#black bandit jacket

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

TWO: G & G.

You know that there are those in the world who strike fear into people’s hearts and souls.

But you’ve never seen anyone react to a single human being the way they do the duo that struts into the bar in their leather cowboy boots. 

You’ve never seen the saloon so quiet and still before then when the duo steps into the scene. A tumbleweed could blow by with how silent it is.

Everyone’s eyes stay planted on the tall, handsome men oozing with confidence and intimidation standing among the swinging doors, appearing like sexy phantoms in the night.

There stands Geto Suguru, the 6’4 long-haired gunslinger with the perfect, black locks that cascade down his broad shoulders and back, seductive eyes, and skillful hands that he hides behind two riding gloves.

He usually is seen riding a black Bronco that is just as big as him and sporting a black cape with black riding pants, boots, and a low-brim cowboy hat. Black fits him so damn well. The only thing that isn’t black on him is the red vest that is so low-cut that you can see the outline of his pecs. 

Beside him is his partner (and lover as it’s rumored) Gojo Satoru, the lean, confident, cocky, blindfolded bandit standing at 6’3 with snow-white hair, a sly smile, leather gloves that hide some skillful and deadly hands, and a blindfold covering his eyes that have never been seen but are said to make a man go cold with fear where he stands.

In contrast to Geto, the white-haired cowboy is doused in colors: a denim jacket that matches his slacks where a star-shaped belt buckle hangs from his crotch; brown boots with spurs; a red bandana wrapped around his neck; and a white cowboy hat sits low on his head. He, too, has his own horse: a brown Bronco that is recognizable from its hooves clicking across the ground.  

They are a match made in heaven and hell. Handsome, skillful, and deadly. They are known for their impressive yet terrifying speed when it comes to cocking and shooting their pistols. You’ve heard of them killing all kinds of wanted criminals and even other gunslingers in other counties.

Everyone knows them and so do you. 

If a record was playing, the damn thing would be scratching by now with the way the saloon reacts to seeing the gunslingers in the flesh. Whispers begin to rise from the silence, including from Yuki, Mai, and Maki who have wandered over. “Oh, my God,” Mai gasps. “It’s the Gunslingers!” 

“What the hell are they doin’ here?” Maki wonders aloud, peering at them from behind her spectacles. “Are they lookin’ for someone? I thought they had been arrested!” 

And they did, last year. At some point, the articles of gunslingers, corporation owners, and high rollers found dead with bullets in them and a note from “G & G” left at the scene stopped when they were arrested after that train heist. And you know it has everything to do with their connection to your boss. 

“Who cares?” Yuki dreamily sighs as she stares at the gunslingers with heart eyes. “I get to admire them in person now! Aren’t they delicious?” 

“Keep it in your pants, Yuki,” Choso grumbles, tugging on a lock of the blonde’s hair as she giggles. “They ain’t even all that.” 

“Of course not,” Yuki purrs, making Choso blush. “Not above you, Chosi, but a cowboy hat would do you so well!”

Even you will admit that the “wanted dead or alive” posters don’t do them justice: they are fine as all hell, straight out of a woman’s wet dreams. But they are also outlaws. And you despise outlaws…for personal reasons. 

The duo begins to look around the silent saloon, Gojo’s head slowly turning despite his blindfold. When his head turns toward you, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your very lungs. Despite the fabric covering his eyes, you feel as if he sees you. All of you. 

Gojo nudges Geto with his elbow before waltzing over to the bar, his boots thudding across the hardwood floor. Geto follows, ignoring the whispers and stares in their wake. The piano has begun to pick up again, but it does nothing to ease the tension swimming in the air. Quickly, you turn to face your drink while the girls scatter to work, leaving you to fend for yourself. 

Geto sits on the stool beside you while Gojo takes the one beside him. You feel the air around you become stiff and tense as the cowboys settle into their seats. “So what’s a cowboy gotta do to get a drink round here?” Gojo asks with a smirk. “Can ya help a guy out, miss?”

He gives Shoko a flirty look, not knowing that this girl is gay as hell. “I could damn sure try,” she replies, barely giving him a smile. “What will you fellas have?” 

“I’ll take a Long Island iced tea,” Gojo says then laughs. “Just kiddin’! A beer, please.”

Geto takes a moment to examine the shelves of alcohol behind Shoko. He then looks at your pretty drink. “I’ll take what the lady is havin’,” he answers. “Actually, what is that you got there, miss?” 

His dark, enchanting eyes meet yours and you ignore the butterflies they invoke inside of you. “Whiskey smash,” you blandly reply.

He hums thoughtfully at the name. “Hm…is it good?” You tick your eyes at him briefly, secretly admiring his features. “If you like your whiskey with some sweetness to it, sure.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. “Oh, I definitely do,” he drawls. “I like sweetness with my everything.” 

You swallow hard, so sure you have a cherry pit in your throat. Gojo chuckles from beside his partner, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “Oooh, me too. I’ll third that order, ma’am!” Shoko nods and shoots you a look before wandering off to fix the drinks. 

You do your best to keep calm and act normal, sipping your drink and trying to relax. At some point, the silence becomes thicker, prompting one of the gunslingers to speak on it. “Welcomin’ place,” Gojo sniggers. “I feel so at home.”

Geto quietly chuckles from between you and Gojo. “Let’s just settle, Satoru. We won’t be here long.” 

‘Settle what?’ you wonder, but you know that they are here for Kento. Shoko comes back with the frothy, red drinks, lowering them in front of the gunslingers. 

“Thank you kindly,” Gojo chirps before taking a sip. Geto nods his thanks but doesn’t drink his right away. Instead, he goes into his pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and slides it across the bar to Shoko. “I don’t suppose you know who this guy is,” he says. 

You peek down at the paper, finding it to be a “Wanted” poster with your BF and boss looking back at you. Kenzo aka “Valentine” looks much different than when you met him. On the poster, he is clean and shaven, has longer, shaggier hair, and has a distinguished scar on his left eye.

But of course, this is the gunslinger who robbed people blind and just pulled a train heist and massacre in the town of Cherrywood a year before with his crew, Geto, and Gojo. The man who takes his place now is Kenzo, a humble saloon owner who sometimes dabbles in illegal activity to fund his saloon.  

Valentine, a criminal on the lamb and your outlaw boyfriend, is known for using his looks, charm, and violence to get what he wants. He is a man who loves money, women, and jewels. As a notorious criminal and outlaw, he has bounced from place to place, county to county, robbing folks and then laying low before starting again. 

He was arrested for robbing the Cherrywood regional train and having his crew massacre all of its employees and riders before you met him. Originally, he was given a fifty-year sentence but escaped after serving five weeks just by seducing a male prison guard and then knocking him out to steal the cell keys. 

You were hot on his trails when he showed up Blackwater a year later and met you in a whorehouse that you purposely took a job in since he frequented those. He took one look at you and immediately fell in love with you (and your body), proposing you a job at his saloon. “You could be mine,” he told you. “My girl.” You agreed and the rest is history. 

“I’ve heard of him, yes,” Shoko replies as she cleans a glass. 

“Is it possible you’ve seen him around?” Geto ponders aloud. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but he escaped Cherrywood a year ago after robbin’ a train and massacrin’ everyone in it. He’s wanted in about nine different counties.”

Shoko takes another brief look at the poster before someone flags her down from down at the bar. Saved by the bell. “I can’t say I have seen him, fellas,” she apologetically says. “‘Scuse me.” 

She hurries off, leaving you with the two cowboys. “How about you, ma’am?” Geto asks, passing the poster to you. “You recognize this face by any chance?” You look down, studying Valentine’s face.

You have, but first, you need to read these guys. “I’ve seen him in the posters, but not in person. May I ask why you two are here?” 

You keep it casual and curious, making sure you don’t sound too suspicious. “We were paid by a private source to track down Valentine for his crimes,” Geto vaguely explains. 

“And for personal business,” Gojo adds with a smirk. “You see, we were in, uh…business with Valentine some time ago and never got our cut.”

He doesn’t need to go any more into detail than that. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “We don’t like bein’ played with,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, sending a chill down your spine. “Or when someone’s money is funny, so we came here to exchange words with him.” 

‘Words or bullet?’ you want to ask, but you instead bite your tongue and sip your drink. 

“We’ve been told he was last seen in this town,” Geto explains. “We figured everyone comes to saloons so why not check here?” He slides the poster away from you, a kind yet flirty smile crossing his beautiful face. “But even if he isn’t, we can still enjoy a drink with a pretty lady.” 

You roll your eyes, having heard that line before. “Does that line work with all the girls?” you scoff. Gojo coughs up his whiskey as he laughs, but Geto doesn’t take it to heart. In fact, he chuckles.  “I see not with you,” he replies. 

“I like that,” Gojo states once he’s recovered, his blindfolded eyes set dead on you. “You’ve gotta be the first person who isn’t scared of us or tryin’ to jump in bed with us.”

You passively shrug, twirling your tongue around the rim of the glass. “I’ve been around gunslingers in my time.” 

At this, the duo share a look unbeknownst to you, quite interested in the pretty thing sitting with them at the bar. “Oh, really?” Gojo drawls and you realize your mistake. “Any of these encounters you’d care to share, little lady? I’m quite interested.”

Geto nods, his gaze like molten fire. “I am too.” 

You suddenly feel your mouth grow dry and your cheeks become hot. Your body reacts in a way it never has with any man you’ve been with, not even your first love! The way they continue to stare at you, giving you their undivided and unwanted attention, is even worse.

What is wrong with you?

Luckily, your boss comes to the rescue, barreling up to the bar like he wasn’t watching the duo from afar and shaking in his boots. 

“Oh, gentlemen!” he shouts, giving them both a hard, eager handshake. “Welcome, welcome! Can I offer you two another drink or a dance free of charge?”

Gojo ignores him like he isn’t even talking, leaving Geto to handle this. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, plastering on a kind smile. “We’re here for some information about him.” 

He passes Kenzo the poster and you watch in real time as the color in your boyfriend’s face drains. “Have you seen this guy anywhere?” Geto asks, squinting at him.

Gojo peers at him from under his hat, his stare intense even with the blindfold covering his eyes. Kenzo clears his throat and leans in to whisper to Geto. You pretend to ignore them though you secretly strain to hear. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers. “Even the walls have ears, I’m afraid.” 

Geto nods and nudges to Gojo who sighs and downs the rest of his drink. To your shock, Geto puts a hand out to you for a shake. Though hesitantly, you take his hand and feel the room grow hotter than a sauna when he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “It was a pleasure meetin’ you, ma’am,” he softly says. “Hopefully, we’ll cross paths again.” 

His eyes gleam as he tips his hat at you, leaving Gojo to follow Kenzo upstairs. Gojo doesn’t follow right away, instead digging into his pocket for some coins and placing them on the bar in front of you. “For your drinks and yours,” he says with a crooked smile. “Have a good night, little miss.” 

Then, just like Geto, he leaves as if he didn’t just steal the air you breathe with it. It takes a moment to get your head back, but once you do, you down the rest of your drink and get up from your seat. Shoko catches your eye and gives you a look, her eyes telling you a message: 

“Don’t get caught,” she warns you. “And don’t get killed.” 

You nod, blowing her a kiss, before following your boss and the duo upstairs.

[ladykailitha]

Just a little fluff to start your weekend with.

*

Steve is sitting down in his shared apartment with Eddie reading a magazine, waiting for his boyfriend to get home.

Soon enough his tornado of a boyfriend comes barrelling through the door. He can hear Eddie set something down before walking up to the sofa.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly. “How mad would you be if I brought home a box full of kittens someone had abandoned on the side of the road in this torrential rain?”

Steve lowers the magazine and looks up at Eddie fondly. “That would depend on how many there are? How many you plan on keeping? And how many you plan on giving to the animal shelter?”

Eddie grins. “There are six kittens and I only plan on keeping one?” He pulls a kitten out from under his leather jacket. It’s mostly white with a little black on the tip of her ear and a single circle around her left eye. “Her name is Bandit.”

“Not mad at all, sunshine,” Steve reassures him. “She’s beautiful. Now, come show me the others, too.”

Eddie’s grin broadens. He hands Bandit to Steve who immediately starts scritching her neck. He grabs the sodden box and sets it down in front of Steve.

Steve peers inside to see a cute bundle of fluffs in varying degrees of black to white ratio. But tucked away in the corner, Steve spots the final kitten. He looks up at Eddie and licks his lips. “How mad would you be if I fell in love with a kitten, too?”

Eddie cocks his head to the side and asks which one. Steve pulls out the final kitten, long haired while the others are short haired, and a dark charcoal grey. He meows in protest of being picked up. Steve now has a kitten in each hand and looking like he’s about to cry from the sheer joy of it all.

“Ah, yes,” Eddie said. “You would fall for that one. What are you going to name him?”

Steve grins at him like he’s about tell the biggest pun of his life. “Smokey.”

“As in ‘Smokey and the Bandit’?” Eddie deadpans.

Steve just continues grinning.

Eddie sighs. “Fine. You get Smokey and I get Bandit and we’ll go the shelter tomorrow to get pet supplies and drop off the other kittens.”

Steve hands Bandit back to Eddie as he cuddles close to Smokey. Eddie smiles up at them from his place on the floor. This just might have been the best decision he’s made since he asked Steve to move in with him.

Outside it rains on, but the love in that small apartment is brighter than the sun.

[oldmanpeace]

My favorite movie from each year, 1960+.

1960. Psycho (Alfred Hitchcock) 1961. Breakfast At Tiffany's (Blake Edwards) 1962. Cleo from 5 to 7 (Agnés Varda) 1963. 8½ (Federico Fellini) 1964. Dr. Strangelove (Stanley Kubrick) 1965. Pierrot le Fou (Jean-Luc Godard) 1966. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (Sergio Leone) 1967. The Fearless Vampire Killers (Roman Polanski) 1968. Bullitt (Peter Yates) 1969. Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper) 1970. Kelly's Heroes (Brian G. Hutton) 1971. Harold and Maude (Hal Ashby) 1972. The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola) 1973. Badlands (Terrence Malick) 1974. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (Sam Peckinpah) 1975. Jaws (Steven Spielberg) 1976. The Bad News Bears (Michael Ritchie) 1977. Smokey and the Bandit (Hal Needham) 1978. Days of Heaven (Terrence Malick) 1979. Alien (Ridley Scott) 1980. Dressed To Kill (Brian De Palma) 1981. Thief (Michael Mann) 1982. Diner (Barry Levinson) 1983. Scarface (Brian De Palma) 1984. Paris, Texas (Wim Wenders) 1985. To Live and Die in L.A. (William Friedkin) 1986. Hoosiers (David Anspaugh) 1987. Full Metal Jacket (Stanley Kubrick) 1988. Big (Penny Marshall) 1989. Do the Right Thing (Spike Lee) 1990. Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese) 1991. JFK (Oliver Stone) 1992. Scent of a Woman (Martin Brest) 1993. Dazed and Confused (Richard Linklater) 1994. The Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont) 1995. Heat (Michael Mann) 1996. A Time to Kill (Joel Schumacher) 1997. Princess Mononoke (Hayao Miyazaki) 1998. Fucking Åmål (Lucas Moodysson) 1999. Fight Club (David Fincher) 2000. High Fidelity (Stephen Frears) 2001. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson) 2002. Spider-Man (Sam Raimi) 2003. The Station Agent (Tom McCarthy) 2004. Sideways (Alexander Payne) 2005. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (Shane Black) 2006. Volver (Pedro Almodóvar) 2007. Into the Wild (Sean Penn) 2008. In Bruges (Martin McDonagh) 2009. Up in the Air (Jason Reitman) 2010. Hesher (Spencer Susser) 2011. Drive (Nicolas Winding Refn) 2012. Zero Dark Thirty (Kathryn Bigelow) 2013. Nebraska (Alexander Payne) 2014. The Grand Budapest Hotel (Wes Anderson) 2015. Sicario (Denis Villeneuve) 2016. Hell or High Water (David Mackenzie) 2017. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (Martin McDonagh) 2018. Manbiki kazoku (Hirokazu Koreeda) 2019. Uncut Gems (Benny & Josh Safdie) 2020. Nomadland (Chloé Zhao) 2021. Licorice Pizza (Paul Thomas Anderson) 2022. The Banshees of Inisherin (Martin McDonagh) 2023. The Holdovers (Alexander Payne)

[arcadiaisle]

Chapter 2: Thorn The boy in my card

Word Count: 2,802 Rating: PG Summary: Briar Yui Discovers her card is a boy?!

