#Miles And The Chain Gang

[yorkcalling]

Miles and the Chain Gang return with emotional, acoustic single

With a sound akin to Billy Bragg and Ray Davies, Wildcats and Koalas is the new single from York’s Miles and the Chain Gang. Continue reading Miles and the Chain Gang return with emotional, acoustic single

[digiindie]

Miles and The Chain Gang - Raining Cats and Dogs (@MilesWrites)

[nicoscheer]

[slasherscream]

crazy ass boys gang + reader who threatens to leave (part two: CAPTIVITY) 

warnings: extreme yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. part one can be found here.

BILLY LOOMIS:

The days move at a snail’s pace. There’s little distraction available to you. 

Billy has always thought you were clever. A survivor. It’s one of the reasons he fell in love. That sharpness to you. But it makes you completely untrustworthy, given the circumstances. And the circumstances are this: your life for the last few weeks has consisted of being chained to the bed.

Not all the time. Not when Billy is home, and can watch you. But when he goes to work, or goes off to kill, Billy takes out the cuffs, and meticulously locks your ankles and feet to the bed. The dark look on his face as he does it makes you watch the process in silence. 

He’s been killing more often. You hope, absently, that he’s still being careful to not get caught. In the years since you two had been together he’d slowed down.

Now, it feels like every other night, you were watching him get ready to go out as Ghostface.

You can tell when he’ll go out next by how he treats you the day before. You two don’t talk anymore. You eat together in silence. Sit together in silence. He watches the dark silhouette of your body through the shower curtain, in silence. (You’re never alone, anymore, when you do anything. When you’re allowed to do anything. You don’t have even a sliver of his trust left.)

But how he watches you is the tell. 

His expression has been a mask of neutrality, since the moment you first woke up, cuffed to the bed. 

On the days before he goes out to kill, though? Those are the days where the mask keeps cracking. Small glimpses at the anger sitting in his chest like a second heart, beating steadily. The silence only makes it worse. Makes the anger red hot and blinding. 

It’s the icy silence of a lover scorned, on his part. And yours is the fearful silence of the last survivor of a horror movie trying to evade the killer at the end. 

The two of you used to laugh together. Laugh, and smile, and love each other. But you, apparently, don’t love Billy anymore. 

But Billy still loves you. So he stares at you until he gets too angry to think straight. And he goes out and kills as many people as it will take to keep himself from ever hurting you. 

JOSH WASHINGTON: 

You’re getting sick of hearing how sorry he is. 

He says it endlessly. Like a prayer. Like a compulsion. The words fall out his mouth as easily as breaths do. 

It feels like you wake up to his apologies and fall asleep to them each night. 

Josh only tied you up that one time, at the start. He apologizes about it often. “I panicked. I’ll never do it again. Not ever. I’m sorry.” You believe him, maybe you shouldn’t, but you do. He’d untied you as soon as you’d begun to rub your wrists raw from trying to get out of the cuffs. 

Once upon a time, you used to use those cuffs on him, at the start of everything. Back when Josh felt he was more monster than Human. Back when he didn’t trust himself not to hurt you. You’d obliged him and would cuff him to the bed before you went to sleep each night, even as you whispered: you couldn’t hurt a fly, Washington. 

You feel like a fly now, in a nasty spider’s web. But you don’t even bother struggling. 

When you’d rescued him from the mountains, his parents had set you both up somewhere remote. Not on another mountain, of course, but in a comfortable cabin out in a forest. No neighbors for miles and miles. Everything you need gets delivered to you twice a month. You used to make the lists of the necessities and send it off to the Washingtons, who were only too happy to give you anything you asked for. 

You’re still getting the deliveries, so you guess Josh has taken over that chore of communicating with his parents. 

You could run away. You could. But you remember how hard it was to out run the monsters on the mountain. You remember watching your friends die, one by one. By claws and by teeth, as they tried to run away. You watched almost all of them die. Or found their bodies. 

Josh wouldn’t kill you. Despite everything, you know he isn’t capable of that. 

Sometimes he still reaches out and touches your wrist, where you’d made yourself bleed with the cuffs, and looks sick to his stomach. They hadn’t even left a mark. But Josh stares at your wrists like a kicked dog, like any day, all these months later, they’ll show up by magic.

No, Josh wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t even hurt you. But you know you wouldn’t get very far. The forest isn’t a mountain, but it’s close enough. Sometimes you sit on the porch and just look out at all the trees that border the property line, and try to think about how long it would take him to catch you. 

Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? You always make yourself laugh, with that last one. 

He’d never let you run for that long. He’d be terrified you’d get lost. Get hurt. He’d drag you back to the cabin, arms a tight-but-never-bruising cage around your waist, and you could claw him to shreds like a hellcat all the while, and you know the only thing he’d say would be: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

You don’t want to hear him say it anymore because it isn’t true. For every apology he gives you, every tearful glance, there’s something beneath it - utter relief, delight, that he’s even able to tell you he’s sorry. That he can reach out and put a hesitant hand on your arm. That he can look over and see you stewing in your anger. 

If Josh let you leave he would have been alone. And Josh has been alone before. He can’t handle it. Not for one second longer. So all that’s left to say is sorry.

STU MACHER:

It’s terrifying how normal he acts.

Love had blinded you before. You’re not sure how, but now you can see Stu for exactly what he is. You don’t ever let yourself forget now. You’d made that mistake once, you can’t make it again. 

You’re not sure how no one else sees it. 

You watch him endlessly. It’s all you can do. Always on edge. Always waiting for him to snap. You watch him at parties while he effortlessly holds the attention of the room. You watch him during dates, while he talks to the waiter like they’re long lost pals. You watch him charm all your friends, all your family. You watch how everyone laughs off all the little creepy things he says. He slips up so often. But he smiles just as often, and his laugh is contagious. The whole world has written him off as an eternally playful man-child. Peter Pan, born again.

You flinch whenever he comes up behind you, draping himself onto your body in that playful way he always has. 

You’d never focused on how much stronger he was before. Now, it’s all you ever think about. You close your eyes, and feel the strength in his arms, and plaster a smile on your face, thinking: Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. 

He seems to have moved on so completely from it all. You wake up in the middle of the night in tears, remembering how much blood had covered your apartment on the worst night of your life. Stu marked the date on your calendar as your new anniversary. 

The heart he made had been comically large, eclipsing the tiny box of the day in red marker. You’d forced yourself to laugh at the enthusiasm and give him a kiss on the cheek. His eyes had been glued to your face. For just a beat too long. You watching him. Him watching you. He’s always watching you now. You feel the burn of his gaze on the back of your neck like a second sun.

You’d felt your smile shaking at the edges. Your eyes starting to sting. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You begged yourself as those sharp blue eyes scrutinized you. Waiting for you to slip. But you didn’t, so he grabbed you around the waist, dipped you low, and kissed you like you were a lead in a rom-com at the end of the movie. 

“We’re almost at our happily ever after, you know.” He’d slyly said at a party with all your friends and family, his arm thrown casually over your shoulder. 

He playfully tells your best friend they’re gonna have to help him pick out a ring soon. Everyone laughs and congratulates you. Tells you how lucky you are. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and make yourself laugh too, “Don’t I know it!”

JASON DEAN/JD: 

You have to say I love you a lot more. 

He doesn’t ask for the words. He never would, beyond saying them first and giving you an expectant look. Green eyes boring into yours, begging you to say it back. You could so easily interpret that expectant look as a demand. But you know it isn’t. It’s desperation. 

You say it more because there’s a pit in your stomach. And it twists every time you see how much worse the tangled weeds of that desperation for your love has gotten within JD. 

He’s your shadow, more often than not. Like if he takes his eyes off you for just a second too long you’ll disappear. It wouldn’t be an unfounded fear, with the life he’s lived. All that he’s lost. 

You don’t know why you said something so cruel to him. So thoughtless. JD pushes because he likes the passion you two share. Because he needs to know you care. Not because he wants to push you away. And now he looks at you like a kicked dog every time he thinks you’re not paying attention. But you’re always paying attention. 

You wish you could take the words back. Pluck them from the air and swallow them down, bury them somewhere deep inside you. 

I didn’t mean them. I swear I didn’t mean them. I was just stressed. You just push me so much. But you keep those words inside too. It’s bad enough you said them once. You don’t want to remind JD of them. Bring them up again. It’s clear from how he’s acting they’ve been bouncing around his head already. 

He’s been more quiet than usual. Trapped in his head. He doesn’t even look up when you walk into the room. The look on his face makes you ache. 

You curl up into his side, wrapping your arms around him, and squeeze as tight as you can. So he can feel you by his side, solid and permanent. “I love you, JD.” 

He turns to look at you. Those sharp eyes searching for any hint you don’t mean it. That these pretty words are the lie, and the wanting to leave him was the nasty truth. 

You meet his gaze head on. You would tell him how sorry you are, but you don’t want to think about how cruel you can be, when you get mad. “I love you.” You repeat, instead.

Finally he smiles at you, “Yeah, I know you do, darlin’.”

KEVIN KHATCHADOURIAN: 

You don’t have to pretend you’re happy. In fact, when you try, it makes Kevin very angry. 

He never tells you to stop. But whenever you try to fake a little enthusiasm. Put on a little smile you don’t mean… the look on his face is enough to make you feel sick. His expression hardly moves. It’s the look in his eyes. Like he wants to hurt you. Badly. 

So you stop pretending. 

He demands your presence. Your attention. He doesn’t want your disingenuous attempts to placate him. 

You sit in silence more often than not. 

You used to try and fill the air between you. The more he would stare at you, the more you would talk. He’d hardly blink. Just watching as you’d wind yourself up under the force of your own anxiety. He rarely told you to be quiet. You think Kevin must’ve liked watching you squirm. Watching you uhm and ah, only pausing for breaths, because otherwise the silence would be deafening. And all that would be left would be the suffocating weight of his gaze. 

You don’t bother talking now. What could you say? 

Now you stare back. He’d almost looked surprised, the first time. When you turned to look at him, while he looked at you. You didn’t stop until it was time for you to head home.

That’s how you spend all your time with each other now. You arrive at his home. You take off your shoes. You make your way to his bedroom. Sit on his bed. You take a deep breath, and then you stare at him, and he stares back. 

You hate him. A very big part of you hates him. An even bigger part of you is terrified of him. 

You carry on like this for months. Passing the time. Feeling isolated. Like a trapped mouse, or bird in a cage, even as you live every aspect of your life completely identical to the way you did before you knew what Kevin was capable of. There’s no chain around your wrist or ankle. No guillotine blade on your neck. But the threat is still there, and life feels paper thin now. Like some veil has been pulled back. It all feels meaningless. 

You hate him. But there’s no one you can talk to. No one to turn to. You don’t dare turn to anyone else. 

So one day, while you’re staring each other down you reach into the space between you on the bed with your hand, and lay it down palm up. Kevin’s eyes flicker down, sizing up your hand, sizing up you. After a long moment he puts his hand in yours. 

You go back to staring at each other.

NATHAN PRESCOTT: 

Nathan hates the way you flinch when he gets too close. 

He tries to be understanding. He doesn’t have a right to be hurt, after what he’s done. It hurts anyway. He just tries not to let it show. He’s sure that would make you angry. Him walking around like a little victim when he fucking kidnapped you. He makes himself angry. He makes himself sick. 

But at least he has you. You hate his guts, but you’re with him. 

Nathan tries to tell himself that’s all that matters. But he misses the way things used to be like he’d miss a leg that got cut off. Phantom aches all day long. Every time he looks at you, and finds you already looking at him, hatefully. You used to look at him like you’d never get tired of him. 

He still wants to know what finally made you tired of him. But he doesn’t have the right to ask. So he doesn’t ask. 

He reinforced the cabin so you can’t get out. If you try you’ll have to make so much noise there’s not a hope in hell he won’t hear. He can’t bear to tie you up, or chain you. You’re a fighter, and he’s not much of one, so he probably should. But he can’t. He’d tried and it made him sick. He’d actually thrown up over it. 

He keeps you lightly drugged instead.

He’d thrown up over that too. But he had to do something. 

He’s always careful about the dosage. Careful about every step of the process. He’ll never mess it up. Not ever. He loves you. He’d hurt you once, and he’ll never do it again. He doesn’t want to fight you. Doesn’t want you to fight each other. 

You love each other. It might take a while, but one day you’ll remember that. Until you do, you’ll both stay here, far away from anyone else. Nathan hopes you’ll remember soon.

SEBASTIAN VALMONT: 

He’s going to make you fall in love with him again. 

If he was stronger he’d let you go. Hell, he wouldn’t have paid someone to kidnap you in the first place. But Sebastian has always gotten everything he wanted. And he’s never wanted anything as much as he wants you. He’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you. Maybe, before you, he never loved anyone at all.

You split his chest open and carved out a space inside him where only you can fit. You’re the single occupant of his heart. Forever. You can’t expect him to just turn it off. Can’t expect him to forget you. He tried, and he failed. 

So now he’s going to try something else. He’s going to win you back. Obviously, this isn’t the best starting point. But there have been worse starting points for rekindling a romance. 

He hires only one chef and one maid for your new penthouse. He pays them very well to never ask any questions. And to never, ever help you escape. The money is too good to turn down. Life-changing, really. So they never help.

It’s just you and him. The way it was always meant to be. 

You do candlelit dinners every night. You wake up, every morning, to flowers outside your door. Sebastian fulfills your every desire. Hangs on to your every word. You can have anything you want. Do anything you want. You just can’t leave. Not yet. Not until you’re in love with him again. Then life can go back to normal. 

He’d laughed when you asked him if he was going to keep you in the penthouse with him forever. He laughed until he had to wipe a tear from his eye. Then he leaned forward and kissed you softly. “No, sweetheart, I’m not crazy. Just crazy about you.” 

There are a lot of locks on the front door. You’ve never even seen the keys for them. The windows don’t open. Even if they did… the penthouse is twenty stories up, you wouldn’t survive the fall. 

Sebastian opens your bedroom door, giving you a smile that’s both cocky and charming. Hiding something behind his back. Another gift. “Good morning, gorgeous.” 

You smile. Reflex, and don’t know if it’s because you’re too scared not to, or because looking at him makes you want to smile. Sebastian gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek, the way he does when he’s happy. 

Nothing makes Sebastian more happy than getting what he wants.

A/N: we all know it took me forever to do this part two. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. and this fic took too damn long to write. xoxoxo

[whoyacallinyellow]

To The Fallen

Charles Smith x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR2 events Content: 18+ mdni, m/f smut, drunk sex, angst, tension, possessive, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes Type: second pov (wc - 3693) / pc: pinterest

Summary: After the gang’s downfall, you join Charles on his endeavors. While roughing it in the woods, you convince him to share a drink with you…

“C’mon Charles, live a little.” 

