#it just looked kinda muddy and messy?

[honestsycrets]

querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara

Chapter List

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit

❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.

❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.

The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.

“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.

“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me take you home, kid.”

“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”

“You know your mama.”

“I don’ think I do,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.

He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.

“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”

“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”

“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”

He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.

“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”

Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.

“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"

“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.

The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.

“Yeah, but did you do it?”

“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.

“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”

“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”

“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.

“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”

Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?

“I’ll try.”

He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.

By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.

“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”

Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.

“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?

Something’s off-- Miguel decided.

“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.

“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.

"Can I eat the pie?"

"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.

On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.

“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.

There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.

“Did you find her?”

“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”

“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”

“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”

Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.

“Did you find Gabi?”

“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”

“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”

"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"

“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.

“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”

Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.

“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.

“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”

He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.

“If that’s what you want, amor.”

He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.

“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”

“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”

“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”

“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?

No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.

“Miggy?”

“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”

“Make it better.”

Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.

For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”

“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”

“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”

“I would’a wifed you up quick.”

Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I still would.”

Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”

“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”

“There such a place?” you asked.

“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”

You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.

“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”

Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.

“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”

“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--

“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”

Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.

“I met my share.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--

"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.

“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”

“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.

“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”

Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.

“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”

“You’re so big, querido.”

“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.

He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.

Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.

“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”

“Eight years.”

He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.

“You never been with another man?”

“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.

“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"

“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."

“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.

“What if she comes in?”

“She won’t.”

“But I don’t know how to--”

“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.

"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.

“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”

“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”

You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.

“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.

“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”

“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."

"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.

"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.

"I missed you, Miggy."

Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.

“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.

“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”

Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.

He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.

“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.

“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.

“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.

“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”

Coño. Great. Just-- great.

“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.

“You best pray that it don’t take.”

“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”

He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.

“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”

“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”

A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.

Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.

“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"

“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”

“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.

“You’ll stay?”

His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.

“For tonight.”

He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.

He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.

The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.

"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.

Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.

There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.

The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.

“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.

“What can I get you?” the barman said.

Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“The hell!”

The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.

“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.

“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”

That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"

“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."

Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.

"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"

“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."

"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."

"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”

Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.

He never was good at handling disrespect.

#miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara/you #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv au #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara fic #spider 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #atsv smut

[esamastation]

Part thirty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty

-

They've landed in Wutai after a frankly miserable plane ride in a windowless, seat-less troop carrier - which, why even call it a troop carrier when it's clearly not designed to be carrying people? The thing is filled with boxes and stuff, there was barely enough room to move!

Guess that's what happens with last minute takeoffs - you get what you get.

The first few minutes onboard were fine and kinda novel - being on a plane at all was kind of a mind trip, because, heh, plane, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, eat your heart out! But then it became just hours upon hours of boredom in a rattling tube of metal. Sword flying is clearly a superior mode of transport.

"We will have your things delivered to wherever you're going to be staying," Reno says, waving them off the plane, hiis attention fixed on one of the bigger boxes. "Rude, come give me a hand with this…"

"We should -" Rude starts to say, looking at the SOLDIERs.

"Yeah, yeah, now come give me a hand with this."

Angeal gives them an awkward, slightly relieved smile and then claps Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We better get out of the way," he says, and together they exit the plane.

Sephiroth had been bracing himself for a warfront, Angeal had even told him what to expect, but he… didn't actually know what that entailed.

Shinra troops had taken over a small town at the foot of Tamblin Mountain sometime in the past and are now using it as their forward base. That's where they land - in a dirt runway cut into the forest, just by the town. And it's…

It reminds him of old movies, the mixture of vaguely mixed Asian style buildings, with these modern canvas tents pitched in between them and on the roads. There are trucks that totally aren't jeeps that have worn grooves into soft  streets, unprepared for such traffic, making everything messy and muddy. They've erected fences all over the place, sectioning parts off, and there are  floodlights everywhere. There's also  robots patrolling the place. 

In the distance, on the rolling hills somewhere to the west, there are rice paddies and behind them mountains. All around them there's a lush wall of green that looks almost like a rainforest. It actually might be rainforest! It would fit the allegory!

The mental, ethnic vertigo is so strong for a moment that Sephiroth doesn't know which way to turn to look. He doesn't know what to think. Mostly he just feels kinda… unnerved.

Angeal returns to his side before he even realises he'd gone somewhere. "I talked to the Colonel. Come on," Angeal says, clapping him on the shoulder. "They've set up a place for us. We'll… debrief there."

"... Hn," Sephiroth answers, and follows him.

There's a lot of Shinra troops milling about, infantry mostly, but some SOLDIER Seconds and Thirds too. They all stop to stare. Some of them look excited, but most just look tired and dirty and worn.

Sephiroth wonders if the Colonel is in charge of them. Actually, it might be that they're now in charge of everyone here! They're SOLDIERs First Class. Isn't that the highest rank? He can't remember if Sephiroth being a General was fanon or canon, but hasn't he been involved with the war since the beginning?

Would he have to give orders now, orders to march, to fight… to kill?

Angeal shows him to a house that was clearly someone's home before Shinra took the place over. It's a single room with tatami floors and rice paper walls, and the military bunks clash with the aesthetic horribly. Their pillows are clearly seat cushions.

There's a fancy looking kimono stand that's being used to hang bags and ammo satchels.

"What happened to the people who lived here?" Sephiroth can't help but ask, staring at the stand and wondering where the kimono had gone.

"They abandoned the town ahead of the troops," Angeal says.

Sephiroth looks at him and then at the room. Did they really, or is that a nicer thought than they were all executed? "... Right," he says and picks up the seat cushions from the bunk, piling them up in the corner - wondering if there was a table here, and what happened to it.

"Are you alright?" Angeal asks.

Probably not! "What's our mission here?" Sephiroth asks, picking up bags and satchels from the stand and carrying them outside.

"... We have a day to acclimate. After that, there's a number of things that need to be accomplished," Angeal says, subdued, and takes out his phone. "We can start slow - there's no major engagements being planned just now, no one will mind."

"Mn, and what does starting slow mean?" Sephiroth asks, as he picks up stuff around the hut and gets rid of it.

"Well, there's a number of monster extermination requests around here - Wutai wildlife is high-level, and it's rumoured that they're being intentionally bred by Wutai people. They've been attacking patrols."

Sephiroth gets rid of most of the random crap in the hut and then considers the bunk beds. They're ugly and probably unpleasant, but… they have to sleep somewhere. 

It takes just one swing of Masamune to improve the situation immensely.

"Um," Angeal says as Sephiroth finishes separating the beds and moves one of them to the other side of the hut. "... Why?"

"I am not sleeping in a bunk bed," Sephiroth says simply and looks around. "... Do you think they have folding screens around here?"

 Angeal arches his brows. "I don't know for sure. I suppose we could ask around? I think there's a storage house where they've put the collected, um," he clears his throat. "Things that will be sent to Midgar eventually. Maybe we can requisition some of it."

Things to be sent to Midgar…  that's nice. That's a nice way to say the spoils of war, huh. 

Sephiroth looks away. It's the way of war, he knows that, nothing unusual about it. It happened in PIDW too - cut out all the smut and stupidity, and all Binghe did was plunder and loot and pillage. When he wasn't being handed tributes, anyway. It's just par for the course! Right? Right…

"You…" Angeal starts and then sighs and puts the phone away. "How about I'll go get a screen for you, if there's any available. Do you want anything else?" He sounds very indulgent and understanding.

"Two screens. And a table," Sephiroth says without facing him, feeling like a sullen little kid being placated. "... Thank you. Can you ask someone to get rid of the - stuff outside?"

"I'll take care of it," Angeal promises. "You just… take a moment to make yourself comfortable, okay? There's no rush."

Aka, pull yourself together, man, you're looking really pitiful right now. Thanks, Angeal-bro.

Sephiroth's waits until Angeal is gone before sinking down to sit on one of the beds, putting his head in his hands.

Though they'd not seen much from the plane, what with it not having windows and all, he can see it in his mind's eye now. Burned villages smoking in the jungle, scorched fields, muddy paddies ruined. He'd never cared much for any kind of war stuff, but he'd seen his share of first person shooters and letsplays.

It all feels very real all of a sudden.

And he's supposed to be the Big Bad here! The Demon of Wutai! Who knows how many people he's already killed in this war! And sure, it is a war, and that's what happens, and yeah, he has killed before as Shen Qingqiu, but -!

Going to war on behalf of the America-allegory of the situation? The invader, the hostile occupier, the - the evil planet-sucking dystopian megacorporation?!

Dragging his hands down his face, Sephiroth sighs and looks up.

There are calligraphy scrolls hung up on each side of the door. One reads Integrity and the other Honour. Sephiroth stares at them miserably for a long moment.

Yeah.

He's so going to end up defecting here, isn't he? Four days, four days in this world, and he's doing to fuck up the whole plot, right here and now. It must be some kind of record! But where the fuck will be even defect to? The Demon of Wutai, hello?! The locals probably want his head on a spike!

"I am so fucked," he mutters wretchedly and hangs his head.

#Fanfiction #ff7 #ffvii #svsss #Sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #angeal hewley #reno of the turks #rude of the turks

[winterfireblond]

Almost too late.

Principal Larissa Weems X G/n Reader

Warning: Nothing particularly visible to my eyes, non-verbal reconciliation (Sorry, kinda messy putting warnings and all) SHORT FILLER CHAPTER.

Word Count: No Data

A/N: English is not my native language, expect for typo and grammatical error. Also I'm really sorry, this part is so, so really short just to fill the people who wants them.

(Click the link for Part I)

Part II of Is it too late?

Larissa felt her heart sink as she watched her beloved laying on the muddy earth in the middle of the woods, soaking wet, with a broken heart and a broken feet. She had been looking for you for hours, ever since you ran out of Principal Weems office in the afternoon. She had done something she hadn't meant to, and it had hurt you; she saw it in your eyes. Now she was worried you might be too far gone to ever forgive her. She ran up to you, but you are so deep in thought you didn't hear her coming. Your face was so pale, and body was shaking from the cold. Larissa wanted to take you into her arms and tell you how sorry she was, but she knew you were in no condition to be moved. She quickly removed her coat that thankfully she was wearing despite hurrying to go find you and wrapped you in it, hoping it would keep you warm enough until help arrived. The storm is nowhere stopping, and the rain keeps pouring down. She knew she had to get you back home as quickly as possible, but she couldn't leave you there. She was about to pick you up when you opened your eyes and smiled at her. That's when it hit her. You had heard her all along. You had heard her apology and felt her love, and you were still here despite the storm, despite the pain. She wanted to tell you what she felt but there was no time. So she simply kissed your forehead and said, 'I'm sorry.' You gave her a small nod before you passed out. Larissa quickly got you to safety and the paramedics took over. When they finally got to the hospital, the doctors said you would be alright. Larissa finally realized what had happened that morning: you had almost spilled your real feelings for each other, but both were too heartbroken to say anything. She was relieved you were safe, but her heart still ached for what could have been if she came too late.