Briar left the small card shop, her new card tucked safely into her jacket pocket as she wandered out of the town. She glanced around, soaking in her new surroundings, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the simple card she had just purchased. She pulled it out, turning it over in her hands, staring at the single word: "Rose." Curious and unsure of what it could do, Briar stepped to the side of the road and, with a hesitant breath, called out the card’s name.

“Rose!”

There was a sudden puff of smoke, and Briar waved her hand in front of her face, coughing as the thick cloud surrounded her. She squinted through the haze, expecting a flower, a perfume bottle, or maybe even some kind of effect to emerge from the card. Instead, a boy appeared. Not a monster, not a spell—an actual boy, about her age, though an inch shorter. Briar blinked in confusion, her eyes widening as the smoke cleared and she got a better look at him.

The boy had jet-black hair, peach-colored skin, and gold eyes that gleamed with an almost mischievous excitement. Briar noticed faint scars scattered across his body and clothes that seemed to fit a peasant's style, with a rose motif woven throughout his outfit. He was looking at her as though he’d just met an old friend. Briar, however, was anything but at ease.

“What the…?” she muttered, stepping back instinctively, her heart racing. She was expecting anything but a human figure to pop out of her card.

The boy smiled brightly, as if completely unfazed by her reaction. “It’s been a while since I’ve been outside. The game’s changed a lot,” he said, his voice filled with awe as he glanced around at the world beyond the card.

Briar frowned, backing up further. “Where did you come from?” she asked nervously. “What are you?”

The boy ignored her questions, continuing to take in his surroundings. Briar’s confusion deepened as she considered the possibility that he might be some kind of deity, a powerful being sealed within the card. Her mind raced with the thought of accidentally summoning something beyond her control.

She scrambled backward, trying to crawl away, but before she could get far, the boy appeared in front of her, his expression playful yet determined. “Where are you going?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Away from you!” Briar replied, her voice shaking. “I didn’t sign up for this! I bought a card, not a—whatever you are.”

He chuckled softly, his gold eyes twinkling with amusement. “You bought me,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m a powerful spell card, and you’re going to need my help.”

Briar shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. “No, I didn’t. I bought a card that said ‘Rose,’ not a boy. And I definitely don’t need your help.”

The boy only laughed as Briar turned and ran. She sprinted through the small town and out into the wilds of the island, desperate to distance herself from the strange boy who had emerged from her card. Hours passed, and as the sun began to set, Briar found herself at the edge of a dense forest. She set up camp, sitting down to eat a meager meal, trying to calm her frayed nerves.

“I can just buy a new starter card tomorrow,” Briar muttered to herself. “I’ll forget all about this weird ‘Rose’ card.”

But as she took her first bite of food, the scent of her meal attracted unwanted attention. From the shadows, a group of rough-looking duelists emerged. They were older, tougher, and their intentions were clear. Bandits.

“Hand over your money, girl,” one of them growled, pulling out a jagged, rusted knife.

Briar’s heart dropped as she stood up, backing away slowly. “I don’t want any trouble,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just leave me alone.”

But the bandits weren’t interested in talking. One of them lunged forward, trying to snatch Briar’s bag, and she bolted. Her heart raced as she dodged between trees, but the bandits were faster, and soon she was cornered, trapped against the trunk of an enormous oak.

Just as the lead bandit reached out to grab her, a thunderous roar echoed through the forest. Briar looked up in horror as a massive, grotesque beast burst through the underbrush. It was covered in thick, thorny vines, its body twisting and writhing like a monstrous plant. The creature stood at least ten feet tall, its eyes glowing a deep crimson as it let out a menacing snarl. Its body was composed entirely of dark, thorn-covered branches that coiled and snapped like the tails of serpents.

The bandits froze in terror as the creature towered over them. One of them hesitated, their eyes wide with fear, but the leader sneered and drew a sword, its rusted blade glinting in the dying light. "It’s just a monster card," he muttered, trying to sound brave. "We can take it."

With a blood-curdling roar, the beast lunged at the attackers. Its thorny tendrils lashed out, whipping through the air like razors. The bandits barely had time to react as the first of them was slashed across the chest, his armor offering no protection against the razor-sharp vines. He screamed, dropping to the ground as the thorns tore through his clothing and skin. Another bandit tried to strike at the beast with his sword, but the creature's vines wrapped around the weapon, snapping it in two as if it were nothing more than a twig.

The bandits scrambled backward, their bravado crumbling as the beast unleashed its fury. One by one, they turned and fled into the woods, leaving their fallen comrades behind. The thorny creature didn’t give chase. Instead, it stood tall, its crimson eyes scanning the clearing before turning its gaze to Briar.

Panting, Briar tried to climb up a nearby tree, but her foot slipped, and she fell, hitting her head on a low-hanging branch. Dizzy and disoriented, she called out weakly for help, but before she could hit the ground, she was caught in the monster’s thorny arms. Its jagged exterior softened, the vines retracting as the beast began to shrink and transform.

To Briar’s astonishment, the creature’s body shimmered and morphed, until, standing before her once again, was the boy from before. He held her gently, his expression calm and composed as he lowered her to the ground.

“W-What just happened?” Briar stammered, her heart pounding in her chest. “Who… what are you?”

The boy grinned, brushing a hand gently across the bruise on her forehead. Where his fingers touched, small rose buds bloomed, soothing the pain. “You needed saving,” he said simply. “So I saved you.”

Briar blinked in confusion, still trying to process everything that had just happened. “Why? Why are you helping me?”

The boy smiled softly. “Because you’re my summoner now. And I think we’re going to make a great team.”

Briar stared at him, unsure of what to say. He brushed the dirt off her clothes, dusting her off before stepping back. “Your name’s Briar, right? That’s funny, ‘cause guess what?” He grinned wider. “My name’s Thorn.”

Briar’s cheeks flushed slightly as Thorn’s golden eyes twinkled with amusement. He gave her a small, playful bow, his rose-themed outfit swaying in the evening breeze. “I want to be your spiritual companion,” he declared, his voice full of confidence.

Briar hesitated, still unsure of what she had gotten herself into, but something about Thorn made her feel… safe. Maybe, just maybe, this strange boy could be the ally she never knew she needed.

-

Chapter 2: A New Bond

Briar and Thorn made their way to a quieter area of the forest to set up camp. Thorn, ever the gentleman, assisted Briar in walking as she was still sore from her earlier encounter. Briar, still in shock, sat down on a log, her cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and the earlier ordeal. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

“How… how did you wind up in the Rose card?” Briar asked, trying to steady her voice. She glanced up at Thorn, who was busy gathering some fallen branches for their campfire. Thorn’s smile faltered slightly, a shadow of reluctance crossing his face.

“This game can get pretty dangerous,” he replied, his tone evasive. “That’s all I can say.”

Briar’s thoughts drifted back to the thorny beast Thorn had morphed into earlier. “And that thing back there,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “is that what you become?”

Thorn shrugged nonchalantly, plucking some flowers from his skin and removing the vines from his legs. “I can be. That form is known as the Tenebrose Beast. I told you I was a powerful card,” he said with a wink. He began weaving the flowers together, using the petals to gently wipe the blood and dirt from Briar’s face. Briar was still processing everything, and her confusion was palpable.

“Why… why did you say your name was Thorn?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“That’s right! Thorn Levy!” Thorn announced proudly, a wide grin on his face.

“Th-Thorn… why do you want to be my…” Briar hesitated, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “Companion?”

Thorn moved closer, gently taking her hands in his. “Because you’re my Rose Princess!” he said with enthusiasm. Then he added more seriously, “Well, I don’t have many options, so I’ll take anyone as my summoner. I just want to be your favorite card, the one you call upon. That way, maybe one day… I can go home.”

Briar’s eyes widened. “Go home?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is… is there anything else?”

“No,” Thorn said with a sigh. “I just want to go home. Having a summoner who regards me as a spiritual companion helps.”

Briar swallowed hard, her mind racing with the implications. “Alright, then. If I accept you, will you help me win the game, get cards, duel, and all that?”

“Oh yes! Yes, I will!” Thorn said, standing up enthusiastically before her.

“Alright, what do I have to do?” Briar asked, reaching for her book to check her deck and where to place the card. “Is there a special place for the card?”

“Yes, but there’s something else,” Thorn said, sitting down next to her. He extended his palm, from which a delicate rose began to bloom. He plucked two petals and offered them to her. “If you consume a petal and I consume one, we’ll be bound to each other. This way, I’ll be able to assist you both in and out of battle without you needing to summon my card. I will protect you until the end, and in exchange, I’ll need your help to get home. Sound good?”

Briar hesitated. She didn’t entirely trust Thorn, but he had saved her life, and she was desperate to succeed. “Alright,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

Thorn chuckled softly and ate his petal, and Briar followed suit, swallowing it whole. As soon as she did, she felt a strange sensation. Her black hair began to turn a cloudy white. “What the…? What’s happening?” Briar exclaimed, tugging at her hair in confusion.

Thorn’s hair was changing in a similar fashion, matching hers. “Oh, it’s fine,” he said with a reassuring smile. “It’s just an indication of our bond now.”

Briar looked at him, still bewildered but trying to accept the new reality. “Alright, alright, that’s it, yeah?” she asked nervously. “It… it’ll take some getting used to, but it’s not too bad, I suppose…” She yawned, her exhaustion catching up with her.

Thorn, sensing his summoner’s fatigue, reached out and wrapped her in a blanket made of rose vines. To Briar’s surprise, the blanket was incredibly soft and free of any sharp thorns. “Here you go,” Thorn said gently. “You should get some rest. Don’t worry, I’ll watch over you while you sleep, Rose Princess.”

“H-Hey, don’t call me that,” Briar mumbled as she settled down, her voice barely audible. “It’s just Briar…”

Thorn’s smile widened as he sat nearby, keeping a watchful eye over her. “Goodnight, Briar,” he said softly. As she drifted off to sleep, the events of the day replayed in her mind, but for now, she felt a strange sense of security with Thorn by her side.

[venturethroughtheveil]

Beyond The Pines [Pt. I]

[Series description: Two years ago, dad died from cancer, leaving you to raise your younger sister, Vivian, alone. Your best friend, Ellie, was one of the few support systems you had until your feelings for her seemingly put a strain on your relationship. When Vivian goes missing, can you trust Ellie to help bring her back?]

[Author comments: I've put together an audio to go play along as you read. Voices are *ALL* AI-generated using ElevenLabs. I did not include Y/N's voice in order to preserve your own inner dialogue. This series will be slow-burn, and will have smut and graphic depictions of violence. 18+ only.]

[Credit to Youtube Channels Ambient City (horse stables); Hursty Outdoors (walking/snow); Music: Gustavo Santaolalla (Opening Suite; Longing; Unbound)]

Be sure to expand the audio to play from the beginning!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

You slipped a glove off, braving the winter chill to scavenge your jacket pockets.

Sugar cube.

A rare commodity for your generation; you were lucky to find a small box of them while scavenging a ravaged coffee shop. You twiddled the rock-hard substance between your thumb and index, anything to dissociate from the girls’ conversation. Something about Dina falling into a pile of shit; you tried not to smile at that.

Fresh, powdered snow crunched beneath the heel of your boots. The warm glow of faerie lights danced across the ground at the stable’s entrance. 

Jackson was quiet. Peaceful. Safe. A stark contrast from the nightmarish infected and worse – bandits – roaming the mountains outside town limits.

They pass you.

“C’mere, Phantom,” The sleek, black mare whinnied and happily trotted into her refuge, “my pretty girl.”

She was a young horse, strong, with a spitfire nature. You had that in common.

When you weren’t on duty, you and Ellie used to race her and Shimmer on Cirque Trail, stopping to stuff your pockets full of wild huckleberries, which Joel made into killer pies. You frowned at the thought.

Gently, you threaded your hands through Phantom’s mane, silently thanking her for keeping you safe another day.

"Because you've been so good today," you murmur, presenting the sugar cube in a cupped hand. Immediately, Phantom gnashes it between her teeth, nose flaring.

Her face is just too comical. You laugh, wiping the slobber from your palms on your worn blue jeans.

The shrill creak of another stable door shutting disrupts the moment. Dina laughs at something Ellie says.

“Night, Ellie.”

From your peripheral, you see the woman leave.

The last six hours of patrol were miserable, from the clutch of infected you cleared to the dry dialogue between you and your friends.

Well, you were friends until three months ago at the town dance when you watched Ellie and Dina kiss. At this, you passed your glass of whiskey off to an equally dumbfounded Jesse and walked straight out of the hall, tears pricking your eyes and bile rising in your throat.

Beyond patrols with them– which, despite your pleas, Maria continued to schedule, likely to force a reconciliation – you hadn’t talked to either since.

Apart from working well together, you and Dina weren’t inseparable, so avoiding her has been relatively easy. On the other hand, avoiding Ellie, your ex-best friend, has been excruciating. No matter how hard she tried – showing up at your door in the dead of night to beg you to come outside, leaving joints on your windowsill, landing snowballs square in the back of your head – Ellie couldn’t get more than cut-and-dry responses out of you.

Eventually, she stopped trying.

Part of you was embarrassed at your childish behavior, but you couldn’t face her, not after that night.

You closed the latch to Phantom’s stable, hyper-aware of the forest green eyes that bore into your side profile.

Without a word, you make your way over toward Mike, who was on duty tonight.

“Hey - thanks again for picking up a shift so short notice, Y/N,” he gave you a sympathetic smile, “with the horde that’s passing through, we can’t be too careful.”

‘Bullshit. This is all Maria.’

“Sure, don’t mention it” Your tone was casual, but irritation and exhaustion were etched into your features. Desperate to go home and avoid Ellie – who was clearly waiting for you, you quickly scribbled in the logbook.

‘Four runners + three clickers in Tetonia. Cleared.’

You said goodnight to Mike and walked straight past the freckled girl. She was propped up against the stable entrance, brows furrowed and lips in a tight line. She looked tired.

“Uh - hey...”

You keep walking.

“…okay…”

‘Fuck off,’ you wanted to say. Instead, you shook your head and gripped your backpack tighter, eyes unable to meet hers.

No more stargazing with her. No more all-nighters snuggled up watching cheesy 1980s horror films. No more spitballing ideas for her next set of tattoos – a rabbit skull; an arrow; the numbers 000129 – she never explained that one; an ouroboros. No more. You had bigger things to worry about.

She made her choice, and it wasn’t you.

‘UGH,’ Your face scrunched up in a cringe.

