#It's even worse if it's from a dead fandom

[melmos-basement]

This is what I look like searching for content of my faves because God hates me and decided to make me like every irrelevant side character that appeared in one episode / chapter and has under 2 minutes of screentine.

[bixels]

vague-posting about this here cuz i don't feel comfortable yapping about my su takes on twitter, but after everything that's happened the most interesting thing about the su fandom to me is that so many are 100% there for applying the "everyone can change and deserves a second chance" message to everyone, even the diamonds. except for one ☝️ she doesn't count. cuz she's dead.

[random-lil-illing]

i had a vision,,, asexual dps fans what do we think

[taciturnpoet]

okay here is the promised anderperry Icarus and the Sun/Apollo post because @73647e enabled me lol

this will be mostly rambling because I love this comparison (and use it a lot) so be happy if there is even a single coherent thought in this okay? talking about this makes my brain go FAST and I went over this about a thousand times so bear with me here

When I had first started thinking about this, I had originally thought of Neil being the Sun and Todd being Icarus. But then I realized no, their dynamic shifts and actually switches roles after Todd does the poem in Keating’s class.

In the beginning, Neil is the one that draws Todd into the group and persuades him to join the poets, all while also encouraging him to be himself and speak up more. While Todd is not only falling for Neil, he’s also trying to take Neil’s advice to heart since Neil is what Todd wants to be.

Neil could befriend a brick wall if left alone with it long enough. Everyone likes him and believes that he is made for great things (though not the same great things he wants to do), and you can tell that Todd wants to get to that point himself eventually. Todd’s been told his entire life that he will never amount to anything unless he becomes this thing he doesn’t even like, and Neil is more of what he aspires to be.

Then the poem in Keating’s class happens and things change.

After the poem, Todd starts to come into himself a little more. He’s gaining confidence in himself and his work—the work he wants to do, the work he’s passionate about—and he’s joking around and talking more with the poets. (Even though this scene is deleted, and I think that’s a crime) he reads a poem out loud to them and Keating at the end of the movie without Neil there.

Now, we know why Neil isn’t there, but that’s not important yet lol

Neil has been Todd's safety net, the person that kickstarted his self-confidence growth and made him truly embrace himself in the long run. By the end of the movie, Todd can show other people his work without Neil having to be there, which is a major development from Todd in the first poets meeting too afraid to speak and always looking to Neil for guidance.

When Todd is helping Neil practice his lines on the dock—another criminally deleted scene—he’s excited. He’s teasing Neil and playing around with him and becomes what he had the potential to be at the beginning of the movie with the help of Neil and Keating. 

Todd’s decided that he wanted to be his own person. He’s not going to try and live up to his parent’s expectations of him becoming a second Jeffrey, he’s going to pursue his writing and be his own person, and he appears to become so much freer after that realization. He’s embraced his passion for writing and poetry and pursues his art without hesitation, just as Neil wants to do with his acting, becoming a shining light of possibilities and potential, and most of all, freedom. 

After the poem, the glimpse of Todd’s brain, and his passion, Neil almost views it as something holy. In Neil’s eyes, Todd and his freedom are something to strive for, to look up to, and hope for like it's something divine. In a way, Todd becomes a symbol of freedom and passion, a beacon of everything Neil could be and wants to be/do.

I know we as a fandom talk about this a lot, but look at the way Neil looks at Todd after the poem, the way the sun is shining on his face and lighting him up only in the way it does whenever he’s having a Moment™ with Todd. No, seriously, it does that to him both when he decides to audition for the play and after the poem, but practically nowhere else in the movie.

Insanity. Anyway.

But then, during this same time that Todd is embracing his freedom, there is Neil. Neil who is practicing and alive and passionate while preparing for the play, making plans for the future, and dreaming of pursuing this life as an actor.

 ["God, for the first time in my whole life, I feel completely alive!" // "Most people, if they're lucky, live about half an exciting life. If I could get the parts, I could live dozens of great lives!"]

And yet, there is another Neil. The Neil who gets confronted by his father and told to stop doing the play, to stop acting, and give up his dreams, his passions, and what he believes to be his life, all to stay stuck in the existence his father wants him in. The Neil that goes to Keating for help and cries that he’s “trapped.”

The moment Neil decides to lie to Keating and tell him that he talked to his father, the moment he chooses to continue with the play and acting despite everything that could happen is the moment he cements his place as the Icarus in their dynamic. He chooses to ignore his father’s warnings against participating in the play and does it anyways. He chooses freedom and passion over safety. Neil chooses to fly.

Neil chose to take a chance, to try and escape and join Todd on the other side of freedom and authenticity, where he could pursue his dream and become an actor. He has his moment to shine, to taste the warmth of the stage lights akin to sunlight as he brings the play to life. All the possibilities, hopes, and dreams, all within his reach in the form of a crown made of sticks and leaves in a small-town theater. He can see his friends and his teacher in the crowd and feels invincible and in his element, bigger than life.

But then comes the melting of the wax and the plummet back to earth as he sees his father’s angry face in the back of the theater, and he knows.

He knew that there was no going back now, no reversing what he’d done, the fact that he’d lied to the two most influential men in his life for just a chance to join the other side. And yet, as someone pointed it out recently (I can’t find the post right now, I’m so sorry), there is a moment when Neil comes out after the play, and he smiles at his father, an attempt to see if maybe he won’t be falling tonight. But then his father doesn’t smile back, and everything goes by in a rushed blur of a freefall.

All of the poets try and reach out to him, to talk to him and congratulate him on his way out, but the only one he looks at is Todd. Todd, who’s so excited to see him afterward, tries to talk to him and get him to come back with them, but Neil smiles sadly at him and lets himself be dragged away. He knew he couldn’t put off this fight with his father forever and decided to stop hiding from it. He’s falling and isn’t trying to stop it.

I think Neil looks at Todd the way he does before they leave because a part of him knows he’s not coming back. He doesn’t want to go, but he can’t slow it down and spends his last moments with them looking at the boy whose become his Sun.

The descent is quick after the car pulls away, and Neil cannot stand up to his father. Every moment that led to Neil’s decision to be a part of the play, to follow Todd, is in the sun's bright light. It makes sense then that he’d die at night, with death embracing him with the sound of a gunshot rather than water splashing.

Todd finds out about Neil's death after sunrise. It's gray and quiet, but the sun still rises even after he knows Neil isn't rising with it.

And he's devastated, and he's angry, and he's no longer afraid to show that. He gets mad at Cameron for blaming Keating for Neil and believing he would kill himself under any circumstances other than his father. [“That is not true, Cameron, you know that. Keating didn’t put us up to anything. Neil loved acting!”]

Then, he gets mad at Nolan, talking back to him in front of his parents in that sham of a conference and in front of Keating's class as Keating is leaving. The same Nolan Todd nearly cried in front of on his first day at Welton because he was so afraid to speak his mind, to stand up for himself.

Todd is grieving, he is angry, and he is stronger than he was at the start. While he stands on his desk for Keating in a show of support, in thanks, he is also standing on his desk in thanks to Neil. For Neil.

Neil's gone. And yet, Todd shows his strength. He stands up for the ones he loves and is thankful for while also standing in defiance for those who played a hand in Neil's end and killing their dreams. He appears to smile ever-so-slightly when Keating looks at him, and Keating must know he'll be okay. 

His best friend is dead. The actor who brought a play to life and cast light everywhere he went was gone, but Todd isn't. Neil's light only reflected what Todd still had and would dedicate to Neil.

The freedom, art, and life that Todd now held were what Neil fell for, and Todd would spend his life creating in memory of the boy who fell trying to join him. Todd had to ensure that everyone would know the story of Neil Perry as much as they did Icarus. They were so similar, after all.

(this started to change halfway through, so idk if it makes sense but that’s fine. please talk to me about anything like this I get so excited about it lol)

[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

[budugaapologist]

honestly i dont care anymore im blocking the tag

[theminecraftbee]

being in true sexyman nostalgia mode today (on account of. IT'S BEEN ONE YEAR BABY.) i think one of the most fascinating things about it is that we will never manage to do that again. like, not in a "we couldn't organize it better" way; there were better ways to do the spreadsheet, we would just turn off comments on posts and anon asks from day one so that we wouldn't then get people accusing us of censorship while we tried and failed to control the tide of things that ended up in the comments and inbox, we'd definitely have a WAY higher non-hermit contingent, both thanks to qsmp and thanks to the sexyman blog and medusa now having MUCH wider reach to other corners of the fandom and the original spread not all rooting at me, etc.

but the reason we couldn't do it again is that i don't know if we could ever replicate the exact circumstances that lead to it blowing up quite to the extent it blew up.

it was while tumblr polls and doing tumblr poll brackets on tumblr itself was still new-ish, and people were still excited about them. the idea of a mcytblr bracket was basically brand new; i won't claim we did it FIRST (because i have no idea if we did and doubt we did), but certainly we did it big first. so there's that; we can never again invent in real time "shit people are sending us threats about fraud lets legalize fraud because its funny, we can't stop it, and that neutralizes that drama as a thing anyone will take seriously", and then in turn accidentally invent a fandom culture of. um. wide-spread voter fraud.

(i don't know if we should apologize for, uh, causing the specific way mcytblr voter frauds. i still think it was better than the alternative at least, especially after seeing how so many other polls crashed and burned after us. there were MANY things we could have done better but i have seen SO MANY ways we could have done things worse since then so i think we came out looking pretty okay.)

but also: february 2023 was a very different time in mcytblr. we were in a hermitcraft dead period, where most of the hermits were either on vacation or playing tcg (which was fun, but didn't end up generating that much fandom activity by that time in february). the former dsmp crew was very much doing Nothing (and in that awkward space when the entire fandom knew dsmp 2 was never happening, but also people were still claiming it would happen, so it was just... busy waiting). qsmp didn't exist yet. there was no ongoing life series and wouldn't be for some time. i think even the dominioners and lifestealers were in a fairly dead zone. there was very little new for people to be excited about, mcyt content-wise.

enter: our poll. our poll which cleo then thinks its funny to call out on twitter. our poll, which was not only new mcyt content for the fandom to interact with (thanks to the fact we KEPT GETTING CC INTERACTIONS???), but participatory.

for about two weeks, we were the mcyt event de jour.

and like. the thing is. now we're in february 2024. mcyt is BOOMING. a new hermitcraft season JUST STARTED. we came off of vault hunters before that. meanwhile, qsmp just restarted and is, if i'm understanding correctly, booming. they just added a new guy! the two current juggernauts of the fandom are in FULL SWING. i honestly think we'd be somewhat overtaken by the fact things are actually happening in fandom. there's stuff to do that ISN'T go insane about a poll.

and it's not new, and we've seen it all before now, and frankly, it's hard to cause a mass hysteria event TWICE. lightning in a bottle, as they say.

i think part of the reason we all just REMEMBER mcytblr sexyman so much is that we could never, ever recreate it, so it remains crystalized in a single moment in time, impossible to replicate, forever memorable.

anyway: HAPPY ONE YEAR TO THE JOE HILLS SWEEP BABY,

[bigfatbreak]

Something I've been wondering for a while in the ML fandom. But after Season 5 ended, I saw a lot of authors coming to the consensus that Emilie is a "bad parent".

Where did that come from? Did I miss a fandom meeting where that consensus was reached? Or is that a consequence of Gabriel being a bad parent, having her as a bad parent by proxy?

I am mostly curious about where this headcanon came from, for some many different authors following the same path.

the series tries really hard to make Emelie seem like an angelic woman, but the problem is, it constantly steps on its own toes doing so.

even before her death, Adrien didn't go to school, wasn't socialized around others, never had a "real birthday gift," was only socialized around Chloe and his "cousin" sometimes, and though he yearned for school, was still denied that. The show says "oh she's a good person," but doesn't SHOW her being a good person.

the show contradicts itself. Emelie has to be good, because she's a dead mother who sacrificed her life for her child, but the show reveals the quality of life for that child was basically zilch, like owning a dog. The general idea of her being a bad parent is because being self-sacrificing doesn't make someone inherently good, in fact in Emelie's case, it made her all the more selfish.

if she knew she was dying and still had the audacity to keep her son from making connections with other people, all she was doing was saddling him with an immense amount of grief he would have no real way of processing, making her death the only thing he could ever revolve around for the rest of his existence.

Not only that, Gabriel seemed to follow the mindset of "oh she's just gone, not dead," which would only make things worse - and if Emelie suspected Gabriel might act the part of the fool, why didn't she ensure there was a support system for the both of them? To be fair, she doesn't have Gabriel on strings, but she literally has complete control over Adrien and just... decided to make him her emotional support child? a crutch through her death? an accessory to show what a good person she was???

maybe we really are missing parts. maybe she actually was an exceptional woman - but that SAME woman could be cattled and convinced to keep Adrien alone for his developmental years??? if we're following the idea that she was actually super good and kind, then we have to accept that she's also immensely stupid for allowing her husband to convince her that Adrien should be a bird in a cage.

Either she's loving but overall selfish, keeping Adrien for herself in spite of the damage it would cause, OR loving and stupid, letting Gabriel convince her to keep Adrien in the dark in spite of the damage it could cause.

the show may WANT us to route emelie down the path of overall "good," but considering her husband was such a miserable excuse for a parent who's attitude really hasn't changed that much from the past, like draws to like and we can only draw our own conclusions.

honestly i think Zoe put it better here, but there's my two cents on the matter.

[louislyrics]

x

[doufudanshi]

ON GHOSTS AND DEMONS: Wei Wuxian's "demonic" cultivation?

There are a few big misconceptions I have repeatedly seen in English-speaking fandom about things that are fundamental to the story of MDZS. One of them is this—

Wei Wuxian is not a demonic cultivator.

To prove this, let's take a deep dive into the original Chinese text of MDZS.

(Adapted from my original gdoc posted on Twitter on May 27, 2022. All translations my own unless otherwise stated.)

Demon vs. ghost

Let's start from the very basics. In addition to orthodox cultivation using spiritual energy and a golden core, there are two other forms of cultivation that are mentioned in the novel:

魔道 (mó dào), or “demon cultivation/path.”

鬼道 (guǐ dào), or “ghost cultivation/path.”

