#'cause i dropped out

[chloesimaginationthings]

Nightmare critters REAL introduction in poppy playtime

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

sorry starscream

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

aroace sonic: *says the most flirty shit ever* also aroace sonic seconds later: *does a backflip of the couch and almost lands on his face* literally anyone: wtf.

He’s got the range

(Aroace Sonic compliments pt 4)

[hollis-art]

the medical malpractice show but as women because i said so

[paintedcrows]

...I was payed negative 12 dollars to draw this

[lazylittledragon]

so uhhhhhhhh. not to be cryptic and bitchy on main but congratulations to everyone in my messages for like 5 months on being right i guess

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - III

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: The only problem with being in love with a flame is that you can actually get burned if you get too close… ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Blowjob, angst with no comfort, cunnilingus, talking you through it, fingering. Reader has some self-esteem issues. Mention of difficult past relationships. ✦ Words: 5,1k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. Hope this won't disappoint after all this time! AO3 link here!

Part I - Part II - Part III

Wet noises and moans. The wood near camp is filled with them, contrasting with the tranquil, usual melody of the forest.

"Jesus, girl, easy…" Arthur hisses, pleads, even. His voice is low and raspy and so deep, close to that tone he has while taming a horse, but with that desperate urgency hidden inside.

You let go of him just for a few seconds, his tip tilting up on its own, twitching in nothing as he gasps sharply from the sudden change; boiling volcano to harsh, frosty air of this fresh dawn. He instantly misses the sweet and warm sensation of your mouth wrapped around him.

"What, you want me to stop?" You grin, teasing, your lips still close –too close– to his cockhead, brushing against its soft and wet skin, rosy color glistening and beading in the sunlight like an unresisteable treat for you to suck on.

He let out a short sigh, somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. "Hell no, but y'know I ain't gonna last long if ya- aaah"

Your lips had opened and eaten him and the last of his words whole, fully and voraciously. He curses, too loudly for his own ego not to frown at him, but what could he do? He had never been able to resist you since the very first time he had seen that silhouette of yours; now how could he, watching you on your knees, head between his thighs, his cock buried inside of your velvety throat. Every time, you were making him get closer to Heaven, achieving the miracle of opening the Gates once more.

A big hand gently falls on your head, fingers messily tangling in your hair, while he lets his hips succumb to the irresistible rocking they're urging him to, his fat shaft pulling in and out of your mouth. Not too brutally, never. You can feel the hardness of it against your tongue, against the back of your throat, and you smile to yourself noticing just how close he indeed is already. Your hands hold his shirt from each side of his waist –that overused blue shirt he hadn't stripped from, his member only fished out of his pants and union suit. Funny, how you noticed meaningless details in moments like those. Remnants of reality to keep you grounded on Earth, maybe. How the abused cotton feel under your fingertips. How his body and cock smell strong and manly and fucking divine. How the few dark curls escaping his clothes tickle your nose every time you push your face to his base. The way he tastes under your tongue, salty and heady. How the tip of his fingers feel against your scalp.

"Oh god, damn it, how– how can ya be so good every' goddamn time…" He rasps, his eyes closing as he feels his orgasm coming at him with the force and speed of an avalanche; his hips thrust a bit faster, but it's subtle. You know he doesn't allow himself to be rougher than that with you. Invisible threads braided from his own problems, insecurities and griefs holding him back, pulling on his limbs as if he were only a puppet of theirs. His speech flows more freely, though, like to compensate, sinful, incoherent words flooding and flooding and flooding as he praises you again and again to the very end…

"Yeah, such a good girl, so god-damn perfect, taking me so good darlin'." His hand tightens in your hair, "Aaaall that' dirty mouth, jus' for me." His hips shudder, his eyes shut close as he pounds one last time and stays right there deep in your throat. - Oh, shit!"

His dick hardens as he spills inside, unable to stop it, secretly not wanting to. And it's so perfect, his head almost gets dizzy from it, his free hand holding the tree against which he's leaning to stop himself from collapsing. His cum warm in the back of your throat as he sinfully paints it. Balls empty, as almost constantly now, a stark contrast to their painful fullness of a few weeks ago, he groans softly in pleasure and fatigue, breathing in and out heavily through his nose in this blissful state.

His hand travels from your hair to your cheek, caressing your skin in a tender gesture. A gesture of gratitude. Thank you for making me feel like this. Thank you for doing it every day. For stopping the pain in my bones from burning me more, even just for a few minutes. For bringing solace to both my body and my soul.

Of course, no words ever cross his lips as he helps you stand up. His legs almost go weak again when he catches you swallowing with that proud, self-satisfied grin of yours. A nymph, he had thought of you the first time you had slept together. More like a succubus of Lust, he corrects and chuckles to himself.

"You're a wild one." He states, buttoning back his union suit, then his pants.

"You like that about me."

"Probably more than a' should, dalrin" … Ain't proper for a man to fancy a girl that much."

