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[mpressurewashing]

Wash Your Fence without Making Mistakes: Tips from the Pros

A well-maintained fence is crucial to boost your property’s curb appeal. Before you grab the hose and start scrubbing, there are a few essential things you should keep in mind. This guide will help you.

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[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

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[vifilms]

i think some skin to skin with cowgirl abby could and would fix me :P

❝ IM IN LOVE WITH YOU ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON!

an. nonnie, thank you for the request. it's more angst than i planned so i hope that's okay! i also wanna credit the cuntress queen @astralnymphh for this concept. so, so good. y'all need to check it out asap.

Since she could feel it, from very early on, she’s liked women and never enjoyed the company of men other than to have an occasional beer with. Most of the girls around her worried about settling down, finding a perfect man, one who is respectable, stable, loving. Pleasing the wishes of their parents who are ever so demanding with a downpour of insured judgements. 

It’s all left to be found here, the bellows from a man and a woman living unhappily together, telling others how to live their life. Yet, Abby from a young age yearns for someone else, the piece she believes is missin’. 

The sought after, happily ever after. 

Not a soul she had met for her bill so she keeps her head down. Late night escapades are tight lipped, hidden from spectator’s eyes, ones they would throw slurs her way without a second thought if they knew. Just like they had when she hadn’t kept it a secret.

 Sometimes, it burns. Other times when she was buried in between a woman’s thighs as they cried for mercy in her ear, it didn’t. 

Underneath the midnight sky, her fingertips dance on the white wood — the one she shouldn’t be stepping her boots back on. 

Despite how she tells herself, this will be the last time, it never really is. It’s a quiet night in the small town tucked away in a small town in South Texas, the stars shine bright in the countryside, moonlight shining brighter than it has all month long. 

Abby steps up to your front porch, the pearly white picket fence, the home your dad built with his two bare hands and a dream. When she’s met with your shining smile, the doubt is evident, barely visible but it’s there. 

Is this what you want? Or were you just too kind of a woman to say no? 

Nothing is said between the two of you as you pull her into your home, a senseless wonder swirls in your eyes, getting lost in impenetrable blues. Maybe, it’s what pulls you in and keeps you there like the failed dreams in a dying town. Perhaps it’s when you dream of the sound of her voice at night when she decides not to come, leaving you alone to think of not a single thing but her. 

Once the door closes, it’s just the two of you. Abby’s musk is overwhelming, she tends to be, but you seem to welcome it with open arms. There's a pot roast you made for her, devouring it silently at the round dining room table, her muscular thigh touching yours, reminding you of the feelings which never seem to wither. 

Her brown, weathered stetson hat sits on the empty chair, her fingertips picking at the frayed edge, the nagging thought in her brain shouts at her to say something, anything, but you beat her to it. 

“You don’t have to stay, Abby. You’ve got an early morning, so do I.” You pick up the emptied plates, washing them at the sink when you feel strong, protective, arms wrap around your waist, her chin resting against your shoulder. 

“Why are you putting words in my mouth, darling?” Pink lips decorate deliberate kisses along the side of your neck, “I’m right where I wanna be. M’here with you, not going anywhere.” 

With her pointer finger, she tilts your head to her, dominant lips catching hers, Abby’s hold keeping you in place as she reminds you of what it feels like to be held by the person you call home. The quivering feeling shoots a shiver up your spine, her hands don’t stop moving as they caress your body. 

“C’mon now, you need some sleep.” Her southern drawl is strong as ever as she leads you up the stairs into your bedroom. “S’late, can’t have you not gettin’ sleep because of little ‘ole me.” 

You know what she wants and you know you’ll do it too. 

Anything for her. Right? 

A freshly showered Abby emerges as naked as the day she was born. Porcelain skin tanned by the radiance of the sun from a hard day’s work, a constellation of freckles cover her body. There’s an abundance collecting at her shoulders, across her collarbones as they dust her strong nose and spread across perfectly sculpted cheeks. 

The time you have with each other is few and far in between, occupied by the responsibilities of managing a ranch with her father commands most of the hours of the day, keeping her effectively away from you.

Plus, the feeling swarming in her heart she refuses to see yet she’s here a few times a week, wanting this. If Abby wants more, she’s good at hiding it, but the thought alone is dangerous. You can allow yourself to want more, not when she gives you nothing in return. 

“Are you gonna come over here, gorgeous?” She slides in between your legs, some of her weight soothingly collapses onto you. “Patience darling, m’right here, not going anywhere.” 

With a sigh of content, she grabs you by the waist as she pulls you on top of her with ease. Abby’s golden waves kiss your face as she hides her face in the crook of her neck. Meticulously, the blunt of her fingertips draw patterns on your skin, playing with the hem on your lace undergarment, the only piece of clothing left in your body. 

“You will go somewhere. In the morning, you’ll leave without saying goodbye. Jus’ like you do after every night.” Abby tightens her hold, thinking if she keeps you close you won't slip through but truth be told? She’d be the first to drop you, even if it wasn't her intention. 

“Sorry, m’not strong like you.” 

“I think you’re a lot stronger than you think, y’know?” Her lips find yours as her skin smothers you in the body wash she keeps in the cabinet. Soft breasts melt against her own, calming her in a way Abby can’t quite comprehend. 

This was more than just sex. If that’s all this was, she would be the nearest bar picking up the closeted women who fawn over her before she even steps her foot in the front door. The most sought after woman in town, yet it’s her tongue in your mouth, claiming in a way words fail her. 

“Abby—” The moan vibrates through her, she falls into the sensation of your heavenly skin, smooth against her calloused hands. Every inch of your body feels golden to her. It’s what she craves, the intimacy without having to be, so good, a delicate sigh leaves her puffy lips. “I—” 

With a loving look in her wondrous pools of deep sea blues, with a hint of gray stowed away beneath the light, she inquires for you to continue as she looks up at you. 

Your hands gently touch her face, thumb lovingly soothing over the apples of her cheeks and the scar decorating one of them. There’s nothing she despises more than it, makes her look far too damaged, but you’ve always thought it makes her the person she is. 

Strong, loving, imperfectly perfect. 

The first time you did it, she flinched as she gripped your wrist, pulling your fingers away from marking. Now, she closes her eyes and lets you. 

“When can I tell you without you running? When are you gonna stay?” Abby wants to tell you, say it. I won’t leave. I’ll always be here, right with you, forever. 

She doesn’t. She can’t. 

The words die on her tongue, the three little ones she feels but can’t let through. The past hurts haunt her as it disgusts itself as a never ending hangover which she holds it against you. It’s not meant to be cruel, it certainly isn’t fair, but it’s all she can do until time heals the festering wound. 

“I don’t have an answer for you—” Her blue eyes open, her lips ghosting over your again. “But, this, you? It’s just you and me. No one else, darling.” 

For now, it’s enough, but Abby stresses over the day where you’ve had enough cursing at the wind and whatever god sits above. 

One day, somewhere in the near future, she won’t be.

taglist: @plutolovesyou @brackishkittie @nybueckers @tlouloser

wanna be tagged?

[ak319]

I absolutely love your yandere Arthur stuff- though I really have the curiosity to see him suffer. I was wondering how he'd go about if the reader, in a desperate attempt to escape, ended up getting really really hurt (if she survived or not, up to you.. but make it real heart shattering please)

Thank you and keep being awesome!!

(AN: So, I got two asks (TW) relating to suicide and the other two I added cuz I thought they lined perfectly with the plot that came to my mind. So saddle up as this is going to be a tough one, do read the warnings, and also thank you to all the anons for reading and sending the asks!)

Warnings/MDNI: Suicide, angst, forced prostitution, the reader is underage. (15-16), not incest, strictly platonic, abuse// I don't condone such behaviour

It had been almost a week since you’d run, from everything that had suffocated you. An older woman in her 50s, a widow with two married daughters, had found you and decided to give you shelter. You couldn’t have been more grateful to Linda, and you even felt for her, living alone in a small house with only her animals for company. What you hadn’t expected, perhaps in your own naivety and desperation, was that choices made in haste often became someone else’s chance to shape their own life for the better.

You were dusting off a vase when you noticed two men approaching the fence on horseback. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach. Even the faint sound of hooves and the sight of those hats stirred reminders of your brother, of the camp, memories Linda knew well by now.

“Linda, there are people outside,” you said, voice tight with unease. She looked up from her book, her expression unreadable as she rose. With an air of certainty, as if she’d anticipated this, she opened the door without even glancing to see who they were.

“Good mornin’, Miss Linda.”

The men stepped inside, their eyes sweeping over the small room before landing on you, a young girl, untouched as they were told, standing tensely in the corner, cloth in hand.

“Is she the one?”

