#for those of you reading my fic I'm adding dog man

[jellyskink]

Sit, Stanford! Beg! Beg for your Muse's love! (You know he did)

[trixy812]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ You have all my support ɞ˚‧｡⋆ pt 2

{Nanami Kento x reader}

ִֶָ࣪☾. Content: kento nanami x reader, just fluff, comfort, friends to lovers, nightmare, digimon mentioned!, i really think nanami looks at memes like parents look at memes xdxd (don't forget we are in year 2007ish)

ִֶָ࣪☾. Summary: It was inevitable. Kento Nanami and you became friends.

ִֶָ࣪☾. AN: Hello! I bring you guys part two, I took longer than I expected. Yesterday, I had a very calm nightshift and decided to finally write this second part, i really liked how it turn out. I really want to encourage you all to leave comments because that would help me a lot now that I'm just starting to write! extra: i really want to thank my twiniieee @totallygyomeiswife because she helped to organize my thought and how i want this fic to keep going.

Edit: I noticed some inconsistencies so, I corrected few words & numbers! Thank you again for reading 📚 I am excited to keep writing this 🥰

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

It’s been several months since Haibara’s death, and while Nanami remains the serious, reserved man everyone knows, something has subtly changed in him. In these past months, he’s allowed himself to trust you, finding quiet comfort in your friendship. You've always been there for him, offering support without demands or expectations. Yet Haibara’s memory still casts a long shadow, and sometimes his dreams dredge up painful scenes, reminding him of everything he's lost.

One night, after an especially vivid nightmare where he relives those haunting images of Haibara, Nanami wakes up, gasping for air. Without thinking, he picks up his phone and sends you a message:

Are you awake?

Your response comes almost immediately.

Of course! I’m always awake. You couldn’t sleep again, could you?

Despite the lingering weight of his nightmare, Nanami can’t help but smile slightly.

Do you ever actually sleep?

It’s my superpower! you reply, adding a sunglasses emoji.

Just as he’s about to put his phone down, he sees a notification from you—an image attachment. Curious, he opens it to see a meme of a concerned-looking dog, accompanied by the huge caption: “Your life is as worrisome as my face!” Nanami frowns, confused by the image.

Whose dog is that? he asks.

That doesn’t matter! Just laugh! It’s funny, right?

It seems we have different definitions of funny, he replies, teasing you. But he’s unable to stop himself from smiling, finding a strange comfort in your lightheartedness, and grateful for the brief escape from his thoughts.

Later that day, the two of you meet up at an arcade. You've set your sights on a claw machine with a Palmon plush, and after several failed attempts, you’re determined to get it. The lights and sounds around you barely register; all your attention is on the machine and on winning that Palmon.

Nanami watches from behind, arms crossed, his expression showing his skepticism. “Are you seriously going to keep going? You’ve already spent 3,000 yen. This is ridiculous.”

Without looking away from the machine, you throw him a quick glance. “Yes! I need it. Palmon is beautiful, and I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t win it.”

Nanami raises an eyebrow, doubtful. “Is it really that important?”

“Obviously!” You pout, looking at him with that mix of determination and stubbornness he’s come to recognize. That blend of energy and defiance stirs something in him, and he blurts out a suggestion he hadn’t even thought through

“Come study with me at Jujutsu High.”

The proposal surprises both of you, and you stop playing for a moment, though you keep your hand firmly on the joystick to hold your spot. Smiling, you look at him with a mix of affection and amusement.

“That’s not going to happen. I’ll never be a sorcerer. Not even you could change my mind, Nanami.”

A faint blush rises to your cheeks as you say his name, wondering if you’ve let slip too much. You seem about to say something more, but he interrupts, his voice soft and sorrowful.

“I’m alone now. I was left alone”

His words strike you, and though you want to tell him how much he means to you, how you've had a crush on him for months now but you know it’s not the right moment. He’s still too vulnerable, and you wouldn’t want to take advantage of that. Instead, you try to lighten the mood.

“My dad always used to say, ‘You go to school to study, not to make friends,’” you say, imitating your father’s voice and holding a finger under your nose as if you had a mustache. Nanami watches, but the sadness doesn’t leave his gaze.

Finally, you look him in the eyes, speaking with quiet sincerity. “You have all my support, Nanami. You know that, right?”

Nanami meets your eyes, and for a moment, his expression softens, the sadness easing a little. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and you notice a hint of peace behind his smile.

“After school, you probably have homework, just like me,” you suggest, taking a breath. “How about you come to my house every day after classes, and we do it together? Studying will be easier if we have each other’s company.”

Nanami looks at you, a bit taken aback by the suggestion, but he finds himself surprisingly comforted by the idea. Even though he knows your schoolwork might be very different from his own, the thought reassures him.

“And what about your hospital volunteering? Don’t you have to go?” he asks, concern creeping into his voice.

You wave his concern off. “I’ll do it on weekends. There are fewer people, and I can hide what I’m doing more easily. Don’t worry.” You think to yourself that you will have to do an extra year of volunteering because you are going to reduce your hours a week, but it doesn't bother you at all.

Nanami nods, and without another word, he steps toward the claw machine, nudging you aside gently. Reaching into his pocket, he inserts 100 yen. And as the good sorcerer he is, it looks like magic, the claw captures the Palmon on the first try.

As soon as you see the plush descending, you let out a shout of pure joy, bouncing with excitement. Nanami pulls it from the machine and hands it to you.

“Thank you so much, Kento!” you exclaim, hugging the plush tightly, and realizing, as your face flushes, that you’ve called him by his first name.

Nanami blinks, surprised, but then he smiles, seeing you so happy. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of Haibara in your lively expression, just like that day when you met, and the thought fills him with an unexpected peace.

“So, what time should I be coming to your house to keep up with your ‘plan’?” he asks, his tone faintly teasing.

Unable to help it, your smile grew even wider, thrilled to have the Palmon in your hands, happy that Nanami won it for you, ecstatic because you know you'll see him more often, just as you've dreamed awake before going to sleep, you respond, “Let’s meet at Akihabara station after school, and then we can go together. Does that sound good?”

Nanami nods, satisfied with the plan. “Perfect.” With a slight blush, he murmurs almost to himself, but just loud enough for you to hear, “Keep calling me Kento.”

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

[johnwickb1tsch]

18 👀 I’m curious to see if there’s any scenes that didn’t make the cut in one of your fics?

Oh man, that's a good question Scoob! Usually I manage to jimmy things i write in SOMEWHERE, but this is the only scene I could think of in my scrap pile that I'm absolutely sure I'm going a different direction after banging my head on the table about it. This was fun but way too tame for what the story requires. It's from the Constantine x femVampire!Reader fic. Reader is feeling sorry for herself because Constantine is ghosting her AGAIN, when she meets a mysterious stranger... I know you can guess who it is. 🤣🤣

The Girl Next Door - Deleted Scene

You do your best not to think about John Constantine–and fail at it most of the time. You find that the blood of evil doers nourishes your body, but does not really satisfy. What you really crave, like the most filling meal, and the most delectable dessert, is a 6’1” drink of sardonic demon hunter.

You do wonder why. Things had seemed fine, when you parted ways just before dawn. He’d kissed you with a tenderness that tied up your heart, his big hand dwarfing the side of your face, holding you like you were something precious to him. 

The memory just twists the knife a little more to the left. 

You continue to feel that presence, that omnipresent seething energy, that sensation that you are being watched. But it never shows itself, so you do your best to be vigilant, and continue to go about your business. 

You are delighted one night when you find a bookstore/cafe open late. Shopping has become hit or miss, with your new nocturnal hours. You can order things, of course, but it’s certainly not the same. 

The old hippy at the register offers you a smile before going back to his dog eared copy of Invalids Home From Hot Climates. The place smells like coffee, and books, and you feel like you might have stumbled through the gates of your own personal little heaven. 

Aren’t you supposed to burst into flames or something?

Thinking that maybe catching up on your reading will help get you out of your funk, you start to wander the stacks, pulling titles that interest you. Classics you’ve always meant to read, but never really had the time. Sylvia Plath, D.H. Lawrence, Virginia Woolf and John Steinbeck, James Joyce, Octavia Butler, Margaret Atwood, Herman Melville, and Agatha Christie all pile up in your hands. 

On the highest shelf, Anais Nin catches your eye. You reach for it on tiptoe fruitlessly, balancing your stack of books in your other hand. It is way over your head. You could jump for it without spilling your bookish burden–but you know it would not look human to the few other people milling around the shelves and curled up in the comfy reading nooks. 

A long arm reaches over you, plucking out the book, and only then are you aware of a solid presence looming behind you. No one has managed to sneak up on you like this since the night of your undeath. Unnerved, you whirl, putting your back to the stacks. Only narrowly do you manage not to bare your fangs like a startled kitten in this public venue. 

You find a tall man dressed all in black standing very close to you, his arm still raised with the book dwarfed in his big hand. His angular face is accented by a short beard; longish raven hair brushes his collar. Dark eyes fix on you curiously; the weight of his gaze almost makes you squirm. “Saw you struggling,” he explains simply in a deep baritone, offering you the cloth-bound tome. 

You find you cannot look away from those bewitching dark eyes, almost as though you’ve been hypnotized. It’s more than the fact that he is panty-drenchingly handsome–there is something mesmerizing about him, and you’re not sure if his power is sinister or simply…profound.

Almost absently, you accept the book, adding it to your stack balanced in your hand. 

He looks at your copious selections with a smirk. “Someone’s been eating her wheaties.” 

You realize it probably does look odd, for a woman of your size to be toting around such a load one-handed. You make a show of clutching your stack to your front with both hands, feeling ridiculously shy as a school-girl, as though the barrier of old books might provide some protection from this stranger’s charm. 

 “Just…catching up on some reading.” 

He offers the slightest smile for that, not showing teeth, and you cannot tell if he is flirting with you, or sizing you up. There is something odd about his energy. Human, and yet…heavier. His aura is like a thundercloud, and you’re not sure if you are intrigued, or afraid. He’s just this side of being in your space, and a part of you wants to ask him to back up–a part of you really doesn’t.  

“Have some time on your hands?”

“Something like that.” 

He nods, and makes no indication that he intends to move, his attention fixed fully down upon you. 

He gets the honor of being the only man, aside from John Constantine, who has made you feel even a little nervous since you turned. You’re not sure you like him very much for it. 

“What did you find?” you ask, hoping to break the tension, pointing at a little green book in his other hand. It looks old, older than any of your selections. 

“Robinson Crusoe.” 

“Looks like it's seen better days,” you observe with a sad pout, sorry to see a book in disrepair. 

“I’m going to fix it,” he tells you, the first hint of warmth entering his expression. 

“Oh?”

“It’s a hobby of mine.”

Like this man couldn’t get any hotter. 

He smirks at you, like you said it aloud. 

For some stupid reason, you start to blush. 

“Can I…buy you a coffee?”

“Why?” you blurt, mortified the moment it leaves your mouth. 

His smirk widens to a smile, and he seems to struggle with himself, trying not to show his teeth. 

“Just thought you have a nice stack,” he answers utterly deadpan, and you are dumbfounded as those eyes that seemed like black holes moments before sparkle. 

“Um…thanks for the offer…” 

He takes a step closer, and then he is crowding you against the shelf, his broad body dwarfing yours. Something about his presence makes you forget that you’re a vampire, and you could rip out his spine with your bare hands if you wanted to. He makes you feel small, and a little vulnerable, and fuck you if you don’t kind of like it. 

“You don’t drink coffee?” he fishes, and you feel like the two of you are speaking in code, but only he has the key. 

“It’s not my favorite,” you admit, resisting the urge to tack on anymore. 

“What do you like to drink?”

As though on cue, the spiced scent of his cologne and his skin makes its way to your nostrils; and beneath that, what you are sure would be a heady taste of his lifeblood. If you didn’t know any better…you would think he was baiting you with vampire pheromones, or something. The wave of longing that hits you is intense, and you have to close your eyes and lean back from him. You take a deep breath–which does not help. You feel like you’re paralyzed, and when you open your eyes you find he is leaning over you with an arm on the shelf again, nearly nose to nose with you. 

You try twice for your voice, and it will only come as a whisper. “Please don’t.”

Don’t what, you don’t even know, but something is weighing on you and you feel like you can’t move.

You flinch as he reaches up to touch you, the tips of his fingers resting on your throat, just above your surprisingly pounding pulse. His eyes settle on your mouth, before rising to meet yours, and you are both hopeful and terrified this strange, captivating man is going to kiss you. 

He speaks, though it doesn’t really break the spell. 

“Be seeing you, vampling.”  

With wide eyes and utter shock you watch him stride away from you–and my god, what a glorious view. Long powerful legs, and an utterly biteable rear end. There is a pause in which you presume he pays for his book, before the bell over the door chimes, and he exits onto the street.

You stand where he left you for a good half hour, re-learning how to command your limbs, and maybe, your brain. 

[occasionaloneshots]

Okay so when I'm working on a long fic and I don't have time to get into it but i get an idea (like at work or things of that nature) I have a bad habit of adding it in the most confusing way but the least amount of words I can to a section of my outline titled "Notes app shit" and it helps me remember but is actually insane and makes zero sense to it's actual context to anyone else.

Anyway, here's the top hits that helped me make my outline for the Monty Foster Mom who was a dog fic (it has a title but idk if I wanna keep it, and I'm annoying and want to have it done so I just have to edit as I post it, it will come out eventually) If you don’t know my blog, it's referring to this post (Also trigger warning for abuse and gore mentions)

Monty candle panic (vague mentions that TCK fucks with wax play I fucking guess?)

Magic collar fuck shit

“Baby come on, I know I sold your soul to make you semi-immortal but look at how charming I am. Why would you want me to have to spend 7 lives without you?” Immediately loses a life

“From Mama’s toy to Momma’s boy. What a sad husband you’d make”

“I am so irrevocably in love with you, my sun rises for you. You could beat me to my last life and in my weakest state I’d still curl up in your arms just to feel your love” “you were literally trying to fuck that ghost last month” “okay and? This isn’t about that”

I don’t want your boy, please come get him. He’s reeking up my store with all his internalized hatred

“You’re exhausting. You’re all teenage petulance until she comes around then suddenly you’re all ‘Mommy let me read you your birth chart and can you play with my hair’ like a toddler showing her a painting. No wonder you don’t have friends your age.”

Monty breaks a cup, literally prepares to die

“You’re laughing? I tell you that both of your mothers beat me to death and you’re laughing?” “Well, did you deserve it?” “Only the first time, I ate that shit the second time”

Not close, not enemies, some secret third thing (Lots of respect but no love) 

they’re family, they’re lovers, they’re enemies, they’re everything and nothing all at once “I’m not the step-dad, I’m the dad who stepped up” “You’re neither actually” 

Siblings who hate each other but would jump in front of a bus for each other. One time his ass brought her a glass of ice and told her to wait for it when she asked for water.

“There’s a bird boy in my house and idk where the cannibalism line is there”

I can forgive her for what she did to me, but with how fucked up he is? If that witch was still here I’d use her entrails as a jump rope 

Drags Monty bird to the store, he has a thing for sunflower seeds which she finds very cute

 Seneca scented mother fucker stinking her place up with his smell and his vibes, god damn (This one was personal due to a man at work's whole damn aura smelling like a seneca)

Yeah I have an ex who did some major supernatural fuck shit to me too

TCK saves her from a creepy customer by pretending to be her man, he instantly becomes the creepy customer

Shout out cat king magic, less of a shout out to those bloody teeth marks in her shoulder

Anyway, to the few people who said they wanted it, it'll be here eventually. IDK starting it is really hard when the idea stemmed from a scene from chapters 2, 3, 6, and 8 I'm working very sporadically rn

[tswaney17]

It's a Match - Part 1

Happy birthday to the incredible @impossiblescissorspeachpaper!! I hope you have the loveliest of birthdays baby. I'm so blessed to call you one of my close friends. You're such an incredible person. 💕 Enjoy your special day, my love.

This fic is inspired by a conversation between myself, @ultadverb, @offtorivendell, @impossiblescissorspeachpaper, and @duskwhisperer. Thank you all for allowing me to take this idea and run with it. Also, apologies because this is barely edited. I was a hot mess all over this fic and it shows. 😅

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: language, NSFW

Word Count: 9,759

Read the full fic on AO3 here. Snippet under the cut.

Azriel was lounging on the couch in Cassian’s apartment regretting every decision that led him to this moment. Because just a few minutes ago, he accidentally let slip that he downloaded The Cauldron, a dating app, a month ago and his brother and Mor had not stopped pestering him about it since the words passed through his slightly buzzed lips.

“Come on, Az,” Mor whined, hanging over his shoulder and shooting him those puppy-dog eyes he had trouble resisting. “Open it up. Let’s see who you’re chatting with.”

That’s where the problem lay. Azriel wasn’t chatting with anyone because he never actually swiped right on anybody. It wasn’t that he didn’t find anyone particularly attractive—there were plenty of pretty girls on the app—it was just that he wanted something more than a physical relationship. He was thirty now; had a good career and his own place, made good money, and was freely able to spend it on anything without worrying about paying his bills. His life was in a good spot.

But he never really dated. Yes, he got women and fucked them well, Az wasn’t self-conscious enough to not know he was an attractive man, but those one-night stands just weren’t cutting it for him anymore. He wanted a genuine connection with someone; somebody he could build a relationship with.

Like what Rhys had found in his new girlfriend, Feyre. He’d met her once or twice, but it was obvious his brother was completely in love with the woman. Head over heels kind of in love. He was happy for him, truly. But sometimes, when he listened to his brother speak about the light of his life, he got this envious feeling inside; because he wanted that too.

