#but seeing her being a Girlboss isn't enough to me i need to see someone agonize over her obsession w johnny. jk. maybe

[bidisaster-peanut-romano]

hi. back on my shit

[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Batman has an insane patrol schedule. Danny knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was only just settling in for him.

"You're gonna be dead tired tomorrow," he warns Dick, "You were tired for only being out for two hours longer than your new normal, going from sunset to sunrise is gonna knock you out. I can't drive, Dick, so we'll be stuck in Gotham for another day if you pass out."

Dick patted his head with a smile. "I'll be fine. I'll vene bring ya back some Bat Burger, okay?"

Danny blinked. "Bat Burger?"

"You've- You've never had Bat Burger?" Louder, he called to Barbra and Tim who'd just come back from wherever the Cave entrance is with a comm for Danny, "Danny's never had Bat Burger!"

Barbra gasped dramatically. Tim clutched ay imaginary pearls. "You've never had Bat Burger?!"

"That sounds like an exclusively Gotham thing, and I am decidedly not from Gotham."

It was quiet for another moment as the three stared at him. Finally, Dick blinked. "Have you always been Midwestern?"

"As far as I know, why?"

His head tilted slightly to the left. "Your accent just seems..."

"Much more prevalent." Tim finished.

"Yeah, that."

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I’ve always talked like this.” A lie. He was hiding his accent from everyone so that tracking him down would be ever so slightly harder. Danny shrugged, “Right, Barbra?”

She shook her head. "No, you leave me outta this. As far as I know, you've sounded like this the whole time and these two are only just picking up on the accent."

Good job, Danny. Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss your way into their hearts.

"Anyway," Barbra continued, holding her hand to Danny, "This is a comm. It'll keep you patched in until we come back up to the manor after patrol. If you get tired of us or when you sleep, just take it out and put it on your nightstand; we'll take it back down in the morning for you."

"Are you sure you don't wanna come to the Cave?" Tim asked.

Danny shook his head, the comm now sitting in his left ear. "Mister Wayne already hates me, I'm not gonna go into his space. Besides, I'm already intruding as it is."

"I just don't want you to be bored."

"It's alright, I'm sure I'll find something to occupy myself with while you guys are out. And, isn't the whole point of me being on comms so that you guys can talk to me?"

"You're right," Dick agreed, "We'll see ya when we get back."

"Alright."

Occupy himself with? Yeah, he's going back to Bludhaven. Another problem he just realized, though: How is Bat Tech going to react to/around Phantom? Danny figures he has about two minutes to figure it out or he's gonna have to bench himself for the night.

There was no one around, so he ducked into the nearest room to transform. It was a quick lightshow, as always, but not enough to draw attention of anyone passing by.

Except Alfred. Alfred probably knows.

Alfred won't tell Bruce, right?

Right?

Probably not.

Hopefully.

Focusing on the comm revealed no static, though there was no sound either. Was someone trying to talk to him already? Hopefully not. That'd be upsetting.

There was a soft crackle before: "Danny, can you hear us?"

Phantom allowed a small smile of victory. "Yeah, loud and clear, Barbra."

"Call me Batgirl right now, okay? Tim's Robin, and, as you know, Dick's Nightwing. And, if you really need him, Bruce is Batman."

"Got it."

"We don't use real names on comms," Robin said, "Do you have something we could call you?"

That's probably a fish for what his hero name used to be. All three of them - Tim, at the very least - were hung up on the 'not anymore' of his denial and it really showed. He could make it easy and tell them to call him Phantom, but he really does not want them finding out his childhood right now. So, "Tutelary."

"'Tutelary'?" Nightwing asked.

"It's Greek," Batgirl said, "Tutelaries are deities or patrons of protection."

"Aw, that's cute," Robin cooed teasingly, "But you aren't doing much protecting from the Manor."

Phantom - is he really ready to give up that name? - blushed green, "Shut up. Protection Spirits are a big deal where I'm from!" Yeah, meaning most people don't actually think they're protecting them, but who really cares about technicalities?

"And that would be..?" Batman spoke up, his voice coming out much more 'gargle glass' over the comms than was probably intended.

Phantom smirked. "The Midwest." Limits options, but not specifically but he figured he could throw them a bone. Though, that's the only one he's giving Mister Wayne.

Speaking of, "I'll try not to be a distraction, Mister Batman sir, but I won't make any promises."

Nightwing, Batgirl and Robin were all sniggering. Batman was quiet for no more than a few seconds. "Stop getting distracted; We're leaving."

"Yes, sir!"

Phantom listened closely, focusing on the Cave below the Manor. Batman and Robin had gotten into some kind of assault vehicle-race car mix and were driving out into Gotham Proper quickly. Nightwing and Batgirl were both on motorcycles, leaving out a different way but just as quickly.

"Have fun out there, you guys."

Nightwing laughed, "We'll bring ya back some Bat Burger."

Part 15 Part 17

Real quick, before you move on, a quick Thank You to @bianca-hooks123 for the idea for Danny's name Tutelary. I hadn't even thought of using that until it was suggested, so thanks <3

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Shooting the Messenger (Part Two)

Reverend Mother Jessica x Fem! Harkonnen Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: As you struggle adjust to both your life under Jessica's steel grip and the casual assault of the Fremen spice on your palate, something has to give. But it isn't Jessica's humiliation that cracks you, rather the poorly timed dosage of spice on the both of you.

Warnings: Jessica is a menace (GASLIGHT, GATEKEEP, girlboss?), smut- oral giving (R), sex under the influence of spice melange, more spitting/water sharing (because it's Jessica, COME ON).

A/N: Finals week or my final week? Neither! Just one more takeaway essay. :(

Word Count: 3.3k

Jessica was true to her word. Mostly. The weeks following her initial ‘custodial arrangement’, as she often referred to it, felt like being imprisoned in a mostly hostile, occasionally uneventful prison. The Fremen didn’t like you. That much was obvious. But how could you blame them? Your unnatural complexion was a testament to just how other you were. They avoided you, mostly. And when the Fremen slipped enough spice into your food to make you literally see things, you didn’t tell a soul. And so the extreme doses of spice stopped. Jessica’s chambermaids came to respect you, in the barest sense. Sure they didn’t like you, and you didn’t like them, but you had an understanding. Don’t mess with me, I won’t mess with you. No further tests with spice were administered. But Jessica had her own tests.

“You’re late.” she growled, watching as you slipped into her chambers.

“I came as soon as you requested me.” you replied, voice meek.

“I shouldn’t *have* to request you, it should always be you coming to my chambers as you do every night.”

Arguing with her was the equivalent of Sisyphus pushing a boulder up the hill. No matter how much ground you gained, she always took it from you just as you were about to reach the highest point.

“I’m sorry, Reverend Mother.”

“Always sorry, always screwing up.” 

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat. She was unhappy. The war on Arrakis wasn’t going well, more people were dying, not just on Arrakis but across the galaxy. By now you understood your job wasn’t to aid Paul, it was to aid Jessica. She needed someone to care for, and the warrior child Alia almost never requested her mother’s presence unless it was for matters of war. Paul and Chani were glued at the hip, all while Princess Irulan withered away in her sandy palace. Jessica had no one, and the Fremen needed a force that would rouse them. She’d given much of her duties to Stilgar, but as the days wore on, she became more moody, quiet and stern.

“You miss Caladan today.”

Jessica stiffened. As much as she was constantly pushing you towards sensing her needs, the moments where you succeeded caught her off guard. 

“... I do.”

A seat beside her brought the woman much comfort. Her arms darted out for your frame, burying her face in the fabric of your veil. Your hair was starting to smell like sand. She hated it.

“I need something from you.” Jessica whispered, voice hoarse.

You reached up, cupping her face with your hands, the way she had instructed you to some nights past. Her spice blue eyes softened.

“Your eyes are starting to turn blue.” Jessica fretted, her eyes clouding over. “I’ve asked the Fremen to stop giving you spice in your food. If you taste it, you don’t eat it.” she whispered. “I won’t let this desert change you too. You must stay the same for me, okay?”

Her words were sensitive and frightened. It was a hidden battle within herself, clinging to the things that reminded her of home whilst still trying to reconcile with her changed life on Arrakis. It was heartbreaking to watch her suffer. That was when you managed the little empathy you could allot her.

“I like the spice in my food.”

Jessica’s face took on a pained expression, and she gripped you tighter.

“And I will not let your eyes go blue. If you want something for taste I will have them use pepper and sage. Not melange.”

Today was not one of those days where you felt empathy for her. It was a day where you had woken up sweaty and stinking of the sietch. It was a day where you couldn’t bear the taste of the Fremen food, and thus hardly ate. It was a day where you were thirsting endlessly for a glass of cool water, of water recycled by the earth and dug from the one ‘clean’ well spot on Giedi Prime. Not this water that had been carried in bodies so long that it had stopped tasting as water should. You missed the taste of chlorine in your water, oddly enough. 

“Fine.” you assented.

Jessica dug her fingers into the hair on your scalp, tugging at it with a degree of force that was really unnecessary.

“It is not just ‘fine’ that you should be saying, it is ‘yes, of course’.” Jessica snarled, her blue eyes blazing with fire.

You were both out of compassion and patience, it seemed.

“You are alive because of me, you ungrateful brat.”

“And sometimes I wonder if the merciful thing would have been letting me die instead of staying in this shithole!”

Jessica crowed with laughter, amused by your words.

“Oh, is the taste of real food making you upset? Do you miss your soulless sun and your grey walls and the sounds of debauchery wherever you went?”

Debauchery? How quaint.

“Do you think I am ignorant to the melange orgies? Do you think I am not aware of the way that men have trained themselves to fuck without spurting semen? The Fremen here are just as debauched as you are, lady mother. As we are, Harkonnen blood of my own.” Jessica was speechless. After all these weeks of breaking you down and bending you into the perfect obedient shape, you still had fight in you.

"Kneel.” The command hit you straight in the chest, pushing you from your lap and contorting to your knees in front of her. “You will remain kneeling until this chat is over, understand?” “I understand.” Assenting of your own volition was always better than the metallic taste of your words if they were forced with the Voice. It almost felt like blood was in your mouth when your tongue was compelled to speak, that thick substance slipping over your tongue as your mouth moved in shapes clumsy and uncoordinated. You never sounded like yourself when your speech was compelled, you sounded like you were eight, with a lisp peeking out, a lisp you’d buried after years of practice.

“Why do you fight?” Jessica sighed, as if this conversation was nothing short of tedious, (which it most certainly was).

“I don’t like you.”

Jessica laughed, eyes flickering with menacing humour. The idea was novel to her.

“Oh, how precious. You still allow yourself to be ruled by your feelings. I’d forgotten that individuals had that capacity towards blind emotion.”

Jessica wrapped her legs around your shoulders, using her hand to force your head to look up at her. It was a position that should have forced your face into her pelvis, but she manipulated your body just enough so that your head was pulled the opposite way. It added tension on your neck, highlighting the unnatural position of your head up instead of down; planted between her thighs. Another mind-fuck.

“You don’t get to let your emotions rule your decisions, that is not merely childish but also stupid. Everything about you is under my whim, what you feel I tell you to feel and you feel nothing else.” She dropped her grasp from your scalp suddenly, nearly causing you to face plant into her pubic bone. It was embarrassing, and thrilling. For many weeks she had been planting seeds inside your mind meant to excite desire for her. All of these seeds were laced with humility, such as the time she’d had you scrub her underwear clean of stains. It had been a lesson in how the Fremen sanitised clothes, mainly with the help of the sun, but also with the use of smell. You didn’t know a garment was clean until you smelled it. Sniffing her underthings to ensure they were clean had been sickening, creating an image of you doing it merely out of pleasure instead of necessity. 

“I hate this.” you whispered under your breath.

Jessica paused, only for a moment. Her thighs wrapped around your neck, shoving your face into her pubic region. “I can always make you hate it more.”

Tears sprung to your eyes. Wasteful tears, tears Jessica would hiss over, glaring you down until you stopped. 

“Why do I have to hate it? Why is it always a humilatory act?” you lamented, lips catching on the fabric of her dress as you spoke.

You heard Jessica’s sardonic chuckle.

“Would you obey if I was sweet to you? If I mothered you and coddled you and let you need me?”

“Yes.” you whispered.

Her legs loosened, and she pulled you up, wrapping her arms around you and cooing softly over your misty eyes.

“Why didn’t you just say so, hmm? Don’t you know that I’d rather be spoiling you than fighting with you?”

Her hands brushed over your face and head, soothing all the little worries away. She was manipulating you, this was textbook gaslighting. You knew it and you opened your mouth to fight it.

“Ah ah ah…” Jessica tutted. “Don’t think, I’ll tell you what to think. Just be here, present with me, hmm?”

She smiled, brushing her lips over your ear.

“Just be present.” <-->

The move to her bed was neither surprising nor eventful. Your chores stopped. The humiliating acts stopped. There was only sweet Jessica. Her arms curled around you while you both slept, the feeling of her lips brushing your ear as she whispered between you two, it was uneventful, almost maternal. But the abatement of her lust was destroyed after a particular melange engorgement. 

“Where is she?” Jessica rasped to a Fremen chambermaid.

“Inside your rooms, I believe. She’s studying.” the Fremen woman lied. You could hear Jessica’s wheezing breaths from outside the door. “You’re not partaking in the festivities? Go back, enjoy the moment-” “No, open the door.” Jessica snapped. “Reverend Mother…” The two descended into a heated debate in Chakobsa, words spoken at such a rapid and hurried pace that you could hardly keep up. You’d been studying the language, and could practise it conversationally, but their words were too fast to keep up with. But it wasn’t just their rapid pace that made it difficult, it was the swirling shapes above your head that distracted you. Your food had been laced with spice, again. The argument between the women outside escalated, and you heard a slap. Your stomach lurched as you heard the sharp tone in Jessica’s voice, a visceral, unforgiving wielding of the Voice. The door cracked open, and Jessica came in, hand on her abdomen, taking shaky breaths. Her hands were shaking, and you could barely make out the desperate expression on your face as you lay supine on the bed. “Lady mother…” you hummed, eyes half-lidded and glazed over from the spice.

Jessica groaned, stumbling forward and slumping on the bed beside you.

“My beautiful girl, not you too? Oh you poor thing…” Jessica cooed, lips pressing sloppy kisses on your jaw. Jessica’s breath stank of melange. How much had she used?

