#hold on to your animated horses folks

[goosita]

no no billy taking you out on his horse and showing you the reigns but it’s a bit hard to concentrate with him and his wandering hands pushed up behind you

oh my god you don't understand this is peak romantic fantasy for me on GOD

riding around out in the fields with billy because he has a day to himself, and he wants to spend it with you.

and we all know billy loves his horse, and he's so good at riding the animal and taming it. he asks if you wanna go out with him for a ride and you're reluctant at first. of course, this is the wild west. lots of people know how to ride horses, it's a huge mode of transportation. but...you had never spent that much time around them. you lived in town and didn't tend to stray from there, and your interactions with the animals were mostly limited to carriage rides where someone else was in control.

"c'mon angel, it'll be fun. promise," he says, giving you those imploring blue eyes all round and wide. you agreed, knowing that billy would never let anything happen to you. not that you were scared. just a little uneasy, is all.

but then the afternoon comes and he's got you sat comfortably right in front of him in the saddle. his chest is warm and solid against your back, your bum is settled nicely in the cradle of his hips and his thighs, keeping you right there against him. your hands rest on the saddle horn while his arms are resting around your waist, holding the reins.

lady, his horse, wanders around where he guides her. she's a pretty horse, white with speckles and she's very calm. you can tell that her and billy have a quiet kind of trust between them.

"see?" he grins, leaning his head down to peck your cheek. "not so bad, is it?"

and it's not. it's not bad at all, really. you can tell your thighs might be a little sore later from the unconscious way you're clenching them to feel balanced, but this is actually kinda nice. the sun is perched in the middle of the sky, warming the fields and your skin. bugs and wildlife are buzzing around you as you ride, and billy seems so relaxed and content behind you.

"you wanna take the reins for a bit?" he asks, patting your thigh and giving it an affectionate squeeze. he likes to do that, give you these little pets and caresses sometimes. just because he can.

"oh...um....i don't really know-"

"nonsense, it's easy. here." he cuts you off gently, placing the leather reins in your hands. he explains to you what actions the horse will take as cues, and you don't dare do anything but encourage the animal to keep on moseying forward like she had been. billy chuckles softly at your hesitance, but he doesn't make fun. he lets you do what you're comfortable with.

you try to focus on directing lady where you want her to go, but it starts to get harder when billy's hands slide up and down your outer thighs slowly. you know he's probably not trying to distract you or rile you up, but you can't help the way your body and mind react to his touch.

billy rests his chin on your shoulder and hums, some silly little folk tune he must have stuck in his head. you can feel the vibrations of his voice against your back and it makes your tummy flutter with butterflies. no matter how long you and billy have been together, even little things like this make your heart stutter like a lovesick teen with a crush.

"you're doin' great, honey," he murmurs, and you can feel his smile against your cheek where he still rests over your shoulder. it makes you feel better, the praise. you like it when he praises you, even for little things like this.

his hands begin to wander, though, and you're not sure you can stay focused on controlling lady. billy brings his hands up to your hips, his fingers dipping into the waistband of the pants he'd loaned you to ride in. it's not inherently sexual, the way he's touching you. a little intimate to be touched out in the open like this, a little against decorum, but you're alone out here anyway. he strokes your skin softly, adoringly, like he just wants to feel you under his fingertips. as much as you like it, it's too distracting.

"here," you blurt, handing him the reins back. "can't think straight with you around." it comes out more playful than scolding, though, and billy chuckles.

"alright. whatever you want, angel," he tells you, pressing another kiss to your cheek before taking over again.

let's talk about billy, baby!

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #tom blyth x reader #billy the kid x you #tom blyth #billy the kid fluff #william h bonney #tom blyth billy the kid

[quecksilvereyes]

oh, sister, I am sorry. your eyes are sunken and your skin is bruised. your lips are chapped, your nailbeds bitten raw. your husband's hand on your waist is a ghost's touch held by the band on your left ring finger and I-

I am dead.

I got on the train, Su. Nevermind your tears, nevermind the plea you could not shape with words, nevermind your fingers on the pulse point of my wrist. "stay", you'd said, as you have always done, dictionary in hand and baby teeth yet lodged in your jaw. "don't go where i cannot."

I step through a wardrobe and you follow, damned be reason. I slay a wolf and you follow, I cling to the little ones and you follow, I am crowned and you follow, I am-

I go past a lamp post, and you follow, damned be dread. I go to a train station and you follow, trembling hands and tender heart. I go, and I go, and I go, and you follow. Sun of my skies. Light of my life.

I go. you stop.

are we too old for stories, now? ten-and-four and ten-and-three, budding bodies and steel bones, we are cast from our home. i hold the little ones until i drown in them. you grip your skirts until no iron can press the shape of your palms from them. and you have ever been, cruelly reasonable and logically callous.

say you, glass shard eyes and rouge-red lips: we are english. we are children. she thinks she has found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe.

say I, trembling hands and coiling guts: we are narnian. we are monarchs. if she's not mad and she's not lying, then logically she must be telling the truth.

my sister Susan, beautiful as folk tales are and twice as sharp, did you intend every invitation you took for me to twist the knife a godly animal once thrust into my guts? perhaps it was the way your eyes turned blue, or the sound of your laughter losing its bells. perhaps it was just my trembling fingers at the back of your legs, drawing stocking lines where no stockings had ever lain.

the line came out shaking, and you rubbed it off until your skin cried red. the hem of your dress still dripped wet when you left that day, turning on heels too narrow for you to walk in.

do you remember? it took you days to come home, and mother wailed for all of them. you crawled into my bed that night, as you did when we were parents to our little ones, those terrible months. your head on my shoulder, your breath in my ear, I held you until morning.

your mouth in my throat, eyes heavy with sleep, tongue heavy with champagne: we are here now. we must make the best of it. he cannot have all our lives, and all our joys. i wish you would laugh again.

doesn't little lucy, shrieking mouth and tumbling legs, laugh enough for us all?

lucy's manic. if she didn't laugh she'd cry.

i think sometimes, in the parts of my guts that are still a schoolboy, and are mean and cruel to match, that the alcohol makes you softer than the daylight ever could. i do not tell you.

i press my lips to your forehead. i wrap my arms around you. the year between us rings heavy, and when I get up in the morning, you do not follow.

I tried, Su. I did. I applied for university, I saw that girl with that smile. with those eyes. I let you take sections from the paper before I ever touched it, I held the little ones in my arms, and I made coffee in the morning. I sat all my exams.

I smiled when the little ones came back smelling of home.

Aslan's wounds, did I try. but-

I have ever been a thing made for stories. brave the way knights are, bloody knuckles and buckling pride. a horse between my calves, a sword in my hands.

I think, sometimes, that I was born for my sword, for the hollow ringing of my heart when I first held it. a part of me, even then, ten-and-three and soaked to the bone.

such bravery is not made for real world boys and real world taunts. there is a map, I think, from the summits of my knuckles to the jaws of every boy who ever looked at me and bared his teeth.

I am sovereign. I am the skies for your sun to burn in.

I am made wrong, for this england, and I cannot take this life you want. I belong, I think, into myths and legend, the star-studded shards of our home.

so I went on the train, Susan. so I died, and I named what you have chosen. so I banned you from their scorning mouths. so you grip your husband's hand, realest of us all, and you cry. you do not follow.

Forgive me.

#tcon #narnia #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #sibling relationships #in which peter is a story of a man more than he is a boy #in which susan is a girl more than she is a story of a queen #on diverging paths #on following #and staying #death tw #the last battle #alcohol abuse #brief implications of lucy having manic episodes #hello #i have brainworms #it is 3am #susan is real in a way peter isnt #he is a story and she is a person #the chronicles of narnia #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction

[samalong1]

Yandere Orc Gurren headcanons pt 1

Tw

Breeding mentions

Kidnapping

And murder

Mentions of nsfw

You lived in a small village so far away from the capitol that the king's laws and protection rarely touched your town, afterall why bother if monsters raid your village, by the time knights arrive they'd be long gone.

Because of this your village was poor which in its own twisted way caused less raids, you average gremlin clan would rather hit one of the fancy villages instead of one where at most you can get a few sheep and maybe some grain.

But lately whenever gaurds or suppliers do arrive you hear gossip, gossip of a clan of orcs tearing through towns, killing any civilian so they can make the kingdom their own.

The whole village was on edge. Kids were no longer allowed to go outside past early noon, a curfew was issued fir the whole town, and some braze folks hid weopons, although it's almost impossible then to kill a orc even more so one in a clan, since if you managed to stab one another one would simply snap your neck. Guess it was just to show some sort of resistance

Luckily you were too busy making deliveries for your shoe maker dad.

You were lucky, oblivious to the extent rarely hearing the gossip.

When you got back from a unusually long trip you were confused upon seeing a crowd

As you ushered to the front to see what was happening.

A clan of orcs making demands, not just simple ones but enough of your crops and animals that the village would starve in the winter. But if the village refused they'd be slaughtered.

You stared at what you assumed was the leader

He was Big

Even bigger than the orcs next to him, with his giant muscles, his hands were bigger then your whole head!

You soon regretted staring when his gaze shifted to you

Gurren stared at the small plump woman

Her terrified wide eyes, her soft body, and her breeding hips made his breath hitch

So when the village refused his demands he coudnt help but grab you as he burnt your village to the ground

Your scream and sobs were music to his ears

"Bag anything useful" he said still holding you over his shoulder like a sack of meat

You were soon thrown over his horse as he mounted it. He made sure his horse ran like the wind so you coudnt escape without being launched off onto the tough forest ground.

He was going to enjoy you already imagining what you'd look like waiting inside his dwelling for him to come home from his hunts, God the thought of you welcoming him home while being swollen with his children, a baby orc in your arms he wanted them to have your eyes.

He was drooling and some of that drool fell on you to your disgust

Soon he arrived at the campsite

"Tonight we celebrate Borg start a fire and pour the drinks*

Orcs were loud

You were stuck on the leader's lap as they all shouted and drank beer

It was pretty obscene sometimes the leader who you overheard being called Gurren would swing his cup and spill beer over you

"Watcha naming the pretty thing" one laughed before drinking again

You were loosing your name, the last thing that attached you to your now ruined village

He seemed to be thinking even rubbing his chin "hmmmmm y/n yea yea y/n nice pretty name for a pretty small thing" he slurred seeming to get drunkened

God what was in that beer to make a orc that big get drunk

He stared at you soon chuckling "hehe God your gonna be the perfect little mate so pretty" he cooed gently petting your head

You blushed as he showered you with compliments soon nuzzling into you as his beard scratched your neck

God you felt like you had carpet burn on your neck

Soon you were carried bridal style to his tent

With him being drunk you had a hope of escaping

Thst was until you had a giant orc laying ontop of you head resting on your boobs like they were the best pillows

Was he purring?????

The giant orc leader was purring like a cat

@ofallthingsnasty

#yandere teratophilia #orc #yandere orc #yandere monster x reader #yandere #male yandere #orc x reader

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Could you please write an imagine about biding Jack Gibbs with Gibbs and your kids? Maybe baby and toddler going for weekend at grandpas

Moments Like These

Jethro pulled into the gravel driveway behind his father’s truck, who was sitting in an old wicker chair on his porch and waving. Turning towards the backseat, you saw your little girl’s eyes closed in sleep while holding onto her favorite stuffie.

“Sweetie, wake up. We’re at Grandpa’s,” you said, gently touching her leg. She opened her eyes and looked around curiously, stretching her arms above her head.

As soon as she caught sight of Jackson walking over, her eyes lit up with joy.

“Pop-pop!”

You got out to help her but by the time you went to open her door, she was already unbuckled and climbing out.

“Hold on bug. Let me help you.”

Once her feet were on the ground, she made a beeline for Jackson, her little light up shoes flashing rainbows with every step.

“There she is!” yelled Jackson as he caught her in a big hug. You smiled at their interaction and helped Jethro grab the bags from the car, everyone following him into his childhood home. Jackson had already arranged everything so the two of you were staying in the guest room and your daughter in Jethro’s old room right next door. After unpacking, you and Jethro conjured downstairs where your daughter was munching on some goldfish and Jackson was sipping on some coffee. Like a moth to a flame, Jethro poured himself a cup of as well.

“You know, you all came at the perfect time. I just talked with Tommy and he said he’d be more than happy to take you folks out to see the ranch,” Jackson offered.

You heard a grunt come from Jethro as he turned. “Tommy Claireborn? He still out being the town’s poster boy?”

“Now Jethro. I know you two had your differences in the past but he’s not like that anymore. Heath sold him that ranch a few years back and he’s been a hard working man ever since. I just thought little miss would have fun seeing some horses.”

Hearing the word horse, your daughter’s blue eyes got bright with excitement.

“I wanna see horsies!”

Knowing he couldn’t deny her, Jethro sighed and you made a mental note to ask him about his quarrel with Tommy.

