#horse hauling companies

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BOOM! (1/3)

Part 1: The Cowgirl & The Oilman

Stunning, wonderful, perfect art by @lya-dustin

My submission for the 2024 @hotd-bigbang

1928. Targaryen's, the foremost business conglomerate in Europe, is seeking to establish a foothold in the United States - and the mass of wealth and resources it offers. Viserys Targaryen has dispatched each member of his family to a different city to oversee the company's expansion into various new industries. His second son, Aemond, has chosen Dallas, Texas as his destination to take advantage of the continued prosperity of the oil boom. But getting Targaryen Oil & Petroleum off the ground may be harder than he anticipated, all thanks to the determined efforts of a single, stubborn, spellbinding cowgirl.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Nameless Female Character

Warnings: Language, Aemond is a cunt but so is the OC so it evens out?

-

The birds did not chirp. No squirrels were scuttling around, and no deer creeping through the undergrowth as they emerged from their dens. Even the cicadas were quiet, observing the mournful procession below them.

A beat-up truck hauling a rickety trailer kicked up dirt as it drove away. East, she knew. In a few miles, it would turn south. Then, there would be paved roads. Traffic lights. Other cars with roaring engines and blaring horns. Civilization.

Around these parts, ‘civilization’ meant one thing: Dallas.

The family inside the truck, the Cordrys, had been able to afford a new two-story house with the money the oil company gave them. They even had enough left over to buy a second if they wanted. But they wanted to stay together – family is family, after all. Instead, they would send Buck, their eldest son, to the university that opened in Dallas some years ago. He hadn’t yet decided whether to be a preacher or a lawyer.

The young woman watching them leave from atop a nearby hill dearly hoped he would be a preacher. Buck was always good with words, which would suit either profession, but he was also kind. She had never met a lawyer herself, to her knowledge. But given that it was a lawyer who negotiated the deal for the Cordrys to sell their ranch, she decided she didn’t like lawyers.

Lawyers had come for her home, too. Vermillion Ranch apparently sat on very valuable land, not that her ancestors knew it when they first settled there over 100 years ago. All they knew was that it was the prettiest piece of land for miles and miles. Still was.

Her Papa loved that land so much that when the lawyers came to buy it from them, he’d chased them off with his shotgun. He hadn’t been so proud or happy in years, but it cost him, leaving him so exhausted that he hardly got out of bed for a week. So, when the lawyers came back, she’d taken up the shotgun and did the scaring herself.

They hadn’t been back in a while, but she knew they’d try again soon.

She would never let them have the land, even if they offered her all the gold in Fort Knox.

Loral, her beloved horse, knickered as she chewed at the shoulder of her shirt, breaking her from her thoughts just in time to see the Cordrys’ car fading in the distance, little more than a smudge of dirt against the sunset as they passed by a half-built oil derrick.

“Come on, girl,” she said, patting Loral’s neck. “Let’s go home.”

-

Within minutes of stepping off the Gay Abandon in what locals called the “Free State of Galveston,” Aemond Targaryen decided he hated Texas. 

From what little he had seen of the United States, he could confidently say he hated most of the country, with only a few notable exceptions. But this place? With its cacophony of warring jazz music and industrial clanging, undercut by overloud radios and the people shouting to be heard. With the skyline jumbled with shoddily rebuilt slums, sprawling stone factories and warehouses, and brightly painted beachside resorts teeming with people that would look much better suited to Los Angeles or Miami. With the stench, a horrid combination of fish, brine, booze, and oil.

Perhaps “loathe” was a better word than hate for this city.

At least he didn’t have to stay long. 

A car was already waiting for him at the dock to take him to the train that would deliver him to Dallas. The moment the chauffeur was back in his seat, he opened the glove box to reveal an amber bottle of ‘moonshine,’ which he then offered to Aemond in a truly incomprehensible accent. How the man hadn’t already been arrested for so blatantly defying prohibition, he didn’t know.

Yet another reason to hate America - the continued illegality of alcohol.

Though he’d yet to find a city where liquor couldn’t be found with even the mildest of efforts, he still refused to indulge. He could not risk arrest just for the brief escape a good glass of wine offered. There was too much riding on his new task.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum Inc.

As of now, it was only a packet of legal documents and an office somewhere in Dallas that Aemond hadn’t yet laid eyes on. But given a year or two and no small amount of hard work, it would be one of the most profitable ventures in the history of Targaryen & Sons. After all, it had by far the best potential of any of the other new projects. Texas was at the heart of the booming oil industry, and as the world’s demand for electricity, cars, aeroplanes, and more grew exponentially, so would the market for so-called “black gold.”  

Much of the state's southern half had already been claimed, but the north had begun showing new promise. All Aemond had to do was buy a few hundred thousand acres of land from the farmers there and start drilling.

He would win, he had no doubt.

Not that it was truly a competition. Or at least, his father had not called it such. Still, how could it be anything but? The old man sent each of his children and two eldest grandchildren to the New World with one task: make money - lots of it.

Aemond’s elder brother, Aegon, had purchased a film studio in Los Angeles to invest in the new talking pictures. His sister, Helaena, was in New York, where she bought some magazine about nature, or geography, or something similar. His younger brother, Daeron, had gone to a city called Detroit to manufacture automobiles for racing. Viserys’ grandsons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, followed Aegon to Los Angeles to pursue aviation engineering and radio broadcasting, respectively.

All respectable prospects, but not nearly as lucrative as oil was. In truth, the only competition Aemond faced was from his elder half-sister. Rhaenyra had also gone to New York to start an investment bank. She would surely do well, especially with the support from her husband’s shipping empire. But Aemond knew she would soon lose interest and pass her responsibilities onto someone else so she could indulge her own interests - namely parties and men.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum would prevail in the end, and Aemond could return home as the heir apparent to Targaryen & Sons.

All he had to do was spend a year or two in this hellhole.

-

“You have gotta settle down, girl,” she grumbled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her Momma’s old handkerchief. She glared at the massive mare who had been giving her nothing but trouble for the past six months, holding tight to her leads, only letting go when the new stall door was closed and double-latched. “Lumber’s expensive. We don’t have the money to keep this up, and we’re all outta spares.”

There were seven stalls in the horse barn. Only two were occupied, and only those two still had doors. The mare had broken five of them. Not to escape the barn or the ranch. No, she never went anywhere. She did it just because she was cranky, and she could. The cowgirl also suspected that the horse was somehow amused by it.

“But you like making me suffer too much for that, don’t you?” An exaggerated shake of the mare’s huge head certainly seemed like a gleeful yes. She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

With the horses tended, she made her way to the house to fix lunch for her and Daddy before riding out to meet the herd. She was only halfway across the yard when she heard a far-away engine growing louder and louder. It couldn’t be neighbor - they were all gone now. That only left a few options, and none she was too pleased about.

Each step up to the porch creaked as she climbed toward the house. Maybe she could use some of the salvageable wood from the latest destroyed stall door to replace them, even if the color wouldn’t match. Paint was just as pricey as lumber. 

“Daddy! You up?” She only poked her head through the door, not wanting to get barn muck inside the house. Momma's strict rules still applied, at least to her. “Daddy!”

His grumble sounded an awful lot like the cranky mare’s. “I’m up! How can I not be with all yer hollerin’?”

“It’s almost lunch, Daddy. You need to be up!”

“Fine, fine. I’m up!” He tried to snark back more, but it quickly became wracking coughs. Daddy was sounding real bad again, and even if it wasn’t the usual day, maybe it was Doc Spooner in that car coming to check on him.

The car had gotten close enough that she could start to make out its shape within the cloud of dust it kicked up. A shiny bumper and bright green paint. Not a car she recognized. “Hey, Daddy, is the doctor comin’ today?”

“Not today, hun. It’s Tuesday, ‘member?”

“How ‘bout Pastor John?”

“He’s down in Waco for the rest of the month! Why you askin’ anyway?”

Then who the hell was in that car? She had an inkling, but she was sure the last time Daddy got the shotgun out would be the last time they’d be bothered about this. “Car’s coming up the drive. You wanna handle it?”

She hoped he would. But to her disappointment, he shouted back, “Too damn tired! You take this one, hun.”

So, she shut the door and leaned against it, watching that shiny green car pull into the ranch proper. Chickens scattered away from it, even though they weren’t anywhere near its path. The goats and sheep meandered to the edge of the yard, not wanting to be disturbed but unwilling to wander too far for fear that one of the dogs would come after them. Meanwhile, the dogs barked ferociously at the mechanical intruder but didn’t so much as stand from where they rested in the shade of the house—lazy good-for-nothin’s.

The car finally stopped. It was even fancier than the cars the other lawyers came in, with brass polished to look like gold on bits that were usually chrome. If it wasn’t absolutely coated in dust, she might even like it. A man in what looked to be a green police uniform came out the driver’s door. Very fancy, then, if the lawyer wasn’t driving himself. 

When he emerged from the back seat of the car, the man nearly took her breath away.

He was tall and thin as a beanpole. But he didn’t seem delicate. Maybe that had more to do with his suit - deep blue pinstripes with what surely must be padding in the shoulders. Most of it was likely due to the sour expression on his handsome face. Not handsome like farmhands or cowboys were handsome - gruff and rugged - but like how movie stars were handsome - softer and refined.

Or at least, he would have been if he weren’t sunburnt to all hell and sweating like a whore in church.

This man was not from around here, and as far as she was concerned, he could fuck right off. Of course, he didn’t. He just walked right up the porch and took off his hat, revealing his slicked silver hair.

“Who are you?”

He raised a brow as he looked her over, head to toe. Judging by the slight sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth, he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. “My name is Aemond Targaryen.” Lord, he even talked fancy, with a soft, pretty voice and some kind of accent she’d never heard before. Though his sharp tone left something wanting. “May I ask for your name, miss?”

“No.” Handsome as he was, it didn’t change that she wanted him gone as soon as possible.  “What do you want?”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “As I said, my name is Aemond Targaryen, proprietor of Targaryen Oil & Petroleum. Have you heard of our business?”

She certainly had. Not only had it snatched up the land from most of the farmers and ranchers in the area, but it had also started buying land from other oil companies, too. Undoubtedly the worst of all of ‘em. And Mr. Targaryen himself was now standing on her porch, looking down at her as if she was a piece of shit on his shoe. She clenched her jaw to stop it from dropping open and pointedly stayed silent.

“Well, we are relatively new.” He glanced off to the side, his distaste for everything around him as clear as day. “As the name “Oil & Petroleum” implies, we are in the oil business. I’m - ”

“No shit.”

He looked at her like she’d just shot him. “Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘no shit.’” She gave him her best, over-sweet smile.

“Yes, well…” His hat creaked as he clenched it in his fist, his jaw so tight she half expected it to snap. “Our petroleum geologists - very smart people who study oil - have determined, or found, that there is a large deposit beneath this land,  meaning that there is a lot of oil deep underground. Oil is used to power electricity, cars, and many other things, so it would be very good for everyone if we could get the oil out of the ground. We do this by drilling. Do you understand me so far?”

Uppity bastard. Did he really think she was so dumb she needed all this explained? “Oh, I understand you just fine.”

“Very good,” he praised, as if she were a child who’d taken her first steps. “Now, to be allowed to drill for oil, you must -”

“I’m not selling my land.”

The last dregs of false politeness faded from his voice. “I’m sorry?” 

“I am not selling my land.  Not to you or anyone else.” Even if it meant her only neighbors would be oil derricks and lawyers circling like vultures.

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Miss, based on the value of the land and the oil under it, I am willing to pay you forty dollars per acre.” He stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to keep looking him in the eye. Very pretty eyes, even if they were filled with frustration. “Given the size of your property, that comes out to over forty thousand dollars. Do you know how much money that is?”

She shrugged as she crossed her arms, raising her brows in mock awe. “Sounds like forty thousand dollars.”

“I -” He shook his head, so visibly exasperated that she had to stifle a laugh. With his skin as red as it was, he looked like an angry tomato. “That is a life-changing amount of money, surely.”

“I don’t want my life to change.” Other things, sure. Of course, she would love it if her neighbors came back or if she didn’t have to listen to the grinding of metal from one of the derricks whenever she was on the west side of the property, but those were just minor annoyances. 

“You could go wherever you want, do whatever you want, yet you would rather stay here?” 

Looking him dead in the eyes, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Something funny ‘bout that?”

It took him a moment to reply. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to offer -”

“I understand you completely, Mr. Targaryen. You ain’t the first lawyer to come try to convince me and my Daddy to sell.”

Perhaps it was a mistake to mention her daddy. As soon as she did, Mr. Targaryen’s exasperation disappeared, and he was once more calm and smug. Still looked like a tomato, though. “Your father is here? May I -”

“No, you may not.” She pushed away from the door to block him from moving closer. No way in hell was she letting this ass anywhere near her daddy. “I promise he wants to talk to you even less than I do. Now shut up and listen.”

To her surprise and satisfaction, he did.

“You really think everyone else sold their land but me because the lawyers never came my way? Oh, they came my way. Over and over again until Daddy got so fed up, he took his shotgun off the mantle. They all stopped comin’ pretty soon after that. You are, in fact, the eleventh lawyer to come here and try and buy my land. Surprising, ain’t it? I can count higher than ten. I also know how oil drilling works. I s’pose you didn’t notice when you were drivin’ out here, but there are oil fields all around me.”

She stepped toward him, throwing an arm out to point to the nearest one, its steel towers rising from the earth like black weeds. Mr. Targaryen barely glanced at it, his eyes remaining on her as he stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. 

“So I know exactly what you’re gonna say to try to convince me to hand over the deed, and I’ll tell ya right now, it’s not gonna work.” When she took another step forward, he did the same. So she did it again and again, until one more step would send him tumbling into the dirt. “So get off my porch, get off my property, and go straight to hell with your forty-thousand dollars. This land is worth at least 90 bucks an acre, and you goddamn know it.”

She didn’t wait for his reaction before turning and storming into the house, regardless of Momma’s rules, the door banging shut behind her. But she stayed just inside the house, her back pressed against the door as she waited for him to leave.

It was a while before she heard the porch steps creaking again, and longer still before a car engine hummed to life and drove away. He’d hung around, for whatever reason.

Daddy was waiting for her when she went to the kitchen, his handkerchief already tucked into the collar of his shirt. “Who was that man you were yellin’ at, hun? Gotta be either a lover or a lawyer for you to get that mad.”

“Lawyer,” she answered. “A new one. Wanted to buy the land.”

“He give you a good offer?”

She laughed as she opened the icebox to grab the meatloaf from last night that would fill their sandwiches today. “Lowest one yet. Think he thought I was dumb enough to not know the value of my own land.”