“Shapes and colours…” you gave her a goofy smile.

Jessica groaned and whimpered again, touching your fevered skin beneath your tunic. “How much spice did they give you?” Jessica whispered. “Dunno. The food was very spicy.” you giggled. “I’m not too high. Just happy high.” you clarified.

Jessica nodded, letting out a breathy exhale. Her hands cupped above her womb. Was she having some kind of reaction to the spice? She looked like she was in pain. “Help me undress, I’m too warm.” Jessica panted. “Undress us both, actually.”

You didn’t argue with the woman. She was obviously reacting poorly to the melange she’d consumed, and so you stripped her of her tunic and her pants. Your movements were a bit sloppy, as you were intoxicated with melange, but you managed. She was covered in sweat, and the humid air of the sietch didn’t help cool her skin much, it just trapped the moisture. There was moisture clinging to her panties too. You assumed it was sweat. “These as well?”

“Yes.” Jessica panted. “Bare as the day I was born.”

You pulled them off, dropping the sweaty garments on the floor. Her hands pulled at your tunic, you were at risk of overheating. The fabric came off, and Jessica skipped no steps in ensuring you were entirely bare.

“I can’t believe they would do this to you, I told them to stop putting spice in your food, especially for celebrations…” Jessica whispered, pulling you towards her.

Her skin felt clammy against your own, and you shifted in discomfort, causing your nipples to brush over hers.

“Hu- Oh, no, don’t move honey.” Jessica whined. “I can’t let you move.”

You nuzzled into her neck.

“Lover, no, no. I’m too tense, I can’t have you snuggling with me.” “Why?” you rasped.

“Because I’ll lose my composure. I’ll use the Voice to make you do things that would defy moral behaviour.”

You giggled, tickled by the idea of Jessica trying to cling to whatever skewed moral compass she had.

“You don’t want to fuck me high, is that it?” you whispered, kissing her cheek. “Okay. I’ll just leave then.” You were significantly less encumbered by the spice than Jessica, namely because you hadn’t been given more than a few pinches. It was easy to slip out of her arms, leaving the woman to whine and whimper as you left.

“No! No!” Jessica whimpered. “Don’t leave, please.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the woman. Her hands were fisted in the bedsheets, and she appeared to almost be in pain.

“Oh come on, you can’t take care of it yourself?” you smirked.

“Please.” Jessica whispered. “I came because I wanted it to be you.”

The idea was novel.

“Oh, and who else would it have been?”

Jessica let out another whine.

“I don’t do orgies. I don’t like them, and I am depraved, but not in that way. My beautiful girl, I want it to be you.”

She was high. And you were high. The spice melange dulled inhibitions, it made you more susceptible to her manipulation, more susceptible to her games, but this wasn’t a game. She was being truthful, and you knew she was being truthful because she was so weak. Jessica never gave you an inch, she never dropped her guard. This wasn’t a game where she was teasing your strings and spinning you into a position of subservience for her own gain, this was her begging for you.

“Good girl, oh precious thing…” Jessica rasped, happily wrapping her arms around you as you dropped back onto the bed.

Her dark hair clung to her back in tangled, sweaty clumps. You didn’t want to think about the state your hair was in. She pulled you in deeper, cupping the back of your head until her lips crashed on yours in a messy, hurried kiss.

“I always wondered what Harkonnen women had that made men desire them so.” Jessica rasped. “I think it’s your smell. I hate that you’re losing your smell…”

Her hands drew circles up and down your back.

“I want to enjoy you, I really do, but lover, it hurts so bad.” Jessica husked, biting her lower lip.

“Give me more kisses.” you shut her down, lips hungrily seeking hers.

Jessica huffed, continuing to makeout with you on her mattress. Her tongue was bitter and laced with the taste of melange, and her tongue was dry. You reached for the water collector in the room, finding the straw and sipping from it. You held her mouth open, releasing the water into her mouth so she could drink. She was weak, dehydrated and in need of intimacy.

“Mmm… More.” Jessica sighed, the water quelling her slightly. 

You drank a few sips for yourself, then you leaned down, delivering more water into her mouth. Jessica giggled, kissing you sloppily. She was happy, this was happy. 

“Lay on your back for me now.” Jessica rasped, hands digging into your back.

You rolled over, allowing Jessica to lie over you. 

“Can I trust you to tell me if you can’t breathe?”

“Yes, lady mother.”

Jessica sighed, moving to straddle your face.

“No, not like that. You sit on the edge of the bed, I’m too hot for that.”

The woman laughed, relinquishing the orientation to you. It was easier, kneeling on the floor. You liked it a lot, a simple cushion under your knees and your skin free for air flow. Jessica was quick to hike her thighs over your shoulders, letting out a needy whimper.

“Yes, yes, just like that.”

Her hands laced themselves in your hair. Your hands busied themselves with supporting her. Your thumbs spread her dripping labia, revealing a milky, inflamed entrance.

“How long were you-”

“Don’t make me use the Voice. Get to work.”

The thought was amusing, and you chuckled a bit, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her entrance, getting your first good smell and taste of her. Being that the desert gave limited opportunities to clean, her smell was concentrated, and the influence of spice was not lost on this particular part of her body either. A slow stripe up from her entrance to her clit was intoxicating, she was so different.

“I said, don’t make me use the Voice.” Jessica whined, hands shoving your face into her more earnestly.

It didn’t matter what she was threatening, you were in your own little world, the spice melange providing an immersive experience to the act. You were more present than you had ever been in similar situations. Slow licks provided the best coverage, the flat of your tongue working over her in gentle, steady motions.

“Lover, please…” Jessica sighed, heels digging into your back.

You looked up at her with half-lidded, relaxed eyes, your mouth glued to her clit. 

“Roll your tongue, suck.” Jessica directed.

You shut your eyes, focusing on the sensation of her nub on your tongue as you rolled circles around it, sucking it in your mouth greedily.

“Mmmhmm… Yes… Just like that lover.”

Developing a rhythm became second nature, slow licks from entrance to clit to catch her slick, more pointed rolls of your tongue over her clit to elicit a few gasps and moans. But her opening got more attention. 

“(Reader), you are such a tease… At least fuck me with your tongue.” Jessica panted.

You obliged, sticking your tongue past the ring of her vagina. You moaned into her, pistoning your tongue in and out. As to not neglect her pleasure entirely, your thumb found her clit, rubbing gentle circles over the nerve cluster as you busied yourself with slurping and licking at her entrance.

“Oh… Maker… Don’t you dare stop, yes!” Jessica groaned, pushing your face down.

You sped up your motions of your thumb, rewarding you with more soft whines and grunts as Jessica neared her peak. You felt it before you heard Jessica’s cry of affirmation, the muscles of her entrance contracting and quivering around your tongue. The woman slumped back into the bed, leaving you to quietly draw slow licks from entrance to clit, cleaning her up. Jessica drank greedily from her water bag, tugging you upwards by your chin. She flipped you onto your back, opening your mouth so she could deliver a beam of water on your tongue. You swallowed, and Jessica grinned, greedily licking her arousal off of your lower mouth.

“Such a generous lover… You’ve worn me out spectacularly.”

Jessica giggled, pulling you into her arms, pressing your still sweaty forms against each other to rest. The night was filled with zero interruptions, and as your skin and clothes dried, the moisture collector filled itself. Jessica was quick to take a sip or two, always stirring you awake to pour a mouthful of water into your mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before you drifted off again. Come morning, your skin was dry, the humidity in the air gone and your mouths no longer sticky from mucus.

“Lover?” Jessica whispered.

“Yes?” you mumbled, head in her breasts.

“Can I spoil you now?”

You giggled, playfully biting the underside of her boob. 

“Okay, feisty. Don’t make me-”

“Use the Voice? Empty threats.” you smirked.

Jessica laughed again, kissing you tenderly. A wicked look in her eyes remained.

”Desire.”

[riacte]

Alright I love love love Skizz but why did people for FALSE & Skizz instead of False & H???? What???

It is because False gets overlooked even in a False centric poll. This is a pattern. Also sorry for using your ask as a vent post lol.

I love Skizz and his energy, I think he's awesome with people, he is certainly good at the whole "duo thing" buuuut this is not a Skizz duo poll. Or even a Hermitcraft duo poll. It is a False duo poll. I think people voted for Skizz because of Skizz, not False, or even Skizz-False. Like yeah it was funny when Skizz held False hostage in the charity event. But are people voting for moments like that or do they just like Skizz in general?

This was also what I was trying to see with the False MCC poll— 17 is of course iconic as a whole, and especially for Grian, and I would definitely rank it very high in a Hermit MCC poll (possibly right behind Blue9, sorry Orange10). But False had better performances in 29 and 10, and 9 had better chemistry than 17 because she didn't really get spoken over in 9. Or 10 and 29. (Whereas in 17 it was a Thing enough for Pete to mention it afterwards apparently.) 17 has cool False moments of course— SG the one I remember the most— but people don't really bring that up. So did people vote for 17 in a False centric poll because they liked False's performance in 17 and overall team chemistry (things related to and influenced by False) or because they like 17 in general?

It is not that deep but also seeing False's diminishing relevance in the mainstream HC fandom over the years is kinda... disappointing. Someone who's never watched a hermit on MCCReddit will mention False Supremacy. HBomb's chat loves False. Like I don't even know what happened?? False has been posting regularly, always have, she does her builds and collabs and pranks and infrastructure, she won the first event of the season, outsiders love her, and...? Like don't we love our slay cool #girlboss queen of hearts? Or does she need a different fanon archetype now? The mischievous prankster? The silly wet cat? The healer type who loves animals and gives them stupid names? The competitive warrior? Would you still love me when I'm no longer the designated girlboss of the group or whatever

Like ok yeah this is me being bitchy and a gatekeeper and False isn't even the most underrated hermit and she gets her share of love in fanart and stuff but yeah I've noticed the decline. You've got Redditors mentioning Empires people in the crossover in response to someone asking about Empires but not mentioning one hermit who was actually also in Empires. You've got people talking about "Hermitgals" but they replace False and Stress with Lizzie. You've got the fallout of Demise 2. You've got Redditors talking about Rendoc in relation to Ren like his only relevance is being Doc's friend/collab buddy when False exists and she's his favourite hermit. And you've got the False duo poll. Won't even go into the view counts/ sub counts because that's depressing for what feels like at least a third of the hermits (Cubfan you deserve way more). Doesn't feel good.

Back in 2020/21 she got shat on and her achievements ignored by some DSMP fans and now the same thing is happening but it's worse because it's from some HC fans. The call is coming from inside the house. And once again False isn't even the most overlooked hermit. For example Iskall STILL gets horrific hate comments about how he doesn't "deserve" to be a hermit because he plays VH more.

Hermitcraft is popular. I wish the other third of it is more popular.

[mortallyclearwonderland]

My ''hot'' takes about DC

The reason the word "hot" appears in quotes is I'm not sure if what I'm about to say is truly controversial or if my opinions are one of the most lukewarm there could be.

Number 1. Scarecrow's character (or lack thereof)

I'm confident in saying that it's a fact at this point that if you're not part of the Bat Family, Gotham Sirens (Catwoman, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, and Suicide Squad by association with Harley), or the Joker, DC doesn't care about you. They might toss the Riddler a bone if you can call being a butt-monkey that.

Scarecrow is less of a character and more of a writing device when the creators want a character to face their fears but have no idea how to do it, so they'll just have Jonathan spray or inject them with his fear toxin.

On the surface, it's not a bad idea. It's not about the cliche, it's about how it's used. Many times we don't even get to see what the characters are afraid of personally but just some random scary imagery because the writers aren't smart enough to come up with a fear that would fit the character. Remember that one episode of Justice League where Flash has a scary dream that he's moving so fast no one can see him or Hawk Girl wings got tight up and she started falling to her death?

But probably the most frustrating thing is how he gets defeated. When Batman or some other character is done with overcoming their fear, Scarecrow just gets punched or defeated in a different humiliating way. My question is this. What was he doing the whole time his opponent was having their little episode? Was he doing some research and taking notes? Was he trying to get away? Was he getting himself off by watching? What?! And I know Scarecrow isn't as good of a fighter as Batman (although he does know violent dancing unless DC forgot about that) but is it too much to ask for them but up a bit of a fight before going down?

Which brings me to my next point.

2. Double standard in fighting.

I hate the ''Batman just goes around abusing mentally ill people.'' argument. You can like villains, villains can have sympathetic backstories but that doesn't give them a pass to do whatever the hell they want and hurt other people. But I can understand where people might get that idea from. When a comic never shows any people in danger or hurt from the actions of the bad guy, because the writers are pussies, it might look like Batman is overdoing. Especially when the most brutalized are humans with no powers like Joker, Scarecrow, and Riddler. But when Batman fights Bane or Killer Crock it's usually him who gets brutalized. Which makes sense. But don't get me started on a double standard between male villains and female villains. A female villain will never get as bad of a beating as a male villain even when she's done way worse things and has powers which make her a much more dangerous and allow her to tank more hits.

Which is similar to my next pet peeve.

3. ''Dating Catwoman''

Am I the only one who hates when a hero gets horny for a bad guy and lets them get away? As I said before it can be done nicely. It can show how love can change someone for the better. Or a hero going down the bad path. I especially hate it when it's done with the character this cliche was named after. Catwoman most of the time has no backstory explaining why she does what she does. Sometimes she stills from the rich to give to the poor. But most of the time she does it just for fun. In most stories she's in she's shown to be smart, pretty, fit, and all around girlboss. She could work and earn her own money to give to those in need, marry some rich guy, or be a gold digger.

[toon-kirby]

(apologies for potentially double-posting)

any headcanons pertaining to the first gen trio and the way they parent their sons?

Alright, I finally got this done... because I did all the first gen parents! Surprise!

Siggy/Dee - Deirdre, having grown up in the woods, ended up opting for a very natural parenting style. Organic and home grown foods, minimal/reused plastic, lots of outdoor time, etc. Sigurd makes enough money for that kind of lifestyle, though Deirdre knows how to do it on a budget. She's not extreme about it, though. Sigurd's introduced her to lots of cool things she didn't have growing up (like video games that aren't hand me downs from people at church). With his encouragement, she's also working on her degree at the local college. Not sure what she's going for, but probably something Earth Science related. Deirdre tries to schedule her classes while Seliph is at school, but when she can't, she has Oifey babysit him.

