#24 left TT-TT

[livefinn]

he didn't sign up for this

[bakanokiwami]

[2024] TOP 20 PODCASTS ON AO3 FOUND IN FANDOMS > OTHER MEDIA

To make this ranking, all series titles in Other Media were copy-pasted to Google Sheets, rearranged according to number of fanworks, and then manually filtered since not all podcasts were marked as such.

The numbers under each rank indicate how much they rose/fell in the rankings based on last year's (Nov. 24, 2023) rankings, which can be found here. NEW means it's their first time entering in the top 20. The gray numbers in parenthesis indicate how much fanworks it gained since last year.

The data for this year and last year's rankings were taken while logged in, so lcoked fanworks are included in the count.

A few web series like Critical Role and Dimensions 20 released audio-only versions of their works too, but I left them out since they were listed was a web series on ao3 and more known as one too.

All nonfiction podcasts have also been excluded (Not that there were many), because with RPFs, it’s hard to tell if the fic in question is just based on the podcast or because of the things the person has done outside of it.

Stella Firma ranks 21st in the rankings this year, dropping 5 places from last year. (Figured they deserve a special mention since The Magnus Protocol is technically under The Magnus Archives).

Still keeping A. Walker, et. al. as is for the f@tt fans.😂❤

Thanks for understanding and hopefully I didn’t mess up anywhere! 🙏

ETA: Typo at Rank 15! Campaign dropped 1 rank, not 3. Sorry about that!

[magicalmanhattanproject]

man im just like. thinking about egg signs and how they've evolved over the course of the qsmp and how the qsmp has evolved over the course of the qsmp and just feeling so much love and affection for every part of the project. i dont have any grand overarching point with this just. like. here's a history of egg comms bc of the kind of person that i am

so wayyyy back ten months ago now at the start of the short and sweet egg event that was planned to last maybe a month at most, the eggs had their own custom, decorated signs!

[ID: Leo with a pink sign with an egg on the bottom corner that reads "hello" in all caps. Her nametag reads Leonardo. End ID]

They were extremely simple, single word signs. There was hello, hola, story, feed, sleep, and maybe one or two more and each was its own separate sign. The eggs could only communicate the most basic needs in words and everything else was through minecraft body language or just hoping their parents guessed right.

But obviously, there was a lot more that parents wanted to hear from their children. I'm not sure who was actually first, but the earliest departure from this system I know about is BadBoyHalo giving Dapper a simple oak sign so he could name his pet slime. (Screenshot from @/lxrd-ren)

[ID: Dapper wearing a diver's helmet standing next to a tiny slime in a boat with an oak sign reading "Bouncy (slmecicle but better)" End ID]

Parents quickly realized how much more convenient this was and pretty soon every single egg had stacks of signs to communicate with.

The next innovation came from Vegetta, who was the resident mod knower at the time. He knew about colored canvas signs and gave Leo signs in her favorite color purple because he loved her and gave her everything she wanted.

[ID: Leo's bed in her room under some Fooligetta fanart with a purple sign reading "<3" End ID]

Colored signs obviously had a lot of advantages. Being able to tell at a glance which egg placed which sign was a huge step forward in eggs being able to have long, complicated conversations as well as leaving obvious marks of their personality everywhere they went. It took a little while for them to be standard for every egg though. Bobby never stopped using oak signs even after Richas and Pomme both showed up with colored signs.

[ID: Two signs reading from right to left a red Pomme sign reading "we already started working on a guillotine factory" and a dark grey Dapper sign reading "thats the most french u have said so far pomme" End ID]

And this was the system for a while! And it worked pretty well for most people! The biggest struggle most people had was egg signs not being translated, but streamers adjusted to that by reading signs out loud so the translators would pick up on them. This also lead to adorable and fascinating dynamics like Richas swearing in signs he wrote for Bad and then warning Bad not to read them out. There was also the genuinely phenomenal development of Leolingo where Leo writes only in Spanish to Foolish because it's easier for her to write and he takes his time to puzzle his way through it and learn in a way that's super cool to watch someone else do onscreen.

Then Tubbo joined the server. And Tubbo himself had no problems at all with the system, but he is dyslexic and he casually mentioned offhand that it was getting kind of annoying to read signs after a ten hour long stream and the admin team Fucking Cooked.

Within 24 hours, they had TTS working on the signs. Within 48 hours, it was working on books too. I can't remember how long it took to get translation working, but it was definitely under a week.

And this opened up a whole new world of possibilities for the entire QSMP. The admin team has been on top of capitalizing on it for story purposes, but also just allowing the egg admins to speak in their native languages to everyone whenever they want has been so enriching for everyone involved. Leolingo is awesome but Foolish has been learning Spanish insanely fast and his process is a lot slower and more frustrating than most people can do in front of an audience of thousands of people without feeling discouraged. That's also one language. We've had everything from Foolish being able to check his work a bit more faster to Phil insisting on his eggs taking a day to speak to him in their native languages to Ramón writing a book for Fit in Cantonese, a language we haven't even seen on the server in any other context!

And all of it is fully understood and fully communicated! Sometimes the translators mess up but no one expects them to be perfect and people ask for clarification if the translator says something that doesn't sound right. It's not only a massive step forward in communication technology, but it's a great demonstration of how to use it and when you can and can't rely on it.

And finally, the most recent innovation! One of BBH's viewers sent him a dono saying they had trouble reading certain signs because they were too low-contrast. Bad, Richas, and Pomme just. Took it upon themselves to fix the problem right there and then. Based on One (1) bringing up their own personal struggle, those three came up with new signs that innovate tremendously on the originals.

[ID: Two separate images of the before and after. The first is the egg signs in their original colors with the corresponding egg's name written on them to demonstrate the font color and the second is in the new, higher contrast colors with the same text. The new signs also have custom decorations for each egg. The second picture also has two signs from Pomme in all caps that read "Send all the love to Richas he spent a whole night making this he's the best <3" End ID]

There are three main innovations visible in the above pictures

1: Obviously, the colors are higher contrast. The signs with white text have darker colors and the signs with black text have lighter colors.

2: The colors themselves are lower saturation. Richas said this made it easier for him personally to read them so he corrected that way, but that's open to change if it causes difficulties for more people than it helps

3: The decorations are for accessibility reasons! People with various different forms of colorblindness will find different sets of colors easier or harder to distinguish, but any of them can look at the decorations and use them to identify whose sign is whose instead.

But! Those innovations are not why I made this post! It's these ones!

[ID: The backs of the new signs when placed on the ground. Most visible are Chayanne's with vines and a hardcore heart, Sunny's with shining sunglasses, and Pomme's with an apple and the Eiffel Tower. End ID]

Richas added distinguishing marks to the backs of the signs too! This is something that Bad brought up specifically as something he wanted because it was hard for him to tell who was talking when he was using TTS from behind signs and couldn't see the colors at all.

We went from custom egg signs (a hotbar or so of words and nothing else to communicate with) through a long journey of expanding communication and expanding who we're bringing along on the communication and how easily they can join in and we've circled all the way back around to custom egg signs (they can say anything they want in any language they want and anyone will know it's them saying it from any angle)

and i guess i have enough feelings abotu that to write All This about it

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 1) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 17.7𝘬 (crying TT)

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰��𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

note: the year is circa 1908 and 10 years after the spanish-american war (1898). reader has long hair bc i felt like that was historically accurate... hope that's ok &lt;3

header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

you had heard the whispers on the horizon.

the whole town buzzed with a sort of energy—a swirling mass of dusty brown and gurgling in your stomach.

anxiety. you saw it on passerby faces through Daddy’s saloon, the bouncing knee of your mama under the table while you said grace at dinner. she never bounced her knee. it was a strict habit she trained you out of from a young age. claimed that it wasn’t proper for a young, unmarried lady like yourself.

that morning, when you stood over the wash bin in front of the dusty mirror, you wiped at your face with an old washcloth and smoothed the lines of your face like your mama taught you.

Ghost was coming to town.

no matter how you brushed your hair, the dust climbing through the desert coated it in a thin, particulate grime. Mama tightened your corset as you shoved your toes into leather heeled boots.

“remember yourself, girl,” she spoke lowly. “remember your manners. behave for once and don’t embarrass your daddy.”

you only rolled your eyes at her hissed warnings. you had met with Daddy’s business partners over several dinners where you put on your best show to pour them a glass of Daddy’s fancy bourbon all the way from kentucky.

these were the rules: you don’t speak to them unless spoken to, and you let them touch you however they please.

you shuddered, stomach curling at the thought of the last dinner. Mr. Turner’s wrinkled hand had slid up your thigh and you twisted away in reflex, accidentally knocking a bottle of bourbon onto the floor that shattered and soaked the hem of his wife’s fancy dress.

she had screamed at you and your daddy’s face had gone red, sending you a look of warning. Mama barely spared you a glance as she pulled you down to the floor to clean it up, pinching the skin of your arm in frustration.

you couldn’t tell if it felt worse to have Mr. Turner’s hand squeezing at your thigh or to be at your knees in front of him.

the strings of your corset pulled tight and you bit back a gasp as Mama tied it deftly with the practiced curl of her rough hands. you put on your best blouse and tucked it into a navy skirt that flowed into a blue, watery circle round your ankles. looking into the mirror, you thought your mama looked so much more poised and ready than you.

with a shaky exhale, you turned to her and she slapped at your face. you winced at the sting it left on your cheek.

“you’ll be fine.”

you felt far from it, trailing after her as the orange sun bled through the grimey windows, a blanket of dust settling on them in the windy evening. you had scrubbed them only yesterday.

settling yourself behind the expanse of Daddy’s bar, you smoothed over the dark wood. the saloon was eerily empty and quiet, a silent omen of Ghost’s arrival approaching. he had sent word only a few days ago. he had urgent business with Daddy and he was coming. now.

as you shuffled through Daddy’s whiskey collection, rearranging and wiping bottles down, you remembered the legends that alcoholics brought in every other week. another story on Ghost—the masked iron harbinger of death and justice. he wasn’t a sheriff, a good and honorable christian, or a vigilante. he was a bounty hunter, a cold-hearted gunslinger with a nasty sore spot for bourbon, money, and women. someone who disappeared without a trace, shooting out runaway criminals, bringing back carcasses for an extra dime.

he wasn’t even human.

a ghost. or so you heard.

you combed through the alcoholic contents, anxiously placing them and replacing them. your mama would be calling you to dinner any second and lead you to the table, Daddy at the head and Ghost at the other, right next to your spot where his hand would be on your thigh, eyes burning into the curve of your cheek. 

swallowing, you leaned against the bar top. you wanted to run away. you didn’t know how much longer you could go—how many more business partners Daddy would work with to expand his saloon chain. how much longer until he would be selling his daughter’s honor for a bigger investment…

the familiar click and chime of the saloon doors swinging open came from behind. you crossed your arms and didn’t turn to see who it was. you knew Mama would’ve had your head for being so rude.

“saloon’s closed,” you called out, “Daddy’s got business with—”

“Ghost.”

you stiffened and uncrossed your arms to peer over your shoulder.

there, at the entrance of the saloon, stood a broad and tall figure, hips thick and laden with a gun holster. he hooked his fingers on his belt, embroidered silver buckle glimmering in the red hours of the evenings. his backlit silhouette stark against the sunset made it hard to make out anything else, but you were sure when you saw the shine of his red mask and the wide berth of his black Stetson, a silver skull and crossbones clasped to its brim.

Daddy’s got business with Ghost.

you were frozen. the casual way his thick gloved hand settled on his revolver sent tremors through you.

“you’re supposed to be at dinner with Daddy,” you said, throat tight, and he trudged forward, boots heavy on the wood floorboards. he walked with a heady weight, and as he neared, you could make out the darkness of his eyes piercing through his skull mask.

“wanted bourbon.”

you stared at him for a long moment. he sat at a barstool, all his weight and broadness settled over the bartop. whatever trance you were in broke when he tipped his head at you in question—or impatience, you couldn’t discern. probably the latter.

you fumbled for a kentucky bourbon. you had done this a million times over at the saloon, but the crackle of the air and his gaze following your every move had your hands wobbling. the shaky clink of the bourbon bottle against the glass grappled with the silence of the room. suddenly, you felt hyper aware of the looseness of your blouse when you bent to pour his bourbon. you didn’t dare look up into his gaze.

“you scared of me?” his accent was foreign and grating and sent shivers down your spine. you should’ve been hollering for your mama at this point, but you felt rooted to the spot. 

shakily, you exhaled. “no.”

when you pulled back, you watched in amazement as he pulled up the bottom of his black mask, revealing a canvas of pale skin, dark stubble, and a strong jawline that pulled into a tight frown on his lips. a litter of scars shone silver in the light when he tipped back to drain the glass of bourbon.

when he placed the empty glass back on the table, he reached into the inner pocket of his black trench coat and pulled out a cigarette. you flinched when his heavy gaze ran over you.

“light me up, lovely?”

you nodded dumbly, reaching for the lighter under the countertop and held it out to him. he looked up at you, unmoving, and you blinked in confusion before his gloved hand gripped your wrist with a tightness.

he moved your hand with his own, thumbing over the sparkwheel till the flame jumped to life and leaned his mouth forward to tip his cigarette into the flame.

your whole body felt light and fiery—like you were floating a bit off the ground, shoulders drawn with a tightness. a sharp exhale left you when he finally released you, the skin of your wrist tingling in the memory of his leather grip.

smoke clouded your eyes in a haze and you blinked rapidly, quickly wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. he huffed, corners of his lips twitching, a dark gleam in his eye. his rested his hand against the countertop, smoke trailing up in the room and you watched his lips part like he was about to say something—

Mama strode into the room, freezing at the entrance of the back door behind the counter. you had never seen her so tense, her eyes moving from you, to the hulking man smoking a cigarette.

“welcome, sir,” she greeted and he only nodded, pulling his mask back down as he snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray.

it was like you remembered yourself in that moment, that the man across from you was Ghost, the bounty hunter, the murderer, and the devil. you shuffled away into her side when Ghost stood. her arm was tight when it circled your waist, and you mustered all your strength not to shake. Mama’s gaze was on him but Ghost was only staring at you.

you stared at the floor instead.

“this way, sir,” she said, gate polite and posture poised as she led you and Ghost to the dining room through the back of the saloon’s supply and storage to the other side of the building where he was supposed to enter.

his footsteps were heavy behind you and the hair on your neck prickled. you scurried forward but it was like you could feel his warm breath down your back.

when you found Daddy, it was almost a crushing relief to see the sweeping calm on his half-lidded face at the dinner table. he was so charming, you were sure he could use his business skills to weasel out of this. like he had a million times before.

Mama’s steaming food was laid out over the table—buttered chicken, thick mashed potatoes, greasy green beans with bacon bits. you tried to move to sit on the opposite side of the table, far away from Ghost, but your daddy’s eyes pinned you with a warning and you grimaced, sitting carefully next to him. Ghost’s gaze burned your face.

“Ghost,” Daddy greeted, “pleasure to see you again.”

he only grunted, mask pulled tight over his features. you couldn’t see anything but the dark swirl of his eyes. he didn’t even take off his hat at the table.

you glanced at your mother’s face by Daddy but her eyes were intent, focused on Ghost. she didn’t seem to care at all. you shifted in your seat. you knew Ghost was a very special guest, but not even special guests were above Mama’s rules.

“what brings you to our small town?”

Mama nudged you under the table with her foot, and you kept yourself from rolling your eyes, standing to serve Ghost food. you carefully dished it on his plate neatly, just like Mama taught you, but he didn’t even spare the food a glance.

“i was at your saloon in jackson county.” you froze briefly. jackson county is a long way from the west. he must’ve traveled day and night to reach your small town embedded in tumbleweeds and dust.

his head tipped thoughtfully so you couldn’t see his eyes anymore under the width of his hat. “it’s a nice place. good kentucky bourbon.”

Daddy smiled but his eyes narrowed. you were about to dump a spoonful of mashed potatoes on Ghost’s plate but he gripped your wrist lightly.

“i’m alright,” he said low, and your spine prickled. there was a warning in it, so you sat back in your seat, leaning to the furthest edge away from him. you dreaded the moment his gloved palm would glide up your thigh.

“why are you here, Ghost?” Daddy asked again, his hand reaching down below the table. you imagined it resting on the holster, revolver lodged against his hip. 

Ghost leaned forward.

“first, you tell me why I saw Turner’s boys loitering around jackson county.”

Daddy went pale in a way you’ve never seen before and Mama shifted uncomfortably. her knee was bouncing again.

“nearly got my head shot off. had to comb my way through texas to lose ‘em.” Ghost’s eyes narrowed in the dimness of the dining room.

“you know how i feel about the Turner boys, Henry.”

you shivered at his low tone. what the hell was going on?

there was a calculated thickness in Daddy’s voice. it blanketed all the desperation in his clenched jaw. “i needed investors, Ghost. Turner was the highest bidder.”

“do you need a reminder of who built your business from scratch in the first place?”

your brows raised. Daddy did business with Ghost?

“no i remember. i also remember how you high-tailed it out of here when the Turner boys showed up five years ago.”

you jumped in your seat when Daddy stood and placed his revolver on the dinner table. Mama gasped and murmured something like disapproval that Daddy ignored. it gleamed in the low light and your jaw clamped.

“i’m not afraid of you, Ghost. Turner’s protecting me now.”

Ghost’s silence was deadly, his hulking form too relaxed, but you could see his hand twitch where it lay on his holster. was this going to lead to a shootout?

you tried to convey your silent question in the way that you peered into the curve of his mask but his eyes were dead set on Daddy.

“Turner is protecting you now?”

“yes.” 

Ghost stared up at your daddy for a long time before his gaze traveled to you. you reached deep inside you to muster the courage and stare unflinchingly back.

“i want my money back, Henry.” it was a low deadly whisper, his eyes never leaving you. Daddy balked.

“you know i can’t do that.”

“but you can. and i want my money back or i can take something much more precious.”

his gloved hand came up to stroke at your cheek and you bit back a hiss, biting down on your lower lip. Mama stood now, clutching at Daddy’s arm.

