#couldn't find gifs for some of them just love old westerns

[deceitfuldevout]

Struggle

Soft!Dark!Neil Lewis x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: +1,857

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Misogynistic remarks, Manhandling, Play fighting gone wrong.

Author's Note(s): I was inspired by a soundgasm audio

You and Neil were childhood bestfriends. As thick as thieves. He had been there for you since day one. You grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and eventually became co-owners of gumshoe movie store. Neil was always the one who wiped away your tears. He was your shoulder to cry on after a nasty breakup. One of the perks of living with your best friend are movie nights. You and Neil would pick out some movies to share.

He knows you love them as much as he does. His was up first, then yours would be after. You would switch the order every weekend. Neil's choice was alright, it was one of those old western movies. You on the other hand picked something newer. One of those action movies with a powerhouse female lead. You thought it was going well. That is until Neil scoffs, you turn to the side and look at him, "What's wrong? You don't like it?"

"No it's just...do you really think she could take them all down in hand-to-hand combat?" out of everything the movie had, that was his biggest concern? Your brows furrow, "Are you saying you could take her on?" now sitting up. Neil tilts his head, "Well, I mean yeah? She's a twig, it'd be hard not to win," he's dead serious about it too. You don't take his remarks seriously. It's not like he meant it, right?

That's when you felt the need to speak up, "Neil it's just a movie, and besides, size doesn't matter in a fight," when you turn your attention back to the screen Neil looks away, "Size doesn't matter?" he's taken aback. He pauses the movie, "Let me get this straight: You're confident that size doesn't matter?" he wants to test this hypothesis out, "Because I'm a lot stronger than you," it's not that Neil thinks he is, it's that he knows so, "I don't mean to sound insensitive but, there's also a biological factor,"

You turn towards Neil and raise a brow, "You're that confident you'll win?" previously, you've won the last several fights against him. But then again, you were both nine years old. He nears, "I bet I could pin you down in less than ten seconds," he wants to test out that theory. So, You decide to test it out, getting into position, "Three...two...one-" but before you've had a chance to even find solid grounding, Neil already has you pinned to the couch.

It stuns you, for a moment you were left in disbelief. How did he? When did he? It was so fast you hadn't even seen it coming. You try lifting yourself up but Neil shoves you down with a light 'thud'. When you try to sit, he does it again, only harder. This was nothing to him. He didn't even seem tired. For a moment you question yourself. Had Neil been holding back the entire time? It was almost surprising how strong he was. "C'mon...fight back, I said fight back..." Neil hovers over you. Both of his legs now straddling your sides.

He manages to trap both your wrists together in one of his hands. You try to pulling them free but his grip is unbreakable. You've never noticed how strong he actually was. Sure, he'd let you sit on his shoulders during concerts, or even lift you up in a hug, but this was the first time you've really noticed his concentrated strength. It took little to no effort pinning you down. He leans in, now face-to-face, "Do you give up?" he taunts, "Just admit that I'm stronger than you...there's no use fighting it..."

You didn't want to lose that easily. You kept twisting and turning in an attempt to escape. It was futile. Neil had won fair and square. His hands began to roam under your shirt, playfully caressing your rib cage. He brushes his fingers against the bare skin. You couldn't help but giggle at the ticklish feeling, "O-ok ok! You win!" a burst of laughter erupts from you. After a moment, Neil finally stops. He takes in the sight of you, staring at the peaks forming on both breasts. He licks his lips, ducking his head down. He places a few kisses on your jawline, then down the side of your neck, all the way to your shoulder.

They quickly turn into wet kisses, then suckling. It felt ticklish. Neil had always been overly handsy around you. Even sharing a first kiss in grade school. His hands grip your hips in a tight grasp. You grab his wrists and start to pull, but it was like trying to move metal bars. His brows furrow, obviously annoyed now. He pulls both your arms above your head before tugging at your shirt. It didn't take much for him to drag it up. He knows you detest wearing a bra indoors. He doesn't mind that at all.

You gasp, "Neil! What the hell?! S-stop!" At that moment you did something you never thought would happen. Never in a million years would you have imagined putting your hands on him. You slap Neil across the face. His hair falls down to his forehead. There's a visible red mark on his cheek. His jaw clenches. For the first time ever, Neil Lewis is at a loss for words. You scramble to the other side of the couch, attempting to fix your disheveled clothes. You look back at your best friend in disbelief.

His pupils are blown with lust. His cheeks are a flushed pink as he darts his tongue out to lick his lips, "Let's make a bet, if you can break free, I'll let you go," he captures your ankle, pulling you across the couch towards him, "But if I manage to keep you pinned..." he cups your mound, digging his finger into the slit, "I get to tryout this pussy..." he's dead serious too.

You couldn't believe it. This isn't him. This isn't the same Neil who would comfort you after a nasty breakup. Or be the first one to wipe away those tears away whenever someone tried to hurt you. This wasn't just anyone saying it, this was your best friend. He may have a reputation of being a notorious prankster, but this was taking it too far. You start tearing up, "Neil, you're scaring me..."

He snickers, playfully swiping at your tears with his tongue, "C'mon, keep fighting," he shook your shoulders, "Fight back if you don't want it," his expression changes. It contorts into a snarl as he starts tugging at the fabric of your clothes. You try to fight him off. Neil grins with delight. This was all a game to him.

It was entertaining to Neil, watching your feeble attempt to stop him. He rubs his hard on against your mound, bucking his hips a few times with a moan, "Yeah keep struggling, no matter what you do...I'm bigger than you...stronger than you..." he juts his hips again, only harder this time, "Fuck you have no idea how much this is turning me on..." his voice is much deeper. There's just something about the thrill of it that turns him on. No matter how much you twist and turn, or how hard you try, it was nothing compared to his strength.

Neil may be on the leaner side but he could manage in a fight. His free hand reaches under the waistband of your panties. He lets out a gasp, "Oh fuck..." rubbing his digits up and down your slit to collect any slickness. He yanks down the fabric with ease, taking in the sight of your folds. Neil moans, "Already so wet, yet I haven't even touched you" he clicks his tongue, inspecting your now glistening folds. His eyelids are hooded as he examines the slickness sticking to his fingers, "My, my, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted this..."

Neil lowers his head to your mound. He whispers, "Lemme just..." he flattens his tongue against your core. He gives a long stripe from your leaking hole to your clit, wrapping his lips around it with a moan, "Mmm..." his eyes are blissfully shut. His lashes flutter with pleasure as his brows furrow in delight. Fuck...you taste so good. Everything about you is so fucking perfect. Neil never saw a flaw in you. All those ex's were dumb as shit for dumping you. But no worries, he's here to make up for it.

His fingers slide in with little to no resistance. He began to pump them vigorously in and out your channel. Your toes began to curl from the angel he hit, throwing back your head in pleasure. Neil releases your clit for only a moment, "Fuck...you're enjoying me using you huh?" he teases, then returns to tasting you. He adds more pressure to that sweet, spongey spot inside.

You came, hard. A gush of arousal hits Neil's face as he sucks in your bud. He's having the time of his life, moaning through your climax. He parts, now licking his lips, "Who knew you were such a slut?" he chuckles. His cock twitches at the sight of your tuckered-out form. He's eager to finish what he's started.

Neil frantically unbuckles his belt. He lets his pants slide off, reaching into his boxers to pull out his semi-hard cock. He gives it a few tugs before aiming the leaking tip at your entrance. Neil had never been more desperate in his life to feel a woman. He's only ever imagined this moment while lying in bed late at night. But now? He's not going to waste another second. He buries his cock deep inside, muffling his moans into your shoulder, "M'yeah...just stay still and be my cocksleeve, yeah?" Neil thrusts his hips at a more rapid pace.

You could hear him choke out, "Fuck...fuck...fuck..fuck!" Neil was right. He is too strong. All you could do was lay there as he took what he wanted, staring blankly at the ceiling as he chases his high. He suckles and kisses against your skin to mark what was his. He sighs, "So good...so good for me..." he playfully licks against your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue. His hands held your head in place as he dips it inside.

After he's finishes inside Neil doesn't let you go, no. Instead he manhandles you onto his lap. You're still pierced by his cock. You could practically feel it still twitching inside. Neil catches his breath, he has an arm wrapped around your waist. He leans back against the sofa, pulling you in with him. He reaches for the remote to play the movie. Unbothered by what just happened. You're splayed across his chest with your shirt still on.

Every now and then Neil lazily juts his hips up just to feel you gripping him. He rubs small circles on your lower back, reaching down to squeeze your ass. He doesn't look away from the T.V., not even after he hears you sniffling. You choke out, "I-I hate you..." those words don't bother him. He knows you can get a little emotional and doesn't think too much of it. He places a kiss on your temple, "No you don't," he's sure of it.

[scarabjewels]

Why is No One Talking About The Hellboy Animated Movies?

This is probably a very specific cult following, a niche niche if you will. But let me tell you, if the 2D underrated classics such as Atlantis, El Dorado,Treasure Planet and Anastasia have a strong cult following, why not this?

Every one of these essays, I always have some short origin story of me discovering it and OF COURSE THIS IS ALSO HAS ONE.

I came across one of the movies in a DVD of a mix of different cartoons, such as Static Shock and maybe 70s/80s Fantastic Four episodes.

It was The Sword of Storm movie, where my love of dark mythological action animated movies continued. I was already a mythology enthusiast as a kid. My past times were reading encyclopedias and watching my mom's extensive collection of documentary DVDs. As for dark animated action movies, DC and Marvel had a lot, and it slipped into pirated DVDs back in the day.

Anyway, it was AMAZING. Hello, JAPANESE AKUMAS, THE ATMOSPHERE, THE LORE.

Fast forward to some years later, I found out that there was another movie and one that was unfortunately cancelled. Loved it too much that I went ahead and tried to read the comics, specifically the ones produced by Dark Horse, as it was related directly to the animated movies.

I craved those kinds of genres in animated media at the time, but I couldn't find ones that I really stuck to, the DC animated movies were good, the old Marvel ones were great and then Trese came, and it was just perfect. Then Castlevania and Blood of Zeus followed after, I have yet to watch it.

So again, why are these so underground niche.

I don't really have qualms or analysis about these movies, I just want to write just how much I appreciate it.

The Dark Action Comics Feel

I am not a comic reader at all by the way, I barely read them. I like manga a little more, and I like my action in moving pictures more than in panels. That said, I appreciate the art of it.

Western dark comics hit a lot different. The simplistic animated styles work well with suspense.

Though Guillermo directed the animated and live action of Hellboy, I would argue that he got the feel of it best in Hellboy Animated. I have yet to see the live action movies, but I recall seeing a glimpse and was very dissappointed. I liked the costumes but I didn't like the brightness and the subplots. It felt like Fantastic Four (2005) with Chris Evans and Jessica Alba (no hate to the movie, I actually really like that one). It wasn't dark enough, but these materials getting adapted into live action are difficult already. That's why a lot of superhero animated movies surpass the action in live a lot of the time.

Hellboy Animated was the best way it could've been adapted. Do note that Hellboy was not an original idea of Guillermo. It existed way before, and it was even darker.

It was dark enough, not too cringey. It was serious but not taking itself too seriously. it was the right blend of dark action, witty, and visually appealing.

The Dialogues and The Characters

Okay, this is one that really sold me on the movies. Somehow, the lines were humorous and short. SHORT.

I also loved that Hellboy was a character who didn't give two shits and just done with the world, yet does his job anyway and is kind. He is like a broody cool but drunk 40 year old man who just exists. WHICH IS BY THE WAY A PROTAGONIST TROPE USED IN A LOT OF LIVE ACTION MOVIES. I don't know if it's the same in the live Hellboy movies, I am really hoping that his lines are just "Crap" and have simple fun expressions.