“It’s still my land for a little bit longer, girl. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.” She knew he was joking, but it still stung. He’d been doing that a lot recently, making light of the fact that the doctor had told them he couldn’t be cured and would likely be dead within a year.

“Don’t talk like that, Daddy. Please?” 

“I know. I’m sorry, hun,” he sighed. The jokes helped him feel better somehow, she knew. But they made her feel so much worse. “Now come on, you woke me up for lunch, so where is it?”

-

Aemond was once more in the back of his car, dust obscuring the view as he returned to that ranch – Vermillion, according to the faded sign on the side of one of the barns.

After his last visit, he’d pored over every paper in the Targaryen Oil & Petroleum offices, searching for a way to alter his plan without having to acquire the land. It was possible, but it would slow down development and cost him far more than he’d initially planned to invest. Purchasing the land at the price that stubborn cowgirl claimed the land was worth was the frugal option.

Or at least, that’s how he justified the decision with his investors and executives. It certainly factored into his decision to return, but was far from his central motivation.

The cowgirl had pushed back at him, and he refused to concede to a half-wit hick with illusions of superiority. If she wanted to be stubborn, so would he.

So, he once more stepped into the rocky, dirty, foul-smelling yard surrounding the dilapidated farmhouse. Ranch house? Either way, it should have long since been condemned. The wood paneling was saggy and greying, the roof messily patched, and the steps onto the porch groaning like a rusted wheel. And when he pounded his fist on the front door, he half-expected it to fall off the hinges.

Miraculously, it didn’t. But neither did it open.

Instead, a remarkably gruff voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”

Thank God, it wasn’t the cowgirl. She had mentioned a father, who might be far more amenable to selling, but she had also mentioned something about a shotgun that made him hesitate before calling back. “My name is Aemond Targaryen. Do you have a moment to speak?”

There was no answer other than the sound of shuffling feet and something pounding on the floor.

Then, the door opened to reveal a massive man, his years of hard labor evident in the width of his shoulders and stern set of his brow. This was the kind of cowboy who inspired the legends that had spread around the world. But he was also undeniably weak and ill. His skin was thin and sallow, his broad shoulders slumped, and his eyes sunken and shadowed with fatigue. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, a compass fixed to its head, and its wood mottled yellow and brown and charred in spots. Aemond did not doubt that if he took the cane away, the man would collapse.

Still, the cowgirl had talked about this man scaring away other oilmen with a shotgun, and he didn’t want to risk the same fate.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, dipping his head. He’d allowed himself to be too terse with the girl. Perhaps a more genial approach would help him find success with her father. “I’m very pleased to meet you. May I ask for your name?”

“No.” The word was deep and rasping, followed by a wet cough. “You the man that pissed off my little girl couple days ago?”

Aemond gave a strained smile. “I did have the… pleasure of speaking to your daughter, yes. My apologies if I left her angry following our conversation. I’m afraid I have not yet become used to the heat here and allowed it to affect my mood.”

“I’m not the one you should be sayin’ sorry to.” The man thumped his cane a few times, then turned away.

Damn it, not again. “Sir, I – ”

“She’s in the horse barn,” he called over his shoulder. “Go bother her. I’m too old for your bullshit.”

-

When she’d heard an engine outside, she assumed it was Doc Spooner coming to check on her Daddy, even if it was a little earlier than normal. It wasn’t until the door to the barn opened that she knew it was someone even more unpleasant than the grumpy old Doc.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” She asked Mr. Aemond Targaryen as he walked into the barn, nose wrinkling in disgust. This time, it was justified – she was in the middle of mucking the stables, a shovel full of shit in her hands.

He forced a smile. “First, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you. I offended you, and I deeply regret it.”

If he hadn’t seemed so genuine, she might have just flung her newest load of shit in his face. Instead, she dumped it into the wheelbarrow beside her before putting her shovel down. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Her Momma’s voice echoed in her head: a little kindness goes a long way, hun. But why should she be kind to a slimy, good-for-nothing oilman who was probably only saying sorry to butter her up so she’d sell him the ranch? Still, Momma’s angel was firmly planted on her shoulder, and she’d never been able to say no to her.

“I’m sorry too,” she sighed, crossing her arms. She felt like a scolded schoolgirl again. “You were rude first, but it was tacky of me to be rude back.”

Again, silence fell in the barn, only broken by an impatient grumble from the old mare. Mr. Targaryen immediately turned to her, his eyes going wide at the sight. “Who is this?”

“The Jacksons just called her Ol’ Gal,” she explained, stepping forward to try to stroke the horse’s nose. “I’ve been doing the same.”

He just hummed as he came closer, looking at the mare like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “The Jacksons… they owned Live Oak, yes?”

Ah, so he’d been the one to buy it. She missed that place. The Jacksons always hosted the nicest picnics. Mrs. Abbie Jackson made the tastiest green bean casserole in the county. “Yeah, that was them. When they sold, no one wanted to take Ol’ Gal. Too old ‘n too ornery. They were gonna take her to auction, but I knew the only folk that would buy her then wouldn’t treat her right, so I offered to take her.”

“That was very kind of you,” he murmured, stepping closer to her stall. Somehow, the mare didn’t startle or even stamp her hooves.

“I don’t think she’d agree with you. She’s been madder than a whole nest of hornets since she got here.” And had cost her five stall doors and a dozen fence posts, not even counting the time it took to care for her when she fought every bit of it. “Hey, I wouldn’t get too close. She’s prone to bitin’.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, not even looking at her.

In all honesty, she wasn’t gonna be too mad if he lost a finger, or at least a couple knuckles. But he would very much mind and, as a lawyer, would probably use the accident to force her to sell Vermillion. “No, really, she’ll – ”

Lean into his hand quite happily, apparently.

“How the hell did you do that?”

He smiled smugly, shrugging as he continued to stroke her snout. “My father keeps horses. I had a fondness for the older ones that were largely ignored in favor of the new acquisitions, and they had a fondness for me.”

“Funny, I thought animals were better judges of character than that,” she mumbled. Oh shit.

His smile was gone, and he dropped his hand from the Ol’ Gal. His eyes, which had seemed to see her as a person, again looked at her like she was the very shit she was shoveling. “Apologizing was not the main purpose of my visit.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” The voice of her Momma was screaming in her ear, begging her to apologize for her unforgivable rude words, but her pride shoved it down, down, down, until all she could hear was the hum of cicadas and the faint swishing of Loral and Ol’ Gal’s tails. “What is it you want, then?”

He crossed his arms behind his back. “After some new research, I’ve determined that my original estimate of the value of your land was, as you said, incorrect. I am now willing to pay you ninety-three dollars an acre, bringing the total value of my offer to more than ninety-six thousand.”

Offering her so much money pissed him off, judging by his clenched jaw and strained voice. It didn’t amuse her as much as it did the first time. Still, she wasn’t going to give in just for more money. “My answer is still no. Hell no. Fuck no. Whatever no you need to go away and never come back.”

Something snapped for him, and he surged forward until their chests were nearly touching. He craned his neck to look down at her, fury burning like the summer sun in his eyes. “You stupid little cowgirl. Are you so stubborn that you’ll tell me no just to what? Feel powerful? Feel like you’re somehow superior to me? It’s a fucking joke.

“I’m offering you the chance to become a person. To live in real, modern civilization.” He laughed, cruel and humorless. “But you’d rather stay here? In a house that will fall apart the next time there’s a strong breeze, and spend your days shoveling shit? My God, you’re hardly better than the animals you keep.”

Oh, how she wished she was a horse, if only so she could trample him under her feet. Or one of her cattle, so she could gore him with her horns. Even if she was one of her dogs, she could shred him apart like he deserved.

But she was just what he said, a stupid, stubborn cowgirl.

She turned away from him, opening Loral’s stall to saddle her as quickly as she could. She needed to get away, or she was going to do something she would regret. Likely hurt him. Possibly cry. Either way, she refused to do it.

“Where are you going?” he asked once she was in the saddle, clutching the reins so hard they dug into her skin.

“I have chores to do.”

He stepped in front of Loral, arms out to try and prevent her from riding off, but Loral sidestepped him with ease. “I’m not leaving until I get my yes.”

“Then I guess you better follow me. Or you can always go sit with the dogs where you belong.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spurred Loral into a gallop and left Aemond Targaryen behind.

-

When the cowgirl and her horse faded into the distance, Aemond screamed. He didn’t care if her father or his driver heard him. He needed to scream. What had he done to piss off God enough that he would put this girl in front of him?

Behind him, the old mare snickered, banging her legs against her stall door.

“How do you endure her?” he asked. God, he really had lost his mind if he would stoop to commiserating with a horse. At least the horse seemed to dislike the cowgirl as much as he did – he had one ally.

If he was going to succeed, perhaps he needed an ally, even an equine one. After all, horses had helped win the Great War, and this girl certainly felt like his personal war. Very well, then.

He had the mare – Ol’ Gal needed a proper name – saddled in mere minutes. Then, he was off, chasing after the most infuriating woman he’d ever met with the determination of a general.

Whatever it took, he was getting his yes.

-

Author's Note: yeehaw motherfuckers

[specialagentlokitty]

Derek morgan x reader - thunderstorms and those small moments

Hi! Could you do derek morganxreader where he takes her with him to one of the houses he renovates but a big snow/thunderstorm stops them from going home so they are stuck there for a couple nights Fluff ensues as they try to make the best of the situation by cuddling and catching up on what happened in their personal lives🧡 - Anon💜

Looking around the old house, you walked into the only room that was finished.

“Of course you finished the kitchen first.”

“Hey, where else are you supposed to cook amazing meals if there’s no kitchen.” Derek chuckled.

You laughed a little bit, and he took you to the stairs.

“Careful, there are little unsteady.”

Derek held his hand out for you, and you took it, letting him carefully lead you up to the second floor.

Your fingers were laced with his as he showed you the other rooms, explaining his plans and his visions for each room.

You didn’t really understand most of it, renovating properties wasn’t something you were all that interested in, but Derek was and he loved it, so you were trying to make sense of everything he was saying.

You both went back downstairs and you sat in the middle of the living room while you watched Derek.

“Why did you ask me to come anyways?” You asked.

“I thought you could use the company, especially after the last case.”

Derek looked at you and you offered him a small smile as you picked up some of the papers and tools he had laying around

“Thank you..”

Derek walked over, kneeling down in front of you and he took the things front you, taking the safety glasses from his face he put them on yours

He then held out the hammer for you, and you furrowed your brows a little bit in confusion.

“I got a wall that needs bringing down and a (Y/N) with a needs to work out some rage.”

“Derek it’s okay.”

“Come on sweetheart, I know you like breaking things and trust me you got a real talent for destruction.”

“Is it too much work for you Derek?” You taunted.

“I just know I ain’t stronger than you.”

You laughed, and Derek walked behind you, putting his hands under your arms to haul you to your feet.

You walked over to the wall, and he pointed to where you needed to swing the hammer first and you did.

You were a little unbalanced, and he stayed behind you in order to keep you from falling over from the weight of the hammer you were holding.

You kept going for as long as you could until you arms began to ache, and you finally set the hammer back, turning back to Derek with a sheepish grin.

“Feel any better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He smiled at you, leaning down to kiss the side of your head.

“You ready to talk about what happened?”

Your hand instinctively went to your thigh, feeling the bandage from under your jeans.

You shook your head and Derek gave you a gentle look, nodding his head in understanding.

“Alright, we don’t have to. Come on, let’s go sit down, don’t want you overworking yourself now do we?”

“I’m as fit as a horse.”

“Yeah, got the bullet wound to prove it and all.”

You laughed a little bit, making your way to the kitchen to sit on the chair.

Derek picked up his jacket, placing it over your shoulder, and he pulled a chair over to sit in front of you.

You placed your hands on his knees, looking up at him.

“Can I ask you something Der?”

He gave you a soft smile.

“Of course, ask whatever you want you know that.”

You nodded, taking a small breath.

“I uh.. I’m thinking about taking some time away from the BAU…”

“You’re leaving? Where would you go?”

“My parents downsized and moved to a small country house, I guess I would go there for a little while, they’re on a cruise at the minute, so they won’t be back for a while.”

Derek nodded his head.

“And the question?”

“Would you… would you come with me… if I did?”

“Yeah, yeah of course I would (Y/N). I wouldn’t let you go alone you know that, I got time off I need to use, I can tell Hotch I’ll be there in emergencies.”

“Really?”

Derek placed his hand over yours, giving it a small squeeze, running his thumb along your knuckles.

“Yeah sweetheart, I know right now you can’t be alone. When you’re ready to talk about what happened I’ll be right by your side.”

You leant down, resting your forehead on his hands, tears burning your eyes.

“I just don’t want to be alone…”

“Hey, hey it’s okay… it’s alright… you’re not going to be alone…” he whispered.

Derek leant down, kissing the back of your head and he cradled your face in his hands, lifting your head so he could look at you, wiping your tears for you.

“How about we go to that little pizza place you love so much?” He whispered.

“Can we have Thai food instead…?”

This made him laugh a little bit.

“Whatever you want sweetheart.”

You stood up, pulling his jacket on properly, and he did the zip up for you, picking up his bag, the pair of you making your way towards the front door.

You both noticed the dip in temperature the closer you got, and you shared a look as he opened the door to see the rain hammering down all around, the wind whistling through trees.

There was a few flashes across the sky, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the very building you were stood in.

“Can you see the car?” You asked.

“No, it ain’t safe to go out there, we need to stay here until it passes.”

Derek closed the door again, ushering you to the kitchen and he rummaged through some of the cabinets in there, pulling out a blanket and some candles.

“Some people would consider that creepy Derek Morgan.”

He chuckled.

“Sometimes I forget to look at the time so I would stay here instead of going home.”

You hummed a little bit, letting him wrap the blanket around you before he began lighting some candles.

It didn’t light up the place all that well, but it made it easier to see when the lightening wasn’t streaking across the skies.

Derek went through a few more of the cupboards, pulling out some snacks and a few cans of soda.

“Damn Derek you’re really stocked up huh?”

“Gotta be prepared for any situation. Here, these are your favourites.”

He handed you your favourite sofa and snack, and you smiled sweetly at him.

Derek sat next to you, and you wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, sitting between his legs with your back against his chest.

“So, if I didn’t bring you with me what would you be doing?”

You thought for a moment.

“Probably be at home to be honest, maybe asleep or watching tv.”

“Yeah? With that dog of yours?”

“You mean Thrasher?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. You’ve had him a few weeks now right? What breed is he?”

“He’s a Doberman, my friend couldn’t keep him at her apartment but she couldn’t keep him at the shelter either. He’s actually really sweet once you get to know him.”

Derek hummed a little bit.

“Didn’t see him last time I was there.”

“Oh yeah, he was at the vets, that’s all.”