Quan/Ethlyn - Quan is very into good grades, so both Leif and Altena are in tutoring and private school. They're also both in sports as soon as they're old enough. Altena is really good at soccer, and by goodness does Quan make sure to brag about it to Travant. Ethlyn isn't very happy about this. Travant's a widower, he doesn't need someone bullying him! Quan just needs to let this stupid rivalry go. Plus, Altena seems to be friends with Arion! Quan shouldn't ruin that!

Eldie/Granhye - Very classy parents. I mean, it's Eldigan and Granhye. Ares began music lessons at a very young age, just like his father. These paid off, though not in the way anyone expected. Ares ended up being into punk and metal music rather than classical. Instead of getting mad, Eldigan and Granhye decided to embrace it (granted Ares keeps his grades and behevior good). His electric bass is his favorite present ever. He nicknamed it Missiletainn.

Midir/Edain - Edain found out early on that she really liked to read books to her kids. She ended up volunteering at the local library to read more books, and that's how the little Tirnanog friend group came to be. She and Midir take turns staying at home since neither of them have a standard monday-friday schedule. They make sure to spend a lot of time together when they're both off. Family board game nights are a regular occurence in their house.

Lex/Ayra - The sporty parents. As soon as Larcei and Schatach were old enough they enrolled them in soccer. Then came martial arts, swimming, you name it. The kids' diet probably consists of Issachian home cooking, granola bars, and gatorade. Shannan has stepped in multiple times to babysit or get the kids to practice. He's the super cool older cousin, after all!

Azelle/Tailtiu - Super nerdy parents. I'm talking DND and cosplay type nerdy. Tine was born premature, so they spent a lot of time in the hospital. The nurses absolutely adored Arthur. They were all so happy when he started to walk and say his first words. Hilda, however, was jealous of all the attention Tailitu and Tine got when they finally came home.

Finn/Lachesis - I think your headcanons about Finn and Lachesis being Malewife and Girlboss are pretty spot on. Lachesis has some sort of high ranking office job, while Finn stays at home. Diarmuid sometimes spends time with Beowulf (his bio dad), but lives with Finn and Lach. Beo's very chill about the entire thing and even gives Nanna gifts for her birthday and christmas. (Slightly off topic, but in an AU where all the games exist at the same time, I can see Finn being really good friends with Dedue since they're so similar. I mean, their leiges are even both voiced by Chris Hackney!)

Alec/Sylvia - I actually headcanon Lene and Coirpre to have different fathers in canon, as Coirpre was young enough to get the attention of the cult and that wouldn't be possible if Coirpre was born pre-Belhalla (though he does have severe baby face). Anyways, since this is a modern au with no cults or political scheming (hopefully), I'll go with them both being Alec's kid. Neither Alec nor Sylvia ended up with a high paying job, so money was tight. Then Alec got a job under Hannibal. He became close to the family and agreed to become the children's godfather. He likes to spoil the kids since he could never have any kids of his own. I'm thinking of Uncle Drosselmeyer from the Nutcracker from some reason. Speaking of Ballet, Lene's lessons are free since Sylvia works at the studio. Coirpre… well I'll be honest, I don't know what he'd be doing.

Lewyn/Erinys - Not a day goes by where these two can't figure out how Ced ended up being a straight a student. Erinys was a good student, but she wasn't super into it. And Lewyn… well, Lewyn is Lewyn. Fee ended up more free-spirited and laid back like her dad, though to a more responsible degree. She credits this to having her dad's love for life mixed with her mom's responsibility.

Jamke/Brigid - Somewhere inbetween Ayra/Lex and Edain/Midir on the parenting style spectrum. Patty ended up really enjoying gymnastics, so they kept her enrolled in it. She also took up magic tricks, including (to Jamke and Brigid's dismay) lock picking. Super cool cousin Dew totally didn't teach her that. Febail took up archery like his father.

[kitkatopinions]

I can't think of a single trait or element of personality that Coco has that Yang doesn't also have except that I think Yang wouldn't threaten to leave behind someone in need for not being nice enough to her and would probably care more about Grimm possibly killing civilians than a stupid clothing store.

Don't ask me why people are acting like removing Coco Adel who is based off of a nazi would be a giant blow to the queer rwby fans when she hasn't even made an appearance since V3, barely existed even then, and you have to pay for content outside of the main series just to see her develop enough character to be a shitty person but also get confirmed to have interest in women. We have Yang, Ilia, Blake, May Marigold, and Saffron and Terra, and do you know how freaking easy it would be to remove Coco from the lineup and just make more canon queer characters who are more important? Velvet is five times better than Coco, was more relevant in the early seasons, and is not based off of a nazi, why don't they make her interest in women explicit and make her the main of the side content and chibi eps from now on? We don't need Coco, RWBY doesn't need Coco, she doesn't matter, she isn't real. It makes real life Jewish people uncomfortable that the RWBY writers' special girlboss is based off of and reads like a tribute to a nazi, it's well worth ditching the fictional character to make them more comfortable, especially because there way better characters that can accomplish the same traits without being based off of a nazi. Coco sucks anyway. I'd ask why people are prioritizing the fictional jerk in the Claire's getup over real life Jewish queer rwby fans, but I already know and it's pretty much anti-semitism and radfem ideology.

Screw that.

[captainninej]

taylor swift and revenge

thinking more about taylor swift and realising just how obsessed with revenge she is. even in her (weak as) feminism, it's all about revenge, not equality. of course there's a streak of petty revenge within everyone, and we all act on it at some point in our lives. but taylor makes it such a part of her brand and her music and it's like...don't you have absolutely everything in the world? you're a billionaire? you break records every day? why are you so obsessed with taking down everyone who's ever breathed a word against you instead of idk just being proud of yourself and all that you've built and created?

BEFORE THE SWIFTIES WHIP OUT THEIR 'MISOGYNY' ARGUMENT and say that i'm 'not allowing women to be angry', this is just an observation. it's a common theme throughout her music and as someone who used to be a huge fan for fourteen years until like a week ago, i know her music and career pretty damn well. enough to see that she is an incredibly vindictive person who can't settle for being on top of the world; she constantly needs an enemy to take down in order to feel successful. even if that enemy isn't deserving of her wrath.

it just seems like a waste to me and not like the girlboss move she clearly thinks it is.

[aquaburst3]

A while ago, I put out some polls with which Disney characters (or twst versions of them) would be the best partners for the overblot guys. However, I want to go over all my choices for these guys along with my thoughts on their ideal partner in more depth and examples. Like last time, this is only focusing on the Overblot Squad, but I'll make another one with some other characters later on.

Keep in mind this is all personal opinion. If you disagree with me, fine and to each is their own.

(As a side note, while I only listed off girl examples for these guys, that doesn't mean that I see them all as straight. I hc these guys as bi/pan minus Riddle and Jamil, who I see as gay and demi respectfully. It just means I couldn't think of any male examples with those traits. All of this applies to twisted OC versions of these characters too, so their partners can be of any gender. I also used gender neutral pronouns in the "Ideal Partner Traits" section for this reason.)

Riddle

Ideal Partner Traits: Riddle needs someone who's free spirited, smart, creative and is able to call him out before he flies off the deep end. Someone grounded and calm would also do like Trey. Bonus points if they have a loving family that would freely accept him and show him love that his mother never did. Disney character examples: Mulan, Alice (aged up), and Luz (from The Owl House)

Leona

Ideal Partner Traits: He needs a partner who is headstrong, bold and able to stand their ground against him, calling him out on his bullshit. A partner who is smart, but still is able to call him out would do too. Bonus points if they are disabled, but are able to push through anyways to help prove Leona's outlook and worldview along with vice versa, but that's not a requirement. Disney character examples: Merida (aged up), Eilonwy (aged up) and Belle

Azul

Ideal Partner Traits: He needs someone who's ambitious and goal-driven, being able to calm down his darker Girlboss tendances and helping him learn to love and accept himself, even the former fat version. Bonus points if said partner is plus sized to help him learn to accept himself even more, but that's not totally nesscary. Disney Character examples: Tiana, Audrey from Atlantis and maybe Ariel

Jamil

Ideal Partner Traits: He needs someone sassy, smart, extroverted and quick thinking enough to force him out of his shell, bringing out his mischievous and fun side. But at the same time, they have be grounded, reasonable, level-headed and capable enough that they wouldn't give him headaches, cause him to argue with them constantly or make him feel like he's their babysitter. His partner needs to strike that fine balance for the relationship to work. Bonus points if his partner is rich to help him get over his prejudices about the Asims and to give that Aladdin/Jasmine vibe, but that's not needed either. Disney Character Examples: Jasmine, Moana, and maybe Cinderella and a beastman or human version of Bianca (While Cinderella isn't exactly super extroverted or sassy, she's a harding working, empathic and would understand his situation. Tiana could maybe work by that same logic, but I ship her with others more. While Bianca is more introverted too, she's also empathic, caring and thoughtful, being just as cunning and smart as he is.)

Vil

Ideal Partner Traits: Vil needs someone who is intelligent, hard working and capable, who would be able to see him for him instead of as a celebrity and is able to see the good in him. Someone who also won't put up with his harsh judgment calls, even when he has a point, helping him to learn to say his points in a less cruel manner. A bit of an outcast, too. Disney Character Examples: Belle, Jane Porter and Tiana

Idia

Ideal Partner Traits: Someone extroverted, sassy, confident and quick who would be able to pull him out of his his comfort zone and have fun again. They would also have to be just as a big of a nerd as he is, especially if this is an OC in a modern AU. Disney Character Examples: Meg

Malleus

Ideal Partner Traits: He needs a partner who is kind, understanding and open minded. Someone who wouldn't be intimidated by him, wanting spend time with him and is a bit of an oddball in their own right. Kinda like Yuu in the canon. Disney Character Examples: Aurora and Rapunzel

[adasknife]

Hello lovely!!

How do you think modern Aeons see Ada? I feel like they don't really know her. They're not paying attention to what she's saying or doing. They base their opinion of her on how she acts towards Leon and they will always justify her actions instead of wondering WHY she's acting that way.

She's 'nice' to Leon: omg yes true love uwu she saved his life see she's not a villain!!!

She's 'mean' to Leon: lmaooo you go girlboss point a gun at him yes end his life!!!

BUT if someone suggests Leon doesn't want her because of the latter, they act like crybabies.

She's like a doll to them, a vessel for them to pour their projections on. They don't wonder about her aspirations or fears. It's all so superficial to them. I don't see this happening to any other character (well a lot of ppl baby Leon but most acknowledge his rights and wrongs, and ppl call the other characters out on their bullshit, but with Ada it's just... you can't say a bad thing abt her or you will be crucified, but they cant even form a proper argument against someone who dislikes her, its always stfu hater r#acist and jealous). Like I like Ada but sometimes she pisses me off lol. All of the characters do. Why is it such a taboo for Aeons to admit Ada fucks up too?

I think most, if not all, Ada Wong 'fans' are Aeon shippers first and foremost. That's why they're refusing to acknowledge that Campom is getting rid of the romantic aspect of Aeon in the remake: if Ada isn't with Leon or Leon isnt chasing after her, she loses her charm and they have to acknowledge the 'ugly' parts of her character, bc they NEVER hold her accountable for anything. She's done some questionable stuff but they're always like "omg yes mother slay queen go be a criminal babygirl do your thing". Like they never stop to analyze her. It's so dehumanizing that her own 'fans' do not care to analyze her outside of her being the sexy aloof spy who is the Love Interest and acts mysterious and looks sexy. They are the ones perpetuating the stereotype about her. Bc they don't care to know her. They know everything they want to know: that Leon wants her, and thats enough for them.

Sorry for the long message, you're one of the few ppl on here who actually offers a different, realistic, HUMAN analysis on Ada.

i don't know about the modern aeons a lot. i only know one decent enough, and they seem to respect ada but of course aeon is their main thing. the ones that i do know less of but their reputation is very high and mighty. yeah. unfortunately, they don't really seem the... biggest fans of her. i can respect the motivation for her. especially with those who baby leon.

i mean, imagining shipping aeon and suddenly you get people shitting on ada because she manipulate him. blah, blah, that sort of thing.

those are the one who definitely just defend her for the #girlpower which once again. can't argue against that. ada is allowed to use leon, but they definitely rank up her mean heart. i think it's double down the comments against ada or they just really like that specific dynamic.

but that's when you mention the other thing, the ada needs leon to 'really' manner to the story.

that's another sad yeah to some fans and i feel like it's accidentally. like, i certainly hope none of these fans actually do it on purpose. or disliking characters. like, i have seen people who hate leon and people who hate ada (y'know disliking her character not disliking her for race or jealousy), and i follow both to get an understanding on why people hate them. i dislike and like living in an echo chamber, but how will you get the understanding of the characters?

i feel i am rambling now so, i'll try to hurry up. aeons want a validation of the past self of the ship. imagine wasting years of your life, begging for ship to become canon and re6 comes along and destroys it again. like, i follow an aeon shipper and a couple aeons get angry at the idea of shipping a different person with leon or even an oc.

like, i don't hundred percent think that they project themselves in ada. they want to understand her as well, but they are bias of believing ada needs leon. when... she never did. in re6, helena is telling leon to go with ada and leon rejects it. even he never needed her.

helena is like an aggressive aeon shipper, she thinks she understands their story, but who knows it better than them two. and that's where the flaw of the writing comes to place and the fans have to write it in to fill in the holes. making theories that leon is an alcoholic for missing ada or that he is happier in death island because he got the 'pussy'. (comments in aeon videos)

like this is messy, it's unfortunate that ada doesn't get many thoughts of fans. like jacksepticeye said, "they'll make cute babies." or the pieces of writing of ada repeat that ada protects leon with the bias of the OG games while speaking about the remakes.

i try in this blog to avoid leon (sometimes i fail and that's fine.) so ada can shine as a bad and good character. i don't worship the ground that ada walks over. i think she is hot. i think she is good but the writing/fans think that kindness is only meant for leon. i just hope fans adore their female characters as much they claim. the ugly and the pretty.

i hope aeon shippers think the same. i hope they aren't always horrible and try to understand half the ship they love

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 18 SANSA II (pages 254-262)

Sansa risks a potential trap for potential freedom, and has an uncomfortable chat with a drunken Sandor on her return trip.

-

The angry purple bruise Ser Meryn had given her had faded to an ugly yellow, but still hurt. His fist had been mailed when he hit her. It was her own fault. She must learn to hide her emotions better so as not to anger Joffrey. When she heard that the Imp had sent Lord Slynt to the Wall, she had forgotten herself and said, "I hope the Others get him." The king had not been pleased.