“Yes. Her name’s (Y/N),” Linda replied without hesitation, her tone strangely casual.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Um, Miss Linda?” you murmured, hoping for some explanation. But when you looked at her, the warmth she’d shown when she’d found you, empty-handed and alone, was nowhere to be found.

As their conversation continued, realization dawned painfully fast. This wasn’t an innocent meeting. She had sold you, to men who clearly had no good intentions.

“NO!” you shouted, thrashing as one of them seized you, his grip iron-tight. Panic surged through you as you struggled, tears stinging your eyes.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? LINDA!” you screamed, your voice cracking. “You have daughters of your own!” But the other man quickly moved to hold you down, binding your wrists as dread washed over you. No, this can’t be real, you thought, desperately praying for a miracle, for anything.

“I don’t have daughters,” Linda replied flatly, her gaze fixed on the money roll they handed her. “I live alone. You fell right into my trap, girly, this is what I do for a living.” She didn’t even look up as they gagged you, ignoring your cries and pleas as they dragged you from her house, indifferent to your terror.

⋆⋆⋆

It had been three months since they’d dragged you into this unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers with cold eyes and colder hearts.It was useless no matter how much you begged or how hard you fought. The punishments, the beatings, the days locked away in dank cellars, became too much to bear.

"It's always a fun challenge to tame young ones like you,"

Eventually, the fight drained out of you. Bit by bit, you surrendered. You gave up on freedom, on dignity, on every cherished memory. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t giving up, that they had taken it from you. But deep down, you knew the people around you would laugh at that. A woman, giving in? As if you’d ever had a choice.

Even if... even if your brother somehow found you, what would he say? If he saw you here, saw all that had happened, would he forgive you for running away? He will, he will because you're the only one he has left. It was a lie you whispered to yourself just to make it through the endless nights.

But still, despite everything, you prayed. Prayed that somehow he’d find you, that he’d come and take you back. That he’d see past the shame, past the bruises and broken pieces, and remember the sister you used to be. You clung to that thin thread of hope, fragile as it was, because it was the only thing left that still felt like yours.

⋆⋆⋆

Arthur hadn’t had a moment’s peace since you disappeared. The guilt and fury festered into a dark cloud over him, filling every waking moment. Every step, every job he took on, only seemed to twist the knife deeper, because how could he even think about anything else while you were out there alone?

He lashed out at everyone. Every misstep or delay was another reminder that they’d failed to keep you safe, to keep you close. It stung him that no one had been there, that Dutch’s assurances and promises meant so little when it came down to it. The camp members bore the brunt of his fury, his paranoia that they might’ve even helped you leave simmering just beneath the surface. And though they knew better than to push back, they held their patience, trying to calm him, even if it was like talking to a wall. How could these people not take care of you? It was the only thing he had asked Dutch for in exchange for giving his all, his best with his every breath.

Still, he couldn’t rest. Every day he pushed himself, scanning faces in crowded towns, following trails that led nowhere. He’d never admit it, but he was scared, scared of what might’ve happened to you. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw you for himself, safe and within the bounds of camp again.

⋆⋆⋆

It was one of those days where Chief, the man who forced you to call him that, as if it somehow dignified his cruelty, had you paraded through saloons to attract new customers. The older, more experienced girls absorbed most of the men’s attention, giving you brief respites where you could linger near the corners, gaze averted, trying not to see or be seen. This was your coping mechanism: be present but remain hidden, fading into the shadows, preserving the last shreds of yourself.

Chief rarely paid attention to your position; he was usually too engrossed in gambling or drinking with his cronies to notice. So long as you didn’t step out of line or attempt an escape, an impossible feat with his guards stationed outside, he didn’t care where you lingered. For these few stolen moments, you could almost feel invisible, protected by the wall at your back and the murmur of unfamiliar voices.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Charles. Right there, across the room. Your heart thundered, your breath catching in your throat. He was here, and the realization struck you like a blow. You must’ve stared too long because his eyes landed on you, recognition dawning in his gaze. You could see his shock twist into something harder, his face darkening as he took in your presence here.

His eyes were locked onto you, and he rose from his seat, his gaze sharp and unyielding, scanning every inch of you with a dawning recognition. Each step he took made your heart pound harder, a mix of disbelief and terror twisting in your chest. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, as you pressed yourself further against the wall, as though it might somehow swallow you up.

“(Y/N)...?”

His voice was low, laced with disbelief and something that almost sounded like relief, but there was no mistaking the tremor in it. Your throat tightened, and a thousand unspoken words tangled there, as if your body itself was rejecting the reality of being found.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your tongue felt heavy, paralyzed by shame and fear. The silence was broken by Chief, who was now at your side oblivious to the storm brewing, chuckled and tightened his hand on your shoulder. "This is Cherry, my newest one. One of the youngest, too," he taunted, a sick grin spreading across his face. "Would you like a taste, sir?"

Charles didn’t hesitate. In an instant, he was on Chief, his fists swinging. You watched as Charles’s rage took over, each blow landing harder than the last, rendering Chief into a bloody, unrecognizable heap. The noise and chaos around you faded, replaced by a surreal, dreamlike silence.

You wanted to move, to say something, anything, but shock held you frozen. The reality was hitting you all at once, Charles had found you. After all this time, your prayers have finally been answered. But along with the relief, dread crept in. Charles was here, yes, but what about Arthur?

Arthur. The thought of facing him filled you with a hollow, bone-deep fear. What would he say? What would he do when he saw you like this?

“Arthur’s been looking for you. Day and night, he’s been looking. And he’s… well, you know how he is.” He paused, his gaze turning serious. “But he needs to see you. Needs to know you’re safe.”

"I--can't....Charles," he was the second after Arthur whom you called a brother, if this was your condition in front of him, you dreaded facing your real one.

"He...will --no, please." No, this wasn't how it was supposed to be, you should have been happy to go.

"The hell I am leaving you here!"

"Charles, no, you don’t understand!" you protested, your voice trembling as you recoiled slightly from his touch. “Arthur… he’ll be furious! He’ll-”

“He’ll be furious if he finds out you’re here, too,” Charles interjected, his tone sharp yet laced with concern. “But I can’t leave you here. You deserve better than this.”

You nodded slowly, still numb, letting him lead you outside, where the guards who usually kept watch were already scattered, backing off after seeing Charles’s wrath. He didn’t let you go, staying close as he guided you through the quiet streets.

With a final glance back at the saloon, you took his hand, feeling a mix of fear and gratitude surge through you. As you climbed onto the horse behind him, the reality of what lay ahead crashed over you like a wave.

⋆⋆⋆

All the guilt and frustration that Arthur had felt at himself and the others had now morphed into a seething fury. He could barely contain the storm brewing inside him as he stood there, fists clenched, watching Charles bring you back to camp. You stood behind him, your head bowed, and he could feel the weight of your shame even from a distance.

When Charles, with his broken and hesitant words, explained where you had been and what you had endured , Arthur felt a rush of bile rise in his throat. Hearing that you had been forced into such a degrading life, turning into a whore, no less in front of the whole camp, set off a wildfire of rage within him. It felt as if every cell in his body was screaming, torn between the desire to protect you and the urge to just shoot you and then himself.

“Why…?” he managed to croak out, his voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity of his gaze was like fire. You could only let out a whimper, too overwhelmed by shame and fear to answer.

“Arthur... it's not (Y/N)'s fault-” Charles began, trying to explain the circumstances, but Arthur cut him off sharply, the anger bubbling over.

“I AM ASKING HER, CHARLES, SO SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I ASKED YOU SOMETHING!” His voice thundered across the camp, startling the others who had gathered to witness the confrontation.

Silence fell over the clearing, all eyes on you as Arthur took a step forward, his expression a mix of pain and fury. You flinched, feeling the heat of his anger radiating off him like a tangible force.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a rabbit caught in the glare of a predator. You could see the way his fists trembled, the way his jaw clenched, and it terrified you. “I---I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, "I am s-sorry...please."

Annabelle, having enough interjected. "Let the child breathe Arthur! You are scaring her for no fucking reason! You should be happy she's been found you dumbass!"

“Stay out of this, Annabelle!” Arthur snapped, the violence in his tone making everyone around him tense. “You don’t know what she’s done. You don’t know how she’s made me suffer!”

Hosea, who had been observing quietly, spoke up as well, attempting to de-escalate the situation. “Arthur, we need to think this through. She’s back now, that’s what matters-”

But before Hosea could finish, Dutch stepped in, his voice commanding. “Enough! This isn’t helping anyone. Arthur, take a breath. We��ll sort this out, but you need to calm down.”

Arthur’s fury seemed to intensify, the frustration boiling over. “Calm down!?” he spat, eyes dark with rage. “She thinks she can run away from me, become a whore and come back like nothing happened? I’m not letting her off that easy!”