He nodded his head, wrapping his arms around you with the blanket, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You got me as your big scary bodyguard and you get yourself a dog, should I be insulted?”

“Yeah but nobody’s scared of either of you.”

He chuckled.

“Careful sweetheart that just might break a mans heart.”

You grinned a little bit, leaning your head against him.

“Come on, I wanna know everything, tell me what else you’ve been up to.”

You turned on your side, resting one leg under his and the other over it, mindful of your injury.

Resting your head on his chest, you began to tell him everything you had been up to while you weren’t at work, from volunteering with your friend, to just lounging at him.

Derek wanted to hear about it all, so you told him about it all.

He just listened, arms wrapped around you, making sure you were fully wrapped up inside the blanket in order to keep you warm.

“So, when we run off to the middle of nowhere what’re we gonna do?”

“Well, there’s a nice village nearby. We could go there, or there’s a hiking trail nearby.”

“You’re gonna hike with that shit leg of yours?”

You laughed, playfully hitting his side which made him laugh.

“It’ll be fine by then. I’ll have to bring Thrasher though, can’t leave him alone while I’m enjoying the country life.”

“Yeah? What about me?”

“Yeah I could leave you happily.”

“Ouch, okay. I see how it is, you know what? You know what I’m gonna do?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna take you there, then I’m going to go down to that village and get a house there, then I’m gonna move there, and the only rule is you can’t go there.”

You grinned a little bit.

“You can’t stick to that.”

“Can’t I?”

“Nope.”

“I reckon I can.”

You hummed a little bit, moving away from him and you laid down with your head on his bag, turning to look at him with a little grin.

“Get your ass back over here before you freeze.”

“Nope. If you can stick to it you can stay over there then.”

“(Y/N) you’re going to freeze come on.”

You just grinned a little more at him.

Derek stared at you before he rolled his eyes, making his way over he laid next to you, covering you up with the blanket.

“I knew you couldn’t stick to it.”

“Hey, this doesn’t mean I won’t stick to it.”

You hummed a little bit, turning your back to him and he chuckled, climbing over you to lay on your other side, wrapping his arm around you.

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek and he closed his eyes.

Your touch as gentle, almost as if you weren’t really brushing your knuckles against his skin.

Derek opened his eyes, moving forward to press his forehead against yours.

“You’re so damn stubborn you know that right?”

“Yeah but you wouldn’t love me if I wasn’t…”

“You could be the most stubborn person out there and I’d still love you.” He whispered.

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

He chuckled, leaning foreword to gently kiss you, then he pulled away.

“I’d make you your own little house and everything.”

“So you wouldn’t try make me not a worm? Wow okay.”

“You didn’t say that was an option.”

You leant forward, pressing your lips to his again, resting your palm on his cheek.

When you pulled away, you resting your head on his chest, letting Derek pull the blanket around your shoulders.

You balled your hands into the fabric of his shirt, and he ran a hand up and down your back.

“But would I really have to turn you back into a person & just keep you as a worm?”

“You asshole.”

He chuckled a little.

“I’d travel every country if I had to sweetheart don’t you worry.”

You closed your eyes with a little grin on your lips.

“So does this mean I can live in your fake village house now?”

“You can live in any fake house I own. I love you.”

“I love you too Der…”

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century poly shifter romance (Part one, sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Well folks, here it is. You said you were interested, so I hope it meets expectations! Here's part one for you, of a multi part story. If you want to kno wmore about it, you can find some more info here, as well as a little 'mood board'.

Content: sfw, the daughter of a country gentleman from Sussex relocates to a sleepy fishing village in Cornwall in order to become the paid companion of a young widow, and meets some of the locals on her arrival. Wordcount: 3972

Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark - Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk. Laces for a lady; letters for a spy, Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by! ~ from ‘A Smugglers’ Song’, Rudyard Kipling (1906)

In the cool, lavender light of a late spring dawn, a gaff-rigged cutter drew into the sheltering arms of a small bay at high tide, and quietly dropped anchor. As if the soft splash had awoken him, a cockerel spluttered to life in a farmyard somewhere inland, but most of the villagers were already up and awake and steering their small, secret fleet of boats out from the golden crescent of sand beneath the cliffs to meet the waiting ship fresh from Roscoff.

Beneath the waves, where churning kelp moored itself in unyielding handfuls to the ancient granite of the sea floor, a long, serpentine shadow snaked between the stalks, and the currents of the coastline subtly shifted. Any revenue men trying to sail along the coast from Fowey to catch the smugglers would have found the wind and tide set dead against them, and in the subtle wake that wafted from the mottled, eel-like tail as it passed unseen, the waters of the secluded inlet calmed beneath the keels of the scurrying fishing boats. The drag of the oars through the waves lessened, and muscles already tired from heaving and hefting goods up the cliff moved a fraction easier for the unexpected boon.

Between them over the next hour, the gathered men and women shifted their haul of half anker barrels and dozens of crates and boxes of goods ashore. The small kegs of rich, French cognac would fetch a pretty price all across Cornwall, and along with the liquor came smaller luxuries like lace and silk, and bundles of tobacco and spiced tea, all meticulously wrapped in oil cloth to keep the sea and the salt and the water out.

And when the speedy, slender ship was riding noticeably higher in the water, the locals simply melted away into the countryside like so many mice from a late summer granary before the excise men even knew the ship from Guernsey had visited the cove at all.

Fifteen miles away, as the sun breached the horizon and cast its first rays of warmth along bellies of fleecy clouds and the flanks of blossoming hedgerows below, a stagecoach lurched and rumbled westwards along potholed roads, and a young woman stared out of the grimy window as the horses carried her into a new chapter of her life.

After leapfrogging some two hundred miles or so along the staging stations that dotted the South Coast, with nothing but a small trunk of her belongings and a thrice-read, dog-eared novel for company, Eleanor Bywater was more than ready to see the back of that infernal stagecoach. Had it not been for the small but inconveniently bulky travelling case sitting at her feet, she might have hired a horse and ridden from the last staging inn at Plymouth to reach the secluded fishing village of Polgarrack, but given that the trunk held all her worldly belongings, she had not been quite desperate enough to escape the discomfort of hard seats and poor suspension to abandon it.

Bouncing along in the nearly-empty stagecoach, she studiously tried to ignore the older woman sitting opposite her. She’d stared intently at Nel since they'd left Plymouth behind that morning, and her scrutiny had begun to make that last twenty mile stretch feel much, much longer.

Finally, after jouncing over a pothole deep enough to start prospecting for copper ore at the bottom, Nel gasped and then raised her eyes to meet the woman’s openly curious stare. She found sympathy for her own discomfort, and a small degree of kindly amusement too. 

“Where are you headed, miss?” the stranger asked after Nel raised the hint of an eyebrow at her as the silence stretched.

“Polgarrack.”

At that, the woman’s grey eyes narrowed in confusion. “Now what takes a young miss like you to an old fishing village like Polgarrack?”

She looked to be in her fifties, though a life beside the harsh sea had weathered her features somewhat, and her wiry grey hair was covered by a simple linen cap. Her dress was dark and plain, though there was a hint of tired lace around the neck and cuffs. Her hands had the tough, reddened look of someone who scrubbed pots and salted fish, while Nel’s own hands were smooth and soft, if a little ink stained from sending a letter to her friend before leaving the inn that morning.

Nel laughed quietly and shrugged. “There’s no mystery to it,” she said. “I am to be employed as a companion to the widowed Lady Penrose at Heath Top House. I am expected there this afternoon.”

Given that only ladies of relatively high social standing themselves tended to become a ‘lady’s companion’, the older woman made a hasty re-evaluation of her fellow traveller, and her already ruddy cheeks flushed a darker shade as she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces in Polgarrack, is all. I didn’t mean to pry or cause offence with my questions.”

“No harm in a little curiosity,” Nel said, trying to put the stranger at ease to avoid any further awkwardness between them on the remainder of their journey. “I take it you’re from Polgarrack yourself then?”

“Oh, born and raised, miss,” she chortled. She eyed the forest green redingote Nel wore, with its rather masculine high collar, wide lapels and small, gold pocket watch dangling on a chain, and the contrasting sage green skirts beneath, and no doubt made one or two judgements of her own about the young lady. “And yourself? You don’t sound as though you’re from these parts at all, if I may be so bold.”

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

The woman’s watery, grey-blue eyes widened almost comically and she gasped. “’at's a bloody long way, miss! And all on your own?” She shook her head but remembered herself and mumbled, “Begging your pardon.”

“You’re right,” Nel sighed, letting her gaze slide to the window to watch the countryside roll past in a blur of salt-bleached grass and vibrant yellow gorse flowers. “It is a bloody long way.” And her spine and backside felt every lump and bump and lurch of the stagecoaches from Sussex to Cornwall. With a warmer smile, she turned back to the woman. “My name is Eleanor, but most people call me Nel.”

“Agatha,” she replied with a grandmotherly smile of her own for the young woman. “But everyone calls me Aggie. My husband, Martin, is the village carter and smith, and we’ve got four boys, all of them either fishermen or miners. They all married too, so I’ve got nine grandchildren, if you can believe it!”

Nel offered Aggie her congratulations and another little smile, and then ventured to ask, “Will you tell me a bit about the place? I should like to know more about it, since it is to be my home for the foreseeable future.”

Aggie brightened even more and shuffled her plain, dark skirts, giving a wince and a grunt as the coach lurched over a pothole and the driver cursed audibly above them. Settled, if not entirely comfortable, she began.

“Well, see now. Folks has been fishing these waters for time out of mind. Pilchards is our mainstay, o’course, but the folks over St. Austell way mine clay, and obviously there’s copper and tin mines all over in the north of Cornwall. Mining here is as old as fishing, but it’s starting to dry up here and there now, o’course.”

She barely paused to draw breath before barrelling on, and Nel sat and listened while the older woman talked.

“Now, your Lady Penrose married into the Penrose family — see, she’s from Bath herself originally, though I can’t rightly remember what her family name was, but…” Nel let Agatha's potted history of the fishing and mining community wash over her, paying just enough attention to make polite sounds at the right pauses, but the discomfort of the journey and a decided lack of sleep was beginning to wear her attention span down to a single, fraying thread.

After two hours in the swaying, rolling coach, she felt woozy and weak-stomached, but with Aggie’s near-constant chatter, she at least had a better understanding of the politics of the little village than she’d ever have gained in six months on her own. She’d also learned why Aggie had been in Plymouth, since most folks never had any reason to travel further than the bounds of their own parish. Agatha’s sister’s husband had apparently been killed in the American Revolutionary War some ten years earlier, and since the widow’s health wasn’t the best these days, Aggie made the trip along the coast when she could to see her and take care of her.

Nel’s ticket took her as far as Whitcross, a desolate intersection of paler roads on a clifftop overlooking the tightly-nestled fishing port below, and away across the heather and tufted grass of the heath, she could just see an old manor house in the distance, flanked by tall copper beeches and ash trees. It looked slightly further away than she had anticipated, and she glanced apprehensively down at the travelling trunk at her feet.

Still, she was aching for fresh air and to be free of the sickening motion of the carriage, so she took the driver’s hand and allowed him to guide her safely down onto the hard-packed surface of the road before he lifted her case down for her as well.

From inside, Aggie peered out and scowled disapprovingly. “Now just you wait a moment,” she barked at the driver, who cocked an eyebrow but did pause. “Did they not send someone for you, dearie?” she asked Nel, still leaning out of the doorway and peering about like a disgruntled badger, and using the endearment freely. Apparently, two hours of talking non-stop at Nel had removed any pretence of formality or sense of social distance. Nel might as well have been adopted into Aggie Carter’s family as a niece by that point, and she couldn’t help but smile at the warmth it conjured in her chest.

“I… I never thought that far through,” she admitted, with her hand atop her bonnet as the wind gusted up from the sea below, soaring delightedly over the edge of the cliff and racing on inland as if to continue the momentum of the great rolling breakers that foamed and thundered against the shore. The coachman glanced at his pocket watch and groused something about a schedule that was almost immediately lost to the next inward gust.

“No, no, dearie,” the old woman scoffed. “No, you must come into the village. It’s far too far to go all by yourself, and with that case as well. Here, let me —”

“I can manage the case, I assure you,” Nel said with a gentle smile as Aggie half-toppled, half-leaned out of the coach to pick up the case. “How far is it to the house?”

“Two miles up that hill yonder,” Agatha said, pointing with one gnarled and arthritic finger towards the house on the rise to the north. “Come to the Lantern, and we’ll have one of the lads take you up once you’ve caught your breath.” The Lantern, as Nel now knew thanks to Aggie’s detailed prattling, was the inn at the centre of the village, right on the water near the harbour.

She had been about to protest, but with a sigh, she simply nodded. The constant journeying and jolting had worn her down more than she cared to admit, and while she wasn’t the kind of wallflower she’d met any number of times in London during the Season, a life led mostly indoors with few opportunities for physical activity had not prepared her for a two mile walk in heavy, too-fine clothes, carrying an unwieldy case in gusty conditions. Her family had been invited a number of times to Goodwood House to walk the large park there, and she had frequently ridden a rather spirited mare through the parkland of Lavington Hall with her dear friend William, so she was not entirely unused to the great outdoors, but she did have to admit that her experiences had been rather more curated and sanitised than the wild expanse of heathland visible on all sides of the stagecoach from Whitcross.

“You’re kind, Agatha,” she said, and let the woman heft her case into the otherwise empty coach.

The thing about a tiny village was that an outsider stood out a mile, and a young lady in her mid twenties and dressed in impractical, rich green clothes, stood out like a beacon in a dark night. Everyone turned to watch her as she disembarked from the coach. At home, she had barely garnered a look from anyone. Being the centre of everyone’s curiosity there was novel and, in a word, horrifying.

She almost blurted aloud that one would think she was a revenue man come inspecting for smuggled goods, but she bit it back just in time. Cornwall’s so-called ‘free trade’ and smuggling rackets were absolutely none of her concern as an outsider, infamous though they may be, and it would do her no good to start sticking her nose where it did not belong.

The Lantern was a half-timbered, two-storey building that faced the walled harbour. Its painted sign was peeling and sun-bleached, and it squawked something dreadful as it swung back and forth in the squalling wind. Mullioned windows glinted and shimmered, though the small, diamond panes were caked with a haze of salt spray, and alongside the inn, a hand-cart rumbled down from a narrow side alley towards the harbour beyond, where fishing boats bobbed on their mooring lines at the lapping high tide.

Agatha pushed open the black-painted door but came to an abrupt halt as someone appeared to be leaving the inn at the exact same moment, and nearly barrelled into her and Nel.

“Oh, excuse me,” came a young man’s hoarse tenor, and he stepped aside within the inn’s small porch to allow the two women to enter before he left.