He supposed that this dating app in general was probably not the best place to find that, but he was at a loss on where to find women that were looking for more than riding dick. Az sighed, running a brutally scarred hand through his dark hair, the strands flopping onto his forehead. “I’m not chatting with anyone,” he admitted, taking another swig of his beer.

Read More

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved these fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist: 

@nikethestatue

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Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

[solarmorrigan]

I’m so glad Robin got to rip Eddie a new one in Hands Where I Can See Them!! And ohhhh since Wayne was home when Robin was chewing him out, maybe Wayne will come in with some good advice or just parental disappointment in how Eddie handled everything. Especially if Eddie has to explain exactly how Steve discovered that Eddie thought they weren’t dating.

I love it when Wayne is a mediator in fics, but I also understand if you don’t want to add him into the fic, I just think Eddie needs a calm third party who knows he didn’t mean to hurt Steve, but will be disappointed in how he handled everything. Like what if Wayne had woken up and heard Robin’s parting shot and wants to know what she meant by that. How did Eddie dismiss Steve last night?

I’ve reread each part like five times now, thank you so much for sharing your fics 💖💖

Robin deserved to yell a bit! Not only did Eddie hurt her best friend (criminal offense), he also ruined her night, because Steve was upset, which means Robin is upset, yaknow? Like, of course she's going to do whatever she needs to help Steve out and make sure he's taken care of, but that doesn't mean she wouldn't rather nothing had happened to make that necessary in the first place

I actually did consider adding Wayne in at the end of the most recent part (did the man really sleep through that whole argument? we may never know), but I figured Eddie had probably been through enough for the moment without having to also immediately explain to his uncle what had happened. It bothers me when characters get dog-piled in fics for making a mistake - as in, person after person shuts them out or tells them how badly they've screwed up. It feels a little like saying that they really need to suffer before they can be forgiven, which doesn't sit right. Forgiveness should come from understanding how your behavior hurt someone and working to change that behavior; suffering doesn't teach you jack shit. But that's a different conversation! The point is, I'm at least trying to give Eddie breaks between people going "What were you thinking??" at him

I think Wayne will have to at least make an appearance, though. Steve's practically been living with them, and suddenly he's gone; Wayne could hardly fail to notice the change, even if Eddie wasn't suddenly moping around. And I do love mediator Wayne! The thing I want to avoid is using him as a kind of deus ex machina; I feel like sometimes we bring Wayne in to explain to Eddie how he's feeling, so Eddie doesn't have to work to reach those conclusions on his own (this happens with Robin for Steve, too, I think). It's helpful to have a third party as a sounding board, or to help break up self-destructive patterns, but I like it when characters have to do their own emotional heavy lifting

...anyway, that was probably a lot more rambling than you expected when you sent this ask, which was very kind of you to do and made me smile to read, so hopefully my answer didn't put you off??

[hellionhpau]

Request for Help

Hey guys. In compliance with AO3's policy, I'm posting this here on my private blog for this fic. I ask that if nothing else, you read and share!

So, this is not only embarrassing but also extremely difficult and saddening on my part. Unfortunately, I don't have a chapter update for you, but I am reaching out publicly to ask for help. Please read this whole thing before you dismiss this because I am in seriously bad shape here and am rapidly running out of options.

To hear a fuller story, you're free to reach out to me personally. If nothing else, if any of you can share that around, it would be a huge help.

Here's the low down, and some of you who have been with me from the beginning know some of it. So, in short order over a span of a little over a year: covid hit, I lost my job, I lost my house, my mother got extremely sick (not with covid), my sister, her family, and I move in together to help take care of her and to financially support each other. Turns out my sister's husband is a complete asshat, and it was a very abusive home for the year I lasted there. Shortly after I moved out, my mother died, my dog died, and then my grandmother died right before Christmas. Both my mom and my grandmother were my two biggest maternal figures of my life, so you can imagine the blow. Add to it, I was just staying with a friend, was making shit money, and spiraled into a bad, bad depression. 

That's why I was gone for a year lol. I tried to pick myself up and became roommates with another friend. We had grand plans to move to the city and start great lives. However, it didn't work out. Suffice to say that neither of us were who the other thought we were. It ended on friendly terms, and thankfully, we hadn't made the jump to the city or I would have been fucked, man.

Things were looking up from there, but my depression wouldn't go away. I ended up staying too long at that shit job, then moved to factory work, and now I'm working two fucking jobs day in and out. I'm burning at both ends, and it's just not enough to cover the bills I'm still paying off for those two horrible years, my mother's funeral and burial, not to mention medical bills.

Right now, I can't pay my rent. I can't afford food, and I've been struggling to get on food assistance. I can't pay my therapist or doctor. And now this month, thanks to coming to head with some of the earlier mentioned debt (ie, my mother's gravestone), I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to pay my electric and phone bill, let alone afford the gas to get to my second job. I was so, so close to getting ahead of everything, and I just can't get over that edge…

I want to make this very, very clear—this is not me soliciting in any way. That is to say, this is not in any way, shape, or form requesting payment for anything I do on here. It's just my way of trying to reach out to anyone wanting to help a dude out.

I do want you guys to know I have no plans on abandoning this fic. Just the other day, I made time to pick through chapter six, adding in an extra ghoul scene for you. Also, you guys are hilarious. I give you an awesome adventure into Muggle London with Draco sodding Malfoy, and you guys were just like "i love the ghoul!"

Don't blame ya. I love them too. Don't worry, I had originally planned on the ghoul having more scene time in this than canon. Anything creature related, you know Hellion's going to be all over it lol.

If you took the time to read all this, thank you. It's embarrassing, having to ask for help, but I'm officially at the begging strangers position. Please, please, help if you can, even if it's just a dollar or sharing this.

For anyone interested, my paypal is paypal@deanjharrison or https://www.paypal.me/deanjharrison

Or this one: https://www.gofundme.com/f/dean-and-pets-recover-financially

Thanks, you guys! I appreciate you just taking the time to read this.

[greypetrel]

WIP Whenever

Tagged again by @shivunin and @daggerbeanart, thank you very much! I'm on holiday right now, so I'm a little bit slow and working traditionally but...

I found an Art Nouveau piece and thought that oh look that's Radha. And redrawn it on my sketchbook. And coloured it with watercolours. I have... A love/hate relationship with watercolours, but I haven't brought any markers with me this year to force myself to use them more. And since it's been a while since I've been wanting to do a couple set in Art Nouveau style with her and Aisling... Here. Your muse of Writing and History, Prophet's Laurel all around and PURPLE. The paper is blotchy and not the right one, don't mind that, OOPS.

DadWolf going on, page 5. This page has been... Something that picked me a little off the ground. I'll speak about it more when it won't come out as terribly sad and sappy. I'm looking at those bookshelves and shivering at the idea of colouring them, for now.

Not Dragon Age related, and I'll hope you'll forgive me... But yeah. I am a sucker for trash movies, and John Wick is... It's a trash movie with a lot of money and Keanu Reeves and I love the saga. The sketch on the left was drawn... I think in 2017 when I first saw the first movie and snickered a lot because in Russian he's nicknamed "Baba Yaga"... Which isn't really the boogeyman. It's an old witch that lives in the woods in Slavic folklore, in a tiny hut with chicken legs. And travels on a cauldron. I kept the chicken legs as a reference to the hut. But well I fount the sketch and thought to redraw it. Adding the dog because the dog is VERY important.

Writing-wise I'm a little slow at the moment, but here's a piece from Monster Fic that I don't know if I'll keep. The night right after the Arbor Wilds, Aisling got back, managed to quarrel awfully with Cassandra AND Cullen. Everyone is miserable.

Tagging: @transprincecaspian @zenstrike @scribbledquillz @heniareth @herearedragons @oxygenforthewicked @layalu and YOU who are reading this!

---

Abelas told her she shouldn’t really roam on her own in the Temple, particularly at night. The complex was built on the side of a cliff that opened on more forest down below, with gentle hills and mountains in the background facing west. In some places, where balconies had been long ago, the balaustrade had long fallen, leaving just openings on nothing: the incautious visitor could all too easily fall to their death.

But she was left with very little to do, after unloading Little Brother and setting up a camp in the big atrium for them… Four. Because it ended up that one of the Templars gave in for good, and didn’t really feel like going out. Not with the whole of the Inquisition army ready to jump on him. No one there could really disagree, and since the man -George, a burly man in his fourties, with a ruddy face that spoke of many laughters and evenings spent drinking with friends and eyes that still sparkled even if they were heavily rimmed in red- had been so quick in lowering his sword and yielding…

Aisling had given him one of the cots that were packed on her horse, insisted when he tried to say that no, that was hers, and just… Curled around her saddle, using it as a pillow and rolling herself in a blanket side by side with Radha, and allowed herself to cry.

Except, no tears came forth.

She was grateful of being there, and opening her eyes, looking at remnants of a past long gone, something that every First would have killed to find. Something that poor Taven actually died to find. It’s huge, it’s been kept in wondrous state… And it’s inhabited. It’s inhabited, and she has the way to ask to her heart’s content.

And yet, all she can think of is that the Herald of Andraste would be up in a camp on the top of a hill, after a round of greetings and congratulations with the Empress, the Marquise of the Dales and all the nobles they rallied to the help. After that, she would have pretended to retire in her tent and slipped right out to slowly reach and sneak in the Commander’s one, and sleep curled against his warm frame, caressed by hands that were always cold, held and safe and loved.

And yet, she’s just Aisling, a Dalish mage that touched the wrong artifact and now has gained a unique ability, the mask has been left in her tent up the hill, and she feels giddy from both the sensation of having stood up for herself and the idea of all that she wants to ask to the elves there and explore and learn there. At the same time, tho, the giddiness is chased around by regret, the slimy feeling of being ignoring responsibilities, that she should be up there and doing her job, that she let everyone down. Nobody who stopped in the Temple was happy: Radha is angry because Morrigan drank from the Well, and both Aisling and Solas stopped her when Aisling turned down the chance. Solas is in one of his moods and hurt from Radha being angry.

Her heart beats too fast, her thoughts are too quick: she knows she won’t be sleeping any time soon, unless she does something. So, she lets go of the saddle, quietly slips out of the blanket and leaves on tip-toes, bringing the blanket with her and careful not to wake her sister up.

She saw the old balcony on her way to the baths, and even if there’s no more an old elven guide and the corridors are dark, she can find her way back with ease. The moon is shining up above between the canopies, and the corridors are large, easy to follow. She could maybe activate the magical lanterns that glows very dimly hanging from the ceilings, but on a second thought, she doesn’t know where the other elves sleep, here, and she doesn’t want to risk waking someone up and having to explain why exactly she’s walking around on her own. “I miss my boyfriend, but he believes I am the elven tool of the big plan of a deity I don’t believe in and so I can’t sleep” sounds too pitiful, and who knows whether they’ll approve of her being with a human.

She takes a couple of wrong turns, confused in the darkness, but in the end she finds the place she was looking for. The old pavement is broken, but bathed in moonlight, and even with the plenilune the stars are still shining, more than she can count. It’s beautiful and it’s terribly lonely, and Aisling wonders who was the last person that leaned into that balcony to see stars and enjoy the view. How many centuries passed, what were they thinking.

She curls in a corner, draping the blanket around her shoulders as she leans over the wall. One leg gets bent under the opposite knee, the other foot dwindling in the void. There’s a waterfall roaring nearby, an owl screeches somewhere in the distance, and a choir of crickets are there to lull her to sleep. The breeze is chilly, in spite of the day having been hot enough. It’s a perfect summer evening, and the stars are twinkling and she is not pretending anymore to be someone she isn’t, and she is alone.

Tears stars to fall, because she is not pretending to be someone or something that she isn’t, and the result is that she is alone. And Mythal, it feels like emerging from underwater, but keeping her breath has been so good and warm that she really thinks she could stay underwater forever.

It’s just tiredness making her think that way, she knows -she knows herself well-, the hour is very late and the day has been incredibly long, the choice she had to make a hard one, and one she doesn’t think was the right one. It’s everything, and it’s nothing, and she will feel a little better in the morning.

She lets the crickets and the owl lull her to sleep.

[foundtherightwords]

Sunlight Through the Mist - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer (Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham)

Summary: Having witnessed the broken marriage of his parents, Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield, always regards love with a cynical eye. When circumstances compel him to marry and produce an heir, he quickly proposes to Christine Conyngham, a debutante whose reputation is hanging by a threat after an ill-fated affair. All Edward wants is to save his family estate, but as beautiful, fragile Christine finds her way into his wary heart, their marriage of convenience may become something neither of them ever expects - a union of love.  

A/N: This is a rewrite of my Hellcheer Regency AU, "Love in a Mist", from the POV of Eddie/Edward. "Love in a Mist" was only my second-ever fic, so back then I wasn't confident enough to attempt a dual POV. Now, having written Edward's POV in the sequel and Eddie's POV in a couple of Hellcheer one-shots, I thought it would be fun to revisit this (yes, I know, how Stephenie Meyer of me.) The story is the same, but I cut some scenes and added others to make it different enough to stand on its own. Enjoy!

If you haven't read "Love in a Mist", I'd recommend that you read that first, or at least check out the A/N for the explanation of the names. Maybe one day I'll post a "director's cut" version with both of their POVs :))

Warnings: angst, past domestic violence, suicide attempt, smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 4.7k

Chapter 1

One summer morning, the village of Hurst was awakened by the sound of hoofbeats tearing down the main road. It was early yet, both in the day and in the season, and the only people out and about were the farmers and their dogs, going to the pastures to check on the sheep. Curious heads turned to follow the horse, a chestnut stallion, and the rider, a tall young man dressed all in black, as they cantered through the village. Hurst was but a small, sleepy place nestled at the foot of the Pennines, and it didn't get many visitors, save for the occasional traveling salesman or vagrant, so the appearance of a stranger always garnered great interest.

The rider was no stranger though. From the way he pulled up at the smithy to give his horse a drink from the communal trough, he seemed to know the place well. He removed his hat to run a hand through his long brown curls and gazed with wistful eyes at the horse chestnut tree standing by the smithy, its branches frothy with pink and white flowers.

The blacksmith, a red-faced, barrel-chested man, came out of his house, paused, and looked at the young man with suspicion.

"Can I help ye, sir?" he asked.

The young man turned around. "Mr. Buckley," he said with a friendly smile. "Don't you know me?"

There was a trace of the Yorkshire accent in his voice, and Mr. Buckley crinkled his already crinkly eyes, searching the young man's face for familiar features.

"I was just greeting my old friend, your horse chestnut tree," the young man continued. "I could never resist its conkers, no matter how many times you chased me off with those red-hot pokers of yours. You used to call me the little devil."

At this, the blacksmith's brow smoothed out in recognition. "Why, 'tis Master Edward!" he exclaimed. Then he remembered, drew back a little, and said, "Beggin' yer pardon, sir, 'tis Lord Hurstfield now, isn't it?"

The young man's face darkened briefly. "I'm always Edward, Mr. Buckley. Just because I've inherited the title now doesn't mean you have to call me by it."

"Ye'd be on yer way to Hurstfield Hall, sir?"

"I am."

"Oh, folks will cheer to no end knowin' that ye are come back." The blacksmith had forgotten his earlier hesitation and clasped the young man enthusiastically on the back. "The Hall's stood empty for too long."

"Thank you, Mr. Buckley," Edward replied, reaching for the reins. "I hope to see you again soon. Please give my regards to Mrs. Buckley."

"Thank ye, sir. And bless ye."

Edward smiled again in reply, but as he rode away from the smithy, his somber look returned. The blacksmith's ecstatic welcome both warmed him and worried him. He was happy to be back to his home, but would he be able to meet their expectations as Lord Hurstfield? He had been Edward Munson all his life, and that title only conjured up images of his tyrant of a father...

Edward looked around, trying to focus on the green meadows full of wildflowers and the clear sky, letting them chase away his dark memories. I am not my father, he thought to himself, like a mantra.

The horse climbed a small hill overlooking the little dale where Hurstfield Hall stood, and Edward's heart soared at the sight of his childhood home. Some early morning mist still clung about the ground, but the sun was up, bathing the gray stone walls in a golden light, giving the place a warm, welcoming air. It had been eleven years since he'd last seen it. When he left it, he had been a child of ten, heartsore and frightened. Although he'd spent longer away from it than he had living in it, it was still his home, still where he had had a taste of happiness.

As Edward stood on top of the hill, looking at the sun-gilded roofs of his family estate, he made a vow. For the sake of his childhood memories, for the sake of his late mother, he would restore Hurstfield Hall to its former glory and make it a home once more.

***

It was easier said than done. Day after day since his return, Edward sat in the old study of Hurstfield Hall while the rain leaked through the roof and the moth-eaten furniture threatened to collapse under him, poring over the estate's accounts, feeling more and more dismayed. His father had left him nothing. No, worse than nothing—he had left a mountain of debts, debts that Edward had no way of paying off. The rent roll could barely hold the creditors at bay, let alone enough to restore the estate and turn a profit. Worse still, bad weather and flooding threatened the village with famine. The entailment forbade the selling of Hurstfield Hall, but even if it was possible, Edward refused to entertain the idea.

One night, Mrs. Wayne, the housekeeper, came in to find Edward slumped over the ledgers. She was draping a shawl over him when he jolted awake.

"Ye'll work thysel' to death at this rate, Master Edward," she chided.

Edward sighed. "Tell me what to do, Mrs. Wayne," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Get ye to bed this instant."