You encouraged the man, sat upon a log as he tended to the small campfire you shared. He sighed at your relentless begging, gazing at you over the orange flames. Truly torn, he hated to turn you down, but your safety was more important than your idea of a good time. 

“What if something happens?— besides, someone needs to take care of you.” 

The man reasoned with your buzzed mind, gesturing towards the half empty glass you cradled on your knee. 

Your eyes followed him as he joined you, carefully studying his every step before he sat next to you, tobacco leeching off his clothes and filling the air. 

“It’ll be fine.” You reassured softly, watching him glance longingly into the flames once again. His eyes carried a certain sorrow that did not leave since Beaver Hollow. Apathy had stuck to Charles like a ball and chain, burying his friends was a pastime he did not favor, with Arthur being the final nail in the coffin. 

After the fallout of the gang, the two of you spent your time roughing it in sticks, you reckoned somewhere between Canada and northern United States. You felt as if it were the smartest move to be as far away as possible, while Charles was a man who did not like running. He was fully aware the severity of his actions came with a big price— but he was willing to compromise for you. 

Charles always seemed to know what to do, and where to go. He found refuge in your company and trust, the close bond you shared only flourished after being by your lonesome. The man wouldn’t want it any other way, sometimes pondering where he would be, or what he would be doing without you. The doubts he kept quiet and buried deep often resurfaced the moments he was reminded how sweet on you he was. 

“You could use one.” You continued, placing a small hand on his knee with the attempt to break his trance. You so desperately wished to lend him a penny for a thought, but your attempts usually went nowhere. 

The man huffed in defeat, encapsulating his hand over yours tenderly. 

“Maybe just one.” 

Charles reluctantly agreed, his words barely finished before you filled his unused glass with a much needed relaxation aid. 

You scooted closer as a Canadian breeze whipped past, which made his grasp slip politely around you. The man’s arm alone somehow carried more warmth than any blanket could give you. Or perhaps it was the security he offered with each touch.  

“Uh— to the fallen.” 

You propose awkwardly, raising your glass lazily to the man who met you with a stupid smirk. 

With your tipsy state being more than amusing to the outlaw, your words would be teased and mocked in the morning, in addition to gentle kisses as compensation— if you were lucky. 

“To good health, my girl.”  

He compromised huskily, his words presenting a much more giddy side which had been long erased with time. Charles lounged in the moment, the drink would allow a disconnect from his thoughts, unwilling to think about the gang under the grip of a bottle. 

You took his offer with a small clink, the contents of his glass sloshing and spilling into yours. 

Charles always knew you had his best interest in mind, the same he held for you. And with everything that happened in the past year, maybe he’s been too uptight and miserable. He reasoned that self reflection would come after a night of fun, maybe he did need this. 

The night seemed to slip from his grasp after that point. His incoherent banter blew through the trees and vacant wilderness, undoubtedly scaring any animal or man for miles. Charles would often lean against you for temporary support, his hand sneaking through your inner thigh, and lingering for a moment to prop himself upright before continuing his casual slurs. The bottle loosened his tongue more than you expected, allowing him to exaggerate a memory or two. 

You have not seen the man wear such a toothy grin since Sean was rescued, a celebration where he took the liberty of more than one drink. As you walked past the rowdy group by the fire, he would match Sean and Karen by pulling you onto his lap. A drunken stunt he would never dare pull sober in front of the others, denying every bit of the scandal once teased the day after. His leg would bounce effortlessly to the music beneath you, wobbling you tightly to his chest. All you could think about was the stubble of his chin digging into your shoulder, the way his fingertips treaded dangerously close to your waist—as if he was taunting you. His hard bulge you rested on would go unacknowledged by the man as he bounced his leg, but not you.

It was a sick game he played and perhaps enjoyed a little too much, testing your willpower for him every moment available.  

Charles’ one ended up being your three, his glass being long retired in favor of the bottle, swaying between his fingers as he nursed it sporadically. 

As the man went over the deep end you just spectated, you figured the least you could do was take care of him for one night, as he does for you every other. One night off was the very least he deserved. 

“S’enough now, reckon you oughta sleep.” 

Your words interrupted Charles, an unmistakable hum rattling through his chest. It hurts you how much the gang lived within the man, even while blackout drunk, Javier’s rhythms that played years ago flowed through him. 

You arose stiffly to your feet, which the man unsteadily followed, his arms swaying and outstretched to recoup some balance. 

The fire had died down along with his energy, Charles’ half-lidded eyes wandered, barely illuminating off the flame. 

Your unexpected touch at the man’s nether region triggered his reflex with a stagger as you unclasped his taut gun belt. Relieving him of today's responsibilities. 

“Oh hush,” 

You murmured, your concentration ignoring his sudden silence. 

Glancing up at the man who towered over you was now stiff as a board, arms hung by his sides as he stared back directly into your soul. 

His lips parted ever so slightly, but nothing came out besides a sigh, the bottle dulling his expression, but emphasizing fervency. 

All Charles could do was stare, his mind clouding over his better judgment— the thought of you seemed to do that often. 

He remembered a particularly sunny day at Clemons Point, a job gone not to plan. You tended to the man’s wounds as he recovered in a cot. Your eyes heavy and looming over each part of his injured body, a sense of worship you held for his temple he simply did not. White bandages decorated his torso and bicep, a familiarity with his body and scars that only you held. The sacredness and safety your touch gave him made his pride not allow anyone else to see him in such a way, not that he would ever tell you. 

You would not speak while focusing on him, not even to ask for an explanation of the wounds. But your vibrant presence would keep him company in the midst of your silence. 

The feeling would eventually leave him as you wandered off, he would watch your figure lingering in the distance, pondering while gazing off the beautiful lands camp offered you. Your apprehensive mannerisms worried the man, which he mistook as forlornness. Charles would justify the scenarios, a double edged sword he deemed to be second nature— you knew what type of man he was. 

You would bide your time against a nearby tree in eyeshot of the cot, ensuring his peace. But would return before too long, your eyes slightly uplifted in spirit. Once again presenting Charles with the same feeling he had before you left the tent. 

Perched up on the barrel level with the cot, the back of your delicate hand would linger on his forehead before caressing down his scuffed cheek, the same touches his mother would give him as a boy. 

Your silence was louder than any words you could have said, you loved him and he always knew.

—

“M’sorry.”

The man uttered after a needy kiss. Insincerity snuck upon his lips, unsure of what exactly he was apologizing for— was it to you? Or was it guilt of the broken man he’s become?— when exactly did he dismiss the morals he subscribed to? 

Now laying in the tent you shared, your lust for him kept him far from his drunken mind, his pants you had undone tempted his desires over redemption. Charles somehow held no recollection of your hands working down there.

Once again your silence was louder than words, fingertips tracing gingerly over his bulge. Subtly begging him to give into his desires, give into you. Charles always had different plans for your first time together, but the past years haven’t been kind, making the time never right— he never once considered taking you while a drunken idiot. 

But your body would soon be consumed by that very same desire, he would only leave your lips momentarily while clothes were kicked off. 

The unsuitable lighting made the man rely on his hands, touches that were a test of how well he knew your body, by now considering it an extension of himself. 

“Charles,” 

His name deliciously exhaled from your lips at the slightest feel of him. Your voice saying his name in such a manner forever burnt a mark into his mind. You molded into every touch of his, which only encouraged his high. His calloused fingertips ran from your hip bones to your breasts, touching the off guard parts of you to everyone but him. 

“Yeah?” 

Charles eventually answered, his gruff voice lowly exiting his chest with an unforeseen force. 

Stroking himself, the man positioned at your entrance, his tip preparing you extensively. Charles’ neck craned back as pleasure began to soar through him, a sharp sigh being exerted at the slightest feel of himself in you. 

“Think you can take me?”

Less of a question, the man wondered out loud through a slur. The syllables lazily slid off his tongue as he teased his head back and forth through your heat. His jaw had gone slack from a combination of ecstasy and concentration, your wetness and anticipation only grew with each of his strokes. 

He hoped to get more noise from you. So desperately wanting you to be loud for him, no camp, no one to worry about— just you. You were his one and only focus, as it should have been from the start. 

Your silence was temporary, captivated by your lover teasing you between your legs. 

“Go on then,” 

Your voice came out as a pitiful whine, a beg of yours he would not take lightly. 

The large man hummed through his amusement and pleasure, his hands covering every area of skin he could on you. Scooting you closer to his preference came with ease, his pull on your hips united your thighs to his. With how light and sweet Charles’ casual touches were, you sometimes forgot how strong the man really was. 

“Charles!”

Your frustrated moan was music to his ears, it broke through the man’s clouded brain like the sound of a gunshot. A distracted hand was still placed on the base of his cock, threading it through your lips in awe. 

“Okay— ok, sweet girl, don’t know if I’ll fit s’all.”

He contemplated out loud, his voice remained low and primal, glossed over drunken eyes lustfully staring into yours, a hint of playfulness being held within the brown wells.

It was the same look they held the day of your hunting trip for Mr. Pearson. You insisted on joining Charles, less to assist and more to loiter and encourage the man. A simple and innocent request he would never refuse. You held onto his torso as he rode Taima, to his dismay your hands would wander further, and further down, until resting prettily on either side of his groin. You would see the man headbob towards the saddle, infatuated with both your boldness and touch— needless to say, you both returned to camp empty handed that day. 

—

The wind that rippled through the tent canvas sent chills through your bones, your naked frame being consumed by goosebumps which the man took humor in. His rough fingertips wasted no time fiddling with your nipples before covering you with his body. Finally exchanging his body heat with yours that would not be needed for long. 

Now fixated on your upper body, it did not take him long to cover you in his hungry mouth, his shaft still grinding against your lips as he eagerly thrusted, barely touching your entrance with each movement. 

Taking matters into your own hands, your patience grew thin, reaching down and directing the man where you needed him. 

The abrupt contact caused spots to flood in vision, Charles’ pleasure and whiskey filling his palette in a way he did not know possible. A part of him wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop after taking you, afraid he would accidentally hurt you in his drunken stupor. His lack of control over his dire state only showed the desperateness Charles usually hid from you. 

Your fingers laced around the man’s bare chest, little nothings you would mumble as you took his length. Charles still doesn’t know what got into him, all the pent up desire for you finally being spent with a slow and powerful thrust that swooped to your core. Despite his eagerness and your moans, he somehow mustered up enough composure to allow you to get used to his size. 

“So tight for me,”

Was all the man grunted through his drunken lust, he thought you took his size so well for him, almost as if you were made for him as a lover. 

Your fingernails that dragged along his back earned you some groans and abrupt movements that were particularly passionate.  

Hearing him in such a worked up manner only made you tighter around him. It was enough to nearly make the man lightheaded as pleasure roamed throughout the tent. 

Words weren’t needed for Charles to understand that your desperation was mutual to his. Your walls continued to grow wet and clench around him with every adjustment and word of his, making a mess of the bedrolls beneath you both. 

“You should’ve took me that night— at Shady Belle.”

Your unsteady words momentarily stopped the man in his tracks. His body frozen atop of yours as he mentally mapped out just how long you’ve been wanting him this way. 

Charles remembered the look you gave him as he peeled off the layers of his bank heist clothing, gun belt falling to his ankles with a clank. He was the only man to return from Saint Denis that night. You followed him around camp like a lost dog, eyes glued to him, silently begging for an ounce of him. You always knew if any man were to return from a botched heist, it would be Charles Smith. 

Your need for him then would go unfulfilled, his large hands lingered lovingly on your waist everytime he rushed past you to assist what was left of the gang, as if he silently acknowledged your desperation. Charles always carried that sense of urgency and composure you did not— he was the last man with a lick of leadership, afterall. 

You wore a similar look now, needy and willing.  

A lazy chuckle filled the tent before he planted a sloppy kiss on your lips, feeling your breath quiver against him was a reminder to continue. 

“Should’ve said, my girl.” 

Charles rebutted simply, allowing your moans to once again fill his ears as he moved swiftly but rhythmically. 

After all this time Charles knew what kind of lover he wanted to be for you, in his mind he earned you and your desire to be with him in such a way. Which meant you deserved to experience your importance and much more. 

Sensual and with purpose—at least for the first time. Each of his actions would show how much you meant to him. Charles thought about it more than he would like to admit, the days you would patch him up only encouraged the back door thoughts of showering your body in his devotion, your lingering touch merely drove those thoughts further. 

But the whiskey consumed his prior plans of reverence, only to reveal how badly he needed this— how badly he needed you. 

Every last bit of his self-control was thrown out the tent along with your clothes, discarded in the dirt by the fire.  

His hands gripping whatever skin of yours he could, small marks of his fingertips peppered on you, further demonstrating the long overdue tension he held prior to taking you. 

Lips and tongue that traveled on your breasts occasionally came with teeth, his excitement winning and the principals he usually held washed away with the prior drinks you shared. 

These marks the man would notice in the morning, guilt and embarrassment surging through him while planting soft kisses upon the possessive marks— Did he hurt you? Was he too rough?— Was he foolish?— he doesn’t remember, his head hurts. Your words of praise would feel just as genuine as it did the night prior, reassuring the man you enjoyed him just fine.

Your touch ghosted down his chest and to his bucking hips, tracing the muscles that flexed with each thrust. Both of your thighs now sopping, Charles let out a low moan, his stomach knotting and quivering under your spell. He guided your hands back up, not wanting to reach his peak quite yet, and your excessive touch would overstimulate him to that point. 

“Easy now.” 

Charles whispered, his voice gravelly and hoarse, a vague warning which slipped from his lips as smooth as the booze went down. The man knew you were close under his control, and how malleable you were only drove him closer to the edge. 

His braided hair had gracefully come undone from the intimacy, loose strands both dangling over your bare skin and sticking to his shoulders. 

Your body quivered beneath him, sensing your climax was near with excessive moans and breaths you gave him. Hearing you moan his name fully unleashed would replay in his mind for days to come, your pretty lips trembling was a sight for sore eyes. Hoisting himself back to his knees, his bottom lip slid between his teeth, rubbing your clit while he admired how you gripped his cock. So trusting, so excited, so wet, and it was all for him? 

His thrusts became more attentive, each one pressing and lingering deep within you, his back arching to meet your pelvis, ensuring no part of his length went neglected. 

If Charles didn’t know any better, he would have lingered in you a moment longer before finishing, basking in the pleasure your high presented him with. The same high he has been subconsciously chasing since Clemons Point. But instead his shaft planted onto your stomach as he climaxed, animalistic groans exiting the man as he marked you. 