"Takling about that, it ain't proper neither to cary yourself with a cock that big…"

His hands fumble with his belt he had just picked up from the ground, his Volcanic revolver suddenly falling in the grass with a loud, muted sound. His head snaps up to look at you, his cheeks tinged a beautiful pink as a teenage boy getting his first kiss right on them. He's genuinely flabbergasted for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open in confusion, thin lips hanging a bit dumbly. It reminds you of that night you had caught him in the act in Rhodes, and you let a chuckle escape.

"Ya shouldn't say stuff like that, 'specially not a few feet away from camp." He protests, his usual frown settling deeply between his brows, instinctively rejecting your praise. He finishes buckling up his belt as he intended to in the first place, trying to brush off the primal, manly feeling of pride your comment had ignited in his guts. His enormous pistol he shoves back into his holster isn't helping with that either.

"You weren't that bothered about sound a few seconds ago…" You remark, brushing your knees then trying to fix your hair not to look too disheveled -as if you hadn't just sucked the hell out of the gang's toughest enforcer just a few seconds ago.

"Hush now, woman." He replaces his hat straight on top of his head with one hand, an amused smirk pulling his lips up. He looks down at you, gaze full of softness, deep blue color the only witness to the meanderings of his thoughts.

Looking at those eyes was like looking at the depths of a lake from above. You could always tell there was some life and movement under the water's surface, but couldn't point out what mysterious creature was swarming in those abyssal, muddy waters.

"I'll take care of ya tonight. 'm gonna make that cheeky grin disappear."

You shiver at the promise. You knew just how good Arthur surprisingly was at taking care of women that way. Biting your lips, you whisper some sultry last words in return, saying how you couldn't wait, before turning your heels and walking off to the numerous amount of chores still waiting for you.

Arthur doesn't bother to ogle at your ass as you do, your hips swinging subtly under your dress, the movment hypnotizing as you had almost reached camp. You both really should have walked further away from it, but damn it he couldn't had waited a second more with how hellish you were making his life at camp be. Stealing secret kisses, bending just in front of him, purposely getting your clothes wet, sometimes even downright caressing his crotch when no one was looking. And at the same time, you made it all heavenly, as some sort of devilish salvation. He scratches his jaw and walks the opposite way, not wanting to appear too obvious with the both of you coming back from the same spot together. There probably was not much to save, but still. His cock soft and satisfied and comfortable in his pants, his heart light, his good mood pushes him to accept Javier's friendly invitation to go fishing.

He can't help but let his thoughts get back to you, though. It had become more than a habit at this point, it was an obsession. Tasting your flesh, touching your skin, making love to you, and making one with you, it had all made him a devotee. He was a preacher who had the unthinkable privilege of having met his God.

He isn't catching much fish compared to Javier who was emptying the damn pond by himself. But he didn't care at all. It was a good, sunny day. One of the best he was having in a long time.

Your face isn't hiding the euphoria you're radiating with. All the contrary. Sat under the girl's tent not too far from the lake's shore, bucket of soapy water between your legs, you even hum a tune that makes Tilly smile next to you, her mending on Hosea's jacket a little less mundane. You don't complain even once about your tiring chore as you usually do. In fact, it feels like there's no worry in the whole world. Like those quiet moments of peace, pleasant good weather between two storms. The frogs croaking from the lake, the birds and chickens chirping, Pearson and Grimshaw in deep conversation a feet away from you. Uncle's banjo. Not even Micah's filthy shirt covered in blood from a few moments ago could bring you down; the now-washed and mended cloth hung on the thread to dry along the dozen other ones you had taken care of.

"You're quite in the mood today, mh?" Tilly asks, an amused expression on her young face, with that light tone of voice you had grown to love dearly.

"Could say so…"

You voluntarily stay elusive, too proud and happy with yourself about all that had happened between you and Arthur since the gang had settled here. The thought of him emerges in your head once more as you realise the next piece of clothing to wash is one of his workshirts, the torn and dirty red fabric feeling coarse between your hands. It reminds you of earlier. The strong smell of his sweat fills your nose. It should have disgusted you more than anything, but all the contrary made your body grow hotter. You let a small chuckle escape you.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Is Arthur's shirt covered in some unknown substance again?"

"No, it's just…" You start, unable to resist the urge to finally tell someone about it, words simmering in your throat like an agitated pot. "It's just I can't help but think about what's actually under it, you know?" You hold the large shirt in front of you, eyes studying it with an obvious interest.

Tilly laughs quietly, her eyes still fixed on her knitting, slowly nodding with a knowing smirk. "Oh, trust me, sweetie, every girl here thought 'bout it at least once -

"No, I mean, I know how he actually looks… Without any clothes on…"

The needle stops in the air, and she turns her head to you, the biggest smile on her face, her eyes burning with that flame of curiosity that swallows everything once you've discovered the surface of something utterly interesting, a gold digger unable to stop searching for more. Her eyes dart quickly between the two of yours, as you can watch in real time the wheels turning in her head.

"Girl, are you serious right now?"

"We did it. Like, a lot of times." You drop a bomb, for the third time today. You can't help but love the way she's reacting, your heart swelling with pride, your brain bubbling from getting that sort of attention.

"I knew it! I just knew it! It was so obvious, I mean," the young girl expresses with the speed of a train, "Just the way he was looking at you, spending more and more time at camp, following you everywhere!"

