he knew it was wrong. For fucks sake, you’re his stepsister. However, it was justified to an extent. I mean you guys have known each other for a while, but not as stepsiblings but as classmates. You have a history of strong hate for each other.

“You don’t realize how lucky you are to have a girl like that living in the same house as you Haechan”

The words slipped from his friends mouth. His friends name was Jaemin. Na Jaemin. The amount of times he’s checked out your boobs is uncountable. He’s also a huge perv and never fails to make comments on your appearance when talking about you.

Jeno nods his head in agreement.

The “He’s right Hae, the only thing she needs is an attitude change. She’s seriously the bitchiest girl I’ve ever met. Out of everyone who’s been inside of her.. none of them have had a good enough dick to shut her up??”

Jeno spews.

“You guys are fucking gross, shes my fucking stepsister.”

Haechan acts disgusted but it’s all he ever thinks about. His tongue lapping your clit while his hands cover your mouth so that you don’t disturb the neighbors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeno and Jaemin are well gone and have been for a few hours. You sit in your room on your phone scrolling through tiktok. You soon get out of your bed to stroll down to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Of course when you get there you see Haechan sitting on the couch, doing the same thing you just were. He looks up at you and you sarcastically wave back at his blank stare.

“I don’t appreciate the way you act y/n. You walk around acting like you’re the shit when all you do is let yourself get used by the desperate man whores that walk around this small area.”

You look up at him with a look of complete and utter shock. How could he talk to you like that? Who does he think he is?

“Who the hell are you talking to like that?”

The words come out of your mouth as he rises from his spot on the couch. He walks fast towards you and you feel your heart start to sink. He never does anything about your attitude so what is this all of a suddenness??

Haechan soon makes his way into the kitchen. He wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes slightly.

“This attitude better fucking come to an end or ill end it myself”

You soon push him off of you and he gives a look of disbelief. How dare you put your hands on him??

“Thats it y/n”

Before you even get a chance to open your mouth, he pulls you by your arm into his room. He checks the time.

12:17 AM

Haechan pushes you onto his bed and starts to unbuckle his belt. You’re confused. What the hell is going on??

“You better stay the fuck quiet y/n. Better not hear a single word slip out of your mouth.”

All confusion leaves your body as soon as he uses his belt to wrap your hands in. He’s using it as a restraint… and a good one at that.

He soon pulls out his phone and hits record in one hand as he’s ripping your spandex-like shorts off with the other. You whine and kick and cry out as he strips you naked. The phone makes it a million times worse.

“Say hi to jaemin and jeno !”

You hide your face as Haechan gets more frustrated. You feel a burn tingle in your cheek. He just slapped you. What has gotten into him??

Right as you’re thinking about how to stop him, he pulls his hard dick out of his pants and aligns it with your sopping pussy.

With no warning he pushes in and you scream out.

“Tears running down your pretty face makes me more horny baby”

You cry out more. How could he do this to you?

Haechan thrusts harder while still recording.

#haechan x reader #tw//noncon #stepbro!haechan #haechan x fem!reader #trying something new lol #nct dream x you #haechan x you #haechan x reader smut

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kneeslapworthy · 1 year

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some thoughts about eurovision from a swede

obviously, i am very happy that sweden won. it’s incredible to have been able to witness so many wins this early in my life and especially two wins from the same artist!

however, i completely sympathize and agree with the people who are upset. finland won the televote by a long shot.

but what i cannot sympathize with is blatant hate aimed towards loreen. let me remind you that it is not her fault that she won. it is in no way justified to bully her or create this narrative of a greedy woman stealing the prize (a narrative which i’ve seen users tried to spread on this website).

sweden is also not at fault here. sweden did not choose to send loreen because it would increase our chances of winning. it was the people of sweden who voted. in fact, loreen competed in the swedish pre-selection in 2017 and didn’t even qualify for the finale!

the conclusion my friends and i reached was that the jury cannot continue having this much influence over the results of the competition. the juries are notoriously corrupt and it always ends up with neighboring countries voting for each other. at most i can see them being able to give out one point each, but even then i think this system has become obsolete. the music that wins should reflect the preferences of the viewers, end of story.

in all honesty i think the discussions surrounding eurovision on this website lack so much nuance. the take “finland not win, so sweden big bad” is just so logically unsound and leads to so much unnecessary hatred being spread.

finland should’ve won. i agree. i am upset about this too. but i am also so happy to see an incredible artist from my country win with an incredible song. these feelings can coexist. i would like to see people on the internet be able to express their frustration without it being at the expense of an innocent woman.

#i am tired it is 3 AM #eurovision #esc 2023 #loreen #sweden #misc #sorry to the people that follow me for my mbs content i promise it will return soon #i didn't spellcheck this let me be

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immajustvibehere · 8 months

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Spark (8/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 8 summary: Found and taken in by the Natives, Arthur is walking a fine line of living and dying. In the grip of illness and fever, he often imagines seeing you by his side.