Your lover’s chest heaved, lingering momentarily as he finished. Both soaked and relieved, he weakly lowered for yet another soft kiss. His necklace and hair tickling your collarbone as he recovered from his high. 

The mind fog prevented any sort of disruption of his focus on you. Charles studied your torso as you recovered yourself, the small faded scar he stitched up for you back in Colter now glistened under his love for you, it seemed so long ago to the man. He never once thought in this lifetime the girl he saved from a seemingly fatal stomach wound would be the same stomach covered in his seed. 

“‘Look real sweet like that.” 

He hummed, pride and satisfaction littering his tone. His voice rumbled in his chest, presenting signs of sobering up after his chase. 

“Oh?” Your lips formed into an amused grin, staring at your tired lover laying beside you, his toned figure barely visible in the tent besides the glossy formations of sweat beading down his chest. His dark eyes still hooked onto the mess he created on you.  

“Real sweet.” 

The man affirmed gently, figuring he would put you out of your misery and clean you off. 

How whipped was Charles? He could not tell. Every kiss you would give him later that night threw him over the moon. Your fingertips soothingly outlined the scar on his jaw as he held you tightly, your frame curled within his, thighs that pressed against him unknowingly gave him a certain friction that begged him for another round. 

But he decided you needed the rest, as he felt there would be more where tonight came from. He would make it up to you then. 

The embers cracked in front of your tent, with the trees swaying the distance, the white noise was enough to lull you to a slumber. But the man forced himself awake just moments longer to experience you. Relishing in a feeling he never wanted to leave him. Charles wished the night lasted a little longer, as he did with most good things he was fortunate enough to have come his way. He always wondered what he did to deserve those things, especially with all the sins under his belt. 

He felt as if he were sinking, or spinning, maybe it was spinning, his fingertips tapped rhythmically down your spine in his subconscious state, gaining your attention. 

“Sleep with me.” 

You cooed against his chest, words he could barely make out from your state of delirium. 

The man kissed your forehead in response, his mind that tried running off into the night was anchored back to you. Like most things were.  

Your wish was Charles' command, and he knew it would be the beginning of many more.   

~

[florencemtrash]

Wedding Invitations

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: Y/n and Miguel take the day to distribute wedding invitations to the Spider-Gang. But in the midst of all the congratulations they forget to tell a very important member of the wedding party...

Warnings: Fluff, Spider-Gang family dynamics, Miguel's got a touch of baby fever

Author's Note: I FINALLY got around to writing this Miguel x Reader oneshot that's been in my WIP dump for ages. This can be read on its own, or as a continuation of my Hummingbird series.

Masterlist of Masterlists

________________________

You blinked around Spidey-HQ, buzzing with excitement and armed with a stack of cream-colored envelopes. The cards within had the following words printed in lacy gold lettering:  

Miguel O’Hara and Y/n L/n Invite you to join their wedding celebration on Saturday, October 15,  2105 at 4:30pm St. Javier’s Cathedral 115 Hammond St

You’d visited Pavitr first, finding him tucked away in an alcove on the top floors where he went about carefully oiling his hair. 

“FINALLY!” He squealed, sprinting away to wash his hands before gingerly accepting the invitation like you’d just handed him a million dollars. “You’re getting married!” He snatched one hand, then the other, splaying your fingers and searching for the ring, “Where is it? Where is it? I want to see it.”

You chuckled, “Calm down, Gollum.” You reached into your shirt, pulling out the chain where you’d been hiding the ring for the past eight months. “I don’t wear it very often. Art teacher and superhero - remember?” 

It was a shame. It was a beautiful, vintage ring originally belonging to Miguel’s mother. He’d since updated it, replacing two of the missing stones with small burgundy gems that matched the color of his eyes. Even if you couldn’t wear it often, you kept it with you at all times, resting against your heart. 

Pavitr began to vibrate with excitement, bouncing on his feet. “Can I-Can I tell-?”

“Yes, you can tell people.” 

“Really?!” He brightened up.

“Yes. Miguel’s probably already sent out a general announcement by now.”

As if on cue both your watches beeped, a red notification popping up.

Announcement:  Y/n and I are getting married. Don’t get upset if you're not invited to the ceremony. There are literally thousands of you. Reception will be at Spidey HQ atrium Saturday, October 15, 2105 at 7pm. All are welcome.

“Perfect timing.” You said, smiling at the words Y/n and I are getting married. You still couldn’t believe it, even though you’d been sitting on the knowledge in silence for the past six months.

“Oh and Pavitr. Miguel will probably ask you this again later but… would you like to be a groomsman in the wedding?” 

Pavitr’s lips trembled, then broke into the widest smile imaginable, brown eyes crinkling. He surged forward, wrapping his lanky arms around you and spinning you around.

“YES! YES! A million times yes!” He gasped. You may as well have gotten on your knees and asked for his hand in marriage. “Oh my goodness this is all I've ever wanted. What are the wedding colors? I need to get a new sherwani.” He finally let you down, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you desperately, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS SOONER?!” 

You gripped his hands, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling. Pavitr's energy was unmatched and you could feel his joy rubbing off on you.

“It’s really going to be a simple ceremony. And we didn’t want to pressure any of you with the typical wedding prep stuff.” 

He looked incredulous, “So no bachelorette party? No-no manicure days or spa days or...” 

You shook your head no and his jaw dropped.

“WRONG!” He shouted, touching the tip of your nose with his finger, “Are you free next Saturday night? Yes? Good.” He shook his finger at you, “No wedding prep stuff? Really? Pah!” He threw his hands in the air, muttering as he walked away and started dialing up Gwen and Miles.

“You told Pavitr before you told me?!” Gwen asked, mouth agape. She pushed her lunch tray to the side, the excitement chasing away her appetite for the time being.

“Fuck that. You told Pavitr before you told me?!” Miles slammed the milk carton on the table, spilling a few drops, “I thought I was your favorite.” 

“Piss off, Miles.” Gwen teased, ruffling his curls. "I'm her favorite."

“One semester abroad with Hobie and you’re already sounding like a Brit.” He teased back, never moving far enough apart from her that they weren’t touching. 

She’d recently gone for a shag haircut. The tips of her dyed hair fading into a pale bubblegum blue. The new nose piercing completed the look and Miles was smitten.

You wrung your hands together. “Well I’m telling you now! And! I’m asking you to be part of the wedding party. So what do you say? Wanna be a groomsman and a bridesmaid?”

They didn’t even look at each other before saying, “Absolutely!” In perfect unison.

The rest of the day went similarly, full of excited squeals and hugs and twirls. Everyone at Spidey-HQ - minus some of the newcomers - knew who you were and didn’t hesitate to shout their joy, whooping and calling out across the atrium.

“CONGRATS, TEACH!” 

“LET’S GO! SPIDER-WEDDING!” 

“CONGRATULATIONS!” 

Hobie leaned against the window, hands shoved into the pockets of his patchwork leather jacket and flashing every color of the rainbow. 

He stuck his hand out without a word, a crooked smile on his face, “I don’t believe in state-sanctioned marriage, you know. You and Miguel are already married - have been for ages in my book.”

“You rummaged around in your bag for the last of the invitations, finally locating the envelope that had slipped into one of the inner pockets and out of sight. 

You hesitated, trying to hide your disappointment, “... so does that mean you’re not coming then?”

Hobie quickly snatched the invitation out of your hands, slinging his arm around your shoulder and rubbing the top of your head with his knuckles. You laughed, shoving him away and fixing the tangles he’d made in your hair. 

“Pffft, of course I’m coming. It’s important to you.” He shoved the cream-colored paper into his pockets alongside a couple posters he hadn’t found a proper place to plaster them on yet. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He smirked, “But I hope you’re not expecting me to show up in a suit.” 

“Wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”

“And are you going to ask me to be a groomsman or something? Make a toast at dinner?” There was no contempt in his voice… If anything he seemed expectant. Happy. 

“Actually, Miguel and I were hoping you could be the flower girl with May and Benjy.” 

He brightened up, flashing a sunflower yellow and shooting off curls of newspaper print like fireworks. 

“HA! I like it. I like it.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets, opening his arms wide and sighing like he was giving up on an age-old war, “Alright, get in here, girl. I wanna hug you.” 

You giggled, scrunching up your nose in satisfied glee as Hobie finally gave into his softness. He liked to pretend he was cooler than everyone else in the room - and he usually was - but that didn’t stop him from also being the softest person you’d ever met. 

“Congratulations.” He said, propping his head up on top of your head and mussing up your hair once again.

“Thanks, Hobie.” 

You weren’t alone in spreading the news - Miguel was making his own rounds. Margo was the first one he’d told, by virtue of the fact that she was nearest to his office. 

“Hey, Margo.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. He held out the envelope, Margo’s headpiece peeling away from her sleek cornrows. Her eyes glittered purple, wide open and staring.

“Really?” She asked hesitantly, reaching out for the paper. 

“Of course, Margo. You’re family. We want you there.” 

Her eyes softened and she read through the invitation quietly.

“Y/n was also hoping you’d be a bridesmaid.” He tapped the additional paper sealed in her envelope. “Nothing fancy, but we wanted you at the front with everyone else. Miles, Gwen, Peter B, LEGO P-oof.” 

Miguel huffed as Margo all but rammed into his chest, the edges of her flickering. Who knew virtual reality bodies were so durable and dense.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice.

Margo didn’t like to talk about home, preferring the VR life she led with the Spider-Society. They were her real family now… she just liked the confirmation. 

“Anytime, kid.” 

She cleared her throat, pushing him away as quickly as she’d hugged him. “Alright, get out of here. I’m sure everyone wants to see you right now.” She turned around, wiping at her eyes in real life. Her VR body did the same. 

Miguel chuckled, rubbing his neck again. He wasn’t used to the kind of attention he’d been receiving since meeting you and learning to open up again. It was almost as if he was likable when he wasn’t acting like a complete asshole.

He was chased by compliments and congratulations all day, Spider-people stopping him to clap him on the back or to bump shoulders like they knew just how absolutely whipped he was.

Something about announcing your engagement to the world made the whole thing feel more real, like he could taste it as physically as he could taste your lips whenever he kissed you. He didn’t wear his engagement ring very often for the same reasons as you, but he slipped it on his finger halfway through the day, standing a little straighter, and looking a little prouder after doing so. 

LEGO Peter was next and he’d practically swooned when Miguel had handed him his invitation between his thumb and pointer finger. He’d printed an extra-small version for him. Then he’d fainted when Miguel asked him to be a groomsman, his brick body going rigid and toppling back with the same rattle as a teacup saucer.

“I’m taking that as a yes!” Miguel called out, slipping his head back out of the portal into his own universe.

He needed to make a home visit for Jessica, but she had a champagne bottle ready to burst when Miguel appeared into her home in a crackle of color and brushstrokes.

“AHH! HA!” She tossed her head back with glee. Her mane of pitch black hair smelled like coconut and citrus. “CONGRATULATIONS! Malcolm! Malcolm, get your ass in here. Miguel’s arrived.” 

Her husband slid across the living room entrance, a chubby three-year-old boy balanced on his hip and grabbing at his locs. 

“Miguel!” 

“Hey, Malcolm.”

“Mig!” 

“Heyyyy, Jefferson.” Miguel laughed when the little boy grabbed at him, latching onto a strand of brown hair and tugging. 

Jessica clicked her tongue, “Jeff, what have we talked about.”

“Sorry.” The boy apologized, patting Miguel’s head and slapping him in the face in the process. 

“It’s alright, kid.” 

“OOooooh. Get in here, Migs.” Jessica was grinning brighter than the sun, radiating warmth as she wound her arms around his ribs and used her strength to lift him off his feet and shake him like a rag doll.

“Careful, Jess. Can’t break the groom before his wedding.” 

“Pfffft, Miguel’s not made of glass, honey.” 

That much was obvious enough. Miguel had to keep his body crooked to avoid banging his head against the hanging ceiling lights. 

“Congratulations, man.” Malcolm hugged him next, being notably gentler than his wife. He still slapped Miguel’s back hard enough to rattle his shoulders though. 

Miguel stayed for a long while, until him and Jess had made their way through three bottles of champagne just because they could. Their bodies burned through alcohol way too quickly to get drunk - a fact that had disappointed Miles when he went off to college for the first time last year. 

Jess and Malcolm leaned towards one another like sunflowers to light, with little Jefferson splashed across both their knees and struggling to stay awake as the sun pressed against the windows and turned their pale yellow walls golden. 

That would be him someday, with you and your son.

The thought shook him to his core. First, because it was a secret hope that he’d never dared to even dream about and second, because it was now possible. Wonderfully, beautifully possible. 

His heart began to flutter, the absence of you by his side suddenly feeling like a gaping hole instead of a subtle ache. 

Jess seemed to understand that, making a show of looking at the clock and then down at her son’s open mouth drooling against Malcolm’s arm. 

“We should get this little guy to bed.” 

“On it.” 

“I’ll head out then. Thanks for everything, Jess.”

She made a noise with her tongue, brushing off his thanks with a graceful wave of her hand. “Get out of here you big sap. And tell Y/n I said congratulations too! Actually, scratch that. I’m coming in tomorrow so I’ll tell her in person.” 

Miguel chuckled, “Alright then.” 

He gave a final hug to Malcolm and Jessica. Jefferson stirred in his mother’s arms just long enough to babble something that sounded adorably close to, “I’m not… I’m not sleepy. I-” before his eyes rolled back and he slumped onto Jessica’s shoulder. 

You sat curled up in Miguel’s office chair, legs thrown over one of the armrests as you flipped through the pages of your book on the life of Aubrey Vincent Beardsley. Occasionally your eyes would flicker to the array of monitors, watching the careful web of universes as they flickered and morphed. Fluid, but stable, and in a perfect balance of chaos and order. 

Miguel drifted into the room behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and peppering the curve of your neck with kisses.

“Mi amor,” He murmured. You hummed happily, tilting your head further to give him better access. “How is everything going on with you?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

“That’s a pretty great answer.” He chuckled, finishing with a quick kiss to your lips. He came around, lifting you up with ease before sitting down in his chair and placing you in his lap, “And how are things in the Spider-Verse?”  

You made a self-satisfied hmph sound. Thank god he’d finally stopped calling it the Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse. What a mouthful. 

“Holding strong and steady.” You flicked your fingers to the side, pulling up the latest day report that you’d already handed two hours ago, “B76’s Black Cat and 1805’s Venom were the only anomalies. Done and dusted with no issue. Reports are on file under Project Catalyst.”

“Perfect.” 

Miguel stretched comfortably, curling in on you and resting his head on your chest like the world’s most luxurious cat.

You snorted, blinking your book away with a snap of your fingers and running your fingers through his hair just the way he liked. He groaned softly when you lightly dragged your fingernails against his scalp. 