————

Jackson opted to stay and wait for you guys at house, telling you his legs weren’t a match for the countryside terrain. After getting a quick rundown from Jackson on how to get there, you three loaded up in the car and headed out.

“So was Tommy one of your many rivals you got into a fight with?” you inquired, knowing Jethro didn’t have many admirers back in the day.

“He was a stuck up punk that relied on his rich dad to get him out of trouble. When him and his friends tried hotwiring my truck, I knocked him out and his dad got me suspended,” he explained nonchalantly.

“My my. You did have quite the temper back then didn’t you Jethro?” you teased. “Hopefully he’s a changed man like your father said.”

He just let out a doubtful snort and you rolled your eyes at his stubbornness.

It didn’t take long to get to the ranch and a man came out to meet us halfway, dressed in your standard cowboy rancher outfit.

“Leroy Gibbs! Never thought I’d see you back in this town. Especially with a wife and kid,” the man you assumed was Tommy joked.

“Good to see you too Tommy,” Jethro replied, biting his tongue you were sure. Feeling his annoyance, you took a hold of his arm and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“Alright. Well Jackson told me ya’ll wanted to see the new filly. Follow me.”

You all walked over to the barn and Tommy opened up the top of one of the stalls revealing a beautiful chestnut mare.

“I’ll go get you folks some apples you can feed them,” he stated before walking off.

Jethro picked up your little girl whose eyes were wide with wonder at the massive animal. He pet her first, making sure she didn’t spook and you could see your daughter’s grip get tighter on his jacket.

“You wanna pet her? She won’t hurt you. Just be gentle.”

He took her tiny hand in his and placed it on the bridge of her nose, petting softly. She let out a little smile and you couldn’t resist pulling your phone out to take some pictures.

“Horsey,” she stated, looking at her dad with pure happiness.

“Here we go,” Tommy said while coming over with some sliced apples. He gave a couple to each of us and opened the stall door so we could see the filly that was sleeping as well.

As soon as the momma horse took the apple slice out of Jethro and your daughter’s hand, she let out a delighted squeal, making all of you laugh. It was moments like these that had you forever grateful for the life you shared with Jethro and your little girl.

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #mark harmon #ncis request #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs fanfiction

[stupidfuckingwindow]

highkey wondering if you’d do any kind of smut where ken is actually a cowboy? 🤠

Campfire // Ken

Notes: Thanks, RDR2, for giving me slight help w the setting. I read too much Arthur Morgan porn. I loved writing this, thank you for requesting it.

Content/warnings: Technically public. Ken jerks off in the woods and has no idea you're watching.

Word count: 833

The morning of December 18th, 1899 was particularly freezing. Snow packed on top of roofs, so tightly pressed together that it became hard; almost so like ice. But the nights and mornings got harder and worse in the north- Way up in the mountains and stuck in some dead little abandoned mining town near a frozen-over lake. Run up here by the law for a robbery turned out to be a set-up was something you had regretted deeply, cold long having seeped past your skin, and powdery snow falling through small cracks in your wooden shelter. The move had brought chaos- Separated you from your gang until you were lost.

The only solace brought to you is the man who'd stumbled upon your camp. Neatly combed blond hair and a pretty, shaved face was Ken- Some little outlaw from some ways east, wanted alive for a few meager thefts and no gang of his own (or, so he'd told you, anyway). You'd seen a couple posters warning folk, his bounty a good 30ish dollars across one to two states. Ken is suspiciously too sweet and naive for an outlaw- Taking everything you told him as gospel. You force your worry down your throat and run with his all too trusting attitude, noting the gun on his hip. But if push comes to shove, you suppose you and Ken will shoot each other and bleed out in the cold if you have to.

He insisted on following you back to your gang in the following days, when the law's frenzy was beginning to die down and before bounty hunters would start prowling the roads in search of their next payload.

Ken is surprisingly quiet, as his horse trails a little ways back from yours. His curious nature draws his attention to every noise, focus darting all over the place between what few creatures are out and about. He doesn't ask you anything about all the new little things- Ken lets his eyes do all the prying and studying. He watches as the trees change along the way, forests going from the cold-resistant pines to leafless willows and oaks. He gets especially excited when the two of you pass any wild horses, and only then does he ramble on about all the pretty colors and different kinds of species. About how his favorite kinds of horse are the fast race horse species, so he can travel better and see everything.

Over the course of three days, you and Ken are forced to camp together. While you make the fire, Ken sets up the tent with practiced ease, like he'd done this a thousand times over. And he probably has, you think. The heavy storm clouds have you and he anxious, huddling in his small tent together with the heat of the campfire warming the both of you.

He gains confidence once the clouds roll past without rain, climbing out of the tent to better sit by the fire. He sticks a sliver of some big game animal's meat on the end of his knife, holding it close to the flames in order to cook it. Ken offers you a piece, and you take it. Still, despite his kindness, you're suspicious. Worried he might hurt you, and cautious he'll try if you sleep in the same tent as him. You don't say a word to Ken as you lay on your side, back facing him and revolver close by.

But your attention is caught and you're startled awake hours later, in the depths of midnight.

Ken's climbed out of his own sleeping bag, gone. Panic strikes you, seeing as his boots are gone from the tent entrance. Your worry is dampened only slightly by the sight of his horse still being here, but there are still worse dangers in these woods for him to just be alone. As you clamber out of the small sleeping space, you spot tracks in the dirt- Undeniably Ken's trail. The longer you follow his tracks, the more you hear it.

Groans that he probably thinks are quiet. Whines and moans that were probably supposed to be muted or muffled but aren't. And when you finally see him, he's lit by the soft golden glow of his lantern, eyes shut tightly and erection in hand. Ken's mouth hangs open, quietly panting. His strokes are slow and sweet- Methodical as his long fingers squeeze gently at his cock. Ken's bangs fall over his eyes as he hunches over himself. When his eyes do flutter open again, they're fixated on the way his hand moves.

His hips buck against his hand ever so often, palm curling further around his cock. His thumb rubs at the sensitive tip, swiping a bead of pre-cum from the slit to use it as lube. Again, he whines at the feeling. A shuttering breath leaves him, head falling back and hitting the tree he's propped himself up against.

You can't look him in the eye in the morning.

#ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #n.sfw. #ken #ken x reader #ken x reader smut #ken barbie #ken smut

[stridersdiner]

Rancher!Graves x gn!Reader

You visit the ranch to dote on his animals. He's curious about something.

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

"You any good at ridin'?"

The question catches you off guard. You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, crouched onto the ground, the little calf nuzzling its head playfully into your hands. Phil's smile isn't as devious as you thought it would be. In fact, it's sweet, curious. And your mind fizzles as you replay his words in your head, almost disappointed that it was a genuine question. He stands at ease, arm crossed over his broad chest, resting the weight of himself through his hip against the fence.

"Kinda question is that?"

He shrugs. "You'd be surprised at the amount'a folk who can't saddle up properly."

"And it's a mystery as to why you think that," you simper, rolling your eyes as you turn yourself back to the calf, who's been circling you for the past minute and a half to catch your attention.

"I reckon yer daddy would've taught ya' young?"

And you nod. "No escaping it. Part of life here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, suppose so."

The silence lingers for a moment as you play with the calf like it's a puppy, and, as he stares at you, Phil can't help but think about how the two of you even became friends and how your relationship got friendlier with each rodeo trophy he's received. About the first one.

Lights brighter than the sun beam down on the area, lighting them and the next few miles of empty land up like a military base. His ears are pounding from the speakers, the crowd, the confetti, and the blank shots fired in the air as he smiles from ear to ear, shaking hands, and holding up the metal horse triumphantly as the flashes of cameras go off at all angles. And when he turns around to start making his way off of the stage, he's swarmed with congratulations, whistles, pats on the back. Someone is lazily attempting to hand him a half drunken beer, and he can only laugh as the fella drops it by accident. Everything is so quick. It only takes about four more steps before he's approached again, this time by two. A fan and their pa, he can only assume. But when the pounding in his ears goes away and everything is silent for a moment as he locks eyes with them, he pushes out a big breath he didn't know he had been holding. He has to remind himself that their father is talkin' to him, and he rips his gaze away to pay attention. His chest tightens as the pounding comes back, and he can hear cheers and shouts again. A picture? Phil smiles. "Oh, 'course! Y' wanna hold the check?" He hands it over and you take it shyly, hands smaller than his fumbling to find a good grip on it as he steps over to stand next to you. Your father is just beaming behind the camera as he brings it up to find an angle. "Get closer! I promise they don't bite, Phil, I raised 'em better than that." And you feel him shuffle closer with a step. His arm cages over your shoulder as he leans in, and you catch a trace of his cologne just under the smell of horse, cattle, and sweat. You smile nervously, just like the year before this, and the year before that. You barely have the mind to register that Phil had moved away from you to your dad as he showed him the picture. They laugh together, hum of their conversation filling your ears but no words to discern. Too focused on him. Your heart jumps to your throat when his smile doesn't falter after he catches you staring. Your dad shuffles off, spotting some friends a little ways away, and you're left with him. The silence between you two is sharp- like you can feel it in your head. He purses his lips as he taps two fingers on the check, trying to get your attention again. "Wanna get a drink sometime?"

His eyes focus on you again. You look up at him from the ground, head tilted as you stare back into blue.

"You alright there, cowboy?"

He shifts on his feet as he uncrosses his arms, stepping over to crouch down next to you.

"Never better, darlin'," he reaches down to run his hand over the calf's brown coat. "Didn't answer my question though."

"Huh?"

You turn to look at him again. There's that devilish smile he's been hiding.

"Any good at ridin'?"

Babes that wanted to be tagged:

@mockerycrow @kivi-no

#Rancher AU #Graves. #I like the idea that you're both nervous after his first win. #Phillip Graves #phillip graves x gn!reader #phillip graves x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii

[outlaw-apologist]

The Gang as Fathers (RDR2)

This was an anon request :D Characters: Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, Charles, Sean, Kieran, and Micah TW: Micah’s contains graphic/violent themes Requests are always welcome~ feel free to request anything hehe AO3 link here ___  Arthur - He always pretends to be stern with his child but gives in almost immediately. “You can’t have candy before bed….” He puts on his best mean face that only lasts a few seconds. “Fine, just one piece.” - His baby will learn how to ride a horse before learning how to walk. Arthur will hold his child while caring for the horses or will cradle them in his lap during trail rides. - “I heard a little alcohol was good for babies. Makes ‘em sleep better.” He’ll stick his pinkie finger in some whiskey and will let the baby suck on it to calm down, but only during fitful crying or when his baby won’t sleep.

