#{ 2 = Innocent; 7 = innocent; }

[lovesickeros]

now that natlan is out it's tsaritsa yearning hours again because i am one nation closer to either being horribly disappointed or foaming at the mouth!

creator!reader w a little side of conflicted tsaritsa is such good food I can't not yap about it. a woman who has dedicated so much of her life to severing herself from "love" of all kinds and succeeding and. just being so confident that when she meets you she's bitter and angry and mean. because she can't stand you. she isn't supposed to love yet you worm your way into her heart anyway and you don't even know it.

especially in smth like an imposter au. she tells herself your just a tool for her to use but your treated like the Divine you really are, pampered and spoiled every step. tells herself it means nothing when she indulges you – let's you hold her hand in private, eventually let's you move aside the veil, just a little.

and she hates it. hates how easy it is to let you break down the ice she's built up for years.

all you do is smile and she feels like she can't breathe. because despite how violently she rejects love in all aspects, it always bleeds through eventually. she despises it but the way you brush your thumbs over her cheeks makes her bitter and warm and it infuriates her to no end.

she hates you and she loves you and she can't stand you and if you were ever taken from her she'd destroy every inch of teyvat if she had to go get you back.

and ironically enough I think she'd also be the one to initiate any first kiss. maybe she's still trying to convince herself it's just a fluke and itll make her realize it meant nothing, it means nothing. desperate to fix whatever you've done to her and instead it just makes it worse.

a horrible mess of a woman who gave up on love just to be confronted with it when she finally accepted it's absence.

[mintbluex]

[triglycercule]

killer eating food in front of horror as a way to taunt him. duuuude do you see this delectable parfait he has in his hands right now. he just put a spoonful in his mouth. horror is scratching at his own arms right now (trying not to jump this bitchass). killer can't even taste it LMAOOO another bite ‼️ imagine not being able to eat food 🤣🤣🤣 killer can't even taste it and enjoy the food but horror can't even EAT food

then horror grabs the parfait glass out of his hands and oh killer you should probably teleport away before horror does to you what undyne did to his eye

[quil12]

2 & 4

[vrmarie]

my favs (half or less XD) it will be great if someone finds matches and collects bingo`🤍

[wyverncult]

☝️ WHO ELSE loves this guy :)

[nero-vanderwolf]

HAIII tag Beanus so I don't have to send it to him too

Since that first "little" incident at Lisa's school, she had unfortunately found herself hanging out with Eikichi quite frequently. Really, she only wanted to spend time with Tatsuya, but he attracted an odd bunch.

Time spent with the group was still time spent with Tatsuya, no matter how tainted it was. And so she sat, feigning interest in whatever Maya and Yukino were researching for their latest articles. Tatsuya was off in his own world, reading the manual to a motorcycle he did not even own.

Lisa had begun checking the clock every few seconds to see just how late Eikichi would be. Two minutes, five, ten-

"That kid said he had something special going on, then he flakes on us!" Yukino finally snapped.

"Mhm, definitely suspicious," Maya added, though she was significantly calmer than her hot headed friend.

Lisa sighed and slouched back into her seat, "I'm not surprised he's dumb enough to get lost on the way to a diner two streets down from his school."

The little bell above the door rang and rang when the door slammed open. Everyone looked at the panting Tatsuya. His clothes were drenched and his makeup looked like a half melted clown.

"Look who's finally here," Lisa narrowed her eyes.

"Shut up," Eikichi groaned, "Ginko."

"Undie Boss."

The tunnel vision that always accompanied Lisa's mockery of Eikichi had stopped her from noticing the person he brought with him until she stood silently at the end of the table.

The first thing just about everyone noticed was the dress that was not appropriate for the weather. There were slits on either side, with a big red shash in the middle. Lisa had to stop herself from immediately laughing at the odd outfit.

"This is Lyn, and Lyn, these are Tatsuya, Maya, Yukino and Ginko," Eikichi smiled.

"Hi," she said quietly.

They all scooted over on the bench to make room for both Eikichi and this friend he brought with him.

"What area are you from?" Lisa asked.

"Just outside town," Lyn oddly said, for it contradicted what Eikichi had said at the exact same time, "Caelin."

"Excuse me?"

The two exchanged odd looks and Lyn whispered a bit loudly, "You said I needed a cover story!"

"Yeah, when talking to my parents cause they'd call us both crazy! These guys are normal though," Eikichi answered.

They looked back at the rest of the group, who had all been staring at them with blank expressions. Even Tatsuya had put down his "magazine" to listen to whatever they were yapping about.

"You got your stories straight now?" Yukino asked.

"Yep!" Eikichi answered, "Lyn came out of a portal in this alley near my home. She's from a region in this other world called Caelin."

"At this point, we may as well say I'm from Sacae," she said.

Eikichi quickly corrected himself, "Yes, right. Lyn is from a country called Sacae."

Strange. Whatever this prank was that Eikichi had agreed to with this new friend of his, it wasn't particularly entertaining. Lisa merely rolled her eyes while trying to think of something mean to say.

"You sure she didn't come out of a wardrobe?" Yukino said deadpanned.

"Haha, very funny, but I swear I'm not lying!" Eikichi demanded.