To be clear, 魔 mo "demons" and 鬼 gui "ghosts" (and thus their respective cultivation/paths) are not interchangeable because of the in-universe worldbuilding within MDZS. Using the characters in the term 妖魔鬼怪 "monsters," MXTX created four distinct categories of beings, each of which has a strict definition in the novel. From chapter 4 (jjwxc ch 13):

妖者非人之活物所化; 魔者生人所化; 鬼者死者所化; 怪者非人之死物所化。 Yāo (妖) are transformed from non-human living beings; mó (魔) are transformed from living people; guǐ (鬼) are transformed from the deceased; guài (怪) are transformed from non-human dead beings.

And of course, WWX hoards all the ghost-type pokemon monsters at the Phoenix Mountain tournament, and he only exerts control over corpses, spirits, and the like (aka people who have already died). (As opposed to Xue Yang, who appears to have been actively trying to make 魔 "demons" out of living people with those "living corpses" of his, perhaps.) (And, ironically, in order to avoid showing necromancy / zombies on screen, CQL technically does show WWX practicing demon cultivation because everyone is "supposedly alive" even when they're corpses? Which is, funnily enough, far worse morally in the MDZS universe, lol.)

So, intuitively at least, we know that WWX must be practicing ghost cultivation—now let's look at some concrete examples from the book.

Running the numbers

1) 魔道 (mó dào) means “demon cultivation.” As such, it must use living humans.

魔道 appears one (1) time in the novel.

Yes, once. The only time it appears is in the term 魔道祖师 modao zushi, or the namesake of the novel, in chapter 2. This is a title the general public has given him through rumors:

魏无羡好歹也被人叫了这么多年无上邪尊啦、魔道祖师啦之类的称号，这种一看就知道不是什么好东西的阵法，他自然了如指掌。 Wei Wuxian wasn’t called titles like “The Evil Overlord,” “The Founder of Demon Cultivation,” and so on over the years by others for nothing—he knew these sorts of obviously shady formations like the back of his hand.

2) 鬼道 (guǐ dào) means “ghost cultivation.” As such, it must use dead humans. 

鬼道 appears 12 times in the novel.

Here is the first instance that 鬼道 appears, which I believe is the first time Wei Wuxian's method of cultivation is properly introduced. From chapter 3 (jjwxc ch 8):

蓝忘机 […] 对魏无羡修鬼道一事极不认可。 Lan Wangji […] had never approved of the fact that Wei Wuxian practiced ghost cultivation.

Here's another quote from chapter 15 (jjwxc ch 71) for funsies:

蓝忘机看着他，似乎一眼就看出他只是随口敷衍，吸了一口气，道：“魏婴。” Lan Wangji looked at him as if he saw through his half-hearted bluff. He took in a breath, then said, “Wei Ying.” 他执拗地道：“鬼道损身，损心性。” He stubbornly continued, “Ghost cultivation harms one’s body, and harms one’s nature.”

3) 邪魔歪道 (xiemowaidao) means heretical path/immoral methods/evil practices/underhanded means/etc—e.g., lying, cheating, stealing, bribery, and so on.

It appears ~24 times in the novel.

I mention this last term because it is often used to refer to Wei Wuxian's cultivation, but as a pejorative. Every instance of 邪魔歪道 is said by or to quote someone looking down upon Wei Wuxian’s cultivation (Jin Zixun, Jin Ling, etc.) and referring to it derogatorily, whereas every instance of 鬼道 guidao/ghost dao is said by someone discussing it neutrally and/or factually (Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian himself, random cultivators at discussion conferences, the narration, etc.). Here is a pertinent example with Jin Ling (derogatory) and Lan Jingyi (neutral) in chapter 9 (jjwxc ch 43):

金凌怒道：“是在谈论薛洋，我说的不对吗？薛洋干了什么？他是个禽兽不如的人渣，魏婴比他更让人恶心！什么叫‘不能一概而论’？这种邪魔歪道留在世上就是祸害，就是该统统都杀光，死光，灭绝！” “We are discussing Xue Yang,” Jin Ling said angrily. “Am I wrong? What did Xue Yang do? He’s scum that’s lower than a beast, and Wei Ying is even more disgusting than him! What do you mean ‘don’t make sweeping generalizations?’ As long as those practicing this kind of demoniac, heretical path are alive, they’ll continue to bring disaster. We should slaughter all of them, kill all of them, annihilate them once and for all!” 温宁动了动，魏无羡摆手示意他静止。只听蓝景仪也加入了，嚷道：“你发这么大火干什么？思追又没说魏无羡不该杀，他只是说修鬼道的也不一定全都是薛洋这种人，你有必要乱摔东西吗？那个我还没吃呢……” Wen Ning shuffled around. Wei Wuxian gestured at him to stay still, only to hear Lan Jingyi also cut in loudly, “Why are you getting so riled up? It’s not like Sizhui said Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have been killed. All he said was that people who practice ghost cultivation aren’t necessarily all like Xue Yang. Do you have to go around breaking things? I didn’t even get to eat any of that yet…”

Tl;dr—Wei Wuxian does not 修魔道 practice demon cultivation. When Wei Wuxian’s craft is discussed in a neutral and factual manner, it is referred to as 鬼道 ghost dao. 

In fact, Wei Wuxian’s imitators are also referred to explicitly as 鬼道修士 ghost cultivators.

魏无羡早就听说过，这些年来江澄到处抓疑似夺舍重生的鬼道修士，把这些人通通押回莲花坞严刑拷打。 Wei Wuxian had heard a while back that over the past few years, Jiang Cheng had gone around snatching any ghost cultivator suspected of being possessed or reborn, detaining them in Lotus Pier to interrogate them using torture.

So why the confusion?

Of course, there is the matter of the novel's title, which I will get into in a second. But the real issue is a matter of translation.

The idea that WWX uses "demonic cultivation" is a misconception in English-speaking fandom due to issues with the translation of terminology. Of note, EXR actually did translate 鬼道 guidao as "ghostly path" most of the time, though there were at least 3 instances of "demonic" and 1 instance of "dark," especially regarding the first few.

However, this misconception was perpetuated (and arguably worsened) by 7S's official translation, which not only mistranslated additional terms as "demonic cultivation/path" (at least in book 1), but also consistently mistranslated every instance of 鬼道 as "demonic cultivation/path."

So why is this book called 魔道祖师, commonly translated as "Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation?"

One possibility is one posed in Chinese-language meta online, which often cites that WWX himself is a sort of 魔 demon. While this may be true—after all, he can hear the voices of the dead—it doesn't quite explain the fact that the title sets him up to be the 祖师 or "founder."

My take is that this novel is very much concerned with hearsay vs. truth. This is one of the many monikers WWX is given by the public, who collectively view him as evil. (Also of note is that the non-cultivator public is not aware of all the nuances that cultivators learn re: distinctions between the 妖魔鬼怪 monsters.) In the quote from earlier, note that the first title we're given is actually 无上邪尊 “The Evil Overlord,” then 魔道祖师 "The Founder of Demon Cultivation." Like, what can that be other than MXTX telling us, "please take both of these with a HUGE grain of salt, lol."

(And not only the title, but the very first line—"魏无羡死了。" / "Wei Wuxian is dead."—is a lie.)

I think the title is genius, honestly. It intentionally makes readers come into the novel with preconceived notions that Wei Wuxian practices 魔道 demon cultivation and evil techniques—just like the public in the novel. What better way to tell a story warning about the dangers of how easy it is to fall for misinformation and jump to incorrect conclusions?

(Though, in our case, perhaps it worked a little too well.)

[silkythewriter]

Hello! Can I request alastor x reader where the two were married while they were alive, but reader died via illness or something and went to hell (though they never partaked in the cannibalism) and the reunite in hell?

“I'll love you 'til I'm dead”

Warning!: Angst, but eventually fluff! A bit of OOC since I haven’t written in awhile.. (.,.)💧

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note: LONGGGGG TIME NO SEE, HIYA! IM SO SORRY FOR MY HIATUS OF SORTS BUT I FELT LIKE WRITING SUM SMALL ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ I apologize!, I hope you guys enjoy and I’m so sorry for disagreeing yet again!.

Summary!: Spouse! Reader dying via sickness, but reuniting with alastor in hell.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

Louise (Louise)

I'll love you 'til I'm dead

Louise (Louise)

Not even if she likes the way you dance

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

First of all, he cherished you to the fullest content. As stuck up as he seems to be smile and all, he was in desperate need of support and attention. And you supplying both of those was all he needed even if he didn’t say out loud the tender touches and moments you both shared alone was enough to tell you everything.

Your relationship was nothing less then sweet and tender, and depending if you knew of his..ahem..little side hobby, it was innocent as well!

He cared for you so deeply, so desperately, to the point where you became his tie to humanity. Of course he knew how to play a role of a sane man, but even then he needed you to tie him to the small humanity and sanity he had.

Although not a big fan of physical affection himself he would in private of course, indulge in your soft touches, and hold. He and there he may quietly slip next to you just so you could softly run you fingers across his skin.

But of course the unviable happen, as the world ripped him of what he held so dear. Maybe as a punishment for his sins and misdeeds, or simply because it could.

Of course in the 30’s medicine was far from advanced, not only that but expensive. So when the news arrived of your newly found sickness all he could do was smile and nod at the doctor as if he wasn’t receiving the most dreadful news.

At first, he genuinely did hope for a recovery, he believed you would get better. Sure a tiny voice in his head was feeding him scary thoughts, and his gut twisted and turned. He felt something was off but surely it was nothing!, right?.

But as your health deteriorated so did his mental state and sanity, even worse then it once was. He put up a front though, for your sake and his, comforting you and saying how you’ll be fine soon, and recover then both of you could go off and do something you always wanted to do.

At some points of repeating this it really turned into him assuring himself. That your not leaving him, no, not anytime soon.

The more you fell ill the more you watched him spiral infront of you. And all you really could do was stare at him with sadden eyes as you gave comforting touches against his cheek or holding him close, even if you could barely pull yourself up from the bed you laid.

You felt your time coming close to ending, and somehow so did he. But unlike you he denied it to the fullest extent.

“Please dear don’t speak of such things, don’t worry yourself. You’ll be fine you’ll see!, now just rest my dear”

He wanted to believe it’ll pass over anytime now, ignoring the doctors he spent fortunes on. And sometimes he does blame them even if they just told the truth. He hated how they couldn’t help you, how he couldn’t help you.

So the day of you passing was the day he lost his final tie to humanity. If not for you, why give such a nasty world mercy?.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

The minute they lowered your casket and buried you with the dirt is also the day he decided to amp up his murders.

He’s not sloppy with his murders their always calculated and tidy but grossem. Even with this, losing you he couldn’t concentrate which didn’t help his case as his blood lust grew and grew.

Each and every murder his mind went blank, thoughts of you kept flooding in that he desperately wanted to rip from his mind.

If a woman that wore you same fragrant passed him. She would be gone in a matter of days.

Nights were colder, harsher, he always assumed karma would catch up to him, but to him not you.

He often questioned what happened how did it happen. How did you even get such a illness?, and why did it have to be you?. We’re you in heaven watching him in his pitiful state? Was there even such a thing?. If there was…he surely wasn’t going to see you he knew where he was damned to go, but you?, he was sure you deserved the Pearl-ist set of wings.

Depending on the days, months or years following your death, he’s like a ticking time bomb.

He yearns for you in such a way he’s humiliated at it in a way. He misses you desperately, widowed too soon, he always assumed it would be you to be in this position, but he assumed wrong.

Even then he couldn’t tell if he could subject you to the twist of his heart and guts. He would beg to die before you, but the pain he feels now is something he would never want you to feel.

Following thoughts of your death was also his. Would he get to see you soon?, one last glance before being damned?.

He never truly moved on, cause you were his only love. Loving someone for him atleast, was rare in a romantic sense.

At some point he genuinely does just continue his murders till his death, maybe it was your passing that truly killed him. After your passing he was a bit hasty, maybe that’s what lead him to be shot in the woods. But who truly knows?

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

Now, after his death is where everything truly came together.

His rise to power was fairly quick killing overloads one by one gaining more voices on his radio.

But the lingering feeling of hope stayed in him…maybe you were here? Waiting for him?, But at the same time he hated this life for you, in such a miserable and disgusting yet admittedly amusing place(at least to him)

Now depending on how you found him maybe the minute his radio debuted. Or maybe by a game of telephone by the residents in hell whispering rumors and describing someone all to familiar to you.

Either way! You guys do eventually find each other. By chance or destiny is up to you

The minute he spots you, hears you, even senses you, he freezes. His smile never flattering but static surrounding the area as he processes what’s happening. Is this some sort of trick?, how..how did you end up here?

In a matter a seconds though he’s in front of you, looming as his shadow grows in suspense.

He holds his appearance and self image very important but in this tiny moment of silence. He lets it slip even if just a bit, smile never faltering but I’m his eyes a glimpse of renewed joy. Genuine joy, not form the harms of others but from something warm…something bitter sweet.

Maybe it’s you who pipes up snapping him from observing you like a painting in a museum.

“See?” You said softly grabbing his hand gently like you used to do, as you softly brought it to your face and softly planted it on your cheek. “I’m real” you said with a soft smile (SILENT HILL REFERENCE!!¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Depending on where you are he’s quick to whisk you away to somewhere secluded.

Despite the questions on his mind all he can do is silently stare at you taking in ever detail, even if some changes here and there, you were still you. The you that he missed so desperately for all too long.

Even if not one for physical affection he’s quick with holding you, scared of you being taken from him again, taking in all he can.

Your so much more precious then he leads on, and he’ll be damned to second hell if he loses you again.

In the period of first meeting you again he is keen on keeping an eye one you 24/7, doesn’t matter what powers or how long you survived without him in hell. He can’t risk it, especially not now as he started accumulating enemies so quickly.

He’ll treat you like it’s your first time dating, of course in his old time-y way, but either surprising you with flowers at random times of the day, or watching you get giddy when he kisses the crown of your head.

Now that he knows, and felt the pain of losing you, every moment you have together form than on is cherished more than before. He remembers every day with you like the back of his hand, what you ate, what you said, what you wore, and more!

He know’s…he knows he’s a messed up, and vail man. He understands the gruesome things he’s done with little to no regret. But if he did in somehow and some way do good, something good to earn you back in his afterlife man is he greatful for it.

Some nights he does just stare at you. He’s scared, he will never show it but he is. If he loses you again, for eternity, he’s not sure what’d he do with himself. And that, the fact you weight so heavily on him is the second scariest thing, first being losing you.