She could have at least told you. While her head was in your lap – your fingers gently combing her auburn locks to the soft tune of Johnny Cash’s Hurt filling your bedroom – she was dreaming of Dina the whole time.

And you could have it all, my empire of dirt.

I will let you down.

I will make you hurt.

Heat bloomed across your face in embarrassment. You never told Ellie that you loved her – that you were in love with her – hell, you didn’t even understand it until you saw them lock lips at the dance. Now, you were cursed to watch them fall in love while you self-isolated and grew more bitter by the day.

The walk home was about thirty minutes from the stables. A good chunk of land on the outskirts of Jackson that's been in the family for generations.

Hopefully, your sister wasn’t asleep. You needed to vent.

‘If I walk fast, I’ll probably get home at 10ish.’

Fragrant pine and earth filled your frost-nipped nostrils. Even with your heavy parka, and thick, fur-lined boots, the cold settled deep in your bones. Without a flashlight, seeing your hands in front of your face would be impossible. It was that dark out.

The metal of your keys stung your battered hands. You became keenly aware of something behind you as you turned the lock. No need to reach for your pistol; it was obvious who was in your driveway.

‘How the fuck did I not notice her?’

“So, you’re stalking me now?” Without turning around, you tapped the heel of your boots against the worn, wooden deck to knock off the snow. You then kneeled to untie them. “Go home, El.” There was an authority in your voice.

Footsteps approached, crunching through the snow. 

“Maybe I’m not here to see you,” Ellie shrugged, “maybe I’m here to see Vivian.”

“I really doubt that.”

You turned and looked up at her, batting snowflakes from your lashes. It was the first time you’d really studied her face in weeks.

Dark circles hung beneath her eyes, cheeks hollow as if she’d not slept or eaten, yet, with that constellation of freckles smattered across her face, the deep forest green of her eyes, those lips, she was still the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen, more beautiful than any model from those Vogue magazines your sister collects.

“You look like shit.” You lied.

“Gee, thanks.” A smile tugged at the corner of Ellie’s lips. “Can I come in? It’s cold as shit out here.”

You hesitated; time seemingly slowed as you studied her. Ellie’s eyes met yours, unwavering. That stupid cocky smirk was still etched into her face.

“Take your shoes off,” you conceded. “Don’t track horse shit into my house.”

Family pictures, odds and ends from your grandparents’ vacations to Maine, and cheesy words of affirmation your mother hung years ago adorned the entrance of your home. It wasn’t your style, but it felt wrong to take them down.

Ellie’s eyes traveled around the room, searching for changes.

The cabin was simply too spacious for just Vivian and yourself. Two stories tall, there were four rooms and three baths. Maria has scheduled to move incoming residents downstairs sometime next month. This angered you more than Viv. This was your family’s home, and you certainly didn’t want strangers sleeping in what once was your parents’ bedroom. You didn’t have any say in the matter.

Your younger sister, on the other hand, was enthusiastic. For her, it was ‘too quiet,’ being just the two of you. You couldn’t really blame her, though. Most interactions between you since your dad’s passing have stuck to mostly your venting about patrols and Maria and all the house repairs needed. Vivian would talk about her newest boyfriend – if you can even call them that – the boys never lasted more than a month.

Dad passed two years ago from cancer.

It was a devastating loss to both of you, but you especially had little time to grieve. Vivian was just 14 at the time. She’d started supervised patrols with Jesse only one week prior. Dad was proud.

When everything went to shit, you took extra patrols to cover Viv’s duties. You did this for a few reasons, to let her have the chance to be a kid and grieve, to provide for your baby sister, and to avoid facing the reality of your situation. You two were alone in the world, and you weren’t ready to raise a 14-year-old.

Ellie made the extra effort to be there for you both. She’d walk Vivian to school and training, cook dinner, and often help with chores. She’d spend ration coupons on old, crumbling makeup or cheap-smelling candles that your sister adored.

It wouldn’t be totally out of character for Ellie to walk all this way to check on Viv, not at this hour, though, and you both knew it.

‘So why did you let her in?’

You set your shoes down at the entrance, inviting Ellie to do the same. The grandfather clock in the adjacent dining room read 10:13 pm.

“I’ll tell Vivian you’re here. I’m gonna head to bed –“

“Come on, Y/N,” Ellie grabs your arm, “I can’t live like this anymore. You don’t answer the door, you won’t talk to me,” she grips you tighter, “you won’t even fucking look at me.”

Her touch burned your skin. You try to yank back your hand to no avail. She was much stronger than you.

“I fucking miss you, I miss my best fucking friend, and I don’t even know what I did wrong.” Her eyes are pleading, desperate.

“Let go of me, asshole,” you demand in a whisper-yell. “you’re gonna fucking wake Viv.”

But it was useless; Ellie’s eyes were determined, glossy, as if she were on the verge of tears.

She pulls you closer to her, chest pressed against yours, and you’re sure she can feel your heartbeat pounding out of your ribcage. This is too close. Intimately close.

“Talk to me. Say what you need to say.” She demands. “yell at me, hit me – anything – so we can move on and pretend you haven’t been acting fucking insane the last few months.”

Her lips are too close to yours.

“Don’t make me.” Your voice was small, eyes welling with tears. Emotions that had been bottled for the past three months. It was your turn to beg. Beg her not to do this. Not here, not ever. All you wanted was to grieve the loss of your friendship and move on so you could get your shit together for your sister. There was no room for weakness in your life anymore. Cutting her off is easier than a painful rejection.

Ellie’s eyes searched yours for an answer, and her lips were pulled in a frown.

“I need to know, Y/N.”

‘Don’t do it.’

You weren’t the best at impulse control. It was a trait you got from mom, something you thought you’d begun to improve at. But the body heat between you, the desperation in Ellie’s eyes, and her nails digging into your now-bare shoulders were too much.

Ellie’s lips were chapped compared to yours. Salty from the tears that had flown moments prior. The kiss was innocent, sad. Your lips moved gently against her still ones. This wasn’t how you dreamt it happening.

The kiss was over as soon as it began.

Ellie pulled back, freeing you from her iron grip. You both stood there, facing each other for an eternity. The grandfather clock ticked loudly.

She looked dumbstruck, cheeks blooming red, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Shit”

White-hot shame finally engulfed you as you realized what you’d just done.

‘So much for self-control.’

Without another word, you grabbed the jacket at your feet and rushed upstairs, two steps at a time.

Part of you wanted to seek refuge in your sister’s room, cuddle up, and cry into her shoulder like when you were kids and mom and dad would have screaming matches downstairs. Instead, you barged into your room and locked the door behind you.

Ellie doesn't follow.

[cuddl3s4shur1]

Jewelry Theif

Paring: Riri X Black Fem Y/n

Summary: Recently your favorite bracelets have been going missing and you think riri has something to do with it

Authors Note: Thought about this because I stole someones bracelet and not to be weird it smells like them

Taglist @adeola-the-explorer @atssukoo @niaalove @randomhoex @malltake12 @writesbyriri @saintwrld @shuriislut @letitias-fav @xxmilli @ziayamikaelson @locoforshuri @lunax0654 @2k7-sparkles @secretgyals

Sneak Peak: "Real weird maybe we got a jewelry bandit"

✰✰✰✰

BRACELETS

Your go-to accessorize when you wear any outfit. You have hundreds of bracelets you have charm, Crystal, Evil eye, Seed beads, Clay beads, Rubber bands The list goes on name a bracelet you most likely have it. But recently the bracelets you where the most have been going missing.

"Riri have you seen my white crystal bracelet," You ask her hoping she will say yes. Riri begins to become nervous "Nope haven't seen it," she says awkwardly. The funny thing is riri in fact had seen your white crystal bracelet because she wore it today with her outfit. "Weird all of my bracelets have been going missing, " you say as you look around your bedroom for your bracelet. "Real weird maybe we got a jewelry bandit" riri chuckles."I guess ill just wear my clear one," you say as you get your clear bracelet from your bracelet holder. You spray your perfume and you put on your shoes and coat. "Where are you going," riri asks you confused because you didn't make plans. "I'm going to the bracelet store to buy replacements, Wanna come" You offer riri an invitation. "Uhh Sure " riri rushes, puts on her uggs, and gets her jacket .

As you get to the car riri begins to feel guilty about taking your bracelet knowing you were going to spend money to buy a replacement of something that was never lost. Riri stops you before you get to open your car door . "I took your bracelets because they smell like you and when I'm not with you and I start to miss you I smell them" riri says speak fast but you understood her clearly .You smirk . "riri I know you took them where still going to the store because I'll let you have those " you say causing riri to smile. "I love you " riri says "I love you Ms.Jewlrey Bandit"

You end up buying a lot of duplicates of bracelets due to riri taking a lot you told riri she should just keep all the bracelets she took so that yall could be twining

"Can we get matching bracelets it's ok if you think it's you know corny " riri asks you . "Yes riri of course we can get official matching bracelets " you smile at her. "Also can you help me create a bracelet collection," riri asks you hoping that you will agree? "Yes I will help you it's not that hard "

For the next couple of hours you and riri online shop for a couple of bracelets and or bracelets for RiRi's new collection. You enjoyed spending time with her and explaining some deep meanings behind your bracelets which she enjoyed because it was you talking.

At the end of the day, you and your little jewelry bandit had gotten new jewelry while bonding two things you didn't know would connect so well

[romanceyourdemons]

here's what that erha 1920s au i was imagining looks like btw

[ID: a black and white digital illustration. on the right, chu wanning stands with his hands behind his back wearing a floor-length cheongsam, a sleeveless short jacket, and round glasses. his hair is shaved on the sides and longer on top, parted in the middle. he is labeled "Hangzhou-born mechanical engineer educated in Beijing and Paris. Not unfamiliar with Marx." on the left, mo ran stands with his hands on his hips and a broad smile, wearing a frog clasp-fastened shirt with the top clasp open and the sleeves rolled up, trousers, and sandals. he is labeled "Chu Wanning's apprentice turned bandit-warlord turned, apparently, good boy" /end ID]

[livhowlett]

Good Cowboys?/Cowboy Omens?

I've been seeing alot of 'Cowboy Omens'. I can't stop thinking about this idea if them and their horses.

Crowley

A bandit that travels from town to town causing trouble (oddly never having to fire a single shot)

Keeps delaying the rail road progress by freeing the slaves working on them. Also like to steal live stock, especially goats, and no can seem to catch him. Everytime he shows up in a new town no seems to recognize him, even tho his wanted posters are EVERYWHERE, it's like magic.

He rides a tan mustang that he's named Benedict. He was told that lighter coat horses were better for long travel, as they didn't "heat up as much in the hot sun". Crowley had no clue if this was true or not. It had been ages since he had to ride a horse, and this 'America' had much different weather than London. He just took the first horse he could buy so he could get on his way. Lucky for him Benedict was great at following orders, being loyal and, even tho he didn't look it, he was fast!

Benedict:

Aziraphale

Pretending to be a Doctor, he settles in a small town in the republic of Texas. He was suppose to be traveling around America to spread the Word of God, but, they seemed to be doing fine without him. Aziraphale did hate traveling here. It was so hot and dusty! He couldn't risk his jacket getting tarnished!

Aziraphale quickly settled in as his role of the town's physician. Before he arrived several people had been ill or died of typhoid, cholera, diphtheria, influenza, and the pox had even made it's rounds. Townsfolk call him a 'Miracle Worker' (little did they know), he even had a young apprentice so the town would be in good hands after he left to back home. Oh he couldn't wait to go back.

He even managed to impress the local ranchers when he claimed a horse that was deemed "too difficult to break". The poor girl. She was a gorgeous black horse that was indeed very stubborn, but Aziraphale managed to make a good impression on her. He did ride her very often, mainly he let her be in his field where she could be alone, eat apples and be happy. He named her Ophelia.

Ophelia:

Eventually Crowley rolls into Aziraphale's town. Aziraphale offers Crowley to stay with him at the house he's currently at. They're both surprised/amused at each others horses.

[unknownarmageddon]

it was raining. hard.

rain didn’t happen often; the earth was too dry around here. but when it did, it came with a roar and hiss, rumbling thunder and spitting lightning.

it drove them indoors, the wind at their heels, rain hitting them like little stones.

they were in an abandoned school bus tonight. The windows were all boarded up, for one reason or another, the musk of rotting leather pungent, but faint enough that they could ignore it.

cross had used killer’s bat to crack open the overhead emergency exit, and on the rusty cold metal floor, they started a small fire, tearing into the bus seats for fuel. the bus seats, thankfully, had wood planks hidden within the rank green fake leather and rot-brown foam cushions.

they used the foam to get a quick fire going, setting the planks on top and sat on opposite sides, reclined in some of the more intact seats on either side of the fire.

“this blows,” killer muttered, his foot bouncing, dangling over the side of the bus seat.

the storm had come unexpectedly, catching them in the middle of checking out some clothes store, so killer was stuck in the bright orange dress he’d found on the floor behind a burnt mannequin.

“mmn.” cross hummed in response, holding a can over the fire, watching as the chicken soup bubbled.

killer stared out his window, peering between the boards at the thick wall of rain, his breath fogging the glass. he drew a smiley face in it.

cross watched him, eyes lidded and content as he let his chin rest in the crook of his elbow.

killer shivered, his head turning to the back of the bus, where the emergency door was missing. cool burst of wind blew through every few seconds, nipping at his exposed legs and arms, and he grumbled as he grabbed his jacket. it was still damp from them running through the rain, icy cold on his chilled fingers.

he huffed and crossed his arms, pouting before grinning at cross, rolling forward onto his hands and knees and reaching out.

cross backed up, dodging the sudden grab, “hold it, bandit, what’re you after?”

killer sat back on his heels, “i want your jacket. m’fuckin cold.”

cross gave a puff of a laugh, though it was more of an exhale than anything, and shook his head, “just get in your sleeping bag.”

“but i’m cold, and you’ve already pre-heated it!”

“pre-? if i give you my jacket, then i’ll get cold.”

“nuh uh! you’re always warm!”

“that’s- im not always warm, i get cold too. i just don’t whine about it.”

“wh- hey! i don’t whine,” killer whined, reaching out again and swiping at cross’s fluffy collar, “just a few minutes!”

“dude-“

a harsh crack of lightning startled them both, the sound deafening and sudden, and cross jerked up, glancing out the back of the bus, suspicious.

“…” killer did too, and then was immediately back to his mission to steal cross’s clothes. “cmon, wolf, i’m dyin over here.”

cross squinted out the back door a little longer. it was getting dark; the addition of rain along with the setting sun made for an almost black night. he could barely see outside.

he glanced across the bus, to killer, and back to the darkness beyond the bus, and reached out as well after a moment, taking killer’s trembling hand. he really was cold, his bones looking brittle and joints faintly flushed in an attempt to heat up. actually, upon closer inspection, all of killer was shaky from the chill he was feeling, cross realized, though he was more concerned with getting him over.