Despite the worry gnawing at his insides, Edward had to smile at her reproaching tone. When his father whisked Edward to London after the death of his mother, he'd decided to bring Mrs. Wayne along, and that was perhaps the only thing for which Edward was grateful to his father. For four years, she had practically raised Edward, shielding him from the worst of his father's temper. Then, his father had died as well, a disgraceful death in a debtor's prison, and Mrs. Wayne had to return to Hurstfield Hall, while Edward was sent to school and spent his holidays being shuffled from one relative to the next. He had longed for the housekeeper's stern scolding and gentle affection then. It was another reason he'd vowed to keep Hurstfield Hall. It wasn't just his home. It was also the home of Mrs. Wayne and the handful of staff that had remained through the years—Henderson the gardener, Wheeler the coachman, and others. Sure, Edward could leave the place to rot and move to London to focus on his reform work, and perhaps even continue his study of English history and folklore in Oxford, but what would happen to them then? They were his responsibilities.

As he stood up from the desk, stretching the cramp out of his long limbs, Mrs. Wayne said, more seriously, "As for what to do... I hope ye don't mind me sayin' this, Master Edward, but ye need to get thysel' a wife. One wi' lots o' brass."

"Don't tell me you'd be willing to relinquish your control over the household for a new mistress," Edward teased.

"Aye, sir, I would," Mrs. Wayne said, handing him a candle, "if she makes ye happy." Edward was touched by the rough familiarity with which she said it.

"I was just teasing you, Mrs. Wayne. Come now, who would want to marry this?" He spread his arms, showing his faded clothes and general unkempt appearance.

"Ye're sellin' thysel' short," Mrs. Wayne said, with loyalty and maternal pride.

 Later, as he lay in the damp bed and listened to the wind whistling through the boarded-up windows, Edward thought about what Mrs. Wayne had said. Yes, a wife—one with a fortune attached, or "lots o' brass" as Mrs. Wayne put it—would solve all of his problems. But Edward found the idea distasteful. Even if he could find an heiress who liked him—not love, never love—enough to marry him, he could never bring himself to take her money. His own father had married his mother for her money and squandered it all away with his drinking and gambling. And he was not his father.

He would have to get married sooner or later, he supposed. But he had never really considered the possibility, save for the occasional passing thought. He couldn't imagine what marriage would be like. He was only determined that, should he ever get married, it would not be the same as his parents. No, it would be built on mutual respect and honesty. As for love... he had no romantic notion of love. Of course, he had experienced the occasional stirrings of the heart and the body, but he always stamped them down with resolution, recognizing them for what they really were—infatuations, no more. To love someone, to really love, meant to make himself vulnerable, to open himself up for heartache and betrayal, and he would not risk that.

And then the matter was thrust upon him, without warning, one day in January, in the form of a letter from a London solicitor.

It informed Edward that his great aunt, Lady Catherine Munson, had passed away, and requested his presence at the reading of her will. Edward still remembered Great Aunt Munson, a redoubtable lady who seemed to have been born old. She had barely tolerated him when he was sent to her house for the holidays, and after he'd gone to Oxford, their contact had been reduced to twice-a-year letters at Christmas and Easter. It was true that she always included a generous check with each of these letters, but Edward had never had any expectations of her. Still, he was in no position to turn down a bequest, no matter how small, so he dutifully packed his bag and left for London.

"Lady Munson had left you her entire fortune, sir," said the solicitor, a sallow, weedy young man by the name of Byers, who looked more like an acolyte than a man of law. Edward could almost see Great Aunt Munson ordering this scrap of a solicitor about. "However, there are certain... conditions to her bequeathal."

"What are they?" Edward asked, bracing himself for the worst. Great Aunt Munson had always been known for her eccentricity. While he stayed with her for Christmas, common courtesy had never prevented her from chasing off guests who bored her, yet she'd also been known to throw open her doors for carolers if their singing was particularly sweet.

Byers cleared his throat. "Well, her will stipulates that you must be married and produce an heir."

"What?"

Byers shrugged and pushed the will across the table toward Edward. It was true. The money was put in a trust. He stood to receive £50,000 after his marriage and a further annual allowance of £2000 until the birth of his first child, after which he would inherit in full. However, if after five years, he remained a bachelor or produced no heir, he must forfeit the inheritance and it would go to an orphanage. "As I have no children of my own," the will stated, "this is my explicit wish in order to ensure my legacy is perpetuated."

Edward sighed. It wasn't that unusual, as far as stipulations went. She had even left another substantial amount for the orphanage, to ensure that Edward wouldn't simply use the orphanage as an excuse to give up. And five years to find a wife and have a child was reasonable enough... for anyone else. For Edward, though, who had never felt at ease in any social gathering, it was as challenging as swimming across the English Channel. Come to think of it, he would rather swim the English Channel.

"You know what your problem is, Munson? You think too much," his friend Gareth Walton said while they were sitting over ale at the Hideout, a coffeehouse by day and alehouse by night in Covent Garden, where Edward and other reform-minded people often congregated. Ever since Edward returned to Yorkshire, he had been too busy with the estate to keep in touch with his friends, and he had to admit, it was nice to be able to talk freely about these troubling matters - finances, inheritance, and matrimony - with those who he could trust to understand and not judge him for them.

"I agree," another friend, Geoffrey Beaumont, piped up. "Courtship really is not that complex, you know. You go to gatherings, meet young ladies, see who you like, get introduced to her, and spend some time with her until it is socially acceptable for you to propose. Simple as that."

The three of them and a fourth, Granville, had all met at Oxford. Unable to fit in with the clubs and secret societies of the other students, they had navigated toward each other, drawn by their shared love of fantastical novels and folk tales, which scholars dismissed as only fit for children. Granville was now traveling the country, trying to make a name for himself as a playwright, while Walton and Beaumont were in London to raise the funds for an expedition to gather and study the folklore and traditional tales of Eastern Europe. It may not be as fashionable as one of those naturalists' expeditions to South America, but they had high hopes of getting some support from the Society of Antiquaries. 

Sometimes, Edward envied his friends their carefree lives. But now, their expertise as Oxford scholars was not much help to him in finding a wife. None of them knew any lady of marriageable age. Most of the women in their circle were the serious, middle-aged bluestocking type. Edward's relatives, who were all jealous that he was getting Great Aunt Munson's money and not them, had refused to help.

"And what if I don't see anyone I like?" he asked gloomily.

"It is literally teeming with women out there," Walton said, nodding at the busy street outside the alehouse's window. "Just pick one."

"Good God, Walton, you're not suggesting that he marries a prostitute just to get this inheritance, are you?" Beaumont exclaimed in mock offense.

"No. I'm only saying he needs to cast his net a little wider. Unusual circumstances call for unusual measures."

Beaumont rolled his eyes. "I have an idea," he said, turning to Edward. "You remember Stephen Harrington, from school?"

"Isn't he the one they call 'The Hair'?" Edward asked. The name conjured up the memory of a rather pompous, foppish fool, who cared more about how best to arrange his curls and how much starch was in his cravat, than his studies.

"The very one. He's on his Grand Tour now, but his aunt, Lady Harrington, is one of the most renowned hostesses of London. I'm sure if you write to Harrington and ask for an introduction, you could get invited to one of her balls or receptions and have your pick of the best debs the ton has to offer."

Edward hated how mercenary it all sounded, but his friends were right. He had to swallow his pride and follow social rules for once, if he wanted to save Hurstfield Hall.

***

As he entered the brightly lit ballroom of Lady Harrington's London mansion, all glittery with gilt from the furniture and jewels from the guests, Edward had to remind himself to relax. He had managed to secure an invitation to Lady Harrington's first ball of the season without really thinking about what it would mean, and now, somehow, he had to get through it.

He bowed to the hostess, who greeted him with the same rictus smile she used for all of her guests. Edward wondered if Lady Harrington had to smile so much that her muscles were locked into that position forever.

She then introduced him to an array of young debutants and their mothers, one quickly after another, until his head was positively swimming with names and titles. True to her reputation, Lady Harrington made no mention of his father's debts, only referring to his "vast" and "picturesque" estate in Yorkshire, which Edward took to be haut ton speak for "rambling" and "wild". He felt fourteen again, being paraded around at dinner parties and tea parties by his relatives so their guests could ooh and aah over how charitable they were for taking in a poor, orphaned boy. It was one of the reasons he'd enjoyed staying at Great Aunt Munson's more than anywhere else. She'd always told him to stay in his room whenever she had company, much to his relief.

And he had to survive a whole night amongst people just like those who had used him to boast about their kindness and those who had ogled him like he was some zoo animal, while secretly feeling thankful that they didn't have to take in such a sullen, ungrateful child.

He couldn't even tell them apart. With those ridiculous feathers towering on their heads, and frills and ribbons and bows ruffling on their dresses, obscuring their true forms, they all looked alike, like one of Chef Carême's pièces montées. He asked a few of the young ladies to dance and tried to engage them in conversation, but they were either too shy or found his frank opinions too shocking, for their answers were all monosyllabic, and after he led them back to their seats, more than one of them turned to their friends with derisive whispers, or worse, laughs.

It was enough to try anyone's patience.

After the sit-down supper, Edward started to look for a gracious way to leave early, but Lady Harrington was not going to release him that easily. Rethinking her strategy, she introduced him to the men instead, but these were even worse. They cast their arrogant eyes over his old-fashioned clothes and smirked upon learning of his Yorkshire origin. When one of them asked, in a rather condescending tone, what he did to fill his hours in the countryside, Edward made the mistake of being truthful.

"I've been trying to organize a school for the village children," he replied.

"A school! How did you ever convince them to send their children to school?"

"I haven't had much luck in that area," Edward said, and instantly regretted it, as the men exchanged smug, knowing looks.

"Be careful about pressing them too hard, or you may have another riot on your hands," another said, and Edward had to suppress a snort. These preening dandies, who looked like they had never done a day's work in their lives, were even worse gossips than the women. Some rag would publish sensational reports of the machine-smashing Luddites, and they would treat it as the definitive guide to the North.

"I don't think so, there are no mills or factories near my village," he said, deliberately taking the remark at face value.

"Oh, but these riots aren't just limited to mills and factories. The papers are reporting letter-writing campaigns that threaten the local gentries as well..."

Edward let out an irritated grumble. "My tenants have no need for letter-writing campaigns, sir, they know where to find me."

"Ah, but you have to admit, they're a dangerous, disorderly lot! How else do you explain their action, smashing up those machines that are there to make their lives easier?"

"Those machines take away their jobs and leave their families starving," Edward said slowly, as if to a child.

"That is no excuse for violence—"

"My God, man, we're not all Luddites and Speceans up north, you know!" Edward shouted, losing his patience.

Several heads turned toward his direction, but he didn't care.

"This school," cut in another young man. "It is a noble pursuit, to be sure, but I'm afraid it might be a waste of time and money." He was shorter than Edward, but his athletic build, Grecian profile, and most of all, the air of arrogance with which he carried himself, made him the center of attention. Next to such an Adonis, Edward felt like a Vulcan.

The man's lips curled up. That little smirk tore down the last remnant of Edward's self-control and courtesy.

"Oh, yes, it is a waste of time and money to educate children," he spat out, "as opposed to spendin' thousands o' pounds on balls and dinner parties, or on horses and hounds to chase after some poor wild creatures, or wagin' it on a turn o' a card!"

A hush fell over the ballroom, and Edward realized he had gone too far. It would not do to insult these people, thinking he was above them, when he was here for the same purpose as they. He turned away, intending to beat a retreat, and found his arm seized by Lady Harrington.

"Come, come, gentlemen," she said, with her ever-present smile, "no need to raise your voice. Let us speak of happier matters." Then, pulling Edward away, she hissed, her smile turning into a snarl, "Lord Hurstfield, I'm only doing you a favor out of my respect for your late mother, but if you brought quarrel and disruption under my roof, I would not hesitate to throw you out, sir!"

She stopped in front of another mother-and-daughter pair, both trying hard to pretend they hadn't been watching the little drama unfold in the corner. Lady Harrington put on her hostess smile and voice again. "Mrs. Conyngham, Miss Conyngham," she said, "may I present to you Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield, just lately arrived in London."

Edward bowed out of habit.

Mrs. Conyngham scrutinized him, an eager look on her heavily powdered face. "Hurstfield. I've never heard of it," she said. "Whereabouts is your estate, sir?"

"North Yorkshire, ma'am," he replied, noting how her smile cooled as soon as he said it.

"Oh. It must be quite the journey for you." Edward's neck itched around his collar, under his hair, and he wished to be away, away from this interrogation, away from this place of all glitter and no gold. "And are you enjoying yourself in London?" continued Mrs. Conyngham.

"Not particularly, no," he said shortly. At that, he caught Miss Conyngham giving her mother a quick glance, before bending down and hiding a grin behind her hand. Some of his irritation dissipated. At least someone understood.

Lady Harrington seemed at a loss for words. "Well, you would enjoy yourself more after a dance with a pretty partner, perhaps?" She gave Edward a little nudge.

Oh, all right. He extended a hand toward Miss Conyngham. "May I have the honor...?"

Again, another quick glance at her mother. Mrs. Conyngham's rouged lips were set in a disapproving line, and Edward hung back a little, ready for the rejection. To his surprise, Miss Conyngham smiled brightly, put her hand in his, and let him lead her onto the floor. He was not used to such a warm reception, and for the first time, he looked at his dance partner more closely. Thank goodness, her gown was a simple one of silvery gray, with no frills or ruffles to hide her slender frame, and she wore no feather on her head. Her blond braids were held up by a silver ornament in the shape of a crescent.

By the time the music began, her initial warmth seemed to have been forgotten. While she made all the correct moves and steps, she remained distracted, her blue eyes moving around the room, searching for something, or perhaps someone.

"Am I boring you, Miss Conyngham?" Edward asked, surprising himself. He had no reason to hope she would be any different from the bored, simpering debutantes he'd danced with all through the night... but for some reason, that sarcastic grin in reaction to his words, that tiny spark of life behind her demure façade, kept him interested.

She returned her attention to him with difficulty. "My apology, Lord Hurstfield," she said. "I fear I've been very remiss in the proper attentions of a partner."

"And what are these 'proper attentions', pray tell?"

"Usually I would ask if you enjoy dancing, how long you have been in town, have you been to court, and so on," she said.

"That sounds awfully dull," he said, determined to draw out that spark again. "Why don't we talk of something more interesting?"

She looked away for a moment, stewing over the matter. "Well, you've said that you're not enjoying yourself," eventually she said, "so I was wondering... why do you stay in London at all?"

It wasn't a very stimulating question, but it was something. "May I be honest?"

"It seems to me, Lord Hurstfield, that you are nothing but honest," she said, with an encouraging little smile to show she meant it as a compliment.

"Well then, if you insist, Miss Conyngham," Edward said, emboldened by the frank curiosity in her eyes. "I am here for the same reason that you and other unattached ladies and gentlemen are here. Matrimony." Seeing her face fall, he shrugged. "Alas, I wish I had a more noble reason." He tried to sound dismissive, but he couldn't help feeling he'd disappointed her somehow. Strange. Why should she be disappointed? And more importantly, why should he care?

"So you believe that everybody is here simply to find a husband or wife, and none to enjoy the ball itself?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm not denying that there are those who genuinely enjoy a ball," he said. "But I don't see them here. Look at them." He nodded at the other dancers. "Some would rather be at home warming themselves in front of the fire. Some of rather be drinking at an alehouse. Some would rather be at a brothel." Miss Conyngham gave a little gasp, and Edward checked himself. He'd never spoken so freely to a young lady before. There was something in the way she looked at him, like she was hanging on his every word, that loosened his tongue. "I didn't mean to shock you. I merely think we would all be happier if we were permitted to follow our hearts, instead of doing what society dictates, don't you?"

"Some evenings I'd much rather stay home," she admitted.

The spark was gleaming under the surface again, though a little weaker. Afraid of losing it, he jumped to another question. "It is rather a waste of time, don't you think?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"All this... ritual, to find a mate. Dancing around each other, literally and figuratively, trying to gauge one's suitability." He gestured around them, getting into his stride. "I've heard that in China, parents who wish to marry off their daughter would simply write down their name, age, and dowry on a card and send it off to the families of prospective grooms. Whoever accepts would respond. It saves a lot of time and effort."

"But that sounds positively mercenary!" Miss Conyngham exclaimed. "What about love?"

Now it was Edward's turn to feel a little disappointed. So she was not much different from the other young ladies after all. He had to remind himself that it wasn't fair to her. His cynical view on love was the minority. Still, he couldn't help asking her, rather heatedly, "How many couples you know marry for love?"

She looked away again. "Do you talk this way to every lady you dance with?"

"Only those that accept my honesty," he said, gazing at her, hoping, wishing she would say something back, something real.

She lifted those questioning eyes to his face, but before she could say a word, the music ended, and with it, so did the connection between them. Any spark that he might have glimpsed in her eyes was once more hidden behind a veil of courtesy and propriety. She curtsied to him, and he responded with a bow, before leading her back to her frowning mother.

Edward made his way across the room. If I look back and she's looking at me, I shall ask her to dance again. He wanted to reignite that spark—the spark that he realized wasn't just in her, but in him as well.

He turned around. Miss Conyngham was looking elsewhere, her eyelashes fluttering shyly, her fingers touching the silver crescent in her hair, her face flushed as if lit by a fire from within. It was quite different from the hint of a spark that Edward had seen. What hope did he have to compete with such a fire? With a sigh, he made his excuse to Lady Harrington and left.

Chapter 2

[keeponquinning]

Attention Here With Me / Yes, Professor readers!

I've been sort of struggling with this series, where Novelist!Reader is concerned. I'm still quite inexperienced with writing reader fics and in that, I've made the few I've written for neutral, very vague in that they can be anybody and anyone and I do love doing that and it will remain true with my other fics. I love writing readers that anyone could step into.