Over all, he’s taken aback having you back, but he gets use to it very quickly, your soft comforting touches and your voice that brings back a flood of memories is something he will never forget nor let ago, he isn’t losing you this time, and he’ll do anything to make sure of that.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

WOW THAT WAS LONG, I LOVED WRITING IT THOUGH OH MY GOSH I LOVED THIS IDEA, PLEASE REQUEST AGAIN!!! \(^ヮ^)/

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed (part two)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream (kinda), Hannibal (TV), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Billy Lenz, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; heavily suggestive content, implied smut, unhealthy power dynamics, references to stalking and kidnapping, violence

♡ notes; still kind of figuring out characterization for Jason and Danny tbh

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> mama always taught him that sharing a bed with someone was wrong

> it could so easily lead to sinning! and the woods tended to be humid anyway, so it’d get sticky and sweaty

> but Jason likes keeping you close, very close

> the only time he’s not by your side is when he’s “working”

> and even then he’ll check up on you throughout the evening

> one day you get worried, though

> he’s usually back by the time you’re about to go to sleep- he drinks tea with you and usually cuddles for a bit even though he’s convinced staying would be bad

> on this night, the tea is getting cold, and you’re getting grumpy, so you step outside to call for him

> it’s just a moment- a split second that you feel a hand on your shoulder- too small to be Jason

> then there’s a sickening squelch, a scream, and a couple more wet thumps and groans before silence

> you don’t need to turn to know what happened, instead letting Jason come to you (he doesn’t like seeing you sad from his messes- and you don’t like seeing them period)

> he’s got the blood of the man who touched you splattered all over you but you just frown softly “…it’s bedtime.”

> he wordlessly nods and scoops you up quickly, seeming scared that you were somehow hurt

> you quietly reassure him but he gets you the tea and pets your hair until he’s satisfied you’re okay

> you relish in the affection and get an idea

> “Jason baby? can you sleep in my bed? just tonight?”

> you can tell he mulls it over a long while before he nods

> he looks comically large in your bed, holding your teddy bear for you while you change into pajamas

> you let him be the little spoon, wrapping around him happily

> surely something this comfy can’t be wrong, he decides and falls asleep peacefully

> but when he wakes up, holding your soft, barely clothed form tight against him…he realizes he doesn’t care what’s wrong and right when it comes to you

> because you make him want to do all of the things mama said not to - and he just loves making you happy

Bo Sinclair

> you like your personal space- that’s something you made clear when you started living there

> back then you were still a victim, but the point stands

> so once they trusted you you got your own little room and let you decorate

> and you like your arrangement. you have your bed, your boyfriend has his, and you don’t ever sleep in the other’s on purpose

> why would you want to sleep next to Bo anyways? he snores, he’s always splayed out in weird positions and he sweats like a motherfucker

> maybe it had to do with the way you can always hear him screaming when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

> or how it stings whenever he leaves after you fuck, even though you never really ask him to stay

> okay, fuck it. you love the idiot and you want to sleep next to him.

> that shouldn’t be too hard to say

> except it is, because your stubbornness is almost as legendary as Bo’s

> you’re still actively putting it off when you manage to sprain your ankle in the house

> after thanking Vincent for patching you up, you spend the afternoon in the living room, sulking as you wait for Bo

> you know it’s not his fault you slipped, but you’re irrationally mad at him and getting worse the later that he is

> you can tell Vincent got to him first because he’s already frowning when he walks in to the living room close to midnight

> “what happened to you, little darlin?”

> your anger immediately melts away and you give a pathetic little pout as he hugs you tight, cursing for not checking in

> he babies you throughly and eventually takes you to your room

> he’s giving you a goodnight kiss when you grab his sleeve

> “…stay?”

> he can’t hide his smug smile

> “…you want me to?”

> you grumble but he’s happy to strip to his boxers, whistling

> “what’re you so smug for?”

> “you finally asked me to stay.”

> “…well duh.”

> he falls asleep with your whole body laid on top of him, hand lazily stroking your hair

> for once he doesn’t have any night terrors, and he’s grateful

> so grateful in fact, he’d like to repay you..

Billy Lenz

> you don’t love the idea of billy spending the night

> it’s not that you don’t love him, or being around him. he’s your boyfriend, of course you like his company

> it’s just that the sorority girls don’t have the greatest track record of giving you privacy

> they don’t cross boundaries, or enter without knocking- you lock the door anyways

> but they like you enough that usually they’re knocking on your door by eight, inviting you on a shopping trip or to breakfast or even asking for help studying

> it can be stifling, but it’s sweet, and it’s not like they’ll know you have a guest. they’d be more courteous if you could tell them

> and there’s the second reason, the one you can’t tell Billy

> you know the walls are paper thin, and you know just as well he’d take that as a challenge

> but it’s spring break, and only a couple of students are still about

> so you quite casually ask him if he’d like to stay the night

> you’ve never seen this man smile wider in your entire time with him

> and he’s surprisingly PG as you make plans

> he’s excited to eat popcorn and get his nails done and cuddle - you paint his hails black and get the snacks ready

> you rent a horror movie for the occasion, and he’s giggling the whole way through it

> he thinks it’s just adorable that you get so scared, hiding your face against him

> “Billy’s pretty baby is so silly- maybe he should distract his baby….-“

> luckily, you’re able to turn being as quiet as possible into a game when you mention how sound carries through the house

> and he’s ecstatic when he gets to stay next to you, tangled in the sheets and clinging to you for dear life

Danny Johnson

> you’ve never been to his place

> he started as a stalker, so it seemed natural he’d just keep going over to your apartment

> and since he’s always busy with the paper, and continuing his current murder spree…

> well most nights you just let him go, and when you don’t you wake up alone

> but on a particularly boring evening you decide to reverse the roles just a bit

> you figured out his address some time ago- and you picked up a thing or two about picking locks from dating Danny

> so it’s not a problem getting into his penthouse and making yourself comfortable

> you make sure to send a vague text that you knew he’d be able to figure out

> after all actually being sneaky around Danny was probably dangerous- you’re about the only person he wouldn’t stab on site

> you can’t help your huge grin when he stalks into his bedroom

> he’s acting pissy but you see the way his eyes survey your nearly bare body

> “You little brat…”

> he’s the fun kind of angry

> after a through lesson in asking permission you shower and collapse into bed together

> you cuddle close and fall asleep in his arms as he traces all your new bite marks and bruises

> he seems to get the message about staying - when you wake up it’s to him kissing your neck and purring your name

> apparently he didn’t finish last night’s ‘lesson’…and he’s eager to continue

Hannibal Lecter

> he’s eager for you to spend the night, in all honesty

> he likes being in control, utterly and completely

> if he had it his way, you’d move in within the month

> but even though you’ve brought a bag, and are all pj-ed up, he’s distracted

> maybe the one thing that can distract him from you is work- he’s a perfectionist

> and he doesn’t have to prove himself to you like he does clientele and state boards, and practically everyone else

> “y’know you said ten minutes ten minutes ago.”

> “yes my darling- i’ll be there shortly, just- go lay down-“

> you roll your eyes and instead stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and beginning to kiss his neck

> he tries his damndest to keep focused

> “…if you don’t come soon, i won’t be awake enough to help you…unwind,”

> that gets him up- you 1, work 0

> you’re surprised when after you’ve both gotten nice and relaxed, he pulls you flush

> usually you have to ask for affection

> but he spoons you, face buried in your hair as he dozes off

[hidden-poet]

To have and to hold.

1/1 Disclaimer: I have not watched Billy the kid. This story is based on an internet search, and a can do mentality. No cannon events or characters.

Warnings: Dark!billy-the-kid, non-con, light stalking, technical kidnapping, spit, mature, 18+ only, porn-with-little-plot, non-fandom based writing, Reader POV, reader not described but can be picked up, definitely not historically actuate but you are reading about getting railed by billy-the-kid so you can fuck off if you have a problem with it. Dead dove, do not eat.

A/N: I am so sorry that this was late, and also rushed. The tent scene felt like I was pulling teeth out. I had no idea where I was going with it.

unedited.

You always knew Billy had a crush on you.

You would catch him staring at you from across the market. He would try to talk to you every chance he got. Always trying to find out more about you. He was awkward mostly, unfitting to his position of power. Despite his eager attempts to gain an audience with you, his eyes often floated around the room, and the conversation topics only always grazed the surface. 

Nevertheless when you excused yourself from him, he always seemed disappointed but never stopped you. 

You never minded the attention. You were flattered by it. Before him, none of the town's men paid you too much mind. Your family wasn’t rich, and your face was too plain to gain attention away from the wealthy girls.

It helped too that it was handsome. Dangerous. Big broad shoulders and striking eyes. He was good at his craft. Some say the best.

He was good enough to keep the vultures away from town. For a price. Him and his gang kept the town safe for a portion of everyone’s profits. It was a small profit compared to what he could have asked but added up quickly amongst the business that bloomed with his protection.

The regulators became the law after running out the corrupt and keeping out wild gangs that would come and pillage.

There were worse men to be left in charge. Overall his reputation was good but money was to be paid, or houses were to be burned down.

He had men to look after. They had to be fed and housed with a few extra dollars in their pockets to halt their boisterous nature.

From the few times he did use a heavy hand, it left a strong reminder to the community that Billy’s word was law.

Even with his sheriff- like position, he was still considered an outlaw. Wanted in multiple counties. Wanted in yours not too long ago. Before he and his crew became the new law. So you had to keep your distance as much as you could, and avoid situations where you could be seen alone with him. The town mostly thought of you as a poor target for Billy but a few whispers about you were already causing damage to your reputation.

 Anyone connected to the regulators was treated differently. People wanted to distance themselves from the group that controlled the area. Anyone found being too friendly with the Regulators were ostracized. Your family couldn't afford to be outcast. The family business relied on steady connections and loyal customers. 

So you don’t mind the flirtatious talk in private or burning stares so long as it never proceeds from that.

To help this, you avoided him where you could but some days it felt as if he knew your schedule better than you did. 

You tried to switch it up by going to town a day earlier than you usually would, but fate had it that it was the same day as Billy’s collection. 

People hush as Billy and two of his men come into the convenience store. Some leave while others push themselves to the back of the store. You try and hide your face behind a series of hanging baskets as you watch the group walk confidently in. 

Billy greets the shopkeeper respectfully but the men he is with are arrogant and begin playing with the objects on display. You knew them as Jim Greathouse, and Tom O’Folliard. Both long-standing members of the Regulators. 

“Good evening, Mr O’Conoly. How are you today?”

“Good, Billy. Thank you”. The shopkeeper places a pouch of money on top of the counter for the men to take. 

Billy takes it first and places the small pouch in his pocket, thanking the man, and asking about his family. 

You try to make your escape moving from behind the baskets towards the door. Your face heated with just the thought of talking to Billy in a room full of people. In passing or at a public event was unavoidable, your townspeople knew that, but talking so friendly in a shop. It would bring your family shame if it came across too familiar.

But you were too hasty in your exit, your feet too hard against the floor. The shuffling caught his attention. Worried that he might be offended with your behavior, you pretend to look at the pears on display as if contemplating. 

The sound of his feet against the floorboards matched the beating of your heart. 

You pretend to look busy as you inspect the pears but could feel his searing stare as he approached you.

“Miss y/n”’ he took off his hat as he spoke as a sign of respect.

You nodded your head towards him as a sign of respect back, “Mr Bonney”.

“Billy. You can call me Billy”.

You nod back with a tight smile, keeping your eyes focused on the produce in front of you. To encourage Billy by calling him by familiar terms may give him the wrong impression.

"You look awful pretty today"

"You say that every day, Mr Bonney".

“I mean it every day”. He stands close to you, leaning his frame over yours. With his height it could have been intimidating but you knew he meant no harm.

“Did you need help shopping today? I could carry your basket for you” His fingers reach out to your basket but you tug it back against you. 

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, but I will not be buying anything today. I must get home. I suddenly don’t feel well”. 

“Wait” He reaches out and gently captures your arm to stop you from turning. It was the first time he had ever touched you. It felt like you had been zapped with electricity. 

You pull quickly out of his grasp and look around the shop. People were staring at the scene. One wrong step and it could be the end of your family's good name. You step further back from him, solidifying that he was the same person to them as he was to you. 

Billy holds his hands flat out in surrender, telling you he had no further plans of touching you. 

“I was just wondering if you planned to be at Maria's wedding?”. 

Maria was a friend of yours, of course you would be at her wedding. You wondered why he was asking, he knew this too. 

She was often with you when he approached. More than that her soon-to-be husband was friendly with Billy, and borrowed from the Regulators to finance a farm. 

Because of that, would he now be invited to the wedding? Would you be stuck avoiding him the whole night?

“I do,” you respond. If you lied and he was invited it would be an uncomfortable evening, but has telling the truth now placed you in a difficult spot?

“I was wondering if you might fancy a dance or two with me?”

A sudden loud clanking noise stole the spotlight from you. Jim had knocked a table of grain and spilled it over the floor along with the serving cup. Tom bellowed at his friend's mistake, kneeling over from laughter. 

“I am sorry, sir” Billy said to the shopkeeper, “He will pay for that”. 

Tom laughs louder, earning a shove from Jim. 

“Clean it up” Billy demands with a click of his fingers. Jim snatched a nearby rag and kneeled upon the floor under Billy’s stare. You make a quick exist while he is distracted but he follows you across the floor. 

The shopkeepers goes to help clean up the mess by bringing a broom but he is insulated by Jim as he nears. He throws the dirty rag at the man and questions why he didn’t bring a broom sooner. 

Billy’s attention is once again caught. He looks at you as you pass through the door but Jim continues to hurl insults at the undeserving shopkeep. Billy turns direction away from you to deal with the situation. 

“Hey. He’s paid his dues. Leave him alone” was the last thing you heard as you raced down the steps and to the path back home. 

You bash your hand against your forehead as you take the dirt path back to your home. It felt good to release some of the tension you felt. You had kept your composure through your walk through the back of town but could feel it bubbling under the surface. 

You should have left as soon as he entered the store. Now you were left in difficult position and only the feeling of dread around your friends wedding. 

How would you be able to avoid him for the entire time? Your only hope is that he will avoid you while you are with your family. 

You swing your empty basket. The trip to town and back was a 40 minute walk across a hard pebble road. You’d have to make it again tomorrow. 

You wondered if you would see him again. Billy normally placed himself in town to correspond with your schedule. 

Would he ask for a dance again or had you wounded his pride? What is the right answer? 