With a sudden, swift movement, he seized your arm, dragging you towards a nearby tent. You stumbled, panic rising within you as you felt the grip of his hand, the anger radiating off him like heat from a fire.

“Arthur, please!” you cried, but he didn’t respond, his jaw set in a hard line as he pulled you along, ignoring the protests from Annabelle and Hosea.

"If anyone comes near me, I am gonna gut em' alive!"

“Arthur, think about what you’re doing!” Annabelle called after you, her voice strained with concern. “You can’t just take her away like this-” Dutch silenced her with holding her shoulders. "Don't you dare go near him! He's not in his senses-"

"SO GO AND STOP HIM!"

But he was already inside the tent, and the flap fell shut behind you with a heavy finality. The moment you were alone, he released you, stepping back with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Why would you do this to me? To us?” he demanded, his voice low and intense.

You backed away and fell onto the cot. "Just...just listen and I'll explain-

"Oh really? Did you enjoy your adventures? See, I was right. This is what they fuckin' taught you , what that bitch Anne, taught you. That fuckin' school!" He grabbed you by your jaw to make you face him. That's when you saw the tint of hurt in his eyes.

“You think this is a joke? I’m a joke? You fuckin’ ran our family’s name, my name, into the mud. I can’t even--” He threw you back onto the bed, the impact rattling through your bones. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Arthur, I’m still me,” you whispered, through sobs. “I’m still.... your sister."

"IF YOU WERE YOU WOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME AND STAYED HERE!"

He was right, you should have listened and stayed here, chasing your dreams only led you to more nightmares and even now, it seems there are more to face.

You could barely catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you scrambled to find words that might bridge the chasm between you. Taking a shaky breath, you wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"You should be lucky I haven't shot you yet. If I was the one who found you, God knows what I would have done. Stay in this fucking tent until I say so, and don’t show me your face." His voice was low and dangerous, a growl that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap.

You flinched at his words, the truth of them hitting you like a slap. You had been trying to convince yourself that you were still worthy, still, the same person who had left the camp. But standing in front of him, the reality crashed down. You were not that person anymore, and you didn’t know how to return to her.

⋆⋆⋆

Annabelle and the others came to check on you, their voices a distant murmur as if they were speaking through water. You barely registered their presence, lost in a maze of your thoughts, every path leading back to Arthur’s harsh words. What had you expected from him? A comforting embrace? A gentle reminder that you were still his sister, despite everything?

You couldn't help but wonder if you were truly as heinous as he implied. Were you still his blood even? The questions tormented you, each one sharper than the last. You knew the truth of his overprotectiveness, it stemmed from love, from a desire to shield you from the dangers of the world. Yet here you were, the very thing he had feared, tainted by your stubborn quest for freedom and adventure.

Pushing the flap of his tent aside just enough to peek in, you caught sight of him, his back turned to you, oblivious to your presence. Just like he turned his back today on you. Funny.

With a deep breath, you stepped inside and placed the note in his satchel, the fabric brushing against your fingertips feeling heavier than it should.

You took one last glance at your brother, the weight of your choices pressing down on your heart, then slipped out of the tent, moving stealthily toward the supply wagon

When you retrieved what you needed, you returned to the privacy of your tent, the familiar space feeling more suffocating than ever. You sank onto the cot, the cold metal of the weapon glimmering in the bits of moonlight that managed to seep through the fabric.

Taking your time, you pondered everything that had brought you to this moment. You searched desperately for a glimmer of hope, but all you found were dead ends. Before returning with Charles, you had imagined a future where your brother might forgive you, where he could overlook the darkness of the past and allow you both to move on, forgetting the pain that had laced your life. You were even ready to let go of the past, but that hope had shattered just as quickly as it had formed.

With a final breath, you cocked the revolver, the click echoing in the silence of the night. The weight of it pressed against your skin as you brought it to the side of your forehead. At that moment, the tumult of emotions surged, fear, regret, and an aching desire for peace, threatening to consume you whole, and it did.

⋆⋆⋆

3 hours.

It had been three hours and the camp was thick with an oppressive silence that weighed heavily on everyone. The men came and went into the tent, each trying to mask their sorrow with bravado, yet their eyes betrayed them, glassy, haunted. Annabelle’s wailing filled the air outside, her cries echoing like a banshee’s lament, punctuated by shouts of blame that pierced the quiet. Yet through it all, Arthur couldn’t hear anything; he couldn’t see anything except your limp form cradled in his arms, and the world faded to grey around him.

He was convinced it was just a nightmare, an illusion crafted by his mind to torment him.

“Arthur...” Charles’s voice broke through the haze as he placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders, his grip steady yet heavy with gravity.

“We...gotta bury her. Please.” The weight of those words hung heavy in the air, an inevitability that Arthur couldn’t bear to face.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head vehemently as if denying the truth would somehow alter the reality before him. “Only dead people are buried. She’s...she's just sleeping.” The fervour in his voice rose, desperation threading through his tone. “Mum had to always snatch the covers from her because she refused to wake up...she'll wake up soon...I know."

His memory of those mornings washed over him, a bittersweet recollection that clashed violently with the present. The warmth of your laughter, the way you would bury your head deeper into your blankets, evading the morning sun, flared in his mind. Arthur’s grip tightened around you, as if holding you closer could somehow anchor him in this cruel moment, could make you open your eyes.

“Arthur, please.” Charles’s voice trembled with a mixture of compassion and urgency. “We have to let her go. We can’t keep holding on.

“No, I said fucking no. Don't you come near, fuck off!" Arthur growled, the denial thick in his throat.

But all Arthur could think was how cruel it felt, how unbearable it was to even entertain the idea of accepting it. You were his baby sister, his blood, the only family he had left, the one he had been given responsibility by his mother, and the thought of your absence left a hollow pit in his stomach, a void that threatened to swallow him whole. He pressed his face against your hair, clutching you close to his chest, inhaling the scent of you, soft, sweet, and achingly familiar. He murmured incoherently, swaying back and forth like a child himself.

“No,” he repeated choked out, tears streaming down his face. “I won’t lose her, not like this. Not ever. GO AWAY!”

It had taken every man in the camp to separate Arthur from cradling your body. His grip was ironclad, his anguish palpable as he held you against him, as if the sheer force of his will could resurrect you from the depths of despair. They had to pry his fingers from your lifeless form, his cries piercing the stillness of the evening like a gunshot.

As they prepared the grave, the earth was turned and the makeshift coffin formed from an old wooden crate. Each shovel of dirt that fell felt like another piece of Arthur’s soul being buried alongside you. The men worked in silence, their hearts heavy with grief, knowing they could do nothing to ease the torment radiating from him. Charles stood to the side, his own heart breaking.

Even Hosea wasn't able to comfort anyone at this moment. He couldn't fathom that a girl like you, who had so much to live for, for whom he silently had promised to be a guardian of at this camp, was gone. Just like that. He will never forget how you cared for him as a daughter would for her father. Making sure he ate his meals, assisting him with chores and sipping morning (coffee/tea) with him as he read the local news alongside you.

Finally, the moment came. Arthur stumbled forward, the weight of your absence pulling him down as he lowered you into the ground. The first clod of dirt landed with a finality that echoed in the silence of the camp. Tears streamed down his cheek, cutting a path through the grime and dust of the world around him. It felt like a betrayal like they were burying not just you but every memory, every dream he had cherished.

The men finished covering you and when it was done, they stepped back, leaving Arthur alone with his sorrow. He sank to his knees, a hollow shell, fingers digging into the earth as he pressed his forehead against the freshly turned soil. It was all he had left of you.

Dutch approached cautiously, his heart heavy as he watched Arthur, the man he had come to rely on, the strongest in his camp, unravelling before him. “Arthur, my son.." he said softly, “we need to get back to camp. You can’t stay here like this.”

Arthur didn’t budge, his body rigid, his eyes fixed on the grave. “I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered, voice low and filled with pain.

“Please,” Dutch urged softly, “it’s time to go. You can honor her memory at camp. We’ll make sure she’s remembered.”

But Arthur only tightened his grip on the soil. “I don’t care. I’m staying here. I won’t leave her. I can’t…she's alone here.” The darkness of the night and you being alone made his body tremble. With that, he lowered his forehead to the cool earth, the pain a constant pulse in his heart, echoing with every breath he took. At that moment, he felt as though he had buried a part of himself alongside you.

"Just...be sure to come back, son."

With a heavy heart, Dutch turned away, leaving Arthur to mourn. And as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Arthur remained there, kneeling by the grave. For God knows how long.

