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kisblle · 28 days ago

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Dark Paradise IV

Pairing: Low Honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

Word Count: 7,396

Summary: You're reminded that happiness doesn't last forever, especially with Arthur Morgan.

Tags: Heavy angst, pnv, toxic relationship, smut, porn with plot, 18+, MDNI

Author's note: Sorry this took longer than usual to get out, I really wanted to perfect this one because I've had this chapter and the next in my drafts since I got on Tumblr, I just decided to merge it into this story line. Also life has just been so draining lately with my new job and all, I make a lot of money, but at what cost? I feel like I have little time for enjoyable things nowadays.

In a steady, unrelenting rhythm, Arthur moves inside you - again and again. His sweat slicked skin sticks to yours with each powerful thrust, droplets rolling down from his forhead not only from the intensity of your bodies merging, but from the thick, humid air that laces the land of Lemoyne.

He looks down at you gorgeous, wild, and undone. Naked as the day you were born, your hair sprawling like a halo across a patch of shaded grass on the bank of Ringneck Creek. Your breasts bare to the breeze, your warmth wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. The green hues of the grass blend beautifully with the glow of your skin, your eyes telling him everything.

Just the two of you, naked and untamed, lost in the wilderness like creatures meant to mate under open skies. Feral. Primal. Right. Wild. Just animals ritualistically fucking in nothing but the bodies they were born in.

With one final thrust, his eyes lock on your lip between your teeth. “I - I love you,” he gasps, voice breaking as he reaches his climax, pulling out to spill across your soft, heavy chest. He collapses beside you moments later, the earth cool beneath his back, breath catching in his throat as he stares up at the blue sky broken up by branches swaying in the soft wind above him.

Had he really just said that?

Your stomach flips for a moment before he exhales slowly, still smiling, before turning on his side to face you. You wanted to say it back, say those three little, enchanting words as he stares at you completely spent. But something had stopped you. The nerves maybe, or the way he had said it almost too casually, like it had slipped out by accident. But soon, you're not even sure why you're arguing with yourself. The moment fades, lost in the way his lips curve into that boyish grin. He doesn’t bring it up again, and either do you. But those three little words still hang at the end of your tongue, waiting for just the right moment to say them back.

“Lucky no one saw us,” he mutters with a chuckle, breaking you out of your daze. Without thought, he lifts up his hand and scratches his day old stubble before resting his hand on your thigh.

You arch a brow with wide eyes, “You said this was some secret spot you found?”

Arthur laughs, running a hand through his messy hair as he glances toward the pond that curls off the creek. He just laughs, “It's actually a real popular fishin' spot Javier showed me some time ago."

“You bastard.” You purse your lips, pressing a hand to your chest to try and protect your non-extistant modesty as you scan the nearby grass for your discarded dress.

But Arthur only grins wider. Catching your hand before gently pulling you back onto his lap, your bare body melting into him. “C’mon,” he groans softly. “Let’s enjoy it a bit longer. Take a swim? Cool down?”

And when you look into those deep pools of blue when he smiles at you with that chipped tooth grin - it’s damn near impossible to say no.

He holds you bridal style in his broad arms, standing up as he walks to the creek bank, wading in slowly before the sting of the cold pond water hits your bottom, and in a second he drops you from his arms. The chill of water making your nipples peak, catching the attention a a certain pair of wandering blue eyes.

It felt like living inside a storybook, a fairytale you never expected to be part of.

It hadn’t been long since Clemen’s Point, maybe a month and a half, but in that short time, Arthur had done his best to keep the promises he'd made to you. He cared for you in every way he said he would. Steadily and real, like he had promised.

When Sean died, he didn’t pull away like you'd feared. He held you close instead, comforted you not just with touch, but with presence and support.

And then, as the gang's luck soured further, Shady Belle became the saving grace that everyone had needed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, life had rhythm. You were still on chore duty most days, same as always, but Jack was home and safe, and the boys were mostly just laying low. A robbery here, a stagecoach there - even a fancy party hosted by some Brönte guy you knew little about. And for once, everything felt right. Right in a way your godforsaken life rarely allowed.

Maybe it had taken Arthur nearly dying to shake something loose, to snap the both of you into reality. At first, you kept yourself guarded, unsure whether to give him all of you. But slowly, in the quietest ways, you began to trust him.

Falling asleep in his bed. Riding along on his little side quests. The way he actually looked at you like he liked you - needed you, even.

It was such a stark contrast from the months before, it almost felt like he’d turned into someone entirely new, but not new, just changed. His rough edges were still there, his sharp tongue and occasional arrogance - but all of it felt familiar now. Manageable. Nothing you hadn’t already endured.

Arthur smiles as he lowers himself into the water, vanishing beneath the surface for just a breath before rising again, water trickling down his chest and stubble. He gives himself a quick, careless rinse - splashing under his arms, through his light facial hair, and even lifting the girth of himself to splash down there too...his version a bath apparently.

You roll your eyes before dipping lower, letting the cool pond water wash his spend from your body. The tips of your long hair dance across the surface before dipping beneath the waterline, the cool sensation absolutely heavenly against the humidity. You fall into the moment, letting the cool water baptize your skin, letting each curve of your body fall to refreshing sensation.

That is until a strong, wet hand seizes your arm and yanks you up with a jolt.

“Arthur!” you snap, voice sharp with surprise.

“Shhh,” he hisses quickly. “Someone’s comin’. Go hide behind that oak, I’ll grab our stuff.”

Without a second thought, you scramble from the water, feet slipping in the grass as you make for the tree. Behind you, Arthur snatches your disgarded dress with one hand and the rest of his belongings in the other. And just as he fumbles behind the large oak, two men mosey down the creek with fishing poles resting on their shoulders.

They’re too far to see anything crude, but Arthur is still smiling like he's gotten away with murder. Which he has....several times. The cowboy lets out a soft chuckle as you rip your dress out of his hands and quickly slip it over your slicked body, the fabric catching on your curved body from the droplets of water still scattered across your frame. The dress is all that hides you - no bloomers, no chemise, just the thin cloth of light blue dress, one that nearly matches the soft glow of Arthur Morgan's delicate eyes.

“That was a close one,” he laughs, pulling his corduroys over his bare hips, reaching down his fly to adjust his member as he smiles at you with a toothy grin.

Your lips purse under a furrowed brow as he buttons his pants, his eyes not leaving you as he reaches for your hips to pull you close. In a swift motion he pins you to the tree, locking his lips to yours as you wrap your legs around his frame. Wild and free.

You swear there’s a part of him that likes being nearly caught. No matter how much he insists it’s embarrassing, there had been too many close calls for it to just be an accident. Too many actual incidents for you to know that he really doesn't care if he gets caught anyway. Sure there was the incident with Ms. Grimshaw, but that incident with Dutch....that had been too far for you. Yet here he is again, with a grin and flushed cheeks. Like he’s chasing the thrill of being seen out in the open with you, doing something utterly vulgar with two sets of unknowing eyes just a few yards away.

Still, he doesn't care.

It's several minutes before his mouth leave yours, your lips sore and red from how he curls around you. He drops you to your feet, all smiles before he places two fingers between his lips, eyes still focused on you; whistling for that damn nag of his

By the time you and Arthur return to Shady Belle, the sun dips low behind the moss covered trees. The air is still thick, but the worst of the heat had passed. Your heart is still heavy and your mind still swollen frome those three little words he had said to you just a few hours ago - but you try and act like you hadn’t even heard them. Arthur dismounts his nag first, then takes you by the waist and lifts you down gently - hand lingering just a second too long as he palms your ass with a firm, deliberate squeeze.

You swat at him, “Oh, stop it,” you scold with a soft laugh, stepping ahead of him with your head turned over your shoulder.

He doesn’t apologize, just watches you walk away with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knows exactly who you belong to. Like he enjoys annoying you.

But the tender moment is short lived.

“Arthur,” a familiar voice calls out.

It’s Hosea, standing at the edge of the bridge, tipping his hat as you pass. Then his eyes settle on Arthur. “Mind if we have a chat?”

Arthur’s gaze flickers to you, almost as if he's asking for your permission. You turn over your shoulder with a smile, still not used to the way he's become almost so attached he doesn't want to leave your side. But with a raised brow, you smile. “I’m gonna find Mary-Beth.” Excusing yourself into camp without another word.

Arthur watches you walk away for a few beats too long, dazy smile resting on his face. Utterly hyptonitized by the way your hips swing back and forth, turned on knowing there was nothing beneath that dress of yours.

But Hosea’s already walking, motioning with his head toward the small dock poking out near the Lannahechee River.

The gunslinger follows, completely ignorant to whatever Hosea plans to chat about - his mind still only focused on one thing; you.

“What’s this about?” Arthur asks, half paying attention, half not.

Hosea doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out at the river, at the soft ripples reflecting the light of the dying sun.

“You remember Bessie, Arthur?” Hosea says finally, turning to the outlaw with a wise smile.

The gunslinger is taken aback, but he answers, "How could I forget?"

Hosea chuckles for a moment “Course you do.” His eyes seemingly fogging over like he's trying to recall a distant memory. "I remember when she nearly tossed your entire wardrobe into the Montana, claimed it was too smelly for her to wash."

Arthur lets out a soft humorous exhale, recalling the moment from his boy hood. "Woman knew how to make her point."

Hosea's eyes lose the memory, turning to Arthur with a stiff, serious presence. “I loved her you know." The old man waits a few long seconds before turning his gaze deep into Shady Belle. “And that girl of yours… she make you happy?”

Arthur scratches at his beard, caught off guard by the question. He might have been flaunting you around camp these past two months, sure. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and chat about his relationship with you, especially not with his patriarch.

Still, Arthur follows Hosea’s gaze back toward camp, where your laughter carries from the porch. You’re leaned over with Mary-Beth, face glowing, mouth wide open in pure joy as you hit her arm in amusement.

God, you’re beautiful. You were finally starting to get that glow back you once had before he took it all away from you, all those months ago.

With a soft hum and a smirk he doesn’t even realize he's staring as if he's hyptnotized by your laugh. Shaking himself out of his daze before responding, "she's a fine woman.”

Hosea’s eyes flick back to him in a matter of seconds. “But do you love her?"

Arthur’s caught off guard again, brows furrowing as he tears his gaze from you and focuses back on the older man, his voice sharp and confused. "Now why you askin' me a question like that?"

Hosea just chuckles as he notices his son's discomfort, "Cause she brings out somethin' in you that we'd all thought you lost Arthur."

A line forms between Arthur's brows before Hosea lets out a loud exhale. "You were goin' down a bad path for a while son. We all saw how you treated her back at Horshoe Overlook."

A blush of embarassment creeps onto the cowboys cheeks, knowing Hosea wasn't wrong. But even more, recalling all the unwanted chaos and hurt he'd brought you by his actions, and how embaressed he was that he was even capable of such acts.

"I know," Arthur manages to say, voice low and rough.

"She's a good girl that one. Not like you and me." Hosea goes on, his voice soft but positive. "Reminds me of my Bessie."

The cowboy looks down at the tips of his boots before shaking his head back and forth, only looking back up at Hosea as his lips part. "Now I mean no harm, Hosea," he says, squinting slightly as he hooks his thumbs into the loops of his gunbelt. "But why we talkin' bout this?"

Hosea just shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the setting sun bleeding over the river. "I went to pick up the mail yesterday, Arthur," the older man says, straightening up a bit.

Arthurs lips part, but he doesn't make a sound.

Hosea hesitates, then reaches into his satchel, fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary. "Now, I know you're a grown man." he says, voice low and rough. "And you don't have to listen to an old fool like me."

Slowly, he pulls out a letter, the edges brushing against his wrinkled fingers. Hosea studies the envelope for a long moment, thumbs gently tracing the smooth paper, as he stares at the handwriting. But finally, his gaze lifts, steady and weighted with meaning. "I'm trustin' you not to hurt that girl again," Hosea says, voice stern with something between caution and warning.

The old man presses the envelope into Arthur’s hands, his touch firm, before throwing him one last hesitant look. And before Arthur could even reply, the patriarch turns and walks away, disseapearing back into the heart of Shady Belle.

Arthur’s eyes drop, shoulders stiff as he stares down at the letter in his hands. That damned pale purple envelope. He doesn’t need to open it to know who it’s from, he’d recognize that messy curl of handwriting anywhere.

Mary Linton.

He sighs, long and tired.

What the hell did she want now?

Part of him wants to rip the thing to shreds and throw it into the river without even opening it. But the other part, the bitter, bruised part of him remembers her voice too well. Remembers that last day in Valentine, the look in her eyes before she stepped onto that train like everything she'd ever gone through was his fault.

And it pisses him off.

But worse.

It makes him curious.

His thumb runs under the wax seal, opening the letter against better judgement. And then he’s reading it, eyes skimming over Mary Linton's wonderfully messy handwriting like she was writing to him like they were twenty two again.

A thanks for helping Jamie.

Blaming him, again, for not being the man she could marry.

And a new request; come see her in Saint Denis.

Of course she’s in Saint Denis.

Out of all the places a woman of her standing could be, she just had to be in the same city Arthur was no more than an hour's ride from.

Of course it had to be like that.

It didn’t matter where she went. Mary Linton could’ve written from the edge of Earth, and she knew Arthur Morgan would find a way to get to her. That was the kind of man she had made him into.

Nothing more than a pathetic dog.

But this time, something felt changed.

He’s read that damn letter four times before he lifts his head up from it, holding it tighter than he should have. And as he walks back into camp, he can't help but to feel completely conflicted.

His heart doesn’t belong to Mary anymore, not all of it at the least, Maybe half. Maybe less. The rest... that part was yours. You’d stolen it so quietly he hadn’t even noticed how far it had slipped out of his control.

Hosea had been right, he had become a miserable bastard. But with you, things felt... less so. You made him better. Or tried to. And he wanted to be that man, for you.

But still.

He felt torn in two. Like a man wrestling with a giant.

He shoves the letter into his coat pocket, muttering a curse under his breath, as he trudges towards the center of camp. The cowboy grabs a bowl of stew from the pot bubbling over the open flame, and then a bottle of warm beer from Pearson’s wagon, doing his best to try and clear his mind, and fill his stomach.

He finds the table at the center of camp, empty besides a couple scattered dishes. It only takes a handful of minutes until his spoon is scraping the bottom of the tin bowl as he takes his final bite, but his mind is still caught in the mess of the past. Confliction and guilt tearing him up inside .

But then theres you - bouncing over, smiling like nothing’s wrong in the whole damn world. You drop into his lap with a laugh, arms winding around his neck, eyes soft and wide.

Still wearing nothing underneath.

Your fingers trace his chest, up to his chin, thumb brushing against the roughness of his jaw with a smile. You hesitate for just a moment before saying the words that have been eating you up inside since the afternoon.

“I love you too.”

Four words. Light and easy. But to a man like Arthur Morgan, it was nothing but bullets raining from your mouth.

The gunslinger stiffens. His brow furrowing, nose scrunching like he’s confused, irritated even.

“Why’s you say that?” he mutters, voice low and almost offended.

Your smile instantly drops, freezing for just a moment in his arms before slipping out of his lap and standing up. Blinking at him like he's pulled out his Cattleman's Revolver and shot you straight in the gut.

“Well... this afternoon...” you swallow uncertainly as a worry line forms between your brows, thumbs tangling together in something between frustration and worry.

And then, in the midst of everything, he remembers what he said when he was inside you just hours ago. Flushed and stupid, in the heat of the moment.

He hadn’t lied.

But he also never planned on saying those words so carelessly. Forgetting that he had even admitted that so recklessly to you. The words had flowed from his mouth like instinct, yet, he hadn't thought you'd take them seriously.

For god sake's he was balls deep inside you - you should have known better.

“Yeah, I remember,” he interupts you, much colder than what he means to be. “Just... don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Your jaw sets and something tightens behind your ribs.

Don’t wanna talk about it?

Talk about what?

Could he not even say it to you?

You fold your arms, bitter laughter bubbling in your gut before you can stop yourself.

“What? Can only say you love me when you’re eight inches deep?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, sighing as his fingers reach for his temples, “You know that ain’t what I meant.”

But you do. You do know. Because this is Arthur Morgan. And no matter how much you love him, no matter how much he'd swear he's changed. He hadn't. Wouldn't. And more than likely - couldn't change. And tonight, he makes you feel like a fool for trying to believe otherwise.

Without thinking a bitter scowl deepens on your face as you grab his beer and dump what’s left of it on his shirt, dropping the glass bottle rather dramatically on the grass next to him. The stew stained tin clatters as he pushes back from the table, arms jolting as he tries to shake off the warm beer now soaking his chest. His jaw sets like stone as his eyes cling to you with nothing but frustration. But before he can say anything, you turn around and shuffle away with tears in your eyes.

“Stupid whore!” He barks after you, the words cutting much deeper than they would have just months ago, when things weren't so serious.

And it’s not until you’re far enough away to cry without being seen, that it really sinks in.

Arthur Morgan couldn't change.

...

It feels like he’d been punched in the gut.

Arthur drags himself up the splintered, rotting staircase of Shady Belle, the weight of everything on his shoulders making him feel that with any step he could fall through. And against better judgement, halfway up the staircase he yanks the damn letter from his pocket again, eyes scanning the words he already knew by heart.

Mary Linton.

God, he was such a fool.

Why hadn’t he just said it back? Why couldn’t he have been normal for once - just said I love you, kissed you breathless, carried you upstairs and fucked you so good you’d say it again and again until he forgot anyone else ever existed?

But no.

You had to say it then, when Mary was still sitting heavy on his chest like a ghost that refused to let go. Right when his heart was stuck in a tug of war. Unsure if he was ready to let go of the past or ready to start really choosing you.

And now, with you gone and that broken look still burned in his memory, all he had was silence. And no matter what the silence meant, he knew one thing.

That his small bed would feel much bigger without you in it tonight.

Arthur tosses the letter onto the chipped old armoire in the corner his room, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He strips off his beer soaked overshirt, finding his way to his bed as his rubs at his temples. Everything from Mary Linton to you, running a marathon through his brain.

And it isn't more than a few seconds later that he leans back, trying to atleast dream to forget the day.

...

Arthur wakes up later than usual, head foggy, and eyes heavy. Light from the cracked window bleeds into dusty room like some open wound. He blinks, the slight haze from his tired eyes clearing just enough that he could sense movement.

His body stiffens.

You were there.

Standing near the armoire, you're wearing nothing but a thin, pale chemise that catches the light just right. Your nipples peak through the silky fabric in such a way that Arthur almost forgets yesterday as a whole. You look like an angel, something so pure, so opposite of the man he was.

But your eyes... your eyes were wide and wet, lip trembling as he watches you gulp in horror.

And in your hand.

That letter.

He sits up fast, breath catching in his throat. A surge of heat burning in his chest. Guilt, rage and shame. Twisting together into something dangerous.

Your eyes catch him, looking down at him as if he's shot you like some dirty O'driscoll.

“Came up here to apologize,” you gulp, voice cracking like you might break in two. “Don’t even know why" you nearly laugh as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. "Apologizin?...... Apoligizin' for tellin’ you I love you…”

You wipe several tears away with the back of your hand, trying to hide the emotion now lacing your voice. “Well now I know why.”

Arthur’s jaw ticks.

Doesn't speak.

After a nearly restless night, Arthur had decided Mary wasn’t even worth the trouble in the end. But if you were so damn hell bent on painting him as the bad guy then fine. He’d play the damn part.

He's always been good at it anyway.

He sneers as he gets up from the bed, angry that you were already throwing baseless accusations at him at the crack of dawn. But as heat stirs in his chest, he ruffles through his wardrobe anyway. Searching for some nice overshirt that he'd know Mary would at least appreciate, and maybe one that could teach you lesson.

For snooping. For touching things that weren’t yours.

It didn't take a scholar to figure out that he was pissed.

Not just at you for going through his things but at himself, for leaving the damn letter out in the first place. For getting close enough to you that stupid shit like this even mattered. It was Mary for god sake, it's not like she'd even ever want him back.

Just a game of back and forth that they'd always play, and he'd entertain.

You step toward him as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Don’t ignore me,” you snap, voice cracking under the weight of every emotion you've ever had for him.

He turns to you slowly, something hard and venomous behind his eyes and the look he gives you is poisonous.

“You had no right to go through my things,” he growls, nose flaring like a wild dog. “Ain’t your business what I do. Think just ‘cause I fuck you that means you get to own me?”

The words were sharp, cruel, meant to slice deep. And as much as every flick of his tongue stabbed you, you couldn't help but to feel that he was lying.

You had seen it for a while now, last night even, when had asked you with his eyes for permission to talk to Hosea. Deep down you knew he was just projecting.

But you still flinch, lip trembling again, eyes wide with something between disbelief and heartbreak. Mary's letter still fresh on your mind, his words still bleeding you dry.

And without another word, he brushes past you, out his bedroom door, down the creaking staircase.

You don't hesitate to chase after him. Mary’s letter still crushed in your fist, your feet pounding down the stairs after him. You loved him for god sake, you refused to believe any of his fighting words. Refused to believe that he would choose some ghost of a woman over you.

He storms through the front doors like he was being chased by something a hell of a lot worse than the woman barely stumbling behind him. But your mouth still spits hell fire. "You goin’ to see her?" you accuse him.

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn't even look at you.

You follow him into the heart of camp, the morning air cool and damp against your bare feet. Your voice raising, louder now. Angry, so that anyone could hear.

“So all of this... nothin’ to you?!” Your eyes widen in worry as you march after him like a bat out of hell. "Jus' some waste of my time?"

People turn and watch, but Arthur doesn't stop. Face laced with an etched scowl, eyes locked on his Turkoman and nothing else.

"You bastard!" you shout, grabbing at his shoulder, trying to pull him back to you. Stop him from leaving. "Least look at me! Say it to my face! Tell me I wasn’t enough! Tell me you don’t want me.”