- As his child grows older he’ll try hard to give them a good education. Not city folk education, but enough to know about the world. There’ve been many times Arthur wished he had gone to school as a kid. - When his child draws for the first time Arthur is SO proud! He shows EVERYONE and keeps the drawing tucked safely in his journal for many many years to come. It doesn’t matter how old his baby gets, he keeps every drawing no matter what. - If Arthur had a daughter I think he would try harder to learn more about women’s rights. He might even visit the protesting lady in Saint Denis and ask her a few questions. He’s seen how the world treats women and he wants to raise a strong woman of his own who will always believe in herself and love herself no matter what. - Also- Daddy daughter dates!!! He would go to all the nice little cafe’s and bakeries with his daughter or would take her on special little picnics. - Camping trips!!!! Every weekend Arthur is packing his kiddo(s) up to go camping. He doesn’t like fishing but he’ll take his kids forging and teach them how to live off the land. When they’re bigger Arthur teaches them how to hunt small animals, like squirrels, with a bow and arrow. At night he cooks dinner over an open fire and sings trail riding songs or tells stories of his days as an outlaw. - If his child ever goes through a tween or teen phase of hating him Arthur WILL cry himself to sleep every. damn. night. wondering what he did wrong. Even if he knows it’s just how kids are at times, it really hurts his feelings. That self loathing part of him mixed with old family wounds never leaves him. - Sorry to any wife or husband of Arthur’s out there – but Arthur would save his child before all else in ANY dangerous circumstance. He’ll save his spouse next but the kid(s) come first. - “When you’re older I’ll give you my hat. It was my daddy’s hat, and now it’s your daddy’s hat. One day it’ll be your hat.” “Hey! Stop playing with my hat!” “Di’ju take my hat to school?  Don’t do it again.” - Even if his children are around people he trusts he will still watch them like a hawk, almost afraid someone will snatch them away. - He really hates being away from his children so he sends letters about his great adventures to them until he can return. - Arthur really doesn’t want his children walking in his footsteps, BUT he does wish they could experience true adventure and freedom. Because of this he’ll plan elaborate activities. Sometimes he creates treasure maps and will take his children riding around the state to find a ‘hidden treasure’ Arthur himself buried. - When his child turns 13 he’ll take them out to find a wild horse of their choosing, then he’d teach them how to tame the horse as a right of passage. It’s an amazing bonding experience between the both of them, and he thinks horses are special animals. Growing up with your horse is a must. - “Seriously gimme my hat!” -- Hosea - Hosea’s always secretly wanted a little one of his own. It doesn’t matter if he has a daughter or a son, that baby will be in his arms 24/7 - Literally wants to raise his child as a mini him – in the most positive way possible. - Bedtime stories were chapter books and his children learn how to read fairly early-on in their childhood. - Every few years Hosea gifts his child a new fishing pole that matches how big they’ve grown. Fishing is very important to him and he makes a point to have a special spot where he camps with his kids and fishes for days. Playing in the rocks and trees, hiding in the fields around the camp when not catching fish. Instead of campfire stories he reads books out loud or retells old memories he finds amusing. - “I want you to understand, the outlaw life is not for everyone.” Hosea is torn. He doesn’t want his children to become outlaws like him… However there’s a part of him he can’t deny where he wishes his child would be there with him no matter where he was. If his child became an outlaw he wouldn’t fully protest it. He’d feel guilty, I think, but he doesn’t want to be away from his kid(s). -That being said, his kid is raised with the Van-Der-Linde gang. Whenever Dutch or Susan tries to parent his child Hosea will always stand up to them. He puts a lot of emphasis on Arthur and John to protect his babies; mostly because he views Arthur and John as his children too, so they should act like good brothers. - He would LOVE taking his kids out to see plays or to the circus whenever the circus is in town. He’ll take them to films too though he prefers the performing arts (theater) first. However, he loves exposing his children to any and all types of art. If his child ever expresses an interest in acting or writing he’d swell with pride and do anything to support them. - Hosea is a smart man. He know he’s living on borrowed time. Making it to your 50’s as an outlaw was no minor feat. There’s money no one knows about, not even Dutch. Money that can set his children for life. He makes sure to bury it carefully and made arrangements for his child to receive a map of its whereabouts in case of his death. - “And that is ursa major and ursa minor.” Star gazing with papa Hosea! - He is firm but empathetic. Hosea will uphold any punishments that he thinks fits the crime. However, he’s never spanked or laid a hand on his kids. He’s more interested in life lessons. If he catches his child stealing then he’ll force them to donate something of theirs to the poor, ect. - If his baby is sick he’ll stay up all night by their bedside checking their fever and making sure they’re okay. He refuses to leave their side and won’t sleep until he knows his baby is okay. - Hosea’s biggest fear is losing his child.   He’s big on teaching his kid safety from a young age, even if that means using a knife or a gun. - For their 18th birthday he’ll gift his child a very beautifully engraved pistol. The engraving will be a quote or a saying that is personal to him and that child. Something with meaning only they would understand. - Even if his child is a full grown adult, Hosea will come read with them at bedtime. It’s something that makes him feel loved and cherished and he hopes his child feels the same way. - You cannot convince me this man would not put on a play with his children. He encourages the gang to act excited or amazed while watching. He’ll shoot a glare at Dutch whenever Dutch acts a little too excited. --- Dutch - Let’s be honest, Hosea raises any and all of Dutch’s children. - No kid friendly books, his children learn how to read philosophy like men. -Will completely destroy his children in any and all board games. He’ll never let them win no matter how young they are. If his kid starts crying he’ll say something snarky like “Aww go cry to mommy/papa Hosea.” - He is definitely the fun parent though. (At least in his opinion). His 10 year old is robbing trains. He’ll rob a candy store too for shits and giggles, just so his little one thinks he’s cool. - He really does love when his child sits on his knee or rides on his shoulders. It makes his heart swell with happiness. - I don’t think Dutch really knows what to do with children. He just treats them as tiny adults. - He will ALWAYS introduce his children with pride. Because of that there’s this… unspoken pressure for his children to always be at their best. They always need to be well articulated or ready for action. Otherwise there might be a dreaded “I thought I taught you better.” speech. - Dutch really did try hard to make sure his children grew up smart and capable. However, if that ever turns them against him or if they question him he immediately gets upset/angry. - His children will grow up calling him daddy and Hosea papa. Dutch might try to correct them a few times. “It’s uncle Hosea-” But he gives up rather quickly. - Dutch does mean well. He tries to take his children on special or fun outings. Unfortunately it always ends up about him or the mood is ruined with a long philosophical rant/speech. - He is not a completely useless father though. If his child is hurt he’s the first one there to scoop them up and console them. He would bandage them up and kiss their boo-boo’s better…. Up until near the end when the gang starts splitting apart. Around this time it seems as if he’s not fully present and so it doesn’t register to him that his child is hurt or injured. He starts to see it as their own personal problem no matter what age they might be. - His children are brought up seeing him as this wise, smart, powerful figure. They view him more as a savior than a loving parent. Basically they’re brought up to view Dutch the same way as the rest of the gang sees him. He provides shelter, clothes, food, and safety. He is the reason they have a free life. And because of this I do think they would have a lot of love for their father, but, they’ll never feel like they’re good enough. - If anyone ever touched a hair on his child’s head… Without fail they’ll end up filled with bullet holes or burnt to a crisp. He’s not great at showing his love but his children are his everything. ----- Charles - Charles is the type of parent that loves his children SO much he doesn’t even need to say a word. His love is always shown through his actions. He’ll gently sweep their hair out of their face or he’ll rub their back. When they’re little kids Charles will always press a little kiss to the top of their heads. - He doesn’t give in as easy as Arthur does. No candy before bed. Eat your dinner before dessert, drink more water, don’t go off alone, ect. He’s never mean about it. Charles tries to make sure his children are as healthy and well looked after as possible. - What if he’s not here one day? What if his past catches up with him or something bad happens? This is always in the back of Charles’ mind. Because of this he teaches his children how to be self sufficient from a young age. He makes a game out of cleaning up and chores become a family activity. He tries to keep it fun for them since they’re still kids. - Children are the future in Charles’ eyes. He teaches his kids everything he knows. They’re taken on hunting trips and out forging or fishing. Charles teaches them how to make bows and arrows. He’ll tell stories about his mother or his experiences. Most of all he teaches his children respect. Respect for nature and all of the animals they may meet. - When Charles’ child is an infant or a baby he will ALWAYS be holding them. Doesn’t matter what he’s doing, that baby will be on his back or in his arms. He LOVES holding his children. It helps ground him and reminds him they’re really his and life can be good. - He won’t admit it but he loves dressing his children up. He likes to make or buy clothing and accessories he thinks would suit them. During winter his favorite part of the day is bundling them up in their coats and scarves. Charles thinks they look adorable toddling off to play in the snow. - HE WOULD BE SUCH A GOOD GIRL DAD! Charles goes out of his way to learn different hairstyles so he can do his daughter’s hair different every day. I think he’d make jewelry for his daughters and would always be singing with them or playing with them. Charles would be very protective yet respectful. He’d still teach his daughters how to track and hunt, ect. - Charles carries pictures of his children everywhere he goes. On the rare occasion he’s drunk he takes out the pictures to show everyone like “Look at my babies!” - He would be that annoying parent who’s children becomes their personality. He doesn’t talk much but if he’s with someone he’s friends with he’ll casually work his children into all of his small comments. “I need to get some fresh meat for my family.” “My children would love it here.” “I would never let a man like that around my children.” - Charles would totally call his child ‘baby’. “Hi baby!!!” “What do you need baby?” “Oh no, don’t cry baby.” He wouldn’t do it in public but in private???? He is soooo unbearably loving and mushy with his kids. It doesn’t matter how old they are, that’s his baby. - Charles didn’t really have parents while growing up. He wants to show his children as much love, kindness, and compassion as possible. The world is cold and cruel. If he can be the light and warmth for his kids then he’ll do it. - When his children grow up, if they decide to pursue goals/dreams Charles doesn’t fully understand, he will go out of his way to educate himself on that topic just to show them support. -Charles is one of those parents that really don’t want their children to move away from him. If they chose to he’ll respect their wishes but you bet that man will be crying DAILY because he misses his kids. - For the same reasons, Charles can’t be away from his kids more than two days without feeling heartbroken. - Charles would honestly do so well as a single father if he ever becomes one. - He’s a huge fan of gentle parenting. He keeps his voice calm and talks his children through anger/sadness with patience. It’s important for him that his children feel seen and heard. - Charles is the type of father that’ll beat the SHIT out of anyone who messes with his baby. - He’ll play dress-up with his kids. If his children want him to be a princes… he’ll be a mf princess! ------ Sean - God… Sean as a father? The house will be burnt down immediately the first time he watches his kid(s) alone. - He’s the fun parent. He’s also the unsafe parent. He really doesn’t see anything wrong with bringing his 3yo with him on a robbery. “They had a blast, it was great!” - Let’s be real, Sean is more of a friend to his child than an actual parent. He’ll never reinforce any rules. He’s always down to clown. He’ll be your best buddy but he won’t help you with your homework. - It’s fine to give kids alcohol sometimes in his eyes. “Go on, you can have a sip of my beer. It’ll put some hair on your chest.” - If his child isn’t as bubbly or loud as him he’ll be a bit disappointed. If his child matches his energy he’ll be 10x worse. They’ll be working off of the same brain-cell. - Sean loves to dress his children up to look like him. He thinks it’s hilarious. He even calls his baby ‘Baby MacGuire’. “Hello there baby MacGuire.” “D’ju have a good day today little baby MacGuire?” “This is my wee baby MacGuire.” - He has dropped his baby on the head, probably more than once. He felt really bad about it. - He will make his kids do the “two children in a trench coat” thing to rob a store. He literally pisses himself laughing when it actually works. - Half of the gang will end up raising his child while he pops in sometimes to have fun outings with them. -Is he a good parent? Fuck no. But his children will LOVE him and I think they’ll always have a good relationship with him. - Sean has tried to get John to teach his kids how to swim. He doesn’t understand John can’t swim…. - He never forgets a birthday because he loves eating sweets with his kiddos but he WILL forget every other important event. ------ Kieran - I think Kieran would be a really good father! He’d never raise his voice. His punishments are very light, yet he’d make sure his children would know what they did wasn’t right. - He’s not great at socializing with his children, but he LOVES to listen to them. It fills him with so much happiness when his children confide in him. He doesn’t always know what to say but he’ll be there whenever they need him. - If he has a baby he’ll be so afraid of making any noises while the baby is sleeping. If he’s holding his baby as they sleep, Kieran refuses to move in case it wakes them. - He writes the names of his children on the tags of their clothes so they don’t get lost. - Kieran is a doormat for any teenage children. He hates disappointing or upsetting his child, so if he has a teenager who tests his boundaries that teen will win every time. - However, I think his children would love him more than anything. Even if they did do bad things to Kieran I think they’d feel guilty and wouldn’t do it again. - Piggy backing off of that – The best ‘punishment’ Kieran could give his kids is disappointment. If daddy Kieran is disappointed in you then you KNOW you fucked up. Because of this his children end up pretty well behaved. - All Duffy’s grow up around horses. He loves bringing his kids to the stables. Letting them pet and brush the horses. He holds them up so they can feed the horses treats. - He likes fishing even if he isn’t the greatest at it. He’ll take his children fishing or would let them work on arts and crafts while he fishes. - While most kids walk home from school, Kieran always waits outside for his kiddos so he can walk with them. - He always wishes his children “sweet dreams” before going to bed. Every. Single. Night. He’s never missed a night EVER. - I think Kieran would take his children to visit Ireland. Maybe to see his father’s extended family. - Holidays are very special in the Duffy household. Even if Kieran and his kids have to hand-make decorations he’ll do it! Anything to make their childhood special. - He takes special walks with his kids. During the autumn he’ll make his children catch a falling leaf each before they can go home. He hopes it helps them feel the magic of childhood. - Kieran is terrified his children would be orphaned like he was. Because of this he works long hours when he can. He saves up a decent chunk of money and hides it. Only his children know where it’s at and understand it’s only for emergencies. ------ Micah - God forbid Micah ever has a daughter. There is a chance he would decide to raise her as a boy BUT I honestly think he’d either kill her, make her a dumpster baby, or would pawn the child off on someone else. In the even that the child is raised by someone else Micah would probably visit once every six months and probably stick around until that child is old enough to ‘work’ for him. - If he had a son tho…. Micah Bell the IV. - He’s a very cold father. Nothing his child does will ever be good enough for him. Because of that his child would probably try to win his favor until they’re old enough to realize they’ll never have it. - “One day this empire of mine will be yours.” and he owns NOTHING! - Micah definitely has shaken his baby. He probably spanks them or whips them with a belt whenever they’re bad. - His children grow up to take care of him and do things for him. They do all the chores. If Micah needs a beer one of them always has to go get it. - If one of his children ever becomes attached to an animal (cat, dog, horse) he would shoot that animal dead to teach them a lesson. And that lesson is to ‘not be soft’ and ‘attachments are useless’. - He doesn’t do anything to take care of them. Child rearing is a woman’s job. Micah makes the money. He comes home expecting a hot meal then he fucks off. His children are probably relieved that he’s gone so much. - Once his oldest is in their late teens Micah would gift them one of his guns. He doesn’t love anything more than those guns so it’s symbolic of how much he does care for his child. Micah can’t love normally, nor does he know how to show it. His oldest will understand the weight of the gesture and it may even make that child feel indebted to him. - He’s the very old fashioned type that thinks he automatically should have respect from his children. - If no one is willing to take care of his children, every night would be “fend for yourself night” in the Bell household. He’d never lift a finger to cook for or take care of them.