However.... From what I've written so far of Here with Me and Yes Professor... In my head, Reader has always been Latina, or, to be completely self indulgent, Mexican, second generation. And to be even MORE self indulgent, of the non-spicy variety, much like myself, not speaking Spanish, can't handle spicy, because those types do exist and I rarely, if ever, see that represented in....anything?

I had no plans of writing Reader anything other than neutral but, plenty of scenes have popped up in my head that would rely on the fact that Reader is Latina. Being down so bad for this tall British white man, having this foodie try the top tier huevos con weenie ( eggs and hot dogs / weenies ) and watching his mind explode when it's actually good ( I wrote a little blurb about this which tells you how long I've thought about it ), Joe vs. Mexican dad. Let your imagination go wild. It's a good one. Being with Joe when he delivered his acceptance speech in Spanish and even though you not speaking it, meaning the world to you and so proud. Joe at carne asadas. Joe at carne asadas.

Talking to a few about the reader in my head... And it's been so positive, I know the importance of keeping reader inclusive, and I respect that so much, but there is also something to be said of representation as well. But I'm aware I'm not what most would call Mexican-Mexican, which is something I want to write about. The struggle of it sometimes, when people assume you're mixed because you don't "act" Mexican. Or being told as such by family members. But not letting that define you, because it's not how you act it's what you are and you're no lesser because you don't act a certain way and I want to write that.

So, I'm gonna write that.

Will that change how I write Reader entirely? Nah. She's always been Mexican / Latina in my head, so that'll remain the same, if anything, I'm just adding to her. So, if you enjoyed Reader so far, you'll get more of her as a person, hopefully! My fellow Latinas who are like me, take a seat and enjoy. Those not like me... Laugh and maybe cheer on for the non-spicy one lmao. I just promise a good read to the best of my ability and thank you for being interested <3 it honestly means the world and I promise to be as transparent as I can be, which is why I'm posting this in the first place.

Another bright side to this?

This kinda writes itself, I mean....

I've seen countless of white boys with Latina gfs.

It's JOE'S TURN, DAMN IT.

Thank you.

[nacaharachuya]

Okay so i realised im a fucking idiot and that i’ve been sending you shit through “?” And i have no idea where those messages go through so whoopdy doo ig but in my defence i wasnt able to send anything any other way bc.. uhh.. yeah my email wasn’t confirmed n all that. Im telling u man i’m a whole ass boomer rn🤦‍♀️ can’t even remember how to send an ask smh.

Anyways i only now finished reading svs because i’ve been putting it off in favour of reading different fics (works from other fandoms and… ooc soukoku fics. Listen i hate mischaracterisation as much as the next guy but i find them very entertaining okay) and AAAUURGGHH WHAT A BANGER. The way you write is immaculate if svs was a food it’d have a savoury taste like i’d be liking my fingers n shit. I found out about it when you posted on twitter you updated it (it was the smut chapter, by the way) and i was like “huh” and decided to read it and my god am i glad I didn’t skip over that tweet.

Idk if this was on purpose or not but verlaine is kinda cringefail in your fic and i love it. I am a firm believer that as badass as verlaine is he is undeniably embarrassing and i need MORE of that.

My one criticism for svs is that we needed more adam scenes. He should have been added like really, unnecessarily early on in the fic and act as a third wheel in the fic. But like a third wheel soukoku did not want or ask for but he’s just kinda there they can’t really get rid of him. Chuuya and dazai in their divorce arc arguing and adam is in the background thinking “i could crack a really funny joke from this” (on that note i added the lines “Adam’s blabbering makes more sense now, so they act as if nothing has happened. “When I lift this veil, you will seal the deal with a kiss.” He can’t stop himself from laughing, “I hope you enjoyed that joke too.” “We didn’t,” Verlaine says from across the shrine. “Paul be quiet.”” In my “collection of fanfic lines I chuckled at” in my notes. He’s so silly i love him. I love how he laughs at his own jokes he just like me fr.)

Anyways here are like two extra svs doodles. I keep thinking about how you said that chuu can fluctuate between genders (literally) and its so… zamn.

And reading the scene where verlaine is brushing chuuya’s hair inspired me to draw this

I have no idea how long chuuya’s hair is supposed to be like idk if it’s “yeah his hair is a little longer than it is in canon haha” or “yeah mf got some LONG ass hair looking like rapunzel”. Also I don’t remember if his lil ribbon was red or blue but.. i jus went with blue and i didn’t know if the pearls were supposed to be like on his head or woven into his braid so i just went with the latter. And again ALSO i know he was barefoot but i’m not drawing his fucking dogs okay.

This ask is long as hell never let me talk again LMAO

Currently looking at a detail i forgot in the drawing… not pointing it out in hopes you don’t notice it either smh but GOD DAMMIT 🤬🤬🤬

DAWG I OPENED THIS YESTERDAY IN SHOCK IA M ALWAYS BLOWN AWAY BY YOUR ASKS AND ART IT MAKES ME FEEL SO LOVED AND SO CRAZY LIKE!?!?! I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVED IT ENOUGH TO MAKE ART I SAVE IT AND LOOK AT IT CONSTANTLY ;_; IM LIKE.....

AND ALSO THANK YOU. I need svs criticism and ur right I should have introduced more characters earlier I just got carried away with skk because...IDK BUT ADAM WAS MY SAVING GRACEE. He was so silly I wanted to add him sooner but I was like wait....no... BUT HE IS IN THE SEQUEL!!! DW!!! His silly ass is there and he's cracking them jokes and Verlaine is like o_o. THE ADAM LINES WERE SO FUN TOO CAUSE HE'S NOT CRINGE HE'S JUST....HIM.

Verlaine is cringe-fail on purpose tho and I'm glad you saw that because I see him as an incredibly pathetic person who can't do normal human things. He would like bite open a metal can or rip it open with his hands because he doesn't know what a can opener is. He is that type of guy.

The art is just immaculate bro like straight-up BEAUTIFUL. Chuuya's literal genderfluidity is something I'm glad people like cause when I imagine divinity I think of someone not bound by sex or gender and whatnot plus I just don't think he'd give a fart. so like....world's most wonderful tits...but he's shorter.

THE WEDDING OUTFIT IS SENDING ME TO THE GRAVE THO LIKE. IT"S PERFECT AND IDK WHAT DETAIL YOU MISSED CAUSE I FORGET EVERYTHING BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT I"M. THE HAIR LENGTH I DIDN"T SPECIFIY !!! He looks so *crying emoji cause I don't have my phone* you don't have to draw his toes I just think barefoot chuu running up the stairs to meet dazai is very him. perseverance.

BOYCACA WHAT IS YOUR TWT LET ME FOLLOW YOU AND BOTHER YOU THERE AND SPREAD THE BOYCACA AGENDA

[afewproblems]

🥳 👓 🎁 💭 👻

Thank you thank you my friend!!

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic?

So I started reading fanfic in high school, I had a friend group that comprised of about 7 or 8 self described nerds and we all tried our hand at it back then. The results were mixed, some were pretty good -mine were awful.

I started trying again for fun back in 2016 after Captain America: Civil War came out and I was curious how many fix-it fics there were for Stony. (A lot as it turns out) and then I got completely sucked into Marvel for a few years.

It's fun! It started as a fun hobby with my friends and honestly hasn't changed much beyond that haha!

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

I definitely need something on in the background, complete silence is too little stimulation for me to focus so having some nice instrumental music playing really helps. I like those Jazz Cafe streams with the background rain on YouTube lol, absolutely phenomenal for writing.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

I have the tiniest bit ever added to the post breakup Steddie Fix it written and probably my favorite joke ever:

Steve steps into the living room just off the kitchen, "Robin?" Bright sunlight streams through the curtainless windows bathing Robin in a warm yellow glow. She stands in the center, facing Steve, with a pensive expression, her eyes scanning the space around her. "Hush Dingus," she mutters, holding up her pointer finger to her lips, "I'm visualizing". "Ah, of course," he concedes with a fond smile as Robin walks towards him, slowly counting her steps. She lines her feet up as she moves, touching the toe of her right foot to the heel of her left. She wobbles slightly as she makes it to where Steve is standing. He reaches out to steady her with a laugh. "I told you the living room was more than ten feet!" "Robin, do you think that a 'foot' is literally your foot?"

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

Oh man, hmm, I think a lot of things! Movies, music -oo the amount of daydreaming I do to music when I walk the dog?? So many unwritten Steddie scenarios just from those walks. I'm also inspired by my fellow writers and their stories or artwork, I love seeing a jumping off point/prompt and running with it! This Fandom is filled with such creative people that it's hard not to be inspired by something or someone 😊

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

Hmmmm I don't know if I really have a wild one?? I love the idea of Steve secretly being able to sing or play instruments, because Joe Keery is so musical IRL, but that's not really that wild...or uncommon.

Maybe my wildest take is that I think they had Joseph Quinn do so much press with Jamie Campbell-Bower because the two will be working together for season 5 as Vecna and Kas.

That's right! I'm holding out secret hope that Eddie comes back! There! That's my wildest, most in denial, hot take.

Thanks again for the ask!!

[misiwrites]

4KINGDOMS RE-READ ADVENTURE part 4

Chapter 13: takao's obsession with kai Begins

finally! a longer takao chapter! chorus of angels sings

this entire fic is just takao going SO EVERYONE DECIDED I WAS UNRELIABLE AND STUPID AGAIN. FUCK THEM BUT MAYBE THEY ARE RIGHT. ALSO RALF SUCKS and i'm dead and dyinhg

i mean

But I did let Ralf follow me around like a dog, because that’s what he’s supposed to do, and he didn't annoy me so much when I mostly just ignored him. I knew that he was just doing his job. Poor Ralf and his boring life.

very cute that takao is envious of max. oh you just wait.

casual drop about volkov's existence 70 chapters before he makes an appearance in the story

oh hey look mihael makes his first appearance. i'm thinking of going back and changing his name to miguel in this fic for stupid canon naming reasons. anyway funny that takao is thinking he'd want miguel to be his knight instead. again with the ralf dissing. it's a 24/7 roast over in cherrywood castle

literally used the words "euphoric hurry" when takao receives his first ever message from kai. boy. you kinda gay let's be honest here

Chapter 14: rei's magic explodes on his face. olivier laughs at him

aaaand we are back to rei. and he's just gushing about talking to max

excuse me wait

There was an ancient Western folk legend about the gem of Byakko having been broken once in the past and causing a storm so massive that it wiped out the entire capital, which was then re-built from metal into its current form.

well i didn't remember that but a cool nod to metal being his secondary element without him realising. i do smart things sometimes

also the first time talking about rei's meditation, man reading these is really kind of a blast. i can't even explain. it's so like, obvious to me that of course byakko-ou rei meditates to practise magic every day, that's such a core aspect of his character. this is so cute somehow idk. but i don't think my initial idea was that 70 chapters later he still hasn't fucking summoned byakko (spoiler, he'll get there eventually)

here's a really kind of excellent line i've written of max here, line that i like alert

It was strange how he looked so much younger than me but was far more knowledgeable and competent in many ways. He did have his naïve side, born from being pampered by his parents in a loving home, but that naïvety didn't equal stupidity. Rather, it showcased in Max as innocent daring, occasional spontaneous mischievousness, and infinite enthusiasm for life, none of which overshadowed his intelligence.

yes that's it. that's the max. thanks for summarising, 4kingdoms rei who hardly knows him

max is sooo upset to hear that rei's not allowed to leave the palace because of the purification rite. he just wanted to see rei again. cute. AND THEN REI STARTS CRYING AFTER ADMITTING HE CAN'T LEAVE oh no how cute is this for real

this is a long chapter. would have chopped in half if i wrote it now

olivier the rude fuck laughs to rei's face when his magic blows up on him. i forgot about this too

oh mathilda is mentioned here. i see this is where i thought of adding the barthez team to the mix

i forgot myself for a bit what this chapter actually is and was wondering like why do i have this fucking long nonsense garbage about rei just doing random shit and it goes on and on and OH MAX APPEARS AT TIGER MAPLE AT THE END I SEE HOW IT IS i just wanted to drag it out for the surprise ending of him getting Epic Glomp'd

Chapter 15: max crashes rei's house uninvited

so max goes on to describe tiger maple and you guess right. i had completely forgotten everything he said about it. so apparently tiger maple is full of those ugly asian feline statues that have stupid weird faces. noted

this

Rei’s pointy ears jumped a little, like a startled animal’s.

his ears. his ears jump? rei's ears jump???

okay this is just one of those chapters with several funny as fuck lines.

I pressed a hand against my mouth, trying not to laugh at their weirdly haughty bickering. Rei was a terrible liar, and Olivier’s voice was seeping with sarcasm and I wasn’t too sure if Rei even realised that.

max commenting on rei's teeth being bigger than his. because rei's got fangs. and rei laughs like MY TEETH ARE BIG BUT NOT SWEET and max is like oh they're pretty sweet alright [because you're so hot] i'm. yeah this is

sorry i got nothing else to say about this chapter but share some quotes but this one, also a thoroughly fantastic exchange:

“That wouldn't work,” Rei said with a smirk, “they’d all faint as soon as they saw Byakko. I wouldn’t want them to collapse on the streets like a row of Tien Gow tiles…”

“Okay then, I have a better idea – you should ride a bike around the city, just a normal bike, imagine that… Their worshipped Byakko-ou, casually on a bicycle… Or a tricycle, if you can't ride a bike. That would turn some heads. And eventually you’ll be just like Takao, just casually going around and everyone thinks ‘oh, there goes the king’!”

It was hard to imagine Rei on a bicycle, and the thought made both of us laugh.

i feel very vain talkign about my own writing like this but this is 4+ years old i'm allowed to like it. i have no idea what tien gow is. also max sort of implying there he thinks (or knows.) that rei can't ride a bike

i'm kinda. like. this is the 15th chapter of this story and max is already talking really affectionately about rei and about wanting to hug him some more and all. and. well. i'm at 80+ chapters now and they absolutely are not together yet. i feel a bit bad

sorry but this is some real cheesy gooey. cutenes. overload. thing

“[…] Rei, I'll always be behind you – we kings should stick together. I don't know if there's anything I can do to help Takao or Kai, but at least I'm here for you, and I believe in you. And I’m sure Takao does too. And, well, Kai… He’s a tougher cookie to crack, but maybe he’ll join us one day.”

Rei's golden eyes were really shining at me, brighter than any of those gaudy trinkets of his palace. His eyes were such a warm and graceful colour when he smiled.

geez! what the fuck i love the way i write these two. what do you mean that's obvious because i'm the one who wrote this and this is my OTP

Chapter 16: an ant-sized chapter whose only point is to slide in a mention of the mysterious extra tunnel in the west. unlimited exposition machine works

i swr to god i thought it would be more takao now but no. okay i can maybe see why people lose their shit as this fic being more of a reimax. but look………. later it evens out

all i have to say about this chapter is: what? so rei knew his element was metal all along? then what did i write a chapter of max telling him that for. this is bullshit i'm changing this. actually no i'm not because it's too fucking funny that apparently totoro exists in 4kingdoms west

rei is already dramatically going "i miss him….." thinking about max, you have no idea what kind of slow burn hell machine you have been squeezed into, boy.

Chapter 17: takao gets facetimed by hiwatari motherfucking souichirou

max is such a little hypocrite asshole, humblebragging about sneaking into rei's house in secret and then he's like OH BUT TAKAO DON'T YOU GO TRYING THE SAME THING BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT AWESOME AND FREE LIKE ME. and takao is like. i didn't even think of it. but now that you fed the idea to me,

souichirou fucking. being like "i'd like to send kai off to learn manners and improve his nonexistent social skills" BRUTAL BUT TRUE

then takao starts this never-ending cycle of lies because gramps lied to him first. i'm glad he's not above this kind of pettiness

so takao schemes how to get kai to come to cherrywood and he's like…. perhaps this is kind of abusive towards kai though? but i want him so much, so it's fine! hmm. takao. and then he even goes

There was the fact that Kai’d told me not to get involved with him. He would probably be pissed off about this. Probably sulk for a while the way he did back in the North. But I had a good gut feeling that things would turn out fine in the end. There was this weird sort of power inevitably pulling me towards Kai, and perhaps it was a sixth sense of my own that told me that he also felt the same pull towards me.

i. TAKAO!!! THAT'S JUST CALLED LIKING SOMEONE

[selfish-thunder]

Request for Help

Hey guys. To remain compliant with AO3's policy terms and to keep them, me, or my fic from any trouble, I'm posting on here about this.

So, this is not only embarrassing but also extremely difficult and saddening on my part. Unfortunately, I don't have a chapter update for you, but I am reaching out publicly to ask for help. Please read this whole thing before you dismiss this because I am in seriously bad shape here and am rapidly running out of options.

To hear a fuller story, you're free to reach out to me personally. If nothing else, if any of you can share that around, it would be a huge help.

Here's the low down, and some of you who have been with me from the beginning know some of it. So, in short order over a span of a little over a year: covid hit, I lost my job, I lost my house, my mother got extremely sick (not with covid), my sister, her family, and I move in together to help take care of her and to financially support each other. Turns out my sister's husband is a complete asshat, and it was a very abusive home for the year I lasted there. Shortly after I moved out, my mother died, my dog died, and then my grandmother died right before Christmas. Both my mom and my grandmother were my two biggest maternal figures of my life, so you can imagine the blow. Add to it, I was just staying with a friend, was making shit money, and spiraled into a bad, bad depression. 

That's why I was gone for a year lol. I tried to pick myself up and became roommates with another friend. We had grand plans to move to the city and start great lives. However, it didn't work out. Suffice to say that neither of us were who the other thought we were. It ended on friendly terms, and thankfully, we hadn't made the jump to the city or I would have been fucked, man.