He turns so fast you take a step backward on instinct. His glare vicious, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. An entirely different man than you'd come to know...come to love.

“You weren’t,” he snaps, voice low and mean, like he wantsto hurt you. “And you’ll ain’t ever be her.”

Your mouth drops open, wind knocking from you like a punch to the ribs.

Sure, you’d never be Mary. But you swore that what you and Arthur had shared was more real than the dress sitting on your damn body, then the mud stained to his boots.

You had seen it. Saw it. Nursed it back from the fucking dead.

Just to lose him to some woman that'd never let him go.

In one last act, you grab at his shoulder, letting him hear your final plea as he starts to mount his horse. You heart nearly breaking in two.

"If you ride off to see her, I'm done, Arthur," you spit, voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness. "I’m leavin'.... won't be here when you come ridin' back."

Arthur’s hand freezes on the reins.

Then, slowly, he looks down at you.

Sneering.

With a jerk of his arm, he violently pulls his arm out of your grip - hard enough to send you stumbling. You trip on a raised root, falling straight onto your behind in the overgrown grass. Legs cocked open pathetically, palms weighing heavy on the ground. Gulping like he'd shoved you down with the force of a million words.

He leans forward in the saddle, adjusting himself as his cold eyes stare at your sad excuse of a body.

“And where you gonna even go?” he asks, voice sharp and cruel, almost as a laugh because in reality he knew you had no one. He gives you one hard stare before digging his spurs into his nag. Leaving you with nothing but the echo of his departure, and the last pieces of your dignity.

For moments you sit there, on the knotting grass. Horses shuffling all around you as tears stream hot down your flushed cheeks, fists clenched in the grass, chest heaving with the reality of your situation.

Caught up in a mess of Arthur Morgan once again.

And the worst part?

He was right.

You had nowhere to go. And he knew it. Knew that you couldn’t go if you tried, no money, no family, just the familiarity of the Van Der Linde gang that was starting to eat each other from the inside.

But in a mess of feelings and tears, you feel the rush of a set of arms engulfing you into a warm hug. It’s Abigail Roberts, her frame slight but her hold firm. She sits with you, stroking your hair, whispering soft comforts even as her voice shakes with something that sounds like fury. “That no good son of a bitch,” she mutters, pulling back just enough to wipe away your tears with her thumbs.

Your eyes meet hers, they're icy and firm, telling a million stories but also a million warnings. “I love him,” you croak, barely able to get the words out.

Abigail had known that kind of heart splintering pain. She’d felt it more times than she could count with John. But you? Still young, still unshackled, no child clinging to your hip, no ring on your finger. The black haired beauty was smarter than what she gave off, she knew what had to happen.

“You gotta get out of here, darlin’,” she says, rising to her feet and offering a hand to help you up.

You sob.

That was your last promise to Arthur anyway, wasn’t it?

“He's right. Got no money. Nowhere to go,” you cry, shaking your head, voice breaking as all you wanted truly was to be gone. Forget him. Forget everything. Respect yourself enough to stop playing outlaw.

Abigail’s mouth tightens, leading you beneath the shade of her tent, easing you down on her cot. She rifles through her wardrobe as broken sobs escape your mouth. But in the midst of it all, she pulls out a thick, lumpy sock, and turns back toward you. “Was gonna use this for myself, once upon a time,” she says, tugging out a fistful of cash, slapping it on her hand a few times. “But it’s too late for me. Not for you.”

Your eyes are wide, still glistening, staring at the chunk of bills resting in her hand. Your lips parting as she attempts to slip the wad into your hand.

“I - I can’t...” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears and hesitation.

“No, you are,” she cuts in, firmer than you’ve ever heard from her. Something maternal in her tone, something resolute. “Trust me, a girl like you’s got a future. A bright one. Brighter than whatever all this is.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “And Arthur....better leave now before you wake up a few days late with a swollen stomach."

Your gaze locks with hers, wide and wordless.

Her words hit you harder than you thought they would.

And suddenly you understood.

It was time to go.

...

Twenty minutes later, you’re back in the room you’ve shared with Arthur for the past month. His clothes are still scattered around, his beer stained overshirt from last night crumpled at the foot of his bed. You wonder who’ll wash it now, it wouldn't be you this time.

You gulp and reach beneath the bed, pulling out the old suitcase you brought with you to Milwaukee all those years ago, chasing something better. It had belonged to your mother before Typhoid took her.

You pop it open. Inside: a few forgotten pieces of a past life. A locket with your parents’ faces inside. A shirt you never wore but couldn’t throw away. And a small black and white portrait from Blackwater, the one you took just hours before Arthur took your innocence.

You stare at the photo. Less than a year had passed, but you hardly recognize the girl in it. Smiling, light still untouched. So different from who you are now. Used and broken.

And before you pack the last of your things, you set the portrait on the table beside Arthur’s bed.

You wanted to forget him, forget the hurt.

But part of you, wanted him to remember.

Wanted him haunted.

...

Outside the rotting mansion, Hosea stands waiting. Pulling you into a soft, fatherly hug, his voice low with sorrow. “I’m sorry, girl,” he murmurs.

He’d seen it all. Last night’s heartbreak, this morning’s silence. He watched Arthur ride off, watched Abigail hand you that money with trembling hands and a tight jaw. Heard her beg you to go. Guilt weighing on his shoulders as he knew the cowboy would still be here if he hadn't handed him the letter.

But Arthur was a god damn adult. And Hosea had agreed with Abigail, better to leave now before other circumstances could tie you to him.

And as much as it hurt Hosea to see you go, he couldn't help to feel relieved. To at least know someone was getting out, someone good.

You swallow hard. Tears gone, but grief remains.

You weren’t just leaving Arthur.

You were leaving the only family you’d known for years. The people that had taken you in when you had nothing to show, and no one to care for you. Family more than friends at this point.

“Say your goodbyes,” Hosea says gently, rubbing your arm with his thumb. “I’ll take you to Rhodes. Buy you a train ticket to wherever you need to go.”

...

The streets of Saint Denis buzz with life, hooves clicking on cobblestone as the sun shines high in the midst of the Lemoyne sky. Mary Linton’s delicate arm loops through Arthur’s as they step out of the Rauler Theatre, both of them smiling.

Arthur could admit it, he’d had a good time. How could he not? Mary had once been his world. Maybe part of him would always feel something for her. But as they strolled toward the trolley stop, shoulder to shoulder through the heavy air of the city, something felt utterly different.

Hollow.

There was no fire in his chest. No ache. No heat behind his eyes.

It felt less like love and more like memory, a good time with an old friend. Sonething he could cheerish, but didn't need to survive.

And that’s when he remembered you.

The way you made his pulse jump with just your smile. The way your voice sounded like angel's singing, even if you were just telling him off. He remembers the way you smiled even when he didn’t deserve it. And then, above everything, he remembers the way you looked at him the last time. Eyes full of hurt, mouth trembling as he shoved you away.

While Arthur just didn't want to feel controlled, you felt betrayed.

And now all he felt was sick.

His boots slow on the busy sidewalk. Coming to a full stop without truly realizing where he was or who he was with.

“Arthur?” Mary’s voice breaks through his deep haze.

He blinks, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she had said since they left the old threatre. “Sorry,” he mutters.

She watches him for a beat, her chocolate eyes unreadable. “I said... is it too late for us?” Her voice cracking slightly, more a plea than a question as she holds his hands tighter.

Arthur inhales through his nose, heavy and ragged. He knew the answer. Had known it for a long time.

“I can’t lie, Mary. I... I got a woman back home” he says quietly, almost embaressed. Gently slipping her arm from his.

Mary’s expression falters for a brief moment, her face clearing from any found emotion. But in a few short seconds she grins with a sense of meloncholy.

“And I ain’t even really sure why I’m here,” Arthur adds, voice breaking with sudden clarity, the weight of his betrayal sinking in. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m sorry.”

Mary nods, her composure surprisingly steady despite the slight shimmer in her eyes. “Treat her better than me,” she says simply.

And in a second, Arthur turns and leaves, heart pounding, stomach in knots.

He’d fucked up.

But more than anything did he want to fix it.

Not with words. Not with excuses. But with a promise.

By the time he reached the jeweler, his hand was already on the wad of cash. He didn’t want something stolen. Didn’t want some rag tag ring from a fence.

No, this had to be real. Something with weight. With meaning.

Something that said: I’m yours. For good.

Something with a promise.

...

Back at the train station, the sky had started to turn grey. Rain slightly drizzling over the covered platform as Hosea tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle as always.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, a small tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m scared,” you admit, glancing down at the train ticket in your hand. You hadn’t told him where you were going. You figured it was safer that way, for everyone involved. Hosea hadn’t asked either. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he just didn’t want Arthur beating it out of him in the long run.

It didn't take much for you to imagine the storm of Arthur riding back into camp. Throwing tongue every which way when he realized his bed whore had gone missing.

The twisted thought slightly comforted you. You knew Arthur well enough to atleast know he would be mad at your departure, no matter what he had told you before he left

“You can always write,” he says, voice full of hope “Don’t know how long we’ll be at Shady Belle, though. You know Dutch.”

You manage a watery laugh." Oh, I know." You falter for a few moments as you gaze into the wisdom laced eyes of Hosea, his soft look sending you into a spin of tears. “I’m just scared of being…”'

"Alone," he finishes your sentence.

He chuckles. “We can’t be such a great bunch that you think there’s no one better out there.”

You give him a humorous look, tears still staining your cheeks. A happy goodbye. “You know that ain’t what I mean.”

The train’s whistle shrieks in the distance. Passengers begining to stir from their seats, grabbing bags, shuffling to the edge of the platform.

Hosea turns to face the tracks, then glances back to you. “Promise me one thing,” he says, his voice low and firm.

You look up, eyes wide like a doe.

“Don’t come back lookin' for us. Save yourself."

...

Arthur’s horse thunders down the muddy path toward Shady Belle, his coat soaked and his wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. The gold ring in his pocket - a golden band with a pearl in the center - feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He imagined you wearing it. Naked on the banks of Ringneck Creek, riding him, the ring catching sunlight as your hand brushes over his hair.

Utterly his.

The camp is quiet as he gallops in. He doesn't even bother to untack his horse, too charged with excitement. He leaps off and storms through like a mad man, eyes scanning the outlaw camp for a sillouette of you.

You weren’t there.

But your strange dissapearence doesn't even register until two small fists beat into his back.

“You no good son of a...”

He spins, catching Abigail Roberts wrists mid swing. She thrashes against his grip, wild with rage.

“What the hell?” Arthur stammers, confused and surprised it wasn't you beating on him. He would understand if it was you, warranted in fact.

But Abigail?

“She’s gone, you bastard!” the black haired beauty snarls, driving her boot into his groin as hard she can.

Arthur collapses, wheezing as he drops her arms from his grip.

From across camp, John jogs over, pulling his wife's arms behind her back in anyway to control her outburst.

Arthur's painful wheezes dissapear in a moment's time, turning to an almost panic.

“What...what she mean? She's gone?” he coughs as he looks up at John for clarification, moving back to his feet.

John grimaces. “She’s gone, Arthur. She left."

Arthur froze.

Gone?

No.

You didn't know how to ride, wouldn't dare try to find your way in swamps like these. And above everything - you had said you loved him, just last night.

You wouldn't leave.

And he was ready now. Finally ready to love you back the way you deserved.

His stomach twisting, panic shifting to fury, anger.

He turned to John, eyes flashing. “Where did you take her? Couldn’t stand that I was happy for one good time in my life.”

John face drops, angry at just the accusation. "I ain't take nowhere," John sneers, continueing to hold Abigail back from trying to rip Arthur to pieces. "But I don't blame her for leavin' you either."

If John hadn't been using Abigail as if she was a human sheild, Arthur would have torn his brooding equal to shreds at that very moment. But before he could push the black haired woman away, a gentle voice cuts through the shouting.

Arthur turns, all eyes finding the small frame of Hosea Matthews. The old man sits at the dominoes table, calm as ever. Standing up and pushing his chair in without his eyes leaving the game.

"I took her to the train station in Rhodes," he speaks

Arthur’s anger breaks, replaced by something broken and raw. Lips parting.

“I told you not to hurt her,” Hosea says, eyes finally meeting the cowboys. More dissapointed than ever.

Arthur couldn’t keep his gaze. His eyes dipping to the tips of his boots. Shame rolling over him like a wave. If it had been anyone else -John, Bill, even Dutch, he’d have thrown fists.

But it was Hosea.

The one who warned him.

The only who told him to do better.

Arthur’s voice cracks as he breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Where is she?”

Hosea shakes his head.

“Gone, she's gone Arthur."

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption two #red dead smut #smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut

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guardianspirits13 · 10 months ago

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I think one of the most overlooked factors in Netflix's cutthroat approach to deciding wether to renew a show is that they wholly underestimate the power of fandoms.

They seem to think that unless a show is record-breaking or award-winning it will not be profitable to renew but they fail to recognize that most people don't give a shit about the accolades as long as a show is good.

And even then, it is normal to take more than one eight-episode season to pick up real cultural traction. Plenty of now-beloved shows did not reach mainstream popularity until they were multiple seasons deep.

Netflix fails to consider the longevity of their IPs over the initial peak of interest, and have thus cultivated a self-fulfilling prophecy as people avoid starting new shows because they don't want to become invested in something that is more likely than not to be cancelled, and thus these new shows don't reach the ludicrous viewership standard they have set to justify a renewal.

Sure, they get new subscribers for new shows but what keeps them there? Maybe they'd actually stay subscribed if a new season of something they are invested in is on the way (barring the cost itself, which is a whole different can of worms).

Plenty of people subscribe only for one or two shows- I remember people cancelling their subscriptions when they took The Office off because that show alone was keeping them on the platform.

Supernatural did not get 15 seasons because of its exceptional writing or cinematography (ha), they got 15 seasons because of devoted fans who wanted more. Who kept rewatching and buying merchandise and paying for con tickets.

Daredevil is one of the best shows I have ever seen, and that was at the time where the "early" cancellation was common after three seasons (with 12+ episodes). Inside Job is one of the only adult animated series that I have ever thoroughly enjoyed, and it was lucky to have two seasons. Shadow and Bone had the potential to be a franchise based in the extended Grishaverse, and yet it also ended after two seasons.

Finally- not everyone watches shows the day they release! We don't all have that sort of time, and it's ok to discover a new show a week, a month, a year after it releases! Word of mouth and fan culture/communities have been the rock upon which lasing series are created, from Star Trek to Game of Thrones.

All this to say, @netflix yall get your act together and renew Dead Boy Detectives before you lose your captive audience 🫠

#netflix #subscription services #shadow and bone #six of crows #daredevil #inside job #dead boy detectives #the office #the sandman #renew dead boy detectives #renew shadow and bone #netflix orignal series #netflix original #fandom #fandom culture

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lurkinginnernarrator · 9 months ago

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Cang Qiong's rumor mill has a new topic.

Peak Lord Shen hasn't been seen in two weeks. The last time he was seen was flying back from An Ding, where he purportedly commandeered some unknown objects from An Ding's storerooms after a hasty discussion with Peak Lord Shang. He entered the Bamboo house and hasn't emerged since.

The most popular theory is Peak Lord Shen is conducting some sort of toeing-the-line-of-taboo ritual.

Eventually, someone convinces Mu Qingfang to do a wellness check.

The Qing Jing disciples greet their Mu-shishu respectfully, the disciple escorting him to the Bamboo House inquiring as to the nature of his visit, seeing as 'Shizun wasn't expecting shishu today.'

"This master is merely here to visit your Shizun."

The disciple bows after announcing Mu Qingfang's arrival.

Mu Qingfang opens the door.

"Shen-shixiong?"

"Mu-shidi? To what do I owe the pleA—FUCK get BACK HERE YOU ARE NOT"—the sounds of struggle reach Mu Qingfang's ears and he leaps to action, striding in to take stock of the situatio...n.

Shen-shixiong is flat on his stomach; outstretched hands tightly grasping a precocious ball of fluff. His eyes gleam in victory, the scene casting it in a more crazed light. There is a heaviness to Shen Qingqiu's eyes that cultivation cannot banish and miscellaneous stains on his person. And, looking around, the Bamboo House is a disaster. Books, brushes, scrolls, inkwells and fans are scattered around, many haphazardly dropped on the floor. There is. Also. Hay?

Mu Qingfang freezes in the doorway. Ball of fluff and Shen Qingqiu also freeze.

"Is... Shixiong alright?"

This seems to snap Shen Qingqiu into action. He scrambles up firmly but with care, cradling the fluffball. Shen Qingqiu gets himself in order as best he can with both his hands occupied and clears his throat.

"Ah...Yes. this master is fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?..."

The fluffball twitches, wriggling until Shen Qingqiu loses his grip on it. It hops to the floor. A juvenile Whitecrested Snowrabbit of Agility stares up at Mu Qingfang.

"This. Shidi could come back at a more opportune time?"

The bunny starts chewing on a scroll.

"I believe that would be best."

Mu Qingfang backs out of the doorway.

He does send tea to help with Shen-Shixiong's fatigue and a subspecies of carrot that Whitecrested Snowrabbits are supposed to favour though.

I wonder what the next topic of Cang Qiong's rumor mill will be?

#svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #mu qingfang #qing jing peak #svsss au #svsss crack #an ding peak #shang qinghua #cumplane #mushen #-ish #svsss drabble #researcher shen yuan

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shadowkoo · 2 months ago

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Very Bad Behavior

→ Summary: Tall, dark, and dangerous. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. They say bad things come in threes, and you’ve spent your entire life steering clear of every troublesome temptation. But when a familiar stranger catches your eye one night at work, resisting suddenly feels impossible. You might just start to wonder how bad can indulging in a little bad behavior really be? Especially when it feels so good…

↠ seokjin x f.reader | 6.9k words | 18+ ↠ genre: rockstar au, one night stand, famous guitarist!seokjin x oblivious/non-fan bartender!reader, smut, strangers to lovers

→ Warnings: explicit sex, protected sex, rough sex, strong language, drug usage, alcohol consumption, praise kink, hair pulling, biting, mutual masturbation, manhandling, nipple play, breast play, begging, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, exhibitionism, doggy, deep dicking, size kink, Seokjin is (rightfully) cocky about his huge dong, belly bulge, getting off from the vibrations created by jin’s motorcycle 👀, cocky dom!seokjin, oh and i almost forgot… jin’s got a magic cross dick piercing 😈

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @lapydiaries @bangtanwritershq

→ Author Note: This is long overdue (me and collab deadlines don’t have the best relationship lol), here’s my part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by Sav @jeonjcngkook. Also a big thank you to Ley @pars-ley for beta reading this for me, I adore you!!!! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 divider credit

ıllıllı [ now playing ▸ vbb.mp3 ] ıllıllı

˙⟡˙ the new insane — counterfeit ˙⟡˙ what do you want from me? — bad omens ˙⟡˙ antimatter — silent planet ˙⟡˙ (pls) set me on fire — enter shikari ˙⟡˙ code mistake — corpse x bring me the horizon ˙⟡˙ bang bang — revnoir ˙⟡˙ instead — xdinary heroes, yoon do hyun ˙⟡˙ apathy — windwaker ˙⟡˙ die mf die — dope ˙⟡˙ self sacrifice — wage war ˙⟡˙

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

“What can I get you?” you holler over your shoulder to the new body sitting on an open stool. Quickly stuffing the cash into the register, you turn around with your usual customer-service smile and hand the remaining change to the couple as they gather their things, preparing to leave.

It’s been busy all day, with waves of customers coming and going, but now you’re in that brief lull after the dinner rush, just before the night crowd starts to fill the room. With the peak of the summer season in full swing, business has been non-stop. And tonight should be even more hectic as it’s Friday night.

Walking toward the new guy waiting, you look him over while trying to get a good read. You first notice his glazed-over and slightly red eyes, a trait you easily recognize as a bartender at a popular downtown dive bar. He has a half-smoked blunt hanging between his fingers, somehow making himself look even more attractive.

Next, your vision trails along the black ink covering his tanned skin; a lightning bolt at the corner of his right eye, Fearless scribbled below his left, and a large piece with skulls and roses took up most of the space on his neck. And even though he’s wearing a leather jacket, it’s not hard to guess that his arms and other places are most likely covered by tattoos too.

“Surprise me, gorgeous,” he says, leaning forward with a dangerous smile.

Rolling your eyes at the overused line, you reach for the ingredients you need to mix something this pretentious guy would never order for himself. You do your best to hide your smirk as you grab the bottle of peach schnapps from the sea of other liquors and the orange juice from the cooler near your waist.

His gaze wanders from your curvaceous backside to what you’re making. “Ah, Sex on a Beach,” he notes, as you hand over the cherry-colored drink, with the umbrella and all. “My favorite.” His sparkling eyes lock with yours when your hands touch during the exchange.

“Really? Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Well, that’s fair. Would it be more believable if I said I’m usually more of a Jack and Coke guy?”

“Oh wow, now that is surprising,” you tease. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Alright, what’s your go-to then? What do you recommend?”

You lean against the counter, pretending to ponder deeply, “I would have to say peanut butter flavored whiskey has my attention at the moment.”

“Fuck that,” he says with another grin that shows off his perfectly white teeth.

Who is this man, and why is he such a stunner?!

“You can’t be serious?”

A smirk grows on your lips as you grab two shot glasses and the bottle of Skrewball. You fill them without looking, a fun bartender trick of yours, keeping your eyes locked onto his. You pass one to him, keeping the other for yourself and lifting it to cheers, “Bottoms up.”

He lets out a sigh, “Here goes nothin’...” His face immediately twists up in disgust, and he sputters after swallowing. “Oh my god,” he clears his throat. “That has to be the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure nastier things have found their way between your lips,” you joke, laughing while he finishes the glass of water you also set out for him.

“You have no idea…” he says, playing along.

“So, what brings you to town?” And more importantly, how long are you here for?