#Arthur Morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #Charles Smith #Micah Bell #sean macguire #kieran duffy #RDR2 #RDR2 Imagines #RDR2 writing #My writing #the gang as fathers #rdr2 fathers #anon #anon request

[wanderingsorcerer]

Spectral Whispers: Exploring the Enigmatic Realm of Celtic Faeries with W.S.

The ethereal world of Celtic faeries, where tales of magic and wonder entwine with the whispers of the wind, guiding us through enchanted forests and across shimmering meadows. So, brew a cup of tea, settle in, and let us unveil the captivating allure of Celtic faerie folklore.

Firstly while I will be using the term Fairies in this article for continuity, the Irish refrain from calling them the Fae or Fairies and Prefer to call them " The Good People' or " The Little People". The Fairies of the Emerald Isles were said to reside in a parallel universe to that of the mundane world.

Usually stated to be underground, the realm of the Fairies is said to be mostly invisible to human eyes. These are unlike the Fairies found within the writings of Disney and Modern Pop Culture. They are of a darker brood, Still Majestic and Beautiful, even downright awe inspiring. But many are said to be dangerous and uncaring for the mortals they Encounter in these folk tales.

So Let us go over some of the most well known Irish Fairies in celtic Folklore

The Who's Who of Tír na nÓg

There are hundreds of stories of faeries which stem from ireland, and while we won't go into every single one, here are some of my favorite honorable mentions from Ireland's beautiful folklore

Pooka: The Changer Of Forms

Commonly Referred to as Puca, it is a type of shape shifter in Irish Folklore which takes the shape of Animals or Humans. Commonly seen with forms similar to cats and horses, it was seen as unwise to anger these fae. Depending on the Area of Ireland, they are seen as either helpful, or as embodiments of chaos.

Dullahan: The Headless

The Dullahan is a malevolent harbinger of death. It is said to be the embodiment of Crom Dubh, a fertility god who demanded blood sacrifice in the form of decapitation.

This aspect of Irish folklore has been incorporated into American folkloric traditions as well, specifically in the stories of the Headless Horseman. His stateside debut was in Washington Irving's 1849 short story " The legend of sleepy hollow" while inspired by the original Irish works, The headless horseman has become an American Halloween staple.

Giving nightmares to children for decades since its release :)

Changelings: Stealer of babes

A fairy that was left in place of a human child or baby who had been stolen by the fairies. The baby was to live amongst the humans as they raised the other in the fae realm. The stories differ depending on the situation, it was often used to explain away different developmental delays, or even unexplainable deaths of their small children.

Humans would often leave these babies out in the woods to parish if they believed they were changelings, to them they hoped by leaving them the faeries would take the trade and give them their baby back.

Banshees: Screams Of Warning

a female spirit who wails outside a home to warn of the imminent death of a family member. The scream is also known as "caoine," which literally translates to "keening". She has also been called woman of the mound as in many of the stories she stands outside the homes and cry's from the fairy Mounds.

Leprechaun: Punishers Of Greed

a type of fairy that is often depicted as a tiny, bearded man wearing an emerald ensemble. Leprechauns are said to live in remote places and make shoes and brogues. They are solitary by nature and are a symbol of what happens when you let your greed win. Quit literally the Folly of the Get Rich Quick Mentality Of Many Humans.

These are but a small sample of the many fairies found throughout Irish and Celtic Folklore, These specifically can trace their origins back to The Tuatha De Danann or fairy nobility. Also seen as Gods and Demons depending on the era. As well as the original inhabitants of Ireland who only Tolerate our existence so long as we don't disturb the places and sacred sites they hold dear.

Faeries impact on Modern Day

All over Ireland, farmers have left portions of their land, in the form of Ring Forts untouched for centuries. These are believed to be the homes of the fairies and are overgrown with shrubs and bush. But farmers would rather see this resource go to waste than risk incurring the wrath of the fairies, which can result in anything from crop failure to DEATH.

This a recurring theme you will see throughout Irish history a respect for the property owned by the Fae and a rightful fear at the consequences of disturbing sacred ground.

How to not Piss Off The Fae

Folk Practices to appease fairies or at the very least keep you on their good side include Offerings of sweets and goods in which holds value to the person leaving the offering, back in the day it was things like this

Milk or cream

Bread

Honey

Butter

Porridge

Gold

Tobacco

Poitín

I hope you enjoyed learning about the faeries of Celtic Folklore with me today, remember to stay curious my friends.

Thank you for sitting down and having Tea with me on the Other side of the Great Divide

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#magick #fairies #fae #folklore #celtic folklore #folklorist #irish #gaelic #magus #witch #witchcraft #witches #witchblr #WanderingSorcerer #occult #occultism #occultist #demons #ars goetia #solomonic magick #magi #grimoire #grimoires #witchythings #witchlife #pagan witch #herbalist #plants and herbs #herbology #herbalism

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Stonemilker [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Ship: Joel Miller x you (cishet f reader)

Tags/warnings: Heartache, breakup stuff, Ellie lives and Joel is lying to her, sad sex, you know this is ending sex, Couple fighting, idk what this is folks, it's a sad story with a hopeful ending.

Summary: When Joel returns to Jackson with Ellie, something has changed. Can your relationship survive it? Takes place after episode 9 of season 1.

Words: 3,967

A/N: The title Stonemilker is the title of the first track of Björk's Vulnicura (2015), an album solely about the end of a relationship. Cheers to @rambling-in-purple for reading it before posting <3!

Joel returned a changed man. A younger man. A less hurting man.

Ellie was with him, of course, hugging you tightly in the kitchen of the small house you had been given. You had been setting the dinner table for one when she had burst in and called your name, Joel striding in behind her. You dropped the plate, and the porcelain pieces spread around your feet.

Little did you know that your life was about to shatter in the same way.

Joel gave you a warm hug, nothing more. You wanted to hear everything about their journey, but they were both tired and hungry, so you gave them time to shower and change into clean clothes while you adapted dinner to feed three.

Later that night, when you went to bed with Joel, you saw the hideous wound on the right side of his stomach. He told you what had happened since he and Ellie left Jackson.

He told you everything: the abandoned college, the stab wound, and how close he was to dying. Ellie saving him. The resort. All the dead bodies. The hospital.

His decision. Hallways of dead people left behind. His lie to Ellie.

"Joel..."

He looked at you with shrouded eyes. Where there used to be an iron curtain, there was now a thin veil that showed depths of horrors, but also hope. It scared you more than the hard metallic gaze that you were used to.

You knew why he did it. You understood him. You would probably have done the same.

"You have to tell her."

"One day, I will."

"Sooner rather than later. She deserves to know the truth."

There it was, the unyielding steel in his eyes. He never appreciated being told the obvious. But when Ellie did that, slapped him in the face with inconvenient truths and poignant teases, he grimaced to keep from smiling. When you did it, you received a glare.

You had always thought that that glare was yours because Joel didn't have any other way of expressing his reluctant amusement. And it was, but there was a smile-hiding grimace as well, just not for you.

Something had changed. You didn't realize just how much until a few weeks later, when you were out with the hunting party, and a cougar popped up so suddenly that not even the horses had smelled it. It was a young animal, probably a male looking for a territory of its own, and you were the closest to it. Your horse reared, you fell off, hit your elbow on a rock that just had to be precisely there. As if by some miracle, your head missed it, though. The wind got knocked out of you while your brain was screaming frantically at you to get up and get your gun, but before you could move, a shot rang out over the plain, and the horses neighed in fear.

Deion was by your side a moment later, brows knitted together in worry.

"You okay?"

Breath returning, you began to feel the impact of your fall. Left elbow was smarting, your ass was probably bruised, and your heart was beating a mile a minute from the scare.

"I'm fine," you managed to wheeze. He helped you up, carefully pulling you on your feet. He held your hand as he inspected your face for discomfort. You let him. It's comforting, that big, warm hand holding yours.

"You sure?" He wanted to be certain before he let you go. You nodded and forced a smile.

"I'll have a bruise, but I'm good." You've had worse, so much worse.

The warmth of Deion's hand lingers on your skin long after he releases your hand. As you get on the horse and ride back to Jackson, you find yourself thinking about how Joel never showed such concern for your well-being. And he doesn't do it now, either, when you return sooner than expected, moving like you're in pain - which you are.

"You need to be more careful," he tells you gruffly. You know it's his thing, he doesn't do softness, and yet... he does to Ellie. He speaks kindly to her, laughs with her, talks to her about things beyond mere survival. Tells her about his daughter. That's a new one, he never even mentioned his daughter to you.

It's heartwarming to see him thawed. The glimpses of who he used to be melt together with who he is now. You always suspected he was a great kind of guy before the world went to shit and he was forced to become a version of himself that he himself hated. And it hurts you more than the bruising that he cannot be this new person with you, only with Ellie. She deserves the best Joel, you know that, but don't you? After all you've been through with him?

You argue with him later that night. That's also new. While you may have disagreed with him occasionally before, you have never fought about it. Maybe it's the comfort of Jackson, the fact that a disagreement no longer means the risk of death. Maybe you have just had your fill.

"You could at least say something that doesn't make it sound like it's my fault!" you yell, unconcerned with your voice carrying over to the next room where Ellie is asleep. "You could ask me if I'm okay!"

"I can see that you're okay," Joel replies irritably. "I've seen you take worse hits."

"I am not okay, Joel!" The words are spat into the half-lit bedroom and the silence that follows is heavy from the impact. Joel crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks at you with unreadable eyes. It's not his usual glare, the one he gives you no matter the reason, because it's all he's capable of. It's just... closed. Like he has nothing more to give you.

You sleep in separate rooms that night. Ellie is unusually demure in the morning, looking from you to Joel and back to you, clearly bothered by your fight the night before. You make a mental note to talk to her after breakfast but before you can suggest an activity, Joel asks her if she wants to go out shooting.

Okay, let Joel deal with Ellie.

You go to your chores, which consist of animal care for most of the day. Deion joins you. He wants to know how you're feeling.

How are you feeling? Bruised and annoyed. Sad and confused. Touched and frustrated. Abandoned. Lonely.

"I'm good," you assure him with a light smile. "A little sore, but I've had worse."

All day he sees to it that you rest. He takes care of the tasks that will aggravate the aches of your beaten-up body. He reminds you to take a break when it's nearing lunch time.

He cares so clearly. Is this what it's like, to be with someone who cares?

Ellie is bubbly that night. She and Joel have had fun, she tells you, and you're happy for her. Ellie is a child who was never allowed to be one. She deserves carefree days. She deserves a father figure, a dad. A mom, too, but you have no idea how to be that. Especially when things are so askew with Joel. Whatever things are, were, should be. You and Joel used to be about teamwork, survival, partnership. But life in Jackson is different. What you two had, were, is not needed here. What else can you be?

Joel watches you take your clothes off when you get ready for bed. You turn your back to him, maybe out of misguided, sudden shyness, maybe to show him the bruise that has painted half your back. It was dark red yesterday, now it's turning purple.

His feet are heavy on the floorboards when he walks up to you. His rough fingers are surprisingly soft when tracing the outlines of the bruise. You close your eyes, lean into his touch, sigh softly when he kisses you neck. You lie down on the bed and let Joel take you. He's gentle, more so than usual, but every thrust pushes you against the bumpy mattress, hurting you. Neither one of you speak but when Joel has finished, he cradles your face in his hands and kisses your forehead so softly that it's barely a kiss at all. You turn your back to him when you go to sleep. Your muscles are sore from the coupling, and you quietly love that tenderness like one would a bittersweet heartache. The bruise on your lower back throbs like a young heart in love, and when you turn onto your side, away from Joel, you wish he would kiss the miscolored blossoms.

But he doesn't. He simply turns away from you, just as you turned away from him. With a canyon between your warm, spent bodies, you both go to sleep.

Ellie accompanies you to your chores the next day. After a quiet hour of cleaning the stable, she eventually asks you if you're mad at her.

"No, Ellie, why would you think that?" you ask, immediately regretting your poor choice of words. She shrugs, leaning against a stall door, both hands gripping the handle of the pitchfork, the prongs scraping loudly against the floor.

"You've been weird since we got back. You and Joel have been fighting."

"That has nothing to do with you," you lie, hopefully convincingly. Ellie looks up at you, a hard glint in her eyes.