You feel your cheek slightly burn, and your chest rising higher. Why was it all so important to you? You didn't exactly know, but it felt great hearing Tilly, a friend, maybe a sister even, expressing her excitement.

"Yeah, well, it was just for fun, you know? I guess he really needed to blow off some steam, and I was there, more than happy to help…"

"Oh my God, this is so exciting!" She puts her needle and Hosea's garment aside. "Tell me more! How is he like?"

"In bed…? Well, a bit like his usual self, I guess. Rough at times, but always… Gentle."

Tilly nods slowly in agreement, her lips still pulled into a mischievous grin.

"And he's needy and eager, oh my Lord Tilly, you have no idea how much he–

You were about to put Arthur's shirt in the laundry bucket and spill another juicy information before you're pulled off your perfect little cloud.

"I can't believe you're bragging about all this."

You tilt up your gaze, and you're met with Mary-Beth. She, so sweet and delicate, who had been so close to you since the first days you had joined the gang. Who had always treated you with kindness and understanding. You had never heard her talk to you this way.

Seeing you're not answering anything, Mary-Beth continues, her hands on her hips.

"Arthur's not your little toy to play with, [Name]. He's been through much more than you can imagine, and his heart should be nursed, not fooled."

Her tone isn't purposely mean, but it's still firm. It holds a deeper truth in it, something unsettling that puts you right back face to face with your flaws and responsibilities. She's scolding you like a mom would with her favorite daughter who had disappointed her. And it's moving, as difficult as it is to admit.

"I… I didn't think-

"Listen, I know you're not a bad person, and you don't think you're doing anything wrong," She starts, her arms now crossed on her chest, her eyes leaving you no escape. "But Arthur is fragile when it comes to love. I know he doesn't look like he could be fragile about anything, but it's the truth."

You search for words to answer, but nothing comes; it is as if you were trying to get out of quicksand with no branches strong enough to pull you out of the mess. You simply look at the ground, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't break his heart, please."

And she vanishes as quickly as she had appeared, heading towards Pearson's wagon. You can still see her from afar, and a weird, nauseous feeling settles in your throat. No words from Tilly, trying to reassure you in multiple ways, saying Mary-Beth is probably jealous or too worried, and that you should do what you want, could make it go away. She tries to cheer you up and ask some more questions, searching for the blaze of excitement and amusement from before, but the mood has definitely shifted.

You finally put Arthur's shirt in the bucket, its ruby color turning into a brownish, muddy one as all the dirt lifts off in the water. You watch it swirl in thick whirlpools of mud and foam intertwined, and you start to wonder. Was he falling in love with you? Were you about to break his heart? Was he searching for more, for something serious?

You had always thought Arthur was not the type to fall easily for someone. In fact, you had never seen him being romantically enterprising with a woman since you had known him. And between the two of you? It was all so recent. It all happened so fast. Inevitably, your thoughts travel to your past relationships. How they had failed, every time. How those men had left you, all without exception. How you had been deceived and cheated on and lied to. After years and years of it, you had come to the only conclusion. You were cursed. You were not enough. You weren't meant to be loved that way. To build something stable. You were sure of it.

"His heart deserves to be nursed."

That was certainly true.

But what happens to hearts that can't be saved or loved? What happened to hearts that had been dropped too many times, and left alone to shrink in the dark? Do they slowly fade and rot after so much time spent unused? Do they gather in a graveyard to die altogether, like a melancholic last procession before the unthinkable?

Are they capable of nursing another heart, although they haven't seen one in what felt like ages? Although they're already doomed?

Like a trap of glue engulfing you whole, those questions and reflexions stick to your skin and take up all the space in your mind for the rest of the day.

Arthur's tongue has no mercy for you. Well determined to give you a taste of your own medicine from what you had done to him in the woods near camp the same morning, he had been quick to shorten his dinner and usual evening around the campfire, not so subtly commanding you to come and join him in his tent.

You didn't even know the flaps could close before. Now, they're closed almost all of the time, guaranteeing the two of you a semblance of privacy, or at least a shield from the other's nosy gaze. Tonight it would save them from seeing you lying on your back on Arthur's cot right now, legs spread open, his huge, coarse hands keeping them in place, his head buried in your center as he drank from you like he would have from the purest and freshest of water from a wild cascade. Slowly, almost lovingly –and the thought brings back the knot in your throat– his mouth kiss and licks relentlessly your entrance, before laping all the way up to your clit, lips suckling at it as if wanting to suck poison from a snakebite.

You moan, the feeling delightful, the sight mesmerizing. Oh, those two blue eyes looking at your face from between your legs, those golden brown locks falling on his forehead, his lips red and wrapped around you, his crooked nose buried in your folds. You can almost feel how afire he himself is, like every time he takes care of you like this. And it doesn't surprise you. Arthur, the protector. Arthur, the giver. Arthur, the man who could spend a whole month outside in the wild if it would benefit Dutch or the gang. Arthur, the man who knocks giants down when they get too close to the girls and rips families from their lifetime savings, destroying his honor and dignity for his own folks. No wonder Mary-Beth was so protective of him, in return. Arthur could and would move mountains for them.