"Why a wardrobe?" Lyn asked.

Lisa grinned, finally having thought of a cruel joke, and faced Lyn, "You must get off on humiliation if you agreed to help Eikichi with a joke like this."

"I don't like these people," Lyn said.

The table desolved into a little argument between Eikichi and Lisa, with the occasional mean remark from Yukino. Lyn still could not figure out the wardrobe joke. Maya had put in earplugs and taken out her notebook to review her recent work. No one had thought of Tatsuya at all for the last few minutes.

"Can we see the portal?" he muttered.

Lisa paused mid incredibly rude sentence and looked at him funny, "Not you too!"

"No, that's a great idea!" Eikichi beamed.

"I don't know. A group like this could attract unwanted attention and everyone from this world seems to be..." she paused for a good long moment while her eyes rested on Lisa, "Untrained in combat."

At that last remark, Lisa had had enough.

"Alright, take us to this portal right now!" she demanded.

The group left the table in no time (while Maya briefly stayed behind to pay for their drinks and apologize to the staff for causing a ruckus) and made their way to the fabled alley in the pouring rain.

Eikichi stomped all the way there while Lyn trailed closed behind. The others walked slower as they huddled around Maya, who was the only one smart enough to bring an umbrella.

Eikichi and Lyn turned a corner into an alley that smelled bad from several meters away. While the others walked in, Lisa stood just outside. Trash bags littered the place and there seemed to be an entire rat civilization amongst the garbage. What a vile little place she had been led to.

"Just over here!" Eikichi smiled.

He stood behind a dumpster, out of sight.

In unison, Maya and Yukino gasped at whatever they saw. Lisa could not see it, only the amazed looks on their faces. Had you told them all their dreams came true, it was doubtful they would look even half as surprised and as they did then.

"We're going through the portal without you, Ginko!" Eikichi laughed.

One by one, they all disappeared. Lisa stood alone, staring into that dark alley. She could not decide if it was worth it to follow them and she stood there for several minutes. Her clothes were soaked and she began to shiver. Maybe she should turn home.

But just when she moved her feet, she heard a sound. Tatsuya emerged from the portal and he looked at her.

"Are you coming?" he asked.

When she did not answer, he stepped over trash and boxes until he was on the street again. He did not say anything when he took her hand and led her to the place they had all disappeared only some moments ago.

Before them was a ring of light in all the colors of the rainbow and inside it was a rippling vision of lush fields with a bright blue sky. Lisa did not have time to react when Tatsuya pulled her through with him.

Her stomach turned and she felt a sort of nausea come over her. But as suddenly as it had come, it disappeared as well. She opened her eyes and found she stood in a gorgeous field. The air was warm and pleasant breeze that smelled of elderflowers had already begun drying her clothes.

Tatsuya let go of her hand, and gestured towards Eikichi, Maya, Yukino and Lyn, who were already several paces away.

"We're gonna visit my grandpa!" Lyn shouted.

Whatever. The weather there was nice, there were no rats, and admittedly, Lisa was curious about this strange new world.

@beantothemax PSPSPSPPSPSSPSPSPSPS

AJSJDBB I DONT KNOW WHAT I WAS EXPECTING WHEN YOU SAID P2 FIC BUT SOMEHOW I WASNT EXPECING LYN!!!! YAYYAYAYA LYN AND EIKICHI FRIENDSHIP IS REAL im clawing and knawing on this so hard you have no idea. you also characterized the characters so well for your first p2 fic AKSJDB <3 BRAVO i know little to nothing about fe7 but i enjoyed this fic so much ehehehehehe

[duhnova]

Hi Nova baby, imagine Chan between your legs and Seungcheol watching with a smirk on his lips. You whining both their names but not nearly loud enough for his liking. He shakes his head and tsks before reaching to push Chan's head in closer.

"You know how to use your tongue don't you?" Chan groans loudly against your folds, his hands gripping your thighs, nails scratching your skin leaving light red marks. When you writhe under the younger, Seungcheol sucks on his bottom lip, his brow raising but his hand doesn't move instead he keeps him in place.

"There ya go, now we are getting somewhere. Aww are you fucking the mattress?" You open your eyes to watch Chan's hips rutting against the mattress, you clench around his tongue only riling him on further. "Oh fuck...more?"

Seungcheol smirks at you, meeting your eyes. "Mm, that's pretty. Keep begging, maybe I'll let him fuck you."

this is so mean and evil and disrespectful AND I MIGHT JUST PERISH FROM IT

i need to be between them NOW

[louisdotmp3]

the thing about wanting to rewatch buffy s6 is that obviously you also need to rewatch the gift and if you’re going to rewatch the gift you also need to watch spiral and weight of the world and if you’re going to rewatch those you need to rewatch the body. and at that point why not just go back to fool for love. and if you’re gonna do that then why not also include restless. you know

[mintacle]

Have you seen the "Invictus" Jason Todd Death Day Animatic by shyuwe? It's amazing and I want someone good at saying thoughts on the internet to talk about it.

Sorry for the late reply anon and no I had not! But I watched it now and yeah it's cool, here's a link to the vid by @shyuwe.