“Ah, I’m just here for the weekend with my buddies,” he smiles, before taking a sip of his sex on the beach.

The front door opening interrupts your conversation, and a group of college-aged guys walk in, who immediately wave you down to get their drinks.

“Hold that thought,” you say, eyes drifting back to the door as it opens again for the next group that struts in and joins the guys who are now whistling for your attention. “I’ll be right back, gotta take care of these assholes.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. When I need another I’ll just whistle for ya.” He smirks, and your insides heat up while you walk away. You don’t know him, but you like him.

Unfortunately, that lovely group kept you busier than you would have liked. By the time you can satisfy them and the girls whose drinks they also bought, the handsome stranger is long gone.

All that remains is an empty glass sitting on top of a napkin with the words, “Thanks for the chat and the amazing sex (on the beach), See you around!” scribbled along with a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

You wonder if you'll ever see him again. The odds are slim, and you try not to let that sting.

The rest of the night flies by, and before you know it, it’s approaching 3 a.m. Much to no one's surprise, you’ve made your entire month’s rent in tips tonight, which is why you love working closing shifts when everyone else would prefer to already be home and in bed.

Bartending is typically an easy job if you like being social. Drunk men are easy to flirt with and the money flows if you can bullshit with them for long enough.

“Have a good night, guys,” you say, waving goodbye to Jenny, the other bartender working with you tonight, and her boyfriend Dino, who also happens to be the bar’s bouncer.

They wave back and say goodnight before turning to walk home together, leaving you to finish locking up.

Your loud yawn is hidden by the low rumbles of a nearby motorcycle, and the exhaustion of the busy night finally hits you. Dropping your keys into your purse, you turn in the opposite direction to head home.

“Calling it a night this early?” a familiar voice says from the darkness surrounding you. You freeze in place, trying to make out the shadowed figure.

“Oh,” you say in relief, after taking a couple of steps closer and seeing the hot guy from earlier. “It's you.”

“I was wondering when you’d get off,” he says, his smooth voice making your skin shiver.

“Aww, have you been waiting this whole time?” you ask, a slight tease in your tone.

He leans casually against his bike, the city lights flickering in his eyes. “Nah, I met up with my friends for a bit. Then realized I forgot to give you something.”

You tilt your head, with a playful smirk on your lips. “Let me guess, your number? Or your name?” Heat curls in your stomach; either one would be a win.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his gaze trailing over you like a slow caress. “But you gotta work for it.” He swings a leg over his motorcycle and taps the empty space in front of him. “Sit.”

You raise a brow but obey, straddling the bike backward so you're facing him. It’s not like you’re going for a ride, so what does it matter? He doesn’t complain about your positioning. His hands quickly find your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow, intoxicating circles into your skin.

“So…” you exhale, pulse quickening under his touch. “What did you forget?”

His smile turns cocky, and without warning he leans in, his lips a breath away from yours.

“This,” he whispers before kissing you. He claims your mouth with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt and certainly no space for air. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you closer until there’s nothing between you.

You can’t believe this is happening, you’re practically straddling a hot stranger’s lap, tangled in a very heated kiss. Even the cool night air does nothing to tame the fire licking at your skin.

Threading your fingers through his thick hair, you tug just enough to draw a low groan from him. Your hips shift instinctively, and the moment you do, a gasp slips from your lips. The deep purr of the motorcycle beneath you vibrates through every inch of your body, teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves through your jean shorts.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, his breath hot against your lips. “Does that feel good, gorgeous?” His voice is low, dripping with sin. “Are you a needy little whore who just has to get off?”

Before you can respond, his strong hand presses against your lower back, guiding you down against the hard metal of his bike. The vibrations intensify, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Grind those hips, baby,” he purrs, his other hand still gripping your thigh. “Show me how needy you are.”

A whimper escapes you as your hips obey, moving with desperate friction, chasing that delicious edge. He leans in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers filth that only makes the ache worse.

“You’re such a pretty little whore,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “But I think you need to show a little more skin for me.”

He tugs down the scoop neckline of your shirt, exposing the delicate lace of your bra. His eyes darken, admiration flickering in them as he takes in the sight of you.

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over the fabric before he presses his mouth against it. Leaving a teasing kiss, then another. His tongue traces over the lace, dampening it, before he tugs it down, both layers of fabric pushing your breasts up enticingly. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and he grins devilishly as he watches them bounce in time with your desperate movements.

Without warning, his lips latch onto the soft peak of your flesh, sucking greedily before biting down just enough to make you gasp. The sharp pleasure sends another jolt of heat pooling low in your stomach. He moves to the other nipple, his tongue teasing you and savoring this moment.

He doesn’t need to hear you say that you’re close; he can feel it in the way your hips stutter against his bike. Your movements growing erratic, more desperate.

He groans against your skin, voice thick with satisfaction. “Come undone for me,” he commands, his grip tightening. His voice is possessive and downright dangerous. “Right now.”

Your body shatters, pleasure ripping through you in the form of an uncontrollable moan spilling from your lips. He holds you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he chuckles, satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs smugly, his voice laced with approval. “That’s it.” He pulls your bra and shirt back up, covering your exposed skin just before a car drives by.

You’re still catching your breath, pulse hammering, when reality crashes back in. “Oh my god,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your face. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Oh, you better believe it, sweetheart.” He lets his fingers trail over your thigh before reaching into his leather jacket, pulling out a small envelope.

“Here.” He holds it out to you, his smirk sinful. “Save a little of that bad behavior for me tomorrow.”

You take the envelope, raising an eyebrow. “What is this?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Open it later and find out.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing glint in your gaze betrays your curiosity. “Mysterious and cocky. Dangerous combo.”

“You’re into it,” he counters smoothly, reaching around your body and revving the engine beneath you. The vibrations send a wicked aftershock through your overstimulated body, making you shiver. His pleased smirk deepens. “Time to hop off, baby.”

You bite your lip, still breathless. “All that, and you’re still not going to tell me your name?”

He shakes his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Show up tomorrow, and maybe I will.”

With one last lingering glance, you slide off his bike, your legs still unsteady as you head back to your car.

He watches you with that devilish smirk, like he already knows you’ll meet him damn near anywhere tomorrow. Just for a repeat of something similar to tonight.

And dammit, he’s probably right.

Everyone told Seokjin that bringing his motorcycle on tour was a bad idea.

It’ll take up too much space. It might get damaged. Some unhinged fan could steal it and sell it for a million dollars.

But none of those reasons had been enough to stop him. Especially when the pro list included making you come undone last night, riding the vibrations of his engine like a damn symphony.

That memory alone? Worth every logistical nightmare.

He smirks to himself, leaning against a wall backstage, eyes scanning the slowly filling venue. Doors had opened thirty minutes ago, and the first opener is about to hit the stage.

But so far…there’s no sign of the pretty brunette that he’s been unable to stop thinking about.

“There you are,” a deep voice says from behind.

Startled, Seokjin turns slightly to find Yoongi, one of the band’s other guitarists, watching him with mild amusement.

“Didn’t think you were the crowd-watching type,” Yoongi adds with a raised eyebrow, stepping beside him.

Seokjin shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just scoping the energy.”

“Uh-huh. Seems like you’re looking for someone?”

Jin manages to dodge the question when Taehyung, their lead singer, bursts out of the dressing room with a parade of barely-dressed women behind him.

“Dude,” Taehyung groans dramatically, “Where’s the fucking booze? The dressing room’s already dry. Can you believe that shit?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Yoongi deadpans.

The two immediately fall into their usual back-and-forth, trading sarcastic barbs and wild theories about who drank the last bottle of whiskey. But Seokjin tunes them out.

His gaze is still locked on the crowd, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. You’d never confirmed that you were coming tonight, despite him counting on it.

Did you look up the band after opening that envelope? The one he slipped into your hands right before you walked away, while you were still flushed and a little breathless after your little exhibitionist act? The one containing a ticket to tonight’s sold out show, with an all-access pass that gets you the best view inside the barricade, plus allows you backstage.

He wonders if you pieced it together, if you made the connection about who he was.

You two hit it off instantly. It was far more than he ever expected when he stopped by that bar for a quick drink, barely an hour after their tour bus pulled into the venue lot. He’d debated it. Going out without security wasn’t exactly recommended, not with how massive their fanbase is. But it was still early enough in the night before it would be too busy, and surprisingly, no one recognized him.

Not even you. That was the most refreshing part.

You didn’t look at him like he was Seokjin, popular rhythm guitarist of Dark & Wild, the notoriously reckless band that had carved its name into rock history with more scandals than awards. You weren’t starry-eyed over the media headlines, the platinum records, or the chaos they left behind in every city.

You looked at him like he was just a man.

Not a musician, not a rockstar. Just a stranger with a sharp jaw, a dirty mouth, and a bike that made you blush.

You didn’t know he was in the middle of the Can’t Be Tamed world tour, one of the most anticipated events in music, already dubbed by critics as legendary, unfiltered, and unforgettable.

And that’s what made last night feel so real. It was raw and unscripted. Something he hasn’t had the pleasure of enjoying in quite some time.

Now, with adrenaline in the air and the crowd getting louder, he’s wondering if you'll stand out from the sea of faces. Or if you’ll remain hidden at the back of the crowd. He hopes you’ll use your advantage and be right up front. Right below his spot on stage, so he can tower over your pretty frame and show off.

God, he really hopes that’s the case.

As the bass echoes off the walls and stage lights flash when the first band takes the stage, Seokjin can’t help but wonder if last night was the last time he’ll ever see you?

With a quiet sigh, he turns away from the crowd and heads back to the dressing room to finish putting on his makeup and stage outfit. Still, his mind keeps drifting back to you.

His lips curl into a smirk at the memory of your face last night. How gorgeous you looked as you came undone in front of him, bold and unfiltered, grinding against the vibrations of his bike like you had nothing to prove. Damn, you were daring. Something refreshing that he found sexy as hell.

Jin chuckles under his breath, the memory fading as another wave of uninteresting women spills into the room with the company of his other bandmates.

A concert ticket… and an all-access pass? Is this what he’s in town for?

You turn the items over in your hands, reading the details printed in bold ink. Dark & Wild – Can’t Be Tamed World Tour. Your eyes widen slightly. That’s tonight.

You bite your lip, thinking it over.

Dark & Wild. Is that his favorite band? It would make sense, he definitely looks like the type who enjoys heavy guitar riffs and screaming fans. And he did mention he was only in town for the weekend.

But how the hell did he manage to score tickets? You remember hearing on the radio at work that the concert had completely sold out weeks ago.

Maybe he works for the band? A roadie, perhaps? He did have that confident, edgy energy. Like someone who thrives in the chaos of tour life, all the late nights and loud music.

Whatever his connection is, it doesn’t really matter. You’re just excited to see him again for your date tonight. Sure, it was technically just an invitation…but in your head, it counts as a date. And the butterflies in your stomach haven’t stopped fluttering since you opened the envelope earlier.

You can’t even remember the last time you were this excited for something. It’s been forever since a guy made your heart race. And, if you’re being honest, even longer since someone made you come like that.

So yeah, you’re definitely going.

You even decide to dress up more than you normally would for a concert. Not that you like to try hard, but hey, you’ve got someone to impress. Slipping into a black mini skirt that hugs your hips just right, you pair it with a black and white leopard print corset that cinches your waist and shows just enough cleavage to tempt. Then come the knee-high red leather boots that make your legs look a mile long and are impossible to ignore.

You twist your dark hair up into a messy-but-intentional style, securing it with a sharp chrome hair clip that glints under the light. With a swipe of eyeliner and a touch of red lipstick, you take one last glance in the mirror. Perfect timing, because your phone buzzes soon after.

Grabbing your purse, you sigh in an attempt to calm the nerves glittering beneath the surface as your Uber pulls up. The ride is short, or perhaps your mind is just preoccupied with the possibilities of tonight.

After getting dropped off, your heart flutters with each step you make toward the venue doors. The closer you get, the more real it feels.

Once the staff member waves you through after scanning your ticket, your pulse quickens. You’re about to see him again. The mysterious stranger who took one ordinary night and turned it into something wild. You wonder if he’s already arrived, if he’s waiting for you. If his face will light up when you walk toward him.

An hour later, your excitement slowly starts to unravel. The second act is about to finish their set, and there’s still no sign of him. You’ve been scanning the crowd nonstop, but the faces blur together under pulsing lights and stage fog. Though you know you’d be able to sense him.

But he’s not here.

Your stomach knots a little tighter with each passing minute. Maybe he got caught up. Maybe he’s still on the way. Maybe he’s at the bar. Maybe–

You chew your bottom lip, clutching your purse a little tighter.

Maybe he changed his mind.

As a last resort, you make your way toward the security guards stationed at the far left side of the barricade, right by the emergency exit doors.

You’ve been quietly watching from afar as a couple of crew members flash their passes before slipping past security like it’s no big deal. You hadn’t wanted to go that route unless you had to. But now, with no sign of him in the crowd and your hope thinning by the minute, it feels like your only shot.

You hesitate; the idea of being so close to the stage makes you uneasy. Especially when you barely know anything about the headliners who are about to run out. You don’t want to look out of place, like someone who doesn’t belong.

Still, you have to do it. You internally groan as you approach the guards, trying to look casual as you hold out your pass. They barely glance at it before nodding and letting you through. You step past the barricade and find a spot that hugs the left side of the stage, doing your best to stay out of the spotlight.

This side of the barrier is mostly empty. A few photographers are positioned with heavy cameras and media badges dangling from their necks. Past them and off to the right, you spot a small group of women. Probably girlfriends, or maybe groupies, laughing amongst themselves, already at ease.

He’s not here either.

You scan again, just to be sure.

Still, there’s no sign of the handsome stranger.

You’re about to give up and leave, heavy disappointment beginning to settle in. Of all the people to get stood up by, it had to be someone who was really nice, actually funny, and insanely attractive.

Boy, do you know how to pick them.

Just when you’re ready to call it a night, you catch yourself and halt your mood from worsening. Fuck it. Why should you miss out on the show? It’s free, after all. Now that the popular band is about to take the stage, you might as well stay and enjoy the music. It sure as hell beats going home to another lonely evening.

Suddenly, the stage lights dim, and the crowd roars as members start stepping into their places. As the intro of their first song begins, the lights flash back on and the screaming intensifies. That’s when your heart does a little flip, as your eyes fall on him.

Wait.

Holy shit.

It takes a moment for it to sink in, but when it does, you inhale rapidly. Your stranger isn’t a fan or roadie…he’s in the band.

His eyes lock onto yours across the stage, and you freeze, completely stunned by this new information. He smiles, pleased to see you, and then bam. That familiar smirk spreads across his face. He winks next, which makes your stomach flip as the barricade of fangirls behind you scream even louder.

What a fucking tease.

The roar of the crowd, the pounding beat of the drums, and the electrifying guitar riffs all hit you at once. You feel the vibrations from the amps in your chest. As they dive further into their set, something clicks, you actually know some of these songs; sometimes they’d play over the radio at the bar during your shifts. Catchy enough to hum along to, sure, but never quite playlist-worthy. At least, not until now.

Because hearing them live? It’s something else entirely. The sound wraps around you, enveloping you in heat and haze, and you don’t even try to fight it as the music pulls you under its spell.

Your motorcycle-riding, guitar-playing, dangerously handsome stranger moves across the stage like he owns it. Every step, every strum, is perfectly in sync with the rhythm. There’s a swagger to the way he plays, like he knows exactly how good he is. And how good he looks doing it.

Seokjin knows you’re watching him. He loves that your eyes trail him no matter where he moves on stage. He’s an entertainer, after all. He’s used to having thousands of women’s eyes on him. But tonight he only cares about yours.

He sneaks another glance at you.

You’ve let go completely, swaying your hips and dancing without a care. He smiles, he’s maybe even a little awestruck, as he takes in how much fun you’re having. He can’t help but stare like you’re the only person in the room.

And every time your gaze flicks back up to him, he’s already looking.

You lock eyes again and again, holding each other’s stare until he breaks it to look out over the crowd or exchange a nod with another band member. The smoldering glances you share make your stomach do flips and your knees feel a little weaker than you'd like to admit.

You came to this show expecting just to see him. Now you’re not sure how the hell you’re supposed to walk away without wanting more. Without needing to know what it would be like to have one night with him.

Last night was just the preview.

He and another member run off stage, prob to get a water or something, you don’t think anything of it because not even a minute later they're back on stage and starting the next song.

It’s a ballad, and you sway along to the romantic lyrics, when someone suddenly taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, Seokjin sent me down here. Do you have the pass he gave you?”

Seokjin. That’s his name.

You nod and lift it off your neck.

"Perfect. Once the band comes back out for their two encore songs, head over there,” he points toward the other end of the stage, “And show your pass to the security by the stairs. They’ll let you through so you can watch from side stage until the set's over."

Jin can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across his face the moment he spots you standing side stage, tucked behind a couple of crew members. The lighting casts a soft glow on your face, and for a second, the chaos of the show fades into the background.

He still can’t believe that you’re here.

The band powers through the final encore, leaving the crowd screaming for more as they belt out the last note. After one final strum, Jin tosses a few guitar picks into the sea of fans, flashing a wink to the front row before stepping off stage, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.

He heads toward you, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, only stopping when the rest of the guys crowd around him. Peering over their shoulders, he catches your eye and waves you over.

"Come here, I want you to meet everyone," he says, without any hesitation. He gestures to the group of men, each in various states of post-show chaos, shirtless, sweaty, all grinning. “This is Yoongi and Jimin, our other guitarists. Joon plays bass. Hobi and Tae are our lead vocalists—”

“And that,” a new, cockier voice says, cuting off Jin, “Leaves the best for last.”

A tall, inked-up guy with loose dark curls and a smirk that screams trouble steps forward. He extends a hand toward you, “I’m Jungkook. I slam the shit out of the drums…among other things.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Jin rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost audible. Jungkook enjoys riling him up, especially in front of a gorgeous girl. His grin only widens when Seokjin shoots him a warning look.

“Don’t mind him,” Jin mutters under his breath, his hand grazing your lower back possessively. “He’s still trying to figure out how to flirt without being a menace.”

You laugh when Jungkook winks at you. “What can I say? I’m a crowd favorite.”

Jin snorts. “Sure, dude.”

The guys chuckle before greeting the other women who walk up to the group. But Jin lingers beside you, eyes never quite leaving your face.

“You looked good out there,” you say, still buzzing from the show.

He smirks. “You looked better.”

“You guys ready to party?” Jimin hollers, already halfway toward the exit with a couple of girls on his arms.

Jin doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides lower, fingers brushing over the bare sliver of skin between your corset top and your skirt. The light touch sends a trail of goosebumps up your spine.

“We’ll meet you there,” he finally says, not breaking eye contact with you.

He hadn’t fully registered what you were wearing earlier. He’d been so caught up in the fact that you were here, he missed the finer details. Now he’s taking in every inch of you; the curve of your hips, the way your corset hugs your curves, especially the flash of thigh above those red boots.

And all he can think about is how badly he wants enjoy you.

Jimin catches the look on Jin’s face and raises an eyebrow knowingly, but he doesn’t say a word. Just smirks, wraps his arms around two women like the rockstar he is, and calls out, “Alright ladies, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

He disappears, leaving you and Jin in your little bubble while the crew begins to pack up around you.

“Come on,” Jin murmurs, leaning closer to your ear, his hand still on your back, “I want you all to myself for just a little longer.”

He pulls you into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you before he swiftly locks it. In the next second, your back hits the door with a soft thud, his body pressed against yours.

“So…Seokjin,” you tease, lips curling into a wicked little smile. “Any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in. “Mmm, no secrets,” he murmurs, eyes dark with need. “But say my name again.”

You obey, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Seokjin.”

He groans softly, like the sound of his name on your lips is something filthy and divine all at once. “Shit, baby. It sounds so good coming from you.”

His hands roam your waist, gripping the curve of your hips like he’s already imagining what they’ll feel like wrapped around him.

“Now that you know who I am,” he breathes, brushing his lips along your jaw, “You understand this can only be a one-time thing.”

You meet his eyes, unbothered by that fact, and your breath hitches as his fingers play with the hemline of your miniskirt.

“So fucking worth it,” you whisper, before crashing your mouth against his, your hands tangling in his hair.

It’s all heat and hunger, there’s no hesitation between either of you.

He presses you harder into the door, pinning you between the solid wood and his firm body. Without warning, he lifts you, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

Jin’s mouth is everywhere; your neck, your collarbone, the soft swell of your chest. His hands slide over the curve of your ass, kneading possessively, before one dips lower. His fingers curl inward, teasing your aching core through the thin fabric of your panties.

You gasp against his lips, moaning softly as his fingers graze right where you need him the most. But just as you start to roll your hips into his hand, he pulls away.

The sound of your whimper is swallowed by his deep groan as he grinds his hips into you. The thick, hard length of him presses right against your center, and you swear your body trembles at the contact.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, head falling back as you feel just how big he is, even through layers of clothing. Your body clenches in anticipation.

“I can’t wait to sink into you,” he growls against your throat, his voice deliciously rough. “You ready for me, baby? Think you can handle all of me?”

He thrusts his hips again, making your breath hitch.

“I bet you can’t wait for me to split you open,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Stretch you so fucking wide, you’ll feel me for days. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Seokjin, please,” you beg shamelessly.

That’s all he needs to hear.

He turns, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing, and tosses you down onto the leather sofa. You land with a bounce, your heart pounding and thighs clenching.

He stands over you for a second, his dark eyes raking over your body below, savoring the way you look spread out and desperate for him.

“Take off your panties,” he commands, “I want to watch.”

You don’t hesitate. Slipping your fingers beneath the fabric, you begin to slide the soaked lace down your thighs. They snag slightly on your boots, but he’s already kneeling to help, tugging them the rest of the way off with a growl of frustration and want.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes darkening as he takes in the slick glistening between your thighs. “You’re already dripping for me.”