Nel noted briefly that he wore well-made but plain clothes, and carried a hefty looking cane in his left hand, upon which he leaned while he waited for them to pass. He was pale and thin, his undyed linen shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his light brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck into a horsetail. The moment he met her eye, he inhaled in surprise and almost immediately looked away, his large, dark brown eyes turning shy and uncertain. “M’lady,” he mumbled without looking up.

She didn’t have time to correct him and tell him she had no such title, because the moment she had stepped inside, he was off out into the day beyond, limping markedly on his right leg as he went.

Nel turned back to find Agatha waiting for her, watching. “That there was young Edmund Nancarrow,” she supplied as Nel caught up with her. “Local lad. Lots of Nancarrows in this area,” she chuckled. “Can’t move for tripping over a Nancarrow. He was a shy, skittish thing even before he went off to war in the Colonies and came back with a bad leg,” she added. “But he’s a sweetheart if ever I saw one. Tailor’s ’prentice he is now.”

At that, Nel just nodded. Something in her ached when she realised she probably wouldn’t have much to do with the folk from the village once she was ensconced up at Heath Top House, and she half wised she could. They already sounded far more interesting than the Lady Winnifred Penrose, with whom Nel had only exchanged a short flurry of letters before becoming formally engaged as her ‘companion’. 

Still, an unmarried woman of Nel’s age and social standing was considered almost past her prime, and given that the few marriage proposals she had received had faded into the mists of her very early adulthood, she had had to find another respectable way to support herself. Hence, Heath Top House.

Aggie bustled her into the main room of the pub, and their arrival caused a flurry of activity that drew the eyes of a good few patrons. 

Seated at the wooden bar inside, hunched over a pewter tankard, sat a tall, bulky man in his late-thirties or early forties, with long, thick, dark grey hair shot through with a shimmer of silver white. He had it tied back off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and as he turned to regard Nel’s arrival, she met unusually deep green eyes surrounded by a web of crows’ feet lines in a tanned, weathered face. His scowl was dark and full of suspicion, but even the storm clouds in his expression couldn’t mask the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged, rough-hewn kind of way.

When she saw where Nel’s attention had snagged, Aggie let out a little gasp and snatched her by the upper arm to steer her towards an empty table in a bay window, about as far from the wooden bar where the man still sat and glared at them as it was possible to be. 

“And that’s Locryn Trevethan,” Aggie hissed as she saw Nel settled into a seat. “Can’t say as I’ve seen him in here more than a handful of times this year though. He’s usually out on the water. Lives alone in an old stone cottage round the bay from here, up at Pilchard Sands. You’d probably best be giving him a wide berth, miss. Not that he should give you any trouble, mind,” she amended carefully, “But he’s not for the likes of you to go mingling with.”

Nel smiled at the protective tone in the older woman’s voice, and nodded once.

With her warning given, Aggie raised her voice and called over to the old man behind the bar. “’ere, Tom! This young lady needs a ride up to Heath Top. You think you can arrange that for her?”

The stoop-shouldered, white-haired man nodded and knuckled his forehead at Nel across the space. “Not the finest, but we got a cart.”

“If you have a horse, I could ride,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Ain’t got a saddle for a lady,” he said regretfully.

Memories of galloping through the leafy trees of Lavington Hall’s parkland with William flashed across her mind and she suppressed a smile. She certainly hadn’t ridden the grey mare side-saddle while keeping up with her childhood friend, and although it had been a year or so since she’d sat astride a horse instead of side-saddle, she thought she could manage well enough. “I know how to ride a man’s saddle,” she said, “But I do have a travel case I’d need to send someone back for.”

“I could get one of the lads to bring that up for you after,” said Tom, “But it’s almost as much effort to hitch up a cart as it is to tack up a horse for riding, ma’am.”

“Whatever is the least trouble for you will do fine,” she said, and the stoic, weather-beaten old man’s red cheeks darkened and he ducked his head.

While Tom left to sort out transportation to the house, Aggie flapped about getting some refreshments for Nel, leaving her to wait at the table alone.

In the wake of the hubbub and pother Agatha left behind her, Nel took a long, deep breath looked around to find Locryn Trevethan still staring across the room at her. Taken aback by his directness and the intensity of his glare, she tried to smile, but his expression remained thunderous beneath strong, dark brows, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

In a face turned to leather by the sun and sea-wind, wide cheekbones and a heavy brow framed his piercingly green eyes. Never mind that marked crow’s feet around his eyes that made him look like he would rather have been laughing; the contrast between the dark, hostile glower and the soft laughter lines unnerved her and made her feel off-balance, as though her stranger’s presence in their local pub had unknowingly raised the ire of a usually gentle man. 

He had a short, neatly-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard around full lips that were currently turned down at the corners and which bore a silver-pink scar across the middle. Despite the warm day, he wore a fisherman’s dense, woollen sweater, and when she risked another look back at him, she found him still frowning openly across the bar at her.

Nel didn’t relax until Aggie returned, at which point the man snapped abruptly out of his trance, slammed a coin down on the bar, and strode from the pub on long legs that were thick as tree trucks at the thigh. The door bounced back off the plasterwork in his wake and his boots rang on the flagstones outside.

“Not one to welcome strangers, I take it,” Nel muttered, and downed half of the cheap, watered-down wine that Agatha had set on the table for her.

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind, miss,” Aggie scoffed, settling herself down into the seat opposite her like a brooding hen and glaring at the pub door. “He don’t seem to like no one in Polgarrack save for sweet Ned Nancarrow, strangely enough. Then again, I ain’t met no one who’s taken a disliking to sweet Ned. Now, Tom will have the horse and cart ready for you in just a moment, but you just take your time and recover after your journey.”

Nel, who had felt ten times better the moment she’d taken her first proper lungful of sea air on stepping out of the swaying stagecoach, looked across the table into the older woman’s face and found a mother’s kindness and compassion in her wrinkled face, and something twisted in her gut. “You’re very kind,” she whispered, unable to muster anything more. “Thank you.”

She chuckled. “You know, and don’t you take this amiss, but you remind me of my niece a little, though she’s a little younger than you.”

Nel’s eyebrows twitched in wry amusement, and Agatha blushed at the impropriety of her words. Nel didn’t get the chance to reassure her because Tom shuffled back in and told her the cart was ready for her.

She laid a coin on the table for the wine and stood, following the innkeep out into the yard and clambering up with her case into the back of the cart. It was hardly a very dignified mode of transport for someone of her station, and when Tom said as much while they rumbled out of the inn’s yard, Nel just laughed and said she didn’t mind.

“Anything is better than that awful rolling stagecoach,” she beamed, and swung her legs back and forth like a child off the back of the cart bed while Tom clucked his tongue at the horse to hurry up.

As they trundled up the narrow, cobbled street from the harbour, they passed Edmund Nancarrow standing outside a tailor’s shop, talking with the beast of a man from the bar. Both men looked up and watched her pass like she was some kind of rare spectacle.

In a way, she supposed she was. 

Still, she smiled at them despite her nerves, and Edmund knuckled a non-existent cap at her with a shy smile, while Locryn just glared.

She sighed and wondered what this next chapter in her life would bring.

___

Next chapter ->

Well, what did you think of it so far? I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it, as always!

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[hellowoolf]

on strawberries and masonry: chapter ii

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

OR

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), a little bit of blood/gore (at the very end), scars (NOT self inflicted), knives, mention of stitches, mention of masturbation (if i left out any, let me know!)

word count: 2.9k

authors note: thank you guys SO MUCH for all your kindness on chapter i. writing this story thus far has been cathartic and challenging and wonderful. i hope you enjoy this next chapter🤍

series masterlist | masterlist

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you don’t think of the people you worked with before jackson. out of self preservation or self suffocation or some amalgamation of the two, you let the whole of them go, frozen over and pieced off into nothing by the town and your garden and the little house you took up. on your path to the stables, wind curling about your torso and squeezing there, you can admit that you loved them, and this was your greatest concession. still, with trembling fingers you’d let the thing go, out a half-open window somewhere within you, and starved yourself the satisfaction of the remembering. now, though, coming up on the stables and knowing joel waits for you there, you think of the softness of them, which survived in spite of the killing, and suddenly you’re reeling in the line you cast when you hauled the memory of them over. 

you walk through the great doorway of the barn. the line of joel’s back shakes a little as he tightens something on his horse’s saddle, and the hardness of it makes you quiet and hot between your legs, a wanton thing that reaches for him, but you are certain it would be the reaching that scares him from you forever. his hulking figure casts a long shadow, and you feel it grazing your ankles as you saddle your own horse, but still he is as terrified as he was when you first met him, perhaps now more so in the face of his residence here. by his gait and the jerk of his movements you determine the permanence of jackson disquiets him some. it’s your first patrol with him, and so in the early morning light you allow his terror to consume you to make no room for your own.

the patrol is silent, save for the give of snow under your horses, though this is unsurprising to you. you seek out silence, or have sought it, at least, but you find the quiet unbearably difficult with him, what with the warm wood of his eyes and the carving of his silhouette. the fire of him, which he wraps his arms around in a frantic sort of way, catches on you when your horses drift together, and so you mind the gap between your paths and time your glances towards him.

despite yourself and all the rest, the time passes quickly. you return your horses to the stables, again in silence (forever in silence, it seems) and walk together in a staggered sort of synchronization towards the dining hall. 

but he sits with you, here.

surely, he’s no less comfortable with you than the rest of the town, who have filled the tables now, and so you figure he resigns to your company in favor of the unthinking of it. the weight of him next to you presses at your stomach and you constrict with it, your mouth swallowing around your tongue, and your thighs make to wrap around one another because still, you want him to touch you. you do your best, at his shoulder while you both eat, to pull the sweetness of your wanting from around your neck and wrists, but it refuses to extract itself. you suppose if joel can yield to your closeness, you can do as much for the lust, but immediately regret drawing any sort of comparison between you. you think again of the group before jackson, and your heaving of the creature of them into an ocean like blurriness and a faint sort of penitence, but the line of yourself has run out, and so the wanting of joel stays ashore with you.

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you haunt the garden later in the evenings, now that your mornings are spent in the cold, looking silence of joel, and the soil is cooler in your palms then. your strawberry came and went, the vines of it flowering and fruiting into sugar and seed, and perhaps it’s the chilled hands of the twilight along your sides, but you can’t help a selfishness with them. you’d left a basket of them in your kitchen before stalking back to the planter boxes tonight, and even in the dirt that touches you like a baptism you are glad for this sweet little monopoly. all the rest of your garden you’d given, nearly willingly, to the dining hall for eating; a thankless sacrifice you took sated pleasure in, believing only the soft and good could be capable of such a donation. but the strawberries are yours, you decide, to eat or let rot or preserve in resin like flowers.

as you scoop in the last palmful of new soil into the planter box, you sense joel’s little creature, in all her skittishness, contemplating coming into the greenhouse. she watches your fruits in the daytime, you know, with or without you, inspecting how the greens and reds of things come along. like joel she is silent, and like you she measures her distance. you turn your head, and she’s watching her reflection in the door.

“you can come in, ellie, i’m almost done,” you call through the glass, shifting back to your cucumbers. she moves only when you aren’t looking. 

“that one’s fucking ugly.”

your spine stiffens and locks in place. it’s the first full sentence she’s ever given, and the sound grabs right below your collarbone. the profanity of it, and the mundanity, too, unspools something within you. ellie came back to jackson even more vicious than when you’d first met her, though her face was made new with a sort of vacantness now, and the whole of it resembles the youth of you from years ago. but she’s talking to you, suddenly, about the cucumber by your left hand, which hangs hideously misshapen, and your fingers tremble in the dirt with the leadened weight of her effort.

“yeah, yeah,” and you smile a little, but keep your head turned, “it’s pretty grisly.” you hear her swishing responses on her tongue, and from your shoulders down to your forearms drips the yawning need to make her a vegetable and protect her in mulch. the sins of your adolescence, done by and to you, remain a plague to you, and you feel as though ellie is your chance to mend them (a selfish thought, a selfish thought). you know that to indict her as your adolescent self is an accusation too unfair to voice, but all the same you find yourself looking for forgiveness in her in a gasping kind of way. the gasping pushes the words out.

“you can help me in here, if you want. i could show you how i take care of everything.” and you do look at her, now, a leaf standing at your back, but her eyes are probing over the soil along your fingers. it strikes you that she’s smart enough to figure you wear the dirt to be cleansed, and you think it’s in this figuring that she steps closer to you.

“yeah.” but she doesn’t kneel, yet. “but not tonight.”

you nod. “okay, not tonight.”

and you don’t say it with any resemblance of conclusiveness, but nonetheless she takes it like goodbye, backing out the greenhouse doors and absorbing again into the night.

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weeks go by like this. you brave the snow, unprotected and newly fallen, with joel at daybreak, and let him follow you into the dining hall like you don’t think about how his cock would feel. the brutish quiet of him eases none, but in the evenings you help ellie (coarse as anything, but a tender thing) care for the things growing in your garden. this you do in silence, too, but it’s a filling sort of stillness that strikes you as a gift. 

you feel less venomous than you used to. joel, the selfish violence of whom bares itself in his posture, makes you something soft and yielding. even against the rushing water of your wanting of him and his neglect of you, you return to the stables every morning like a pull upstream for the knowing that you aren’t doomed for hell alone. and ellie, now, has become a harbinger of your caring, and you’re reminded of the ease with which you used to love. you loved, once, and to be faced again with this loving is a sanitizing pain you relish in. walking home from the greenhouse in what must’ve been the very early hours of the morning, you brush your dirtied hands down your jeans and drop your brutality to hang loosely at your side.

you’re a few yards from your porch when you see him standing there, hands warming in his pockets and his shoulders strung up by his ears. the night clings to joel, dark accumulating on his shoulders and broadening him further, but he’s scuffing the toe of his boot back and forth against the wood of the deck and you have half a thought to hold him. it’s a horrific thing you slice through immediately.

“can i help you?” and it comes out a little unkind, pained as you are to speak with him, but you find you mean it sincerely.

“uh,” pause, “yeah.” the cold snaps at you, but you know if you see him inside your home you’ll never sleep again, so you do not invite him in. “i was…well,” pause, he’s pausing, “well, i was noticin’ ellie comes by to your greenhouse.”

sometime in the last few seconds you’ve found your way in front of him, the bass and scratch of his voice tugging desperately at you. you nod a little. his eyes will kill you, surely. “mhm. she’s not…” and you let a breath of a laugh out through your nose, “she’s not a natural, really. but i like having her there.” and then, “she seems to enjoy it.”

he nods back at you, the swing of his head cautious while he keeps his eyes tilted down to yours. the moon peeks through his curls in silver pillars. “and she’s been okay?”

there’s a worry in it, in him, that startles you, an unknowing you’re unused to. you hum to comfort the both of you. “yeah, i think so. she doesn’t really speak to me, but i don’t mind it.” 

you know you’ve made a mistake as soon as you say it in the way his eyebrows pull together. you see, through and across his eyeline, his own refusal to speak on your patrol rounds; it stands in the space between you now, and he crosses his arms over his chest to push it further off him. 