“you won’t, you devil!” she cried and Ghost gripped firmly at your jaw, razor eyes digging into you. a tight hand around his wrist, you tried to pry him off but he was too strong. he wouldn’t budge. a traitorous tear spilled from the corner of your eye. Ghost brushed it away with his thumb.

“you have no honor,” your Daddy whispered and Ghost went lax. you pushed his hand away and pressed yourself to the back of your chair in a ball.

a new boiling anger built in you. you were being used again as another part in Daddy’s business transactions.

“you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?” he chewed out the words and you shuddered, holding your breath to keep down the sobs that threatened to push up into your lungs.

“i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.” Ghost stood at the table, revolver in hand. he cocked the gun and Mama shrieked.

“this is a fair trade. give me my investment back or i’ll take her instead.” the barrel of his revolver slowly swung from Daddy to you. in his black suit in bloody mask, Ghost truly did look like the devil. you wanted to shake, to cry and scream and sob, but only a venomous anger spread through you.

what did Ghost know about fairness? 

“if i go it’s on my terms,” you hissed under your breath and Ghost’s eyes swiveled to you. Mama began to shout in protest but he pointed the revolver dead above her browline and your Daddy hissed, picking up his own revolver and cocking it.

“what’re your terms, lovely?” he asked in a low tone.

“you leave my Mama and Daddy alone.” with a harsh swallow, you wiped at the tears on your cheeks. “i can ride a horse. i can shoot well ‘cause Daddy taught me. i know how to pour a glass and tend a bar. i can read and write. i know good manners and i can talk smart when i need it.

Ghost’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked down on you, sitting as straight as you possibly could at the dinner table. your Daddy’s revolver was trained on Ghost now.

“i won’t get in the way. take me instead of the money.”

Ghost blinked. “what’re my terms?”

you hesitated, voice cracked wide open. “you…you’ll own me.”

his eyes narrowed. “body and soul?”

you nodded slowly, feeling your anger deflate as your mama began to sob. 

“body and soul.” you screwed your eyes shut, head dipping forward. the devil.

“Henry?”

your Daddy looked weakly at Ghost, his shoulders falling. he looked meek and small and not even half the smart man you thought he was. his revolver clattered to the dinner table in defeat and you didn’t spare him a glance when you stood from the dinner table to trudge up the stairs and pack your things, the food sprawled across the dinner table cold and forgotten.

you didn’t have time to think about what you needed or what to say goodbye to. the stuffed bear your daddy got you for your tenth birthday lay discarded among your bedsheets. old letters from the girls in town were strewn off your desk as you dug for stationary. you stopped midway when you realized there was no way Ghost would let you write your parents on the move through the west.

was this your new life? confined to bounty hunting and running from foes? living as a ghost?

you shivered, shoving blouses and skirts and a canteen on your nightstand into a knapsack. you pulled out the drawer of your dresser and dug under more clothes to find a revolver and pack of ammo. Mama would beat you if she ever knew it was there and that’s why you always kept it hidden.

you loaded up the cylinder, pushing the bullets into each chamber and ramming the cylinder back in place.

“gearing up to kill me?”

you froze and looked over your shoulder to find Ghost crowding your doorway. for someone of his stature, he moved too quietly. usually, you would be embarrassed at the mess dispersed across the floor, your undergarments at a pile by his dusty boots.

but you just narrowed your eyes, ignoring him as you carded through your room, collecting random essentials. matches, money, your sharpest letter opener, and in a last second grab, your journal.

he watched all your movements with an eerie silence.

“i’m not planning on keeping you forever.” he stepped forward till he was just a short arm length from your back. his voice was cold.

“your daddy’ll try and kill me first, then he’ll cough up the money eventually. it’s a temporary trade off.”

“i’m not one of your business transactions,” you snapped, and he blinked at you.

“‘course not.”

his words weren’t convincing. you tried to squeeze past him but his outstretched arm blocked your path. you almost snapped at him again but shrunk back when his steady eyes pinned you down. he crowded you back until you blindly hit the dresser. 

your neck craned up. he was so much bigger than you.

the swell of his chest with each breath almost brushed against you, and you squirmed under his intense gaze.

“you offered yourself up to me,” he said, calculated. “why?”

you swallowed down the anxious gurgling in your stomach. “you wouldn’t believe me.”

“tell me anyway.”

“i hate it here.”

he cocked his head at you. “the rich girl wants to become a bounty hunter?”

you frowned, raising the revolver and digging it into his stomach. “don’t think that i could?”

he gave you a long look before tipping his hat and stepping back. “didn’t say that, lovely.”

you whispered it under your breath. “devil.”

the grip on his holster tightened. “maybe. but i know how to be a gentleman.”

he picked up the knapsack on your bed, despite your grumble of protest, and slung it over his shoulder. 

“don’t worry. i’ll take real good care of you, princess.”

you could only imagine a smug smirk hidden by the shroud of his mask as he walked out your bedroom.

it was surreal watching the tears stream down Mama’s face as she cupped your face in her hands. facing them now, you searched your daddy’s eyes for an ounce of anger or fight. 

just give him the money, you wanted to scream at your daddy, but he stared straight through you and the hands that clutched at your face.

Ghost watched from a distance, arms curled over his chest, leaning against a fence post that his black stallion was tied to, leisurely grazing at the dry tufts of grass. your horse, Sugar, stamped in the dirt nearby, kicking up dust. Ghost’s dark gaze pierced you even at a distance.

Daddy could never out gun Ghost even if he tried.

you startled when Mama pulled you into a tight hug. she hissed low and angry, “you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?” she pinched at the skin of your arm. “you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.” 

she brushed hair away from your face, sweeping away the dust on the crown of your head. “okay?”

you nodded, swallowing, throat bone dry.

“you’ll be fine.”

those were her final words when your daddy led you to your horse and let you clamber up into your saddle. Ghost looked at you expectantly from over his shoulder as your daddy patted your knee.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

no you’re not.

you looked into his charming face, a twisted look on his lips. his eyes were tired.

“goodbye, Daddy.”

you took one look over the small town and the dust that blew through it. Ghost turned his horse into the dying light of the day and you dug the heel of your boot into the flank of your mare, tightening the reins, and took off after Ghost. soon, your mama and daddy become a dot in the horizon, and you almost suppressed a smile.

you weren’t sure how long you rode. it felt like hours, dust kicking up in a big cloud after the pair of you into the dark night. you only stopped every hour or so to let the horses rest up, drink, feed and you were off again. you should’ve been tired but you were so high with exhilaration, lungs burning with exertion from the long ride, that you almost didn’t catch Ghost’s call to rest drifting over the wind rushing in your ears.

your chest was put through the wringer, panting as you slid off your horse. 

“good girl, Sugar.” you slapped at her dapple gray shoulder. she snorted, tossing her mane anxiously.

as you traveled further into…wherever you were, the cacti and low brush built up into bushes and weedy looking trees. into a forest.

Ghost lit the lantern strung up on his saddle bags and gave you a sharp, wordless look before leading his horse by the reins further into the woods. you followed him, head on a swivel at the unfamiliar surroundings.

you were used to the big, brown, orange flat canvas of your small town. the green grass underfoot was unusual and the trees cast long, distorting shadows. you startled, stopping short when you heard an foreign call from the woods. Sugar huffed nervously, big nostrils twitching as she stamped her hoof.

“it’s a coyote,” Ghost grumbled, not stopping for your shenanigans. you scurried after him, hyper aware of the encompassing darkness around you and what may be lurking beyond it.

soon, a big structure obstructing the woods came into view and Ghost lifted his lantern to reveal a small wooden cabin. by the side, he tied up his black stallion on a fence post next to a hay feeder and water bin. when he stared at you, unmoving, you quickly followed suit and fumbled to unsaddle Sugar, carrying your knapsack inside and following after his heavy footsteps.

you’re like a lost puppy, a voice grumbled in annoyance. he’s always ten steps in front of you.

you shook away the thought and stepped into the cabin, watching Ghost as he lit the oil lamps littered around the room. there was a miniscule kitchen pressed in the corner, a desk by your side, and a bed on the other. the bed was small. very small.

you cleared your throat. “where are we?”

Ghost didn’t pause to acknowledge you, shucking his trench coat and rolling up the sleeves of his black suit, exposing the skin of his forearms. for a long moment, as he rummaged through a bag, you thought he would ignore you. but your silent stare was relentless.

“border of southern california.”

your brows rose. you weren’t sure how far that was from home, or how you could possibly find your way back. 

“and this cabin…?”

he paused to give you a brief look. “you ask a lot of questions.” his voice was pinched with annoyance.

“you don’t talk enough,” you shot back, tensing up. if you were going to be dragged around by this man for months, you thought you at least deserved to know where you were. or what the hell was going on.

he grumbled under his breath. “s’my safe house. we’re stayin’ for the night.”

the night. you nodded, feeling meek, remembering what Mama said. smoothing a hand over your chest, you shifted between feet in the doorway.

you can do this.

Ghost had his back turned to you, pouring his canteen of water into a pot and pouring a bag of something else in it that came out in a pebbled rush. for the devil himself, at least he knew how to cook.

“you gonna sit?”

feeling embarrassed, you moved to sit on the bed, the old mattress sagging under your weight. you kept smooth a hand over your blouse, carding a hand through your hair, till you got tired of it and wove them into messy braids and undid them again.

Ghost huffed, moving from the kitchen to the desk, putting his hat down. you stared.

“relax. no need to be so worked up.”

you nodded. “right.”

his eyes bore holes into you, and you took that as your que, swallowing as you began to unbutton the clasp at the top of your blouse. you paused when Ghost’s breath tapered, turning sharply away.

his accent thickened. “what are you doing?”

“i-i thought—”

“you thought wrong.” his words were cutting.

maybe you should’ve felt relief but you only squirmed in confusion. “body and soul?” you mumbled weakly, and he slowly turned back to you.

you fumbled with your hands awkwardly.

“i don’t bed rich, prissy girls,” he grinded out and you almost balked in defense, but you thought better of it from the way his grip tightened on his holster.

but you couldn’t hold your tongue long enough—

“who do you bed then? whores?” your brow arched against your will as you tilted your head. his eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

“careful, princess.” he grabbed something from a cabinet in the kitchen. “i’m the one who’s keeping you alive.”

a gloved hand held out a plate of some dried fruit and biscuits. a piece of jerky as well. you held your stomach.

you hadn’t touched a morsel of your mama’s food over that tense dinner, which seemed like years ago, and you were too nervous for Ghost’s arrival to eat lunch either. swallowing, you reached a hand out and Ghost pulled the plate back from your grasp.

you almost hissed at him.

“i thought you said you knew manners?” 

biting your lip, you sat up straighter and politely crossed an ankle over the other, smoothing your hands over your lap. 

“may i please have some food, sir?”

his voice sounded uncharacteristically smug. “you’re a good listener.”

you snatched the plate from him, his words thrumming low in your stomach. kicking off your boots and neatly lining them up by the nightstand, you politely curled your legs to the side and smoothed down your skirt to eat. Mama never let you eat on the bed, but you had snuck up meals some late nights. you almost felt giddy—as if you were breaking the rules when you were eight years old again.

Ghost watched you eat in silence before getting his own plate. the same thrill from that evening soared in your stomach when he tugged up his black mask to reveal his strong jawline and pinkish mouth. you noticed a silvery scar on his upper lip.

“did your father make you do that stuff?” you paused mid-bite of your biscuit, slowly chewing.

you swallowed. “what stuff?”

the twist of his lips seemed like exasperation. “going to bed with strangers.”

you flinched, and it was like an icy cold reminder that Ghost was a stranger—just as much as your daddy’s business partners.

“no.”

Ghost cocked his head. “that so?”

you nodded. “Daddy just had touchy customers.”

you quickly rephrased, putting down the plate on your lap. “but i can if you need me to. for your customers, you know.”

you knew you would need to be of use to Ghost in the coming months, if tonight didn’t go according to plan. the thought spurred on your heart, a looming dread clambering up your spine.

Ghost mouth twisted. “i don’t need you in that way.”

you blinked, frowning. “how do you need me then?”

“just….” he was frowning deeply now. “just do what you’re doing now.”

“what’s that?”

“bein’ polite.” he shrugged, putting down his empty plate. you felt disappointed when he tugged back down the mask. “bein’ a good girl.”

the funny thing is, being polite and a good girl was probably one of the things you were worst at in Mama’s eyes, but looking at Ghost, and the way he brandished his gun over the dinner table like a toy… your manners weren’t too bad at all.

you wondered when was the last time he stepped in a church.

finishing the last bits of dinner, Ghost excused himself to disappear into the woods, and you took the moment of privacy to quickly change into a nightgown, conscious of the way it exposed your collarbones and chest. 

you also took the moment to plan out the night, searching into your knapsack to find the familiar handle of your revolver. you tested the weight of it in your hand, before putting it back into the sack. if Ghost was a gentleman, as he attested, he would let you sleep on the bed. that means he would, most likely, sleep on the floor. and if he didn’t… you would just have to convince him that he needed to.

you closed your eyes to imagine leaning over your bed at night, the slow swell of his chest as you aimed the revolver right at his heart and pulled the trigger. three times.

you shivered violently, a chill passing over you.

“cold?”

you stiffened when Ghost stepped back into the cabin, pulling the door shut behind him. you nodded, but the movement felt restrained, fists balled as you crossed them over your chest.

“mhmm.”

he jerked his head to the bed.

“take the bed. i’ll be sleepin’ outside.”

you balked, fist clenching and unclenching.

“but…what about Mr. Turner’s men?”

he turned still, hand twitching at his holster.

“they won’t find us for days. don’t worry about them.”

“but…” Ghost moved to grab his saddlebag. 

“i’m scared,” you whispered, and he paused, peering at you through the mask. you gave him a meek look. it’s wasn’t a complete lie. you’ve been half-scared since he walked into Daddy’s saloon unannounced.

he sighed, long and hard. “alright, princess.” he pulled out a balled up blanket from his saddlebag and laid it on the floor, and you went lax with relief, lifting the covers of the bed to slide into them.

you stiffened again when you realized the sheets smelled of him—sweet bourbon, cigarettes, and an earthy musk like mud and woods. cheek nestled into the pillow, you watched him unbutton his vest, pull off his holster, and undo his bolo tie, placing them on the desk neatly.

you half-expected him to take off his mask, too, but he made no move towards it as turned off the oil lamps in the room. a bit disappointed, you turned to the wall once the room was shrouded with darkness.

quiet shuffling ensued, until there was a complete silence and his even breaths in the dark. it would’ve been easy to let sleep overtake you if the spike of your heavy heart wasn’t thrumming in your throat and a biting fear wasn’t corded in the back of your brain.

it took a conscious reminder to remember the large lump of man on the floor was a murderer. a cold-blooded one, too. he was a rich bounty hunter and hunting was his sport. he was a killer. he wasn’t here to feed you or take care of you. he was as sinful as they came.

you slowly shifted in the bed, reaching down into the knapsack on the floor by the bed. you groped until you felt a familiar cold, embroidered handle. 

you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?

your mama’s voice rang in your ears as you sat up on the edge of the bed. Ghost was flat on the ground, a blanket drawn up to his waist, arms crossed over his chest. your breath hitched in the dark. 

you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.

you stopped short at that, poisonous questions blooming in your head. it was dangerous, hesitating in the dark like this, looming over one of the most dangerous men in the west who had just, essentially, stolen you, with a loaded gun in your hand.

but your head was running away from you—how would you get home from here? did you have the supplies needed? you didn’t have the tracking skills Ghost evidently showed on your ride to the cabin, nor expertise in medical emergencies. did you even want to go home?

you stared at the side of Ghost’s mask, its red a cool blue gleam in the dark.

you could live the life of a gunslinger like Ghost—a merciless bounty hunter who murdered for money. you could imagine it, even now. shootouts with outlaws and playing friends with sheriffs to get big payouts. but… it would be under the pretense of being Ghost’s property.

you shuddered at the thought. as long as you were by Ghost’s side, you would be his captive. a precious pawn in a trade off—a hostage to use against your daddy and Turner. just another business transaction and you to take advantage of.

a small click in the dark seized you from your thoughts. Ghost’s black eyes peered up at you. cursing in surprise, your clammy hands dropped the revolver, and it clattered to the floor. you fumbled around for it and hugged it to your stomach, heart beating out of your throat.

he rested the revolver in his hand leisurely against his chest. too leisurely.

a bead of sweat slid down your temple when you realized he just cocked his gun. you didn’t remember him taking it out of his holster when he placed it on the desk. 

always ten steps ahead of you.

“gearing up to kill me?”

your mouth opened and closed, failing to shape out words. his gaze narrowed.

“m’scared remember?” was all you could choke out, a shiver gripping you intensely. you tried to play it off with a careless shrug, but you knew he couldn’t possibly fall for that.

your skin felt cold but his stare was hot.

“scared of what? the dark? the coyotes outside, Tuner’s boys?” his voice was dangerously soft. “...or me?”

you almost whimpered. “i’m not scared of you.”

the fabric of his mask stretched and the crumple at his eyes let you know he was smiling. it was more threatening than anything.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me…” he rested his revolver on the floor and he shifted onto his side to face you fully. “...and let’s say you didn’t just try to kill me.”

you grimaced under his piercing stare. “put down the gun, lovely.”

you complied and he practically purred. “you still scared?”

shaking your head slowly, your knee betrayed you and began to bounce.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me, and you didn’t try to kill me, but you’re scared of the dark and the coyotes…” you balked when he opened the covers of his makeshift bed to you. “come here.”

you stayed rooted to the spot, knee freezing mid-bounce. his arms were open, mask twinkling in the moonlight, but you knew in his unflinching gaze that he was being very serious.

“come here,” he commanded, and you stood stiffly, shuffling forward to crawl into the blankets. his strong arm hooked around your waist and you muffled a squeak when he pulled you down. 

you were pulled into his broad chest, warm and strong at your back and you almost melted if it weren’t for the fact that the man behind you was a cold-blooded murderer and the devil reincarnated.

his gloved hands crept beneath your shoulders around to your throat and pressed to the flying pulse of your neck. he hummed low in your ear, mask brushing the shell of it. the smell of smoke, woody musk, and bourbon filled your nose.