Things were looking up from there, but my depression wouldn't go away. I ended up staying too long at that shit job, then moved to factory work, and now I'm working two fucking jobs day in and out. I'm burning at both ends, and it's just not enough to cover the bills I'm still paying off for those two horrible years, my mother's funeral and burial, not to mention medical bills.

Right now, I can't pay my rent. I can't afford food, and I've been struggling to get on food assistance. I can't pay my therapist or doctor. And now this month, thanks to coming to head with some of the earlier mentioned debt (ie, my mother's gravestone), I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to pay my electric and phone bill, let alone afford the gas to get to my second job. I was so, so close to getting ahead of everything, and I just can't get over that edge…

I want to make this very, very clear—this is not me soliciting in any way. That is to say, this is not in any way, shape, or form requesting payment for anything I do on here. It's just my way of trying to reach out to anyone wanting to help a dude out.

I do want you guys to know I have no plans on abandoning this fic. Just the other day, I made time to pick through chapter six, adding in an extra ghoul scene for you. Also, you guys are hilarious. I give you an awesome adventure into Muggle London with Draco sodding Malfoy, and you guys were just like "i love the ghoul!"

Don't blame ya. I love them too. Don't worry, I had originally planned on the ghoul having more scene time in this than canon. Anything creature related, you know Hellion's going to be all over it lol.

If you took the time to read all this, thank you. It's embarrassing, having to ask for help, but I'm officially at the begging strangers position. Please, please, help if you can, even if it's just a dollar or sharing this.

For anyone interested, my paypal is paypal@deanjharrison or https://www.paypal.me/deanjharrison

Or this one: https://www.gofundme.com/f/dean-and-pets-recover-financially

Thanks, you guys! I appreciate you just taking the time to read this.

[thereaped]

︶︶ ⸝⸝ 🍓 ꒰ about me + rules !!    .   .    .     .     .

ABOUT ME !!

daydream / day / reaper ⋆ she/they ⋆ 20

06/24 ⋆ pan . poly . greyace ⋆ single 😔

DNI / BYF !!

⋆ dni if racist , homophobic , zionist , sexist , etc ect

⋆ dni if you only plan on just hating on people and stuff. it ruins the mood and i just don't wanna be surrounded by that all the time

⋆ dni blank/ageless blogs (tumblr and their bots and trolls sigh)

⋆ this is mostly directed towards the motorsport fandom, but i am not a person who hates on anyone unless they are genuinely proven to be problematic. i'm directing this towards the max haters. this does still include the anime fandoms aswell. so dni if you are a person who unnecessarily hates on people for liking characters or people you don't like (unless they are literally a proven bad person)

RULES / EXTRA INFO !!

⋆ i plan on releasing a collection of fic recommendations every friday, but if i miss a week or two i'll definitely try and tell you guys beforehand. i'll definitely try not to leave for too many weeks, but sometimes i get too distracted by life

⋆ you are very welcome to recommend fics, and i'll most likely include it in the friday release or as a quick fic rec reblog. but do please be patient when it comes to recommending fics. i'd like to say i have a lot of free time, but i can still get busy or just not feeling being on tumblr atm

⋆ please please don't be afraid to interact with me through comments or asks. i enjoy interacting with you guys. but also don't feel pressured too either

⋆ don't pressure me to recommend fics for certain characters not on my list. i get that you would like some recommendations for them, but i just don't feel like i can properly do that when i just don't read fics for them at all. although they may show up in multi-character fics

⋆ be looking out for more characters and fandoms added to my list

⋆ I go through phases when it comes to what characters i read fics for, so fandoms may be on my list that i'm not currently recommending fics for. but i will definitely recommend them in the future, and i will probably throw in the occasional fic in my recs that show up on my feed

⋆ i don't rec fics that are explicit. they may be suggestive, but i personally don't really read fics that are solely that. though there are fics that have scenes that i personally just skip over, and if i might rec a few of those, but i'll make sure to point that fact out.

FANDOMS AND CHARACTERS I REC !!

⋆ jujutsu kaisen : satoru gojo, suguru geto, shoko ieiri, yuuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, maki zenin, toge inumaki, yuuta okkotsu, noritoshi kamo, takuma ino, yuki tsukumo, sukuna ryomen, hiromi higuruma, choso kamo

⋆ bungo stray dogs : osamu dazai, ranpo edogawa, chuuya nakahara, edgar allen poe, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, sigma, saigiku jouno, tetcho suehiro

⋆ formula one : lewis hamilton, george russell, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, max verstappen, daniel ricciardo, yuki tsunoda, nyck de vries, liam lawson, pierre gasly, lando norris, oscar piastri, alex albon, mick schumacher, paul aron, arthur leclerc, ollie bearman

⋆ chainsaw man : denji , aki hayakawa

⋆ haikyuu : shoyo hinata, tobio kageyama, tadashi yamaguchi, yuu nishinoya, tetsuro kuroo, kenma kozume, toru oikawa, hajime iwaizumi, kanji koganegawa, kotaro bokuto, keiji akaashi, eita semi, satori tendo, yuuji terushima, kiyoomi sakusa, shinsuke kita, astumu miya, osamu miya, rintaro suna, korai hoshiumi

[al1x00]

⚠️CHAPTER 8 SPOILERS⚠️

You know it's a Katy fic™ when the tags for the previous chapter audibly made you gasp and question what the hell happened and then for the next one they're all lovey-dovey🥰

THEY'RE GOING TO HOBIE'S FARM I'M CRYING AJDSJKDASD

ALSO A WHOLE MONTH OF TRAVELING?! Damn imagine riding on horseback 30/31 days in a row and only stopping every once in a while to rest and eat like that's excruciating.

"To him, you were his wife in everything but on paper. To you, he was everything. You suppose it was all the same." JASJDBBKAS THEY NEED TO GET OUT OF THAT HELLHOLE AND HAVE A SPRING WEDDING I'M BEGGING YOU KATY😭😭

"You've noticed Cherry has become friendlier towards Bucky, and Bucky seemed to like the added attention." AAA AM I SMELLING A NEW LITTLE SHIP WITH THE HORSES? I love how they somehow mirror Hobie's and R relationship too it's so cute😭😭

"You're situated in the middle of nowhere." THE REFERENCE TO THE TITLEE

"But you can try, plant and sow over and over again until a single leaf will sprout, until a plant bears fruit." The fact that this phrase right here kind of represents what they both (mostly R) tried to do after they found eachother again after five years just makes me sob. It's like they were complete strangers all over again, but they knew eachother so well that they knew that they could bring out the best part of the other. Even though they were just hollows of the people they were before, because everyone changes a bit, they still had fate, love and most importantly patience for the other.

My suspicions that R was married off to someone after Hobie left are getting higher and higher with every hint we get, because who tf is this man that R is worried about? WHAT DOES R NEED TO SAY TO HOBIE?! COMMUNICATE PLEASE.

R KISSING THE SCAR ON HOBIE'S NECK I'M DEAD, BURIED SIX FEET UNDERGROUND WITH THE BUGS EATING MY SKIN ADJAKSDJSASK I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

AND OF COURSE THEY GET INTERRUPTED, it's another important part of a Katy fic™. I need to read all the chapters again and start counting how many times they got interrupted while talking or anything else😭

AAAA RIRII OH MY GOD MY GIRL

Yuri now has a sidekick when it comes in making fun of Hobie because Riri is here and sassier than ever

R is so real for crying after seeing the ring on his finger again after five years because honestly? I would do the same. Start to sob my eyes out of my sockets and fucking wail.

AWW THE DOGGO SHE'S SUCH A CUTIE

You've heard of the cat distribution system now get ready for the dog distribution system

R AND HOBIE TAKING BACK THE LIFE THEY BOTH DESERVE I'M CRYING SCREAMING SOBBING THEY DESERVE THEIR LITTLE CORNER OF HEAVEN AFTER ALL THEY'VE BEEN THROUGHT

WHATTT BUCKEYE YOU NASTY HORSE WHAT DID YOU DO TO CHERRY😭😭 SHE'S JUST A LITTLE LADY

I thought we were about to have another Culver situation but no it's just that old mexican man😒

RIRI SENT THE LETTER?? NOW IT MAKES SENSE

Riri just saw him sulking in her saloon and writing letters upon letters and just yanked them and sent those without even thinking about it

But she also kinda saved R's life sending those letters, because if she didn't R would still be in that horrible place, suffering the abuse of her aunt and uncle, physically there but mentally far away

THE OAK TREE JUST LIKE THE ONE BACK HOME THE PARALLELS DBAKKDKSLC

Also we don't talk enough about how scared Hobie is. He's scared of losing R more than anything, more than his own demise, he'd rather be buried alive than to see her blood drenching his hands and her once joyful eyes now empty. He's so scared of slipping and failing, because that one mistake could cost both their lives and I can't even begin to imagine the burden he would feel if something like that somehow happened, if R died just because he made a mistake, because it was his fault.

Brb I'm gonna go cry in a corner😔

You know what they say, "to be loved is to be changed", and R and Hobie really took it word for word. R still loves Hobie despite all his imperfections and dull facade he had to adopt to survive in the west, despite all the terrible things he did to live to see the day, to see her smiling face once again. And Hobie loves R more than life itself, shows her that love can be gentle and tender, not the once she used to experience back at "home", all the fading scars that burned under the healed skin.

GODD this chapter was so bittersweet but I also had to take breaks every once in a while and take laps around the house because I developed trust issues with your series and whenever something's too calm I have the genuine fear that someone will happen sooner or later LMAO BUT I LOVED ITT you made an amazing job with the dialogues and I'm IN LOVE with the descriptions I LOVED ITTT thank you for another amazing chapter Katy❤️ ly

To Live Simply

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 13.1 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing) (Hobie is mentioned taller than her), CW suggestive, CW food mentions, TW abuse mention, CW drinking, CW violence mention. Wild west AU, Cowboy AU.

A/N: I wrote my late dog in this to remember her by, please be nice to the dog ❤️

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 8 >>> CHAPTER 9

The journey to Hobie's farm was excruciating, yet quiet and peaceful. If not for both yours and Hobie's still healing injuries it would've been a more pleasant ride. Surprisingly enough, there wasn't anyone who wanted to ambush you, and no one to point a gun at; no one to hurt you and Hobie.

The entire time you were afraid, afraid that something would happen the least you expected it. You were waiting for disaster to hit, you've never been at peace on the road, so you were high strung, hands gripping tightly around the reins while you kept your gun fully loaded and ready on your back. Luckily, nothing noteworthy happened during that one whole month of traveling west and away from the south.

Hobie clung to you like sap on wood, and you did too. You both never spoke of what happened that day, it was horrible, even now hallucinations still linger in the back of your head. Sometimes you see her staring at you on the side of the road, sometimes you smell burnt coffee out of nowhere. Hobie understood what they put you through while he lay asleep dreaming of you. He did everything he could to help you return to reality with every grasp of your hand, and with every kiss on your temple— effectively shaking you awake. You take care of him too, changing his bandages in camp, wincing with him whilst you clean his wounds.

It was just you and him, and you've got everything to lose if they ever find you.

You both were careful on the road, always traveling at night under the stars. Lighting small fires that are enough to keep you warm. You've even started to hide your face under a bandana. If it was absolutely needed to go into town, you and Hobie never stayed too long to make an impression. To everyone else, he was Larry Smith and you were his wife. To him, you were his wife in everything but on paper. To you, he was everything. You suppose it was all the same.

The horses are well kept despite the long rides, they slept well, ate even better than you and Hobie. You've noticed Cherry has become friendlier towards Bucky, and Bucky seemed to like the added attention.

Your back aches from the long ride, dawn has just begun to break. The breeze hums in your ears as you and Hobie finally make it to his farm. A piece of land in a valley and in between monstrous mountains that rise up into the clouds; and what seems to be thousands of miles of nothingness. There's nothing but land everywhere you look, the town you passed through hours ago is nothing but a dot in the far distance.

You're situated in the middle of nowhere.

“It's not much, but it's home.” Hobie stands before you, shoulders relaxed, eyes glancing towards you as if he's waiting for approval.

The farmhouse isn't as grand as your old home, it doesn't have the gilded awnings or marble pillars that seem to rise up towards the heavens. The house is made out of wood, two stories high with a simple porch that wraps around the entire structure. Its white paint is chipping, doors weathered by the elements and time. Empty flower pots sit nearby, just waiting to be used once again. Further away, a barn sits near a small pond. The structure’s red paint faded into a murky brown with dead vines covering its side. A windmill stands next to it, the blades squeak in the wind, wood creaking whenever a harsh breeze blows.

The picket fences around the property lay broken with its old chalky paint cracking and melting away. The land surrounding it doesn't look any better, it's barren and dry save for the tall brown grass growing everywhere. There are also stumps left behind by cut trees, a couple have survived long enough to grow as tall as the barn and they both sit behind the farmhouse a few paces away. It lacks any greenery you'd expect for a farm. With its dry soil underneath your feet, you're sure that there's nothing that could grow here. But you can try, plant and sow over and over again until a single leaf will sprout, until a plant bears fruit.

There's nothing else all around the place, nothing but stretches and miles upon miles of empty land. You like it that way. It's just you and him, him and you. You'd never have it any other way.

For the first time in a very long time, you feel like you can finally breathe. Fate has finally granted you reprieve.

“It's perfect.” You smile, stepping forward, reaching for his hand and then squeezing it once. “It's home.”

Hobie's lips slowly curl up into a smile, intertwining your fingers around his own. “What are we waitin' for?” With a sudden arm around the back of your knees, he gracefully carries you in his arms, earning a surprised yelp and laughter from you. You grasp at his vest, giggling against his chest. “Let's get inside.”

Even in his arms, you still feel the gnawing in the back of your mind. The danger that lurks behind the mountains, a danger that you both are ignoring for now in place of bliss. It's as if a heavy blanket is laid upon your chest, crushing you under its weight, breaking your rib cage in half, squishing your heart until a mush of blood and muscle is the only thing left in its wake.

Then, there's the nature of the man from the place you once called your home. You think he'd kill you the moment he sees you in the arms of Hobie, laughing against his chest, holding on to him as if he's your husband. Should I tell Hobie? You thought to yourself, it will ruin him. It will ruin you in his mind. Your heart thuds against your chest akin to a train engine just from thinking about it. You think it'll never go away, that it will continue to eat at you like you're a carcass left for the vultures in a dry humid desert. But for now, you stay laughing against his skin, kissing every inch of his face as he brings you inside. Until you're ready, you promise yourself that you'll tell him, even if it ruins you.

Hobie, unbeknownst to the inner turmoil you're having; kisses you back gently, dry lips against your sweaty forehead, he doesn't mind as he peppers your face. It's a battle, where you two are the winners.

You kick about in his arms, the stubble on his chin tickles you, and of course he notices it. He decides to hear you laugh, really laugh— so he nudges your head away, rubbing his stubble up and down your neck. Your giggles immediately fill the home, leaning away, hands patting his chest rapidly. If not for his hold on you, you would've fell seconds ago.

“Enough!” You shriek, but your own laughter betrays you. With every nudge, you forget about your thoughts, only focusing on the man before you.

Hobie wheezes, moving an inch away from your neck. “You sure? I don't think ‘m done yet.” He fixes his grasp on you, hand placed just above your ribs, fingers flexing, threatening to tickle you there.

You scoff, a sound similar to a giggle. “We've been on the road for a long time, Hobie, and we haven't had a proper bath in weeks!” He opens his mouth to speak. “A dip in the river doesn't count.”

With furrowed brows, he leans closer, lips curled mischievously. “You tellin’ me that I smell?”

You chuckle, hand patting his cheek lovingly. “No, I'm saying that I smell.”

“Really?” Hobie starts to lean closer but you stop him with your hand on his forehead. He smiles, trying to wiggle his head. “I was just about to check!”

There's the same glint in your eyes. You hum, cradling his jaw, pushing him gently upwards. The scar on his neck is in full display to you, Hobie tries to shake his head in protest, his sudden insecurity for the raised scar makes him think that you were second guessing your choices. But with your simple movement of pulling yourself up, enough to be eye level to the scar, and with your lips resting upon it makes him think otherwise.

He turns into honey under your touch, and you're the one licking his sweetness off of your finger tips.

You feel his staggered breath under your lips, Hobie almost drops you the second you kiss his scar. He feels your love through it all, fingers digging into your side but not enough to leave a mark. Closing his eyes, he lets you peck as your thumb runs along his Adam's apple that bops up and down with every nervous swallow. He even leans upwards to give you more space.

“I missed you.” Hobie says in a breathy whisper while you continue to attack his skin, hand pressed on your back, helping lift you up. “I should've told you that when I first—” You hold onto his nape to kiss higher, nipping gently, earning a shaky exhale from him. “—fuckin’ hell, you'll be the death of me. Five minutes in and you're already tryin’ to—”

“Knock knock?”

“Oh fuck—!” You suddenly drop down to the floor, butt aching as you stare at the visitor standing in the doorway.

“Shit—” Hobie fumbles, none of the coolness he exhibited during your journey. He tries to help you up, but then immediately decides to get his gun out that he also flounders over. His gun falls, bullets falling out, metal clanking on the dusty wooden floors. “Ah, fuck!” Kneeling down, he tries to pick up all the scattered bullets.

“Caught you in a bad time, huh?”

You glance between Hobie and the woman in the doorway. Hobie sighs, eyes staring daggers at the stranger. Her curly hair is styled in braids, leather chaps and jacket matching, hands casually placed inside her jean pockets. The sun behind her drapes her in gold, the same colour as the hat sitting atop her head. Her genuine smile is one of those contagious smiles that turns your frown into a friendly grin, you smile wider when you meet with her eyes that are laced with amusement. She gives you a wink, and then returns her attention towards Hobie who has given up on picking up his ammo.