Yes would leave the town talking for weeks. Might even affect your fathers business.

 No might make you an enemy of the Regulators.  Which is the last thing you wanted to be. 

Perhaps if you took more chores, your sister would take your trip to town. 

She was stubborn though. Would want more than her fair share to swap tasks. You begin your negotiations in your head. 

Preparing for when you get home, when the sound of galloping horse upon the gravel approaches you. You move from the path to let the horseman pass, but it slows next to you. 

You look up at the rider, just making out his face under the sun. 

“Mr Bonney. What are you doing?”. 

You eye the area to see no one else. A blessing and a curse. 

He swings off his horse next to you.  

“You said you felt ill. I thought it was best to see you home alright”.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr Bonney”.

“Please, I insist. Riding would be faster than walking”.

“How would that look, sir? Sharing a horse?”.

“You could sit, and I’ll walk him along,” he suggests. His hat covers his face in shadows. It made it hard to see how he was processing your words.

“No, thank you, sir. The walk would be good for me. You go on now”. 

“I’ll walk alongside you”. He readies the reins of his horse between his hand for a walking pace.

“There’s really no need” you try. 

“There’s also nothing stopping me” he returns. 

It puts you back on one foot. He had never spoken to you like that before. Conversations about the weather, and upcoming community events were the only things really talked about. Sometimes he would ask after your family, and your health. But he found that broader, more unfamiliar topics worked best to elicit a conversation. 

You once helped him pick out a ripe watermelon when he asked you but he had never refused to stop bothering you. 

He walked beside you with his shoulder almost touching yours. You try to create distance by walking on the edge of the road. The rocks slip off the edge of the road under your feet. It makes for an uncomfortable walk, in which your ankle twists from the uneven ground. 

“It looks like rain” he looks up to the sky and its dark forming clouds, “I sure hope it clears before the wedding”. 

You tense as he brings up the wedding. It was surely a ploy to reintroduce his offer. In an attempt to discourage him, you only offer him a nod. 

One wrong step and you tumble of balance towards the surrounding dirt. 

“Careful” he hand latches on to your arm, pulling you back on the path. He moves himself and his horse over to the center of the road, pulling you along with his hold, “Don’t want you breaking an ankle before our dance”. 

You paused to consider a broken ankle as your way of escaping the dance, but it would immobilise you and Billy was sure to sit by your side the entire night. 

“I don’t dance, Mr Bonney. Two left feet I am afraid”. 

“We’ll get along fine”

“I might not be well enough to attend anyway”. 

“Oh” he looks ahead at the road, “That would be a shame”.

The horse kicks, impatient with her pace. 

“Settle” he commanded with a pat to its nose. 

“She’s used to going fast,” he tells you. 

“Please, Mr Bonney. I would hate to upset your horse”. You gesture for him to go forward and leave you.

He laughs at you. A sweet, airy laugh. 

“She'll be fine”.

You knew he meant you no harm. Even as you walk with him miles from anyone you felt no fear. So you walk in a comfortable silence next to him, your feet falling into step with his own. 

“If you need a break, let me know,” he spoke. 

You wondered why he said such a thing, forgetting your own lie. Quick in your recoup you bring your hand to your forehead 

“I will be fine. Home is not too far off”. 

He offers you a drink from his water flask which you decline. He had reached for it although from his saddle and you still him with a hand on his shoulder. It freezes him.

In return his eyes freeze you as he peers back over his shoulder.

You’re not sure why but an apology falls from your lips. 

“No” he assures, “No-I”. 

Neither of you were sure where to go.

He puts the flask back, turning to you with empty hands. 

You didn't notice that you had stopped walking until his horse kicked impatiently.

“I have to get home” you state. 

You pick up speed and return to the silence as you walk alongside him. 

Out of nowhere and somewhat timidly he reaches a hand out and places it on your shoulder. 

You jump back at the unexpected contact. Half expecting the hand to claw and punch you down to the ground. But it releases. 

He squints his eyes at you, surprised at your reaction. 

“You don’t think I would hurt you. Do you?”

You weren’t sure. He’s never been aggressive towards you. But stories of him being a dangerous man made their way around the community. 

“No, Mr Bonney”. 

With home so close it urges you to pick up the pace. He keeps it easily. 

“Is that why you didn’t want me to walk you home? Because you thought I would hurt you? Y/N, I would never”.

His hand once again goes up to touch you but you knock it away. 

“Mr Bonney, may I remind you that you are a stranger to me. That I am an unmarried woman, and you are an unmarried man. If some one were to mistake this situation, it could cause great damage to my reputation. My family's reputation, and livelihood".

He looked hurt that you had spoken to him like that. He stopped his fast pace beside you, and you took the opportunity to continue on without him. 

“Well we ain't strangers” he says as he nestles up beside you again. 

The walk turned silent again and it remained that way as you passed through the wide field to your home. 

Your small family home comes into view, and thought perhaps you could shake him. But he doesn’t leave you as you open your gate. 

“Thank you for seeing me home, Mr Bonney”, You try.

“Anytime Miss Y/N. Maybe one day you could invite me around, and we could have tea”.

You slam the gate shut between you. By allowing him to walk you home, does he think that you were opening up to him? 

“I am not sure my father would approve”. 

Billy’s eyes fall to the ground. He doesn’t look up as he speaks. 

“I see”, he states, “Well, rest up and I’ll see you at the wedding”.

You hear the talking of your mother and sister as they bring the washing back up to the house. If they came too close, he would try to start a friendly conversation with them. The risk of your father seeing, and shooting is already high. You needn’t add to it. 

“Goodbye, Mr Bonney”, you bid. 

You leave him at the gate, scoping your mother and sister into your arms and back into the house. 

—

The day of the wedding came. The whole house woke up in excitement but you felt more heavy than you should have. 

You tried to strike a balance between dressing nice and dressing too nice that Billy would think you dressed up for him.

Luckily, Miara relied on you the whole day to complete last minute things. While the others were gathered in front of the church, you were in the field gathering flowers for her bouquet. After that you helped her dress and do her hair. It all kept you away from the guests right up to the wedding. 

You dash inside the small church to find your seat before the bride was ready to come in. 

You saw not only him but the entire group of the Regulators sitting at that back corner out of the way. They were all clean and dressed nicely to Billy’s request. Their hats were taken off their heads in respect, and not one of them spoke. 

Billy’s body shifted as he saw you. It straightened, slightly turning towards you as you walked up the aisle to your family. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked. You couldn’t help looking back at him. 

You took your seat next to your sister in time for the band to start the wedding march. Maria slowly walks down the aisle, you try to keep you focused on her during all of the service but his stare burns a hole in the back of your head. 

All too soon the ceremony was over. Maria and her new husband stop to greet Billy as they pass. Maria’s husband gets a firm handshake as Billy says something to him and Maria is brought in for a kiss on the cheek. 

They acted like old friends despite their true relationship as debtor and debtee. 

Once the newlyweds make it to the door signaling for the rest to follow, you form a barrier of your family to keep you away from Billy as you pass him. The Regulators go to move out before the rest of the guests but Billy blocks the path by putting his hand on the front pew. Manners were important to Billy but less so to his group.

Billy and the Regulators walked behind the guests to the reception held in the field of the newlyweds' new farmstead. The couple had hired a live band, and borrowed tables and chairs.  Candles and a large fire was lit as it darkened. People danced and laughed amongst the Regulators, but you found yourself trying to keep busy to avoid any conversation. 

If you remained for too long in one spot, you could feel Billy closing in. Only the request from your friend on her big day made you pause. She needed help dishing up the punch as the speeches would begin soon. 

All your efforts of the night were wasted as you distributed the drink into the many cups. You were a sitting duck, and you could see Billy closing in. You rush, half spilling the punch on the table. People distracted him as he made his way over. It gave you hope you could finish before he reached you. 

“Whoa, slow down” Maria jeered. 

“Sorry. Can you find someone else to do this? Mr Bonney is coming over and if I get trapped talking to him it will ruin my night”. 

Maria slaps your arm hard causing you to spill a whole cup of punch. 

“I won’t hear that talk about Billy. Not after what he did”. 

Your friend goes back to pouring but she has now peaked your interest. 

“What did he do?” you ask. 

Maria places her cup down and leans closer to you as if it was a secret. 

“Our wedding present was the farm. We own it. Debt free. He let us off”.

An expensive wedding present from a man who barely knows the couple. It was also a dangerous thing to do. How many people will now be expecting debt to be wiped free after every major life event. 

Billy made his way over. You don’t turn from Maria but she ecstatically greets him. 

“Can I lend a hand, Maria?”. He stands too close, your shoulder almost touching him. 

Maria declined his offer of help but he picks up the empty cups and holds them out for you to fill. 

You don’t speak to him as you work but he continues to swap the cups under you. 

“Let's start passing these out” Maria spoke to you, picking up a tray and disappearing into the party. You follow suit, picking up your tray without a word, but Billy takes it from you, placing it back on the table. 

“I was wondering if you were ready for the dance you promised me?”.

“There are many girls here, Mr Bonney, who are dying for a dance”. You hint at him. You look to your father who is watching you from his group of friends. 

“That may be so”. He is resolved to his position. Although you knew it was unintentional his hand went to his gun holster light resting on the leather belt. 

 It was best not to make a scene so you give him a curt nod and head towards the crowd of people dancing. A dance at a wedding is hardly anything scandalous. He follows close and when he feels like you are far enough into the dance floor he takes your wrist into his hand and spins you towards him. 

“Are you having a good time?’’ he asks as you move together to the festive music.

“Yes”. You wish you could have said more but your brain felt muddled with him so close. You could feel his strong shoulders as you rest your arm around his neck, and his strong fingers squeezed around yours.

“It didn’t rain” he comments. 

“No” you agree. 

“You look beautiful in that dress”

“Thank you. I borrowed it from my sister”.

A man calls out to Billy, taking the attention off you for the second that it took Billy to give an acknowledging nod. 

You spin out from his arms in sync with the other girls. It reached the part of the song where partners were swapped but Billy held tight to your hand and spun you back into him, leaving the next man looking for his new dance partner. 

Billy jerks his head in the direction of the girl who was supposed to take your place.

“Over there” he suggests. 

The dance continues and you resume your position as Billy’s dance partner. 

“That’s not how that dance goes” you scold. 

“Not going to let you go that easy”.

He spins you out and back in again, “You told me you were two left feet. You seem to be doing alright to me”, he says as he holds you close. 

You push yourself out of his hold and back  into dancing formation. Cozy in the arms of the judge, jury and executor is not a good look. 

“That may be because you are two right feet”.  

He laughs causing you to giggle with him but you were acutely aware of your fathers protective stare. 

“See we make the perfect pair” he boasts. 

His remark silences you. Too many flirtatious exchanges could leave the wrong impression. 

“How are you feeling?” Billy asks softly, “I ain’t spinning you too much, am I? Did you want to sit with me for a bit?” 

“No” better to get the dancing out of the way for the night, “no, I feel fine”. 

He doesn’t spin you again. Instead keeping you close in a gently swaying motion. You follow his lead around the floor. A few stared but most were too consumed with themselves to notice. Only your father paid true attention. 

“Maria told me that you forgave the debt on the land” you said after a moment of nothing but dancing. 

He nods back, a small smile on his lips as he looks out to the other dancers. He was pleased that you knew.

“I did. We want to see prosperity in this land. Farmers are important in that”.

Suddenly his jaw became hard, and his hold loosened. 

“Wouldn’t that be right, Harold?”. 

His change confused you. Instead of dancing with you, he had pushed your body behind his, gripping the fabric of your dress around your waist to keep you still, and had his gun pointed straight. 

You move as much as you could to see Harold Fern, the baker in your community. He looked disheveled as he held out a shotgun.  His hair was a mess, his clothes half done up and wrinkled His cheeks and nose burned red with intoxication. 

“You son of a bitch” slurred Harold, “You took everything from me”. 

“I don’t know what you mean, but you better get that gun out of my face before I put you down”.

You shrink yourself as small as you could against Billy back. His hold tightens as he feels you move. 

Harold scoffs, “You ain’t that quick”. 

“Yes, I am” he threatens. 

Harold sways as he thinks about Billy’s statement giving Billy the time to try and talk so sense into the man. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harold. Don’t make me. Whatever you think I have done, I am sure we can fix it”. 

“Your taxes put me out of business. My fathers business, my fathers’ fathers business. You and your gang come in demanding a share from the work you don’t do”. 

 ‘I am sorry, Harold, Truely. But your business would have been gone long ago if it weren’t for us. You think the Casa gang would have left anything if they were successful in their attack? We stopped them. What do you think would have been left of this town if we didn’t?”. 

With the man subdued, you move from where you pressed up against Billy’s back to move from the line of fire. But Billy’s hold on your dress would not loosen. You resumed your spot against his back, hoping that the bullet would not go straight through. 

“If it’s a loan you need I can give it to you, but I can also send you to the grave after your father if your finger itches towards that trigger anymore”.

“Billy!” you hear a voice of one of the regulators. The surrounding people gasp as another gun is brought out. 

“It’s alright. Harolds here just had too much to drink. Why don’t you take him back to his house and i’ll be by tomorrow to see if we can figure out a solution to his problem”. 

Harold must have chosen to drop the gun because you heard the shoving and shouting from Billy’s man and not the ricochet of a gun. 

The grip on your dress is released and Billy turns towards you placing his hands on your shoulders. 

“Are you okay?”. 

You shake him off, aware of the audience still staring at you. Billy follows your gaze around the crowd. 

“It’s alright everyone. Let’s get the music going again’’ 

Billy raises his hand to your arm once more but you are pushed away before it lands. Your father had come to your rescue quickly pushing you through the crowd. You look back at Billy. He doesn’t move. Just stares until you are out of sight. 

You don’t see Billy for the next week. His men did his collections. You only saw them around town, never him. You figure he was laying low after the wedding incident. 

Your days became dull again without the excitement of Billy. Your chores became chores again without the added threat of Billy laying in wait. 

Miss may be a strong word, but something felt off when he wasn’t around. You figure you had gotten so used to a state of anxiety that normalcy felt strange. 

He would return, you ensured yourself, just enjoy it while it lasts.  

On the tenth night of his absence from your life you think that maybe he had skipped town, and you would never see him again. The Regulators would need a new leader and you shudder thinking who it could be. 