“you don’t mind it.” and he’s only parroting you, really, but his question sinks to the ground at your feet. what about my silence? do you mind that?

“no, i guess i don’t.”

a pocket of silence passes through the both of you, rigid, and then he sucks on his front teeth, jerking like he’s made a decision and walking past you, back down your porch steps. “i’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he mumbles out as he goes, but you’re choking on the leathered scent of him, and so you offer nothing in return.

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“why d’you work in the garden?” 

daybreak had come as a surprise to you, the dawn reaching through your curtains to paw at your floorboards. still, the habit of your days lets you float unmindful through the morning, and so you’d mounted your horse and slipped out the gates with joel with little pomp and circumstance. but now you’re squeezing your horse’s reins through the lines of your palms and willing yourself not to tip off the saddle. you’re shuddering, now, because he is talking to you, he is talking to you. and the flames of him, of that voice and of those hands (you aren’t religious but you pray about the hands) are released from the hold he’s kept on them, extending to lick down your spine. and you want him, desperately and unrecognizably. 

“i don’t really know.” your own answer disappoints you, for how much you’re affected by the asking. the squeak of his gloves scratches behind your eyeline. he’s never ridden next to you; the rhythm of his horse stays behind the line of your shoulder, always.

“did you…” and you can hear he’s considering scrapping the whole thing, defaulting again to the quiet, “did you garden? before?”

“i didn’t do much of anything before.” you run your fingers through your horse’s mane. “i was eight on outbreak day.” you don’t know why you add this part.

“jesus.”

you can only nod. “what did you do?”

he considers your question and kicks into his horse a little, finally, mercifully, lining you up side by side so you can see his face. he doesn’t look at you, but the side of him devastates you just as much. “i was a contractor.” he grunts, at you or the memory of it you’re unsure. “y’know, fixin’ houses and la-”

“i know what a contractor is.”

he’s hardening and you’re watching it happen, but you don’t think you can help it. “christ, you were a kid,” and he starts gesturing with his hand now, “i figured…” but you never find out what he figures; he lets the end of the sentence brush away with the wave of his hands. you think of him, last night on your porch, and the way he’d searched so earnestly in you for pieces of his little creature, who might not be as much his as you had thought.

“you’re welcome in the greenhouse, too. you can see how ellie trims the plants and things.” he turns his face fully to you then, examining you, you think for the first time. joel’s eyes bump around and poke at the space you take up, noting where you end and begin, and though he lets you watch him think, he takes great care to tuck the thoughts away from you. even still, it makes your cunt throb beneath you and you look for your own embarrassment, but it slips between your fingers. you grin at him a little, instead. again you cannot help it, you cannot help yourself with him. “you can always help out, too, if you want.” and then, “but if you manhandle any of the plants i won’t let you back.”

he lets out a breath that sounds like amusement, but only just. regardless, it fogs in front of his face. “manhandle?”

and he’s giving you something here, by entertaining your jab at him, but you don’t know what to name it. your little grin grows curious; he’s surprising you. “yeah, they’re delicate. you have to be gentle or i’ll kick you out.”

he turns back from you to the road in front of him, but you make out the slight pull of his cheek into what could almost be the twitch of a smile. it’s gone in an instant. “alright. no manhandlin’.” and then, mostly to himself, “scouts honor.”

“okay then.”

he hums, low and stilted, and that’s the end of it. and, really, it shouldn’t shock you as it does that joel drawls like tommy, but still you bask in how he sips on his words, all honey and southern heat. the rest of your patrol falls into silence again, the elastic of the moment snapped back into place, but you remain tacky with the stick of the accent and the shapes of his voice. 

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everything is muted around you, and you’re halfway shocked to find yourself running. your mark focuses ahead of you. someone is screeching your name behind your head, but you don’t dare look.

the thing you’re chasing is human. it moves like it’s new, but the size of it slugs ahead in the whole expanse of your vision. your father’s knife tethers you to its handle and you ready it in your hand.

and the killing is easy, your body suddenly pressed against the back of this poor creature, who gurgles its life out as you twist your knife in its neck. it should disgust you, and it does not, and there is nothing else to say about it.

the world falls away, then. you’re alone and the knife has been kicked from you. a deep gash traces down your bicep. the wound begins to grow, stretching from your arm to the whole of your chest, and your body is consumed, gone, gone, gone, eaten up by the hurt and the blood and the unseemly edge of skin, and

you’re awake. a bead of sweat drips a line down your neck as you heave in place. you look down, the scar covered by your right hand, which claws at it and holds it still. you go long stretches without thinking of this mark, what with the cold of jackson and the sleeves you wear; the forgetting is blissful, and the remembering nearly reopens it. you unlock the vice grip of your hand on your arm to inspect the stitching, still jagged all these years later, the seam of you raised into something like healed. and yes, the mark of your stitches remembers that someone had attempted to put you back together. but the bulk of the tissue, which healed over by way of pure spite and refusal to die, feels a lot like an indictment. alone in your bed, you clasp your hands together, and plead that god is as cruel as you have been, so she may take pity on you.

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chapter ii !! i KNOW these conversations between our little gardener and joel are tense but she’s trying and he’s trying and it will all come to a head soon i PROMISE ! hope you liked it :)🍓🤍

taglist: @koshkaj-blog (if anyone wants to be added let me know!!)

[hannibalzero]

Do you know who I am?

Charthur 🦬🦌🦬🦌 dabble!

With Dyani! Beware of cute and just Arthur.

Coming back from fur trapping, Charles Smith had hardly been gone a week but he was already so damn homesick. Turns out when you have a home to miss, it happens so easily. Charles hardly got on the trial before wanting to turn back and run straight into that little ranch house up on the hill with that large flower garden.

Charles missed Arthur, missed Dyani, his bed with that heavy quilt and a warm bath.

Taima being a spoiled and beloved horse now, saw her barn and broke out into a canter. She was sick of being on the road, she wanted to be home.

“Easy girl!” Charles soothed but couldn’t help but to smile. Excited himself to be home with his family. Taima stopped to allow Charles to open the stable door, Charles hurriedly got off before pushing the door open.

He stopped for a moment and counted. There were eight horses, when Charles left there was only three. Peaches, Gin and Brandy. Taima was with Charles of corse. Five random horses where looking at Charles curiously.

Arthur’s horses were still here.

But Charles still worried.

Removing the saddle and blanket, Charles took care of Taima and stabled her, he also cleaned his equipment and hung his fur haul to process later. Worry churned his stomach, did something happen while he was gone?

Charles took a deep, slow breath and settled himself as he approached the ranch house. He carefully pushed open the back door, the sound of Dyani crying made his heart hurt.

“Oh I know, it’s awful ain’t it.” Arthur soothed the crying baby in his hold. The sound of water filled poor Charles in on what was happening. In a washing basin on the kitchen table, Arthur was bathing Dyani much to her dismay. “Gettin’ wash up, I gotcha I ain’t gonna let ya go. Such a pretty girl.”

Beside the table was the actual tub, seems like Arthur was about to have a bath himself. The water was heating over the fire.

Charles relaxed a lot. “Hey.” He called out to his family, entering the room now as he closed the door behind him with a click.

“Hey you!” Arthur called out not hiding the smile on his face. Moving Dyani onto the towel on his shoulder and wrapping her up. “Wasn’t expectin ya till tomorrow!” He stood up and walked over. “God I missed ya.”

“Got done early, headed home as soon as I could.” Charles rubbed noses with Arthur before kissing him. Then moved down a bit to kiss Dyani. “Saw all those horses in the barn. You been busy?”

Arthur moved the baby to Charles shoulder towel and all. “Not by choice, but my hand was forced. Descent horses should fetch a good price after a little training.” Arthur went to pour the warm water into the waiting bath.

“Whatcha mean?” Charles asked his worry coming back to full force.

“Ohhhhhhh, small gang of outlaws broke into our house in the middle of the night. Thinking they could strong arm me for some money and well…pleasurable company.” Arthur said with a hum. “They hit the ground after sayin what they wanted and I got to work.”

“You took out a gang of outlaws?” Charles asked in shock holding Dyani closer now.

“While nursing.” Arthur sounded proud of himself. “I ain’t puttin up with nobody’s foolishness.” He looked back at Charles. “….we’re alright, I took care of everything.”

Charles was stunned for a moment. “You know something Arthur? I sometimes forget who you are and what you’re capable of. You are so sweet and caring, now that where out of the life it’s easy to forget.”

Arthur snickered cheeks turning red. “Imma Arthur goddamned Morgan Smith. I have a bounty of five thousand dollars and pretty red letters underneath saying don’t approach.” He bragged. “Husband of Charles Smith which they can’t find or charge. mama of the prettiest baby in four territories!” He leaned over and kissed Charles.

“Imma complicate feller you know?”

Charles smiled into the kiss. Nodding in agreement. “Yeah yeah you’re complicated. I’m glad you and Dyani are safe when I’m gone.”

“Miss ya awfully fierce when ya are gone. Makes me grumpy.”

“Those poor souls.”

“Ya got that right.”

[devnmon]

daryl smut set in season 9 during winter and he gives gender neutral/femme reader his jacket and blanket because they are really cold and frail. the reader thanks him endlessly and goes to bed and daryl checks on them and they wake up and then smooch and that leads to other things. ALSO PRAISE KINK PLS? and loving physical touches.

So Good for Me

hi anon! thank u for your request <3 i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: smut, praise kink, oral (f!receiving), doggy style

word count: 6.8k (my longest fic/request yet oop)

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The only sound heard amongst the wind were horses footsteps on pavement, as they pulled a cart carrying supplies from the kingdom. They were being brought to the Alexandria, in thanks to the sheriff for taking in the group as winter began. You walked along a paved road with the company of Daryl and many others, as you all set out on foot to the gated suburbia. Everyone had packed up and hauled out as soon as winter began to set in. The state of kingdom meant no one could stay in its walls, at least not while the colder weather made its appearance.

The current forecast suggested a bad storm was coming, which the group had found out from Jerry, watching as his barometer dropped with every minute that passed. Soon enough, every warm breath you exhaled was visible, constricting against the frigid air. The oxygen felt fresh and sharp in your lungs as your eyes darted around the group of people that accompanied you. They were mostly citizens of the kingdom, along with the king himself and his companions.

Your view focused past them, scouting the surrounding trees for any impending danger. The heightened state of peril was thanks to the Whisperers, a group of people that used walker skins to blend in and walk among the dead.

Though, you were with aid of a certain archer and other skilled individuals that could take out walkers with no problem. Even then, you had to keep a close eye, especially these days.

The weight of your backpack lingered against your body, as you shivered under the clothing you wore to keep warm. Looking over at Daryl, he trailed slightly behind you with his hands wrapped around the strap of his crossbow. The poncho he wore rested over his shoulders, covering his leather jacket and vest.

As if it couldn't get any colder, it began to snow, slightly at first, just flurries that fell unannounced. You didn't notice them when it started, but one particularly large flake landed on your nose, drawing your attention towards the white sky.

A couple minutes had passed, and the snowfall increased tenfold, pouring from the sky. It began to cover the world before your eyes.

You admired Daryl, who'd also been looking up at the sky, as the snowflakes fell on his hair and eyelashes. He continued walking, but felt the coldness stir him inside.

"Ain't that somethin'." Daryl's drawl startled you amongst the quiet, which pulled you from your train of thought.

"The snow? Yeah, it's pretty amazing." Daryl’s eyes glazed over to you, meeting him with a soft smile.

"That, and I’m experiencin' it with you." Your cheeks felt hot now as Daryl's words warmed your face. His steps picked up as he walked next to you now, slotting his gloved fingers between yours. The action made your heart swell a bit, seeing as the feeling of his hand was warming you now more than any clothing you wore. Not even the constant movement of your body was enough to warm you.

Apparently though, Daryl was enough to keep you warm.

He was definitely more than enough for you, in every way possible. Not only did his hair remind you of waves and his eyes the ocean, but there was something about the archer that made him irresistible to you. In everything he did there was love, compassion, and strength. Daryl was the kind of man to put everyone before himself. In the time that you'd known him, he never had anyone in his life put him first. Until he met you. you changed everything about his world.

it wasn’t just with the way you saw him for more than his image suggested. You knew deep down he was a good man, ever since the quarry. Daryl didn't believe he was, not until you showed him. Every night you spent together was in order to prove to him that he too deserved good things.

You proved to him that he was something good.

One day, Daryl realized that he wasn't thinking as low of himself, like he once had. Seeing himself in a new light coincidentally made his view on life better. He had something worth fighting for: his family, and you.

You had been mesmerized with him, reasoning behind the infatuation escaping you. He was so much different than any man you'd met, even before the world fell. Perhaps it was because he’d been the first man in a long time that didn’t look at you with the intention of getting you in bed. You’d gotten plenty of that from the world before, not to mention from other assholes at Alexandria. Daryl saw you as you were, a survivor, like him, with a heart of gold and loyalty like no other. He’d been there during the times you'd dealt with some real tough shit, his enamor for you growing with every day around you.

As the both of you grew older, the love you shared with him grew with you.

It didn’t take long for the falling snow to become a couple inches thick on the ground, the horses to pulling their carts with a bit of a struggle. There was no telling how much longer they could keep up in these conditions.

“Crap. If this storm keeps up, we’re gonna have to stop before the roads get too bad.” Jerry spoke loud enough for the king and others around him to hear. As you turned a listening ear, he continued. “We should stop here, or at least try to pull off the main road so we can’t be seen. A couple of us can split off into smaller groups to try and see if there’s shelter up ahead.”

Judging by the state of the horses and everyone’s general exhaustion, the group decided that stopping to wait out the storm was a better idea than trying to advance any further while it barreled on.

"Hey Jer, Daryl and I can walk ahead on the road to look for some place to stay. It’s freezing out here." You called out to him, wanting to help find some place for the group to stay.

"I dunno, dude. Maybe we should stick together while we’re out here. you know, benefit of a group and all that." He knew you and Daryl could handle yourselves if anything happened, but he didn't want to risk it, even with the weather.

"You know we can handle ourselves. Trust me! We'll be fine. If anything happens, we’ll shout. Okay?” he nodded in agreement as you shared a look with Daryl and started walking ahead. The group became smaller as you walked ahead, watching from afar as they pulled off the road into the surrounding forest.