He rises and takes a few steps away, grabbing a condom from a torn-open box on the counter, clearly left out by someone else’s pre-show indulgences. But when he turns back around, what he sees nearly sends him to his knees.

You’ve leaned back into the couch, one arm propped behind you, the other between your thighs. Your legs are spread wide, shameless, your skirt hiked up around your waist as your fingers slowly circle your clit before slipping lower, dipping into your soaked entrance.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, hand moving to palm himself as you moan and bite your lip, teasing him with a second finger. Your eyes meet his, heavy with lust, and the raw hunger between you thickens.

He pulls his cock free from his pants, and your gaze drops instantly—only to widen at the shimmer of something silver catching the overhead light.

He strokes himself with the same speed as your fingers, letting you see every inch of what you’re about to take. The thick, veined length of him is beautiful, but it’s the four tiny silver beads at the crown of his cockhead, encircling his tip in a perfect ring of piercings, that leave you breathless.

Your core clenches around your fingers at the sight.

He sees your reaction and smirks, lazily making his way back toward you with that same infuriating, devastating confidence, and still pumping his cock as if he has all the time in the world.

“Curious?” he rasps, towering over you.

You nod, lips parted, breath shallow with anticipation.

He strokes the head of his cock once, collecting the bead of precum glistening at the tip. Without taking his eyes off yours, he brings his thumb down to your mouth.

“You’ll find out what they do soon enough,” he murmurs.

Your lips close around his thumb without hesitation, sucking softly. Tasting him, teasing him.

That last thread of Seokjin’s composure snaps. He swears under his breath, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he tears open the condom with his teeth before swiftly rolling it on over his thick, pierced length.

Then, without warning, he grabs your hips and slams into you in one devastating thrust.

The force rocks you back into the cushions, a sharp cry escaping your lips. If it weren’t for the vice grip he had on you, you might’ve been launched right off the damn couch.

“Fuck,” he growls, head falling forward for a moment as he adjusts to your tight, wet heat. “You feel better than I imagined.”

You’re breathless, body arching to take him deeper as the metal beads drag against your inner walls with every slow pull back, sending sparks shooting through your entire core.

Your hands clutch at the edge of the sofa, eyes rolling back as he thrusts hard again.

And just like that, you're ruined.

“You love how I split your pretty little pussy open, don’t you?” he growls against your neck, voice dark and possessive. “No one else is ever gonna compare to me. No one else is gonna fuck you like this. This deep, this hard.”

You let out a broken moan, your entire body trembling beneath him. Words are useless now, your brain is too foggy, too overloaded with pleasure to even form a sentence. All you can do is gasp and cling to him like your life depends on it.

“Look at how much of me you take,” he grunts, pulling back just enough to force your gaze downward.

The sight between your thighs is obscene. His thick, pierced cock driving into you over and over, glistening with your slick. You can see the slight swell in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, a bulge pressing up under your skin.

“Oh my god,” you whimper.

“I don’t even know how I fit,” he teases, panting now, a wild smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s like a goddamn magic trick, huh?”

Then he shifts, just a slight change in angle, but the second those cool metal beads drag across your sweet spot, everything inside you unravels.

Your body arches, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. You clamp down around him, shaking, gasping, crying out his name as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it,” he growls, losing his rhythm just a little as you tighten around him. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

Before your body even has a chance to recover, he flips you over onto your hands and knees, your limbs still trembling from your last orgasm.

His grip is firm, one hand wrapped around your waist to steady your quivering body. You barely have time to brace yourself before you feel the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into the plush of your ass, followed by the loud crack of his palm slapping the other cheek.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, admiring the fresh red print blooming beneath his hand and the indents of his teeth on your skin. “You wear me so well.”

And then he’s sliding back in, fucking you from behind with bruising force. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls, mingling with your breathless moans and desperate cries of his name.

“Seokjin!” you scream, back arching as overwhelming pleasure rips through you.

He fists a handful of your hair and yanks your head back, hard. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

“Take it,” he snarls, his hips slamming into yours with punishing rhythm. “You love it rough like this, don’t you? Getting ruined like a fucking cock whore. Getting treated like the nasty girl you are.”

The pain and pleasure blur into one intoxicating haze as he brings his hand down on your ass again, another sharp spank that makes your legs shake and your core leak.

Just when you think you can't take any more, you feel his thumb press against your tightest hole, teasing as his cock drives into your soaked center. You whimper, your head dropping forward.

“Gonna fall apart for me again?” he pants behind you, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your walls already fluttering around him.

Then it hits you, your second orgasm tearing through your body, wave after wave of overwhelming ecstasy leaving you breathless and undone. Your vision goes hazy, your mouth falls open in a silent scream, and your entire body quakes under the weight of it.

You collapse forward, barely holding yourself up as your slick walls flutter wildly around him, clenching down like a vice.

“Jesus,” he grits out, his control unraveling in the heat of your orgasm. The way your body grips him, so fucking wet and perfect, drives him straight to the edge.

With a deep growl, he slams into you one final time, hips flush against your ass as he spills into the condom. Pulse after pulse of release torn from his body, as he holds you there, buried deep, his head thrown back as you milk every last drop from him with your trembling cunt.

You’re both breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and every nerve on fire from the intensity of it all.

For a moment, neither of you move, slowly coming down from something so fucking feral it barely feels real.

“So,” he says with a lazy grin, still catching his breath, “If I leave tickets for you next time we’re in town…you want a repeat?”

You stretch out beneath him, lips curling into a playful smirk. “Only if you promise to bring your motorcycle again.”

His eyes darken instantly, with a wicked glint. “Mmm, that’s a damn good idea.” He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Next time, I’m making you come twice before we even think about getting off that bike.”

You bite your lip, pulse quickening. “Sounds like a plan.”

He grins smugly. “Nah, baby…that sounds like a date.”

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oofthwoods · 1 year ago

Text

DEBUTANTE! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: derived from the french language, meaning “a first performance or showing.” the original word debutante referred to a new actress making her first appearance on the stage. or, the one where dreams come true in bahrain.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: just a little bonus, but i picture jasper as kingsley ben-adir (secret invasion, barbie). if this is the first work of mine you're checking, reader is a driver for porsche and the daughter of rubens barrichello!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 5.5k

NO ONE ASKED HER A QUESTION IN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

Naturally, there were many questions about her. How did the drivers feel about a woman joining their ranks on the track? What were their thoughts on the growing number of female fans who were tuning in to watch Formula One, possibly due to the popularity of the documentary Drive to Survive or the historic moment of having the first female driver in decades?

She wasn't sure if this was better or worse than she anticipated. She vividly recalled her first press conference last year when she was still driving for ART Grand Prix. They asked her ridiculous questions like whether it was professional to wear skirts in the paddock (yes), who the most attractive driver was (herself, obviously), and even if her father was disappointed that she reached a milestone in motorsport before her older brother (Dudu, who raced with their father in Brazilian Stock Series. And no, he had already made it clear he was proud of both of them).

In the first few minutes, she assumed it was because she was a rookie. But then Oscar Piastri answered a fair share of questions while looking at her as if he didn't understand why people were treating her like an invisible presence. She would shrug her shoulders and the australian reluctantly answered reporters' inquiries.

She was sandwiched between Lewis, who seemed impatient as time dragged on without any questions directed towards her, and Max Verstappen, who quickly responded to his own questions and showed his eagerness to leave. Two rookies, two world champions, but only three drivers deemed important enough for interviews.

The world-renowned champion's frustration peaked when asked about his recent vacation activities.

"Is this a joke?" he asked. "Do you really want to know what I did on my vacation more than asking her interesting questions?" He gestured towards the girl beside him.

"It's alright, Lewis-"

"With all due respect, Hamilton," one of the reporters interjected with a sarcastic smirk on his face. "I can't imagine what kind of questions we could ask Miss Barrichello besides her makeup preferences or favorite clothing brands."

"How about the fact that I won four championships in a row as a rookie?" She responded with a fake sweet smile plastered on her face. She could accept to be ignored, but she refused to be underestimated. "Or maybe any questions about Porsche joining the grid this year?"

"I don't think winning a championship by such a small margin of points is anything to be praised." The reporter retorted. His expression implied that he wasn't expecting the young girl to comfort him, but he couldn't hold back.

"Really? So we should just say that the battle between Max and Lewis in 2021-" she indicated towards them "-was nothing worth celebrating? Such an uneventful year for this sport."

Verstappen leaned forward, observing the interaction between the girl and the reporter. This press conference just became much more interesting.

"Strong words from someone who has never stepped foot in a race car." He chimed in, agreeing with the youngest person in the room.

"That's not what I meant." The reporter stuttered, noticing the security chief slowly approaching him. The middle-aged man was one of many security guards in the paddock that had known the driver since she was a child, and she knew that one look in his direction and the man would be escorted out.

"Of course, of course," she replied sarcastically. "You mean it's not worth celebrating because a woman won, right? Please, if you're going to insult me, at least try to make it believable. Or better yet, don't speak if you have no idea what you're talking about"

The tension in the room was palpable as another reporter spoke up, "But Y/n, let's be real here. The races were mostly dominated by your teammate, Frederik Vesti or runner-up Felipe Drugovich. Your victories were purely tactical."

She leaned back in her chair with a smug smile playing on her lips. "Is that so? Yet somehow I managed to come out on top every time."

Verstappen nodded in agreement, "She's definitely got a point there."

The press room fell into an intense quiet, causing y/n to regret her decision to do this interview. She knew that this type of situation would become more common as her fame grew in the coming year. She also understood that Lewis would be praised for defending her while she would face criticism for simply standing up for herself against a man who was only doing his job.

The silence was broken by a female journalist in the back, hidden behind the larger, more muscular bodies of her male counterparts. But y/n could never mistake that blonde hair for anyone else. Mariana Becker was a veteran sports reporter, an icon in Brazilian journalism, and a role model for any woman breaking into a male-dominated field.

“I wish I had raised my hand earlier; I didn't realize it would take so long for someone to ask you a question,” she chuckled. "I don't think anyone will object to two questions, right?" The woman looked around the room, and the other interviewers avoided making eye contact with the veteran.

"So, y/n, you've been asked countless times about being a woman in a male-dominated world and the difficulties you face because of it. However, with such a successful junior career full of records, I honestly don't see the need to ask that question again. Instead, I'd like to focus on the positive aspects. What does it mean to you knowing that a new generation of girls can look up to you as an inspiration and be motivated to pursue their dreams?"

The girl's face lit up with gratefulness for the refreshing question and relief that she wouldn't have to answer the same question she had already answered countless times before.

"It's incredibly inspiring for me as well. Growing up in this environment, surrounded by racing cars, I was also discouraged from pursuing this career. But I can only imagine how much more difficult it must have been for young girls who were ridiculed just for dreaming of driving a go-kart. To know that I can play a role in encouraging them to follow their dreams without fear of judgment is truly exciting."

Lewis subtly raised his thumb in a gesture of approval while she chuckled.

"Excellent," said the reporter with a smile. "One more question, how did your father react when you told him you were entering the world of Formula 1?"

"He cried," y/n answered quickly, eliciting laughter from those in the room. "He's quite the crybaby, so I waited until we were together to share the news of my contract with Porsche. At first, he cried tears of joy, then fear, and eventually a mixture of both. That's when he realized that all three of his children were following in his footsteps as race car drivers and that he'd have to pay for everything he put his own father through."

The reporter chuckled along with y/n. Mari had interviewed Rubens back when he was in Formula 1, and remembers clearly how emotional the man always was. The conference went on like this for another half an hour, with y/n answering everything from her expectations for the upcoming season to her favorite tracks and how she dealt with pressure.

The balaclava, damp with sweat, clung tightly to her face as she stood at attention. Her race engineer, a tall black man with a buzzcut and a calm expression, waited patiently beside her. She smoothed down the folds of her crisp, red-and-black uniform, adorned with her country's flag on the sleeve.

"How was the conference?" Jasper asked.

The girl muttered something that Jasper couldn't make out. "That bad? Did they bring up the issue with wearing skirts in the paddock again?"

"They didn't ask anything at first, but then one guy made a comment about me winning the championship by a narrow margin of points not being worthy of praise. Except it wasn't even a narrow margin; Felipe finished about sixty points behind me., and Fred was more than a hundred points behind, despite driving the same car as me" She complained.

Jasper winced. The relationship between the engineer and the driver had been amazing during pre-season tests with the man acting like a friend and a mentor, and they had found a groove to envy.

"You'll need to come up with a strategy for dealing with these reporters," Jasper advised.

"I already have one."

"Really?" He glanced at the clock on the track and realized that time was running out. He handed her the helmet with both hands. She grinned and smoothly put it on. The colors of her country's flag stood out against the black and red of the car, making it impossible to miss.

"Yes. WWJD."

"What does that stand for?"

"What Would Jenson Do. Originally, it was "What Would Kimi Do," but I quickly realized that Kimi would just tell everyone to go fuck themselves, and I can't exactly do that yet."

The garage was a whirlwind of activity, with mechanics frantically making last-minute adjustments and drivers strapping into their cars. The scent of gasoline and burning rubber wafted through the air, adding to the excitement and tension that crackled in the atmosphere.

Everywhere she looked, there were people moving with purpose, each one focused on their individual tasks to ensure a successful first qualifying session of the season. The roar of engines being revved and tools clanging against metal filled her ears, drowning out any other sound. It was a chaotic but exhilarating scene as the countdown to the race began.

"Why not "What Would Rubens Do"?" He asked.

She chuckled. "My dad is too nice. In his only fight in his entire Formula 1 career, he told the mechanic who wanted to fight him to get someone else because he was too small."

Jasper's phone buzzed insistently, jolting him out of his thoughts and reminding him that only five minutes remained until the start of Q1. After the last few adjustments from the mechanics, y/n managed to squeeze into her car and secure her seatbelt. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might leap out of her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through her body as she prepared for the intense competition ahead.

Jasper rested his arms on the halo. "Don't forget what we discussed earlier," he reminded her. "In Q1, six cars will be eliminated, followed by six more in Q2. This means that the top ten fastest cars will battle for pole position. Based on our data, we are definitely faster than Alpha Tauri, Alfa Romeo, Haas, and Williams - a total of eight cars."

The girl nodded eagerly, her eyes glued to the man as he continued. "At the very least, you and Mick should be able to make it into Q2. We're not sure how Alpine and McLaren are doing, but they don't seem to be as quick as us." He gestured towards the track outside where the other teams were busy with their own preparations. "But we can't let our guard down. Anything can happen during quali." The tension was palpable as they both waited for their turn on the track.

"So, we're trying for Q3 then?" She inquired, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and determination.

"Officially, I was instructed to tell you that Q2 is sufficient, but we can't know our full potential until we're on the track."

A sly grin appeared on her face, hidden behind her helmet. She pushed down her visor, ready to give it her all. "Well, I say let's aim for Q3 then. I want to see what this car can really do."

A gentle laugh escaped Jasper's lips, his eyes shining with admiration. "That's the spirit, echo. Show them what you're made of."

With one final nod, y/n shifted her focus, tuning out the noise and commotion of the pit lane. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, using all her senses to ground herself in the present moment. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline filled her nostrils as she visualized the track ahead. The deafening roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds, sending shivers down her spine.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio in her ear, sounding like a distant robot. "Radio check," he said, his tone serious and business-like.

She adjusted gloves as she responded, "I hear you loud and clear." Her hands were tightly gripped on the steering wheel as she followed Logan Sargeant's Williams out of the pit lane. It was a tight squeeze with the Porsche garage being the newest addition to the grid. She bit her lip, hoping that their placement in the pit lane wouldn't cause any trouble in the future.

"Great. Warm up your tires and then do a flying lap. We want to get a better idea of our potential and avoid any possible disruptions from a Red Flag," Jasper instructed.

"Roger that," she replied, trying to keep her breathing steady as cars started to move around her. She prayed that the onboard camera wouldn't catch her trembling hands as she prepared for her first real lap on the track.

The engine roared to life as she pressed down on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel with determination. The car surged forward, its tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving a trail of smoke behind. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening her senses as she focused on the task at hand.

The wind whipped through, carrying with it a symphony of sounds—engines revving, tires squealing, and the distant cheers of the crowd. Her heart pounded in sync with the rhythm of the track, each beat pulsating through her chest.

As the cars whizzed by, she made a conscious effort to stay out of their way while completing her out lap. It was her first Grand Prix, and she wasn't about to receive an impeding penalty. She could feel the engine roaring to life and her car responding with precision, its tires getting ready to set a time that would hopefully secure her from elimination in the initial round.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio once again. "Alright, you're good to go. Try your best," he encouraged, his voice filled with unwavering support.

"Copy." She smirked.

The pre-tests and free practice had prepared her for what was to come, but nothing could have truly prepared her for the exhilaration of sitting behind the wheel of a Formula 1 car. The engine purred like a fierce beast, ready to unleash its power at any moment. The sleek body of the car hugged the track, cutting through the air with precision and grace.

As she approached the first turn, she braked hard, shifting her weight to navigate the corner with precision. The G-forces pressed against her body, threatening to tear her away from reality. But she held firm, refusing to let anything distract her from the objective ahead.

She feathered the throttle, feeling the car respond to her slightest movements. The tires gripped the track, providing a sense of stability as she accelerated out of the turn, leaving her the other car trailing behind. Y/n's focus was unwavering, her eyes fixated on the next set of corners, mentally calculating her approach.

The flying lap was over in an instant, and the sound of the cheering crowd filled her ears as she crossed the finish line and set her initial time.

"Way to go, girl!" Jasper's voice crackled through the radio. "You've got P8, I repeat, P8. We're safely into Q2, but stay on track just in case. Prepare for another quick lap."

"How did Mick do?" she asked eagerly.

"P10, 0.78 seconds behind you," Jasper's voice was filled with pride as he responded. Despite his efforts to maintain professionalism, they were both rookies in the Formula 1 world, even if in different roles. "I got a great feeling about us, Barrichello. This could be the beginning of something legendary."

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she waited for the race to begin and she started to feel claustrophobic inside her cramped driver's room.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere any longer, she stepped outside into the bustling garage. The sight of her team, clad in matching uniforms and working tirelessly on their cars, brought a small smile to her face. As she made her way through the maze of mechanics and equipment, she was greeted with reassuring smiles and words of encouragement.

This was not just her first race, but also the team's inaugural race. In a way, they were all rookies, feeling the pressure and nerves just as she was.

Standing outside, it was clear that several eyes were on her. Some, like the veteran Ferrari mechanics who had known her since she was a little girl, flashed comforting smiles and gave her thumbs up, wishing her the best of luck. Others raised their eyebrows with skepticism, as if they believed her presence on the grid was some sort of elaborate prank that hadn't been revealed yet.

Amidst a sea of red and black uniforms, the bright green outfit of the two-time world champion stood out prominently. Fernando paid no mind to the curious glances from his mechanics as he made his way confidently towards the girl.

"You're not allowed in here, Alonso." She teased, playfully crossing her arms in a gesture that made her seem much older than she was.

"Is that how it is now? You qualify in the Top 10 in your first race and all of a sudden I'm just Alonso, not Nando?" He responded with a chuckle. Clutching his heart dramatically, he leaned back as if struck by sudden agony. "What happened to all our pizza days? They meant nothing to you?"

The character she was playing no longer felt right to her, and the words she spoke didn't align with the expression on her face. She fought to suppress a smile as she continued, "That person you knew, Alonso? She is gone now."

As the man approached, she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity wash over her. His dark hair and intense brown eyes were etched into her memory, but it was his infectious smile that brought back a flood of childhood memories.

Fernando rested his hands on her shoulders and held onto his helmet, which puzzled her. With only a few minutes left before the race began, he could have easily stored it in his own garage rather than carrying it around. But she pushed those thoughts aside as his gaze softened and he spoke.

"You were the size of a flea when I met you," he said with a chuckle. She smiled at the memory of their first encounter. She had been just six years old at the time, tagging along with her father to one of his races. She remembered being mesmerized by the speed and energy of the cars on the track, but also feeling a little intimidated by the loud noises and bustling crowds.

But then she saw him – Alonso – standing tall and proud in his racesuit. He had noticed her watching him from behind the fence and had flashed her a tight smile. Somehow, from that one interaction, she had become a fan. From then on, whenever she visited the track with her father, she would always seek out Fernando.

Initially, the Spaniard couldn't comprehend why the young girl found him so intriguing. He knew he was talented and quick on the race track, but children were not his forte. Alonso would often try to distance himself from the girl, offering only friendly waves and smiles. However, when she presented him with a drawing of himself on the podium with a trophy (which he still keeps today), everything changed.

"You used to avoid me like the plague," she recalled.

"That's not entirely true," Fernando denied, but quickly changed his tune when the girl raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I wasn't too fond of being followed around by a little girl. Can you blame me? If anything happened to you, I would have to deal with your father, Michael, Kimi, and all the mechanics that you had wrapped around your finger."

He became somewhat of figure between an older brother and a father figure to her, always ready with words of encouragement and advice.

Now here they were, both grown up and about to race against each other for the very first time.

"I can't believe we're finally racing against each other," she said with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

"It's about time," Fernando replied with a smirk. "I've been waiting for this moment since you beat me in go-karts."

A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the moment. During one of his trips with her family to cheer her on during her junior career, they decided to have some fun and race go-karts. She had managed to beat him by mere thousandths of a second, and she made sure to remind him of it constantly afterwards.

"What's on the agenda for today, Mija?" He asked, looking around at the girl's garage.

"Hah, like I would share that with you. I love you, Nando, but now we're competitors." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You're just trying to take advantage because we're close."

"You got me." He chuckled, knowing it wasn't entirely true.

She sighed and crossed her arms with a hesitant expression. "Rule number one is to not crash into Mick. Number two is to avoid crashing into anyone else. Our team isn't expecting a stellar performance, so if we can maintain our starting positions, both cars will score points. That's our main goal."

"Oh, come on. Don't you want to try overtaking someone?" he prodded.