For you.

And it hits you, right in the middle of it, as this man is giving his soul to you, more dedicated to your pussy than you had ever seen any men be, eating every inches of it and thanking the Gods for allowing him to, lips litteraly french-kissing your slit with his eyes closed and his brows tilted upward as if tasting the most incredible meal he had ever tasted, drunk from it.

Of course. Of course, he was a head-over-heels romantic too.

Your brain starts to get caught in that glue trap again, but hopefully for you, it's the exact moment when he decides to brush a finger against your entrance. Pressing gently, reverently, his fingertip softly swiping against your skin, collecting your arousal and his saliva in a sinfully wet noise. And he sighs deeply. Oh God, how could you not have noticed before? Every gesture from him is a prayer to you. To his deity. He looks at you, attentive to your every reaction. Wanting to make sure you're feeling good, that you're feeling perfect.

He must have noticed you're not in your normal state, your teasing and provocative comments missing from the picture. He leave your cunt just for a few seconds, and his lips rubs gently against it as he talks, stubble softly scratching,

"You okay there, darlin'?" You can feel his warm breath against you, your legs going weak at it.

"All g-good, don't stop. Arthur, please…"

I don't want to talk about it. Please, please don't ask anything else, just keep going.

"Relax, sweetheart, everythin's alright, okay?"

And something in you almost breaks at how tender he is. He doesn't even know what's bothering you. But he notices it. And he cares about it, about you. Like he would do for a scared mare, he gently comforts and praises you, resting his cheek against your inner thigh as he regains some of his breath and uses his fingers to take over.

"That's it, girl, juuuus' like that." He groans in an affirmative tone as he feels your inside, warm and silky and softer than velvet. "Yeah, let yaself go, honey, come on." His index finger penetrates you in a slow, very slow push, every inch of it filling you little by little.

"Good."

His first finger is quickly joined by his middle one, and their tip directly reaches and starts to brush against that spot you like so much, making you arch your back and moan for his own delight.

"That's it, y'see? So perfect, lettin' all go for me." He hums in approval. "Ma' girl." He adds with a curl of his digits.

His girl.

Do you want to be his girl? Are you ready for this? For commitment? The questions are back in your messy brain. You will screw this up like always. Every time you had trusted a man, he had shattered your heart into a million pieces and had danced on it. The same heart beats fast in your chest, and you're afraid the baldly patched up pieces won't hold.

A weird mix of feelings overwhelms you; your soul a painting that uses too many colors that don't fit together at all; a grotesque blend of green and pink, and black and red. Every brush stroke covers you one by one like waves wash the shores -pleasure, fear, excitement, panic, affection, affliction.

"Let it go, darlin'," Arthur whispers again, almost begging you, his fingers curling again and again, brushing exactly where you need them every time, the pleasure reaching vertiginous peaks. This time he looks at them, shoving them in you, then retrieving and again, like in a trance. He's almost drooling at the sight. It's impossible to resist him. To resist this.

And it is so good that it finally suppresses anything else - a bucket of red paint splashed all over the canvas. One of your hand instantly reaches for his head, roughly bringing it back to your clit, and he happily complies, still groaning his praises when he feels your pussy pulsing around his fingers or hears your moans getting louder, the smell of your sex filling both his nostrils and his animalistic appetite.

His tongue finally finding again that nod of pleasure on the oustide, along with his two broad fingers that easily feel like a whole cock fucking that spot on the inside, the red leaks from the canvas and swallows everything in its path. He pumps and pumps and pumps faster and fasterand with a few more hard licks against your pussy, you finally come all against him, his mouth answering with a warm deep growling sound of pleasure coming deep from his throat.

A few moments of relief, when all that is heard is the camp's life around Arthur's tent, the frogs croaking from the lake, unaware of your inner struggles, and your heavy breathings.

Then the red curtain rises, and everything's back, in an even stronger way. You wish there were a way to stay in that sort of foolish, satisfied, dumb post-sex state. But Arthur using his black bandana to gently cleaning up your cunt grounds you to the inevitable reality. He hasn't even bothered to clean himself up first, his mouth and chin glistening in the dark of the evening. Once done, he gets up into a sitting position at the edge of his cot.

"Did ya like it?"

No man had ever asked you that. Nor looked at you with those big, shining, expectant eyes. Almost like a puppy. You want to tease him, as you had taken the habit of, as your nature was telling you to, but now, Mary Beth's words were resonating into your head, caging you once again. You shouldn't even be there in the first place. Both of you were going to end up hurt. You were convinced of it.

"Yes."

You can't say anything else. He looks at you while quickly wiping up his mouth and beard with his bare hand, waiting for more. But if you start talking, you know it won't end up well. Your body is screaming at you to flee. You don't even know why. Everything is jostled and tossed about in your head. So you listen to the irrational. You get up and reach for your undergarments, dressing back quickly. You wrap yourself up in your red shawl, covering the last piece of your skin from his gaze. And into your shell you go. The scarf feels like it's strangling your neck.

As you are about to wish him goodnight, one of his strong hands grabs your arm, holding a bit of the fabric too.

"Wait, [Name]."