The people who think Sansa was having a jolly old time in KL after her father's beheading confuse me. How can you read the text and not hurt for her? How can you read it and not understand she's a victim of long term abuse she can't escape, but she's trying, she is doing her best and holding on to hope and she is so filled with anger that sometimes it slips out because no one can be as perfect as she needs to be because there is no perfect enough for abusers like Joffrey. Her survival might not look as "girlboss" as some of the other female characters in this series, but my gosh Sansa is doing amazing and deserved so much better.

If only she had someone to tell her what to do. She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend. The septa had lost her head with the rest, for the crime of serving House Stark. Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon, even riding through the winter town if she liked.

I wonder if it would be better or worse for her to know, the fact that she's deliberately not thinking of them says worse. I wonder if part of her suspects Jeyne is not okay, or that Arya hasn't really made it back to Winterfell, if she's convincing herself that Arya's fine because it means one less horror to contend with in her darker headspace moments.

If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak.

Desperate courage, but courage all the same. She did such a good job sneaking all that way.

She makes the sept sound so pretty.

Lady would have liked this place, she thought. ... And what will they do to me? Sansa found herself thinking of Lady again. She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, father had killed her, on account of Arya.

Sad though it is, I do like that Sansa isn't just forgetting about Lady, that even know the bond and the wolf still mean something to her. Still being angry at Arya because it's easier than being afraid for her, I see. But babe, Arya might have been in the wrong place, but it was Joffrey who chose to escalate, and Cersei who chose to demand a death, come on Sansa, you're too far past knowing what they are to pin all the blame on Arya. (Times you get to say "Yay, team effort" but the outcome was literally The Worst.)

"Think I'm so drunk I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burned face. "You look almost a woman... face, teats, and you're taller too, almost... ah, you're still a stupid little bird aren't you? -"

Bad dog *smacks Sandor round the head with a steel chair*

"Fuck your ser, Boros. You're the knight, not me. I'm the king's dog, remember?"

"Fuck" = 🥛

"- The three dogs on our banner are the three that died, in the yellow autumn grass. -"

Ohhh, Clegane sigil lore

"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I'll have a song from you, whether you will it or no."

"Cunt" = 🥛 *smacks Sandor with the steel chair again*

[normalbrothers]

1, 3, 5 generally, 13 (about polly) for the salty fandom asks >:)

What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

i'd guess the main otps in this fandom are tommy/grace, tommy/lizzie and tommy/alfie - which i all understand. the former two are literally consummated relationships in the show and you can see how they got there and the latter is a good dynamic between two male characters (hdhdhd), and i'm interested in/fine with all of them as far as watching pb goes. there are couple of popular tropes/takes assigned to these relationships that i don't really agree with or find fitting for the characters, and they tend to bleed through in fic, so it's kind of a hit and miss often enough, but as far as canon goes, they are all fine to me (in the specific ways they exist, etc), so i do get them (to answer the question as directly as possible) though imho this is one of these questions where it also becomes obvious that pb fandom doesn't really have traditional fandom dynamics where there are several OTP corners/niches of either canon or non-canon relationships (that don't involve tommy, and there are a couple!) that you could argue about; everything is so oversaturated with oc or y/n fic that you don't really have this stuff naturally occur in greater measure. which is sad, honestly.

Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion

sure have! i've grown a little more "lenient" or open-minded or patient about stuff, so it's not something i tend to do right away anymore, but i think there are probably still a couple of opinions i'd unfollow someone for.

Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

"ruined" is a harsh word, but tommy/alfie isn't that interesting to me anymore: most fics are either Margate Fics(tm) or stuck in s2 or just complete aus that have little to do with the characters in the first place and often it's tommy being written as separate/isolated from the family which is always kind of boring to me: i need to know what's happening Over There ! i get why this happens, etc, but it's a shame, since the relationship actually went through a couple of canon developments that could be explored. (THOUGH i do have to say alfie has grown somewhat obnoxious to me in s5/s6, and i ended up not really liking his and tommy's scenes (they are *fine*, but i sort of think it was a mistake to have brought him back after s4 at all, and i think you can see that in these seasons, even if alfie's function is plausible). and that's not quite the fandom's fault, that's kind of on the show/writing to be fair)

Unpopular opinion about XXX character? (Polly)

she's either reduced to the girlboss matriarch who's badass and right about everything (boring) or diminished in her own arc (re: michael) or caricatively mischaracterized as a jealous harpy when it comes to tommy and gr/ace (yawn), and it's all so terrible and doesn't dignify the character at all there's a trend of her being deprived of the complexity she absolutely has in canon (literally thee female lead, and what for!!), when what makes her so good is that she's faulty and flawed and this compelling melting pot of conflicting and contradictory desires and wants and emotions and ambitions and trauma and hypocrisies; and it all plainly plays out for everyone to see! she's as multifaceted as tommy and arthur, and as good and bad, as sympathetic and as hard to like as either of them. obviously, her arc has been tragically cut short, but there's still plenty of it when revisting the show, and her impact is tangible: anyone who's watched s6 probably had that odd moment of going 'oh i know how polly would have felt about that/what polly would have done/said here', that's how good she was, a perfectly realized character potrayed by an extraordinary actress!

[rosefulmadness]

hello dear rrr fandom: we need to make a backstory for jenny.

we all know (and seem to agree) that sita is a doctor who helps revels and manages the village as well as being an absolute girlboss who can be soft and nice and kick ram's ass (affectionately) and she's also really smart and in most interpretations knows at least a bit of english.

what about jenny tho? I don't have any stories myself but we could collectively come up with one. surface level stuff like jenny never having an actual friend cause everyone is so fake or manipulative is a thing we made canon without voicing it but that's not enough. what about her parents? it is to my understanding that scott and the blonde bitch are her aunt and uncle, what about her parents? are they dead? do they not care about her? does she have siblings? where was she raised? how was she raised? is she just kind even tho she's probably been taught that non-white people are stupid, barbaric, and a waste of time? or did someone teach her that?

perhaps she had a nanny, a caretaker that was Indian, someone who had to take care of her and had no choice in doing so but decided to take the opportunity and teach the young child kindness, to not make her a monster like the other british people. maybe that's why she was so kind to malli? why even tho she saw bheem in pain she never tried to stop her uncle and aunt. maybe she's seen what happen to does that speak up, maybe this isn't her first time seeing people being hurt like that, maybe her nanny had to go through something similar when they found out she was teaching jenny kindness, "manipulating her" as they called it.

or maybe go a different route and just make scott and blondy her parents, and explore the type of childhood she would have had. maybe add a little detail when she gives the prison maps to bheem, maybe have her ask him to kill her parents, or have her hide it from everyone until someone catches on. that would add another layer to her feeling guilty for what the british did to India. you can do a found family trope if you want to.

I'm just saying, there are so many different approaches to her and it seems to me like she's a bit one-dimensional even in the fandom. I would gladly write fics or elaborate more but school makes it impossible for me to have time for that. let's not just give backstories and flesh out a few characters, let's do it with all of them, let's make a whole different level to rrr. I would also love for people to look more into malli's mom and what she went through. laachu and what his thoughts are on ram as well as how he found out about bheem being flogged and how he even found him after that. babai needs a personality too, most of the time he's just there and that's it .perhaps even scott, I would like to get a peak at his thoughts, his wife is a character that interests me too but idk what to do with her cause again, one-dimensional.

I'll try to work stuff out but for now, all you'll get is this vomited info dump that I forgot why I started writing in the first place. see ya ig

[al1x00]

⚠️CHAP. 10 SPOILERS⚠️

THE WAY I SCREAMED WHEN I SAW THIS OMFG I'M NOT READY FOR OPIN TO END😭😭

EXCUSE ME "TW SUICIDAL THOUGHTS"?!?! WHO TF IS TRYING TO BLOW THEIR BRAINS OUT MY GOODNESS.

Love how I'm totally chill on the blood and gore part like yeah that's usual Katy™ stuff, you get used to it after reading TF🥰🥰

DAMNN HOBIE'S ON FIRE HE'S GOT NO MERCY ANYMORE. Also I love how you described the factory and the way Hick's office/balcony is placed very high up because he own the place and all that jazz because it just makes him the picture perfect image of the asshole he is LMAO

YAYY WE GOT KARL TOO THE WHOLE GANG IS HEREEE

WHOA WAIT A BAG OF TNT?? That's not gonna go well, is it..? Even if they do manage to bomb the factory, TNT is a very effective and quick explosive so if they aren't fast enough to get away someone might get hurt yknow

Hicks and his shit aim strike once again and fail😌 that man cannot land a single bullet on anyone, not even a couple of horses.

WTF HOW DID HE NOT DIE? ISTG IF HOBIE DOESN'T GET TO KILL HIM

Honestly if R was to look at Hobie and see him kill men so effortlessly while balancing only on one side of his horse they're gonna get married on the spot, like RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

Hobie lost his last whip and said "Fuck it, let's make an instrument of torture out of the new one" And I bet that shit hurt like hell.

"Everyone thinks he should be dead by now" ONE OF THE REALEST THINGS YOU WROTE YEAHH TERMINATE THAT ASSHOLE

YESS HE GOT THE DEATH HE DESERVED NO MERCY FOR HICKS

I always make sure there aren't any symbolism or anything in the paragraphs before I continue reading the chapters so I googled what do alligators symbolize and there many different versions of it. One said they symbolize inner strenght and power so I gues that could work with the power Hobie held in that moment right before he decided not to spare Hicks and let him suffer but it also says they symbolize finding solace in the present which I don't think Hicks got while he was getting eaten alive and ripped apart💀

WAIT IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE THE WHOLE THING HAPPENED? A WHOLE MONTH PASSED FROM THE DAY HICKS AND CROSS FOUND THEIR FARM?

OKAY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK HAS HAPPENED. HICKS TRIED TO KILL R BY THROWING HER DOWN THE WELL? IT'S WORSE THAN ANYTHING THEY'VE DONE TO HER BEFORE WTF HE DESERVED THAT HORRIBLE DEATH.

"A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo." He's gonna join them soon if he doesn't stop with that attitude🥰🥰

R thinking about Hobie everytime someone does something that he would do just hurts so much because R doesn't even know if he's alive or not at this point. She has no way of escaping or getting any source of information about him or Riri and the others and it's so fucking sad. It's hurting me so much I just need to see them happy and healthy once more😭😭

R IS BEING A GIRLBOSS I LOVE ITT

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” Okay just one more thing to add to the list of reasons of why I hate Cross so much🥰🥰 Out of all the things he's done and said this is probably one of the most disgusting EVER.

KATYY WDYM BOTH HIT THEIR TARGET?!?!?! IS R DEAD? NONONONO I CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER SAD ENDING AFTER TF THIS BETTER BE A FUCKING JOKE

DAMN R GOT SOME AIM THAT BULLET LEFT A BIG ASS HOLE THROUGHT HIS STOMACH

...Katy I swear to god if R dies I'm gonna sue you. DON'T GIVE HOBIE ANY MORE TRAUMA HE ALREADY HAS PLENTLY AND EVEN MORE TO SPARE.

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?” Bye don't talk to me for five business days.

KATY YOU HAD ME FOR A SECOND I THOUGHT THEY BOTH DIED IN THE FIRE OH MY GOODNESS I WAS ABOUT TO THROW A FIT I WAS ALREADY SOBBING MY EYES OUT BUT THEN I WENT ON AND I WAS LIKE "WAIT A DAMN MINUTE-"

THEY GOTH DUCKIESS AND BUCKY AND CHERRY HAVE LITTLE KIDS NOW I'M SOBBING OMFG

AND COWS TOO

AND CLOVER HAS HER PUPPIES TOO OH MY GOD IT'S SO CUTEEE

God really must have favourites because how the fuck did R survive that bullet right under her ribcage? Like sure there was a possibility but holy shit R got lucky. NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING OFC

HELLO?? BILLIE AND MONA CANON IN OPIN?? AAAA I'M LOSING MY SHIT I'M SO HAPPY THAT THEY'RE ALRIGHT AND CONTENT IN THEIR HOUSE AGAIN.

God this has been so bittersweet. Words cannot describe the utter whirlwind of emotions that I had throughtout this chapter and story overall. It has made me cry, laugh, cheer for the characters and have loads of sympathy for them, so much that sometimes I felt it to the very soul. I can safely say that this fic goes onto the podium with BDAS because the sheer amount of effort you put into this has not gone unnoticed, you've outdone yourself again like you always continue to do and I'm SO SO proud of you for writing something as beautiful as OPIN. I am not ready to say goodbye to our favourite outlaw and cowboy😭😭 (I will not say goodbye to him yet, he'll have me in a chokehold until the end of time)Honestly I could go on and yap about this for hours and hours (and I probably will because OPIN deserves it) but like- the intricacy of the storyline, the well done backstories and the way you gave each character a different moral and point of view is just 🤌* chefs kiss * YKWIM?? I will never, EVER, shut up about how R and Hobie were like complete strangers all over again when they found eachother after all those years, how they feared of the consequences of loving somebody, but in the end the only thing that mattered the most was to get back into eachother's arms and stay with the other until the end, no matter if the flames got to them or not; the fact that they were gonna die together in that fire and they were totally fine with that just because they had eachother will always cling with me. They way they both learned to love the other despite all their flaws and the how the horrible things that happened shaped them, but their love was stronger than anything else, stronger than a man and his whole bullet factory that went against two people who just truly loved eachother in the purest and most genuine way ever. They fought with claws and teeth, because they had both everything and nothing to lose, just to see the other one last time before everything caught up.

Alright I won't write more on this but I will return with another yapping session soon so expect a huge message in your inbox LMAO but thanks again for everything Katy!! LY LY LY❤️❤️❤️

Dead Man's Hand

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N, sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Cowboy AU, wild west AU, CW food mention, CW vomit mention, CW blood and gore, CW guns, TW violence, TW abuse, TW suicidal thoughts, TW death.

A/N: if there are any warnings that I've missed please tell me so I could add it in.

This chapter tackles dark themes, read at your own discretion.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 10 >>>

The pungent, acrid and hot air of metal and gunpowder brings Hobie back in time as he slams open the steel doors to the factory with a harsh kick. Machinery whirs, and twists, sharp steel dancing to the beat of the flames as it turns molten iron into instruments of death.