Also, I find that Abe is a lot more ...attractive in the animated ones? I have seen the costume of him in the live and I think it also inspired a project of Guillermo after, "The Shape of Water". It's not bad at all, just...creature like than humanoid creature. If anything, maybe the creature in The Shape of Water was closer to Abe's hotness. Guillermo has so much of these characters that ...he just might be a furry (HAHAH). Anyway, Abe is like a hot fit nerd action hero, which I think a lot of us wish would even go to that level.

Okay now, Liz. First of all, why is Liz Hellboy's gal? HE HAS HIS OWN IN THE ANIMATED. Her name is Kate, and she has known him a lot longer than Liz. She is also a hot nerd ( opposites attract a type of deal). Liz is similar to Hellboy, but younger and getting used to her powers. Hellboy sees her like a younger sister, too, and is affectionate to her like one. Liz is more of the action hero that Scarlett Johansenn could play her. Her lines would be sarcastic, and her voice was very Megara, just under your breath sassy. Also...her chemistry with Abe...you can not tell me it's not PLANTED.

The other characters are also perfectly voiced and don't drag on too long in a scene even when they are the focus. Again, their "budgetting" with visuals and dialogue in a scene were straight to the point. They say a little bit while saying, just perfect in Show, Don't Tell. Other than the main trio, I found a few more characters memorable: Kate and The Professor.

I already mentioned Kate, she is this quirky girl who is hot, rocks a blonde bob undercut and dangling earrings, and almost always appears 5-10% in the movies but always memorable. Her relationship with Hellboy was told through her dialogues, without even telling us too much. It's not "We've known each other for so long" it's "He could be a big grump and he's even older than he looks", that's how you do dialogue people. Ehem, I'm looking at you. "Truth or dare." She does appear little but is clearly significant either to the plot in the story (in the Sword of Storms) or by the characters (in Blood and Iron). I just think she's cool too. She is so excited with going on about the scientific details related to missions, and the characters adore her.

Professor Trevor, aka Hellboy's adoptive father and one of the founders of BPRD (Buruea of Paranormal Research and Defense), is definitely one of the more important characters in the Hellboy Universe. He was the one who raised Hellboy, as well as doing operations at the same time. They showed me his importance with just dialogue and the smallest cutscenes ever. The mastery of that technique was evident in underrated comic movies.

And HELLBOY, the titular character was the best one ever. He is probably Sleeping Beauty because he has the fewest lines in those movies. That man is stoic, unbothered, laid back and incredibly CHILL AF. I see these characters aa side characters a lot, so seeing a character like this as the main character is so fun to watch, like he does not need development yet it's his world and we're all living in it. That man is zen to the max, yet is sad to be destined to lead the world. Reminds me of older Kratos (God of War), just 100 times more chill and more swag, out of the two, he is that gentle giant you can hang with in a bar and maybe even get high with, Older Kratos is way too intimidating but you'd feel very safe around him more.

The Mystique Tone weaved with the World Building

The dialogues already brought out the world building, how the organisation of paranormal defence is a serious thing. See, taking something so fantastical so seriously can counter its intention, when done correctly and properly, you can hone a cult following, which is why DCU, Marvel and the X-men evolved from comics for the children into basically modern art and literature for its niche. That's also why I am wondering why Hellboy is not as beloved. The comics before Dark Horse are pretty hard-core. The world building is pretty good in movies alone. It's like a contemporary take on supernatural noir. It's mysterious, dramatic, and (this is specific to me, I dunno why) smooth.

Trese (the filipino horror/thriller comic that had its show adapted during the pandemic in netflix) reminded me of Hellboy, and even Trese too, small cult following when I think it does deserve do much more.

Now, the world is building specific to the movies.

I'm referring to the inadequate tone with the existence of the BPRD, the people who work there, and that they are literally like a private organisation with connections to the government. Think S.H.E.I.L.D from Marvel. Only the organization is not dramatically futuristic and really in your face about it. It's super chill and like an underground organisation, too. They are literally normal anywhere and everywhere. Also, they feel so much more mysterious because, again, they don't say what they are doing in detail like blockbuster movies. They do it straightforward, and you figure it out quickly. An example is in Sword of Storms, Hellboy disappeared into another dimension, the BPRD is looking for him. What's so funny and awesome about it is that dimensions aren't new to the BPRD and that Hellboy's disappearance is also not uncommon. They literally casually said that he was not on the planet. The reactions are just "great, looks like we'll wait this out again." That's a subtle node to the world building of this universe, the inadequacy.

The Sympathetic Aspect and Humanity of the Story and Characters

I watched a video essay about the movies and he pointed out two stories of how much it has humanity and sadness in it. I think this is what somehow makes it separate from grandiose epic tales of the hero vs the monster.

In the Sword of Storms, the first scene is a mission in a Mayan Temple where they had to fight with a giant bat worshipped as a God in that particular setting. Long story short, the bat rose an army of the undead, and Liz, Abe, and Hellboy had to fight them all. Liz, having pyrokinesis, unleashes her powers like hellfire, burning the bat and the undead army. The score of Liz's powers feels exactly like hellfire, which is to cleanse the soiled. The sad part is that the bat may have been monstrous, but it was shown glimmer of complete sadness when it looked at its army and accepted its gruesome fate to burn with them. It reminded me of Shen's last scene in Kung Fu Panda 2, where he fought Po with everything he got, in the midst of the fight, a pillar was doomed to hit him, Shen sees this and he just closes his eyes, accepting his defeat.

The other one is a fleshed out subplot in Blood and Iron. It was about a priest the professor had met years ago in a mission. He was once a young and proud priest but faced an existential crisis, losing faith in God as he witnessed the acts of a vampire, later became a servant of that same vampire. Professor Broom and him met again, a little after the former priest killed a man as he was ordered to. The professor gave him words of wisdom and gave him a crucifix, a symbol of his faith restoring. However, it was not to be a happy ending, as he was transformed into a werewolf to become a hindrance of the BPRD succeeding in their mission. When he was eventually killed, we got a small shot of the crucifix in his transformed hand. It was incredibly a sad and dark ending, which was sort of beautiful and came full circle for him.

The point of these kinds of comics is to not glamorize the formula of epics but to emphasise the protection of humanity. Trese also did the same (Man, I should make an essay about this). Professor Broom is pretty much the character that really showed my point. He acts within reason, and even at a younger age, he was very wise beyond years. He didn't come in a monster killing hero, but at best consultant. In Blood and Iron, Erzebet, the serial vampire, was beyond saving and needed to be killed to save countless lives she plans to take. When he met the priest again, he witnessed that the priest murdered and his words alluded that he did it many times before. Yet he urges to forgive himself and that it was never too late for him as he hands him the crucifix. The professor literally adopted a demon boy and raised it as a son, to whom we know as Hellboy. He doesn't believe that everyone is inherently bad, as he chose to believe the good can be taught and redeemed again. He is probably the most beautiful person in this universe, damn to stay true and grounded with those kind of values in that kind of work, reminds me of a quote from the Emperor from Mulan : " No matter how much the wind blows, a mountain cannot bow to it".

Most of the members of The BPRD are not fully human, similar to mutants of X-Men. Hellboy is literally a demon, raised as a human, Liz is pyrokinetic, and Abe is a humanoid amphibian. Yet they are incredibly human. They would casually have a conversation about pastries they tried when they were out on a mission.

Conclusion:

While I was researching about Mignola and Del Toro, I had just found out that a new movie live action Hellboy is coming out, with an indie film feel!

Honestly, I don't think it's going to go on par with the block buster films, but what I have seen from the trailers so far, it just might do Mignola's Hellboy justice. Though, I do have a comment on the movie's filter and lighting, I want it to be close to Egger's "The Witch" if that makes sense. Just a tad but darker, like a small nod to the aesthetic theme of the comic, the noir feel. But the effects are amazing 👏 . The indie-ness of it is perfection.

Now it's obvious that I love this, and for some reason, I think my love for the animated films manifested this information of a new live action instalment.

[angellayercake]

Save a cowboy, ride a cardinal

Cardinal Copia x @ramblingoak happy birthday to yooooou 🎂🎂🎂

Copia attempts some roleplay fun for his favourite lady's birthday

‘Can I have this blind fold off yet?’ The ghoul didn’t answer, leading you down the gravel path only telling you just in time about the steps in your way so they have to catch you when you stumble. When Copia had mentioned blindfolds, surprises and your birthday this was not what you had imagined. You can hear buzzing voices ahead of you and the distinct sound of ragtime piano. ‘Where the hell are we?’ The ghoul ignored you again, continuing to lead you forward, the distinctive sound of doors being opened and then swinging shut behind you. There was only one place where all those things would be all together that's the new western themed bar that had opened in town. You loved westerns, LOVED them and had even been considering coming already. Unfortunately your friends at the Abbey had turned up their noses at a themed bar so you had given up any hopes of going, but it seemed Copia had been doing some snooping. 

You reached what you assumed was the bar, the ghoul helping you get sat on a high stool and then finally they removed your blindfold. There was almost too much to take in at first. Every table was full, being served by wait staff all dressed up in old west themed costumes. The walls were covered with vintage photographs, American flags, taxidermied cows and a hundred other themed trinkets, not quite authentic but the amount of history crammed into this place made you feel a bit giddy. In one corner a piano sat on a small stage, the source of the chipper ragtime you had heard on your way in. But dominating the middle of the room was a large empty space surrounded by a barrier, lined with padding and in the centre the unmistakable shape of a mechanical bull. It was still at the moment but you imagined things got a lot more rowdy when it was up and running. 

‘Well howdy there little lady,’ you hear behind you and a smile is spreading across your face before you even turn on your stool. You are about to reply when you register what he is wearing. Gone are his cassock and his perfectly tailored suit and in its place he is wearing jeans, you didn’t even know he owned a pair of jeans, but the dark blue denim clings to his thighs. Or at least what you can see underneath the black suede tassled chaps. You manage to tear your eyes away from his thighs, to his black shirt, the sharp piping his signature shade of red and then there was the hat. He had gone all out with what looked like a custom stetson. His put on smirk falters when all you can do is stare at him and he starts to fidget with his outfit nervously.

‘Did I not do it right? Aw shit,’ but before you can reassure him the barmaid interrupts. 

‘And what can I be getting you tonight?’ You switch your attention to the bar taking in the rows of bottles. Glancing at Copia you see him still fussing over his clothes so it looks like it's up to you to make a decision. 

‘Two beers please.’ She nods, quickly setting out two tankards and filling them at the vintage looking beer pump. This place was everything you had hoped, you only wished you were dressed for the occasion. If only he had given you some notice you could have pulled together a great bar wench outfit. When the full tankards were slid on the bar in front of you he snapped from his anxious haze and began fumbling for his wallet, struggling to get to it under the chaps. Just before you took pity on him he squeezed it from under the waistband with an adorable ‘ah ha’.  He hands over some notes, refusing the change with an awkward wave of his hand, as she turns away happy. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says with a sigh slouching down against the bar. ‘I tried to find the outfit like ‘The Cardinal’ but I couldn't find the jacket and then I wasn’t sure what the hat looked like and.’ You rub his shoulders where he is slumped over on the bar.

‘Copia,’ he raises his head from the bar, his hat knocked askew so you straighten it as you look into his disappointed eyes. ‘Your outfit is great! The best dressed cowboy in the joint.’ He perks up after that explaining to you how he had noticed you reading your cowboy romances, how he had heard your friends talking about the new place opening in town and how he knew this would be the perfect place to celebrate your special day. 