“Right there, babe.” He encouraged, sighing with contentment. 

You stayed like that for a long while, one of Miguel’s arms wrapped around your waist and his other hand snaking up your stomach to rub circles against your smooth skin. Unbeknownst to you, he was quietly thinking about what it might be like if you ever decided to have kids. If one day he’d be so lucky to lay like this against you and quietly talk to the little child growing in your stomach. 

He shook his head, he was getting ahead of himself.

“Everything ok, Migs?” You curled your finger beneath his chin, gently tilting his face up to look at you. His eyes softened.

“Yeah. Everything’s perfect.” 

You couldn’t help it, you blushed under the softness of his gaze. It was strange how you could get into hundreds of fist-fights, get knocked on your ass dozens of times over, and yet crumble at the sight of his auburn eyes. You didn’t mind the vulnerability though - you knew Miguel felt the same. 

You looked down at his hands, noticing the flash of silver on his finger.

"You wore it today?"

He smiled when you took his hand in yours, kissing his palm, "Felt appropriate."

You tugged the necklace out from under your shirt, carefully slipping the ring off the chain. Miguel took it wordlessly from you, gently kissing your hand before sliding the ring onto your finger. It was warm to the touch after hours pressed against your heart and Miguel felt a surge of love flood his chest seeing you wear it.

“Busy day, huh?” You asked when he settled back down, holding your hand tightly in his.

He groaned, “You could say that. I don’t think I’ve ever had so many people talk to me in my life.” 

You prodded him in the side, “That’s not saying very much.”

“Ouch.” He grinned, kissing your chest. 

“Did everyone say yes to joining the wedding party?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yup.” Your lips popped on the end of the word.

Miguel grinned wide and unabashedly leaning closer to you, “Then we got ourselves a wedding,” he said, smiling against your lips. He tasted like coffee and cinnamon. 

You chuckled, “Maybe we shouldn’t have sprung this on them so soon.”

Miguel shrugged, “We needed to tell them at some point, cariño. And it’s not like we’re doing all the extra stuff. They just need to show up to the church at this point.” 

“I know that. But Pavitr seemed to disagree. Apparently I'm going to have a bachelorette party next weekend.” 

He pouted, “No party for me?! I’m hurt.” 

“Peter didn’t bring it up with you? I thought he'd be over the moon about being Best Man.”

Miguel’s head shot up, thick brows furrowing in confusion beneath a bed of ruffled curls, “I thought you were going to tell Peter.”

You tipped your head to the side, “I thought you were going to tell to Peter?” 

“Yeah, LEGO Peter.” 

Silence, thick and full of horror fell over both of you. 

“Did… did neither of us tell Peter and MJ?” You whispered. 

Miguel closed his eyes, his face plummeting into the soft skin of your chest, “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

The double doors to Miguel’s office slid open with a groan of disappointment. Peter stood there with his legs splayed, carving out a disgruntled shape in his signature pink bathrobe that he never took off, especially with the new addition to his family. 

Mayday clung to her father’s chest, her brother’s chestnut mop poking out from behind Peter’s shoulder. Benjy’s grin was gummy and wide and he wore matching noise-canceling headphones with his sister.

“Fuck.” You repeated, your face falling flat. 

MJ leaned against the doorway and rubbed her temples with one hand, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter as Peter stalked forward, absolutely livid. 

“You MOTHERFUCK—

*cut scene*

*Alexa, play 'Blitzkrieg Bop' by The Ramones*

____________________

Author's note (again!):

Just some funny gifs I thought were appropriate for the characters:

Peter storming into the room because his best friends forgot to tell him about their engagement:

Pavitr learning he's going to be part of the wedding party:

LEGO Peter learning he's going to be part of the wedding party:

Hope you guys enjoyed!

Love,

Florence B.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @fictive-sl0th

Biker!Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader | No Outbreak AU

Warnings for this Chapter: none, really... some curse words, alcohol, Merle being Merle

Word Count: 1,4k

a/n: Since it's my birthday today, I thought why not give y'all a little gift and post two chapters of LITRM this week. 🤗

I'm a lil' insecure about this chapter, though... I hope you are going to like it! Also, we have small cameos of two well-known TWD characters, hehe. Oh, and Merle, of course.

《 M a s t e r l i s t 》

《 Chapter Three 》 《 Chapter Five 》

Chapter Four...

... in which Daryl takes on a destiny changing job and you desperately try to forget the stranger who had conquered your heart so surprisingly - without success?

It had been two months and two days since Daryl's motorcycle trip through America with the gang and three months and eight days since the night he had spent with you. Now he was back at work; things bouncing back to normalcy.

A grunt left his lips as he realised that his break was over. He took a last drag of his cigarette, before he let the stub fall to the ground; stubbing it out with the heel of his boot. Then the biker returned to his current workplace in the motorcycle shop his brother, Merle, owned.

He picked up where he left off, exchanging the bike's chain, as he suddenly saw Merle approaching him in the corner of his eyes. "Got a job for ya, baby brother," Merle came to stand beside him; a piece of paper dangling between his pointer finger and thumb. Daryl looked up at his brother. With a grunt, he stood from where he was squatting beside the vehicle and wiped his greasy hands on the light blue, baggy overall he wore. "A job, huh?" Daryl said; taking the piece of paper.

It was an offer from a few different motorcycle dealer, who wanted to sell some of their customised bikes. "You wan' me to check 'em out?" Merle nodded; crossing his arms over his chest. Daryl scoffed and shoved the piece of paper into his brother's chest. "Nah. Got better stuff ta do. Go check 'em out yourself or send T-Dog or someone else."

Merle laughed out loud at his little brother's words. "Ya really think I'd send someone like T-Dog? Lil' piece of shit can be glad that I'll still let 'im work here." "Then ya gotta go yerself," Daryl shrugged his shoulders and focused back on work.

Merle stood beside him for quite a few more moments in silence; just watching. At some point, it got on Daryl's nerves and he looked up at his older brother again; "Wha'?" noticing that he had a shit eating grin on his face. "Ohh, baby brother... You should really give this another think, ya know... 'Cause all of them dealers are in Montana - and from what I heard 'bout your last trip with your lil' friends, you had a lotta fun there, right?"

Daryl scoffed; already disliking this conversation. "Righ', fun."

It wasn't a lie. It was the truth and he couldn't deny it.

Merle's dirty grin widened. "So yer goin'?" Daryl grunted, but nodded; not having the nerves or want to continue this 'discussion'. "Fine. 'M goin'." The older Dixon laughed once again; "Thought ya couldn't resist." giving Daryl a rather harsh clap on the shoulder. "Hope yer havin' just as much fun this time, baby brother. Jus' make sure ya don't get too caught up, eh? I want dem bikes." The biker grumbled under his breath, while Merle walked away; amused by his brother's behaviour.

A few days later, Daryl was on the road again for his almost thirty hours ride to Montana with a stopover in Sioux City, Iowa, where he stayed the night in a motel and continued his journey very early in the morning - until he reached his (first) destination... Miles City. The moon had already replaced the sun, when he threw the keys to his motel room on the bed; angel-winged vest, sunglasses and helmet following. The biker was tired from all the driving and travelling, but he didn't feel like going to bed. Not yet.

He quickly paid the tiny bathroom a visit, before he searched his backpack for his beloved cap, grabbed his run-down wallet and the keys again. Then he made his way to the bar he held very good memories of... 'The Rowdy Raccoon'.

Being way closer to the establishment this time than a few months ago, he could walk and didn't have to drive - which was fortunate, in case he decided to have a few more beers or drinks.

The bar hadn't changed. It was still the same. Nice people, good music and excellent alcohol. Daryl immediately had a good feeling - just like last time. Like a déjà-vu.

His eyes scanned the area; not finding a single familiar face in the crowd, but he didn't care. He was here for the drinks, a round of pool and perhaps to find some company for the night. After getting himself the first beer of the evening, Daryl joined a group of three men, who had just made their way to the pool tables. They were open and friendly; letting him join the game, of course and welcoming him in their circle.

'Start Me Up' by The Rolling Stones was blaring from the old jukebox as Daryl's cue hit the white cue ball on the pool table.

He was definitely in for a long night. That much was clear.

You didn't know why you had decided to go in town this evening. Perhaps it was the urge to escape the same four walls around you and with that your mind - which had become more and more a trap for you the past days and weeks... Tess told you to get over it. Over him. And you tried. God knows you did, but you just couldn't. You felt utterly stupid for holding on to this, but your heart acted on its own will. One night was enough to make you a fool for man, who you barely knew and you'd most likely never see again.

You sighed; grimacing as you stopped at the bar.

I need a drink, you convinced yourself, but deep down you knew that you just went there because it reminded you of him. You weren't able to escape it. It was like an invisible string pulling you in. So, you did what you had already done nth times before... Stepping inside the 'rowdy Raccoon'.

The by now familiar smell of alcohol, cold smoke and a trillion different perfumes hit your nose. Without wasting another thought, you stepped directly over to the bar counter; sliding on one of the stools. "Hey, Y/N," the bartender greeted you with a smile. You became quite good friends over the last few months. "Hey, Magna." "Same as always?" You nodded. "Yeah, please." The woman with inked skin wiped her hands on a towel and immediately went to work.

"There you go, honey," Magna said; placing a glass in front of you. "One Whiskey Cola." "Thanks."

You did some small talk with Magna; trying to not get too lost in your own thoughts - and it worked. In your eyes, it was a success. A step in the right direction - but only mere minutes later, you got thrown off track once again; harder than ever before...

Returning from a visit to the restrooms, Magna placed a second glass of Whiskey Cola in front of you, causing you to frown. "Magna, I didn't-" "I know," the bartender interrupted you immediately. "But that guy over there insisted on buying you a drink. Guess you got a secret admirer." Magna winked; jutting her head into the direction of the pool tables. Still frowning, your eyes followed her gesture - and what you then saw made you question your sanity for a good minute...

Beside the left pool table stood none other than the man who had managed to turn your whole world upside down within a few hours; a cue in his right hand, a beer in the other. He was talking to some other dudes he was playing with - all of them unfamiliar to you and not his motorcycle gang. The signature angel-winged vest, chestnut brown curls and black baseball cap was unmistakable... It was Daryl.

"No fucking way..." You mumbled underneath your breath; still trying to grasp this. You were quite a bit afraid that you were drunk already or dreaming and therefore hallucinating - but when your eyes met those endless blue-grey orbs, you knew it was real. Your thundering heart inside of your chest was enough proof. The world seemed to stop turning around you. All you could see, was the handsome biker across from you - and the beautiful, cheeky little smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

Like in a trance, you slipped off the bar stool; legs carrying you over to the man in leather and jeans.

"D-Daryl?" You breathed in disbelief, as your hand twitched beside your body; desperately resisting the urge to touch him and see if he was truly real.

The man kept on smirking softly; nodding at you. "Hey, cowgirl. Thought I was never gonna see ya again... 'N yet here we are."

Tags: @dixons-sunshine @angelwings-crossbowstrings @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @imadisneyprincessiswear @loz-3 @fictive-sl0th @erebus-et-eigengrau @belitoxx @coleigh-1205-blog @chaoticevilbakugo @thevegandarkelf @lou12346789 @marvelcasey05 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @cakesandtom @mayday2007

If you want to be added or removed from this taglist, please let me know!

[iww-gnv]

This is part of a series of frank accounts of the strike from Hollywood writers at different levels in their careers. I guess the AMPTP forgot the first lesson privileged parents quickly learn: Do not short-change The Nanny. Carol Lombardini did just that, and now SAG-AFTRA will strike. First, let’s rewind: The pavement was as hard as it’s ever been. The heat, unbearable. Numbers, thinning. The loneliest place on earth, the picket line by Universal’s Main Gate — where the sidewalk literally fucking ends. Paramount was all airpods and sunburns. (Some gracious restaurant handed out lemonade. God bless them.) Even the family-friendly line at Disney felt a little like a chain gang.  Not gonna lie, we knew it would be hard. But by day 72 our souls were cracking. The distant horizon of the strike loomed long and large. But then the AMPTP fucked up. Big time.  Quite possibly the stupidest exec in the business fed Deadline the most monstrous article, in which they finally let the mask slip and said the unsayable: Let the writers starve. “It’s been agreed for months,” the anonymous source confessed. The studios want to break the WGA, drag this out until the writers are “losing their homes.”   “A cruel but necessary evil” to protect their bloated, unjustified C-suite compensation. Those are real quotes. Even Marie Antoinette winced. Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb. Writer Twitter lit up with rumors of a morning-after Zoom where screaming studio heads pointed fingers at each other. Whatever moronic flack allowed that to happen will soon be living thousands of miles from Los Angeles, probably printing up flyers offering 2-for-1 Blizzards at the Bangor, Maine, Dairy Queen. The fun, new parlor game on the picket lines this week is guessing who was dumb enough to say the quiet part out loud. But thank you, whoever you are. Because those quotes turbocharged us. They reminded every writer why we’re doing this. Why we can’t give up — and now, you better believe there is not a single writer who doubts this is possibly the most important strike in the history of our craft and our industry. Nothing unifies like a Big Bad. Nothing makes heroes like an unrelenting villain.

[christian-oc-tournament]

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Mihalis [False Colors @elsabet-writes]

Mihalis is a blood mage who became a business major so he wouldn’t have to beat people up, only to shatter his pacifist ideals when he hit finals. He’s the best in his chosen field, but he’s also bitter and vengeful, and more than a little sleep deprived. He runs on caffeine and the desire to crush his enemies. Mihalis is tall and dark, but missed handsome by a mile and has made up for it by sheer force of personality. However, his tendency to glower arrogantly at all and sundry is not so much down to his self-important disposition as much as the fact that he SHOULD be wearing glasses and refuses to. (Because having them hang around his neck on a beaded chain would tarnish his image and he loses them otherwise.) (He doesn’t actually wear a three piece suit in the story setting, but my sister is the artist, and he’s wearing a suit in the reference picture she used, so my world building explanation is that he is visiting someone from a culture where they DO wear three piece suits, and is not only disgusted by the very concept of a necktie, but also utterly horrified at how small their coffee cups are.)

Max Way [Sons of the Star @thegreenleavesofspring]

Max Way is the leader of a biker gang and a vigilante who fights human trafficking in his home city. He is gruff, violent, fierce, and fiercely honorable. His creed is to always protect women, children, the innocent, and the weaker, and he rules his six younger brothers with a rod of iron.

[will80sbyers]

Do you still have the list of movies that inspired ST4? I had a picture of it but I lost it and I haven't been able to find it since. Please and thank you in advance.

Yep!