Hobie roams his fury-filled eyes around the factory, green flames flicker in those eyes, finding grime coated faces of strangers staring back at him and his posse. One glances their dark eyes towards the upper level of the factory where a balcony is placed. Where Hicks would look down with contempt, and would scream at the overworked employees to hurry production. Hobie knows it all too well, the factory mirrors the one back home. In the middle of the balcony sits an office with frosted windows that bear Hicks’ name. But the man is nowhere to be found within the crowd.

“If you're not Hicks, get the fuck out.” He doesn't need to yell the command, for everyone turns to run outside towards the back exit where half of Miguel's gang lies in wait; and Hicks' lackeys lay dead on the soft muddy ground.

One running and hiding away amidst the crowd catches his eye with the same face as one of the men who buried him all those years ago. “‘cept you.” With one swift raise of his six shooter, smoke billowing out, a hole now sits on the man's torso where his heart should be. “Hicks, better get down ‘ere or my people will blow this place to the ground.” Hobie steps over the bloody body, crimson coating the sole of his boots. “Rainin’ bullets don't mix well with a room full of explosives.”

There's no movement nor a whisper in the entire factory save for the fading sounds of the machines slowly shutting off. He catches a glimpse of a shadow behind a closed frosty door in the upper level of the factory. It was quick and sudden, if not for Riri's gentle nudge towards the movement, he'd think he was seeing you again for a brief cruel moment.

“Ri, Karl, come with me.” Hobie emerges behind the blackened air from the large machines. Three sets of boots thumping silently as they bound upstairs.

He reaches the door, back on the solid wall and away from the glass. Riri stays on his right, shotgun cocked and ready while Karl checks his bag of TNT on Hobie's left. As he moves to open the door, a bullet pierces the glass, shattering it into sharp tiny pieces. A shard nicks Hobie's cheek, but he ignores the throbbing pain as blood trickles out.

“You're still alive, you little shit?!” Hicks yells, shooting blindly at the door.

The trio stays still and waits for the opening. A click echoes in the quiet, and clouds of gunpowder float through the air. Hobie and the others take their opportunity. Karl lights a stick of dynamite, chucking it inside the room and then ducking down to cover his ears. Hobie doesn't waste time, leaving the safety of the cover, he twists to face the door, shooting at the flying TNT— effectively blowing it near Hicks while Hobie holds onto his hat so that it doesn't get blown away.

The explosion causes Hobie to stagger backwards, if not for Riri pulling him back to the side, he would've fallen off the railings. Sulfur fills the air as they cough, puffs of grey smoke clouds the entire office space.

His ears ring, a sharp high pitched sound that he's awfully familiar with. He gives Riri a thankful nod, which she replies with a smug smile and a raise of her eyebrow. Hobie takes the lead, flicking his eyes towards Karl, who gives him a thumbs up, and with his hair all messed up from the explosion. Satisfied that his group is alright, he enters the fray. Smoke giving way to him and his raised gun. Shards of glass crunch at his feet, singed papers lay burned on the floorboards as embers flicker out in the air.

As the smoke clears out and the hot air of the south enters through the broken windows— Hobie finds no one inside the room.

“Fuck!” As he yells into the emptiness, a horse neighs outside, hooves running frantically away while bullets fly and ricochet. He immediately looks down, finding Hicks half burnt and riding away. “Like a fuckin’ roach.” Without thinking ahead, Hobie vaults from the window, softening his fall with a roll. Landing, knees aching but intact, he whistles for Bucky.

“Hobie, what the fuck?!” Riri and Karl simultaneously scream out, but Hobie's already running while Bucky follows right behind him.

Once Buckeye trots next to him, Hobie grabs hold of the saddle's horn to swiftly lift himself up on the saddle with a quick pull. No one's going to stop him, Miguel already considers Hicks dead just from the look of determination behind those green eyes.

Hobie leaves everyone in the dust. Bucky neighs wildly, huffing and puffing as he tries to catch up. “Hicks!” Said man turns on his saddle a few ways ahead, arm raising to aim and to shoot his gun. Bullets whizz past, hot air passing by as Hicks misses every single bullet.

Hicks’ scalding flesh makes him keel over in pain as his blood drenches his horse. “Shit!” He kicks roughly, his horse whines before speeding off.

Bucky gains speed, catching up to Hicks whilst he reloads. But of course, his hired guns finally catch wind. A handful of them appear from the side, trudging from the muddy swamp with alligators lurking underneath, and riding towards the bumpy road where the main chase is happening.

The rival posse hollars and hoots, sneering smiles and guns aimed at Hobie. Riri and the others are still catching up to him, so he's left alone to defend himself and Bucky. With fury fuelling him, he has everything to lose so he'll shoot through all of them like a hot knife through butter.

While the mercenaries leave the line of trees, Hobie enters the thicket, swerving to the side, using the large and sturdy trees for cover. The ground may be soft and muddy, but Hobie and his loyal horse have been in dozens of situations like this. The swamp might've slowed them down but it doesn't stop them as splintered wood flicks and flies while his enemies continue to shoot at his swift horse.

A bullet comes too close to his head, piercing a hole in the brim of his hat. He clicks his tongue, annoyed at the damage. Patting Bucky, he takes his foot off one of the stirrups to bring it to the safer side where no bullets could come at him. With two legs on one side, hand holding on to the saddle horn and reins, Hobie rides sideways, hiding his body while peeking over and shooting with calculated aim as Bucky runs back towards the path. One by one, the mercenaries fall off their horses with his bullets pierced through their bodies. The road is coated with their blood, leaving trails of rubies for his posse to follow.

Miguel trots closer, shooting at what remains of Hicks' men. The gang hoots at the sight, adrenaline rushing through their veins, and blood heating up from the violence.

While Riri and Karl have their eyes on Hobie, who now sits upright on Bucky, they kick on their horses and off they go, riding side by side with Him. Hicks panics from the sheer volume of horses running after him, with his last bullets, he aims at Bucky's leg.

Hobie beats him to the punch, quickly thrashing his whip made out of jagged metal wires, tearing the skin off of Hicks' arm apart when Hobie pulls hard at it. Hicks screams in sheer agony, tumbling and falling off his horse into the moist ground, soil entering his burns and mouth. When the dust settles, he looks up to only see the end of Hobie's gun.

It's silent in the marsh as the sun shines on his gun; frogs hum in the distance, gators trill when they smell meat while Hicks' labored breathing quickens. Hobie has his gun digging into Hicks’ skull, skin red and angry from his burns. Half of his face has melted into a mess of meat and bones, left eye barely opening from his melted eyelid. A pungent smell permeates from his oozing wounds, clothes torn and burned to ash, and ankle twisted at an angle. Hicks’ hands are buried halfway into the ground as he sinks down to the muddy plains.

Everyone thinks he should be dead by now, even Hicks himself, but death won't grant him the sweet release just yet— not until Hobie takes what he is owed.

“My, don't you look pretty, Hicks.” Hobie doesn't smile nor smirk at the sight of the man who buried him alive five years ago. A man who now kneels before him, disfigured beyond recognition, feeding the soil under him with his own suffering.

“F-fuck y-y-you.” Hicks' lips tremble from the unimaginable pain. “I w-will not b-beg.” He manages to curl half of his melted lips into one final sneer. “Not l-like how you did.”

“I don't want you to beg, Hicks.” Hobie digs the metal harshly, skin ripping and tearing like paper from under the gun. “I need to know where she is. You're dyin' anyway, your last words might as well be somethin' useful.”

Hobie's cold words makes the man scoff that quickly turns into a painful cough. “No. Didn't your old man tell you that revenge is a f-fool's game?”

“This isn't revenge, this is retribution.” Hobie tilts his head, looking behind Hicks where a pack of gators trill and show themselves under the green swamp. “If you tell me, I won't let the gators eat you alive.”

“Wha–?” Hicks' slowly turns his trembling head, skin painfully tugging with every movement. One of the gators snaps its maw, warning with its sharp teeth. The entire gang hears this grown man whimper from fear.

“They look mighty hungry, Hicks. Better hurry up.”

“You'd t-take me away from them?”

“No, I'd put you out of your misery before they get to you. Something you didn't give me back then.”

Hobie can practically see the rusty cogs in Hicks' head turning. “...alright, just don't let them eat m-me.” His burns flares up as he doubles in pain.

Hobie makes the man raise his head with the barrel pushing his chin up. “Sure.”

“She's at the big white house near Blackwater, just west of the r-road. You can't miss it.”

“You lyin’” Hobie doubts the information when he gave it to him too fast. Jaw tightening at the thought of you being so close yet so far from his reach.

“No, I'm not.” Hicks hears the unmistakable sound of the reptile crawling closer. “It's the truth.”

Riri flicks her eyes towards Hobie, leaning close, whispering lowly at his ear. “I know the place.” Hobie doesn't miss the hard look in her eyes. “He's not local, that place is well hidden, he wouldn't know that only the locals know about it.” She glares at the sniveling man, “It's ways away from the road he's talking about. Fucking far from it. Easily missed if you're not familiar with the place.”

Hicks figures out what she's whispering when Hobie's anger flares, hand tightening around his gun. “I'm telling the truth, Hobie. It's there and she's waiting for you! I promise! She's the one lying!” He points a crooked finger at Riri.

“Thought you wouldn't beg.” His fate is sealed with the gators. “Technically you did lie.” Hobie drops his arm, gun aimed away from Hicks. “Off you go with the gators, boss.”

“No, no, Hobie! Please, I'm sorry!” Hicks tries to grab at Hobie's leg, but Hobie kicks him down on the ground and on his back. He tilts his head back, meeting face to face with a ten foot alligator that seems to smile at him.

His screams echo around the marsh while Hobie and the others get on their horses. He watches the gator death roll the flailing Hicks on the muddied ground until the wailing stops completely.

Hobie leads the pack away while he leaves behind the sound of tearing skin and bones cracking under sharp teeth. And all he could think about is you, and how he could've had a good life with you.

—

Draped in chiffon and stab silk, iridescent blues and purples dance along the fabric as light hits it. Expensive fabric that hides all the aching blemishes on your flesh by the same men who claim that they are doing it for your sake, that it's the only way you would obey.

Your hands are tied behind your back with Cross' hand wrapped around your wrists in a sickening grip; preventing you from moving. You shine under the southern sun, all gold and frills but none of the happiness behind your sullen and dull eyes.

For a fleeting moment in those months you were with Hobie, you had peace. You'd stay there forever if you could, if only the world had granted it to you, instead of the pain that it brought down upon you.

You could've had a good life together.

It's been a whole month since the last time you saw Hobie alive. A whole month without hearing his voice, without his loving touch; and a whole month with the same family who has hurt you in every possible way they could. The image of Hobie buried under the rubble of your shared home spirals you over the edge once again. You've cried, wept and sobbed some more, but nothing has helped. You feel like you've died right next to him. You wish you had.

Meanwhile you have a wound that was never meant to be healed inside you. A wound that was momentarily healed, until you were brought back to the reality of your dreaded life.

You instinctively run your finger around the gold band around your finger, finding the unfamiliar diamond instead of the simple gold band that turns your face even more sour at the scalding heat that turns your heavy dress into an oven. You had the foresight to hide Hobie's ring the second you had a chance. It now lays underneath your floorboards waiting for you.

There's a heavy feeling in your chest, grief running along your heart, plunging your very being into darkness. It was like that day five years ago, you have no knowledge of him alive, no way of knowing if Hicks ended him. It's an awful case of déjà vu.

Both men stand beside you, as if they're meant to guard you. The estate stands behind you, its large shadow looming over you. All Its white marble and columns stand tall, doors that don't creak, windows pristine and gleaming— but you'd rather have the pile of ashes you once called home.

This place lacks a heartbeat.

You flick your tired eyes over to the well beside the estate, your body shivers from how cold it was inside, when you sank into it like stone the first time Hicks threw you inside. It's a miracle you didn't break your neck, in that moment, you wished it had.

A carriage arrives from a distance, horses galloping along the road towards the estate. Wispy cypress trees sit around the path, parting way for the dirt road leading to the house. Its soft leaves dance in the wind, leaves fluttering by as you watch the carriage get closer and closer.

“Remember to smile, we can't lose their money.” Hicks grabs the back of your dress, yanking your neck down for emphasis. “Don't be a bitch like last time or you'll get the well tonight. And I heard it'll be cold tonight.”

“I'll be in my best behavior, uncle.” Your glare towards the rich couple exiting the carriage says otherwise.

Hicks only gives you a stern look before letting you go. Cross loosens his grip for a moment and you immediately take your hands in front of you so he couldn't hold you again. You haven't spoken a word to the man you call husband since you arrived at the estate. Your defiance got your bedroom door locked from the outside for now but was taken apart for the first week of your stay. Showing you bare to the entire world, revealing to the world that you're his.

The woman clad in gold and gemstones huffs, flinging away a fly from her painted face. “God, I hate this humidity.”

“This better be good this time, Hicks.” Her husband takes his tophat off, wrinkling his nose at the scent of heat and damp marsh.

“You won't regret traveling for this, Mr. Burnell.” Hicks sucks up to the man. “My, don't you look lovely, Mrs. Burnell.”

She giggles, hiding the blush dusting her cheeks with a fan. “Oh don't be such a gentleman, Hicks.”

“Stop sucking up to my wife, Hicks.” Even though his smile tells you that it's a joke, his tone says that he's completely irked by your uncle. Perhaps this has happened before.

You roll your eyes subtly, Cross’ jaw tightens as he shakes hands with both guests. “It's a pleasure to have you both today.” He says flatly.

“An honour.” Your tone is tight, lips turned into a strained smile.

“I remember you,” the male Burnell smiles faintly at you. “And you too,” he points at Cross. “I was at your wedding, what a wonderful ceremony.” You clench your fists tightly around your lace gloves, almost tearing the fabric.

“Oh I also remember!” His wife claps, “your gown was lovely, and the deviled eggs were to die for!”

You laugh, a sound more akin to a scoff. “I should've had some back then.”

Mr. Burnell reaches for both of your hands, holding you gently as you make a face at him that doesn't quite reach the man's full understanding. “I'm sorry about your aunt, we sent flowers to the funeral. I hope it was to your liking.”

“I wouldn't know, I wasn't there.” You swallow thickly.

“Oh poor dear,” The woman touches your cheek, and you flinch away. She coos as if you're a child. “You couldn't even bear saying goodbye.”