The snow crunched under your boots as the both of you trekked further up the road. Your body began shivering more intensely, your jaw chittering against your teeth due to the temperature drop, whilst your fingers began to lose feeling. In attempt to warm your body up, you rubbed your hands against your arms to create any heat possible.

“Are ya warm enough out here?” Daryl’s eyes were filled with concern as he walked a bit closer to you. Frankly, he didn’t look warm either, seeing how the archer only wore the clothes he’d been wearing since the fall.

“When is anyone warm in this type of weather?” Daryl’s fingers interlocked with yours, warming you despite the freezing snow.

“We’re gonna find a place, and when we do, I promise to warm ya up. No matter what it takes, alright?” He brought your clasped hand up to his lips, leaving a kiss on the top of your hand.

“I mean, other people deserve to be warm too, you know? We can’t all stay out here forever. I doubt there's gonna be room for everyone even if we do find shelter.”

Daryl listened intently as you went on to talk about the safety and wellness of the group. He was lovestruck with the way you cared for people, mostly everyone around you. It showed him how big your heart was, and how he could not find himself anywhere else except with you. These days, he felt his heart beating for no one else except for you. You were no stranger to everyone in the adjoining communities, familiarizing yourself with each one and how they worked.

“Listen to me. I ain’t gonna just let ya freeze. ‘Sides, all those people got each other to keep warm. I think we’ll be jus’ fine keepin’ the both of us from frostbite. If ya need rest, we can tell the group to go ahead. I ain't leavin' you, ‘specially not now.”

You giggled at his sweet words and glanced to the road before looking back up at him. You scrunched your nose, the way you do when you get shy, one of the things Daryl picked up about you.

"Well I'm not leaving you either. You can bet on that." you moved closer to Daryl, wanting to steal any of his body heat for yourself. He could always warm you up, and there were more than a few ways he went about doing so.

"Damn straight." The corner of Daryl's mouth nudged up at the fact, perfectly proud to be the one who holds your heart.

The two of you walked quietly for a few minutes, contempt with the comfort it brought each of you. Peering off to the right side of the road and into the trees, you noticed something hidden among the trees. The snowfall didn't help you see it any clearer, but what you thought you saw, was definitely there.

"Hey, tell me you're seein' that.." Your gloved hand tugged on Daryl's arm, pulling the both of you from walking.

"What is that, a-" Daryl's sharp eyesight made it easy for him to spot what you were looking at right away.

"It's a cabin." You smiled at him as the both of you started off into the forest.

"Stay quiet, an' behind me." Daryl lifted his crossbow off his back, and to his shoulder. His eyes darted around to check for any unfriendly faces, dead or living.

"Yeah, okay. We got this." The both of you nodded, determined to keep one another safe.

After Daryl scouted the outside and crept up to the front door, he beckoned you over with a single motion. He opened the door slowly, entering with his weapon ready, you following. The whole house looked vacant, but Daryl checked and then double checked if everything was as it seemed.

Upon entering, the first thing that caught your eye was a huge fireplace, one that looked big enough to sit in. Your shivering returned at the mere thought of a warm fire; the two of you hadn't been able to keep one lit since the late autumn dried everything out.

"Dare, look at all this stuff. Wow, it even has a fireplace. Hey, do you think there's enough room for us all here?" You shut and locked the door behind you as Daryl checked windows and looked for any food to heat up.

"I dunno, looks like the typ'a place rich kids come on the weekends to throw parties."

"True, or hook up with their boyfriends." You looked at Daryl and he scoffed, although the idea didn’t leave his mind.

"Yeah, right." Daryl scoffed, but turned to you and noticed your trembling. "Sunshine, hey, sit down. Yer exhausted an' freezin' cold. I want ya to rest a little. Here..."

Daryl placed his bow on the kitchen table, shrugging his poncho and jacket off and draped them over your shoulders. You were shocked at the action, because when does Daryl ever take off his precious jacket and vest in one go?

There was only one time you could recall before that, in which the main idea was to seduce him that night. Of course, Daryl almost fell to his knees in your enamor. He would have done anything you'd asked that night. Other times, he just couldn't see you wearing it, to keep himself composed in public. Otherwise there would have been way more hickeys on your neck. One thing about Daryl, he was fond of making it clear who you were taken by.

"Daryl- but won't you get cold? It's not exactly the warmest in h-here." The heat of your breath was visible in front of your nose, which was turning red with the temperature.

"Trust me, I'm fine. Just worried about ya, is all. Can ya try to get some rest? F'me?"

You were about to defend yourself and say you weren't exhausted to your core, but it would be a lie... and Daryl would see right through it. A yawn escaped you the minute you'd opened your mouth, cutting off your rebuttal to him. The slight twinge in his voice as the words for me fell from his lips broke you a little. It also slightly turned you on.

"Mhm, that's what I thought. I'll keep watch an' start a fire up in here so that we both get warm. Alrigh'?"

You nodded, laying down on the couch, lifting your feet off of the ground for the first time in what felt like ages. The wave of fatigue washed over you, as your eyelids began to feel about ten pounds heavier than usual. You heard Daryl moving things around before you'd dozed off for rest you had no idea was needed.

"Daryl.." You spoke, eyes still closed as the tiredness began catching up with you.

"Mhm?"

"Thank you.. for your nice, warm, big jacket, and your nice, warm big heart. I love you so much."

Daryl's heart tinged at your words, worn from your exhausted state.

"I love ya too, sunshine." His words reverberated in your head as you dozed off.

Daryl gazed over your figure as you drifted off to sleep, your chest rising and falling with each breath.

Peaceful, he thought. Ya look so peaceful.

Daryl darted around the room quietly, looking for a quilt or blanket to cover you with. There was no doubt in his mind your whole body was frigid. Daryl had this thing about you where his need to make you comfortable was a main priority. It was one of the things that made him realize he loved you. that, and the help of his brother, Rick.

With no blanket in sight, Daryl pondered down the hall to try and find one for you. He opened one of the doors to the bedroom he'd cleared earlier.

"Jackpot." he muttered to himself, spotting a couple laying on the bed. He lifted one, a split second decision causing him to take another in his arms. Daryl wished that it was his body keeping you warm, and not the cloth he held in his arms. If he tried to sink onto the couch with you already asleep, there would be no room for both of you, and you'd likely roll right off. Daryl also didn't want to wake you, since your fragile figure needed all the rest you were getting at the moment.

He carried the blankets back down the hall, where you'd been sound asleep on the couch. He placed one over your legs, before he untied your boots and covered your feet with the rest of the blanket. Daryl draped the other one over your torso and arms.

He stepped back for a moment to take in the sight of you resting, content with the comfort Daryl knew he'd brought you. Smiling to himself at your soft features, he watched your breath steady.

If Daryl was honest with himself, he's pretty sure he would go blind just to see you like this, and it's the only place he wants to be. He's perched himself somewhere in your heart, somewhere he felt was guaranteed for him.

Daryl let himself sit and rest for a little while, after making the cabin as if there was nobody home. It was the extra step of safety he took to make sure you were really safe. After a while of scavenging the place, Daryl came across some cans of chicken noodle soup. He put the cans away in his pack and gazed over to your figure once more.

Daryl looked over to the fireplace thinking about what wonders the warmth of a fire would do for his frigid hands.

It's practically the same thing as a campfire, how hard could it be?

He made his way over to the tools and logs that lay around the fireplace, placing a few into the divot as he searched for matches and some paper. He ended up ripping more than a few pages out of a random book he'd found laying about. With one light of a match, the fire was lit. Daryl warmed his hands against the heat of the fire as warmth flooded the room. He picked up the long iron tools nearby to move some of the logs around, oblivious to you waking behind him.

You shifted slowly, rubbing sleep from your eyes as they opened to a familiar figure hunched over the now blazing fireplace. The blankets around you fell from your shoulders; you sat up, causing you to notice you'd been covered with a soft wool blanket.

Daryl must have done that. so sweet of him, you thought. Your socked feet hit the floor softly, the realization of your boots gone from your feet. Daryl again, I presume.

Your eyes lift from your figure to see Daryl sitting on the carpet in front of the fire, his arms reaching out to warm his hands. He looked pleasant, his legs crossed in a boyish way as his poncho lay on the floor. Daryl was fond of keeping you safe, watching over you with a hawk's eye while you slept, never growing tired of your ways of thanking him for doing so.

You stood up, the creak of the wooden floor catching Daryl's attention. His head turned around, bangs falling in front of his eyes a bit, visibly relaxing as he saw you.

"Oh, sorry. did I wake ya? Jus' wanted to make it warmer in here."

"You didn't wake me. Besides, I always sleep better with you."

Daryl did know that, despite his determination to keep you safe preventing him from just crawling next to you on that couch. Of course he wanted to feel your body weight laying next to him, he wanted to feel it every day of his life. He pined for the rare moments, ones where he could watch your chest rise steadily as you slept. He wanted to be the one waking you in the mornings, on the mattress you called home. The next time he got to sleep with you by his side, he would savor the moment as if it was his last.

He watched as you stood up, leaving the blankets on the couch you were resting on. Your socked steps were quiet as you made you way over to Daryl by the fire. Daryl's body absorbed the heat blazing throughout the room as your arm wrapped around his back. crossing your legs, you sat down on the carpet, perched next to him. His jacket still over your shoulders, you shifted closer to him, the two of you a few inches away from the fire.

"Ya look real good in my jacket." Daryl let the compliment fall from his lips the minute he noticed you still had it on. The words almost spilled out, like he couldn't hold back what he had to say about how you looked. Something possessive in him triggered when Daryl saw you in his familiar leather, the light of the fire illuminating your features.

"Oh do I?" An eyebrow raised at Daryl's confession, his eyes trailing down your body, and back up again.

"Mhm." Daryl's lip caught between his teeth, his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you into his lap. He leaned in to place a kiss on your cheek, the hairs on his chin rubbing against your skin softly. Your hands rested on his firm chest, one lifting to swipe his chestnut bangs from his face.

"There. Now I can see those pretty eyes." Giddy hands traveled up Daryl's chest, latching around the nape of his neck. You felt his breath hitch as the space between you became less. Closing the distance between your lips and his, you felt his flush against yours like it was the only thing in the world.

"Did ya sleep any good? Y'were out like a light over there.. an' yer real cute when ya sleep." The sight of you asleep was one of Daryl's favorite things, other things being the sight of you on top of him late at night.

"I did, thanks to you. Where'd you find those blankets anyway?" Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as Daryl looked over at you. The heat from your kiss radiated across his face, his cheeks becoming toned pink.

"There's a bedroom down the hall, had some extras. What, ya thought I was jus' gonna let ya sleep without one?" Daryl's tongue peeked out between his teeth, licking his lips, his ever so innocent action pushing you to kiss him again.

"Not in a million years." Daryl's lips pressed against yours excitedly, moaning slightly into the kiss. Daryl's familiar hands explored your waist, pulling you in impossibly closer. The warmth of you in his lap gave way to other feelings. Heat from the fire was overwhelming now, as you shrugged off Daryl's jacket to free yourself from the heavy leather. Your hands locked in his hair, fingers twirling around his wavy strands as you pulled on it out of reflex. Daryl groaned at the sensation, welcoming it as you rolled your hips slightly.

Daryl pulled back from the kiss, his right hand cupping your face, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. Daryl's blue eyes met yours with a gaze that was mischievous and covered in lust. Tension radiated from the silence in the room, and all Daryl could think about were your hands in his hair, tugging ever-so-needily at your demand.

"That felt good, darlin'. Do it again." Daryl's voice dripped with eagerness, waiting for you to pull mindlessly as your lips traveled the path of his skin.

"Do what again, this?" You pulled his hair a bit harder now, his chin raising into the air. The access to more of his skin allowed you to attach your lips to his neck, his fingertips brushing under the cloth of your shirt, one that was technically his. You moaned as your lips latched onto his skin, consumed with his scent and the fondness of his growing erection underneath you.

Rolling your hips once more, Daryl felt his jeans tighten against the friction you brought.

"Yeah, that."

He groaned, holding your waist with a grip that guaranteed you weren't going anywhere else. Your legs wrapped around his torso, scooting impossibly closer to him. Daryl took the opportunity you presented and lifted you in his arms as he began to stand up from the floor.

A squeal fell from you as his sudden movement, your reflexes grasping his strong figure tighter. He walked down the hall carrying you in his arms, your lips leaving kisses on his handsome face. You could feel Daryl chuckle in his chest as you did so, every part of you beaming with contempt for him.

Your kisses were sultry and sweet as they trailed down Daryl's neck, lingering on his collarbone and chest, where wiry chest hairs poked out from the top of his shirt. Your fingertips began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, almost fully undoing one before losing your grip on the plastic as you suddenly fell backwards out of his arms.

You landed on the soft comforter of the bed, Daryl standing above you. Daryl took a few steps back from the bed, teasing you in your chase for his gratification and yours. You'd been itching to help him take off that stupidly stubborn flannel of his, your hands eagerly buzzing with demand to feel him against you.

"Doll- just wait." You paused your movements, and nodded slowly, eyes not leaving the archer's figure as he unbuttoned his shirt. The nickname made your stomach flutter, tingles shooting like sparks across your skin.

"So good for me, ain't ya.." Daryl drawled, roughly undoing the buttons of his shirt. each one falling apart from the other piece of material slightly, revealing more of his strong chest. The curve of his pecs flexing under his shirt made you clench around nothing, your underwear pooling with desire.

Any coherent thoughts you had fled your mind as Daryl finally got down to the last button, the 'v' shape of his shirt itching to be thrown apart and off of his body. A low gasp exited you as he pulled his shirt off, bulky arms and tattooed chest on display.

Your eyes trailed from his neck, where your marks started to show, to the tattoo on his left pec, down to the birthmarks littering his torso like stars, to the happy trail that led to where you wanted him most. Daryl's pants were uncomfortably tight in the moment, your essence around him intoxicating him like a few dozen shots of whiskey.

He threw his shirt aimlessly behind him and looked towards you, shifting almost timidly as you realized Daryl had caught you staring. Your cheeks pink with blush, he treaded towards you, his fingers tipping your chin up to look at him.

"What'dya want me to do, hm? Want ya so bad, tell me what to do, an' I'll do it." He leaned down to your face, ghosting his lips over yours. His suggestiveness made your brain fuzzy. There were so many things you wanted from Daryl, despite the tension in the air preventing you from speaking a word.

"C'mon, sunshine. Use your words." Daryl started undoing his belt slowly, knowing his teasing would break down your will to hold back.

A radiant glow beamed from Daryl's face as he realized the visible intimidation washing over your figure. The mere sight of him made your lips part, Daryl's eyes dragging over your body.