That was the last time since Dutch saw him. Arthur went away from the camp, at least for the whole 4 months. Wandering and coping. Even after he came back, nothing was the same anymore. Pearson's stew tasted worse than ever, its blandness a stark reminder of the joy you used to bring to their meals.

Annabelle had left shortly after your passing, her heart broken beyond repair. She broke things off with Dutch, her fury spilling over. Blaming him, blaming Arthur. This time, Arthur didn’t disagree with her. There were moments when he caught glimpses of hate and blame in Hosea’s eyes too due to that night, moments that cut deeper than any bullet.

That night he had shrouded his fear with his rage because he didn't have the heart to hear any further, anything of what you had endured because he knew he couldn't bear it. Due to this utter selfishness of his, he forgot about your pain, denied to offer his shoulder to you.

Hey Arthur,

I know I’m leaving, and I wish I could tell you that everything will be okay, but I need you to understand something important, none of this is your fault. Please don’t let yourself carry that burden. You’ve always tried to protect me, and it breaks my heart to think that you might blame yourself for my choices. I don’t want you to live with regret, feeling like you didn’t fulfil some promise to Mum. That’s not what she would have wanted for either of us. Neither Dad.

As I write this, I want you to remember the better, more joyful moments we shared when we were young. The laughter that rang through our home, the endless promises of going on adventures we dreamed of as we rode in town with Dad.

You always looked out for me, and always kept me safe, and I will forever be grateful for your protection. You did more than any brother could. But you must know that the path I chose was mine alone. I was foolish to step outside when you even said not to and I got lost along the way. It’s not a reflection of you or your love for me. I don’t want you to carry the weight of my choices as if they were yours to bear.

I want you to live your life without the chains of guilt holding you down. Don’t let this tragedy rob you of your future. Pursue your dreams, even in this hard life of an outlaw and embrace the adventure that awaits you because I have seen how much you enjoy doing what you do even if I was not in favour of it. Find joy in the little things, just as we did when we were young and remember that we are forever connected by the love we share as siblings.

If you find it within you, forgive yourself. I hope that one day, you can look back on our memories with a smile instead of sorrow. I’ll always be a part of you, a part that encourages you to keep going, to live fiercely and fully.

Take care of yourself, okay?

With love,

(Y/N)

Arthur’s fingers lingered over the page of the letter, the ink slightly smudged from his own tears. Each word felt like a dagger in his chest, a reminder of the weight he carried, the weight of his past actions, of his failures as your guardian. He carefully placed the letter beside the photo of you both, sitting together, a snapshot of somewhat happier times, a month after he and you arrived in camp. The Morgans, written at the bottom, as Dutch had called you both. Your eyes were not smiling, they were empty of the mischief and the liveliness which you always held. It clearly showed how unhappy you were being separated from the home you held dear to your heart. He dragged you into this life when you barely had the chance to enjoy your childhood. And he failed to see this at the time, blinded by only his promise to keep you at his side.

I’m still.... your sister.

I’m still.... your sister.

I’m still.... your sister.

That plea of yours haunts him to this very day. With a heavy heart, Arthur rose from where he sat, the sun casting long shadows over the camp. He made his way to your grave, each step a reminder of the distance between them now, a chasm he had never imagined would grow so vast.

He knelt down, pulling a few wildflowers from the ground nearby, bright yellow blooms that reminded him of your bubbly laughter. They were vibrant, like the memories he held close to his heart. As he laid them gently atop the grave, a swell of guilt washed over him, choking him with the realization that you had taken the blame upon yourself.

You had written about not wanting him to live with regret, but how could he not? The dark and violent tendencies that had seeped into his life had cast a shadow over everything, over the once innocent and wholesome relationship, filled with just laughter, jokes, care and bickering, and now they had taken you away from him. Arthur thought of the times he had let his anger consume him, the threats he’d made in fits of rage, the moments he failed to protect you in the way a brother should.

"This is on me," he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "You didn’t deserve this... none of it."

He brushed his fingers over the grave, feeling the cool earth beneath, as if trying to connect with you one last time. He wished he could tell you that he’d change, that he’d find a way to channel his fury into something constructive rather than destructive. But the truth was, that change seemed too far away, and the regret felt too real.

The flowers seemed to wilt under the weight of his sorrow, and he fought the urge to crumble right there beside you like he did every day when he visited you. Maybe, just maybe a simple word of sympathy from him that night could have prevented this, "I’m so sorry, (Y/N)," he choked out, his heart heavy with guilt. "I’m so damn sorry, m-my little Chumchum."

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the camp, but for Arthur. He stayed there, kneeling at your grave, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could have been the brother you needed, wishing he could have saved you from the darkness that ultimately claimed your light. Even after killing and gutting alive the ones involved, from Linda to those men, nothing could calm his heart.

It might take a lifetime to heal from your death, but it would take a thousand more to forgive himself.

(AN: Did you cry? I sure did. PS. This was the first time I wrote on this topic so just wanted to say that if you know someone who is going thru smth or even if not, just be kind to others around you and value each other's presence. And if you are goin thru smth be sure to know that this life is a gift and also a test and there is always someone out there who is waiting for you and loves you with all their might, every cell in ur body works for YOU. Thanks for reading, stay hydrated and peace ‎♡‧₊˚)

[princessamahle]

a tour of the hashira's estates part 6

Sanemi: Despite not showing much he has a pretty big estate based off of certain scenes shown in the anime

Let's start with the exterior: It's huge…especially if he's going to be using wind breathing techniques for training outside. He ain't trying to destroy his home on a daily basis

What i love about the main house it's a two story home. You would think for a lone wolf like him why the hell would he need all that room? But I have a theory on this. Sanemi grew up in a big family so despite them not being alive, or the fact that they all had to share a room when they were children and very poor, he wants to make the best of what he can acquire.

Despite him not liking the slayers as much he does enjoy the company in some shape or form. A bunch of young boys training under him and even his little brother showing up…I'm sorry but I feel like he was secretly enjoying it.

Inside his home we don't see much. but when we do we see that his hallway leads to many rooms with slide doors. indicating that this is where the slayers were mainly sleeping each night.

Based on what we've seen in one of the rooms that was destroyed it seems each room is spacious for each slayer. They could possibly be sharing them in groups of 2 to 4.

It is very possible that this is one of the rooms that tanjiro stayed in before being removed from the estate as he was being scolded for his actions. After he was scolded he moved right on ahead to gyomei sensei's training.

Sanemi does train them all day long until they vomit or pass out so they never get breaks.

I'm sure he feeds them during the day as tanjiro has mention the ohagi being made for them constantly. Making sure to give the boys plenty of protein in their systems.

wash bowls and cloths are laid out for them to use as even though a well is not shown he may have one around the estate but will not allow them to use it as they must learn the importance of conserving and earning the right to use it. He will not just give it out all hunky dory, you have to earn that water.

last but certainly not least is sanemi's private training area. We don't know exactly how big his estate is. So where this area is actually located is beyond your imagination. we have to remember within the last hashira's estates I've reviewed we see a number of building in their fenced homes.

with all the fencing it's really unclear how big sanemi's estate actually is and how much land he actually owns

Obanai visits sanemi here constantly to train and it seems like sanemi proposed obanai to train here with him specifically. He set this up in order to give out the proper training a hashira needs for the bigger battle. when muichiro comes he is no where near his district and trains with them every night.

For all we know it could just be an abandon shrine that's no where near his estate. But, if he does have his own shrine that would be interesting to dive into as he probably uses it in saying his prayers to those lost. including his mother siblings and even fellow comrades.

Also while not shown he does raise rhinoceros beetles so i'm sure he has it some where in his room

All through all I give him a 4 out of 5 as the certain parts of the estate was shown with good detail. Would love to try his ohagi! Fight head on everyone! sanemi demands it!

[applcrumbl]

Argumentative?

Pairings: Rafe Cameron X F! Reader Warnings: Soft Rafe (It’s a warning of it’s own), angst, alcohol mention Author’s Note: I’m so on the fence with Rafe cos like he’s obvs a horrible character, but like he’s such a good character. Like he’s sexy and he’s well-written, I love him. But he’s an arsehole, I hate him. yknow

Summary:  You and Rafe never argue, ever. 

Despite Rafe’s hard demeanour, and tendency to need the final word at all times, very seldom did you argue in your relationship. For someone living with so much hatred, it was important to Rafe that you never experienced it. 

Typically, you got on well. Similar in interest but completely different in manner. He was the talker, you were the listener. You washed the dishes, he put them away. You simply never fought.

Bickering was different, you’d laugh and joke around, poke holes at a bad haircut and so forth. And naturally, with Rafe, jealousy was a large part of your day-to-day life together, but the anger that came was never directed at you. He knew how un-wandering your eyes were, and he knew how beautiful other people found you. Yes, he’d lose his temper at the Pogue looking you up and down, but no, he would never blame you for it. He knew that you were his.