This is a long chapter, so I gave it sub-headings. Easier to manage if you can't read it in one go :)

link to my masterlist

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven

7500 words, +30 minutes reading time

I. The Downfall of the Gang

A prevailing notion circulated in the gang that you and Molly shared culpability for the Pinkertons’ decent upon Lagras. They nearly razed the settlement to the ground, and the frustration about the new location of camp being found out so soon certainly didn’t help to improve the general mood. With you gone, there was no way you could justify yourself and nobody was keen on defending you either, though some people were convinced of your innocence either way. Notably, Abigail, though somewhat resenting you for having left, given Jack’s affinity for you and John’s confinement, was sure you wouldn't send the agency to shoot at them. Artur knew that you wouldn't do such a thing, as you had absolutely no reason to. Many people in the gang knew that it was way likelier that the Pinkertons picked up the trail from some of the boys coming back from Guarma, considering the gang was worth almost nothing without its leader anyway.

Dutch readily agreed that it must have been you, his main intention probably being to silence Micah, whose ceaseless prattle on the matter had grown unbearable. Micah spit phrases like: "She probably thought that she could get rid of us so we wouldn't go after her for the betrayal."

This went too far, even for Dutch’s taste, who was aware that they had other battles to fight. It was useless to hunt either you or Molly down and just a waste of resources and guns that were scare to begin with.

Arthur was distraught that you were gone. When he rode out with Charles, to search for a new camping spot up North, Charles handed Arthur the gun that he had borrowed you. The gesture resonated with a finality surpassing all preceding farewells…though there hadn’t even been proper good-byes.

"She uhm...she said anything? 'bout where she's headed?", Arthur asked as he let the gun slip into his saddle bag.

"I'm sorry", Charles shook his head, "She was a great help when we moved camp, but she disappeared soon after. She gave me the gun and told me to hand it back to you if I get the chance. You know, we weren't even sure if you had survived."

And the topic was left at that. The gang moved to Beaver's Hollow and Arthur felt a sickness nagging on his body. He started boiling with rage, every time your name was mentioned in a negative sense. Mostly by Dutch and Micah. Soon after, Bill started to complain about you too. Arthur would be lying if he told someone that he wasn't looking for you. It wasn't an active search, but whenever he was in town, he'd ask a few men at the bar if they had seen a woman of your description. Though the answers were barely trustworthy most of the time.

At the saloon in Annesburg, he spoke to a drunk man, who, as answer to your description mumbled a "fierce little creature" before he fell asleep on the table. This was the best lead Arthur had, and it wasn't nearly enough. He was roaming the country, avoiding collecting the debts, suffering under how sluggish his body was willing to comply to what he wanted it to do.

The first time Arthur was happy you had left, is when the doctor had told him, that he had tuberculosis. Until then, Arthur had mixed feelings. He appreciated that you left the gang to save yourself, because it took no genius to understand that whatever had bound the gang together was a thin thread that threatened to snap any moment. When he saw how Molly ended, however miserable he felt for her, he had been glad it wasn't you that had come back to die in the dirt. And still he had harboured feelings of resentment for you. Leaving without a word, without showing yourself ever again, when on that ride back from Guarma to Shady Bell he had hoped for you to be there, for some hug or any sort of gentle sign that would have soothed his aching soul and body. He realized soon that he was foolish to hope for that. And that Micah was right to accuse him of having become soft, if your gentle hands was all he could think of, despite your hands being mostly anything but gentle.

But as he sat outside camp, wheezing and wiping the blood off his lips that he had coughed up, he was glad you weren't here. Whatever urges he had to be comforted, to see something else but a bitter and angry face, the feelings of having failed and paying for his sins was the stronger force. He deserved it, after all. And he shouldn’t wish for comfort.

He, as many others, tried to avoid camp as often as possible. In those two weeks, when the hostility between him and Dutch was especially high, because he and Sadie had rescued John from prison, he spent most of the days roaming the country and helping strangers. It wasn't that those trips took his mind off you, quite the contrary.

It was when he was out fishing with Hamish, a veteran with an impulsive horse, that he mentioned you for the first time to anyone that wasn't Charles or Mary-Beth (not counting Jack, who regularly asked where you where and why you had gone).

"Ya know. There's this girl...we went fishing a while ago and she couldn't deal with the waiting."

Hamish felt that it was dangerous territory, so he considered Arthur's pondering face for a while before he finally said: "You should take her here sometime. While we wait for the fish to bite, I can tell her stories so interesting, she' gonna hope that nothing bites."

Arthur chuckled sadly and shook his head: "She left, 'm afraid. She was right to do so. Ain't especially lucky to be around me."

As if the universe heard those words, Hamish was pulled into the water only moments after by the gigantic Pike they were after. It gave him and Arthur something to laugh in the aftermath.

"I'll draw them away from you! Go!", Arthur yelled, desperate pulling the reigns of his horse as John dismounted his.

"Come with me", John implored, "We can make it out of here!"