Y/N laughed. "Why? You want to see me in your rearview mirror?"

"Of course I do," he admitted. "Competing for a win with you would be incredible."

He pushed his helmet towards the girl, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Confused, she tilted her head in question. “I appreciate the gift, but I think you’ll need it today.”

Fernando laughed, memories flooding back to him. “Remember when your dad retired and you started coming to races with me?”

The memories flooded back, of her father's days in the high-stakes world of Formula 1. Though he had since retired, Fernando still managed to convince Rubens to allow her to travel with him to races closer to her home, and sometimes even to the grand prix in his homeland.

She quickly caught on to his request and playfully darted away from him before snagging the helmet. It had become a tradition since she was ten years old, and Fernando had unofficially taken on the role of her godfather. She used to do this same routine with her own father, so it felt natural to continue with the spaniard. He stood there, slightly perplexed, wondering if he had said or done something wrong. But just moments later, the young girl returned with her own helmet in hand.

"Wouldn't it be fair for you to do the same for me this time?" she asked playfully.

The two exchanged helmets and planted a kiss on the part of the helmet that would soon cover each other's foreheads.

"Stay safe, Nando"

"You too. Give us hell"

"It's an easy overtake for Barrichello in the Porsche, and she takes the position from Lance Stroll in the Aston Martin!" David Croft's voice rings across the circuit, and the crowd roars, the flags from her country and Germany flying around.

"Great job!" The voice of her race engineer appears in her ear, breaking through her intense concentration. "Russell is 1.2 ahead, close the gap to be able to use DRS when it is enabled."

"Copy" she nods, instinctively, her eyes never leaving the track ahead. She knows what she needs to do, and she pushes her car to its limits, weaving through the curves and straights with precision and skill.

As she closes the gap between her and the british driver, she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She's in her element, in the midst of the intense competition that she lives for.

"0.7. Go for it, elbows out" Jasper said again.

The cheers of the pit crew resounded in her ears as she used the extra boost to overtake the Mercedes. It was a challenge to defend against George's attempts at whiplash and reclaim her position, but once they were off the main straight, she managed to create a considerable gap between them.

The rest of the race flew by in a blur. The girl lost track of her position, constantly overtaking some cars only to be overtaken shortly after. However, Jasper's encouraging words kept her going.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio as she approached the final stretch of the race. "Virtual safety car, slow down," he instructed.

She quickly checked her rearview mirror, looking for her teammate. "Is it ours?" she asked.

"No, it's Leclerc in the Ferrari," Jasper replied, "which puts us in fifth place."

She could see Hamilton was more than five seconds behind, and the yellow flag meant that Alonso was slowing down ahead of her.

"As soon as the VSC is lifted, you'll have a clear shot to overtake," Jasper added.

Who would have thought that she would be right on Fernando's heels after all?

After a few laps of caution due to the previous incident, the green flags were waved and she wasted no time in accelerating towards the Aston Martin driven by the Spaniard. She steadily closed the gap between them until she was right behind him. However, just as she was about to make a move to pass him, he outmaneuvered Carlos Sainz's Ferrari.

In a swift and calculated maneuver, she positioned her car on the inside of Sainz, who seemed too focused on reclaiming his position to check his mirrors. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of attention, she quickly overtook him.

Jasper's voice was filled with excitement as he shouted, "That's it, echo! What a fantastic move!" She could almost hear the smile in his tone. "Alonso is already ten seconds ahead, so concentrate on defending now."

The final laps seemed like a blur, the girl steadily increasing the gap between her and the Ferrari with each lap.

"It's a flawless performance from Porsche, with both cars scoring points on this historic day. Mick Schumacher equals his best career finish with an incredible P6, and Y/N Barrichello takes fourth place, becoming the first woman to score in a Formula 1 race since Lella Lombardi and achieving the highest position for a woman in history!"

The sound of the bustling cheers from the Porsche garage fills her ears as she struggled to park the car with trembling hands. “Unbelievable! P4, y/n, P4! We scored 21 points and Mick got the fastest lap. What a start,” Jasper exclaims over the radio.

She stepped out of the car on shaky legs and is immediately greeted by Carlos, who had parked his car behind hers. “Where did you come from?” he asked with a chuckle. “I was trying to overtake Fernando, and suddenly you were right beside me.”

She took off her helmet and balaclava, her hair damp with sweat and sticking to her forehead and neck. She culdn't help but laugh. "Next time, check your mirrors," She teases her good-naturedly.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she was suddenly enveloped in a warm embrace. The sweat that coated both of them didn't matter, nor did the fact that she still needed to weigh herself. She squeezed Mick even tighter and they both seemed too overjoyed to let go.

He took a step back but kept his arms around her. "Fourth place in your first race! I told you not to worry," the German exclaimed proudly.

"And look who's talking with the fastest lap!" She laughed in agreement. "We did it, Mick. We fucking did it."

A bottle of water suddenly appeared in her line of sight, and she turned to thank the person who handed it to her. To her surprise, it was Lewis with a smile on his face.

"If you had just overtaken one more person, you would have joined the club," he joked, pointing to Kevin Magnussem, who appeared to be deep in conversation with his teammate. "It was quite a race for the two of you."

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting to end up anywhere higher than where I started, so P4 is already a great achievement," she replied with a laugh as she took the cold bottle from him. The girl then turned to Lewis again and asked about his own race.

"P7. Mick managed to pass me on the last lap," he responded, glancing over at the young driver who chuckled in response.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins as y/n made her way to the weighing machines. She couldn't believe it, a P4 finish on her debut race. It seemed like a dream come true.

She stepped onto the scales, trying to calm her racing heart. The number flashed on the screen, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Phew, just made it," she muttered to herself.

Grabbing a towel to wipe off the sweat from her face, she quickly discarded her race suit at her hips, and made her way to her garage in her white fireproofs.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like the team had just won a world championship, not a P6 and P4. People were clapping her on the back and embracing Mick, and she struggled to decipher the various voices exclaiming with joy.

Jasper appeared in front of her with a bottle of champagne in hand. "Congratulations y/n, you did amazing out there!" he exclaimed before popping open the bottle and spraying champagne everywhere.

She laughed as some of the bubbly liquid hit her skin. "Thanks Jasper! I couldn't have done it without your perfect strategy. Great call with the tyres"

He grinned at her before turning serious. "But seriously y/n, you did a great job out there. We're all so proud of you." The rest of the team joined them in cheers and congratulations.

Before they could continue their conversation, Adrian, the team principle, arrived at their garage looking ecstatic. "Great job everyone! A double-points finish for our debut race, this is just the beginning." He raised his glass of champagne before taking a sip.

Y/n looked around and couldn't help but feel proud of her team. They had come a long way since their first tests together. And now here they were, competing in one of the most prestigious racing championships in the world.

Adrian turned to her with a smile. "Y/n, I must say you exceeded all expectations today. You have proven yourself as a valuable addition to our team." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Keep up the good work."

She couldn't help but blush at his words and nod gratefully. This was everything she had ever dreamed of - to be part of a successful racing team and make her mark in the sport.

As the celebrations continued, y/n couldn't help but think about how far she had come. From fighting for sponsorships to competing against some of the best drivers in the world, it felt like a dream come true.

But amidst all the excitement and joy, there was still one thing weighing on her mind - her family. She missed them terribly and wished they could be here to witness her success.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

"Muito orgulhoso de você filhota. Eu sabia que você ia arrasar! Me liga quando acabar tudo aí" — PAPAI. (so so proud of you, baby. i knew you would rock it! call me once you're done with everything there.)

Soon after, her older brother's name appeard on her phone as well. A quick congrats was followed by a video. Tapping on it, she couldn't contain the tears as she watched her father by the TV, holding tightly their flag and exploding in joy as the checkered flag was waved and his daughter finished in fourth.

He erupted with happiness, leaping and embracing her siblings and close friends who had gathered to witness her debut. He would excitedly point towards the television, shouting with pride, "There she is! My little girl!"

A big smile crept onto her face as she quickly replied back with an update on how things were, and a promise to video call her family as soon as she was cleared from the media.

"Time for the boring stuff now. Ready for the interviews?" Mick pulled her out of her thoughts. He had his phone on his hand, and she imagined he was also communicating with his family. "I can go first, if you want."

She took a deep breath, and smiled. "It's okay, i'll go. There's nothing they can say that could ruin my day. Not anymore."

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley, @stinkyjax, @namgification, @judespoision, @cha-hot, @disneyprincemuke, @itsjustkhaos, @trouble-sistar, @ihateyougunthersteiner, @treehouse-mouse, @cherry-piee, @fangirl125reader, @cassie0sstuff

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coke-whore · 2 months ago

Note

billy x slasher reader, she only kills guys. and lets say she ends up getting caught by him in the woods or something after sneaking off with a guy at a party.

she’s like “what are you doing here?”

and he’s like no, “what are YOU doing here?” 🤨

he ofc notices the blood, the gloves, the corpse on the ground. when reader showed up into town he took minimal interest in her, she was pretty but she had nothing that peaked his interest. he had more important things to worry abt. well now she was visibly panicking and he’s amused.

he NEVER expected this of all things. how long was this going on? was that the reason so many guys had gone missing recently only to turn up dead? only for the killings to be blamed on him and stu? reader was clever he had to admit, going to an area like this. allowing the blame to fall on them. and now that she looks like she’s abt to charge at him— he decides to make things a lil interesting and let her in on his plan.

also i like tagging requests with emojis anytime i send asks so ppl know who it’s from. ^^ is it okay if i do that? if so ill use a 🍒 !

yes ofc! btw srry for the doing this so late, life has been HECTIC.

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

- Billy Loomis 𝓍 fem!reader

𝜗𝜚 - billy loomis x fem!reader

𝜗𝜚 - story (possible multi part)

𝜗𝜚 - mentions of death & gore, blood, stabbing, killing

ღ - a/n: The title is so Jennifer Check

𝜗𝜚 - navigation requests are open

word count: 1,349

The sound of music playing in the background gradually faded into a muffled thump as you made your way further and further into the woods behind none other than Stu Macher’s house. Stu always did throw the best parties; at least that’s what you managed to grasp from the minimal time you had spent in Woodsboro.

Growing up with a parent whose job involved moving from state to state all the time meant learning how to navigate your way through each school. It was difficult at first of course with all the anxiety of making new friends and the guilt of not being able to keep in touch with them and blah, blah, blah, but over time you came to realize how fucking similar everyone was. There was always that one group of popular kids who were straight up assholes, the group of nerdy, geeky people, the smart kids who would die if they ever got anything besides an A, the stoner kids, and everyone else who were essentially just background characters.

And there were always, always, copies of various people regardless of the school you found yourself in. For example, you would find yourself in conversation with a blonde-haired girl who talked exactly like this one brunette you knew but could not be bothered to remember the name of, and they might have had contrasting appearances, but holy shit were they the same exact person. It really serves as a reminder that people aren’t as ‘individual’ and ‘special’ as they think they are.

Apart from realizing the simplicity and naivety of people, you had also come to realize guys are such immature, brainless pieces of shit. Especially teenage boys. It was like the moment they reach puberty all they can think about is getting their dick wet. You had no space to even begin to judge them for being horny. I mean who doesn’t like a good fuck every now and then. But the way a portion of them spoke about women as if they were objects had you physically reeling. It was disgusting, the way they could easily engage in conversation about a girl as if they were some trinket they were considering buying at the mall.

You could not let that slide. You just couldn’t. You wouldn’t. What type of feminist would you be if you just stood around without taking action.

Some people might call what you are doing just a tad bit over dramatic. But you always had loved theatrics and if anything, everything you did – are doing – would be in vain if it was not at the very least a little entertaining. Your target audience would expect nothing less.

The rustle of leaves brings you back to reality as you smile at the green eyed blonde you had tied up against a tree. “Listen, honey, it’s nothing personal – really, it isn’t, it’s just,” you crouch down in front of him with a sigh, rubbing your thumb across his cheek in a soothing manner, “you’re such a fucking manwhore.” Your smile turns into a sneer as the last part falls from your mouth. Propping yourself up from your current crouching position you stretch with your hands clasped above your head until you feel the soothing burn as your back pops. “Now,” you clasp your hands together with a grin “for the main event!”

You hum “California Dreamin’” to yourself as you open the duffle bag you had hidden under a pile of leaves beforehand. You gasp and turn to face the petrified guy with a broad smile. “Oh my god that is so ironic.” you gushed as you placed your hands on your hip. You bit your lip stifling a laugh. “Get it ‘cause the lyrics – y'know it’s about leaves and shit.” you snickered before pouting when you realized all the blonde was doing was staring up at you as his face got paler as the seconds ticked by. “Tough crowd” you muttered rolling your eyes, swiftly turning your back to get the hunting knife and garbage bags tucked in your bag.

“Alrighty then,” you beamed “time to slice ‘n dice” the leaves crunched under the weight of your boots as you leisurely made your way in front of the alarmed guy. He squirmed away as best he could, shouting muffled protests as the blade in your hand made its way to his neck. “It’s a shame, really – “you said with a tone of mock pity “you’re so pretty but alas, you were just too easy.” you sighed fiddling with your knife. “All I did was flash you a candy smile and you took the bait, hook, line and sinker.”

Smoke left Billy’s mouth as he finished his cigarette, crushing it under his boot on the porch of Stu’s house. He made his way back into the chaotic party accidently bumping into someone in the process. “Oh my goodness I am so sorry.” you apologized before hastily grabbing onto the guy you were presumably about to leave with. “I’m such a klutz when I’m tipsy” you giggled before getting dragged off by John? Josh? Whatever his fucking name was.

Billy had seen you around school a few times, you both shared an AP English class, and you always made an appearance at parties like these. But ever since you showed up guys had been dropping dead like flies. He wouldn’t have usually minded aside from a couple curious thoughts but whoever it was that was going on this killing spree was fucking up his plans. The last thing he needed was for ‘Ghostface’ to be suspected of all these murders. And he had a sneaking suspicion that you were connected somehow.

So, of course, like any rational person, he followed you when you took your boy toy into the woods. Oh, and was he treated with a surprise.

You were humming to yourself as you began disposing of a body that had multiple stab wounds littered across it. He could not help the cheshire grin that made its way across his face as he watched you discard everything step by step as if it was a routinely business of yours.

“Cute hobby” he crowed grinning that God awful ‘Billy Loomis’ esque smile. “You do this often or... –?” You whipped your head towards the sound of his voice so fast you could have sworn your neck nearly snapped off. Headless horseman was not the look you were going for.

Billy Loomis. Billy motherfucking Loomis. You internally screamed your lungs out because how was he standing here. Well, you knew how he obviously followed you, but why? You bumped into him leaving the party, and he saw whatshisname trailing along beside you like a puppy and thought ‘oh free porn’ or some dumb bullshit? There was no possible way you would be able to play this off. There is a dead body directly next to you, the hunting knife you used had your prints all over it and you had splotches of blood beginning to soak into the soft material of your shirt leaving small crimson red dots.

‘So, what now?’

“What are you doing here?” you asked in an accusatory tone as you continued to spiral further not in the least bit prepared for this situation. He chuckled, taking a few steps forward as the maroon leaves that filled the forest floor crunched beneath his feet. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Tension fills the air and the only noise that can be heard is the quiet ‘thump, thump, thump’ of music in the background save for the occasional hoot of an owl. You are visibly shaken by Billy’s sudden and unwanted appearance while he looks indifferent. The scent of cheap beer and cigarette’s fill your nostrils as he edges closer, and you contemplate gutting him and making it look like a Ghostface killing.

“This is usually the part where you run.” you squint at him, narrowing your eyes while he tilts his head with a faint smile as though you had said something amusing. “I gotta give you credit,” he says completely ignoring your remark, “coming to this shithole and letting the blame fall on ‘Ghostface’ is pretty clever.” “Is it?” you questioned rhetorically, tightening the grip on your blade. He seems to notice as his eyes flick towards the sharp object but carries on with his little speech. “Mhm, yeah, it is. And before you come charging at me with that thing why don’t we... have a chat.”

You eyed the boy suspiciously doubt flickering across your features. “A chat...?” He turned towards you with a wicked smile.

“I have a proposition.”

#billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis smut #stu macher x reader #stu macher #scream #scream franchise #scream 1996 #ghostface #ghostface x reader #randy meeks #tatum riley #sidney prescott #skeet ulrich #matthew lillard #90s

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tsukuhoe · 5 months ago

Text

10. please please please

from behind the mixing desk, choso watched you intently. his fingers hovered over the soundboard, ready to adjust levels at a moment’s notice.

“y/n,” the brunette said, his voice crackling through the intercom. “wanna take it from the bridge again? you’re almost there— just lean into it.” whenever he works, choso’s like a whole new person. more serious, more focused, more professional.

you nodded, determination flashing in your eyes. you took a deep breath as the instrumental track began to play in your headphones, the rich swell of strings building into a steady rhythm. your voice was raw and soulful when you sang, each word dripping with emotion. choso nodded along, tweaking the EQ slightly as you hit a particularly powerful note. as the song reached its peak, your voice cracked ever so slightly.

“fuck,” you muttered, pulling off the headphones.

“it’s okay,” choso said, stepping into the booth. “you’re pushing too hard on the outro… let it breathe. remember, it’s not about being perfect— it’s about feeling it.”

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “i know. i just… i want this to be right. it’s a bit personal.”

choso placed his hand on your shoulder. “that’s exactly why it’ll be great! just sing it for yourself this time.”

you nodded, letting his words sink in. with a deep breath, you slid the headphones back on and faced the mic. choso returned to his seat, adjusted a few knobs, and gave you a thumbs-up. the track started again, softer this time. your voice was vulnerable yet strong as you sang. as you finished, the studio fell silent, your heart racing.

the brunette leaned into the mic, a slow smile spreading across his face. “that’s it, y/n. that’s the one.”

you grinned, the tension in your shoulders melting away. “really?”

“really. it was perfect.”

you ran out the booth, excitedly jumping towards him and pulling him into a warm unexpected hug. choso’s stomach did a flip. his mind racing. was this real? should he hug you back? would that be weird?

“thank you, cho…” you said softly, your cheek resting against his shoulder and eyes welling up with tears. the brunette blinked, finally letting his arms rise to lightly return the hug.

“are you alright, y/n?”

you didn’t expect to start tearing up at the question, however, it’s been a rough week with the rumours of sukuna being spotted with his ex all while being in a new environment filming for the first time. not only that, but the recent spike in popularity from your new single has been overwhelming. you couldn’t help but start tearing up in choso’s embrace; presence was so comforting.

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. “yeah. sorry for getting emotional… it’s been a long week.” you chuckled, wiping the small tears that formed in your eyes. “oh, by the way, i forgot to tell you but i got permission for us to use special grade’s music production rooms— access to them 24/7.”

choso’s eyes widened and lit up, excited like a puppy seeing a treat. “really?! wait y/n, seriously? that’s awesome!”

“right, baby! you deserved a reward— so i bargained with the management when they discussed the scream reboot.”

“thank you so so much! i could not be any happier, oh my god… i can’t believe it! all the new equipment, the space… i mean, can you imagine the quality of their mics? we could make so much more higher quality songs and…” a soft smile tugged at your lips. his voice rose and fell, his excitement weaving through every syllable.

seconds later, the door swung open, revealing yuji, your producer’s younger brother, wearing a flour-dusted apron and an exuberant smile.

“choso! y/n!” the pink-haired boy exclaimed, opening the door as the scent of vanilla and cinnamon enveloped the room like a cozy blanket. “the band and i just finished making cinnamon rolls, and we wanted to bring you two some! i’m not interrupting anything, right?”

“omg thank you so much yuji! that’s so sweet of you!” you smiled giving him a peck on the cheek, as he handed you a plate with two freshly baked sweet rolls.

choso never wanted to be his brother so badly until this very moment.

album bonus tracks: — chosoy/n moments omgeee 🥹 — y/n in this chapter was having a panic attack btw if u didn't notice lol — (based on irl experiences when i had one in hs bc of my ex ꃋᴖꃋ) — yuji is so precious omg (adopt him rn!!!) ⋮ MASTERLIST ֹ⋮ PREVIOUS ⋮ ֹNEXT ⋮

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fanaticsnail · 1 month ago

Note

The second I saw this SBS from Oda I needed to show you. This is from volume 106.

"R: Who is gets more women, Shanks or Benn Beckman? P.N. Kikuno

O: Shanks is more popular, I think. But Beckman hits on many more women. Beckman loves the ladies."

Idk why, but I honestly wasn't expecting Mr. Beckman to be such a slut 🤭 Somebody needs to put him on a LEASH.

I just love Benn Beckman. Just look at him.

I think that little, "Shanks is more popular," in there is more because every person in a bar or pub with the Red Hair Pirates vies for the captain's attention. It really takes that one special person for Shanks to attach himself to and enjoy conversation with wholeheartedly for that single night, all the while this captain is throwing his head to his crew and fawning over that special person until the night reaches its peak.

Then there's Beckman.

"Beckman hits on many more women," - A Snail Translation:

Benn Beckman, the first mate of the Red Hair Pirates, is sent on missions to restock, resupply, and ensure the ship is in top shape before resuming it's duties coasting through the seas. He is in contact with the most vendors, considering his younger captain is preoccupied with other things, and with vendors: there is extremely playful banter.

Beckman likes a good bargain. If he can flirt to get it cheaper, it's like a game to him. It's fun. Something new and different from port to port. This man will flirt, and it's so subtle that it takes you completely off guard.

He misses talking with people who don't really need anything from him either. Roux needs him to add to the grocery list, Hongo needs him to help restock the med bay, Building Snake has something stuck in his throat again, his captain just wants to have a moment with his first mate in the quiet of the deck to decompress.

When Beckman flirts, he flirts for him. For something new. For something that makes travelling more interesting for him, and it's always done with the utmost respect.

But also. Leash him. He is absolutely a slut, and it's very funny to think about.