On the other hand, you were never entirely sure that he was yours. He’d never once cheated, or given you any reason to think that he was, but you were aware of his past when your first met. Aware of the elusive Rafe Cameron who was never tied down for long. Self-consciousness crept in quickly after you’d hit the one-year mark.

A trip to the mainland that you’d chosen to accompany your boyfriend on. Simply a few drinks with some potential clients, Rafe was expected to go following his new position in the family company. The insecurity began when he hadn’t initially invited you, it stayed as you realised how many beautiful women were there - each with eyes on Cameron Development’s newest CEO.

You tried to loop your arm in his, an effort to have the eyes turn away, but Rafe didn’t notice. His hands still tightly in his trouser pocket, networking away. Neither he, or the leggy brunette in front of him noticed as you slipped from his side and found the open bar.

10 Minutes and 3 miscellaneous drinks later, he found you. Tucked away and sipping your straw.

“Hey,” he soothes, “Where ya been?”

You look to him, “Here.” you state, plain and simple.

“Obviously,” He tries to jest, “Why did you leave me?”

“I came for a drink.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“Why are you suddenly so interested?”

I must reinstate that you never fought, so anything more than some hushed words, or a light squabble, seriously neared separate bed territory. What might have been a heated conversation to some couples, was a raging bullfight to the pair of you. Rafe had so much of that for the rest of his life. He was adamant that it would never happen with you.

“Let's go outside.” He states; much less a suggestion than a direction, and leads you out a back door to one of Charleston’s quiet alleyways. 

“Talk,” he ordered, hands on each of your arms.

You shrug, “I’ve nothing to say.”

Rafe kisses his teeth, looking away, “Have I done something?” He asks, a hint of insecurity in his tone.

You can’t quite answer, because truthfully he hadn’t. He’d never given you a reason to feel insecure, you just did anyway. Something about knowing that you were never invited, knowing that if you hadn’t decided you’d come along, he’d probably be off with some other woman.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you finally admit, “I should have just let you get on with it like you normally do. Stayed blissfully unaware.”

His eyes squint, “Y/N, I want you here. I have nothing to hide from you?’

You chuckle, it’s hearty but without an ounce of humour to it. “What? Do you think I’m blind or something?” Rafe stands unmoving, taking in your words, “I see you in there, they eat you up, and you feed into it!”

“How do I feed into it?” He’s strangely calm, anger in his tone, but only a whisper of it.

“You flirt! You smile, you complement, you completely ignore that I’m right next to you. Rafe, you don’t even introduce me as your girlfriend-”

“Because I thought it was obvious!”

“It’s not!” You shout, “It’s fucking not.”

The alleyway is quiet again. Muffled voices and music come from inside the door, and a handful of cars driving down the main road a few meters away provide the only light. You see Rafe’s face for a second as they pass by.

“How can other people see that I’m your girlfriend, when I don’t even feel like I am.”

His hands drop to his sides as he inhales shakily. Not a word is spoken, but tears fall from your eyes. Rafe watches them glide, mouth slightly agape. He stands a second more before pulling you into his embrace.

You’d try to fight it, but that’s the last thing you want to do right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Rafe whispers, lips grazing your forehead, “I’m so sorry, Baby”

You want to assure him it’s fine, but it’s not. You were dancing on the grounds of breakup territory, and neither of you wanted that.

“I notice things, Rafe. And you forget that I know your history, I knew who you were before.”

“I’m not him anymore.”

You hesitate your answer, “I know that-”

“Do you?” He asks, pulling away to see your face. His eyes are growing red, obviously fighting back the urge to cry with you, “Because it sounds like you don’t. And I’m not that guy any more, I want you.”

“Do you?”

His words used back on him. Normally he’d continue this argument, fight his way through to victory. Finish the battle with the last word, and full disregard to the other person’s feelings. But, he couldn’t this time. He could never fight with you.

“More than anything.”

Tears fall from his eyes, water staining the silk shirt he wears under his blazer. He doesn’t care, eyes boring into yours, awaiting your words.

"Okay."

[retrospacejelly]

A Western Romance

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lost and in need of a place to stay, the ex-outlaw needs a place to sleep. Good thing he wandered into your yard.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language

Part: 1/?

Part: 1, 2, 2 1/2, 3

Not proofread

A/N: Personally, there should be more Western Miguel content. I love Cowboys! I had this idea brewing for a while, and character ai helped push the plot! (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!)

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

Crickets chirped as the sun set over the horizon. Despite the warm weather of July, a nice breeze blew through the small town of Nueva Falls. On the outskirts of the tiny town, a small house sat just over the hills, hidden from society.

Y/N hummed a tune as she took her now-dry linens off the worn line. A weaved basket sat at her boot-covered feet, holding sheets, blankets, and whatever else was washed that morning. 

As she reached for the last sheet, a twig snapped in front of her. Pausing both her movements and her humming, she listened for any other noises. It could always be a rodent or a coyote. She mentally groaned. Ever since one of the panels to the fence around the chicken coop broke, coyotes had been raiding (or at least attempting to raid) the coop. 

She brandished her pistol that had sat snug between her hip and skirt, slowly moving from behind the sheet. Best not to provoke it. For now. 

Y/N squints at the now darkened horizon, not noticing an immediate threat. Before she could turn around, a hand slipped around her middle and another over her mouth.

“Don’t make a sound, Dama.”

The voice grunts out. His breathing is uneven, and despite his strength, sounds weak. Y/N nods frantically, pistol still clutched tightly in her hand. He slowly releases her, turning her around to face him. 

Now getting a better view of the man, Y/N’s jaw almost dropped. Why he had to be over 6’5! His tan skin shined with what little moonlight was above, his piercing gaze watching her every move. She did the same. 

Lowering her gaze, she noticed his disheveled state. His clothes were wrinkled and darkened from dust and grime, his peppered hair messy and sticking to the nape of his neck. He didn’t seem to have a weapon of any kind, not that he’d need one with his burly build.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, trying to scan for any noticeable injuries. Seemingly taken aback by her question, there’s a beat of silence before he lets out a deep chuckle. Lord.

“Are people in this town always this kind and trustin’ of strangers?” He replies, his eyes falling onto her gun. “Well, ‘Cept maybe you.”. 

Y/N can’t help but smirk, a surge of confidence taking over. “Well, I’m not like most people in this town. That shoulda’ been made obvious to ya’ when you wandered on my property. Now. Are you hurt? And what are you doin’ on my property?” She prods again.

He shakes his head. “No, no. I ain’t hurt. Just tired and hungry. What’s a lil’ thing like you doin’ out here by lonesome anyhow? Don’t you know wild animals roam ‘round at night?”

She huffs, annoyed. “You don’t do too well answerin’ questions, now do ya? Why. Are. You. On. My. Property?” 

He throws his hands up in mock defense, shrugging off her comment. “I’ve been wanderin’ through the desert for the past two days after my horse broke its leg. Long story short, I was robbed by bandits while I was camped out, and all I have on me are the clothes on my back, Senora.” He moves closer, boldly reaching up to caress her cheek,

“Please, I just need a place to stay and a meal to eat. Your abode was the first inklin’ of settlement I’ve seen these past two days.” He looks into her eyes, his voice now a whisper. “Please.”

She hums skeptically, taking a step back. “Why not stay at an inn in town? They got brothels to keep a horn dog such as yourself company.” Y/N snarks back, slipping her pistol back into her waistband. 

He chuckles again. “You suggestin’ I partake in those kinds of…sinful pleasures? Now that’s just hurtful, Princessa.”

“What unmarried man doesn’t?” Y/N snaps, crossing her arms. She taps her foot against the ground, waiting for another comeback. Once again he chuckles, shaking his head. Some conversation they were having. 

“And how would you know if I’m a married man or not, hun?” 

“Well, I don’t see no ring on your finger. And with the way you were touchin’ me earlier, what else am I to assume, hun?” 

He grins. “Who says I’m flirtin'? Maybe I’m just a friendly guy.” A beat of silence. “A bit too friendly, don’t you think?”. He shrugs again, “Is there such a thing as bein’ too friendly?” he inquires.

She nods, “‘Course there is.” He takes a step forward again, his posture relaxed. He takes a lock of hair into his hand, twirling it. “If I’m bein' too friendly, then tell me ta scram.”

Y/N smiles, “‘Corrdin’ to you I’m too kind.”. Noticing her playful jest, he smiles too. “Yeah, a real ray of sunshine you are.” He teases, dropping her lock of hair. “Mn, and you a ball o’ fire.” 

“You seem awfully friendly for a gal who brandished her gun towards me.” He says, leaning in ever so slightly. Y/N places a hand on her pistol. “Yeah, and this gal still has her gun. Don’t go tryin’ nothin’ now”.