“come here,” cross muttered, and killer’s soul brightened, and he grinned triumphantly, standing on the bus seat and stepping over the fire into cross’s side, cross reaching up to grab him securely by the arm to ensure he didn’t fall into the fire, pulling him the rest of the way.

cross grunted as killer’s knee rammed into his ribs, and his hip bone dug into cross’s cheek as he all but crammed himself into cross’s space like an overeager cat.

with a bit of adjusting, though, soon, cross had killer wrapped securely in his arms, halfway beneath him and curled up, soaking in cross’s warmth, his arms folded up and wrapped loosely around the arm cross had around him. he was snuggly huddled in cross’s thick coat, his cheeks already smearing against the fuzzy fabric on the collar as he rubbed his face against it contently.

cross couldn’t seem to find it in him to care about the staining.

it was a tight fit, the two of them tangled and pressed in tightly to fit in the seat, but neither of them complained. cross just pulled killer closer, and covered them both with a sleeping bag.

killer fell asleep rather quickly, his soul humming and giving off a warm light that carried echoes of his affection. cross thumbed at killer’s messy cheek, his expression softening as killer gave a sleepy murmur in response, pressing up into the gentle touch with a half-purr. his bones were warmer than before.

cross didn’t sleep, staying alert, listening for any unusual sounds and watching the darkness beyond the bus, on guard.

-proximity anon :]

sunrise arc is great because cross is like “cmere let me be your shield” and killer is like “omg warm cave” (the space between cross and the seat)

YEAHHHHH AUGH let’s fucking go dude

[weirdducky17]

‧₊˚┊ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕔 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕋𝕠𝕨𝕟┊‧₊˚

[ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2] [ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3]

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

"ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ɪꜱ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ"

The chattering and laughter from the nearby kindergartners playing at the playground still continued as normal, something about pirates and sea bandits, as they run around the snow covered grounds. The swings' chains creaked unpleasantly under their weight, the metal links seemingly not having been oiled for a good few years. And yet they were unbothered, like the usual. It was nice and boring.

With a swift kickoff to the concrete below them, they swung back and jumped off the swing and landed safely in their two feet, arms out for balance due to the small sheet of ice over the concrete. A glance to the side was made after hearing soft clapping, a small kid with black tufts of hair atop their head. Wearing a simple green shirt, brown shorts and neatly laced up sneakers. The boy looked sweet, adorable even, when he smiled up at them.

"10 points!!" He chimed out in his innocent amusement, earning a grin from the individual. They wave towards the sweet looking kindergartener, biding them a farewell for now as they head towards the neighborhood blocks where majority of residents lived. Ignoring the familiar sensation of eyes staring at the back of their head, they made their brisk exit and never met the green eyes that peered at them curiously.

Their dark hair bounced at every step, a subtle shiver running up their spine as a cold breeze came to pass. She still needed to get used to South Park's chilly weather, their side of Alabama rarely got any snow when they lived there. Wearing a skirt was probably the dumbest thing to do when venturing out on the icy town's streets but it was too late to complain about it now, not when she was already headed back home. After delivering a lunch box to her Aunt Laura, she took a short break to take in the scenery at the playground.

Stomping down the sidewalk, she briskly trecked her way back to her humble, but temporary, abode as a bunch of kids around her age ran down the road screaming their heads off. A red shopping cart was being pushed down the tarmac containing a chubby guy dressed in a red jacket, two other boys were pushing the cart in a steadfast pace dresses in brown and blue jackets respectively. Another boy seemed to be in the shopping cart but was squished down by the weight of the red jacketed boy, a shade of orange could be made out.

Blue-green eyes watched them sprint past them in a blur, a mob of angry looking employees holding wooden bows and firing arrow after arrow at the kids speeding down the road whilst dressed in red shirts... Are those Target employees??

"Huh.." A small huff of disbelief left their lips as their screams and angry mob noises grew distant they turned a corner heading to the direction of the town's center. With a shrug, they promptly headed back home. Yeah no, they're not getting involved with that.

As soon as a dull brown house came into their view, their pace grew faster as they veered towards the green, front door. They twisted the door handle as the door creaked open, entering the cozy house. A familiar man was sat upon his "work" desk, dressed in his bright blue sweater, his balding, orange curls sat messily atop his head. He was back at it again with assembling that miniature ship inside a bottle, using thin and long tweezers to attach the mast of the small vessel encapsuled in its glass case.

"Uncle Thomas, I gave Auntie her lunch at the bank. She told me to tell you to to defrost the chicken to start on dinner."

"Mhm.. yeah.." His disinterested reply rang out as he stuck his tongue out in concentration, his niece staring him down from behind him.

.

.

.

"Cal can you defrost the chicken for me?" Thomas asked of her which earned an eyeroll from the kid, heading their way towards the kitchen after dropping their yellow scarf on the nearest chair as they walk by.

Rolling up the wooly sleeves of the sweater, they deadpan as they realize they're too short to reach the handle of the freezer, much less grab the chicken out of it. A sliver of frustration burying themselves inside of the young kid as they sigh out in exasperation, tilting her head up to glare at the ceiling.

"Craaaaiiiiigggggg?" They hollered out into the house, a small thump could be heard upstairs but there was no response in return.

"Craaaiiig? Can you help me get the chicken? I'm too short to reach the handle!"

"Just climb on the counter to get it, I'm not going down there to get it for you." A familiar nasally voice rang out from one of the bedrooms upstairs "Dude just get down here and help me! Your mom's gonna yell at you cause you didn't!" An annoyed groan could be heard, the sound of footprints begrudgingly making their way towards the staircase of the house.

Like a shotgun cocked back with ammo in its chamber, it wasn't a surprise when a dark haired boy had flipped her the finger readily pulled up on his hand as he trudged down the wooden steps. An amused glint in their blue-green eyes as she watched her older cousin (by a few months mind you) make his slow descent towards the kitchen.

"Gremlin ass."

"Says the one with a big ass chin."

With a roll of his yellow-blue eyes, Craig walked over to the tall fridge and stared up at the handle as he raised his hand up and unhinged the door of the freezer. With a small tug, he managed to unlatch the frozen, whole chicken from one of its shelves and almost tossed the freezer burnt poultry to the floor if it weren't for her fast reflexes.

A disgusted grunt left her body as she held the chicken in their hands, the scent of frozen meat wafting through the air as they tossed the package into the sink to submerge it in hot water to defrost quickly.

"I'm excited to go to school tomorrow, how weird are your classmates?" They peered up at their older cousin curiously who was busy rummaging through the fridge, pulling out some apple juice hidden behind some jugs of milk.

"Calista.. a word of advice, don't fucking talk to Team Stan." Craig's tone sounded annoyed, well more annoyed than it usually was at least. 'Team Stan'? What is this? The Heathers? Did this school seriously have cliques? They're 4th graders for god's sake, they better not be singing angsty songs about wanting to commit a genocide at school.

She couldn't help the amused snort leaving her, "Team Stan? Seriously? Besides the weird groupings you guys got, why should I not talk to them? Are they gonna start fucking snapping at me like Jets and the Sharks?" Their shoulders bounced as she chuckled to herself.

However, Craig didn't share her amusement one bit. His eye twitched, something that made it obvious he was, in fact, annoyed just mentioning them. Calista quirked an eyebrow at him as she washed her hands clean from the smell of chicken in the sink.

"Craig 'I don't give a fuck' Tucker? Annoyed? What did they do to you to get under your skin that badly? This isn't my cousin." Calista crossed her arms after drying her hands off on her sweater, rather curious on what the deal was with these 'Team Stan' guys.

A scoff leaves his lips. "Probably one of the most fucked group here in South Park, I can't even count how much shit they get into on a daily basis. Don't stick around them, knowing how you are, you'd get in trouble like I do." He poked the straw into his apple juice, a stoic look settling over his face as he took a sip and seemingly swirled the contents of the juice box as if it were fine wine.

"Oookay then?" Despite her confusion, she was inclined to believe him, after all, Craig rarely ever lost his cool. He liked things "nice and boring" as he says, one would assume that they were the exact opposites of it.

"If I listen to you, can I sneak Stripe into school?—"

"No."

"Please?—"

"No."

"Why noooootttt?"

"Stop acting like a kid, we're not bringing stripe to school. It's not even 'bring your pet to school day'."

"I'm 9! And you're literally the same age as me!!"

"I'm still older.. and smarter than you."

"At least I don't have to go to the dentist to fix my teeth." Calista huffed out as Craig sent a nasty glare at her words.

"But we can make Stripe to bite people in class! It'll be fun!"

.

.

.

"... Tempting."

"See! Pleaseeeee??" Calista insisted with great passion, pouting her lower lip in an attempt at convincing him. But he was Craig Tucker, he was never one to budge over simple tactics of manipulation.

"No. Fuck you." He pressed the back of his hand onto her forehead, his middle finger raised high and proud as Calista returned his glare.

"Then I'm gonna talk with Team Stan!"

"That's your funeral then, I'll have those words carved into your gravestone."

"Uncle Thomaaasss! Craig's being a dickkk!!"

"Am not!"

"Yeah.. mhmmm.." Was the only response they got, much to their own disappointment. Out of spite, Calista dipped her hand into the sink and touched the cold, yet frozen skin of the chicken that was defrosting. Then she promptly wiped it off onto Craig's NASA printed t-shirt, her middle finger raised up to rub salt into the wound.

"Oh you motherfucker——"

⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It was a rather relaxing, sunday afternoon  at Tolkien's house, 'Team Craig' being holed up in their friend's room. Clyde groans out in frustration and resisted the urge to throw the controller clasped in his hands, cowering away from Tolkien's searing gaze, seemingly all knowing to what thoughts went through the brunette's head.

"Don't even think about it Clyde." Tolkien sneered at him as he paused the game of smash they were playing on his playstation.

"I have no idea what you're talking about.." He huffed out and turned his head away, in an attempt to avoid Tolkien's look.

"Uh huh.." The boy was clearly unconvinced of this act "If even the smallest of cracks appear on that controller, you're paying for the entire thing."

"What?! That's unfair it'll cost me a lot of my dad's savings!!" Clyde's nasally voice rang out as Jimmy couldn't help but chuckle while he lowered his own controller.

"He m-m-migh-might get i-in trouble again f-for f-f—forking up more cash money t-than he usually does." He stuttered out in his usual jovial tone as he peered at his friends.

"Let's just play the stupid game, jeez." Craig cuts into the conversation, his neutral expression twisted into a more annoyed one. "And Clyde, don't break Tolkien's controller cause you're a sore fucking loser."

"What the— I'm not!!" Tolkien rolls his eyes at his complaint and eventually unpaused the game for Craig's sake, making sure to target Clyde's character (who just happened to be Kirby) with his own. Ignoring the loud protests of brunette as Jimmy cracked jokes at his own expense, getting bullied off the platforms at Hyrule Castle with Jimmy's Pacman taunting at the upper most floating platform.

"H-Hey Craig?" Jimmy pipes up all of a sudden as Craig was immersed in tormenting Clyde's existence in smash, camping the ledge and punching the Kirby fighting for his life as rounded, pink character tried their best to jump back up onto the platform with Captain Falcon looming over them.

"What?" Was his simple response, cut off by Clyde's cry of anguish as his Kirby fell into the void, losing his last life as he fell onto his back and rubbed his face in frustration. "H-How come you haven't b-b-be—been letting us over at your house l-lately?" The yellow sweatered boy questioned as Craig spared him a glance.

"Actually yeah, Jimmy brings up a good point. You even pushed for our math project to be completed here at my house." Tolkien joined into the conversation as he maneuvered his Pikachu to also taunt along with the pacman. Sending a questioning gaze as the boy he deemed his best friend.

"It's nothing, someone's been working at the house this week." Craig thought up a quick excuse but Jimmy and Tolkien were not convinced in rhe slightest. Even Clyde lifted his hands away from his watery eyes to peer at the chullo hat wearing boy in confusion.

"And we're not allowed to visit cause of that?" Sniffles out a tearful Clyde, pushing himself off the rugged floor to peer up at their deadpanned  friend.

"Yep." The three glanced amongst themselves, yeah Craig was hiding something. Big enough that he didn't want them finding out, what was in Craig's house?

Should they be worried? I mean, this is Craig Tucker they're friends with after all...

Maybe they should be, Craig is a wild card so they have no idea what the boy hides in his closet— or house in this case.

[crownin-thestars]

Heads up, Halfblood

~

“No way, is that a ferret??”

Joel was startled awake at the outburst, almost successfully waking up his brain. Man, he had almost dozed off too.

“Ferret…?” He yawned softly, still taking a second to wake up. And then he realised something. “Wait- f-ferret-?” He looked down, and lo and behold, a cute little pink nose and 2 beady black eyes were peeking out of the bottom of his jacket. “Udon- I told you to stay hidden!!”

The little ferret didn't listen, it only tried to wiggle its way out of his jacket as it let out soft little squeaks. Joel folded instantly. “No no no- I'm sorry, hold on.” He unzipped his jacket a bit, and he reached his hand into the top. He grabbed a hold of the back end of the ferret, and gently, he pulled out the white stinky slinky he called a pet from inside the jacket.

The ferret quickly scurried up his arm, resting above Joel's shoulders as its body wrapped around the back of his neck. The action quickly earned an “aaww” out of the carriage mates.

“Do you know how hard it is to sneak you into the train, you boop noodle?” Joel booped Udon gently on the nose, very obviously incredibly soft for the spineless drama noodle. The limousine mouse didn't care for Joel's efforts, only nuzzling into him as it let out little dooks. He rolled his eyes with an amused scoff.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“How old is it?”

“How long have you had it?”

Joel was bombarded with different questions about his little sleepy fur banana. Have these guys never seen a ferret?

“Wait wait- slow down! Udon's a girl and she's 2 years old!!” Joel did his best to catch up with the questions. “I've had her since she was only a few weeks old.”

“Can I hold her?”

“No she might get frightened-”

“Why'd you name her that?”

“She looks like a noodle!!”

“She's she poop everywhere?”

“Excuse me-?”

Their attention was caught by a soft ringing bell from the sweet trolley. Joel quickly scrambled to hide the portable possum under his jacket again.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” The friendly, plump witch looked into the carriage, a warm smile on her face.

“I'll take a pumpkin pasty and a chocolate honeycomb.” Joel spoke up, zipping up his jacket. He quickly got out a few galleons and handed them over to the trolley lady. He could feel Udon wiggling around under his jacket.

Once everyone had got something from the trolley, the witch left to head to the next carriage. Once the carriage door closed, small giggles fell out of Joel as he quickly unzipped his jacket and pulled the cat snake out.

“Bad Udon, you know I'm sensitive.” He stuck out his tongue at the little guy, Udon just looked at him with beady eyes and he melted. “Quit being so adorable.” He grinned, setting her down on his lap and picking up his pasty. He broke off a small piece, making sure some of that pumpkin was in it, before giving it to Udon.

“Wait, aren't ferrets meat-eaters?” Asked one of the carriage mates.

“Well yeah, but pumpkin helps when they're having blockages and she's been having an upset tummy.”

Udon leapt up, snatching the small piece of the pastry from Joel's hand. The business bandit munched on it happily, and then promptly decided that it was bedtime. She yawned and curled into a ball on Joel's lap. He shook his head with a fond smile, taking a bite out of the pumpkin pasty himself.

“I know a spell that'll make a ferret look cooler.”

The entire carriage turned to look at them. Everest Snyde, that was how she introduced herself. Joel slowly put his arms around Udon, feeling his chest twist at the thought of anything happening to his beloved fur baby.

“You won't hurt her right?” He asked cautiously.

“Of course not! Too cute, I wouldn't want to.”

Joel frowned slightly, but Snyde had looked at him with pleading eyes. Well… she said she wouldn't hurt Udon. He gently picked her up from his lap, placing it on Snyde's. Snyde pulled out her wand, and she started waving it around.

“Lepidopus!”

…

“Was… was something supposed to happen?”

A few of the carriage mates giggled at the failed attempt.

“What?? It was supposed to work! My brother showed it to me! Lepidopus!!”