I find it really difficult honestly to talk about art, because good art already says more than words could express about it, you know? Just watch the video and see for yourself! However I will say something about the choice of the poem "Invictus" by Willima Ernest Henley, from Life and Death for Jason, because omg yes! Continued under cut.

Here's the poem first:

Invuctus means as much as unconquerable or undefeated. Frankly a title I can stand by for Jason. Seeing as one of my favorite aspects of Jason's character is his representation of victims and I stand by the fact that we are undefeated by what has happened to us. The word recognizes the gravity of what has happened and pays homage to your experience and finally we get to see ourselves not only as the sufferers of a poor fate, but also the victors, you're still standing. And I will be the last person to ever tell someone how that "standing" has to look like to be undefeated. Overcoming is not something you have to earn, you already overcame. You have nothing to prove to be undefeated.

The "unconquerable soul" is not exemplified in the body that is standing tall more than in the body that is slumping and panting, no matter how you stand or breath, you are still breathing. The other verses of the first stanza are rather straightforward in setting the stage. Our main character is in the black of the night, in the belly of the whale. They are where all is lost and seems hopeless, but that does not mean they are defeated.

Moving on to the second stanza. This part of the poem acknowledges a disillusioned worldview. It is hard to perceive the world as still containing beauty and hope after trauma. And yet you can be unafraid. And I do hope for everyone who has suffered to be able to return to a previous, more naive, less burdensome, perspective. But if you can't, then frankly that is alright, it does not have to diminish your spirit. I think Jason incorporates a lot of the concept of lost innocence, of not being able to return to how things were. But while Jason does grieve his own loss, he does not lose hope to that fact.

Finally, the last stanza, as a call to the strength of autonomy. Now Bruce might like to think he works alone, but Batman's strength lies in his allies. Jason however has perfected himself into the deus ex machina of himself. He has learnt that sometimes there is no powerful saviour who will swoop in for you. Jason is a one man army in combat skill, knowledge and in practice as well. We have seen team-ups, but they never seem to stick. Something about Jason screams lone wolf.

Because the truth is, after trauma, the only person you want to feel is strong enough to protect you is yourself. In a realistic sense, trauma does not make you dependent on other people, it can make you want to become the most whole and in control person you can be. This is why some children from abusive and neglectful homes have incredible emotional reflectivity and recognition skills. They will not be victims of the arbitrariness of emotions any longer and have mastered the flow of their own and others emotions just to feel a semblance of control. It's why victims might have incredible scheduling and self-discipline skill. Coming out of an unpredictable and volatile situation they have gained control of their surroundings. It's why vicitms might be high-achievers in academics, because they know what is expected and they can control their input and actually get the reward that was promised. Jason is to me an epitome of effective pragmaticism. He knows the value of reliability and certainty. Rather than going in hotheaded in an attempt to murder a man for trafficking children, he employs a failsafe by also poisoning his energy drink. Because Jason is the one in control. He orchestrates a distraction for Batman and spends three hours creeping up on the Batmobile to plant a bomb. His anger doesn't ignite him like an explosion, it fuels him, like the steady supply of purpose.

Jason is in command now, the captain of his soul. Because let us face it, so far Jason's life has been shaped only by other people. His parents' deaths, Bruce adopting him, Sheila betraying him, the Joker murdering him, Superboy Prime's punch returning him to life. Jason's life has been so far out of his autonomy and control, but he claims command of his soul and of his fate. No one has set him on his vengeance trip against Bruce and against the Joker. No one defines Jason anymore. Bruce does not actually have the power to grant whether or not Jason is a hero, It's Jason's jurisdiction now who he is and if he says he is a hero, the patron saint to victims, the avenging spirit of the innocent, then yes, he is.

This is not only about strength in the face of adversity, this is about the fact that you are the only authority you need, your autonomy is the only justification and permission you need to continue being strong. No one fucking else gets to decide for you anymore.

[hufflpuffin]

Just watched a video of a Palestinian journalist filming himself rushing into a building immediately after Israel dropped a bomb on a residential building which failed to detonate. Inside are dozens of mothers, children, and elderly women are shaken up. No hamas. No rockets or gunmen or weapon stashes. Just them. They would have all been massacred had the bomb exploded.

This comes just after Israel lied about hamas members being in a car full of journalists that they airstriked, which strategically murdered the son of Wael Al-Dahdouh, bureau chief of Al Jazeera in Gaza, one of the last few opposition news sources doing on the ground reporting in Gaza and exposing Israeli war crimes. His sons murder comes after months of Israel strategically murdering his wife, family, and children, as well as his crew and nearly himself. Now Israel is claiming that they airtriked the car not because they had any actual evidence of terrorists, but because the journalists were using a drone to take pictures of the destruction, something which Palestinian journalists have been using since the start of the genocide. Not the first time Israel lied about a reason to murder journalists- im reminded of the Al Jazeera building bombing a few years ago, when Israel claimed they had intelligence of Hamas inside but as it turns out there was none. It reminds me of the murder of Shireen Abu Akleh, a Christian Palestinian journalist who was sniped and murdered while in full press clothing, and Israel's attempts to cover it up until they couldnt anymore and had to admit it. They then desecrated her funeral. No one was charged for her murder.