Long post warning lol

300

2001: A Space Odyssey

47 Meters Down: Uncaged

12 Monkeys

28 Days Later

13th Warrior

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls

Altered States

Amelie

American Sniper

Analyze This

Annihilation

Aristocats

Armageddon

Assassins Creed

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Arrival

Almost Famous

Batman Begins

Batman V. Superman

Basket Case

Battle at Big Rock

Beauty and the Beast

Beetlejuice

Behind Enemy Lines

Beverly Hills Cop

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

Billy Madison

Black Cauldron

Black Swan

Boondock Saints

Borat

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Burn After Reading

Broken Arrow

Blade Runner

C.H.U.D

Con Air

Cast Away

Congo

Constantine

Children of Men

Cabin in the Woods

Crank

Casablanca

Carrie

Crimson Tide

Clueless

Dukes of Hazzard

Don’t Breathe

Death to Smoochy

Doom

Dark Knight

Dogma

Deep Blue Sea

Dreamcatcher

Drop Dead Fred

Die Hard

Die Hard 2

Die Hard 3

Don’s Plum

Dances with Wolves

Dumb and Dumber

Edward Scissorhands

Enter the Void

Ex Machina

Event Horizon

Emma (2020)

Forrest Gump

Fargo

Fisher King

Full Metal Jacket

Ferris Bueller

Fallen

Fugitive

Ghost

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Ghostbusters

Good Fellas

Girl Interrupted

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Get Out

Good Will Hunting

Hackers

High Fidelity

Hellraiser 1

Hellraiser 2

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Hidden

High School Musical

Hurt Locker

Heat

Hunger Games

Highlander

Hell or High Water

Home Alone

I am Legend

It’s a Wonderful Life

In Cold Blood

Inception

I am a Fugitive from Chain Gang

Inside Out

Island of Doctor Moreau

It Follows

Interview with a Vampire

Inner Space

Into the Spiderverse

Independence Day

Jupiter Ascending

John Carter of Mars

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

James Bond (All Movies)

Julie

Karate Kid

Knives Out

Kingsmen

Little Miss Sunshine

Labyrinth

Long Kiss Goodnight

Lost Boys

Leon: The Professional

Let the Right One In

Little Women (1994)

Mad Max: Fury Road

Magnolia

Men in Black

Mimic

Matrix

Misery

My Cousin Vinny

Mystic River

Minority Report

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Neverending Story

Never Been Kissed

No Country for Old Men

Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

North by Northwest

Open Water

Orange County

Oceans 8

Oceans 11

Oceans 12

One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Ordinary People

Paddington 2

Platoon

Pulp Fiction

Papillon

Pan’s Labyrinth

Pineapple Express

Peter Pan

Princess Bride

Paradise Lost

Primal Fear

Prisoners

Peter Jackson’s King Kong

Reservoir Dogs

Ravenous

Rushmore

Road Warrior

Rogue One

Reality Bites

Raider of the Lost Ark

Red Dragon

Robocop

Shooter

Sky High

Swingers

Sword in the Stone

Step Up 2

Spy Kids

Saving Private Ryan

Shape of Water

Swept Away

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Superbad

Society

Swordfish

Stoker

Splice

Silence of the Lambs

Source Code

Sicario

Se7en

Starship Troopers

Scrooged

Splash

Silver Bullet

Speed

The Visit

The Italian Job

The Mask of Zorro

True Lies

The Blair Witch Project

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Tangled

The Craft

The Guest

The Devil’s Advocate

The Graduate

The Prestige

The Rock

Titanic

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The Fly

Tombstone

The Mummy

The Guardian

The Goofy Movie

The Peanut Butter Solution

Toy Story 4

The Ring

The Crazies

The Mist

The Revenant

The Perfect Storm

The Shining

Terminator 2

The Truman Show

Temple of Doom

The Cell

To Kill a Mockingbird

Timeline

The Good Son

The Orphan

The Birdcage

The Green Mile

The Raid

The Cider House Rules

The Lighthouse

The Book of Henry

The A-Team

The Crow

The Terminal

Thor Ragnarok

Twister

The Descent

The Birds

Total Recall

The Natural

The Fifth Element

True Romance

Terminator: Dark Fate

The Hobbit Trilogy

Unforgiven

Unbreakable

Unleashed

Very Bad Things

Wayne’s World

What Women Want

War Dogs

Wedding Crashers

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Welcome to Marwen

Wet Hot American Summer

What Lies Beneath

What Dreams May Come

War Games

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Weird Science

Willow

Wizard of Oz

Wanted

Young Sherlock Holmes

You’ve Got Mail

Zodiac

Zoolander

[slushiebonez]

wagegang is kev rad rick n streber so adding dexter would be like. wagegang+ yeah thats what im calling it

anyways. wagegang+ driving / car headcanons. very long so its under the cut. also this takes place in michigan because i live there lol viva la midwest

kevin has a license but doesn't own a car. He wanted to pay for it himself instead of his parents so right now he's stuck on a bike since I don't think there's much public transit in a small town like that lol. Not bad since his work isn't too far of a ride (one of the reasons he chose it), but it gets kinda dicey on grocery runs. When he can't fit everything in the front basket or a backpack he hooks a milk crate to the back. As for driving, he's a very cautious driver. Maybe too cautious, being on the highway makes him hella nervous, especially in inclimate weather or when people are going fast because some people do not know how to behave on the highway. in michigan if youre on the highway youre probably gonna end up going like at least 10-20 miles over the speed limit or else people will get mad at you and kevin is gritting his teeth the whole time. Always does his best to go the speed limit and always uses turn signals, less out of fear of the law and more out of fear of crashing. Would tell you to put your seatbelt on because he doesn't want you cracking the windshield with your face, that costs money. Once hit someone's bumper while trying to park and got so worked up over the idea of having to pay someone's insurance over it that he had to get out of the car and sit on the curb for a few minutes to chill the fuck out. Strongly opinionated on the roundabout vs four-way intersection debate. When someone pisses him off on the road he fumes and growls about it under his breath for the next ten minutes. Keeps a little travel bottle of hand sanitizer in the cupholder. road trip snacks of choice are hi-chews, andy capps cheddar fries and an arizona tea (either raspberry or arnold palmer).

streber got a hand-me-down dark grey ford focus from his parents in high school and has been driving it since. named it sheila. plays ferryman for the gang when theyre going somewhere, and sheila bears the scars of it. despite barely passing drivers ed as a teen hes surprisingly probably the safest driver. Sometimes makes illegal turns at intersections because he doesn't wanna go around. very particular about the "driver gets radio privileges" rule. will full-body lean over someone in the passenger seat if he needs to and will not announce that he is dong this before he actually does it. once yelled at kevin to get in the car while leaning over to the passenger window and snagged one of his belt chains on the center console / gear shift and they were almost late to the event while he tried to untangle them. glovebox and center console are full of extra napkins from fast food places, if you spill something or sniffle a little he'll toss them at you from the front. if you eat something in his car he'll hand you a napkin, and if you refuse it he'll ball up a few of them and throw them back at your head. will tweak out if you leave crumbs in his car. rad got him one of those little vampire rubber duckies and he keeps it on the dashboard. becomes incredibly distraught any time he sees a dead animal on the side of the road and will slam on the brakes if a deer looks like its about to cross. When someone pisses him off on the road he yells in the car and hits the horn but tries to get it together afterwards. will talk shit about drivers long after. mean mugs people at red lights. road trip snacks of choice are sour gummy candy, those tins of flavored almonds, and a faygo (usually either redpop or cream soda).

radford got a permit but never actually completed the hours to get a full license. calls shotgun any chance he gets, and almost always tries to fuck with the radio. keeps getting put on navigation duty since he calls shotgun, and is pretty good at it until he gets distracted, at which point he completely loses the route. champion of calling out an exit or turn as they're already passing it. has left many a mark on streber's car. the list includes stupid anime stickers he stuck to the rear window and then couldn't get off, baby on board bumper sticker he got as a gag, stain on the back seat from trying to steal a sip of kevin's slushie after a gas station run and spilling it all over both their laps, and a different stain from the time they picked up his little brother from the fair and he threw up because he ate way too much funnel cake and got convinced by his friend to ride those shitty whiplash-inducing mini coasters like five consecutive times. amongst many other incidents. behind the wheel he's an alright driver, but has a bad tendency to miss turns or almost hit stuff. offered to drive robert to school to get hours on his permit and almost immediately hit a curb and busted the tire. accidentally break checks people with some regularity. hangs air fresheners in the family car but never takes off the old ones, so they collect into a massive swinging cardboard flail weapon. first time he tried to do a Michigan Left he almost caused an accident. if a window fogs up he'll draw on it with his finger no matter how many times he's told to stop and that it smudges the window. it takes a lot to piss him off while driving as he usually laughs off mishaps or bad drivers, but if he gets mad enough he'll try to roll down the window to yell at / flip off the person, in which whoever else is in the car has to remind him he needs to keep his eyes on the road. points out a deer crossing sign or a road work ahead sign every time without fail. road trip snacks of choice are a pack of twizzlers or those sour punch straws, fritos or bugles, and a lemonade.

dexter has a license through some sort of miracle, seeing that he had to retake the test like five times from fumbling it so bad. not because he's a totally bad driver, hes actually pretty good behind the wheel. other than not using turn signals, most of the time he doesnt use his turn signal and just goes for it. the main issue is his absolutely godawful road rage. anybody having sub-optimal behavior on the road, inclimate weather, traffic, most things will piss him off. once he gets pissed he gets reckless, curses people out loudly and flips them the bird, hits the horn and steering wheel, punches the dashboard and hits his head against the seat headrest, break checks people and tries to cut them off, etc. in any other seat hes fine, but the moment he's put behind the wheel he loses all composure. not allowed to drive streber's car anymore under most circumstances after scratching the hell out of the passenger door trying to cut someone off on the highway (unfondly remembered as The Pontiac Incident). As a passenger he's more toned-down, at least to the degree dexter possibly could be. points out roadkill every time he sees it despite the fact that it makes streber upset. has a bad habit of slouching down in the back seat and putting his knees against the back of the passenger seat with the seatbelt resting near or on his throat. streber had to stop hard at a light once and it choked dexter so hard he was coughing for minutes, now does the slouch somewhat less or just opts not to wear a seatbelt. will shit talk other drivers for you whether you want him to or not. forgets to kick the snow / mud off his shoes before getting into the car unless directly told. incredibly good with navigation, but rarely volunteers or overrides radford's volunteering. His mom has an old beat-up car, but he doesn't really use it because he doesn't want to mess up his mom's car (he knows he has road rage issues, he just usually doesn't care about the consequences unless it's his mom. if he has to drive his mom somewhere, he does his best to behave for her). somehow always manages to leave cat hair on streber's car seats and it pisses streber off so bad. road trip snacks of choice are warheads / toxic waste / other stupidly sour candies that burn your taste buds off (which he always tries to convince radford to try them and thinks its hilarious when he reacts to the sourness), bag of beef jerky, and a gatorade (usually red, green or orange).

rick has a license simply because his family made him go get one the moment he hit 16, but he rarely ever uses it and by this point it's probably expired. he doesnt drive because he doesnt like to lol, not only because its a lot of effort that he doesnt like putting in, but also because there are far too many things to focus on at once and if you whiff one people start getting mad at you, at which point he just quits lol. his preferred and favorite seat is the back seat on the left by the window, if its available he will take it immediately without saying anything. everyone knows thats rick's spot so they let him have it every time, even when its inconvenient, because if he cant have his spot he lowkey quietly sulks and it brings down the energy in the car. never suggests places to go or things to do but if you ask him to come along he'll usually say sure and get in the car because being taken somewhere "fun" with the minimal amount of effort is something he's capable of accepting lol. number one champion of putting on his headphones and staring out the window quietly until they get somewhere. When he's actually behind the wheel he's... fine, it's serviceable, but it is also kinda nerve-wracking to put the depressed guy in michigan driver traffic lmfao. can follow a map fine but forgets to actually announce the directions and / or doesn't care enough to actually bother so they rarely put him on navigation duty. the guy who prefers the car trip to the actual location (he is real for this). he doesn't road rage out loud, if someone does something stupid on the road he's just silently pissed off and sighs and white-knuckles the steering wheel till hes out of that area. go-to road snacks are whatever is cheapest, saltiest, or sweetest (he has little to no preference).

if any of these headcanons don't make sense its because i dont have a license and have never done drivers training yet lmfao

[yorkcalling]

2024 - This year's highs and lows of the York music scene

We round up York’s year in music, including Rachel Croft, The Howl and The Hum, and a certain homecoming series of shows at The Museum Gardens. Continue reading 2024 – This year’s highs and lows of the York music scene

[mentally-unstable-hottie13]

⭐️ 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬⭐️

Henry Bowers x fem reader

Read chapter 2 here

Summery:

You were new to the town of Derry. After some traumatic events that went down with your family, an old friend asked you to come to his town. He’d give you a place to rest while you figure things out. This town is strange and seems to be stuck in the past. What happens when you garner the attention of a boy who no one dares piss off?

A/N: this story is set in “modern” times but the town of Derry is more old fashioned. So roller rinks, arcades and record stores are still the places to go. Phones and video games as well as modern tv and music exist; it’s just more common to do “80’s activities”.

Henry’s actor when playing him was 18. so I’m saying the losers club freshman going into sophomore year while the Bowers gang is going into senior year having been 18 from being held back a year. You as a reader have an early birthday meaning you turn 18 a few weeks before school starts. The reader inserted character will be Latina coded and speaks Spanish but is never explicitly stated to be Latina . This is also a no Pennywise AU. If something is not specified in the story please feel free to fill in the gaps.

TRIGGER WARNING: this series may have;

Mention of past sexual assault

Mention of child abuse

Graphic bullying

On page child abuse

Fighting

Recreational drug use

Swearing

Shitty parents

Homophobic comments and actions (from the bowers gang)

Racist comments and actions (from the bowers gang)

This list is subject to change and at any time may be added to or things may be subtracted from.

In the end this story will be a love story but that does not mean it won’t be dark at some points.

the first few chapters will be dedicated to you and your backstory before we even touch the other characters. I made your character extremely real and flawed on purpose, but that does not mean you and Henry won’t eventually happen. Be patient, and enjoy.

Word count: 2,679

Estimated read time: 12

~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~↯~~~~

Chapter one

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧

You were currently riding the bus into a small town you had never even heard of. This town was so small and isolated you weren’t sure you’d ever even seen it on a fucking map. Coming from a big town in Texas, this “Derry” place seemed so untouched to you. It was miles of trees, grass planes and old people. You hadn’t seen a major chain food place or clothes store since you entered. Oo scratch that, you just passed a McDonald’s that looks straight from a vintage photo.