“Are you sure that's even a real spell?” One of the others teased. Snyde growled, getting more and more tilted by the second.

“Lepidopus!”

Something happened all right. It set off firey sparks from the wand, and onto the peaceful little fuzzy whump. Udon barked, jumping off of Snyde's lap and out of the carriage door. Joel gasped as he got up to chase his poor ferret, but not without giving Snyde a firm smack on the head.

“You said it wouldn't hurt her!! Now look what you've done!”

He ran out the carriage, and chased after Udon, who was running at a shockingly fast pace. Joel reached out to grab at his fur baby as he fell over. He held Udon with a firm gentleness, not wanting her to run away again.

“Hey it's okay- it's okay.” He turned her over, seeing where the sparks had hit. The fur there was a little bit singed, but it must have hurt for her to be so startled.

Joel got up from his fall, and he suddenly realised how many people must have seen him just chasing a ferret down the train car. He looked down at the ground, pressing his lips together as he walked back to his carriage. The others were making fun of Snyde for believing the fake spell that she was shown, and Joel decided to keep Udon under his jacket until she wanted to come out again.

~

“Now, in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates, but before you can take your seats, you must first be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.” Joel listened carefully to the teacher at the top of the stairs. She looked strict, he sure didn't want to get on her bad side. Next to him, he could hear another student scoff. He looked over, and Snyde was gesturing to the student in front of them. He was a blonde kid, and he was probably friendly. He exuded an aura that just said “I love everyone”. “Your triumphs will earn you points, any rule breaking and you will lose points.”

“He’s definitely a muggleborn, just look at him.” One of his previous carriage mates whispered with a smug smile. Joel furrowed his brows, what was so wrong about that?

“Hey look,” He watched as Snyde snatched the end of the student's robes. That must have startled him, seeing him turn around with a gasp. “Jimmy Solidarity? Your mummy don't trust you with your things, mudblood?”

Joel's eyes widened, and he gave her a good smack. “Oh pipe down, Snyde.” He spat out, tone filled with venom. “Put it down.” He saw how she rolled her eyes at him. Well, screw it, who cares about her dignity anyway. “Put it down, or I'll just tell the whole cohort about what happened on the train. They'll all think you like hurting harmless animals for fun.” He whispered that last sentence, and huffed when she finally dropped the robes. She quickly stood straight, looking forward as if nothing had just happened. “Sorry about that.”

He looked at the blonde — Jimmy, according to his robes — with apologetic eyes. He really did look like if the sun's rays manifested into a human being. He felt so bad, he shouldn't have been treated that way, muggleborn or not. He look so… nice, how could they have been so mean to him?

“N.. no harm done…” Joel could hear how his voice shook as he turned back around. That made him even more worried, it clearly wasn't “no harm” like he said. He wasn't going to push it though, he must be upset enough already. Joel wasn't going to ruin someone's first day of school. He kept an eye on Jimmy, just to make sure he would be okay in the end.

“We're ready for you now, follow me.”

~

Joel couldn't stop looking all over the Great Hall. It was just incredible, he wasn't even paying attention to the sorting ceremony, his eyes focused on how intricate the walls of the hall were. Of course, his attention was grabbed back every time everyone started clapping, and he would clap along just to make it look like he knew what was happening.

“Joel Smallbeans”

He raised his head the moment he heard his name. Oh gosh, it was his turn already. He stepped up to the chair, and the hat was placed onto his head. The hat yelped, startling him so bad that he himself had almost let out a frightened little noise.

“You're very like your mother, aren't you?”

Joel frowned, why did it sound like he meant it as a bad thing?

“What do you-”

“You have always been one to see the good in everyone, even if they have proven otherwise time and time again.”

Joel opened his mouth, about to rebut him.

“The only thing that has ever convinced you is when they decide to come after one of your friends, isn't that right?”

He stiffened. Gosh how could he tell-? He closed his mouth shut, no longer having anything to say about that.

“I can sense that passion inside you, however, incredibly slick, and so eager to get what you want by any means. I see you have taken after your aunt. Hmm… yes… a very difficult choice…”

Not Aunt Persephone… He squinted his eyes shut. Please don't put me in Slytherin… “Please dont put me in Slytherin…” He muttered softly. Why was the hat taking so long to sort him, it felt like forever. Well… it mist have been at least 5 minutes at least, but he knows that everyone that went before him got their houses almost immediately. He fidgeted with his claims hands, heart beating out of his chest as he waited for the hat to make a decision.

“Mmm… best make it… Slytherin!!”

Joel winced, he wanted to be like his mother, but turns out he was going to be following in his aunt's footsteps.

“A-are you sure…?” He asked, hoping the hat would think through his answer again and maybe change it.

“Why of course, I have no doubt about it. You could go to many, many places in Slytherin.”

His hope died instantly. Joel took in a deep breath as the hat was removed from his head. He looked over at the table, tensing up. They looked really intimidating. Joel trudged over to the Slytherin table, taking a seat opposite a kid with purple eyes.

“Hey, I'm Grian. You okay there?”

Joel glanced up, seeing those purple eyes looking at him with worry.

“Err… Joel.” He responded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I'm fine, I just thought I'd be sorted somewhere else.”

“Well… the Sorting Hat is never wrong, at least I don't think it is. I'm sure you'll fit in here.”

Well that sure helped Joel feel better about it. (No it didn't, his aunt was a follower of Grindelwald. He didn't want to be like her.)

“Jimmy Solidarity”

Joel's attention was caught by the familiar name. That sweet blonde kid again. He watched as he walked up to the chair, hat being placed onto his head.

“Hufflepuff!”

The hat had decided the moment it was placed on his head. Man… if he weren't in Slytherin he would've been in the same house as Jimmy.

“Hey, don't think about him okay? We're the better house. We're better than him, okay?”

Joel frowned, Grian was acting just like the others. He nodded, not having enough energy to retort.

He couldn't believe that he was going to be stuck with a bunch of bullies

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count: 2019 words

Tags: @witiraisaqueen

Kind of a part 2 of the Jimmy oneshot, this is from Joel's pov!!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This was one of my all-time favorite chapters to write despite how sad it is. Be wanted, y'all, this one is HEAVY. Warning for parental death, violence & childhood trauma. -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen PT I & PT II. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

EIGHT: GOOD DAMAGE.

“So you got a mom or dad?” Gojo asks, wearing Geto’s denim jacket as he slurps on your goodies. 

The question is so random and hard-hitting that it makes you pause from eating the bowl of soup inspired by your mother’s recipe and made with ingredients given to you by the townspeople of Bull’s Creek. 

After seeing Benji’s former bandits off to prison and receiving the thanks of the townspeople, including Miwa, Momo, Mechamaru, and Kuskabe (who does so with a nod your way), you and the gunslinging duo left Bull’s Creek and got on the road. It was only when the sun began to set and twilight sett in that you all decided to take a rest for the night. 

At that point, you had entered the mountains and found a tiny alcove near a cave and a brush of bushes and trees whose branches serve as hangers for your and Geto’s soiled clothes from the creek. Above the cave is a hot spring bubbling with hot water while down below the rocky mountainside, a field of wildflowers and fireflies that float up to meet you, lighting up the darkness the further the sun sets.

“Why don’t we rest tonight?” Geto suggested. “This will be a decent place, I think.” 

“And there’s a hot spring just above us!” Gojo excitedly said. “Ah, I could use a hot bath.” His stomach rumbles, evidently so by the sound that escapes his stomach. “And somethin’ to eat,” he sheepishly chuckled. 

You had already begun to shed your bags after tying Reneigh up with the duo’s horses up at the hot spring, letting them chomp on the wildflowers that sprout there. “Well, we’ve got all these goodies the townsfolk gave us,” you said, digging into the sack of food.

In total, the Bull's Creek folk gave you two sacks: one of food and the other of fresh clothes. Between the three of you, you divided the coin you received and kept them for yourselves. 

You looked inside the sack, pulling out each item: “Bowls, plates, bread, butter, rice, oooh, chicken broth!” Your excitement grew, happy to see such goodies.

Geto kneeled beside you, smiling fondly at the ripe tomato and the head of broccoli he found. “And all kinds of fruits n’ veggies,” he hummed, pleased with the turnout. “This will last us the whole trip if we ration well.” 

Your hand touched something soft and you pulled out a whole raw chicken. Holding it up to the duo, you gaped at it. “Uh…anybody know how to cut a whole chicken?” Two began to laugh, mostly at your hilarious reaction. “Why? You cookin’ it?” Gojo joked. 

You thought about tossing the chicken at him but decided not to. “Well, we’ve gotta eat and nothin’ beats chicken soup and wild rice.” Geto looked at you, shocked. “Oh…I was gonna cook for us.” But Gojo is pleasantly surprised, hands on his slim hips. “What a change of heart, little miss! Ya must like us now.” 

You glared at him as you began to set up the steel pot for cooking. “Don’t push ya luck, boy,” you snapped. “You two can set up camp while I cook.” You stood up and hurried up the slanted, smooth rock to the hot spring to wash your hands, mostly to get away from them. “Ah, so you tryna do the easy work!” Gojo called out to you, but you didn’t answer. 

Once you finished, you busied yourself building a small fire using some loose twigs, branches, and one of Gojo’s matches before preparing to cook. You roasted the chicken first which Geto kindly sliced the chicken up for you using one of your pocket knives. You had to turn the spit periodically on the fire while chopping vegetables (carrots, peas, broccoli, corn), so it was a lot of running back and forth. 

But you didn’t mind. You love cooking. Fixing something to eat is the one time you feel normal. It’s what makes you feel close to the people you left behind in your childhood, including your old self. 

Once the chicken is done roasting, its skin golden brown and juicy, you slice in into strips. You then fill the pot up with hot water from the spring, boil it, and fix the rice until its fluffy and white. Finally, you pour the chicken broth into the pot with the rice, sliced vegetables, and chicken, stirring it with a big wooden spoon you found in Geto’s bag. 

Speaking of Geto, he and Gojo set up camp during your cooking session. They set up sleeping bags, yours included, and place a blanket underneath to keep the dirt out of them. They set their boots, hats, and jackets aside, separated from your things. It seemed that they gave you your own spot, allowing you privacy and space. You appreciated that. 

Once the soup was finished, you announced that dinner was done and stood in front of the pot when they came running with their wooden bowls. “Hold up!” you exclaimed, putting out a hand to stop them. “Y’all wash y’all hands?”

The two looked at each other cluelessly which gave you you’re answer. “Hurry up before it gets cold,” you said and they went scurrying up the hill like rabid dogs, making you giggle to yourself. 

Minutes later, they returned and helped themselves to the meal. You sat down on a log with your own bowl, stretching your legs out. The duo sat on either side of you in a circle, passing a bottle of Jack between the three of you and ripping off pieces of bread to dip in your soup.

Gojo was sloppy, slurping greedily at his meal and making you wonder about some naughty shit. “Mmm, shit!” he moaned. “This is the best soup and rice I’ve ever had in my life!” 

In contrast to his partner, Geto was neat, taking his time eating his meal and (once again) making you mind wander. “I agree,” he sighed. “You’re quite the cook, little miss. Truly gifted.” Both compliments made your stomach flip. “Thank you,” you softly say, barely above a whisper as you took a sip of the Jack. It let a burn in your throat that you eased with the warm, hearty soup. 

Then came the burning question: “So you got a mom or dad?” 

You sit here now, the soup just at your mouth. Gojo looks at you expectantly, still slurping down his bowl. “Satoru,” Geto firmly says and shakes his head. Gojo raises an eyebrow, not understanding that this is a hot button topic. 

“No, it’s fine,” you protest. I suppose it’s only fair to tell you since y’all have told me so much about your lives.” You lower your spoon into your bowl, the fire crackling in front of you. “I have a mom and dad, yes, but adopted. I never knew my birth dad, but my birth mom always told me he was a rollin’ stone.” You chuckle to yourself. “Guess that meant he was a playboy.” 

You nod at the simmering pot on the ire. “This is my adopted mom’s recipe.” Geto smiles fondly, taking a swig of Jack. “Well, now I can see who you got such a gift from. Is she a cook?” 

You shake your head. “Not professionally, no. She’s a schoolteacher. My adopted dad is a farmer.” Gojo hums thoughtfully, chomping on some bread. “Where’s your birth mother now?” he curiously asks. “Still in your hometown?” 

You don’t think twice about it. You don’t even hesitate. “She was murdered,” you blurt. The silence that follows after this is deafening. The duo stare at you as if you just told them you’re pregnant. Placing the bowl aside, you tu​​rn to the crackling fire, not wanting to look at them and see their pity. 

“I was a little girl when a bunch of outlaws invaded my town,” you explain to the flames. “They ransacked every store, destroyed every home, and killed nearly every single person…including my mom.” You can feel yourself going back to that time, your mother’s terrified eyes behind your eyelids when you blink. A hot rush of tears begins to build.

Sensing your discomfort, Geto steps in. “You don’t have to go on,” he soothingly says. But you shake your head. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s not,” you argue, forcing the tears away. “I need to tell you why I hate outlaws so much. I need to tell you why I am the way I am.” 

You turn back to them, staring them in the eye. “But y’all are sure you wanna hear this?” you wryly joke. “I have to warn y’all that it’s quite long and tragic.” And the two stare you right back in the face. “I thought we already established that we’re ones for long and tragic backstories, darlin’,” Gojo replies. “Take your time.” 

Geto passes you the bottle of Jack and you take a much-needed swig. “I was nine years old when they came,” you begin and the memories come flooding back like a tidal wave. 

********

The summer you turned ten years old was supposed to be a joyous one. 

It was supposed to be a day where you and your mother spent the day in your hometown of Pinewood, known for its farms and heavy population of flowers.

Your mom would usually wake you up with pancakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream (your favorite), presents, and then take you into town to the bakery, the library, the movies, the fruit orchard to pick peaches and plums, or any other place a young girl like you would love to visit for her special day. 

But that was further from the case. It was only two weeks until you turned ten that your home was destroyed and burned to the ground. 

Pinewood was once a small but humble town of a couple hundred people. Everyone knew each other and there was community. Adults looked after neighbors’ children late at night and pies were brought over to welcome newcomers to the town. Farmers, teachers, landscapers, florists, bakers and cooks, etc…you would find them all here, building their lives and careers. 

The autumns were crisp and the summers were warm. This particular summer night you remember you were asleep in your bed, the sound of buzzing cicadas having hummed you to sleep earlier. Your bedroom, pink, cozy, and girly, was still except for you–the sleeping girl in her pony PJs. But late into the night, you awakened, feeling compelled by something to do so. 

You sat up in bed and looked out the window. Your backyard of honeysuckle and your mom’s prized vegetable garden looked back at you. The sweet summer breeze blew your curtains around like pink wisps. You don’t know why you woke up. You usually can sleep through a tornado. But this time, you couldn’t. 

Something felt…wrong.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. And then you realized it: the cicadas had stopped singing. A warm night that was usually filled with the buzzing song of the cicadas in the trees had ceased, leaving the night eerily quiet.

Then, suddenly, your bedroom opened, and in rushed your mother. You were too deep in your sleep fog to see that she was frazzled and scared, still in her nightgown and slippers. 

“Mama?” you mumbled sleepily, rubbing at your eye. “What’s going on?”

She came over and ripped the covers off of you. “Baby, get up,” she hurriedly said, pulling you out of bed by your arm. “C’mon, get your slippers on and follow me.” 

You stared at her, confused and still sleepy. “But, Mama–” 

“Stop it, Y/N!” she yelled. You are startled, confused, and afraid. Your mother had never yelled at you like this before.