“sure you’re not scared, lovely?”

your jaw clenched. “yes.”

“really?”

his hand crept down from your throat to your collarbone and a loud gasp escaped you when he firmly pressed a palm to the flesh just above your breast. you knew he felt your heart’s fast thrum through the cotton of your nightgown.

“why’s your heart beatin’ so fast then?”

when the silence permitted, he offered you, “nervous?” his voice dropped an octave, low and throaty. “ever lie like this with a man before?”

you were as stiff as a board, a foreign warmth brewing in you that made your skin prickle and crawl, spluttering unintelligible sounds, when suddenly, he released you and you scrambled out of the sheets back onto the bed, pressing yourself to the wall.

he huffed a series of breaths that sounded like quiet laughter. you were just about to kill him. what was so funny about that?

like he heard your thoughts, he turned onto his back and crossed his arms again.

“would be concerned if you didn’t at least try to kill me.” Ghost closed his eyes. “you gonna try and run if i sleep?”

you stared at the side of his face. “no.”

he nodded. “good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.”

like you, you thought weakly, burrowing yourself back into the covers, face heating up when the smell of him against the pillow filled your head again.

your plans had just gone more than horribly wrong. with a heartfelt apology to your mama ringing heavy in your mind, twisting in the sheets, you tried to let sleep take you.

you barely slept that night. tossing and turning in the sheets, you listened for the sinister calls of wildlife just beyond the cabin, and the slow breaths from the floor. though a primal sense inside you let you know that Ghost probably wasn’t sleeping.

but you don’t remember when the sun came up, its first burning embers casting a thin glow in the room. you must’ve fallen asleep at some point because Ghost is gone in the morning, room eerily quiet and empty.

you take the moment to redress in your corset, loose white button up, a buckskin split skirt with fringe, pulling on your boots as you shove everything back into your knapsack. groping around for a familiar embroidered handle, you pause when you realize your revolver has gone amiss.

you sling the knapsack over your shoulder and find Ghost perched down by a fire outside, stoking at its flames. he’s back in his expensive full attire, black suit fresh in the morning light. he only spares you a glance over his shoulder before continuing to stir something in a pot hung up over the fire. 

you dropped your knapsack to the ground.

“where’s my revolver?”

he scooped up a spoonful of the stuff into two bowls and grabs something from his bag. he waves your revolver in the air with one hand wordlessly.

“revolver privileges revoked.”

“why?” you knew why, but you wanted to hear it nonetheless.

standing to his full height, he turned and gave you a look under the mask that you could only imagine as disapproval. he didn’t give you an answer.

“eat,” he commanded, handing a bowl to you.

you looked into the bowl to find a watery soup of beans and a dry biscuit half soaked in the liquid. not your finest meal but you were grateful for it. 

you eyed Ghost’s broad stature sitting on a log by the fire. he must’ve soaked the beans last night in that pot of water. if you, after last night’s events, weren’t going to try and kill him, or run away, you could at least play nice. for your revolver mostly.

you politely sat next to him on the log, curling your legs to the side and hooking one ankle over the other. taking small bites, you ate with the best manners you could muster without a table in front of you.

you felt Ghost’s gaze burning a question into your cheek, but you ignored it, feigning innocence.

you cleared your throat, nodding. “thank you for the food.”

he scoffed. “it’ll take a lot more to get your revolver back than that.”

you glared at him as he stood to resaddle his horse and tie his saddlebag down. finishing your food in a couple more quick bites, you moved to do the same, but stopped short when Ghost untied the reins of Sugar to bind her to his stallion.

“what’re you doing?” 

Ghost gave you a meaningful look but said nothing, heaving himself up onto the stallion. huffing with frustration, you grabbed the bridle of his horse who whinied in surprise.

“what are you doing with my horse?”

Ghost cocked his head at you. “you’re stayin’ here, princess.”

what?

“what?” 

“food’s in the pantry. take what you want. don’t wander more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, you’ll get lost. i’ll be back before sunset.”

he began to turn his stallion away from you, but you held fast on the bridle, jerking its head back towards you. the horse huffed and stomped in retaliation.

“where are you going?”

Ghost just stared at you. “into town.”

you took a sharp breath, racking in your head. “i’ll run away.”

his tone was cold. “on foot? you’re not that stupid.”

“i will. i don’t care. you’ll never get your money if i’m dead of starvation… or…” you shuddered, “coyotes.”

he took you in for a long moment. “these were your terms, lovely.”

you ignored him. “i’m useful. i am. i’m useful for…” you trailed off. “business.”

“i know what you’re useful for.” his eyes narrowed. “you’re most useful right here, in this camp, far away from my business.”

that blow landed right in your gut. “i’ll build a big fire,” you whispered, “and it’ll alert Turner’s men. they’ll find me and bring me back to my daddy.”

he turned away. “do you really want them to find you? when they’ll do lord knows what to a young lady like you?”

every bit of the fight burning in you deflated, snuffed by his sharp words and harrowing logic. you felt small and defeated as you watched Ghost spur his horse on, Sugar trailing after them. a miserable feeling bloomed in your stomach.

is this what your daddy felt like last night at the dinner table?

“i’ll be back before sunset,” he called over his shoulder and took off into the early morning light in a cloud of dust.

time alone went slower than you could possibly imagine. you don’t remember the last time you were alone like this—your mama always hovering over your shoulder, or the girls in town spurring you to embroider and scrapbook with them, or maybe go shopping, even when you’d rather tend to the saloon and make an extra buck when you sang an a pretty song for the alcoholics.

your hands ached to do something, so you laid back in the afternoon sun and whittled at a branch with your letter opener. 

once you got tired of that, you began writing aimless entries in your journal with Ghost’s quill and ink on the desk, then, addressing your daddy and mama in a futile letter, vented that Ghost had run off into town for business. what business, you itched to know. 

later, you stretched back on the bed in your full attire and boots, which Mama would sorely disapprove of, and blinked away the sun that streamed through the greasy window panes. lids drooping, you found yourself falling into a deep slumber.

you awoke with a start, sweat pooling under your back, blouse sticking to your skin. the sun was settling lazily into the horizon, far into the hours after noon. it was darker than before, a blue tinge across the sky like it was on the verge of storming.

with a lazy sweep of your vision across the cabin, everything untouched, you knew Ghost was still out doing business. of which you, apparently, had no use.

you stretched out over your head and froze when you heard something—a clicking rustle outside the cabin. you strained your hearing, going completely still.

then, you heard distant voices chattering.

dropping to the floor with a silent thud, you peered out the front of the window by the edge of the bed. four men stood by their horses, poking at the pot of beans outside with his boot. you silently cursed when one overturned the watery beans over the dying embers.

a man looked up at the cabin and you immediately ducked, panicking when you heard quick, heavy footsteps nail up the steps to the cabin. you scrambled backwards under the bed and pressed yourself into a ball into the furthest corner of the cabin.

one man stepped inside carefully, and you watched his feet slowly pan across the room in a circle. the warmth drained from your face when you heard the cock of a safety.

who were these people? you racked your brain for answers. Ghost said Turner’s men wouldn’t find you for days. maybe weary travelers looking for a place to stay for the night? good samaritans who could help you escape Ghost?

and never return to your family, a voice in your head added quietly. you silenced it.

he stood by the desk and listened to him rummage over it. you winced—all your letters and writings were still strewn across the desk.

“Charles!” he called. then, abruptly, he neared the bed and reached down for your knapsack on the floor. you clasped a hand to your mouth. he pulled away, your knapsack going with him.

“she was here.”

your blood ran cold. Turner’s men had arrived earlier than Ghost expected.

a second man, Charles, you presumed, stepped into the cabin. more rummaging—probably the first man holding up the letters and your belongings for Charles to see. 

“they went to town. says so in the letters.” 

Charles huffed and turned on his heel back out the cabin.

“let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.” 

an icy drip went down your back.

low, raucous laughter and hoots ensued, and you heard more shuffling and the snorts of horses and the stamping of hooves that slowly faded into silence again. only the leaves rustling in the wind and pitched bird calls filled the cabin.

your heart was still beating out of your chest. 

Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that shook you to your core. you wanted to run after them, to beg them to bring you back to your parents without harm, maybe bribing them with an extra sum your daddy could give them, but you knew it was futile.

you weren’t ever going back home, and you sure as hell weren’t letting Turner’s men lay their hands on you.

heaving yourself out from under the bed, you looked up at the darkening sky. a gray film was growing over it, blanketing the sun from view. a boom of thunder roiled in the distance.

you needed to move fast, somehow, to warn Ghost about Turner’s men coming for him in town. you cursed yourself for writing those letters in the first place—now, Ghost could be in danger because of you.

not that you cared much. but that devil was the closest thing to protection right now against your parents and Turner. except maybe yourself.

you picked up the knapsack that was thrown haphazardly on the floor and pulled out all your extra clothing and baggage. with only a canteen of water, and the leftover food from the pantry, the letter opener, and a box of matches, you trailed after the hoofprints left by Turner’s men, hurrying as the storm approached quickly overhead. 

you were dripping with sweat by the time you reached the edge of town. buckling over to clasp at your knees, you held your chest as you leaned against a tree.

you did it. you tracked those men through low brush and the deep, muddy hoofprints they left behind, some bushes snagged by charging through the forest at an alarming rate.

you did it. you only hoped that Turner’s men hadn’t found Ghost before you did.

the sky was still a murky gray—you had no idea what time it was, no idea if the sun had begun setting yet. you paled at the thought of Ghost riding back to find the cabin empty, your belongings strewn across the place, cabinets empty of supplies. you felt more sick at the thought of finding the devil in a dim alleyway, three bullets in his heart.

pushing forward, you entered the busy throng of the town, its twinkling lights and loud raucous contenting with the brewing storm overhead. men had holsters strung with guns, ammo slung over their torsos like a fancy sash.

some tipped their stetson to you as you walked the cobble streets, wiping the sweat and humidity from your brow. you ignored them to the best of your ability, shuffling along faster when a group of drunks meandered close to you.

sweetheart, they called, and you, in a dizzying panic, pushed into the nearest building, its doors swinging open to a rowdy, rowdy crowd of even more drunks. some smiled at your entrance, but most were too enthralled in their card games, betting, and bourbon to care. 

you took the moment to search the snaking crowd for a familiar red mask, but you found nothing. this didn’t feel much like Ghost’s scene anyway.

shoulders sinking, you were about to step back out onto the crowded streets, where a light drizzle was pooling, when a redhead with braids rushed passed you in a tizzy. 

she almost dumped a tray full of bourbons onto you. squeaking, she steadied herself against you, and apologized in a thick drawl.

“sorry, sweetheart! didn’t see you there—” she paused, narrowing her eyes at you. immediately, you reeled back.

you really wished you had a revolver slung in your holster in that moment, because you didn’t think to realize that anybody could be one of Turner’s men.

“you…” she cocked her head and you stiffened. “you’re the new hire, aren't ‘cha!”

you blinked in shock, voice cracking. “what?”

“glad you showed up early.” she gave you an approving nod and nudged you with her shoulder. “extra trays of bourbon are in the back. you wouldn’t mind passing them out would you?”

“i-” she was gone in a flash, disappearing into the messy crowd.

you should’ve left at that moment, taking the opportunity to disappear yourself, but instead, you thought this an opportunity to get close and personal with each customer. perhaps Ghost took off his mask for business—you knew you could recognize him by his expensive black suit and the stature he carried. the low timber of his voice, and the dark swirl in his eyes.

shivering, a drift came through and you rubbed at your bare neck. you quickly moved to man the bar. an easiness settled over you at the familiarity of it, grabbing bottles of bourbon and whiskey, pouring them neatly into bar glasses on black trays. you teetered from person to person, tray balanced in your palm as you peered into the face of each man, and even woman, hunkered down at a table to get a glimpse of their profile. 

tray after empty tray, you couldn’t find the man you were looking for, no matter how many more entered. soon enough, you bumped into the redhead with braids again and she gave you a cocksure smile.

“sure you’re a new hire?” she laughed loud, cheeks red, slapping at your back. “why don’t you go help across the way at our quieter location? you know where business—” she winked, “—gets done.”

you just nodded aimlessly, too overwhelmed to question it, and she beamed. “don’t worry. it’s more beginner friendly.”

you exited the saloon with the point of her hand to a quainter location on the other side of the street. a thick rain was coming down now. rushing into the parallel saloon, it was half as loud as the other, which your ears thanked, and a thick smoke hazed the room. groups of men donned in fancy suits sat at tables strewn across the room, discussing in low voices with fat cigars between their lips.

your eyes swiveled around the room, craning your neck to peer into the furthest corner of the saloon, but still, no red mask. deflating, you jolted when a barmaid gripped at your shoulder.

“new hire?” she looked disgruntled, eyes narrowing in judgment. you took note of her attire, eerily similar to your own, with a fine cotton blouse and buckskin skirt. now, you understood who the redhead may have confused you for: a fancy barmaid for the gentleman’s club across the way.

she appeared frustrated at your lackluster response. “can you sing?”

you balked at that but said yes nonetheless. your mother had taught you, much to your chagrin. 

she nodded. “good. men were asking for a performance. i know it’s your first night, but could you give them a bone to chew on?”

“i guess so,” you spluttered, and she barely batted an eye, already pushing you to the raised platform by the bar. a man already sat with a guitar, peering at you expectantly when you stepped onto the platform. 

turning to face the audience, you felt the blood drain from your cheeks. you hadn’t sung in front of an audience this big since your school’s talent show. clearing your throat, you flashed the crowd your prettiest smile, and clasped your hands in front of you politely. the establishment quieted, save for a few low whistles, and you began to sing along for a softer rendition of the fast-paced song to the slow strum of the guitarist.

my love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,

though he’s promised to quit it, just for my sake.

he ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,

with a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone.

it was the only song you could remember in the moment—one the girls and you would sing wildly in the evenings after church over loud laughter and iced tea. 

my love has a gun, and that gun he can use,

but he’s quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;

and he’s sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,

and there’s no more cow punching, and that’s what I hope.

your eyes searched the crowd and you held back a gasp when you met eyes with a familiar red mask. he stood near the back of the club, bracing his forearm against a wooden beam. swallowing hard, you continued.

my love has a gun that has gone to the bad,

which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;

for the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,

and it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.

his eyes pierced you, and you couldn’t suppress the slithering shiver that crawled down your spine. you wished he was closer—right at the edge of the platform so you could look down into his brown eyes, and maybe, try to discern what he was thinking under that blood red mask.

now all you young maidens, where’er you reside,

beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;

he’ll court you and pet you and leave you and go

in the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.

the room clapped and hollered when you finished, and you couldn’t suppress the smile that stretched your cheeks as you curtsied clumsily, gaze on Ghost. he tipped his hat to you, and a loud laugh clambered into your throat. it morphed into a blood curdling scream when a revolver fired and Ghost crumpled to the floor.

the club scrambled in a panic with loud wails, the assailant disappearing into the throng as you clawed your way to the man. he was clutching at his stomach, half-fallen against the wooden beam.

“Ghost!” 

a strangled noise strained against your throat. falling to your knees beside him, you pulled away his hand from his stomach, and you paled at the sight of the dark red coating his glove, sleeve, suit. it pooled underneath him.

quickly, you grabbed his bloodied arm and pulled it around your shoulder. there was no way you could heft his weight but you were going to try anyway.

“c’mon,” you coaxed impatiently, as he scrambled up the side of the wooden pole, trying to support his weight. a string of curses left his lips.

“you’ve got a pretty voice,” he rasped, and you almost wanted to drop his weight entirely.

“not important,” you groaned, taking slow steps out the saloon with his body strung over yours. with every step, you grimaced with effort, huffing heavily.

there was an even greater panic in the streets than in the club—a heavy, pouring onslaught coming down like a beating drum. across the way, the other saloon was being ripped apart by several men, upturning tables and firing their guns at the ceiling to clear out the place. Turner’s men.

you pulled Ghost in the opposite direction, appreciative of his black attire in the dark night, the debilitating rain, and the ensuing chaos. you tipped his hat further over that tell-tale mask. he grumbled something by your ear.

“what?” you shouted over the mix of shouts and rush of rain, stumbling when a man hurrying past clipped your shoulder.

his voice lifted. “don’t need your help.”

you rolled your eyes, head on a swivel. lodged between two buildings was an alleyway. a throng of Turner’s men overturned more establishments ahead. you made a beeline for the cramped space.

 “you’ll die.”

he huffed when you pressed him against the wall, clutching at the blood seeping from his stomach.

“no i won’t.”

you shot him a glare.

“ghosts can’t die,” he said, sounding high and delirious. he slid further down the wall, a pitched laugh escaping him.

now you knew he was really at his last wits. you racked your brain for answers. you didn’t know medical knowledge, you didn’t see an infirmary on the way here, and even if you did, you wouldn’t put it past them to turn you over to Turner’s men in an instant.

you almost screamed in frustration, tearing off the sleeve of your blouse to wrap around his middle. your hands fumbled clumsily, and Ghost must’ve at least come back to half his senses because he pushed your hands away and expertly knotted the thing despite his thick gloves. his head slumped forward into your shoulder, as if the action was so taxing, breath growing shallow against your exposed collarbone.

you slapped at the side of his face.

“do you know anyone who can get help?” you probed, unable to conceal the desperation in your voice, “anyone at all?”

he sounded smug. “people can’t help ghosts.”

you groaned, pushing his head back against the wall. he peered at you lazily, eyes half-lidded.

“if you don’t tell me something, i will rip that mask clean off your face.” that must’ve stirred something in him because his eyes flashed.

“i did not track Turner’s men for miles to find you just for you to die.” you pressed on. “they found the cabin and these stupid journal entries where i wrote that you were in the town. they didn’t know i was there and went after you. i had to warn you so i tracked them and—” he hissed when you pressed your fingers into his wound to make sure he was still conscious. “—this happened.

he huffed. “stupid girl.”

you could only nod pitifully, before squeaking in surprise when Ghost used your shoulders and the wall as leverage to lift himself.