She promised to your sleeping form that when you wake up, she'll do anything in her power to make it up to you. To shower you the love you deserve, and never to make the same mistakes again of hurting you. Well, hurt you in the most delicious way possible that both of you will enjoy, not like the kind of hurt that almost caused her your life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Once again, I'm really sorry if you've expected something more for Part II. And this took me so long to write since my vacation from work just started. Well, for the sole purpose of upcoming enrollment. And for the people who wanted to be included in the tags, I apologize also, since I decided to just let it be so you'll not be expecting of something out of this. (Written and posted in a rush!! BE WARNED)

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #gwendoline christie stories #jane murdstone x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #captain phasma #captain phasma x reader #lucifer morningstar

[prismaticpichu]

POTENTIAL (spoiler free) HOT TAKES; DO NOT TOUCH STOVE 🔥

~

As I continue to scarf down Rebirth food like a rabid chimpanzee, I’m starting to come to an interesting realization:

I think I discovered a new reason as to why I love CC so much among the compilation. And that is bc it is debatably the easiest content in all of the 7 series to follow/digest. Don’t get me wrong- the writing is still messy and holey and did throw a bit of a wrench into pre-established canon. But chopping all of that off and looking at the game for what it is…? Idk! It’s not too rough to swallow. We have our steady main character who we see develop/grow tragically jaded, we have a villain we relatively follow till the end, we have our side character who we also see progress/regress/however you wanna put Seph’s cheese falling off the cracker. The only really boggler in the plot imo is admittedly Angeal, with his wishy-washy good guy-bad-guy conscience, but his sole presence is still not enough to completely muddy the story if you ask me. CC’s still a fun and memorable and enjoyable ride, and the plot beats are easy to process and hit just as hard as any other game in the compilation.

Now, OBV, Crisis Core has some canonical reasons for being more linear and objective: this is technically the “real” story, with Zack’s memories and all, and so it’s freed from all that ambiguity and haziness of Cloud’s journey in OG. But at the same time……. that’s kinda my point, lol? Like, again, don’t get me wrong- on one hand, og does a phenomenal job in creating tension and uncertainty and capturing Cloud’s identity crisis by making scrambled eggs out of his memories. But on the other hand, it’s also… a taaaadd much? Like to the point where it’s nearly impossible to actually understand the story on the first go. And there’s nothing wrong with it taking a few playthroughs to fully grasp things! It adds a sense of replayability. But if you don’t have that kinda patience, the whole thing can be a tad frustrating and confusing. And, idk, Ig my point is that Remake/Rebirth kinda falls into this same trap. The games are such, such, SUCH a fun ride (really! <33), but boy do I feel like I’m untangling tangled earbud wires trying to understand some of the game- especially in the homestretch. It’s just a real big meaty sandwich to swallow, and it can be a bit overwhelming lmao. Not to the point where it ruins its enjoyability- cause again, the story’s mainly a blast- but it’s admittedly hard to get 110% immersed in the world when I’m left trying to actively break down what’s going on. I won’t go into any specific details for spoiler reasons, tho I’m sure y’all understand from Remake alone where most of the confusion lies/in which elements.

The last thing I wanna do is be too negative tho. Needless to say these games and franchise is incredibly special to me, and I adore so much about Rebirth so far. The character interactions are near perfection, the stakes have never ever been higher, and there is soooooooooooo much to explore!! <33 And it’s also prolly worth mentioning that I’ma person who gets confused VERY easily lol. So it’s very possible that I’m struggling more than usual to grasp everything, and it’s creating some skewed judgment. But I thought it was worth sharing my thoughts regardless.

Thx for listening to my ramblings! Hope y’all are having a wonderful day <3333 Keep up the hype!!!

#ffvii #ff7 #ff7 rebirth #ff7 remake #things #opinions opinions opinions #that no one asked for lmao #final fantasy vii

[theroyalsims]

GUS TAKES ANYA ON A DATE WEARING MUDDY BOOTS - INSIDERS WORRY HE MIGHT NOT FIT IN WITH ROYALS

Lovebirds Anya and Gus were once again photographed holding hands, this time while strolling around the Harbour District here in the city.

Gus, Anya's new-old-boyfriend (a.k.a her first love), seem to be unfazed by the massive media scrutiny and attention they've both been receiving, after going public with their relationship.

While many royal watchers seem to approve of down-to-earth Gus, what with his seeming love for flannel, unkempt hair, bushy beard and lowly work boots, Anya's new boyfriend has also ruffled some feathers, especially those within the "institution."

A well-placed palace source reveals that there have been some concerns about how Gus might not be the right guy for Anya:

"He seems very... simple, very 'everyman' type, if you will. Now, most people might think that's adorable, you know, future Queen slumming it with a man in flannel and denim and all that, but it's already causing trouble within the palace walls."

"As early as now, there are some growing concerns about Gus and whether he's the right man for Anya. They have history, yes, but they did also break-up at one point. What was the problem that they had to go their separate ways? That right here might be an indication that this relationship will again break down."

"And then of course, there's Gus himself - he's no longer just Anya's teenage love... he's evolved into this lumberjack-looking wall of tattooed muscle with his messy beard, wrinkled clothes, and long hair. People at court just cannot imagine him attending a state banquet or a formal reception. They're worried he might trudge around in his muddy work boots, and soil the carpets."

Speaking of muddy boots, the "concerns' about Gus and his fashion sense might have some weight to it. For yesterday's date, Gus chose a red flannel shirt, which he paired with his go-to jeans and very, very muddy work boots. His long hair was at least kept neat in a man-bun. His rough look was in stark contrast to Anya, who opted for a simple white shirt, skinny jeans and §1,700 slingbacks.

Just as the source shared, people online are already split about Gus. One commenter wrote:

"FFS, how hard is it to clean off the mud? I get that you're looking for the humble, blue collar vibe, but really? You're going out IN PUBLIC with a freaking FUTURE QUEEN. The least you can do is look presentable. Maybe iron that shirt, wear something else other than your work clothes. You're going on a DATE, not to one of your construction sites."

Another posted:

"Maaan. Anya traded down. Mario was kinda psycho stalkerish, but at least the man knew how to look good. Come to think of it, even the boxer vet was a better dresser than this bloke. I don't get the appeal. I like my guys looking like they've showered... or at least heard of soap... and maybe buy clothes from real shops, not just thrift stores or their dad's closet."

Meanwhile, some were also quick to defend Anya and Gus from the bashers:

"THIS is exactly why Anya fights super hard to keep her private life out of the public eye. She's finally comfortable enough to flaunt their love and people are nitpicking again, questioning her choices and tearing down her boyfriend. For what? Some mud on his boots. Ridiculous. He's insanely handsome, like a romance novel hero come to life! What are y'all talking about? And the only thing I think should be improved is his beard - it's a shame because the scruff is hiding his lovely dimples! A bit of a trim should do the trick! "

Another Anya fan wrote:

"If people could just back off and let the poor girl and her man breathe! Why are you all so triggered? You're not dating him, she is! If she likes him the way he is, who are you to say otherwise? Anya really can't do anything right... when she's single, she's being pressured to find a man and pop a baby. Now that she's dating, she's being told that she's dating the wrong guy. And for those claiming that he's a no-good gold-digger, please! I'm Tartosan. The man's company is huge and the guy is loaded. I think Anya looks happy - they both look very happy, and at the end of the day, that's what counts.""

Will Gus' lifestyle really be an issue? And considering their previous break-up, is history bound to repeat itself? For what it's worth, Anya does seem very happy and very secure in their newly-rekindled love. I guess only time will tell if these two have staying power the second time around.

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal simblr #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal story #ts4 royal legacy #my story #gus #anya

[male-fanfics-for-days]

Brought to you by the future

Rdr2 x Reader 

A/n: This is just a snip-it of a story idea I had bc I’ve recently gotten back into rdr2 and wanted to write something about it. If this gets a lot of attention I’ll see about writing more, for now I’m just writing this to get it out of my brain. I didn’t know if I wanted it to be Arthur x Reader (not sure about gender either but def not female) but he’s the only character here so, thats what Imma put in the tags lol also this is kinda not great, just sort of rambling, but like i said if people like it i’ll fix it up a little  

Arthur Morgan has met a great many people in his life, especially in the recent year. After the failed Blackwater heist, every person he’s met after has been their own sort of strange.

Take this lady by the pond for example. 

Arthur was back in the grizzlies East by O'creagh Run, the place where Hosea had taken him to hunt that big bear a while back. He was back there to not only get some drawings of the area (he hadn’t had the time before to do so), but he also just needed a break from camp. 

He loved his gang dearly, something he was never ashamed to admit, but even families can get on your nerves sometimes. A few words past here and there, favors pulled in without any reciprocation or reward for his work, and overall just some bad luck in small ways (tripping over someones things thrown on the ground, taking on their chore cause they won’t do it). 

Yes, Hosea and him almost died to a bear in the area but it was dead now and Arthur did sure like the scenery. 

He was a little on the warm side so he decided to take a break in the water, rolling up his pant legs and wading into the pond. He splashed some water on his face, closing his eyes and breathing in the air. 

Until he got scared shit-less by some lady standing at the edge of the water near his stuff.

He’s not proud of it but he did jump, surprised by the woman's sudden appearance. She smiled at him from the grass, hands behind her back as if she were simply watching nature at its finest.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” She called out to him, not losing the smile on her face. 

Arthur calmed himself and nodded kindly, a little awkwardly as well.

“Sure. Suns out and heat got to me so... you know.”

“Indeed. All creatures love a good water bath in hot weather.”

Arthur tried his best to subtly take her in, but the way her eyes were unblinking and her smile ever present left him to believe that she knew he was looking, and clearly was unphased.

She was far from old and withered but clearly not in her prime. Her hair was a sun-bleached blonde placed in a messy side braid, skin a creamy color with darker freckles from cheek to cheek. Even from where he stood Arthur could see her light colored eyes, the green shown vibrantly against the blue light from the water. She wore a simple white dress and nothing else, no bodice or shoes or any accessories to be seen. Despite not wearing any shoes her feet were as clean as anything, even though she stood on the muddy shore of the pond.

Overall? She looked kind of like a woman you would find in those paintings of nature, as if she belonged there.

“Curious,” She speaks, though not directly at him. “To want this world, this life.”

“Pardon?” Arthur questions, only getting a little closer to hear the woman better, but she only continues to smile and wave him off.

“I’m only thinking aloud, sir, nothing too important to you. There is something I’d like to ask you though, if you’d be so kind as to lend your ear?”

If he was honest, the way she spoke was too proper to be just some farm girl, but she didn’t hold herself like a nobility either. Even if she were a noble, Arthur couldn’t think why a noble lady would be all the way out in the woods anyway, hardly any place for a luxurious vacation.

“Uhm... sure?”

Arthur slowly walked closer, not really knowing if he should be cautious or not of this woman, especially considering she was standing right next to his discarded gun belt. 