‘Calling all cowboys and girls,’ The loud speaker crackles interrupting your conversation. ‘In just a while we will be unleashing the bull into this here restaurant. So we are calling on some brave folks to try and tame this beast! Come on down to the ring to volunteer andsignawaiver.’ You see the idea form in his mind and before you can vocalise all the reasons this is a terrible idea he is up. 

‘You will see now amore, I will be the best cowboy si?’ He practically jumps off his stool, his eyes shining.

‘Wait, Copia, you already are the best cowboy.’ But he is already halfway across the bar. You watch him waiting bouncing on his heels at the front of the queue. You soak up the atmosphere while you wait for him to read through the probably substantial terms and conditions and when he hands over the clipboard and enters the ring you wander over with your beer. You edge your way to the front of the small crowd just as he is getting seated on the bull. He spots you giving you a nervous grin, the expression on his face screaming what have I got myself into.

‘All set?’ The assistant checks in with him and he gives them a slightly frantic nod and then he is alone in the padded ring. ‘Our next challenger is Copia, a first timer, so let's see what he can do in three, tw, one,’ he calls over the loudspeaker and then it is set in motion. It starts slowly rocking forwards, then backwards, side to side. You admire his strong thighs tense as they grip to keep him seated. When it spins him back to face you, you can see his grin has lightened up and he mouths, ‘this isn’t so bad’ at you before he is whipped around. The bull picks up pace jolting back and forth and this time when he is brought back around all you can see is his wide round panicked eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh but it quickly becomes a gasp when with a sudden jolt forward and to the left he goes flying face first onto the mat.  

You shove your beer into the hand of the person standing next to you and rush around the barrier as he is sitting himself up. He groans as you help him to his feet, red faced and rubbing at his back. You pick up his hat where it had fallen next to him and dust it off before placing it back on his head. 

‘Amore, why didn’t you stop me?’ He moans as you support him across the bar back to your seats. ‘I am too old for this nonsense.’ Between you you hobble back over to the bar only to find your stools had been taken. He sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders more firmly. ‘I’m sorry, I had a whole plan and now it's ruined and.’ You squeeze his waist and turn him towards the exit.   

‘Nothing has been ruined silly.’ You push open the swinging doors and help him out into the cool evening air. Stretching his arms over his head he groans again and even though he is aching and slightly covered in dust you can’t help admiring the view. ‘And anyway you looked damn good up there on the bull, very powerful.’ He looks at you in disbelief but let’s you wipe some of the dust from his shoulders. ‘You even looked good all laid out on the floor.’ 

‘Oh you think you could have done better?’ He tickles at your side until you fall against his chest. ‘Shall we go back in? Do you want to have a ride?’

‘I have been thinking about riding tonight. Not the bull though’ You toy with the collar of his shirt, sliding open the top few buttons, if he was wearing jeans he may as well be even more casually dressed. 

‘Is that so amore?’ He backs you up against the wall, leaning on his forearm and boxing you in. ‘Perhaps we should start this evening again?’

‘Ok,’ You take a second to neutralise his expression so you can play along. ‘Hi.’

‘Howdy,’ He pulls his cowboy smirk off perfectly this time and it makes your knees weak. ‘What’s a pretty lady like you doing in a dive like this?’

‘I was looking for a handsome cowboy but I think I might have just found one.’ He closes the distance between you but doesn’t go straight for your lips. He kisses your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Slow soft presses of his lips that have your breath catching in your throat in anticipation. Finally he kisses you, and all his reservation dissolves as your lips finally touch, his full body pressing against you as his tongue slips past your lips to tangle with yours. The sudden swinging of the saloon doors snaps you both back to reality. You break apart but only just, partially hidden in the shadows of the porch.

‘Take me home Cardinal,’ you whispered against his swollen lips. He growls diving back in for one last aggressive kiss that had your stomach flipping and almost made you reconsider letting him have you there and then. But you manage to pry yourselves apart for long enough to get back to the car, where the ghoul was waiting to drive you both back to the Abbey. You can’t keep apart for long however and you end up wrapped up in his arms. 

‘I think this has been one of my best birthdays ever,’ you sigh contentedly. You run your fingers over his chest, following the lines of red piping until you can reach into the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt.

‘Only one of the best?’ He glares down at you,some of the strict Cardinal you had first met coming out. In the past that look would have cowed you but now you just smile up at him fluttering your lashes.

‘Well if it’s the top spot you are after, I have some ideas.’ He raises his eyebrows at you but starts running his fingers from the small of your back up to the nape of your neck. 

‘Ok let's hear it then,’ He tips your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours. You try to resist, well aware of the game he is playing. You close the distance this time, it’s your birthday you can take all the kisses that you want. Only when you are both breathless do you pull back. 

‘Tonight the chaps stay on,’ and after a moment's thought. ‘And the hat.’ 

‘That I can do. Anything for my Principessa.’ And he pulls you into another searing kiss.

[winxanity-ii]

MEMORY CARD [2/?]

ship: artist!andy x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 7.6k a/n: im in love with this fic lolo (part 3 will be up soon) parts: 1

★·.·´🇦‌🇱‌🇮‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The night had stretched on, the saloon slowly emptying as patrons trickled out into the cool darkness, heading back to their rooms or wherever else the night might take them. You had to eventually drag Kiro back to the inn, but sleep had been elusive.

Every time you closed your eyes, his face flashed before you—those dark, unreadable eyes.

You tossed and turned, the thin mattress creaking beneath you as you tried in vain to find a comfortable position.

You knew who he was, of course. How could you not? He was one of the many hosts set up at the park, his face one that had been meticulously designed and crafted to be both compelling and approachable, his narrative tailored to fit seamlessly into the world of Westworld.

But for some reason, seeing him last night had stirred something in you, something that kept you awake as the hours slipped by and the night deepened around you.

When the first rays of morning light began to creep through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gold and pink, you gave up on sleep entirely.

The faint sound of roosters crowing in the distance mingled with the murmur of early risers beginning their day.

You lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and restlessness. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft, even breathing of Kiro still asleep in the bed next to yours.

You sighed, pushing yourself up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath your feet as you stood, the boards creaking softly under your weight.

You padded over to the window, pushing the curtains aside and squinting against the bright light of the rising sun.

The town below was beginning to wake up, the early morning air filled with the distant clatter of hooves and the low murmur of voices.

It should have been peaceful, calming even, but your mind was still racing, replaying the events of the night before.

The way he had looked, so out of place yet so perfectly at home in the saloon, the lines of his suit sharp and crisp against the rough backdrop of the old western town.

The way his eyes had stayed fixed on the stage, as if he were searching for something in the performance, something that eluded him.

The way his presence had felt like a pull, a magnet that you couldn't resist even from across the room.

You knew you shouldn't be this affected. After all, he was just a host, a product of the park's intricate storytelling and advanced technology. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart had jumped at the sight of him, the way your thoughts kept circling back to him no matter how much you tried to push them away.

And maybe it was because of who you were—because of your connection to this place, to the very technology that had made it possible.

You were the daughter of one of the richest men in the world, a man who had built his empire on innovation and vision. Lionel Hawthorne, a name that had become synonymous with brilliance and ambition.

He had risen to the top of the tech world with a groundbreaking line of AI and robotics that had revolutionized the industry, his brilliance encapsulated in a single, brilliant line of code.

That code had been his masterpiece, the key that unlocked the full potential of artificial intelligence. It was the foundation upon which his company, Hawthorne Industries, had been built.

A code so advanced, so ahead of its time, that it had caught the attention of Delos. They had bought the rights to it, integrating it into their own technology to create hosts that were more lifelike, more autonomous, more… human.

You had grown up surrounded by that brilliance, by the power and promise of technology that could change the world. But even then you knew, despite all the marvels and promises it held, there were lines that shouldn't be crossed, boundaries that shouldn't be blurred.

Your entire life, your father had spoken with a certain reverence about one of his so-called greatest partnerships, his eyes lighting up with a rare kind of enthusiasm whenever the topic came up.

Westworld.

He would talk for hours about the marvels of the park, the genius of its design, the limitless potential of its narratives.

To him, it was the pinnacle of human achievement, the ultimate playground where technology and imagination intertwined to create a world where anything was possible.

He would tell you about how the hosts—so lifelike they were indistinguishable from humans—could adapt and evolve within their stories, how guests could step into another life, another world, and experience things they'd only ever dreamed of.

The freedom, the possibility, the sheer brilliance of it all. He spoke of Westworld as if it were a living, breathing entity, something more than just a collection of code and machinery.

It was his legacy, a testament to the power of his creations.

But for you, it was never that simple.

Even as a child, the idea of it had made you uncomfortable. The thought of people coming here, stepping into this world, and doing whatever they pleased to the hosts—creatures who looked, spoke, and acted like real people—had never sat right with you.

It felt wrong, twisted somehow, this notion that someone could pay for the right to play God, to bend another being to their will, no matter how artificial that being might be.

You'd pushed back for years, your arguments falling on deaf ears as your father brushed aside your concerns with a wave of his hand and that charismatic smile of his. "You don't understand," he would say, his tone always patient, as if speaking to a child who didn't quite grasp the complexities of the world. "Westworld is more than just a place for people to indulge their basest desires. It's a place of discovery, of transformation. It's where people can find out who they truly are."

But you weren't convinced. The stories you'd heard, the rumors about what people did in the park, the violence, the debauchery—it was enough to make you want to stay as far away from it as possible.

That is, until your fifteenth birthday.

He had been relentless that year, insisting that it was time for you to see the park for yourself, to experience the wonder of it firsthand. He'd spoken of the other side of Westworld, the side that wasn't about violence or control.

There were family-friendly activities, he said, places to explore, things to learn.

He'd painted such a vivid picture of it, so different from the dark tales you'd heard, that you'd finally given in.

You'd gone, more out of a desire to please him than any real curiosity about the park.

You still remembered the excitement in his eyes as you'd boarded the train together, his hand on your shoulder as he'd told you about all the things he wanted to show you, all the places he thought you'd love.

Your mother had been there too, her smile warm but distant as always, more interested in the idea of being part of something so exclusive, so elite, than in the park itself.

But when you arrived, your parents had quickly been swept away, caught up in the allure of their own narratives, their own desires.

You'd found yourself left to your own devices, wandering aimlessly through the dusty streets of Sweetwater, feeling out of place and overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

You'd spent most of those first few days near the inn, avoiding the chaos and the crowds, watching from a distance as people laughed and shouted, their faces flushed with excitement.

It had felt surreal, like you were watching a play unfold around you, each person an actor in a story that you couldn't quite grasp.

Then, one day, you'd drifted further than usual, your feet carrying you down the winding streets until you found yourself standing outside the post office. It had been quiet there, a small, unassuming building at the edge of town, away from the main hustle and bustle.

You'd hesitated, unsure why you'd come this way, what you were looking for.

And that's when you saw him.

He'd had a telegram clutched in his hand, his gaze downcast as he stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped in a way that made him seem smaller, more vulnerable than the other hosts you'd seen.

When you'd walked by, he'd looked up, his eyes widening slightly as if he hadn't expected to see anyone there. "Excuse me," he'd said, his voice soft, a hint of a British accent coloring his words. "I—I hate to impose, but might I ask for your assistance?" He'd hesitated, his fingers twisting the telegram nervously. "You see, I've found myself in a bit of a predicament. I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but I seem to have boarded the wrong one."

His story, as it turned out, was one of misplaced directions and missed connections. After contacting his employers via telegram and explaining the situation, he'd been told to catch the correct train at a different station, but he was still unsure of how to get there.

So there he had sat, looking lost and out of place, his elegant attire—a dark waistcoat and crisp white shirt beneath a tailored coat, all of it dusted lightly with the grime of travel—setting him apart from the dusty, rugged townsfolk who milled around the post office.