"I'm not stupid. You never fought before, not for as long as I've known you."

You stop your sweeping but don't know what to say.

"You barely talk to each other," she insists.

"It's complicated," you tell her feebly. "But it has nothing to do with you, Ellie, I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You shake your head. "I'm not going to talk about our relationship with you, Ellie. It's not your problem."

"It is my problem if my - " she stops herself, the word parents hanging in the air for a second, before she continues: " - if you two are going to, I don't know, get a divorce or some shit."

An amused scoff escapes you before you can stop yourself. "We're not married, Ellie."

"I know. But you're, like, together, right?"

"I don't know what we are," you blurt out, averting your eyes so you don't have to see her reaction at your confession. You hear the scraping of her shoe at the floor.

"Did you count on me not being here anymore?"

Her voice is small and sounds so different from its normal curious and teasing tone. A clump forms in your throat.

"Ellie..."

"I'm in the way."

You let go of the broom and focus instead on Ellie, standing in front of her and taking the pitchfork from her so that you can grasp her hands.

"You're not in the way," you tell her firmly. Ellie looks away, and you shake your head to stress your words. "Ellie, look at me."

She meets your steady gaze, and you see how conflicted she is. Poor girl. She is a child. You can barely remember what it was like to be that age and besides, it was another world ago, but you do remember that it was difficult and confusing for so many reasons.

"You are not in the way," you emphasize softly. "But this situation is new, for all of us. This place. This dynamic. We're not just surviving anymore, Ellie, we have a chance to live. And I... I've never had that chance with Joel before. So I'm struggling a little right now. But it has nothing to do with you, okay? You just... be you. You're so good for him, Ellie, you have saved him in more ways than one."

She purses her lips, and you see her throat muscles work as she swallows.

"Okay," she finally nods, quietly. You press a smile, try to look like this problem was resolved.

"Okay." You give her a quick hug before going back to your work. Ellie seems relieved but you can't stop thinking about how you pinned it all on your own back. You are struggling, you are having a hard time of this new way of life. As if Joel has nothing to do with it. As if his broad, once so safe, and reassuring back isn't now turned to you in cool detachment.

You try to bring the topic to him later that night, tell him that Ellie is noticing and worrying. It ends in a fight and this time it's Joel who sleeps on the uncomfortable couch. You lie awake, wondering what went wrong. Is it really you who changed? Are you being a selfish bitch, jealous of a 14-year-old girl? Do you really want life to go on as it did before, in the Boston QZ, fighting for your life with Joel by your side?

Why is settling down so hard?

Nothing changes in the coming weeks. Talking to Joel is like milking a stone. Every now and then the two of you fight, as quietly as you can when Ellie has gone to bed. You still think he should tell her. He refuses to, and you can see the fear in his eyes. Ellie will be furious with him; you both know it. The longer he keeps her in the dark, the worse it's going to be. You find yourself wishing that you'll be far away when the day comes.

One early spring day you ride out with Deion to check on the traps. You've spent most of your days with him these past few weeks. He appreciates you, sees you, wants to hear your opinion. He takes you to the movies. He asks you about your past. He shows interest where Joel barely even wants you at night anymore.

The snow has started to melt in the sunshine, and you find a sun-kissed clearing where the ground is yellow with glacier lilies. The air is warm, and you can smell the changing of the season. You dismount and crouch among the delicate yellow flowers, hover your hands over them, smile in childlike delight when you see bees buzzing from flower to flower. You can't remember the last time you saw bees.

In that clearing, you ask Deion to kiss you, and he does, almost immediately. Not until the kiss is over does he express regret.

"You're with Joel."

"No, I'm not."

He smiles, and kisses you again, and you remember those first pre-teen infatuations: the warmth, the excitement, the heart-stopping angst about whether or not the subject of your passions felt the same. You remember all that but only feel it radiate from Deion. The feelings are unrequited.

That night you collect your few belongings into your backpack and leave the house. You hug Ellie and ask her to forgive you. You say nothing to Joel, and he says nothing to you.

You do not go to Deion, but instead to the boarding house where new arrivals are placed while awaiting homes of their own. Deion is kind, and he showed you what it would be like to be with a person who genuinely cares for you, but you don't want to rebuild your shattered life around a man.

A week later you mount a horse and leave Jackson. You have no plan, no light to look for, but you can finally breathe freely. Heading west, you ride at a slow pace all day, enjoying yourself more than maybe is appropriate. Your saddle-sore backside in the evening doesn't put a damper on your joy when you sit by your small fire with a cup of herbal tea. This is the start of something new, maybe disastrous, but definitely different.

The dark woods around you don't scare you, neither does being alone. You realize now just how alone - lonely - you've been these past couple of months, smack in the middle of the warm and well-organized community that Jackson is. Its friendly inhabitants weren't enough: you only wanted kindness from one single person. To be alone out here, by choice, feels a lot better than the time spent in Jackson.

When you prepare to leave the campsite the next morning, a horse emerges between the trees. Instinctively, you reach for your gun before your brain has processed the face of the rider.

It's Joel. Your mouth falls open and your legs feel weak.

"What are you doing here?" you manage when he dismounts. His hunched shoulders tell you clearly that he's uncomfortable and also stalling as he, very meticulously, ties the reins to a nearby tree. You wait impatiently for him to acknowledge you. When he finally does, his nut-brown eyes are clear in the first rays of the sun.

"I'm here to ask you if you would consider returning."

You have to bite your tongue in order not to laugh out loud. Your hard stare tells him everything, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"I'm going to tell Ellie about what happened at the hospital."

You raise an eyebrow. "Why are you here telling me that?"

"Because when I do, she's going to hate me, and I can't stand losing both of you."

"It's a little too late for that, Joel."

He nods, wets his lips. Looks away and draws a wet breath. Rests his hands on his hips, purses his lips. You realize he's fighting against unwanted yet inevitable tears.

Joel crying. That's a new one.

Moments pass, minutes, maybe hours, days, you have no idea, but you keep staring at Joel as he stubbornly looks to the forest, as if there was an answer or saving grace to be had between the trees. You are relentless in the midst of the rising sun, the singing birds, the soft shush of the wind through the budding treetops. He has to make the first move, show something, say something. Offer an explanation to why he stopped listening. Where did the apathy in his eyes come from? Why did he suddenly decide to show no concern for you?

He brings his hand to his eyes, rubs them quickly with forefinger and thumb. He then turns back to you.

"Ellie misses you."

You stand your ground, implacable as you wait for him to continue. Finally, he confesses:

"I miss you. The minute you left I started missing you."

"Then why did you let me leave?" you ask flatly.

"I wasn't going to stop you if that's what you wanted."

You refuse to engage, even though you want to scream at him: Do you think I wanted to leave?

"Was it Deion?"

"What?" Your eyebrows meet in a surprised frown. "What about Deion?"

"You spent so much time with him. Did you... was there anything between you?"

Unable to play it cool anymore, you take a step closer.

"How fucking dare you? You have no right!" Your horse and Joel's shift their weight, ears twitching nervously.

He's a little taken back with your raised voice, but he doesn't match it.

"Sorry," he mutters instead, and now it's your turn to drop your jaw. For a moment, both of you just stand there, looking at each other, trying to find some common ground to share so that things can be resolved.

It's Joel who finally finds that little patch of soil to sow the seeds of reconciliation.

"You remember how I tried to make Tommy take Ellie to the Fireflies?" he asks, and you nod mutely. Of course you remember. The tension in the house had been so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

"But I took her. And everything that happened after that... happened. I have to live with the consequences. I just had to keep her."

He shakes his head, something desperate filling his features. "If I get to keep her, I can't keep you."

"What do you mean?" you ask quietly, not following. The long look he gives you is anguished, but he stays quiet, as if he has said too much. Your brain is working at full capacity until it has connected the dots.

"Is this some kind of 'can't have too much good shit in my life' bullshit?" you ask hoarsely, almost afraid of the answer. "Because that is just... Joel, you are an idiot."

You're shaking by now, and Joel bristles a little.

"Look, Ellie has nobody else. She's stuck with me, for better or for worse. She's a kid. But you are not. You can have someone better."

"What if I don't want anyone better, what if I happen to love a complete fucking idiot who doesn't deserve me but is stuck with me because I chose it myself!?" you scream, tears filling your eyes and escaping down your cheeks. Joel winces, as if you just slapped him, but when he sees your tears, he closes the gap between the two of you with a few long strides. The next thing you know, you're crushed against his broad chest, smelling his sweat and slightly woodsy scent with leather and horse and melting snow. He holds you so tightly it's almost constricting your breathing, but you don't fight back. You've fought back for long enough.

"Darlin'," he murmurs throatily. "Darlin'. You love me?"

"I did," you sob. "But I don't know if I still do."

He's quiet, his hand moving in slow, comforting caresses over your back. Something is broken in you and the splinters are pressing against your internal organs, making breathing near impossible. Your face against Joel's chest, you think you can sense something break in him as well.

"You're right," he finally whispers. "I am an idiot and an asshole."

Your only response is more tears because now he gets it, now the milk is flowing from that goddamn stone, and it just might be too late. You don't know if you can trust him to handle your broken pieces right, or if there is a second chance for him in you.

There is no telling how long you stand like that, entwined in a sad, desperate embrace. The sun's rays start to feel warm even when you're cold inside. When your tears finally dry up, you shift in Joel's arms, and he releases you. You can't look at him, can't let him see you like this, but he gently places his finger under your chin, and raises your face to his.

"Am I too late?" he asks. His eyes are red and there are wet trails on his cheeks. You swallow hard, try to navigate between your desires and needs.

"What would change?" you finally ask. He places his warm, slightly sweaty palm against your cheek and brushes his thumb just under your eye, catching a lingering tear.

"I would love you."

He has never said that word to you before, and you want to ask for a detailed description of what it entails. How will he love you? Will he listen, help, support, share?

If Ellie decides to hate him, will he hate you in return? Will Ellie?

On the other side is a vast wilderness of no coordinates, the unknown with all its dangers. What are your chances of survival, of finding decent people? Jackson is full of decent people, and now also Joel and Ellie. Joel, who hurt you. Ellie, who is torn between the two of you.

He waits for your answer, and you find that you don't have a definite one to give him. But you know what direction to take.

"We'll talk about it on the ride back."

If that direction is a way forward or a way back, you don't know. You just feel that it would be wrong not to try.

#the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #my fic

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "The Price of a Life" the March Patreon Short Story

(warnings ahead for murder and implied, attempted assault, please take care of yourselves)

*.*.*

Rani grew up with neglectful parents and a little brother who was treated like he could do no wrong. While she was often tasked with looking after him, receiving the blame for any and all misbehavior, her brother was given pats on the head for being such a strong willed rascal.

It wasn't the easiest time growing up and as soon as she was able, she spent every minute out of the house, helping the miller with carrying sacks of flour, holding horses still for re-shoeing at the blacksmith's smithy and in the evenings she was wiping down tables in the tavern. 

Any excuse to stay away and earn some money was pounced upon without hesitation. She was soon known around town as the girl who accepted any job so long as someone paid her for it. 

No matter how rough and tough it was, she lifted her chin stubbornly and no matter how hard it became, she was determined to prove people wrong when they doubted her.

She learned who in town was corrupt and to be avoided, she learned who would attempt to exploit her and she learned how to recognize the glint in people's eyes that promised nothing but pain and misery on her end.

She learned just how hard she had to hit to take someone down, heart pounding with terror and adrenaline as she stood in a dark, damp alley. A stone smeared with blood was in her hand as she stared down at empty eyes. 

She learned just how deep she had to dig a hole to ensure no wild animals dug the body back out, painful bruises blooming on her skin.

She learned fast and she learned well. Her hands grew rougher than any other girl's her age, she became stronger than many of the boys and she turned into a ruthless negotiator with a sharp intuition for those who wanted to trap her into agreements that demanded too much of her.

Her parents rarely saw her, but the few times they caught her sneaking back home, they were scolding her for being a terrible daughter who was never around and she ought to hand over some of her hard earned coin, they had housed and fed her for years after all.

Rani moved out of her childhood home as soon as she was old enough and the blacksmith flagged her down for an apprenticeship right away. It was hard work, but Rani was used to that and in the evenings she still went around, doing odd jobs for a bit of extra coin.

"I heard that unruly brother of yours got tangled with some unnatural folk," she heard her master say one day, almost half a year after having moved out of home.

They had some massive horses in today and they behaved well under her steady and reassuring hands. She had learned early on that animals liked it when she gave them a feeling of comfort and security, that they liked her calm and quiet words.

"I genuinely don't care," Rani answered, the black mare snorting and finally relaxing, lowering her head and her ears perked. 

She was a sweet one, but a different blacksmith had once badly hurt her while shoeing her and now she got worried and scared easily. It was understandable, in Rani's opinion.