“take me down this alleyway, then turn left.”

you immediately obeyed and half-dragged him in the direction of his rasped instructions, ending up in front of the back door of a leather crafts store. the streets were slowly emptying by the minute and every second outside in the line of gunfire felt a gaping vulnerability on your back, so you didn’t question his command to open the back door unannounced.

you also weren’t surprised to see the long snout of a rifle stuck in your face the second the door swung open. a woman in a checkered blouse and loose breeches squared her shoulders and jabbed the gun forward so it almost hit your chin where rain coalesced in a steam, falling to your boots.

“who in the devil are you?” she spat, low and deadly. she carefully eyed the man slumping against you.

a strangled warble left Ghost’s mouth, and he lifted a hand to toss off his hat. the mask must’ve been a point of recognition for her because she gasped and lurched forward, hefting up the other side of his body.

“what the hell are you doin’ here, Ghost?” she demanded, helping you carry him behind the counter of the store into the back room. she pushed off all the strewn materials at the table in the center of the room with one strong sweep, and you laid back Ghost on the surface, his eyes closed.

muffling a cry, you pressed your fingers to the pulse point in his neck. to your relief, it was throbbing, albeit weakly.

“business,” was all he mumbled in response and the woman shooed you from his side with an impatient wave of her hand.

you stepped back to the edge of the room, feeling your senses clouded with panic. you looked down to the blood covering your hands. out the window, there was more shouting, gunshots, and a building far down the street went up in flames. your breath hitched till suddenly you couldn’t breathe anymore. clawing at your throat, you slid down the wall, fighting the strain in your chest that seemed to close your airway.

you watched the woman cut through his vest and make quick work on the bullet wound, pliers in hand.

“you.”

she might’ve been shouting at you but it barely registered in your mind.

“get your useless behind off the ground and help me for god’s sake!” 

you just stared at her and she groaned in frustration. “some girl you have here, Ghost,” she grumbled and the weak grunt that left him brought you back to life.

you stood, steeling yourself, wiping the blood against your front. you felt calm. dangerously calm as you neared Ghost’s side. his eyes were screwed shut and you resisted gagging at the sight of her pliers fishing through his gaping wound for a bullet.

“what do you need?” your voice was weak and quiet. it didn’t even sound like your own. she shot you an impatient look.

“water. from the tap over there. and a needle and thread in that cabinet.”

you moved like you were floating off the ground, light and airy. like you weren’t really there, but you found your hands filling a bowl with water at the kitchen sink and grabbing a case of needles and a spool of black thread from a cabinet overhead.

by her side again, she unclasped the red mask from Ghost’s face and you stared unflinchingly with a hitch of breath. before pulling it from his face, she cocked her head at you.

“look away,” she snarled and you just nodded, stepping back from the table till you couldn’t see Ghost’s profile anymore. couldn’t even see the slow swell of his chest to let you know he was still alive.

you had to escape the room. you walked back out into the main storeroom and grated your hands through your hair, pacing. you picked up the rifle left on the glass casing over a showcase of different leather crafts, cocking it, just in case Turner’s men came barreling through the door.

when you put back down the rifle, you gasped at the sticky, bloody imprint it left on the handle. looking into a mirror by the entrance of the store, you shuddered at your image.

blood crusted your arms, like you had dipped your arms into a vat of it, and red fingerprints littered your throat and tinged your frayed hair. the front of your half-torn blouse was smeared in it too.

your hands shook uncontrollably, so you picked up the rifle’s heaviness again to still you, and sat, leaning against the glass showcase, muzzle aimed at the front door. you sat there for a long time, breath shallow and grating, till the shouts and gunshots outside subsided, and the billiard parlor down the street crumbled under the weight of flames.

you awoke for a second time with a start, the woman’s hand shaking your shoulder lightly. you rolled your shoulders, neck impossibly stiff from your weird sleeping position on the floor. it was no longer dark outside, the lightest tones of pink and blood-soaked orange rising with dawn.

had you really only been napping in Ghost’s cabin half a day prior?

the woman sat beside you, pushing a warm mug into your hand. she didn’t pull her rifle from you, which you were endlessly grateful for, because you just hugged it closer to your chest, its cold metal and cured wood easing your nerves.

“tea.” she nodded to the steaming cup.

“is Ghost okay?” your voice cracked from disuse and she gave you a weak look.

“for now.”

you just nodded, taking a sip of the stuff and wincing when it burned your tongue. chamomile. Mama used to make it too.

the woman cleared her throat, drawing up her blonde hair into a messy bun. “sorry about the shouting. i’m not used to foreign company.”

you shrugged, itching at the dried blood on your neck as you took another sip of tea. 

“i’m Kate.” she held out a hand to you. “Kate Laswell.”

you shook her hand slowly, grateful she didn’t cringe away from the blood staining your own. you gave her your name in return and her brow raised.

“Ghost’s girl, huh?”

you felt too tired to be confused. “i guess so.”

“well i just know the boys would love to meet ‘ya.”

you allowed yourself a sliver of confusion. “the boys?”

“‘course,” she said with a smile, “one-four-one.”

you almost dropped the mug in your hand. “one-four-one?” you repeated weakly and she gave you a cheery nod.

you’d heard of them before. you heard too much about them before. she rubbed your shoulder comfortingly.

“they should be here any minute now.”

great. you were soaked with blood, clothes and hair tattered with sweat. as if she read your thoughts, Kate stood and outstretched a hand to you, pointing to the back room.

“i’ve got a tub filled in the back for you. and some extra clothes.”

you took her outstretched hand gratefully, allowing her to pull you up and lead you through the storage space where Ghost lay stretched out, half-naked, and maskless. you noticed her rush to flank your side and obscure the view of his bare, sleeping face from you. deciding not to fight it, the gentle hand on your back led you down a narrow hallway to an even narrower bathroom with a tub about as big as a barrel.

you didn’t mind it after the events of the night, Kate politely closing the door behind you, as you stripped yourself bare and scrubbed the blood away in the tub. slowly, you settled in its lukewarm water in a ball and rocked there, choking back sobs in the privacy of the tight room.

once all your tears were wrung dry, you emerged from the tub, drying yourself and your hair before redressing in your corset, drawers, chemise, and a linen bell sleeve blouse Kate lent you. tucking them into your unruined item—the fringed buckskin split skirt—you pulled your boots on and smoothed the lines of your face in the mirror. like your mama taught you.

when you opened the door of the bathroom, low murmurs and new voices floated down the narrow hall. 

“she isn’t supposed to be here, cap’.”

a low husky voice grunted back, “i know that.”

a third man with an even stranger accent than the first two chimed in loudly, “she risked ‘er life for Ghost! Simon said she tracked ‘em for two and a half miles just to warn him about the Turner boys.”

you assumed it was Kate shushing him.

the low, husky voice returned. “it’s not up to us, Soap. she’s Ghost’s now.”

you crept slowly up the hallway, searching for Ghost’s body stretched out on the table, but he wasn’t there. in his place were three men, leaning against the table, deep in conversation with Kate.

you stopped short in the entrance till one of the men, a stout one, thickly corded with muscle, and an unusual looking hairstyle—like the ones you saw in the school books about iroquois from the east—beamed at you.

he shushed a bronze-skinned man at his shoulder, who turned his gaze to you. the third bearded man with thick chops and broad shoulders fell silent, as did Kate, and suddenly, the whole room’s attention was trained on you.

you slowly walked into the room, discomforted by the thick silence. you resisted fumbling at your skirt nervously. the man with a mohawk let out a low whistle and the bearded man swatted at his face while the youngest man stepped forward to politely offer his hand, taking off his hat to press to his chest. 

his face was pinched with a stoic look. “i’m Kyle Garrick. pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

your lips parted in surprise when he touched his lips to the back of your extended hand, and you politely curtsied in response, a blush touching your cheeks. 

the man with a mohawk stepped in behind him to give you a smug look.

“i’m Soap,” was all he offered. he clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “and this is Gaz. no one calls him Kyle.”

Kyle rolled his eyes in retaliation and released your hand, looking apologetic. you couldn’t help but softly smile as they began to quarrel and the bearded man reached out his hand this time to shake it firmly.

“John Price,” he said with a nod, voice husky. he jerked his head in Soap’s direction. “that’s Johnny Mactavish.” 

you murmured a quiet thank you as Kate comfortingly patted your back. 

“so this is one-four-one?” you mumbled aloud with raised brows. Soap and Gaz stopped mid-quarrel to peer at you. John shrugged.

“more or less.”

manners be damned, you fidgeted with your skirt. one-four-one was a legendary gunslinger group—on the run from the scarce law of the west, gambling, bounty hunting, and dueling for riches. you had no idea Ghost had friendly ties with them.

“where’s Ghost?”

John smirked at you, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “out.”

nodding, you felt an anxiety roll through you. out could mean anything with Ghost, you learned in your short time with him.

where are you, Ghost? a meek voice in you called out. smoothing a hand over your chest, you steadied yourself as Kate offered you a small plate of breakfast. a piece of cornbread on the side of a bowl of chili that you kept down easily, despite the nervous gurgling of your stomach.

“Turner’s men,” you began softly to Kate, putting down the empty plate, but you still drew in the attention of the other three men, “they’re gone?”

she nodded sullenly, and Soap added, “not without a fight. upturned half the town with them…” his eyes went dark, voice tinged with something violent. “...and left a couple dozen dead bodies.”

John knuckled his shoulder gently. “we’ll get ‘em back, Soap.” he said it like it should be comforting, but there was a deadliness in it that made you shudder.

Soap winked at you. “aye. we’ll kill all those Turner boys if we have to. we already took down half of ‘em yesterday.”

undoubtedly, you knew it was a promise. Kate said quietly, “neighbors said they gunned down a couple of ‘em before they fled town.”

your brows rose. “there were others fighting?”

Kyle shrugged. “it’s the west, ma’am. people’re itchin’ to break the law.”

you thought back to the assailant last night—how he high-tailed it after popping a shot.

“so the man who shot Ghost last night?”

Kyle shrugged again. “probably a drunk lookin’ for trouble. happens all the time in these parts.”

you tried to hide the look of horror curling into your face, something akin to disgust, but Soap, ever-observant, took amusement in it immediately.

“that scare ye, princess?” he leaned against the table, closer to your face, and your frown deepened.

“don’t call me that.” it sounded wrong coming from him.

John grabbed the scruff of his neck and Soap twisted, complaining loudly in his hold. “knock it off, would you? poor girl’s had a rough night.”

you gave John a grateful look. still, you were relieved to know Ghost was only shot by a drunk rather than found and almost killed by one of Turner’s boys. you assumed you got real lucky last night. or maybe unlucky since the drunk’s poor shot happened to pick out Ghost of all people at the club.

“what was Ghost doing in the town last night?” you piqued, and Soap went quiet. the whole room did. sheepish, you watched their gazes slide across the room, avoiding your own.

Soap shot out, “do we tell her?”

Kate hissed in response, scolding him with a tight grip on his ear, and Kyle smacked at the back of his head. you assumed Soap just let a vital piece of information slip from the way John’s mouth twisted.

“tell me what?” you pressed and Kate shooed you out the room, taking your arm in hers.

“help me out with somethin’ else, girlie, and i’ll answer half the questions you ask.”

half the questions, you ruminated with a bitter taste in your mouth. she led you out the door of the leather crafts shop before a word of protest could leave your mouth, and into the bright mid-morning light. shops littered down the street had owners stationed out in front, sweeping up debris, shattered glass, and shoving trash into sacks. Kate tipped her stetson to each one as you passed, and they would nod back in a way that forebode something ominous.

“these are the neighbors,” Kate explained in a low, smart tone. “and this is our town.”

you remembered what Ghost said to your daddy over dinner two nights ago. 

i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.

“and you protect them for a price?” you asked. 

she smiled lightly. “a small one.”

your daddy must’ve had an unlucky price to pay if his daughter was the bargaining chip.

“is this the only town you protect?” 

Kate laughed at that, patting your hand on her arm gently. “heavens, no. Ghost’s got all kinds of investments from the west to east. he isn’t home much lately because of it.”

your brows raised. “that’s a lot of land to cover.”

“we’ve got a lot of friends from down south to help.”

you cocked your head at her as you turned the corner, making your way past the saloon from last night. the redhead with braids was mopping up the floor of the torn-up saloon, and when you caught her eye, her gaze sliding from you to the woman beside you, she paled.

“friends?”

Kate winked at you. “mexicans. a blessing from the spanish-american war.” when you just blinked at her, she elaborated.

“the boys enlisted in the british regiment to fight the spanish alongside patriots and texan mexicans. i played dress-up as a man to fight in the war.”

your brows raised and she gave you a sly look. “even had a female companion to play the part.”

she continued on. “when the war ended, one-four-one just never left—made friends with lots of boys down in texas. now, they do all sorts of work with us.”

“who?”

“los vaqueros.” the cowboys. you had heard of them too.

you should’ve been scared, connecting the dots, the blood-ties and relationships fused on the battlefield that didn’t break even ten years after the war. these people were dangerous. but in a way, you contemplated, your daddy was too. working with one-four-one, protected by los vaqueros, and bargaining with an enemy, Turner. 

and you didn’t even know it.

you wondered if your mama did. thinking of the hardness in her face, and the back-breaking rigidness of her lifestyle, you assumed she carried that weight too.

Kate peered at the edge of your face, catching your eye. “you gonna run away yet?”

you gave her a long look, answering her as truthfully as you could. “no.”

she nodded. “good. because if you do, we may just have to kill you.”

eerily, you were reminded of Ghost two nights ago in the cabin, his arms crossed over his chest and half-asleep despite your attempt to kill him.

good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.

“you sound like Ghost,” you remarked with a grimace, and the long laugh that left Kate was airy and full of menace.

apparently helping out Kate meant running errands, restocking on preserves, fresh foods, and medical supplies. she kindly let you pick out your own stetson hat—a gus style, with three sloping dimples, cream-colored, and a leather brown cord tied round the base in a fashionable bow. your mama would’ve had your head for wearing something so manly, but turning it in your hands, the smooth velvet soft against your palms, your heart swelled at the thought of it being your own.

you would’ve paid for it if you didn’t carelessly lose your knapsack in the chaos last night, tending saloons and singing for drunkards. sighing at the cash register, you deeply lamented its loss and tugged the snug hat onto your head.

one-four-one wasn’t there when you returned to the leather crafts shop. Kate had given you a soft smile, saying they were out on business again. you had a sneaking suspicion that business meant shoot outs over encroached territory and fixing worsening investments.

as you prepared for dinner, it was uncanny to think that you were laying food out over the table where Ghost almost bled out the night before.

sure enough, just before the red crinkles of sunset, one-four-one meandered into the room for dinner, hats left by the hook at the door. you waited expectantly for a tall, broad, black suit and red mask to enter the room, but only deflated with disappointment. Soap shot you a knowing look that you pointedly ignored as the table joined hands to murmur a quick grace before digging in.

you could barely touch the food on your plate. any method you used to get under the boy’s skin about what business meant was quickly parried in clever ways that frustrated you more than your conversations with Kate. it was especially frustrating because you were beginning to think that business may circle around topics about you. 

you couldn’t weasel any more information out of them except that John, Gaz, and Soap had rode north to a nearby town they had business in. 

you were beginning to hate that word, you thought decidedly, trudging down the narrow hall to a spare bedroom Kate provided to you for the night. one-four-one would descend into the cool basement space with the preserves to their own quarters. you wanted to follow them, to peek down and see what was in there, but Kate was hot on your trail, and you knew they were probably hiding something else about business down there. especially since Kate would be sleeping down there as well.

that left you on the upper floor—which you contemplated with a frown because running away now would be easier than ever. except for the fact that you didn’t have a horse, gun, money, your knapsack, or anything at all in fact. unless you could scrounge around the kitchen a bit.

creeping from your designated room down the hall, you bit back any morsel of regret bleeding into your mouth as you entered the back room. one-four-one had shown you kindness, but technically, they had also kidnapped you and were forcing you to stay in their home. albeit, on your terms, according to Ghost. but you didn’t value the word of a kidnapper very much. even if, in the moment of your capture, you had wanted to leave home and never return again.

 oh—and you were being used as a hostage in a business transaction.

that thought spurred you forward blindly, and you rummaged around the kitchen as quietly as you possibly could, pocketing matches, a box of ammo, and a small bunch of rope beneath the kitchen sink. sliding the knife drawer open, you inspected each one carefully, watching the blade glint in the moonlight, before picking up a small one you hoped would go missing without notice.

“stealing my things again?”

you jumped out of your skin with a shriek, and mindlessly turned to the source of sound, brandishing your knife at the intruding form shrouded in shadow. he caught your wrist easily, stepping forward to press you back against the kitchen counter and your heart dropped to your stomach.

dark eyes and a red mask. his hat was off and the black fabric beneath his mask was pulled up enough so you could see his jaw, the soft pink of his mouth and the silvery scar on his upper lip.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, dropping the knife. it clattered to the floor and he tilted his head almost curiously.

for a long moment you just stared in silence, his knee firm between your thighs and broad stature lingering over you, gloved hand tight on your wrist. you searched his eyes, reaching up a hand to brush at his jaw, but he immediately stepped out of your proximity.

“brought you something.” he nodded outside and you looked out the kitchen window to see your dappled gray mare, Sugar, tied to the fence post at the front of the leather crafts store by his black stallion. breath hitching, you pressed your hand to the glass.

“thank you,” you whispered, looking back at him. wordlessly, he turned from you to peel off his black trench coat. 

when you noticed him wince, you immediately moved forward to help him out of his coat, laying it out over the table. mumbling a word of gratitude, he sat gingerly in a seat and leaned down to undo his boots. watching him struggle from the tenderness of his wound, you sighed, pushing his hands away to neatly kneel in front of him and smooth over your skirt. then, you carefully helped him pull them off.