You'd watched as he struggled to compose himself, his fingers trembling slightly as he'd folded and unfolded the telegram in his hands.

When you'd agreed to help, his relief had been palpable, his shoulders sagging as he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for ages. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere and grateful. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

The two of you had made your way to the Mariposa Saloon, Andy walking beside you with an air of cautious optimism. He'd explained as you walked that the guide he'd found in town wouldn't take him unless he had someone else with him—a strange, arbitrary rule that seemed designed more to frustrate him than anything else. He'd chuckled softly at that, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe his own misfortune.

"It's just my luck, really," he'd said with a rueful smile. "I was hired to document the progress of the railroad, and here I am, stuck in this town, unable to even find the right station. I suppose it makes for a rather amusing story, doesn't it?"

You'd found yourself smiling despite your best efforts, charmed by the gentle self-deprecation in his tone, the way he seemed so genuinely perplexed by the absurdity of his situation.

He was so unlike the other hosts, so unassuming and earnest, and you couldn't help but be drawn to him.

When you'd finally reached the saloon, you'd found the guide inside, a grizzled old man who'd squinted at Andy with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect. "About time ya' found someone," he'd muttered, his voice rough as gravel. "Come on, then. We've got a train to catch."

You'd watched as Andy's face lit up, his eyes bright with relief as he’d turned to you. "Thank you," he'd said again, his gratitude clear in every word. "Truly. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

And then, the three of you were off.

Since then, you'd been back and forth to the park so many times over the years that you'd practically memorized the storylines of most of the hosts that had been part of the park's core narrative for as long as you could remember—like Teddy Flood's tragic tale of love and loss, his unwavering devotion to Dolores Abernathy that always ended in heartbreak.

Each story was a carefully crafted puzzle, a web of interactions and possibilities designed to draw people in, to make them feel like they were part of something bigger, something real.

But by far, Andy's storyline was your favorite.

His narrative was simple, almost quaint compared to the others, but there was something about it that had always resonated with you.

He was a British artist who had been commissioned to come to the frontier and document the construction of the continental railroad through a series of sketches and paintings.

The idea of a refined gentleman artist finding himself thrust into the rough-and-tumble world of the Wild West was endearing in a way—a fish-out-of-water story that felt almost whimsical against the backdrop of the park's more violent, chaotic tales.

After you'd agreed to help him find the station that first time, it had become something you looked forward to, something that felt almost like a secret between the two of you.

The route itself was split into two paths, each leading to a vastly different experience.

The family-friendly one, the one you always took, wound its way through a serene landscape, leading you to a hidden waterfall nestled in a secluded glen. There, the air was cool and fresh, the gentle roar of the water mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of wildflowers. Berry bushes dotted the edges of the clearing, their fruit ripe and glistening under the sunlight.

It was like stepping into a fairytale, a place untouched by the harshness of the world outside.

You'd always found a strange peace there, standing by the water's edge, your hands stained red and purple from picking the berries. Andy would sit nearby, his sketchbook balanced on his knee, his brow furrowed in concentration as he captured the scene with deft, practiced strokes.

It was a simple routine, one you cherished more than you cared to admit.

The other path, the one you avoided, led to something much darker. You'd heard the stories, whispers of what awaited those who chose that route. A ghost town, long abandoned, where the ruins of a saloon stood as a grim reminder of the violence that had taken place there. Inside, there was a reenactment—a twisted, macabre show where guests could play out their darkest fantasies, indulging in acts that blurred the line between entertainment and depravity.

There were no boundaries here, no limits to what could be done.

It was the kind of thing Westworld was known for, the reason so many people flocked to the park in search of thrills they couldn't find anywhere else.

But that wasn't what drew you back to the park year after year.

No, it was the quiet moments, the ones that felt real in a way you couldn't quite explain, that kept you coming back.

It was the feeling of Andy's hand on yours as he helped you over the rocks by the river, his fingers warm and firm against your skin, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

It was the way he would look at you, his eyes soft and thoughtful, his words gentle as he called you a rare beauty, his voice carrying an admiration that made your heart flutter in a way that left you breathless and confused.

You'd tried to dismiss it, to tell yourself it was all part of the narrative, that his affection, his kindness, were just another layer of the story he'd been programmed to tell. But the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you—it felt different.

It felt real.

And that was what scared you the most.

Each time you reached the station, having taken the gentler path, Andy would reach into his suitcase, his expression proud and almost shy as he handed you a drawing.

It was always a flower, a delicate rose or a wild bloom sketched with such care and precision that you could almost feel the softness of the petals under your fingertips.

You'd collected them all, carefully storing them in a leather-bound book you kept hidden away, a secret reminder of the time you'd spent together.

But then...reality became crashing down.

You were nineteen, on the cusp of adulthood, and the world outside Westworld had begun to press in on you, demanding your attention in ways you couldn't ignore.

You'd tried to put it all behind you, to focus on your life, your studies, your family. But the memories lingered, the feelings you'd tried so hard to bury still whispering in the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced.

You'd found yourself at war with your emotions, torn between the rational part of your mind that told you he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuits, and the part of you that ached whenever you thought of him, that remembered the way your heart had skipped a beat when he smiled at you, the way your breath had caught in your throat when he'd call your name.

It had become too much—the confusion, the longing, the impossibility of it all.

So you'd stopped coming, stopped visiting the park, stopped putting yourself through the torment of seeing him and knowing that it could never be real.

And now, four years later, at twenty-three, you were back.

With a sigh, you turned away from the window, running a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off your muddled emotions.

You'd told yourself you had come here to enjoy yourself, to escape from the pressures of your life for a while, to lose yourself in the fantasy and the adventure of Westworld.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You'd come back for him, for the chance to see him again, to find out if those feelings, those sparks that had once threatened to consume you, were still there.

And as you stood in the saloon last night, your eyes drawn to his solitary figure in the corner, you'd felt it again—that familiar rush of emotions you'd thought you'd left behind.

The sight of him, looking so lost and alone, had brought it all flooding back—the memories, the feelings, the ache in your chest that had never really gone away.

You knew it was dangerous; you knew you were treading a fine line between fantasy and reality, between what was possible and what could never be. But as you stood there, your heart racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts, one thing was clear.

You weren't done with him.

Not yet.

And this time, you were determined to find out what it all meant, no matter where it led.

The sun had already settled high in the sky by the time you finally left the inn, the warmth of the day pressing gently against your skin as you stepped outside.

You'd chosen to stick with your green aesthetic, just like on the train, but this time you'd added a touch of softness with a dress adorned with delicate flower patterns on the sleeves, the fabric falling gently around your knees in a way that felt both comfortable and flattering.

You were a little embarrassed to admit how long it had taken you to get ready that morning, standing in front of the mirror, making sure every detail was perfect.

Kiro had been exasperated with you, of course.

She'd watched you fuss over your hair and straighten your dress with a mix of impatience and amusement. "You know, you're taking longer than I do to get ready, and that's saying something," she'd teased, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "I'm heading out. Meet me at the saloon tonight, okay? Don't get too lost in your head today." And with that, she'd left, eager to explore the park on her own terms.

Now, as you descended the stairs of the inn, your hand trailing along the polished wooden railing, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

You smoothed the front of your dress once more, the soft fabric cool under your fingertips, the vibrant green contrasting with the sun-washed browns and reds of the town outside.

As your feet touched the last step, you heard a low whistle, the sound drawing your attention to a small group of rough-looking cowboys lounging against the porch railing nearby.

They were the kind of men who looked like they belonged in this world, their faces tanned and weathered, their hats pulled low over their eyes as they eyed you with a lazy, predatory interest.

"Well, well, well. Now, ain't you a sight for sore eyes," one of them drawled, his eyes raking over you with a slow, deliberate gaze. "Look sweeter than a peach just waitin' to be plucked." His grin was wide, showing a row of yellowed teeth, his words met with a chorus of chuckles from the men around him.

Another leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked you up and down. "Mmm, I'd sure like to sink my teeth into somethin' else," he added, his tone dripping with innuendo as the rest of them cackled, their laughter harsh and grating in the stillness of the afternoon.

You glanced at them, a single, disinterested look that you hoped conveyed exactly how little you cared for their words.

They were either guests—in which case a host would step in if they tried anything due to the Good Samaritan Reflex code, or hosts themselves—which means their behavior is designed to be provocative but ultimately harmless.

Either way, you knew there was no real danger, not here, not like this.

So you straightened your shoulders, your gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead of you, and walked past them without a word, your chin held high as you ignored their lewd stares and crude comments.

They called after you, their voices fading into the background as you continued down the street, each step carrying you further away from their lingering gazes.

It wasn't long before you found yourself near the post office, the familiar sight of it bringing a rush of nostalgia that tightened in your chest.

You slowed your steps, your eyes scanning the area almost unconsciously.

And then you saw him.

Just like all those years ago, he sat on the bench outside the telegram office, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed over a piece of paper in his hands. The same air of frustration and sadness clung to him, a palpable sense of weariness in the way he held himself.

Your heart flipped in your chest, the familiar, almost painful ache spreading through you as you took him in. The sunlight casted a warm glow over his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the line of his brow as he stared down at the paper in his hands.

He looked just as he did the first time you'd encountered him—disheartened and frustrated.

You stood there for a moment, your breath caught in your throat, your feet rooted to the ground as you watched him.

It was as if you'd been transported back to that first day, the day you'd found him sitting here, lost and alone, a small, seemingly inconsequential part of this vast, complex world.

But to you, he'd been more than that.

He'd been the one thing that had made this place feel real, the one person who had made you feel like you belonged.

But you knew better.

You'd told yourself so many times that he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuitry, that whatever connection you felt, whatever emotions he stirred in you, weren't real.

And yet, standing here, watching him, you couldn't help but feel that familiar pull, that spark of something that had never really gone away.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you forced yourself to move, your steps slow and measured as you approached the bench where he sat.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the anticipation and fear swirling inside you like a storm, but you kept walking, kept moving toward him, drawn by a force you couldn't explain.

And as you drew closer, his head lifted, his eyes meeting yours with that same startled, almost shy expression you remembered so well.

But before you could say anything, before you could even think of what to say, he spoke, his voice soft and uncertain, the words catching in his throat as he looked up at you with that familiar, heartbreaking mix of hope and hesitation.

"E-Excuse me," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Could you… could you help me, please?"

You were taken aback by the slight change in his introduction.

Normally, he would launch into the full explanation right away, his voice carrying a rehearsed cadence that was both familiar and comforting. But now, he just stared up at you, his eyes wide and earnest, the plea in them so tangible it made your chest ache.

It was almost unsettling how real he seemed, how much more depth there was to his expression, to the subtle shift of emotions that played across his features.

Four years was a long time, long enough for all sorts of updates and changes to be made to the hosts. Who knew what modifications had been added to his programming in that time?

But even so, it was hard not to feel the weight of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if he were truly lost, as if the question he'd asked wasn't just part of a scripted narrative but something he genuinely needed answered.

Clearing your throat, you tried to steady yourself, your mind racing to catch up with the moment. "Ah, y-yes, I can help," you managed, your voice a little shaky as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, to hold that intense, almost pleading gaze. "Um, what exactly can I do?"

He exhaled softly, the breath escaping him in a way that felt almost too human, his shoulders sagging just a fraction as if the prospect of your help had lifted some great weight off his shoulders.

"You see," he began, his voice still low, the words coming slowly, as if he were choosing each one with care, "I've found myself in a bit of a predicament." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, his gaze dropping to the paper in his hands as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but…" He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with a kind of quiet desperation that took your breath away. "It seems I've boarded the wrong one."