The blacksmith hummed, a low noise that seemed to rumble in his barrel chest. "No one's seen him in a week, people think he ran into the Blood Lords."

Her hands stilled for a moment. Everyone knew of the Blood Lords, of the monsters that called the cursed city beyond the forest their home. Endless rumors surrounded that place, one worse than the other. Anything and everything could be bartered away in that place, from souls to blood and even someone's own children.

The Blood Lords never left their cursed city and while some speculated it was because they couldn't, they didn't need to either. Not when there were people desperate or foolish or arrogant enough to seek them out anyway, thinking they could weasel out a deal in their favor.

Rani had always thought that even her hardheaded brother knew better than to tangle with creatures which knew neither pity nor compassion.

"He'll be back soon, I'm sure," she said, though a part of her was sinking like a stone headed for the bottom of a lake. "He's old enough to start adventuring away from town. He's probably trying to get to the king's city and he'll turn around when he realizes it's a bad idea."

The blacksmith hummed, low and sceptical and Rani felt just as doubtful of her own words. What if her brother had been stupid enough to go to the cursed city? A place shrouded in eternal fog and with the taste of death so prominent in the air it made all but the most foolhardy or desperate flee in terror.

At least, it was like that according to rumors.

Rani focused on her work, but once she was sent away by her master, instead of seeking out one of the people who usually needed an extra hand, she headed to her childhood home. It had been the first time since she had moved out that she had gone back.

She half expected her brother to pop out, scaring her half to death and laughing at her face and the angry but secretly relieved lecture she'd give him. She half expected the little shit to have been hiding somewhere, watching as people fretted and worried, giggling to himself.

What she found were her parents crying their eyes out. Even before they looked up and spotted her in the open door, their hopeful faces falling with disappointment upon seeing that it was her and not her brother, she knew the truth.

Her brother had, indeed, been stupid enough to tangle with the Blood Lords.

"You must save him," her mother began, tone half accusing and half an order, as though she blamed Rani for this situation.

Rani turned on her heel and strode away, angry and worried in equal measure. She had always ended up stuck with cleaning her brother's messes. Had always had to face the anger of anyone he had played a prank on, getting scolded and told to keep him in line, because her parents slipped away from their responsibilities whenever they could.

She was sick and tired of being dragged into their problems, into being blamed. Her parents were two perfectly healthy adults, they should handle this.

She stomped all the way home, to the tiny little apartment over a general goods store she had rented. She passed by the alley where she had fought that terrible man, the rock she had used still lying where she had dropped it. Any blood on it had long since gotten washed away. 

No one had ever found out what had happened to that man.

She owed her brother nothing. In fact, she had told him multiple times to be more careful with his pranks and jokes, that one day he'd bite off more than he could chew. That he had sought out the Blood Lords was as laughable and nonsensical as a louse trying to tear out a wolf's throat. What had he been thinking?

She told herself that it was most likely already too late to save him. The Blood Lords took everything they wanted, they were considered even worse than the fae knights that rode through the forest during full moon nights, luring the prettiest lads and lasses out of their homes to whisk them away for forever.

The Blood Lords lived off of blood and souls and the screams of the anguished and tortured, their veins filled with dark magic and malice. According to rumors at least.

But there was always a kernel of truth to rumors, wasn't there?

Rani stared into her cramped little space, gritting her teeth, until an enraged snarl ripped free and she grabbed her cloak and shoved some things into her satchel before stomping out the door again.

*.*.*

Would you like to read more? Then check out my patreon! Or the masterlist, for more of my stories and other patreon story previews. Enjoy!

#my writing #short story #preview #patreon #dark fantasy #dark fairy tale #monster lover #I hope you'll enjoy it! #i had so much fun writing it #and I hope it will be a fun read as well!

[anonymouspuzzler]

every canon fact about Kamal is extremely fucking funny to me. he's the world's most normal man. he's a dental hygienist who likes mecha anime and biking and bunnies and indie folk rock and he now has a boyfriend who is maybe a cryptid and a daughter who can and Will punch things for fun. this is the funniest man I've ever seen and by god I cannot resist making things Happen to him.

(detailed image descriptions slash transcript under cut!)

Panel/image 1: Kamal is riding a bike, facing the left side of the image, with Putunia strapped into a child seat on the back of the bike. Kamal is wearing sweatpants, sneakers, a hoodie and a helmet; Putinia is wearing a helmet alongside her usual outfit of a sleeveless dress, black tights, and boxing gloves. Kamal is visibly struggling, shaking and face set in a sweaty grimace, hair blown back in the breeze. He is thinking to himself, "it's free resistance training it's free resistance training keep going oh god just keep moving you're gonna have thighs that could kill god after this oh my god do not stop pedaling you will slide right back down the hill and die instantly probably???" Putunia, grinning with her arms in the air and legs kicking, shouts, "FASTER SOLDIER!!!! BECOME UN-CATCHABLE!!!!!"

Panel/image 2: The panel is divided horizontally with a jagged line. On top, Habit, wearing a ringer t-shirt and an apron, with his hair tied back in a ponytail, is on the phone and smiling warmly. He holds the phone in his right hand with one pinky up, and twirls the cord on his left finger. There are little hearts surrounding his head and speech bubble as he says (in misspelled Habitspeak) "OH IT'S KAMAL!!! Hiiii HI Kamal (smiley face) Are you calling me to say you are safe and having fun at park? I like hearing your voice,". Below the jagged divider line is a scene of Kamal at the park, with Putunia in the background going down a slide in delight, arms in the air. There is also a swingset behind her and two springy-horse toys to the right. Kamal is in the foreground leaning against a payphone with his right arm, holding the receiver in his left, looking completely haggard with his hair a mess, face set in a grimace, and sweat dripping everywhere. He interrupts Habit with, "HI THAT'S GREAT MAN CAN YOU COME PICK US UP THANKS".

Panel/image 3: A flatbed truck is driving facing the right of the screen, with several plants and Kamal's bike in the truck bed. Kamal sits in the passenger side of the truck, one arm hanging out the window, head back and expression exhausted. Habit, driving with both hands on the wheel, tilts his head to look at Putunia sitting at his right with a smile, asking (in mispelled Habitspeak) "Did you have fun??? (smiley face)" Putunia, smiling back, replies, "YEAH!!!!!!!! BUT KAMAL NEEDS MORE TRAINING". Habit adds, "Well, maybe next time".

#anonymous puzzler art #smile for me #boris habit #kamal bora #putunia mollar #this man building gundams and biking poorly he just like me fr #habismal

[yearningaces]

What would bring angst to nyx and his s/o's relationship?

Would there be any "bad pre conceived ideas" agasint nyxs s/o from others of his kind?

Also, weird question: Could his species breed with humans and have a viable offspring?? What would that child be like? Would it be more human with some rabbit traits or the opposite?

While I'm the main proponent of no NSFW prompts this is plain scientific curiosity and that I encourage

Talks of reproduction capabilities and results in the most scientific ramble below heads up

If Nyx's partner has a uterus (and if he wasn't either ace due to my preference or just did something out of curiosity) I'd say it's similar to two animals from sister species having offspring. A donkey and a horse can produce a mule but mules can't have offspring together. Due to unmatched chromosomes from the horse and donkey counterparts mostly, so they're infertile.

If a rabbit-hybrid and human had a kid, it would be low chance, and would take on more traits of the more dominant species, a human.

This could work many different ways, but mostly how you phrased it, a rabbit-hybrid that looks more human like than others.

As for your first remarks, absolutely.

Nyx is a prey species, his family is a prey species and they live in a community of burrows where other rabbit-hybrids live. Humans are by nature predators and as such are usually larger, stronger, and far more dangerous. Humans do eat rabbits, I have before when my folks hunted some down and added them to the family gathering menu

Nyx got off on the best foot with his human because they(you) saved his life, proving that humans can be just as helpful as they can harmful. For Nyx, it takes a long time of convincing his family to just meet you, and also to let him leave the burrow again because he promised to meet up with you and they were terrified for his life.

Cause to rabbit-hybrids or prey species hybrids, humans are hunters, carnivores at the top of their food chain by sheer force of will and intelligence, having grown to outrank their own predators. Humans are feared, respected from afar for the good that they can do, but mostly feared. In a way it's almost superstitious like when a human talks about fae

"never accept their food or else you'll be hooked" humans are just damn good cooks. "Never allow them to take you away, you'll return knowing little of your own world and remember unfathomable knowledge." If you let a stray cat come inside it's gonna get socialized to a person through effort. It's gonna forget how to survive on its own bc it's taken good care of by it's human and will learn how to 'converse' with humans and human ways. Am I making sense?

There's also generally separation between humans and most prey like species. Obviously some couple together but it's a more unpopular thing to see and can be a bit difficult.

There's also a power imbalance in the relationship that's always needing to be remembered. Nyx is small and weak compared to his human partner, he can easily be scared by them and while sometimes it's fun, his human has to remember to be calm with him. One big explosion of anger towards him and he'll fall back on instincts and flee and hide. Then it's an emotional mess for everyone because you scared your bunny boy and he wants to feel safe and only feels safest when you hold him but you're the one that scared him and he's lost at that moment.

Challenges but damn the sweet moments make it worth it

#letters of yearning #nyx the bunnyboy #tw pregnancy #i love world building #x reader #humans are space orcs #can you tell ive hit ultimate ramble times? love it favorite way to discuss and explain

[heartfullofleeches]

Cowboys have invaded my mind. How we rockin with rodeo clown darling and yan cowboy. Or maybe even yan!bandit and barkeep darling.

(Why not all of the above? Yandere Cowboy/Bandit X Odd jobs Reader. Reader is G.N, but there's a use of missus as a joke)

Sweat pours down your face as the stadium doors close behind you; every atom within crying for rest. The large animal behind the gates rams into them a few times, before its handlers drag it away. You wipe your brows; white makeup smearing across your hand. The crowd still laughs at your performance, but it's the last thing you think about. No matter how many times you did that, it never got easier.

All on your own in a town in the middle of nowhere; you had to work countless jobs to get buy. Shop keep; house help, and many others. It was a place that turned a blind eye to legal certificates, so as long as you did your job well you'd get to stay. Rodeo clown was one of the longest running; started all way back when you were first strapped for cash.

With some basic training from the other clowns, you were ushered out the door and into the face of the crowd. You had your beginner's scrapes and bruises, but became not too bad overtime.

"You a little winded there, stripes?"

A horse trots up beside you. It's owner tips his hat as you with a little grin. The cowboy untied the bandana from his neck and passes it off to you, sweeping the specks of dirt off before he hands it over. You take it and dab at your forehead.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, sugar."

He joined the show just a little while after you. An out of towner who popped in and out of the rodeo's tent whenever he pleased. You'd seen him about town right before he'd leave again; joking that he couldn't leave without seeing your pretty face or stocking up at the store when you were on your shift. Whenever he was around, he was good so no one complained besides when he was coming back.

Knox was the name he went by. Nobody knew if that was his real name, and nobody asked. All the boss carried about was that he was good with a lasso.

Speaking of that man, you both hear shouting from the other side of the barn.

"Why on God's green earth I know of any suspects? I wouldn't have called you if I knew who this son of a bitch was."

You both head over. Your boss was "chatting" with the local sheriff; his face inches away from the others as he shouted. Knox has to turn away to stop himself from laughing at the annoyance in the poor man's eye. Noticing you, the sheriff looks your way.

"Evening, folks? You seen anything strange around here lately?

"No, sir."Knox chuckles, throwing an arm over your shoulder." Me and the Missus here were just heading to have some alone time in the boss' office."

You playful shove him off. "Cut it out."

Your boss' face turns best red. "This ain't the time to be joking. I ain't letting any of you thieves in my office again."

"Theives?" You repeat.

The sheriff speaks up. "Your boss here says his safe had been broken in to. Fortunately it seems all that was in it was his personal errandings and all the important papers are at home, but it was a lot of bills."

"When I get my hands on that bastard... Where were you two early this morning?"

You quickly vouch for yourself. "I was at the convenience store until noon."

"They were. I hung around outside for a little while. Fallin asleep on the job like the angel they are."

Knox pokes your rubber nose. It was true. You saw him lingering on the porch of the store, pacing around or kicking empty cans. He did that quite often when he didn't come in. Just standing there; looking at you when he thought you wouldn't notice. Come to think of it, you saw him at a lot of your jobs. With the thought of work on your mind, you panic.

"Oh shoot, what time is it? I'll be late for my shift at the bar."

"About six thirty. Gone on ahead." The sheriff says.

"Now hold on a minute."Your boss cuts in. "Nobody is leaving until we get this solved."

He steps toward you both, but Knox blocks him; towering over the older man. His grin never leaves his face, but it quirks ever so slightly.

"Y/n is going to head out. They've got business to take care of, and you aren't getting in their way."

Your boss huffy, but keeps his mouth shut. Knox signals for you to leave.

"Go. I'll see you later."