“Sure,” you slide your hands away from the man's hold, and then you take her hand away from your skin. “That's why.”

Hicks inhales deeply, “why don't we go to the gazebo? Tea is being served there.” He takes their attention away from you.

“We came all this way and you don't even have lunch for us?” Mr. Burnell raises a thick brow, his wife agrees with a nod.

“We did.” Cross finally speaks through gritted teeth. “It got cold.” The couple flares their nostrils in annoyance.

“This place was hard to find.”

“You had us waiting for two hours. Hardly an excuse, Mr. Burnell.” Cross doesn't back down from the older man's stare.

“W-what my associate was trying to say was that— we didn't want to serve you all cold beef! No one likes cold beef, correct?” Hicks tries to save the day, but they don't respond. “There's deviled eggs in the gazebo.” That seemed to work as they followed Hicks towards the blue gazebo behind the house.

Cross yanks you back to his side before you could get far. Your chest tightens, threatening to stop your breathing as he whispers towards one of the estate workers to prepare a batch of deviled eggs immediately. The second they leave, you glare at Cross, refusing to touch him even though his fingers dig into your arm.

“Don’t run, Y/N.” He says for the umpteenth time. You would run, and you had a few times while you're with him. But you were only met with your cheeks burning into the shape of his palm, and his hired guns dragging you back inside the mansion with their lassos tied around your ankles.

“I can't even breathe in this dress, moreso run in it.” You try to take your arm back but he stops you with his nails dragging along your sleeves.

“Be good, be fucking obedient. Don't be impossible like you always were.” His green eyes remind you so much of Hobie that it taints his image in your mind. You refuse to let it fog his image.

“I am not a dog, Cross.” You fight back, why shouldn't you? You have nothing to lose now.

He comes close to your face, jade eyes reflecting the fear in your expression, breath wafting over your face. “Then don't act like one.” His eyes pass over your face, finding fear laced in between the creases of your expression. His tone softens, one that sends shivers down your spine. “Why don't you call me by my real name? Cross is our last name, Y/N. Can you call me—”

“No.” You yank yourself away even if it means that his fingers drag along your arm in a manner that makes your skin run cold.

The next thing you know you're sitting next to Mrs. Burnell, who swallows down deviled eggs like its water. The entire table is set all prettily, blue laces sitting under white porcelain, utensils draped in silver, and chairs soft whilst the gazebo with lilacs growing on the roof acts as your shade. A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo. Withering gravestones left unattended, and overgrown grass drowning each of the carved names. It leaves a heavy presence in the back of your mind.

The fork in your hand shakes, silver shining in the sunlight bearing down behind you just as when a pair of red cardinals fly next to the gazebo. The murmurs of the marsh echoes around the estate, gators trilling a few ways away, birds chirping and cawing right next to croaking bullfrogs. You're surrounded by green with a dash of greed as Hicks continues to suck up to the rich prospective partners.

A hand cups your own, and for a flicker, you thought it was Hobie's calloused hand gently holding onto you until his nails jab into your palm. Cross gives you a hard look, gesturing for you to eat instead of staring blankly at the cakes in front of you. With a mocking smile, you take a glass of cold orange juice on your right, condensation drenching your ungloved hand. You don't break eye contact as you gulp down the entire glass, making the Burnells look at you with pinched brows. For the final touch, you exhale loudly as if you were thirsty beyond belief.

Hicks chuckles nervously, eyes darting from you to the rich couple. Cross is fuming silently, letting your hand go limp on the table. An employee comes to your side, refilling your glass as everyone at the table stays in awkward silence. You can't help but puff out your chest with pride. Hobie would've loved to see that. Their faces would be worth it for the wrath you're about to face.

Mr. Burnell clears his throat, “as I was saying, we can't give twenty thousand for only ten percent shares. It's daylight robbery, Hicks.”

“Oh come on, Quentin, you've known me for a long time!” Hicks plays the ‘old friend’ card, a trick you've seen one too many times. “You know I can be trusted, and that ten percent will go higher once we've had our foothold here in America.”

“I do know you, that's why you can't be trusted. Even her aunt knew better when she gave the company to her.” Burnell pauses, bespectacled eyes staring at you briefly. Your lips curl up into a smirk. You probably don't have to work too hard in sabotaging this one. “Besides, that was back when you were the leading manufacturer in the UK. There was a guarantee, now you're here in a country that is practically shitting bullets by the buckets.” He leans back in his seat, “face it, you old dog, there's no profit here for you.”

“He's right,” His wife enters the conversation, dabbing her mouth daintily with a handkerchief. “Why did you even move here in the first place? I heard the company was doing badly back home but not that bad, right?”

Hicks coughs, drinking from his glass, stalling from answering. Cross has had enough, he leans on the table, elbows right next to his untouched plate, white suit unblemished.

“Because I'm here.” He takes your hand, making a show of it for the Burnells. He's using the ‘I love my wife’ card. Surprisingly, it's only the second time he has used it on the rich and stupid. “And my wife deserves to be with her husband, yes?” The couple looks at each other, then returns their attention to you as you try incredibly hard not to vomit all over the table. “I've…ignored her for far too long while I'm always here tending to my own business.” He clasps the back of your hand with his free hand. “We were deeply saddened by her aunt's passing, but I saw a silver lining. Taking the tragedy and turning it into something better by bringing her and her family business here to my home so we could finally start having our own family here without the dark cloud looming over us.” He was right about one thing, your aunt was a dark cloud looming over everyone. Cross leaned close, pecking your hand chastely. “Right, love?”

You close your eyes to prevent yourself from heaving out what little you've eaten. “Right.” Tone small and disgusted, you have the sudden urge to stab his eyes out with a fork. For a second, your mind gives you that exact image. Seeing his blood spurt out from his sockets and spraying on the deviled eggs.

For some reason, even with the disgusted look on your face, the Burnells' hard exterior softens. The missus clutches the pearls on her chest as if she just heard the most romantic story, and the male Burnell nods along with a fond smile. “You two remind me of my first marriage.” His wife chuckles, you frown, eyebrows knitted together as Cross plays along to his concocted story.

They continue their negotiation with more enthusiasm. Hicks pats Cross gladly on the shoulder, already drafting up a contract on a piece of parchment. Thankfully, Cross has let you go. Free to wipe your hand on your dress. You replay the last minute in your mind, like you're stuck in the moment he touched you with his dry lips upon the same hand you used to cradle Hobie's face with.

The conversation fades into the background, a thought passes you by, one that you're too grief stricken to see until now. Why is Cross even helping Hicks? He has the money to fund whatever the factory needs, he doesn't even need to be in the conversation. He has nothing to gain from this. He already has you, so why does he seem so desperate to get this partnership?

Then it hits you, he's as bankrupt as Hicks. Hicks, who drove the company to the ground with his moronic decisions the second your great aunt was in the ground. And Cross, there was never a day in your short marriage with him that he wasn't out gambling his family fortune away, or going to exotic places you've only read in books. When he doesn't have his hands on you, he's at the nearest pub or the derby races, betting everything in his pockets. You always just thought he had that much money to lose. But you were wrong. And the only reason you're here is because of the money your parents have set aside for you, money that is tied up with the company or what is left of it— the company that you own and have the last say in. Until your name isn't written in that contract that Hicks shoves in your face every morning, they have nothing.

“You have nothing.” You blurt out, you don't regret it immediately.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Burnell says, offended.

“Not you, I know you have money.” You place your elbows on the table, chin propped up on your scarred palm. “I was talking about my dear uncle and beloved husband.” Your words drip with venom and sarcasm.

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Burnell asks, concerned, either for your well being with the two men or for the money she almost lost.

“Shut it, Y/N.” Hicks says through gritted teeth, eyes warning you.

“Don't tell a woman to shut up, Hicks.” Surprisingly, Mr. Burnell defends you. “Speak, girl.” And there goes your respect.

“They don't have anything.” Cross tries to yank your hand back but you quickly tug yourself away. “Hicks is lying, the company is losing money, not gaining it. Production has been down since they moved here, probably because Hicks doesn't know how to run a company.”

You continue your tirade without missing a beat. “He was a manager before marrying my aunt, but he was a shit manager. If not for Peter—” you inhale and clear your mind. “All I'm saying is, he's asking for a scapegoat for the debt collectors, not a business partner.” You flick your eyes mockingly towards the seething Hicks. Meanwhile, Cross sits quietly, you're afraid but you have to continue. “I retract my previous words.” Hicks inhales with relief. “It's not probably, it's definitely.” He stutters, trying to save face but you continue. “He's overworking the workers and because of that there's more mistakes. More mistakes means more bullets that come out a little crooked. That's good, if your targets swerve to the left.”

“She's lying!” Hicks laughs shakily, fists slamming down on the table. “You know how women are? She's hysterical because of her aunt's passing.”

You scoff. “You said it yourself, Mr. Burnell, you don't trust Hicks.” All eyes are on you. Your words fill you with pride, Hobie would be proud. “As for Cross, I wouldn't even trust him with my coin pouch.”

The Burnells seemingly believe you, heads turned slowly towards Cross and Hicks, eyes boring holes in their foreheads. “Looks like we wasted our time. You're right, honey, we should've gone for the Winchester instead of this clown show.”

“You believe me?” You ask, bewildered. “That quick?”

“We passed by the factory on our way here, that's why we were late.” Burnell answers back. Already taking his belongings to leave. “We saw the horrid conditions. We were naive to believe that it was like that because you're still getting used to the transition.” He helps his wife up as Hicks follows behind the couple. Cross stays behind silently while you stay with the Burnells in hopes that they'd take you with them. “Thank you, girl.”

“You're welcome, c-can I—” The couple gets in their carriage, eyes blinking at you. “Can I come with you?” You sound like a child, voice trembling in hope that they'll say yes. “Please.”

Hicks chuckles incredulously right next to them, but his eyes grow dark at your request, a warning. Cross appears behind you, green eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat, lips clamped into a fine line.

“What for, girl?” Mr. Burnell asks, “We don't need any more bootlicking. We're not giving you the money for the factory.”

You flex your fists on your sides, eyes darting in between Hicks and Cross. Heart thumping, you have to try. “I don't— it's not that. I don't need the money. I—”

“So you do have the money for the company then? Why bother asking us?” The older man cuts you off, scoffing while his wife rolls her eyes. “Kids these days, so greedy.” He gets in the carriage, following his wife.

“Wait! Please!” It's too late as they run off in the distance. In your desperation, you start to run after them. But before you could go far, Cross stops you with his arms embracing you from behind. “No! Please come back! They're hurting me here—!” Your flailing stops when Hicks steps in front of you with his gun raised.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?” He clicks the hammer down, finger right on the trigger. “You've doomed us.”

With tears in your eyes, Cross holds you against him tighter. Chest aching, breath stolen from you. “No, just you!” Yet, you continue to fight. You might've lost hope a long time ago if not for Hobie. Hope that you'll get out like last time, hope that Hobie will be there waiting for you. But there's a part of you that just wants to let go. Looking over your shoulder, you're met with familiar green eyes that used to fill you with calm. “And you.”

“I should shoot you right here.”

“Do it then. But you can't because without my signature you're fucking broke!” With a cackle, Hicks yanks the back of your head, taking you from Cross' arms, dragging you towards the well. Body scraping against soil, you try to scratch at his hands but it doesn't deter him as his anger fuels him.

“Fucking bitch, you keep ruining shit!” He yanks you to your feet, and then pressing your front to the mouth of the well while pushing you down harshly, making you look down at the depths.

You yelp, sharp rocks digging into your stomach, eyes forced to look down at the deep dark well. It's cold down there, you wonder if this is what it felt like for Hobie back at the farm. Staying quiet, your hands grip the sides to keep your balance, a bead of sweat falling down and leaving ripples as it hits the stagnant water.

“What, no begging or screaming and crying this time?” Hicks latches on your hair tightly, scalp burning from his hold.

“I've gotten used to the dark. You won't hear me begging ever again.” Your voice echoes down to the bottom. “You can't hurt me anymore, not in the way that matters.” Releasing your hold on the sides, you lean closer to the edge. Expecting the cold embrace and the familiar weightlessness, it doesn't come.

There's a scoff above before you're let go. “I have to correct your fuck up.” He seethes, giving your leg a swift kick as you lay your head on the stone. “Deal with her.”

“I'm not one of your employees, Hicks.” Cross challenges him.

“She's your fucking wife. You discipline her while I go to the factory. As for you,” he flicks the shell of your ear. “Your name better be on that contract when I get back.” You hear their continued bickering whilst you even out your breathing. Just like what Hobie would tell you.

After a rustle of clothing and dress shoes thumping on the ground, you fall on your knees, still clutching the well. Face hidden from Cross, he sighs, hand reaching towards you. Feeling the sickening familiarity of his hand wrapped around your arm, you instinctively flinch away.

“Why couldn't you just obey, just this once?”

You heave, furrows knitted in anger. Looking over your arm, your glare sends goosebumps up his arms. “I'm not one of your hounds.”

“Then why do you kneel like one?” The sun behind him engulfs his entire form, turning him into a breathing shadow.

“Go fuck yourself, Cross.” You shakily stand up while avoiding his gaze. Walking towards the house, you clench your fists until you feel your blunt nails leave pin pricks of crimson

“I'm trying here, Y/N. You're making it impossible.” He yanks you back, neck craned to the side to look at you. “I'm holding back but you're not making this easy.”

“You sound like this is all my fault.” You still avoid his eyes, forgoing to look at the tree behind him. “I'm not the one who gambled all your money away. And I didn't force you to marry me.” His fingers pull you closer.

“Look at me.”

“Fuck you—” you try to escape but he's stronger.

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” He forcefully turns your head with his hand burrowing into your chin.

With apprehension, you chuckle, a cracked dry laughter. Your eyes slowly move to the green eyes in front of you. “I'll never look at you like that. Nothing you do will make me look at you with the same love I give to him.”

Cross swallows thickly, jaw tightening. “Why him?”

“It felt right. We share the same heart.” It's the first truth you've said in a month, and for once you smile genuinely. “I'll always love him, remember that.”

He inhales, and you wait for the impact.

“Sir?” The housekeeper asks from the side, hands wringing in front of her. “Is everything alright?” Her brown hair shimmers in the sun like copper, lips turned into a fine line.

She reminds you of the former housekeeper that tried to help you by taking your letter addressed to Hobie. Cross found out about it, you haven't seen her since then.