You sleep with the thought of him on your mind. Who would protect the town if not him? Who would fill your days with excitement and wonder? You scold yourself for the latter thought. He was an outlaw. A villain. Blood soaked his hands.  He was a bad man. The leader of bad men. You sleep with hateful thoughts of the Regulators and their leader. 

You wake with the sound of your dog scratching at your door. Begging to be let out. The night was cold. Even with a large blanket and the windows shut, you shivered. 

You sigh as you get up, quickly looking for your robe. It would do little to keep the cold away but something was better than nothing. 

It was odd for your dog to wake to pee. It only happened when he was a pup and that was long ago. 

You follow him as he races down the steps, trying your best to be quiet so as not to wake your family. The dog is energetic, scratching at the main door. 

You ‘sh’ him as you open it. You’re greeted by a wave of freezing air.  

The dog ruined your plans of staying on the porch as he disappeared into the darkness forcing you to follow down. 

The cold grass sinks into your feet, the moisture soaking your soles. You could barely see your dog in the dark with his black fur. Only the sound of him peeing told you he was still there. 

You stretch as you wait, looking up at the night sky. Slowly rolling your head in a circle. In doing so, you could see a small flame in the distance. A candle still going just outside of your father's shed.

You go to blow it out before it catches anything on fire. Another odd occurrence. Your father rarely lit candles due to their cost. He was sure to blow it out before he finished. Still he is old like your dog. They are both slipping from their good habits and you would need to learn to be more gracious. 

You bend down and with one quick blow, the flame is gone. Rising once more, you decide it is time to return to bed and go to call your dog over. 

His name never gets off your lips. It’s sealed shut by a strong gloved hand pressed over your mouth, and the feeling of a cool barrel of a gun pressed into the side of your head. 

“Sh, sh, sh, be quiet”. 

Your gut dropped, you knew the smooth voice of Billy. With faith he wouldn’t hurt you, you try screaming into his hand. He shook you a bit but no harsh hand was used to silence you. 

“I said quiet”. 

You do. You once heard that he shot a man off his horse a mile away. Now with a gun pressed into your head you didn’t need too much persuading to do as he said. 

“We’re going on a little trip, you and I” he whispers in your ear. 

Where was your dog? You wondered. Why couldn’t he sense you were in danger and come save you. You were no match for Billy. 

“Okay?” he asks.  You nod in response. 

“Okay, move”. He keeps his hand across your mouth, and his gun buried in your back, using it to move you forward. 

It’s not too far before the sight of his horse is seen only thirty feet from your house. He releases you and halters his gun so he could cup his hands to help you onto the saddle. 

You look back at your house, not too far in the distance. If you ran could you make it? If you screamed could your family hear it?

“Come on, now. Don’t keep me waiting”. 

Deciding you couldn’t make it, you slot your foot into his hands, and he hoists you up to the saddle. He got up more easily, and with a swing of his leg he saddles up behind you, bringing the reins and his hands down upon your lap. 

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s not far. Just some place I go to think”. 

The horse is ridden at a leisurely pace. The cold air attacks you, and you find yourself curling into Billy’s warmth. 

He doesn’t speak to you again but you could feel him trying his best to protect you from the cold wind. His body barricaded around you, trying to keep you warm. At one point when the wind blew especially hard, he planted his large warm hand over the side of your face and pressed the other side of your face into his chest.

With the amount of shock running through your body, you weren't sure if the ride was short like he promised. It felt like an entirety by his side. 

When you arrived at the camp, the fire was already going, and a tent was set up. 

He dismounts first and then reaches back up to help you down. 

“Why have you brought me here?”. You accept his help down, his horse wouldn’t go without him. 

“To talk. Some place where you can’t run away”.

His words should have carried more weight, but you knew they were said in a non-threatening manner. 

There was a log near the fire that you used as a seat while Billy remained across from you. 

“I’ve missed you these past few days. Been real lonely without you”. He kicks the dirt under his shoe and watches as it jumps from his force. 

“We were never friends, Billy”. 

Billy. The name seemed to have just fallen off your lips. 

The sound of his name gave him courage to look up at you.

“You’re right. You’re right. We skipped that stage”. 

His eyes go back down and he is silent once more. 

“Y/N, your daddy’s never going to approve of me”.

“No” you agree, “No, he’s not”. 

His eyes flick up back to yours, his stance hardens, his shoulders square and his eyes peer down at you.

“So. Where does that leave us?” he asks. 

A large gust of wind blows through the camp, straight through you. Your body hunches from the cold

“Are you cold?” he asks in a state of shock that he could ignore the obvious. He doesn’t wait for your response, gone into his tent before the question fully parted from his lips. 

He brings out a thick wool blanket, and wraps it around your shoulders before going back to his side of the fire.

He rubs his hand across the bottom of his face, his other hand positions on his hip. You wondered what he was thinking. Why he looked so worried when he was the one in the position of power? 

“Billy?” you asked softly. His eyes flicked from the ground up to you. “Billy, take me home”. 

“You know God told me that you were the woman for me’’.

“Did he?” you ask cautiously. 

“Years ago. I saw you in town, I said ‘God, if she’s the one make her drop her bracelet’. And you did”. 

He reaches into his vest pocket pulling out his pocket watch to show you the chain. He brought it over to you. In the light you could see that he had melted the gold of your bracelet to his small gold watch and fashioned it into his pocket watch that he carried daily. The ends of the bracelet were melded but the gold that was braided together looked identical to the bracelet you had lost.

 It was your bracelet. One you lost nearly three years ago. The clasp was broken, you shouldn’t have been wearing it but it was one of your favorites. 

“It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything” you said. A broken bracelet was hardly uncommon for a woman who had little money to fix it. 

This seemed to anger him. His face scrunched up and his movement became rough and short. 

“Coincidence? Was it a coincidence tonight? I had a burning desire to see you and you just so happen to be outside waiting for me”.

“I wasn’t waiting for you”.

“Well something brought you outside to me. You don’t call that fate?”. 

“My dog”. Your eyes slowly weep as Billy the kid turns into Billy the outlaw. 

To run a group of outlaws. To kill men, and control a town, you knew he had to have a dark streak. No matter how well he hid it, there must be something lurking underneath to be able to exert the violence needed.

His hand flys to his forehead, rubbing it as if you were causing him a headache. 

“You ain't listening. Me and you. We’re connected. Meant to be”. 

“Okay” you agree. Unsure on what else to do. “Billy, I am really cold and would like to go home now”.

“Here” he comes closer to you, bending down and helping you to your feet. 

He picks up a lit lamp by the fire, and tries to lead you forward. 

“It’s warmer in the tent”.

Your heart jumps. Alone in a tent is the last place you want to be. 

Your arm jerks from his touch as you speak, “Take me home now”. 

His hands grip your arms too tight.

“Home? What if I gave you a new home? One where we could be together”.

The cold air no longer bothered you. Billy was the law. Whatever he did would be met with no consequences. 

“I’ve been thinking, if your daddy won’t approve no matter what. Maybe we shouldn’t ask him” he continued. 

You struggle against Billy. How quickly after all this time that his touch became hurtful.

“I need my father's blessing,” you state. 

“I was worried you would say that” he remarks. 

The force on your arms changed from holding you still to pushing you forward. 

“Billy get off” you shout. 

“You won’t listen to reason” he retaliates. 

The door of the tent wasn’t tied so you were easily pushed through the fabric. You fall onto the laid mattress with no strength to raise yourself while Billy does ties up the door to keep the cold air out.

“Billy” you cry. 

He lays down next to you, wrapping his arm around your back and up your neck. 

“Everything is fine. I’ll take care of you”.

“Billy, don’t do this,” you pleaded. 

“If I can’t make you see my love, I can make you feel it”. 

He rises to rid himself of his suspenders. You sit up on your legs in front of you, with no harsh hand pushing you back down.

You capture his head between your hands, only talking when there was no attempt to shake you off. 

“Billy, think about what this will mean for me”. 

His eyes feel cold as they graze upon you, “I am thinking about you. About us. He can’t deny the marriage if what is done is done”. 

Feeling his head push forward under your hold, you go to make one last plea before his lips meet yours. 

“Bil-”. His kiss is hard and possessive. 

His body soon follows, and the weight of him presses you to the floor. 

Shoving at his shoulders doesn’t do much to deter him. After a handful of hard kisses, he changes positions, straddling your waist so he could sit up and unbutton his shirt. 

His movements are quick and rugged like having to get rid of the clothes was an annoying chore. 

Despite his dangerous line of work, and the odds, his body is free from scars and bullet holes. His tone chest and strong shoulders flex as he moves to throw the shirt to the corner of the tent. 

You’re memorized by his beauty until his hands reach for his belt. Your hands spring up to stop him, only this does he resist. 

“It’s alright. It ain’t going to hurt” he places a hand on your chest to keep you down while he undid his holster’s belt buckle, “I told you I would never hurt you”.

With the leather belt free, he slides the gun in the holster up along the ground. 

The button of his pants only takes a twist of his wrist and he is left in his underwear on top of you. 

“Get off” you yell at him but he continues by dragging you up to where the pillows are laid. 

He positions one of the pillows directly under your head for your comfort as you kick, your head rises and falls into it. 

His hand loosening the front tie of your nightgown stills the fight you had. 

“Billy, wait” you request. 

“I have waited. Nearly three years”. The nightgown is pushed off from your shoulders, and pulled down the rest of your body. 

The shake of your body is attributed to many things, the cold air that swarmed you, the shame and fear of it all, the fact that it was your first time being bare to a man. Billy took it to mean the cold and adjusted the blankets so they were pressed up against the sides of your body. 

The hand on your chest left as you stopped moving and both hands were moved to unbutton your underpants. 

“I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry’’. 

He leans down to kiss you again as a distraction to get between your legs. He is there before you know it.

He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them. You wondered what he was doing before he brought them down to your sex. 

You try to tell him to stop but your brain couldn’t muster it. Only a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him enter you. 

Its uncomfortable at first and you squirm away from him

“Stay still. It’ll get better” he promises. 

In an attempt to aid the friction, he leans his head down, spitting into cunt.

The extra moisture does help your arousal. Soon you are wet enough for his fingers to sink into you. 

He takes them out, not wanting you to finish too early, and brings his fingers to his lips to suck off the moisture. 

His hand comes down next to your head as lifts himself up to take off his underwear. 

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask. There was no point in begging. You had reached the point of no return. 

“Maybe. For a little bit, but it will feel good too. I promise”. 

He lines himself up with you, and with a final kiss he plunges himself into you. 

It feels as if he hits a wall inside of you. You were certain it was as far as he could go but his hips hammered into you determined to break through. 

You were about to tell him that you had taken as much of him as you could take when he does break the wall. It was a searing pain as if he had cut you. You let out a tisk of pain, reaching up and clawing at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Billys’. 

‘Sorry. Sorry. I know” he says, but the rhythm of his hips remains the same. 

The pain subsided after a couple of thrusts that felt terribly uncomfortable and sore. It was replaced with the pleasure he promised you that built in your stomach, and tingles between your legs. 

Still, this was not how it was supposed to go. Not in a tent in the middle of the night. Not outside of marriage and not without your father permission.

You throw your head up from a particularly hard thrust, and notice his gun still in the holster just beyond your fingertips. Your head was too scattered to form any thoughts. Otherwise, you never would have reached for it. Even if Billy had been a stranger from the saloon, you could never kill a man. 

You had no intention of killing him. You had just wanted to touch it. The gun of Billy-the-kid. 

“What? What do you want my gun for?” As he leans up to reach for it and you feel his cock push up into your stomach. 

He brings it out of his holster with the barrel pointed at your head, but his finger is far from the trigger. 

“Don’t you know a man’s gun is part of him? You should ask a man before you touch it”.

The gun pushes further and down to your lips. Billy’s eyes were dark. The awkward boy that used to court you was buried in the furthest part of him.

“Open your mouth” he commands. 

With the taste of metal at your teeth, you do part your lips enough for the tip of the gun. A struggle could lead to an accidental misfire. 

His thrusts in time with the movement of the gun. His eyes focus on your lips, the way they curl around his barrel. 

The metallic taste overwhelmed your tongue and your nose. It felt as if you could still taste the smoke on it. You are slow in your movements so not to startle him as you pull your head back.  

His stomach flutters and he loses his composure as you do.  

“Fuck” he sputters, his eyes close and he picks up pace, “That was hot”. 

You shake your head, pushing the hand that held the gun away from you. 

He drops his wrist down from your face, and slides the gun back over to his holster in the corner. 

“It’s gone. It’s alright, it’s gone”. 

The hand is repurposed against the side of your face, and his rhythmic pace is returned. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you” he tells you once more. 

“You’re hurting me now” you groan. 

His face scrunches up, and his thrusts come to rest.

“No,” he says, offended. 

“No. That aint what I am doing”. 

His hands on the back of your shoulders lift you up against his chest, as he hoists your bodies together into an upright position. 

Your hands grip on top of his shoulders, and you rest your forehead against his collarbone from the pressure of him inside of you as you sit on his lap. 

“Look at me” he orders, but your position suited you just fine. 

You rock your head against his shoulder blade in response, which satisfied him. 

“The only way I would hurt you now is by leaving you. No man but those desperate or widowed would have you after I am done. Your family would never recover their name. Now I’ve made it clear that we are to get married, so no hurting is being done”. 

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that there was sure to be bruises littering the skin tomorrow. 

“Ain’t no sin for a husband and wife to become one”.

“We are not married,” you remind him. 

“What’s marriage but a commitment to God to have and to hold the other? I’ve made that commitment. You have too. I know you have. If it wasn’t for your daddy we’d be married a long time ago”.

“Billy” you groan. The lack of movement frustrated you. He had started an itch that now needed to be scratched. 

To ease your discomfort, he brought his hand down between your bodies and began to gently swirl his finger around your pearl. 

“I built you a house, you know. Told myself I couldn’t touch you until I drove the final nail in, and the day I do, you appear at the market a day earlier than you usually would. We’re connected. Every bad thing has led me here to you”.

Your nails dig into his flesh as the pressure builds in knots within your stomach. 

A frustrated sound makes its way from your throat when he suddenly stops, moving his hands around the back of your neck and around your waist so he could lay you down and finish. 

His pace is faster and harder. It cuts off his ability to talk any longer. Only groan and grunt. 

As you tighten around him and pulse as you come, it invites him to join you.

As soon as he is off you, you turn to your side away from him. What would happen now? Would Billy leave you here? Would he kick you out into the forest? You worried that he spoke of marriage out of lust that had now been fulfilled. 