But Arthur understood he couldn't. The train heist only hours before and Abigail’s rescue had drained his strength. His body was tired, no, it was surrendering. He knew he couldn’t keep up the pace. His horse was his only support now, if he abandoned it, his legs would betray him. It wasn't just the tiredness of his limbs, he felt nauseous, sick, the sweat was on his forehead, causing his hat to cling uncomfortably.

"No. I pushed all I can”, Arthur’s voice was strained, “I'll buy ya some time, keep them off your back a while longer, you run and join Abigail and Jack."

"You're my brother!"

"I know", and with those words said, the brothers turned their backs to each other, John fleeing up the mountain, Arthur desperate circling the small area with his horse, firing round after round until he had shot himself a path of escape. The horse’s pained bucking under the impact of a bullet seared through Arthur’s heart, yet he urged it on. The loyal animal complied, carrying its master through thicket and woods as bullets whizzed past. Finally, it collapsed, half of its heavy body falling on Arthur who had ungraciously been thrown off.

The head of the horse was weirdly twisted, but Arthur still heard its heavy breaths. That aside, it was silent in the forest. Killing it would be the noble thing to do. But his vision was already blurred when his hands crept to his gun that was long out of bullets. And before he realized that it was silent in the forest and he had managed to shake the Pinkerton’s, Arthur closed his eyes, not being able to fight the exhaustion any longer.

He was dead. Or dying, at least, because every time he gained consciousness, his whole body felt like it was on fire. With immense effort, he pried his eyes open, only to be greeted by a hazy image, his pounding headache blurring his surroundings. Arthur struggled against his own lethargy, he wanted to gain control of his body again. Neither of his limbs moved, no matter the effort he was putting into it. His eyes wouldn’t focus, his chest no rise enough for a proper breath. Every time however, without failure, weariness washed over him and unconsciousness reclaimed him before he could even form a thought about the state he was in. It was a cruel cycle.

When Arthur woke up for the third, maybe fourth time – there was no way of keeping count of those seconds of consciousness – he thought only one thing: Namely, that if that was dying, he hoped it would go a little quicker.

At some point, Arthur stirred awake. He felt stronger than before and finally had enough wits to take in some of his surroundings. It was nighttime, he perceived the nocturnal chorus of crickets. His attempt to open his eyes was met with a revelation, his vision, though fatigued, offered him a somewhat clear image. It was exhausting to look; he barely blinked a few times. He was in a tent, or something of that sort, he noticed. And it rocked around, like a boat or a waggon…or maybe he was just feeling dizzy. And when he managed to move his head just a little, to glared to the side, there were you. For a second, Arthur thought nothing. Then he concluded that he must be dreaming or was indeed dead and this was some funny way to pay for his sins. He closed his eyes. His arms felt too heavy, he wouldn't be able to rub his eyes or pinch his nose in concentration. But he simply opened them again. And the image of you was gone. So was Arthur's consciousness, a few moments later.

II. The Recovery

Over the next couple of days, Arthur would wake up from time to time. Sometimes seeing you, sometimes faces of women he didn't recognize. Dark skin and dark hair, Indians, he thought. Then he'd have nightmares that sometimes took his breath away and he'd wake up, feeling like a heavy weight was crushing his chest. And there would be someone - you, another woman, some strange man - pressing wet rags to his face and he wasn't strong enough to complain about it. To tell them to stop because it kept waking him up from dying, from sleeping, from unconsciousness. Whatever that black void was he'd fall in, but he much preferred it because then his body didn't hurt so much.

"You're going to be alright, mister."

Arthur opened his eye to look into the face of a dark-skinned woman. Braids falling from her head that was dangling right onto his face. There was the wet rag again, but it didn't feel so crushing this time.

Finally, his vision was…almost clear.

It was she who explained that he had collapsed and now was with Rains Fall’s people, as they were heading North to escape. The women that took care of him, Arthur caught glimpses of three different faces and though his headache was mostly gone, a persistent cloudiness lingered over his senses. Maybe it was because he sometimes seemed so confused or because he still lacked some control over when he fell asleep out of exhaustion, but when they talked to him, it was always very vague.

"Your friend will return soon. He's securing the perimeter, but he'll be back in a day or two", one of the women explained to him. They must mean Charles, he was certain. But when he wanted to ask, he found that it was hard forming words. His throat was parched and the attempt to speak yielded only a hoarse croak. A sympathetic smile from the woman conveyed understanding, at least.

….

You had sat at his side for four hours. It was late at night, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave his side. You had been running errands the last couple of days and had missed him waking up. Well, waking up without fever and therefore capable of forming thoughts. Tonight, he was restless, dreaming maybe.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and grabbed your wrist. His hand was clammy, still remnants of his sickness and probably his latest nightmare, but this time – for the first time ever – he was fully awake.

"It's okay, I'm right here", you reassured him.

Arthur simply stared at you like you were a ghost. Then his eyes narrowed to one of his signature contemptuous stares. It was a terrifying expression that you had seen a couple of times before. His nose would scrunch in disdain and his facial muscles were coiled with tension – a sign of irritation. In a firefight, it marked the precipice of drawing his gun; in a brawl, it forewarned of the impending launch of his first punch.