You slowly look up at him. He's still as expectant as before. Your heart tightens.

"I erm… Y'know I thought… I thought that you could stay here a bit?" The puppy eyes again. There's a softness in this picture that makes your own self spit at your face for knowing you'll destroy it just in a few seconds.

"You mean, stay here and sleep with you tonight?"

"Well, yeah, if you want t-

"I can't."

An awkward silence slowly falls after your words and cuts deep through his flesh.

Your heart still beating powerfully in your chest, you feel like the roles are reversed from that unforgettable night at the Parlor house, this time you feeling like you've been trapped, or exposed, you don't really know, but like a frightened animal, your panic is getting the better of you.

"What d'ya mean you can't?"

"Arthur, I… This is complicated, I can't, I…"

I can't offer you what you need. Tell him. Just tell him. Why are you stuck like this, fucking tell him.

Both up facing each other, his hand still holding you firmly, your eyes cross his and there's a thousand unspoken words shared between your two souls. Flying and clashing silently like a meteor shower crashing against another one a thousand light-years deep in space, sound lost but consequences devastating. And you're a coward. His beautiful, rugged features are shutting, satisfied grin long gone. The blue of his eyes forever inscrutable. Your feet are acting on their own. You need to fly away, now. Getting too close is going to destroy absolutely everything. Run away. Now.

"I'm sorry."

Those shitty, dumb words fall from your mouth as some tears threaten to fall from your eyes. You walk away, his fingers closing in on your shawl. You almost run out of his tent, leaving it behind.

You don't even try to look back. You can't. You don't want to verify if you're actually destroying him right now, doing the very same thing your past lovers had done to you. Maybe he doesn't even care after all. You don't hear him say a word.

The painting inside you is saturated. A few new colors added: shame, guilt, sadness. It doesn't get better, as you take refuge in the girl's tent, not wanting to sleep right next to his. You see the form of the others on the floor, and as you lay and curl up to your side, you whisper for Mary-Beth to hear, or for you to ease your conscience and be able to sleep,

"I've stopped it before it was too late."

The days after are out of time for you. As if isolated in another dimension away from the real world, things are happening around you but it fly high above your head. People talking to you, chores, Abigail and John arguing, music notes from an instrument, you weren't not even sure which. And, to your awful surprise, your throat still feels tight and knotted. Frustrated, you try to ignore your own urges, too, your body screaming from the sudden lack of sexual satisfaction you had granted him more than daily, as if you had stopped smoking all of a sudden and were physically needing a sweetly burning cigarette at all costs. But as much as you think about him, you try to avoid Arthur.

It's only for the better.

Every morning, you keep repeating it. Trying to convince yourself you had not made a complete mistake. But truth be told, not talking to him feels heavier than you had thought. Seeing him going out of town with Sadie and coming back laughing with her, too.

Heav heavy heavy. Heavy to hold for this shrunk heart.

On the seventh morning, you're convinced you've made the worst decision that night. But you weren't one to let life bring you down. You could fix it. You would fix it. At least, would try and talk to him again. Be friends with him again. Was it even possible? You didn't know, but you had to try. Arthur's absence felt too heavy to keep living your life like this.

And, to be honest, the poor man deserved at least a proper explanation.

That was settled. Determined, searching for him to break the mutism in which both of you had fallen is the first thing you do after breakfast. Soon enough though, life's revenge smacks you in the face when Hosea informs you you wouldn't be able to find him in camp because he had just gone on a mission with Dutch and Micah. Something to do with the O'Driscolls, apparently.

No matter. You were sure of yourself now. You would talk to him as soon as he came home and get off his horse.

But you should have known it by now. Life is having a fight with you, and it always is one step ahead. Because Arthur didn't come back that night.

Nor the day after.

a/n: Sooo 5k words again, guess it is a habit at this point. Also super stressed again because this series is definitely having some attention and I'm so scared of disappointing. Also, having Reader's pov and reversing the usual roles is a bit of a challenge so I'm even more nervous about it, hope it was enjoyable!

Oh, and also as always, please let me know if there are any typos! This isn't proofread!

Anyway, thank you so, so much for the amount of love you're giving to those fics, guys!!

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith @arthurmorganist @blueskies664 @tranquilty @stilliwait @maxiismp @stottlemorgan @lizynownow (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in part3, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 102

 Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. In for ten seconds, out for eight. Alright. Okay. “Let me get this straight,” he didn’t motion to the three teens- or not teens even if two apparently looked like they were- but it was a close thing. “You-” 

 Phantom perked up, white hair flickering with what he was pretty sure were stars as they turned away from the window looking out into space. “-are two years old.” The fae-esque being who looked more like a fourteen year old gave a half-distracted nod. Which, for a toddler, they were paying attention pretty well. 

 “You-” Klarion looked up from where he was fiddling with the cuffs that had been on him, cat sprawled on his shoulder now that it was out of the carrier. “-are six?” Another distracted nod, the apparently-child seemingly enamored with the sounds the cuffs made when they clinked together. 