This bus was disgusting. Old torn up cloth seats with mysterious stains of no conceivable origin. The man the rows ahead of you and to the left smelt like hookers and cigarettes. The woman on the parallel row to you on the right was out like a light and snoring like an old steam engine. The lights in the bus flickered. giving you a headache. You hoped you were getting off soon. All the sounds, smells, lights, as well as the gross sticky/wet feeling of the seat beneath you was making you feel sick.

It’s overcast today. It smells like rain. You loved that smell. The amazing scent of petrichor in your nostrils always soothed you. It looks as if it just rained. You hoped it will rain again today. That would make a bad day good. Even if just for a few minutes. You don’t know how long you sat on there, eyes closed inhaling the heavenly zephyr of wet air, but it must have been a while; because before you knew it the bus driver called out your stop number. Before slowing to a crawling pace.

As he started to slow the bus you gathered your things. The bus stopped and you made your way to the front. You smiled gently at the old male driver and asked him to help you get your bags out of the compartment on the outside of the bus. He happily stood and assisted you gathering all your bags. 5 to be exact. 2 were big with wheels while the other three were able to be stacked atop the wheely ones.

“You sure you can take all that to where you’re going little miss?” The old driver kindly asked.

“I’m sure. Thanks for the concern, mister. Have a good day.” You waved to the old man. And just like that. You were on your way. Your friend had texted you directions from the bus stop to his work. All you had to do was walk. Given being on what seemed to be the outer part of town, there was a very noticeable lack of sidewalks making your journey just that much harder. 20 minutes later you hit the part of town with sidewalks. No one was really out today. Which made sense. It was just raining. A total of 45 minutes of walking and you were finally at the record store.

You push the door open with a huff. You hear the bell above the door jingle with a direct succession of a man yelling,

“HOLD ON I’M IN THE BACK!”

You giggle, and set your bags to the side of the door so no one will trip over them if they come in. Once all your bags are settled you follow where you heard the voice come from. From the open doorway you see your old friend, Kevin, hunched over a box under a table, rummaging through the contents. You lean against the door frame and knock gently on it. Surprised. Kevin jumps and hits his head on the underside of the table with a loud “OW! FUCK!” Before turning to the culprit of the incident. You.

His eyes widen and he gets up and runs to hug you, you jump up and hug him. Wrapping your legs around him. He doesn't let you go for a long while.

You missed Kevin. You’d known him since you were little (about five years old). He was a good 20 years older than you. The story goes that you met his little brother Issac when their family still lived in Texas. You and Isaac had Been enrolled into the same kindergarten class and were inseparable ever since. You’d become close with Isaac’s family. It was just him, Kevin and their mom. Who you only ever knew as Momma.Momma loved you so much she let you make the spare room in their house yours for when you spent time over there. And given your family life, that was often.

When you were 12 Issac was diagnosed with leukemia.

He died shortly after he was diagnosed. You loved him so much. He was your best friend, and you were so close to Kevin and Momma, they were your family. After Isaac’s death Momma couldn’t take being in a town that reminded her so much of her son. So they moved to a different state. Even though Kevin was 32 at the time he saw you as a little sister and gave you his number so you could keep contact. With a tear filled goodby and one last kiss on the cheek from Momma they left and never came back to visit you. Kevin told you momma died 2 years ago from a brain aneurysm. It broke your heart. But you knew Kevin was suffering more. So as much as you needed to come to Derry, he needed it too. He needed his last bit of family back.

He set you down from the hug and ruffled your hair as tears dripped from your eyes. You missed him far more than words could ever describe.

“Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m not going away ever again.” He hugged you again this time not lifting you off the ground.

You laughed and punched him in the arm. “You better fuckin not loser, I’ll have’ta hunt you down and kill you”

You both laughed. He motioned out the door and you stepped aside so he could show you around. He’s owned this record store since he moved here. The previous owner was this ancient man who was pretty much giving it away. The building itself was paid off so Kevin never had to pay rent. All the furniture and merchandise from the last owner stayed so Kevin took over the very next day. Business was good. He sold record players, vinyls, cds, guitars and posters. It looked exactly like how your rooms looked in Momma's house. When Kevin told you to come to Derry he offered you a job here so you didn’t have to feel like you were only relying on him for money. He would pay you just above minimum wage and let you use your money on whatever you wanted and he would pay for your food.

You agreed and he sent you a plane ticket from Texas to Derry, then a bus ticket to get into town because the nearest airport was about 3 towns and 5 hours away. Just shows you how redneck this place is.

He looked at your bags and grabbed his keys.

��My truck is outside. Get your bags and toss em’ in the tailgate while I lock up for the day.” He said

“You got it dude.” With a quick salute you picked up the bags and walked outside. It was definitely going to rain again. You walked to the alley next to the shop and saw his beat up old red truck. Thankfully he had a tailgate cover so none of your stuff was gonna get wet. You lugged all the bags in before shutting it. Just on time Kevin came out and told you to “hop in”. You looked out the window the whole 30 minutes from the shop to his house. Occasionally looking at something special when he pointed it out. The school is a 10 minute drive and 30 minute walk to the record store. Maybe if Kev had a spare bike it could be a 20 minute ride. You drive down a dirt road where the homes are few and far between. As if Kevin could hear you wondering, he piped up.

“This is all personal farmland. That’s why there aren’t many people over here.”

You pass a specific house with a police cruiser out front.

“That there is officer Bowers land. I’m not one to tell you what to do, but I’d be smart and stay away from there. That pig is bad news.”

You nod in understanding. If Kevin warned you of anything. He meant it. It started to rain as You finally pulled up to an old gate, and Kevin tossed some keys at you and told you to get out and unlock the gate so he could drive in. Once the truck was in enough you shut the gate and locked it behind you running up to the truck and getting in again. You drove in a little before pulling up and parking in front of a smaller gate just surrounding the house.

“It’s just so no animals get in the house” Kevin grumbled,

He unlocked the tailgate then the house gate and helped you get all your things in the house quickly before shutting and locking his truck and the gate. Once inside you took off your muddy boots and looked around. It was a nice home. Kevin picked up both of your heaviest bags and nodded upstairs for you to follow him with the three smaller bags. He beats you to your room and sets your things down. As you are entering he flops down on your bed. He took care of all your furniture. You have a bed with black and purple bed sheets. 2 dressers in black and a desk with a tv. You walk up to some floor length curtains and open them only to find that you have a small balcony. He left everything else in the room pretty bare with a lot of extra room for you to decorate and make yours, you appreciate it.

He gives a loud, ugly groan that reminds you of growing up. Life is almost exactly how it used to be. With Kevin you picked up where you left off. You take off your coat and flop down on the bed beside him and give that same ugly, over dramatic groan, then you look at each other. You want to cry again. You didn’t think you’d see him again. But a series of unfortunate events led you to a better living situation with a man you loved too much. Your only friend. The almost 38 year old that still acts 19. You think that’s why y’all get along so well. He moves his eyes to your arm. The arm where a tattoo from the back of your shoulder to just above your wrist sits. It is a tattoo of Thorny vines cascading down your flesh. They aren’t big or obnoxious. The reference was a photo you took of you holding real thorn vines onto your arm. Its beautifully realistic and that’s just what you wanted. It would be much easier to hide here than in Texas. You could wear long sleeves because of the colder weather. Whereas in Texas if you wore anything other that a tee shirt you would overheat and die. The last feeling you ever want to experience again is being gross and sweaty in a long sleeve. Feeling the moist fabric against your arms would make you want to cut and peel your own skin off with the dullest rustiest spoon you could find in a prison cell.

“When did you get that?” He points to the tattoo.

“After Momma died. I felt like I needed something for her.” You replied.

“What’s it mean?”

“It means how I saw her. She was beautiful like vines crawling up a building but scary as thorns. I wanted to be just like her. I thought that if I get thorns on me I wouldn’t feel so scared.” You looked up at the ceiling as you spoke.

“I bet you and I are the only people alive to call that fuckin women beautiful” he chuckled.

He was right. Momma was not an objectively attractive woman… well at least not after Kevin was about 2. She had given birth to him when she was like.. 17 or so. She died in her early to mid 50’s. The boy that got her pregnant bailed after he found out, Leaving her alone to raise Kevin. After it got out around town that she was knocked up her parents kicked her out. She was a good student. All A’s with a scholarship to her dream school. She was working at a hotel where the manager was letting her live in one of the rooms, and she finished her last year of high school. A few days into summer that year she gave birth. Only 2 months into having Kevin the hotel fired her because of all the noise complaints of the baby crying. She had nowhere else to go and showed up at her parents' doorstep. She stayed with them for a year after all the begging she did. Near the end of that year she heard her parents talk about taking custody of the baby and she fled. Walking alone in the streets that night with a one year old baby it began to rain. In a panic to keep her baby warm she ran into the nearest building.

A bar.

All eyes were on her. A young girl with brown hair and bright blue eyes holding a baby had just walked into the roughest bar in town. Her makeup was smeared from crying and she was soaked to the bone from trying to keep her baby dry. She walked past all the men and sat down at the bar. The old kind bartender looked at her with wide eyes. Partly because she was wet and looked like she was crying, but mostly because who the fuck brings baby into a bar like this?

She and the bartender had got to talking and he gave her a job and told her she could stay in the room above the bar. He’d help her sound proof it and she would be allowed to keep a baby monitor while she works so she can go up anytime she wants. After a year of working there. Kevin turned 2 and Momma realized she was done looking like her parents' daughter. She shaved her head into a bright purple Mohawk and got tattooed anywhere that was possible. Growing up Kevin got to see his Momma as a rough at tough, tattoo having, fight winning, bar maid, who took no one’s shit. She had more muscles than most men at that bar did. And she worked there for as long as she could. Including All throughout her pregnancy with Issac and all the way up until they moved. They eventually moved out of that above bar room when Kevin was about 12. But that’s pretty much the story.

Momma was a wild woman who was tough as nails and scarier than any man. You’d never seen any other woman who looked as wild as her and you loved it. No one could beat Momma. Not even after she died.

You and Kev would always only see that woman as beautiful and tough. And no matter how unconventional their upbringing was. They all agreed that theirs was perfect compared to yours.

While you were deep in thought Kev stood up from the bed. He said your name shaking you from your thoughts.

“Immm booreddd.” He whined. “How about we order some pizza and watch some nasty ass gore movie while we talk about which characters we’d smash?”

You smiled so big your eyes squinted.

“UHH FUCK YEAH DUDE!!” You yelled and jumped up from the bed. You’d unpack and explore the town tomorrow. It was only Friday night. Why not relax with your best friend in the world? Forget about your parents, forget about school, forget about being the new kid. Who the fuck cares? Not you. Especially not when you were about to slam down a whole pizza.

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Thank you for reading. Please tell me if you liked it!

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Mouse

Media - The Artful Dodger Character - Doctor Jack Dawkins Couple - Jack X Reader Reader - Y/n (Brown Hair) Rating - Sweet / Moments of sad / moments of flirty Word Count - 3359

I took my bag and headed out to the front steps of the Port Victory Royal Hospital, immediately met by the heat that still gives me pause even after all this time here. The sun was beating down without the sweet mercy of a single cloud today so I kept on my hat in an attempt to keep myself from burning. I wandered down the steps and sat my bag beside the tables as Hetty finished setting them up, Sneed was already out here being slimy and smug as usual in his suit. I took my seat at my own table and opened up my book flicking through to the right page taking a moment for my eyes to get the fucking letters in line so I knew where I was and what I was doing. I grabbed my pen and gave it a good shake out of habit before writing in the date. Almost as soon as I did I saw crowds begin to gather, wealthy couples hand in hand to watch and laugh at those who come down, those to the right of our tables from businesses in need of workers, here to collect people up to work them into the ground. And to my left the chain of new convicts fresh off the boat, Captain Gains forcing them to walk in chains to our tables even if we were a good mile from the dock. I felt pity for them, all of them. I know at one time I was them, and I know if ever I came by a man of office or importance I was begging him for mercy.

"Good Morning Doctor Sneed, Doctor Dawkins." Captain Gains smiled he seemed cheery to be sending people to be worked to death, which only made me hate the guy even more. I nodded without a word in reply. "Shall we begin then gentlemen?"

"Yes, let's get through this lot." Doctor Sneed snarled almost viciously, I rolled my eyes at him what would he rather be doing than deciding the literal fate of people's lives, having a nap?

The line moved slowly of course through the various new convicts many of them here for the smallest and pettiest of reasons.

"Barely any labour left in them after these sea voyages," Captain Grains snarked with his men following behind him, "Just sea sores and scurvy," he said as he looked up some older frail men, as he walked he picked out sorry souls for the chain gang. I felt guilty in the pit of my stomach for going so slow I could have been done with those people by now and given them jobs so they wouldn't have to be sent on the chain gang but I know he'd have come and cherry-picked some anyway. I had to take a moment looking away, away from the swirling words on the page, away from the faces of people I was condemning, my elbows on the table as I took a moment to collect my head.

"Cheer up Dawkins, you look as if you've swallowed a lemon," Sneed told me as he hurried through another person simply sending them to the first thing he saw they could be used for.

"Hetty, you mind this... pen's starting to go." I lay sliding the book across a little so she could take it and do the rest of the writing out for me, as the officer unchained the next one and brought them to my table, "Name?"

"Milly Wince." The girl nodded,

"and your crime?"

"I stole clothes for me baby, but... he died on the way over."

I took a second to gather myself after that, it wasn't an uncommon tale to hear on days like this. I know Sneed never listens calls them pity stories, and says the prisoners come up with them to try and milk their way somewhere better. But still, I can't risk the idea of it being true. "What was his name?"

"Benji," She nodded, it was obvious she was close to tears as she said it.

I racked my brain a moment knowing we were getting to the end of the line, most jobs were taken. But I couldn't send her to the chain gang or off down to the docks as a storeroom scrubber. I looked over what jobs were left doing my best to work around the swirling words, "She can help the schoolma'am."

The officer escorting her saluted to me, and began to lead her away,

"But I can't read," She whispered,

"It's alright they'll teach you," I nodded to her,

She smiled and thanked me before she was led away, the day grew later and later various prisoners were sent to various fates before finally we got to the last two, one aged man and one young girl. Hetty left me to do the last one alone as she had other business inside to deal with, but as she was the last one I did my best to really look and really listen to the girl.

She stood in the dusty dirt trembling with fear, she was barefoot, her pale skin burnt from standing in the sun all day, she had a long brown skirt, a brown blouse both dirty and ill-fitting, she was caked with dirt, she looked a little younger than me but not much, Y/e/C eyes filled with silent tears, mousy brown hair matted behind her. I know she was afraid of me or more the fate I could give her, that much was obvious.