"Yer real" Arthur stated, his assertion hung in the air. His voice was low and quiet. It sounded like he needed something to drink, something to oil up his throat that has dried up from weeks of not using it.

"Unfortunately so, yeah", you said. Your heart sped up. He was awake. Finally. After all those days of not knowing if he'd make it, he was okay. Far from fit or fully recovered, but he wasn't dying no more. The thought made your eyes wet and forget about Arthur's sceptical glance.

Arthur blinked slowly. Those weren't dreams. They never had been. You had been there all this time.

Arthur closed his eyes again without saying something. His hand slipped from your wrist and onto his chest. He didn't want to talk, no, he didn't even want to see you right now. A swell of emotions came over him and he wasn't sure how to feel about your presence. For his inner turmoil, he kept silent on the outside, giving you the impression that he had dozed off again.

Eventually, he really fell asleep. Though when he awoke and pled for water before even opening his eyes, it was you who led a bowl to his lips. Whenever he woke up, you would be there, ready to jump at his commands. You didn't speak about why you were here or where you had been. Nothing of that matter. Nothing about Dutch or Micah or little Jack. It was always just handing him water or soup or helping him change his clothes.

Two days later, Charles showed up with a warm: "Welcome back, brother." It was he who explained what had happened. That two Indians had found him unconscious, buried under his horse. That his leg had been bruised from the impact, and he was weak, feverish and on the brink of death. It was an intricate matter, caring for him while heading North with the tribe and he admitted that only after one day with him under their care, Charles had seriously considered staying behind and caring for him. It had slowed down the group that much. Then they ran into you, simply sitting on your horse and watching the caravan of people go, before catching Charles' eye.

Arthur remained conflicted when Charles broached the topic of you. This inner struggle was not lost on Charles, keen observer that he has always been.

"She took good care of you. Without her, your recovery might have been in doubt."

And as this didn't seem to do the trick, he added…

"She sat with you every night. Washed you, made sure you had everything you needed. Even though Rains Fall disagreed, she stole a waggon so you had a comfortable place to get better.”

“She had left, Charles…”, Arthur croaked. You leaving the gang behind had left him with mixed feelings. He had worked through them before and had arrived at the conclusion that it was better for you, and still…seeing you here, healthy and restless, he regretted not having you there at the end. You could have been of great assistance. Could have prevented Abigail from being taken or made John’s prison break easier. Hell, he might have had more fun killing the last of the O’Driscoll’s if you had been by his side. The prospect of your sudden absence when he might have required your presence left a bitter aftertaste in his mind.

“Don’t blame her for that. She had no obligation to stay, she was only with us for little more than a month at this time and she could tell that it was coming to an end”, Charles said.

Arthur thought what might have happened if you had been there at the stand-off. The notion of having another ally by his side, countering the overpowering presence of Bill, Javier, Micah and his two traitorous cronies, weighed heavily on his mind Yet, this reverie crumbled upon realization – there was the cruel possibility that instead of Miss Grimshaw, you would have found your demise. Or considering your proclivity for action over passivity, you might have opened fire earlier and would have caused an even worse outcome. Yes, maybe your absence had been the better.

“She rode hours through rain to fetch you a doctor”, Charles went on as he saw Arthur’s thoughts wander, “She found a nice man with a waggon. The doctor said he knew you and that you helped him one time in Rhodes.”

That put a little smile on Arthur’s lips, because he remembered the Doctor well. He was talking all funny and had had his waggon stolen. “Yeah”, Arthur answered as a sign of recognition.

Even Charles didn’t know what more to say, so he put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, before he left him alone.

The group had settled down near a creek. You had been on the move for a while now, and food supplies were running low, so they had decided to camp here for a couple of days, until hunting and gathering had provided enough resources to continue the travel. It was then that Arthur left his little nest that had been made for him. A simple waggon really, with some linen span across it to shield him from the weather. Sitting up was exhausting, but he managed to more or less crawl to the opening, sitting there and letting his legs dangle from the waggon. Everyone was working. The horses were grazing, a couple of kids were running around. It wasn’t difficult to spot you, chopping some wood and carrying it to the fire. That’s when you caught Arthur’s eye and approached him.

Seeing him out of “bed” put a big smile on your face.

“Why even bother?”, Arthur asked when you had reached him, jumping up the waggon to sit next to him. “Should’ve shot me when they found me. Tuberculosis can’t be healed, as far as I’ve heard.”

“Tuberculosis? What are you talking about?”, you looked at Arthur curiously. He stared back in silence, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's what I've got", Arthur explained, a little sceptical as if your gaze alone had made him unsure of the diagnosis.

"You don't have tuberculosis. At least, the doctor we consulted said so", a smile played on your lips. A knowledgeable smile, as if you knew more than him. It was a cheeky smile.

Arthur didn't believe you.