"I- fuck, Daryl. You make it pretty fucking hard to think when you're looking at me like that-"

"Sunshine, ya know yer drivin' me crazy." His hands returned to the belt around his waist, the band of his boxers peeking out from the top of his jeans.

"Let me." Daryl looked at you with a smirk, walking over to the edge of the bed. Your hands shot towards him, undoing his belt as the clinking of the leather filled the room. You unbuttoned his jeans, pulling the zipper down. A low groan leaves Daryl at the friction, your hands darting to his sides, ridding his legs of the constricting fabric.

"My good girl." The unexpected praise from Daryl made you whimper, just slightly, not knowing whether he’d heard you or not.

“Hm? What was that? Don’t hold back, darlin’.” The tension caused you to whimper an octave louder. Daryl stood in only his boxers now, struck with the constant desire radiating from you.

"Shit, look at what ya do to me." You went to grab at him, your wrist being met with a hand around it.

"Please, Daryl. I want you so bad." You pouted as the he stood so close to you, yet he was still so far away.

"tTell me what you want, sunshine." Daryl's persistence drove you to unbearable heights, the pool in your underwear flowing with impulse and need.

"Want you... between my thighs.. want you to taste me, shit. I want-"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of ya."

You scooted back to the headboard of the bed as Daryl crawled towards you on the mattress. The tension in the air consumed you, as he stole a kiss that took your breath away. It lingered as he trailed his kisses down your neck, sensitive and soft, spreading goosebumps like wildfire. He kissed your collarbones, continuing down your torso, the breath in your chest quickening. Daryl watched almost methodically at your heaving breasts under the cloth of your bra.

His lips returned his path down your skin, finding his way to the waistband of your jeans. Daryl's nimble fingers undid the button and zipper with no trouble, continuing to pull the material down your legs.

He felt dirty, realizing that the first thing he'd noticed as he removed your pants was the visible wet spot on your underwear.

"Shit, doll. This all for me?" Daryl looked up at you, his icy blue eyes peeking through the bangs falling over his eyes.

"All of it.. cause of you."

You whimpered at the sight of Daryl over your pelvis. You couldn't even say his name without a grin breaking out onto your face. Daryl's hands attached to your waist, rubbing up and down your sides. You felt his hands move from your waist, up your back to the clasp of your bra. he let out a satisfied breath as the clasp loosened.

Cupping your breasts in his hands, his thumbs teased your already sensitive buds. His palms were warm, yet rough, calloused even, and somehow still soft against your chest. They were your favorite hands in the whole world.

"Feels good, hun? Tell me."

Whispering in your ear, his lips ghosted over your cheek leaving a gentle kiss, knee made its way between your legs unknowingly, pressing up against your underwear.

"Daryl, you make me feel so.. good. Fuck-" His hands moved from your breasts as they heaved with every heavy breath. Fingertips slid down your torso to your dripping panties. Daryl's hands pulled them up a little, increasing the pressure where your most sensitive part was. As you looked down to see him tugging on your panties, he let go of the waistband and moved one of his hands down further to the apex of your thighs. A finger pressed against the wet spot, growing a bit harder against his boxers as he watched the spot spread.

As if Daryl couldn't be any more of a tease, his head dipped down to kiss the wet spot on your panties before his fingers hooked under the waistband, slowly pulling the now ruined cloth down your legs. Daryl's hands opened your thighs, his palms warm against your skin.

Your bare mound against the cool air made a slight shock run up your spine. Slick dripped from you as you clenched around nothing. if Daryl didn't make a move right now, you swore you'd-

His lips attached to your clit then, a loud moan of your lovers name fell from you as his face lay between your thighs. His tongue swirled hungrily, trying his best to devour all of your sweetness. Your thighs twitched slightly at his contact, feeling his beard hairs between your legs when you did so. It swirled through your sensitive folds, pulling away to leave a kiss on your clit. Your thighs shook now, with Daryl spreading you out using the skill of his tongue.

"You-you're so good at that. Please don't stop.."

The words fell rom your mouth as one hand gripped his hair, the other running through your own. Daryl's lips were swollen and from being between your legs. your arousal heightened as he looked up at you with lust driven eyes.

Daryl never wanted to stop doing this, never saw himself wanting to stop loving you down like this. It brought him pleasure to make you feel like this, as he did repeatedly for you.

"Ya taste good, so damn sweet."

"Daryl..."

You breathed heavily, the stimulation of him above you life ruining.

"Jus' a little more, darlin'."

Daryl returned his tongue to your heat as a jolt ran through your spine. his tongue swirled relentlessly over your clit, wanting to bring you to satisfaction the way only he could. He sped up his tongue now, making your chest rise with quicker breaths as your high started to build. You cried out Daryl's name with a plethora of curses, groaning at the sound of you moaning in pleasure. The vibration of his gravel voice sent your hips grinding up into his mouth, pushed closer to your release.

"F-fuck, I'm- I'm-"

"Come for me, hun. C'mon, give it to me." Daryl edged you closer as his tongue pulled you towards your release. Your thighs clenched and shook around Daryl's head as your released washed over you.

"Oh- oh god-"

You rode Daryl's tongue as you came, the overstimulation of his tongue helping you ride out your high. Filthy sounds left your mouth as you cursed, the feeling washing over you.

"Ya did so good for me darlin'..." Daryl said, cleaning up the mess you'd made on his stubble. You tried to close after the multitude of pleasure you'd just experienced, until you spotted the tent in his boxers as he eyed your naked body in his bed.

Daryl pulled his boxers down in one swift movement, his length hitting his stomach at the release of the cloth, closing his eyes in relief as he finally rid himself of the confines of his boxers. The whole sight of him like this made you clench around the tension in the air.

"Daryl.. I want.. wanna feel you. Please... you're the only one who can get me like that."

You whimpered at the sight of the man in front of you, wanting him to take possession over your body and use it to his demand. He crawled over your body, sliding his tip between your folds as your hands latched onto his strong arms.

"Say please again, and I'll let you ride me." Daryl's drawl reverberated in your head, making you desperate enough to say anything to just be able to feel him like that again.

"Please, Daryl, I've wanted you for so long.." Daryl puts his hands on either side of your waist, entrapping you under his grasp and flipping you on top of him. His hand reaches to the nightstand before you went further, handing you a condom as a groan leaves his mouth, caused by the pressure of your body on top of him.

"Come here, I need you." Daryl beckons you towards his lips, begging for another kiss as your hand goes to his cock. Tou slip his tip between your folds the minute you kiss him, letting the slick between your thighs drip down his length. These days, you never caught times like this with Daryl, but the view before you was so sensual that you'd stay here forever if you could.

You pulled away from the kiss as you let his tip enter your hole, the enthralling sensation overtaking you. Your hands fell onto Daryl's chest as his steady grip lowered you further onto his cock. Moans paired with his name echoed in his head as your walls twitched around him. You sat down on him, rutting against his mound as you adjusted to how full Daryl made you feel.

"Ya okay? Feelin' alrigh'?" Daryl's hands still on your waist, knowing you need a minute to adjust to his size.

"Mhm, you're just.. big, almost forgot-" Daryl chuckled, not ignoring the way his length throbbed inside of you. He ran his large hands up your chest, hands cupping your breasts as he rolled your nipples between his fingertips. The sensation caused you to rut upwards, lifting from sitting with his cock in you for a moment.

"Like that?"

Your eyes glanced down at his face, now smothered in a boyish grin. Nodding, he pinched a bit harder at your sensitive buds as you began to lift yourself on his length. Your slick made his movement inside your hole easier for Daryl to move inside you. You rode him with ease now, picking up speed as you held onto Daryl's shoulders for balance.

"Feels so good, Dar.. love what you do to me."

Your brain couldn't comprehend the words you were saying, only how you felt. you had become overpowered by the pleasure Daryl brought you. His tip kissed the deepest parts of you, sensing you spasming around him.

"We both know no one else could fuck you this good. Ya take me so well, like my cock was made for ya." Daryl grunted as you continued to ride him, the constant friction you brought only made him crave release more. Your walls felt like velvet around him, squishing him into the deepest part of you.

"I am, Daryl, all yours." You hadn't realized till you looked down that he'd began thrusting up under you as you rode him. You heard a whimper escape Daryl, a sound rarely heard from the archer.

Each time Daryl gave himself to you like this, he wanted you to know that no one else could give you the same feelings he did. He needed you to know that every time he was away from you, it became more difficult for him to hold back how much he wanted to take you behind a closed door and have his way with you.

"Sunshine, I'm gettin close... Are ya.." Daryl panted, the heat of your walls around him catching up to his stamina.

"Y-Yea, almost..."

you moaned as daryl's hips rutted against the weight of your thrusts. He removed his left hand from your waist as he swirled his thumb at your clit, clenching around him again, rubbing your sensitive bud a bit faster now.

"Jus' lemme help ya.. Lemme take over, doll."

he thrusted into you now, letting you fall relaxed into his arms. the sensation of Daryl entering you repeatedly made your thighs twitch.

He buried himself deep inside you, your high building as he worked on your sweet spot with his thumb. The sensations all made you melt under Daryl's touch then, moaning his name as your walls clenched and jolted around his cock, his hands firmly holding you down on his length.

The clenching of your heat around him was enough to bring Daryl to his release. His hips bucked up into you as the tightness of your entrance milked his orgasm from him, one final thrust came from him as he filled the condom. You moaned loudly at the feeling of Daryl's hips jolting against your body.

"Sh-shit sunshine, ya did so good for me, my perfect girl, ain't ya?" Daryl rambled in his afterglow, his enamor beaming in his chest for you. He'd brought you to satisfaction many times before, but each time was more than just making love to him. The two of you shared a bond like no other.

"Daryl, that was perfect, yo -you're perfect." you panted, pulling yourself off his length as he came down from his high. The emptiness you felt as he pulled back left you remembering how he felt.

You collapsed on top of his chest, heartbeats slowing as the skin to skin contact calmed your headspaces. Your fingers darted across Daryl's chest, your fingers lightly tracing the tattoos there.

"Pretty sure tha's all you, sunshine." Daryl kissed the top of your head, your heartbeats synching together.

"Mhm, I love you, Daryl. Thank you.." You said, looking up at Daryl, his afterglow beaming from his chest like a bright light.

"For what, darlin'?" Daryl's hand traced up and down your back, the contact an extension of his affection for you.

"For everything... Your jacket.. taking care of me, just- everything."

"Why wouldn't I wanna do all that? I'd do that an' more all over again jus' to keep ya comfortable. Ya deserve the world."

"No, I'm pretty sure you do, Daryl Dixon." You sat up, still laying on top of his chest to just feel your bodies slow down together after the friction you'd released.

You rolled over onto the bed, sighing with content as you looked over at the man next to you. His eyes were closed, as if he was taking in the peaceful moment. The beads of sweat on his chest made him look even more breathtaking, as he turned to you. He swiped the hair from your face, a boyish smile sneaking its way onto his.

"We should probably get back..." Daryl's eyes were focused on you, his hand coming to your side, moving softly up and down.

"Yeah, we should.." Daryl didn't want to go back to the freezing outside temperatures and snowy terrain, but the group might have gotten worried about their late return.

"Maybe just a few more minutes?" Your eyebrows raised and smiled at Daryl, nodding in agreement.

"Sure, jus' a few more." Daryl’s hands cupped your face, bringing you in for another kiss. You laid content in his arms, his body heat finally warming you the way he’d always wanted.

-

a/n: likes + reblogs are appreciated!! it lets me know how much everyone enjoys my writing & sharing to others is a generous thing to do. much love & thanks :)

[azucarmorena97]

Money Ties (Jungkook Love Story || Pt.3)

Pt.2 || Pt.4

Your parents have worked hard to get to the top and have made sure to teach you everything you need to know to be successful in this business: from tough but lucrative financial decisions, down to the right ball gown for any given banquet. A promising and extravagant future awaits you- that is, if you agree to one teensy detail...

Son of Mr.Jeon Sr. and heir to June Company, Jeon Jungkook is an immature playboy with nothing to offer a woman but good looks and a crap ton of money, and he stands to inherit much MUCH more, so long as you both enter into the arranged marriage contract that was drawn up before the pair of you were even born.

You're more than willing to try, but you're not sure you'll be able to stand each other long enough to inherit a single penny...

Series Warnings: There will be smut in the near future and I will label those chapters as such. As I say before most of my pieces- I do not endorse any themes, ideas, or behaviors in this series. This is all purely fiction/fantasy! Feel free to inbox me suggestions/ideas/what you'd like to see in this series and I'll see what I can do! Enjoy <3

Recap: "I hope you know you didn't ruin anything. My husband and I feel very strongly, even more so now, that you're the perfect fit fr our family." Your heartbeat picks up in your chest; you were sure you blew your chance to bits, but here she is, offering it all on a silver platter for you.

On your way back to your suite, you try calling your dad three different times, and each time the calls go straight to voicemail. For the most part, you've gotten used to getting his voicemail and can even recite it word for word- but right now, him being here for you is crucial. Even though your mom couldn't make the time to actually be here, at least she shows she cares, even if it is through blowing up your phone every hour; at least it's something. She even helped pick out the gifts for the Jeons: gold cuff links for Mr.Jeon, a lovely pair of jade earrings for Mrs.Jeon, and a silver chain with a medallion fo Jungkook. All your life, your dad said he couldn't wait to be there for when you would finally sign the agreement that they'd spent years tailoring and planning, only to cancel last minute because of work. Well, if he wants to leave you out in the cold to figure this out by yourself, then you're gonna do it your way.

Once inside the suite, you peel off the pretty little outfit you'd carefully put together for tea and toss it onto the bed, switching into a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized sweater, and the warmest socks you packed. You're finally going to dive into the manila envelope. You plop yourself into bed and take out everything, ignoring the initial feeling of being overwhelmed at the sight of the busy papers, looking past the legal jargon to find the bare bones of it all. In a matter of twenty minutes, you're completely locked in; you highlight, circle, annotate, even cross out some parts. You slowly realize how little your parents are settling for in this "partnership", as your dad likes to call it. According to this contract, their precious daughter is only worth 15% of the 'Jeon Empire', while Jeon Jungkook will be the majority owner of June Company, including hotels, restaurants, as well as owning shares in your parents' company and other smaller endeavors. Well, that just won't do. If you're going to be committing yourself to a marriage, it's for the long haul. All of your adolescent and teenage years were spent avoiding boys like the plague for fear of getting too attached and ruining your parents' dream for your life. Even your college years have been all about work and climbing up the ladder to get to this point- 15% is horse shit.