He lowers his voice. “Trust me sweet thing. I’d never do nothin’ of the sort…less you want me to?”. She leans in, just an inch away from his face, only to swiftly pull away. “How many nights you plan on stayin’ cowboy?”.

His eyes widen at her trick, but he quickly regains his composure. “Just a night, Darlin.”

She nods. “Mn, alright. I won’t charge ya…money that is.” 

He smirks. “What are ya lookin’ for in exchange then…?”

“Help on my ranch.” Y/N shuffles past him and picks up her basket. She pulls the sheet from the line and plops it in the basket. “One of the panels that fence my chicken coop done broke on me, and I haven’t had time to fix it. Damn coyotes keep trying to snag a snack.” She huffs, setting the basket on her hip. “Sound like a deal?” 

He ponders over her offer, looking up at the moon. He looks back down at her. “You’re askin’ a total stranger to work on your ranch for a night?” 

She refrains from rolling her eyes. “I’m also lettin’ a total stranger into my house. I think rationality has flown out the window. Besides, you were the one to come onto my property askin’ for a bed and a meal.”

He rests his hands on his hips. “You’re an interestin’ one, I’ll give ya that. Can’t tell if you’re too trustin’ or jus’ know how to talk a man inta’ doin’ favors for ya’.”

She shrugs, “The motel’s open all night, you choose.”

He lets out a sigh, not wanting to go into the busy town. Surely someone would recognize him there. He’s surprised she hasn’t already. “Alright, Senora. Ya got yourself a deal. I’ll fix up yer fence if it means a roof over my head and a pretty lil’ thing to keep me company.”

Y/N chuckles, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “Alright, c’mon and follow me.” She says, walking towards her back porch. She hears his heavy footsteps trailing behind her.

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

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (3)

***

Vander wakes up hopeful the next morning. He washes his face and gets dressed quickly, turning up early to the mess hall. He gets coffee and a big breakfast, and takes a table near the counter so he can watch the queue.

Felicia comes in, then Benzo and Connol, and a few others he knows. The room slowly fills up with the low grumbling of mornings. The warning bell sounds, signalling twenty minutes until shifts start, but there's still no sign of yesterday's mystery saviour.

"What's up with you?" Felicia asks as they sign out hard hats and gauntlets from the store room.

"I was trying to find someone."

"Who?"

"I don't know his name," Vander says, pulling his hat on.

"But you need to find him? Does he owe you money?"

"Nothing like that." Vander looks around as they join the stream of people heading into the mine. He's surrounded by faces but not the particular face he's looking for. "He stopped me from getting run over by a cart. I figure I owe him a drink at least."

"What's he look like?"

"About your height. Dark hair. Blue eyes."

Felicia gives him a doubtful look. "That doesn't narrow it down much."

"He was–" Vander nearly says 'pretty' but Felicia would only tease him about it. "About our age. Under twenty."

Felicia shrugs at him as they clock in for the day. "Maybe you'll see him at dinner?"

He doesn't. Which is weird. There's only two places to get food in the camp: the mess hall and the company store. The company store doesn't sell much food and it's all overpriced: biscuits, jerky, sweet jellies and harsh tobacco. That's why everyone eats at the mess hall. Everyone except his mystery guy.

By the third night of watching the crowd, even Benzo's noticed. "Who are you actually looking for?"

"He doesn't know," Felicia chimes in. "Doesn't know his name. Just saw him in the mines and… wants to know him much better."

Vander does his best to ignore the suggestion in her tone. Connol and Benzo bray like donkeys.

"Is this the one with the eyes?" Connol asks. "The striking blue eyes?"

That's what Vander gets for talking to his friends at the end of night, after he's had a few too many drinks. Mockery. Heartless mockery.

***

It annoys Vander that he can't find this guy. Felicia suggests trying to draw him, so they know who he's looking for, but Vander's artistic talents stop at stickmen. Connol asks what they talked about, to make such an impression, but it was only a few sentences.

"He told me if the tunnel starts rumbling above me to run," Vander says and Connol shrugs at Benzo.

"That's common advice," Benzo says. "Common sense, really."

"You're sure he definitely exists, right?" Connol asks, and Vander glares at him.

In the end, Vander decides to stake out the courtyard. It's the last day of the month, the day when two Piltie bookkeepers in fussy white suits come down to the mine with a cash box and a dozen enforcers. It's the one day a month when the mine works on a skeleton crew while the miners line up to withdraw some of those company credits in silver and bronze.

Plenty of coin will change hands today. Debts repaid, gambling markers settled. Some have family staying outside the city and will take the coin to them. Some will go up to the riverside, eat fresh fish tonight. Babette and her girls will set up tents outside the fence line, camp for a week while miners can pay for their company.

It's a long line but it's full of hopeful chatter, everyone sharing their big plans for their hard earned money. Vander sits in the courtyard, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands, and watches them all. The line seems endless, slowly trudging forward as the hours pass. Eventually it starts to dwindle to only a dozen people left, and still, no sign of the guy. Vander joins the end of the queue and thinks as he waits.

The only miners who don't line up for coin are the ones working. There's always someone who'd rather have an extra day's pay than bronze in their pocket. So once Vander's signed for his redeemed credits and safely tucked the silver away, he wanders over to the mouth of the mine and waits for the shift end bell to sound.

Only a small crowd walks out of the mine. It's easy to spot who he's looking for.

"Hey!" Vander calls out, ducking around people to get closer.

It's maybe a bit too loud because he stops walking and those blue eyes narrow up at him. "What do you want?"

It's a very fine face: high, lean cheekbones and a small chin, sharp nose and delicate mouth, and still, those blue eyes are the prettiest he's ever seen.

"I wanted to say hi."

"Mission accomplished." Those blue eyes glance from side to side, like he's checking for an ambush.

"I'm Vander. I wanted to thank you for the other day. For saving my life from that cart."

"You wouldn't have died. Broken ribs. Broken leg, maybe, but I didn't save your life."

"I wanted to thank you anyway. Buy you a drink? Or maybe dinner?" Vander asks, noticing how skinny the guy is. Narrow shoulders and long, lean thighs. A waist so small Vander could probably wrap his hands around it and have his fingers meet.

"Ah," he says and Vander drags his gaze back to the man's face. "Perhaps you should visit Babette's. If you can spare that much, she's bound to have some eager company for you."

With that, he turns and starts walking over to the store rooms to return his gear. Vander blinks a few times and then scurries to catch up. "You didn't tell me your name."

"You didn't ask," he says over his shoulder. "It's Silco."

Vander grins. "Was that a no to dinner?"

"I'm happy to eat," Silco replies. "But if you wanted some action tonight, Babette's is a much better investment."

"I'd rather have your company," Vander says and Silco only looks suspicious.

"Why?"

"I think you're interesting." Vander smiles but Silco still looks unconvinced. "Come on, I've spent days trying to find you. Let me buy you dinner."

Silco rocks back on his feet, head tilted as he watches Vander. "Why didn't you just come down to level three?"

"What?"

"I knew the cart lines well enough to see you were standing on them. Therefore I must be familiar with that shaft," Silco explains. "Why not come down to level three to ask about me?"

It makes sense once it's explained like that. "Didn't occur to me."

"So you decided to wait outside the mine to find me?"

"No," Vander admits, "I watched the cash box line all morning."

***

[thecharacterchronicler]

He’s All That I’ve Got || William H. Bonney x Reader || Smut

Outline: Your lover is on the run but he pays you a heated visit.

Word Count: 1’925

Warnings: Explicit smut.

Author’s note: this is Prompt # 25, sorry if it’s totally off, I just started the show.

You woke up to the sound of birds in the trees surrounding the small shack you lived in, stirring in your bed. The other side of the matress was cold, which was a regular occurrence lately, reminding you that you were about to spend another day on your own.

You got up and got dressed, not putting many efforts in fixing your appearance since no one - apart from the few animals you kept - was going to see it. You put your boots on under your dress and tied an apron around your hips before you stepped outside, the fresh morning dew covering the high grass surrounding the shack tickling your ankles as you walked to the chicken coop.

You opened the door and greeted your two chickens, finding it oddly comforting to have at least them to keep you company on the isolated land you had settled on. You gathered some of the eggs they laid, carefully placing them in the pocket of your apron. Then, you inspected a hole in the fence around their enclosure, adding repairing it to your long list of chores.

After you ate your breakfast on the porch, you washed your clothes in a bucket of cold water, struggling to take out some of the grass stains from your skirts. It’s only once most of your outfits were back to having an acceptable appearance that you carried them to the long clothesline that hung between two pillars behind the house. You methodically placed each item over it, knowing that the warm summer breeze will have them dry in no time.