#ask snail #snail answers #benn beckman #benn beckman headcanons #op beckman #shanks #is also there i guess

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arc-misadventures · 5 months ago

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The Beasts Consort

Jaune slowly shut the door behind him, taking in the features of his new dorm room. It was nice; there was a closet, a nice desk to do his studies, a window with a hell of a view, a bathroom, and a nice big double sized bed. How nice!

Thought, Jaune as he fell back onto the bed, his hands cupping his face as he groaned in exasperation.

Jaune: That was horrible!

: Well, I think that went pretty well~!

Jaune: Pretty well? Pretty well?!

Jaune opened his hands as he shouted seeing, Salem's elegant, angelic face mere inches from his face. Normally someone would be surprised that someone face suddenly appeared so close to theirs, but Jaune had grown accustomed to, Salem doing this to him so she didn't scare him.

That often that is...

Jaune: I was so nervous about showing you to everyone, and I thought: 'Sure she's deity, but it won't be that bad. I bet everyone has really strong, Spiritual Beasts. It won't matter at all, people won't bat an eye at all when they see her.

Jaune: But, then you showed yourself, and everyone started losing their freaking minds?!

Salem: Well that's not my fault...

Salem moved away from, Jaune as floated she in the air, adopting a posture that looked as if she was posing for a portrait on a fainting couch.

Salem: Those fools thought they were all on top of the mountain, that they were among pinnacle, the cream of the wheat when it comes to being, Spiritual Beast Masters. All because they thought they had some of the strongest, and most powerful, Spiritual Beasts one can master. But, in reality...

Salem turned to stare at her lover with a wide toothy smile showing off her fanged teeth as she game him a most sinister smile.

Salem: They've barely reached the peak of the hill~!

Jaune: Hey! Salem, what did I say about you doing your sinister smile, thingy?

Salem: To not do it...

Jaune: Yes. Because it ruins your beautiful face!

Salem: Ohhh~!

Salem hovered over to, Jaune an cupped her lovers cheeks and squished them together.

Salem: Oh, aren't you such a charmer! I'm so glad you summoned me.

Jaune: Well I'm glad you chose me.

Jaune cupped, Salem's cheek in his hand, she gently rubbed her cheeks with his thumb, this action of affection caused her to melt into his embrace. Jaune held her like this for a moment before he stood up, and made his way to the door.

Jaune: Okay... I'm hungry, let's go grab something to eat.

Salem: You know I don't need to eat.

Jaune: Then why do you keep stealing my food?

Salem: Because it's fun~!

Jaune groaned in despair as he moved towards the cafeteria. Salem floating through the air behind him. Jaune saw people move out of his way, staring at him, and whispering to him as he walked by them, Jaune's head fell as another groan of complete despair left his lips.

Jaune: Great... I'm the talk of the town now...

Salem: What's wrong with that, didn't you always want to be popular?

Jaune: Yes, but I'm not the reason I'm 'popular,' you are.

Salem: Well that's not fair, I am a Goddess after all. I've been 'popular' for eons!

Jaune: Yes, but since when have you actually been partnered with a, Spiritual Master?

Salem: Uhh...?

Salem crossed her legs with her head in her head deep in concertation. Jaune watched her slowly spin, and float in the air, deeply lost in thought.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I was just saying that as an example, have you ever formed a contract with a, Spiritual Master before?!

Salem: Nope!

Salem cocked her head to the side, and stuck out her tongue as she tapped her head., Jaune dropped his face in his hands as he groaned in exasperation again.

Jaune: Don't you act cute with me! The fact I have a contract with a, Spiritual Deity, Is one thing all on it's own! But, everyone will also think I'm crazy, because it appears that I'm not talking to anyone!

Jaune shouted this for all to hear, before his head sharply turned to a couple of students who were watching him. And, he pointed in the air at, Salem.

Jaune: I'm talking to my, Spiritual Beast, she's right there!

Jaune looked over to his side, and notice something important: Salem wasn't there anymore.