And then you saw her eyes: wild and scared like a cornered animal. It scared you. “We need to go now,” she firmly said. “Now get on your slippers and let’s go.” This time, you didn’t argue or protest. You slipped on your slippers and took your mom’s hand. 

She squeezed it as she led you out of your bedroom and down the hallway, walking past the bathroom, kitchen, dining area, and laundry room. Your home was a ranch, so it was only one floor with the bedrooms located at the back. Your mom guided you to the front door but looked back at you before she opened the door.

“Follow me,” she instructed. “Don’t let go of my hand, understood?” She didn’t wait for you to answer. 

After unlocking the door, she yanked the door open. You still wish she hadn’t. Your town, once blossoming with businesses, cozy homes, and life was now burning.

Flames that exploded from buildings licked the night sky. Crops were on fire. Guns exploded in your eardrums that sounded like firecrackers. People and animals alike ran for cover and safety. People in black clothing and bandanas covering their mouths ran after them, hooting and hollering. Some of these intruders also ran in on horses, rifles and pistols drawn. 

You didn’t see any bodies, thank God, but it didn’t matter. The trauma was already set in your body from that very moment you and your mother stood outside of your home in the chaos. 

“Mama, what’s happening?!” you yelled, pulling on her hand. 

She then began to run with you, hurrying down the road. “I don’t know, baby,” she answered, “but we’ll be okay! Just don’t let go of me.” You didn’t, but someone did it for you. As you were running with your mom, you unfortunately didn’t get that far away from your house when you suddenly felt two arms snatch you away. 

You screamed, wriggling around in the stranger’s arms. Your mother looked back and rushed to help you, but she too was grabbed by another stranger in black and tossed to the ground. “Mommy!” you squealed.

You tried to struggle out of the arms binding you, but your mom’s assaulter took out a long-barreled pistol and pointed it at your mother’s temple. “Shut up, you little brat,” he snarled. “Keep that mouth shut or your ma gets it.” 

You immediately went quiet and the bandit behind you cackled. Despite his own bandana covering his mouth, you could smell the booze on his breath. You looked down at his hands around you. One of them had a rose tattoo on his knuckles. 

The bandit nodded at your ranch. “Nice house ya got here, bitch,” he chuckled. “Even nicer land. I bet ya got some pretty pennies for a pad like this, eh?” He crouched down beside your mother. She lied in the dirt on her side, her clothes ruined and her knee scraped by her fall. 

“No,” she whimpered. “My people are humblefolk. We don’t have much money and neither do I, especially with a child.” 

The bandit took a handful of her coiled hair in his fist, yanking her up. “So you callin’ me a liar?” he snarled. “I don’t like bitches who talk back, y’know.” He cocked his gun at her, but your mother was afraid like you were watching. “I don’t have what y’all are lookin’ for!” she snapped. “Please just let us go!” 

The bandit tossed her down and shared a look with his partner. “If you don’t give us money then you’ll have to give us somethin’ else,” he growled at your mother. “How much you think her kid will cost, man?” The bandit hugged you to him, making a show of caressing your face. “Mmm…’bout a couple hundred at least.” 

You shook in terror. What did they mean? Were they going to take you away from your mother? She seemed to know what they meant though and looked like she wanted to murder both bandits. “You wouldn’t do that,” she hissed. “You know damn well that the law is already out for y’all for this, so you’d only be sinkin’ your ship farther if you do anything to my daughter.” 

The bandit pressed the bun to her temple, laughing. “You think we give a fuck about the law, bitch?” he cackled, tossing his head back. “The law won’t ever find us and half of them are pussies anyway. The bossman is like the Boogeyman to them.” Your mother’s expression softened and she suddenly looked hopeless. That scared you even more. 

The bandit smirked and pressed the gun to her chin. “Now what should we do about that mouth of yours?” he whispered. His partner chuckled suggestively. “I’ve got a few ideas,” he sniggered. Despite the gun in her face, your mother turned her head to you, her eyes glassy but filled with acceptance. “Y/N, my little flower,” she tearfully said. “I love you.” 

Before you could even blink, she bit down on the bandit’s hand hard. Hard enough to draw blood. The bandit screamed as he pulled his hand away now coated in deep, bloody teethmark. 

“Oh, you bitch,” he spat. “Now you’ve pushed your luck.” He took her by her hair again and threw her down onto her stomach execution style. 

“Mama, no!” you wailed, reaching for her. She looked up at you, eyes wild and dirt caked to her face. “Run, Y/N!” she screamed. “Run until you reach the fields!” 

As your fight or flight kicked in, you elbowed the bandit behind you in the stomach, loosening his grip. Just as you turned to run, two shots ran out behind you. You never turned around to see if it was your mother. You just knew it was.

So you ran as you cried, your eyes blurred with salty tears and fear pumping in your blood. “Get that little bitch!” the bandit yelled, pointing at you. 

Hooves began to thud against the ground behind you, but you didn’t turn. You didn’t stop. You just ran, something pulling you along despite your fatigue. You still don’t know if it was God, your mother’s spirit, or just your will to live. Either way, it got you all the way down to the cornfields three minutes outside of your town. 

At this point, the sound of the bandits behind you faded, but you knew they would eventually gang up on you. Wheeled wooden carts sat beside the fields that usually were used to deliver food, flowers, and other deliveries into other towns. You chose quick and jumped into the back of one cart of flowers. You hid deep beneath the many plants, petals, and bulbs, keeping quiet. 

Even as you heard the horses and saw torches flash beneath the flowers, you held your breath and imagined yourself as but a rock. A head of corn. A flower like the ones surrounding you. 

“Where’d she go?” he gruffly asked. A light flashed in your face and you coveved your mouth. 

“I think I saw her go in here,” his partner said before they walked into the cornfields together. You didn’t move even as the light vanished. Even as the rustling of the corn stalks got further away. Even when all you heard were the bandits’ horses chuffing to one another.

You don’t know how long you had been there–minutes? Hours?–, but suddenly, you heard footsteps and hooves beside you and then the cart moved slightly as someone got in the front to drive off. And then the cart began to move, taking you away and into the unknown. 

‘The unknown’ turned out to be Elden Valley, a small town a two-day travel away from Pinewood. It is home to humble, quiet folk. Humble, quiet folk like Eren Tokiyami, an older farmer with salt-and-pepper hair and calloused hands, and his wife Yuri, a longtime baker.

Eren and Yuri ordered flowers and seeds specifically from your town’s florist to plant and decorate the outside of Yuri’s bakery. Imagine their surprise to find a scared, dirty, and traumatized little girl lying beneath the bed of tulips and petunias. 

You found yourself in a barn smelling of manure and animals. Yuri covered her mouth while Eren stared down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “My God,” he gasped. “Where’d you come from, little one?”

You could barely speak. You hadn’t had water or food in two days. “P-Pinewood,” you whispered, and then everything went black when you passed out in Eren’s arms. 

After taking you to the town’s doctor and nursing you back to help, the couple adopted you as their own. The town of Elden Valley and all others in the county heard of the massacre of Pinewood. Dozens of people died, including your mother, but you didn’t any any detectives or coroners telling you that. 

For nine years, Eren and Yuri fed you, dressed you, and cared for you. But it wasn’t enough to thaw you. It wasn’t enough to melt the ice that had formed and hardened around your heart and soul.

You had grown tough, taking your anger out on kids at school and constantly skipping to ride horses. It was when you turned sixteen that you met Reneigh for the first time who was no more than a stubborn, violent horse that Eren recently saved from an abusive owner. 

You felt like she was just like you and maybe she did too, so she was always calm in your presence and became yours. Eren and Yuri thought that with Reneigh, along with some guidance and love, you would be able to get back on track. You did for a little while. You baked pies with Yuri, planted crops with Eren, studied, and graduated from school. 

Then, one day, you just left.

It was a month after you graduated at age eighteen. You knew you couldn’t spend your life in Elden Valley, pretending that vengeance and bloodlust weren’t inside of you. To do something constructive with that anger, you took one of Eren’s many guns that he taught you how to use and went out to the woods beyond his and Yuri’s house. In the blue of dawn, you set up an old glass bottle there and stood yards away from it. 

As Eren taught you, you kept still and calm, aimed, and shot. You missed. So you tried again. And again. And again. Every morning before your parents awakened, you went out to practice in secret. And every time you drew that gun and shot, you were better. Quicker. Sharper. Then, one day, you finally it: you aimed and the bottle broke. You knew what you had to do from that very moment. 

So after a night of dinner with your parents and telling them how much you loved them, you waited until they went to sleep to pack, tossing everything you could into a bag. Including two of Eren’s pistols. You hid your identity behind a cowgirl hat and bandana, forever your disguise. 

Before you left, you wrote a letter to your parents, not wanting to leave them without any last words: 

Dear, Mama & Papa, 

I’m sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused you over the last nine years. I thank you both from the bottom of my heart for taking me in as your own. I’ll never forget your kindness. It is what is needed in such a cruel world. Please don’t come looking for me and don’t worry about me. Just know that I’m fine. If I never see you again, I love you both endlessly. Thank you for giving me back my innocence.

Love, Y/N.

And like a thief in the night, you hopped on Reneigh and you were gone. And so the Fatale Femme was born. You didn’t feel anything when you caught your first outlaw body…only more vengeance.

It got stronger the more you killed. The more you fled. The more you pulled that trigger. You have been doing this for so long that you believed that this coldhearted tyrant is you now. For so long you thought you had lost yourself and only the Fatale Femme remained. 

But now, sitting here among two outlaws, feared and loved by many, you feel as if you’re finally getting yourself back. Geto and Gojo stare at you in the firelight, sadness in their eyes. You sit there, ravaged by your past and trembling.

“I never thanked y’all for savin’ my life today,” you say. “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I didn’t see that y’all are different from the others. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to acknowledge it.” 

Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, too hot and too quick to stop. The real you, outside of the bandana, the guns, and the cool exterior, has been released. “That’s why I do what I do,” you tearfully explain. “That’s why I am what I am. That’s why I need to find Benji.” 

Geto puts his gloved hand in yours, warm and comforting. “And we’ll help you,” he softly promises. “We had a deal, remember? We’re a team now, so do you ever go thinkin’ you’re alone in this.”

His brown eyes are firm but gentle, reminding you so much of Eren’s. “Thank you for sharin’ with us and I know you won’t believe me, but I know your parents are proud of you, includin’ your birth mother.” 

He offers a smile that seems to melt you. When Gojo gets up to move next to you, squeezing you between them, you feel like you’re about to turn into a puddle. You feel nothing but warmth that overwhelms you in the best possible way. It is foreign and weird, but good. Real good. 

Gojo’s blue eyes sparkle at you, as beautiful and as alluring as the fireflies that float amongst you. “Did I ever tell ya about the time I got my ass stuck on a bear trap?” he randomly asks. “Oh, or that one time Geto got eaten up by leeches?”

Geto rolls his eyes as he puts his hair back into a long ponytail. “Damn, you tellin’ her that one?” he sighs. 

And that’s when you realize that the strange warmth you’re feeling is gratitude. You smile at Gojo and wipe your tears, knowing he would ask you to. “N-No,” you giggle through a sniffle. “I don’t believe you have.” 

For the rest of the night, you laugh and drink with the duo, not a single care in the world despite your past and scars. At some point, the alcohol rears its ugly head and pulls you down into the ink black of a booze-induced sleep. You pass out in front of the fire and barely feel Gero cover you with a blanket...and lightly kiss you on the forehead. “The sweetest dreams, Y/N,” he coos. “We’ll try to have the same.” 

When the long-haired outlaw sits up on his knees after closely examining the way the flames of the fire flicker across your beautiful face and the serene expression you wear, he looks at Gojo who wears an equally pained look. “You feel it too,” he states.  

Geto looks down at you again and sighs a heavy, tired sigh. “Yeah,” he replies. 

“So we’re fucked," Gojo once again states.

And Geto, now looking up at the stars for answers, once again sighs, “Yeah.”

[triplesilverstar]

Scars and parts

Rating: Gen

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Injuries, blood, body dysmorphia, stitches, verbal fights 

Word count: Roughly 2.8K

A/N: After a brawl in a local town, you know Vash needs to be patched up, and the stubborn fool won't relent at first. Once he does, you realize that between the two of you, you might not have any skin that's

The moment you were both back in the room you started routing around in your bag, searching for the first aid kit you know is somewhere inside. 

“Lose the turtleneck” his response to your request is nothing but a non-committal “hm”. “Don’t be an idiot, for all your flashy moves I know some of those bullets hit you, and those throwing knives. If your shirt wasn’t black I’m sure I'd see the stain from here. So lose the turtleneck so I can check it out.” 

“It wasn’t that bad” you turned to glance at him as he raises his hands up “besides I can check it out in the bathroom in a few minutes.” A miffed snort leaves you as you go back to your rummaging. 

“Oh yea? Are you that flexible you can treat your own shoulder? Or your back?” You find the small kit and smirk to yourself before turning to face the infamous humanoid typhoon, that as of late you also called your boyfriend.

“Honestly, it’s not that bad” he’s rubbing the back of his head now, clearly trying to keep his left arm out of your line of sight. Stubborn fool. “If it was, I'd be heading to the doctor to get it looked at.”

“Nice try” his expression is turning into a grimace at the stare you’re giving him. “This town doesn’t have a doctor and you know, that I know, and even if they did they’d be busy patching up the townsfolk that got involved.” The small town you’d both been staying at for the last few days while you recovered from being trapped in a sandstorm had been hit by a group of bandits. Said group was now sitting in the sheriff's office, bruised and battered, your wallet a little fatter with part of the bounty stashed inside. 

Vash had handed more than half to the town for damages, and as far as you were concerned hush money given his name, the rest you had split between yourselves. “Now stop being so stubborn and lose the shirt so I can have a look. From what I saw it shouldn’t need more than a few stitches so stop the drama Sunshine.” 

“Not sure how I feel about you taking a needle to me, Snipes”. His head is ducked down, gaze ardent on the floor as if he’s hoping it will open up and swallow him. It’s never a good sign when he goes back to ‘Snipes’ vs ‘Mayfly’ at least not in private anyway.  

You huff at him again “I’m not in the mood Vash, I’m tired. So lose the top before I make you lose it, if you’re worried now imagine how shakey I'll be if I've got to fight to see your injuries.” You watch his expression as the look of dejection crosses it before he makes up his mind. 

“Alright, you win. I’m not really a fan of taking my clothes off for a pretty girl.” His sigh makes you wonder just how dramatic this man can be, even his jacket is removed and thrown over the chair with a flourish which is stupid in your opinion as you can see the wince he’s trying to hide from the movement of his arm. Wait you do know, and have known for a while. 

You snort again “Oh yea, you won’t take your clothes off, but in the middle of the night I can jerk you off in your pajamas.” A flash of crimson shoots across his face as both hands reach for the bottom hem of his shirt while he turns from you, a portion of it clings to his wounds and you find yourself assisting in gently unsticking the fabric from his skin. You ignore how warm his skin is lest you get distracted, he’s always warm through the fabric of his clothes and his skin even more so. 

At the first sight you can see why he was apprehensive in showing you, his back is littered with scar tissue and metal plates and wires seemling holding the skin in place, the area of one of his shoulder blades nothing but gnarled tissue. You’re tempted to make a smart ass remark but hold back, this is another one of those huge steps you hadn’t been expecting. His insecurities regarding his physical form at least explain his hesitation, and his preference for any physical contact in the dark. You knew he had scars from your hands exploring atop his clothes, just not this bad, the thickness of even his sleep clothes hiding a lot.