  “And you-” He turned towards Marvel, who shrank back before seemingly steeling themself. “-are in fact ten.” The… well they had thought demigod but apparently all three were some sort of realms-being, which had apparently made Constantine pale and start cursing before stomping out of the Watchtower. Another nod and shaky thumbs up. 

 Alright. Okay. They had in fact let a ten-year old join the league, which wouldn’t have been so bad if they had known. Especially the fact that apparently Marvel was only half-human, which suddenly explained so much about how he didn’t know so many things about a human life. Which-

 “You,” he turned towards Phantom again to make sure he was listening before returning his attention to Marvel. “And you have both lived at least a year in the human realm with human companions, but your-” He turned his gaze towards the ravenette in the center. The six year old apparently. “-experience with the human realm is literally just with the Light.” 

 Yet another distracted nod. Okay. Bruce was tempted to scream in a room for the entire situation that had cropped up from the single action of taking Klarion’s familiar and then the boy himself into custody. Then again, it was honestly a much better thing they had apparently caught this. 

 “Alright,” he sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted. “To make sure I have all of this correct-” Because it was already a shitshow and the amount of shouting had absolutely spooked the child. To the point he’d- according to Marvel- made what was apparently some sort of very distressed noise that had made both him and Phantom running. Or rather flying and portaling. 

 “-in the realms, people there make friends through fighting,” Bruce pauses to make sure he got that part correct. The origin of this entire misunderstanding with the chaos-lord. Lordling? 

 All three nodded, Klarion losing interest in the cuffs and starting to pet his cat. Familiar. Everyone had referred to it as a familiar and Marvel had appeared utterly horrified that they had taken said familiar away. Somehow he was the one the trio were currently trusting and weren’t doing the same towards any of the other league members. 

 “And you have been trying to make friends with the Jr team, which they have been taking as an attack due to this miscommunication.” Honestly they should have gotten more information, though he couldn’t exactly blame any of the teens, what with everything they were currently dealing with. 

 “... is there any sort of guardian or something you might have, that can be contacted? Or anyone that could help prevent a situation like this from happening again?” All three avoided his eyes, suddenly finding things like the table and walls very interesting. 

 Oh. Hm. This could be a problem.

[bleedingoptimism]

“I’m sorry Steve, I thought we were just having fun! I enjoyed you taking me out and paying for everything that’s all…” Is what Shelley said to him when Steve walked into the bar and saw her flirting with another guy. 

Obviously, he smiled and shook his head, said everything was okay, ‘Just a silly misunderstanding’ and left, ever so graceful. But the second he was outside he cursed, tried not to shed a tear, failed, and then started laughing. 

He probably looks like a mad man, or a drunk. But no, don’t worry people, he’s not drunk or crazy, he’s just really, really stupid. He thought Shelley really liked him, he thought they were dating. And Shelley just assumed he was just another playboy so she played him back. He’s not even mad at her. She didn't mean to hurt him. It’s not her fault Steve is just so easy to hurt. 

Sighing, he gets his phone out to get an uber and hugs himself even though it’s not really that cold outside, waiting for his car, already imagining the big, greasy burger he’s going to order when he gets home. He deserves it, okay?

The car that pulls out has definitely seen better days, but it’s clean and comfortable so Steve doesn’t think twice about getting in. He offers the driver a smile through the rearview mirror, sparing a moment to notice his eyes are big and dark, and they crinkle when he smiles back at him. 

Steve sits stiff and straight for a moment before realizing no one is there to judge him right now and he deflates, sighing again and letting himself collapse against the seat. Still hugging himself to feel any sort of comfort, he bumps his head against the window softly a couple of times. 

“Long night?” The driver asks him in a friendly manner.

Steve meets his eyes in the rearview again and shrugs, smiling back crookedly “Thought I should go home early since I already accomplished making an ass of myself for the night”

He checks the uber app for the driver’s name, doesn’t want to be rude by not remembering. ‘Eddie’ chuckles at Steve's statement.

“You did, huh? Well good job on getting it out of the way then,”

Steve chuckles back, “Yeah, I was actually thinking I deserve a treat”

He notices Eddie looking back at him a couple of times before breathing an interested, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “A huge cheesy burger or something” Wondering what Eddie was thinking he’d say.

Eddie laughs again, “Oh! Right of course” and just when he’s about to say something else his phone rings.

“Oh, sorry” Eddie murmurs, immediately hanging up on whoever is calling. 

“No worries,” Steve mumbles back, sitting up a little straighter again. 

“So, what’s your favorite dirty burger place?” Eddie asks him. 

Steve can tell he’s trying to distract him from the mood he entered the car with and he really appreciates it.

He sits forward and leans his forearms against the headrest of the passenger seat, “Oh, there’s so many, but…” from this angle, he can see Eddie’s face better, and he can’t help but think he’s got a really nice looking profile, long lashes, full lips, and the cutest nose he’s ever seen, “I think Benny’s the best one” he finishes.

Eddie pulls at a stop light and turns to look at him with a smile and he’s so much prettier than Steve first thought he involuntarily gasps. But thankfully Eddie is talking excitedly and doesn’t seem to notice.

“No way you know Benny’s?! Benny is my uncle! Well, he’s married to my uncle actually- you know what I mean but yeah, Benny’s is great!” 