“We're alright, Belinda.” Cross lets you go, leaving a mark on your arm. “Fetch me my hunting rifle.”

You leave with haste, hands shaking as you hitch your skirt up. You can feel his sickly green eyes on you, like a shadow that envelops you whole.

You've crossed the line, and you fear that this is the end for you.

—

Pacing around your room, you walk around and hold your breath. It's like waiting for the gallows, waiting for the bullet to hit you. Hobie's ring is back on your finger instead of what Cross gave you on your wedding day, which is the exact same one you left on the bedside table when you escaped. You twist it around your finger as the room shifts and twirls in your vision.

The room is finely decorated with daffodils painted on the walls, gold fixtures on the ceiling with painted deers trotting overhead on fields of green on the ceiling. The room looks like it used to be a child's room. A pale blue bed sits in the middle of the room, draped in a satin canopy. It's a stark contrast to the room back at the farm, all wood and none of the gilded walls. But you'd choose that a hundred times over if given the chance. Especially if Hobie's there waiting for you.

You feel like you're slowly disappearing into the walls.

Your eyes have been glued to the door as you chew your nails. You'd lock the doors from the inside if the locks weren't instead bolted from the outside. Tears brim at your eyes, but you refuse to let it go as you sniff. You miss your home, you miss the smell of dew in the morning. You miss Clover and how she cuddles on your side. You miss Cherry and Bucky and your afternoon rides with them. You miss him, you miss Hobie and how he holds you gently, how he talks to you about things. It's him talking so you'd listen and speak with him until the sun decides to sleep. You miss his voice telling you that everything will be alright.

You wonder if everything will still be alright when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.

Cross doesn't knock, and you wait at the foot of your bed, standing straight, eyes forward and daunting despite your fear. If he shoots you through the door now, would Hobie be there to greet you on the other side as darkness engulfs you one last time?

This house will be a tomb. Your tomb.

The door doesn't creek as Cross opens it. “Hunt with me, just like old times.” He has a rifle strapped to his back, suit traded in for his haunting gear, still clad in white leather. Your eyes flick over to the two guns on his belt. If only you could take it from him. Or at least one.

“Giving me a gun? Do you think that's wise?” You cross your arms over your chest, clearing your throat so he doesn't notice the shaking of your voice.

“Why? You'd shoot me in the back?” He asks chidingly.

“In a heartbeat.” You say without even a hint of a joke. “What's even out there, Cross? What are we hunting down?”

“A deer.”

“I don't think there are any deer out here.” A dangerous silence hangs in the air, choking you as he stares deeply at you. You inhale, swallowing down your fear as best as you can. “If you give me a knife instead, I will stab your eye out. Killing other things won't keep us from killing each other.”

He clicks his tongue, hand on the gun like he's mocking you. “Take the dog instead.” Taking the leash off his belt he holds it out for you. “A dog for a hound. At least this one is loyal.”

“Which end of the leash is the hound?”

“What do you want, Y/N, hm?” Tossing the leash harshly, he stalks closer, and you flinch back. A doe caught in the coyote's eye. “I broke your heart, I get it. Do you want me to apologize to you?”

“My heart? That's the only thing you haven't broken yet.” He stops a few feet away from you, yet still too close to you. “You broke my body until I could barely recognize myself anymore. My arms bear the shape of your nails, my scalp remembers the sharp tugs of your hands.” You exhale as a tear falls down your cheek. “Hobie broke my heart, but he pieced it together, piece by tiny piece.” You point at him repeatedly. “You, you broke everything else.”

“If this is about your aunt—”

“Fuck you! This isn't about her.” If this is really your end, you don't want to leave without saying the words you've been meaning to say out loud. You tremble for a second before grinning with tears in your eyes. "I'm glad she's gone. Her hold on me is gone.” You chuckle breathlessly, sighing loudly. “There I said it. It's like a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Y/N,” there it is, the patronizing tone he uses on you. He's about to guilt you into something you haven't had a hand in, or chastise you like a child.

“Stop being so fucking delusional, take the blinders off for one fucking minute.” The fire in you latches on you. “This is about you and how you hurt me the second you brought me home after the wedding. You knew that I never wanted to marry anyone else, and that my aunt and Hicks hurt me back home. And instead of helping me, taking me away from them, you joined them.”

“I got you out of there. I married you.”

You laugh without an ounce of humour, clapping wildly. “Well thank you very much, Cross!”

“I tried for a little while, Y/N. But I'm your husband, and you continued to disobey so I had to go to them, ask them for advice.” He walks closer, you stop him with a hand in front of you, as if it will shield you from him. You've tried that once, it didn't work.

“Nothing you do will make me forgive you. I hope you drown in your guilt if you even have an ounce of it. I hope you lay awake at night thinking of how much you hurt me. I'd rather die than forgive you.” Cross steps forward with an unreadable expression, and the back of your knees hits the bed as you try to get away. You eye the gun, you fear that you won't keep your promise to Hobie.

The world already ended for you when Hicks killed him.

Cross tries again. You think it'll be the last time he will the second he walks closer to you, so close that you can see yourself in his eyes. “Sign the papers, Y/N, and everything will be over.”

“You know the second I sign it, Hicks will kill me.” Your eyes wander towards his unlatched gun.

“I won't let that happen.”

You laugh in his face, “Sure, but you'll let him hurt me. Might as well sign my death warrant instead.” Standing back up, you inch towards him bravely despite your instincts telling you to shield yourself. You have to get that gun. “I–I tried to love you at first, and remained optimistic in this marriage.” His eyes are on your face, irises darting over your lips while you sneak your hand towards his gun belt slowly. “Even indulging my idiotic childish whims of what a marriage could be like. But I couldn't, not when you hurt me just like they did. Only because I didn't love you like how you thought I would.” Your hand finds the cold metal, fingers wrapping around the handle. “For a second there I thought you'd be my saviour, when in fact it was the opposite. You joined them instead. You were just as bad as them.”

You stand toe to toe with him. You hear a glass breaking downstairs, and then the smell of something familiar. Snatching the gun quickly, you aim it at his stomach, steel meeting flesh. You feel the same sensation against your chest.

“I love you.” Cross utters, finger right on the trigger.

“I've seen love, this isn't it.” With your cold words, you shoot.

Both guns go off.

Both hitting their targets.

—

The sun is just beginning to set, orange peeking from the horizon, hues of pink and orange blanketing the three men. Each inhale from the cigarette perched in each of their lips has grey smoke filtering through their lungs. They should be guarding the front door like they were hired to do, instead they chainsmoke their way out into an early grave while hiding behind the estate, facing the vast green marsh that hides their debauchery from the rest of the world.

“You hear any cryin’ last night?” The one with an auburn beard asks, his rifle leaning against the wall right next to him instead of in his hand like it was supposed to be in.

A dark haired man answers, belching out smoke while crouched on the ground, eyes narrowed at the whispering willows. “Yeah, i think the stable boy wasn't lying, there's a fuckin' ghost here.”

“You two think it's a fucking ghoul or some shit?” The third one replies with a scoff, blonde hair peeking out from his hat as he takes a swig of moonshine.

“Yeah,” The first two responds, spine tingling when a cold breeze passes through them.

“It's the boss’ wife, not a ghost, you morons.” As the yellowed haired man responds, a bright flicker of light appears in between the willow trees. “What the fuck?” The two men next to him follows his terrified gaze, cigarettes falling off their lips.

The light moves, as if it dances in the wind. It flickers, brightening up into an orange glow before turning yellow once again. The three outlaws move from the wall, eyes glued on the mesmerizing ball of light.

“Fuck, it's a swamp ghost—” the one with the red beard gasps, choking on his own blood, frantically trying to stop his neck from gushing out ichor with a knife stuck to his throat.

The other two only had a split second to react before a sharp knife slashes at their exposed necks. They mirror each other, shirts stained with red, palms coated in warmth and crimson while they frantically try to stop the bleeding. They croak and creak out, eyes managing to fall upon hazel eyes, and one with his face covered in soot. They both hold a glinting knife, blood still trickling down from the steel.

Miguel leaves from his hiding place in the thicket, eyes flicking briefly towards their twitching forms before returning his gaze at the ball of light. He nods to Riri and Karl, who stand above the corpses. And then he gestures with his gloved hand, giving the warm light a small nod.

The light comes closer, footsteps echoing as boots sink in moist soil— appearing behind the darkness of the trees and into the fading light of the sun. Hobie's face is revealed behind the light with a lit cigarette in between his lips, shadows dancing around the fury behind his green eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. He inhales before flicking the cigarette away, falling into a puddle. More appear behind him, trees and bushes parting before the dozen men and women following in his steps.

“Karl, light the oleander for me will you?” Hobie tosses the bag of pink flowers in Karl's waiting hands. And then he takes his knife back from the auburn haired corpse, wiping it on the grass before sheathing it back on his belt.

“D’you think that'll work? What if she gets caught in it?” Riri whispers, gesturing for the gang to crouch down and hide beside the wall where the trio were last seen smoking.

Hobie drags one of the bodies, hiding it behind the bushes while the rest of the gang help with the other two. He follows Riri, blood rushing in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins at how close you are from him. It's only a matter of time before you're back safe and sound.

“She knows the smell, she'll cover her nose.” His voice doesn't waver, but his insides are turning and twisting inside him. He can't fail. “As for everyone, cover your damn noses, and protect your eyes as much as you can.”

“This won't kill us right?” Karl weighs the bag in his hands.

Miguel checks his bullets beside him, giving Hobie and Riri a once over if their weapons are lacking. “At most it'll make us sick and itch. Right, Hobie?”

“Just don't inhale it directly.” Hobie yanks his bandana up to his nose, fitting it snugly. He notices his hands shaking, closing his fists tightly, he cannot fail. A month of tracking you down can't end with him failing to save you, he can't lose you. “You know what to do, Karl. Ri go with him.”

“Hobie,” she clasps the back of his fist. “Be careful, alright? If you get hurt, call Roberto, he'll treat you.” Inhaling sharply, she pats his cheek. “Get her back but don't die on us, alright?”

Hobie couldn't look directly at Riri, “She goes first, Ri.”

“I know, that's why we brought Roberto with us, remember? He's the doctor, he knows what to do and…what to expect, if need be.”

Hobie nods, staring at his family. “Thank you for backing me up, I owe you. All of you.”

“Don't die and we're even, Hobie.” Miguel pats Hobie's bicep before heading to his designated position.

“What he said,” Karl smiles brightly, fist connecting to Hobie's clenched one gently. “Also if I don't return from this, Robbie's gonna fucking kill you, man.”

Hobie cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know. Try to stay alive for the both of us then.” Karl makes his way towards the front while Riri staggers behind, still holding onto Hobie's hand. “Just like Valentine, right?” Riri smiles, hiding her trepidation behind her bandana. He fixes the cloth over her face carefully, tugging it over her nose and ears. “Keep that snug.” She could only nod, eyes brimming with tears. “Don't die on us too, Ri.” With a quick embrace, she leaves, following behind Karl who was waiting for her.

Hobie takes a second to breathe. He has done things like this a hundred times before, but never with you on the line. He can't leave without you like last time. He won't cower behind wooden walls like last time, he's not gonna stand here and tremble and rot and bleed. He's going to get you back. He knows he will.

There's a gunshot echoing inside the estate just as when a glass window breaks, signaling the beginning of the end.

—

The house falls and chaos reigns. They tried to stick to their plan of using stealth, but of course someone saw them and alerted everyone in their presence. Karl got the oleander thrown inside the halls, puffs of pinkish fumes swell out from the bag. Hobie sees the result of it as black smoke turns the estate into the pits of hell. Hobie's eyes waters but he continues to strike anyone who wasn't on his side. He throws his spiked whip towards someone who tried to shoot at Karl, the barbed whip rakes and breaks skin as he tugs and pulls until the man falls down next to his shredded flesh.

Screams echo around the estate, his posse lets go of the innocent unarmed employees while the others aren't so lucky the second they aim back.

They try to fight their way inside, finally thinning the outlaws outside as flames trickle from the burning bag towards the velvet curtains. Embers climb up until they hit the ceiling, fire licking at the once white walls, leaving burn marks in its wake.

A few of the hired guns surrender after recognising Miguel's gang, some were fools who tried to shoot them down but his allies were in greater numbers. More experienced, more bloodthirsty than the hired guns.

All the winning cards are in his hand, all he needs to do is play them right.

“Miguel!” Hobie yells while he and three others try to push through the main doors that refuse to budge open.

Miguel, who was currently brawling with a man taller than him, grunts when a fists harshly connects at his jaw. Hobie curses under his breath, without wasting a second, he aims and shoots. Gunpowder fills his lungs once more as the burly man falls on top of Miguel in a thud.

Hobie stalks towards Miguel, he shoots someone who was aiming at him on his left, his bullet doesn't miss even without him looking at the target. He grabs the body by its vest, yanking it off Miguel.

“Get up,” he reaches for the breathless gang leader, hazel eyes smiling at his old friend.

“I had that, Hobie!” Despite his broken nose, Miguel is back on his feet the moment he takes Hobie's helping hand. “Retirement, huh?”

Hobie shakes his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Fuckin' retirement.” Reloading his gun, he goes back to the locked doors with Miguel now in tow. “On three!” His shoulders meet with the oak, “one!” Miguel nods next to him, bracing himself on the door. “Two!” A few more join in, ready to push the moment he says, “three!”

The doors burst open, splintering wood scattering, smoke coming out into the fray. Hobie meets with Sheriff Lee's eyes before a bullet hits him directly on his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He falls on his knees, clutching his wound as blood seeps through his fingers.

“Should've left when you had the chance, Mr. Brown!” Lee taunts, reloading his hunting rifle, giving Miguel enough time to drag Hobie back outside and placed behind the wall. “Come back here, murderer!”

A few shots ring out, both parties exchanging bullets. Your face appears in front of him before it’s replaced by the doctor's face. He needs to get you out quickly before the oleander takes hold. Hands tie a bandana around his wound, Hobie stands up the second that the cloth is tightened.

“Keep that on!” Roberto yells above the booming gunfire. “I’ll fix you properly right after this!”

Hobie nods, blinking the haze away. Miguel shakes him awake while avoiding his injury. “Lee's down! We'll handle the rest down here, we heard that she's upstairs.”

“Okay,” Hobie inhales and exhales, I'm almost there, love.