"Name?" I asked,

She did speak but it was so quiet I could barely hear much more than a mouse squeak, I suppose that did sort of best describe her, she was rather mousy.

"Could you speak up please?"

She nodded and sniffled, "Y/n,"

"Y/n, alright last name?"

"I... I don't- I don't know sir."

I nodded and just crossed through the box on the form, "You're crimes?"

"T- Theivery sir,"

"What did you steal?" I asked, mostly in curiosity to see how bad her crime really was and also to give me more time to actually write it in,

"Bread sir," she squeaked,

"B-bread?" I asked in disbelief,

"Yes sir,"

"They arrested you, and sent you here," I began, "For stealing bread?"

She nodded,

"Di- did it belong to the queen of England?" I asked, I felt so guilty, I had legit stolen worse than that and I'm the one sitting here deciding her fate!

A small smile cracked across her lips, "No sir, I was... stealing often sir. bread, fruit, veg," she explained, "But I always stole the worst of it sir, the burnt bread, the fruits and Vegies almost on the turn. Just so I didn't bother them as much as I could."

"Why were you stealing?" I asked, even if I could guess why.

"For my little brother, mother passed away, and... I never met our father. I did my best for little Sammy, but... he was left behind."

"How old was your little brother?"

"Just two sir." she sniffled having to wipe her tears,

I knew her story must be true, I knew many people like that in London when I was young, and I felt like a monster. I looked over the list of where I could send her but given she was the last one it was slim pickings, I couldn't send her to any of these I know I can't. They'll eat her alive and work her to death. But I don't have a choice I have to send her somewhere, she just stands there patiently waiting for her fate her eyes on the floor.

Then an idea came to mind, so I quickly put it on the paperwork.

"I require a convict servant, do chores for me, help me out with things, sort of like a maid. you think you could do that?" I asked, I don't NEED one but it'll be nice not to have to cook my breakfast,

She nodded wiping away her tears,

"Good, pick up my bag and follow me," I told her as I finished the paperwork and I got up fixing my coat as I did.

The officer let her out of all her chains and she picked up my bag with two hands struggling a little as it was too heavy for her but she followed me without a word.

I sat in my room trying to decompress after such an emotional day, I for a moment glanced at the small bed I had set up on the floor for when Y/n gets back. I had sent her down to Hetty and the nurses to get her cleaned up after so long at sea. She had been done a decent few hours now I would have been happy with them just giving her a bath and a nurse's dress but I suppose they knew what their doing down there.

My door opens and it's Hetty, she never knocks anymore.

"She's done," She said pushing open the door more and a girl stepped in,

I sat up and was frankly floored.

As in stepped a young lady, in a pair of lace-up boots, a grey nurse dress in the crisp white pinafore apron over it, pale skin that shined like moonlight, sweet little freckles across her nose and cheeks, bright Y/e/C eyes, long beautiful mousy brown hair in two long braids down each shoulder, she looks up at me and immediately I felt my heart jump up into my throat and start berating like a jackrabbit, I could barely even believe this was the same girl.

"N- Y/n?"

"Yes sir," she nodded,

"oh my god-" I gasped, "You- you look beautiful, you uhh do you feel a lot better now?"

she nodded with a gentle smile,

"Good, I- uhh I'm glad," I nodded doing my best not to blush even if I knew I was losing my words, "Hetty, you and the girls all get an extra day off this week, you are... miracle workers,"

Hetty nodded and dropped off some extra bits for her, a washcloth, an extra set of clothes, some clothes for bed and such like and left us alone shutting the door behind her, leaving me and Y/n alone,

"So... you are going to be my servant from now on. I won't work you too hard I promise, if you can handle just meals, laundry, maybe a little cleaning up at first?"

"Yes sir," she sheepishly nodded,

"And you don't have to keep calling me sir, just Jack is fine."

"But Doctor Dawkins I-"

"Just Jack is fine Y/n,"

she nodded,

"Good, I've made you up a little bed it's not much I know but just until we can find you a room of your own," I told her showing her the little bed I made up for her,

"It's all for me?" she asked,

"Yes, all for you." I laughed a little at her idea of 'All' given it was two pillows and two blankets. "Perfect for a little mouse,"

"Mouse?"

"Ohh-" I gulped realizing I had said that out loud, "Yeah you uhh, sorry you just kinda remind me of a little mouse," I shrug, "Do you mind me calling you that?"

"No, it alright,"

"Good, you sure you don't need anything else?"

She shakes her head, "Thank you so very much si- Jack. for everything."

"No need to thank me. Anyone else would have done the same. and It'll be nice having someone else around to help me out," I told her,

I woke as usual with a long yawn and stretch as I sat up in bed, the window already open to let in the fresh air, I looked first to Y/n's little bed on the floor but as usual it was made and empty. So I glanced around the room and couldn't hold back my smile, on the table sat a fresh plate of bacon, eggs and hashbrowns, and a set of clean folded clothes on the chair for me. I got up and started to get dressed as a timid little knock came from the door, quiet enough that if I was still sleeping it wouldn't have woken me and of course, I knew who it was.

"Come in!" I called back,

The door opened and Y/n stepped in, with her sweet little smile as usual, her mousy brown hair in pigtails today, the same boots and dress as the other nurses but she had over her time here been embroidering little flowers on the hems and pockets of her pinafore apron, just to give her something a little different from the nurses, given she is my servant and not actually a nurse. Even if she does assist me most of the time anyway. She had a clipboard in her hand, which when she saw me half-dressed she quickly used to cover her eyes.

I chuckled, she's been here a good six months and for god sake, we share a room, she even runs my baths for me I'm positive she has seen me like this before but still she always covers her eyes, "Nothing you haven't seen before,"

"...Still," she says in her usual quiet little tone a bright mousy brown blush across her shy little cheeks keeping her freckles company,

"Morning little mouse," I chuckled,

"Morning,"

"You are so quiet, I didn't hear a single peep when you were making breakfast," I told her as I finished getting dressed and took a seat to eat breakfast,

"Perhaps you couldn't hear me over your snoring," she giggled as she went over setting the clipboard on the side and starting to make my bed,

"I. do not. snore." I protested,

"You do when you're tired,"

"I'm always tired,"

"So thusly,"

"Sorry,"

"You don't wake me, its no trouble,"

"...nothing really bothers you does it?"

"Why would it? I'm alive, I have a job, a roof over my head, and food in my tummy, why would I complain?" she shrugged as she went to take my empty plate, but I took her arm,

"Even little mice are allowed to ruffle a few cats' whiskers every now and again, you're allowed to complain hell you listen to me complain enough,"

"Just... don't have much to complain about, and even if I did rather be here than somewhere else,"

"Alright," I let her go but I picked up the clipboard and gave it a read-over,

"I've already made all the notes for the ward and filed the paperwork, I've put your list for the rounds in order from the east side round so we aren't doubling back on ourselves,"

I chuckled as I looked over the notes for the rounds, she had taken the time to organise the stack of visits we had to do, into an order where we could do town in a circle and not be hopping around house to house. "Such a clever little mouse," I chuckled,

"Ready to go then?" she asked,

"yeah, let's get started, hopefully we can be back in time for tea,"

"Hopefully, I made some scones in this morning for tea when we get back," she smiled fetching my coat for me and giving it a shake as she did,

"Ooohh now we have to be back in time for tea," I smiled taking my coat from her and slipping it on as she loaded up my bag and grabbed the clipboard following along behind me as we headed out for the rounds.

I lay in bed looking over some diagrams in my book for a new surgery, every so often Y/n caught my eye, as she lay on the floor in her little bed, on her stomach with a book on her pillow and a pencil in her hand often tapping it against her cheek, her mousy brown hair pinned up in a bun to sleep. I smiled a little seeing her mouthing the words but she was so quiet I wasn't actually sure if any words were coming out or not. Slowly she's been learning to read, but honestly, she's already better than me. But she happily sits every night with a candle by her side doing some more reading practice. I couldn't not smile at her,

"Are you comfy down there?" I asked,

"Humm?"

"Down there, on the floor? Are you... comfortable?"

"It's better than outside,"

"I didn't ask if it was better than being outside, I asked if, 'you'... are comfortable little mouse?"

She shrugged, "Why do you ask?"

"Curious,"

"you aren't just avoiding reading your book?"

"Don't get smart with me," I playfully warn her, "You can come share with me... if you want?"

"Humm?"

"You are more than welcome to come share with me," I smiled, "I'm sure a little mouse won't take up too much space,"

She looks at my bed rather excitedly, she obviously wants to. "No thank you, Jack,"

"You sure?"

"... Could I?"

"Come on," I smiled putting my book down and opening the covers for her,

She smiled and got up blowing out her little candle before she came over with her little silent steps adjusting her cotton nightie as she did, she slowly climbed in with me laying herself down beside me and let out a little sigh,

"There, that better than the floor?"

She nodded,

"Good, come on then get cosy little mouse. I'm sure you can kick me in the morning when it's time for breakfast,"

"I will," she nodded as she turned to face away from me,

So I turned to get ready to sleep too, but after a little tossing and turning I moved to face her back and slowly slid my hands around her waist pressing a little kiss to her shoulder, "Goodnight Y/n, sleep well little mouse,"

"Goodnight Jack,"

I woke up with the widest smile I had for god knows how long, I squeezed Y/n and peppered some kisses onto her shoulder. I love sharing my bed with her, she hasn't slept on the floor in almost a month now and I couldn't be happier to have less bed. "Good morning little mouse," I cooed,

"Good Morning Jack," Her voice smiled but it sounded strange, like further away than it should have, it was then I noticed the smell of bacon, so I pealed open my eyes and saw her at the little stove making breakfast in her nightie with her mousy brown hair in a ponytail, I was confused and looked noticing I was merely hugging and kissing her pillow.

"How do you do that?" I complained sitting up and putting the pillow back,"

"do what?" she innocent raised an eyebrow,

"Sneak away from me in the morning without me noticing?" I chuckled, "I swear you really are a little mouse, silent and sneaky."

"I didn't want to wake you," she shrugged,

"You can wake me, it's okay." I chuckled, "Come on, back to bed. I want a few more cuddles before breakfast."

"Jack I-"

"Back. to. Bed." I told her, patting her side of my bed,

She rolls her eyes playfully and climbs back into bed so I can cuddle her again, "Happy?"

"Very happy," I smiled, "you think for a moment I can even dream of getting out of bed to begin the day without cuddling my little mouse?" I told her peppering her cute little face with kisses,

"But we have work to-" she began but I kissed her lips to cut her off,

"Work can wait, I just want to enjoy my time with you for a while," I smiled, "Don't you want to just spend a little time with me?"

"Of course I do Jack," she smiled burrowing herself into my chest,

"Good, come on we can have a few more minutes... or another hour," I smiled kissing her head,

"Another hour," she nods,

"Fine by me," I cooed,

"Maybe two," she shrugs giving my neck little kisses,

"oooh... Yeah? no complaints from me," I smirked a little pulling her lips to my own, we shared a few kisses each getting a little longer and more passionate until it became obvious what we both wanted so I pulled back and rubbed the tip of my nose across the bridge of her own, "humm shall we, my little mouse?"

"Mhm," she nodded with an eager little giggle her hands coming to rest on my bare chest and my own snake around her hips, as we pulled our lips back to meet again in a much hotter and heavier kiss.

[femme-from-hell]

Could I request HCs for the Lupin Gang (I didn’t see a character limit in rules but if it’s only one character at a time then Goemon) With a reader who often shows affection by just giving them random trinkets they find. Not valuable stuff just like Cool rocks, sea glass, this key chain that made them think of you, etc. just crow brain affection.

: ̗̀➛ Omg, anon, this is literally so cute!! I hope I did right by such an adorable request!

𓆩♡𓆪 Arsène Lupin III 𓆩♡𓆪

Lupin would be nothing short of enthralled by the fact that you gift him just the most random of bits and bobbles.

He keeps all of it, no matter what it is. He'll have a specific spot in his luggage whenever he travels to store them, or keep them in a little trinket box he keeps in the glove compartment of the fiat.

Lupin likes to keep your most recent gift as like a lucky charm in his jacket whenever he goes on a heist. If he's in a tight pinch during a heist, he'll worry it in his jacket as if it were a stress reliever. He just wants a little piece of you with him, a reminder of that he has to come back safe and in one piece :)

If you get him keychains, he will use all of them. At once. Like, you can hear him coming from a mile away at one point because he'll have so many charms on his keys.

I mentioned a trinket box in an earlier bullet, so I like to think Lupin would steal a really nice jeweled box to keep them in. Such precious things deserve an equally precious safe place!

If he loses/drops one of your gifts, he will do ANYTHING to get it back. Is pops on his tail? Tough shit, he's popping a U-Turn mod chase to go find the rock he dropped. In the middle of a shoot out with some villain? They can wait, because the sea glass you gave him earlier that day isn't in his coat pocket and that is way more pressing.

𓆩♡𓆪 Daisuke Jigen 𓆩♡𓆪

Jigen would initially be a little confused, like, why are you handing him this rock? But he would eventually understand, finding it cute.

Mentally, he compares you to a crow that likes to bring him shiny things. This thought never fails to bring a smile to his face.

He admittedly doesn't keep everything you give him, he's someone who prefers to travel light because of his line of work, but he'll keep a handful of trinkets you get him. If Lupin points out the cutesy charm handing from his phone or keys, he is swiftly silenced by a kick to the shin.

Jigen is pretty handy with a thread and needle after years of stitching himself and the others after some nasty injuries, so he absolutely sews a little pocket to the inside of his jacket to store your gifts.

When you give him these gifts, his appreciation is subtle. No big reaction, but more of a faint blush rising to his cheeks and a soft muttering of gratitude before tucking it away.

When he misses you, he'll absentmindedly fiddle with the gift he has on him at the time.

𓆩♡𓆪 Goemon Ishikawa XIII 𓆩♡𓆪

Like Jigen, I feel like Goemon would be a little confused but once you clarify its a gift, he'll act like you just gifted him the sun. Super serious with his face completely red. He'll accept it in a sort of awkward formal manner, but the whole ordeal is cute.

Goemon tries his best to keep all of your gifts, but since the man travels with his sword and nary another thing, he'll lose some gifts. The second he realizes he has though, he is nothing short of DEVISTATED.

He likes to have your gifts in his hands while he is meditating, finding that they bring him peace of mind.

Goemon gets really defensive of them, like if Lupin even thinks about touching any of the things you've gifted him, he's halfway through drawing Zantetsuken

I like to think that he would start mimicking your love language. Considering that he is out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere in the mountains whenever he isn't getting Lupin out of whatever mess he is in, he'll start taking notice of cool rocks he would find and pocket them, planning to give them to you when he sees you next.