“don’t need your help,” he grumbled from above, and you suppressed a smirk. you almost missed his grumpy remarks.

“that so?”

putting down his second boot by his feet, you looked up at him, heart jumping to your throat from the half-lidded look behind his mask. the gloved hand that rested on his thigh by your cheek twitched. you remembered its appearance yesterday—soaked in blood. his blood.

closing your eyes, you nuzzled your cheek into the hand, his palm cupping your face gently before moving down to stroke at your braid. he let out a low throaty sound when you looked up at him from where you kneeled, cheek pressed against his thigh, the fine worsted wool of his dress pants velvet on your skin.

“do you know what you do to a man?” he asked, voice soft. you only hummed back in sing-song question, eyes half-lidded, content where you leaned against the strength of his thigh.

“i searched half the plain for your horse. she got lost in the fray when i got shot.” his hand moved from your braid to your throat, stroking in time with the lulling pulse of your heart, leather cool on your hot skin.

“found her back at the cabin, sniffing around for you. the place was totally upturned, and all the food in my cabinets was gone.” he snickered lightly. “you thief.”

you smiled at that, gripping his wrist weakly.

“i like it when you talk,” you admitted, mesmerized by the slow way his soft lips shaped deep, grating words in that thick foreign accent.

you watched the bob of his bare throat swallow with a hunger pooling in your stomach.

“you should be afraid of me,” he whispered, gently pressing his thumb to your lower lip, “you were afraid of me.”

you couldn’t remember a time when you were afraid of Ghost—only a nervous anticipation crawling across your skin at his proximity. maybe you were never afraid in the first place. maybe you told yourself that you were afraid of him, out of your own unease, when the fear was something that you actually craved.

“i am afraid,” you said. his grip on your chin tightened. “but not of you.”

“who then?” he demanded, voice silky.

“Turner. his men.” an invulnerable shiver went through you. “they said the first man to lay hands on me gets dibs.”

you felt his thigh stiffen beneath you. “i won't let them touch you.”

you swallowed thickly, peering up at him. a dark, sinister voice inside you purred out. 

i want you to touch me.

he cocked his head at you, asking a silent question.

i want only you to touch me.

he voiced it. “what do you want?” his hand moved to stroke at your cheek, your brow, your hair.

you never had the luxury of pondering the question. your path was always laid out before you by your mama and daddy. there was no choice. only lingering, bitter feelings of resentment as you fought yourself to believe that tending Daddy’s saloon and entertaining businessmen was the life you wanted.

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

your face heated with shame. “i want you.”

Ghost went very still. you couldn’t even hear his breaths in the darkness. “you’re sure?”

you nodded against his thigh. “mhmm. want you.”

“i’m the devil,” he murmured, sounding sullen, but you just shook your head.

“you’re Simon,” you corrected, and he flinched beneath you.

letting out a low curse, you didn’t even fight it when he scooped you up in his arms, and pressed you back against the kitchen counters, mask pressed to your hair, warm body against yours. your hand trailed up to press gently at the bullet wound buried beneath his black vest and button up. his hissed at the pressure but didn’t stop you as you moved to unbutton his vest.

“i want to see,” you explained softly, unfastening the thing completely. he tossed the vest onto the table, his holster following it, as you began unbuttoning his dress shirt, splaying out a hand over his warm chest. 

he was littered with scars—big and small, and you desperately tried to memorize the placement of each one as you revealed more of his pale skin, inch by inch, till his shirt hung loose at his waist. your eyes swept over the naked expanse of his toned torso and the white bandage soaked through with blood that clutched at the right side of his stomach.

slowly, you unwrapped it till the old dressings fell from his skin and a long line of puckered pink skin punctured through with a dark thread was revealed. you steadied your breath, brushing a hand over it. Ghost shifted overhead, leaning his weight onto the counter behind you.

“does it hurt?”

you couldn’t see his face, but his voice was wrung through in your ear. “no.”

the corner of your mouth twitched. “didn’t take you for a liar, Ghost.”

he just grunted in response. you smoothed your hands over the warmth of his torso.

“let me take care of you?” you offered, and his breath went shallow. you didn’t even know how to take care of someone. you had no idea what you were doing. but you offered anyway.

you could feel him smile into your hair, nose pressed to your ear. “always so polite, princess.”

you felt him tug your hair loose of its braid, and you took in a sharp breath as it fell in waves around your shoulders. he pulled off his gloves quickly, taking a handful of it, pressing the softness of your hair to his cheek. you shuddered.

“you won’t do a thing tonight, lovely,” he commanded lowly, and you nodded, hands clutching at his chest as he circled his strong arms around you. forehead pressed to yours, you looked up through his mask to find his rich brown eyes on you. his warm breath hit your lips.

he tilted his head in a gesture down the hall. “want you on that bed now.”

you complied immediately, taking him in your hand, going down the hall with one of his hands burning straight through the fabric at where he tightly gripped at your hip. crowding you into the room, and the door sealed tight behind you, he turned you by your hips, and gently pulled back your hair to expose your neck to him. you gasped when the soft wetness of his mouth kissed over it gently, his arm curling around you to pull you flush together.

a steady heat pooled in your stomach, and you squirmed in his hold.

“Ghost…” you begged, not even knowing what you were begging for. he hummed against your skin, undoing the clasp of your holster, then your skirt. you felt embarrassed by your clunky attire, kicking off your boots, hiding your face into his bare chest as he slid the article off your legs.

“don’t hide,” he warned in a light tone, expertly taking apart the back of your blouse to leave you only in your undergarments. the look behind his mask was dark and domineering, leaving you shaking in his hold. he smoothed a bare hand over your shoulder and arm, lifting the inside of your wrist to press a kiss there, before he was kissing up your arm in a hot trail. 

when he reached your jaw, a foreign and breathy noise left your throat. his eyes snapped back up to yours, pausing his ministrations as you blushed deeply. you didn’t know what those sounds meant—only that they left you feeling utterly sinful for being so exposed to an older man, unmarried, and so innocent.

you swallowed when Ghost’s hands went to the back of your corset, undoing its clasps blindly as he pressed more kisses to your neck, your cheek, and the corner of your lips. you squeaked, screwing your eyes shut and found yourself disappointed when he paused again.

panting, your brows pinched in confusion. Ghost was leaning a bit back now, looking down at you with an imperceptible expression.

“what? why’d you stop?” you whispered, scared to break the moment, but he unabashedly cut through the quiet of the room. “How much do you know about going to bed with someone?” 

you squeaked again, stupidly looking around the room as if your mama may have been hiding in the wardrobe. the look on Ghost’s face twisted into pure amusement, much to your chagrin, and you cursed yourself for the complete absence of confidence in you—like it had all run dry with your cheek pressed to his thigh under the dinner table.

“i know…” you fumbled for a word, “...a lot. so much.” 

Ghost huffed, taking one of your hands pressed to your chest and sliding it down, past his belt, to the front of his pants. you yelped when he closed your hand around something hard, something throbbing.

“you know what this is then?”

you nodded dumbly.

“really?” you had no idea.

you nodded again, and he laughed lowly, cupping a hand around the back of your neck to kiss your cheek softly, his cool mask brushing your skin.

he unclasped the top of your corset, and you jolted when pulled it slowly from your torso. the cold air of the room bit at your skin and you wrapped your arms over your chest. grumbling in disapproval, he let the thing clatter to the floor and untangled your arms from your chest, pushing you back onto the bed.

“don’t worry, lovely,” he slew sloppy, wet kisses over your breast and stomach, lightly nipping at the chub there, and a loud sound flew from your mouth from the ministration, your back arching in response. “i can teach you everything.”

a large palm slid over your stomach, keeping you pinned there with a dark look, black eyes pitched in a silver from the moonlight. “would you like that, lovely?”

you nodded wildly, clutching at his hand splayed over your tummy. 

“please, Simon,” you called softly, and a guttural sound left the back of his throat as he hooked a thumb beneath the waist of your lacey drawers and pulled them down, letting them pool around your knees for a moment as he leaned down over you to placing a comforting kiss to your shoulder.

then, you were bare, splayed out in the moonlight beneath his muscled stature. you squirmed in his hold, pressing your thighs together around his arm, but he pried them apart easily, baring your most sensitive parts to him. your whole body flushed when his eyes honed in on the throbbing between your legs, humming deeply. you yelped as he greedily tugged you to the edge of the bed, gingerly settling on his knees on the floor in front of you.

“your wound—” you cried out in surprise, but you were cut short when he buried his nose between your legs and breathed in deeply.

“Simon,” you called, voice breathy and panting, like you’d just run a far distance, and your hips jolting up against your will. there was a strange deep coiling in your stomach—a growing ache you felt like you needed to relieve with a crazy thirst.

he wrapped two strong arms round your thighs to pin your squirming hips down, nosing around the soft folds and plushness of your inner thighs. 

“patience,” he said, voice soft, and you keened, unsure what to do with your hands clenching and fumbling around the sheets. catching your wrists, he pinned them down to the bed along with your thighs. 

you felt the strange primal need to beg—to plead for his forgiveness, your whole body alight from the way he held your body in a bind, baring yourself to him.

“please,” you whimpered, unsatisfied with the way he continued to kiss and bite at your thighs, licking over them and periodically sucking the skin into his mouth. you canted your hips up, moaning when you found a delicious bout of friction against his turned jaw.

with a grunt of disapproval, he pinned you roughly back down to the bed.

“greedy are we, pretty thing?”

biting your lip, you didn’t feel an ounce of shame as you nodded. you needed that friction again. you didn’t know why, but you felt like you needed to grind against something desperately, just to relieve that sore aching inside you.

humming, Ghost lowered his mouth between your legs, eyes on yours as he gently blew cold air over the throbbing heat of you. you whined at that, hips trying to buck up, but he was just too strong.

“hurts,” you admitted in a whimper, and his eyes darkened.

“what hurts?”

you squirmed, whimpering helplessly, face flushing. “there.”

“where?” he asked, his lips twisted in a smug way.

you threw your head back, chest pushing up into the air with a frustrated whine.

“here?” he offered, his tongue coming out to lap over the throbbing thing between your legs. at that you gasped with a jolt, chasing his tongue. “this pretty little cunt aching?”

“yes,” you gasped, his tongue coming down to caress your core again and again, till it was lapping at it, almost playing with it.

the feeling was intense, nothing like you’d ever felt before. it bloomed like a fire in your throat, quenching the intense ache in your stomach, but every time he pulled away, the ache only grew stronger and stronger, like you needed to chase the pleasure with even more pleasure.

it was torture. you didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer.

the sight of him between your legs was so sinful, so wrong for a man to be lapping at you in such a forbidden place. but that intense feeling hung over everything in a foggy haze, blanketing any sense of foreboding shame that rang in the back of your brain.

there was only Ghost now—pinning your wrists and thighs to the bed, tongue rubbing strong circles into your fleshy pink skin.

when he pulled back, you almost cried out in frustration but he pinned you with a dark look of warning, releasing your wrists to bring a thumb to your cunt. he rubbed at in fast circles and a breathy moan escaped you, arching against the sheets.

he cooed. “so sensitive. you never touch yourself before, pretty thing?”

you choked out a reply. “no—it’s,” you gasped when his tongue came down to lap at your entrance, drawing teasing patterns over it, hooking inside then drawing out.

“sinful.” you finished with a drawl and he pushed his tongue inside, fucking you out of your wits with the wet muscle.

he hummed inside you, the tremors traveling all the way up to the place where he was rubbing with his thumb. you clutched at his hand, willing it to move faster, and he complied immediately. your body lost a fiber of control with every passing second. 

“you look like you’re enjoying it, though,” he spoke against you with a smug look. you barely heard him, a foreign sensation building in you so fast, the words of warning died in your throat.

“you like getting fucked out with my tongue? my thumb on your clit?”

“you like being my good little whore, pretty thing?”

“say my name, princess.”

his low, gruff words went straight to the blooming heat in your stomach, traveling straight to your cunt, and exploding out to your swollen clit as you chanted his name.

Simon, Simon, Simon.

every throbbing wave gripped you with an intensity, clenching around his tongue in delicious rolls of pleasure that had you squirming in the sheets, unable to keep still as he pulled you through a slew of ecstasy. 

Simon.

colors exploded behind your eyelids, jaw slack, you slowly laxed into the bed, melting as the sweet noises in your throat eventually subsided.

there was a lulling stillness in the room as your senses slowly came back to you, and you realized Ghost was speaking in a throaty, cracked murmur to you, voice raw and overused. 

“good girl,” he praised, and you looked up at him, leaning into his palm as he affectionately rubbed at your cheek, clambering over you to press a kiss to your ear, the tip of your nose.

his warm breath against your lips had you jolting to life, slapping a hand over his mouth with a gasp. he jolted against you and you scrambled up straighter, seized by what you had just done.

you, naked and bare on the bed, and he, shirt unbuttoned and jaw splashed with your slick. a question burned in the dark eyes behind his mask but you just made haste to cover your body with the sheets, scurrying out of his hold. 

he called your name out, voice dark and pinched. he reached for you, but you held up a hand.

“don’t,” you warned, gripped with such a burning shame that tears filled your eyes. you quickly wiped at them relentlessly, but more reappeared in their stead, and you drew the covers around your shoulders, unable to contain the shaking that wracked your body.

burying your face in your hands, thoughts convulsed wildly in your head. what have you done? what would your mama think? your daddy?

you whimpered. what would the lord think?

you shook so hard you barely noticed the black button up sleeve that Ghost wrapped around your shoulders, taking the sleeves to loosely tie them around your neck. he settled a fair distance from you, eyes full and glinting.

“alright, pretty girl?” he asked gingerly when your sobbing subsided.

you sniffled, voice strained and throaty. “no.”

you gave him a miserable look. “we’re not married.”

he tilted his head, mouth opening and closing. his hand clenched at the sheets then relaxed again.

“i don’t wanna be a whore,” you cried, feeling dumb as you wiped at the tears coming down your cheeks in an onslaught.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. “is this because i called you a—”

“no!” you shouted immediately, then lowered your voice with a quick apology.

he slid to your side, flush against you and warm through the sheets. he pressed his mask to your hair.

“no one’ll think you’re a whore,” he mumbled, playing with your hair in his fingers, “you’re mine already.”

there was a deadpanned simplicity in his voice that made it easy to believe.

he took your tear-stained face in his hands. “besides, you’re too polite, princess. even in all that cowboy get-up.”

staring into his masked face, you nodded, chewing what he was feeding you slowly. he angled your face gently. when his lips made a slow descent to yours, you squeaked with a jolt and tried to scurry out of his hold, but he held fast, grunting with effort.

“what now?” he asked, exasperation flitting through his eyes, clenching at his jaw.

“i don’t kiss before a date—s��not proper!” you shot back with twice as much ire, and his eyes went wide before a huff of laughter escaped him.

“that so?”

you rolled your eyes. “yes.”

he hummed low, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “so proper, princess.”

you suppressed a laugh, trying to conceal your giggle with a frustrated huff, but Ghost didn’t fall for it as he drew you into arms, easily man-handling you into his desired position beneath the sheets before he slid into them behind you, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

you were pulled into a soft wall of warmth and bowing strength, curling around you in a sleepy hold. you couldn’t fight it even if you tried. he shifted against you, and you gasped when you felt something hard digging into the fleshy curve of your backside.

shooting a curious look over your shoulder, Ghost only offered you a lazy blink.

“don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he mumbled, drawing you in closer.

“but—”

“i don’t talk about those kinds of things before a date,” he said under his breath, and you could only laugh, relishing the way his lips curled into a smile against your hair.

an easy silence filtered into the room and you reached back behind you to grip at his shoulder, his neck, his skin. you took a deep breath. he was real. he was alive.

he slid his arms around your sides as a bind over your stomach, and you clutched weakly at the muscle of his arms smothering you.

“i thought you were going to die,” you ruminated softly, feeling a natural force pulling down on your eyelids.

“ghosts don’t die,” he reminded you, his lips against your neck. 

“devils don’t either,” you said, and he grunted in disapproval.

“you think i’m the devil, lovely?” his fingers stroked at your cheek. you leaned into his touch thoughtfully.

“maybe,” you answered in a truthful nod. “i don’t mind it though. i can make you good.”

his laugh was mirthless. “doubt you can, princess.”

you swallowed hard and closed your eyes. “you won’t ransom me back to my daddy, will you?”

you took his silence as a warning, an uneasy toil rolling through you. shifting in his arms, you turned to face him, the fabric of his mask pulled back down over his jaw, heavy gaze bearing down on you, half-lidded and sleepy. he just pulled you flush against his chest so you couldn’t see his masked face anymore, only the sounds of his deep, steady breaths in your ear that dragged you into a restless sleep.

p.s.: to any history buffs out there, i know that technically there was no actual british regiment in the spanish-american war but let's pretend that there was for the sake of plot holessss

...also imagining Gaz talk in a thick southern drawl was so funny to me he's so adorable

anyways hoped you enjoyed this long, self-indulgent chapter! more coming soon :]

[brucewaynehater101]

I’d love to see more of the Emotional Marks AU. I want to see the reveal and the Bats having the realization that just because they’re doing better /now/, it doesn’t fix the damage they did before. And that they can’t force things to heal. Healing takes time.

Post being mentioned is here

What I'm curious about is if it's a human only thing or if others (like Kyrptonians, Martians, Atlanteans, etc.) also get marks.

Anyways, here's some more stuff I thought of. As always, take as little or as much as you'd like of it ^^

Tim never takes off the object hiding his marks, even for himself. It's part habit and part desperation to never see how much his loved ones have actually hurt him.

He's unique in that he isn't sure where most of his marks come from. People usually see the marks within 24 hours of their appearance. Tim has gone years between seeing his own marked skin.

As I've stated before, the object works like glamor. Therefore, those with enough magic power would be able to see past it. This is part of why Tim wanted pants for the Robin uniform (any magicians working with Robin would see the moment they saw any of Tim's bare skin). Tim is very lucky the marks on his face only appeared a bit before he became Red Robin (and part of his reason for the cowl).