His hand tightened slightly around the telegram, his fingers smoothing over the creased edges, the gesture almost absentminded. "I contacted my employers, and they told me I should catch the correct train at a different station. But, I'm afraid I'm still not entirely sure how to get there." He glanced around, his gaze sweeping the street, his eyes lingering on the distant shapes of the trains at the edge of town before coming back to you, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. "And I fear my sense of direction is not quite up to the task."

You watched him, your heart thudding in your chest as you took in the subtle nuances of his expression, the way his eyes never quite left yours, searching your face for a response, for some sign of reassurance.

There was something so disarmingly sincere in his mannerisms, the slight hitch in his voice, the way his shoulders hunched ever so slightly as if he were bracing himself for disappointment.

It was impossible not to be struck by how much he had changed since your last visit.

The Andy you remembered had been charming, yes, but there had always been a certain distance to his interactions, a formality that marked him as a creation of the park.

But this version of him felt different, more grounded, more real.

It was as if the boundaries between what he was and what he was supposed to be had blurred in your absence, as if he had somehow become more than just a collection of code and wires.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the way the sunlight played off his features, that you almost didn't notice when he leaned in slightly, waving a hand lightly in front of your face. "Ma'am?"

"Uh—uh, yes! I'll help!" you blurted out, feeling your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you snapped back to reality.

You nodded a bit too enthusiastically, trying to regain your composure. But then a sudden thought hit you like a splash of cold water.

You weren't alone on this trip. Kiro was here too, off doing who-knows-what, and you couldn't just disappear without her or at least letting her know.

You turned back to Andy, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, I forgot, I'm with a friend," you explained, your voice a little hesitant. "And I'm not sure if she'd want to tag along, and I just can't leave her..."

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw his expression shift, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. His shoulders drooped just a fraction, a fleeting look of disappointment passing over his face.

You were already scrambling to make up an excuse, your mind racing for a solution. "...But then again, she's kinda unpredictable, you know?" you added quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Who knows? She might be up for a wild adventure."

He blinked, his gaze flickering back to yours, the hope in his eyes reigniting like a small flame. "Are you... are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," you said, smiling as you nodded. "Lead the way."

Andy seemed to relax at that, his posture straightening as he offered you a grateful smile.

But then he hesitated, glancing down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost bashful. "I should warn you, though," he murmured, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "The place I'll be taking you next… it might be a little unorthodox for a lady such as yourself."

He paused, shifting on his feet, his eyes darting away and then back to you. "I apologize in advance," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, "if it's not quite what you were agreeing to. I assure you, if there were another way to reach the station, I would take it."

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued by the mix of hesitance and sincerity in his tone. "What do you mean?" you asked, your heart beating a little faster as you tried to piece together what he was getting at.

Andy glanced around, almost as if checking to see if anyone was listening, before leaning in slightly. "We need to go through the Mariposa Saloon," he explained, his voice still soft, his gaze searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. "It's… well, it's not exactly the most respectable establishment, and I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

A soft laugh escaped you, the sound surprising you as much as it seemed to surprise him.

You couldn't help it—there was something endearing about the way he seemed so concerned for your comfort, the way he was trying so hard to be considerate, even in the midst of this fictional world. "It's fine, really," you assured him, your smile widening as you met his eyes. "I think I can handle it."

He looked relieved at that, his shoulders relaxing as he nodded. "Very well, then," he said, offering you his arm in a gesture that was both old-fashioned and utterly charming. "Shall we?"

You took his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jacket, the solidness of his presence beside you.

As the two of you made your way down the street, the Mariposa Saloon looming ahead, you couldn't help but marvel at how much this narrative had changed, how much more intricate and layered it felt.

The Andy you remembered would have already told you everything, laid out his entire predicament in a neat, tidy package, but this version… He was different.

The information was spread out, doled out in small, tantalizing pieces that made you want to know more, made you want to dig deeper into the story.

It felt more real, more alive, and you found yourself drawn in, caught up in the flow of it, in the way he glanced at you with that almost shy smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.

There was a depth to his mannerisms, a subtlety to his expressions that made it feel less like a performance and more like a genuine interaction.

It was like he'd evolved, become something more complex and human in the years you'd been away.

When you both entered the saloon, a familiar scene unfolded before your eyes. The low murmur of voices, the lively music from the piano in the corner, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic symphony that filled the air.

The room was packed, just as it had been the night before, the atmosphere alive with the energy of a dozen different stories playing out around you.

Andy navigated through the throng of people with ease, his hand hovering close to yours as he led the way to the bar.

You took a moment to glance around, your eyes sweeping over the familiar sights. The same rough-and-tumble cowboys leaning against the bar, the saloon girls laughing softly as they coaxed coins from eager hands, the showgirl on stage captivating the audience with her sultry voice.

It was all so familiar, yet there was an added layer to it today, a sense of anticipation humming in the air that you couldn’t quite place.

The bartender from last night caught sight of you as you approached, his smirk widening as he tossed the towel over his shoulder, picking up a glass to polish as if he had all the time in the world. "What can I get for a fine filly such as yourself?" he drawled, his eyes sweeping over you appreciatively.

There was no hint of recognition in his gaze, just the easy charm of a man who was used to making small talk and selling drinks. His purpose here was simple, his role in the story limited to serving alcohol and providing bits of information for those who needed it.

Before you could answer, Andy cleared his throat, stepping a little closer to you as if to shield you from the bartender's gaze. "I'm afraid we're not here for drinks," he said, his voice polite but firm. "We're looking for Mr. Granger."

The bartender's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild annoyance as he jerked his head toward the back of the room. "Granger's over there, playin' cards," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Andy. "Good luck gettin' him to listen, though. That man's more interested in his women and his winnings than anything else."

Andy nodded, his grip tightening gently around your wrist as he turned to lead you toward the corner where the bartender had indicated. "Thank you."

You felt your heart skip a beat at the touch, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

It wasn't the first time he'd guided you like this, but something about the way he held your wrist now felt different, more intimate somehow, as if he were reluctant to let go.

You followed him through the crowd, the noise and chaos swirling around you like a living, breathing thing, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the way his shoulder brushed against yours as he maneuvered you both through the room.

The back of the saloon was dimly lit, the air thick with the acrid scent of cigar smoke and the sour tang of spilled beer.

A large group of men were gathered around a table, their voices rising and falling in a raucous chorus as they shouted and cursed at one another, their hands slapping down cards and coins with equal fervor.

It was a raucous, chaotic scene, the players’ faces flushed with drink and excitement as they leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the game with a near-maniacal intensity.

In the middle of the chaos sat Granger, the man you'd been looking for.

He was a rough sight, a grizzled figure with a scruffy red beard that looked like it hadn't seen a razor in weeks and piercing dark green eyes that were sharp and watchful even amidst the drunken revelry around him. His clothes were worn and dusty, the kind of attire that had seen long days under the sun and cold nights by a campfire.

There was an air of danger about him, the kind of man who'd been through more than his fair share of trouble and come out the other side hardened and cynical.

But what stopped you in your tracks wasn't his appearance—it was the sight of Kiro perched on his lap, her legs crossed casually, looking for all the world like she belonged there.

She was wearing his wide-brimmed cowboy hat, the brim tilted jauntily to one side as she held a fan of cards in one hand, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "C'mon, mommy needs a new pair of snake boots," she muttered, the words drawing a burst of laughter from the men gathered around the table.

You watched, dumbstruck, as she threw down her cards with a flourish, the movement quick and precise.

The crowd around the table leaned in, their breath held in anticipation, and then the room erupted in a chorus of shouts and cheers as Kiro's hand cleared the table, sweeping up the pile of coins and bills in the center.

"Well, I'll be damned!" one of the men shouted, slapping his thigh as he laughed, his voice booming over the din. "She done cleaned us out!"

Granger chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down your spine as he looked up at Kiro. "You're somethin' else, darlin'," he drawled, his voice a lazy rumble as he reached up to tip his hat back slightly, revealing more of his weathered face. "Didn't think a city girl like you had it in her."

Kiro just grinned, flashing him a cheeky smile as she scooped up the winnings and shoved them into her pockets. "Guess you underestimated me, cowboy," she teased, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she lifted one of the shot glasses from the table and downed it in one go, the liquor burning a path down her throat.

You exchanged a glance with Andy, your eyes wide with disbelief as you took in the scene.

This was Kiro—your Kiro—sitting on the lap of a man who looked like he could chew her up and spit her out without a second thought, and she was acting like she’d just won a round of poker at a fancy hotel rather than in the back of a lawless saloon.

Without thinking, you pulled Andy a little closer, your fingers brushing against his as you moved to stand directly in front of Kiro, your heart pounding in your chest. "Kiro, what the hell?"

She paused mid-swig, the glass hovering just in front of her lips as her eyes widened in surprise.

Slowly, she turned to look at you, blinking as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "Uh… hey?" she said, the word dragging out in a way that made it sound more like a question than a greeting.

You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words to express what you were feeling, but all you could manage was a strangled, "What are you doing?"

Kiro glanced around the table, as if suddenly remembering where she was, and then back at you, her lips curling into a sheepish smile. "Just, uh, making friends?" she offered, her voice lilting up at the end, as if she were trying to gauge your reaction.

"Making friends?" you echoed, gesturing to the pile of winnings in front of her. "It looks more like you're robbing them blind!"

Kiro shrugged, the motion exaggerated as she tossed back the rest of her drink, the liquid disappearing in one quick gulp. "It's not my fault they suck at cards," she said, her grin widening as she leaned back, her elbow resting casually on Granger's shoulder. "Besides, what's the point of coming here if you're not gonna have a little fun?"

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something, anything, but then Andy's hand tightened slightly around yours, his fingers warm and reassuring against your skin.

You glanced up at him, his eyes meeting yours with a look of quiet support, and the knot of annoyance in your chest loosening just a fraction.

Taking a deep breath, you gave Kiro a pointed look, mouthing the word "Later," before turning your attention back to Granger. He was sipping on a cup of whiskey, his eyes sharp and calculating as he watched the two of you.

You cleared your throat, trying to summon as much authority as you could muster in the presence of this grizzled, intimidating man. "Mr. Granger, I need your assistance with getting Mr. Andy to the correct station," you began, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

Granger tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Andy, and for a moment, you weren't sure if he was going to take you seriously. But then his eyes lit up in recognition, and a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. "Ah, pretty boy," he said, his voice a rough rumble of amusement as he leaned back in his chair. "I see you did what I told ya, yeah?"

Andy stepped forward, his posture straight and respectful as he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Granger’s face. "I desperately need—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't care to hear all that," Granger interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. "Usually, I'd turn down a job like this, 'specially for someone like you." He paused, his gaze flicking over Andy with a kind of wary disdain. "You sound like one of those English uppity types, always comin' through here actin' like they're better than everyone else."

Andy's face tightened slightly at the words, but he held his ground, his jaw clenched as he nodded. "I understand, sir. But—"

"But," Granger cut in, his voice rising slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes locking on yours. "Since you got these two sweet little plums so willin' to get you there, I reckon I can make an exception." He winked at Kiro, who had slid off his lap to stand beside you, her cheeks still flushed from the whiskey.

She straightened her clothes, her hands smoothing down the fabric with quick, nervous movements as she muttered a quiet, "Sorry."

You gave her a small smile before glancing back at Andy. His shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction, his eyes softening as he turned to look at you, gratitude written plainly across his features.

Granger leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the two of you. "But I ain't doin' it for free," he continued, his tone turning serious as he met Andy's gaze head-on. "I'll get you to the station, but it's gonna cost ya. I need enough to cover my room and board for three nights when I get back, you hear?"

Andy nodded without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it."

Granger grunted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for any sign of deceit. But apparently satisfied, he pushed his chair back with a scrape of wood against wood, the legs catching on the uneven floorboards as he stood. He reached down, scooping up the pile of winnings from the table with one hand, the coins clinking softly as they fell into his palm.