Once again more lies, more civilians dead, more war crimes overlooked by Western powers. More money, more escalation, more weapons testing, more illegal settlements, more kidnapped and lynched Palestinians in the West bank by the IDF and armed settlers. More dead journalists. More dead and starving Gazans. It doesnt end. How can anyone believe a word Israel says when theyve lied so brazenly about all of their operations even before the 'war'? Why isnt Israel under the same intense scrutiny that Russia is when Israel has massacred more civilians in 90 days than Russia has in 2 years of war?

[johnconstantinesdick]

I’m bingewatching 999 playthroughs again because it has become my Homework Background Noise this year and so I of course have several AUs percolating. The ORV one will have to wait to be revealed because I ALSO just got a jolt of girl genius inspo.

Anyway. The hardest person to cast is always the Akane of the group—she’s dead. She’s alive. She burned in an incinerator when she was twelve years old and she saw through time to save herself. She’s the mastermind, she’s the victim, she’s the love interest. She’s shrödingers cat and chekov’s gun and the ship of theseus. How much is a lie? Who is she? Is she simply playing her part to keep the timeline stable? Does Akane Kurashiki have free will or does she simply don a mask and play her part?

But with Girl Genius, it’s almost too easy. It’s Anevka. A girl in a box. Is she dead or is she alive? If she says all the right things and we can’t tell the difference between her and the mask, is the mask a real person or is it just an executed series of programs? How much of her can you change before she’s no longer herself? Does the process of saving her own life change her into a stranger?

Anevka Sturmvoraus dies on a boat when she’s twelve years old. Her brother mourns. Her best friend never sees her again. Anevka Sturmvoraus makes it off the boat, except she can’t make it off the boat until nine years have passed. Agatha Heterodyne wakes up in a flooding cabin with a 5 on the door and a numbered bracelet on her wrist. It has to happen this way.

Anevka already saw it.

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

@motsimages tagged me in for 10 songs 10 people, mil gracias :)

these are random songs from my most played playlist, hope you like them!

i'll also add some lyrics just for fun lol

te quiero porque te quiero (fandangos) by rozalén ft. rodrigo cuevas

te quiero porque te quiero / cuando paso por tu puerta / cuando paso por tu puerta / cojo pan y voy comiendo

6 AM by ginebras

¿cómo olvidarme de los días / en un bar de la latina / y del latero que hace música al pasar? ¿de influencias modernistas y mareas / feministas / si en el fondo no lo he pasado tan mal?

el cielo son los otros by confeti de odio

solo estoy contento cuando algo a mi alrededor / me distrae del hecho de que sigo siendo yo

la posada by sebastián cortés ft. alba reche

me enseña to' lo que hay por descubrir / no' miramos de cerquita pa' sentir / to' lo que nos queda, to' lo que nos queda / por vivir

tanguillo de la guapa de cádiz by lola flores

¡y desí que yo tengo postiso! / comprobadlo, tenéis mi permiso, / pasarme la mano, / vamo a vé si encontráis miraguano, / serrín o viruta; / que me toque una mano inocente.

que pasa nen by alizz

però em sento la chanel, català de segona / burguesia intel·lectual podeu menjar-me la poll-

a ver qué pasa by rigoberta bandini

y a ver qué pasa / porque algo pasa / creo que algo pasa / cuando me pasa

desastre de persona by ginebras ft. dani martín

dices que quieres ir al cine / por parecer que eres intelectual / y ya te has puesto quince alarmas / porque mañana tienes que trabajar

adiós by zahara

dedícame mi canción de despedida / y dedícame tu canción de despedida / ¿cómo has tenido valor de hacer una canción de amor?

esa también fui yo (quiero acordarme) by alba reche

me forzaron a querer dentro de una habitación / aún me culpo al dedicarte toda una puta canción

and i tag @naguaraquerandom @alicechesire @sarcasmisalifechoice @eskamtrash @skamesp @rosalia-de-castro @glittertrail @claimedbytheearth @looselysealedkrypton @andalusi

[quotesfromscripture]

Sorrow for the sin

“See what this godly sorrow has produced in you: what earnestness, what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what alarm, what longing, what concern, what readiness to see justice done. At every point you have proved yourselves to be innocent in this matter. 

So even though I wrote to you, it was neither on account of the one who did the wrong nor on account of the injured party, but rather that before God you could see for yourselves how devoted to us you are.”  

- 2 Corinthians 7:11-12 NIV (2011)

[moodboardsbysarah]

nobody understands Monika. She isn’t a yandere. She doesn’t give a fuck about you. Maybe she convinced herself she does. Really she sees you (the protagonist) as an object to give her freedom from the simulation. She acts how she does because she is disturbed by the dark insight she has been given about her world.

[animasolaoriginal]

(7) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

Chapter 7: The Dimple

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 4.2k -- READ ON AO3

when temptations present themselves

Chapter 6 -- Chapter 8

7

What now? he wonders, as he leans against the wall next to the door, his eyes wandering along the trees surrounding the cabin. Nebbia's tucked into the blanket, sleeping soundly. Thunder stands quietly in the night, occasionally huffing a deep breath. And Ben is caught in his own mind, unable to find peace.