Pensive you twist him, using his shoulders to make him turn at his hips after seeing a few nicks on his back, a slice from one of the knives running horizontal to his prosthetic arm unsure how it happened with no visible fabric tears to his coat or shirt. You can’t see any new damage on his torso, so you try to not stare too long at him bare like that.  Opening the kit you grab a few cotton swabs and the alcohol to wipe the blood from sight to make sure you have a good look at the wound and try to curb any infections. “This might sting a little” you whisper and watch his body shivers against the cold liquid, a hiss from his mouth as the alcohol does its job. You try to be gentle with the wound, it definitely needs a few stitches to close the gap in his skin. He might heal fast but this one is too much of a risk in your opinion. “It’s not too big, but it is deep enough to need stitches, I can see the layer of fat under the skin showing. I know you heal fast but I don’t think it’s worth the risk.” You’re giving him an out if he truly doesn’t want you patching him up, but the deepness is bothering you. “I’m surprised it didn’t slice your turtleneck or jacket.” An attempt to lighten his damping mood from being poked and prodded. 

Vash’s only response is to hum at you, head bobbing forward a miserable looking frown across his face. Since he’s switched to being nonverbal, you find yourself gently maneuvering the man to sit in the chair in the room, elbows resting on the back rest. Before tackling his upper arm you clean the smaller cuts and nicks on his back. None of them are bad enough to need more than cleaning and light pressure to stem the bleeding, you know that in another hour or two his skin will look like they hadn’t even been there. You hate when he’s like this, glancing at the back of his head, after the time spent being travel companions and now dating you thought the two of you had become closer than this, that the breakdowns you’d had with one another had forged a deeper connection. It eats you that it hasn’t, a voice whispering in the back of your mind that it’s because you don’t deserve his trust and affection.  

Your voice is soft when you finally have the needle threaded in your gloved hands to get started on the stitches and let him know, a final chance for an out. He makes a motion for you to get started, taking deep breaths and while it’s not the best position to be leaning over him while you work but it’s better than both of you standing, you're not the one getting your skin stitched up. At least you weren't half bad at it from the number of times you’ve had to patch yourself up over the years. Halfway through you try to re-engage him. “So, you going to tell me why the drama in getting you part way out of your clothes? I mean you were calmer when I found out you were a plant, which seems like a much bigger deal.” He tense under your hands and you keep talking, more to distract yourself than anything else, hopefully your words are distracting him from the needle sinking into his skin. “I mean, if it’s a matter of being worried about being considered easy on a first date I think we’ve gone well past that point. Plus you did buy me dinner last night, Sunshine.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you watch his shoulders slump a little, or at least as much as they can before the needle sinks into his skin for the next suture. “That’s not it. Most girls don’t find scars all that sexy. Really, a lot of people don’t react well to seeing them.” He leaves it unspoken but you know he sees it as the downside to letting his opponents live, he’s the one that pays the price for his own mercy and it’s a reminder of things he’s been through. While you support him, and his own personal beliefs have made a change in your own actions to an extent, you do wish he had a little more self preservation. You like your boyfriend whole. 

You’re starting on the final one and let out a breathy laugh “Well maybe that’s the problem Vash, you’re too worried about what girls think. I’d like to think most women understand that scars are a sign of what a person has survived.” You watch the red start at the tips of his ears again, slowly descending down his neck. How can this man be so adorable and ridiculous at the same time? “Plus, you’ve seen me Vash. Seen what’s hidden out of sight under my clothes, how can you think I'd judge you for scars like this when I have a few of my own as well.” That’s the understatement of the year. 

Once you finish, a thin layer of gel to keep the edges of your work moist and wrapped up under a bandage, gloves throw in a waste bin. You push the current self imposed boundaries between the two of you a little and rest a palm against the back of his neck rubbing along the skin there. You’d rather trace the scars etched in his skin and tell him how beautiful they are, but Vash has yet to allow your wandering hands to explore his skin too much when you’re being intimate. There’s no way he’d be amused if you tried it now. “But maybe I'm in the minority on that. We both know I'm pretty odd.” You let out a soft laugh to try and break the tension while he remains silent. You feel some of the tightness leave him and keep up the gentle ministrations against his neck for a few moments. Leaning forward you press a soft kiss to one of the metal plates across his other shoulder, his skin turning a deeper shade of red. “I know people haven’t always been kind to you” sliding your hand forward to press against the center of his chest, and pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades. “But I couldn’t imagine falling in love with anyone else.” Self imposed boundaries be damned, he can upset with you for the next few days if he wants, but you know deep down he needs some sort of validation. 

A few minutes of silence pass but you know you need to get moving, you can’t stay like that all night so you stop to clean up the supplies and wipe the needle down with fresh alcohol before packing things back up. Having finished Vash has pulled his clothes back into place and has moved to watch you put away your supplies back in your bag. “You don’t need to say things like that to spare my feelings” his tone has gone soft again. You’re sure if you turn to look at him he’d have his eyes downcast, and that sad smile he wears when he’s leaving a town he’s been thrown out of. 

“Wow. You really haven’t been paying attention at all have you.” There’s no point in hiding the bite you feel at his words, like you’ve taken one step forward and now another two back. Your chest tightens from the pain, and you’ve always reacted like a wounded animal when hurt.

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I’m pretty blunt, so why would I say something I didn’t mean” you’ve pulled out your sleeping clothes from your bag before turning back to face Vash. “If you want to be insecure about your body, be my guest. But don’t you ever assume I’ll say something to contradict what I'm thinking or what I do, Vash. I thought by now my feelings about you should be pretty clear.” Huffing towards the bathroom you scowl at him annoyed enough to know your skin is flushed. You don't register the look of shock that crosses his face as the door is closed before it shifts to one of his soft smiles, his blue eyes softening from your words. 

“You really are something else” he whispers to himself hearing the shower as it starts running.

You feel a little better after the shower, the sort of fight clouding your thoughts and leaving you feeling exhausted after the day's events. Feeling more like an asshole than a lover or even a friend to the self sacrificing blond. While you weren’t in the shower very long, there was still enough steam to fog up the mirror, and you feel yourself dragging your feet instead of going out to face Vash, your words weighing on your mind as having been a little harsh, wiping a hand down the center to look at your own visage. Tired eyes and wind burnt skin is reflected back at you, a sigh escaping your lips. Steeling your thoughts you grab your clothes and step back out in the room. 

Vash has changed into his night clothes, the loose long sleeved tee and pants that tend to hide his muscled physique, sitting at the desk and looking out the window. You can feel his eyes on you through the reflection as you drop your clothes beside your bag. “Figured i’d shower tomorrow, give my body time to recover” you nod at his answer, makes sense to not introduce water to all the small nicks and cuts, plus it would be a pain for him to have to keep his arm out of the spray. 

“I think i’m going to hit the hay, it’s been a long day” you don’t wait for him to respond, just slip into the sheets on the double bed and face the wall voice soft. Movement follows after, the creak of floorboards and the sound of a light being extinguished. The bed dips as his weight joins you, his clothed chest pressing up against your back, an arm wrapping around your middle. 

“Goodnight Mayfly” he whispers, voice flat in the shell of your ear and you groan. Damn plant, making it hard to stay mad at him and partly at yourself. You find yourself rolling over, hands reaching up to grasp the back of his head and drag your nails through his undercut. 

“You make it so difficult sometimes” you mutter into his chest, and feel him shudder. “I wish you’d take me seriously instead of playing it off as me just trying to console you.” A long exhale follows and his hand is moving, gentle circles rubbed into your back. 

“It’s hard sometimes to let those walls down, to let someone in. Even if it is you. Rejection is hard to take over and over when it’s something you can’t control.” You don’t stop your ministrations to his head, but instead of playing with his undercut you start carding your fingers through the longer hairs. 

“I will never reject you for something so superficial. Me wanting you, scars and all isn’t about walls. It’s not even about intimacy for me at this point Vash. I’m happy with moving at your pace.” You find yourself swallowing, he’s shifting so his chin is pressing into the top of your head “It’s the trust part that burns, or how it seems we still lack it. We always seem to be moving backwards.”

“I know. I get it.” His hand stops its movement and you feel his tight grip against your shirt. “As long as you're ok with waiting, I'm willing to keep trying.” It’s left unsaid that it’s him trying to let someone else carry a part of his burden, to lighten the load.

You know he’s damaged, so much of him used to giving for others and leaving nothing for himself, how he thinks he needs to right the wrong from the fall, it breaks the few pieces left of your heart everytime you think about it. How easily when he’s told he’s not wanted somewhere to just leave, how easily he can also tell that moment is coming and trying to leave before it. “I’ll keep waiting, Sunshine, but you need to keep walking towards that dawn.” You find yourself yawning, feeling better after this little heart to heart, the exhaustion seeping into your bones. 

“Why do you call me Sunshine anyway?” 

“Cus, like the song. You’re my Sunshine, you’ll never know how much I love you, ya big dork” you fall asleep face pressed up against his chest, and him the shade of a tomato.

Back to the Masterlist for the series

[bulletproofbanditsorbust]

Bulletproof Bandits, chapter 13

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: none

Summary: The tracks lead Russell, Dylan and Frankie back to Liberty City, but something (or someone?) will make them retrace their steps...

A/N: --

Russell, Dylan and Frankie were sitting on a wooden fence beside the road, in the middle of the desert. Exhausted by the research, they had lost count of how many hours they were out there.

"How many do we have left?" Asked Dylan, while opening a can of beans with Russell's knife.

"There's one last camp we need to check," answered the redhead, with the map in hand, "it's before the crossroad that leads to Liberty City." He then turned his head towards his friend. "Hey."

Dylan looked at him, confused.

"How you doing?"

Dylan's eyes dimmed. "I'm... fine, y'know." He looked away while taking a spoonful of beans, then gave the can to Frankie, who gladly accepted. "It's all good."

Russell arched his eyebrows. "Doesn't seem like it."

"It's just..." The other boy sighed. "I have the feeling this is a fruitless effort. I'm so afraid I'll never see Tommy again. The more we keep going, the more..." He shook his head, as to drive away his own thoughts. "Ugh, I don't know. I don't know, man! Everything feels meaningless to me..."

"But he must be somewhere! We can't give up now!" Said Frankie.

"Yeah, exactly. Remember why we're doing this." Russell gently put his hand on his best friend's shoulder. "For him and all the ones that didn't make it."

Dylan was already tearing up as he raised his gaze to his friends.

Russell tightened his grip. "C'mon, Dyl. We're so close, I can feel it!"

Dylan sniffled, drying his eyes with the sleeves of his jacket. "You're right." His voice was nothing but a whisper.

The wind was beginning to rise, as cumulus clouds were forming in the distance, when the three arrived at the camping site.

Russell, Dylan and Frankie got off the motorbikes, picking up their weapons.

"Ready for our last battle?" Asked Russell.

Both of his friends nodded, uncocking their guns simultaneously.

"Who's there?!" A voice came from inside the tent.

The three looked at eachother, perplexed.

A mysterious figure opened the curtain: nothing about his features could be discerned except for a pair of eyes, since he was dressed in a hooded leather tunic with a huge scarf around his neck and thick, black gloves. He screamed and raised his hands. "What– what do you want from me?!"

"We're looking for a kid, he disappeared eight nights ago." Russell explained, with the gun pointed at the guy's forehead. "Hand him over and no-one will get hurt."

A cold breeze ran through, making the tent tilt.

"There's no kid here!" Shouted the man, confused.

"Don't fuck with us." Spewed out Russell.

"But it's true! I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Wait, for real?" Interved Dylan.

The faceless man moved to the side, letting the three take a look in his settlement. Dylan got in, searching among the junk and calling his brother's name, while the other two held the man at gunpoint. Once out, he shook his head, informing the others that there was no trace of Tommy.

"Have you seen someone with a child pass by? Maybe in a car, or something?" Frankie asked.

"Well, maybe if you could give me a little something I could –"

"Is this enough?" Russell rapidly took the man by his scarf and pointed the raygun to his throat.

"Last week I saw a military truck speeding through this road at night. " He blurted out. "I wanted to attack them since y'know, it seemed like they had goodies, but as soon as I took a good look at them, they scared the shit outta me!"

Russell and Dylan looked at each other.

"You gotta believe me!" He continued. "All dressed in black, even the sunglasses. Who the hell goes out at night with sunglasses?!"

"Have you seen where they were directed?" Dylan wanted to know.

"Oh, I am most certain they were directed to Liberty City."

Russell loosened the grip. "Thanks. You get to live another day."

The three left the tent, with the guy mumbling something about "good manners".

"Well, that was easy." Said Russell, while storing the raygun in his bag.

Dylan adjusted his bandanna. "That means we need to go to that hellhole again, though."

"Yeah, right, I'm really looking forward to that." Added Frankie, while stretching their arms.

"Really?" Russel turned his head towards the blond. "Weren't you living in the streets back there?"

"That was sarcasm, carrothead."

Russell shrugged.

"Anyway... This is the only lead we have, so we should stop complaining about it and follow it. It's our only choice." Stated Dylan.

"Agreed. " Nodded Russell. "We should get a move on before it starts pouring, too." He looked up to the sky, which had already darkened and thunder could be heard from afar.

"Do we have a plan?" Asked Dylan.

"We should go through the sewers again, then we'll see, I guess. Maybe go back to that guy we delivered the package to, I dunno." Russell turned his palms to the sky.

"That doesn't sound like a good plan." Frankie commented, raising an eyebrow.

"I never said it was good, I said that it was a plan." Russell pointed out. "Do you have any better ideas? I'm all ears."

"Let me think..." Dylan brought his hand to his chin. "Nope, I have nothing that wouldn't get us killed."

"That's what I thought."

Russell, Dylan and Frankie sped through the desert.

It wasn't long before it started raining in buckets, making it difficult to see the road.

"Dylan." Russell spoke through the walkie-talkie.

"Yeah?"

"It's pissing down."

"Uh... Yeah, I can see that."

"Do you think we should wait somewhere until it stops? It's really hard to see!"

Dylan hesitated. "I dunno man, we don't exactly have all the time in the world..."

"I get that, but what's the point if we can only go at 30 miles an hour? Besides, rain this heavy usually doesn't last long, we should just find a gas station and wait there..."

Dylan sighed. "Whatever man, do what you want. You always do!"

"Listen dude, this is not the time – wait, what's that?"

"What? What happened?"

"There's... something on the side of the road, I dunno what it is. Ugh, damn rain, I can't see shit!"

"Could it be a carcass of a mutant?"

"I have no idea – Oh, oh, oh! I see it moving!"

"Zombie mutant?!"

"Come on, dude! I think it's a person."

"Oh, shit! I see them too!"

"I'm gonna stop and see if they need help."

"Russell – "

"Let me at least check if they're still alive!"

"Fine, I'm coming too then."

Viktor had no idea how much time he had left, given the rain and the fact that he was stranded in the desert with no supplies of any kind, but he refused to give up without a fight. With a rageful howl, he pushed himself to his elbows and began crawling in the muck that was accumulating, toward the side of the road.

He moved a few inches, then collapsed in a puddle.

The man raised his head. In the storm, he could discern two figures approaching him. Was that a hallucination?

The closest one took the helmet off and crouched.

"Hey dude," Russell inclined his head, "you okay?"

The man, who appeared to be in his forties, and had long braided hair, gave no response.

The redhead shook him gently. "Hey!"