He glanced at Kiro, his smile widening as he split the pile, holding out half of the coins to her. "Here you go, darlin'. You earned it."

Kiro looked at the pile of coins in his hand, her eyes widening slightly before she shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she reached up to pat his chest. "Keep it, big boy," she said with a grin, her tone light and teasing. "You need it more than me."

Granger raised an eyebrow at that, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he tucked the coins back into his pocket. "Suit yourself," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He nodded toward the door, his expression turning serious once more as he looked back at Andy. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

You felt Andy's hand brush against yours again, the brief contact sending a rush of warmth through you as he offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You nodded, your heart still pounding as you turned to follow Granger, Kiro close at your side.

Whatever lay ahead, whatever challenges you were about to face, you knew you were ready.

A/N: i wanted to give it in 2 parts but my sis bullied me and said nobody wanna read that long ahh fic 😭💔 she right tho haha sry bout that lolol

[bugrry]

Bookstore Girl || ellie williams x fem!reader

hello lovelies!! firstly i want to thank @els-dayz for writing up this prompt because i've been wanting to start writing for ellie but i was suffering from some crippling writer's block and couldn't come up with anything for the life of me. all my love goes to liyah <33

masterlist || requests are open

word count: 2.7k

warnings: none i think! just wlw sweetness <3

You really hadn’t wanted to leave the Boise QZ. You’d grown up there; you had friends, a decent job posting, and most importantly, no real idea of where else you could even go. But the FEDRA officers had started crossing lines. They’d started to withhold ration cards, raided homes when they knew the occupants were out on job details, and even brutalized those who disobeyed even the smallest rules. You had tried to be an obedient citizen, but you could feel things were getting worse. You couldn’t just stick around and wait to get killed. This had been your home, but it was becoming more and more unrecognizable with every passing day. 

So you made a plan to get out. 

You had been hearing whispers of a large settlement in western Wyoming, and after spending a few days studying old maps, you deemed the journey doable. 

After packing a few bags, circling Jackson on the map, and waiting for the sun to go down, you finally put the plan you’d been piecing together into action. Your escape went by in a blur, but somehow, by sheer luck, you’d wormed your way into FEDRA’s stables and made away with one of their horses. 

The ride took you about a week. You were grateful you’d chosen to leave before the winter became too brutal, but the wind still whipped at any bare skin. By the time you came upon the Jackson city limits, your whole body ached, your hands were nearly raw, and you were sure you reeked. Once they had deemed you as someone who was not a threat to their community, you were allowed inside the walls. You were pleasantly surprised by how tightly knit the community was. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and they all just wanted the best for one another. There were no officers berating citizens, no one hiding in alleys to avoid being caught, and no one shoveling anything other than snow off the paths.

You sat down with Tommy and Maria and they asked you where you were from, why you left, and what you wanted from Jackson. You told them what was happening in Boise and that, even though it pained you to admit it, the city was no longer your home. They were sympathetic, and they fixed you up in a small townhouse near the library. You were positively ecstatic. Not just at the fact that you had been welcomed into Jackson and been given a home, but at the fact that they had a library.

You’d regretfully had to leave an extensive book collection back in Boise. You wanted to bring at least a few of your favorites with you, but your bags were already packed full of supplies and you knew the additional paper would only weigh you down. So, with a sigh and embarrassingly, a few tears, you left them behind.

Now, as you walk through the aisles of the Jackson library, you feel a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t felt in months. You’re absolutely elated at the idea of being able to just walk in and read books you’ve never even heard of instead of having to trade a portion of your weekly ration cards for a new book. You run a finger over the spines of the books as they sat on their shelves, and would occasionally pull out a title that speaks to you.

As you round a corner in order to comb through another row of books, your eyes catch on a title you’ve been in love with for years and you find yourself drawn to it like a magnet. You had been absolutely devastated when you’d had to leave it behind, and had it been a shorter book you would have taken it along with you, but your copy just took up too much space for you to be able to justify it. 

The book sits on the top shelf, just barely out of your reach, and you huff as you approach it. You turn to look for a step stool or ladder of some kind when your eyes land on a girl instead. She has her head bent over a book as she reads the back cover with a soft frown on her face. Her chin-length auburn hair frames her face beautifully as a guitar sits slung over her shoulder. You find yourself captivated by her. 

She must feel you staring at her because she turns her head toward you and her frown softens as her eyes meet yours.

“I–um…” you begin to stumble out an apology as the intensity of her eyes takes you aback, “I’m sorry, I was just wondering if you could grab this book off the top shelf for me?”

You point to the book in question as she approaches you with a smile and a nod. She reaches above you and your breath catches in your throat. You catch a whiff of her and you swear your knees just about buckle in response. When she pulls away from you with the book in her hand, you find yourself missing her warmth and you almost ask her to grab another book for you just so you can be that close to her again. 

She hands you the book as she mumbles a soft, “There you are,” before she moves to turn away from you. You panic as you watch her retreating figure and you speak before you even know what you’re going to say.

“Wait!”

She turns back toward you abruptly, her eyes wide. She doesn’t walk back in your direction, but she also doesn’t continue down the aisle. You let out a breath, puffing your cheeks as you approach her. You're digging in your brain for words but become frustrated when you come up empty.  She doesn’t say anything, just raising a brow at you as you come to a stop in front of her. 

“Um…” you start, just to stop her from walking away from you again, “I’m Y/N. I’m new to Jackson and you’re, like, the first person I’ve met other than Tommy and Maria. I just wanted to introduce myself,” you say awkwardly.

The girl smiles at you softly, reaching her right hand out in offering. You grasp it and your knees almost buckle once again at the feeling of her fingers gripping your hand. 

“I’m Ellie,” she says once your hands part, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you begin to panic, you don’t know how to keep this conversation going but you do know that you never want it to end. Luckily Ellie takes that responsibility off your hands. 

“Have you, uh, had a tour of the town yet?” she asks, rubbing her hand nervously along the seam of her pants. You smile brightly at her and shake your head. She smiles back at you as though she’d just been told that she won the lottery. 

“Let me show you around then, yeah?”

“I’d like that.”

—

After the two of you check out your books and she begins to show you around Jackson, your conversation never once ceases. You two talk about everything and nothing, and by the time Ellie runs out of things to show you, you feel as though you’ve known her forever. You point out where your house is and she walks you to your door. The two of you stand on the steps leading up to your front door silently for a few moments before you turn to unlock your door.

“Wait…” Ellie starts suddenly, making you turn back toward her, “I had a lot of fun with you today. I want to see you again.”

“Well, Jackson isn’t very big, Ellie,” you chuckle.

“I mean-” she starts, but you interrupt her.

“I know what you mean, Els. I had fun today too. I definitely want to see you again,” without looking away from her, you twist the doorknob and push the door open. “You want to come inside? I…I don’t have much in the way of drinks or entertainment, but I really don’t want tonight to end.” However, when you push the door all the way open, you are reminded of the truly barren state of your new home. With a grimace, you turn back to Ellie, who is just smiling at you. 

“How about we go to my place?” she suggests instead, “I can take you shopping tomorrow if you like. Promise to get you some good stuff.”

You smile even brighter back at her, “I would love that. Show me the way?”

She nods and reaches out her hand, nodding in its direction as an instruction for you to grab it. You obey her silently, wrapping your fingers around her slender hand. She squeezes your hand and you can feel your cheeks ache from how much you’d been smiling. She leads you back down the dirt path, past the library, and it's just a few minutes farther before the two of you come up to what you assume is her home. She drops your hand to unlock and open her door, and your hand feels so cold you almost whine. Ellie pushes her door open and grabs your hand again, pulling you through the threshold. You giggle at her excitement as she leads you to her couch and sits you down. Ellie smiles down at you before she turns toward what you assume is her kitchen. After a few steps, she turns her head back toward you.

“You want anything to drink?” she asks you as she reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a couple of glasses.

“Just water, thanks.” Ellie hums in response and fulfills your request quickly. She returns to you and sits down on the couch next to you, handing you your cup. You thank her quietly and look up at her. Like before, you are positively captivated by being so close to her, you wish you could look at her for the rest of your life. She smiles softly at you and leans in. Your heart begins to race, did you brush your teeth this morning? What about your hair, is it okay? Oh God, you hope you’re not a disappointment.

She simply pecks you on the lips before pulling away, smiling all the while. 

“You’re cute,” she says before she takes a sip of her drink. You feel your face warm and you look down at your cup with an embarrassing smile on your face. 

“You’re one to talk,” you say as you look up at her through your lashes. She hums softly at you before scooching closer to you. 

“You want to watch something?”

“Sure, what do you have?”

After a few minutes of deliberation, you two decide to watch one of Ellie’s favorite movies. It ends up being some shitty action movie that you can’t bring yourself to focus on. Instead, you spend the movie sneaking peeks at the girl next to you. During a lull in the movie’s action, she catches you looking over at her, and she wraps her arm around you and pulls you closer to her. You smile and settle yourself into the space between her arm and her ribs.

Eventually, you pull away from her and ask, “can I lay my head in your lap?”

She smiles sweetly at you and nods, “only if I can play with your hair while you do it.”

You chuckle quietly and shuffle your body so that your head rests on her thighs. You don’t want to turn away from her, so you decide to just lie on your back so you can watch both her and the movie. However, you end up spending more time looking up at her as she repeatedly runs her fingers over your hair than you do the movie. Her movements are so calming and the day has been so long that you feel your eyelids getting heavy. As much as you want to keep watching her, you allow yourself to drift off.

–

You are awoken by your name being called softly and the credits rolling on the TV in front of you.

“Sorry,” you say, sitting up, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,”

“It's okay,” she says, her face flushed, “it was nice.”

You look up at her, smiling softly before you scooch up closer to her face.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask nervously, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Ellie responds by planting her lips on yours and moving her hands up to cradle your head. The two of you move in sync for a few minutes before she maneuvers the two of you to lie down on the couch. She pulls away from you for a moment and speaks to you breathlessly.

“We don’t have to do anything more tonight, I just want to kiss on you for a little. There’s no pressure.”

You smile and nod, leaning back up toward her to reconnect your lips. You get lost in the smell and the taste of her and you find yourself thinking about how long she’d kiss you. She must be a mind reader because she pulls away again.

“God, I could just kiss you forever,” she pants before she connects her lips to your neck and sucks lightly. You groan quietly at the movement and feel her smile against your neck before she pulls away to press light kisses over any bare skin available to her. After she’s kissed over your whole neck, she pulls away and sits up. You almost whine, but she rubs her hands along your body, and you can’t find it in you to complain. 

“Can I take you up to my room?” she asks, and you feel your breath catch and your heart rate spike, “not to do…that. I’m sorry love, I’m too tired to treat you like you should be treated, but I really want you to stay the night.”

You smile, heaving a nervous sigh out of your mouth, “I really want me to stay the night too.”

She smiles back at you and leans down again, pressing her lips to yours before pulling your body back up with hers. You yelp as she moves your body into her arms and lifts you from the couch. You don’t see where she’s taking you, you’re too enraptured with watching her arms flex as she carries you through her house. 

Soon enough though, you’ve reached her bedroom, and she sets you down on some surprisingly comfortable sheets.

“I have some spare pajamas for you if you like, and maybe a spare toothbrush somewhere,” she says as she begins digging through her drawers. You don’t respond to her, you just watch as she putters around her room in search of nighttime toiletries to lend you. You smile at the domesticity of it all. She returns with a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a toothbrush.

“Got this from the commissary last week so it’s clean,” she says, handing the toothbrush to you.