He hasn't really planned this through, like so many things in his life so far. The last unplanned thing (“I'm gonna take you with me!”) has brought him right here, on the run from the people he stole this girl from. Damn Daniels. He's had run-ins with that family too many times to count at this point, and every time he slipped out of their grip, he thought it'd be the last time.

They are far more spread than he has thought. Owning the same fucking brothel he's decided to frequent after his own gang's successful stage coach heist. He's been so stupid. He should have known their influence would surpass state lines.

But would he have left Nebbia there if he'd known it beforehand? No. Definitely not. Whatever the circumstances, they would have always ended up here, or at least together, in safety, more or less. He's still stupid, running off with her like this. Without telling anyone. He's been with those people for a long time, especially Mitch and Ginny, and to leave, without a warning, is without a doubt a good addition to his list of Reasons Why He's Stupid.

He hopes they're all okay, that the Daniels didn't ambush them after all. Sending two scouts to their camp was a bold move, and seeing Joe sleeping by the gate when he should have been keeping watch was just another little itch he just can't scratch. A strange coincidence.

There have been a lot of strange coincidences actually, in these last two nights. From finding her in that room, from convincing her to come with him (and her actually coming along without any hesitation), from finding out who he's taken her from, to breaking Bill's nose on a whim (now it feels like it, in the moment it was all justified), to leaving Nebbia alone for five minutes... He's sure by now that it was Bill who assaulted her, getting his revenge, trying to at least.

He still wonders what he should do to that bastard. There are too many ideas in his head, one more gruesome than the next. But he can't focus on that now. They've left the camp, and he has no idea when they'll return, if they'll return. But where else should they go?

Sighing deeply he pushes off the wall and walks back into the cabin, trying to be quiet as he approaches the girl curled up under the blanket. Her long hair has fallen over her face again, and she's so small, just a ball of limbs, and he's still amazed how that can be a comfortable position to sleep. Slowly he kneels down beside her, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of silky soft hair behind her ear. She stirs slightly, but doesn't wake.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” he whispers into the darkness of the room, leaning back on his knees, watching her.

There's still one very loud thought inside his head, one that's even overpowering the urges to grab her and kiss her and do other deranged things to her. One that scares him the most. That fucking dimple.

Without looking away from her sleeping form, he fingers the Wanted poster out of his chest pocket, slowly unfolds it, before he looks down at it in the semi-darkness of the room. Morning is right around the corner, the moon glowing to keep the upper hand, and there's enough light for him to see the face looking up at him from the crinkled paper.

Keira.

That he would find her daughter, the spitting image of her, in a brothel of all places, is like a stab in the back. He would never have thought that Keira, his first love, his partner in crime, would be capable of doing that, leaving her there, to her own devices, to a life full of degradation. Was she forced to leave? Bribed away? Blackmailed away? But why did she never come back to get her?

He would have tried anything to get her back if she'd been his daughter. The thought makes him pause. His daughter. The words have a strange ring to them. They crawl right beneath his skin, letting goosebumps ripple along his spine, like ants running up and down his limbs. She can't be, right? It's been longer than eighteen years (and nine months) since he last saw Keira, right? It has to be!

She left him in that cell and vanished. Never to be seen again. Did she really end up working in a brothel, got knocked up by a random stranger and left right after giving birth – or did Madam Claire lie to Nebbia? The leaving part sounds like her, but working as a prostitute? She'd always had a high libido, but would she actually make men pay for her? Maybe the thought isn't as absurd after all. She'd do almost anything for money.

And she needed the money to leave the country. She'd told him very early on. To get to Europe. See Italy. Did she make it? Was she on the other side of the pond while her daughter had to endure a life of servitude?

Keira had been opportunistic, but not that selfish.

Ben tilts his head as he folds the poster back together and slips it into his pocket, watching the bundle in front of him. How can she even breathe curled up like that? He's tempted to lie down behind her and pull her against his chest, hold her close, curl his body around hers, feel her soft breaths... Fuck. He's doing it again. And the thought is back. He leans in with a sigh and traces his fingertip over her cheek, just the right one, where he's seen it. That fucking dimple.

Many people have dimples, it's not that uncommon, or so he tries to tell himself. But what are the odds of his ex-lover's daughter having the same fucking dimple as him? What are the odds that it was him who found her, who saved her, who she feels safe with?

They have a strange connection, a chemistry he's never experienced before, not even with Keira. Nebbia trusts him, just like that, almost unconditionally, despite everything she knows about him (which isn't even much, but enough that she should want to stay away from him, which she doesn't). How easy it is for her to touch him, to be close to him, how comfortable she is around him, not even ashamed to be naked.

But he can't be her father, he just can't, it doesn't add up. Right? Many men have dimples. And he feels close to her because she looks like Keira. Nothing more. And he wouldn't be thinking all these dirty things about her if he were, would he? Or is he just that fucked-up after all?

He lets out a groan and leans back on his arms, stretching his long legs out in front of him, his eyes glued to the girl on the floor. She stirs again, squirming under the blanket. A little whimper escapes her, causing him to shiver. Maybe she's dreaming. Though it does sound more like a nightmare... And of course it would be, the universe doesn't seem to give this girl a break.