It’s such a weird coincidence that it managed to take Steve out of his stupor and he’s suddenly just as excited as Eddie,

“Really? Oh my god, I’m so jealous right now, I wished I could live at Benny’s sometimes” 

Eddie laughs, and just when he opens his mouth to reply his phone rings again. This time he doesn’t immediately hang up and Steve sees the screen light up with the name “you deserve better” 

Ouch, he thinks, and his heartstrings tug for his cute, sweet, uber driver. Who offered him friendly conversation cause he noticed he was feeling down and has the most beautiful laugh. He doesn't really know why he feels so strongly about it, he doesn't even know Eddie… but he still feels the text is right. Whoever hurt him, Eddie deserved better.

“Hey,” He says softly when Eddie hangs up cursing.

Eddie sighs again, “I’m so sorry,” 

“Hey, no. It’s fine,” Steve replies, resisting the urge to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He figures, after the way his night started, he’s got nothing to lose so he says, “So much talk about Benny’s I feel like I need to go there right now.” 

Eddie let’s out a distracted “Huh?” and Steve soldiers on, “Wanna change the destination and join me? You can take me home after,”

He notices Eddie doing a double take and blushing, “Really? I- Am- I- okay” he stammers but Steve can’t really figure out why.

“Yeah, you know, that way you don’t lose time on the job and have another ride?” He finishes and Eddie laughs,

“Oh, right. Yeah That- makes sense”

They keep talking about their favorite things on the menu on the way there and soon they are sitting face to face in a booth at Benny’s.

What a pair they make, Steve in a three piece suit, jacket off, vest undone and shirt rolled up to his forearms. And Eddie with sweats and a hoodie. 

Eddie is even better looking in the shitty dinner light and the blush that adorns his cheeks ever since they came in makes Steve wanna kiss them to feel their warmth.

Benny himself comes to take their order, and Eddie gets up to hug him and introduces him to Steve. They already know each other, because Steve does come to the dinner often and Benny lets Eddie know that.

Eddie thinks it's hilarious that they both have been here so much and never saw each other before, but Steve can’t help to think it’s a shame.

“I actually would’ve loved to have met you sooner,” he tells Eddie at one point and watches curiously as Eddie’s blush turns a few shades darker.

As they eat, Steve tells Eddie about Shelley, about his hopes, about misreading the situation, about his shame. How he doesn’t even think he liked Shelley that much, but he just wanted to have something real. Eddie gets mad at him for blaming himself, tells him it wasn’t his fault, that he’s being too hard on himself. And it’s not a bad thing to consider but all Steve can think about is how cute Eddie looks when he’s mad on his behalf.

Eventually, Eddie tells Steve about whoever was calling him. 

“I met him at my last job. I thought he was so cool but turns out he was actually just cold,” Eddie shrugs, “We dated for like 6 months or something, not that long but, I was miserable the whole time and I didn’t even realize it was because of him.” 

Eddie’s hand is tearing up a paper napkin between them and Steve tentatively settles his hand over Eddie’s, who stops destroying the napkin and smiles gratefully at Steve, holding his hand back.

“The worst part is I didn’t even break up with him, he broke up with me,” Eddie chuckles self-deprecatingly, “But he still wanted to keep me around I guess… And I… didn’t want to feel lonely” 

They both stay quiet for a moment after that, and Steve stares at their hands joined over the greasy dinner table and thinks about loneliness, about how he doesn't feel it right now, with Eddie.

“So, what happened?” he asks after a bit.

“I did eventually realize he was the one making me feel like shit so I stopped seeing him but he didn’t appreciate my new sense of self-respect,” Eddie says lightly and Steve instinctively squeezes his hand protectively, which makes Eddie smile again, “I’m doing just fine now though, I told him to fuck off and got a new job. And it’s actually pretty good, ya know?”

Steve can’t help but smile back at Eddie’s cute expression, “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah, my own hours? Good money? Plus I’ve always liked driving around, it calms me. And I get to meet really interesting people…” he says, winking at Steve and making him chuckle.

“Well, I’m glad then. Proud of you for getting out of there,”

“Me too,” Eddie says and looks up as Benny walks over to them.

“Sorry to interrupt boys, but we are about to close for the night,” He says, stifling a yawn.

Steve looks surprised at his watch, it’s almost 2 A.M. He can’t believe he’s been sitting here with Eddie for hours when it only felt like a few minutes.

He offers to cover the bill but Benny fights him over it and says it’s his treat. And Eddie offers to take him home no charge. So they get in Eddie’s car again only this time Steve sits next to him instead of in the back and they talk about music on their way to his place while Steve changes the radio stations. Laughing, singing and joking around, it’s such a good time. It feels like they’ve been doing this forever, like they could do this…forever. But eventually they arrive at Steve’s building and suddenly Steve doesn’t want the night to end. 

He’s about to tell Eddie as much, maybe invite him inside, when his phone rings again, the ‘you deserve better’ staring at them. But Eddie immediately grabs his phone and hangs up, blocking the number after. 

“There, he can’t call me again,” he says with a sigh.

“Can I see your phone for a second?” Steve ventures, making a last second decision.