-

A shower and change later, you head over to the bar; your final job of the day. It was one of the best for tips, if some didn't make you feel dirty when taking them. For the most part it was a decent place to relax amongst the mellow chatter between customers and the noise from whatever act was going on that night.

As you clean a glass and chat up a regular, a familiar face pops through the door. Knox removes his coat as he saunters over the counter, dropping it over the back of the seat the customer was in.

"You're in my spot."

The man shoots daggers, but slides over into the neighborhood seat. He tries to continue talking with you, but Knox taps on the table to get your attention; ordering his preferred drink as he smirks at you.

"I always forget how cute you are without that makeup, stripes."

"We were talking, pal." The man slurs.

"And now your conversation is over. Y/n can I get rid of this clown?"

"You aren't security, plus we'll lose all our customers if you make everyone leave." You say this as the customer gets up and leaves. Knox chuckles.

"Aw come, Y/n. You know you're the only clown anyone needs!" He stares at the glass you place in front of him; voice lowering. "Which is why I've come to ask you that question again."

You stop pouring liquor in the glass, placing the bottle on the table. Every once in a while, Knox would ask you to leave town with him; like a reaper knocking on a stubborn old man's door. You barely knew the man's name the first time he asked; promising you the life of your dreams.

Whenever he was in town, he'd sleep at an inn; telling you all about the nice place he had miles away. He wanted to take you there, were you could live comfortably and away from the stress of it all. He was normally flat out drunk when he said this, but tonight he hadn't taken a single sip.

"Knox.. You know my answer." You had responsibilities; friends. You couldn't just up and abandon all that for a man with with past you didn’t know. Knox sighs; bouncing his leg on the ground to calm his nerves. This place wasn't good enough for you, and he was going to make you see that someday.

"You say that now, Y/n, but one day your gonna be mine. This little town will be the last thing on your mind." He grabs a bill from his pocket, slamming it on the table.

You... recognized this bill. A scribbled on twenty you got as a tip after after show at the rodeo before your boss stole it out of your hands. "Too much for a show monkey." As he joked.

"Knox... Where did you?"

Knox already at the door with his coat over his shoulder and hat tilted in hand. He winks at you.

"See you around, Y/n."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere imagines #Yandere Bandit #Yandere cowboy #yandere fic #yandere writing #yandere oneshot

[arthurthethird]

Could I request something with Charles? Perhaps male reader is too shy cause why would big handsome Charles ever want with them? Or something like that? Feeling extra insecure today myself lol

Again, I'm really sorry it took so long. I got problems with notifications, but here is something I came up with! I hope you'll like it

★★★★★

Charles x m!reader

It was pathetic. You were pathetic and you knew it.

You were sitting by the campfire, staring at it blankly. Most people already went off to sleep, leaving you alone with his thoughts and a drink in his hand. Sad, sure, but what else can you do when you got a hopeless crush on someone out of your league? Not only that, but on someone who's the same gender?

Now, you see, most people in the camp didn't have a problem with someone being queer. Hell, with Bill Williamson being one there was no chance for any mean comments (Micah being an exception, but I don't think we're surprised).

But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the crush was Charles Smith himself. And as sweet and nice as he was, you couldn't risk possibly hinting at it and getting shot down. Mostly because he was too dear for you to see the awkwardness or disgust on his face. Or maybe it was the fact you were afraid he'd laugh at your face, or worse, get mad.

In the corner of your eye, you saw someone sitting down next to you. You turn your head there, noticing Bill, having his own drink. He took a swig, then looked at you.

"Tough night?"

"Tough few months..." You sigh. The man was looking at you quietly, then chuckled.

"You're sweet on someone"

"Excuse me?" You turn to him, surprised. He wasn't good at reading people, you know that. So the thought your crush was so visible sent you into slight panic.

"You're sweet on someone. I'm not surprised, many folks are fond of the ladies" He shrugged. You were staring at him quietly, then turned back to the fire as he started guessing who might it be.

"Is is Karen? She's attractive, even I know this. Tilly maybe? Or Sadie? Sadie is a hard fork partner, you'll wantnto be careful with-"

"It's a man" you muttered under your breath. You thought it was barely above a whisper, but the way he went awfully quiet made your head turned away. He likes men, you knew this, but it still felt like something to be ashamed of.

"... A man?" He repeated. You just shook your head.

"No, you overhead"

"I'm dumb L/N, but I'm not deaf" he rolled his eyes. You turn to him quietly. The shame must've been visible in your eyes, because his looks immediately softened when he looked at you. Or maybe it was pity?

"Forget it. Please"

"Y/N" he sighed. "You can trust me. Look, I might not be the best listener, but this is one topic I know how to help with"

You just look down in to your hands. The thought of letting it out, talking it through with someone seemed nice. But scary as well.

"Who is it?"

You held your breath. There it was, the question that could set you free or bring all hell upon you. You tried to come up with something, an excuse, anything. But then came a moment of braveness. So...

"It's Charles"

"Charles?!" Bill spat his drink out, coughing surprised. You shushed him quickly, not wanting anyone else to hear.

"Shut up!!"

"Sorry, sorry-" he cleared his throat, calming down. "It's just... I already expected Arthur-"

"Arthur's nice, but he's more of a brother to me" you sigh. He nodded slowly.

"... Do you want to tell him?"

"God no-" you shook your head. "he'll just reject me"

"Why do you think so?"

"Why do you not?? He obviously likes women!"

"Oh please! If anything, he loves animals over life" he muttered, waiving his hand and turned to you. "Give it a go, trust me. I... Spoke with him"

You went quiet.

You had to know everything.

"You spoke?? When?? Why?? What about?? Anything about me?? Did he-"

"Jesus, hold your horses partner!" Bill raised his hands. "Yesterday. He had to get something of his chest. He might... Like you too"

All the world started spinning around you. Charles Smith himself might like you. That's all you ever dreamed of. Bil chuckled "So I'd say, go an tell him! You might be surprised"

"...and what if he doesn't like me?"

"Doesn't like you? Oh, well then screw him! There are other guys and gals better than him!" But there wasn't. He was the best one. Yet you still smiled at Bill's attempts to make you feel better.

"Thank you" you nodded. "You really helped"

"Yea, well... When you live being sweet on someone, you learn such things towards others"

You blinked surprised, opening your mouth, ready to ask about it, he already got up, walking off.

"Goodnight Y/N"

"... Goodnight Bill"

★★★★★

You woke up early, ready to make it happen. You'll ask Charles out. Were you terrified? Absolutely. But you were also confident. After last night talk with Bill, you got tot thinking. And you figured, if he does reject you, you'll just make it look like you got shot accidentally on the next mission. No embarrassment if you don't see him again, right?

Either way, either social death or literal death. Both felt almost the same.

You walk out of your tent, going to the campfire to grab some food. You're soar and tired, but it'll go away. You stop when Charles called your name. You turn to him, the familiar nervousness, rush of heart and cold sweat appearing. You smile at him. "Yes?"

"We need to talk" he said, face serious, eyes cold.

And just like that all the confidence, all the energy boost, all the braveness went to hell. Your plan didn't exist anymore. You simply panicked.

Why does he want to talk to you? Did you do something? Your mind quickly rushed through all the possibilities. No, you don't think so... Maybe Bill talked with him, and how he doesn't want to do anything with you? That's high possibility.

Or what if Micah overheard you? Oh, then you'd be dead in everyone's eyes.

Your breathing quickened, chest squeezed, vision becoming blurry. Every bad scenario that could possibly happen was playing through your head.

But then you took a deep breath. Grounding yourself, remembering that nothing happened yet. He just needed to talk. You don't know about what. It might be both good and bad. You just had to stay calm.

Yet you were fucking scared.

★★†★★

You were waiting at the spot you were supposed to meet with Charles. It was further away from the camp, which again striked up the nervousness in you. But maybe it's not that bad. Maybe it's just something he's shy about and only trusts you to tell you about it? So you waited.

You waited a long time. What if it was just to humiliate you? In a second Sean and Javier will jump out from behind the trees, laughing at you. Yet nothing happened. So you waited.

Then came a spark of hope. Maybe he was nervous too? Maybe he did like you and decided to ask you out? He was naturally a shy man, yet you knew he could have a... Wild side. But it made you excited. Brought back the confidence in you. So you waited.

Soon enough, you heard footsteps. You turned there, noticing Charles coming.

"I'm sorry it took so long, Reverend didn't want me to get past without listening to his ballad about whiskey" he sighed as you chuckled.

"Not a problem. You wanted to talk?"

"Talk? Ah, yes..." He nodded. He seems nervous. Score.

"I... Actually wanted to talk about us"

That was enough. Before he could say anything else, you grabbed his collar, pulling down and just kissed him.

His lips were soft, surprisingly well taken care of. They were warm and you could still taste Pearson's stew on them and some morning coffee. But non of those bothered you, not even a bit.

Charles tensed up, surprised, yet raised his hands, placing them on your cheeks. And when you thought he'd kiss back, he softly pushed you away.

And there it is again, that horrible feeling like you'd be about to faint. You looked at him, panicking. Vision blurry again. But then he said something that surprised you.

"I wanted to do it first" he muttered, chuckling awkwardly. You blinked, calming down, then smiling softly. As sweet as always. "But I wanted to tell you about it first"

"Oh- I'm sorry!" You chuckled, embarrassed. You went too quick. But he didn't seem mad, at thankfully.

He then took your hands in his, walking closer to you, looking into your eyes.

"Y/N... You're an amazing man with a sweet soul and a great heart. I've liked you for as long as I remember, and I wanted to thank you for being with me this whole time. But I don't think friends are something I can stand any longer. I want to be something better. Someone more important"

Now, as much as it was sweet, it was greatly surprising. Charles rarely talked about his feelings, let alone people he's sweet on. So... You felt honoured. And touched.

No wonder it took for him so long to come. He was stressed. Maybe even as much as you. Or more.

No, he'd be dead if it was more.

He then pulled you into a warm hug. Holding you close, nuzzling to you.

"Will you go out with me?"

You honestly felt like you could fly. Years of dreaming and begging faith for one chance... And you got it. Now you'll be damned if you screw this up. The plan with "accidentally getting shot" wouldn't sound so bad then.

But you smiled as you looked up to him.

"Gladly"

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #red dead redemption #rdr2 x reader #reddeadredemption2 #charles smith #charles smith x reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x m reader

[ragnarokhound]

Writing Patterns

rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Tagged by: @deepwithintheabyss

Thanks for the tag! I’ve done song lyrics at the beginning and end of at least two fics, so I’m choosing to disclude that from this tag game, haha. Just my own words :)

intricate rituals [Jaytim - omegaverse - rated E] “Jason, what is this?”

open my heart and let it bleed (onto yours) [Jaytim - werewolf & vampire au - rated E] "For the last time, I am not getting in the damn coffin with you," Jason huffs.

sigh no more [Jaytim - nebulous canon compliant - rated E] It's storming outside when Tim is roused from his bed.

Sit, Stay, Speak [Jaytim - animal transformation/mystery - rated E] Jason slips through the apartment window without a sound, gun out and safety off.

no accounting for taste [Jaytim - post-scene - rated T] “Wait, wait, wait. I can’t be hearing this right. You were a dog? For a week?”

Hurt/Comfort [Jaytim - nebulous canon compliant - two endings - rated E] Jason’s window shines bright like a beacon.

you hit me once, I hit you back [Jaytim - campy villain!Jason au - rated E] “Red Robin.”

hold on tight, hold on for life [Jaytim - nebulous canon compliant - rated E] Tim knows he’s not normal.

oh, but you’re good to me [Cray Ormoru/Feldar Sepwin from Sorcerer’s Son by Phyllis Eisenstein - rated M][won’t anyone read this mid fantasy novel with me] When Cray left Spinweb to recover his horse, he hadn’t dared to hope that Feldar would be returning with him.

give me a second, i [Sterek - canon divergent post season 2 - rated T] It got away.

Clearly, I love a one sentence hook, haha. Especially a dialogue hook! I've always been a fan of snappy writing and of all kinds of comics, so one-liners and being dropped into dialogue is very fun to me.

I'll go ahead and tag some folks with the usual no-pressure caveat, apologies if you've already been tagged lol, and also if you don't have 10 fics posted, maybe there are some WIP lines or chapter openers you wanna share? :3 - @beanboop @ladytauria @galgali @cummandercold @listen-to-the-inner-walrus

#writing game #tag game #my writing #jaytim #i am often thinking about the opening line of a scene and what it's doing for the reader #sometimes the line i write to get myself started while writing is not the line that stays. but most of the time it is lol #intrigue! spice! you want to know more

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟞 ✧₊∘

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

Day 6: Leash and Collar, Medical Torture, Sacrifice

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰-𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬

| PAIRING(s): Silva x male!reader | RATING: explicit material | 18+  | WORD COUNT: 2.8k | CONTENT: gay cowboys, historically realistic lube | SYNOPSIS: You are unfairly sent to the gallows, and a handsome stranger interrupts your death.