He seemed content with your presence, as he reached out to gently scratch the back of your neck. 

You can hear animals outside the tent as they scurry around.  Billy regains his stamina beside you and the silence between you both stretches into the night. 

You focus on the sounds of the frogs and crickets as they perform in perfect harmony. The sounds and sex lull you to a tired state, but Billy wasn’t through with the night. 

With a small kiss to the back of your neck, he was pushing back on your shoulder to lay you flat again. 

“No” you protest, too tired for much more than a simple plea, “Not again”. 

It was late. Possibility early morning. Your body wanted nothing more than to shut down, now that the adrenaline has faded. 

“Yes. again. We gotta make sure we put a baby in you”, he states, positioning his body once again over yours. 

—--

You woke up alone in the tent. Two blankets were laid on top of you keeping off the cold, but the dull ache between your legs told you to get up and go back home. You found your clothes on the floor, noticing that Billy had taken all his.

The sight of Billy eating on a log relieves you as you exit the tent. You had no way of getting home without him. 

He gets up from his seat as he sees you push back the fabric of the tent. 

“Good morning” he greets, “How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home. Now”, you demand. 

He looked like a spoiled child getting told off by a parent. His head lowers, and he clasps his hands together in front of himself. 

“Yeah. We should be getting back” he agrees. 

His head rises again and he beckons your forward with his hand.

“You need to eat something before we do. I made porridge”. 

You take his place on the log in front of the fire and his jacket. Without a word, he takes his warm jacket off himself and helps you put it on. 

A bowl of warm porridge is placed in your hands, and then he leaves you be. Giving you space to process your emotions. 

He packs up the tent and gear while you sit, unable to eat what was given to you.

Even in all the time it took him to pack away the tent and all the camping equipment, you had yet to take a single bite.

You watch as Billy kicks dirt into the fire, smothering your warmth.  

The bowl is gently taken from your hands where Billy flicks the food away, and rinses it with his water bottle before packing it away.

You follow him to the horse and he helps you up on the saddle the same way as the night before. 

The swing of your leg as you try to hook it over the saddle is executing. 

You shout from the pain, feeling the mussels as they pull to extend your leg.

“Easy” he soothes, helping you back steady on your feet. 

You shove him off. It was his fault. Your body was in pain and your life was over because of him.

He stubbles back from the sudden shove but he comes back without reproach. 

“Here” he says. 

He swings up to the saddle, leaning his body down to pull you up. You sit across the horse’s saddle, legs together to ease the pain.

Billy rides slowly for you. The day was sunny but a chill still hung in the air. You wondered how Billy went on without his jacket. 

The ride took you through trees and along a stream of water. It was not far from your home but you had never been there.

With a twenty minute ride your home came into view. While distant you could see your family as they gathered on the porch. 

The galloping of the hoofs stopped their discussion with a loud relief. 

“She’s here!” your sister yelled back into the house, “She’s back”.

Your father runs outside to the porch watching with hard eyes as you and Billy ride. 

Billy halts his horse a meter away and slides you down the saddle onto the ground. He is quick to get off behind you, holding your reluctant hand in his. 

You saw your father disappear into the house as you crossed the distance. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what Billy had done. The shame must have been too overbearing for him. 

The rest of your family were all still in their robes as they stood on the path waiting for you to come near. Your mother held out her arms but Billy stopped ten feet away under the shade of the large oak tree. 

“Ma’am” he greets your mother, “I am sorry for the distress I have caused your family, but as you can see she was safe with me”. 

The stickiness between your thighs became apparent as he spoke the words. 

You tug your hand back but he keeps it in his tight hold. 

The front door is kicked open and your father appears holding out his shotgun. 

Billy is quick to act, pulling you back behind him but he doesn’t draw his gun. 

“You get off my land” your father demands. 

Billy nods, “I will. We just came to collect a couple of things”. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your father was not a very good shot. He was old and aim was crooked. Billy was a far better shot. He wouldn’t miss. 

“Ain’t no we, boy. You get your filthy hands off my daughter, and you get out of town, or I'll kill you”.

Your mother growls her husband's name as she moves the rest of her children to the side. Only your father was under the illusion that he could take Billy on and live. 

“Now I plan to do right by her” Billy states with authority, “I’ll marry her”.

“The hell you will” your father roared. 

“It doesn’t have to end like this. You could live. See your daughters married with children. Die of old age like God intended”. 

“Draw” your father commands. To kill an unarmed man was murder, but your father was worried about the courts and not the Regulators who were sure to come seeking vengeance. 

You latch onto Billy's arm to stop him drawing his gun, or at least delay his aim so your father could have a chance. 

“You won’t mind if I get your daughter out from under me, now?” Billy asks, “Your aim has been off since you first pointed the gun at me. You could hit her instead”. 

With the agreeance of your father, Billy brings you back from behind him with a tight hold on your arm. 

“Go to the tree” Billy nods in its direction but you could hear your father calling for you to come to him. 

As soon as he releases you, the direction you go is not to the tree but to your family. 

You arm is caught and shoved to the right,

 ‘I said the tree” Billy reiterates. 

You follow his command this time, hugging yourself to the large oak tree. 

Billy takes his gun but holds his hands outwards in a surrendered position. 

“Just let me show you something” The crowd follows Billy’s eyes over to the work yard,  “You see that paint tin over there?”

A small paint tin rested on the lank of wood that was going to become the new fence. If you weren’t looking for it you would hardly see it from the distance. 

“What about it?” your father asks. The gun is unstable in his hands. It slightly bopped as he pointed it.  He was scared, and you wished you could do something that would deescalate the situation. 

“Just watch”. Billy turns to the tins direction and aims his gun with a steady hold. 

The first bullet sprayed the white paint as it went flying in the air. The second bullet hit it before it landed, flinging it further away and higher from the force. The third bullet shot it down with a hole in the center.

“Now we can continue if you want, and I can take her away without a father, or we can be joined together by marriage. That means no taxes”. 

Your father contemplates his options. He wanted to kill Billy, you could see that plain on his face, but could he?. 

The answer was no. The gun was lowered and your mother let out a sigh of relief. 

Billy beckons you back over, taking your arm back in his grip once you get close enough. 

“Pack your things, and get changed” he commands, “If you think about holding up in there, I’ll bring Jesse back and we’ll burn the house down”. 

You nod spitefully. His eyes looked over you once before turning back to the house. 

“Go” he orders, letting you go. 

Your family is quick to squabble around you as you trek into the house. There were too many words flown at you.Too many hands touching you as you moved. 

Only your father stayed away, Slumping into a foyer chair with his gun still in his hand. 

You were determined to do your tasks quickly and lead Billy away. The ache between your legs was ignored as you fling open your wardrobe and shove what you can into your travel case. It filled quickly, you only had two more dresses in your wardrobe but you left them favoring to take your make-up and hair accessories. 

It hardly zips, and lands on the ground with a heavy thud. 

You weren’t sure how long it had taken you, but the less time keeping Billy waiting the better. You grab one of the last dresses you owed out of your wardrobe, side stepping people as they went to hold you. 

“Help me with my dress” you call on your sister. 

“You aren’t honestly leaving with him?” your mother took a seat on your bed as if you had punched her. 

Stepping into the green dress and waiting to be laced up, gave them the answer that they ignored. 

“Billy is the law,” you remind them. 

Your sister silently agreed by stepping forwarding and lacing you into your dress. You put Billy’s coat back on to show him you still had it, and take the time to hug and kiss them all. Billy was not the kind to keep you from your family but it would be the last time you would see them as their daughter and sister. 

Your father was still sitting in the chair as you came down. He doesn't move as you bend down and kiss his forehead. 

Billy was waiting outside, his gun resting on his thigh was holsted once more in his belt so he had hands to take your bag. 

He straps it to his horse in no time, turning to wait for you. 

You took one more look back at your family on the porch before you were ready. 

You raise your arms up to Billy on the horse and he pulls you up to the saddle once more. 

The ride to the Regulators camp was silent and quite a distance. Billy had taken his hat off as the sun went higher in the sky, and placed it upon your head. 

It felt strange to wear Billy’s coat and hat. Less than 24 hours ago he was little more than a stranger. Now he was your self-proclaimed fiance. You could very well be carrying his child. It all happened so fast. Your head spun trying to piece together the facts.

The noise of the Regulators as Billy’s horse approached did not help your scrambled mind. They whooped and hollered. 

You could hear Billy’s smile as he greeted them but his horse never slowed. Moving past the building where the men sat drinking, to the furthest field where a wooden house stood tall. 

Across from the house was a horse corral where they trained the horses. In between your house and the first house of one of the Regulators was the stable where the horses were housed. 

In addition to the tax, you assumed the men also traded horses to earn a wage. 

It was a decent size of land and well kept. The house in front of you looked strong. It was two stories of wooden panels, and a large porch was wrapped around the entire estate. If you were to take Billy at his word, it must have taken him a long time to complete such a house.

He stops the horse in front of the house, swinging off first to tie the reins to the railings of the porch. 

He assures you that he will take your things inside when he comes back out to tend to his horse, but he was eager for you to see your new home. 

With help down, Billy leads you into the house. It was furnished. Nothing decorative but tables and chairs. The entertaining lounge had a large fireplace, and the kitchen had a large stove and a large window above the sink that pointed out to a field of flowers. 

It grew a distaste in your mouth. He had designed this home with you in mind. He always knew this day was coming and expected you to swallow the news joyfully and quickly. 

‘And this” he opens a door just beside the living room to show a smaller version. A dark red armchair and matching leg rest faced a small fireplace. An arched window that Billy had built in a reading nook and decorated with mismatched pillows, provided light into the room. 

“This is your room for when you need your space. I won’t step foot into it”. He looks at you expecting you to be overjoyed but finds you glaring back at him. 

“Do you like it?” he asks. 

‘I have your cum dried between my legs, and you are asking me if I care about a room?” you bit. 

He closes the door quickly and takes you by the arm to lead you up stairs, 

“I’ll get you hot water for your bath”. 

Billy boils the water over the stove as you sit in the chair and wait. A hip bath was placed against the wall in the kitchen. You go and expect it. Your family was too poor for one. A basin did the job fine. But you always wanted one. 

He doesn’t let the water get too hot, only luke warm before joining you. 

“Do you mind if I stay?” he questions as he gently places the water and rag cloths on the floor by your foot.

You don’t look at him as you talk. Your fingers reach for the laces of your dress but they touch his as he unlaces the dress for you. 

“What does it matter? The sin has already been committed”.

Your dress falls to the floor around you. You’re quick to leave your undergarments alongside it so you could climb into the tub. 

“You need to know I won’t ever do that again”. He squats next to you in the tub, bringing the warm rags up to your skin. You take one and focus on scrubbing the seaman off your thighs while he focuses on your shoulders and neck. 

“I’ll take care of you. Respect you like a good husband should. I won-”. 

“Your words mean nothing to me” you cut him off. 

He shifts as you lean back into the tub.

‘I’ll prove it to you”, he resolves. 

—-

The wedding was small with only your family and the Regulators in attendance. The priest married you quickly and you were placed on Billy’s saddle once more. No big party predeceased it. Your family went home, and the Regulators went back to their camp where bottles were opened. 

You could hear the Regulators as they used your marriage as an excuse to play from the comfort of the house Billy built you. 

He remained with you despite the protests from his gang. 

He remained quiet as you figured out the swell of emotions inside you. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. A quiet relief lingered in the back only causing more distress.  

When he bought you the dinner he had made for you an emotion finally stuck. 

Acceptance. 

William. H Bonney was your husband now. 

He kept true to his words. Patiently waiting for your permission. You slept next to him every night, but besides a gentle kiss goodnight, he never touched you. His patience granted him two willfully-born sons. 

He was a good husband and father. 

You and your children were never left without. 

You watch him from the window as he shows the boys how to ride. They were too small for the lesson to be anything more than a pony ride but it gave you time to put dinner on the table without them under your feet. 

He winks at you when he catches you staring. Unconsciously your hand goes to your belly. 

‘A little girl would be nice’, you think.

[temporaryrose200]

✩Just A Little Accident✩

✟pairing: Yan Claude X Fem Reader

✟genre: Yandere

✟warning: Yandere, mention of murder, reader being drugged.

✟one-short

✟fandom: Who Made Me A Princess

✟summary: After your maid spilled tea all over your lap, Claude knew she had gone…

✟a/n: This I meant to be a side story. Check out my other Yan Claude for this story to make sense if you haven’t. Also sorry I haven't been updated much but a lot has been going on. Going to try and update now.

Hissing in pain as the boiling liquid spilt all over your lap and in the process staining your dress. In the pain, you drop your cup and it landed on the soft glass, breaking its fall “I am so sorry my lady!” Annie your maid exclaimed, snatching up a nearby napkin and tried to remove the stain. Keyword, tried. All the maid was doing was making it worse.

Claude who was sat beside you, watching intensely, glaring dagger at the poor worker. The murderous glint in his diamond eyes sent chills down everyone including yours if you had noticed. You were much more occupied with Annie and the burning pain to even notice the emperor. Oh how Claude wanted to strangle that maid for putting her dirty hands on you, even worse hurt your fragile skin. The woman was a nuisance in the eyes of the emperor, a clumsy and idiotic person to be assigned to serve someone as graceful and perfect as you. The maid needed to go…

Placing a gloved hand over Annie’s hand, you gave the woman a reassuring smile. “If you keep rubbing it in like that, it’s just going to make it worse” you spoke softly. Eyes focusing on the large stain, you noticed how the woman began tearing up. Before you could get a single word out to calm her, apology after apology began spilling from her lips. She bowed her head in shame and her voice trembled. With a sigh, you stood up from your seat, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gently patted it. “I’m fine, calm yourself Annie,” You said, trying to soothe her, but she remained in her apologetic bow, her hands balled into fists and still trembling like leaf. “I’m going to just go change” you explained to the teary-eyed maid. Turning towards Claude you saw the murderous glare focused towards the maid and you felt something deep within you, telling, no yelling at you to stay. But of course, you didn’t listen. “I’ll only be 10 minutes” you timidly told the emperor. Eyes landed on you, the deathly glare that the emperor held had now vanished and had been replaced with a soft loving gaze. It made you sick.