He stops about 2 or 3 feet in front of her, his brows creasing as she giggles into her hand, her smile still wide on her face.

“My my, you really are a deer.” She sighs. “I’m no prey to you, deer, you need not fear me.”

“Right.” Arthur pronounces, unsure of where this conversation was going. 

The woman turns on her heels, stepping over his things while walking in the tree line. Upon noticing Arthur not following, she turns back, a smile still on her face (Arthur wondered for a moment if her cheeks were aching at all).

“Come along then, deer. Better to speak within the trees walls.”

She then continued on into the forested area, Arthur finally walking up the bank and taking his gun belt and putting it on. As he gathered his things, and once finished, he thought for a moment if he was really about to follow some strange woman into the woods, alone, with no one around. Not even his horse stuck around, taking to grazing and feasting on the fresh grass around the area.

Now, Arthur will admit to not being an entirely smart man. The lessons and teachings he got were from outlaws who took him in, but they did teach him about survival. Was it wise to follow a stranger into the woods without any inkling of what they wanted? No, but damn did it make him curious. 

He knew about what happened to the curious cat, but seeing as how he had lived this long with his level of curiosity, he wagered he would be fine. Even still, he held a hand close to his gun should he need it.

He followed her path into the woods, she was nice enough to stop a few paces and wait for him. Once she saw him she turned and walked further in, only stopping once they were encased in a sea of trees.

She turned to him, the smile on her face slowly becoming unsettling (only because of how long she had been holding it) while she spoke to him.

“Curiosity is often a trait among those who long for something. I was curious once too, you know.”

“Of what?” Arthur asks, looping his thumbs through his belt as he speaks.

“Nature, of course. Of how it works, why it worked the way it did, who made it work. Then, my curiosity was sated, and I became free.”

Arthur slowly nods, squinting his eyes and pretending to understand.

“You are curious too, sir. I can see it.” She nods, as if confirming it to someone else who wasn’t there. 

“I’m curious?” Arthur echoes back.

“Of the future.” She explains. “You long to know what will become of the world in the future, what will become of you. You are not alone in this curiosity, that I can assure you. I can help you sate your curiosity, if you will allow me to.”

Still trying to make sense of all that was happening, Arthur frowns his brows her way.

“How would you do that?”

“Someone in the future calls to the past.” She closes her eyes, putting her hands together in that of a prayer. “They chant into the universe of their want, their curiosity for this life.” She opens her eyes.

“For you.”

“For me?” He echoes again, his voice now dripping in disbelief. 

“For you,” She confirms. “They wish to meet you, curious of your life outside of what they can see of it. You are being watched, as we all are, by the universe that surrounds us. They want to shift into this plane of existence to escape their own, to sate their curiosity. It just so happens that you are wanting to look into the future, while they look into the past. Allow me to sate both curious creatures, to bring past to future and future to past, to allow you both to live in an equal present.”

‘Alright,’ Arthur thought to himself. ‘She's crazy.’

He couldn’t wrap his head around what she was talking about. Someone in the future wants to come to the past? Meaning the future already is happening? And to him specifically? And what about his curiosity of the future. Isn’t everyone wondering what the next day will bring? Who they will be in the years to come, what the world would look like? He could hardly be the only one wanting to know what the future entails.

She must be talking nonsense, just some lady who lived away from society for too long and went a little wacky.

“Uh, well, that’s a kind offer, really but uhm-”

“This will live with you, you know.” She cuts in. “This curiosity will eat away at you until the day the air leaves your lungs, and by the end you will have wished you had done something to cure it. I’m giving you that chance now. A little peace of mind, brought to you by the future.” 

Arthur sighs, running a hand over his mouth and looking around where they were. He didn’t think she was scamming him, Arthur liked to believe he could tell if someone was trying to scam him. She seemed like she really believes what she is talking about.

Part of Arthur just told him to leave, leave this weird woman to whatever she was speaking about and continue on with his life. This part was fighting a battle with the other half of him... who was curious. Surely it couldn’t hurt to hear her out, he’s already followed her into the forest and let her speak her weird speech. He’d already fed into his curiosity by talking to her, it couldn’t be worse to hear her out.

“How would you go about... ‘sating’ my curiosity.”

“All you would have to do is answer their call.” She smiles (the smile having not left her face). “Chant back to them through the universe, and you will get your answer.”

“I just... chant.” Arthur raises a brow, getting more skeptical as all she does is nod. “And what is it that I chant?”

“Allow yourself to think of what you really, truly want from the future. Reach your mind and soul out into the universe and ask your question, chant your wish. And if you feel new words reach your mind, words of a wish to be in the here and now, welcome them in. Allow then to get here as you guide them.”

Arthur once again sighs, but he has already come so far with this woman. It was as if he were speaking to some religious person (maybe she was), and she was asking him to reach out to god. Maybe it was like that, like a prayer, not that Arthur has ever done much of that before.

“Here,” She says, kneeling on the ground and sitting on her heels in the grass, raising her hands up to him in an offering, still smiling away. “I can help you start.”

With one more look around the forest they were in, Arthur sighs and shrugs, hits his hands on his thighs before going to his knees as well, taking her hands gently. 

Her hands were smooth, soft, and warm. Not a single callus on her hands from work (or crime), and it gave him pause. Maybe this woman was just naive. She said she was curious about nature, and here she was. Barefoot in the woods with nothing but a simple white dress. 

Arthur really didn’t have much to believe in, not a religious sort himself, but he knew it could bring comfort to those who wanted it. Maybe, just maybe, he could get at least one question answered.

“Close your eyes,” She instructs, her own eyes closing. Arthur took a moment before doing the same. 

“Now, think of yourself in an empty room. A room with no doors, no windows. Just an empty, white room. Do you see it?”

It takes Arthur a few deep breaths and some thinking, but his mind eventually goes clear and he sees himself in an empty white room, kneeling on the ground.

“Yeah?”

“Now think, think about what makes you curious about the future. What do you really want out of the future? Do you want to be there, do you want it with you, or do you simply want some answers?”

While in this white room in his head, he thinks over what she said. 

What does he want from the future?

He wants his family to finally be safe, not having to run from anything anymore. 

He wants the world to be easy on him, to not take so many things from him like loved ones or love itself.

He wants the world to slow down, even for just a moment, for him to take a breath while time slows.

He wants to know what will become of the land that was once wild and untamed, wants to know if it will still be free or if it will be shackled and broken in like the wild horse it was.

He wants the future to give him answers, in whatever form that wants to come in.

“Have you got it?” She asks gently.

“I... think so.” He replied just as lowly.

“Now chant your wish, your questions, your curiosities, and reach. Reach for the answer.”

Arthur repeats the wants he has, the questions he has, and continues to imagine himself in that blank room. And for a while nothing changed, he chanted and reached but no answer came. It was only when he went to give up that new words formed in his head.

“I want to be there. I don’t fear the consequences of leaving for a new reality. I want to walk the world as they do, feel what they do, see what they do. I want to be there.”

“I... think I'm hearing something.”

“The answer, guide them to your empty room, open your door for them.”

Arthur then began to imagine a door in this empty white room, a simple wooden door with just a handle, no lock. Then he thought about that door opening, and he thought back to the words in his head.

“Walk the world I live, feel the world I feel, see the world I see. Give me my answers and I will give you yours.”

Then, through the door, came the silhouette of a person. They walked slowly through the door and Arthur stood.

“there’s.. a person.” He says out loud.

“Greet them.” She replies.

So, standing in the white room of his mind he walks just as slowly towards them. The shape shifts from tall to small, skinny to heavy, long hair to short hair, white hair to black hair. Everything about them shifts between all these different forms, as if they were choosing what to look like, who to be.

Arthur and the figure now stood in front of one another, their form still blurred and shifting, but then seemed... excited. Even though their face was blurred and Arthur could barely tell who or what he was looking at, he could just tell they were smiling, a wave of happiness coming from them as they tilt their head at him.

Arthur was told to greet them, so he offered his hand to them to shake. But they did not just take his hand, instead they took both his hands in theirs. A strange feeling then passed through Arthurs hands to his arms, then from there all over his body like a full body shiver. But he wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling, but it didn’t hurt. It was that prickly feeling you get after laying on a limb too long, but not as intense. 

It traveled through his body, then back down his arms to his hands. And once it reached his hands, a subtle light traveled up the other beings hands, arms, then over their body. 

As it did so, the light revealed what the person looked like. No longer was their skin changing colors, now a single color that stayed. Their hair, their height, body, everything about them finally stopped shifting. Now Arthur could see who they truly were.

Their eyes were closed, however, so Arthur tapped their hands with his thumbs. When their eyes opened, he felt his own eyes open too.

Now, no longer in his head, he was kneeling in the same forest as before. But he wasn’t holding hands with the cream skinned woman anymore. Instead, kneeling as well and holding his hands in replacement of the woman, was the person he saw in his head, but now they were in the flesh.

They looked back at him with just as much shock as he looked at them, seemingly just as surprised at seeing Arthur in person. 

They spoke. 

“Holy shit... it worked!”

#rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x gn reader #rdr2 fanfic #x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x gn reader

[nymphlamp]

Sink In

Reader gathers the crew for family, but notices one missing. Title and insp. from this song by ms tirzah. Only warnings are cursing and flirting and a little melodrama for the gawds. Written with a black reader in mind. Gif (x).

Outside of the kitchen was where his story ended.

He served that up like he served all the other disruptive, all-day, ever-present reasons why he couldn’t pursue anything else on the outside. Packaged it all into a neat, brown little box and stored it away for later. Later never came, and the dish looked a little like that, a lot like this: what if there was no true resting place for someone like him, not unless he was useful and battered, exceptionally perfect to some degree beyond acceptable?

This was where he found greatness.

If it weren't for the kitchen he'd lose his balance. Though sometimes he’d near that edge just to peer over it, he wouldn’t fall like Mikey did. All the devastation Mikey left behind snagged and tattered, he wouldn't do that either. But he would hold on to it, thread the pieces of his grief into everything he touched. He knew how to tuck in the frayed, messy bits. He was a professional like Mikey. He knew better than Mikey. Any place outside of this was a free fall into madness.

“You good, Carm?”

“Yeah.” He lied. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

The clock neared noon. Carmen ignored that thing his heart did when he wasn’t thinking about the food. He tightened his apron. He grabbed his knife. He understood the food. There was no confusion there— plenty of risks, sure. Yeah. Of course. He swore he wasn’t a betting man but he knew the odds were in his favor. A tomato will always be a fucking tomato. Sandwiches need to be made. People are gonna eat.

“Housekeeping, chefs!” He shouted. "Come on, clean stations, spotless, let's go."

Long before he took over the Beef— before the notoriety and the noise and the lesser known magazine covers he’d posed for once he made it as a somebody in the culinary world, he learned just how far he’d go with yes and no chef. That was all it took.