“Oh,” you giggle, “were you preparing for a guest?” She laughs lightly and turns away from you to pull off her day clothes. Once again, you find yourself tracing the outline of her lean body with your eyes, and you’re transfixed by the way she moves. 

Once you’re both ready for bed, she returns to your side and pulls the covers back, ushering you to do the same. She flips the lamp off and you snuggle up to her, sighing as you return to her warmth and her smell. She wraps her arms around you and shifts you so that you’re almost laying on top of her.

“Today was a good day,” she whispers into the dark air, “I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you too, Ellie,” you whisper back before snuggling further down, "thank you for welcoming me to Jackson," you hear yourself mutter before you drift off into the most fitful sleep you’ve ever had.

a/n - i'm not sure how i feel about this because i'm posting it while very very high but my friends say its good so here you go <33 i hope you enjoy bc i had a lot of fun writing this!!!

requests for ellie are open !!

[fanficdumbchic]

Hey it’s P or Phoenix! I was wondering if I could request more Chet Donnelly stuff from weird science ❤️ maybe dating headcanons or literally anything ❤️

Dating Chet Donnelly

Headcanon - Chet Donnelly x Reader - SFW

Originally, Chet couldn't stand you. You were one of his sister's 'bitchy' little friends that he always spatted with.

However, you noticed after awhile that he would go out of his way to have those spats and once you teased him, "It's like you like me or something..." he went red and walked away awkwardly.

You busted his balls and he liked that. He wouldn't admit it but he was so into it.

Eventually, he sucked up his pride and asked you out. You laughed at first until you realized he was serious. It stunned you but you surprised to find you didn't hate the idea of it. His authority vibes were kind of hot.

You guys started dating soon after that.

There was more to Chet than you thought. You could tell that some of his over-the-top bravado was just to win approval from his father.

He wasn't really as much of an asshole as you thought. He just wanted to guard himself from ever being the but of the joke or looking like he was weak in any way.

He wasn't going to become sappy or emotional, but at least less of an asshole.

He's not the most clever man, sometimes you hurt his feelings by laughing when he says something stupid. He won't admit it but you can tell by the look in his eyes. You try to be more gentle but sometimes the shit he says is too stupid to not be funny.

Under the tough, mean exterior he was kind of dumb but really sweet. He wouldn't get too affectionate in front of his parents or his friends but in your alone time, he was a teddy bear. He loved cuddling and watching old war movies or westerns. You didn't care for them but being with him is what you enjoyed.

While you loved him, you didn't take his shit whatsoever. This is what he liked, even if reluctantly, he would often have to admit you were right.

He started out a little insecure in bed, trying very hard to overcompensate and impress you. But eventually, after becoming comfortable and familiar with you, he turned into a savage. Def into that dom shit.

You could get into some really heated fights, but often it lead to the best make-up sex.

[doodle-pops]

Dancing like a lonely feather

You have always been an oddball in the village where you lived. By now you were an orphan for most of your life, since your mother died when you were four. You never knew your father. Mother only told you that he was handsome, dressed in blue and could do tricks, like the elves from fairytales. Other villagers said that he most probably was an elf who bewitched and seduced your mother.

You never knew what to make of it, always wondering why he never showed up, since your mommy clearly loved him and missed him. Since the early childhood you seemed to see and hear more than the rest. And you loved to be outdoors. When most people hid from the rain, you were outside, enjoying cool tickles of raindrops. Unlike others, you only rarely feared thunderstorms. When others tossed and turned in their beds whenever they couldn't sleep, you walked outside, enjoying stars, full moon and gentle night breeze, whispering secrets. As you grew up, you were even able to predict the weather, which came in handy, but it also made people wonder if you were some kind of a witch. Things started changing for worse, when you came of age. Your talents grew and you used them to help others. You were able to tell if there would be a draught or if there would be enough rain during summer. You even knew how to repell pests and protect crops. All the villagers were grateful for that, but also wary. As years passed by, you showed no signs of aging.

Some of the villagers simply shrugged it of, thinking that it was your father's inheritance, since he most probably was an elf. As you kept your youthful beauty, some men, even those married wanted to have you. You would always refused, but it didn't help much, rather made things even worse. Others envied you or even spread rumours about you finally showing your true nature, using your wicked powers to steal youth from others.

When one family lost their youngest child - barely three years old - after harsh winter, you were blamed even if you would never dream of such a thing as harming cute innocent being. You didn't wait for the villagers to catch you and ran into the wilds, almost blind with tears.

Living just on your own was hard. It took you a few weeks, before you found yourself safe shelter within woods. Loneliness struck you hard at first, but the longer you spent time in the wild, the clearer the voice of wind and songs of water called to you. You found comfort in them and shared your sorrows and joy with them.

Somewhere within you soul you always knew where to find something to eat, herbs to heal yourself whenever you got hurt, or you felt sick - the latter happening almost never since you came of age.

You lost the count of years spent there, but one spring you started feeling restless. You couldn't seem to find the cause. Also your everyday tasks got harder and harder, until the next spring you finally realized, what was happening - the world around you seemed to slowly fall asleep as if tired. It scared you shitless. Loneliness returned with double force. You ended up leaving your home and set on your journey, seeking place, where the wind whispered in the leaves and water sang its bubbly melodies. You chose to go west, the western wind always seemed the liveliest and most lighthearted.

You find peace that way after some time, because the wind and waters respond to you again - being now just as ever moving as them, you resonate. Wind is your faithful guide, water is your patient confidant. Your bond with them grows strong enough for you to summon an abundant rain during long draught, inviting the wind and water to dance and sing with you.

One day when you simply dance and sing, sharing your thoughts and feelings with the wind, elves walk on you as they make their way to the west, to Grey Havens and beyond. They don't know what to make of you, a being looking like a mortal and yet behaving so unlike them.

When you notice them, you blush bright red and then you become shy and nervous. You heard stories about them bewitching mind of unsuspecting people, fooling them and turning them into puppets to toy with them.

The wind though whispers about them as if it was a child, introducing it's playmates to you. Some of them knew your language and after some careful asking you are invited to join them on their way. You agree, because they are anything but what all you heard about them.

They are willing to teach you many things about survival and their crafts that could come in handy, as well as their language. And you are a quick learner. Evenings are spent around a campfire while telling tales of old or rather recent hunting stories.

You get separated from them during an attack of slavers. This time you are scared, but also angry, furious. This time you call to wind for help and it helps - sudden blast from you sends most of them flying several feet high and far, scaring them to their rotten core.

At first you are clueless about where to go now, until you remember what all you heard about Elrond, Lord of Imladris, a valley hidden between the slopes of Misty Mountains. A wise elven lord and master healer. Perhaps he could find out what causes you to not age and tell you, what all it means for you.

And so you head west again letting the wing guide you once again. One rainy late spring day, at the eastern lowest rocky slopes of misty mountains, you finally rest at the mouth of small cave, fire already burning and drying your soaked clothes. Since there were no sings of danger after you checked repeatedly your surroundings, you indulge yourself and sing once again a song, your only memory you have of your mother by now.

When the last echo of your song fades and you are about to make yourself something to eat, you hear beautiful masculine voice singing a gentle tune. It sends cozy images through your mind, but you are still on alert, looking for the singer.

Finally he emerges from thickening mist. He's all soaked, his face pale and his wet hair clinging to him. He shivers with cold and limps a bit. You greet him as friendly as you can to show you mean no harm and offer him help. After hesitating for a while he accepts and introduces himself as Erandir.

He is surprised about how much you know about healing herbs and other things - he says that he never came across a mortal like you. When you asked what happened to him, he explains he got ambushed by bandits on his way to Imladris, where he hoped to find some friends of old.

When you tell him that you are heading there as well he is both surprised and a bit suspicious. When you explain that since your coming of age you don't show any signs of aging, he blinks incredulously at you.

"Perhaps you do have elven blood in your veins, though I can't get, why would an elf leave a woman he just married..."

It seems it bothers him for some reason. He agrees to join you once he recovers enough to be able to walk for the most of the day. You entertain him with stories from your childhood or made up fairytales - the he likes much better. He sings songs to you about anything and everything and trades stories with you. It doesn't take long for you to trust him.

As much as he was wary at first around you, he finally relaxes. When you both finally leave the cave and head to Imladris, you notice somehow ever-present sadness and sorrow, so you do your best to cheer him up, coming up with funny little fairytales. You have no idea how much he appreciates them and how fondly he starts watching over you while you sleep.

Travelling with him is much safer and more comfortable - he knows all sorts of hidden secret paths, where there always is a sourse of drinkable water and place, where one can sleep, protected from elements and wild beasts or orcs.

Your journey isn't that much uneventful as you might have hoped, you get ambushed by small group of orcs. You both defend yourself as best you can, him shooting arrows at them, you using gusts of wind to knock the orcs down and over the edge of narrow path.

You notice one last archer among the orcs, aiming at Erandir. Before you manage to warn him, the orc falls pierced by someone else's arrow. Fortunately for you, a patrol from Imladris finds you both and takes care of remaining orcs.

Week later, you finally arrive in Imladris, all awed. It's not only the beauty you see, but the way the whole valley seems to be alive and talking to whoever is willing to listen. You are brought to the healers first, to be checked and tended to, before you meet Elrond himself, each on your own.

When you explain your reason why you came in Imladris, Elrond is taken aback, but promises to look into it. In the next days you are examined in various ways. After long weeks Elrond finally confirms you are not a half-elf like he himself, which makes the whole case even more curious.

During these days you meet with Erandir frequently and you learn he was allowed to stay for as long as he wished. He earns his keep by aiding the healers with the songs of power. You offer your help as well, using your talents.

It is nearly winter when grey wizzard arrives in Rivendell once again and Elrond sends one of his servants to fetch you, after he tells him about you and your incredible case. You get practically interrogated and the wizzard has you try again and again to remember your earlies memories so much you often get a head ache or has you perform your skills, seeming to come to conclusion that is hard for him to grasp.

After such sessions, Erandir's soothing voice is like a balm both for your mind and soul. He manages to lull you to sleep more than once. You notice something is bothering him, but he never tells you what it is, when you ask, which feels a bit odd. Perhaps he didn't feel that much close to you as you did to him?

Little did you know that it was rather a contrary.

Once again you spend one nice spring afternoon on a gazebo, looking and a waterfall.

"Y/n?" "Yes, Erandir?" "There is something...you should know. I should have told you long ago, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I wan't to...apologize for not being completely honest to you. It feels now so very wrong, because I wish to court you..." "Wha-? Y-you do?" "Very much so, Y/n. I...never told you my real name. I was...and to a point I stil am ashamed of what I once was. Daeron, the minstrel of Doriath, who betrayed the trust of what he thought was the love of his life. Think you...would like me to court you?"

You blinked, your eyes quickly flooded by tears. You sobbed happily and threw yourself in his arms. "Yes! Of course I would love that!" Guess what - temperature got back to normal level for summer here XD

The plot twist....😳

I thought they were half-elven...

When you said dressed in blue I thought House of Fingolfin....

I thought Erandir was gonna pull a "I am your father"

But he's Daeron...our minstrel of Doriath. Woah

Welcome back, been missing you and 💖anon with those imagines.

[terubakudan]

This may be an old article from 3 years ago, but these cultural aspects/observations still apply even today. And though this is strictly a Chinese perspective, a lot of these everyday life bits are observed in Overseas Chinese communities in countries such as The Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, etc. as well as countries heavily influenced by Chinese culture like Taiwan, Japan, and Korea.

I've always liked learning about other cultures and making comparisons between how things are done East vs West. Which probably stems from growing up with two cultures and Mom raising me on American movies xD

So the irony is if you asked me how many Chinese, Taiwanese, or Hong Kong actors I know, chances are I know as much as you do xD Like Jackie Chan, Andy Lau, and that's about it. But if you asked me about Western (specifically American and British) actors, then I have a useless brain dump of movie trivia and who was with who in what movie xD

Hmmm, both Taiwan and the Philippines are two distinct cultures but both look up to a certain country and are fascinated by that. In Taiwan's case, Japan and the US for the Philippines. In both cases, this is due to being under the rule of those countries in their history. Taiwan being under Japan for 50 years, and the Philippines being under Spain for 300+ years, followed by periods of American and Japanese rule. To put it simply though:

Taiwan is "mini-Japan with a very Chinese culture".

The Philippines is "former colony of Spain with lots of American influences".

But unlike the author, I've never set foot in any Western country, so my understandings are strictly what I've observed in media, which while it can be accurate, doesn't compare to actually experiencing the culture.

Some further elaboration on most points:

#1 We quite literally use chopsticks for everything. We use it to pick rice, viands, vegetables, fruit, smaller desserts, almost all the food you can think of.

But where do you put your chopsticks when you're not using them? Just put them on top of your bowl or flat on your plate. But do not ever stick them vertically. It's taboo, since it looks like incense sticks, which we use to pray for those who have passed, like our ancestors or during funerary services.

#3 The majority of Asia is obsessed with fair/white skin. In my time at the Philippines, I grew up watching all these Dove Whitening commercials and my classmates often commented on how fair my skin was, how they envied it etc. In Taiwan, girls often say they don't want to 變黑 (biàn hēi) 'become dark'. Japan and Korea too are not innocent of this either (if their beauty/skin products weren't a dead giveaway).

People here at Taiwan often mistake me for being from Hong Kong or Japan (as long as I don't speak Mandarin with my heavy accent xD). A Taiwanese classmate of mine joked that she often gets mistaken for being from Southeast Asia due to having a darker complexion. And while I laughed it off with her at that time, looking back, I now realize she was lowkey being racist. xD

And believe me Filipinas have mentioned literally being told 'your skin is so dark' here in Taiwan, or being given backhanded compliments like 'you're pretty despite having dark skin' and...*facepalms*

My point is, beauty is not exclusive to skin color. People who still think that are assholes.

#5 Not to say we don't have salt and pepper, but yes soy sauce and vinegar are the classic condiments you see on the table, be it at home or at a restaurant.

And if I may add, Taiwanese love their pepper. xD If you ever get to eat at a night market or a smaller "Mom n' Pop-style" restaurant here, some dishes/soups tend to add quite an excessive amount of pepper. Not like anthills, but quite liberally and way more than average. Enough that you see traces of pepper at the bottom of the food paper bag or swirling in your soup. xD

#6 I know this all too well from personal experience. In my years of studying at Taiwan, I always had roommates. 3 in my first school (I graduated high school in the Philippines pre K-12 so I had to make up 2 years of Senior High), followed by 2 in college, with the exception of 1 in freshman year.

My college did offer single person dorms but at around 9000 NTD ($324) per month compared to around 6000 NTD ($216) per semester. Because I wanted to save, the choice was obvious for me xD. But ah, this doesn't mean I don't value personal space, in fact I love having the room to myself, and since both my roomies would go home to their families every weekend, weekends were bliss for me xD

And you don't have to be friends with your roommates (that's an added bonus however), you just have to get along with them. I was quite lucky to have really great roommates all throughout my schooling years.

#9 In the Philippines, we do. Owing mostly to American influences and maybe being predominantly Catholic? xD

#10 *sigh* Chinese parents and parents from similar Asian cultures tend to put too much emphasis on grades, so much that kids could get sent to cram school as early as elementary. This is because what school you get into could literally affect your future job opportunities, and while that's not exclusive to any particular country/culture, I feel it's especially pronounced here in Asia. I'm really lucky my own parents weren't that strict about it. However, if your parents don't point the mistakes out to you, chances are you'll do it yourself, if you're an Asian kid like me anyway. xD It just becomes a habit.

#11 My family is an exception to this. xD We do say 'I love you' directly, but complete with the 'ah eat well ok?', 'don't scrimp on food', 'sleep well' and similar indirect words/actions of affection. We were doing 'Conceal, Don't Feel' before it became popular. xD

#13 I'm kind of confused about this but this has sort have changed over the years in which eye-contact is now more encouraged. But don't stare, especially at elders and authority figures. Sometimes it's just shyness though. xD And I've observed this with my own Taiwanese friend, especially when I'm complaining or ranting to her about something. xD I'm a person who likes to express my opinions strongly, which tends to scare/alienate some of the locals here, as doing so is kind of frowned upon. Thankfully, she does listen and offers her take on things.

#14 Ah this. xD In the Philippines, this is a common greeting known as beso-beso, and I freaked out too when an auntie did that to me. xD Needless to say, Mom lectured me later on what that was. ^^"

#16 Along with #3 another crazy beauty standard. In my view, people always look better with a little meat on them and when they're not horribly thin. Asia still has a loonng way to go with accepting different types of bodies if you ask me. This combined with modern beauty standards has made the pressure for women especially to 'look beautiful' higher than ever.

I know many people love them but please, starving yourself or glorifying eating disorders is never OK just to get this kind of 'ideal' body. I'm not part of the Kpop fandom, but even I think when idols get bullied just for gaining the least bit of weight among other insensitive comments, that's really going too far.

#17 'If you want to make friends, go eat.' <- I couldn't agree more. In the Philippines we have a greeting: 'Kumain ka na ba?' (Have you eaten?) . Similarly in Taiwan, we have 吃飯了沒? (chī fàn le méi), both of these can mean that in the literal sense but are often used as greetings instead. By then which invitation to having lunch/dinner together may or may not follow. Food really is a way for us to socialize and to catch up with what's going on in each other's lives. Not to say we don't have regular outings like going out to the mall, going shopping, etc. but eating together is a huge part of our culture, be it with family or friends.

And while I'm at it, some memes that are way too accurate good to pass up xD

Parents, uncles, aunties alike will fight over the bill xD

Alternatively:

You just space out until your name is called xD

My parents are guilty of the last one. Logic how? xD

#18 True. xD I like giving compliments out to people but I have a hard time accepting them myself, though I've learnt how to accept them much more now than before. We're kind of raised to constantly downplay ourselves so we often say things like 'ah no no' or 'I'm really not that good'. The downside of this of course is that it can come off as somewhat fake. xD

Again from personal experience, that same classmate who made the lowkey racist remark, she was good, she was on the debate team, was a honor student, knew how to mingle with people, but she downplayed herself way too much, while praising me but I honestly thought that she never really meant it from how she treated me. She wanted to keep me around her yet make backhanded compliments at me and she didn't want me socializing with my other classmate who is now my friend. *sigh* It was only after discussing this with one of my roomies did I realize how this 'excessive downplaying' might come off to people like me who more or less grew up with a more 'Westernized' mindset. I'm not saying brag about your achievements but don't be overly humble about them either, which can also be a turn off.

#20 We do tend to be a lot more realistic on how we view things, neither entirely optimistic nor pessimistic. We try to think of things practically and often analyze things on pure logic. A downside of this however, is that Chinese people can be overly practical. Taiwanese for instance don't like to 'find inconveniences' and generally keep to themselves, meaning, they won't help you in your hour of need even when they do have the capabilities. Sounds really harsh I know, but in my 6 years of living in Taiwan, while this doesn't apply to all the people, a lot of them really do only find/talk to you when they need something.

So for some people saying Taiwanese are 'friendly', that's BS xD If you ask me, Filipinos are infinitely more friendly, and again while not all, generally make more of an effort to help you when you need it. I really felt more of a real sense of community during my years growing up in the Philippines compared to Taiwan.

#21 Children do tend to stay with their parents well into college and adulthood, since Chinese families are indeed very family-oriented, in a lot of cases, grandparents often live under the same roof as us as well! And it really does save a lot of money. I see there's a real stigma in the US when it comes to "living with your parents", but that's starting to change especially because of Covid and having more and more people move back in with their parents.

Housing unfortunately is pretty much hella expensive no matter where you go, and Taiwan is no exception. Steep housing prices and the very high cost of raising a child (schooling + buxiban fees, etc.) contribute to a very low birth rate and thus an aging population like Japan. It's not uncommon to see both parents working in Taiwan.

#23 I'm an overthinker myself, but I totally agree with the author that the best is to strike a good balance between these two. Which I guess is why I love drawing or any other related creative attempts, it helps me be more spontaneous or well, creative! I like to remain intellectually or artistically inspired.

#24 Is French high school really like that? xD My friend did watch SKAM France and more or less got a culture shock from what was depicted on the show. I can confirm however that most high schools both in the Philippines and Taiwan require students to wear a uniform, only in college is everybody free to wear casual/civilian clothes.

#26 Ah this is part of our Asian gift-giving etiquette xD We always open gifts later after the event/meeting and in private. Never open them in front of the person who gave it to you or in front of others. This is to prevent any 'shame/embarrassment' that may result both to yourself and to the gift giver. I know this may come off as something weird since some people may want a more honest response or immediate feedback when it comes to gift-giving, but that's just how it is in our culture. You're always free to ask us though (in private) if we liked the gift or not ^^"

#28 I want to say the same goes to drinking, partying, and drugs however xD Those are things which are still frowned upon in our culture. And to be honest, whenever I see those in movies, it does kind of turn me off xD It doesn't mean that we're "uncool" or "boring", we just think that there are much better or healthier ways of "having fun".

#31 Is this true in France?! Man I would kind of prefer that instead of people being on their phones all the time xD This kind of goes with #20 in that Chinese are overly practical or logical, and don't read fiction as much as nonfiction. My Taiwanese friend is an exception though, she's a bibliophile who loves the feel of paper books compared to e-books, and it's a trait of her that I like a lot. Both the Philippines and Taiwan however have a huge fanbase when it comes to manga and anime though.

I'm all for reading outside of "designated reading" at schools especially. Reading fiction improves your vocabulary too, and can be quite fun! It helps you imagine and really invest in a world/story, and if you ask me something that I feel Westerners are better at, they're more in touch with their emotions and creativity, and are thus much more able to write compelling or original stories. Believe me, I've seen a fair amount of Chinese movies that rip off Western movie plotlines xD

#33 Nothing much to add on here..except that since I'm a "weird" person, Mom often jokes that she got the wrong baby from the hospital. xD

#35 True. While I agree with the care and concern that your fellow community can give you, the downside of this is we tend to only hang out with our own people, e.g Chinese with Chinese, Taiwanese with Taiwanese, etc. I've seen too that it's especially hard to make friends in Japan and Korea as a foreigner. Not only is there the language barrier, but the differences in culture too. In a way, Asians can be pretty close-minded on getting to know other cultures or actually making friends with people from other countries. I know this all too well being half-Taiwanese/half-Filipino, being neither "Filipino" enough nor "Taiwanese" enough. xD It's more of people here being too used to what they're comfortable with.

#36 Oh this is something I feel that Chinese students and other students from similar cultures should really improve on. xD How will people respect you if you don't speak your mind?

I felt bad especially for my Spanish teacher in college, granted it was an introductory course (Spanish I and II) but the amount of times that our teacher had to prompt a student to recite/speak even with clear hints already made her (and me too) extremely frustrated. The thing is, these are college students, I personally feel they don't have any reason to be so shy of speaking and technically by not doing so they're slowing the pace of the class too much and a lot of time is wasted.

Unfortunately you can't always be very vocal with your thoughts and opinions in most Asian cultures. I would say strive for that, but at the same time, play your cards well, especially if you're in a workplace setting.

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading and here's a cookie! 🍪 I'm not perfect and there's bound to be something I missed so please let me know if you spotted anything wrong. Feedback/questions are very much welcome and please feel free to share about your country/culture's differences or similarities!