"Y/n, I was on the brink of death when you found me. I cough up more blood than I ever lost through bullets…taking a deep breath was almost impossible.”

"How's it now though? The breathing...", you asked.

Arthur halted and for the first time since he had regained consciousness, he drew in a deep breath. Then another, and another. It was slightly uncomfortable, as though something was constricting his lungs and made it harder for him to let air in, but it didn't hurt. It was only after the fourth big breath that a slight cough stirred from within. But it didn't ripple his airpipe, bringing red fluid onto his lips. It almost tickled. It reminded him of the sensation of pressing upon a spot where a bruise had once been, recently faded. It wouldn’t hurt, but it would tickle, and the skin would be terribly sensitive.

"It's...okay I guess", Arthur concluded.

You smiled, satisfied: "You don't have TB. I mean...maybe you do, but Doctor said if you had, it wouldn't have shown so soon and with such vigour. But he did say you had the worst case of pneumonia he had ever seen. We weren't sure you'd make it. But now that you have pulled through the worse", you shrugged, "I'm afraid you'll have to see my ugly face still."

Arthur didn't know what to say. Was he relieved? Happy, even? He didn't know. He was just speechless.

"Doctor said that in case you recover, you'll have to rest a lot. He knew you, by the way. Black fella with a nice-looking waggon. Weird grinder thing on top. Had to help him fix a wheel when I brought him up here. He said you had helped him some time ago, fighting the people who had stolen his waggon. And then he said you wouldn't be fighting anyone for a while, even when you are back on your feet. You need to rest for months, fresh air,...and especially, seeing that you have lost about half your weight, lots of good food. No smoking, of course."

Arthur’s chuckle rippled through the air as he started to grasp the situation. “That’s quite the relief”, he murmured, chuckled lightly as he finally started to grasp the whole situation: “That’s good news.”

“What? That you look like skin and bones?”, you teased, bumping your shoulder into his.

“No. That I’ll get to see your ugly face for some time longer”, he bumped back, stronger than you had and almost knocking you into the edge of the waggon. You hadn’t been so relieved for a long time. You felt something thick in your throat and tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.

“Missed ya, ya know”, you said quickly before a sob could work its way up.

“I missed ya too”, Arthur looked at you. He noticed the wet eyes and scrunched his nose immediately: “You gone soft while I was out? You crying ‘cause of me?”

The teasing tone alone was so friendly and welcome, it cheered you up even more.

“You ain’t worth crying over, Mr. Morgan”, you lied.

“Damn right I’m not”, he said. He let his eyes roam around the camp again. It felt familiar. The image or Horseshoe Overlook came to him, but this was different, of course. Or was it?

“You hungry?”, you asked.

“Starving. If ya can offer something else but soup”, Arthur quickly added. He only had eaten soup the last days. It was the only meal which didn’t require chewing and wouldn’t immediately choke him in his half-conscious state. This time, you brought him a small portion of stew. Not comparable to the stew Mr. Pearson had cooked. The small pieces of meat that you had granted him in his portion were as soft as they possibly could be, almost melting in his mouth.

“Slow down, god damn it”, you warned him.

“Yes, ma’am”, Arthur quietly mumbled. It was hard to slow down, but he knew he had to, since this was the first time he ate properly in – he later was being told – 13 days.

In the evening, you approached him again. Arthur was lying in his bed, half-recumbent with his journal on his lap. It was closed, Arthur was merely thinking. He had flipped through some entries before, but now he enjoyed being idle and watching everyone getting ready for the night.

“Arthur”, you knocked at the wood before appearing in his field of vision, “got something for you. I almost forgot, I had it stored away.”

You climbed on the waggon and put down a gunnysack. You carefully spilled its contents onto the floor. Arthur recognizes the round glass with the flower first. Then the picture of his mother. The picture of him and Mary. The shot of his father, though big chunks of the little picture were charcoaled and burnt, he only recognized it because he had looked at it so often. Two shirts, one pair of pants and an old belt that he hadn’t used in a while.

“That’s all that was really left, I’m afraid”, you said. He didn’t need to ask, he understood. You had gone back to where they had last camped and had rummaged through what was left after the fire to store it for him.

“Why did you…?”, Arthur started, picking up the picture of his mother.

“I…don’t know. I never had many belongings to my name, but those I had, meant much to me. Figured you feel the same”, you shrugged. Then a cheeky smile appeared on your lips: “Thought it would be nice to bury you with them if you didn’t make it.”

Arthur clicked his tongue. “It was stupid to go there. Might have been dangerous.”

“Felt worth it for me, I guess”, you said.

After a pause, Arthur thanked you. You wished him a good night at let him be. As soon as your frame vanished from the little field of view that the open canvas space granted him, he opened his journal again. He pulled out Mary’s last letter to him. Not reading the neatly written words again, he simply turned the envelope upside down, until the ring fell into his hand.

…

It took two more days before Arthur was strong enough to walk around and be on his feet for more than ten minutes at a time. But he felt fine enough to take a bath in the creek and shave. It was shocking to see his cheeks that have sunken quite a bit due to the weight loss, but Arthur’s appetite was as good as ever, so you didn’t worry about it too much.