You picked your empty basket back up, a sigh escaping your lips as the stray cat that relied on you for food came to rub its fur against your legs, a clear attempt at charming you into giving him an extra meal today.

You probably would have gave in, unable to resist its big green eyes and its soft meows, but something in the distance called for your attention. A moving form was quickly approaching, a horse not even following the dirt road but galloping straight through the meadow of tall grass, mounted by a dark silhouette you weren’t sure you recognized that far off in the horizon.

You quickly retreated back inside the small house, grabbing your Lancaster pistol from its place on your nightstand. You went back out on the porch, awaiting your mysterious visitor prepared to fend for yourself if you had to… But all your mistrust vanished like snow in the sun when you finally were able to distinguish the traits of the man. He was a wanted man, a notorious criminal, always on the run… But still, you ran to him, holding your skirt up high as you rushed through tall grass and wildflowers.

When he saw you, he stopped his horse and jumped down to meet you halfway, catching you in his arms as soon as you collided against him.

“You’re back !” You exclaimed, emotion seizing you at the throat as you buried your face against his chest, wondering if it was yet another dream or if it was really him, returning home.

“Told you I’d always come back to you.” He said, his arms tightly holding your body against his.

“I know, but I’m always so afraid that something might happen and I wouldn’t see you ever again…”

His fingers gently caressed your cheek before lifting your chin up to him, so that he could kiss your lips. He smiled at you reassuringly and, for a moment, you got so profoundly lost into his blue eyes that you didn’t immediately notice all the cuts and injuries on his face.

“You’re hurt !”

“Just a few scratches.” He retorted, but still winced when you traced a particularly deep cut above his eyebrow with your thumb.

“Come inside, I’ll patch you up.”

You walked together to the shack and he led his horse to the small shelter he had built for it. He spread hay for him and you filled a bucket with fresh water for the animal to drink before you went back inside, followed closely by Billy.

You pulled your pistol out of your apron’s pocket and placed it on the kitchen table as he took a seat on the chair next to it. You heard him chuckle as you rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, in search of what you needed to take care of his wounds.

“I see you were ready to welcome some unwanted visitors.” He remarked, his eyes on your weapon.

“Always.” You replied and he smiled at you with a spark of approval in his eyes. After all, he had been the one to teach you to shoot a gun, and he had been particularly adamant that you had one with you at all times, instructing you to not hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later.

You poured some liquor on a napkin and dabbed it on his forehead, making him wince in pain. He grabbed the bottle from the table and took a big sip out of it, in search of a bit of courage to endure the pain as you carefully disinfected each wound on his face.

Then, he began unbuttoning his shirt and you tended to a few more cuts on his chest, shaking your head at the amount of injuries he had came back with.

“I guess I shouldn’t ask you what happened.”

“Better not.” He replied, his hand clenching on the table as you took care of the last wound.

Once you were done, you threw the napkin and his shirt in the corner of the room, as a reminder to wash them and add them to the clothesline. He sighed in relief, glad that you were done, and took one more sip out of the bottle before you put it away in the cabinet.

“You must be starving. I have a few eggs left, I can boil them or fry them…” You suggested, rushing back to the kitchen to get your stove started but he stood up and came to place his arms around you from behind.

You could feel the warmth of his bare chest pressing against your back as you leaned back into him and you both watched the lonely meadow swaying in the wind, through the window.

“I’m hungry for something else.” He whispered in your ear and you felt yourself blushing, his calloused hands travelling up to your chest.

You allowed him to feel your breast, kneading them tenderly before turning in his arms to face him. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, desperate to show him just how much you had missed him.

He kissed you back eagerly, hungry for your lips, for your body, for you. He dropped to his knees in front of you and slowly brought your skirt up your legs, one of his hand caressed its way from your ankle to your knee before getting you to place your leg over his shoulder. His head disappeared under the fabric of your skirt, only allowing you to feel him tugging and pulling to move your underwear out of his way. You leaned back against the stove for support, both hands clutching the edge behind you.

You felt the warmth of his tongue slide between your folds and gasped in surprise, not so used to the sensation anymore. He lapped at your core, his tongue dancing around your clit before plunging inside you, repeating the tantalizing movements over and over again until your legs felt weak. Your body contracted and you slightly lost your balance, merely able to catch yourself before collapsing from the intensity building in the pit of your stomach. He showed you no mercy, hungrily tasting you until you loudly moaned with pleasure as it rushed like a tidal wave through your entire body, your arousal coating his tongue.

He kissed the side of your knee that was hooked over his shoulder, bringing his head back to look at you with his pretty blue eyes, satisfaction on his face.

When he stood up, he kissed you once more, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. Then, he placed his hands on his hips and turned you around, peppering your neck with wet kisses as he once again tugged your skirt up.

Now facing the calm meadow behind the window, you pressed most of your weight on the stove for support, your legs still trembling from your previous orgasm. He didn’t allow you much time to recover, his hard cock slamming inside you as deeply as possible, your soaked core welcoming the intrusion with ease.

You whimpered, your body still so sensitive to each touch, from the way he kept kissing your skin to the way his front hit against your ass, the tip of his erection bumping into a heavenly pleasant spot deep in you.

You started feeling weak again and, this time, he seemed to notice, his arms coming around you to support you as he increased the rythym of his thrusts, barely letting you catch your breath between each loud moan that escaped your lips.

You felt dizzy as again, pleasure exploded inside you, making your whole body go numb and weak as you cried out his name. He groaned against your ear, stopping his frenetic movements to fill you up with his own relief, his cock buried inside you as deeply as you could take it.

You turned your face to kiss him, feeling his hands exploring your body, now tugging on your shirt to take it off. He got you naked in front of him in no time, your thighs glistening with a mix of his cum and your own arousal. His eyes roamed your body, his lips and fingers touching you everywhere in an almost desperate manner.

You traced the wounds on his chest, reddened and inflamed in reaction to the liquor you had applied to his skin as a disinfectant but he was still too blissfully spent to feel any pain this time. He lifted you in his arms, carrying your naked body to the bed where he laid you down. You saw him take his pants completely off before he climbed on top of you, his cock already hard again, pressing against your stomach as he hungrily sucked on your lower lip.

“I don’t think I can take more…” You panted, in reaction to him already positioning your leg over his hip.

“But I’m not done with you yet, sweet girl.” He said, looking at your heaving chest and flushed face. The hunger in his eyes still nowhere near satiated.

Your heart sunk a little in your chest. You knew that when he was this eager to have you, keeping you awake all night long and making sure that you’d barely be able to walk on the next day, it usually meant that he was planning on leaving you again… For a long time. He needed to get his fix of you and you desperately needed yours too, the idea of being without him again, not knowing where he was or what he was doing wasn’t pleasant but it was the life you had chosen, out of love and devotion for him.

You took a deep breath and hooked your other leg over his back, his cock entering you once more and immediately sliding in and out of your already sore pussy at an intensive pace. You focused your attention on his face, his eyes fixed to yours as he rocked his hips on top of you. You gave him a tired smile, already feeling the intensity of another explosive orgasm bubbling inside your core. You closed your eyes, getting ready to embrace the violent climax he was about to provoke yet again, determined to enjoy the warmth of his body in the bed next to yours for as long as it lasted.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[silverseaming]

It had been a vain, grasping hope of Meg’s that the happiness brought by Kit’s deal with the Lermond’s Cove Company would last. It does, for a while, buoying them through the back-breaking work of ploughing and sowing, when Kit returns to the house well after dark, bone-tired, and Meg has been left to spend the days alone with Daisy. Certainly Kit seems lighter, free of whatever trouble she had been unable to get out of him. But now with the seeds safe in the soil, her old melancholy returns, like the first fingers of winter that begin to claw at the land.

It’s easy to forget during the day, when her thoughts are wholly occupied by Daisy and the house, hands moving quickly from one task to the next. Evenings like this are harder, when Daisy’s asleep, the housework is done, and despite her gentle scolding about catching his death, Kit is still out on the farm fixing fence-posts. There’s always something like that these days — a cow gone lame, a fallen fence, a rotten board in the hayloft, all these tasks that simply must be done, and she can’t say stay with me, I don’t want to be alone, because it’s true, these things must be done and they have no other hands to do them.

So instead Meg sits alone by the fire, embroidery starting to blur before her eyes. It’s something to do, but not enough to wholly occupy her mind. Disappointment is the prevailing emotion, as it is when each new month comes without the news she was hoping for. Sometimes she can make light of it, brush it aside like so many specs of dust on the hearth, but not tonight. Tonight it fills her up, an all encompassing weariness that makes rising from her seat feel almost impossible. It’s just the cold. Or the loneliness. It will pass.