“No, no, take your time, Hobie.”

He sighs, head falling down in shame. “What are you doin' ‘ere, Riri?”

“I was on my routine check. Imagine my surprise when I saw Bucky frolicking outside with a new horse.” Riri enters, hand reaching towards you. “The name's Riri, a friend of Hobie's.”

You smile up at her, taking her hand as she gracefully lifts you back up on your feet. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” She shakes your hand, leaning slightly to whisper in a louder tone. “You're even prettier than what this loser told me.”

Hobie sighs, “Riri, c’mon—”

“Why don't you get up, cowboy?” Riri lets your hand go, she then crosses her arms over her chest whilst you watch them interact.

Hobie stays kneeling, turned away from you and Riri, hand conveniently on his lap. “Don't you dare tell her shit, Riri.” He says, green eyes narrowed into slits.

You tamp down a laugh, glancing down at Hobie who just shakes his head with a ghost of a smile. You're tempted to tease him too, but Riri catching you two in the act was enough embarrassment for him.

“You told stories about me?” If your cheeks could run any warmer, you can boil water on it.

“He's a chatterbox when he's drunk.”

“He is?” You turn towards the said man, beaming at him.

“Don't you have anythin' better to do—?” Hobie gets ignored as Riri continues to chat with you. He resigns, huffing in place.

“Mm-hmm, he says the craziest shit. You think he's all that out there but the second he drinks his third glass, he's out in my saloon yammering about something. Sometimes that something has to do with you.” She pauses, nudging your shoulder. “Don't worry, he only tells me the good stuff. I practically already know you.” Your eyes widen. “Not in a weird way, in a…”

“Good job, Ri, you made it awkward.” Hobie eggs her on.

Riri rolls her eyes. “She knows what I'm talking about, right?” She turns to you, smiling softly like she's already trying to apologize.

“That so? Don't worry, I understand what you meant.” You flick your eyes towards Hobie, who's still unable to stand up. “Since you already know me—”

“Ah, yes!” She claps her hands in understanding. “You may go to my saloon and dig more details about what Hobie's been doing these past five years.” Riri meets Hobie's eyes. “You never know, you might even come across our old gang.”

You copy her, teasing Hobie even more. “The more the merrier then.”

“Great,” Hobie huffs, finally standing up. “You've created a monster, Riri.”

“Don't call her a monster!” Riri acts offended for you.

“Yeah! Don't call me a monster!”

Hobie could only sigh in defeat. He mumbles under his breath, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. “If I wasn't so tired.”

“Oh that reminds me.” You say excitedly, you've finally found a friend after everything that has happened. “Do you want to stay for tea?”

“We don't have anythin', love.” Hobie gestures towards the near empty kitchen cabinets that were left open.

Riri smirks at the name he used for you. Hobie warns her with a look. “That would be great, but I gotta go back out there. I heard there's a huge deer roaming around and I want to be the one to get it before anyone else does.”

“That's too bad.” You're genuinely disappointed.

“Yeah, that's too bad.” Hobie copies sarcastically, less disappointed.

Riri chuckles, “don't worry, Y/N, my saloon's always open for you.” She clasps your shoulder. “Welcome to Scarlett Meadows, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Riri. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, love,” Riri mocks him. Hobie audibly groans, she smacks his chest. “Welcome back, loser.” With a flourish, Riri exits the house and then jumps back on her horse to ride away. Hobie closes and locks the front door behind her.

“I like her already.”

Hobie wraps his arm around your middle, pulling you close for an embrace. “‘m glad, she's a good friend.”

You nuzzle his shoulder, to which he takes your cheek, already leaning down to meet you halfway. “The mood's ruined, Hobs.”

“Goddamnit.” He says, yet he still chuckles against your lips. Letting you go, you stay locked with his eyes while walking backwards towards the stairs. “Where are you goin'?” There's a growing smile on yours and Hobie's lips.

“You coming, cowboy?” You ask, and you see him flustered once again. Biting his lip, tapping his foot, and hands on his hips. As you head upstairs, you hear his heavy footsteps follow you; until you feel his arms wrap around you impatiently, carrying you the rest of the way while your laughter rings around the house.

—

Hobie, under the gaze of the sun, with his sweaty work shirt sticking to his skin as he hammers the windowsill in place; fixing the once shoddy workmanship left by the previous owner. You ogle him unabashedly. The ring that was previously hidden under the fabric of his bandana now sits upon his ring finger, you cried when you first saw it there for the first time in five years. He held you then, just like how he cradled you back when he gave the identical one to you.

He clings on the tresses that are filled with dried vines and creaking from his added weight. He hangs precariously, as if he's an expert climber at heart; you can't help but stare at him as he works on your shared home. You suppose you could use the old shakey tresses as your excuse on why you're watching him instead of tilling the land like you're supposed to. Telling him that you're only keeping watch of him just in case he falls so you could catch him. Which is impossible by itself, you'd break all your bones if you tried. But you suppose it'll be alright if it's for him. As if he feels your eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder, a smile slowly curling on his lips as he spots your form still kneeling on the same spot he left you in twenty minutes ago.

The soil balled up into your hands sits there forgotten. A bag of cherry tomatoes sits next to you, wind almost taking them in its breeze as one passes by. You don't look away when he calls you out after you were caught. Instead, you stare harder, unabashedly winking at him. To which earns a hearty laugh from Hobie who almost falls from his bout of laughter.

You stagger, hands raised towards him as if you can catch him from where you are. “Careful!”

Hobie continues to laugh, calming your worries. “‘m alright, you should watch your tomatoes—” a strong wind picks up, with summer almost completely gone as the colder breeze carries your bag of seeds away from you. “And there it goes!” His guffaw fades from behind as you scramble for the seeds.

“Fuck!” You yell, hand placed on your sun hat so it doesn't get blown away. Despite you running at full speed towards what could be next season's meal, you smile widely, you're at peace here.

Hobie follows after you, running and catching up to you in a mad dash. “Hurry slowpoke!” He passes you, laughing as he goes.

“Slowpoke?! C’mere you little—!” Hobie suddenly stops and then turns around to catch you mid sprint. Your body slams into him, earning a grunt from Hobie, but his smile stays as he holds you in his arms.

“Gotcha!” He embraces you in place, face nudging your shoulder fondly.

“You're all sweaty!” You shriek out happily, hand placed upon his waist, fists clumped in his shirt. The seeds belong to the wind now, you suppose.

“You're no better! You're covered in dirt, lovie!” Hobie playfully wipes his cheeks on your airy shirt, leaving streaks of sweat on the soft linen. You laugh louder, trying to scramble away. And he feels like he has finally found his home in your arms.

You wipe your soil marred hands on his shoulders, leaving your hand prints on his once pristine shirt. You suddenly stop giggling, Hobie thinks he did something wrong until he follows your line of sight. There, a few ways away from the two of you, stands a black dog eating from your bag of seeds.

“Is that a coyote?” You ask, still holding on to him.

“Don't think so.” He whispers back.

“She shouldn't eat that, it might get her sick.” You untangle yourself from Hobie, and then you slowly make your way towards said dog. Hobie stops you halfway, hand gently on your shoulder.

“It might bite you.” He roams his eyes over to her black coat and long tail, her ears are floppy on the side of her head as she continues to munch on the crunchy seeds. There's no collar or any indication that she has an owner, she looks fine and somewhat healthy. Before he could take you away just in case the dog decides that you're a better meal, you're running back towards the house in a mad dash. “Where are you goin'?”

“I'm getting some jerky!”

“What? Why?!” He yells back as you get further and further away.

“Just stay there and watch her!” Your dusty boots are already stomping away inside as Hobie does what you told.

Hobie crouches down, elbows sitting atop his knees, watching the dog chow down. The black labrador pauses from eating from the presence watching her, head peeking out from the bag. Her dark eyes blink at Hobie, he waits for her, hand reaching out in a friendly manner and trying not to scare her away with any sudden movements. The dog sniffs, tail slowly wagging as she walks forward.

You watch from behind, eyes growing wider as you see Hobie let the dog sniff at his hand. When she finally lets him pet her head, Hobie looks back at you with a soft smile.

“Look at you, you're an animal whisperer.”

“Nah, I bet she was just hungry and knows how to swindle.”

Chuckling, you saunter towards them slowly, kneeling beside Hobie, you place the dried meat beside her. “There you go, it's better than some seeds.”

Hobie observes how you gently smile at the friendly dog as she tentatively sits in front of the meat. You let the dog approach you, waiting patiently as she eats until there's none left. She sniffs your knee, nudging you with her snout. He laughs as you surrender the rest of the beef jerky.

It's a peaceful silence of him and you just sitting there on the dry grassy ground while the strange dog eats his entire supply of jerky. He suppose he can always run to the general store for more.

The sun is high up, yet it's a comfortable heat on his skin. He preferred summers here, the searing heat always kept him awake and alert. But with you now here, he prefers how the cooling wind nips at his skin, how the leaves are now turning into sunsets that you always adore. And how much you wake up clinging to his side every morning. He prefers this, living with you, finally experiencing life again as if he picked up a book from where he left off years ago; it took some time and a lot of hurt to get here, but he would've done it all over again if it ended just like this. Maybe he'd do better, maybe he would make better decisions— for now, instead of lamenting about all the things that have happened, he'd rather stay in the present where you're currently in.

“I think we should keep her.” You say after a few moments. Hobie just now noticed how the dog now lays on your lap, probably sleeping off her meal. Your hand rubs softly on her back, eyes shining under the sun. “My aunt never let me have pets, she said that a proper lady shouldn't smell of wet dog.”

“Look at you now, covered in dirt, sweat and dog slobber.”

“She'd fucking die.” You laugh, it's the first time you've ever laughed after mentioning her. You finally feel like the shackles of her memory are starting to loosen up against your ankles.

Your happy laughter is slowly replaced with a sob, Hobie, with tears in his own eyes, holds you against him. Arms enveloping you, hands cradling your head as if the simple movement would take it all away. He wishes it did, but he knows that it will take time, and he'll wait, and be there for you no matter how long it takes. Even if it doesn't fully go away.

Under the sunshine of autumn, dry blades of grass underneath you, breeze whispering and carrying your sobs into the wind; Hobie holds you like nothing else matters, like it's just you and him, him and you against the bloody, forsaken world.

—

Clover the dog has taken upon you, you named her after the first piece of clover that sprouted along the property after you and Hobie toiled away for weeks just trying to keep it all alive. You've both fallen into a routine, you two wake up later than you both intended, snuggling under the thick covers. Always rushing through the routine to have more time to tend the house. You share chores, you cook in the morning while he cooks dinner. He fixes the house, while you try to revive the farmland. At night, you check all his previous injuries for any signs of it opening up; and he does it to you too, as gentle and careful like you were. All in all, you're proud of what you two have accomplished.

It's your very own borrowed heaven.

The house is now fully painted a soft blue; the same shade you both saw when you crossed the ocean to this new land. The door that was once a murky, muddy brown is now in a snowy white that matches the windows and picket fences. The fences aren't complete yet, the rest are still laying next to the barn where Cherry and Bucky hunker down every night after an energetic ride around their pen that used to be covered in piles of old wood and metal scraps. It took an entire week to clean it up even with the combined powers of you, Hobie, and Riri, who decided to pay you two a visit from time to time. She said that she was only making sure that the ‘loser’ hasn't hurt you in any way. To which Hobie promptly rolled his eyes and threw a plank of wood at her feet, to his words ‘make yourself useful instead of being a pain in my own home.’ You joked that he's starting to sound like one of those old men who would chase people out of their property if someone would step a foot onto his grass. And of course he had to call you grandma for the rest of the day in front of Riri because of it.

You sigh in content, smiling eyes roaming along the greener grass from the porch where you sit; and following along bucky and cherry who are running freely around their paddock. Clover huffs in your lap, and you chuckle, wondering what she's dreaming about. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves in the trees, and carrying it in its breeze. The swing under you shifts from the strong wind, hinges creaking along as you push with your socked feet. Hobie built you this swing right on the porch when he found you looking at the stars with your back aching from the lack of a seat. To add to it, he made it so that it'll fit you and him together with Clover sleeping on your lap.

You cover yourself more with Hobie's jacket, shivering slightly, nose and fingers cold. There's a sudden warmth on your cheek, you don't flinch or gasp from the surprise, knowing that it's Hobie with a warm cup of tea.

“Hi,” you smile up, Hobie returns the grin. He looks softer, edges rounded up. He's fresh from a bath, skin smelling of lavender and citrus. He prefers to wear softer and fleecy clothes now, leaving all the leather behind unless he's going for a ride towards town. Now he likes wearing knitted jackets that keeps him warm and comfortable without the stiffness of leather. He prefers jeans now too, and shirts with no collars that clings to his scar uncomfortably. A testament to how the first two buttons on his work shirt are unbuttoned, showing off his chest. “You look handsome.”

“When do I not?” He holds your cup in one hand and a glass of amber in the other. The golden ring in his ring finger shines in the afterglow.

You tilt your head playfully, taking his glass instead of the mug, eyes never leaving his own. He raises a brow when you take a sip from the glass, feeling the burn from the alcohol line your throat. “You're right, never. You always look good.” Your words are only for him and him only as you whisper it.

“Damn right.” He accepts defeat, letting you drink his whiskey while he drinks from your mug of tea. Clinking his glass against your own, you let out a snort, scooching to allow him space as he sits.

The warm liquid seeps into his calloused hands, eyes flicking over to you and between the land that he once thought was barren. Your plants still haven't borne fruit, but the greenery has sprouted like a miracle on dead soil. You almost gave up on the first month when nothing was working in your favour when the ground was still dry and grey. But you didn't, you kept at it everyday, tilling the soil, planting and replanting, watering everything until a single sprout appeared overnight. You jumped for joy when you saw, he still smiles remembering you running towards him with Clover in tow, and slamming yourself against him just to snog him until he was breathless.

He couldn't have made this into a house without you. This wouldn't be a home without you either.

You poke his cheek, feeling how much softer it is than before. “Whatever you're thinking about, stop it.”

“You want me to stop thinkin’ ‘bout you?”

You groan with a smile, head plopping down on his shoulder. “You never fail to rile me up.”

“Pot meet kettle, love.” He looks at you lovingly, like how a man would stare into the eyes of his wife.

Smiling, you place the mouth of your glass on his lips, letting him sip from the amber while he does the same with his tea placed on your own lips. You both drink, arms crossed over the other, lending each other's hand over the other.

You gulp down the warmth, letting it seep through your bones and muscles, letting it relax into you like a hug from a beloved.

Meanwhile, Hobie never let his eyes off you. Deep green eyes, the same colour as the sea of clovers in front of the home, has found its place on your lips, watching you drink from his cup while he drinks from your own.

A comfortable silence settles over the three of you. Clover snores on your lap, happy and content after finding her home. Hobie's hand kneads at your nape, letting his cool hands settle over your warm skin. With your head placed on his shoulder, you bask in your personal paradise. The birds chirp just a few ways away from you, finding their nests settled on the windmill that you two haven't fixed just yet. The sunset paints the entire farm in shades of orange and pink, hues of autumn blanketing the peaceful place you and Hobie built.

This is home, not the marbled walls of the manor you used to reside. Not the fine silks you used to sleep on, *this is home; with it's rough edges, broken pipes that groan in the night, with its walls made from wood and brick that feels cold on your skin— it's home, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You feel him shift closer to you, lips pressing softly against your temple. His hand tracing above your scar. “Shoulder feelin’ alright?”

Humming, you close your eyes as he peppers kisses from your temple down to your wind whipped cheek. “It's feeling much better now, thanks to you.” He takes your glass and places it down on the floor right next to his own mug.

“I didn't do much.” Hobie chuckles, returning to your side not a moment longer, his knuckles brushes along your collarbone. “‘sides, you did all the healin’”

You sigh, eyes meeting up with his own. He can see love in your simple gaze. “Yeah, only because you've cleaned it every night before bed.” Hobie chuckles when you poke his stomach, in return, he nudges his nose against your own, earning a soft hum of approval from you. “How's your head? And everything else?” You narrow your eyes playfully, “can you still count to a hundred?”

His loud guffaw makes you laugh. Shaking his head, he pulls you closer. “It's good,” he says against your lips, breath fanning across your soft skin. “I've got a good nurse.”

“Your nurse didn't go to school for it.” You joke again. Hobie pecks your lips once, twice, until you're pulling him in by his shirt. You feel his smile throughout it all. He kisses you gently, yet he holds you like he's about to lose you.

The much needed kiss is interrupted by Clover sneezing on your lap, snot covering your flowy skirt. You pull away with a laugh, eyes still closed as his fingers still grips your chin, already feeling him pull you in once again.

“Hobie.” You call while he continues to snog you, kissing along the shape of your lips, etching how your lips feel, and how you sigh against him; how you kiss back wholeheartedly.

He hums, murmuring your name while the sound of his kisses echo around the porch and atop the songs of birds flying overhead.

You giggle as his searing hands find its way under your shirt and onto your stomach. He pauses, eyes blinking slowly at you. You clamp down, shining lips shut closed as he raises a brow.

“What? You ticklish now?” Hobie asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You shake your head with a smile. “Nope.”

There's a grin slowly forming on his equally shiny lips. “I think I need to reacquaint myself, I don't remember you being ticklish—” he pokes your side. “—right ‘ere.”

You gasp in feigned offense, “I'm not!”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Wiggling his fingers, you laugh, reaching for his hands before he could attack.

“Okay! Only on that part.” You confess with a breathy laugh. He nods, tucking that information inside his head to be used one day.