Jaune: Oi?! Where did you go?

~~~

Jaune then grabbed a hearty meal full of chicken nuggets, mixed vegetables, and some fries. He took a seat at one of the empty tables, looking around to see everyone staring at him.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: (Sigh)

Jaune: If it wasn't for the law about, Spiritual Masters needing to be trained, I would have stayed home...

Jaune dejectedly picked a chicken nugget, and dipped it in some honey mustard sauce.

Jaune: There goes my chance to make friends I guess...

: Hi!

Jaune was about to place his food into his mouth, but stopped when he saw a girl with black hair with red fringes wave at him.

Jaune: Uhh... Hi. Uhh... Ruby...? Ruby Rose right?

Ruby: Yep! That's me! And, You're, Jaune Arc!

Jaune: Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?

Ruby: I just wanted to talk with you; mind if I join you?

Jaune: Uhh... sure?

Ruby: Thank you!

Jaune gestured to the open seat in front of him, as, Ruby happily took the open seat in front of him.

Ruby: So tell me, what kind of, Spiritual Powers do you have?

Jaune: W-What?

Ruby: I have a, Shadow Wolf, as my, Spiritual Beast, because of that I can use, Shadow, and Wind powers. Considering you have the, Oni Queen, you must have a wide array of powers from her! So what do you have?

Jaune: Oh... well... I have an odd assortment of, Spiritual Powers from, Salem. I have superhuman strength, flight, elemental control, and regeneration. Salem has a few more powers that I can't us, but that's basically it.

Ruby: Whoa! That's amazing! Mine sound lame compared to yours... You can use all of my powers, and some...

Jaune: Yeah, but you still have powers I don't have; Having a, Shadow Wolf as your, Spiritual Beast means you will have a high sense of smell, and be able to run at really fast speeds. Also it shouldn't be hard for your to learn invisibility magic either.

Ruby: Oh. I never knew I could do that... Wait, how did you know I could do that?

Jaune pointed to his side with a chicken nugget in his fingers.

Jaune: Lord of Beasts. She knows basically everything there is about any, Spiritual Beast there is.

Jaune was about to eat the chicken nugget in his hand until he realized there was no nugget in his fingers, he looked to his side, and shouted.

Jaune: Hey?!

Ruby was about to ask, Jaune another question when another person came up on his left.

: Hello, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Hmm? Oh, you're, Weiss Schnee! I love your music; Mirror Mirror is my favourite.

Weiss: Oh... T-Thank you...

Weiss hadn't expected someone to notice her, and complement her because of her music. It took her a moment to remove the blush spreading across her face.

Weiss: Ahem! I was wondering if I could have a few words with you about your, Spiritual Beast; Salem the Oni Queen.

Jaune: Sure, take a seat.

Weiss: Thank you! I wondering if...? Bleh!?

Weiss had taken the seat on, Jaune's left, but as soon as she sat down next to him, and put her tray of food on the table. She suddenly felt an invisible force on her face, pushing her away from, Jaune. Making a two foot gap between them.

Weiss, soon felt the pressure on her face fade away, and then she felt something tap her head. She, and Ruby started looking around, utterly perplexed as to what had just happened.

Weiss: W-What? What just happened?

Jaune: Oh, sorry about that... Yeah, Salem doesn't like it when woman, outside my family, sit next to me.

Weiss: So she pushed me away...?!

Jaune: Yeah. If you were rather... aggressive she would have just shoved you out of the seat.

Ruby: She's done that to people before?

Jaune: Oh yeah. She's sent people flying before. So. sorry about that, Weiss.

Jaune turned to face, Weiss to apologize to her, but, Weiss was touching her face in stunned amazement as if she had just achieved enlightenment.

Jaune: Uhh... Weiss?

Weiss: She touched my face...? A, Spiritual Deity touched my face! And, she tapped me on my head...? EEEEE! This is the best day ever!

Weiss squealed in glee as her body shook in absolute delight. Jaune, and Ruby could only stare on in disbelief as, Weiss seemingly lost it.

Ruby: Has this happened before...?

Jaune: Most people don't even know I have a, Spiritual Beast, let alone the fact of who she is. So, no... this has not happened before.

Weiss: This is a glorious day, for I have been blessed by the, Gods~!

As soon as those words left, Weiss's lips a look of terror wrought it's way across, Jaune's face.

Jaune: Oh shit! She's a, Spiritualist!

Ruby: A, Spiritualist; What is that?

Jaune: A religious group that worship, Spiritual Beast. In particular, Spiritual Deities, such as, Salem. They can either be pretty tame in their devotion, or rather zealous. They can be rather... troublesome at times.

Ruby: People worship, Salem?!

Jaune: She is a god, so...?

Ruby: It must be cool having people worship you as a god!

Jaune: Uhhh...?

Jaune gave a worried look to his right, seeing, Salem trying to make as much distance between herself, and Weiss, while still staying close to, Jaune as psychically possible.

Jaune: Depends on the god... Salem doesn't seem to like being worshiped.

Jaune's eyebrow quirked as, Salem said something next to him, something that made his face flush red from embarrassment.

Jaune: That's... You know I didn't mean it like that?!

Ruby: didn't mean it like what?

Jaune: NOTHING!

Jaune shouted at, Ruby, not wanting to reveal his dark secrets. He quickly turned his attention back to, Weiss who was still trapped in a state of nirvana.

Jaune decided to ignore, Weiss, and her whole religious awakening thingy. and, decided to go back to his food. But, just as he was about to take a bit of his meal when he bit on nothing.

Jaune: Hey!? Stop stealing my chicken nuggies woman!

Weiss: How dare you address a god in such a crass manner!

Ruby: She likes chicken nuggies...?

Jaune: Haa... this is going to be a long four years...

#rwby #jaune arc #weiss schnee #ruby rose #rwby salem #salem x jaune #jaune x salem #rwby grimmknight

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 9 months ago

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Lil Nas X featuring Billy Ray Cyrus - Old Town Road 2019

"Old Town Road" is the debut mainstream single by American rapper Lil Nas X, first released independently in December 2018. After gaining popularity, the single was re-released in March 2019. The rapper also recorded a remix with American country singer Billy Ray Cyrus, which was released on April 5, 2019. Both were included on Lil Nas X's second EP, 7 (2019). Dutch record producer YoungKio composed the instrumental and made it available for purchase online in 2018. It features a sample of "34 Ghosts IV" by the American industrial rockband Nine Inch Nails. The sample was placed behind trap-style Roland TR-808 drums and bass. Lil Nas X purchased the instrumental for US$30 and recorded "Old Town Road" in one day.

The song reached number 19 on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart before the magazine disqualified it from the chart on the grounds that it did not "fit" the genre, sparking a debate on what constitutes the "definition" of country music. Though "Old Town Road" did not re-enter any country charts, both versions of the song collectively peaked at number 1 on the main Billboard Hot 100, remaining at the top for a record-breaking 19 consecutive weeks; the remix peaked at number 50 on Billboard's Country Airplay chart. "Old Town Road"'s overall run at number one is the longest in chart history, surpassing the previous record of sixteen weeks achieved by both "One Sweet Day" (poll #296) and "Despacito". One or more versions of "Old Town Road" have topped the national singles charts in Australia, Canada, France, Germany, Ireland, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Switzerland and the UK, and have charted in the top 10 in various other international markets.

The song was certified diamond by the RIAA in October 2019 for selling 10 million total units in the US, the fastest song to be certified diamond. At the 62nd Annual Grammy Awards, the remix featuring Billy Ray Cyrus was nominated for Record of the Year and won Best Pop Duo/Group Performance and Best Music Video. In September 2021, the song set the record for the second-highest certified song in history by the RIAA, at 16× platinum in the US - meaning it accumulated 16 million equivalent song units. The single has sold over 18 million copies worldwide, making it one of the best-selling singles of all time.

"Old Town Road" received a total of 80,6% yes votes!

youtube

#finished #high yes #10s #o1 #o1 sweep #o1 ultrasweep #lo24 #lo2 #lo4 #lil nas x #english

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berryrev · 25 days ago

Text

Party 4 U

You witnessed it again. How the crowd parted when he stepped in. You saw it again, how the man that has been occupying your mind for the past weeks walked through the party like he owns it. Everyone knows him, so it’s not hard for him to blend in, yet he stood out the most. You’re hoping tonight you will talk to him again too, because you only threw this party for him.

It was a Tuesday night when you decided to go to one of the popular clubs in Roppongi. Despite it being only the second day of the week, you were drained enough to realize you needed to drink until you passed out. Work had been shit. It always is. But usually, you’d wait until Friday night to release all the pent-up stress from the week. Then you’d wake up on Saturday morning with a hangover and vomit all over your room.

But not tonight, you decided, not tonight. You needed to be drunk. And if you couldn’t come to work tomorrow because you were shitfaced, you didn’t care.

Fuck the management.

Fuck the papers you need to be signed.

Fuck the report.

Fuck work.

The night was already deep, and you were at it, drinking and feeling the music. The bass was so loud your heart thumped along with it. You were vibing so much when suddenly the crowd parted.

You’ve had your fair share of handsome guys in your bed. You know how they work their charm to get what they want. But this one is different. He’s not just handsome—he’s pretty. A tall man, almost six feet. His physique was lean, not bulky, but enough to know he could lift you and pin you against the wall. And those sleeves rolled up to reveal intricate tattoos? He looked so cool.

He walked in the middle while the crowd literally stopped to gawk at his presence.

Who is he? You had to know. You hoped you’d get to know him more tonight. And just when you thought you'd have to go through lengths just to be near him, the party god must’ve heard you and fulfilled your wish.

He sat beside you at the bar counter.

You avoided his gaze immediately, trying to act cool even though your head was beating from alcohol.

“New here?” You weren’t sure if the alcohol was playing tricks on you, but did he just ask you a question?

To be sure, you turned your head toward him, and saw the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen looking directly at you. Purple orbs waiting for your answer.

“Yeah,” you said, thinking act cool.

“Hmm, ’cause you look unfamiliar,” he replied, sipping his whiskey.

“You’re talking like you know everyone who comes here,” you said, avoiding his gaze and choosing instead to look at your drink. He was a man built differently, and you could feel it in the pressure you felt just sitting beside him. It was like the music in the club suddenly stopped and everyone was watching the two of you.

“Would you believe me if I said yeah? I know everyone who comes here,” he answered. You didn’t find it surprising. You saw how the crowd acknowledged his presence awhile ago.

You nodded but didn’t answer. As much as you wanted to prolong your conversation with the pretty man, you were nervous. Even the colorful lights dancing on his face couldn’t hide the mysterious aura he displayed. Your heart is beating fast along with the dizzy feeling. You want to stay by his side and get to know him.

You were attracted, and you knew it.

With courage fueled by alcohol, you jokingly asked, “You own this club or something? ”

“Kinda,” he smirked, watching your surprise.

The night reached its peak and so did your conversation with him. He wasn’t as talkative as you, but you enjoyed his presence. You didn’t even know what time it was. It felt like time had stopped the moment he sat beside you. The longer you talked, the closer you got. Now, under the excuse of the loud music, you were whispering into each other’s ears.

“Wait a minute, I gotta go to the bathroom,” you said, leaning close.

“Let me come with you,” he said.

“No, it’s okay. I can walk there alone.”

“You’ve had too much, pretty. I doubt you can even stand.” He leaned closer, his hand on your waist. The breath you let out was so shaky he could almost taste it.

“I can handle myself, really,” you said, leaning closer as well, feeling his touch.

“Then let me see if you can stand.” He removed his hand from your waist as you stood. You were trying not to wobble in front of him.

“See?”

“Alright, pretty. I’ll watch you while you walk. We don’t want people stomping on you if you trip.”

You laughed heartily at his joke. As you walked toward the bathroom, you turned your head and saw those purple orbs still fixed on you.

You smiled giddily and walked as fast as you could so you could return to him immediately.

However, the excitement vanished the moment you returned. The bar stool was now occupied by someone else. The pretty man was gone. You looked around, trying to spot him, but the presence that had stopped time in the club had vanished. Everything had resumed. The loud music, the dancing people, the strobing lights. Everything in the club moved on.

For the rest of the night you looked for him, but it was hopeless finding the mysterious man. He's nowhere to be found. Defeated, you gave one last lingering look to the stool you were sitting on and decided to go home.

You thought the memory of the man with the pretty face would fade like the alcohol in your system. But a week passed, and you were still hoping to see him again, so every night, you returned to the same club drinking and waiting for his return.

You were sure it wasn’t just a drunken dream. It had happened. You may not remember every word you shared, but you knew the moment was real. He was real. He held you. You wished you had told him to wait, asked for his name, his number, or just held your pee a little longer. Your what-ifs haunted you every night.

You treasured that short moment so much that for two weeks straight, you kept going back. You were afraid to forget his face. But time moved on, and no matter how hard you tried to stop it, you never saw him again.

It was like he left a part of himself with you. The part of him you knew.

You were desperate. So desperate that when you got promoted at work, you decided to celebrate at that same club. You didn’t rent the whole place, just a part of it. Enough space for you and your coworkers. Enough just to be there.

As much as you wanted to celebrate your success, you only threw the party to see him again.

You only threw this party for him. Hoping he would come through

And just when you thought it was another mission failed- you saw him. The same mysterious presence. The same pretty face that parted the crowd. Like a dream, he walked in.

“I only threw this party for you, for you, for you

I'm about to party on you

Watch me, watch me party on you, yeah

Party on you, party on you”

Haitani Rindou met your eyes again, inside the club, at the same bar counter, where he’d hoped to see you once more.

Your heart thumped alongside the bass of the music as he walked toward you.

“New here?” he asked.

“No,” you replied, trying to keep your smile steady.

Finally.

“Hmm, ’cause you look familiar.” He sat beside you, leaning close.

“You’re talking like you know everyone who comes here,” you answered, just like you did that Tuesday night.

The conversation felt familiar, but you went along, hoping it wouldn’t end like the last time.

You promise yourself that tonight won’t finish like before, where you’ve been yearning for a man you barely knew. You’ll hold everything in. Even if it takes looking at his face for the rest of the night, with a beating heart, you’ll do it just so you won’t lose sight of him.

“You’re looking at me like you missed me, pretty,” he said, leaning closer until your noses almost touched. Like before, everything went silent. Time stopped. Only the two of you existed in that moment.

“And you’ve been looking at me like you’ve waited,” you whispered.

“’Cause I did,” he said, leaning in even more. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Then, closer still, “Can I?”

You nodded. And that was all he needed, he closed the gap.

Usually, after drinking yourself shitfaced on a Friday night, you’d go home, vomit, and wake up hungover. But this time was different.

You drank until you were dizzy but were aware you went home with him. You went home with the man who had been caressing your waist all night and woke up with a hangover and a familiar ache between your thighs.

You turned to face the pretty man. His name is Haitani Rindou. The man who had occupied your mind for weeks, and now, your bed.

There was something about him that you couldn’t look away from, so when the party god decided that you needed to see him, they fulfilled your wish. Or maybe you are the party god because you threw a party for him.

Just so you could see him again.

And now you can hold him and kiss him whenever you want.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #haitani rindou #haitani rindou x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #rindou fluff #tr rindou #haitani brothers #rindou x you #rindou x reader #tokyo rev

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kjhbsies · 1 year ago

Text

Strings of Love

navigation | main masterlist | rules

Rockstar Ellie Williams x fem!reader

wordcount: 2,855

synopsis: Ellie Williams is the country's biggest rock star. Who wouldn't be charmed by her beautiful face? And, oh, have you heard her voice? It's heavenly. On the other hand, Ellie does know you. How couldn't she? You're quite hard to forget. You supported them from the start until now. But one night changed it all as both of you got into an argument. notes: not proofread! beware of grammatical errors (english isn't my first language). Ellie is kind of an asshole in here lol.

PART II : PART III

Apocalyptic Serenade is a rock band consisting of five members. They all started as an unknown band playing in their house’s garage, until they became more popular as they started to have different gigs in some crappy bars. They didn’t know how they reached the peak level of their popularity, as many people started admiring their works, especially their looks.

Ellie Williams is the lady-killer and a Casanova. As the lead singer of the band, she is the most popular among them – especially with the girls. She was well known for having different girls in bed every night, using them like a ragdoll and throwing them away like a toy in the morning. No one complained about it though, they claimed that tasting her is heaven, even if Ellie treats them like shit afterwards.

You are their avid fan. Ever since the start, you have been hooked on the band’s performance since you first heard of them. You can still remember that they’re playing in a local bar in the small town where you lived. It was a hot Friday night in April. You and your friends wanted to unwind right after the finals, and there happened to be a small band playing in your favorite bar.

When you first see Ellie, she is sporting baggy jeans and a flannel. The sleeves were rolled up in her elbows, showing her tattooed arm. You figured out that she’s the lead singer when she stepped in the middle, her ringed fingers clutching the strings of her guitar while the other was strumming it.

You did not expect to become so immersed in a person that you feel like at that time, when you first heard her voice, you wanted to drop down on your knees and just start to worship her. She was… heavenly. Her voice is one of a kind that even angels couldn’t resist listening to.

Ellie noticed you standing in the middle of the almost empty bar. Everyone in here was beet drunk, and the others weren’t even listening to them play. Ellie couldn’t care less about it at all. It was just like this all the time. At first, she couldn’t bear the idea that people weren’t even paying them attention – and that they’re just playing for nothing. However, when they first received their small paycheck, Ellie accepted the reality.

However, you changed the perception of her life.

You were the first person to watch them with such intensity that even she couldn’t look you straight in the eye. Her heart beat tripled in excitement, and it’s as if you just gave her the energy to sing and play passionately.

Finally, someone is listening.

And it was you.

That was the first time that you became their number one fan. You’re always attending their gigs, even if the location is miles away from your home. You listened to their music on Spotify, watched their videos on YouTube, and always stalked their Instagram account. Your friends think that this is an addiction, and maybe it is.

However, their status and fame made Ellie Williams even more unreachable. Everyone loves her – I mean, who doesn’t? She’s a very talented woman, and aside from that, she radiates an energy that no one can resist. You know that idolizing someone who won’t even remember your face and how many times you attend their gigs has its consequences, but somehow, you grew accustomed to it. Watching and reading news articles about Ellie’s new potential lover doesn’t make your heart hurt like hell more than it did before. But a small part of you wishes to experience even being near her.

You always wondered how it would feel like having to hear her speak to your ears sweetly. Or how is she as a girlfriend? Would she play you her favorite songs? Would she write a whole ass album dedicated to you?

But every time those daydreams start forming in your thoughts, the reality will always seep in. That you’re just an ordinary girl and she’s a rockstar. Both of your worlds weren’t going to collide, no matter how hard you tried. And Ellie Williams is out of your reach.

On the contrary, Ellie feels the same way you do.

You’d think that after that night she first saw you, she’d immediately forget your face. I mean, how can she when she thinks that she just met the most angelic person in the world? Everything about you, your face, your body, the way you dress caught her eye.

The two of you met each other 3 years ago, and since then, you’re the only girl who’s been on her mind.

Ellie tried to push her thoughts away, wanting to forget you. I mean, she’s the rockstar of the year; every girl flocked at the sight of her, every one, I repeat, everyone wants to be with Ellie. And having a girl clinging to her mind for years is really pathetic. Not to mention that she doesn’t really know your name because every time she sees you at one of their gigs or concerts, she doesn’t get the chance to ask for you. God knows she tried to step down the stage the moment they’re done performing because she knows that you’ll be gone so fast, but still, Ellie couldn’t catch up. Ellie desperately begs for their manager to get your name and contact information when she sees you in the midst of the crowd, but it always fails.

After several months, when Ellie’s popularity gained so much attention from everyone, every girl threw themselves at her. And Ellie made that an opportunity to forget you. You’re just a random fangirl; you should be easy to forget. You were nothing compared to her. And she’s not the one who should be begging for your attention. Ellie has everything, and she could get whatever and whomever she wants.

But apparently, not you.

Because no matter how hard Ellie tries to think about the fact that you are just a mere fan girl and that you should be the one on your knees wanting a little bit of her attention, Ellie still can’t resist finding you in the middle of the crowd. And you’re always there. So, every after their gig, Ellie would take someone in a fancy hotel, preferably the one who looks just like you. Because Ellie only wanted you.

She wouldn’t admit that, though.

It was one of those days where you’d go to the Apocalyptic Serenade’s gig, and luckily, the bar is just near where your apartment is. And naturally, you’d go, just like you always do. But right now, you’re with your friends to have a nice night out after such a stressful day.

You are wearing a skimpy black dress with a leather jacket to give a small amount of warmth throughout the night. You’ve done your hair and makeup beautifully, wanting to look exquisite, even though Ellie won’t notice you for the nth time.

But who cares? You look so good, and you’re having the best night of your life.

When the three of you arrived at the bar, it was pumped with people. The band is already playing on the stage and all of you managed to squeeze yourself in an empty seat, just where you can still have a perfect view of the band – especially Ellie Williams.

Ellie sensed that it was you who walked inside. How did she know that? Maybe after years of you going everywhere they performed, she already memorized your figure no matter how far away you are or how dim the lights are in the club.

She tried so hard not to look your way, but she can feel that you’re staring and watching her. And it made her nervous. What the fuck? It’s always like this, and every time, she is frustrated because how can you make her fingers tremble when all you’ve just done is to stare at her? You don’t hold a huge amount of power over her. You just can’t. Because Ellie is a fucking star, and you should be the one worshipping her. Not the other way around.

But oh, boy, she does spare a glance at you, and thankfully, you’re not looking at her. Ellie almost stopped playing and singing when she saw you take off your leather jacket, and it revealed the most beautiful woman in front of her.

It was the first time she saw you in this kind of clothing, and to be honest, she’s mad as hell. She’s mad because she couldn't even touch a single strand of your hair. She’s mad because she can’t roam and feel your curves against her fingers. She’s mad because you are using every willpower against her that it almost made her kneel in front of you.

Ellie’s neck reddened, and she shut her eyes tightly. The grip on her guitar is hard as she tries to stop her dirty thoughts in her mind.

You couldn’t even get her name; how can you get her on your sheets? She thought to herself.

When Ellie opened her eyes, she saw a little commotion around your table. She saw you struggling to pull your arm away from a man’s grip on your hands. You looked uncomfortable, wanting to immediately push him as he kept on insisting on buying you a drink, and when you politely declined, he viewed it as a little challenge. Your friends are nowhere to be found, and you are stuck with him. Panic rose up through your throat, and it made your body go cold.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom.” You said, but he immediately gripped your waist.

“I can assist you. You might trip.”

You gulped. “No, thank you. I’m not really drunk.”

And instead of letting you go, he immediately pulled you onto his body. This makes you want to cry as his grip gets harder and harder, and you’re afraid that it might bruise. Unbeknownst to you, the music stops, and Ellie is walking towards you.

“The lady said no, dude.” She interrupted.

The crowd went silent, and suddenly, everyone’s camera pointed in your direction. The panic you were feeling earlier was replaced by shock. Your heartbeat tripled as you stared at the girl in front of you.

The rock star of the year.

Ellie fucking Williams.

What the fuck is happening…

She looked so beautiful as you can perfectly see her face up close. You thought that every single one of her features was exquisite. Her green eyes, nose, freckled cheeks, lips, the way she did her usual half-up bun, the way she stands, and even how she dresses. Everything about her screams power.

“Oh, you're the one who’s singing there earlier, right?” The man in front of you smirked. “You’re shit.” He gripped you harder. “Sorry, man, you need to find another girl to accompany you in bed. I don’t share.”

Ellie’s eyes darkened when he pulled your wrist. You winced as you could feel his nails digging into your skin.

Ellie punched the man so hard that he stumbled at the stools behind him. Everyone gasped in shock, including you. Your jaw dropped to the floor, and your eyes widened at the scene in front of you. Her bandmates immediately got off the stage to go behind their lead singer.

But Ellie is still not done yet. She watched as the man tried to move his jaw with such anger in her eyes. Her tongue traced the inside of her cheeks before she knelt in front of him. Grabbing his collar, she started to throw punches at him. Her bandmates tried to stop her, but she was far stronger than all of them combined. And aside from that, everyone is afraid of her.

When the man’s face was covered in blood, he couldn’t even open his eyes, and as his consciousness was going away, Ellie stopped. She smiled triumphantly at the sight in front of her. Finally, the bouncers immediately pulled her away from the man who molested you. Ellie harshly pulled away from the bouncer’s grip before looking at your horrified face.

You two locked eyes, and Ellie could feel the same beat of her heart when she first saw you.

“What-” You started, but the flashes of the camera stopped you from talking.

Ellie noticed it and thus she yelled, “Nobody touches her!” She then stormed away from you, and from everyone to go backstage.

“You okay?” Jordan, the lead guitarist, placed her hand on your shoulder. You nodded, still couldn’t speak. “You should talk to Ellie; she's backstage. Just follow me, okay?”

“What the fuck, Ellie?!” Jesse, the band’s manager, yelled at the girl, who looked like she couldn’t care less.

Ellie straight up drank the bottle of whiskey that was on the table. Her face is slowly reddening as alcohol starts running through her veins. Her mind swirled, and she couldn’t even make out what her manager was saying in front of her.

“My hand hurts.” She said, looking at her knuckles.

Jesse scoffed in disbelief. He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up. “You didn’t know how much trouble you’ve caused?! Aside from the fact that you almost murdered a man, many people witnessed how violent you are. And God, it’ll be all over the internet. Do you know how hard it is to clean up your mess?!”

Ellie snickered.

“Oh, you find that funny, huh? You are unbelievable!” He cursed for the nth time of the man. “What if the man wants to sue you, huh? What would you do?”

Ellie looked at him. “What would you do?”

“You fuck- Nevermind. I’ll go out and settle this and you should just sit there and shut the fuck up!” Jesse then stormed out backstage, closing the door with a loud bang.

Ellie took another long shot from the drink in her hand. She sat lazily on the couch while thinking of your face.

Was it worth it?

Yes.

A hundred times, yes.

After a couple of minutes, one of her bandmates started to come in with serious faces.

“That’s fucked up,” Alex said, closing her arm in front of her chest. “But you did the right thing, dude.” She gave Ellie a tight-lipped smile. “Riley and Nat are talking to the crowd, calming them, just to distract everyone from what happened. I think it’s working. Everyone loves fan service.” Both of them snickered. “Jesse is talking to the manager. I think he’s settling everyone. Was he mad?”

“Very.” Ellie smiled before drinking again.

“You’re so fucked up.”

“Where’s Jordan?”

“Here.” She walked in, holding an ice bag in her hand. Ellie saw another familiar head behind Jordan, tailing her. She tilted her head to get a better view of her, and she immediately straightened up.

Her brows knitted as she fully saw you.

“You two should talk to each other because this is just so… messy,” Jordan said, handing you the ice bag. “We’ll leave you.” They immediately exited the room.

So now, you were left with Ellie. Sitting almighty in front of you.

“Ice bags?” You asked hesitatingly while lifting it. You bit your lips nervously as Ellie just stared blankly at you before standing up.

She went up in front of you, and the smell of her musky perfume filled your nose. She towered over you, her face looking dark before snatching the ice bag in your hand.

Ellie did not know why she was mad. She wanted so bad to ask you if you’re okay, maybe look at the wrist that the man is gripping so hard, she wanted to ask if it bruised, she wanted to cure where it hurts, but the thump of her heart as she looks at you made her realize that you have a great hold at her.

Ellie cares greatly for the stranger in front of her.

But why?

That question started to haunt her.

Why why why why?

No, she doesn’t care that much. She can prove that to herself.

“Was it worth it?” Ellie said drunkenly.

“What?” You looked at her.

“Did you do that to get my attention?”

Your brows knitted so hard. You couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Are you implying that I wanted to get molested to get your attention?” Your voice started rising.

This is supposed to be easy. Ellie shrugged. “I mean, I always see you wherever we perform. Maybe you just got tired of being a fucking nobody at the crowd so you did that.” She snickered. “Damn, that’s so low.”

You slapped Ellie. Your eyes are bloodshot red as the tears start streaming down your face. You stared at her, feeling hurt. You breathed heavily, and Ellie is still facing the direction where you slapped her. She couldn’t bear to look at your face. She just can’t.

“Fuck you.” You whispered before storming out.

Being mean to you is supposed to be easy. But why did Ellie feel like her heart’s going to explode from doing that?

©kjhbsies

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #rockstar ellie williams

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upsidedownmvnson · 2 years ago

Text

much more interesting things | eddie munson

summary: you're stuck in a rut, and starting to hate your crappy high school friends. eddie helps you see that there are better, more beautiful things out there - he just didn't expect you to think that he was one of them

warnings: underage drinking, shitty ex bfs and friends, cheating ex

a/n: i started this and finished it in like 4 straight hours, replies & comments appreciated, i love feedback fr

Eddie sees you sitting alone in a large group of people.

He recognizes most of them from high school, but he can't put any names to faces. He'd only been graduated a year, but it was like he had no memory of that place, or those people. Trina? Tina? That party girl who hosts that crazy Halloween bash every year... and... uh, Carol? Was that Carol sitting there? No idea.

But he doesn't really care, because he's busy noticing you, and the way you pick at the label on the beer bottle, focusing your gaze on your fidgeting fingers. He notices how you're so ridiculously beautiful. He notices the way you mouth every word to the local musician playing a Johnny Cash cover. But most of all, he notices the smile that doesn't reach your eyes. He notices how you keep looking behind you to the door. Waiting for someone? Or planning an escape? He can't quite tell, but he was dying to find out.

Steve smacks him on the arm, whispering something, and Eddie has to tear his eyes away from you. Robin and Nancy shared a look between themselves, and then looked over at the girl who had Eddie's attention. They started whispering amongst themselves.

"What?" he asks, looking over at Steve, not having heard a word he said.

"I asked if you were ready to go?" Steve repeated, rolling his eyes.

He's not. Eddie is so... intrigued by you that he feels the need to stick around. See who you're waiting for, or hiding from, or ... he doesn't know. Eddie's not even sure what he's expecting.

"You go," he answers after a long minute, "I'm gunna grab another drink at the bar."

"We can stay longer," Nancy suggested, smiling at Eddie, and sneaking another peak at you.

"No, it's okay," Eddie smiled, letting his eyes fall back on you. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

And then they left, saying their goodbyes to their friend and paying their bills, heading off into the parking lot while Eddie took a new seat at the bar. He sat facing away from you, not wanting to be a complete creep, but there was just something that kept him around.

You wanted to leave. This whole idea was stupid, you were stupid for agreeing to it.

A month ago, your best friend had started dating your ex-boyfriend. She didn't exactly ask you if it was okay, she just dropped it on you and expected you to be okay with it. But you were realizing, sitting here celebrating his birthday, that you absolutely were not.

What kind of friend was she, anyway?

You tried pushing passed it, but as you sat their, watching all your other 'friends' laugh and giggle as Tina and Reed climbed all over each other.

It was clear that most of them had known about this little affair long before you had. You needed a drink...

You brought your beer bottle up to the bar, putting all the little pieces of paper you'd ripped off it inside of it. You leaned against the counter beside Eddie, looking over and watching as he chugged a sip of his beer. You watched his adam's apple bob as he drank, but you saw that he was watching you. You thought maybe you'd been him watching earlier too, when his friends were still there.

"Eddie, right?" you said, using him as a distraction. He nearly choked on his beer.