Marks typically stay away from the face. They only appear there if symbolically significant or if the marks are running out of space elsewhere on the body. Bart and Kon dying really did a number on Tim even though it wasn't their fault.

YJ and Dick have helped soothe some of the marks left behind by the Drakes (and Bruce too if you want good dad Bruce). Quite a bit have even fully disappeared due to them.

Tim still collected them like Halloween candy, though.

Major marks and their placement [though feel free to offer different ideas]:

Bruce calling Tim "Jason" - x on the back of neck

16th birthday - Major gash on right temple hidden by hair

Janet dying - splintering cracks along hand (bigger version of the one Janet fakes)

Jack coma then death - line in left calf then up to mid back of thigh

Bart dying - right side from under armpit to end of ribs gash

Kon dying - giant oval over sternum

Jason's TT attack - left foot/ankle cracks

Damian's attacks - stomach area

Losing Robin - largest slash diagonal across back (left shoulder to right hip)

There's more marks, but the ones on his face are caused by people not believing in him [this is not a "they should have" argument. It would have hurt regardless of what they should have done]

Hmm... So, the reveal? I'm thinking a magician. This would be after Tim switches back to just a mask and no cowl. His face marks would be on display for magicians but no one else. He, wrongly, assumed he'd be fine.

He's playing nice with the Bats at this point, even if he doesn't fully trust them. He loves them and wants to keep the peace. He'd never voluntarily show them his marks or tell them about it.

The Bats are being nicer under the idea that their assumptions about markless were incorrect. It weirds Tim out and usually has him ghosting them for a few days if they try to initiate feeling conversations with him. He kind of wishes they would just go back to normal.

It's a few months of this behavior before some magician makes a remark about Tim's facial marks. Something along the lines of, "You okay, Red? You're aware of how dangerous it is for marks to progress as far as the face, right?"

Cause what happens when there's no more room for marks? Drastic decrease in physical health. Could lead to death.

The Bats overhear and promptly freak the fuck out again.

Tim, who has been dealing with their bullshit for the last few months and doesn't want to deal with the confrontation, disappears. He's waiting for them to process their shit before returning [he loves them but does not want to be caught in that fucking whirlwind. Bats notoriously do not handle emotions well]

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

want talk about how important have AAC in your language.

language of birth country, of family, big language, so many native speaker, even more second third learned language speaker. but, even that, is language not often seen in robust AAC apps develop by western countries—because not one of big western countries.

there only one robust symbol based (or TTS tbh) AAC app have that language: TD snap.

which mean. must make it work.

how important it is have AAC that fit your needs: right grid size, right motor plan, right access support (switch, eye gaze, etc), right editing, right symbols, right color & color coding & contrast, right everything. n so much of this, actual need, and not preference.

which why there so many english symbol based AAC apps, each with different logic to where words are, how word organized, what symbol use, what editing feature have, all backed by their research & tech development… you get choose. if one app not right for you, have others. sometimes is prefer one over other, but other times is, some apps unusable for you, conflict needs for you, cannot understand it (e.g touch chat for me).

TD snap organization not work for me. core word not enough, fringe word organized not fit way my brain work, n overall not enough words that match own daily life.

but have to make it work. because it between this, or not communicate in words with family & with world in country where everyone speak this language.

so, am deleting everything, all words, all boards, & remake, reorganize. trying make it work. begging make it work. pay no mind how it take tens even hundreds of hours (years in making, still not finished). …it my only option.

n, this lucky case scenario—

people who cannot, or not allowed to, edit their AAC in such big way. people who cannot use that sad one app that contain your language.

or, especially: there languages & speaker of those language who need AAC but have no AAC because there no AAC that support their language.

their voice robbed.

but that not all. for longest time still not able use AAC in birth country language. because have no voice go along.

want talk about how important have useable voices in AAC in your language.

in gender that reflect you, tone & personality that reflect you, pronunciation & accent & everything that reflect you.

using voice that not used to, already feel like speaking through someone else mouth. very odd feeling—it you speaking, it you communicating, but it coming out of someone else mouth, in their voice, not yours. where yours?

even with voice that like, still take me while fully connect with voice. with voice mere tolerate, always feel discomfort, not fully mine. with voice that opposite who you are?

averse. rather not talk at all.

not willing choice. but physical reaction, recoil, hate, uncomfortable deep under skin, disgust.

between acapella voice group & IOS voices, there maybe 5-6 voices for birth country language, all very gendered, middle age “karen” sounding, robotic unnatural, unclear, hard hear what trying say, tele-announcer tone. 5-6, but somehow all sound same.

and, make no mistake, 5-6 badly made ones. is lots. other languages, have 1, or 2. or none. this, lucky.

so, not communicate with words at all. completely nonverbal all the time, so gestures, noises, grunts, is what left. need parents with 24/7, because other don’t know why not talk, don’t even know can not talk, don’t understand what mean with all these body language noises/-n, by the way, parents is part reason have cPTSD, but have be around them, because nonverbal high support needs, what can you do, what other option you have?. and, still, frequent meltdowns n tantrum—because often no one understand.

have words that cannot use. in language that itself is trauma trigger.

today, found that apple/ios now expanded voices for birth country language. so many now! so many also have enhanced & premium options, that come with ios, no extra cost. so many different personalities, tones, inflections. and, sound so natural.

cried. because. finally may able communicate with words in birth country language again.

don’t know how explain to people who, never had go through forced silence, how important and huge and even life changing this is.

won’t take away communication disability, won’t take away other AAC difficulties, won’t take away trauma, won’t make birth country language any less of trauma trigger, but—

it there when ready.

—to all my AAC users who speak language that not commonly supported by robust AAC apps on market. especially those BIPOC, those diaspora and those from the country. those who speak language with few speakers. especially those nonverbal nonspeaking who have no other option. those who cannot type, who can only use symbol base AAC, so effectively stranded without one that support their language. love you all, see you all, even if AAC companies don’t.

[hhonghu]

Clingy Scara with gamer bf!reader? When scara is horny he enter reader's gaming room and just sit prettily on reader's lap without his pants and slowly lifting up his shirt to show reader his pink nipples🥹 I wanna kiss his pretty chest sm

OH AND KAZUHA?? do you see that gap on his clothes, I feel like I want to-

[Thirst]!

anon your brain me love RAHHHHH clingy scara who wants your dick affection 24/7 TT;;

"... this piece of shit!" you shout, exasperatedly throwing the controller to the side of your desk as you stare in to the screen. you couldn't get pass floor 12 because of how difficult the enemies were and how it just kept moving like some worm. you lean back to your chair, irritation growing by the second only to be interrupted by your door opening revealing scara, who's face looked flushed for some reason. you immediately relax.

"ah, hey darling." you sit up, watching as he approaches you. "was i too loud? sorry, the level was annoying me—" you pause as scara sits on your, still silent as he fidgets the hem of his shirt, his face looking down. you grab his chin, lifting his face up for his eyes to meet yours. his glossy eyes peered through his long lashes, his pretty lips almost in pout.

"something the matter, darling?" he slowly nods his head, finally speaking up. "i-it's been 3 hours since you've been playing.. i miss you, [name]." he sniffles, "i didn't want to disturb you but... i can't help it.. i need you.." he lifts his shirt, showing his puffy pink nipples all hard. he didn't want to admit it, but he really needed you! while you went off to play in your gaming room, it left him wanting you. he plays with himself, trying to relieve some of the frustration but just can't do it without you.

you coo, sliding your hand from his waist to his chest, your index finger flicking the hard nub making him moan. "you needy boy, missed me that much?" you bring your thumb and pinch, slowly rolling it between your fingers. "nghh— haa, [name].. please..", "please what?"

he whines, his back arching and he brings your other hand to his chest, swiping you fingers to his other nipple. "please, [name].. stop playing that stupid mmmh— and play with me instead." he grinds his ass on you, his hips slowly rocking back and forth.

you grin, leaning down to kiss where his heart is, slowly kissing down to his nipple. he sighs in content as he feels your warm mouth latch on the hard nub, sucking and flicking it with your tongue. your hand slithers down to his hand and squeeze while your other hand works on his other nipple, tugging and pinching it. scara hugs your head, his greedy head thinking of nothing but the pleasure that your mouth and hands brings to his body, wanting more.

"mmmph— yeesss.. yes! lick me more ghhuk—! don't stop, [name]♡!"

hehe as for kazuha, we are not letting one small gap in his clothes slide. shame on hoyo for not making it any wider like the other anemo boys >:( thank you for anon for the food!! <33

[thatwritterbeach]

one messed up bat .5

dc masterlist

batfam x reader x Jason todd

summary: the batboys keep messing up when trying to help y/n

Warnings: mentions of sa, self harm, self hate, suggestive language, angst, Bruce is a POS, talk of murdering the joker, vomit

A/N: I do not not own dc boohoo.

About ten hours later they all hissed at Alfred turning the lights on and rolled over to avoid being blinded. Dick and Tim had ended up on the floor snuggled under the same Queen sized blanket. Jason was curled into an impressive ball for his size in the recliner next to her and Damian was still snuggled in her lap his ear right over her heart.

"Ah, fuck I'm too old for this shit," Dick hissed trying to stretch out his stiff joints.

"You're tellin' me," Tim agreed, the lack of caffeine for so long making his head hurt.

"Tt, you should have slept on the couch or in your chairs," Damian chided not even opening his eyes.

"Ah fuck," Jason mimicked Dick when he tried to stand and every joint cracked loud enough they could have been under fire. "Damn being dead is bad for the joints."

"There's breakfast in the kitchen when you youngens can move," Alfred said with a small smile, his own joints perfect. (the old bastard)

"I may never move again," Dick said into the blanket.

"I thought you were limber, yoga boy," Y/n teased easing Damian off her lap and standing to her own joints cracking.

"how long do you think we'll live, I mean before our bodies can't hold themselves together anymore," Tim asked rolling over onto his hands and knees to try and stand up.

"You say such nice things," y/n said holding out a hand to help him up. He clasped her hand and braced to move but before she could register what he was doing he'd pulled her down onto the floor with him making sure she landed on him so she didn't get hurt then Dick was grabbing her and making her into a blanket burrito. In a very brotherly way so get your mind out of the gutter Dick wrapped his arms and legs around her and cuddled into her neck making loud fake snoring notices.

"Release me," she demanded with a wiggle but her arms were pinned to her side. "Damian help." He looked at 'Grayson' in disgust but shrugged at her and left the room.

"Traitor," she yelled after him. "Jason," she said hopefully, batting her eyelashes and pouting.

"Sorry I need at least another few hours, you're staying," Tim said clinging to her other side.

"You know if you guys had done this before-"

"I know, I'm sorry we didn't make you feel wanted."

She sighed but didn't say anything just absorbed the comfort they were providing. Jason sat on the floor at her feet and rubbed a hand over what he thought was her ankle under the blanket.

"Food's getting cold," he said.

"I have to pee," she wiggled again and they released her with matching sighs.

"Same."

And just like that they left her alone. Not even 24 hours. She smirked to herself as she walked down the hall. Pausing to stick her tongue out at a photo of Bruce's parents. There were no cameras where she was of course.

Your kid turned into a real pos. With stupid rules that ban me from killing Jason's killer, my rapist and the man who crippled Babs.

With a final eye roll she hurried to the bathroom, just in case anyone remembered they were supposed to be watching her. She did her business, cleaned and re-bandaged her cuts. The lighter she kept in her pocket at all times, that nobody had bothered to search, felt heavy and she stuck a hand in to run her thumb over the striker wheel.

Maybe just once more.

"Knock knock," Jason said though the hard wood.

Nope not right now.

"I'm coming, just a sec," she said back with ease. He pulled her to him the second she opened the door. The hug was bruising and if she hadn't been paying attention she wouldn't have noticed he was patting her down. His hand went into her pocket and she let him pull out the lighter.

"You're getting sloppy," she commented.

"Wasn't trying to be sneaky."

"Excuses excuses."

"Are we gonna talk about it?"

"Bout what?"

"You know what."

"Oh! My undying love of you. Yeah I was thinking we could talk....never?" He tightened his grip and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm not good for you," he whispered.

"I'm not good for me, you've seen my skin."

"Bruce is gonna kill me," he muttered before grabbing her face in both hands and tilting her head up to place the softest on her lips.

"I take it you return my feelings?"

"Nah, just felt like kissing my adopted sister cuz I'ma creep."

"Coulda' fooled me," she said pulling him back in for another kiss while one of her hands stole his lighter.

"You wanna tell people yet?"

"That we've kissed before our first date, nope." He placed a kiss on her nose and picked her up to toss her over his shoulder, waited a beat then tapped her lightly on the ass.

"I ain't inta' that bro." To which he smacked her as a bit harder, so she did the same and he froze.

"Maybe I am, sis." Her eyes widened in shock and mild horror but she couldn't dwell on it because he started moving again.

"She put up a fight," Dick asked when they entered the kitchen.

"Nope, she just walks too damn slow."

"Language," Bruce scolded over his coffee.

"Fuck off, you don't get to say jack shit about jack shit until we fix your mistakes-"

"Killing is wrong-"

"It's not wrong when the piece of shit had raped three of your adopted kids!" (in batman death in the family interactive movie and a few other medias it is hinted/or outright said that Jason and Babs were assaulted by joker)

"Jason," Y/n said small and sad from her spot still over his shoulder.

"It's fine, I'm fine. But Babs and you..." He couldn't finish, didn't wanna drag up anymore old than he already had but it was too late he'd opened that can of worms.

"I didn't know," Bruce said standing to move towards Jason.

"You didn't ask. I was with that psycho for a year and you didn't ask." (yes I know that is the Arkham version let me fill my story with angst.) Jason moved away before Bruce could reach him and set y/n down on the counter to wrap his arms around her.

"Little wing," Dick practically cooed in pity.

"I'm fine," he growled into her shoulder. She combed her fingers through his hair and gave everyone a back off look. But Dick took it literally, leaving the room with speed. What the batfam need not know is that he ran off to puke his guts out from guilt. His little wing had called and asked for help and Dick hadn't been there, he didn't know even a fraction of what Joker had done to him and he never asked. What kind of big brother didn't ask about what their baby bro went through. A shit one, Dick's mind supplied oh so helpfully.

"what do you need from us," Tim asked, trying to make a plan. He didn't know what to do with his damaged siblings and it was making him nervous. He downed half a mug of coffee while he waited on answer.

"I don't need nothin' just for everyone to be there for y/n."

"Jason," Damian said. All eyes turned to him, he hadn't said Todd, or any form of cruel nickname.

"Yeah, kid?"

"I'm glad you're alive. I'm sorry you were hurt." Damian looked like he might be moving in for at least a pat on the back so y/n shoved Jason off to meet him halfway. What ensued had everyone's jaws on the floor. Jason holding Damian in a bear hug, his little legs dangling off the ground, and Damian hugging his back. Nobody said anything out of fear they'd break the spell.

"Release me," Damian finally commanded. Jason instead set him down next to y/n on the counter who attacked him in side hug.

"Dick's gonna be pissed he missed the bro moment. The broment," Tim laughed practically running to steal his own hug from Jason while the guy was in the mood. Bruce stood to the side hoping but not expecting. He wasn't surprised when Jason ignored him in favor of hugging Alfred.

"What'd I miss," Dick complained from the doorway.

"Well, Jason and Damian hugged, then I got one, then Alfred."

"What about me?"

"Come here. Then nobodies gettin' anymore 'm done."

"Yay," Dick whisper shouted flinging himself at his younger but larger brother. They hugged for longer than Dick was expecting and he was enjoying hugging his family so when Jay started to move Dick held on tighter.

"We're gonna be livin' in the same house dude."

"You just said no more hugs, I'm savoring."

Finally Jason wiggled away and quickly moved back to y/n propping himself on the counter right next to her legs his arm resting over her knee and hand holding her calf to stroke his thumb over the skin.

"No,' Bruce said from back at the table where he'd moved during the hugging.

"No what father?"

"No that," he said pointing at Jason's hands on her.

"Too bad," y/n said raising a brow and begging him to fight her on it, she'd flash them her scars, after covering Damian's eyes of course.

"Are you guys a that," Dick asked disapprovingly making a mental note to pound Jason into the sparing mats later.

"I think it's great," Tim said, having been the one to push them together of course he had some bias.

"Tt, I think it's ridiculous."

"Noted. Don't you want me happy?"

"Of course, beloved, I just don't see how Todd can make that happen," he practically chuffed, back to his usual self, though there was less bite to his words.

Bruce watched his kids interact with envy, but he knew he'd made too many mistakes to expect open arms. Y/n was sneaking glances of him, the people pleaser in her aching to fix his frown, but he'd gone too far. Maybe at some point they would mend but she couldn't forgive him. Bringing up the mission when he found out about her self harming. Saying no to Killing after knowing what Joker's done to his children. She wanted to punch him, and with a sick satisfied feeling she realized everyone in this room would do just that if she asked. Bruce would punch himself, Alfred would take off his gloves and KO, Dick would break his nose without remorse, Jason...well we all know what he would do, Tim would kick him in the jewels, Damian would insult him while destroying his shins.

They all ate without much talk until Dick joined the trauma dumping.

"I was assaulted too. Twice," he said so casually they all just blinked at him for a moment.

"That's it, Tim, Damian, you aren't allowed out of the house. Nobody is leaving my direct sight ever again."

"Who," Jason asked, ignoring Bruce.

"It was a while ago, ones in jail the other doesn't matter. Just wanted to show I..relate, I'm here if you wanna talk. Not that what was done..I mean-it wasn't the Joker so-"

"Dick, don't..don't make what happened to you less than just because it wasn't a psycho," y/n said firmly.

"Anyone else," Jason said looking at Tim and Damian. they both shook their heads.

______

"You wanna go out for coffee," Jason asked around lunch time.

"Sure, as a date?"

"How about a pre-date."

"What's a pre-date?"

"well, I want our first date to be special, I need time to plan so this will be a teaser-"

"Oh my God," she cut him off her brain suddenly realizing something.

"What?"