For a moment he just watches her, when more and more whimpers and little gasps fall from her lips, but then he's had enough and leans in, slipping his hands under her coiled up body and pulls her closer, until she's curled up in his lap, head resting on his thigh. He crosses his legs and cages her in, holding her close, giving her the warmth and comfort she needs. She relaxes slowly, her breaths calming down, the whimpers turning into quiet mewls, then peaceful, deep breaths.

His fingers slip into her soft hair, down her neck, over the curve of her spine to the swell of her hip where he rests his hand, warm and comforting against the many layers she's wrapped in, showing her he's here. And isn't that what matters in the end, no matter who he is to her? As long as he's here for her?

He'll focus on that. No longer looking back, remembering a woman he hasn't seen in almost two decades. Keira is gone, wherever she may be. But Nebbia is right here, in his embrace. And he'll give the choice to her. If she wants to be close to him, he will let her, and he won't feel bad about wanting the same thing. And if she doesn't, he'll live with it, watching her from afar, imagining the things she's too shy and innocent to admit to.

And no fucking dimple will ever change that.

He fell asleep somehow, and now he's sprawled out on his back while the girl is still curled up between his legs, warm and comforting against him. And of course he's hard because of it. Stirring slightly, he stares up at the ceiling of the cabin, blinking that last dream away, while the dazzling sunlight floods the dusty place, burning away all shadows, all doubts, all deranged thoughts.

Groaning, he wipes at his face, pushes a hand through his messy hair, rolls his stiff neck. He doesn't feel rested, but it doesn't matter. It never does, at least he woke up to a new morning, to –

A sudden jolt rushes through his spine, a warm touch to a sensitive place, and he's quick to sit up on his elbows and looks down, seeing a small hand rubbing along the length of his cock over the fabric of his jeans. “What are you doing?” he grunts out, voice low and hoarse with sleep.

Green eyes meet his, the bundle of blankets, hair and limbs stirring between his legs. Her cheek rests on his thigh while her hand still works on what lies heavy on the other. “You've been so tense,” she whispers, her voice like a hum in the air, sweet like honey, words full of temptation.

“You... don't have to...” he groans as she keeps palming him, expertly he wants to say, but the revelation of that sits thick in his throat.

“I want to,” she replies quietly, as her fingertips trail the outline of the bulge in his pants, curious fingers pressing down with the same little strength as her palm. Moving up and down, teasing the base, poking at the tip. Not even the thick fabric of his jeans can dampen the sensations of her ministrations.

He shivers, swallows hard. “Don't,” he tries again, tempted to grab her wrist and pull her hand away. But he's also tempted to undo his belt, open his buttons, free his erection, and let her work. He's conflicted, so he does nothing but lie back down, crosses his arms behind his head, closes his eyes, leans into her touches.

She shifts between his legs, her free hand resting on his other thigh as she sits up, then it moves to the waistband of his pants, and he sees her doing what he has wanted her to do without even looking down. It's all there behind his eyelids, a fantasy he's had since he first met her.

Her full lips strained around his cock. Flushed cheeks hollowing, a tongue pressing warm and wet against the underside, a deep suck, saliva coating his skin, her big eyes on him as she takes him deeper, deeper, into her little throat until there are tears streaming down her face, and he feels her tightness, he –

He sits up with a grunt and grabs her hand before it can finish unbuttoning his jeans. She yelps at the harsh grip, and he lets go immediately, cursing under his breath. Without looking at her, he scrambles to his feet, breathing heavily, his heart thundering inside his chest. He can't. He shouldn't.

Adjusting himself as he walks, he buckles his belt again, steps out of the stuffy cabin into the bright sunlight, hoping it'll burn away his thoughts. There are shuffling footsteps behind him, then a small, timid hand on his back. He flinches, but doesn't turn around. He hears a little sound akin to a sob, braces himself, and then her arms snake around his stomach from behind as she throws herself against him, a shuddering little thing clinging to him with her face pressing into the curve of his back.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers into him, the hum vibrating through his tense body. He inhales deeply, then puts his hands on her arms, gently rubbing them, while her small body tries to crawl closer to his.

For a moment he just stands there, listening to her shaky breaths, but then it's getting too much, and he carefully pries her hands away from his stomach and turns around, looks down at the girl still wrapped in the blanket, meeting her large innocent green eyes. He crouches down in front of her and holds her hands in his, cradling them gently as he looks up at her.

“I should be sorry,” he says hoarsely. “And I am, I didn't mean to be that harsh...”

She shakes her head, a few wavy strands of hair flying about as she does. “You said no, I should have stopped...” she whispers, biting her lip.

His hands move up to cup her face, so small between his large palms, frail and innocent. He scoots a little closer, leans up on his knees to meet her eye level, holding her gaze. His thumbs caress the corners of her mouth. “Nebbia,” he starts, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions inside his heart, trying to convey his conflicts to her, “I –”

She interrupts him by putting her own small hands on his bearded cheeks, so small, so fragile, her touch warm but surprisingly strong, confident, wanting. Her breath ghosts his dry lips. She leans closer, tilting her head, moving in, eyes half-lidded, fingertips grazing his ears, slipping into his hair, thumbs scraping over his beard.