Picking up your cream-coloured dress, you began walking towards the palace leaving poor Annie all alone with Claude. Diamond blue eyes watched you, his gaze not leaving your figure until you were out of sight. Now that his lover had gone, there’s no one to stop him for what he’s about to do next. Placing the half-empty tea cup on the garden table, Claude stood up with a dead expression. He towered over the quivering woman, who knew her life was soon about to end. The only witness to horrid scenes was a young guard, who just stood there watching.

Coming back with a freshly clean dress, you were about to open your mouth to tell Annie a funny story to cheer her up, but when you saw no sign of the maid, you were left confused. E/C eyes darted around the garden, searching for the missing maid. ‘Where is she?’ You question to yourself. “My dear, what seems to be the matter?” a familiar voice asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. Claude sat there, sipping away at his chamomile tea, he held this sickening smirk which was hidden under his cup. Stepping towards the garden table, you griped the top of your seat, feeling uneasy at the missing maid. You had an extremely bad feeling. You questioned to your fiancé to where your maid had gone off to, but there was silence after that. No excuse came from his lips.

It wasn't until you looked over at the other side of the table, a guard. He’s been here all along, maybe he might know! Opening your mouth, you stopped yourself as you finally noticed the frightened expression painted on the young guard’s face. The colour had drained from his face, his eyes widened with fear, his hand gripping tightly at the hilt of his sword, and his breathing unsteady. And that was all you needed to know and the whereabouts of Annie.

Your blood ran cold, you felt yourself shaking like a leaf. A million scenarios ran through your mind at what kind of horrible things Claude had done to her. Falling to the fall, hands covering your face, you sob. Not caring that you were ruining your makeup. The sound of the chair hitting the grass, signalled to you that Claude had gotten up from his seat. Feeling him wrap his strong arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You screamed, kicked and struggled for the blonde to let go of you, yelling insults left and right. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER, YOU BASTARD!? TELL ME!”

Out of nowhere, you felt a piece of cloth be placed over your mouth and noises quickly shutting you up. You breathed in the fumes, feeling your eyelids began closing on their own. To struggled to gain consciousness, but it was futile. The drug was too strong. Before slipping into unconscious you heard Claude’s voice echo in your mind. “You are mine understand. I will not let anyone hurt what is mine, only I can.”

Oh [Name], what did you do wrong to this story…

[froggywritesstuff]

the least judgmental demon in hell | angel dust

ship/pairing: Angel Dust x male!reader (featuring Fat Nuggets)

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

request: Could you possibly do Angel dust x Male!reader? Possibly soft/comfort where Angel dust attempts to comfort the reader after a meltdown or something similar?

warnings: mentions of dead bodies and murder, mentions of harassment towards the reader, mentions of sex, swearing (it's Hazbin Hotel so...), crying, anxiety, feeling overwhelmed, meltdowns, pet names (reader gets called baby multiple times), ooc Angel?, kinda rushed the ending, not entirely proofread 

word count: 1232

A/N: fem readers DNI, Angel Dust is a nwlnw character. I wrote in Fat Nuggets while I was editing so apologies if the writing doesn't flow as much. friendly reminder to not compare trauma :)

Hell isn't the most mental health friendly place to be. Like anyone with common sense, you're not unaware of that, and though not on your own terms, you've gotten used to it. Though it's useless, that doesn't stop you from wishing it was different some days. Wishing that maybe on your walks to the hotel you wouldn't trip over a dead body, or get harassed by other sinners, or witness a violent murder or very graphic sex scene. You were grateful that some days were better than others. However, today was not one of those days. And after an entire week of shitty days, it was too much for you.

You were on the edge of tears when you entered the hotel, ready to have a good cry in your room while hopefully cuddling with your boyfriend, but fate had other plans. More accurately, Charlie had other plans. You never allowed yourself to feel angry with Charlie. After all she had done for you, and all the other hotel patrons, working tirelessly for what seemed like a hopeless cause. However you did allow yourself to feel upset with her bad timing.

Barely a second after you returned to the hotel, she dragged you over to the lounge, rambling about one of her new trust exercises she'd come up with. Normally, Charlie would've been able to sense something was up with you in seconds, but she was clearly driven by her inspiration, too excited to slow down.

Your hands fidgeted together, your legs bouncing up and down as Charlie explained her idea. You tried to pay attention, you truly did. But you could barely even comprehend a word she was saying. Everything was too loud and your head felt like it was gonna explode.

"Hey," you felt a hand on your shoulder and looked up to your side, meeting the black, white and pink eyes of Angel. You calmed slightly at the touch of his hand, and you were able to focus on his voice, "You ok?"

You nodded. You knew he could tell you weren't ok in the slightest. He was more than familiar with faking smiles and bottling up feelings. Luckily for you, he didn't pry, instead choosing to stay close and keep an eye on you, figuring you'd much rather prefer to vent or cry to him in private.

When Charlie finished explaining her idea, she met your eyes and gestured for you to stand. A wave of stress hit you, and you did your best to hide it as you stood up, moving to stand beside her in front of everyone. You tried to focus on what she was telling you, you really did, but the overwhelming tightening in your chest paired with multiple pairs of eyes on you made it impossible. Surprisingly, you felt a million times worse when she stopped talking. You don't think she had stopped talking since you walked in the room, so her silence meant she was expecting you to start talking. 

You looked around the room, your breaths getting shallower with every second. Charlie gently placed her hand on your shoulder, a concerned look on her face. She asked if you were ok, her voice quiet so only you could hear. You don't remember clearly, but you're pretty sure you shook your head before apologising and excusing yourself. Voices called out to you in concern as you sped up the stairs, making your way to your room as quickly as possible.

You closed the door behind you, leaning your back against it and sliding down to the floor. Tears streamed from your eyes while you held your head in your hands, trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself.

A knock sounded at the door, and you quickly wiped your tears away and cleared your throat, "Wh-who is it?"

"It's me." you recognised Angel's voice, his tone quieter than usual, "Can I come in?"

You jumped to your feet and rushed to the door, opening it and pulling Angel in. He was quick to hold you close, wrapping his arms around you, running his hands up and down your back to calm you.

"Just breathe baby," he whispered soothingly, his voice like music to your ears, "You're gonna be ok, I've got you."

Your breathing calmed down after a while, not before Angel lifted you off your feet - rather easily considering his height. He shut the door and gently sat you down on your bed, his hold on you never wavering as he sat beside you.

"You feelin' a little better?"

Shrugging, you pulled out of the hug, nodding your head yes.

Two of Angel's hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs wiping your tears away, while another set of hands rested on your shoulders, rubbing them softly, "You wanna talk about it?"

That would be harder to do than just breathing. You thought you were being over dramatic, getting so upset over small things every sinner goes through. Especially when you were sitting in front of Angel Dust. It's not that you doubted his love for you, but there was a small part in the back of your mind making you think he'd belittle your feelings and tell you that you were getting worked up over nothing.

"I dunno," you shrugged, "It's silly."

"Hey," Angel lifted your head slightly, getting you to meet his eyes, "You don't have to tell me if you don't wanna, but clearly it's not that silly if it's got you cryin'." you stayed quiet, and Angel could tell you were overthinking this, "Baby, you know me. I'll listen to you. I won't judge you for nothin'."

You hesitated, and Angel stood up from the bed, kissing your cheek before he stood to his full height, "Wait here," he said, hurrying out of your room and into the hallways until you couldn't see him anymore. Thankfully, you weren't alone for too long, and he arrived soon after he left, entering your room with Fat Nuggets in his arms.

You lit up at the sight of him, smiling widely when Angel sat back on the bed and placed him in your lap.

"If you're nervous, you can tell him." he pet Fat Nuggets on the head, "He's the least judgmental demon in Hell."

A soft laugh left your lips at his words. Fat Nuggets sat himself down on your lap as you pet him. You looked up at Angel, heart warming at his reassuring smile. Still slightly hesitant, you proceeded to explain everything that led up to your meltdown. And while you mainly directed it at Fat Nuggets, Angel listened intently, giving you his full attention just like he said he would. When you were finished talking, Angel wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you - and Fat Nuggets into a hug.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah..."

"Good. And it's not dumb, baby. When you don't talk about these things, they just add up and get overwhelming. You know you can always talk to me about anything, right?"

You nodded, before resting your head in the crook of his neck, "Thank you, Angel."

“Eh, it was nothin’.” he chuckled softly, before he pulled away from the hug to look you in the eyes, “I love you so much.”

You smiled. Both his words and the caring smile on his face making your heart swell, “I love you too.”

[mokulule]

Almanac - Chapter 1

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Masterpost Summary: Summoning extradimensional beings was never without a cost. Jason didn’t consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to magic, but that he knew. Desperate situations however called for desperate measures and the Justice League was desperate with Trigon suddenly allied to ghosts of all things. Summoning the Ghost King in that context even seemed like a sensible choice.

For better or worse John Constantine was the expert on those kinds of deals.

At least when his information wasn’t out of date.

Chapter 1 - September 23rd Fall Equinox

The summoning circle blazed in tall green flames. John grit his teeth against the terrible heat. Sweat ran down his brow, but he barely even dared blink. Across from him Zatanna was equally affected. This was like no summoning he’d ever done before. Normally the circle and the ingredients in a summoning ritual would do most of the work, that was the whole point. But this, John thought, as he doubled down on his hold on the magic, this was like riding a dragon. It was almost like the Ghost King really didn’t want to be summoned.

What else could cause this?

But they couldn’t give up, the fate of the world depended on it. Zatanna was not looking good, John didn’t suppose he himself was looking chipper either right now, but he had done things to increase his magic power Zatanna never had, because she was too good, and she was flagging. John growled, he’d be dammed a hundred more times if he lost her to this ritual.

Come on you bloody bastard!

A green rip opened in the middle of the circle with a terrible screeching sound. There was yelling and ears being covered behind him by the Justice League, but John couldn’t focus on that, it was not over. They were nearly there. A flickering dark shadowy form was getting sucked upwards through the rip. Wind rushed around the room, throwing papers and small objects around the room; The bucket of stag blood they’d used for the circle splattered onto Green Lantern judging by the sound of disgust. As long and tiresome as the ritual had been as suddenly it was over. Like an elastic band finally snapping, the shadow was pulled all the way through, the rip closed and the flames died.

“ ̵̨̜̩̜̖͈̺͈͎̜̩̻̖͔̗̺̳̘͈̳̖̩͂̄̏̇͂̂̃͒͌̊̓́̿̽̽̀̚͜ ̶̧̡̢̜̯̘͔̺̻̖͚͚͍̪̼͙̲̭͌͛̈́̈́̆̀͝N̵̢̢̧͓̩̱̮̰̪̘͙̹͍̪̤̼̺̑̀̓̔̔̍̂̍͛̈̈́͋͛͆̆͌̌̃̀̄̕Ơ̵̡̱͕̬͕͎̞̞̟͔͇̽̀́̇̐̂͂́̈́̈́̾͜͠ͅ ̷̢͖̯̰̙̥̤͔̹̜̦̙͙̲̪̲̯̗̙̦͓̜̓̋̂͋͘̚͝ ̶̭̺̣̻͖͗̍̔͂ ̶̡̰̞̹͇͓̫̜͖͛́̀̒̃͆̀͑́̅̂͌̿͐̚͝͝.”

The word rung in the sudden silence like a bell, cracked like glaciers, skittered across their mortal senses like small needles. John fell to his knees clutching his chest. It was so cold it was hard to breathe. Teeth chattering he forced himself to look up. The shadow coalesced into something with too long limbs, too many joints, claws, teeth. It had gained a blazing white flame and underneath there were two pools of green.

It observed them with an intensity like a thousand eyes on them, then it drew in on itself, getting smaller until it was more person shaped and the cold disappeared.

John gasped in relief. He wasn’t the only one. He looked to Zatanna, she met his eyes with a pale and tense nod. She was alright.

“Aaaaargh!” The frustrated scream had them quickly focused back on the circle. The green pools, now more eye shaped glared back at them all.

“The fucking Justice League of course, who else would summon me to save the world?” The shadow for lack of better words paced back and forth in the air, then spun on John. “And you John Constantine should know better.”

There was a pool of dread in his stomach and every single backup plan vanished from his mind as those toxic green eyes held him trapped. “If you have a problem that calls for the assistance of a ghost, why do you not ask a ghost you know? Why in the Realms would you summon the Ghost King? Of all the bullheaded…” The angry words devolved into an angry growly mutter too low for anyone to hear the words, but it was a sound that grated in their bones. And the Ghost King resumed their pacing.

“Deadman is-“

“I’m talking about Phantom,” the king snapped.

“Phantom?” John repeated baffled, meeting the equally baffled eyes of Zatanna. The friendly spirit from small Amity Park? “No offense, your Majesty, but Phantom is small fry compared to this.”

“Full offense,” The King growled. “I am Phantom.”

With a bright flash, suddenly there was Phantom. The surprisingly human looking ghost, who would have fit in perfectly amongst the Justice League standing outside the circle with his white highlighted tight black suit and the logo on his chest. Right now his usually friendly face was drawn into a glare.

It was then, when it clicked with a small delay in his brain that Phantom was the Ghost King, that John Constantine realized how much he’d fucked up.

Oo o oO

Danny was livid. He had done his very best to resist this summoning, but of course summonings weren’t meant to be resisted and with John Constantine and Zatanna Zatara two of the Justice League Dark’s most powerful magic users being the ones reeling him in like a fucking fish, it was no wonder he hadn’t succeeded. This was a disaster. Why did they put him in this situation?

“We thought you were a city spirit…” Constantine trailed off helplessly.

And that had Danny gaping. They thought… how? why? He was confused, but most of all-

“Excuse me, did I introduce myself as Amity? No, I did not.”

Of all the stupid things to think. City spirits were some of the proudest ghosts around, to even think a city spirit would introduce themselves by anything other than their name was beyond moronic. And last he checked his hometown wasn’t called freaking Phantomville.

“We thought, since you never left the city-“ Zatanna cut herself off when Danny swiveled his glare on her.

“It. Is. My. Haunt,” Danny hissed enunciating each word clearly, the lights in the room flickered. “Did you not at all think it was weird that a city spirit-“ he made quotation marks around the words- “was visible to regular people?”

“We figured it was because of all the death magic in the air,” fucking Constantine said and Danny keened in despair. It was a sound just at the edge of human hearing, and most of them really couldn’t hear anything of it aside from a very high pitched tone that had the entire group flinching. Superman though, not only flinched but also took a step back covering his mouth, he looked sick.