𓆩♡𓆪 Fujiko Mine 𓆩♡𓆪

Look, this woman has been gifted the finest that the world has to offer, only to turn her head and scoff. But the second you roll up like, "Hey, I found this piece of Sea Glass, and the color reminds me of your eyes.", she would be absolutely and utterly infatuated.

She keeps EVERYTHING and she will be DAMNED if she loses a single on. Fujiko puts them in a carrying case that she keeps on her at almost all times of the day, unless she is going somewhere she might lose it.

She could be surrounded by suitors offering her diamonds and gold, but her eyes will be locked on you and the funky little rock in your hand.

Fujiko thinks it is just the cutest and loves everything you give her. When she's in a sour mood, she'll take out her case of your gifts and just look through them, thinking about you and smiling to herself.

On several occasions, Fujiko has saved the trinket box over Lupin or the others. She's a woman with priorities, how could you blame her?

She would want to get you something in return though, so something like a bag that you can wear while you walk on the beach looking for sea glass and shells, or through the woods looking for fun rocks or stray feathers.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ I really hope you like this! I had a blast writing this because I do the same thing honestly. If you enjoyed my writing, pls feel free to lmk what you think! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

[rdr2stories]

"Betrayal" a rdr2 fanfiction.

Arthur hadn't been able to free himself, the wounds he had suffered under Colm's care had simply been too much, his faith was left in Dutch. It was with his whole heart that he had hoped that Dutch would come, after all his life had depended on it, yet Dutch never came.

Loosely based on (I remembeed the drawing not the caption):

The basement had always been a dark and sorrowful place no matter which house, which hideout or which hole they were kept up in, it would always be his least favorite of them all. The air would feel suffocating even if the sun was shining right after a cool rainfall, the walls would feel as though they were cramping in on him even if they were wider than the actual room he was sleeping in, his senses would be overwhelmed, noises, smells and feelings that weren’t actually there would crowd his mind and trap him in a night he would rather forget.

His shoulder was healed, the only remains of the wound that had once hollowed out his flesh being the tough scar tissue that had not managed to patch up the break of his heart. When he breathed it was slow and airy, the kick his former enemies had made to his chest and sides had done something to his ribs and lungs which could not be undone. He was no longer silent, he could be heard miles away by his struggling breathing, but he didn’t need to be silent any longer, his days as a desperate workhorse were over.

He had no doubt that the man in the basement who was suffering the similar wounds he had years ago could hear him, yet he would not know who it was standing there, his mind racing, considering if he was ready to get face to face with a man whom he had love and cared for for years but had not shown the same kindness to him in the end.

One step at a time he made his way down into the suffocating basement, the walls closing in around him and cutting the outside world off like the hatch over the steps had been slammed shut. It was just him, the man and the singular flame of the candle that gave just enough lighting for him to see the face he would remember to his death, that, even when aged, had not changed a bit.

The man was hanging upside down, just like he had, his face was red, his arms hanging loosely down towards the ground as the iron chains wrapped around his ankles and held him above the ground. A wound had been afflicted to his chest, a shallow knife wound cutting over the collarbones and ripping up the fine shirt and vest that he always wore. It was nothing, a mere scrape compared to other wounds suffered in the past, no matter how big the red puddle on the ground was.

His snail-like mustache looked exactly the same, except for the fact that it was no longer black but rather gray with age. The same could be said for the hair that once had curled around his nape but now was cut short as if he was scared it would run off or like he had simply grown tired of maintaining it.

He had not seen that face in years and though he had dreamt of seeing it many many times before, he could not have imagined the emotions that welled up in him. The anger that rose from parts of his core he had not felt since the death of his family, the sadness that made him feel like breaking down weeping on the cold gravel floor and the conflict that he had thought he had overcome. He hated that part of himself felt like hugging the man, embracing him and crying into his chest like a little kid, appologicing as if it wasn’t him who had been left for dead.

The upside down man looked drowsy, his eyelids halfway down his brown eyes that would make you trust him in a mere second even though he had more bodies on his back than he counld count. His lips were slightly apart as if he was simply asleep, but he wasn’t because he reacted when the boy he had left stepped into the light stream coming down from the top of the stairs. He could not yet see who it was, the boy’s features hidden, he recongized the satchel that he carried on his hip.

The man’s eyes seeked upwards to the cold face he had once known as his protegee, as his son. “Arthur?”

“Hi Dutch,” Arthur spoke as he grabbed the chair by the table that the candle stood on and pulled it over to him so that he could sit and face his old mention, his old father.

“You- You are alive!” Dutch’s deep and raspy voice sounded, confusion yet hope and glee to be found in it. “Oh how glad I am to see you! I thought you were dead! Help an old fella down from here and let’s get away! Oh how happy the others will be to know you are alive! We made a little memorial for you back in West Elizabeth since we didn’t have your body, we buried Sean next to it-”

“Sean?” Arthur asked with anger rising in his chest. His brother, his little brother was dead? “Did you leave him as well? Did you leave him for dead too?”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Whatever do you mean son?”

“You didn’t come for me Dutch!” Arthur exclaimed, standing up so suddenly that the chair behind him slammed to the ground as it tipped over. “I was waiting for you! I was waiting for you to come get me but you didn’t! You left me for dead!”

“Arthur- My son,” Dutch’s eyes were frantic and confused as he looked over the green clothing of the boy he had raised. “We thought you had gone out hunting- We didn’t think nothing of it until a few days later and by then we couldn’t find you- You were gone-” 

“Hunting?” Arthur asked in irritation as he felt anger well up in him, a hand running over his eyes. “Hunting Dutch?! I told you! I told you I would meet you by the forked road!” He looked directly at Dutch, an accusing finger pointed at him. “I told you no matter what, I would meet you at the forked road! I keep my promises Dutch! I always do! I made that agreement with you so that if something happened to either me or you, you would have known something was wrong! I wasn’t out hunting Dutch! I had been kidnapped!” He took a step closer to Dutch, who’s eyes widened, for the first time being on the receiving end of the anger that was in the monster he had created, of the anger of the man who’s warrant poster said ‘do not approach’. “I had been shot! I was beaten! I was tortured! Hanging upside down as you are, left with hopes that you would come but you didn’t!”

“Arthur-” Dutch tried to cut in.

“Don’t you ‘Arthur’ me,” Arthur groaned, running a hand over his face again. “You left me Dutch, left me. I sat here, clinging onto hope that you would come back for me, like you said you always would, but you didn’t, and do you know who took pity on me? Colm of all people.” Arthur snorted as he slightly shook his head. “That O’Driscoll boy wasn’t so wrong about Colm, he has a way of making you feel special. He took me in when you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.” Dutch spoke in a soft tone. “We searched for you Arthur, all of us did.”

“Not well enough,” Arthur bit lightly at the inside of his cheek. “Colm was expecting you to come get me, he gave you a clear trail to follow, but you didn’t.” He let out a snort. “In a way I am glad, I ain’t been a workhorse since I have gotten here. Colm appreciates me, gave me my own room and everything, doesn’t send me out to do his dirty work like you did. And your ideals? You cared so much about ideals, about sticking together, yet you didn’t come for me. Your ideals are nothing but lies that you hide behind.”

“Lies?!” Dutch exclaimed, this time with anger sweepin through his voice.

“Lies, Dutch, lies. Ideals are nothing but empty words without action to back them up!”

“Arthur,” A voice came from the top of the staircase and Arthur turned to look at the man descending, the man whom he had once seen as foe but now as friend, the man who had taken him in when he had been beat, tortured and abandoned, even if he had been the one doing half of it.

“Colm,” Dutch’s low voice sounded as he watched his enemy, the killer of his lover, stride down into the basement, the sunlight coming down the stairs highlighting the fur running around the collar of his jacket as he came closer and stood next to Arthur.

“Dutch, how nice to see you are awake,” Colm gave a big grin, knowing that the pain of seeing Arthur against him instead of with him hurting far more than any bullet wound or stab could ever do. “Look who I found.” He placed his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “The dog you threw away. You know, it is quite a pity because oh how he works, his bite is stronger than any I have seen before. You trained him well, I am not going to lie, I was surprised when you abandoned him, but then again, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

Arthur let out a low grunt but otherwise remained quiet, it wasn’t the first time Colm had explained the situation like that, but he hated it either way, he hated thinking that he meant nothing more than an empty tin can discarded after being used to Dutch, it hurt him even after all those years.

“Trash?!” Dutch’s voice sounded, genuinely sounding hurt at the way his relation to Arthur was described. “Arthur is my son. He is not trash!”

“Yet you discarded him as such, forgotten in a basement.” Colm patted Arthur’s shoulder. “Ay ay, so be, we got bigger issues, the gang is on their way Arthur, they are coming for Dutch.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, he knew it would happen, he had known it because it was the plan, but it still hurt, hurt far more than he was willing to admit. Deep inside he had hoped that Dutch would have been abandoned too, just like he had been abandoned, that it wasn’t him that was the reason he was left behind but that it was simply the gang. Of course it wasn’t like that. Dutch would always be saved, and he would always be left behind, expected to care for himself.

“Coming,” Arthur spoke in a lower voice than he had anticipated when he turned to follow Colm who had begun to walk up the stairs and out of the basement. As such, he turned his back on his father, feeling his heart plummet in his chest. He didn’t know what he had expected. Some kind of closure? That maybe Dutch hadn’t been as he had remembered him? That he was actually much more of an asshole?  Whatever he had wished for, he hadn’t gained it, he merely felt more conflicted than before.

“Arthur-” Dutch exclaimed, heavily in breath and wide in eyes as Arthur reluctantly halted and hesitantly turned to look at him one last time. “You are my son, we can still fix this.”

Arthur wanted to believe it, oh he wanted to believe it more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that what had done could not be fixed, the damage could not be repaired no matter how many sweet words were spoken, no matter how many promises had been made.

The sun was warm and welcoming when Arthur exited the basement and he was let out into the open world again. Normally he would let out a deep breath of relief and take a moment to get back into his own body, but he didn’t do it at that time, he didn’t feel welcomed nor as happy as he normally would being warmed by the sun.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and made his way over to his horse which stood hitched in the outskirts of camp. It’s fur was soft as it always had been, but if it had suffered with the years and patches of the previously brown color had gone gray with age. Other than the few belongings he had had on him when he had been kidnapped, most of which had been replaced over time, the horse was the one thing that remained from his years with the Van Der Linde gang. It was a constant, the one thing he trusted to never betray him.

It didn’t pain him to say that he did not trust Colm with his life, he knew that Colm did not care for him much other than the fact it gave him a leverage over Dutch, bragging rights. He knew that Colm cared for himself first and foremost. He knew that, he accepted it, he was okay with it, he had even opened up about it to one of the girls whom had been around camp at some point. She had asked him why he hadn’t cared when he had cared so deeply about Dutch’s betrayal and he had told her the truth.

Dutch had always pretended to be there for him, had spoken grand words about fellowship and friendship and such, he had spilled lies and he had made Arthur believe them, Colm on the other hand, Colm was honest. He never outright said that he cared for himself most, but never said that he cared for Arthur most like Dutch had.

He liked the certainty of the fact he was on his own more than the white lie that he had someone to rely on. It was that lie that had disappointed him the most, that had given him the heart that had yet to heal.

The repeater in his hand was new, one that they had stolen off a man who had gotten on the wrong side of Colm, it was a new model, shiny and bright, not a single flaw to be found. Arthur had determined to keep it that way.

Colm didn’t do much fighting himself, when Arthur had run with Dutch he had thought it had just been pride, but the truth was a bad hand that he could barely bend his fingers on. Arthur didn’t mind it much, he didn’t need to do a lot of fighting either, but in big cases like this, he did, and in this one he wanted to, he wanted to face his former brothers.

Hiding behind a barrel, Arthur waited, his breathing revealing his location but he didn’t mind much. As soon as the fighting began it wouldn’t be audible over the gunshots either way.

The gang he had run with was loud as always, the hooves of their horses hammering against the ground in one big storm, tearing up grass, dirt and stone with them. They weren’t planning on quieting down, they were planning on raiding in the place, like they had a habit of doing.

He heard when the fighting started, but he didn’t move, it wasn’t his job to. His job was to stay, to protect. Maybe Colm had placed Arthur so far back because he didn’t trust Arthur to kill his brothers, and maybe Arthur was happy because he didn’t know if he could either.

Ever so slowly the shots came closer and closer and Arthur’s heart twisted in his chest, he didn’t know what to hope, what to expect. Did he hope his brothers’ blood would coat another's hand because he loved them too much to kill them himself or did he hope their blood would coat his because he could not bare another taking their lives? He did not know, but in the end he would have to make a choice, he knew that when he saw Marston come near, when he saw his brother’s eyes scan the area and run closer to the basement stairs in the back of the building, away fromthe fight happening in the front.

Arthur’s brother was scarred, much more than he had been before. The marks that the wolves had left over his face were practically gone under what seemed to be burn scars which coated his face. His hair looked far more crusty, far more stiff than it had before, though it had found the strength to grow longer. His brother hadn’t even noticed him as he rose from his spot behind the barrel and drew the repeated, a click sounding as it was pointed at Marston who halted suddenly.

“Go on, shoot.” Marston spoke in an annoyed voice, though Arthur could near the slight tremble. Even the boy who now carried all the scars of being worked to the bone in a field of death still worried about the afterlife. He stood with his hands clenched around his revolver as he held it slightly away from himself, the finger off the trigger, maybe hoping it would show peace.

“If you so wish,” Arthur merely replied, perfectly hiding the conflict that made him rest his finger on the metal above the trigger instead of on the trigger itself.

Marston suddenly stiffened up, immediate recognition of the voice he had not heard for years as he turned around without a second thought, his eyes wide and face conflicted, much similar to Dutch’s. “Arthur! We thought you were dead!”

Arthur raised the gun against Marston’s head as he dared step closer. “Yeah you all did.” He saw when Marston realised that Arthur wore the green bandana of the O’Driscolls around his neck, slightly covering a scar running over his throat which he had suffered after the betrayal. 

Marston took a step back, his eyes wide. “You-”

“You left me.” Arthur simply replied, though he knew somewhere that John had been restricted to Dutch’s decision not to find him.

“Dutch told me you died!” Marston defended, his free hand coming to cludge the fabric of his shirt resting over his heart.

“I always knew you were dumb, but not this dumb.” Arthur snorted, trying to hide the fact that he was terrified, the fact that he knew either he would have to shoot his brother or his brother would shoot him. There was not a chance where they both walked away unharmed, it was simply not possible, the betrayal was too big.