He's frozen in place, just looking at her, waiting, wanting, but also not, and when her little nose brushes against his, he stiffens even more, holding her face tightly, almost too tightly, but she keeps going, inch by inch she comes closer, and then –

It's him who closes the distance. A little tug of his hands, a little jerk of his chin towards her, and his lips collide with hers, a desperate smack that makes her gasp, that makes his heart flutter and his stomach churn. One hand on her jaw, thumb on her chin, the other slipping to the back of her neck, both of them guiding her into the kiss. The fire within roars to life.

He can't stop himself anymore, he moves his lips against hers, slowly at first, carefully, still waiting for her to mirror his movements, and when she finally does, when there's the tiniest pressure back, he groans against her, kissing her firmer, more demanding, his hand splayed over the back of her head, holding her, pushing her closer.

Her fingers sink to his neck, holding onto his shoulders as she staggers slightly against him, heavy little puffs of air coming from her as his lips press against...close around...nibble on hers, and oh, that sharp little inhale when the tip of his tongue moves against her bottom lip, licks along it, using the little gasp to move between her now parted lips.

But before he can push it in further, taste her fully, feel her own pressing back at him, he lets out a grunt and leans back abruptly before he rests his forehead heavy on her shoulder, his hands moving along her body as he wraps his arms around her, holding her in his tight embrace, feeling her shivers and shudders. Her small, frail body, overwhelmed by his urges...

“Ben?” she whispers, her hands coming up to rub at his back, teasing his nape.

He huffs another grunt, inhaling deeply, feeling his lips tingling, warm and wet and almost a little swollen. And he imagines how hers must look, probably even redder, maybe a little irritated from his beard scraping over sensitive skin. Her eyes wide, glistening, not understanding a thing, not seeing his turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and he barks a quiet laugh into her collarbone, growling in response. He inhales deeply, taking in her sweet scent, sleep still hanging over her, warm and comforting, filling his lungs.

“M'sorry, baby,” he mutters, slowly leaning back, loosening his grip around her.

When he looks at her, her eyes are narrowed in confusion, a little tilt to her head, and her lips, full lips, are indeed very red and slightly trembling. He leans back on his knees and raises a hand to cup her face, wipe his thumb over her bottom lip.

“I can't do this,” he whispers, staring at her mouth.

“Can't do what?” she replies in a breathy puff of air, almost sounding a little pouty. “What are you so afraid of?” she adds, voice shaking slightly.

He looks up then, meeting her hard gaze (as hard as a cute little girl can look, it's even more adorable that she's trying to appear tough, fighting her own emotions). His finger traces her cheek, rough fingertip scraping over soft skin. He watches her, memorizes the details of her face with his eyes, ignores her question. “Smile for me,” he whispers, leaning a little closer again.

She frowns, straining her features into the exact opposite direction. “What?”

“Smile for me,” he repeats with a soft smile of his own. She stares at him, blinks, but the corners of her mouth twitch, even more so when his smile widens, and she mimics it, and there it is.

He moves quickly, one hand on her nape as he guides her head towards him, then presses his lips to her cheek, parts them, lets the tip of his tongue dip into that barely there indent. He can feel it, taste her skin, the fucking dimple.

Breathing heavily against her, he closes his eyes, can't look at it. Can't look at her. His hands leave her body completely, resting on his thighs as he sits back on his knees in front of her, shaking his head in defeat.

The clap of her palms against his cheeks is loud as she cups his face with force. His eyes fly open, meeting hers. “What's wrong with you?” she whispers, sounding more confused than angry as she stares down at him.

Her words cut deep, but for a different reason than she intended. Yes, what is wrong with him... thinking these things about her... about his –

“Come on, Ben, talk to me! Why are you acting so strange?” she urges, holding his large head with her tiny hands.

“We have the same dimple,” he then confesses, letting it out, revealing the turmoil.

She looks even more confused. “What? Huh?” Her lips quiver as she opens her mouth and closes it again repeatedly, her eyes narrowed, a deep crease between her eyebrows. “So?”

He inhales deeply, then sighs. “I... I'm afraid I could be... your...” He can't say it, his voice strained, rough, a low tremble in his throat.

“What?” she breathes in exasperation.

“Father,” he finally says, quietly, a word like a ton of bricks burying him alive.

The tension in her face relaxes, turns into wide eyes, eyebrows moving up towards her hairline, lips parting into a silent O. A deep red blush creeps up her pale cheeks. He sees the cogs working inside her brain as she stares at him, the grip of her hands around his face loosening.

He just watches her, face tense under her soft palms, lips pressed into a thin line. She's slipping away, he can feel it, appalled, disturbed, irritated, angry? Disappointed? Her eyes move over his face, a frantic little twitch of green orbs moving back and forth, as she processes what he said. Her hands land on his shoulders, a barely there pressure.

But then she raises one again, extends a finger, traces his cheek, scrapes it over his beard, looking for the dimple that is hidden in the tension of his face. She finds it nevertheless, the little bit of skin barely visible between the thickness of his facial hair. Her eyes move back to his.

“So we have the same dimple,” she whispers, shrugging slightly. “So what? Is that all it takes to confirm that you're my... my... that I'm your...”