The joker took both of their virginity, at least she assumes since Jay was 14 when he died. Joker was both of their first times.

"Yes, to the date but I gotta," she managed to get out before she took off at a sprint to the bathroom. He matched her speed and got there in time to hold her hair back.

"You hardly ate anything."

"Wasn't...wasn't thefoo," she said between gags.

"You were supposed to be watching her," Dick hissed from the other side of the door.

"M not doin' it on purpose." Dick opened the door with his eyes closed not a fan of puke. (not cannon just think after seeing so much crap it would be funny to have a fear of something normal)

"What happened?"

"I just," she paused to look at Jason," I don't wanna upset you..."

"You won't sweets, just tell me what's wrong so we can fix it."

"I mean, you died so young I always assumed, I mean I just figured," she interrupted herself by grabbing a new toothbrush that they kept in all the bathrooms, and brushed the taste out of her mouth.

"You wanna know if the joker. if I was a virgin before..."

She nodded before rinsing her mouth.

"My brain just decided it would be a great idea to tell me that if you were, then we both, I mean...he took-" she cut herself off again with a shake of her head. Dick who'd finally opened his eyes was near tears at the realization and he suddenly understood her illness.

"Oh, sweets," Jason cooed pulling her into a hug, like it wasn't his own trauma as well.

"I'm fine now, I-sorry, my brain just liked to torment me sometimes."

"Maybe you should tell your brain to fuck off," Dick said with a watery laugh joining in on the hug. He'd dealt with his assault, maybe not in a healthy way, but better than the way she had dealt. He wasn't fully back, or ok, more 70%, but he was functioning. No more nightmares, no more freaking out when someone got close to him, or touched him without warning.

"I think we need a vacation," she declared from her cocoon of heroes.

"I think you're right."

________

"This is not what I meant," y/n said with mild disgust at the giant blanket fort the boys had built in the theater room.

"Why not it'll be fun, we can stay up late and braid Dick's hair," Tim said gleefully, setting up a queue (or is it cue?) of easy to follow action movies.

"I agree with beloved," Damian said from inside the fort, though he made no move to leave.

"Alfred gonna make pizza and bring it in to watch a movie with us and Bruce is banished from this room until further notice," Jason said.

"When I said vacation I meant go kill Joker then hit the Alps for some skiing or something..."

"Oh, we're killing the joker tonight," Dick said.

"Without me!"

"Well-"

"If you don't take me I won't tell you where he is, it's that simple."

"It'll be dangerous-"

"Tough shit blue bird, either all go or I sneak out and do it alone," she said crossing her arms. They all sighed and Damian came out of the fort to glare at her.

"You might get hurt, beloved..."

"None of you are going to let that happen, and in case you forgot I'm a vigilante too."

"Yeah but..."Jason trailed off and shot Dick a helpless look.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"We already handled it," Tim said subtly moving to block her exit.

"You handled it? You killed him without me," she seethed. How dare they take her revenge and not even tell her.

"We did it while you were playing checkers with Alfred," Dick said.

"Like two hours ago? You took off and killed the enemy right after breakfast, lied to me and thought what? I would be ok because of a mid afternoon slumber party!" She was pissed. In a way they hadn't seen in a long time, everyone but Damian was watching her with unease, not because he didn't care, but he knew his favorite sibling didn't like feeling cornered.

"We made him suffer," Jason supplied scratching the back of his head. She scoffed and tried to shove Tim out of her way but even younger than her he was still taller and stronger. He didn't budge.

"I'll fight you," she glared at him.

"I have backup."

"I'll go help Alfred cook. I don't wanna be around you right now," she said with barely concealed anger. Bastards.

"I'll walk you."

"I can walk myself."

"And take a detour I think not."

"Tim, sincerely and with my whole heart, fuck off."

"Hey, don't talk to him like that," Dick scolded.

In a petty move she gently gently kneed Tim in his family jewels just enough to shock him so he moved out of the way and then she was gone, down the hall before any of them could move again. She was getting pretty tired of her family making her run. The footsteps were getting closer and she could sense more than hear a door in front of her was about to open so she quickly shifted to the other side of the hall but the others were slowed or stopped from Bruce just trying to get into the hall.

"Catch her," Dick yelled to him but she was already out of reach. With a sigh Bruce joined the chase and holy crap could he move fast for his age. She was so close to her room then she could put it in lock down, pumping her legs with all her might and leaning so far forward she would face plant if she stopped she made it. Skidding to a stop she tried to slam the door shut but a boot got in the way.

"Screw all of you, you wanna know what the letters said? 'Joker's slut' that's what is carved into my thighs, I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to kill him and you took that from me," she all but screamed still trying to close the door on Bruce's foot but with everyone else pushing against the door and only her on the one side the fight didn't last long.

"I'm sorry I took that from you," Jason said dropping to his knees in front of her and making grabby hands. She stepped into him with a muttered curse and he wrapped his arms around her middle and shoved his face into her stomach. Not a care for their audience he just needed her.

"It's not true, the words, my beloved, it's not."

"I'm sorry to keep trauma dumping on you Dami."

"Tt, nonsense, you are to tell me everything." The scene was interesting what with Jason blocking the rest from getting in by being on the floor, Damian had shoved his way through to the front of the pack.

"Do you want us to bring him back so you can kill him?"

"No, I want this family to stop acting like I'm a shadow. Always in the background, always there but never being asked how I'm doing. Never getting checked on after patrol. None of you have...I've stitched myself up time and time again with nobody knowing a thing. You don't get to decide now that you care," she said all this while running her hands through Jason's hair and she chose not to mention her shirt was growing a bit damp.

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you. I'm sorry you felt like a shadow," Bruce said.

"You let Tim slip through the cracks too, after everything he's done for this family, none of you pay him any mind."

"Surely that's not, I haven't been that shit of a brother," Dick asked Tim.

"Not the time big bird we got a sick girl here and everyone else with their trauma-"

"Tim if I have to heal you do too."

"No more overlooking anyone, all of you are giving me daily check ins from here on out," Bruce demanded in his batman voice.

_____

True to his word Bruce checked in every morning like clockwork, even with the little bats that didn't live at the manor. They all received a call or a text and were hounded until they replied. He was the worst with Tim and y/n practically glued himself to them. Dick was no better having felt like he failed as a brother. Jason had moved into the room next to hers, much to Bruce's protest.

"I was thinking...if you wanted that is...I'm supposed to be watching you anyhow, maybe we can have a sleepover?"

"You want to share a bed under the bat's roof."

"We're adults."

"And what about Dick's little wake up calls where he bursts in and practically jumps on the bed?"

"We''ll lock the door-"

"And have him think I'm in here trying to kill myself."

"Ok so we'll kick Damian out of the dining room and explain...explain we'll be sleeping in the same room," he trailed off when he realized how well that was gonna go over.

"You could sneak out early," she said with a light smirk.

"Or we could be caught as fully clothed adults sleeping and nothing more."

She rolled her eyes but nodded yes, and he punched the air with glee.

"We can't, I'm not ready-"

"I'm not trying to rush you."

"Jason what if...I'm never ready?"

"Then I'll need recommendations for only left arm workouts."

"Jason," she squealed smacking him on the shoulder and looking around the garden to make sure nobody heard.

"Relax there's no ears out here."

"I just wanna take things slow."

"Just call me molasses." 10-5-24 more angst to come so enjoy the bit of fluff

@stormz369

[w--zii]

a surprise - part two

bf!jihoon x f!reader

[minors dni]

smut warning:usage of words like slut, filthy etc. orgasm control, let me know if theres more.

vc:703

you took a deep sigh as you closed the folder in your hands and checked for the time. your dinner order should be here by any time now. you went to kitchen to have some water and when you came back to lay on your shared bed with jihoon, a notification popped on on your screen from him.

▶️AUDIO—6:24

he must be so bored, you thought, as you clicked on the notfication. how innocent.

hi baby^^ listening to it now<33

:)

he only sent a creepy smile and left you alone with the voice record.

first seconds of the audio were only his breathing, you didn't understand a single thing, just continued listening while your eyes kept a stare on the white ceiling.

"y/n.. a-ahh,"

your tracks stopped after hearing his voice. did he really moan your name? your face and entire body started to warm up, you felt like your heart might melt anytime.

"f–fuck oh, feels so good."

you started to breathe heavily.

"i miss you–ah," his every word ended with a whine or moan, it turned you on more. hearing your name on his lips has a dirty impact on you.

now you can hear his breathe getting faster and his groans deeper by every second. you started to squirm in your place, pressing your thighs together to get some kind of friction, didn’t help much though.

jihoon

one message. and he got you. thinking of how wet you would be right now made his cock twitch in his pants. (yes, again, he was desperate.)

"i s–swear, mhh–if i don't get there asap, my cock is g–gonna fall ah–off"

his words made you chuckle. your right hand reached for your clothed wetness, cupping it. you let out a whimper. jihoon didn’t respond to your message yet, he wants you desperate too.

“y/n, i know you're dripping right now. my filthy slut.”

you kept listening to him as he reached his climax. audio ended, you called jihoon in light speed to ask about the heck he done.

he accepted the call with a smirk on,

“what's up baby?” he's having fun and it's obvious.

“jihoonie... i miss you,” you said in a crying tone, he will help, right?

“mhm, i miss you too. i wish you were here, pretty.”

“i love it when you tease me.”

sudden confess made his heart drop.

“oh? is that so?” his eyes turning dark, he knows what you're trying to do.

“you can wait for me, yeah? beautiful?”

“please...”

“it won't take long i promise, baby.”

you fake cried to him, not trying to be a brat but you needed him, now. your pleas continued and jihoon just listened to you. still smiling to himself.

“y/n, i said no. right? you heard me? no touching to yourself. be a good girl for me, yeah?”

“okay hoonie...” almost whispered to yourself. you lost your voice.

“mhm? couldn't hear you, baby.”

“i'll be your good girl i promise, jihoonie”

he grinned when he heard you, you are all pouty and he knows it.

“good girl, as you should. now i'm gonna go, i need to sleep, okay? i'll call you when i'm done with work tomorrow. good night baby. i love you.”

“love you too jihoonie good night.”

you let out a puff and sulked. “really jihoon...”

as you were making your way to bathroom, to get cleaned up, another notification popped on your screen from him.

baby boy^_^;

would you like to send me a picture of yourself too before we sleep?

i wanna see you without a top on, baby.

you cursed in your breath and removed your shirt, your tits bouncing when they freed.

you took a photo showing off your boobs, lips in a pout, you tried to act angry but failed, he'll find you more cute.

that's my girl, thank you. you look so good baby i missed those tits so much.

if i was there i'd just make you cum only playing with your buds

i bet you're so fucking wet for me right now

filthy girl.

tf jihoon you look so good TT

i miss you i miss you i miss youu

shut up or i'll come untouched😭

bet lol

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

a/n: help i don't like this at all lmaoo TT

not proof read. © w--zii. do not repost.

[starwarsmum]

Day 24! Officially less than a week left. @maribat-calendar-events prompt of the day is Surname

“Come on, Damian,” Marinette coaxed, holding his hand as they walked along the Seine. “I would love to meet your family, and you said that a few of them have been asking as well. Are you worried they won't like me?”

“Tt, of course they will like you,” Damian replied, bringing her hand up to his lips. She waited for him to continue and he gave a sigh. “My family can be insufferably inquisitive, I do not wish to subject you to them so soon. I find the thought of you choosing to end our relationship deplorable and would like to have a more stable base before unleashing them upon you.”

“You're surprisingly sensitive, you know that?” Marinette giggled, blushing lightly when he smirked back at her. “I've already met Tim and Dick, what worse could the rest be?”

“Tt, Drake and Grayson are objectively the least irritating, excepting Cassandra. Todd is the one I am most concerned about, and at any rate it will interfere with our investigation if we take time out to indulge my family's curiosity.”

“Why do you do that?” Marinette asked suddenly, looking up at him. He squinted at her, and she clarified. “Call them by their last names, I mean.”

“I have done it since I arrived with my father. It was…a way to assert my position as my father's one true son originally. Over time I have accepted that my father adores his strays but I have kept to using their last names.”

“But you don't with Cass any more?” Marinette asked, her head quirked to the side as they continued their leisurely stroll. The tips of Damian's ears turned ever so slightly pink and she immediately wanted to know why. “Damian, pretty please won't you tell me why?”

“Tt, that is because you call her Cass,” he admitted, his blush spreading as she looked up at him. They pulled to a stop just before the Pont des Arts bridge, Damian fidgeting ever so slightly. “I also owe her a debt for introducing the pair of us, and continuing to call her by her surname seemed rude.”

“You are the sweetest,” Marinette said, lifting her free hand up to his face and brushing it against his cheek. He huffed and looked away from her so she reached up and kissed his cheek gently. “No, really, you are. You're so incredible and thoughtful, I have no idea how I got lucky enough that you want to date me.”

“Well, you do carry around a pocket sized deity as a good luck charm,” Damian smirked, laughing as she squawked and slapped his chest lightly. “But if you are serious about wanting to meet the rest of my family, I can think of no further reasons not to.”

_ _ _

After a quick message to Dick, Damian resigned himself to most of his family descending upon Paris to assist with the investigation (and meet Marinette). Bruce graciously said that he would remain in Gotham this time, to ensure that the city was kept safe, but otherwise the rest of the Batfamily were ready to get on a plane.

Damian's work towards finding Hawkmoth had begun to show definite signs of pointing to one person and Damian was impressed once again by Marinette's capabilities. Her intuition had pointed at Gabriel Agreste and all of Damian's further research was heading that way.

To help avoid a bias, Damian had not told his brothers of her suspicions and was vindicated by their drawing the same conclusions. If they were quick, they would be able to inform his family that the threat was neutralised by the time they landed.

As it was a Saturday, Marinette was free to move around the city as she wished. Damian and his family had discussed their options, and all had confirmed that he should work with Ladybug as Robin for the actual takedown of Hawkmoth. 

She had been surprised when he had confessed his secret identity, but had been surprisingly accepting. She admitted that she had suspected something had to be going on given his interest in Hawkmoth and willingness to help her bring him to justice. 

He planned to inform Dick and Tim of his plans, to make sure they had back up if things went sideways, but he was confident that Marinette would be able to defeat Hawkmoth quickly if it was a straight fight.

So it was that later that evening, Marinette and Damian as Ladybug and Robin slipped into the Agreste mansion. Silence permeated throughout the grand house, and Damian was ever thankful that he had been trained in stealth from the moment he could walk.

Their first stop saw them slipping into the assistant’s room. She was fast asleep, although her breathing was laboured and Marinette saw a contraption designed to help the woman walk in the corner of the room. Any doubts either of the two had were snuffed out when Marinette retrieved the guardian’s tablet from the bedside table.

When they didn't find the peacock brooch, Damian signaled for Marinette to follow him along the hall. They stalked along it noiselessly, coming all too quickly to the master bedroom. The door was ever so slightly ajar and Damian managed to push it open just far enough for them both to slip in.

And there they were: the peacock and butterfly brooches, lying on the far bedside table. Marinette froze but Damian moved as quickly and quietly as a bell-less cat. He padded across the room and caught up the jewelry, shooting Marinette a look of triumph as he returned to her.

And then they were scurrying out of the house as though they had never been there. As they shot across the rooftops, Ladybug let out a whoop, laughing almost manically. It was over: she was free.

[svt-chanel]

Chanel being ✨️ICONIC✨️

1.☆ Chanel was once spotted in a bar trying to pull someone and all of the comments were "w rizz"

2.☆ One of her pics went viral and even locals were asking who she was

3.☆ Many companies wanted Chanel as their Trainee and even tried to bribe her but she ended up chasing Pledis

4.☆ Prada, Dior, Chanel, Miu Miu, and even Celine wanted and even argued over her on TWITTER...So Chanel decided to become each brands Ambassador over the years. (The brands cried on twitter once it wasn't their turn anymore)

5.☆ The president of China, Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, and Australia all admitted to being Chanel fans. 6.☆ Everything she wears/eats becomes viral and sells out almost immediately.

7.☆ Momo of TWICE, all BLACKPINK members, and other kpop idols have told Chanel about her being the Asia role model and are even look up to her.

8.☆ many western artist want to collaborate with her.

9.☆ A famous painter has admitted that Chanel is the muse of his most famous paintings.

10.☆ She winked at an interviewer and they just kept stuttering.

11.☆ A flirty idol blushed when she winked at the camera.

12.☆ All of the girl aussies (Danielle, Lily, Hanni, and Rosé) started to fangirl over her in a live and eventually said "I need to touch grass." Becoming a famous moment between all those fandoms and especially Carats. (Due to her having solo schedules she couldn't make it to the live)

13.☆ A few idols argued over who she would sit next to at an award show.

14.☆ She had once manspread in a live and it became a famous moment with Carats simping over it and making edits.

15.☆ Carats meow instead of bark at concerts and her satisfied reaction becomes famous.

16.☆ A clip of her hands at a fansign go crazy viral "IDK WHO SHE IS BUT PLEASE CHOKE ME"

17.☆ On a solo live she read put a comment that said "mommy? Sorry." And then laughed and said "Mommy? Yeah you can call me that." Whike smirking.

18.☆ Once during an interview she stared at on object (hella) hard but everyone brushed it off thinking she was zoning out until that exact object fell while she just smirked and looked away.

19.☆ A fan had been secretly recording her in an airport and she immediately found the camera but when she looked at the camera her eyes turned fully white as if she was possessed scaring everyone around her and they left.

20.☆ In all of the group M/Vs that she films people say they see her behind her members copying their EXACT movement once the company heard about this they released a statement saying that you're never behind your members but somehow they still see you.

21.☆ A picture of you was shown on the news because of you're album sales but as soon as you showed up everybody's TV glitched and all they saw was you for 10 minutes straight and lots of people said that after a few minutes the picture started smiling.

22.☆ During an award show 2 of her tts top charts then compete against each other.

23.☆ Even antis dont deny that she's the 3rd gen it girl.

24.☆ When dancing on stage the top of the award broke off and she went viral for it.