He spoke the rest of his way through the food. Mastered his hand with the turn of his blade. Burned and scarred nearly every bit of flesh from the tips of his fingers up to his elbows and wore his scars like gilded armor. Carmen wrapped himself in these little victories. Had long surrendered to an evergrowing, angry flame, maybe— in a sick, twisted, incredibly fucked sorta way, he kinda liked the pain.

This was where he belonged.

“Family’s up!”

You called it this time, balancing the first three plastic quart containers in arm and hand, and peered over at Carmen— grief-stricken senseless, almost manic, like the way his hair stuck out, bent and twisted all over (how he maintained those perfect whites despite it all, you didn’t know).

That stayed the same. When you first met Carmen he functioned like a furious, fresh-released captive and reminded you of the seagoing line cooks you worked with during your year-long stint in Pêche.

They operated solely on muddy espressos and sea brine and grease fumes and probably hadn’t seen the light of day since they first stepped foot in the kitchen. They had raging hands like magic and unrevealed secrets for shucking and slicing through scales and shells much faster than anything you'd seen before. And of course, they absolutely loved to play with their knives (it didn't matter the size, as long as they were razor sharp).

They had mapped out the world on their bodies much like he did.

And Carmen may not have been as loud or as crude or as rough, dare you say he was far too pretty for that sort of ragtag and grime, but Carmen was just as catastrophic. He was a painted storm, the artist, and the dry brush, the sort of pretty, violent demise. A pretty big distraction, too.

“Hurry up before it gets cold.” You sang towards the dining area.

Manny followed close behind, digging into his first-served fill with a tiny plastic fork that was too small for his hands. "Shits' good."

A string of chimes past the door pinged on an endless loop from the Ballbreaker machine. It joined head to head with the to-go order machine in the room opposite, whirring on and struggling like the ancient thing it was. The sounds worked at everyone’s nerves all morning over the bustle of the kitchen despite Fak’s worst-best efforts to “get it fixed soon!”

“Forget it, Fak.”

"What is this?" When Ebra stepped out, he halted near the heavy metal doors. Something in his person managed to conjure the same attentiveness and scrutiny much like your father did. Ebra silently approached the table with his nose tilted to the air, arms tucked behind his back. He measured the level of completeness by simply eyeing the brownness of the meat.

You stepped aside and wiped your hands on your apron. "Come take a look."

He leaned in and considered the plastic quarts with narrowed eyes. “What is this?” He repeated. “Are you feeding me shit or is this good?”

“It’s always good!”

Ebra scrunched his nose. “Your rice look mushy!”

“He says that about everybody’s rice, mija.” Tina clicked her tongue. "Fuckin' parboiled rice, nobody got time for that shit. Eat."

"No. I told you what was best." There was this story he once told in the kitchen, about an old woman and her mysterious cast iron pot.

She prepped her pot for days, added everything from wild-grown scallions to rare bird peppers, tongues from raving hounds and skittish outlaws on the run, to dozens of whole living cows (some say the pot stretched on for eternity). No matter what fell in, her food came out perfect each and every time. The secret, of course, according to Ebra: parboiled rice. "This rice, it is no good."

"Viejito. Then don’t eat it!"

You didn't use parboiled rice this time. Ebra pulled out a chair for himself anyway.

Fak cursed the machine. You walked back to the kitchen. Angel slid past you, then Gary, holding a large mixing bowl of the mango chow you made in hand— thank you, you mouthed and kept an ear out for Richie. Syd twisted around the corner with two more steaming containers in hand. Thanked her and caught a glimpse of one of her cute, closed-mouth smiles.

Carmen was wiping counters and stovetops and underneath the hard-to-see places in the kitchen alongside Marcus, who had been newly wedded to his station since the night before, carefully piping a pretty row of lilac rosettes to the base of his single-tier cake. You walked over to him first.

"Hey."

"Yo."

"I need an appointment?" Leaned against the counter and observed the twist of his hand as he spun the cake. "Not to interrupt Chicago’s next James Beard award winner, but..."

Marcus smiled. It was kind of like winning a prize. “One step at a time, chef. You think it's too much?”

You tilted your head to the side. His cake resembled a sprouting bed of violet roses. "This may be the prettiest cake you've made so far, Marcus."

"Word?"

You nodded. “I like this color."

The doors swished back and forth as the crew filtered in and out of the kitchen. The table outside hadn't settled down quite yet, but the Ballbreaker machine finally did. "Not gonna lie, that was starting to get on my nerves." Marcus huffed a laugh.

"You're telling me." You said. Then, you nodded to his cake. "You know you’re gonna have to make me one for my birthday. And pretty much every day after that.”

“Oh yeah?” Marcus straightened. You forgot how tall he was when he wasn’t hunched over his station. “I didn’t know that was part of the deal.”

“Oh. Fine print, Marcus. Come on.”

“Alright.” He nodded once. “I can work with that. You gotta tell me what you made first.”

You crossed your arms and looked over your shoulder and around the kitchen. You leaned in closer to Marcus. “That’s how you gonna do me?” A smile bloomed across your face. Marcus started laughing.

"That's how I'ma do you." He shrugged with open arms. “Balls’ in your court, chef. ‘t’s only fair.”

“I guess I can’t be mad at it.” You flicked your wrist, curled your fingers into your palm, and stuck out your pointer and thumb. Marcus squeezed a bit of frosting on the tip of your finger. “It’s peas and rice this time.”

“Check.” He nodded. Squeezed some frosting onto his finger, licked it clean, then pointed to an empty piping bag next to you. "Shit. Hold that a minute?"

The bag dangled in your hand as he dipped around the corner to the sink. “Oxtail," you shouted, "with a side of mango chow.”

“Okay, chef.” Marcus came back around with wet hands and a smile on his face that was much, much wider this time. “I see you. Been wonderin' what you had going on in that pot all morning. That’s what’s up.”

You heard a roar of laughter coming from the dining area. The kitchen was getting quieter. You sighed.

“Yeah… It's something.” Lingered in his station for just a few seconds longer, trailing your eyes over the colorful pictures Marcus had taped on the wall. “Well. Let me go….” you nodded your head in Carmen’s direction.

Marcus gave you a knowing look, a nod. The sort of ‘handle your business,’ quirk of the mouth. “I'll be out in a minute, let me finish this up.”

“Heard, chef. Heard.” Slapped the counter and dipped away, only to hesitate a bit by the lockers. Carmen was working his arm against a stubborn grease stain for— how long? Steadily simmering a notch or two below boiling over.

You slid forward to fiddle with the to-go machine, thought to change the roll, maybe place it inside the wrong way just to flip it over again and reset it to buy some time. You thought of all the little things you could say that wouldn’t sound awfully dreadful or callous. Or stupid, because truthfully Carmen was liable to burn and drown every single living soul at that table. You and Marcus too, miraculously, god help you all.

He worked like those chefs in Pêche if they were trying to keep from drowning. And maybe they were, 'cause the outside world was just too sane.

Carmen liked his knives. He liked the clattering hiss and chaos of the kitchen, the scars etched permanently into his skin. He was ceremonial in the way one is when they pray in darkness. He’d disappear for a minute or two, searching for a blessing in the cold freezer, spilling his private litanies in the back of his office.

At times he seemed more human than impossible, really, a sacred mess of unruly curls, a chaplet of bad habits with awful posture and heartache blue eyes that were frustrating even when they weren’t burning ruin where they looked. The inconceivably sad, swoony type. Your weary boss.

You approached him by rounding the kitchen the long way back to your station to gather the rest of the containers. Your limbs were stiff and undecided so you grabbed a white rag and used that like a lifeline. Wiped down the surface and around the burners the same way he did. You spoke slowly.

“There's a seat still open,” you started, “in the dining area. Fak's probably keepin' it warm and all but... I wouldn't count on that for too long. You know how he gets."

"Oh yeah?" Carmen said with a strain in his voice, his arm reaching over the opposite edge of the counter with his cloth in hand.

You stopped wiping, then turned to face him – his back, the space in between. Your eyes lingered over the moving stretch and coil of muscle beneath his chef-whites. "I mean, that's not really– I'm not..." You huffed. Looked over at Marcus' now empty station. "You’ve been kinda quiet lately, is all, and I just... you know. A lot's been going on. I just worry about you sometimes, Carm.”

Carm, your jaw was still learning how to work around his many names, Carmen, Carmy still tasted strange in your mouth.

He heard them every now and again. In passing. Once behind his back when Marcus made it pretty obvious who it was you two were talking about, and once unexpectantly, in the office like it was a secret. Once when you were angry with him, that one was new, and there must have been something wrong with him to like the way it lashed him open.

“No, no, you don’t–" He turned around and tossed his rag aside, registering the words coming out of your mouth. "You don’t have to worry about me, chef.” And brought a hand up to his brow to scratch the skin there, knuckles, on the other hand, bent over, clutching to the edge of the counter (for balance though he convinced himself he just spun around too quickly). “I’m, uh. I’m alright.”

"Yeah?" He was full of shit. “You don’t look alright, Carmen.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days, chef. Really, I’m fine. I’m good.” His hand was unresting. His hair got wilder by the minute. Then, and it was more like an unexpected, gentle surrender— "Um, it’s the– it’s this fuckin' menu."

"The menu," you nodded. It was always the menu toiling in his head. “Okay.”

"I don’t really know... what direction it's headed in, you know?” His laugh was a defeated little thing. “I mean, it's fuckin' sandwiches, and I'm... I'm losing my mind over this place."

What if you did reach out and push his hair back even if you weren’t suffocating under the kitchen heat and less lucid and less hungry. "Carmen—"

(Would it be so bad to ask for you to say it again?) "I’m thinkin’ we do something different.”

You settled into your spot with your arms crossed. “No more sandwiches different or...?"

"No, no." He saw how closely you looked, always searching. “We keep the sandwiches. We, we lose the burgers, the salads...”

"Get creative," you added. "Add a signature dip, put a spin on some of the classics."

"I don't want a fucking B.L.T. on my menu."

"Yeah, no. Of course." You smiled with a sigh of relief when Carmen huffed a laugh. "Heard."

Head hung low, he toyed with his bottom lip. He asked, "You feelin' a soup?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Rich, creamy."

"I'm thinking potato leak. Butternut squash, cauliflower..."

"Pumpkin or squash for the winter months. We could play around with carrots too, for the fall.”

He breezed in. “Rotate it for the season.” This was kinda like twisting through the air.

“Make a day of it. Test which parings work and keep what we like, toss what we don’t."

"Yeah," he licked his lips and nodded his head. "I like that. That's good." Felt his heart do that thing again, tread lightly, softly. Move away. "You should go eat, chef." Diverted his stare elsewhere, up. Towards the ceiling. His head kept him from falling and shouted for him to jump to avoid the wreckage all at once.

"I thought I could get you to join," you said quietly. Something in your voice sounded sweet and perfectly ripe, like his favorite fresh baked, late-summer plum cake, or the slow drip of poisoned honey down his throat. "Or are you just trying to get rid of me?"

No, of course not— he would say if he hadn't spent years in the kitchen fine-tuning his arrogance into something more palatable. He'd probably be devastated by another skittering heart and worse off hadn't he given his restless hands a permanent home. His eyes scurried away from yours and found certainty by the waiting containers. "It's gettin' cold."

"Right." You’d forget, Carmen was sometimey, teetering between emotions, nearing then pulling away, and maybe it was closer to a game of roulette with him. He was the bullet and the weighted gun, and you were the only one pulling the trigger. "And since we are clearly on a chef name basis," you slid a container off to the side. "Chef."

“Oh,” Carmen crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. "Is this what we're doing?" He blamed the gnawing hole in his belly for prying. It was natural. He wasn’t really good with his words when he wasn’t cooking, but this was more of a deep-throated, pulsing sound finding its way as his voice anyway. "You callin' me chef now?"

It sounded low and dangerous and somewhat delicate, really, tense and smooth, deliciously savory, like melt-in-your-mouth kerrygold butter, softer than that even, because next thing you knew it was like tasting the sweetness of tamarind fruit, and it’s bitter at first, before biting into the center. “I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

“Oh, yeah?” This wasn’t cooking. There was no hot oil searing his cheek. No sharp edges. There was the ease of push and pull, descending from those lofty thoughts, and brought somewhere — “Who told you that?”

“You did.” — somewhere his eyes followed, the casual toss of your shoulder. The way you moved. He kinda liked the way you moved. “Don’t you remember?”

He shook his head. One, no— two dimples pressed into his cheeks. He was uncertain where his head was now, somewhere closer, somewhere else, in between disbelief and wonder.

“Yes, chef.” You continued taunting and teasing, piling the containers in your arms. No, chef…” You were an open flame and Carmen couldn’t stop looking. “Heard, chef. Heard.” He didn’t wanna stop looking.

Maybe that was his problem. You were gone before he could put it out. He gets a little carried away, a little lost sometimes.

He was fanning the flames again, off-balanced.

From which surface they erupted, he didn’t really know.

The scars that made his hands, the ones he earned, felt less like penance and took up the shape of a festering collection of weeping blue, scabs he picked and picked until they bled again. And he was no longer the James Beard award winner of the family, or the Carmen Berzatto of the French Laundry, or the head executive chef of a three Michelin star restaurant sitting in the very heart of the big apple, no.

He was Carmy, sometimes Bear. The youngest of a rowdy three all grown up with the wounds to prove his resilience and a sense of urgency inked right onto his skin. He had a restaurant with a beating heart and buried potential he didn’t know how to dig up yet. He had a brother he adored who shut him out and now was dead.

It all seemed empty sometimes, when he had trouble placing himself where his brother didn’t. Finding a seat at the table was new. It was strange. It was somewhere Mikey decided a long time ago Carmy didn’t belong.

The clock was nearing one. He thought about the food. The rest was for another day.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #this is so funny to me actually this is a sick joke #headcanon carmy is a contradictory little shit. so. #🕯

[iovesia]

I LOOK TO YOU, AND I SEE NOTHING.

❥⠀masterlist. ⠀:⠀ ( the lost boys masterlist. & gif credit. )

synopsis : paul is many things, but do not doubt: he is a killer, before he is anything else. and he is determined to make you one too.

warnings: murder. graphic depiction of blood. forced blood drinking. toxic relationship dynamics. manipulation. angst. not proof read.

pairings : paul  𝒙  vampire!fem!reader.

josie's note .⁺ ˖ ⌒ introducing paul's chapter! and the second part of this mini-series. my writer's block was hitting hard, so apologies if this kinda sucks LMAO. quick reminder, your media consumption is your own responsibility, read the warnings and enjoy! — reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated !! ♡

⠀

⠀

Nausea churned in your stomach, as you rested your head in your hands, a futile attempt at shielding the scene in front of you. 

“Your friend is a total lightweight,” Paul snickers. 

Paul’s brilliant idea for ‘dinner’ was to order in— meaning to lure the innocent victims back to the cave. Paul was looming over the pretty, little, brunette that lay against the dusty old couch. His knee planted in between her thighs, leaning dangerously close to her face.

“She's a buzzkill. Trust me, I can warm that cold skin of yours better than she can,” the brunette giggles, gleefully unaware that her “buzzkill” friend was lying dead a few inches away from her. Luckily for you two, her head was covered by an old shawl, hiding the gashes left by Paul’s fangs. He’s ever the messy eater.

“Oh, really?” Paul dips his head in the crook of her neck, and the young woman releases a breathy moan, as she spreads her legs open just a tad-bit wider.

“Oh, Jesus,” you mumble to yourself, ears almost bleeding from how many times you’ve heard this same old routine being played out. Paul’s fangs cut into her flesh, as the brunette’s breath hitches, before letting out another quiet moan. The cave was silent outside the echo of Paul’s.. slurping. 

“This is sick— I need some air,” You stand from your seat, across from the trio. Just at that moment, Paul’s head whips in your direction and you grimace at the sight of the crimson blood that stained his lips.

“Not a chance, babe,” His devilish smirk grew, and the familiar sense of dread slowly filled your core. You were still a Fledgling vampire, having only turned a few months ago. Paul saved your life when he turned you; you were lying on your deathbed in a hospital room, when he offered you the dark gift. Now, this gift began to feel like a curse.

Paul shifted over to the side, sitting next to the girl. Her eyes were shut in utter bliss, already craving more of Paul’s touch, and completely clueless to the blood pouring out the wound in her neck. “It’s not good to go out on an empty stomach, y’know?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Not even for a little taste…” he picks up an antique cup and presses it to the girl’s neck, the pressure releasing another wave of blood. “Not even… a tiny, little, drop?” Paul rose up from the couch, inching closer to you: like a predator. The intoxicating aroma overwhelmed your senses when your sire pushed the cup closer to your face. For a fragment of a second, you let Paul tilt the cup, the blood meeting your lips. 

“Oh my god!”

You smack Paul’s hand, knocking the cup to ground, and its contents spilling into the muddy floor of the cave. The young woman suddenly snapped you back to the reality of your situation, blood-curdling screams escaping her throat. 

“You can’t make me drink, Paul. I won’t— I won’t do it!” You hissed as your eyes began to sting.

“The hell you aren’t!” Paul’s calm demeanour shatters. His face is centimetres from yours, and you can feel his hot breath as he tries to contain his outburst. “One way or another, that chick’s blood is going down your throat. We can do this the easy way, or my way.”

“Just put her out of her misery, Paul, please.” Or put me out of mine.

“Oh-Oh my g-god!” The wailing women cried. She grabbed at her neck, her hands smeared with her own blood. Paul’s eye twitched with each passing cry, nostrils flaring and brows furrowing. 

“This chick’s a major boner killer,” he mumbles under his breath.

“A-Are you going to kill me?” The woman cowered away, her voice laced with fear. 

You didn’t miss the glint in Paul’s eye. “Kill you? I’m not going to kill you,” He scoffed with faux-hurt, placing a hand over his undead heart. Paul carefully crept closer to the shaking young woman, now standing over her. His finger brushed a stray curl from her face, before turning to you.

“Y/N will.”

“No!” The woman and you cried out in unison. You turned and rushed towards the exit, only for Paul to beat you as he stood in your way. The thumping of her woman’s heart echoed through your head, and you recoiled with a shudder as you took a small step back.

“I can’t, Paul. You know I can’t,” Your lower lip trembled as tears kissed your eyes. You still cling to your last piece of humanity— if you killed this woman, there’d be no turning back. What Paul saw as an initiation, you saw as a death sentence. Literally and metaphorically.

“Babe.. don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” his finger traced down your cheek to your jaw, before he wrapped his hand around your neck. Not hard enough to kill, but enough for his sharp claws to nick under your jaw. “You’re a killer now, (Y/N). Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to do it. Trust me,” he drops his hand from your neck, and with the other, he spins your back to meet his chest. Paul’s arm now tightly wrapped around your waist as he drags you to the woman on the couch. 

Your knees met the floor, your face only centimetres from the dying woman's neck. The couch was drenched, her blood soaking through. You hated yourself for how your mouth watered, and the aroma began to satisfy a certain.. craving. The woman’s head lolled to the side, almost inviting you to bite. “Better do it now, than later,” Paul whispers from behind you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. 

You missed the mischievous glint in his eyes as your fangs pierced into her skin.

#dark.josie #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagine #paul the lost boys #tlb #the lost boys #paul the lost boys x reader

[void-spells]

Survivor time! (Actually 2 sessions bc I got a new PC between em)

Mission with Bode!!!

Go's I wish Bode was a woman bc I would be SO in love with her

Damn Rayvis saw Cal and just went. Yoink!

Is it just me or does Dagan's general cadence sound a lot like ROTS Anakin? Is that intentional? Every time I hear him speak all I hear is "I have brought PEACE! FREEDOM! JUSTICE! and security to my new Empire!"

Did....this this fucker just call Cal a wretch? Hello????

Escape pod ptsd.....my baby boy,,,,,,,

BOGLING YOU ARE SO SO MUDDY!!!!!! YOU ARE SO ABSOLUTELY COVERED IN MUD MY GOOD MADAM!!!

The middle part hair style just kinda. Makes me think of Tim Minchin ngl. All Cal needs is the messy eye makeup and a fresh mental breakdown

New PC Time!

It is also cold and rainy so I have me some warm spiked apple cider!!

Oh man this is a whole different game when I can turn graphics as high as they go...windswept hair still looks terrible when it moves

I'm supposed to go to the crumbly moon but....I wanna explore Koboh some more.

Also WHAT did Cal do to his shoulder!!! Why are like threw of his idle animations stretching out his right shoulder!!!!

Oh wait i accidentally wrote that with my fic Sugaan Essena, didn't I...

I should write a "how Cal fucked up his shoulder" fic but on purpose this time

Oh shit! BD has a taser gun now!!

HUH????

I THOUGHT THE FANDOM MADE HIM UP

RICK THE DOOR TECHNICIAN?!?!?!?!?

RICK WHY WERE YOU DRESSED AS A TROOPER??? YOU'RE A DOOR TECH RICK!!! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DIE, RICK!!!!

Rip in pieces Rickaroni the door guy

Have this sick ass screencap I got in honor of Rickolas

Okay....now I will go to the shatter—oh wait I can open new chests with the taser gun

Okay NOW I will go to—what's over here?

....I feel like this will be important later....

Very surprised nothing happened in the suspiciously arena-shaped room with the echo at the far end of it and a big ol door

Okay. NOW—lemme get more bourbon

NOW I go to the shattered moon!

OH FUCK MERRIN JUMPSCARE

Ngl I fully forgot she came to Koboh..finished chatting with Bode and Greez on the Mantis and turned around to see a whole other person

Merrin why are you LOOKING at him like that!!!!

Rayvis stop TALKING to me! I'm literally gonna GET you!!

Oh fuck two spiked apple ciders in is NOT the time for this Big Laser Dodging

Why is every bad guy so OBSESSED with Cal! He isn't into you!!! Stop talking to him!!!!

I am so SO enamored with how this fucker died. A vision

RAYVIS FIGHT RAYVIS FIGHT! He creeps me out almost as much as Malicos did every time he spoke to my boy

RAYVIS CTHULU CONFIRMED????????? ON CAMERA??????????

Weeps and sobs in 2 part fight.....

Takoyaki time

Cal I support you killing anyone who picks you up like an invasive gecko the way Rayvis did on the Lucrehulk

Don't beat yourself up Cal!! You did good!!!

Also makes me feel Emotions how Cal is honestly comparing Dagan turning against the Jedi and going insane over Tanalorr to....him being a little intense about fighting back as a victim of genocide. Sweetie. Those situations are so uncomparable

Return to Koboh!!!!! And I will have another drink and go to bed!!

#voids survivor playthrough #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #rayvis grabbing cal reminded me pf that one guy who walks around barefoot in the florida everglades #picking up various animals who are never happy about it and going “yoink!”

[magebunkshelf]

This was originally posted to my Ko-fi page. If you follow me there, you may have read all this already.

The Earth is minutes away from being destroyed by a colossal stray meteor, when abruptly you are beamed up to an alien ship. All of a sudden, you are the last human being in existence.

I actually don't remember where this story idea came from! I know I wanted to try an alien abduction story, but to blow up the planet in the first few minutes is kinda Douglas Adams. I think the alien abduction scenario was the start of the concept, but then I had to ask why the speaker was taking the listener, but I'm not a fan of yandere-esque stories, and things like 'scientific study' alien scenarios are a bit obvious.

Interactions between the listener "Starshine" and Captain Nor Ji'yashic, mainly in looking into the differences between terrestrial and alien species, were influenced to a degree by the fiction-writing subreddit r/HFY, it's fascinating to have stories that focus on interactivity between people who are from completely different backgrounds, and have a violently different view of the world around them. The physical differences are the obvious starting point, and as much as I adore the various designs some awesome artists have made for Ji'ya, I'm not sure I could ever codify an official 'on-model' design, because it'd take away from what people imagine; but I had in mind a thin insectoid design with four crab-like legs, and a pointed head almost like a Jackal from Halo. Mentioned several times are the differences in necessary inputs between humans and chichet; the listener requires far more oxygen than Ji'ya, and also eats and drinks more as well. While Ji'ya is a little taller than you, humans are inordinately stronger than chichet.

Ji'ya is a complicated character. I don't like having 'they act weird because they're an alien', even if the differences are unexpected they still need a satisfying explanation; how could an individual like this develop? How could a species like the one they belong to develop? Behaviours are informed by societies are informed by evolution. With characters of different species, I think it's important to trace the development of their species to pre-sapient levels to decide how their society operates in the present.

The chichet people are very social. I tried not to go too insectoid, as insects are terrestrial animals and not an indication of how aliens might look, but it's fair to use insects by analogy; chichet developed on a rocky, muddy planet, and are predominantly subterranean. I like to think of them as a species of extroverts. However, you will always have individuals who buck the trend, who vary from the average, because life is messy and interesting like that. Ji'ya is a very atypical chichet. They don't like interpersonal interaction, and relish the simple peace of their own company. They're not shy, they just don't like having to tolerate other people for long.

Ji'ya was abrasive right from the start, to the point of being outright insensitive, almost callous. This was always a mask; Ji'ya can't handle letting their guard down enough for people to think that they actually care. Their rudeness is a defence mechanism; don't get too close to me.

Of course Ji'ya cared about Starshine from the very beginning. In part 1 they say "...if I'd have sent a distress signal, your planet would still have been in pieces long before anyone would have received it." However, right at the end when the listener leaves the deck, they send an "Update to my last broadcast." Ji'ya had already sent a distress signal before the abduction, but doesn't want Starshine to know, because then it would become more obvious that they care. By part 2, Ji'ya begins to warm to the listener enough to start opening up. Uncharacteristically, Ji'ya finds that they enjoy having Starshine around. Though they may deny it... yeah, you're kind of the ship's pet!

The alien society is a big, complicated place. The space-faring civilisation is called Citizen Space, or the Citizenry, consisting of fourteen sapient races and governed by the Council. There may be others in the galaxy which, like humanity, are uncontacted. I didn't want to have a galaxy at conflict, with nefarious alien species plotting war. Nothing wrong with that, but it seemed to distract from the point of the story; being pulled from the everyday familiarity of planet Earth, and dragged halfway across the galaxy, forced to find a new way of living in a literally alien world. The listener is already in enough trouble as-is without adding to it, there's still so much to play with in a friendly, peaceable galaxy. After part 3 I was questioning which direction to go; do we introduce a new plot thread where some faction wants the last human for scientific research, or as a museum piece, or some other dastardly reason? Do we get into the bureaucratic mess of introducing a new sapient race into the Citizenry? I don't think that's why anyone started listening, and it's important to not stray too far from the original draw to a story. It took me a while, but I now have a part 4 and 5 in mind for Ji'ya and Starshine that I believe will fit better!

There was a short conversation in part 3 that I particularly enjoyed. The listener is the only surviving part of Earth, even the Moon is no longer in orbit. Sol3 was utterly shattered, soon to become little more than a debris belt. You are all that remains. "All that time, all that evolution, all that history; you alone carry it. You are Earth."

I like the idea of Ji'ya and the listener approaching some governing body, perhaps to attain greater legal protections. They ask Ji'ya who and what this creature is, and Ji'ya responds, "This is Earth."

#mage bunkshelf #audio rp

[badlydrawntransformers]

Knockout and Breakdown for "Oh fuck, oh FUCK" ?

Oh this is gonna be fun :) hope you don't mind I'm gonna take this as an opportunity to practice writing them for my fan cont. uwu

Knockout wasn't really sure if he was the biggest fan of Earth so far.

Sure, some places were pretty to look at, but most times it was too cold, or too sandy, or too muddy. He hated how flora got stuck in his seams, and he especially hated that if he drove too fast, the native inhabitants would harass him. What he wouldn't give to be able to go racing on his home planet Velocitron again.

At least as the Decepticon CMO, he didn't have to leave the Nemesis if he didn't need to. He was perfectly content to remain in the med bay by Megatron's orders. Then the elements wouldn't ruin his pristine chassis and the fleshy humans wouldn't try to give him a "speeding ticket", whatever that was.

He was in the med bay organizing his tools when he got a ping on his comms from Slipstream.

"Hello 'Stream, how goes the mission?" the medic greeted.

"It had to be cut short." Slipstream responded. Her voice was weak, but frantic. "Meet us in the bridge, we require medical assistance."

"Uh, alright. Is Breakdown- hello? Oh that son of a- did she hang up on me?" Knockout grumbled. He gathered a few tools and hurried over to the bridge.

Once he got there, he was met with the last thing he wanted to see.

Starscream, along with Slipstream and Breakdown, had been sent on a scouting mission just a few joors earlier that day. Now, here they stood in the bridge, and they certainly looked worse for wear. Starscream had passed out from his injuries, Slipstream had a broken leg, and Breakdown had nearly lost his arm, but was still doing his best to keep the two seekers from falling. Knockout had to keep a death grip on his tools so he wouldn't drop them out of shock.

"Oh fuck, oh FUCK!" Knockout cursed, rushing over to the others, servos flying over them assessing their injuries and closing up some of the smaller cuts. "You were only on a scouting mission, what in the Pit happened?!"

"We had a bit of a- ow- a run-in with the Autobots, kinda got outnumbered." Breakdown explained.

"Breakdown got shoved off a cliff by Wheeljack and grabbed onto me to try and keep from falling, like THAT was going to help." Slipstream spat.

"You were the closest thing I could hold on to!"

"How about the Autobot that was RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF YOU."

"Enough arguing, both of you. I don't care how it happened, what's important is getting all three of you fixed up before you bleed out." Knockout scolded, pinching the bridge of his nasal vent. He lifted Starscream off of Breakdown's arm and started bringing him to the med bay, muttering about hating Earth's terrain and dirt getting on his fresh paint job. Breakdown and Slipstream hobbled along after him, refusing to make eye contact with each other.

...

Knockout grimaced, picking another leaf out of his grill. Fixing up his fellow Decepticons was a very messy job, especially now that there were so many new things on Earth for them to get injured by, and he absolutely hated it. Sometimes he wondered how he even ended up in this position; he studied to become a cosmetic surgeon, for crying out loud, not this!

Primus, he was tired.

Knockout turned off the shower, watching the grime and energon flow down the drain. He heard someone approach, but didn't look up to see who it was until he heard their voice.

"Hey, doc." Breakdown carefully greeted.

"You're supposed to be resting, dear." Knockout huffed, giving his conjunx a halfhearted glare.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Breakdown sighed. "I just- wanted to apologize for today, we didn't mean to cause any extra stress. I know you're still getting used to this planet."

"It's fine." Knockout sighed, leaning his head against Breakdown's shoulder as they walked back to their quarters. "I hope we win this war soon, I want to go back home and take a long drive together without any humans tailgating us."

"I hear that." Breakdown chuckled. "Don't worry, doc, we'll be home before you know it. In the meantime, we should appreciate where we are right now. The cliff I tumbled down had a pretty nice view."

Knockout snorted out a laugh. "By the Allspark, Breakdown!"

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood!" Breakdown giggled.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, dearest~" the medic purred.

Knockout didn't really like Earth all too much, he decided. It was gross and cold, and speed limits were still the bane of his existence.

But for his conjunx, he was willing to give it a chance.

#transformers fic #tf fic #transformers fan continuity #transformers hypercharge #knockout #breakdown #kobd #slipstream #starscream #blood cw #why did this take literal hours to write lmao #i have more asks but ill try to get to them tomorrow

[starry-eyed-pkmnlvr]

♣ - a fading memory

“You’ll fall in again if you keep walking all weird,” a child says, a hint of worry in his voice.

“No, I won’t!” a young Starry retorts, arms held out for balance. “Besides, this is more fun!” They slip on a damp rock and almost go careening into the swamp, but he catches herself. They stay frozen a moment, then ruffle their little brother’s hair when they see him giving her a look. He opens his mouth to say something, probably “I told you so,” but something rustles in a nearby bush and the two turn to look at it. Starry stomps over to the bush with their brother holding onto their shirt, and the rustling turns frantic, like something inside’s trying to get away. Starry parts the bush, coming face to face with… a child?

Starry’s face lights up while the kid in the bush looks even more nervous. Long, messy hair covers their eyes, and they look more like a part of the nature trail’s dreary scenery than a human child.

“Wanna play with us?” Starry asks excitedly, still leaning over the kid. They stay silent a moment, then mumble, “I-I’m not allowed to talk to strangers…” to which Starry frowns. Then he grins again.

“My name’s Stavros! And he’s Novus!” She points to her little brother peeking over her shoulder, and he waves. “There! Now we aren’t strangers! So, wanna play?” The child simply stares at them, then gives up and nods. “Great!!” Starry offers a hand and pulls them up.

“Your hands are so cold! Do you need a sweater? I can go get one from my Auntie.” The child flinches a little at the remark and pulls their hand away. “No, I’m fine, you’re just really warm…” they mumble. Novus has a sweater on and Starry doesn’t, so maybe they’re right.

“We’re going to the playground, right?” Novus tugs Starry’s arm to get their attention. She nods. “Wanna come? There’s swings and a slide! It’s kinda small though.” The strange child agrees, so the three go trudging off through the swamp, being careful not to slip into the muddy waters. Once they clear the forest, Novus goes to play on the slide. He’s counting something on his fingers, playing some game he made up to make sliding more interesting. Starry motions for their new friend to join them on the swings, and they go back and forth a little while Starry tries to climb the bars supporting the swings.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” they say worriedly as Starry stands on the swing seat and tries to haul himself up onto the beam. “Not really,” she says, sitting down hard on the seat after failing in her endeavor. “I did fall once.” He starts swinging normally and the child follows. “Hitting your head on this metal stuff hurts.” They jump from the seat mid-swing, stumbling with the momentum and falling on their knees in the grass. They shout triumphantly, then walk back to the swing and flop on their stomach across the seat. “But it’s fun!” He grins, and the kid gives a small smile back.

Suddenly the kid’s head snaps up and they turn to look at the forest behind them. “I have to go now,” they say quietly, turning back to Starry, who nods. “Novus, come say ‘bye’!” Starry calls out. Novus falters in his finger counting and looks up. “You made me loose count!” He calls back indignantly, but waves goodbye and goes to slide a few more times. Starry huffs at his lackluster farewell.

“Thanks for today,” the child says with a smile. “I had fun playing with you, Stavros.” Starry beams in return. “I had fun too!! We should play together again sometime.” They nod, and Starry holds up a hand for a high-five, which they lightly smack. They give one last little wave before disappearing back into the forest. Starry flexes the hand they high-fived with. They didn’t feel as cold that time, he thought.

#ask upon a star #((I may have had too much fun writing)) #((was the ending lacking?? eh who cares)) #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #pokemon rp #long post #memory ask

[bitchatcloudtower]

what are your thoughts on the redesigns?

Generally I think it's cute. I like that there's more variation in body type/facial structure. I don't know why they aren't using purple and orange at all when it'd help some of them look more distinct. They don't look very coherent.

Bloom: kinda generic, I don't hate it. It feels more in line with who Bloom is as of s4 and onwards, and not the Bloom from s1-s3, and in that sense it's disappointing because I much prefer s1-3 Bloom but it's fine. It feels in character for that version of Bloom so if we're rebooting the entire show to have that version of the character then... well. (I just looked at it again and I hate her belt buckle and jewelry)

Stella: I keep thinking that she's Flora everytime I glance at it then I have to recount and I realise. It isn't ugly, it's just wrong. I don't like the hair and it looks like she's in overalls for some reason. This version of Stella looks like she goes hiking of her own volition. California vibe (derogatory)

Flora: She and Stella look too alike right now. Their outfits don't help. The pattern looks kinda muddy in the images we've seen and while the detailing on the jacket is cool, it looks messy at this resolution. Something about the colouring is just off.

Layla: Hate the colours. Outfit is a little too simple compared to the others. But she herself is cute. I like that they kept her hairstyle from F*te because that's the only thing F*te did right.

Musa: Similar commentary as with Bloom. Glad they kept her colour scheme, hers is the only one that seems to have survived. Her hair is very cute. Not as tomboyish as her original design, but it's more Musa than some of the stuff we see in the later seasons and I do think this is going to keep the version of the characters from the later seasons than the one from s1-s3.

Tecna: She's my favourite. Love the colour scheme, although I miss the purple. Love that she's now part robot (is that the terminology) and that it's part of her design. Makes it easier to pinpoint what her powers are. I'm glad they finally have some sort of direction when it comes to her design.

Ogron: I don't actually remember what he looks like in the OG so this looks enough like Ogron that I can be like, yes, that is indeed Ogron.

#asks #anon #winx #winx club

[lostforysbth]

cw// tiny (fairy) yeonjun

soobin was in the kitchen cutting up fruits when he heard a thump from his window.

'huh?"

he wiped his hands off all the juices on his apron as he went over, head tilted. there didn't seem to be anything there and this thought just got more and more clear the closer he got.

he opened the window and heard a tiny thud, a weight falling over the edge of the window sill onto the bush below. eyes widened, he quickly looked into the bush from the window but saw nothing.

still worried, he left through the back door in the kitchen and kneeled in front of the bush. his hands moved the branches to the side quickly but gently and– there it was. tiny and frail, curled up on itself as it shivered on the grass.

soobin gasped as he took in the sight.

it looked like a person– a small person, its height probably the length of soobin's hand. atop its head was pastel pink hair, fluffy and a mess. its torso was covered in a kinda of light yellow fabric with rips here and there.

on its back were a pair of small, crinkled wings. they shimmer under the faint traces of sunlight that slipped between the leaves of the bush.

its feet were a bit muddied and, now that soobin looked at it more carefully, so was the rest of its body.

amidst his scrutiny, he heard a soft sound coming from the person? creature? but he couldn't interpret what it was saying. soobin leaned in closer, hoping to catch the sliver of voice again.

"help..."

hearing that, soobin rushed to scoop it up in his hands and brought it inside. he laid a clean towel on the island in the middle of his kitchen to gently put the creature on top of it.

"what-," its eyes, now squinting slightly, seemed to be begging him. "what do i need to do?"

it turned its head slowly left and right at his question. he seemed to be searching for something and soobin followed its movements to see what it could be. finally, its head stopped slightly to the right. it stretched its arm, finger reaching out to point.

"strawberry..."

"strawberry?" soobin turned his head to see its line of sight. on his kitchen counter were the fruits he was slicing before he heard the thud. a clump of freshly plucked and cut strawberries sat on the corner of his cutting board, ready to become pie decoration.

he went and picked up a strawberry piece before bringing it over to the creature. between his thumb and index finger, he held the piece towards it.

"this what you want?" it nodded weakly, arms coming up to make grabby hands.

he handed it to the creature, watching it take small bites of the fruit. its cheeks filled up as it chewed before swallowing bit by bit. by the time it was done, strawberry juices were dripping down the sides of its cheeks and onto the towel below it.

"you're a messy one, huh?"

at his comment, the creature glared at him, cheeks puffed and lips pushed out in a pout. if this were a cartoon, soobin imagined it would have steam coming out of its ears.

"sorry, sorry," he said in a hurry, hands coming up in defense. "do you- uhh do you want more?"

the creature brightened up at that, eyes twinkling as it sat up. it used its one intact sleeve to wipe at its cheeks as its other hand excitedly gestured for more of the sweet fruit. soobin felt his lips lift at the sight, a flutter in his chest.

he went over to the counter again and grabbed a few pieces that he put on a small plate. he set it next to the creature and watched as it picked up piece after piece, each getting devoured by tiny teeth. as it chewed on happily, soobin could hear its little hums of delight.

"are you done?" he asked once all the strawberry pieces were gone, the creature pouted at him again, eyes wide with eyebrows slanting down.

"no, no more." he said resolutely. "i don't think your tiny body should take any more."

cue the adorable glare again.

soobin returned its anger with a smile, index finger coming up to pat at its head lightly.

at first, the creature flinched at the contact but it later grabbed soobin's finger. it moved the appendage until it rested on his cheek and it started to nuzzle against him.

soobin didn't have the heart to stop it, even though strawberry juice was getting all over that part of his finger, the content smile on its face with its crinkled, shut eyes felt like an attack to soobin's heart, the organ beating wildly in his chest.

"should i bathe you?"

the creature froze, eyes still shut but the smile slowly slipped off its lips. when it finally opened its eyes, it viewed soobin with a questioning gaze.

"you don't know what a bath is?" it shook its head and scobin started his explaination for it.

the creature wasn't convinced at first but at the mention of his strawberry scented soap, it immediately changed its demeanor. it started nodding its head so aggressively, soobin feared it would pop off its neck.

"okay, okay, calm down, alright?" it obeyed him, thankfully.

he packed up all the fruit on his counter into seperate containers before bringing the creature to his bathroom. on the way there, he asked it a slew of questions.

"can you talk?"

"of course." soobin stumbled a bit hearing its voice, knee hitting a dining chair. "oh uh cool, so um what- what are you?"

the creature smiled proudly at soobin.

"i'm a strawberry fairy."

"strawberry fairy?" it nodded at his question, hair wooshing at its movements. "that's not a real thing, is it?"

"what's that supposed to mean?" gone were bright eyes, glare in place again.

"nothing- sorry," he quickly said. "that sounds wonderful. so what do you do then? with the strawberries?"

at the question, the creatu- fairy's mood lifted again. it started to animatedly tell soobin about how dust from his wings helped the fruit to grow bigger and sweeter. apparently, it found soobin's little garden in spring and had been waiting for them to grow all season.

but when it woke this particular morning, a squirrel was in its home that it dug itself under a bed of flowers in the garden.

at its panicked scream, the furry rodent started to chase it. the fairy hurriedly flew out of its hole and straight to soobin's window. soobin hummed sympathetically at its pained expression when it told him about its collision, a deep frown on its lips.

in the bathroom, scobin plugged the sink and let the tap run. with a blush on this cheeks, he told the fairy that it'd need to strip down to bathe properly.

the fairy did so with no problem, the fabric coming off in one fell swoop.

soobin totally kept his gaze on the water.

once he deemed the sink adequately filled, he closed the tap and urged the fairy to jump in. the fairy squealed in delight but its excitement was cut short at soobin's sudden realisation.

"um can your wings get wet?"

...they didn't think this through.

the fairy plopped down on its hind, arms and legs crossed. its pout deepened as it watched soobin drain some of the water.

swimming sounded so fun when the human explained it but it guessed this would have to do. after all, its wings were its most prized possession.

when he deemed the water is ready again, he closed the tap and went to get his soap. the fairy got on its hands and knees as it watched him pour some into the water. its eyes shut and nostrils flared as it smelt the air. soobin guessed the scent was probably good, judging from its smile.

without the safety of diving-adequate amount of water, soobin offered his palm to carry the fairy into the water. he watched as its wings fluttered in excitement when its feet touched the liquid. once seated, the fairy beamed at the human.

soobin heard it gasp and squeak as it splashed around in the sink. he felt a smile find its way to his lips while he watched the tiny fairy find its little happiness.

after a few minutes, he hummed to grab its attention. at its questioning gaze, soobin gestured for it to rub the soapy water against its skin.

"like this," he said as he rubbed his palm on his cheek. he heard the fairy giggle and he mumbled, "what?"

"your cheek," it said, "it looks so squishy- like a monkey's butt."

"hey! that's not nice."

now it was soobin's turn to pout, cheeks puffed and eyes sending lasers to the fairy. it squeaked at the glare, confused at the anger sent his way.

"what? what'd i say?"

soobin only huffed in response, his shoulder sagging as he fiddled his thumbs.