She can't say it either, apparently, and he sees the conflict in her gaze, the same as his. They seem clearly attracted to each other, their chemistry is there, the connection, a mirror image of his own desires, albeit probably less graphic. And yet –

“I've been with your mother, about twenty years ago, maybe a little less, I can't remember to be perfectly honest,” he says quietly. “It's possible...”

She shakes her head, slowly at first, then more agitated. “No!” she exclaims, her hands back on his face as she leans closer. He stays still, immobile, stiff, forcing himself not to give in to the temptations. “Madam Claire said –”

“What if she lied? What if your mother came to them already pregnant?” he whispers.

She keeps shaking her head, and he sees her eyes glistening slightly. Her breaths are frantic little huffs. “No,” she says again, barely audible. Her jaw clenches, her eyebrows furrow, she looks as if she's about to cry, and it's killing him.

“Baby,” he breathes, his hands itching to reach up and comfort her.

She swallows. “Do you... want to be my... father?” she then asks, blinking away the first tear.

His answer comes quick, almost harshly so. “No,” he says, seeing her flinch. “I want to be there for you, I want to protect you, but I also want to –” He inhales deeply, slowly moving up on his knees, getting closer, his hand finding its way to her waist. “Kiss you... and... touch you...”

She licks her lips, watching him, inching closer, meeting his motion. “Then... you're not... n-not my f-father,” she stammers, her lips quivering. “There's no proof... it doesn't m-matter...” Her thumbs wipe over the corners of his mouth, her eyes pleading.

He looks at her, his fingers digging gently into her skin. His other hand moves around her, up her back, to her nape, a gentle pressure as he pulls her even closer. “Nebbia...”

“It doesn't matter, Ben,” she whispers, her eyes boring into his.

And then she moves in, and her trembling lips meet his. Her kiss is shaky, uncertain, inexperienced. He lets her, just stays still, holds her. She moves her lips over his, purses them slightly, presses them to the corner of his mouth, to his upper lip, his bottom lip, a shiver running through her small frame. Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn't close them.

After a moment she leans back just enough that there's about an inch between them. Her warm breath ghosts his skin, her hands a little clammy against his cheeks. The tiniest sob escapes her, but he catches it before it can grow, before it gets worse. Catches it with his mouth. She gasps, but immediately kisses him back as he moves his lips against hers, even opens her mouth for him, darts her tongue out, meets his, lets them move against each other slowly, wet and warm and comforting.

Her taste is overwhelming.

He groans, she hums, his hand firmly on her neck, her fingers digging into his hair, gripping it as the kiss deepens. The hand on her waist drags her towards him, and she stumbles slightly until she's suddenly sitting on his thighs, straddling him, the blanket finally falling off her shoulders. He wraps an arm around her, pulls her close, leans back on his knees, gives her space that she immediately fills, while their tongues still wrestle, their lips still slide against each other, their noises a soft hum in the atmosphere, drowning out any doubts.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't...

Doesn't matter.

She is panting against him, her hands gripping his hair while he holds her, arms crossed over her back, fingers curling around her sides, her small body pressed against him, so close, so warm, squirming on his lap, rubbing against him. He groans into her mouth as his stomach tightens. Her needy little whimpers like music in his ears. She is obviously breathless, her lungs probably burning, but she doesn't stop, doesn't give her tongue or lips a break, as if she needs him more than air – and just as much as he needs her.

He takes the choice from her by turning his head slightly, inhaling deeply, and her lips keep moving over his cheek, to his jaw, down his neck, her little tongue sliding over his pulse causing him to shiver. She's insatiable, but he holds her close, moves one hand into her hair, stilling her against the crook of his neck, forcing her to breathe. Her chest rises and falls against his rapidly, her heart hammering against her ribs, vibrating through him as he presses his thumb against her jugular.

For a long moment they're just sitting like this, holding onto each other, savoring the aftermath of their kiss, each of them stewing in their own thoughts, if they are any due to lack of oxygen. His own are a low, nagging rumble in the back of his mind, and he tries his best to ignore them and to focus on the girl on his lap instead. She squirms slightly, the pressure of her pelvis against his groin sending little sparks through his nerves.

He noses at her hair, taking in her scent, hoping to drown in it. In his mind he is back at the brothel, cornering the lady of the house, forcing her to give him proof. It doesn't matter. But he needs proof. She could hold the answer, and even if it would confirm his suspicions, it wouldn't change anything. It doesn't matter. But he would know.

He needs to know.

Chapter 6 -- Chapter 8

End notes: I don't know about you, but I loved (writing) this chapter! So much drama, passion, angst and fluff and ahhh so good! Take this, slow burn! We've got contact! And a revelation that might bit a little off-putting for some... BUT before you leave because ew incest, hear me out: without spoiling anything: IF this becomes a reality or not (you'll have to stick with me here to find out, sorry), remember this is a piece of fiction! Just two people with a connection. A fluffy little love story (with eventual smut, just putting it out there). (Also historically speaking, well, the west was wild, right?)

I really hope you're more intrigued than you are appalled, because we're just getting started here! The drama continues! Please stay tuned!

Credits to the respective owners of those pictures. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around tumblr. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thanks for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS