#dutch city oc

[arthiiwille]

In case you need more nijntje in your life 🐰🇳🇱

Dutch city OCs original design via twi: mi_kan1609

[thefleshmustgrow]

Thinking about the creation of fiction cultures and how you can't ever truly avoid possibly representing or taking inspiration for existing real cultures just due to how, well, existence works

[sofarfarout]

Name: Cold Steel

Age: unknown

Gender: male

A tower of steel, reactors and mechanical ingenuity of his own design, Cold Steel is a brilliant roboticist and engineer. Growing up as an earth pony in the overwhelmingly pegasus populated city of Windschoten, Cold Steel found himself an outsider. He was seen as less than them, a mud horse, a pig pony, dirty, untouchable and below the pegasi. Even the few unicorns he knew of treated him with silent distaste. Though he was a bright colt that showed interest in tinkering and machinery at a young age, it seemed he would always be seen as lesser. Over the years, he has augmented and replaced his organic form with cyberized upgrades that give him capabilities far beyond that of a typical pony. Very little of his organic body remains. Cold Steel is gruff, ruthless, strict and logical, outright dismissing pony magic and believing in the superiority of science. He believes magic only leads to conflict and is used by ponies to lord over those that do not possess it and keep them underneath their hooves. Cold Steel loathes frivolousness and needless frills, preferring function over form in many aspects of life. He's abrasive as well, and about as cuddly as a pufferfish. His heart is not entirely cold however, as he still hangs onto his deep sympathy for those also looked down upon by ponies. Cold Steel prefers to stay in his workshop and continue to improve his cybernetics, but he may also be found searching the dump for anything he may use or repair or exploring abandoned facilities like factories and warehouses. He finds machines endlessly beautiful, and it saddens him to see them in disrepair, but it makes him very happy to see them still working after so long. He also enjoys strawberry cake but dislikes eating in front of others. He has a sort of Pixie and Brutus/mentor and student relationship with a young donkey named Sunflower Butter. He sees a bit of himself in her and wants to prepare her for a world that will not welcome her kindly.

Base- arcticwindsbases on dA

[burningrhino]

True friends over false family

So what's happening here and how did it happen? Winter break just began and Jason asks his sister Tambry if her boyfriend Payne shows up because he enjoyed his company. Tambry got curious for asking and so she wanted Jason to ask their parents with Payne is coming over without explaining why. He tried to do that but Jason's mom asked him too many questions out of suspicion, so he felt like he had no choice but to tell her anyway. Then, all of the sudden, Tambry gets pissed at him saying "Yeah, f**k it up." and now Jason's upset too. Later, the Tornadons go to work they clean an animal clinic while they're close. Jason's parents notice he's upset so he explains his problem, but then, for no good reason...Mr.Tornadon:"What's the matter?" Jason:"I just told you." Mr.Tornadon:"Why aren't you looking at me?" Jason:"I didn't think it would matter." Mr.Tornadon:"Why are you yelling at me? What is your problem.."Jason:"SHUT UP!!!"Jason's dad gets mad and now Jason runs away. Meanwhile, the International Team are going out to the city and suddenly there are two Regis's, one with the purple tank top and one with the brown vest (this is when everyone starts wearing different clothes, by the way) so they settle who is who by a dance-off. You know what would be great music choice for a dance-off? Canned Heat by Jamiroquai. When they find out purple tank top Regis was a fake, he turns into a reaper villain and at the same time, Jason happens to show up at the scene. Now he has to pick a choice:a couple of kids he doesn't know or his annoying and rotten family, so he choses to be with the group and the Tornadons are turned into ashes. They're dead and right before that, Jason's last words to them are "HAVE FUN WHERE YOU ASSHOLES ARE GOING!" and we'll get more about that hatred later. Zack and Eilleen holding each other certain that they were gonna die, Colleen and Regis are also embracing each other certain that they were gonna die, Braxton was lying down certain as well, Danny is incredibly shocked that a boy's parents and sister just died horrendously, and Lance, Cassidy and Tank look a little to happy about it, especially Lance. Oh my god. Look at the bloodlust look on his face. This event alone is why Danny decides to leave the group since he's the only responsible enough member

[visionofvoid]

Homewrecker - MV1 Part Two

Summary: “max, can you tell me the truth, just this once?”

Warnings: angst, moody max, jealous max, jealous kelly lolz 

Pairings: max verstappen x oc

Word Count: 1585

PART ONE  PART THREE 

Blake always enjoyed race weekends. If Kelly was busy with a shoot or meetings, Blake would look after Penelope for a couple of hours and the two would share pink and colourful snacks whilst watching the Formula One, whether it was practice, qualifying or the actual race. When Kelly had a free weekend and was choosing to visit Max and support him from the race itself, Blake would always come along for the ride. Sometimes it would just be the two girls childfree whilst Blake caught up with some of the friends she had made during her time as Kelly’s assistant or she would curate posts for Kelly on her social media. Though she did technically work for Kelly and knew her passwords to all her social media, her emails and some of financial info, it was never as if Kelly was her boss, they were just two friends enjoying life together. 

So, it came as a shock when Blake sat across from Kelly at a cafe and gave her the sad news. 

“I, I don’t understand. Do you need more money? I can give you more money. Did Penelope say something? Did my father say something?” Kelly questioned, making a spoon look elegant as she held it up, a little bit of cake sitting on it. Blake shook her head, smiling softly, thinking of reasons to give her friend and boss that didn’t involve her boyfriend. 

“I enjoy working alongside you, of course I do. I just think it’s time I move on from being a PA. I’ve had a few job offers and you know, I think this partnership has run its course.” Kelly pondered for a moment. “Of course I am absolutely grateful for the opportunity you have given me, but this is officially my notice. I finish up just before Silverstone, so I have about three weeks left to find you a new PA.” Blake couldn’t maintain proper eye contact and instead resorted to lifting her hot chocolate to her lips. 

“Job offers? From who?”

“Toto Wolff, at Mercedes. One of the PR advisors and I were talking at the last race and I just can’t stop thinking about it and it was a great offer.” Kelly’s eyebrows rose as she mentioned Max’s rival team but she remained stoic. 

“If you want a job in Formula One I can get Max to get you one at Red Bull.” The offer was kind but the mention of Max made Blake tighten her shoulders. “But, it is a great opportunity. I’m sad to see you leave, and I know Penelope will miss you too.”

The following months had been hell, that much was true. Whilst Blake was flourishing with Toto and Mercedes, travelling the world and relishing in the Formula One world, Max watched as Kelly’s world was failing. That may be a bit dramatic but the new personal assistant that Kelly had hired was way too under-qualified for the job. Not only did they not connect well with children but they had misplaced their VIP passes that allowed them access into the green rooms. 

It was stressful, and Max hated the fact that he missed Blake. He missed the bickering, he missed when she would bite back with insult after insult but made it sweet and funny that Kelly would laugh. He didn’t get to see Blake as often as he did when she still worked with Kelly and his world felt immensely different. He and Kelly hardly spoke unless it was at night off or one of them had a free day, but it was mostly due to the lack of experience on the new assistant behalf, or so he thought. 

Kelly found herself always comparing her new assistant to Blake and would vent to Max about how much both herself and her daughter missed Blake. Though they ended on good terms, Blake’s new position as Toto Wolff’s assistant meant less time to catch up with Kelly when they were in the same city. 

The 5th of September came around and it was time for the Dutch Grand Prix. Blake had finally settled into her new job as Toto Wolff’s assistant and she found herself getting along with everyone. She was the go to for advice for George and she enjoyed meditating with Lewis during her down time. The job wasn’t nearly as full on as Kelly’s, but she was busy a lot. Rather than watch a child or get a coffee that had fourteen steps, Blake just had to ensure that Toto’s meetings and schedule were all up to date, send emails and get the occasional coffee or lunch which was so much easier. She got paid to travel, paid to be friends with people in a sport she was beginning to love, life and breath and she finally felt as if she belonged. There was no expectation of having to dress a certain way like she did with Kelly, to feel like she fit in. 

Blake walked alongside Toto, going over the timeline for the first half of the day and handing him printouts full of necessary information before her legs became caught in the arms of a certain small child. Blake looked down, beaming at Penelope who just looked up at her with a cheeky smile on her face. She quickly glanced back at Toto, an apologetic look upon her face to which he only shook his head with a faint smile. 

“We don’t start for another hour and you’ve already done so much to ease my day. I’ll meet you there.” Blake nodded, grateful for her new friendly boss and bent down to hug the small growing girl. 

“And where is your mother?” Blake wrapped her arms around Penelope and picked her up. The young girl was dressed in Red Bull Racing merchandise which looked funny in comparison to her Mercedes uniform. 

“With Maxie! I was with Jenna but she was on her phone and I was bored. I missed you.” Blake started walking towards the Red Bull Racing back area where all drivers, team principles and other important people would be for the duration of the weekend when not at the pit. It wasn’t too far away from all the other teams so it took her no time. She showed her passes to security and walked right in. Red Bull colours were everywhere with Max and Sergio’s faces plastered on every free surface. She forgot how much Red Bull idolised their drivers. Back at Mercedes they were much more subtle, though still highlighting the importance of their two star drivers. 

“So, is Jenna the new assistant? Is she nice?” Blake happily listened as Penelope walked about Jenna. She found that she didn’t like to play with Penelope a lot but fed her lots and lots of junk food when on one was watching. It was mildly concerning to Blake and she was about to say something then she rounded the corner, stumbling on a fight that was occurring between Max and Kelly. 

“You need to hire her back. I’ll pay whatever she wants, Jenna is shit at her job!” Max seemed like he was trying to reason more than fight, but Blake knew that when there was some sort of confrontation that Kelly’s first instinct was to raise her voice and fight back. 

“Why? You made her feel insignificant, we all saw that. Why would you want her near you? With Penelope and myself?” Kelly’s eyes were burning into Max’s and Blake felt like she was imposing. Penelope was oblivious to the fight, babbling on about what Blake had missed out on the past couple months. Of course the fight was extremely loud, just enough to hear from a few metres away, plus it was fairly hushed in the building. 

“I never hated her! I-”

“You hate her, you don’t. I don’t understand. Why all the bickering, why all the stares across the room at her, why all the rolling of the eyes? I don’t understand. Make me understand. Max, can you tell me the truth, just this once?” Kelly had a tear fall down her cheek, Blake feeling immensely guilty for both eavesdropping and being the topic of the fight. 

Max’s eyes faltered and he looked to the ground, hoping it could somehow swallow him up and he could avoid this conversation altogether. But this was reality, this was real life and everything was coming back to bite him in the ass. 

“Max, Goddammit! Look at me. Look at me!” Kelly’s voice got louder, this time snapping Penelope out of her one-sided conversation in Blake's arms and looking around for the source of the voice. “Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t hate Blake. I never hated Blake.”

“You love her.” Blake was shocked, she even let out a gasp when Kelly said those words which seemed to make them both snap out of their heated fight. Max looked like a kicked puppy and Kelly’s face was bright red, fuelling with anger. 

“Penelope, there you are.” A woman who Blake could only presume was Jenna rounded the corner, rushing for Penelope and snatching the young girl out of Blake’s arms before anyone could protest.

“You don’t mean that.” Blake filled in the silence, her full attention to Max. “Tell me you don’t mean that. Tell me and Kelly that you hate me, that you hate my guts. Please, tell us anything that isn’t you loving me. You can’t love me, Max, you need to hate me.” 

[nayziiz]

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 14

Max Verstappen was an old friend of Lando's. Amelia recognised the Dutchman from Lando's time karting when he was just a kid. Lando always dragged Amelia with, and she hated it at first because it was just a bunch of boys. Then she convinced her father to let her drive a kart and she was hooked. It made sense why she had such a love for supercars. She was always a speed freak.

In the quaint Dutch village outside Rotterdam, where Max had set them up, Lando and Amelia found solace in the simplicity of their surroundings. Surrounded by unfamiliar sights and sounds, they relied on each other to navigate this new chapter of their lives. The language barrier posed a challenge at first, but they soon adapted, finding comfort in their shared experiences.

As they strolled through the cobblestone streets, hand in hand, they couldn't help but marvel at the charm of the village. The colourful houses with their window boxes filled with vibrant flowers, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the local bakery, and the friendly smiles of the villagers all added to the enchantment of their temporary home.

Despite the uncertainty of their future, Lando and Amelia embraced the opportunity to explore and immerse themselves in this unfamiliar culture. They spent their days wandering through the bustling markets, sampling local delicacies, and learning about the rich history of the region.

And through it all, their bond only grew stronger. They laughed, they talked, they shared their hopes and dreams for the future. In this tranquil village, far removed from the chaos of their past lives, they found a sense of peace and belonging that they had long been searching for.

But their time in the Netherlands was short-lived. Soon, they received word from Max that it was time to move on to their next destination: Brazil. With a mixture of excitement and apprehension, they packed their bags and boarded a plane, ready to embark on the next chapter of their journey together.

In São Paulo, the heat enveloped Lando and Amelia like a warm embrace, a stark contrast to the mild Mediterranean climate they were accustomed to. Adjusting to the sweltering temperatures and bustling city life proved to be a challenge, but they found solace in the hospitality of Max's girlfriend, Kelly, who welcomed them into her Brazilian villa with open arms.

Nestled amidst lush greenery, Kelly's villa offered a sanctuary from the chaotic streets of Sao Paulo. With its sprawling gardens and inviting pool, it provided the perfect retreat for Lando and Amelia to unwind and relax. They spent their days lounging by the pool, sipping caipirinhas, and soaking up the tropical sunshine.

As they watched the locals cycle down the street, their laughter mingling with the vibrant sounds of the city, Lando and Amelia couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of their surroundings. The rhythm of life in São Paulo was intoxicating, and they found themselves drawn to its vibrant energy and diverse culture.

Despite the challenges of adapting to a new environment, Lando and Amelia embraced the opportunity to explore São Paulo and immerse themselves in its rich tapestry of sights and sounds. From sampling exotic fruits at the local markets to dancing the night away at lively samba clubs, they embraced every moment of their Brazilian adventure with a sense of wonder and excitement. And through it all, Kelly's warmth and hospitality made them feel right at home, easing their transition into the vibrant and bustling city.

Amelia's fingers trembled slightly as she dialled Charles's number on the burner phone, her heart racing with a mixture of anxiety and relief. She needed someone she could trust, someone who could help manage her dealership left behind in the rush to escape the UK. Charles had always been reliable, a steady presence in her life, and she hoped he would be willing to lend a hand in her time of need.

After a few tense rings, Charles finally answered, his voice a welcome sound in the midst of uncertainty.

“Amelia? Is everything alright?” He asked, his concern evident in his tone.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Amelia launched into an explanation of her situation, her words tumbling out in a rush as she recounted the events that had led to their sudden departure from the UK. She explained the urgency of the situation and the need for someone to oversee her dealership in her absence. To her relief, Charles responded with understanding and reassurance, offering his full support and assistance.

“Don't worry, Amelia. I've got everything under control.” He assured her. “I'll take care of your dealership as if it were my own. You focus on staying safe and getting settled wherever you are.”

Gratitude flooded through Amelia as she listened to Charles's words, a weight lifting from her shoulders knowing that her business was in capable hands. With Charles's help, she could finally breathe a little easier, knowing that she had someone she could trust to manage her affairs back home. As they finalised their plans, exchanging details and arranging for ongoing communication, Amelia couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her.

Lando's concern was palpable as he watched Amelia complete the call with Charles, his brow furrowed with worry. It wasn't that he was jealous or distrustful of Charles, but rather, he was deeply anxious about the potential risks of making contact with anyone from their past life in the UK. Every call, every message, every connection was a potential link back to their old identities, and Lando couldn't shake the fear that their enemies might use that against them.

“Amelia, are you sure that was a good idea?” He asked, his voice tinged with concern as he approached her. “I understand you needed help with the dealership, but contacting Charles - it's risky. What if someone traces the call? What if they find us?”

Amelia glanced up at him, her own worry mirrored in her eyes as she considered his words. She knew Lando was right; every interaction they had with their past lives carried the potential for danger. But she couldn't ignore the pressing need for someone to oversee her business in her absence, and Charles was the only person she trusted to handle it.

“I know it's risky, Lando, but I had to do something. Charles is trustworthy, and he's the only one who can help me manage the dealership. I had to take the chance.” She replied, her voice trembling slightly with anxiety.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew he couldn't fault Amelia for wanting to protect her business and seek help from someone she trusted. But the thought of their enemies closing in on them filled him with a sense of dread that he couldn't shake.

“Alright. But we need to be careful. We can't afford to let our guard down, not even for a moment.” He conceded reluctantly, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

Amelia nodded in agreement, her heart heavy with the weight of their precarious situation. She knew that every decision they made from now on would carry consequences, but she was determined to do whatever it took to protect herself and the ones she loved, even if it meant taking risks along the way.

Amelia's discomfort had been building throughout the scorching Brazilian afternoon, each passing moment seeming to exacerbate her symptoms. Despite Lando's insistence that she take it easy and rest, she found herself unable to find relief, her mind plagued by a persistent unease. The sensation of sweat clinging to her skin, the persistent lightheadedness, and the gnawing emptiness in her stomach seemed to consume her every thought, leaving her feeling weak and depleted.

Relegated to the bed, Amelia tossed and turned, her restlessness only heightening her discomfort. With each shift of her body, her mind raced, searching for answers to the puzzle they found themselves trapped in. It wasn't until she turned onto her side for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon that the pieces began to click into place, sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

With a newfound sense of urgency, Amelia practically leaped out of bed, her movements fueled by a sudden clarity of purpose. Ignoring the protests of her protesting muscles, she hurried out to the terrace where Lando sat, the weight of her revelation pressing down on her like a leaden blanket.

“Baby.” She called out, her voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as she approached him.

“Mmh.” Lando hummed in response, his brain numb from the events of the weeks prior.

“The Russells.” She began, her voice tinged with a hint of urgency.

“What about them?” Lando asked, confused, as he turned to look at her leaning against the door frame.

“Steve killed Clyde. If they had evidence my father was involved, surely there must have been evidence against Steve confirming he was the physical hitman.” She continued to explain.

“Yeah?” Lando urged her to continue explaining.

“If they want to continue building a reputation and grow their status in society, that information would derail everything. And, since my father had nothing left to lose, he wouldn't have hesitated to throw Steve under the bus.” Amelia added, breathless as she finished speaking.

Lando's brows furrowed as he processed Amelia's theory. The pieces of the puzzle began to align in his mind, forming a troubling picture of deceit and manipulation.

“So you think the Russells orchestrated everything to protect their own interests?” He asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of disbelief and realisation.

“It's the only explanation that makes sense. They had the means, the motive, and the opportunity.” Amelia nodded, her expression grave. “Nowhere in the documents George gave us did it mention Steve, so they’ve covered their tracks. And, we trusted George before all hell broke loose. Obviously he didn’t think we’d go through with the plan to expose my father.”

“It's a good thing you're so clever, baby.” Lando chuckled as he smiled at her.

Amelia offered a weak smile at Lando's compliment, though the gravity of their situation still weighed heavily on her mind.

“I just hope we can use this knowledge to stay one step ahead of them.” She replied, her voice tinged with determination. Lando reached out to gently squeeze her hand, offering reassurance.

“We will.” He affirmed, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering confidence. Lando's concern deepened as Amelia confessed her worries, but he remained calm, his voice steady as he gently stroked her arm. “Are you feeling any better?”

Amelia shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her unease palpable as she spoke.

“The heat is killing me.” She admitted, her voice tinged with frustration.

“I bet. Maybe we need to just see a doctor anyway, make sure you're really okay.” Lando suggested, his concern evident in his tone.

“If I tell you why I think I'm unwell, you might just lose your mind.” Amelia responded hesitantly, her gaze drifting away for a moment before returning to meet Lando's concerned eyes.

“Tell me.” Lando urged gently, reaching out to grasp her wrist and pull her into his lap.

“I haven't taken my birth control since we left London.” Amelia admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke the words that had been weighing heavily on her mind.

Lando's brows furrowed in concern as he processed her words.

“You think you're pregnant?” He asked, his voice laced with worry.

“No, but I think my hormones are all over and unbalanced and that's why I feel like shit.” Amelia explained, her voice tinged with frustration and anxiety.

“I see.” Lando murmured, his mind already racing with thoughts of how to alleviate Amelia's discomfort. “I'm sure we can get you the pills you need here too. No need to suffer, baby.”

As Lando delved deeper into his plans to take down the Russells, Amelia's condition continued to deteriorate, leaving her grappling with a range of unsettling symptoms. Each passing day seemed to bring a new wave of discomfort, from persistent nausea to debilitating headaches. At first, she attributed her malaise to common ailments like food poisoning or a bout of seasonal flu, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind urged her to explore every possible explanation. As Lando busied himself with devising a strategy with his father to bring down their adversaries, Amelia found herself consumed by a different kind of battle—one waged against the unknown forces wreaking havoc on her body.

As Lando immersed himself in an intense conversation with his father, Amelia seized the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. With a sense of urgency gnawing at her insides, she made her way to the waiting VW Beetle, the familiar hum of its engine offering a comforting reassurance amidst the chaos swirling within her mind. Each turn of the wheel brought her closer to her destination, the pharmacy that Kelly had pointed her towards—a beacon of hope in the midst of uncertainty.

Throughout their time in Brazil, Kelly had become a trusted confidant for Amelia, offering a sympathetic ear and invaluable guidance in navigating the complexities of their situation. Their bond had blossomed swiftly and effortlessly, forged by shared experiences and a mutual understanding of the challenges they faced. With Kelly's unwavering support, Amelia felt emboldened to confront her fears head-on, determined to find the answers she so desperately sought.

As she pulled up to the pharmacy, a sense of relief washed over her, tempered by a lingering sense of apprehension. Stepping out of the car, she squared her shoulders and made her way inside, the weight of her purpose heavy upon her. With each step, she drew closer to the solution she sought, her resolve unwavering in the face of uncertainty.

Inside, she wasted no time in procuring the necessary supplies, her movements swift and purposeful as she navigated the aisles with practised ease. With the familiar click of the cashier's register, she emerged victorious, clutching the precious cargo in her hands—a lifeline in the storm of uncertainty that threatened to engulf her.

As she made her way back to the waiting Beetle, a sense of determination settled over her, driving her forward with renewed purpose. And as she drove back to the villa, the weight of her burden felt just a little lighter, buoyed by the knowledge that she was not alone in her journey. She had Lando. She always had Lando.

With trembling hands, Amelia carefully made her way back to the villa, her heart pounding in her chest with each passing moment. She couldn't afford for Lando to realise she had slipped away, not when the weight of her discovery threatened to consume her every thought. As she reached the safety of their temporary sanctuary, she hurried upstairs to the bathroom, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silence of the empty villa.

Once inside, she wasted no time in tearing open the box containing the precious test, her fingers fumbling with the packaging in her haste. With the test in hand, she laid it carefully on the counter, her eyes scanning the instructions repeatedly as if searching for some hidden reassurance within their words. Each step felt like an eternity as she followed the prescribed process, her mind consumed by a whirlwind of anxious thoughts and fervent prayers.

With a deep breath, she steadied herself and allowed the moment to unfold, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the white stick before her. As she waited for the telltale result to materialise, her mind raced with a myriad of emotions, each one vying for dominance in the tumult of her inner turmoil. She couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension at the prospect of what the test might reveal—a single moment poised to irrevocably alter the course of their lives.

In those agonisingly long minutes, she found herself grappling with the weight of their circumstances, the reality of their situation casting a shadow over her hopes and dreams. She knew that Lando desired nothing more than to start a family of their own, and she shared in that longing with every fibre of her being. But now, as she stood on the precipice of uncertainty, she couldn't help but wonder if the timing was right, if their fragile existence could withstand the added strain of parenthood.

As the seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness, she paced the confines of the bathroom, her nerves frayed and her heart pounding in her ears. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, the weight of her anticipation threatening to suffocate her in its relentless grip. And then, finally, as the three minutes elapsed, she dared to steal a glance at the test before her, her breath catching in her throat as she braced herself for the revelation that awaited.

“Lando!” Amelia exclaimed as she stood staring at the test on the counter. Her voice was panicked and immediately caught Lando’s attention. He waited a moment before hearing her call for him again. “Lan!”

As Lando reached the top of the stairs, his heart raced with a mix of concern and anticipation. He found Amelia standing in the doorway of the bathroom, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at something on the counter. Without a word, Lando rushed to her side, his own anxiety mounting with each passing second.

“What’s wrong?” He asked urgently, his voice laced with worry as he followed her gaze to the test lying on the counter.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. Amelia turned to him, her expression a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

“I took a test.” She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached out to grasp his hand in hers.

Lando's heart skipped a beat as he processed her words, his mind reeling at the implications of what she was saying. Without hesitation, he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he gently squeezed her hand in a silent gesture of support.

“Okay.” He replied softly, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. “Is it positive?”

“Uh huh.” She whispered, studying his demeanour as he picked up the test.

“Wowie.” He echoed, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked back down at the test in his hand.

Amelia couldn't help but mirror his smile, relief flooding through her at his reaction. Despite the uncertainty of their situation, she couldn't deny the flicker of hope that ignited within her at the thought of starting a family with Lando. The thought brought silent tears to her eyes, trickling down her cheeks.

Seeing the tears trickling down Amelia's cheeks, Lando's grin softened into a tender smile. Without hesitation, he reached out to gently wipe away her tears, his touch warm and reassuring against her skin.

“Hey, why the tears, huh?” He murmured softly, his voice laced with concern and affection.

Amelia sniffled, struggling to find the words to express the tumult of emotions swirling inside her. She reached out to grasp Lando's hand, holding it tightly as she met his gaze with watery eyes.

“I don't know.” She admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I guess it's just the timing with everything happening.”

Lando's expression softened further at her words, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as he leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead.

“Listen to me.” He whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know things might seem scary right now, but we'll figure it out, okay? Together. We've faced tough times before, and we've always come out stronger on the other side. Now it’s you, me, and peanut in this together.”

Amelia's heart swelled with love as she gazed up at Lando, her fears slowly melting away in the warmth of his embrace. Amelia chuckled through her tears at Lando's endearing choice of nickname.

“Peanut? Really?” She teased gently, her voice still laced with emotion. Lando grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection as he gently caressed her stomach.

“Well, I bet it's still small, no?” He quipped playfully, his tone warm and teasing. Amelia nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she leaned into his touch.

“That's true.” She agreed softly, feeling a surge of warmth and love enveloping her heart.

Lando's grin softened into a tender smile as he gazed down at her, his eyes filled with adoration.

“Oh, honey, you're going to be the best Mumma to our peanut.” He murmured, his voice filled with unwavering confidence and love.

Amelia's laughter mixed with tears as she nestled into Lando's embrace, feeling overwhelmed with joy and gratitude.

“A baby, Lan.” She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lando tightened his arms around her, holding her close as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Our baby. A little bit of you, a little bit of me, and a whole lot of magic.” He murmured softly, his words filled with awe and wonder. Amelia sniffled, her heart swelling with love as she looked up at him through watery eyes.

“Shut up.” She teased playfully, her lips curling into a watery smile as she reached up to wipe away her tears.

Lando kissed her gently and pressed her against the counter before lifting her up onto it to sit. He lifted her shirt and kissed her stomach under her belly button.

“Hey, little baby.” Lando whispered against her stomach. Amelia giggled as Lando showered her stomach with kisses, feeling a rush of warmth and love envelop her.

“Stop, you're too cute.” She protested, but her heart swelled with affection at his tender words.

“It's your Dad here.” Lando continued, his voice filled with adoration. “Be good to Mumma while you're in there so she can take good care of you when you're ready to be in the world with us.”

Amelia's smile softened, touched by Lando's words, but a hint of doubt lingered in her mind.

“Lan, baby, it could have been a false positive.” She reminded him gently, her hand resting on his cheek. Lando brushed off her concerns with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Oh, hush. Let me have a moment with my peanut.” He insisted, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 44

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/156122218

He opened his eyes and was momentarily bewildered by the chandelier his eyes landed on. Then, a split second later, it came to him: they were at the hotel. His head instinctively turned to the window - it was still dark but the quietness told him this was the winter morning dark of Sunday and not the late night dark of Saturday. His hand reached out and his fingertips touched her skin.

The bed was so massive that they had rolled apart from one another at some point and she was huddled away from him under the covers. Savigne’s deep breathing indicated she was fast asleep, dead to the world. He grinned in the dark, unabashedly proud for being the reason for that. He carefully shifted to lie closer and faintly palmed her belly. No kicking yesterday and no kicking today. What did the silence mean? Had he been too wild, too overzealous? But if something had happened, they would know, right? At the very least there would be pain? Fucking idiot, read a book, he told himself again.

After that he was unable to fall back asleep and lied there for a long time, his mind awash with idiotic happiness. Last week this day he was lying in a hammock in Guarma, distantly listening to the quiet murmur around the campfire and looking up at the stars, worrying about things a thousand miles away he didn’t know and couldn’t change. Wondering if she was fine, if she was well, where she was and how she was and if he would ever see her again. The boat was due to arrive the next day, and he had felt restless and twitchy, desperately trying to will the time to pass faster. 

A week later here he was, waking up next to her again. His wife. The jolt that notion injected through his spine took his breath away and he sat up, unable to contain the movement. 

He carefully crawled off the bed and parted the curtains on a window. The faint hue of dawn was coloring the sky now. He shut the bathroom door so he can turn on the light and not wake her, checked his pocket watch for the time and then went around to collect his clothes and get dressed. Then he turned the light off again, stepped into the main room, put on his coat, slung his satchel over a shoulder, took his gun belt to tie on outside and exited. He walked away, then returned and locked the door. Wasn’t ideal to lock her in, but leaving the door unlocked on her seemed unwise.

He passed by the night shift receptionist snoring at his desk. The winter air immediately bit his face and he pulled up the collars of his coat and adjusted the gloves on his hands before he set a brisk walk towards the Jewish quarter.

Another early Sunday morning in the city, and this time his mood was even better than the last one. He thought of the year he had - full of happiness and high points but also full of loss and grief. He was still mourning the death of Sean, Hosea and Lenny. But he was also mourning the loss of Dutch and the loss of the gang, steadfast presences in his life for as long as he could remember. The disappearance of that purpose, once so indomitable and unquestionable, filled him with vertigo. For all his adult life it had been the thing that made him him, and now it stood like an empty glass, drunk up and left dry. What was he, really, without the gang, without the outlaw life?

Gonna be fine, he told himself. You will be a husband and a father. And your own man. That other thing - it’s done. Dead. Even if you stay, all is frayed and used up, nothing can be restored. Let it go. This here is what you want.

All true words. But for years to come, he knew he would still be mired in self-doubt and uncertainty. Might be that was Savigne rubbing off on him. He used to be a simpler man. On. Off. In it. Out of it. Now he was getting all sentimental like she was and running circles in his head. “Philosophizing under the stars” as Hosea used to say. He wanted this new thing with all the thunder in his old heart. But he was also afraid to let go of the other; afraid that when he did, he couldn’t find the man he was again and then who would he be? Without the grinding stone that this life was, would Arthur Morgan lose his sharpness and go blunt? Would he become weaker? Softer? Would he devolve into one of them drunks passing out at a bar early afternoon, bored and dissatisfied with his life?

He pulled the door to the small hole in the wall store open. There was a turning of necks by the diners crammed around some rickety tables that stuffed the opposite end of the humble room. The smell of coffee and tea and toasted warm bread and pickles and fish washed over him. In front of him, a simple counter neatly bedecked with pots and pans with different ingredients. Behind it, a door that probably led to a downstairs kitchen. Ropes of baygals were hung on the wall behind the counter and in front of them, a young boy of maybe fourteen. 

He gave his order of two baygals, but the lips bowed when he said extra onions.

“We don’t do that.”

“Did, last time I was here.”

“You must have been somewhere else, we don’t do that.” 

Arthur gave the kid a look and chewed his cheek. Cunning, smart eyes. Surly and defiant, as if here he was the boss and he wasn’t going to be challenged by a guy three times his size. He sure hoped his elated mood wasn’t about to get soured by one smartass kid first thing in the morning.

“Son,” he started, calmer, “I ain’t so old, ‘m feeble. Was here. Was given exactly what ‘m orderin’ now.”

“Well I don’t know what to tell you, you’re wrong mister,” was the coy nasal response as those wiry arms crossed on the bony chest. He puffed the dark curly locks that were falling into his face off his forehead with the same confidence and insolence Arthur himself used to have at that age.

Arthur's head turned to the right and met those of the conglomeration of people who were sitting in their work overalls, silently chewing their breakfast.

“Is it the money?” was his patient exhale. “Ya askin’ me to pay more? Cause if that it, make the damn things and I’ll pay.”

“It’s not the money,” the nose turned up. “It ruins the taste.”

“Look here kid, good luck on yer career as food critic,” was Arthur’s dry response. “But make me the baygals way I wan’em and I’ll be on my way.”

The wiry arms tightened and the patrons in the shop babbled something in Jewish to the kid who spat a string of stuff back. Arthur waited through the back and forth, his patience wearing thin. In his experience, days that started off wrong had a way of staying so, and he sure hoped that wasn’t going to be the case today.

The rising voices summoned the older man Arthur recognized from his previous visit from the kitchen and the heated banter puttered out. The man threw a suspicious glance at the kid who was a spitting image of himself and the thin arms loosened a little, then he turned to Arthur.

“How can I help, sir?”

“Yer kid tellin’ me ya don’ do extra onions no more. Well you gonna make an exception for my wife,” he growled. “Cause that how she like ‘em.”

The man wiped his hands on a towel, did a nod and gave his son a look that drained the color off the sullen teenager’s face. “Do as you’re told,” was his soft ask. The kid harrumphed and pulled two baygals in front of him. “No,” his father said quietly. “Get fresh beigels from the kitchen.”

The kid objected in Jewish and his father slowly raised a hand which cut off the stream of babbling. “It’s impolite to speak a language in front of someone who doesn’t understand it.”

The kid’s jaw muscles worked. 

“Go get the beigels,” his father said calmly and the kid tore out of there with a huff and stomped down the stairs.

The owner turned to Arthur. “I apologize. I assure you, it’s not you personally he’s angry with, but the whole world.”

Arthur grunted his acceptance. He remembered what that age was like. 

“He’s going through a phase,” was the father's tired assessment.

“Which one he at?”

“The one where he thinks he knows everything better than his father,” the man offered with a bent smile.

Arthur chuckled at that and so did the other patrons.

“It’s not a phase, cause you’re still there yourself aren’t you, Josef?” an older man yelled from the back and the clientele snickered louder.

“That there is my father,” the man said apologetically. "He likes to sit there and...'keep an eye on me'." He pointed to the gray in his hair to imply the silliness of the notion.

Arthur grinned wider. The kid returned, was immediately annoyed at the joviality in the room and set to slicing the baygals. “Who eats extra onions?” he muttered darkly.

“This gentleman’s wife,” his father said with dark warning. Then he turned to Arthur and just to make polite conversation, asked “What phase are yours going through?”

“Ain’t born yet,” was Arthur admitted. “Soon, I hope.”

“Your wife is with child!” the man exclaimed and the shop broke out in mazel tovs and congratulations. Arthur nodded in acceptance and felt an odd mixture of pride and shyness. The boy colored and added the ingredients without looking at him, but his movements softened. 

“Well she has good taste,” the shop owner grinned. “Anything for you?”

The cowboy palmed his beard and thought of a polite way to say that he didn’t enjoy this food. “I ain’t much of a fish guy.”

“I see,” was the smiling response. “Allow me to make you something different. Free of charge. For the new father.”

A clatter of suggestions erupted from the clients, all in English to remain polite. The owner held up a slow hand and Arthur realized that this gesture was his thing. The room fell quiet. “I’m the owner here and I know what I’m doing,” he said calmly. “And since you’re all sitting here, you clearly agree.”

“Get a load of this guy,” someone lobed in. “We’re just here because it’s the only beigel shop in town, you fool!” The men laughed and clinked their tea mugs.

“Ignore them,” the man said with his soothing voice. “He who throws dirt always loses ground. I will make you a pastrami bagel with mustard.”

A short discussion between the diners, and then a collective approval that this was the correct choice.

Arthur nodded politely to say he accepted. He didn’t know what pastrami was and had low hopes for it to be to his liking, but if a man offered you something, you took it (even if you were going to feed it to the next starving dog).

The baygals were placed in a paper bag, he paid and was about to leave when he paused at the door and turned back around. He shifted on his feet, unsure as the shop owner watched him with hooded eyes. Everyone else fell silent and there was an uptick of tension as if they expected him to start a confrontation. Eyes flitted to obvious bulk of the guns on his hips under his coat. These were a suspicious people, he decided, stingy with their trust and wary of outsiders.

“I…uh…” he swallowed. He would describe himself as a confident man, but sometimes his confidence just drained out when he most needed it. “I have a question.”

“How can we help, sir?” was the cool response. The silence in the shop swirled thick and deep.

“Was told the baby kickin’ a good thing,” flew out of his mouth to his own amazement.

A moment of confused silence followed before the owner offered a courteous “Yes?”

He felt compelled to turn around and leave before he made a fool of himself, but then thought that train had just left. So he rounded his shoulders and barged on: “So when it ain’t kickin’…that mean it’s bad?”

“No,” was the gentle smile. “They don’t kick all the time.”

“Don’t listen to him, he only has seven children!” the father shouted from the back and chortles erupted. 

The owner ignored the room and said “It’s fine either way” to Arthur. “The real kicking happens when they’re grown,” was the addition as his eyes slanted to his son.

A sea of agreement and encouragement from the spectators. “It’s fine” and “very normal”, and then “my cousin said his didn’t kick at all!” to which the counter was “your cousin didn’t even meet his child before she was two”, another clanking of cups and wave of laughter.

He nodded his thanks and walked out with more congratulations chanted after him.

As he walked back, he ruminated on the challenges of fatherhood and raising a child right and how he had no idea how to do it. Well…he knew what NOT to do, so there was that. All he had to do was not be like his own father, which should be easy enough. But how do you make a child kind and good and strong? How do you make it choose well? How do you give it a good compass and a smart head? Maybe, he thought, they come as they are and all you can do is hope you’re lucky.

He ruminated on these things and found himself in front of the hotel. When he entered, the receptionist had changed back to the man from the previous evening.

“Mister Kilgore…”

He knew what was coming so he cut it off with a curt “I want coffee for my suite.”  

This threw the receptionist off, but only for a moment.

“Of course. Was the room to your liking?”

“Was fine,” he waved his arm. These fools were used to being treated with the contempt of rich folks, and in that language he was versed well enough. He leaned over the reception desk. “But the next fool who comes knockin’, askin’ to enter is gonna eat lead.”

A flurry of blinking as if this was the most savage thing the man had ever heard, then another swift recovery and a firm nod. “We only meant to check on your comfort.”

“I understand some fools were clutchin’ pearls last night but that ain’t my concern. I booked that suite so I can do whatever I want. Yer precious bed is fine.” The man gave him a highly doubtful look but kept his silence. “Ya want me to recommend this hotel to my friends in New York, you gonna have to do better.”

“I hear you,” was the polite response. "I will send up a cart immediately. On us.”

Arthur released a patronizing huff, tilted his head as if to say 'that’s a good start' and walked up the stairs.

Savigne jerked awake with a gasp when a cold palm bloomed on her back and scurried away from it. “Jesus, why are you so cold?!”

“Went out to get breakfast.”

“Not this shit again…” was the dark mutter from under the covers.

“Guess I gotta eat them baygals myself then,” he hummed. She shot up and emerged hair mussed, face flushed. “Lox and extra onions,” he added, then laughed a little at the speed she scrambled off the bed.

She ran into the bathroom and quickly threw on her bloomers and her chemise. As she walked back, his eyes crawled over her, lingering on her bust and the swing of her hips. You would think after the night they had his hunger would be sated, but releasing those floodgates had only served to whet his appetite. 

“Would you like to see the cabin?” she asked as she pulled her chair closer.

“Sure,” was his drawl.

“We could-”

The knock startled her like a deer and she half rose from her seat. He motioned her to sit back down. When he opened the door, there was a cart waiting and he wheeled it in and unveiled the fancy breakfast and the steaming coffee, and on the lower shelf, warm fresh towels.

Savigne waved a no at his questioning face. “Beigels! Now!”

He chuckled and placed her baygals on her plate and before he could pour coffee for her, she was frantically chewing on one and moaning with delight. “Dear god, how is it this good?!”

He was pleased at her reaction and sat down to join her. He took a hesitant bite out of his own baygal, grunted a surprised approval and devoured the rest of it, then started to work on the breakfast that was sent up. 

"When this cabin gonna be ready?" he asked around his food.

"Should be just odds and bits left by now," she sighed, sipping her coffee. "We'll see. Did you like the hotel?"

She snorted at his "Place full of prudes" answer. "Tell ya what, I like the tub. How much a tub like that cost, you think?"

She chuckled. "A lot is my guess."

"Worth it."

"Without the plumbing you'd have to fill it by hand and that would be way too much work."

"I'd fill the damn thing every day," he grinned. 

Eventually they put on the daily clothes they had brought with them, folded the nice ones into the bag, then Arthur took the bag and went to the table and emptied the fruit basket in it, gave it a thought, and stuffed the basket itself in there, too.

"What are you doing?" she watched with amazement. 

"Takin' stuff that we been given?"

He swiped the champagne bottle, then walked into the bathroom and threw in all the soap and the scent bottles, too. 

"Oh my god," she moaned and rolled her eyes. 

"What?" he said defensively, "You think them rich folk don' take everythin' that ain't bolted down?”

She tsked and went to the door and when her back was turned he hastily stuffed in the clean towels in the cart because they were soft and plush, and also because fuck this hotel.

His jovial mood shifted when they arrived at the cabin. 

"The hell is this?" he narrowed his eyes with disapproval. 

"What?" she said defensively. "It's twenty minutes to Saint Denis. And only a rental."

He jumped down and to his astonishment, today she waited for him to come around to help her down. 

She unlocked the door and he strode in, hands on his gun belt, face scowling with displeasure. She walked about, seemingly happy with the new floors, telling him how much drier and warmer it felt in here now.

"What do you think?" she bit her lip after she did her cursory checking.

"'M thinkin' I gotta slap some sense into Marston when we get back."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad!" He gave her a look. "Are you the same man who lived in an outlaw camp and slept on a cot or what?"

He scoffed as he strolled around. "Cot was ages ago," he smirked. 

"Months," she corrected with a grin. "It's only until Spring."

He hummed, biting his cheeks. "'M pickin' the next one, tell ya that."

Savigne gave him a narrow eyed look. "Twenty minutes to Saint Denis. And it has a huge lot."

He leaned against the kitchen counter, crossed his arms and shrugged a ‘so?’.

A change came over her face. She tilted her head as she slowly sauntered over. "It's private," she said demurely, eyes flicking up at him. “Nobody can bother us.”

His eyebrows rose.

"I can prove it you…” she smiled, coy fingers playing with his belt buckle. “But...fair warning: you might change your mind about the cabin…”

He hardened immediately with the fervor of a teenage boy and she smiled, tracing the shape of his cock straining against his trousers.

He loosely gripped the counter lip behind him and responded with a cocky “Doubt that.”

His heart lurched at the look she gave him from under her brows. A moment later she was unbuttoning his pants and he squared his feet as she sank to her knees in front of him.

His grip on the counter tightened as she ran her tongue from his base to the tip, teased the head, then without further teasing, promptly took him into her mouth. A groan fell from his lips and his other hand fisted her hair as he watched his shaft rhythmically disappear between her wide lips into that warm cave. Fire ignited in the base of his spine. The cabin was cold and his wet skin prickled with the seesawing of heat and cold as she swallowed him, released him, then swallowed him deeper. He whispered a cascade of encouragements as he tried to control the urge to violate that delectable mouth.

His eyes glazed as she wrapped her fingers more firmly around the base and eased her lips up and down his hardened flesh. Then she started a gentle suck and a whimper fell from his slack mouth. A helpless twitching of his hips. The familiar pressure started to swell in his gut. His thighs tightened and his heart broke into a gallop in his chest. The only sound in here was a quiet creaking of wood and the sigh of leather and his heavy panting as he hardened further under her assault. His eyes turned to the window, to the patch of dull, overcast sky and the green of pines as he gently rocked on his heels with her ministrations. He felt himself unraveling under her quick tongue and trembled with pleasure, defenseless and dizzy. A flutter of a thought that she was getting entirely too good at this and that he was the luckiest bastard who had ever lived.

Cool hands ran up the back of his thighs as her head began to bob forward and back faster, her tongue teasing the bottom of his shaft. The heat in his gut intensified and churned, looking for an exit. His fingers coiled in her locks and he released a tortured groan, hunching a little. Then she hollowed her cheeks and everything vanished from his head - if someone asked for his name this moment, he wasn’t sure he couldn’t come up with it. His breathing became harsher, faster. The muscles in his thighs tensed. His hips gave a few clumsy jerks against her as the desire to embed himself into that slick, dark, tight space became overwhelming. She hummed around him and the vibration tore a desperate keen from him as he spiraled towards release, helplessly bucking into her mouth, all worries of choking her forgotten. Suddenly she took him to the hilt and swallowed. He felt her throat work around him and froze rigid, unable to move as the built up pressure burst like champagne from under a pulled cork and pure, sweet flame gushed through his cock.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he swam in a sea of light as she milked him until he softened in her mouth.

He leaned panting against the counter as she gently tucked him in and buttoned him back up.

“What do you think about the cabin?” was her sly whisper as she buckled his belt.

“Fuckin' love it.”

She laughed like a bird and kissed his flushed cheek.

After Arthur helped her back up the cart and turned to the Bayou she babbled rapidly about how to furnish the cabin, repeatedly bouncing between reminding herself out loud that it was only temporary and yet another bout of new of ideas. She huddled closer and wove an arm through his and prattled about how weird it will be to live away from people. 

“I’ve always been around a sea of people,” she ruminated. “The gang is the least number of people I’ve been around and now it’ll be just two, can you believe it?! Well there’s John’s family nearby but that’s just five. Five! So few! I’m so curious what that’s going to be like. What do you think it’s going to be like?”

He sluggishly scratched his beard. “I’d say ‘quiet’, but ‘m thinkin’ there gonna be some chirpin’,” he grinned at her, amused by her happiness. Despite his reservations about the cabin, her enthusiasm was infectious and once again his mind turned to the prospect of waking up in the same bed, looking out the same window, clothes hanging in closets. Simple things most people took for granted, but for a nomad like him, fascinating, mesmerizing. The stability of it all. The firmness under his feet. His heart felt at peace, his stomach full, his lust slackened. It was a tranquil, sated happiness that he could get used to. 

“I’m having the best weekend of my life,” she sighed.

He chuckled at that and gave her a warm look, elbows on knees, rocking with the cart.

“Hey!” came from behind them. He turned as John and Abigail caught up. Jack, who was sitting in front of John in the saddle waved at them with excitement.

“Where are you guys coming from?” Savigne asked.

“Went camping overnight,” John grunted. “Got sick of the Bayou.”

The horses flanked the cart as it took the bend to the camp.

Together they rode into mayhem.

Arthur pulled the reins and the horses stilled. For a moment they sat there watching people run around, talking and yelling. Then he climbed down, absentmindedly held out his hand and she took it to do the same.

Multiple people noticed their arrival and the reaction was immediate: everyone rushed up to them like metal pulled by a magnet, talking and yelling and crying at the same time. A boulder of fear sank into his gut. Had the Pinkertons found them? Was someone dead? 

His arms rose and he bellowed “Calm down!”

When he could hear the buzz of insects again his eyes shifted around the group and he found Grimshaw as the highest authority there, so he locked on to her.

“What happened?”

“Dutch is gone.” She strained to get the words out, heavy disbelief in her voice. “And so is the money.”

The same disbelief jumped into Arthur’s heart.

“Bill and Javier are gone, too,” Mary Beth added breathlessly. The group huddled closer, surrounding them. He felt Savigne clutch at the hem of his coat like a child.

“You sure?” was his stupid question. Stupid because his gut never lied and his gut said it was true.

Grimshaw took a shudder of a breath and nodded firmly.

“How can he do this?” someone marveled.

“Has to be a misunderstanding,” said someone else.

“Maybe they’re just scouting out our next location?” rang Pearson’s voice.

“Fools!” snorted Karen bitterly. “They slunk out in the middle of night like thieves. “There ain’t no misunderstanding.”

Arthur’s head swiveled around. “Where’s Sadie? Charles?”

“Sadie and Charles rode out yesterday after you to talk to some Wapiti guy. Said they will return in a few days,” was Grimshaw’s answer.

“What are we going to do?” Tilly’s voice shook. 

Then a babble of “I don’t understand”s, “impossible”s, “we’re missing something”s, “we should have”s, “could have”s.

Arthur held up a hand again, still trying to process what looked like the inconceivable. He realized too late that he should have been more cunning and not allow all four of them to stray away from camp. 

John came to the same conclusion almost at the same time: “That was stupid, all of us leavin.” He gave Arthur an apologetic look.

Although deep down he agreed, he dismissed the other man’s guilt. “How was we gonna know they was gonna do this?”

His face hardened and he stepped towards the hut. People parted like tall grass and he strode over as the rest of them scrambled after him like ducklings.

The door banged open and he approached Dutch’s bed, stood there with an audience looking at it, under it. Of course the money wasn’t there. Nor were his personal possessions or his guns. And yet they still looked with him and ducked with him as if there was a crevice it could have slid into by mistake. Savigne stood a little off, seemingly the only one who wasn’t stunned, observing them. All faces except hers, probably his own included were slackened and twisted with the effort to come to terms with a calamitous shattering of faith. 

He stopped and stood there a long time, hands working, head tilted down, hat hiding his expression. They waited, buzzing with impatience.

“Why would he do this?” was the hushed whisper.

Arthur’s jaw worked. “Punishment,” was his late response.

“For what?” Tilly murmured.

He met her eyes. “Betrayal.”

An explosion of objections. He didn’t respond and it died out by itself in a few minutes.

“What was yer decision?” was his low question he already knew the answer to.

“We were…” Strauss cleared his throat. “We decided to leave.”

A  shuffling of feet. 

“But he said we are free to decide!” was Pearson’s protest.

A huff by Arthur as he turned and sat on Dutch’s cot, took a deep breath, ran a palm over his beard and looked up at them. “Reckon he didn’ like the answer.”

His eyes crawled over the wrinkled sheets, the random objects left behind. How am I this stupid? He thought and locked eyes with Savigne’s sad, dark gaze. How did I think this was gonna go when we all walked away from him? Did I think he was gonna shake our hands and press money into it? That he was gonna clasp my shoulder one last time and wish me luck? Truthfully, a part of him had. Or at least had hoped that’s how it would go. After all, how many times had he listened to Dutch’s sullen droning of “nobody is keeping you here”s and “you can leave if you like”s?

That massive blind spot behind his left shoulder. A blurred, watery area his eyes refused to see clearly. The Micahs and Fussars and Brontes and Eccos of this world always so crisp and sharp to him, but that blind spot…fuzzy and blotchy. Maybe because those men had never wiped his brow when he was sick. Tucked his shirt in or ruffled his hair. Had never praised his good work and defended his bad choices. Maybe because they had never clasped his shoulder and told him he was more than a son to them. 

'There is no honor among thieves' the saying went. And ultimately what were they all but thieves? 

A long, thick silence as people turned this over in their heads. The gang faltered at the notion just like children whose parents had walked out and left forever.

“What do we do?” Mary Beth inhaled at last.

All the money he had earned over the span of decades. The things he had justified to earn that money! The violence, the cruelty, the harshness, the bullets shot and the punches thrown…His name sullied, posters with his face hung around towns. His body ruined, riddled with injuries and wounds. The years of sleeping in the dirt, in the mud, in the rain, in the cold, always running and hiding.

His jaw clenched and he rose from the bed. The group shifted on their feet and offered him an opening. He stomped through it and headed to their tent like a bullet as Savigne, John and Abigail scrambled to catch up.

They yelled his name but he barely heard it. There was a fire in his head, burning everything to cinders. All he could think was that they had robbed his child. Robbed it from the only thing Arthur Morgan could give it: the chance for a legitimate life. He wanted to wrap his hands around a throat and press until bones creaked under his fingers. Until a heart exploded in a chest. Until blood gushed down a nose.

He shot through the flap and they followed. 

“Please, talk to me!” Savigne begged. He turned to her, eyes blazing as his hands tore open a crate and fumbled through it. A storm swooshed in his ears, tornadoes churned behind his eyes.

“Gonna go after them.” His voice sounded muffled and distant to his own ears. His eyes shifted to John. “Ready the horses.”

“W-what?!” She stepped to block off John. “Why? That’s exactly what they want.”

Arthur dug out his rifle and slammed it on the table. “They took my money,” he growled. “All our money. We have fucking nothing!”

“But…”

“THAT WAS MY CHILD’S MONEY!” he roared and both women jumped. That reaction sobered him a little and he stilled and looked away for a long moment, chuffing like a beast trying to wrestle back his fury. “Was all the money I made. Ever,” he growled. “My whole life. All I have to show for everythin' I done.”

He hated how her lips wobbled and her eyes misted as if he was a white hot furnace and she struggled to stand in his heat. It froze him to see it and he stilled, one hand stuck in the crate, his chest bellowing with his heavy breathing as he desperately tried to calm the wild horse bucking under him. Don’t fall off, he told himself over and over. Don’t fall off, you’ll never get back up again.

“Not all,” she croaked. He met her eyes and she hesitated but pushed on: “Only half. Right?”

A dark huff as he watched her like a wolf backed into a corner, slinking restlessly. Dangerous. Bristling. Desperate to run. Ears flattening with indecision if he should tear his way out with claws and teeth or if he should accept that approaching touch.

Her trembling hands rose in placation. “You give only half to the camp, right?”

“That my child's money!" was the low snarl. He broke eye contact and resumed digging out his shotgun. “And everyone else’s, too! Marston! Horses!” he boomed and John scrambled out of the tent and Abigail trailed after him.

“Is it worth the grub’s life?” Savigne said evenly. There was a sharpness in her tone that suddenly made him wary. His nostrils flared like he meant to smell her mood.

“Your fucking money,” she continued, the volume building as her hands curled into fists. “The gang’s money - Tilly’s, Mary Beth's, Pearson's…would you gamble that against the grub’s life?”

His face soured and he looked at her with disgust for suggesting it. “The hell ya sayin’?” was his dark whisper.

“Do you know,” she trembled with quiet ire, “what I went through last time you left for money and didn’t return? Do you know how much laudanum I drank to hold on? I sat there...” her arm shot out in the gang’s direction, “...for weeks, unable to work! To live. I still don’t know how I made it through that! And now you want to do it again?!”

His heart purpled but his ire was too strong. “‘M gonna be fine. I will come back,” he said dismissively and loaded the empty slots on his bandolier.

“That’s vanity talking.” He stilled at that, blinking with surprise. “You don’t know. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I’m asking: are you ready to gamble the grub’s life and maybe mine on that?”

His fingers fumbled and he dropped a shell, picked it up, then stood there, inspecting it in his hand, momentarily lost in thought.

Vanity.

She stepped closer still, clearly intimidated by his anger but perhaps more afraid of where it would lead.

He noticed the beads of sweat on her brow and the pallor of her face. His indecision deepened. The red shotgun shell slalomed between his fingers, back and forth and back and forth.

The dark slanted eyes looked up at him with a quiet heat that matched his own. “If you leave,” she panted. “Money or no money, when you return, I won’t be here.” She ignored his flinch. “I promise you, I’ll have someone else’s ring and someone else’s name.” He balked at this but her hand rose to stifle his objection. “You promised. You keep your promise or you stay away. You can’t keep putting us through this.”

He scoffed and looked away, hurt and angry and outraged by the violence of her words. But also torn. A little abashed. Conflicted. Her hand landed on his, the shotgun shell pressed between their palms. He ground his teeth, seething.

“Savigne,” he mumbled, flailing to make her understand the enormous sacrifice she was asking of him. Years of his life, wasted. Wasted on a man, on a dream. That money was supposed to be the seed of the good things that would germinate from the soil of misery. Without seeds it was all for nothing. Was all misery. “Was…all…I had,” he muttered, feeling short of breath.

“Not all,” was her quiet reminder. She slowly rose up on her toes, coiled her arms around his neck and tugged him down. Somehow he allowed it, followed it and leaned into her neck. The shell slipped from his fingers and clattered on the wood palettes when he embraced her back, timid at first, then firmer. He breathed the lavender in her hair and shifted on his feet and leaned closer. They stayed like that for a long time as his heart hammered in his chest and his breath stuttered. Her small hands glided over his back like she was ironing out the cracks and creases in his body. Like she was putting him back together, mending him. The twisters in his head swirled away and his mind settled. Things in there left strewn about, upended, displaced but at least calm, stable. She shivered in his arms and hung from his shoulders like the day he had saved her from the O’Driscolls and he pulled her closer still, careful not to hurt.

Who really had saved who that day anyway?

"It's fine," she sighed into his ear.

How to explain to her what this meant? How small and emasculated he felt now that he was stripped of his only worth?

“I got nothin’. ‘M fuckin’ broke,” was his bitter huff.

She pulled back and gave him a stern look. “You have the money in your satchel. And I have mine. We’ll put it together and we’ll figure it out.”

An obvious sham. Savigne was always high strung and worried about money, always handled it with the frugality and fear of someone who never wanted to return to the lack of it. But her clumsy effort to mask this, to put on a brave face so she can soothe his humiliation simmered his heart.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, shamed anyway. 

She fumbled with her satchel and tore out a neat stack of bills. Then she opened his, ignored his objections and stuffed it in. Her hands trembled as if she was giving away her own lifeline but she set her jaw and pushed through the motion before she latched the flap close.

“You said you would handle the money. There. Your job now.”

“I just lost thousands of dollars,” he scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And yer givin’ me more?”

“Well now you can’t go after them and lose that too,” she chewed her lips. “Because then we’re both - no, all three of us - screwed.”

He chuckled, took a deep breath and straightened to look around the tent, head a bit clearer, that thumping behind his eyes diminished. 

“The others...they expect me to…" he trailed.

Her small hand snaked into his. “We'll convince them that you can’t.”

He didn’t like disappointing his friends. But this was one of those rare moments where his selfishness served him well. Because as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb over her fingers, he found that he liked the idea of another man’s ring on her less than the sting of that disappointment. Much, much less. He nodded reluctantly.

They walked out the tent towards the hut, but before they got there, Molly stumbled out from between the trees and wobbled in the middle of camp.

“Miss O’Shea,” Arthur sighed at her. “Thought maybe ya went with. ‘M sorry that-”

“Oh no!” she waved an exaggerated arc at him. “Don’t be sorry. ‘M gonna have the last laugh here!” As if to prove it, she crowed like a rooster. 

Heads turned and conversations stopped. “That sonobitch isn’ winning! Gonna make sure of that!” she slurred.

“Yer drunk, sit down!” Karen yelled from somewhere.

“‘M gonna gofind the first lawmen…hicc…in Saint Denis and tell’imall…” an accusatory finger butterflied from person to person. “...Aaaallll boutyou! Specially that bastard who ranoff. They think…hicc…you dead!” her laughter shrilled at the sullen looks thrown her way.

“Come on, woman,” was Pearson's tired huff. “We’re sitting here in the mud with you.”

“You made this man!” she shrieked. “You built'im like some…some…” her hands fluttered to the sky as she bent backwards and Arthur took a small step forward to steady her before he stopped himself “…some dumb golden calf. Worshiped him! Dutch this…” she sneered, “…and Dutch that! Counted yer precious…hicc…pennies right into his palm. He thought he was a damn god! Then…” her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back, “y'all decided he wasn’ god nomore. 'M fucking glad he robed you,” she chortled. “Fuck all of ya!”

Hardly anyone argued, her words rang too true. 

“Miss O’Shea,” was Arthur’s tired attempt to reason with her, knowing damn well there was no reasoning with a drunkard.

“Pipe down you grumpy bitch!” Uncle hollered. “Even I’m embarrassed for you and that’s sayin’ something!”

“‘M gonna lead them riiiiiggghhhht here,” she swayed on her feet, stabbing a finger downwards. “‘M gonna tell’em-”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence as the gunshot tore a hole through her stomach and he reflexively grabbed Savigne’s arm and swung her behind himself. She gasped with shock, stumbled, then clutched the back of his coat to steady herself. His eyes shot to his left, at the smoking shotgun in Ms. Grimshaw’s hands. A soft moan, the plop of a body and a last exhale as Molly O'Shea was no more.

“Was getting tired of that damn woman,” Grimshaw drawled and tilted the gun down. “Useless bitch, moaning about all day.” Her eyes shimmered with dark satisfaction as she looked back at Arthur.

There was a tense moment of silence as the hands on the back of his coat clutched harder and he had a sudden clear sight of the state of things: how far they had all strayed from normal into desperation, madness and cruelty. How pitiful their struggles and absent their compassion had become.

Something quickened in his gut - the twitch of a well honed animalistic instinct that flagged danger.

Absurd, his head argued. These people are your family. You can trust them with your life.

But his gut whispered Like you trusted Dutch? Look at them: crazed with anger, drunk with desperation. And armed.

They're good folks, his head pressed.

This is an outlaw camp. There are no good folks here.  

“John,” he breathed softly and the blur of a person appeared in the corner of his eye. “Hook them horses to the wagons instead. We leavin’.” The blur disappeared. 

Grimshaw pushed up her chin and gave him a defensive look over her nose. “You know the rules.”

What Arthur knew was that this woman had hated and envied Molly for a long time and as soon as Dutch's protection over her had lifted, she had scraped her off like mud on her shoe. His ire from a moment ago returned, but different in flavor: How dare they do this sort of thing around his woman? The god damn doctor had said no god damn tension! His vision crimsoned.

“Next time ya fire a gun 'round my woman,” he said darkly, “will be the last time you shoot.”

She blinked at this. They had shared a long journey, Arthur and Grimshaw, but he didn’t like that cruel glimmer in her eye and despite knowing she was far from likable, he was pissed at the stupidity, the pointlessness of Molly’s demise. Pushed around, left behind and then shot in the gut.

Savigne squirmed behind him as if to peek around his back and he shepherded her back with his arm and a soft “Don’ look" over his shoulder.

“You know the rules,” she repeated, face hard.

He nodded. “And now so do you,” was his warning.

His eyes crawled around the camp as the gang shuffled to their feet and his appetite for explaining and convincing dried up.

“We leavin’.”

“What about us?”

Sadie's voice murmured in his head, reminding him that the gang loved him but that their love came with expectations and jealousy. He shrugged, shifting to keep Savigne behind him. “Stay. Leave. Your call.”

“What about Dutch? The money?” asked Uncle.

It irked him that they could turn this smoothly to the prospect of money as Molly’s body lied there, still warm, but he forced his face to relax. Now that the hair on his neck had risen, he was wary to reveal his hand. 

“We'll talk when Sadie and Charles return," he lied smoothly. "We don' have the numbers. She know where 'm at, tell her to come by." 

“So that’s it?” whined Tilly. “We're just going to let them ride off?!”

You go after him then, he simmered quietly. He's a lot less likely to shoot at you than at me. 

“At least the bastard can’t get his greedy fingers on the Blackwater haul,” Karen drawled.

Somehow, in the aftershock of Dutch's betrayal, Arthur had forgotten all about that. “We divide the share of those three, might end up close to what we were due here,” he offered.

The news mollified the gang and he took the opportunity to turn Savigne around and urge her to walk back to the tent, all the while keeping himself between her and the gang, irrationally paranoid that the next shot would aim for her. He had no intention of returning here and odds were, this was the last time he was seeing most of them, but he didn't care because his gut churned with fear and alarm.

“Get yer shit,” he told Abigail as he walked by her. Ironically she was doing with Jack what he was doing with Savigne - shielding his view from Molly’s crumpled form. She gave him a curt nod.

“They shot her,” Savigne whispered, voice thick as she stumbled in front of him. “Just like that. She wasn’t going to do it, she was just upset.”

“I know,” was his tight response as he pushed her through the flap. 

“Why?”

“They angry and afraid.” He pushed her to the bed and tried to make her lie down. Despite her dazed state, she objected to her boots, so he quickly pulled them off and she crawled up to lie facing him. He sat at the edge and casually brushed the hair off her face for a while so she wouldn't pick up on his alarm. She was pale and cold, eyes all wide like a frightened animal.

“You okay?”

It took her a while, but eventually she sniffed “Yeah.”

Maybe it was all in his head, maybe he was spiraling like the rest of them, but he thought of Dutch's empty cot and he thought of that big chestnut tree and he found himself very short on trust. His hand deftly folded his coat away from his guns.  

“‘M gonna pack. We leaving',” he said when she calmed down.

“But…the cabin isn’t finished…”

“It’s finished enough, we’ll make do.”

She turned this in her head for a while. Then: “She told me once she grew up playing in the forests of Ireland.”

“Miss O'Shea?”

“Yeah.” Her face fell and her voice broke. “That little girl traveled all the way here to die in a swamp like some…some…animal.”

He didn't have words so he pulled the cover over her and squeezed her hand. 

“Want you to rest while I pack,” he said as he rose to his feet. “We goin’ home.”

It occurred to him suddenly that for the first time in his life, that word meant something other than the gang camp.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 29: I Hope You're Happy

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Beep! Beep!

“Get a move on!”

“Watch it, toots!”

The streets of Brooklyn are one of the aspects of home that aren’t the best. But in a strange way the shouting brings a form of comfort to me. All these people, all different backgrounds, scrambling around to make a living. Bunches of people crammed into a giant city.

And the boat docks bring in even more people.

“Grace! Thomas! Hello!” I shout over the noise and wave them over away from the crowd. “Welcome to Brooklyn, where everyone sounds angry but they’re actually not… Most of the time.”

The sight of their joined hands makes my smile falter by a hair. Lovely engagement ring. Relax, Steenstra. You should be honored they chose your country for a holiday. 

“Hello, Verena.” Thomas smiles politely, scanning the bustling streets. “We’ve got one week here. Since this is your turf, what should we know?”

I can handle playing tour guide. “First, you need to see Lady Liberty. Prospect Park is good too. Also be careful in ‘Hattan ‘cause there’s construction for the new Rockefeller Center.”

The whole time I’m speaking Grace looks at me with confusion. “Did you know we were coming?”

“I spoke of it in the letter I sent,” Thomas answers for me.

Grace, still looking at me, nods. “I see.”

Message received. This is my home but I’m not welcomed to visiting with them. 

“You need to have a drink in Irishtown. Find The Wicked Monk, the best Irish pub on the East Coast. And stop by our joint if you want! Father would be happy to meet you.”

Grace doesn’t like that one bit.

“I’ll leave you to see the sights. I’ve gotta get back home to the shop. Tot ziens! Was good seeing you!”

Back into the bustling noise. Good. It will drown out my anger… By seeing people shout who are much angrier than I am. Now my own home, my used-to-be haven, is now stained with jealousy because of their voyage.

Two years later.

Words. Words. Words. The only thing linking me to the Shelbys. After Thomas and Grace went back to Birmingham I waited to hear back from someone. Anyone. Anything saying when they want me back. Nothing was said. Only a few letters describing their new happy lives and how the company is growing. Everyone is happy…

“Verena! Over here!”

And today is another reminder of the happiness I’m leaving behind. The wedding I hoped for but will never have. 

“Thomas! It’s been too long!” I greet as I haul my trunk off the train. “Oh my, you haven’t changed a bit!”

Same clean-shaven handsome face, same sharp suit. 

“And you look stunning, as usual,” the gangster smiles. “Welcome back to Birmingham.”

We start walking off the platform, no doubt to a car he has waiting for us. It’s so good to see him it's all I can do not to hug him. To look at those eyes.

“I won’t be staying too long, I don’t want to impose-”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room,” Thomas replies with ease. In the corner of my eye I see him looking. “You’re wearing your hair in braids?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“Guess not. ‘S just you’ve never done it before.”

“I do at home. Just thought I’d show some Dutch culture.”

Thomas chuckles. “You’re not going to start wearing clogs, are you?” 

I dramatically hold a hand up to stop him. “Heavens, no. That part of my heritage I can live without. But enough of me. How are you? This is a big day.”

A little enthusiasm doesn’t hurt. Despite my dislike for the given situation he still needs all the support he can get. I can tell his mind is in many places.

“‘M nervous,” Thomas says, anxiously rubbing his face. “But excited.”

“My brothers thought the exact same way on their wedding days.” With my free hand I give him a comforting pat on the back. “Don’t stress, it passes. Eoin nearly fainted on his wedding day.”

I was right. Today's car is a beautiful black Fiat 501. Thomas still spares no expense when it comes to his cars. He packs my luggage in the trunk and, like the gentleman he is, opens the door for me. A guts and glory gangster yet he still remembers how to treat a woman.

“Thanks for being here,” he says when we start driving. “Ada still doesn’t always see eye to eye with me and the boys just keep joking around.”

“Of course. Glad to be of service.” Time to throw on the American charm. “You’ve probably heard this multiple times but congratulations! These two years are up and now it’s time for you to tie the knot! It’s not every day one gets to witness an English wedding. Is it any different?”

The word ‘wedding’ throws Thomas’ smile off for a split second but the usual catch-up chatter resumes as we make our way out of town. We pass a sign that says Warwickshire. Apparently Thomas bought his own house and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t itching to see it. Maybe a quaint cottage with a nice horse barn-

Or a freaking mansion. That… That works too, I guess.

“Verena, welcome to Arrow House.”

‘House’ does little to describe it. This is an all-out mansion! Thomas’ castle. He drops me off to the front door and has a handyman drive the car away. I walk through the grand entrance and notice the gorgeous decorations for the special day.

A grand long table dressed in white, decorated with colorful flower centerpieces. They even brought out the best china. All around maids and waiters are scurrying to and fro, finishing the last-minute touches. Above the table is a giant portrait of Thomas holding the reins to one of his magnificent white horses.

“Like it? Got a good price for it.”

As much as I want to be glad for him I can’t help but think he’s using his wealth to compensate for happiness. I must be honest.

“This isn’t you, Thomas. All this money? Living like royalty?”

He walks us further into the house to the edge of a large staircase. “I’d say the family’s earned it.”

I shake my head with sympathy. “You can paint many pictures of yourself but you’re still Thomas Shelby. A simple life can be just as rewarding as an expensive one.”

But he’s amused by this. “Ah, Verena. Still philosophical as ever.”

There’s no use trying to change his mind. This is his world. He’s proud of it. We get to the top of the stairs and I see a familiar framed picture of Lady Liberty.

“I see you kept the picture from your trip.”

Thomas sees where I’m looking. “New York is a wild place. I don’t know how you grew up there.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Birmingham is no tamer.”

Thomas smirks. “Touché. I did enjoy it, really. The Statue of Liberty was one of Grace’s favorites.”

“If you liked that then next time I’ll show you guys Niagara Falls. Gorgeous place.”

Thomas starts to reach for my hand. “Do you need help with your bags?”

I quickly pull away. “No no, it’s quite alright. This city girl can haul her own luggage.”

He shows me to a room at the end of the hall. A room so big it’s the size of our living room back home. Um, is this a good idea? Inviting another woman to stay in the house of a newly-married couple? I really should find somewhere else to stay. Grace will have my eyes if she sees me here.

“Is this alright?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas, this- The room is perfect. But I should really-”

“Great! I have to finish up some things downstairs. The wedding starts in one hour, I’ll arrange for someone to drive you.” He strides back down the hall.

“Wait!” I run to catch up and meet him at the top of the stairs. “I know my vote doesn’t count but I must say that I am very proud of what you’ve made of yourself. You’re not the same man I met all those years ago, Thomas. You’re a father. A husband. A legit businessman. May God smile upon your family today.”

This is probably the last time I can talk to him alone, and I really do want the Shelbys to be happy. Today is a day for good spirits.

“Verena, that… That means a lot,” Thomas says, looking up from a few stairs below. “Thank you. I-”

“Mr. Shelby!” A maid calls from the bottom.

“Be right there!” Thomas looks at me one last time before heading down. “I’ll see you later.”

Yes. Later. When he’s married.

“Wow. Royal in-laws? You’ve moved up in the world,” I comment as we drive by multiple uniformed men.

“It’s Grace’s relatives,” John says from up front. “Between us, I’m still not used to the uniforms. None of us are. They’re only here for her.”

“It’s good to have you here!” Finn says for the tenth time.

“It’s worth it to see you all. And Arthur, you look very handsome as the best man.”

The man driving us to the church smiles bashfully. “That’s nice of ya, Steenstra. I can’t wait for you to meet Linda. Will you be here for the toast?”

“No, no. I’ll be around for the reception.”

There’s already enough drama between the Shelbys and Grace’s family. I’ll only add to the mix. A quick congrats, a small drink, and I’ll pop out.

I’ll give it to the Brits, they sure know how to have a proper wedding. This church is marvelous! I take my seat next to Finn and see Polly waving from a few seats down. Such a welcoming reunion. If only it weren’t for this occasion. Thomas strides down the aisle, looking very handsome in his spiffy tux, and stands next to Arthur at the altar. The usual music begins and all eyes turn to the silhouette approaching from outside.

Oh my goodness… That dress! A gorgeous lavender if I ever did see one. And the veil… a cascade of purple lace. No wonder Thomas is so happy. Grace gets to the end of the aisle and Jeremiah approaches the couple.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have gathered here today to join these two together in holy matrimony. Thomas Michael Shelby and Grace Helen Burgess.”

I try to keep listening but my mind wanders elsewhere. He chose her. Not me. I’m the one keeping myself trapped in this world. I chose to come back. It’s my fault for feeling this way. But it’s fine. Isn’t it?

Same routine as all my brothers’ weddings. I do, I do, kiss the bride, cheers. What’s different about this wedding is that the cheers seem one-sided. All of Thomas’ family jumps to their feet and shouts with delight, while the other side remains seated and claps. Thankfully Finn sees my discomfort and drags me outside. Everyone files out after us. The bouquet is tossed and all the single women scramble to wrestle over it.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Finn and I chant.

“Verena, are you edging them on?” John asks.

I smile sheepishly. “Only a little.”

“Why don’t you try?” Finn asks.

I scoff at his attempt at a joke. “Oh, please. I hardly believe in such superstitious nonsense.”

“Says the woman who won’t sleep without a cross above the bed.”

“Hey! It’s religious, not superstitious.”

Finn shrugs. “Maybe there’s a blend?”

Thomas shouts for everyone to gather and a photographer readies himself in front.

“Go on, take the photograph!” Arthur says.

I’m pushed to the side by Grace’s family and before I can protest the camera flashes. Everyone’s thinking it. I don’t belong here. I could have refused. The only reason I decided to attend was to support Thomas and his family. But she’s part of their family now and more than likely I won't be welcomed as often. 

Oh, my mistake. Pair the gossiping barmaid with the blood-thirsty gangster? They’re perfect for each other! He’s married. It’s done. I can’t have him. I need to let him go.

@meadows5

[ilovetomatoesbro]

I finally decided to create my own OC

In short, I couldn't come up with a name for my character, but let's call her "THE PHOTOGRAPHER". She can mostly meet in crowded places (for example, parks, courtyards, embankments, shopping malls, and so on; sometimes she can meet at gas stations (where she took money from Nyon a couple of times; she managed to earn about $ 10 from him that day. She saw him in the car with Luther, Randall and the others a couple of times when they went camping, so she realized what was what, and began to say that his family would REALLY like the photo she took.♡)) to take pictures of people and get money from it, because photos "keep memories" and this is "a great reminder of yourself." Most of her photos cost no more than $1, but at large events, for example, like City Day or something like that, she took large sums from people for photos. More often she approached drunk people or families during those events. She is an investigator by profession, but a photographer on weekends and holidays. A "professional" photographer. As a kid, she would have been the head of the school media club, lol.

So, why would she need so much money? She spends them on cigarettes and books, perhaps…

As for her traits of character, she’s rather calm, yet will never let herself be offended by someone; she is determined and mature, but sometimes silly.

(I know she’s boring as hell, but this is my first time creating OC; sorry)

_____________________________________

THE PHOTOGRAPHER

Type: Human

Age: ???

Known skills: photographing, painting, investigating; has a higher chance of surviving in danger (cameramen/photographers never die first), knows a lot of languages (English, Russian (her native language), Dutch, German)

Likes: brainrot jokes, riddles, music, marmalade eyes, space, photos, books (classics, detective novels, prose, dystopia, etc), money, affection.

Dislikes: playing “Hot Potato” (childhood trauma; in this game people line up in a circle and toss an object from neighbor to neighbor as fast as they can. At some point in the game, the action stops, and the person, who still has an object (a potato) in his hands, drops out of the circle, but one day she used to be a potato…), being bullied, paying rent.

Danger level: low

______________________________________

As for animation I created, I tried to voice her herself💔💔💔

English is not my native language, I’m sorry if I have some mistakes

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ the craving | jack conroy *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ship: Jack Conroy x fem!OC

warnings: mentions of death, brief description of healed frostbite

summary: Jack meets a musher girl on his first day in Alaska.

word count: 2826

a/n: I am actually extremely proud of this so I hope somebody reads it haha

Living in the Yukon, you get used to craving. You crave warmth, food that doesn’t come from a can, a bed with a real mattress and a roof over it, the sight of a fresh face and fresh conversation. I had been out there for nearly seven years by the time I met Jack Conroy, and nearing my seventeenth birthday too. I stood at the edge of our camp, watching the prospectors stumble out of the narrow passage at the top of the pass, like rats spewing from a drainpipe. He caught my eye then, beet-red and fresh of face, dressed warm, but not warm enough, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and wonder. He reminded me of myself the first time I climbed the Golden Staircase, back when snow still glittered like pixie dust, and my father’s promise of a gold seam to call our own didn’t ring hollow as the wind through an empty mine. I knew Conroy instantly; the mirror of his father, the man who raised me better than my own. I kept my head down as he looked around, knowing he was there for Alex, but not wanting to face it. The Yukon would turn that boy hard as ice before long, and I didn’t want to watch it happen.

As he traipsed over to us, I crossed my arms and glared at him. Go home, Conroy. I thought. Go shack up somewhere warm, and be happy. He didn’t look at me once, so consumed with his mission. I shielded my face and retreated to the tent. The coffin was easier to face than Alex breaking his heart. Despite my reluctance, I knew I would not have minded taking him on. There were few young people so far into the mountains, except the few kids at the Tlingit village along the trail, but we never stayed long enough to get to know them. The boy could become my companion, of sorts. We would take him north-west from Dyea to Klondike, then set him loose to find his way to the Conroy claim to spend a few months frantically digging into the hill; and go home colder, hungrier, and poorer in spirit. I wouldn’t even have to see it break him. Alex wasn’t like that. He was a pragmatist. He and Skunker knew how to mush, and they took me on because I was the best scout you’d ever need, thanks to my daddy’s training. This boy was a city slicker, and the best he could offer the team was a morale boost, and Skunker was already too cheerful for Alex’s liking. We couldn’t take him. He’d be a dead weight. I tried to close my ears to his charming, eager voice as he tried to butter up old Larson. Soon enough, Alex stepped into the tent and nodded for me to help him lift the coffin. I set my teeth and heaved it. ‘Heavy’ doesn’t begin to cut it.

“Who’s in there?” Conroy asked, puffing a white cloud as he tried to catch his breath.

“Name’s Dutch.” Alex caught my eye and nodded in acknowledgement. I said nothing.

As sweet as his cold, dead daddy, Jack Conroy helped me lift the box. He waffled on in a voice tense with effort, about maps and letters, and gold dust in an envelope his father sent him on his deathbed. My heart ached at the thought of kind old Scotty, dying alone in his claim with that grey lump of diphtheria in his throat. We found him frozen one winter a few years past, and I left a bundle of purple lupines on his grave. My eyes started to burn and something in my throat thickened as I finished tying up my corner of the sled. I pushed past Jack to tie his side. He stumbled, his shoes struggling for purchase on the packed snow. Wolfish fury passed over his face as he regained his footing, then he calmed and went back to pleading his case.

“Everybody finds a little gold dust.” Alex assured him. “That’s what keeps you digging. But you have to strike it, and your father didn’t. Go home and find a regular job. You wouldn’t last a day out here.”

Something odd happened then. I caught the boy’s eye, still glimmering with hope, and realised three nuggets of truth at once: one; this boy was no stranger to craving adventure, glory, and a namesake, but craving food, craving heat? He had never wanted for these things in his life. Two; he had that grit in his teeth that showed the true conviction of his words. He would try to journey to the Conroy claim, with or without our help. And three; I had never known craving until I craved him.

“I’m a good worker, and I just want what’s mine.” He insisted, his soft voice strained in earnest as he trailed Alex’s heels. “I’m asking you to give me a chance.”

“Skunker!” I slapped the old man’s feet, sending him thrashing into wakefulness. You better back me up here you stinkin’ old bastard.

“Damn, what is it?” He exclaimed, limbs flailing as he leapt to his feet. “Alex!” He breezed past both Jack and me, still dazed with one foot in a fancy. “I was dreaming you, me, and Dutch was livin’ it up in Frisco! ‘Lil Quinn at a real college, the works!”

“Get the dogs ready.” Alex said coldly. This was his way.

“I hope Dutch appreciates this ride.” Skunker bemoaned, ignoring Alex’s crotchety comment and making no attempt to hide his annoyance for my sake. I damn well agreed with him. “‘Cause you shoulda died at your digs!” He hit the coffin with his fist. “Saved us a trip back.”

“Are you going near my father’s claim?”

“Scott Conroy’s son!” I called after Skunker. He turned on his heels, a half sceptical look on his face.

“What? Lemme see that face, kid.” He got up in the boy’s face and grabbed him by the chin, inspecting him close with beady eyes. Jack held his breath against the smell. “My God, Alex, he’s the spittin’ image of his old man! And I knew ya pa well. Clarence Thurston.”

“Jack Conroy.” Skunker slapped him into a frenzied handshake.

“You throwin’ in with us?” I knew I could trust old Skunker to have my back. I didn’t even have to plead a case for him.

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

“No.” Alex said simply. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.

“No? You’re taking him with you and you’re not gonna take me? He looks half dead already!”

I giggled. The first laugh I’d had since my daddy kicked the bucket. I slapped a mitten over my mouth to hide it and slipped away to wake up the dogs while Skunker bartered some gum out of him as an apology. Our wheelers, Fritz and Fatty, stirred and wagged their tails as I ran my hands through their fur, whining and baring their teeth in greeting.

“Hey, don’t worry about him.” Skunker assured him, waking up Digger and George, our swing team. “He’s just tired, that’s all.”

“Yeah, or he knows there’s gold out there and wants it for himself.”

“Woah, boy! You got the harness on the wrong dog.”

“Conroy.” I spoke up, meeting his hostile stare and forcing a calm over my body despite how flustered I felt. “If there’s one man you can trust in this damn place it's Alex Larson.”

He scoffed, seeming to ignore my words entirely, and rounded on Alex.

“Listen, if you don’t wanna take me, I’ll go by myself. I’ll get rich by myself too.”

“I think he’s crazy enough to do it Alex!”

“Skunker’s right.” I left the wheelers and sidled up beside him. “The Yukon will swallow him whole, we gotta take him.”

“Quinn, we can’t take him just because you think he’s cute.” Alex put on a shit-eating grin and tapped my arm with his glove.

“It’s not jus’ that.” My face heated up, but I saw no sense in denying it if it was already that obvious. “He’s got a musher’s spirit in him, even if he is green as snow peas, and I don’t wanna find him dead in the woods come summer and know we killed him.”

“Come on, Alex, he’s Scott’s boy!” Thank you Skunker! “Look at him, huh? How much trouble could he be?”

He cast a final sceptical glance at Jack, but conceded. Skunker winked. I stared him down for a second, admiring the swoop of his dark blonde hair, then let my lips twitch into a curt smile.

“I’ll take you as far as Klondike. Fall behind, and I’ll leave you where you drop. Understand?” Alex was all talk, as usual. Even if he wasn’t, he would realise soon enough that leaving this boy in the snow would mean signing two death papers at the Klondike post office.

“Yes, sir.” Jack beamed. At the sight of his smile, I felt the craving stir again, paired with a healthy portion of despair. I knew a virile young man like that would never make do with a musher girl who had lived amongst men so long that she had nearly become one, and often felt more dog than person; but to travel beside him for a while would be a gift.

Alex retreated to the tent to nurse his regret, and Skunker went out to the tuck tent to get some minced meat for the dogs. I went back to playing with the pack, settling beside them and letting the six team dogs crowd around me and vie for my attention. Jack came to sit beside me, eying me as cautiously as the dogs. The thin, agouti bitch who laid at the edge of the group got to her paws and came to watch him with her ice blue eyes. Her body was relaxed, though she let out a deep rumble

“Connie.” She turned her ear to me, but kept her eyes hard on the boy. “He’s a fine boy, he won’t hurt me. He’s Scotty’s boy.” Her ear twitched back up at Scott’s name. “Heel, Connie.” She stepped over to me, eyes always trained on Jack. “Sit now, girl.” She did. I reached over and laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder, stroking it like I would a dog. “Now do the same to me.” His eyes flickered to me, hesitant, but he did as I said. Connie cocked her head, then pinned her ears back and wagged her tail. “See girl, he’s alright.”

“Can I touch her?” His voice was full of wonder.

“You have to ask her. Give her your fist. Gentle now.”

Slowly, he raised his fist to her. Their eyes met. Connie froze, and for a long moment I thought she might bite him, but then her body relaxed and she licked his hand, then his arm, and soon she had climbed all the way on top of him to lick his chops. He giggled and squirmed under her weight and collapsed onto his back.

“Connie! Settle down, girl, he ain’t for eatin’! I know he looks tasty.” I wrapped my arms around her middle and lifted her off him.

“Thank you,” He puffed, clambering off the snow. “Um…”

“Quinn.” Meeting his eyes was almost painful. They were so blue, like a clear day when the sky reflects on the snow so bright it’s almost blinding.

“Ah, thank you, Quinn.”

I looked away and stroked down Connie’s hackles. Setting my teeth together to keep from chattering. Nerves make the cold so much harder to bear.

“How’d a girl like you wind up out here?”

“You noticed, huh?” I raised my eyebrows. “Not many folks do these days. I got used to being called ‘son’ years ago, on account of my boyish charms.” To his credit, Jack chuckles, though I was sure that must have been the first joke I’d told anyone but Connie-dog. “Doesn’t help having a boy’s name, neither.”

“I think Quinn’s a fine name for a girl.” He said it earnestly enough that I managed to spare a glance at him. “And I knew you were a girl as soon as I saw you.” I said nothing, only squished some snow between my fingers to hide my squirming. I almost wished he hadn’t seen me at all. “‘Cause I’d never known a boy to be that pretty.”

“Now, Jack-” I started, my embarrassment trying hard to fester itself into anger. Well, ain’t you living proof to the contrary?

“It’s the truth!” He shifted closer to me, and I shifted away in return, bringing my knees up to my chest and pulling my scarf over my nose. “So how did you end up out here?”

“Mushin,’” I gave him a sidelong glance. “Been out here with my daddy since I’s ten. It’s how I make my living.”

“Who’s your da- your father, who is he?” His face reddened, making me giggle. I hid my face in my knees to cover it.

“Who’s my daddy?” I lean a little closer, enjoying being the one to make him squirm. “Well, he’s a fella by the name o’ Ysbrandt Maarschalkerweerd, but ain’t nobody this side the Atlantic can pronounce that, so they jus’ called him Dutch.”

“Oh.” He took a moment to digest it. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, that’s life.”

“I-I suppose?”

“It is. People just up and die out here sometimes.” I pushed away one of the team dogs from licking up my ear without checking who it was. “It’s not so bad.”

“You don’t miss him?”

“Not as much as I miss yours.” I admitted. “He was more of a father to me than my own ever was.”

“Really?” He leaned in, brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Yeah. He checked on me a lot, and one time- musta been about thirteen- I stayed with him at the claim for nearin’ six months while daddy and Skunker mushed supplies up to Nome. That’s when he bought Connie-dog for me. We went down to Klondike a fair bit to watch the fiddlers, see, and one time there’s a little boy sellin’ puppies. Turns out ol’ Colton’s lead bitch got knocked up by a wolf while they were out in the woods. Cost your daddy a whole dollar, but she’s been an asset ever since.”

“Wow.” He stroked the brindled fur between her eyes with reverence.

“It’s right we take you to Klondike. I think if you live an honest life out here- you stay true, you never rob, or hurt your dogs- your bones turn into a new gold seam when you die. Your pa never struck gold, but he might have made some for you.”

“Huh.” He looked thoughtful.

“Don’t let this place kill your kindness, Jack. You might leave some gold behind.”

“I won’t.” He noticed the scepticism on my face and added more emphatically: “I won’t.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen and still a green lil’ bean.” I shook my head. “You need better gear ‘n this. C’mon.”

He followed me dutifully to the sled where I dug around in my pack and produced my spare scarf, wool trapper hat that I usually wore under my coonskin, and a spare pair of fur cover-gloves to wear over his mittens.

“When you’re out in it, keep a scarf around your nose and mouth.” I pull the glove off my left hand with my teeth and show him the stub of my pinky finger, the missing tip on my index, and the hollow gouged into the pad at the base of my thumb. “‘Else you’ll lose ‘em like my fingers.” His eyes widened. “Wear these gloves over your mittens. I don’t have another coonskin, but you need more’n a baker’s cap to protect your ears. Tie it under your chin so it don’t blow off. You do that, you keep up with the sled, an’ you respect these dogs, and you’ll make it to Klondike with nothing missing.”

“Will they bite me?” He casted a nervous glance at the pack.

“No, but if you try anything abnormal I’ll bite you. They call me Dogtooth up at the Tlingit camp ‘cause a boy tried it on wi’ me and I bit square through his pecker.”

“Really?” He cringed, taking a step back.

“No.” I put my glove back on, smirking. “But you believed me, which gotta count for somethin.’”

“Did not!” 

“Did too!”

“Fightin’ already?” Skunker called out, hobbling along with two buckets full of fish.

“No, Skunker!” I waved him off. “Did too. Now come feed the puppies ‘fore they starve, get in their good graces.”

I turned to walk away, but Jack caught my shoulder and pushed himself flush against my back. I felt my heart quicken in that terrible, delicious rhythm as his lips brushed my ear. Every inch of me trembling with a craving like I had never felt.

“Did. Not.”

[honeyedboneset]

one x one rp search

hello! i'm boneset (or bone). thanks for stopping by my super-specific search thread! if interested, please leave a reply or dm me! 

a bit about myself: 

she/her. 

Late twenties

EST.

Currently: full time employee & grad student

i have a dog and a cat named after science fiction horror icons. 

I’ve been writing/roleplaying in some shape or form for 12+ years. 

A bit about how i write: 

The shorter the post, the faster i can write (esp with my schedule). Usually 500-1k now a days, give or take a little. 

I prioritize gelling with my partner than any kind of like…idk, anything about the writing itself. 

I’m super flexible with post rate but i will yap at you. 

This is a hobby. This is meant to be fun. I would like to have fun. 

I am terminally unserious (by choice). Canon plotlines and timelines are suggestions. Idc. the world is our playground. 

I only ever double. So i play a cc and oc and you play a cc and oc. Or two ocs. Whatever it works out to be, you know? 

Love ooc chatting, sharing memes, head canons, all that stupid stuff. I love making friends. My two best friends i made through roleplaying and now they’ve been stuck with me for around a decade each. 

m/f is preferred for my pairing. I’ve been around long enough a lot of m// and f// dynamics gives me hives. I’m flexible though. 

hard limits: be 18+ (21+ preferred) | will not write with people who identify as male (he/him) | incest | fetish stuff | abo | pwp | pedophilia | furries/beastiality | explicitly written sexual assault | abusive relationship dynamics between main characters | heavy substance abuse | main settings being medical | most highschool settings/underage characters | genuine love triangles or infidelity between main characters 

Fandoms (canon x oc): 

Marvel cinematic universe: 

Looking for: matt murdock, sam wilson

Can play: nearly anyone? Most experience with peter (parker), tony, bucky, loki, namor.

My hero academia: 

Looking for: takami keigo

Can play: anyone. Most experience with: katsuki, hitoshi, denki

Jujutsu kaisen: 

Looking for: nanami kento

Can play: anyone (are you picking up a trend). Most experience with megumi, satoru, toji

The last of us: 

Looking for: Tommy, m!oc

Can play: joel, ellie, ocs, anything else just ask? 

some vibes: FIX IT JESUS, protecting family, human enemies, natural threats, antagonistic towns, lost in the wild, weird periods of domestic easiness followed by hurt/comfort hell​

The walking dead: 

Looking for: glenn rhee, daryl dixon.

Can play: daryl, rick, shane, negan, beta, and many more??

​some vibes: people who knew each other prior to the zombies meeting each other again after, dead rising vibes, traveling through the wilderness, overgrown and rundown towns and cities, towns that have gone mad, human enemies, natural threats, fluff, megamalls, amusement parks, adventure, horror, fluff, uneasiness in the calm, found family, hesitant allies

Red Dead Redemption: 

Looking for: charles

Can play: john, arthur

​some vibes: railroad turmoil, dutch has lots of plans (very little outcomes), high society meets the old west, running from the law, causing problems, adventures in the big city, trying to leave old lives behind, forbidden love, enemies to lovers

Fandoms (and fandom inspired): 

Cowboys:

Inspired by: red dead redemption, yellowstone (i guess? I’ve only seen tiktok thirst reels), man from snowy river, outerrange. 

Thoughts: i love cowboys in whatever era honestly. I think the dying days of the old west is super cool and i think the whole setting is fun even if it’s more contemporary. I would love to mix some cowboys with some southwest gothic vibes, even. I also loved that outerrange was cowboys + space. Idk, i think there’s a lot to be done there. I have a few ocs for this world depending on time range. 

Zombies: 

Inspired by: the last of us, deadrising, twd, resident evil, days gone, etc

Thoughts: i just like the end of the world. Don’t know what that says about me, but i do. I’ve got a couple ocs here also that are pretty flexible plot wise. I really liked the ridiculousness of dead rising, the scale of things like tlou, and how green and wild stuff is. 

[arthiiwille]

Random character building thing im doing for the dutch cities.

[magic-crazy-as-this]

[ Penelope Todd / Red Phoenix ] OC Profile

Name: Penelope Anne Todd

Name Meaning: Named for the brave queen of Ithaca from Greek Mythology

Nickname(s): Penny (only Jason calls her that)

Alias(es): Red Phoenix

Occupation: Vigilante/Crimefighter, Library Page/Intern

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age/Birthday: 17 / 16 July

Height: 5' 6" (167 cm)

Hair Colour/Type/Length: Very thick and wavy dark brown/black down to her shoulder blades, she usually wears it up - especially when she's crime-fighting

Eye Colour: Hazel

Family:

Jason Todd (genetic brother)

Bruce Wayne (adoptive father) ( & other Batfamily etc.) She was very young when she and Jason were adopted and she was sent away from the Batfamily to grow up outside of Gotham soon after. She doesn't feel very close to anyone in the family aside from Jason.

Love Interest(s): Dick Grayson (kind of. it's a very precocious crush and probably nothing will happen.)

Skills/Powers:

Vanish: Penelope can teleport anywhere within line of sight instantly and soundlessly on the condition that no one is observing her when disappearing, nor the place where she intends to appear. This includes cameras and any animal with the intelligence to notice her disappearance. If she tries to teleport away when being observed, she can stay in a 'standby' state, but it is an uncomfortable and sometimes painful experience.

Eyebright: Penelope can always sense when someone is looking at her, which is an uncomfortable experience. The 'harder' someone looks at her (i.e. glaring), the more uncomfortable it makes her feel. She can sense someone's gaze through opaque masks and at a distance, but distance makes the feeling less pronounced.

Staff Fighting: Penelope is able to fight with a staff at a decent level and can mostly hold her own in a fight, but she was not properly trained by a hero and often gets in over her head. (In my Elseworld/AU, every Robin fights with a staff and the same staff gets passed on to each subsequent Robin)

Likes: Anything sweet, old cartoons, hanging out on rooftops, 24-hour diners, musical theatre, bad 80s power ballads, Aunt Agatha's Dutch apple pie

Dislikes: Sudden changes / loud sounds / being touched without warning (she's autistic!), her quiet hometown, tomatoes, country music

Backstory: Penelope Anne Todd was adopted by Bruce Wayne alongside Jason but when Jason decided to become Robin, she was sent away to live with Bruce's elderly Aunt Agatha so she would be safe and not a 'distraction' to her brother. Over the years, Penelope got to know the Batfamily, albeit distantly. She was invited to Wayne Manor for holidays and the occasional birthday but never had the opportunity to really hang out or spend time with anyone - not even Jason once he took up the role of Robin. Jason was killed by the Joker when she was twelve years old and it was at his funeral that she discovered her brother was Robin and that her adoptive family were all crime-fighters. She confronted Bruce about this and they had a massive fight that they never quite recovered from. Even still, she begged Bruce and Dick to train her to be a hero so she could continue Jason's legacy and every time she asked, they said 'no'. Now fresh out of high school, Penelope took off for Gotham City with a homemade costume and she is ready to prove that she can be a hero.

[zmwrites]

OC Kiss Week Day 1: Almost

WIP: Poppet WIP

Pairing: Dutch x Aleksander

CWs: vague mentions of injuries

Words: 835

Notes: Questionably canon, would take place before the story starts

Dutch leaned back on the table, propping herself up on her elbows. Aleksander brought the candle closer to her wound—one of the cultists had managed to slice the side of her abdomen before she’d gutted them. His brows knitted together.

“Don’t make that face. It’s not that deep,” she said.

“Last time you said that, you passed out from blood loss, fell off your horse, and spent the better part of two weeks unconscious fighting off an infection.” The corners of his mouth curved downwards but he didn’t look up from his assessment. “Forgive me for not taking your word on the severity of your injuries anymore.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It would’ve been futile; he seemed to be studying the basics of healing whenever they were apart, and she was his favourite pincushion to practice on. The why of his new hobby remained a mystery—his parents employed the best healers in the kingdom and he could easily afford to pay whatever a small town healer would charge—but she chalked it up to the eccentricities of the rich and royal.

“Any foreign princesses visiting when you go back?” Dutch asked, looking at the ceiling so he couldn’t see her winces of discomfort as he cleaned the wound. 

“One of Eletha’s cousins is coming to stay for a month,” he replied. Eletha was married to his eldest brother, and had a large family containing many single young women. “I’ve been forbidden from leaving Noxshire while she’s here.”

She almost felt bad for him. With his next-elder brother recently engaged, the family’s attention had turned to finding him a match. “The city or the duchy?”

Aleksander paused, then slowly grinned. “It wasn’t specified.”

“There’s a nest of giant spiders near the duchy’s border that’ve been thinning the herds of local farmers. Far enough from the city to warrant staying overnight. The pay’s shit for the level of danger, but that doesn’t usually deter you.”

“And we’d have to do reconnaissance, talk to the affected farmers. It could be a multi-week project,” he said. He helped her sit up and grabbed a roll of bandages.

She snorted. “Just assuming I’ll go with you?”

“Of course. Keeping me alive and unmarried is in your best interest.” His hands brushed her ribs, burning hot against the cool night air.

Her toes curled in her boots to keep a shiver from running up her spine, and the stutter in her breathing was barely noticeable. The bastard had done that on purpose. “And why’s that?”

“I can’t pay you to go adventuring with me if I’m dead or stuck managing an estate somewhere,” he said. “Besides, I pay much better than any of those merchants you escort through the northern mountains.”

She hummed her agreement, not trusting herself to speak as he tied the bandage over her sternum. His lavender eyes were focused on his task, but his damn fingers kept grazing the skin just below the raised hem of her shirt.

“And I’m much better company.” He raised his gaze and she realized how dangerously close his face was to hers. He stood with his hips slotted between her legs, and his hands dropped to the table on either side of her.

Dutch slowly lowered her shirt. It was her turn to be strong, to keep them from crossing the line they’d carefully drawn between themselves. Their relationship had to remain professional if it was going to work. It didn’t matter how blurry the line got as they travelled together, or how desperately they wanted to cross it after almost dying again; mixing professional and personal in her line of work never ended well.

“Aleksander.” Her voice was soft, gentle in a way she couldn’t afford to be.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, their exhales mingling in the limited space between them. She swallowed hard. One hand drifted up to fist the material of his shirt. For a moment—just one moment—she pretended that it was possible. That they could build a life, that they could be happy together, away from the expectations of his bloodline and her stained past.

But they couldn’t. He couldn’t leave his family and she couldn’t pretend she was anything but what she was.

“Aleksander,” she repeated as he cupped her face. “A bandit-turned-sellsword is not the company you should be keeping.”

“Sword-for-hire,” he corrected. “There are semantic differences.”

She exhaled a laugh. “Not enough of a difference to make me someone who belongs in your world.”

“I know. I know. I just—I wish—” His other hand rose to her face so both of his palms cradled her jaw.

“I know.” She rested her hands on his wrists.

He remained still for another five heartbeats before exhaling heavily and shaking his head. He stepped back and busied himself with packing up his medical supplies. “We should leave now if we’re going to make it to Vir Ezzadh before midnight.”

“Yeah,” she agreed half-heartedly, already missing the warmth of his hands.

[creationsekai]

OC POSTING TIME

From left to right: Michigami Michiko, Nakama Hikari, Enda Ryuusei and Isobe Izuya. They're online friends on Nightcord and they produce virtual singer songs together. They're really unknown, and the quality of their songs are decent at best, but they have a lot of fun together!

Michiko is a lovely cringe 13 year old. She's really talented at drawing and editing, and does the MVs for the group. She's in loads of fandoms and chronically online :^) She gets bullied in school and along with the pressure school gives she's going Through It, so to say. She got Nightcord when she was 10, and met the others in a server. They realized just how young she was an dragged her into another server together. Becoming vocaloid producers was also her idea initially. Her Nightcord username is ☆Yupii☆, which is in latin script because it's cool

Hikari is a very, very troublesome girl. She causes a lot of chaos in class, but despite that she somehow gets good grades. She's really good at literature and Japanese in particular, and that's also why she does the lyrics. She also tunes the virtual singers. She suffers from neglect from her parents, and on top of that her parents fight a lot. She wanders around the city when she isn't home and on Nightcord. Hikari doesn't really have any friends besides her group of Nightcord friends. Outside of school, she loves infecting Ryuusei with her troublemaking and they do stupid stuff together. Her username is Hikki, which is in hiragana.

Ryuusei is a stoic and kinda awkward but very animated guy. He records instruments for Izuya since his parents are famous musicians and he mixes Izuya's compositions. Though he hopes to be able to compose something himself one day. His parents put a lot of pressure on him to succeed academically, and it gets to the point where even if he does really well on a test he still gets complaints. Like Hikki, he doesn't have any friends. He's so focused on school and their group that he doesn't socialize. His Nightcord username is the funniest to me... It's Ryuusei. The fun part is that the meaning is different: His username means meteor (流星), while his actual name roughly means "a cleared up gem" (琉晴). The kanji are kinda similar as well kejeksjw. So basically, no one in his friend group knows which meaning it is whenever he's getting called by his name.

Izuya is the oldest of the group, in fact, he's 27 and a teacher at Kamikou. He's rather pathetic in the cringefail way. He teaches English and music, and he composes the songs for their group. He happened to grow up in Vivid Street, which made him passionate about music though not about singing. He was there at RAD BLAST when he was 10, and he told his younger sister about it. He moved out before the main story, and he's having struggles paying rent so he does a lot of part-time jobs. His username is Lint, which means ribbon in Dutch. It's written in katakana.

I'm stuck between choosing Hikari as the leader or Michiko, and I don't even have a unit name yet 😔

The theme of this unit is art in general. They love writing, drawing and music and more. The SEKAI is only owned by Michiko but Miku called upon the others to help her. It's called Creation SEKAI by the way :) (haha that's my blog handle). The unit members all struggle from passive suicidal thoughts, and they have lost all hope for the future. It's especially bad for poor Michiko. Basically, they're kinda like niigo but less. Mentally ill...

[vogelmeister]

Do you know any shows or movies in dutch or even music? Im trying to improve my skills (but this language is terribly complicated)

I wrote a post on dutch songs a while back so ill pm it to you. However media is a different story, and I'm actually not that great on media, even in English- but i will show you where i learned basic dutch aka important words aka… very random words.

may i introduce you to

✨Wie is de Mol ✨

(everyone clap)

hello dear reader would you like to TRUST NOBODY? yes. okay. cool. picture this. you are a semi famous dutch person and you, along with nine other dutch people go off to a foreign country to complete super cool challenges (opdrachten) and earn money to go towards a group pot. except there’s a twist. theres a saboteur (de mol) and their whole purpose is to ensure the least amount of money enters that pot. during this de mol must obviously gain the trust of the group (kandidaten) and the kadidaten have to figure out who de mol is. at the end of the episode theres often a test and execution in which the participants have to answer 20 questions re who the mol is (questions include things like ‘what city was de mol born in’ ‘how much money did de mol earn in the lasergame’) and whoever does the worst has to go home. the mol can never go home. the winner is the person who guesses de mol with the most correct answers in the final and they get the contents of the pot. im not kidding when i say this show is equal parts hilarious (bc they’re human and do stupid shit), suspenseful and very fun (bc you can play at home!).

Some of my favourite seasons include:

Season 18. This season is my favourite by far. Had one of the gutsiest mols, all around good group and honestly one of the best game show reality TV plot twists of all time. Art’s last season as host, too.

(Also I definitely stole his surname for my OC bye.)

Season 19: Idk why this ones here I just felt like including it. I actually think the 2018-2021 era of widm is the best one so that’s why im putting it here, and this season is fun. Cool mol reveal too.

Anniversary Season: Honestly I definitely recommend watching some older seasons before diving into this bc they definitely reference shit from old seasons and bring back old mols, but asides from this the mol this season was pretty good and Tuscany is lovely to look at. Fun group too full of old kandidaten.

Season 14: Unpopular I know but I loved the mol this season- they definitely reminded me of myself but also I just remembered this season as being super fun with cool opdrachten. Also a really important thing gets introduced here which was a staple in newer seasons

Season 13: The superior South Africa season with a very fun mol.

Season 21: Honestly? Shit mol this season, I figured it out via a DREAM but the kandidaten this season are iconic and it has one of the best alliances in widm history in my opinion. Czechia is stunning and it was the first time i guessed de mol too

Season 11: Watch for nothing if not Art Rooijakkers and the most unsafe opdrachten ever.

(If you want my opinion on any other season pm me lol, it’s late and I don’t want to type them all but SEASON EIGHTEEN!!!)

Anyways all episodes are on YouTube with English subs, just google widm English subs and you’ll find them. The seasons often ten episodes long, 1 hour per episode, with the final episode being the mol reveal. I think if you want that channel also supports dutch subs but i cannot remember rn!

enjoy!!!

:)