It will pass, she tells herself each step of the stairs. They didn’t feel this steep yesterday, and the room at the top of them didn’t feel so cold and empty, despite the last of the fire still dancing in the grate. Yesterday Kit had been there, washing the farmyard from under his nails and singing under his breath, but not tonight.

Undressing is done without a thought for the task, fingers working mindlessly. Even with the fire the room has a chill to it that makes Meg shiver, tiredness settling in her bones.

It’s selfish, really, to long so much for another child when she already has everything she dreamed of — a husband, a home, a daughter. The thought of Daisy sleeping soundly in the next room brings back some warmth, but it’s not enough. That’s what’s hardest to admit, that despite the love, despite the gratitude, despite all the myriad reasons to be joyful, there’s still something missing.

It is the cold, she thinks, as she finally sinks to the edge of the bed. That’s a reason, at least, a way to explain this all away. Tomorrow will be better, because it has to be.

[missyandthemisfits]

FF7 Headcanons – Do They Like Their Partner Playing In Their Hair?

I write sometimes so Imma put some Final Fantasy VII headcannons here in honor of tomorrow’s release 🍷🍾

Cloud Strife – He absolutely does, he also absolutely won’t own up to it because he’s EMBARRASED. That said, if you really wanna hear him say it that badly, you can always threaten to never do it again. He’ll pout, complain softly, and confess. THEN he’ll immediately ask you to do it.

Tifa Lockhart – YesssSS, she adores it! But she makes you wait until you’re alone to do it because she is CONVINCED she makes questionable faces when you do it. She does. She does make those faces-

Aerith Gainsborough – You’d better believe she does and is happy to return the favor! She might actually be better than you at it though…awesome scalp massages.

Barett Wallance – Not really…? But he can be convinced. Especially after a long, hard day and a hot shower.

Cid Highwind – NOPE. Don’t even try it, you’ll get an earful and will NEVER hear the end of it, I assure you.

Vincent Valentine – He is FIRMLY on the fence about it. On one hand, it feels amazing and he really does love it. On the other hand, he’s still convinced he just doesn’t deserve that kindness, from you or anyone. You may or may not be able to get him to agree to it, depending on the day.

Reeve Tuesti – He does indeed like it and he is also not afraid to ask for it. Hell, he’ll ask for it mid-speech sometimes, right in the middle of the explaining something to the party members. You will probably say no.

Reno Sinclair – YES, for the love of God, PLEASE play in his hair. I cannot stress this enough, HE HAS NO SHAME. He will beg, with or without company, outside or inside your home. He does not care how it looks to those around him, he’s a man that knows what he wants an when he wants it.

Rude – I wheeze, but yes. He enjoys…scalp massages.

Elena – She actually only likes it when and if you wash her hair for her while you’re doing it, something about the combination of nails and water – she’s a little strange, but it’s cute.

Tseng – Another fence straddler, but he’s a lot easier to convince. For him, it’s about intimacy, something you two share that he doesn’t wanna share with anyone else so it stays in home – because he’s a little possessive.

Rufus Shinra – Oh yes, he definitely enjoys it – he’d ask for it more if it didn’t mess up his hair so much before meetings. He’s always got this smug look on his face when he teasingly asks though, so that’s a thing. Also possessive.

!! BONUS !!

Zack Fair – He’s got this lopsided grin on his face when you first ask him because he’s never had someone ask. But after the first time, he’s almost like a puppy.

Genesis Rhapsodos – He does like it, but he saves that sort of intimacy for after…‘The act’. Makes it more special. I think he’s just dramatic, honestly.

Angeal Hewley – Apprehensionnn, but if he’s feeling particularly stressed he may let you do it. It’s a hard sell though, be strong soldier.

Sephiroth – YES, thoroughly enjoys someone playing in his hair but understands they could be there for a while given the length of his luxurious locks – not that he minds. He could sit there all day, grinning and praising you for your time and effort. Unnecessarily suave, always.

——————————

Pictures aren’t mine, Headcannons are!

[muzansfangs]

What about some hc of Aizen as a dad of a girl? Maybe a human au?

Aizen as a father of a little girl.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; Aizen Sosuke x f!child;

Format: head canons;

Warnings: fluff, mention to unprotected sex, parenthood, modern au, pregnacy, married couple dynamics, overprotective Aizen;

Plot: how would Aizen take care of your child? How does he act around her? Is he a strict parent? Does he spoil his child the same way he spoils you, his wife? How did he treat you during the pregnacy?

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

• It all started when he came back from work on a rainy monday evening. You had been feeling sick, as of late. The persistent nausea and your mood swings were absolutely driving you mad. He had never left your side, not even when you woke up in the middle of the night and dashed to the bathroom to puke in the toilet. He was there, drawing soothing circles on your back, helping you to clean up and wash your teeth. He was kind of worried at first, but he was not exactly aloof from taking the hints of what was happening. He had figured it out after the first days, while holding you in his arms, as you rested peacefully. You were pregnant for sure. How could you not be, when you indulged into steamy activities without protection?

• When you had showed him a pregnacy test signaling that you were indeed pregnant, Aizen Sosuke grinned. You two had made it. You were the mother of his child.

• He took so much care of you. You had always been his soft spot, his weakness, but he became a little overprotective of you. He was not even ashamed of showing affection for you in front of yours hosts, or your family, or during social events. You and the small creature in your womb were his priority. Breakfast in bed, cuddles, midnight drives to the grocery stores or fastfood to make sure your cravings were always satisfied and kisses on your belly were such a treat coming from him.

• “Rest, love. I will take care of it” had become his favorite thing to say, when your stomach grew round. You were treated like a porcelain doll between the seventh and ninth month of pregnacy. It had to be expected, even from someone as stoic and cunning and Aizen Sosuke himself.

• The moment you gave birth, the second a nurse nestled a small little girl in his arms, he saw you in her. His heart throbbed as he delicately held her in his arms. It was such an unrealistic sight to see him in a suit, his hair disheveled, necktie loosened, as he let the newborn girl grip his index. A small smile tugged on his lips as he sat next to you and kissed your forehead. He was going to take care of you two.

• Albeit it was actually stressful getting used to the baby rhythm at first, he did not mind being the one to stand up in the middle of the night to check on your daughter and bring her to you for letting you feed her. As you did that, droopy eyes softening while the tiny girl drank her milk, Sosuke let you rest your back against his chest and made sure you did not fall asleep.

• The little girl easily became his pride and joy. He showed her off, wherever you two decided to go, or when you dropped by his office with your daughter.

• “She’s going to lead this Company one day. Get used to it” Sosuke half-joked, hinting at the small baby in your arms.

• “Of course she’s beautiful. She looks like her mother” he whispered, when someone praised the baby’s beauty. Your heart flattered.

• When the girl grew up, Sosuke made sure she attended the best schools in town. Paying for her studies, even buying her the best clothes from luxurious brands, ending up spoiling her, was part of his plan. She deserved the best after all.

• But while he was glad she attended a ballet school and piano, or violin lessons, Sosuke had a thing for fencing. Therefore, he made sure to teach her how to wield a sword.

• “Mommy, dad taught me something today! Did he ever tell you what to do when an enemy is down?” your daughter once told you, as you were making dinner. You were tired from a long day of work too and he was on a phone call in the living room.

• Quirking your eyebrows up and shrugging, you glanced down at her with a curious smile “No, baby, what did he teach you? I’m sure he told you to help them up, right?” you casually said, grasping a cutting board from the counter. Her answer made you choke.

• “No! He told me to kick them twice in the guts!” she chimed happily, before running back to her bedroom to play. Oh, you needed to have a small talk with your dear husband.

• “Sosuke Aizen, come here!”.

• He tried to obviously make it up to you in bed that night, silently showering you in affection as he whispered in your ear how beautiful you were and that maybe it was time you two made a brother or a sister to your daughter.

• He was protective of her, always watching over her as a guardian more than a father, and when you two accompanied her to a birthday party of her classmate, Sosuke almost fainted at the sight of the birthday boy kissing her cheek. His grip on your hand tightened and you could not help yourself but chuckle.

• The day she introduced you two to her first boyfriend, Sosuke stared deep into his eyes. While you were talking to your now seventeen years old girl in the kitchen, and her boyfriend was alone in the living room with Sosuke, he seraphically smiled at him.

• “Break her heart and I’ll break your legs” he chortled, making the boy stiffen and chuckle softly. But, deep down, you knew he meant every word he had said

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi there! If I told you I did not have fun writing this, I would be a liar. Lmfao, I love the concept of dad Aizen. Let me know what you think about it! Likes, comments and re-posts are appreciated.

Until next,

x o x o

TAGS: @aizenwifey @stygianoir @electronicwitchcollection