Your toes swing precariously against the wooden stool. You stand a little straighter, a little taller, to ease the abrading rope from digging into the flesh of your neck. The sun was almost mid sky, the heat becoming sweltering as you awaited your fate. It felt unfair to be hung for what had been nothing more than a sequence of poor choices and even poorer outcomes. 

You hadn’t meant for that man’s gun to go off and send a blast of metal shards straight into his gut. You’d been trying to wrestle it away from him, to reason with him that your life was a high price to pay just for trespassing onto his land and eating some of his crops, but the man would hear none of it. In hindsight, you should’ve just been that evil, murderous person that they now intend to hang you for. 

You could’ve left him alone on his ranch to bleed out onto the ground like an animal, but you didn’t. You made the foolish decision to go for help. When he succumbed to his injuries despite your efforts to seek medical attention for him, the Sheriff had been quick to dole out the role of judge, jury, and executioner within the span of about 15 minutes. Turns out killing the poker partner that was always good for a losing hand was enough to disgruntle the Sheriff to determine it had been an intentional burglary gone wrong and that you needed to satisfy the demands of justice over your sins.

You can’t quite see the face of the broad, handsome stranger who had unceremoniously interrupted your death. You hear his heavy accent with a smooth, relaxed cadence. You strain to hear, but the blood is pounding in your ears like thunder. You can’t hear much more than a few sparse words scattered in meaningless order.

You see the Executioner look over his shoulder to ensure no one is around before accepting a handful of paper slips from the Visitor. He tucks it into his back pocket and makes his way up the stairs. The Visitor follows his movements before his eyes lock with yours. There’s something soft in them. You think it’s a nice gesture from the universe to have something so beautiful to focus on right before you die. The little comforts in life. 

“Lucky day, boy,” the Executioner laughs quietly. He makes quick work of detaching your noose from the gallows but keeps your hands tied. “Try anything, and I’ll blow yer brains out,” he warns. 

He marches you down the stairs, glancing every which way for onlookers, and shoves you towards the Visitor. You stumble but catch yourself with a light hand of support from the Visitor. You look back and forth between the men in confusion. Were you being retried? Had somebody caught wind of the Sheriff's corrupt proceedings and intervened?

“Get outta here before somebody sees you,” the Executioner snaps.

The Visitor nods and wordlessly takes hold of the rope at the end of your noose. He mounts his horse effortlessly. You note the width and musculature of his hips and thighs. He’s a broad man all over, even bigger than he looked from up in the gallows. He’s older than you by at least 10 years if not 15 or 20. He’d had a life of labor, no doubt about that, and so much work in the sun had a tendency to age folks quicker.

“Keep up as best you can. I won’t make you run, but we need to leave here quickly,” he tells you. 

Were you being kidnapped? Had those papers been bills and not a legal decree? Your stomach jolts. You try to make sense of your new predicament, but you haven’t had proper nutrition or hydration in days. You’d already started out in a deficit, but the rundown jail had been no remedy to your plight. 

The Visitor gently knocks the inside of his ankles into the horse, and you do your best to keep pace. He looks down at you every now and then, you think to make sure you’re not plotting any sort of brazen escape, but he’s got that same soft tenderness in his gaze that goes as quickly as it comes. After you make it far enough away from town, you decide to confront him.

“What are you going to do with me?” you demand. Your voice is hoarse with exhaustion and dread. 

The Visitor looks down at you with a contemplative look. “Are you hungry?”

The hominy soup tastes better with each bite. You lean forward in the shoddy wooden chair for your next bite.

“Ah, steady. Steady now or it will drip all over you,” the Visitor cautions.

Your cheeks flush at your tactless etiquette, but you’re starving. The first spoonful had sent your blood sugar rocketing. It was the most alive you’d felt in months. The little comforts in life.

“Sorry,” you mutter. You avoid his gaze, not just to stave off your embarrassment but to also keep from looking into his large brown eyes for too long – too long for an innocuous explanation to be plausible. There were hardly any men like you that you’d met, and, even of those bedfellows, many refused to freely act on their desires for fear of exile or the gallows.

You’d avoided death or worse so far today, and you didn’t want to tempt fate.

“Why’d you take me?” you blurt out. The spoonful of much needed sustenance hovers near your mouth before the Visitor places it back into the bowl. He sighs and looks away in thought for a moment before meeting your eyes again. Your stomach flips at the direct eye contact.

“You remind me of somebody that I once knew,” he answers cryptically.

“So, what? I’m some… memory from the past? That doesn’t sound like a convincing enough reason to bribe one of the Sheriff’s men and take off with their bounty,” you balk.

He smiles gently and looks over your features as though he’s plotting someone else’s countenance onto your own. “It’s not always something that can be explained, I guess,” he offers.

You huff and shake your head. “Look, can you just tell me what the fuck I’m doing here? Can you just.. get it over with, whatever it is?” 

He looks taken aback slightly at your suggestive wording. “You think I’m going to harm you? After saving your life? Getting you all the way here? Feeding you from what low stock I have in my kitchen?”

Each question makes the guilt you feel triple. You jut your chin out defiantly. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to think. Some man just shows up and, what, pays for my salvation out of the goodness of his heart? You expect me to believe that? I don’t even know your fucking name! You’re talking like—”

“Silva,” he interrupts calmly. “My name is Silva.”

Your mouth slowly closes, the rest of you rant dying on the tip of your tongue. You shift uncomfortably with your arms still restrained and that damn rope still around your neck like he didn’t want you to forget for a single moment that he was your savior.

“You still have me tied up. If you’re just some nice gentleman, then why am I still bound?” you challenge.

Silva shrugs and sits back in his chair. “Just trying to make sure neither one of us is set up to make any rash decisions.” His brow puckers for a moment as if he’s said too much, although you’re still firmly in the dark as to what point there is to him bringing you here.

You take the moment of pause to let your eyes wander. His graying hair is tousled and flips aimlessly over his ears and neck. His scruff lines his jaw in patches, which only make his mustache all the more prominent. He doesn’t appear unkempt. His face and body look lived in, like the soul within burns and flares with a vigor for simply existing. His eyes are the final provocation for your comprehensive preoccupation.

His thighs pressed against the seat make them look even wider, and your cock twitches imagining how it must feel to be bracketed between them. He’s commanding in such an effortless way that it makes your lower belly warm with want. You realize you’ve been staring for much too long and look up to see he’s quietly observing you.

Your cheeks heat at having been discovered ogling. Then the fear creeps in. He appeared to be a shrewd, observant man, and you suddenly felt very exposed. What would he do if he knew the truth? What would he say if he discovered your visions of lovers had looked more like him than any of the town whores beckoning men for a “night of comfort” for only a few coins.

“If you want to leave, I will untie you,” Silva decides. “But I will warn you, I will not hesitate to kill you if you attempt any sort of violence on me or my land.”

Your adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. The voice in your head is screaming at you to run and count your blessings at having evaded death another day. The call of his body sang to your blood. His was a siren song to your sanity, promising to engulf and drown you, and you can’t find it in yourself to care whether or not you can swim.

“Who is he?” you press with a shaky voice.

Silva’s jaw twitches. He knows exactly who you mean. He knows the implication behind the question. He can feel the shift of the energy in the small room.

“Somebody I spent a lot of time with.” His expression is as murky as his answer.

“And you miss him?” Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“You should go,” Silva asserts, but his big brown eyes betray any conviction.

“And what if I want to stay?” you whisper.

Silva wrenches you up from your seat with a firm grasp on the rope around your neck. Your face is so close you can almost touch his striking, aquiline nose. His eyes burn into yours, his pupils pooling into swollen rings of desire. The white of his knuckles pales as he grips the rope tighter.

“You’re getting yourself into a situation you won’t be able to back down from,” Silva warns. “You’re being careless.”

You can’t hold back any longer, and you aren’t sure how much bloodflow you have left to your brain before you pass out. So, you lean in and hungrily kiss the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. His entire body tenses at the gesture, his free hand flying up to your back to orient himself to something. When you pull back to assess the damage, there’s nothing but full blown lust.

Silva drags your mouth back onto his as he messes with the knots around your bound wrists. You wiggle them in an effort to help free yourself, and soon enough your hands are unrestricted. You tangle them into Silva’s hair as he nudges you onto the table with his hips. You scramble to scoot yourself up and peer at him excitedly.

He’s caging you in on top of the table, hungrily kissing and licking into your mouth. The moan that escapes only serves to rouse him more as he deepens his kiss and fervor of his groping. His large hand cups your hardon through your trousers, and you groan at the feeling of him taking control of your body.

“Have you ever taken a man in your mouth before?” he asks breathlessly.

You nod and shimmy down the table onto the floor. Your wrists are sore from being tied for so many hours, but you don’t hesitate to work his fastenings open to reveal his stiff length. Your mouth waters watching the heft of it bob in front of you.

“Open,” he gasps desperately, pleading.

You take him as best you can, the corners of your mouth stinging at the stretch of him. The thought of him cleaving you in two makes your cock jump. You shove a hand down your pants and wrap your fist around it.

“Can you– Can you take more of it? Please?” he pants.

You’re in the midst of trying to figure out how to relax your jaw more when he pulls on the rope. It inches your head forward, and you both moan in unison. When your throat starts to spasm, he releases the taut pull of the rope and allows you to slide your mouth off him with a choking sound. You gasp for air and marvel at your handiwork, several strands of saliva bridging between your mouth and Silva’s cock.

He jerks you up from the floor and turns you to face the table. He crouches down and tugs your pants the rest of the way down. You brace yourself on the table, two palms flat and wide against it, and cry out when you feel his tongue against your entrance.

“Silva,” you whimper. You throw your head back in complete euphoria. He grunts as he delves his tongue into you and his large hands effortlessly spread you for his gluttonous gorging.

He starts to insert a finger but meets the resistance of your nerves and underworked hole. He stands and rummages through some of the glass containers on the table.

“Safflower oil,” he pants as he answers your silent question. 

He douses his hands in the lubricant and strokes you with it. Your hips jerk at the slick pull of his hand on your hard cock. His other hand works to relax your hole as you whimper and whine through the stretch. By the time he works a third finger into you, you’re gasping and leaking precum everywhere.

“Silva, please. I don’t care,” you pant. “I don’t care if it hurts at first. I just want it. Please.”

He makes an anguished groan and works more safflower oil over himself before rocking his length between the cleft of your cheeks.

“You’ve had a man here before?” he moans into your ear. You slip a hand behind you to cradle the side of his face.

“Y-Yes. Not too many,” you assure him.

“I’m going to fuck you, and you’re gonna fuck my fist,” he grunts as he prods your entrance with his bulbous tip. 

You try your best to relax as he slowly enters you. He speaks freely into your ear as he stretches you open.

“You ever had this? A man taking your hole and making it his own? Letting him fill you up so you still smell like his cum even the next day?” he rasps.

Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out. You both rest for a moment as he waits for you to relax and adjust to his size.

“So fucking good. Better than your mouth, even,” he moans as he starts to rock his hips back and forth into you. “And your mouth was heaven for my cock.”

You cup your balls and gently massage them as he starts to propel himself faster and deeper. His large hand practically swallows your entire cock. You watch yourself disappear under his fingers before emerging again with each thrust.

“I-I’m gonn–I can’t hold off,” you stutter as your impending orgasm surges.

Silva buries his nose into the sweaty hairs along the nape of your neck and breathes you in, seeming far off and lost in the moment at the same time. You wonder briefly if he’s thinking of the man he said you reminded him of. His other arm slings around the front of your chest and pulls you flush against him.

With one deep thrust, he hits a spot that has you spurting out all over the table. Your jaw hangs open in a silent scream of ecstasy as he snaps his hips into you rapidly before reaching his own climax. He grips you against his chest as he spills inside you with a gritty whine.

He noses the curls at your hairline and breathes you in shamelessly. You let yourself sink back into the expanse of him, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of another man’s arms encasing you in a sated, serene glow. Even after you both clean up at the wash stand and hug each other’s naked bodies through the night, you feel the tingle of human closeness buzzing in the configuration of your veins and synapses and bone.

When he saddles up a horse for you the next day, you try to refuse. It’s too much. It’s not the best horse, but it’s still a horse. It’s too much. He’s already given you so much. You press into his mouth with a soft kiss. He grins at the gesture, not remarking on the discrepancy between what’s been given and what’s been taken. 

You’re leaving with your heart filled, your stomach full, your journey feasible, and still living and breathing.

You turn to look at him one more time, to memorize his face, and to give him a warm smile.

“Thank you, Silva.”

He nods humbly and returns the nicety.

“I hope you find him again, wherever he is,” you say in earnest.

His eyes sparkle a bit at that. “Me, too.”

#kinktober #silva strange way of life #silver x reader #rootinest fruitinest cowboys