"Uh, yeah," he muttered, "hey..."

"y/n," you said, smiling. It was refreshing, Eddie not knowing who you were. He wasn't one of the popular crowd, and you were honestly jealous of that. You wanted to fall away from them. You wanted to fall from grace.

"I knew that," he said, looking away, the lie clear on his features. But you weren't mad, you smiled.

"You didn't," you said, winking at him. How many drinks have you had? You felt the warmth and confidence radiating.

After showing the bartender your handy fake I.D, you ordered a beer and two shots, pushing one towards Eddie. He picked it up, looking at it for a moment, and then you, waiting expectantly to cheers it.

"You don't have to take it," you joked, "but could you let me know so I can put my arm down?"

He chuckled lightly, goofy grin taking over his cheeks, and he cheers you, downing the shot alongside you. It burned, but you liked it. You chased it with a sip of your beer, the bubbles making the linger sting fade.

You heard your friends calling you name, and you turned to see them giggling and whispering. You assumed it was because they thought hanging out with Eddie was slumming it.

"I guess I should get back," you said, your face showing your honest lack of interest.

"Why do you hangout with them if you don't like them?" he asked, and it was your turn to nearly choke on your drink. You coughed, surprised by the suddenly deep line of questioning.

"Who says I don't?"

He laughed, "you should get back, I'd hate to ruin the party."

"That party was ruined when it started," you mumbled, and he just laughed harder.

"Yeah you're right, I really feel the love."

You laughed, and he felt pride settle into his chest. The smile climbed all the way to your eyes, lighting them with a sparkle that made you even more beautiful than you already were. Eddie feels butterflies in his stomach, and he looks away, softly smiling at the beer in his hand.

Talking to Eddie was... fun, and returning to the table full of fake people with fake smiles was ruining that.

"What were you talking to him for?" Carol asked, boney fingers biting into your skin as she held your arm.

"Uh, because I was waiting for a drink and he was sitting there?" you asked, looking at her with a look like she was an idiot. Because she was - she was an idiot.

"Well, don't. He's bad news, and bad publicity."

"Unlike my friends here, who would never do anything to hurt me, right?" you asked, looking to where Reed and Tina were showing a disgusting amount of PDA. Why the fuck were you still sitting here.

"Don't be like that," Carol snapped, "it's not their fault they fell in love. They both felt really bad about it."

"How long have you known about them, anyway?"

Carol looked down at her lap, and Tommy, sitting nearby laughed obnoxiously.

"Go on, tell her." He kept laughing, especially when she hit him on the arm, because apparently everyone in the world was in on. "But tell her the truth..."

Tommy didn't care about the truth, he'd just had five beers and wanted to stir the pot. The people sitting close to you guys had gone quiet, no one willing to meet your eye, while Reed and Tina stayed oblivious to the whole scene, kissing each other like they were alone in her bedroom.

You chugged the beer in your hand, figuring this was probably the end of the party for you, you wouldn't make it through much more without snapping. "Yeah, Carol," you said, slamming the bottle down on the table, but still somehow, Reed and Tina stayed in their trance. "Tell me the truth."

"Three months..." she whispered, keeping her eyes locked on her lap. the table was silent.

"Nooooo," Tommy sing-songed, "I'm pretty sure I said the truth."

"Shut up, Tommy!" Carol snapped, glaring at him. Those two were not perfect for each other, and should probably break up. You grew impatient.

"What can be worse than my best friend going out with my ex right after we broke up?"

"How about fucking behind your back for two months before that."

Carol wouldn't meet your eye, Tommy was laughing, and Reed and Tina had these stupid, guilty pouts on their face like they expected you to never find out. You felt numb, like you should be more mad but you just... didn't care.

Eddie was right, you didn't even like these people.

Your eyes drifted over your shoulder to Eddie, where he was still sitting at the bar, eyes forward but you knew, you knew he was paying attention. He was nothing like anyone sitting with you at that table. He was perfect.

You slid out from the table, chair squealing loudly in the silence, as every looked at you. Fuck these people, fuck this group, fuck this place, and really really fuck Reed and Tina. You were over it, outta here, and moving on, but not before a glorious, "go to hell," that made your chest feel ten time lighter, like a load was suddenly lifted off of it, freeing you from the chains that these poisonous people kept on you.

You didn't storm out, or start crying, or even rush. You just stood up, put your coat on, and sauntered over to where Eddie was sitting, turned towards you and watching with a huge smile on his face, like he was proud of you, and honestly, you were proud of yourself.

"Wanna get out of here?" you asked, leaning beside him again, making sure those assholes could see you were still wearing a pretty smile.

Eddie grinned from ear to ear, saying "lead the way," before getting up and putting on his leather jacket.

Outside of the bar, you two walked silently for a minute. You still weren't even that broken up about it, you kinda suspected he was fooling around behind your back, and you always knew Tina was a shitty a friend, so this was just, what it was.

"Can I just say that was awesome," Eddie said, breaking the silence.

"You can," you smiled, trying to break your thoughts away from them entirely. "And you should."

"Those guys are jerks," he said, "you're better off."

"I know, right?" you laughed, "It's my fault really, I shouldn't have even shown up tonight. I should've ditched them months ago."

"What even was that? Those guys were all over each other the whole time. I don't even think they spoke to any of you after you sat down."

"How long were you watching, creep?"

Eddie blushed, looking down at his feet. You hit him with your elbow, showing him the smile you wore, assuring him that you're just teasing.

"That guy was my ex," you sighed, "and the girl he was with is supposedly my best friend."

Eddie laughed, "I'm sorry, it's not funny," he said, still laughing. "But that's insane."

"Tell me about it," you huffed, kicking a rock with your shoe. You weren't sure if you were leading, or if Eddie was leading, but you were just kind of walking down the dark sidewalk. You were kinda headed towards the elementary school. It was late, sure, but neither of you had a curfew to worry about. "But anyway it was his birthday yesterday, so everyone wanted to go out to celebrate. They're throwing a party at Tina's after, I think the whole school is going."

Eddie hummed in understanding, not really knowing what else to say.

"I'm surprised you didn't hear all about this," you said, "it was the hottest gossip last season."

"I don't really listen to that stuff," he said, shrugging. "I don't think I even really know who Reed is. I feel like Harrington knows him, maybe?"

You nodded. You liked this about Eddie. He didn't want to gossip, or spread rumours, and he didn't revel in other people's misery. He couldn't name the entire basketball team, but you could bet he knew all his friends birthdays, or like, their favourite snack.

Most of your friends nearly missed your birthday if you hadn't reminded them the day before. You'd been with Eddie five minutes, and your other group already could barely hold a light up to him. You can't remember why you hung out with them before, and you can't fathom why you'd never thought Eddie was cute until now.

"So what brought you to the bar tonight? I thought you guys went to that other spot, uh, The Hangout?"

"The Hideout," he corrected, "that's where my band plays. And Steve wanted to go here tonight. He likes the deep fried macaroni bites that you can apparently only get there."

"Ah, I see, so very important stuff."

"Very important."

It fell silent again, and you worried that you'd made a mistake. Like, maybe Eddie didn't want to be here. Like he felt bad for you or something.

"It's nice out here," he said softly, and you noticed he'd stopped a few steps back, you were too distracted by your anxiety to notice. You turned towards him, copying him by tilting your head back, looking at the star filled sky. It was peaceful, standing here with Eddie.

"Yeah," you agreed, letting the beauty of the night's sky clear your anxieties. You'd been so used to shitty friends, that you didn't know what is was really like to be treated nicely.

You were still looking up when Eddie came back into focus on you. You were beautiful. Like, really beautiful. He was kinda shocked when you first spoke to him, and he was totally floored when you asked him to leave with you, smile covered in sincerity and eyes filled with trouble. He knew the odds of this turning out well for him were slim, but he wanted to see it out anyway. You seemed different than the rest of them, and he was going to give you a chance to be.

Your hair was falling over your neck in a way that tempted him you reach out, and brush it over your shoulder.

Instead he looked at his feet, shuffling a rock around while he shook those thoughts out of his head. Obviously after a situation like that you were in a vulnerable state, and he wasn't going to be some jerk who took advantage of that.

"Safety infraction," he said, pointing at your shoe, and before he could stop himself, he was on one knee, tying your shoelace for you. He realized it was entirely dorky and weird to just start tying someone else's shoes, but it would've been weirder to stop.

But you didn't think it was weird at all. You thought it was sweet, and kind, and... well, it made you blush, the burning sensation was so prevalent you knew he'd be able to see it when he looked back up at you, and he did. Eddie took note of the fact that he'd made you smile, blush and laugh all night, without trying.

He thought... Eddie thought maybe there was a chance here, a chance for something special.

You were something special, and it baffled him that more people weren't aware of this. He was confused about how guys weren't throwing themselves at your mercy and declaring their servitude.

"Thanks," you said, smiling as he stood level with you again, and you noticed the light blush across his own cheeks.

"You're welcome," he said, and the two of you started walking again, letting a calm silence fall between you.

You were closer now, so close you could feel the odd brush of his knuckles against the back of yours, and you could hear his breath hitch every time. You wanted him to reach out and grab it, but he didn't.

"C'mon," you said, grabbing his hand and tugging him across the street, "I want to swing."

But neither of you let go once you were across the street. His hand was rough. Hard with callouses from years of guitar, but it was also warm, strong, comforting. You didn't want to compare him to Reed, you had no right to think of Eddie like this, but you couldn't help it. He was cute, and when you were sure he wasn't a rebound moment, you'd tell him.

Eddie didn't let go of your hand until you made it to the swing set, only releasing his grasp to climb onto the swing beside yours. Immediately, he kicked off, trying to swing as high as possible. You swung gently, feeling the breeze and enjoying the moment. Eddie's hair was flying around him wildly, and when he swung forward, all his hair trailing behind him, you could see the unadulterated joy on his face, and it made you smile. It made butterflies flip in your stomach, like a hundred of them were suddenly released into your chest.

"Watch me!" he shouted, jumping off the swing, only to land a few feet away in a thud, shouting a weird sound when he landed. It didn't sound good.

"Hey," you said, slowly down and getting off the swing. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," he said, laying on his back and giving you a thumbs up. "Don't worry about ol' Eddie, he's resilient." But the squeal he let out when he tried to put pressure on his ankle betrayed him.

"Let me help you," you said softly, reaching down to help pull him up. He leaned heavily against you, resting his ankle down, only to wince. "Maybe you should sit down," you said, guiding him to a park bench nearby.

"I don't live far," he said, "through the yard and cut through the Masterly farm, then we're practically there." He coughed, "I mean, if you don't mind, you don't have to I can probably call Wayne at work, there's a payphone-"

"Eddie, stop, of course I'll help you," you said, smiling when he did, despite the pain he felt, he knew you were different. "Let's get you home."

The walk should've been ten minutes, but it turned into over half an hour, with Eddie's injury, he was walking at a snail's pace. He kept repeating how you didn't need to suffer this with him, but you wouldn't hear it. He was helping you in ways he wouldn't understand, just by being a kind presence, showing you that there are much more interesting things out there, way more interesting than some shitty friends.

The whole time you guys just talked. You told him about how you've been feeling lately, neglected and sad. And he told you about his mom and Wayne, and how he wants to pursue music.

At this point, you were sure it wasn't any kind of rebound thing.

When you got to the trailer park, he got quiet, hesitant, like he expected you to take off at the sight of his home. But you weren't fazed. You just helped him in without saying anything, sitting him on the couch.

"Can I take a look?"

"If you've got the stomach for it," he joked, hitting himself in the forehead when you looked away.

But you just laughed, slowly untying his shoe, trying to take it off without hurting him. He didn't say anything, just watched as you did so. He thought you would drop him inside and head out, bu here you were, sliding off his sock with the most gentle touch he'd ever felt.

"It's swollen pretty bad," you said, "ice?"

"I think we've got peas?"

You nodded, getting off the couch and bringing yourself to the kitchen. He watched you shuffle around in the freezer, followed by the drawers. He said nothing, just watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, relishing in the fact there was this work of art in his kitchen.

You finally found a clean dish towel, and wrapped the peas in it, bringing them over to your damsel in distress.

"Thanks," he said, unable to look away. you focused on his ankle, the purple bruise already covering the large bump on the side.

"I don't think it's broken," you said, "but maybe you should get it checked out by a doctor."

"Do you think it can wait until tomorrow? There's a nurse in the green trailer," he said, bashful, "she usually helps us out."

"Yeah, I think so."

It was quiet for a moment before he said, "do you think you would want to stay for a bit?" You both looked away, both suddenly shy and blushing.

"Yeah," you said, "you should really lay down though, and get some pillows under your leg."

"You can come in there," he said, sounding a little too eager. "Not like, for any funny business," he said, catching himself on his embarrassment, but taking solace in your little giggle. "We can just hang out."

"C'mon," you said, grabbing the frozen peas and helping him back up. You helped him into his room, asking where you could find him a pair of sweats to replace his jeans were, and throwing them over when you got them. You turned around, giving him some privacy. You saw his music, and decided to help yourself and put some low music on.

"Thanks again," he said, clearly struggling to undress and dress while laying down. "For helping me home, and- uh, and everything else."

"No problem," you said, shuffling your weight between your feet. "Can I look?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

While laying there, he looked devilishly good. You felt bad for his ankle, sure, but he'd taken his shirt off, his soft tummy on full display, and his legs were strewn between the white sheets, his good leg tucked under, but his bad leg bare, showing his grey sweatpants. His hair was messy, splayed over his neck and shoulders, and he looked good enough to eat.

"Can I sit?"

Eddie smiled, "of course," he said, shuffling over to make space for you.

It was later than you realized, and you were suddenly exhausted. Or maybe you were just justifying crawling into Eddie's bed at your first opportunity. You set up a few pillows under his leg, leaving none left for yourself, just one for Eddie.

"Take one back," he said, pulling it out from the stack. "You need one too."

"No, no," you pulled it out of his hands and returned it, instead opting to lay into his side, resting your head on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat quicken, and his breathing get faster. He smelled like freshly fallen leaves, cinnamon, and the faint smell of weed. It was intoxicating... "Is this okay?"

"It's perfect," he said, wrapping a hesitant arm around you, pulling him in closer to you, "absolutely perfect."

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader

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idontknowanametouse · 9 months ago

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Presenting to gringos (people that aren't from Brazil) Mundo Torajo (Torajo World)

Mundo Torajo is a brazillian animation youtube channel that will be very soon releasing a series thanks to a gofundme. Unfortunately, there is still no english translation, so I can do it here if you want.

Torajo was a channel like Jaiden (same video format) until about august/september of 2023, when a short was released (this one) beggining the lore, in which a red version of Torajo took his place. This continued on for almost 2 months with no sign of Torajo, only through glitches and links on the shorts that lead to audios of Torajo and Morajo (the red one) talking about the channel's future and video format. 2 months after Torajo was gone, Morajo made this video showing all the audios together. He said he made all of this to prove Torajo the audience didn't really care for him (their whole argument was about youtube algorythm vs passion and a nice audience) because they only stayed for the mystery. In the next video, this one, the two fight and we find out that they are brothers and Torajo called Morajo when the channel grew and he needed help, with everything getting more and more unstable between them. At the end, they set apart and Morajo starts his own channel. The two start a "war" between them until this video (followed by this one), when he introduces a new character, Zulmi (I love her, you'll see more about her later). She is friends with the two and stops their fight... at least, for a while.

Then, this happened. Basically, Morajo got infected with algorythomus, a substance that is, well, the youtube algorythm. He goes a little crazy and threatens Torajo while hacking other youtubers, and then Torajo posts this video. He explains he lives in another planet, Verade, that can be only kept alive when people watch their videos. The next video, this one, is the last part of this series/saga. The two have a fight with a really emotional flashback of them as kids, and in the end THE POWER OF LOVE WINS AND THEY MAKE UP YAAAAAAY

And, for a while, all is well. They continue Torajo's channel together (the 3 of them), introduce a new character, Linn (I love him, you'll see more about him later) and even post a compilation of the fight. And then something happens.

The channel is hacked by an unknown person and this video is posted. In it, we meet the "hacker", Abel, who is basically Verade's god/narrator and that does propaganda to the gofundme for the creation of an animated series (he also wipes Torajo's memory after this). 1 week later, they reach their goal and publish this video, with a sneak peak of the series (also wiping the character's memories). Now, there's just 2 videos left for its release, and the story is warming up. They post shorts daily and this week, Morajo seems very unwell, and as we know algorithomus is coming back, this is surely the cause of it.

This is the lore at the moment, and I can keep you aware of it. They are very popular with kids. I recommend, even if you don't know portuguese, to watch their videos, cuz they are really fun and charismatic. Now, I'll show you the characters!

Torajo

[ID in alt]

He is the main character. He is, as you can see, a green apple and is very nice, though a bit sassy and dumb. There are many memes about him, like him bald or as a banana. He has a crush on Zulmi but won't say it. Loves coffee and minecraft.

Morajo

[ID in alt]

Torajo's brother and former antagonist, now a co-protagonist. He is a red apple and kind of an emo, grumpy, kind of mean sometimes but actually very emotional, soft, shy and nerdy. People often call him a mango. He wears glasses but usually doesn't do it on videos. Loves Tetris and cats.

Zulmi

[ID in alt]

She is a co-protagonist. She is a blueberry and kind of a diva, but also very extroverted and likes gossips, also being nerdy about science stuff. Is often called a pineapple. Has a crush on Torajo, but won't say it. Loves Club Penguin.

Linn

[ID in alt]

He is a co-protagonist. He is a lemon and very introverted and shy, being very nerdy about anime and videogames, also kind, calm and phylosophic. Is besties with Morajo. Likes to play ukulele, ducks, Zelda and bread with lettuce.

Azedo (Sour)

[ID in alt]

He is Linn's little brother and a side character. He is a lemon and basically an ipad kid (looks like the collector from the owl house, is currently called Enzo Gabriel/Azedo Gabriel). He likes spider man, chicken nuggets and saying stuff on the community's discord server (I've seen him there sometimes).

Abel

[ID in alt]

He is Verade's god/narrator. He is a mango and kind of crazy, but really funny. He hasn't appeared much, so we don't know a lot about him, but we'll probably see more about him soon.

Pessy

[ID in alt]

She is Zulmi's best friend. She is a peach and very detective-like, making theories about everything that happens on Verade and being also very nerdy too. She is nice and kinda shy, but very persistent on what she wants. Her hat is kind of infinite as she guards a lot of stuff inside it. She likes rock music, Gravity Falls, Dark Souls, Sherlock Holmes, sci-fi movies, tea, editing, toddynho and coffee.

#mundo torajo #mundo do torajo #torajo #morajo #zulmi #linn #azedo #abel #pessy

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funnycreatortimetravel · 1 year ago

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Small rant about Sans' character that no one is ever going to read and is probably kind of inaccurate, but I'm going to scream into the void nonetheless because why the hell not and I'm kind of bored.

I feel like the concept of Sans as a whole has been so utterly gutted by the fandom and not in the way you'd think. Not because of the AUs which are all so oddly Sans-focused (but at least we have Underverse which is fairly decent) but in the sense of the people who claim to "actually understand Sans canonically" and "try to stay as canon as possible" while also equally missing the point sort of. Hence, why we have this long and overplayed image I'm sure everyone has seen a billion times:

If I could lay some groundwork down, Undertale came out in 2015, nearly a decade ago. The internet was a different time and place then and fandom creativity reached new peaks that no one had ever seen before, and as a result, a lot of Undertale was exaggerated, changed, cut up, and then put back together. Why? Because in all honesty, Undertale was a really simple game with a simple premise. Sure there were bits and pieces scattered throughout, parts like who Gaster was, who Chara was when they were alive, who Sans is in general; all the typical fandom theory shenanigans we've come to expect in the recent years. And in that excitement, Sans became the staple of Undertale pretty much, or at least everything it represented. This macabre, yet adorably misleading game with funny moments and interesting think pieces that people are still speculating about. That's pretty much the basis of Sans. So I get why Sans became the quintessential poster child for such a subversively ambitious game. I get why, then, people try to showcase Sans as this badass God character who knows and remembers all of resets and cries over Papyrus and is just an edge lord in general. It doesn't mean it's accurate in the slightest, but I get the idea of it nonetheless. In the absence of content, and there's a lot of it in Undertale, (I mean, it took me 4 hours to 100% it in the Pacifist and Neutral Routes, and 5 hours to beat Genocide, including the times it took me to beat Undyne because she thoroughly kicked my ass and Sans as well) the fans filled those gaps with what they saw fit and what they saw fit was so wide and diverse that the gap overflowed and the game pretty much became unrecognizable.

And I (except for the truly questionable and gross stuff, you know what I'm talking about) love the fandom for that, I truly do. Just the sheer number of comics, spin-off games, AUs, art, and fanfiction that answered every question I had and more was and is impressive, but even so, there's only so much that can be done with the context Undertale provides us before the content gets...stale. Hence my point on why Sans' character was so exaggerated is because Undertale as a whole had been exaggerated and oversaturated and overplayed and generally...not what the game or Sans was originally. But that was peak 2016-2019, though, a few years ago. And the interpretations and eras, like everything, have changed.

Now back to my actual point. It's now 2024. The fandom has noticeably slowed down. All of the AUs and theories and fanfictions that were popular have either been forgotten about over the years, randomly rediscovered or still ongoing, or just abandoned entirely. The game has been pretty much combed through until every file has been cracked, every document leaked, and every secret discovered. It's like a picked over turkey at this point and a lot of the old creators have indeed left behind the game in pursuit of newer things, which is understandable. It's not the center of attention it once was and in that wake, we don't really have a lot of the same pillars in the Undertale community that we used to. And in this transformed community, we have the left over children, now young adults and teenagers, to pick up the pieces. And in that, Sans' character, as well as Undertale itself, has again, been reformed.

That was a lot of words. But I hope I at least set the center stage. My issue, pretty much, is that the leftover fans deem themselves as "above the cringe" the old fandom left behind, which, is fair enough. And in doing so, a lot of the foundation of the 2016-2019 Undertale fandom was kind of overwritten. No, now Sans is no longer this edgy, overpowered God figure ready to right the wrongs of the player, no, now he's this apathetic guy who doesn't care about anyone, including himself, and is only powerful because he cheated. And to be fair, I see some merit in this interpretation. Sans is in fact, a pretty morally ambiguous guy. He doesn't even attempt to stop the player during the genocide route until there's nothing left. He threatens the player on the pacifist route even when we pose no threat. He makes so many allusions about himself not caring about anything. So I get it. Everyone is tired of everything Sans-related. I was too at one point. But in trying to counteract this fanon interpretation of Sans, I feel like this new one is also semi-inaccurate. This new interpretation of Sans is meant to be seen as "mature" and "not cringe" when in fact, Undertale is and always will be sort of cringe. And that's OK! That's why I and others love the game so much, because it's not afraid of being anything other than what it is and what it claimed to be. It had a story in mind that it wanted to tell and it did so unabashedly. The need to separate Undertale and Sans itself from the cringe is so pointless and almost a little juvenile. And imo, even ruins the character of Sans himself.

Sans does care about Papyrus, so so so much. He reads him bedtime stories. He plays along with his illusions of grandeur. He calls out the player when he's killed, despite Sans having to remain objective as a judge. I feel like Sans not intervening in Papyrus' death isn't because he doesn't care, it's because his entire job is to act as a judge and in a position where he's mostly neutral. He knows the player has powers to redo and undo things, so thus, he gives us room to make those choices, for better or worse. He's like, the anti-toriel. He refuses to hold your hand. He tells YOU to make the right choice, and by you, I mean the player. And in that sense, I feel like that's not something a completely apathetic guy would do. Someone like that wouldn't even see the point of choices, of having an option. Someone like that wouldn't care about getting out of bed in the morning, getting several jobs, or telling a person with higher power to just engage with your brother.

Like come on, don't say he doesn't put effort into anything, like he went out of his way to make sure Pap's Holiday party went perfect. He's constantly going above and beyond for his brother.

Sans has emotions and they're so complex and so well-written, but I feel like this counter-cringe culture of the fandom wants him to be this guy who's either too depressed or too lazy to engage with others, or someone who would simply shrug off the death of loved ones when we have proof that Sans does indeed try hard for Papyrus in the ending where everyone dies but his brother. It's an "oh shit" sort of moment when he realizes that Papyrus is the only person he has left and thus, he puts in the effort to be better for him. It's not that he doesn't care or see the point, he's just kind of numb at this point. If Papyrus dies in the neutral routes, you don't see Sans again until the judgment hall and he'll call you a dirty brother killer and tell you to go to hell. That's something someone who at least cares a little would do. He's not above insulting the player and he's not above getting pissed. I've never really seen him as a, "well that's that then," character when it comes to Papyrus dying, for me, it's always been, "I'm angry, but I can maintain my composure and still do what I have to do."

Even in the genocide routes, Sans wants to give up and do nothing. He wants to let himself die without much thought. But he knows that he has to stand between you and oblivion. It's another, "Oh shit" moment, but in the opposite way. He knows he's gonna die. But he still has hope. Not necessarily that you'll be a good person, but that you can try another way and make better choices. He embodies the same mentality Papyrus did at the beginning of the run, believing there's a better chance for another future where everyone can be happy.

Sans isn't a nihilist, not all the way. There's still a chance, still a part of him that has hope for everything, regardless of the route. And should the Pacifist route be completed, you'll see that he's genuinely happy. He DOES care, or at least he's beginning to know that caring about things is ok and healthy even.

Ex 1: If you go to Sans' lab after completing a True Pacifist Route, you get this bit of dialog:

Ex 2: Sans and Papyrus talking about a Christmas party they had on the Newsletter of the 5th Anniversary of Undertale.

The strongest, yet most complex example of this that we see is that he upholds his promise with Toriel and will continue to do so until the genocide route at the very end because he wants to at least give us, the player, a chance. And even if it was a cop-out for being lazy, I believe that Sans legitimately believes there's a chance for us to turn around and be a better person, or at the very least, make better choices. We know that Sans is a person who doesn't like making promises at all, and even though he said that his threatening to kill Frisk is a joke, had he not made that promise to Toriel, I can't 100% say that he still wouldn't intervened in the genocide and neutral routes.

And if you think about it, Sans upholding that promise just makes me question him even more. Like, even if you kill his brother, so long as you don't kill everyone, he won't kill you just because of that. He sticks to his promise and his morals so much, even if it costs him everything because well, what type of judge would he be if he didn't stick to his moral code?

"If you have some special power, don't you think it's your responsibility to do the right thing?"

And by that logic, if he made a promise with someone, don't you think he'd feel he'd have the responsibility to uphold it?

We also know that he makes an effort to give us updates on the Underground after we leave in the neutral routes because he still wants us to know, at least, the consequences of our actions, so it's not like he's just lazily letting us get away with anything with do (even if he does physically.) He still holds our actions above our heads. He still keeps his promise. He still knows that we can make a better outcome. And if that doesn't say anything about him, I don't know what does.

Even in the neutral route endings where things are objectively going terribly for the monsters with Frisk killing Asgore and taking the souls to leave the barrier, Sans still never gives up. Sans, of all people.

And sure, Sans isn't a saint, not by a long shot, but he does have some moral weight in the long run, and by playing the part of a judge, he has a certain level of disattachment that's necessary when it comes to doing his job. Nowadays, I don't see the "fanon" sans that everyone loves to rag on, the one that's overly emotional and jarringly out of character, more so, I see everyone ragging on that interpretation, and then coming up with an equally inaccurate interpretation of Sans just not giving a shit and letting Frisk get away with everything just because he's "not emotional and only wants to be lazy, blah, blah, blah, nihilism, existentialism, it's more canonically accurate, unlike that CRINGE FANON SANS!" /or being a total unserious prankster with no other personality traits, and that's equally as jarring for me.

So in conclusion, I feel like "Fanon" Sans, the one where he's breaking down and sobbing over Papyrus and holding his scarf is just as inaccurate as the "more canon one" where he's apathetic and simply just not caring about his death, or at the very best, says "it is what it is." Sans is a character whose emotions aren't apparent, but he still does care in his weird philosophical way. He loves Papyrus and genuinely thinks he's cool. He's a jokester character who loves a good laugh and being laid back. He doesn't like putting in effort, but he will if he has to. He wants the player to make good choices, so he generally tries to stay out of the way to give us that freedom. Not because he knows we're gonna kill Papyrus, but because he knows we have greater power and wants us to use it to do the morally right thing. He isn't above doing morally grey things either, like threatening to kill Frisk in case they pose a threat to monster kind, but I believe even then, his hesitation to just accept a human in the underground is somewhat understandable given the oppressive tension between humans and monsters. Additionally, he does put in effort when it comes to caring about monsters other than Papyrus, Toriel, and even Alphys and Asgore, he cares about them all: (it's implied that he feeds the amalgamates in Alphy's old lab as proven by the same dog food we see in the lab being in Sans' house and Alphys even calls him a good guy because he helps her in the aborted genocide route ending, him telling jokes to Toriel and genuinely trying to bring some joy in her life even though she's a stranger and doesn't have an obligation to, even staying with her in the Ruins after she's dethroned in the Queen Undyne ending, him acting as the judge before Asgore and even being in such an important position requires you to have a solid sense of morality and conviction, his respect for Undyne as a warrior/leader depending on the ending and in the Undertale Newsletter, he makes an effort to score a goal for his team in Hocky, and Undyne of all people seems proud of him, and pretty much everything that has to do with Papyrus he's at the very least involved or interested in.)

My words don't have a lot of merit. I'm simply saying how I interpret things. But as a big sister, I see Sans as a good big brother who's not too involved, but also deeply cares about his younger brother and his friends. I get that stoicism and being "logical" and "cold" is the new trend and whatnot with all these edits of badass characters and longing for a time when everything was less...emotional, but in doing that, it shuts a lot of discussion about Sans as a person and his complex emotions as a whole. I feel like it's too difficult and kind of silly to chalk him up as either one or the other. I feel like there's a nice middle ground between the "cringe" fanon sans and the "cool, apathetic" canon sans that a lot of fans either go one or the other on. Anyway, that's about it for my rant. It's kind of nonsensical and a little hard to follow, but I hope I was able to get my thoughts across nonetheless.

I guess it was a big rant after all. Oh well. It is what it is.

#sans #undertale sans #undertale #deltarune #papyrus undertale #sans character discussion #undertale deltarune

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