25.☆ She passed out on stage but she was still singing her lines somehow.

26.☆ On a live with SEVENTEEN she was off to the side doing her own thing while the members were playing around but the fans attention was on you only and they couldn't figure out why. (There was even theories made about it)

27.☆ Chanel is chosen to represent Vietnam, Korea, and Australia for MRS UNIVERSE every year (2017-2024) and once she even won for all three countries.

28.☆ Once at the mall a kid (13 year old) saw her there and said "Isn't that Chanel from SEVENTEEN? She's so pretty." And she couldn't help but blush.

29.☆ Her debut (solo) song "Smart" broke the guineas world record for the most streamed debut in history.

30.☆ She died her hair as a blue and black wolfcut and it immediately became known as the "Chanel Hair"

[saexy]

YOU"VE EXTENDED THE LORE????? i need to hear all of it adfhlksajhd

(glad to know i'm not the only one with royal au in their head 24/7)

I MADE THIS CRAZYY THEORY ABIUT SAE'S MOM POISOONING HIM AND IT WAS LIKE BACKK IN APR so ik rustyy on the memeory but LETSSGO?? AND NOW WE KNOW HOW TEREIBLE OARNETS THEY ARE.. I FEEL IT FITS.. SO YK how we left on the note where sae is tried to be killed.. but minus the romamce.. bec now ITS A CRAZY SLOW BURN BYE ...well ONE TIME IT DOES HAPPEN AND ITS SCARY CRAZY bec i lwk left him in the nite— for like 5 minutes bec we had an argument.. aand HE IS Scratcheddd LIKE .. ITS BAD.. LIKE WE SAVE HIM (me i save him..) but he gets a little scar on his back.. so little dose of poison gets into him.. (so HOT) AND his mom QUEEN MOTHER is ready to like tgrow me out TT and OLIVER TRUES so HARD TO FITE FOR me.. but she is hell bent on getting me hanged Bye. TT but sae wakes up in time and he is AGAISNT IT SAYING.. i was his knight and he decides on it.. his mum his holds a higher power.. so she strips me of my title 😞 but hey I LIVE 😀 so now we dont have a reason to see each other and sae hates all the new knights he gets but its not until we re on the battle field and after 4 weeks we finally have a moment to us.. and in moment its lwk built for a kiss but EYE come to my senses and well NOW ITS CRINGE.. its basiaclly cryinh and talking in rain.. i tell him.. whatever fantasy he has in his head is stupid bec the distance between us is crazy?!? and it cann nevee be reduced.. and if he is willing to throw away his title and run away i woukd happily but WE BOTH KNOWWW HE WONT. BEC HE HAS REPSOSBBILITY. AND also i cant let him take that path... he is DELULU thinking we can be together.. but i stomo on his heart bec its unreal.. and then its like his mom trying to fix his marriage.. and i stopped after that.. HE DOES FIND A BRIDE THO— its REALLY SAD LEO TTTTT

[dannywuuzz]

update (20/07/24) . Everything is canceled XDD, but I left this because I think it's cute, I don't know lol

리 ！⠀✦ ་ ᳝ ◝⠀ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒EN𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎N⠀ ᰨ ⑅ ࣪＾ ³＾ᰪ

. ㅤබׄㅤׅㅤׄ🍦̨ᩙසㅤׅㅤׄb⍺֟፝sil !! ノ about me ㅤׅㅤׄ⏳උׅ

━━━━━━━ㅤㅤㅤㅤᦚֺ˳᧖. OMGGG, HIII THERE !! Nice to meet you!! I introduce myself, I am Basil, Harry or Chocolate ( he , him btw ) I'm not good at introducing myself to TT, but hey, I hope you like this profile! Uhm, I've posted content here before, but it'll be a pretty abrupt change, so maybe I'd consider myself... new to this type of content, I guess?- BUT THAT'S OKAY, I'M EXCITED ABOUT ALL OF THIS !! :DDDD

I guess that's all there is to know about me. :P

. Ꮼׄ🍦̨ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 .ᐟ

୨ৎ ۪ ㅤׂ uhm.. honestly for the moment I will upload headcanons of characters that I like and like, I have wanted to do this for a long time, but out of shame and fear of being judged I had not done it. 😔

But! Am I trying to ignore my... fears? so to speak, I'll try to make my headcanons not too out of line with the characters! ( and ships, maybe) Maybe when I learn to narrate well and not repeat words I will start uploading oneshot, for the moment give me a little time.

. ㅤׄ൭ㅤׅㅤ🖖🏻᳕ㅤׄㅤ𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄S & 𝐅A𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌Sㅤׅㅤ֔ ㅤׅ 𖹭᭢ׄ

| ͜͝ | ͜͝ ⏳ UHHHH, I have several fandoms, the truth is I get hyper fixated on anything pretty quickly, and my fandoms are mostly childish; but the most main ones (so to speak) are :

𓇻. ⠀ׅ⠀໋⠀Brawl Stars, My little pony, Gravity Falls, otgw, Barbie ( 2023 ), Hazbin Hotel, Captain Laserhawk, Sonic The Hedgehog (mainly the movies, and the Sonic prime serie ), The Lego Movie, Batman ( Lego ), Top Cat, a little Ranfren, Angry Birds ( 😭 ) , Jellystone, Kung Fu panda, South Park, Aggretsuko, HTF, Bluey, Puss un Boots, And maybe Harry Potter, no spoilers pls! just with the second movie :P

ㅤㅤׅ. ㅤꉹׄㅤׅㅤׄ🖖🏻᷐ᩧㅤ𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄Sㅤׅㅤׄ🍦̨ᩙᬉׄ

꒰ㅤ𓈒ㅤֺㅤ🧁ㅤ:: I don't know, the truth is that it doesn't matter to me whether you like it, problematic or not, I don't really care.

But even if it doesn't bother me, I'm going to put limits on this account. As I already mentioned, it doesn't bother me but that doesn't mean I'm supporting questionable things, I JUST DON'T CARE.

Fine, That's not why you'll see that kind of thing here, so, no, you won't see anything related to r4pe, couples related to p3d9phil1a, etc related to questionable things, the motive for this account is to make things fluff and soft, and maybe even smut (maybe because I don't know how to do that kind of hc) but nothing from there, so don't get your hopes up.

ㅤㅤׅㅤ. ෫ׅㅤׄ. ✿!ㅤׅㅤׄFINISH. ㅤׄ𖹭᭢യׅ

I think that's my presentation up to this point, hm, if you have any questions, feel free to ask. It won't take me long to make another one but presenting the fandoms and which characters you will mostly see in my hc.

Well, that's it, I hope you like my content. See you in another post, bye bye !! (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）

To conclude with this, I give thanks and credits mainly to @weasleycream for helping me with this, I hope you go to his profile since he writes pretty good things! :)

[ren-rambles-often]

Why is episode eleven of Oblivion battery actually so fucking GOOD!?!?!

We've got one episode left and I'm practically begging for someone, whoever the fucking hell is in charge to go "Oh my bad, we've actually got 24 eps scheduled not 12 oopsie"

I'm having way too much fun watching, wish i had screencaps from all my favorite moments this episode but i was just so enraptured I forgot I was gonna have to say something. Too lazy to go back now so we just make due.

Chihaya and Todo have been my favorite characters since day one and believe me why I say I expected the most generic ass template backstories for them that would be rushed through just to make space for Kei and Haruka.

I would have been fine with that cuz I simply enjoyed seeing them on screen, the whole team is a delight but what the show does super well in my opinion is mixing in the goofiness with such heavy themes. Yama's deep seaed insecurities, Kei's amnesia, Todo's yips, Haru's subtle devastation at losing a part of his best friend...it all blends together so well and pulses with a kind of refreshing look at the challenges I see faced by teenage athletes in sports animes.

Usually it's all just, become stronger, play better, beat rival, prove mean team wrong (which isn't bad, I'm a knb fan, I follow blue lock and I'm at S2 of haikyuu so I do not be minding) but here it genuinely feels like I'm watching te characters go through these changes an explore their relationship with base ball and their teammates. The sport has hurt them so much but they love it despite all that and I think that's the real pull of the show.

I don't know if it's okay for me to call Chihaya's struggles body dysmorphia and eating disorder but that hit the close to home I felt shock. Of all things that could be his backstory i wasn't expecting any of that but it was handled so well I felt near tears.

Y'all I love him so much.

And he and Todo look so fucking GOOD together especially when taunting Kei I CAN'T.

It kind of just reminds me of Free, no overly elaborate life stakes competitions, just drama, angst and beautiful character work.

All in all, good fucking show, hope they stick the landing in a way that'll make me say "Fuck exams I'mma read the manga now." That's all I want but it's so busy. I frankly expected I'd hate this more than wind breaker but I'm only going to talk about that elephant in the room after episode 13. Bucchigiri made me lose fate in mappa but they pulled through with this one.

Is the Oblivion Battery Fandom alive? Or even a thing? Let me know I don't want to be left alone and obsessed after next Tuesday plss TT

[conscbgb]

I came across this video where Taeyong was explaining the inspiration behind the song "Love is a Beauty" and what he said left me with a deep sadness...for him...for all of them because I think the situation is more or less the same for them all...

We know how the k-pop industry works (and we know it sucks) but listen to a grown up, talented, hard working, brilliant, caring man of 28 years old saying that he "actually don't know about love" should make you think...especially their fans...what he, all 9 of them, give up in the name of their dream are 2 of the most important things that we are gifted in life : Love & Freedom.

And it's something that when you are 17 yo you can endure, you tell yourself "It's ok! I wanna become this or that...it's a big sacrifice but it's my dream"...when you are 28 you endure it anyway but...it's different...

The Love they get from their families, real friends, band mates,working team, fans is a totally different thing from the love you get from that 1 right person for you, that one who loves the REAL you, the natural and "imperfect" YOU, who support you anyway, your "Ride or Die" together, not because you are a worldwide famous singer/artist and the allure that comes with it!

Part of the reason they are forced to put Love in stand-by is because of the fans (the toxic/psycho ones obv) because God forbid if the news of one of them dating gets out! All the hate they receive...the company who rush to explain that the news is not true while going to repremend that poor one who was "caught" goin' out 🙈 and all of this for what?? They are grown men, they should be able to live their lives and that little free time they have in the best possible way for them!

But it doesn't work that way...their freedom is put on hold too! And not only because the company exploit them and their talent as much as they can, making them work literally 24/7 365 days a year especially during the promoting season, they can't use their freedom in absolute private matters too... like getting a tattoo! They can't get a tattoo without fans "consent": it's literally their skin!! What do you mean they should ask fans before do it?? Fu€k it!! I would tattoo my whole body like Michael Scofield just to piss those "fans" off 🤣

They can't smoke...thank God they "limit" themselves with smoke because with all the pressure the company/audience/themselves put upon their beings I would be high all the time just to get throught it...

The way they can't almost interact with women in front of cameras (or in general because they are literally haunted from stalkers) it's insane in my opinion and the company should take action more often to protect them! And it's equally shocking the fact they can't interact the way they really want between them (band mates) because if one of them look or talk in a certain way to the one he is not "shipped" with from fans ➡️ hate

This album and tour mean a lot to them and to us because we know what is gonna happen starting from next year...so please: let the guys enjoy this experience to the fullest! Support them! Let them Live! RESPECT THEM! They deserve it 🙏😉

Video credit @neocrushtech on TT

[whchenlvr]

Hi! I noticed that your request is still open, so I would like to ask how the union + eunjang boys react with reader, who was a well-known gang leader in middle school before disappearing for no apparent reason, I'm assuming that they learned of it because reader's former members approached them and perhaps tried to persuade them to return as their leader. The problem is that she retired so she could concentrate on her studies.

i’m sorry this took so long TT thank you for being so patient <3

when you’re a retired leader ;

weak hero x gn!reader

gray yeon

you were ranked first in your class until gray yeon.

you hated him at first, and the fact that he blatantly ignored you and your efforts to outsmart him left you fuming. you weren’t used to losing, let alone being second, so it took some getting used to.

you even followed gray to cram school one night, which really startled him, because he didn’t hear you behind him until you tapped his shoulder. that raised some red flags in his head, and it didn’t take long for gray to figure out who you really were.

he didn’t confront you. hell, he even helped you study. part of him wanted to just ignore your past as a gang leader, given how closed off you were about it, but that didn’t go as planned when one day you caught an article about you on his phone.

“what is that?” you asked uncomfortable before reaching over to snatch the device off his desk. gray figured there was no point in making excuses, so he shrugged.

“can’t blame me for doing some research on my friends, can you?”

ben park

there wasn’t much to say about you. you appeared out of thin air in high school, claiming to be a transfer student, but never telling where you transferred from.

ben was pretty welcoming when no one else was, and that’s why you got along. eugene knew who you were, but you made him swear not to tell anyone (you still had some dangerous connections, but you didn’t want to threaten anyone).

you and eugene managed to keep your past a secret for quite a while, and you nearly convinced yourself that you were in the clear. until one day…

“y/n?”

you’d been at a karaoke bar with ben and gerard, but recognized the voice instantly. you were admittedly a bit small for your age, but that hadn’t stopped you from bringing your school to the top. ben and gerard placed themselves between you and the previous members of your gang, ready to protect you if necessary. your members ignored this, too shocked to see you before them to react.

“you… we thought you died!” “why did you leave the gang?”

there it was.

“gang?” ben asked, and you faced your feet. when you had the courage to look up at him, you knew he recognized you. it was all over.

alex go

you were just some stranger alex ran into at the abandoned building. he was trying to find rooftop 2.0, not you: a figure clad in black kicking a pebble in the rubble. you didn’t seem very intimidating, so alex didn’t want to risk a fight and settled with a wave. “hi.” 

“hi..?” you said back, pulling your hoodie off. that was how you picked eunjang as your new school, and you tried your very best to keep your past under wraps. 

your hair had grown out since your notorious prime in the gang, and you’d decided to dye it right after running. you wanted to be normal. go to school, make friends, and have careless fun without looking over your shoulder 24/7. alex was good at turning your dreams into reality.

“y/n! you seem like someone who’s good at art. wanna go graffiti some abandoned buildings with me after school?” alex asked you one morning, and you decided to join. you didn’t realize that the “abandoned building” he mentioned was your old base, nor that the members of your gang still visited.

alex instantly prepared for a fight when he spotted the three guys, but their eyes were focused on you. “y/n?”

“you know these guys?!” alex shouted, but you ignored him. “i’m out, guys. we’ll leave. i don’t want any trouble.”

needless to say, alex didn’t ask you to hang out after the unusual reunion.

donald na

donald had his suspicions about you the second you stumbled across the union’s radar. he found it odd how the previous leader of a rival school disappeared, and then poof! there you were. he didn’t pry about your past but kept tabs on you in private.

you stayed quiet, making it known that focusing on your studies was your only interest. you initially wanted no part in the union, wanting to start over fresh and normally, but you’d happened to befriend kingsley kwan, and that was how donald found you.

an informant of his approached one day with photos of your social media, all deleted now, but nothing on the internet ever really goes away. it was proof that you weren’t who you claimed to be, and donald couldn’t help but grin at the opportunity to expose you.

“y/n,” donald sighed your name, and you froze. it was just the two of you in a room, and something in your gut told you to run. “what did you hope to achieve here, hm? infiltrate the union?”

“it wasn’t like that,” your voice came out more pleading, more pathetic than you’d hoped it would. “i wanted to start over.”

“and you couldn’t do that anywhere else? tell me, y/n, if you were in my position right now, would you believe yourself?” no, you wanted to admit. you never thought yourself weak, but donald unsettled you. he was unpredictable, unhinged.

“i’ll leave. i’ll never show my face again, just please don’t return me to them. if you do, they’ll… they’ll kill me.”

“when i’m done with you, you’ll wish you were dead.”

jake ji

eunchan liked you, which automatically made you part of jake’s group.

jake didn’t really acknowledge you at first, since he didn’t know anything about you. he tried asking you about your past once, and you instantly tensed up and blew it off, claiming you were from out of town. he didn’t believe that for a second but didn’t want to cause tension because you were eunchan’s friend.

when timothy found something regarding your hidden past, jake was the first and only person to know. though you hadn’t had the chance to get close to him, jake felt betrayed. he felt manipulated and he pitied eunchan.

“why did you lie?” he asked after cornering you one evening, and you felt the hairs on your neck raise. “lie about what?”

“don’t play dumb. i know who you are, y/n.”

you spun to face him and pressed a finger against jake’s chest. “who am i, then? a liar? just because i wanted to keep this part of me buried for good? am i a bad guy? cause look around, jake. you’re worse than i ever was.”

a bubble formed in jake’s throat, one he couldn’t swallow. “if this is some elaborate scheme to take over daehyeon, it won’t work.” it wasn’t. you knew it wasn’t, but there was no convincing jake otherwise. “fuck you, jake.”

“right back at you, y/n.”

wolf keum

wolf knew that the leader of a rival gang suddenly disappeared, but he had no idea it was you. the way you were described online versus how you were in real life were like two completely separate people, and you tried to keep it that way.

wolf won’t admit it, but he enjoyed your company. you didn’t talk much about yourself, but wolf didn’t mind because neither did he. it wasn’t until he was nearly jumped one day that his curiosity in your life peaked.

the three men who’d tried—and failed—to take him down showed him a picture. one of him and you. wolf’s fist tightened around the man’s shirt. “what do you want with y/n? if you hurt them, i swear—“

“y/n? n-no, that’s our leader!”

wolf blanched, releasing the man’s shirt and stepping over his broken body. he knew exactly where to find you, and your smile dropped when you realized he was bleeding. “wolf? what happen—“ he grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you towards him until your chests were practically touching. “tell me the truth. are you the leader of a gang? the gang attempting to destroy the union? destroy me?”

your breathing momentarily stopped. “wh… is that what you think?”

“it’s what i know. i want you to admit it.”

you couldn’t, because it wasn’t true; not anymore. “if you’re going to kill me, just do it.”

wolf chuckled, and fear prickled behind your eyes. “ah, y/n. not until you tell me everything.”