When the bullets stop flying inside the now bullet ridden manor, he steps foot inside. Glass crunches at his feet, eyes darting and alert from any surprises. He sees bodies littered on the marble floors, both from his side and Lee's. The sheriff lays under a pile of broken vase, eyes wide open, fingers still enclosed around his gun. The smoke thickens, and he hears blasts reverberating around the house.

Miguel's posse storms the place, pocketing whatever shines inside the house. A few more bullets are shot from deep inside the walls, but it's clear who's the winner. Hobie just wants you back.

Just as when he's about to climb the winding stairs with his throbbing shoulder, he sees a man stagger out from a room. “Is that—?” The bloodied man in the hunting gear trips and falls off the railing, plunging down right next to where Hobie's standing.

Cross lays on his own puddle of rubies, a gaping hole in his stomach instead of his insides. “H-help me,” Begging, he looks at Hobie with his bloodshot eyes, reaching towards Hobie's leg with his broken hand. “She's upstairs. Y-you can have her.”

“Is that him?” Miguel asks, and Riri appears from the side. Eyes watching the wounded man. Hobie nods, eyes never leaving Cross.

Hobie aims at Cross' head, seething. “She is not a thing to be had.” His aim stays true, but he shakes his head, lowering his gun down. “Nah, I'll let her bullet kill you.”

Miguel smirks, while Riri and him have a silent communication. “Don't worry, Hobie, we got rich boy.” He takes out his lasso from his waist, crossing the distance towards the dying Cross.

Riri gestures for Hobie to continue up the stairs. “Go! We'll be waiting.”

With a grateful nod, Hobie runs up the stairs towards his fire and his light. His heavy footsteps echo, breathing staggered as he thinks of you. What if he finds you in the same condition as Cross? What would he do if he sees you bleeding out? So he runs despite his own injuries, to see you again, to hold you again.

He follows the blood trail once he gets close enough, instead of your smiling face greeting him back, he stares at your body covered in crimson. Soft blue bed sheets stained with dark rubies. Arms spread on the bed as you lay on the soft mattress with your eyes unblinking towards the ceiling.

Hobie calls for you, air sucked from his lungs with every step he takes. He reaches for you, tears turning you into a watercolor painting in his vision. Red and blues blending into a watery picture.

You feel like you're in the bottom of a well, staring up at your aunt's sneering face. Your breathing is labored while the bullet is stuck in your chest, right below your ribcage. There's no pain, no feeling in your fingers as you see Hobie's face appear from above. Head perfectly lined up with the deer antlers painted on the ceiling.

“Found the deer, Cross.” You murmur, eyes hazy, lips barely opening.

“Stay awake, love.” Hobie's hand trembles as he rips his bandana off to stave off the bleeding by plugging the wound. You cry from the sudden pain, hands flying towards his wrists. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” His tears flow down your cheek. “This'll be over, I need to carry you.”

“Hobie?” Your eyes focus on his face, meeting with his viridescent eyes. “Are you real?” Nails dig into his flesh, you sob, fingers shaking whilst you reach for his face. The pads of your fingers brush along his jaw, stubble returning you back to reality. “I'm so s-sorry, I should've told you.”

“None of that.” He holds onto the back of your hand, letting your palm rest on his cheek, lips brushing along your wrist. The matching rings reflect the growing fire ebbing towards the room.

“It h-hurts, Hobie.”

Sniffing, burning wood enters his lungs, sobs threatening to pull him down to you. “I know, I know.” He wipes the tears and the sweat off your forehead. “But we need to move, love, there's a fire and I need to carry you down.”

You gaze at his green eyes, sorrow and grief twisting and turning behind them. They remind you of home, of Clover, of Cherry and Bucky. And you remember your promise to him, an impossible promise that you will try to keep. But if it means that it's his end too, you have to break it. For his sake.

You grip his shoulders, Hobie notices how weak your hold on him is. “Okay, okay, carry m-me down.” There's a taste of copper in your mouth, lips coated in the bitter taste.

He nods, wiping his tears with his sleeves before sliding his hand behind your back, finding your warm blood sticking to the bedsheets. “I got you.” Whispering against your crown, he lifts you up mere inches away from the bed before you scream in agony. “‘m sorry!” He cries into your hair, your grip weakening even more.

“W-we can try again.” You slide your palm to his nape, “try again, Hobie.”

Hobie flicks his eyes towards you, the light behind your eyes is starting to dim. “Help!” He yells in desperation at the door, in hopes that someone comes bounding up the stairs. “Riri! Miguel! Anyone!”

Your heart breaks, “Hobie, Hobs.” Patting his chest, it's getting harder to breathe. “L-leave. Leave me here.” Hobie's already shaking his head. You smile softly at him, the best you could do despite your body dying. “You have to, you can't die here.”

“And you do?” He cups your face, “we still have forever to go, remember?”

He doesn't want you to come back as a dream anymore, or a shadow embracing him from behind; or a pain in his chest when he hears your name in his mind. He doesn't want your ghostly kiss to taste like ashes on his lips.

He doesn't want you to go.

“I'm sorry, I can't keep my promise. B-but you still can.” You weakly push down at his nape to feel his forehead against yours one last time. Your eyes are starting to close. “Live for me, would you?”

“No, please.” His palm slides right above your heart, feeling your heartbeat slow down. One last time, he yells for help. His throat burns as the ceiling above is engulfed in flames. No one comes to help. “I have to break my promise too, love.”

“Don't, please.”

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?”

You accept death in his warm embrace. “I'll see you in a bit then.”

Flames engulf the room in its fiery destruction. Paint melting off the walls, wood and glass cracking under the pressure. And yet, he still holds on to you, lips pressed on your cold lips in a fleeting goodbye.

“Hobie!”

—

In the middle of nowhere sits the remnants of a farm with clovers growing all around it. Vines snaking along what remains of the farm house, and in those vines, pink hydrangeas grow and thrive amidst the cinders. And behind those darkened wood sits two graves with clovers growing on top of the soil. Two names are etched on simple limestone graves, they bear the same last name and same date of death.

Many travelers pass through the place without ever knowing the story behind the two graves. Seasons come and go, flowers bloom and wither. But only a few ever knew what used to stand on the emerald farm. What used to grow, what colour the house was, and who used to live in it. Stories were whispered and told but only a few truly knew the story behind it, few who came and visited and placed flowers on each of the graves.

And in those few, only three of them know that the once abundant farm where two graves were dug right under an oak tree, are empty.

The stories and the graves were enough to fool anyone left that wants to hurt either one of you to turn back and lament.

The true story lies behind the northern border, where pine trees grow up to the skies. Where snow and ice envelops the whole place. Where the two names etched on the gravestones in the empty farm now live.

“Stop bullyin’ your brother.” The dappled foal yelps, trotting away from his much bigger older brother. The dark horse with white splotches turns his bright blue eyes towards Hobie, huffing and puffing like an annoyed teenager. “Don't huff at me,” great, now he's the one talking to horses. “Go tell your dad not to have any more kids. Not my problem, junior.” The young horse rears, running towards the barn where Buckeye and Cherry sleeps.

Hobie leans on the fence, watching the sunrise on his expansive land. Horses and foals run around freely, feeling the cold gust of wind in their manes. A few sheep roam the grounds, while a pair of cows chew their way towards the fences. Snow-capped mountains rise up high in the background, white snow dusted along the rocks like sugar. While the trees dotted along the mountainside makes for the perfect scenic view. He pulls at his jacket closer to himself, fur tickling his nose as he breathes out puffs of smoke from the cold temperature. Winter’s coming, he can feel it in his joints as another breeze rolls in. He smiles in contentment when the air carries the sound of ducks quacking from their coop, and the smell of morning dew passing by. No more does the smell of fiery gunpowder graze his senses, and no sounds of bullets firing ringing in his ears.

He keeps his hat snug on his head, Clover runs by with her litter of puppies tugging along. And he feels you before you arrive by his side. A smile tugs on his lips, hand already reaching for your waist.

“What are you thinking about, cowboy?” You flutter your eyelashes, chin placed in his shoulder.

“That I have it good, too good.”

You give him a tender smile, leaning to kiss his jaw. “None of that. This isn't too good for you, you deserve all of this.”

“Too early to wallow, huh?” Hobie wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and then he twists around to face you fully, back leaning on the fence, admiring you in the bitter blue of dawn.

You find penchants on his sternum, nose nuzzling his scar. “So fucking early.” He laughs, music to your ears.

“Hard to get used to, huh?”

“Kind of, it's a good feeling though, waking up.”

“You feel okay, right?” His palm pats your chest gently where a scar lies. “No breathlessness? Nothin'?”

You sniff at the cool wind, “nothing, I'm fine, Hobie.” You cup his cheek, jaw rounded at the edges, scruff tickling you, he looks as if time hasn't passed. “Nothing to worry about.” He leans towards your touch, fingers bracelet around your wrist gently, lips meeting your skin. “You okay?”

“Never better, love.” His green eyes twinkle, free arm pulling you impossibly closer. “Especially today.”

You tilt your head playfully. “What's today exactly?”

“Cheeky,” he pokes your side. “You know what day it is.”

You feign realization. “Ah! I remember now, Riri and the gang are coming over.”

“Yes, and?” He grins, biting his lower lip, jade eyes crinkling at the corners. Seeing the matching rings on your finger and his own makes him smile wider.

You suck in your teeth, acting like you're thinking. “It's Bucky's birthday?” Hobie rolls his eyes with a chuckle, and you finally relent. “I know what day it is.” You lean away, taking out a letter addressed to Hobie from your pocket. It's filled with affectionate words, loving thoughts and everything in between. It's a love letter just for him. “Happy anniversary, Hobs.”

Hobie's chest fills with a sense of belonging, heart full with his love for you. He keeps the letter in his coat pocket, right above his heart. “Happy anniversary, lovie.” He pulls you back, you giggle as your palm hits his chest, fingers snaking up to his nape to guide him towards your waiting lips.

“Forgot something, cowboy?” You say against his lips, and he nudges your nose with his own.

You feel something grazing against your chin, and when you flick your eyes down, you see a letter written in his hand, addressed to you. You tamp down your excitement, snatching the envelope, giving it a peck and tucking it inside your jean pocket.

“Never, read it together like always?” He pecks your warm lips once, then twice before indulging himself in your warmth.

“Yes,” you utter, breathlessly. “But inside, your tea, and the girls are waiting.”

Hobie chortles, kissing you again before reluctantly pulling away. “They're awake?”

“They smelt breakfast.” You inhale, letting his sandalwood and mint scent waft over you with ease. “If you hurry, there might still be some left for you.” You begin to walk away, hand grasping his palm.

“Alright, just one more then we'll go.” He pulls you back to his chest gently as you giggle atop his lips. He kisses you like he did all those years ago.

In the middle of nowhere, his story begins. And in the middle of nowhere, his story ends with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking around this long! Our beloved cowboy is finally happy and at peace 🥺 If you loved reading OPIN please consider reblogging ❤️

[callmelexy]

"It's ok to want things" - Tashi, Jan 2023

As with how things go in my life, talking / writing through my feelings is a big one. This past CNY has kept me on my toes. The amount of plot twists and changes happening got me good. I was, yet again, stuck in my own head.

As i become more and more concious of things, this festive season has highlighted how being tired lowers my mental inhibition. Feelings like jealousy, anger and frustration ruled my life for a few days. I was somewhat concious enough to catch myself a few times... Which makes me wonder about the times where I didn't catch myself. But that's a topic for another day. Hahaha...

I was watching the episode of New Girl where Schmidt and Cece got married. There's a scene where Cece's mother shows up for the wedding and plays the multiple voicemails Schmidt left for her. Jumping forward, another scene where Schmidt finally gets off the plane and walks into an intimate wedding ceremony. My eyes filled up with tears and i started taking bigger bites from my ice cream pint.

I called up my best friend to talk through the feelings I had. As i ranted on about being single and wondering where my Prince Charming is... She said "You've always wanted to get married! I know that! Everybody knows that!". And you have no idea how stunned I was on the inside. She followed up with "And its ok to want it".

Just days before, the same friend asked me why I don't believe the man of my dream exists. And my answer was simply "I don't know if he exists. Because i already won the jackpoot with family, friends, work etc. Would I really struck gold with a good life partner?"

Tying these two incidents together, I saw the undeclared voice that lurked in the corner... I feel like wanting to get married, with no partner in sight, was desperate. It went against my "girlboss", "independent bitch" image that I had built up over the years... Or at least it's what's built in my head.

Moving forward in the conversation, she mentioned "solat hajat" or "the prayer of need" in Islam. Diving into some videos, it's a prayer that can be done, any time, anywhere, any day to ask God for what you want. That surprised me... I can ask for what i want?! That sounds "easy'. Just ask lor...

I decided to do just that. As i bowed my head towards my window. I asked in my heart for what I want. I poured my heart out. Even saying "If marriage is not in my cards, please show me a sign". Although I didn't say it, i believe the universe could see the vulnerability I carried. The fear of not finding someone, the fear of not being good enough for anyone, the fear of drowning in this life cycle.

As I finished my heartfelt prayer, I attempted to head to sleep. I even tried reading. But i ended up here... On my couch, facing my window... Writing this post. Because shortly after I finished praying, I saw the wants and needs of those I love. A friend who really wants to move. A friend who is scared of marriage because of freedom. A friend battling the feelings of being betrayed by people she formerly trusted. A friend's inability to ask for marriage from her partner. A friend struggling with finances and wanting it to be sorted. Another friend struggling to finish her studies. (Masking all family and friends as "friends" cause it's easier)

As I saw things in a clearer picture, it's truly ok to want what we want.

But it isn't ok to demand for it instantly.

With things unfolding at their own time and space, we can only be vulnerable enough to admit to what we want and go for it. Perhaps a portion of suffering is the inability to articulate what we want followed by an inability to make a move because it's not what we are used to.

So i end tonight... Headed to sleep with this...

I have prayed for what I want. But i also pray that everyone else has the strength to admit to what they want and the courage to take one (small or big) step to accomplishing it. I hope the universe aids in helping all of us achieve it, with the right circumstances, and blocks what may harm us. I pray that the good deeds we do causes a ripple effect that comes back to us. I pray we continue to remain "glass half full" as we continue on our life journey.

But most of all... Dear universe, if i have generated enough good karma in this lifetime, I hope you allow some form of sharing. I dedicate them to those who need it, especially to those I love. I hope they find the strength to admit to what they want and head on forward to what they want / need. I hope I find the strength to head on forward to what I want / need.