"My... legs..." He murmured.

"What's happening?" Dylan wanted to know, walking closer.

"He's alive... sort of." Informed the redhead. "He said something about... his legs?"

The man tried to pull himself up, but failed. "They are... dead..."

"What? Who's dead?" Russell grabbed the man's arm and wrapped it around his shoulder, while Dylan hurried to do the same on the other side and together, they pulled him up.

The man shook his head. "Legs... Deacti... vated..." He mumbled, in between coughing fits.

"Deactivated?!" Exclaimed both Russell and Dylan.

"He has bionic legs." Explained Frankie, "they usually come with a control wristband..." they continued, while searching under the man's sleeves, "there we go, found it – Oh no..."

"What does it say?" Asked Dylan.

"It's... it's completely dead!" Exclaimed Frankie.

"Maybe it got fried 'cuz of the rain?" Suggested Russell.

"This is ORION technology, it's basically indestructible." Informed Frankie, moving their gaze between the two. "Someone did this to him. And look!" Added the blond, revealing the broken handcuffs on the man's wrists.

Russell and Dylan exchanged bewildered glances.

The man fell prey to a violent and uncontrollable cough.

"Oh jeez... " Exhaled Russell, worried. "Hang in there, uh... What's your name?"

"V-Viktor."

"Alright Viktor," The redhead pulled his arm and began walking towards the motorcycles, "you gotta stay with us, okay? We're gonna bring you to Rhinestone City, and –"

Viktor, who was going in and out of conscience until then, opened his icy-blue eyes wide and shook his head as vigorously as his conditions let him.

"Hm? Don't you like it there?" Asked Dylan.

"It's the nearest town from here... well, besides Liberty City, but we're not welcome there." Shrugged Russell. "So I'm afraid you don't have any choice in the matter, Vik. Unless you wanna stay here and die..."

"Oh come on, Russell!" Protested Frankie.

"I'm just saying that if that's what he wants –"

Viktor groaned.

"I guess that's a no for that option, Russ." Said Dylan, as he and Russell positioned Viktor on the back seat of the redhead's bike.

"Hold on tight, alright? Wouldn't want to lose you on the road!" Recommended Russell, as he got onto the vehicle.

[emblematicemblazer]

World building and theories of Engage

Zelkov

Zelkov's name comes from the Georgian word ‘Zelkova'. Zelkova Carpinifolia translates as ‘column of stone'. In Japanese culture, Zelkova trees are symbols of bravery and wisdom due to their appearance. They have bold, column trucks with elegant umbrellas of bold leafage. It is also believed that a spirit lives in the tree and will protect any village under it. Wise and brave; they are definitely two qualities one could associate with Zelkov as well as being a reliable protector for Ivy. 

He is adorned in black/grey/brown tonal shades, a nod to his former deadly profession. Black helps him to blend in with the shadows and the dark. Black is associated with mourning, he is mourning the family he lost in a bandit attack. 

The keys that line his jacket are not ideal for a profession that requires sneakiness. I can imagine them clattering around. I believe they have a symbolic meaning more than a practical purpose. Keys can represent knowledge, success and new possibilities. Zelkov aims to open the room to a new hobby to ‘kill time', the door stays open until he has found a new door to open.  Keys also lock precious things away. Zelkov's could use the keys to lock the handmade treasures he has made away. In Japan, three keys tied together are considered lucky because they open the doors to love, health and wealth. 

Upon his cloak are symbols of eyes. The eye symbol has various different meanings depending upon culture and religion. In Christianity the eyes are a tool created by God. They reflect God, the soul and they serve as a guiding light. God's eye is considered all seeing and compassionate. In Buddhism there is a divine eye known as ‘dibba cakkhu’ which symbolises an eye able to see karma. The Buddha was believed to be able to see people as they really are and their karmic destinations. Hinduism also has an eye that can see beyond the physical realm, the ‘third eye's or ‘Ajna chakra’ which looks inward and towards God. It is the eye of the higher self. In Japanese face reading, if you have ‘yin sanpaku’, white sclera can be seen below the iris rather than above, then you are more likely to run into danger or there is a sinister element to your personality. The eyes on Zelkov's cloak are yin sanpaku, sinister or unlucky eyes. 

The cloak serves a practical function, it can be a blanket, a pillow, bandages, an umbrella and protection from the elements. Zelkov's is the only one dressed appropriately for the weather. His clothing is not based on vanity, rather his clothing is designed for him to not be seen. His boots lack the theatrical point, the point is subtle and is designed to assist with trudging through peat, boys and snow. The belts and straps serve a practical purpose, knives can be tucked into them and bags and items can be hung from them.

Zelkov's casual wear has the same level of practicality. Once again he is covered in belts, very useful to hang items for his hobbies in. Imagine a paintbrush tucked into a chest belt. 

His clothing is covered in studs, of course they have an association with someone wanting to look tough or edgy, however they also serve a practical purpose. Studs, or rivets help to keep the integrity of belts and fabric in ideas where wear is especially hard. Studs help stop leather belts from cracking. The studs are on areas of the body that would come into contact with a surface when crawling or climbing to protect the garment or accessory. 

[boytickler35]

Danny Phantom Halloween Special

Danny wrinkles his nose at the ‘organic’ candy Sam hands out to trick or treaters. He told her to at least hand out candy corn because it has to be healthy, it has corn in the name! Instead, she went off on a tangent about how… whatever it is she’s handing out is better for kids. It seems pointless to remind her that Halloween is about being unhealthy.

A chill creeps up his back and a puff of gas escapes his mouth. He groans, helping Sam run the a stall at the school’s trick or treat function was not his dream Halloween but they were supposed to pick up Tucker and watch scary movies together after and that is going to be a lot of fun. Now some ghost is going to ruin that. He taps Sam on the shoulder so she can give him some cover. Once changed, he sets off in search of the ghost.

It doesn’t take him long to find a cowboy riding on a skeletal horse, holding a plastic pumpkin head in one hand.

Youngblood, scaring candy givers and takers alike as his horse leaves trails of blue fire.

Danny heaves an annoyed sigh as he settles down in front of the ghostly child. Youngblood glances at him and says, “All I wanted was to trick or treat but these guys are all scared of me! It’s so unfair. These party poopers always ruin everything!”

With a shriek of rage, Youngblood’s eyes glow and Danny shouts, “Wait. Wait!”

Youngblood, eyes still glowing, faces him expectantly.

“We can make a deal. You don’t freak out, and in exchange…” He starts to hesitate, not sure what the ghost wants that he can safely offer.

“In exchange, you play with me!”

There’s a gleam in Youngblood’s eye that promises problems, but at the risk of a town leveling temper tantrum, Danny agrees, with one condition.

“Without lasers!”

“Nope. No lasers at all.” Youngblood says in a sing-song voice.

They fly to Youngblood’s ship, ominously moored over the city. Once on board, Youngblood disappears and returns, brown leather jacket and robbers mask having replaced his old costume. He pushes clothes into Danny’s hands, a sheriff’s costume. This seems… okay. It goes on over his black jumpsuit easily enough.

And then Youngblood attacks him.

Attack might be too strong a word… one minute Danny is fixing a sheriff’s star to his new coat, the next he has a ghostly lasso wrapped around him too tightly to get off.

“Yer not welcome around these parts, Sheriff.”

“I think that’s my line.”

Youngblood glares at him and hisses, “Stay in character.”

“Umm I think that’s my line, bandit?”

Youngblood’s smirk returns as he says, “Nope. I think it’s mine, but since you came here. You’re going to give me the combination to the bank safe!”

Warming up to his role Danny replies, “Never. You’ll have to take it from me!”

“I plan to.” Youngblood’s smirk now has a hint of malice to it and Danny wonders how smart of an idea this was as the ghostly boy lands, the lasso moves, forcing Danny to sit down so they are more or less eye level. Youngblood advances and continues in character, “Say Sheriff, you wouldn’t happen to be ticklish would you?”

Danny gulps but a glare from Youngblood has him reply, “If you think I’ll give up the combination cause of a little tickling, you’re mistaken.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say!” a way too excited Young blood shot back, instantly sending shivers down Danny’s spine.

What has he gotten himself into?

With little time to ponder his predicament, Danny finds himself knotted up in a position much more suited for cattle.

“Uh...I’m not sure I like where this is going...”

With Youngblood too caught up in his game to notice the response, the boy plunges his stubby fingers deep into the teen’s, defenseless sides.

“Gauaahhh,wahahahahit!!” Danny bellows, momentarily halting the ghost child’s assault.

“Don’t tell me you’re throwing in the towel already, law man?” Youngblood ridicules with a raised eyebrow.”

“In your dreams, convict. I'd never surrender to an outlaw!” Even Danny is surprised by the response wondering if his survival skills are somehow totally defective.

“Haha I knew you’d be one tough cookie to crack, Sheriff,” thrilled with his game the mischievous ghost boy quickly gets back to work, diving deep into his captive’s compromised torso.

“AAAAHHHHH, NOHOHOHO,” was all the ‘Sheriff’ could muster.

“Ahh no? Well that doesn't sound like no combination to me,” Youngblood mocked as he grabbed handfuls of Danny’s scrawny sides, kneading them as if he were doing laundry.

Danny thought to rattle off a random set of numbers in hopes of ending his ordeal, but he struggled to formulate anything other than laughter as Youngblood continued his relentless assault.

Just then, Youngblood’s chubby digits began to slip past Danny’s tender sides threatening to torment his flat, unsuspecting tummy, which had only managed to avoid most of the onslaught thanks to his positioning.

Sensing the attack, Danny begins to buck like a powerful rebellious steed. “NOHOHOHOHO, COME ONNN!”

Youngblood holds on tightly tickling every step of the way, “YEEEEEHAWWWW!” he exclaimed, adding further humiliation to the older boy’s endless suffering.

Struggling proves futile however, with Youngblood gaining the upper hand swiftly. The ghost boy uses his leverage to quickly hoist Danny into the proper position, working over his previously untouched, toned belly with a childish disregard for his captive’s sanity.

Danny is nothing more than an instrument in his captor’s grasp as each poke produces streams of different tickly melodies from his lips, but none sounding like the combination Youngblood claimed to be looking for.

“Aaaahaaahahalllrriighhtt!!” Danny pleads. “I surrender, I’ll give YOHOHOHOO the combination!” His face a bright red mess of sweat and tears he begins to prattle off numbers hoping they’ll be his salvation .

Expecting his intimidate release, Danny is taken aback when Youngblood first mimes himself putting in a combination before declaring it wrong then stating “Oohohoho, you sly dog you, I should’ve expected a wrong combination!”

Danny’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Now it’s time to play my favorite game, tic..tac...TOES!”

“Youngblood!”

His boots disappear off his feet, seemingly at the behest of his eternally young tormentor and several ghostly feathers float up, dripping ectoplasmic green ink.

They rise up to his feet and slowly, with agonizing tickling, draw a massive tic tac toe board over each of his feet.

“If I win three games, you tell me what I want. If you win, I’ll let you go, maybe.”

“That doesn’t seem fair!” Danny giggles out in the aftermath of the first taste of foot tickling. The ink on his soles feels funny and he doesn’t like it but he has more things to worry about.

“Doesn’t matter. I'll go first!” The ghostly quill draws a big circle on the center of his heel arch, causing him to giggle and try to kick but his legs are now bound tighter leaving him unable to do that.”

“Your turn!”

Just as Danny is about to say he can’t see the game, a ghostly image of it appears in front of him and he says glumly, “Bottom right.” He then braces himself as the tickling starts again.

He cackles madly as an ‘x’ is drawn on the side of his heel.

Youngblood and him place several more marks, each one tickling more than the last until the tiny ghost crows, “I win!”

As if to add insult to ticklery, a line is drawn across the winning shapes on Danny’s feet, causing more laughter from the teenage ghost.

“Next game! Careful, Sheriff, I’m going to beat you soon! It’s be a shame if our game ends too quickly.”

Youngblood's tone has Danny assuming that if the ghost is unsatisfied, he’ll pretend it’s a wrong combo again. Danny frowns trying to remember how Tucker always beats him when they play in class.

His musings are cut short when another circle is drawn on the center of Danny’s other arch. It doesn’t tickle any less than the last time, actually it might tickle a little more since he wasn’t ready for it, but now Danny is ready. He calls out the same move again but he has a plan in mind this time.

Youngblood places his next move and then Danny calls his next one, and puts Youngblood in a trap. He sees an annoyed look cross the boy’s face as his opponent realizes what happened.

“Well played, Sheriff.” The ghost child’s voice is anything but congratulatory. “Guess we’d better reset for the next rounds.”

Danny frowns about to ask what needs to be done when two brushes start floating in front of his feet.

“Wait-”

Any plea he might make is cut off by the scrubbing which leaves him in hysterics and pleading, “EhEhEHAStAHAHap!”

“Sorry, we have to continue our game somehow.”

He doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as his face is split with a huge grin. Danny howls as the firm bristles scrub up and down his soles, leaving him laughing maniacally, especially when the bristles bully their way under his toes to clean the pads and undersides of the green ink.

Danny is panting and exhausted as the brushes disappear and are replaced instead by the feathers, redrawing the boards. He’s too tired at this point to do more than squirm a little and giggle.

As they start playing, he realizes Youngblood is cheating, the boy moving their circles and ‘x’s around to favor him.

“You’re cheHEating.” He jumps a little when a circle is drawn

“Am not.”

“AHAre ToHo!”

Youngblood smirks instead of getting angry and replies, “You must be going crazy from the tickling. I’m not cheating, but I did win again! That makes two for me. One more and you have to tell me the combo!”

Danny watches as the ghost takes the first move again and he plays the game out, but it’s pointless, Youngblood cheats but Danny isn’t trying anyway.

“Now then Sheriff, what's that combo?”

Danny rattles off a series of numbers and hopes Youngblood will take it. Once again the childish ghost mimes entering the combination and this time, Danny heaves a sigh of relief as Youngblood flings open the imaginary door and says, “There now. I knew you could be reasonable.”

The ropes fall away and Danny’s boots reappear on his feet.

“This was fun! You should come back and play again some time.”

Danny groans at just the thought but considering Youngblood seems in a good enough mood to not fire on the city, he’ll take it. Instead, the young ghost lets him leave and once off the ship, it disappears. Danny returns in time to help Sam finish packing up. They grab Tucker and meet at the Fenton house.

A half hour later, popcorn is made and TV is on, they’re stretched out lazily to watch when he starts giggling, his soles tingling suddenly. He tries scratching through his socks but from giggling, it grows into laughter while Sam and Tucker watch him confused.

“Danny what’s wrong?

“The movie’s bad but it isn’t that funny.”

Tingling turns to the feeling of dozens of tickling feathers passing over his soles, maddening and getting stronger by the moment and he realizes he never had the ectoplasm ink scrubbed off after the second round.

He rips his socks off, the glowing goo shine on his soles as he continues laughing.

“BrAHusHeS!” He yells out hoping one of his friends is able to find them for him.

Sam and Tucker jump up and run in opposite directions as he rubs his feet on the floor hoping for any relief but it doesn’t come, not until he can get the plasm off better which will undoubtably involve more tickling. Throwing his head back he laughs out,

“YoHOhuNgBlOhohOad!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Across town, the young ghost smirks at the angry laughter and says to his assistant, “You didn’t think it would work.”

The skeletal horse watches the direction the laughter is coming from as he replies, “I didn’t. I don’t think he’ll want to come back and play with you again after this.”

“Maybe not. But this was a great trick for Halloween!”