Hobie returns to his drink, opting to sip at what was supposed to be your tea. The tea is now tepid, but he still drinks it anyway. You push the swing with your feet, softly, the swing sways back and forth while Clover lays asleep with your hand petting her head.

“We should take Riri up on her offer.” You say into the growing dark of the farm, watching the sun go further down and the light fade away. “It's been three months since she first invited us over.”

“She can wait,” Hobie has latched himself on you, arm snaked around your middle as he finishes his tea.

“Want to hog me all to yourself then?”

“That obvious?” He glances at your beaming face before his eyes stare at Bucky and Cherry trotting inside the barn on their own. Sometimes he thinks those two are actually humans trapped inside a horse's body. He has never seen smarter horses than them.

“Are you worried? About me getting back out there?” You play with the button of his work shirt, letting his scent waft over you when a breeze carries it towards you.

“What if…” Hobie sighs, eyes staring at you with worry. It's a grip taking hold around his body. “What if someone finds us again?” He remembers all the times you two were found by both the law and your aunt’s hired guns even when he took extra precautions. There's still that looming threat especially with how suspiciously peaceful your journey to the farm was. He has every right to be worried, you are too. “As much as good you are with a gun, I don't want to see you shootin’ it at someone again. ‘m… not tryin’ to control you, I just—”

You hold his cheek, thumb brushing along his jaw tenderly, feeling all the tiny scars left on his skin. “No, I understand. You're not like them, Hobie. No one will ever control me ever again.” At your words, he leans towards your touch, hand lifting up to meet with yours. “I won't let them.” Nodding, he kisses your palm, you notice how his hand shakes above your own. You don't mention it. “It's been five months since the train, they might have given up.”

“Let's hope so.” He softly says, green eyes gazing at you. Eyes that haven't seen peace in years, until now.

“Yeah, hope.” It's a fickle thing, but it's enough to light a fire in you. If they come, you'll fight with everything you've got. You've got everything to lose now, and you're willing to wield a gun once more to protect it all. If not, then it'll be a gift that you won't throw away, you'd live here peacefully, live the life you've always longed for. You're afraid that it would be the former.

—

You saddle up the horses in the barn, Buckeye watches your every move as you strap the saddle over to Cherry. There’s worry in his inky eyes, a look that you're all too familiar with. Clover runs around the barn, sniffing everything she comes across.

“You alright there, Buck? What's got you all worried, huh?” You don't expect him to answer, but he neighs in response, a sharp one that has you raising a brow. You've never heard him make that irritated sound. “What's gotten into you?” As you slide your hands down on Cherry's stomach to finish the saddle, Bucky, neighs loudly, hooves thumping against the ground. He looks like he's about to rush into you and throw you over. “Bucky, calm down!” You put your hands up, staying away from both horses.

“Buckeye!” Hobie's booming voice ricochets around the barn as he enters, putting a stop to Bucky's tantrum. Even Clover stops running for a second before returning to her adventure. “What's gotten into you, boy?” He pets his snout, effectively calming him down.

“I was putting on Cherry's saddle and he suddenly got mad.”

“He looks alright.” Nodding, Hobie roams his eyes all over his horse, checking each of his horse shoes in case there's something embedded in his feet. “Nothin’s wrong with him. What about Cherry? He's been overprotective of her lately.”

“Ah shit, do you think I put it on too tight?” Hobie keeps his hold on Bucky's reins, just in case. You check all the belts and buckles on the saddle, finding the fit just right. Until you get to her stomach. “Wait—” hands roaming around, you feel a bump. “What is that?” Cherry looks at you, if horses could raise their brow, she would've done it already. “Are you—?!” You gasp, eyes meeting with Hobie. Glaring at the horse next to him, you embrace Cherry. “Bucky, what did you do to Cherry!”

He already knows what you found. “I think it was a combined effort, love.” Scratching the back of Bucky's ear, Hobie chuckles at your reaction. “You did not waste time, huh, boy?”

“She's smaller than him!” You look at Bucky as if he can explain himself, to which the horse just huffs at you. Hobie keeps patting Buckeye on his back, while Cherry isn't even listening in on the conversation anymore. She prefers the pile of hay next to her, eating without a care.

“And? You are too compared to me.” Hobie unabashedly answers for Bucky. You gasp then laugh, a laugh that changes to a playful offended chortle. You grab a bucket from the ground, ready to throw it at him.

“You should run, Hobie!” Before you could finish yelling, Hobie's already sprinting back inside the house. You run after him, bucket in hand, ready to throw carrots at him.

Hobie waits for carrots to be pelted at him, only to turn around to see you gawking at the planted vegetable patch before you. He stops by the steps on the porch, hands on his hips as you let go of the bucket with a thud.

“What's wrong?”

“They've grown.” You whisper in disbelief, Hobie almost didn't catch your words. Chuckling, you look at Hobie with tears in your eyes. “We’ve got tomatoes!” Pouncing on him, he catches you, arms holding you in place while you celebrate against his neck.

He roams his eyes downwards towards the tomatoes until he spots a handful of it just under a bunch of leaves. “Holy shit!” Hand behind your head, he jumps up and down, matching your excitement. “You did it, love!”

You lean away, and then immediately peppers his face with a dozen kisses, leaving him almost dizzy. Before he could kiss back, you're already back on the ground, plucking the ripest looking one. It's as big as your hand, red and plump; ripe for the taking. All the countless times you've read botany books have finally borne fruit.

Wiping the dirt off of the tomato on your shirt, you hand it to him. “Wanna do the honors?”

“This is all you, lovie.” He gently places it back in your palm, hand lingering on yours; identical rings shining brightly.

You nod as thanks, heart beating rapidly. With a tentative bite, you let the juice coat your mouth, overflowing until it's dripping from your chin. It's perfect, and Hobie thinks you look perfect even with juice sliding down your chin and arm.

“Do you want a room? Because I can go.” Hobie jokes, you laugh heartily.

“Here,” you say, mouth full. “Try it.”

Hobie takes it, biting down just as the same as you, with juices flowing down his arm and onto his shirt. “Fuck!”

You nod rapidly, pride filling your chest. “Right?!”

“Y/N,” he calls, mouth still taking bites of the produce. Gesturing towards the neighboring plants, he watches as your expression morphs into pure elation when you spot your potatoes growing out of the soil, like bald heads peeking out from underneath.

There's dozens of them all lined up and ready to be harvested. You almost guffaw, satisfied and successful at growing something on the once thought barren land.

“We're gonna need a basket.” Perhaps your trip to Riri's saloon will have to wait.

—

The trip to town took longer since Cherry was out of commission, and you only had Bucky to take with you on the ride. By the time you and Hobie make it to Riri's saloon, lunch was in full swing. The place is smaller compared to the other establishments you've been in, and yet, it doesn't lack the energy. Customers line the bar, eating and drinking their fill. Jaunty music fills your ears just as when the saloon doors close behind you, Hobie's hand is placed on the small of your back, fingertips pressing softly, leading you towards the far end of the saloon where the bar is placed.

You roam your eyes around, the band plays on a stage in your right, cello, fiddles and trumpets play alongside the piano. Customers dance around with their partners, smiling faces whizz past you, giving you a polite greeting as you go. There are numerous tables littered around with the people sitting there and chatting energetically, their conversations rising above the music.

A hearty laugh above reaches your ears, when you look up, you see a spiral staircase that leads to the second floor with a balcony. A few patrons look down at you with their drinks in their hands, some are watching the poker game with amusement in their eyes. Drinking glasses clink around while you continue to make your way towards Riri who happens to be tending the bar.

The walls are in a creamy white with rows upon walls of paintings full of portraits and landscapes. There's a giant moose antler above the bar, looming over everyone. The place smells of booze and whiskey. Oddly enough, the scent of melted chocolate lingers above the fog of rum and moonshine. A crystal chandelier hangs high up on the ceiling, the centerpiece of the saloon. Sunlight from the windows filters through the brightly coloured glass, drenching the walls and floor with a kaleidoscope of light.

“Hey, Hobie!” Someone yells from above, Hobie gives them a curt nod. A handful of people recognize him, some greet him kindly like an old friend would. Some gaze at him with trepidation in their eyes.

A stranger with an eyepatch clasps his shoulder before staggering outside. Hobie chuckles and rolls his eyes at the older man.

“Someone's popular.” You whisper.

“A side effect of my reputation.” He smiles gently, fingers tapping on the small of your back. Leading you towards the corner of the bar, the far end where the back door sits behind it; he settles the two of you there, further away from strangers that could make you uncomfortable.

“Finally!” Riri exclaims, “the prodigal son returns!” Everyone at the bar hoots and whistles at Hobie. He ignores each of them, earning some booing and hissing from the crowd. You chuckle from seeing Hobie hide his smile under the brim of his hat. Riri slides in front of you, beer bottle in hand and then plops it in Hobie's waiting hand. “And with the prettiest girl this side of town has ever seen. What have you two been up to in your little slice of heaven, huh? Haven't seen you in months.”

“Busy with the farm.” Hobie says against the lip of his bottle, hand never leaving your back.

“Farm? Your dirt farm? You sure it's not you getting busy with our girl here, eh, Hobs?” Riri gives you a knowing look, you're flustered enough as it is. Hobie just shakes his head, eyes roaming everywhere but your eyes or Riri's.

You clear your throat. “We actually managed to grow something out there. We've got tomatoes, potatoes and even some carrots and strawberries blooming.” Your genuine smile turns Riri's playful one to a proud grin. “We'd bring you some of our harvest but we only rode on Bucky. We didn't want to stress him out further.”

“Why's that?” Riri cleans a glass with a cloth, “Is Cherry sick? We've got a veterinarian here for that.”

“No, she's pregnant.”

“Goddamn, Bucky did not waste any time.”

Hobie nods, “that's what I said.”

“Let's hope his rider doesn't do the same, eh?” She sends you both a wink.

“Fuckin' hell, Riri.” Hobie squeezes the bridge of his nose whilst you're left blubbering from her words. “Is there lunch left for us?” He says with a sigh.

“If you're nice about it, yeah.” Riri looks over at you. “Except for you, pretty, there's always a meal here for you.” You smile, head tilting towards Hobie's shoulder from bashfulness.

“Roast beef still on the menu?” Hobie asks, bottle half empty, stomach growling.

“Say please.” Riri says pointedly.

Hobie huffs, flicking his eyes towards you briefly before surrendering. “...please.”

Riri smirks, “it's always on the menu.” Hobie rolls his eyes at that.

He pokes your back, knuckles tracing around where he poked you. “How ‘bout you? Riri's chef can cook anythin’ you want.”

“Don't steal my words, Hobie.” Riri raises a brow. “Karl can make you anything you want.”

You laugh nervously at the eyes staring and waiting for you. “Uh, I'll have what he's having. And…” Hobie encourages you with a smile and a squeeze on your back. “Soup, any kind of soup you've got available.”

Riri pats the back of your hand with a soft smile. “We've got pumpkin, is that alright?”

“It's perfect.” You turn towards Hobie who's beaming at you, hiding his face with the brim of his hat from the rest of the customers.

—

You watch and listen with a smile in your seat, hand clasped around a glass of orange juice. The band ramps up their set, the music has gotten jauntier and happier right after you finished eating. More people have left the bar to either dance or play poker upstairs. Hobie still sits behind you, fingers curled around your belt loop lovingly. You feel him tapping rhythmically to the sound of the snare drum.

Looking over your shoulder, he nods at you with a soft smile. “They're good, aren't they?” You ask, chin atop your shoulder.

“Yeah, but I think you can beat them.”

You roll your eyes with a chuckle, fully twisting around on the bar stool to wipe a drop of sauce at the tip of his chin, fingers lingering there for a moment. “It's not a competition, Hobs.”

Before Hobie could give a reply, Riri slides over with a slice of chocolate cake. “You know how to play?”

You eye the dessert. “The piano, but I haven't practiced in a while.”

“She's bein’ humble. She's bloody brilliant on the keys.” Hobie takes the plate from Riri with a quick thank you, and then he places it in front of you casually.

You almost protested, thinking that Hobie yanked another customer's order. But Riri proves your thoughts wrong when she, herself, hands you a small fork for your dessert. You mumble a soft thank you, too shy, too grateful to say it louder lest you burst into tears. The cake has chocolate swirls with a large, plump strawberry on top of it. You don't waste time digging in.

“Isn't there an old broken piano at your place?” Riri continues the conversation, eyes flicking to your happy face with a soft smile.

“Yeah, been thinkin’ ‘bout fixin’ the damn thing but I have no idea how.” You almost actually cried on your cake when Hobie said those words.

“I think old man Roberto can fix it.” You savour the cake, listening in on the conversation.

“Your pianist?”

“Yeah, he's a doctor too, did you know that? Pretty great if you ask me—” Riri pauses, you follow her confused look. You see Hobie's stony expression, green eyes aflame like greek fire engulfing an entire fleet of ships. You and Riri have the same idea by following his gaze. She clears her throat at the sight, while you only see a broad shouldered man on the stairs, watching the band play.

“You okay?” You feel worried all of a sudden, what if this was another Culver situation? “Do you know him?”

“An old…acquaintance. Don't worry, he just owes me money.” Patting your back, he doesn't want to lie to you. What would that even bring?

“Oh, alright.” You slide the plate over to him. “I saved you some cake.”

Hobie chuckles, “nah, it's all yours, love.”

“Thank you,” you take the plate back. “I was just being nice.” Hobie shakes his head with a chuckle, you miss how he's having a silent conversation with Riri while you chow down.

“What did you even put in this, Riri? It's so fucking good!” With your fork, you scrape the plate to gather the rest of the chocolate icing. You have no shame at this point, it's the best cake you've ever had.

Riri takes a while to reply, so you lift your head up to see what's going on. You're met with her genuine smile. “Don't thank me, thank my grandma, it's a family recipe.”

“Well, thank you, Riri's grandma.”

Hobie stares at something behind you, Riri interrupts you before you could look over your shoulder. “Do you want to meet the band?”

“Holy shit! Really?” You grin from ear to ear, turning to see Hobie give you a nod and a small smile. “Do I have something in my teeth?” You grin widely, Hobie shakes his head, amused by you.

“Yeah, they're really nice. Come on, let's get you acquainted.” Riri jumps over the bar effortlessly, taking you by the hand and leading you towards the dance floor.

“I'll be back, Hobie!” You excitedly say over your shoulder as Riri twirls you around in the middle of the crowd. Hobie chuckles in his seat, drinking a cup of tea. He hears Riri ask you to dance, to which you happily agree.

Hobie keeps an eye on you, and he trusts Riri to keep you safe until he's done dealing with him. Hobie watches as Miguel saunters off towards him, spurs clinking as he sits down on your seat.

“Looks like Riri took your girl.” He says while ordering a beer from the other bartender.

“Why didn't you tell me that it was her, Miguel?”

Miguel catches the drink in his open palm as the bottle slides from the other end to his hand. “Simple, I didn't know who she was.” He cracks it open by banging the cap against the edge of the bar. The metal clanks on the floor as it falls.

“Bullshit, O’Hara.” Hobie says through clenched teeth.

“She has a sweet tooth doesn't she?” He refers to your almost clean plate.

“Miguel.” Hobie utters more pointedly, taking the beer from his hand before he even takes a sip. “Why didn't you tell me it was her?”

Miguel sighs, “I didn't know it was her. But I had a hunch. People at camp talk y’know. And you're a blabber mouth when you're drunk. A deadly combination.” He eyes his beer bottle, Hobie waits for more answers. “The guy who gave me the job just gave me her description. The same description I gave you, Hobie. Not my fault you didn't recognize her.”

“Who gave it to you?”

Miguel flexes his hand, asking for his drink back. Hobie clenches his jaw before sliding the bottle back to him reluctantly. “You should thank me. I got you two together again.”

“Just tell me, Miguel, or I'll ask for that bounty you owe me.”

“You technically didn't complete the job, so…” Hobie stares at him with the same look that Miguel has only seen him sport when he has his target in his crosshairs. “It was a middleman. He said his boss was an oil baron of some kind.” He’s about to take a sip, but doesn't. Grimacing when he brings the bottle back down to only see Hobie having the same fiery look. It brings a shiver down his spine. “Can you stop?”

“Who?”

“Don't know, didn't ask.”

“She could've died, Miguel.” That thought has him trembling in place. Hobie balls his fists, hiding how the mere thought of it shakes him to his core.

“She would've died either way, Hobie. But she had you, if I gave the job to any other person, she would've. Trust me, I did not know it was her, or that you even knew her. It's not like I made her come here.”

Hobie inhales sharply. “It wasn't you who sent the letter?”

“What fucking letter?”

“I sense some tension in the air. You know, conducting business in my establishment isn't allowed. Except if you involve me.” Riri jumps to Miguel's side, taking the beer from his hand, chugging it as sweat drips from her brow. With a sigh, Miguel orders another beer.

“Where's Y/N?” Hobie answers his own question when he sees you playing the piano with the rest of the band. His lips curl up into a smile, fists unclenching at the music you're playing. You're having the time of your life.

“Relax, Romeo, she's fine.” Riri claps to the rhythm. Hobie hears your hearty laugh from where he's sitting. The saloon's band seems to be having fun too.

In Hobie's mind, everything clicks in place. “It was you who sent my letter.” Hobie jabs his finger on Riri's shoulder blade.

She snorts, “of course it was me. I couldn't handle your sulking any longer. Seriously, I was losing customers because of your weekly letter writing and crying session.”

Miguel laughs, he sees Hobie's glare and tamps down to a snicker. Riri leans in the bar to yank a bottle of whiskey from underneath the shelves.

“Why?”

“You weren't happy being a lone ranger.”