Most of the day he spent by sitting in the shade and observing the people. Mostly you, if he was being honest. You played with the kids, helped wherever another hand was needed.

He was trying to get up from his little patch under a tree when Rains Fall approached him. Arthur hadn’t encountered him yet, he had been busy with arranging and managing the move. The last time Arthur had seen him, he had delivered him his dying son.

“How are you, Mr. Morgan?”, Rains Fall’s voice was as gentle as ever.

“Feeling much better now. I can’t thank you enough for taking me in”, Arthur said.

“After all you have done for us, it is I who must thank you”, Rain Falls smiled slightly. Silence ensued between the two men before Rains Fall spoke again, “I recall our conversation when you were my company on the ride up the mountain. You said that some people in your gang still had a chance for a good live and that you wanted to give them that.”

“Yeah”, Arthur said, his eyes fixed on you. You were brushing some horse in the distance.

“What’s with her?”, Rains Fall asked, following Arthur’s gaze, “I heard she took excellent care of you. Charles told me she’s a fierce spirit when cornered, but she seems tame and gentle. I can see that you care for her deeply too.”

“Suppose I do”, Arthur answered, “I’m not sure if that’s what she wants.”

“There are always some uncertainties in life, don’t waste too much thought on those that can be resolved with one simple question”, the chief answered. Arthur nodded, as if he understood, though he wasn’t so sure how much of the situation he had actually grasped. The ring that Arthur had picked out of the letter was in his pocket, and he felt it, when Rains Fall spoke those words. When nothing more was said on that matter, Rains Falls sighed: “Tomorrow, we’ll be on the move again. We haven’t covered much ground yet, but I’m certain we’ll make it.”

It was a statement that needed no comment and Arthur watched as the old man walked away.

The group barely covered ten miles a day. It was a good pace, nevertheless, for Arthur was on his feet again and tried to make himself useful. He tended to the horses, seeing they are well cared for and rested for the journey. All this time, you were pretty much at his side non-stop.

“You used to say ya don’t need me to do babysitting…but now yer the one watching me like I’m gonna do something stupid the second you lay your eyes off me”, Arthur teased.

“I don’t trust you to do no heavy lifting”, you said with a smile. It was a good opportunity to be close to him and help.

All of a sudden, you had started sleeping in the same waggon as he. Because the one you had used was “needed otherwise”. You sat next to him at night, watching him draw in his journal and often fell asleep way before him. Arthur was unsure if this was a sign that everything was like before, that you still liked him, but he was glad about the closeness again. The second night, he held you. The third night, you fell asleep with your head resting on his chest.

“I’m going to leave”, you said. You sat next to Arthur and watched his pencil strokes. They had been shading the horse he had just sketched. The pencil halted and Arthur looked at you.

“What?”

“Day after tomorrow, I’m leaving. I want to head south again. Then west, maybe”, you looked Arthur in the eye. His blue eyes which were warmly illuminated by the oil lamp in the waggon darted around your face. You weren’t teasing or joking, he could tell as much.

“You know I’m not someone who sticks with a group. If this thing goes bad, I’ll feel like I’m responsible”, you offered further explanation.

“Yer gonna head out there alone?”, Arthur asked, his voice strained.

“Was hoping you’d join me, actually”, you swallowed. You had dragged the question out for a while now. You knew that Arthur needed to be somewhat recovered if he was to travel with you, so you had had a good excuse for not asking for a long while. But the last couple of days the anxiety had been eating you from the inside.

Arthur didn’t answer. He watched you; you watched your own hands. As he remained silent, you unwillingly lifted your head to look at him. This was all that Arthur needed. His hand found your chin and lifted it even more, turning it towards him. In the blink of an eye, your lips met. Arthur tasted the tobacco on your lips and figured he missed smoking. Or at least, he missed sharing a cigarette with you.

“I thought you might not like me no more”, Arthur said as the kiss had ended. Both of your faces remained so close, your foreheads touched, and Arthur only needed to whisper the words to make you understand.

“Well, there’s always been lot of nonsense in your brain”, you grinned. You were relieved, because frankly, you had feared the same.

You kissed him again before asking: “Can I take that as a yes?”

“You better”, Arthur breathed, now snaking his hands around you and pulling you into yet another kiss.

III. The Life After

The parting with the Rains Fall and his people unfolded smoothly. Farewells were exchanged without any pressure of time and in good spirits. Charles and Arthur, in particular, enjoyed a more extended exchange of goodbyes compared to their previous parting. Both could go smiling, knowing that the other one would be fine.

Arthur got a spare horse, a young, not entirely tamed one, though Arthur was more than capable of handling it. Your travels back South progressed fast. It took a toll on Arthur, traveling on horseback after he had only been on his feet for a week, but you took care of that with long breaks and early nights. Sometimes, you’d rest for an entire day, also giving the horses some time to recover. You’d take care of food in a nearby town or go hunting, while Arthur watched the little possessions you travelled with. By the time you reached Ambarino, the leaves on the trees had assumed hues of red and brown and the nights were getting colder.