"it's fine, i guess," he finally said after a few beats of silence. "if you didn't mean it as an insult then i'll take it. though i don't see how a monkey's butt can be a compliment."

the last sentence was mumbled past sulky lips but the fairy caught it, expression going from curious to apologetic.

"it wasn't an insult!" it pouted right back to the human. "i was just trying to be nice."

the two went on and on after that. the human explaining how there were many other ways to compliment someone while the fairy defended how it never had interactions with the giant specie before.

"giant? i'm not that big!"

"yeah, you are- i saw you with your mate the other day."

"mate?"

"you hugged her and kissed her cheek when she left."

"...that was my mom."

the fairy's mouth popped in an 'o' shape and then its cheeks turned pink, smiling sheepishly at the human.

"c'mon, let's get you out before you turn in a raisin."

"i like raisins!"

soobin seated the fairy on his coffee table and turned on the tv for it to watch. he resumed ponyo as he didn't get to finish the movie the night before. while the fairy got absorbed into the 'talking box', soobin took out his sewing kit to fix up a new clothing.

its previously one was already ripped and dirtied so he offered to make a new dress for the little creature. he bore in mind the instructions he'd gotten.

"make it pretty! and make sure the arms aren't too tight- and i want the back to be open!"

"open?"

"for my wings!" the fairy twisted to show its glimmering little wings that fluttered at the mention. soobin smiled at the display.

"okay," he said as he nodded. he sketched his idea on a piece of paper and, when the fairy saw, it squealed and jumped in glee.

"exactly that!"

once he was done, he looked up to call over the fairy but he realised he forgot one important thing-

"do you have a name?"

"huh? of course, i do!" the fairy exclaimed as it waddled in soobin's direction, the small towel still too big for its small strature.

it reached out its hand to receive its new dress and held it up into the sunlight. soobin took in the wide smile and twinkling eyes, relishing in the pleased hum the fairy let out.

it hugged the dress to its body and directed its smile to the human.

"my name's yeonjun."

#txt au #yeonbin #yeonjun #soobin #overdramatic yeonjun #brat yeonjun #bratty yeonbin agenda #miniguy yeonjun #fairy yeonjun #lostforysbth

[ddeonudepressions]

get to know me game!

tagged by: @dearhee 🙏 💕

no pressure tags!! @redm4ri @haknom @blossomnct @sunoksunny @delcakoo @taejays @hannikz @mazeinthemiroh @soov and anyone else who wants ofc!!

birthday: oct 3rd skz chan is my bday twin and loml 🙏 (fr i miss him sm 🙁)

favourite colour: sage green but i really like all colors if they don't blind me 💀

do you have pets? no 💔 i used to have a parrot but we gave him away 😭😭

how tall are you? um i will get bullied but im 5'4 last time i checked 💀

how many pairs of shoes do you own?

like....4-5?? idk i haven't bought any in a while

favourite song: ditto, devil by the window, mixed up, attention please, opening sequence, muddy water, all in, beside you, and many more just stalk my Spotify to know 💔

favourite movie: train to busan 😭😭

who would be your ideal partner?

hmm.... idk tbh but probably someone who's like me but no yk? i really like the familiarity but ik i wouldn't handle another me💀 maybe someone like beomgyu yk or junhan or jay or hongjoong or hyunjin or seungmin. i think me and hongjoong r soulmates fr we would be are happily married ❤️.

do you want children? tbh yes? kinda? i think it would be nice but idk i dont mind it.

have you gotten in trouble with the law?

no I am a good child come on now

what colour socks are you wearing? blue and black

favourite type of music: all of it i will listen amd vibe to everything fr. i wouldn't say i hate a song yk id say i wouldn't look it up but if it was playing ill do a lil dancey dance

how many pillows do you sleep with? 2 and 2 tiny plushies and 1 decorative one

what position do you sleep in? idk what it's called but i basically become a tiny ball of sleep and drown in the covers 💀

what don’t you like when you’re sleeping: probably when someone wakes me up when i just started to drift off. like?!??? helour leave me alone??!?? and probably when my feet r too cold the rest of my body.

what do you have for breakfast: depends sometimes a savor yomy sandwich sometimes a sweet yomy cereal. sometimes black coffee sometimes a latte sometimes a cup of tea of u will.

have you ever tried archery? once at gym hurt myself bad didn't like it 👎👎

favourite fruit: strawberries apples and oranges (i miss eating oranges 💔)

are you a good liar? not to self diagnose but i might be a psychological lair 😂😂🤥

what’s your personality type? it was enfp i think but ill have to redo the test soon lol.

innie or outie? im gonna say this is about being introverted or extroverted 💀💀 I am a bit of both tbh.

left handed or right handed? a leftiee

favourite food: pasta or fries 🙏

favourite foreign food: kushary idk if anyone knows it but it's Egyptian and its just 💔💔

am i clean or messy? id say clean i try to keep my surroundings tidy as i can yk

most used phrase: (all memes from Walmart enha) hello?? ayo?? huh?? oh. slayyy - fr - ong- 🙏- naurrr - NO. - die. - el oh el - kys. - el em ay oh - (person) (last negative thing they did) era - LMAO. - ok.

how long does it take for you to get ready: usually like 15-25 minutes including makeup outfit hijab and packing my handbag / bag yk

do you talk to yourself? all the time!

do you sing to yourself? if im not singing sleeping it's all i do. no family member has complained about my signing so I think it's a sign to start my career 😂😂🤘🤘

are you a good singer? i hope i am 😕 i think i have a decent voice i quite like any runs i do when signing sum LMAO 💀

biggest fear? cockroaches, confrontations and god 🙏

are you a gossip? i am THE gossip

do you like long or short hair? short hair. my hair is medium length rn but i like short hair more long hair has bad memories.

favourite school subject: I've always liked science general but idk anymore grade 9 wss brutal 💀💀

extrovert or introvert: id say both (again) cuz I enjoy talking and going out but also staying in w someone sounds so comforting

what makes you nervous: everything. my teachers. people staring too long at me. people laughing at me. (i cant tell if it's w me or at me most of the time :/)

who was your first real crush? grade 2 his name was assi i think that's how u spell it. he was also Syrian had blonde hair blue eyes and had my heart fr 💔

how many piercings? 2 one in each ear

how many tattoos? 0 (i am a minor and haram bro)

how fast can you run? i think i could run a good distance ye im not the athletic type but it's fun sometimes

what colour is your hair? chocolate brown with blonde streaks. very new look my hair was always been dark brown 💀

what colour are your eyes? brown 💔

what makes you angry: many many things having anger issues every little thing annoys me. im just gonna say top 5 lol

1.people who don't listen

2.people who look down on others

3. people who r literally nothing being jealous of others and making their lives hell( who wants a story time 😂😂)

4. getting blamed for something i had nothing to do with

5. having to be the mom of the house when i am a literal child.

do you like your name? ye I've learned to accept it 💪

do you want a boy or a girl as a child?

idm tbh but let just say if i have kids they both will be a mommy's girl/boy. cuz ye

what are your strengths? hm... im gonna say im honest ill tell people shit to their face no hesitation sometimes 💀. im strong?? idk. ima good manipulator 😂😂. id say im pretty understanding and comforting (at least i hope so) ig das it? idk not used to thinking about myself positively yk

what are your weaknesses? probably myself? like i do one small tiny mistake and suddenly i have no self worth, i deserve death, i mean nothing to anybody, everyone hates me snd is using me and i deserve it. and etc etc yk.

what is the colour of your bedspread? yellow 😕

colour of your room: yellow 😐 i need my own room fr

DONE THIS TOOK FOREVER BUT WAS MUCH FUN TY ELA SM FOR THIS LMAO 🙏🙏🙏💞💞❤️❤️

[henrysfedora]

brainrot compilations really are fun

gotta get that aesthetic comfort brainrot going you know

vito resting his head on henry's chest while they lie down together in bed. it's raining outside and vito can just hear the rain hitting the roof and windows, he can just hear the tires of cars on the road driving by the apartment. he can hear the crackling of the fire and the soft croon of the radio in the living room, and he can hear henny's steady breathing.

young leo and frank sitting underneath an attic window in an old, wall paper coming off the walls, light wooden floored attic filled with boxes of belongings while they lean on each other. the sun shining through the window above forming rays of light in the air.

just found out that you can see a train going by above the road to the foundry in north millville and you can even find one stopped a little ways away. with marty mostly being in chapter eight (at least in just the base game) and living in oyster bay, i really associate him with an industrial aesthetic i guess, muddy waters, bo diddley kinda vibes you know, a little grunge fashion, tartan + leather clothes, a little hanging out with your buddies in the industrial, overgrown part of town til like nine at night cause it's daylight savings. so i just think it's really cute to picture him vibing around north millville, being a little shit and climbing up the tall grass bank to the train bridge and waiting for a train to come past.

and speaking of marty i really wonder if he's ever had a buddy. and i don't mean joe or vito or anyone else in the cast, i mean just some other teenager in empire bay who could've shared the same job as marty or worked another but their paths crossed. and it's nothing tragic, i mean a real vito and joe situation (which is tragic but i mean- this is marty, a lot of people can't handle him and/or they put on an act to talk to him or straight up just don't talk to him at all. this guy is a genuine friend, one who'd fight by marty's side), this guy is marty's buddy and they do the dumbest shit together, just like vito and joe.

i love the thought that marty would just want to listen to all his favourite rock bands and singers but i think it's really cute that he also knows every damn word to the chordettes hello ma baby and mr sandman.

i like thinking of all the possible ways eddie finds out henry has curly hair. henry having a bad hair day and wearing a hat inside the falcon, until eddie snatches it off his head: "you're inside have some fuckin' manners" and then they just stare at each other before henry tries rescuing his fedora but eddie ain't letting it go. eddie may even try reaching out to touch his hair curiously like: "look at that you got curls.." but henry slaps his hand away: "just give me my fuckin' hat back would ya?"

speaking of these two, henry moving into eddie's apartment and helping him clean it up <3. i think they would both benefit from the company and the emotional support however messy and non helpful it may come.

and to think about the mobsters that inspired carlo, eddie, clemente, frank and leo respectively. back in sicily and in their young days in empire bay, who were they watching run errands or sit in a diner smoking their cigars, all fancy and stern. who were the ones watching it all unfold in their neighbourhood curiosity peaking and who were the ones who didn't have a choice but to resort to violent ways. i can see frank and carlo looking up to and idolising mobsters when they were young, wanting to be strong and live the high life, and then they both find their best friends who needed protecting, who wanted to be friends, wanted any kind of work, discovering what it's like to really live.

#hehehe #brainrot #pixel men my beloved getting me through it #lmao #marty deserved so much more #stomping #crying #i can't begin to explain how much i love the thought of older marty wearing tartan hipsters #the older he gets the gayer the clothes #every year he gets more #and more confident but not much more powerful unfortunately. he can drive really good though #marty <3 #vito <3 #henry <3 #leo <3