Hobie feels like lightning struck him. “Fuckin' hell, Riri, you could've said somethin'. Warned me ‘bout it.”

“And? You'd somehow find it in your heart to immediately forgive her and pick her up from the docks?” Riri pours the whiskey inside three glasses, handing it to each of the men. “You’re like a brother to me, Hobie. We came up in this fuckwad’s gang—” she points at Miguel who's caught in the middle. He just pinches the bridge of his nose. “—at the same time. Do you think I'd let you wallow and die alone in that dirt farm of yours?”

Hobie doesn't answer. He knows that the journey was needed. But if Riri actually warned him about it beforehand, would you be here right now? Or would you be dead somewhere along your journey to him because he couldn't find it in his heart to come to you?

“See? Not everything's my fault. Just a freak coincidence.” Miguel pipes up, now eating a slice of cake just as you have.

Riri ignores him. “I know you had a slight apprehension towards her because of what happened.”

“She could've died, Riri. When I found her, she was trying to steal food.”

Riri breathes shakily, eyes glossing over. “And I'm sorry for that, truly. I never thought that would happen, or that her people would put a bounty on her. I only knew her from you, Hobie. I'm sorry. And I'll apologize to her, I promise.”

“She's really good on that piano.” Miguel comments before returning to his cake. Hobie and Riri continue to ignore him.

Hobie sucks in his teeth. “‘Slight apprehension’ didn't cut it back then.” He whispers.

Riri looks at him with a frown, eyes downturned. She knows his story, and she knows his side of it. “You know when I was a kid I used to hate the edges on bread. I always asked my mom to cut it off for me which added more workload for her, but she still did it.” She smiles fondly. “And now as an adult I love the edges, it's the best part of the bread for me.”

“What are you sayin'?”

“I'm saying that people change. And I'm not just referring to her.” Hobie understands her double entendre.

Hobie scoffs, stealing a quick glance at you. “It's bread, Riri.”

“I can see that she may have thought you were a burden back then but I highly doubt she has the same thoughts now.” Riri takes a sip from her glass. “How would you even know that you were a burden to her when the exact words didn't come out of her own mouth?”

“She told me it wasn't her, I know that now. It was all Hicks, the same fucker that did this to me.” Miguel straightens in his seat, Riri flicks her eyes at his scar knowingly. “They're still lookin’ for her, I know it.”

“If they ever find you both, we have your back.” Riri clasps Hobie's shoulder. He holds her hand briefly before letting go with a thankful nod. “It's the least I can do.” Miguel agrees with a grunt and a pat on his gun.

“It's more than enough, Ri.”

You wave towards Hobie from the small stage, jumping down to walk past the crowd and to him. Hobie's heart feels a little bit lighter from the conversation, like a bullet taken out from his skin.

Miguel stands up, and then pats Hobie and Riri in the shoulder before putting his hat back on. His hazel eyes meet with yours for a second, you give him a polite smile as you navigate your way out of the jam-packed audience.

Miguel fixes his hat, eyes zeroing in on the ring around Hobie's finger. “Nice ring. You two tied the knot without inviting me and the rest of the gang?” You pause by the menu, acting like something caught your eye while you listen in. The saloon is noisy enough for his words to be muffled, but you understood it perfectly.

“Not really,” Hobie glances towards you for a second before flicking his eyes over at his ring that he keeps twisting and turning around his finger.

“Well you've got everything else covered. And I've seen the way you look at her. If that's not marriage, I don't know what is.” Miguel clasps Hobie's shoulder in a parting goodbye, his face is unreadable from where you are. Miguel leans in closer this time, hazel eyes staring into Hobie's soul. His expression turns serious, lips pursed into a thin line, whispering words that you couldn't hear from where you stood. “You gonna tell her all the things you've done to survive this place?”

Hobie stands up to greet you halfway. “Worse, she has seen it.” Miguel leaves, and Hobie holds your hand with a proud smile, but you can tell something happened while you were gone. He sees it, so he leads you back to the bar where Riri waits to tell you everything.

“Did he pay you back?”

“Nah, he didn't have the money on him.”

“What an asshole.” He laughs, not bothering to hide his affection for you in front of the whole saloon any longer.

—

You lean back, smiling at the lavender sunset before you. Hobie's hands are occupied with the reins, but he still finds the time to nuzzle his chin on your shoulder. A small act that has you grinning as you cup his cheek for a moment.

Riri's confession was a surprise to you, but after the shock ended, you couldn't help but let out a loud guffaw in the saloon. You stood out like a sore thumb whilst Hobie rubs your back from how much you were laughing. You even thanked Riri for what she did on Hobie's behalf, to which she sighed in relief from your reaction. If she didn't send that letter, you'd still be in that wretched place, you'd still be half dead, surviving but not living. The journey to Hobie was tough and marred with pain and bloodshed, and yet, you'd take that journey all over again if you knew that he'd be holding you like this once again; that he still loves you despite everything that has happened to him and to you. With a parting hug, and a promise that you'll visit again, you and Hobie set off back on the road towards home.

The route home is filled with an abundance of scenery. Fields of flowers and tall grass line the sides of the bumpy dirt road. Daisies, poppies and baby's breath are in full bloom, its colours bringing even more brightness to the land. Cows and horses graze all over, they look up at the sound of Bucky's hooves thudding against the soil.

Hobie gathers up the reins in one hand, arm holding on to your waist before bending down from his saddle. Buckeye still gallops away as you immediately try to get a hold of Hobie before he falls.

“What are you doing?!” You ask, voice shaky, eyes up front while he has his palm open, gathering flowers on the side of the road.

“Just hold onto me!” Numerous flowers gather in his hand, its petals are filled with dew, sweet smelling and colourful against his leather gloves. Some of the stems are broken from the motion of the galloping horse. But you don't mind as he sends you a wink while he's on the side like he's doing the most mundane thing.

Laughing, you help pull him up. He hands you the bundle of flowers from behind, lips brushing along the shell of your ear. “That'll be five bucks.”

You giggle, thumb brushing along one of its red petals. “That's expensive for a roadside bouquet.” Hiding your face behind the flowers, you take a whiff of the sweetness whilst you gaze behind you through your fluttering lashes. “I think you're swindeling me, cowboy.”

“Fine,” he dramatically sighs, earning a soft laugh from you. His viridescent eyes remind you of the clovers back home. “I'll give you a discount.”

“A kiss then?”

“I was goin' to say ‘three bucks’ but that works too.” His eyes are on the road, but he briefly gazes into yours with tenderness.

“I'll pay my dues then.” You crane your neck back as far as you can. With a hand running up behind his head, you push him gently to meet with your own for a quick peck. “There, all paid.”

Hobie grins, trying hard not to indulge more lest he crashes Bucky into a tree. “Nah, that was half.”

“Half?” You feign a scoff. “Fine, I'll give it to you in installments.” Your neck is starting to ache from the position, but you can't help but keep still when he even looks this good in this awkward angle.

Bucky slows down, you hear the rush of a body of water before you see it. Hobie clicks his tongue, Buck completely stops from the command. “I'll take it.”

“You're not gonna ask when I'll ‘pay’ you?”

Hobie places his hand around your throat, not clenching, nor digging in; no, he does it to gently straighten your neck to save you from a crick in your nape. You follow willingly, never have you felt this soft kind of grasp around your neck— it's been the opposite before this, before him.

The pads of Hobie's fingers rub along your nape, soothing the growing ache. “Surprise me.”

Your smile grows when you quickly look forward, you see a small dock in a shining lake that's surrounded by oak trees and cattails growing on the side. The water shimmers under the afterglow like diamonds laid upon silk.

Hobie raises his brows with a smile, you're sure he's patting himself on the back. He smoothly gets off his horse with a flourish. With his feet back on the ground, he holds your waist, waiting for you to push yourself off so he could help you down. As if you ever need it, but you sometimes like to be spoiled this way, especially if It's Hobie spoiling you with his affections.

You hold the bouquet against your chest while he looks up at you lovingly, not telling you to hurry up or attempt to yank you off. “They told me that you're so mashed. What does that even mean?”

“Who's they?”

“The band, they said and I quote, ‘that Hobie is properly mashed for you! We've never seen him look at someone like that unless—’” You pause, hands on his wrist, pushing yourself off as he guides you down on the ground carefully. You floated for a moment, you then tuck the flowers in Bucky's saddle bag for safe keeping.

“Unless what?”

You bite your lip to tamp down a laugh. “‘Unless you're one of Riri’s homemade chocolate cakes.’” Poking his chest, you playfully jab him while he has his hands up in mock surrender. “I knew you wanted that cake!”

“It was yours! And I've had it a thousand times before, love.” He grabs your wrists, stopping your poking to pull your hand over his neck so you'd hold him closer. Toe to toe, you close the gap even more by scooching closer.

You poke him with your chin on his clavicle. “And here I thought you were being nice.”

“I was,” Hobie utters against your lips, “don't worry, I ordered one for myself while you were playing on stage.”

You gasp in feigned offense. “You dare?!”

Nodding, Hobie pulls you closer by your wrist. “I dare.” He mocks teasingly.

“Guess I have to jump in the lake to let the waters wash away this betrayal.” Moving away, you walk backwards towards the dock while keeping an eye at him.

Hobie watches you go. The second he steps forward, you sprint away, giggling. Milkweeds and poppies brush along your legs as you run while stripping off your boots and jacket, you then throw it all behind you. The fabric hits Hobie's face, he hears a splash as he yanks it off, laughing with you. Stripping off his coat, belt and boots, he jumps in right after with a louder and bigger splash.

The water is colder than you expected when it hit your skin. But you suppose it's worth staying for a little while even if it means getting a cold. You wipe your face from the splash that hit you, shivering slightly and incredibly happy without a care for the rest of the world.

“Hobie?” You twist around, swimming in a circle to look for him.

Hobie doesn't resurface after his jump, your grin slowly turns into panic when you see bubbles rise up from where he jumped.

“Hobie!” You feel bile rise in your throat, panic and worry settling in your stomach. “Hob—!” You're suddenly lifted up, thighs perched on his shoulder with his head in between. “You ass—!” You see him give you a smirk before tossing you behind with a splash.

He once again lifts you up, by your waist this time. He's met with a glare from you, and he has the audacity to laugh at your face. You splash, wiggling and thrashing in his hold. “‘m sorry! I saw the opportunity!”

“Not funny! I thought you drowned!” Continuing to splash at his face, Hobie embraces you against his chest until you've tired yourself out. You manage to give him one last splash to his face before you gave up, and then you slouch against him.

“Good thing I taught you how to swim, huh?” He softly says, floating around the lake.

“Yeah,” you hide behind the crook of his neck, nose nudging his skin while you try to forget how your aunt reacted when you came home drenched and dripping on her carpets.

“You okay?” Hobie rubs in between your shoulders. “‘m sorry, I thought it was funny.”

You sniff from the cold, leaning away to meet with his eyes. “It was, just don't take too long to resurface.” Smiling, you wipe water droplets off his pierced eyebrow. “Remember the day you convinced me to let you teach me how to swim?”

“Yeah, I told you that you wouldn't be able to swim if the ship you're on capsizes.”

“It scared the shit out of me.”

“‘m sorry that scared you.”

“Stop apologizing,” you cup his jaw, feeling his stubble, “besides, we ended up here years later. It's a good ending.”

“Yeah, a good ending.” He fixes your blouse, laying the collar flat so the edge doesn't poke your eye out. Noticing your far off stare behind him, he imagines the worst. But when he turns, he sees a huge deer with large antlers drinking from the side of the lake. “Holy shit.” Hobie moves, but you stop him so he doesn't startle the deer.

It continues to drink calmly. A bush from the side shakes, Hobie almost went for his gun but he's proven wrong when a white tailed doe appears.

“She's gorgeous,” you whisper, hugging him from behind while you watch the doe drink next to the deer. “Do you think they know each other?”

“Maybe.” He doesn't believe his eyes, “maybe they're mates.”

You kiss his cold cheek. “You think so?”

With your hands intertwined with his own underwater, he pulls you closer until there's no space left in between. He once dreamed to be this close to you, now that he's skin to flesh with you, he will never let go. He'd rather be buried alive again rather than be apart with you.

The deer nudges the doe's head before they gallop away from the lake. Hobie sniffs, finger brushing along your ring. “Yeah, they are.”

—

The sun has fully set now, dark blue engulfing you with the night howling its cold breeze against your wet skin. The large oak tree behind you shields you from the harsh wind. It reminds you of the one back home where he carved both of your initials on the trunk. Hobie embraces you from behind, sharing his warmth while you two wait for the clothes on your back to dry before riding home. Bucky sleeps next to you, huffing in his sleep. The bonfire roars, warming you in its orange glow, flames dancing in your vision.

Hobie hasn't taken his fingers off your ring that he rolls around your finger since you sat down. His eyes stare at the fire, shoulders relaxed, yet his jaw is clenched. You think his body is acting on instinct, and is still getting used to the calm.

“You're quiet, I'm worried.” You say, head leaning on his chest, back slouched to look at him.

Hobie raises a brow, eyes glancing down at you before returning back to the fire. “‘m thinkin’.”

“That's a first,” you joke, squeezing his hand. He chuckles, pecking the top of your head once before sighing in your hair. “Okay, now I'm worried. What's wrong?”

“I was thinkin' that we're practically married.” Something flashes behind your eyes that he missed. “We've got the rings, the house, the love and everythin' else.” He can't let Miguel get to him, but he can't get his words out of his mind either. If that's not marriage, I don't know what is.

You give him a soft shaky smile, eyes glossy against the light of the bonfire. Cradling his face, he leans against your palm, placing a heavy kiss on your cool skin. A sob threatens to escape you, clawing at your chest to be let go. You don't let it.

“We kind of are, huh?” He asks, eyes closed while holding your hand against his lips.

“I–it's close.” You manage to choke out. “I suppose we are, Hobs.” Tears collect in your lashes, blurring him in your vision like water colours bleeding in together. “Are you afraid of it?” Of us? You fear waking up one day and finding his side of the bed empty except for a note addressed to you. It's irrational, you know it is.

“No,” he sniffs, “it's the opposite. My fear isn't anywhere near that.”

You blink to clear the tears, letting it fall without a sound. “What are you most afraid of, cowboy?”

Hobie opens his eyes and you're met with a sea of green, shining and glittering just like the lake near you. “You, you're what I'm most afraid of.” You turn to fully face him, body placed in between his legs that comfortably cage you in. You don't let him go even when he burrows his chin on the top of his chest. For a moment, he doesn't say a word, until he sniffs and returns to meet with your eyes. “Losin’ you, seein’ your blood stainin’ my hands.” He holds both of your hands in his own. “That's what I'm afraid of, not my own death, yours. Because I can't live another five years without you. Especially a life lived without you isn't a life well lived.”

You feel his love and all the ache he carried in those five years like never before. He doesn't want to lose the life he built with you here; he doesn't want to lose all the mornings with you, he doesn't want to sleep without you by his side. He doesn't want to lose you.

You never even thought for a moment that you deserve this kind of tenderness after all the hatred that was thrown at you like a hail of firestorm. And yet, here he is, he loves you, the kind of love that reverberates through your very bones and settles into your soul. You still don't think you deserve it, but who are you to deny such love, especially from him? You did not beg for this kind of love, nor prayed for it. It's not the kind of love that the fates or the universe have thrust upon you in a shower of meteors. It was gradual, it came in a trickle and then a wave. And when you two were finally on the same page— you love him with every single bone in your body— you love him intentionally and wholeheartedly.

Kneeling to level with him, hands holding his cheeks, you hope that your simple touch is enough to let him feel all the love and affection you have for the man before you.

With your forehead against his own, you softly utter the same three words you've been telling him every morning and and every night before bed. “I love you.” He nods, whispering the same words atop your lips like a mantra; a song that replays in his head over and over again. You kiss the corner of his lips before leaning away. “I–if that ever happens, I'll live for you. I'll bring back my blood inside me if I have to.” You wipe away his stray tear, “Just promise me you'll do the same.” You know that you won't be able to do anything if it does happen to you, nor he, if it happens to him. They're empty promises meant to fill the holes in your chests for comfort to hold onto— to help ease your minds throughout the night whilst he lays his head upon your chest at night.

The weight of the looming threat feels like a reality. As if someone laid a pillow to his sleeping face. Hobie takes you in his arms, embracing you; hand placed on the back of your head as if he's already trying to shield you from what he fears most.

The mere thought of you loving him so much that you'd defy death itself, and despite the blood underneath his nails has him tethering upon the precipice of paradise. Maybe that's all there is then, to be loved despite the blood staining his hands, and despite his gnashing teeth that could take your flesh if he so desires; that he'll never desire to do to you— It's enough for him to be with you, and for you to be with him until you're both old and frail, until you're both six feet under; behind the same house he made into a home for you.

He has everything to lose, and he'll raise hell itself if need be just to bring you back. *When they come for you, there won't be enough bullets in the world for him.

With determination in his eyes that fans the flames in his chest, he utters an impossible promise on your skin.

“I promise.”

You hug Hobie, hand splayed on his back while the other kneads at his nape. Opening your eyes, you see the same deer and doe on the other side of the lake, standing side by side peacefully with their reflections on the lake. The sounds of the night echo above the glimmering depths of the water. It all brings you hope despite the conversation, they won't find you, that's your hope. You get to stay here forever with him, that's your only wish in this world.

Amidst the swaying grass, and in his arms, you feel infinite. You finally feel like you exist with the gentle wind and the raging rivers. No more do you feel like you burn everyday, where there's ash in your mouth, embers hidden underneath your hands; living in a house built to be kindling in your all consuming flames of loneliness. Earthbound once more, alive again.