“Shouldn’t we head West?”, Arthur halted his horse. You had just crossed the Grizzlies and had travelled along the Dakota River for a while, before you stirred your horse East. The air was fresh, and Arthur was wrapped in a coat you had bought in a town before crossing the Grizzlies. The sun was still strong enough that the buttons could remain open, but sometimes a strong gush of wind would send a shiver through your spine and remind you that winter would be here soon.

“We can’t continue traveling”, you said. Arthur was exhausted, and so were you.

“So, what do you suggest?”, Arthur rode next to you, stirring his horse into a slow trod next to yours.

“I know a place where we can lay low for the winter”, you said, not explaining further, even though you felt Arthur’s curious gaze. Only when you arrived at O’Creagh’s Run later that day and headed so decidedly for Hamish Sinclair’s cabin, Arthur understood.

“That’s where you wanna live?”, he asked amusedly.

“Nice man lives there. I’m sure he’ll let us stay with him for a while”, you explained. Arthur smiled, but didn’t want to spoil that he knew the old veteran. Hamish was already outside doing repairs on his little boat when he saw you approach.

“Ain’t that a nice surprise!”, Hamish raised his arms, “A visit by two friends at once!”

Now it was your turn to be surprised: “You know each other?!”

“Of course. Arthur Morgan!”, Hamish shook the hand of Arthur as soon as he had dismounted, “You’ve lost some weight my friend, but you look as fine as ever.”

Over hot coffee, Hamish was filled in on the happenings of the last month. When you asked to stay at his place for a while, Hamish was delighted. Almost immediately, you started to build another bed, because it was agreed upon that Arthur would need something more comfortable to sleep on. You would be fine with the floor in front of the fireplace for now and Hamish would continue to sleep in his bed.

It worked remarkably well. The three of you were rather quiet and when something needed to be done, it was done sooner rather than later. Arthur fished most of the time, you were out hunting with Hamish. Hamish would teach you to cook some meals, because, as he put it “A man that has lived alone for such a long time, knows his cooking spoon”, and you’d run errands in town, if something needed to be fetched. The fall of the Van der Linde Gang was still comparably recent, so the posters were still all about and to risk Arthur being seen, wasn’t a risk anyone was willing to take.

As idyllic as most of the days passed, one would think that there weren’t any struggles or that you spent your days hunting and selling pelts. But you would have never been able to sell enough pelts to support three adults, so sometimes, you’d go out and rob a stage or some rich looking traveller. You told Arthur but kept quiet in front of Hamish.

The days became shorter and the chill of winter settled in, Arthur’s recovery progressed steadily. He started to put on some more weight and longer walks or chopping wood didn’t leave him struggling for air any longer. Hamish would sometimes go out for a whole day, granting the two of you precious moments of solitude and intimacy.

In December, Hamish announced he’d be gone for a few days, visiting a cousin in Valentine. He’d be back for Christmas Day, he promised. Arthur and you considered the possibility that Hamish’ cousin was a fabrication, a ruse to give the two of you some more time alone. Nevertheless, you appreciated the gesture wholeheartedly.

Snow had fallen and the fireplace had been ceaselessly crackling in the past few days. So, the hut remained comfortably warm. In Hamish’ absence, you shared Arthur’s bed. Nestled against his chest, you traced circles through the dark patch of hair just below his navel. The only sounds to be heard were the steady crackling of the fire and the hoot of an owl nestled in a nearby tree.

“Ya mean a lot to me, y/n”, Arthur’s words slipped out so unexpectedly that you sat up and looked at him with surprise and suspicion. You were well aware of his feelings. After all, he had demonstrated as much just half an hour ago, in that very bed.

“Yer talking strange”, you remarked and raised an eyebrow.

“I love you”, Arthur said, his tone carrying an unusual weight.

“And…I love you too”, you replied slowly. This wasn’t the first time you had said that to each other, but the manner in which Arthur said it felt different. Arthur gave you a look that was so full of uncertainty and self-depreciation for himself, you lightly slapped him on his bare shoulder.

“What is going on? Did I do something wrong?”, you asked. You even raised the blanket to check if this was a new sort of foreplay that he was trying because he was ready for the second round. It was also an attempt to lift the mood, because the tension of the situation started to prickle your skin.

“Ain’t nothing wrong. I just gotta ask ya something and it ain’t easy”, Arthur complained. sitting up straight.

“Yes. I’m sorry Arthur, but the Gingerbread you baked yesterday is inedible”, you joked. You and Arthur had tried to make some gingerbread yesterday and because you hadn’t felt like baking, he had taken control of the matter. The result was…lacking, to say the least. You had lied that it looked and tasted alright, but you had been sure that by the disgusted face you had made it was clear that it had to disappear before Hamish came back and threw them out for dishonouring his kitchen.