“You could have asked, like normal people. What did I do to give you the impression you couldn’t just ask?” He dug his hands into his hair and tugged, doubled over and took a deep calming breath.

“Okay,” he forced his voice chipper, “so we’ve established you’re morons and now you’re all going to pay the price.”

There was a moment of silence as they all took that in and Danny’s eyes ran over their faces: Constantine, Zatanna, the big seven of the original Justice League and would you look at that Batman brought a bunch of his brood along, one of which was an actual child. Danny whimpered.

“I don’t really understand the problem,” the Flash stepped up to the circle in, well, a flash. “If you can help us then what does it matter that we summoned you instead of going to you?”

“It matters,” Danny said rubbing the bridge of his nose, “because you’ve gone and made it official. You didn’t ask small time ghost hero Phantom for help saving the world, you went and summoned the High King of the Infinite Realms.” He waved a hand allowing the green flaming crown to manifest over his head and the ring to appear on his right hand, the long starry night cape settled over his shoulders with a familiar weight like freshly fallen snow.

“The fact that I am one and the same is irrelevant. Intent is the most important thing in magic.”

“So we can just unsummon you?” The Flash suggested, looking from Danny to Constantine and Zatanna who both looked away.

Danny chuckled humorlessly. He touched a hand to his chest pushing energy into the chains binding him, so they could all see the chains going from him to each and everyone of them.

“We are already bound in a pre-contract, that’s what a summoning is.”

Oo o oO

Jason looked down at the Lazarus green glowing chain, going from his chest to the Ghost King. From each of his brothers including the brat’s - the brat, who actually looked scared. No matter, his maturity and upbringing he was still just a kid. Anger flared in his chest, but before he could do anything Bruce stepped forward.

“John, what is the meaning of this,” he demanded. To the League, that was just the gruff Batman voice. To Jason and the birds, the undertone of fear was obvious. Nothing set the old man off like a threat to his birds. Jason would know, he’d taken advantage of that before.

Constantine grimaced, “well, you see-“

But the Ghost King interrupted him. “No, let me explain. John Constantine is the greatest con man that ever lived. He could sell sand in the Sahara. He’s swindled demons and gods alike. He’s somehow managed to sell his soul like fifty fucking times, making the day of his eventual death into a jurisdictional nightmare of interdimensional proportions.”

He paused to take another deep breath - something Jason noticed with bemusement was a bit strange for a ghost.

“Ol’ Johnny here probably expected Pariah Dark, the previous Ghost King, the kind of mad hat conquerer who’s been locked up for millennia for unspeakable crimes against the Realms - just the kind of proud, single minded sod that’s ripe for John’s kind of swindling. Whose only spells of freedom came from summonings like this, which were thankfully rare, ‘cause very few people are stupid enough to summon the Ghost King.”

“But me-” he touched his chest, “there’s a reason I’m not locked in a sarcophagus. For one I don’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, secondly even if I did I wouldn’t touch that soul of yours with a ten feet pole.”

“Congratulations, Jackass, you managed to summon the actually ruling Monarch of the World In Between Worlds at full power and there’s absolutely nothing you can offer me. I deal in equivalent exchange. Nothing matters to you as much as the world, except your own skin and your ownership of that is questionable at best. That leaves your… friends? Or coworkers? Is that what they are? to pay.”

And with that the King turned to them all, green eyes both angry and resigned.

“Better start thinking about what things you’re willing to give up, I’ll be friendly and let your offerings stack, the world is heavy enough as it is.”

An unsettled murmur rustled through the assembled heroes. It was one thing to sacrifice in the heat of battle, but this was something none of them had prepared for. They had all expected Constantine to handle things, they all were just present for safety’s sake. It was certainly why Jason was there or he wouldn’t have been in same room as the heroes.

Ever since his revival he’d had somewhat of a magic resistance and the All Blades were the best bet if something went south. That had been the idea at least, but this had gone south in the entirely different direction. And, Jason suspected, the All Blades probably wouldn’t even work on the king. The impression Jason got from him wasn’t evil at all; he had purposefully directed their thoughts in the direction of physical possessions.

With the room stalled in uncertainty, Jason felt anger rising. They were wasting time when the solution was obvious. He’d said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation that still left a wide range of interpretation to Jason’s thinking.

“Oi, Spooky!” He stepped forward tilting his head up in challenge, “You can have me, - a willing sacrifice gotta be worth a good deal.”

There were gasps all around him but he didn’t look just kept eye contact with those glowing Lazarus eyes as they turned to him in consideration.

The was a sudden cacophony of protest from his brothers, hands grabbing onto him pulling him back but he stood his ground.

“J-Hood, back down right now!” That was Bruce’s voice and for a moment there, it was almost like he actually cared, but then he was just ordering him about like usual. Then Dick was in front of him and even he couldn’t ignore that.

“Jay, no,” he hissed lowly horrified, “what’s the matter with you?”

The was a small tug in Jason’s chest at that.

“He said he didn’t deal in souls,” Tim pointed out urgently.

“Todd,” was everything Damian said, but there was a vulnerability there that was rarely in the little brat’s voice.

Jason couldn’t help but smile. It was heartening that they cared at least a little. He set a hand down on Damian’s head and ruffled his hair roughly. “Take care of my books, brat.”

“NO,” That was Dick, and he held on tighter, Jason couldn’t shrug him off, but as it turned out he didn’t have to.

There was a tug on the chain in his chest and he slipped right through his brothers and flew right up to the king inside the circle until he hovered level with the Lazarus green eyes.

The was a cacophony of protest but it was somehow muted like background noise from here inside the circle and yet the crackling fire of the crown was loud in his ears. The inhuman Lazarus eyes flickered from Jason then behind him and then back again.

“You offer your life to the High Ghost King as a sacrifice?”

Jason shuddered, felt fear grip him at the wording, because that was what it meant. Truthfully he didn’t want to die, but he’d been there and he’d done that, and if he was to die again, at least those eyes held no cruelty. He was the obvious choice. He clenched his jaw and steeled his resolve, the world would do fine without him.

“I do.” There was a momentary frown like regret on the king’s face before he looked to the wider room.

“Then with the consequences of that we have a deal, and I, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, will save the world.” The chains leading to everyone but Jason burst into showers of tiny green stars.

“Come.” A white gloved hand was reached out to him, deceptively human if it wasn’t for the glow. Jason took the hand and next he knew the world turned into a green swirl.

The world solidified suddenly like a punch to the gut and Jason fell to his knees in loose sand. He gagged, but nothing came up from his empty stomach. Slowly he looked up, they were in the desert. In the distance was the nightmarish portal to the Dark Dimension Trigon’s forces were coming through. If only Raven hadn’t been hurt so early in the fight, but Trigon was working with someone else, someone Constantine had claimed was a powerful ghost and the combined forces were not something they had been prepared for. Even so there were heroes in the distance trying to hold back the hordes.

“What are we doing here?” He looked up to the King who was floating just half a foot off the ground and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he was kneeling.

“Figured the least I could do is show you that I uphold my end of the bargain. Stay here, this distance should be safe.”

With that the Ghost King flew off.

Jason had half a mind to try escaping, but as the first punch was thrown in the distance the futility settled in his gut. At least he could enjoy the show.

Oo o oO

“Daniel,” Vlad greeted him in his typical self satisfied drawl, “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Danny’s lips split in a grin. He wouldn’t be so satisfied in a moment. He flashed forward throwing a punch that sent Vlad into a crater in the ground. He looked down at the man who at one point had been his nemesis. Now he just looked sad and confused.

“I think you’ll find you miscalculated this time, Plasmius.”

Finally Vlad actually seemed to register that Danny was wearing the full regalia and what that meant. His face paled to white.

“No, your Majesty, please, have mercy,” he begged, folding instantly - pitiful.

Danny snarled, fangs and limbs growing and growing with sickening cracks, like the frozen surface of a lake when you’ve stepped too far. He was the darkness of space itself, too many mouths split into white fanged grins.

“A line was crossed today.” His words reverberated across the field halting all the combatants in place as terror gripped them. “You have been warned time and time again. Now a price has been paid, a deal has been made and you shall reap what you have sown.”

With that he swept across the battlefield dark and all encompassing leaving only the heroes standing cold and shaken as he pushed Trigon’s army and Vlad and his panicking ghost minions back into the Dark Dimension.

The portal closed behind him when he willed it.

The large horned guy in the armor who was shouting in outrage had to be Trigon. The Ghost King was bound in contract to save the world from this threat. He could technically stop now, the threat was ended they had no portal and those were not simple to make, but was the world really saved when Trigon still stood and his army was still whole?

No, the Ghost King did not think so.

It had been a very stressful morning. He would very much enjoy taking it out on these fools.

Oo o oO

It didn’t take long before the Ghost King reappeared, thankfully looking more human, though there was still a wild glint in his eyes as if the beast hadn’t quite been sated.

“It’s done then.” Jason said with resignation. The green eyes blinked down at him slowly and again a white gloved hand was offered as if Jason had any real choice in the matter. Annoyance that he wouldn’t just get things over with rose up and Jason grabbed the hand with more aggression than was maybe wise.

All he got in return was a bemused look, as if he was less threatening than a kitten. Which arguably, compared to the eldritch monarch of the death, he probably was.

The world turned into a green swirl again. When the world solidified he found that traveling this way didn’t get easier a second time. He was down on his hands and knees in plush red carpet, his stomach turned nauseously. Shit it felt like he really would puke this time.

Suddenly a cool hand touched his forehead, somehow easing enough of the nausea that he could look up.

The king was kneeling in front of him, a worried look on his face. And that had anger rising in Jason’s chest, because how dare he.

“Why don’t you just get it over already?”

Black eyebrows rose.

“Get it over with?” He had the audacity to ask.

“Just kill me already, stop playing with me.”

Any leftover amusement went out of the Ghost King’s face at that.

“Why would I kill you?” He asked flatly.

“Because I gave you my life? What else would it mean!"

"Your life belonging to me, does not mean I have to kill you, in fact that would be rather stupid of me.”

“What difference does it make? Aren’t you the king of the dead!”

The King shrugged. “Sure, but I don’t own my subjects. Death is the one thing that will free you from me.”

Jason paled, he hadn’t considered this. The Ghost King had said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, but a human life wasn’t eternal - hadn’t he himself thought there was a lot of leeway in those statements?

“No no no, I’m gonna stop you there, you look like I ate your favorite pair of slippers.”

Jason blinked, startled out of his spiraling train of thought by the sheer absurdity.

“Is that something you have experience with?”

“You’ll never know.” The king grinned back at him teeth definitely sharp enough to rip slippers to pieces. His features turned serious. “Now you listen closely. You did not offer your mind-“ he poked Jason’s forehead firmly- “your body, your soul or your service-“ he underscored each of the last three words with a poke to Jason’s chest.

He got up to his feet.

“All I own in capacity of King is your life. And so your life will be lived here with me, that is all. Wording is very important in magic.” With those words he strode down the hall, cape flaring out behind him.

Jason was left on the floor, mind reeling.

“You changed the wording,” Jason realized, because he had offered himself - all of him being implied. But the Ghost King had changed the wording when they made the deal. He jumped to his feet to catch up. It’s wasn’t hard, the Ghost King was actually rather short when he deigned to touch the ground.

“You changed the wording,” Jason repeated firmly, “you-“

“I already told you I’m not into the soul trade. Nor do I want any slaves, there’s enough of that mess leftover from the previous king.”

He grimaced at that.

He wouldn’t kill him. He’d changed the wording, so Jason’s will was his own. He wasn’t a servant or slave, or a soldier or anything. “So what then?”

“What then?” The king stopped and looked back at Jason bewildered.

“You own my life and you have no plan or purpose for me, what am I gonna do?”

His eyebrows drew down in a frown but Jason was not done. Indignation burned hot in his chest.

“If you are not going to kill me or have any use for me, why even bring me here? You could own my life just as easily in Gotham as you can here!”

There was a rumble, it sounded like it was in the distance but somehow Jason knew it was from the ghost king in front of him. His legs suddenly felt unsteady.

“You are here,” the King growled, “because idiots decided to summon me and you and your family are paying the toll for saving the world.”

The anger turned to ice in his chest. “My family, what do you mean?”

“I mean, Jason Todd, that you mean the world to them and if it wasn’t for that your sacrifice wouldn’t have been enough, you think too little of yourself for that.”

What? No! That couldn’t be right?

“You’re lying,” he whispered. It couldn’t be true. Jason was the one paying the price, not his family. It couldn’t be.

The Ghost King snarled, morphing into sharp shadows and glowing eyes.

“You dare,” his voice boomed from all around Jason and he clapped his hands over his ears.

“I have stretched-” he seemed to grow longer and longer into spindlier shadows, chittering and cracking, “stretched, as far as I can on this deal and you call me a liar!”

The last word rumbled through Jason’s bones like a bulldozer and he fell to his knees. Nothing existed for Jason in that moment but the pain and the voice- he had nothing left to do anything with, he could neither protest or apologize. Only feel and hear despite plugging his ears.

“You summoned me! I did not ask to be cast as a villain in your Saturday morning cartoon!”

The temperature plummeted and there was something like a mournful wail in the distance, then a long spindly arm opened a door in the wall. Jason could have sworn it wasn’t there a moment ago, but honestly up could be down right now and he wouldn’t know. His teeth clattered and he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around his body, but dared not move them from his ears.

“Your room,” the King spat. The tapestries on the wall melted slowly together with his shadows.

“You may move around the castle, but don’t go into the west wing, those are my rooms, and don’t go into the dungeons - for your own sake.” He disappeared in a short flash of light.

Jason’s ears popped as pressure and temperature returned to normal and he gasped as if he hadn’t breathed for several minutes. Maybe he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember.

His mind was reeling, unable to comprehend, to process, what had happened. Words, he didn’t know them, but the King’s voice felt engraved onto his bones.

Beyond the doorway was a bed. A bed, he turned the concept around in his head as if it was a strange new thing, despite that he knew he should know the concept.

Slowly he picked himself up. With every staggered step, he felt more and more worried he would just melt into the carpet, but finally he fell down on top of soft covers.

Bed good.

-

Next

We are not talking about the fact that this is another wip... >.> I wanted to do something for Trauma Tuesday, but in the end I'm too tired, and then Clock suggested it would be Trauma Lite Tuesday, so that's what we're going for XD I don't tag people, if you want to follow the story please subscribe to the handy masterlist/subscription post