Eddie looks surprised but curious as he hands it over and Steve punches his phone in.

“If you ever feel like unblocking him, or calling him back… Why don’t you try calling me instead?” he says in a rush and then walks out of the car, not lingering to see Eddie’s reaction.

There’s always the positivity that he got things wrong again, got too invested too soon again and he doesn’t want to know tonight. He’ll deal with it later, if Eddie doesn't call.

🚗📱🍔💙

It takes only two days for Steve’s phone to ring, an unknown number flashing on his screen. He picks it up feeling a little out of breath for no reason at all.

“Hello?” 

“Steve?”

“Eddie, I”

“Wait- before you say anything I just want you to know that I didn’t call because I wanted to call him, or I was thinking about him. I called because I can’t stop thinking about you, I wanted to talk to you. Okay?”

“Eddie- yes! It’s more than okay, I- I was hoping you’d call”

fin 💙

☕🥐💕 coffee? oovoo javer?

[violetren]

The great thing about the White Collar OT3 is that at no point does the introduction of Neal into El and Peter's everyday lives never feels like a threat to Peter and El's marriage.

Like from the moment Neal shows up at their house in episode one he and El hit it off.

Within the first 5 episodes Neal and El have figured out they have similar knowledge and interest in the finer things, they're sharing looks over how Peter talks about and will react to things, El is telling Peter to trust in Neal a little, Neal is helping make sure they have a lovely anniversary, and El is calling Neal in to mediate/help prove her point in mini arguments to make Peter do stuff.

They also work really well because while Peter, El, and Neal might all be slightly different flavours and intensities of hyper competent adrenaline junkie weirdos, all three of them are intensely loyal to "their people" so the second El and Neal recognised that they both trust Peter as someone who will always try to do the right thing and respect them they were like "oh green flag."

[chloesimaginationthings]

Shout out to FNAF phone guy finally getting a name!

[spacebubblehomebase]

FINALS ARE FINISHED and finally finished- haha -with this monster of a dedication art that includes 30 Radioapple Fanchildren designed by 24 different artists I got direct permission from!!! Think of it as a super early Christmas gift in a way and a sign of more art to come!🤞🤞✨ Don't forget to click picture for better quality and happy holidays! ^v^ 💕

(I mostly interacted with these artists on Twitter, so I'm sorry I couldn't tag everyone here. TvT It's quite a lot to find and confirm. My hope is this gets boosted enough to find y'all. Thanks again for letting me draw them!) BONUS: Art process GIF! =D

-Bubbly💙

[peace-hunter]

tfone au where OP is created as the last of the primes but way after them, a sparkling born at what were thought to be the last days of the war against the quintessons, the beginning of a new generation of peace after eons of war. a child meant to be loved and raised knowing nothing of war nor sacrifice.

he's kept mostly out of the spotlight by his siblings, who don't wish to expose him to everyone's optics so young, and want to wait until the war is done and over to properly introduce him to their people.

except of course the primes are betrayed and murdered by sentinel, the war is lost and everyone who knows and cared for the truth is either banished or outright killed in order to suppress it.

and the high guard, the ones the primes trusted the most, the ones that were supposed to protect them, the ones who failed in their most important duty, have to make a choice. to take the last prime, their last hope, with them to the surface, a hostile environment where there's little to no supplies and where they'll be hunted down by both sentinel and the quintessons as the biggest threat to their regimen.

or hide him in plain sight. place him where sentinel won't think to look for him. one more sparkling among many. and hope it will be enough to keep him alive. pray to primus that he'll protect his last child long enough for them to come back for him when it's safer (even if most of them have already lost their faith on him when he allowed the rest of his children to be massacred like that)

they almost lose their resolve when they realize they will have to take the little one's cog away in order to make him blend in with the rest of the newborns (and oh do they burn with murderous intent when they see what sentinel has done to their people but it's not the time yet-) but in the end they decide an impaired little prime is better than a dead one.

and so in the chaos of thirteen dead primes and a sudden energon crisis, a little sparkling who very few mechs really knew about and even fewer had seen completely vanishes. and in the depths of iacon a mech in charge of a new batch of newborns scratches their helm in confusion as they realize they must have miscounted the first time.

optimus prime is quietly erased from any official records by sentinel, written off as dead when they find a sparkling's frame mangled beyond recognition after an attack on the base of those rebels that insist on being a thorn on his side. killing the sparkling hadn't been precisely in his plans, he probably could've found some use for it after all, but he's not particularly upset about it either.

and orion pax grows up with an ache on his spark that tells him he's missing something far more important than a t-cog and dreams of gentle and loving hands, cradling him against the frames of mechs he cannot recall the faces of.

[lesbianwyllravengard]

One of my favourite moments in da2 is when, right after you go looking for Anders for the first time, you are confronted by a group of civilians who are fully prepared to kill you because they think you're wanting to harm or expose Anders. Like just completely normal, average people who have banded together to protect the guy who protects and cares for them all. Imagine being such a positive and well-loved force for good in a community that you have regular people so ready to die or kill to keep you safe and hidden. It's beautiful

[hazieash]

It’s a Ratatouille situation