“That’s not it and…”, Arthur looked at you funny, “It wasn’t that bad.” You smiled at him sympathetically.

“I just…god damn it, woman”, Arthur rearranged his sitting position. The he got up and slipped into his pants and shirt. He was somewhat angry, irritated maybe. Or nervous? You watched him confused.

Arthur was still fastening his pants when his voice, low and hesitant, reached your ears: “I just wanted you to know that I love ya…”

You nodded as if it was silly to suggest otherwise. With Arthur’s warmth now absent from your side, your body was cooling down and you pulled the blanked further up. And then Arthur caught you completely off guard because he knelt down besides the bed. His fingers swiftly plunged into his pockets and retrieved a ring.

“I was wondering if ya might wanna marry me”, Arthur voice was firm. He didn’t want to give the impression that he was in any doubt that he wants to spend the rest of the time with you. He was fully aware that he wasn’t the youngest anymore and that the sickness had marked him significantly. Since recovering, he had gained back most of the weight, yet ther were times when his muscles reminded him of their limitations, failing him when he attempted tasks that were once effortless.

You stared at him in disbelief, a thousand thoughts running through your head. When Arthur opened his mouth again, you were afraid that you had taken too long to answer.

“I thought it was too late for me to marry someone. I’m old. And unlovable, mostly”, Arthur chuckled warmly, “If two people ain’t too big of a group for you…” Arthur added mumbling ‘maybe three or four at some point’ before continuing, “I’d want ya to know that I plan to stick with you. Yer still young, so I understand if yer don’t want to-“

“Yes.”

Arthur shut up at looked at you. Was that a yes to “not wanting to marry”? Arthur looked like a kicked puppy for a moment, before you cleared his confusion: “Yes, I want to marry you, you dumbass.”

The ring slipped on seamlessly. The Arthur picked you up, naked as you were and hugged you lovingly. You squealed because of the cold air.

“Are we telling Hamish?”

Arthur mumbled the response into the crook of your neck which he was peppering with kisses: “If ya want. That enough of a Christmas present for him?”

You hit Arthur’s back: “Hell no! The man lets us live in his home. I was thinking about getting him a new rifle.”

Arthur set you down and you gathered your clothes, putting them on slowly, as Arthur was taking his time admiring you.

“Put some money back”, you grinned mischievously, “It was also meant for buying you a present. But I suppose that being my husband is good enough.”

“Oh you!”, Arthur growled and scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder. For all the strength he had lost, he was still strong enough to do that. Barefooted, Arthur stamped out of the cabin. “Give me one reason to not throw you into the lake!”, he teased and approached the jetty. It wasn’t frozen yet entirely, but the water was icy cold and black.

“I’m your wife!”

“Not yet you ain’t!”, Arthur made a motion that made you shriek, but he only feinted to throw you in, “besides, that is no valid reason.”

“I’ll kill you, if you do!”, now you tried to break free, but Arthur’s grip was firm.

“Ohh. That’s more like it. Though I think you love me too much for that.”

“Many wives kill their husbands!”, you screamed.

“I could drown ya first, ya know”, Arthur teased and swirled around, so you faced the black water.

“You’ll never find out where I stashed the money and won’t afford a present for Hamish!”, you finally said.

“That’s true”, with that, Arthur let you down. As soon as your bare feet touched the snow, you darted inside, shivering violently in front of the fireplace.

Arthur soon followed, having more of a quieter complexion. He closed the door behind him, and the warm and loving atmosphere of the cabin was restored. In many ways, Arthur saw you as an equal. You were just as good as a shot as he was, just as fast when it came to running or riding. There was no need to escape his old live, because you were an outlaw just like him. You didn’t mind if life meant running away from the law. He didn’t need to tread lightly with you. You could take criticism; a discussion or whatever life threw at you. And yet, he found your movements graceful, gentle. Most of the time, at least. Arthur smiled at the thought. When your opponent was a bigger man and it would come to close ranged fighting, you became sloppy and angry, but with a gun you were the definition of accuracy and grace.

“Hello?”, you looked at Arthur wit tilted head, drawing his attention back from his reverie, “Where have you wandered off to?” His daydreams had lasted so long, he had barely noticed that you had dressed yourself.

“Jus’ dreamin’ about my future wife, ‘s all”, Arthur grinned sheepishly. He extended his arms invitingly, and you moved closer, nestling into his embrace.

“Don’t start expecting things I’m not capable”, you said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know?! Maybe I want my husband to be capable of baking proper gingerbread for Christmas and then you come along and-“, Arthur interrupted you by poking you into the side and making you squeal.

“You do it better then!”, he challenged.

“I suppose I will!”, you grinned back, heading for the little stove, “I bet mine are at least two times more…edible than your sorry experiment.”

“What are we betting? A kiss, Mrs. Morgan?”, Arthur said slimily, his arms crossed and watching you. The name made you feel warm and happy. For all the times you’d been mistaken as a Bell, you like that name way more. But for old time’s sake, you turned around and looked at the man you love.

“Your life, Morgan!”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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