After three agonizingly long hours, the contract looks like a Frankensteined version of itself; torn apart and put back together. You hold it up in triumph- you almost want to take a picture just for the memories. "Proud of you," B/f/n says through a loud yawn. You had to call her about an hour in for moral support. "No, don't be tired. You can't be tired. It's still early!" "Hun, it's 3AM here." "Oh right..." You sigh, stuffing the contract back in the envelope, "I forgot about the time difference... ugh, I'm just so bored here. I have nothing to do." "Girl, you're at a whole luxurious hotel, all expenses paid- if I were you, I'd be doing a spa day, visiting the restaurants, drinking up all their liquor- you just don't like being alone." You roll your eyes. She's right, of course, but you're not gonna give her any validation. "I guess I'll just try to get some sleep...I have a big day tomorrow." "What time are you meeting them?" "We're meeting for brunch at 11." "First it was 'high tea' and now Brunch," She echoes with a sleepy smile, "How classy." You roll your eyes, "Good night, B/f/n," You laugh. She waves lazily and then you hang up the phone. "Well, since this is an all expenses paid hotel..." You bite your lip and look over at the door, "...I'm gonna go use their copier."

AT 6AM, your alarm goes off scaring you violently awake. It had taken you hours to finally fall asleep in the first place. You'd tried to close your eyes after your face time, but ended up tossing and turning until 2AM. This jet lag is something else. Or maybe it was stress for today; I mean, you are preparing to sign a contract to marry a man you hardly know (and also kinda hate), which was essentially created when you weren't even a thought in your parents' mind yet, which will, in turn, lead to lifelong stability for you and your family as well as further growth for your family's businesses so everything is kind of on your shoulders and will all fall apart if you don't do your respective part- oh God, you might have a panic attack and you haven't even gotten out of bed yet.

You speed through your morning routine so that you can look over your edits again, though as soon as you sit down, your phone begins to buzz with all your incoming notifications. You scroll through, ignoring some texts, answering a few emails- and then you come across one from your dad from an hour ago. You take a sip of your coffee as you open up the message and, when you do, you almost spit the coffee out against the pretty clean white hotel wall. Staring at you is the "finalized contract" (or so it's entitled) that your dad made 'edits' on for you to print out and sign. You look over the entire thing and with every sentence you read, you feel the anger rising in you. The "edits" he made didn't even make the deal that much better for you, not to mention, how can your dad flake on you in regards to coming on this trip, ignore your calls and texts, but still have the nerve to send me this shitty contract at the asscrack of dawn on the DAY OF the supposed signing? Fuck that. You're gonna send them your draft and your parents can cry about it. You're done doing things their way. You open up your laptop and quickly go to your saved files, opening up YOUR finalized version that you'd scanned and re-typed. You cue it up in a message and type in Mr. and Mrs.Jeon's email addresses, along with their lawyer's email. For a moment, you hesitate, letting the mouse hover over the 'send' button, but then you count how many times your parents have made you feel completely alone in just the duration of this trip, plus every time you've had to make yourself small for others to be big- "Fuck it." You hit send and then close your laptop to put your outfit together for brunch.

Brunch is held on the balcony at their hotel restaurant, Juniper. The vibe is definitely upper class, and you see it's bustling with guests. "Hello, Miss; will you be dining alone?" The hostess asks. You shake your head, "No, actually- I'm with the Jeon party." Her eyes widen for a second before she bows, "Oh yes, Ms.L/n, allow me to show you to your table. You smile and bow in return, feeling slightly embarrassed that she clearly felt the urge to kiss your ass a little extra just for being associated with the Jeons. She leads you around the corner to a wall of windows, much like the ones on the roof top when you'd gone for tea. As she opens the double doors, you see Mr. and Mrs.Jeon sat at a table straight ahead, Jungkook's back facing you. Your heart starts beating rapidly in your chest; it's happening. This is it. The entire ride here, you were psyching yourself up saying you'd be confident and strong and that if they didn't like the changes you'd made to the contract, they could kiss your ass- but right now, you feel your legs might turn to Jello. "Y/n!" Mrs.Jeon calls out excitedly, getting out of her seat and running over to you. Mr.Jeon and Jungkook look over in your direction; one giving you a big smile and the other...with a rather unreadable expression on his face. You smile and bow, "Good morning everyone." She politely dismisses the hostess and guides you to the table, where Mr.Jeon and Jungkook are standing to greet you. "Annyeonghasimnikka," You bow again. "So polite, isn't she Jungkook?" Mr.Jeon says, lightly hitting Jungkook's shoulder. You bow slightly, "Hello, Jungkook." He nods, "Hey." "Please, sit," Mrs.Jeon says. You immediately notice that Mr.Jeon is wearing the cuff links you'd gotten him, and Mrs.Jeon is wearing the earrings; Jungkook seemed to be the only one not wearing his gift. Figures. "We haven't ordered just yet so you have some time to think about what you want." "Oh that's okay, I'll take whatever you recommend." "Oh, I love that. I'm getting you my favorite- the praline french toast is so good paired with the fritata and...the eggs benedict with salmong." "Sounds good," You laugh, finding it endearing how excited she is. You wonder if she ever chews Jungkook out like your mom does to you You spend most of the time talking to Mr. and Mrs.Jeon; basic chit chat about life, how the food was, and other pleasantries- until Mr.Jeon receives a call and excuses himself from the table for a moment. Then, Mrs.Jeon says she wants to check in with the chef about something really quickly, leaving you and Jungkook at the table alone. You take a sip on your mimosa and then turn to him, "How are you, Jungkook?" He straightens up a bit and clears his throat, "I'm fine. How about yourself?" "I'm good...I- I'm hopeful that today's meeting goes well." He nods slowly, seeming deeply pensive about what you've said, "Well, it should be quite lucrative for you if it does." His tone is almost bitter-sounding. You furrow your brows, not liking how he's making it seem that you'd be the only one benefiting. "Well, according to the contract, it should be quite beneficial for the both of us, wouldn't you say?" "Oh, please. What are pennies to bills," He scoffs. "I mean, considering you can't even get a penny of mommy and daddy's money unless you get married, I'd say we're in the same boat," You lean back, deciding you're done with the niceties. He wants to be a jerk? Two can play. He glares at you, knowing you're right but, of course, refusing to admit it. "Don't you ever get tired?" "Of what?" He asks, face scrunching in annoyance. "Of the stick up your ass?" You smirk, crossing one leg over the other as your swirl your glass from the stem. "This whole thing is fucked and you know it," He says, throwing himself against the backrest of the chair in defeat. You nod slowly and thoughtfully, "Maybe, but as I always says, 'Anything worth having is worth fighting for.'" He rolls his eyes, "Whatever."

"Sorry, Kids. I just had to get that done before I forgot. Is your father still not back yet?" Mrs.Jeon asks, sitting back down at the table and looking around. "No, I guess he's still on the call," You say, "He sounds like my dad." Mrs.Jeon laughs, "Well, birds of a feather flock together." "I'm sorry everyone- Y/n, I just got off the phone with your father. Goodness, it's such a shame he couldn't come," Mr.Jeon says, a big smile on his face as he sits down. "You- you spoke to my dad?" "I sure did. I'd called him this morning about the finalized contract he'd sent me last night but he didn't get back to me until now since he was on the golf course." It takes everything in you to keep your eye from twitching. The golf course. Priorities. You plaster a fake smile on your face and clear your throat, "Actually, Mr.Jeon, the one he sent you is not the finalized version." He looks up confused, "No?" You shake your head and reach into your purse for the crisp new manila envelope, "I had to make some edits of my own." They all look at each other and then back at you, "Oh- alright," Mr.Jeon takes the envelope and he and Mrs.Jeon look over it together. You can practically see the gears in their heads turning, meanwhile, Jungkook is looking at you with his eyes narrowed wondering what it is you're up to. "Y/n," Mr.Jeon laughs nervously, "This is...substantially more than what your father and I had previously discussed." You nod, "Oh yes. 40% more, to be exact." "Mhm..." Mr.Jeon hands the paper to Mrs.Jeon who continues reading. "I believe the 15% we'd originally agreed upon was quite generous as even a fraction of the money we receive from the various businesses would be quite a profit for you." You purse your lips as you listen, trying your best to be as respectful as possible, "Yes, that's true. It would be quite a lot, however, I think it's reasonable to divide assets 50/50 between spouses, seeing as how I'll not only be a part of June Company itself but also be behind the scenes as a wife. Not to mention, when I have kids, there is no longer incentive for Jungkook to stay married to me, is there?" Mr.Jeon looks at his wife, who is looking back at him with the same concerned expression. "Y/n, our motivation for having you marry our son isn't to...produce an heir," Mr.Jeon says, "It's to help him mature and give him something to work for." "Dad, I don't need to get married to mature. I'm capable and I'm ready to run the company. Please, just let me show-" "You shut your mouth. With all the debt you've gotten me in with your incessant partying, the charges in property damage-" Mr.Jeon's face is turning more and more red, while Jungkook just looks away. He's completely quiet as he his father continues hurling criticisms and but Mrs.Jeon puts her hand on his chest to keep him from saying any more. "Mr.Jeon, I want to be able to help all of you- but I think both I and Jungkook are sacrificing a lot, and a large portion of that sacrifice is on yours and my parents' behalf. He and I will both be turning our lives around for the sake of our families. I just want to make sure we're both getting what we need from this." Jungkook turns slowly to look at you, his expression softening, along with his father's. Mr.Jeon is silent for a little while. "I understand if this is something you and your family cannot get behind and if that's the case, we can rip up this contract and put it all behind us, no harm done- but if you all want this as much as we do, these are my conditions," You say as gently as possible. You glance at Jungkook, whose eyes are fixed on you- causing for you to quickly look back at Mr. and Mrs.Jeon. "Well...I think we'll need some time to think this over. I'll have my lawyer look this over and we'll let you know what we've decided by tonight. How's that sound?" Mr.Jeon asks, giving you a tired smile. You nod, "That sounds just fine, Mr.Jeon. Take all the time you need."

You grab your bag and stand up and everyone else follows suit, "I had a lovely brunch. Thank you so much for putting it together for us to have this meeting." You turn to Jungkook, "I hope we're able to move forward together," You say with a bow and, for the first time, he bows in return. "Please have a good rest of your day," Mrs.Jeon says, stepping forward and hugging you goodbye. "And as always, please let us know if you need anything," Mr.Jeon says with a genuine expression. You nod, "I will."

Of course, not two hours since your brunch with the Jeons, and your dad was already blowing up your phone. How interesting the way that works, isn't it? Your dad only calls when you don't do things exactly as he asks. You sent every single call to voicemail until they stopped coming in altogether- though he'll most likely call right before bed. You'd spent the rest of the day out and about near the hotel; something you thought you wouldn't get a chance to do this time around. It helped to get your mind off things for a minute. You'd even gone to a cute little cafe and answered some of your work emails (you can't ever completely disconnect, though it doesn't hurt to at least have a change of scenery).

By the time you come back to your suite, it's already 8PM, though of course you're not even a bit tired, so you decide to bother B/f/n for a bit. "Mm...hello?" "Hello," You practically sing into the phone, "did I wake you?" "Mhm..." "Well, wake up- I gotta tell you what happened today." "Y/n, look, I promise I'm interested but I do not have the mental capacity to receive any new information right now..." "You're no fun." "Hey, I already told you, you have other options for entertainment." "The spa's closed right now, I've already gone to the eateries inside this hotel, I've used the free wifi and even the copier. I've done everything, there's nothing left, B/f/n," You whine. "Not everything..." She says, sleepily eyeing you. You instantly know whatb she means and you violently shake your head. "Nope. Uh-uh. I am NOT getting a drink by myself." "Oh come on, if you wear one of those skimpy little dresses you packed, I promise you won't be alone for long." You narrow your eyes at her, "How do you know I packed skimpy dresses?" "You just told me," She smirks. How does she do that? "And what am I supposed to do if a man walks up to me and offers me a drink thinking he's gonna get some?" "Oh come on, you're not even engaged yet. Live a little." You roll your eyes, "Clearly, you're very sleep deprived and that's why you're talking crazy. Call me when you're rested." "Sounds like a plan," She says before abruptly hanging up the call.

You sit and look over at your suitcase, contemplating your next move... "I guess a drink won't hurt."

The hotel bar is nicely tucked away on the first floor, a small ways away from the lobby. It's decorated with gold trim and pretty golden flowers along the cherry-wood walls. The vibe is definitely dark and sultry- you suppose you dressed appropriately: off the shoulder a-line mini dress and some simple strappy heels. You put a lot of effort into looking effortless tonight. It's not as packed as you expected, though it's definitely not empty; people are sat at various tables, holding conversations, the occasional stray laugh reaching your ears over the soft music. You'd hyped yourself up before coming down, saying you weren't gonna worry about who was or wasn't looking at you; you were just going down to have a drink and then go right back up- but when you realize the room is full of mostly men, you hesitate to take a seat. "Welcome in- can I get you anything, Miss?" The bartender, a kind-looking older gentleman, asks when he sees the lost puppy look on your face. "I-uhm, yes. I'll take an espresso martini, please?" "Of course." You set your clutch down on the bar and then take a seat. "Meeting anyone?" The bartender asks. You laugh sheepishly, "No, just...wanted to get out of my room." "I suppose that's a good thing," He says. You furrow your brows, wondering if he's gonna take the opportunity to be creepy, "And why is that?" "Because that young man over there has been watching you since you walked in," He says, nodding behind you. Your heart flutters a bit, and you feel flattered by the possibility of someone actually checking you out.

You turn slowly to where he'd nodded and scan for a moment before finally seeing him. How did I not notice him before? "That's the hotel owner's son, you know," The bartender adds. Jungkook's expression is a bit unreadable, but he's definitely looking at you. His eyes are completely fixed. You turn around quickly and bite your lip. You can't leave now, he'll know it was because of him and you can't stand the idea of him feeling like he drove you out of that bar. No way. You straighten out your back, forcing your body to relax as much as possible- or at least have the appearance of relaxation. The man puts your drink in front of you, and you gingerly take your first sip. "How can you drink those things?" Jungkook's unmistakeable voice says from right behind you, causing you to choke and spit some of your drink back into the glass. Your eyes widen in horror. "Bless you," He smirks. He looks over at the bar tender and signals holding up two fingers, to which the man nods. "Jungkook," His name feels so strange on your tongue; up until this trip, you've just refered to him as 'the Jeon's son', and using his name still feels so...intimate, somehow. He leans back in his seat, looking at you as though he's sizing you up, "And who, might I ask, did you dress up for tonight?" "Myself." You say, side-eyeing him. He's very brazen for someone you've only just met again after so many years. "Hm." "Hm, what?"

"Oh nothing...it's just, well, humans are performative beings, you know? Everything we do, whether consciously or not, is to attract." "Oh? And you're saying this to imply that I'm trying to attract someone?" You take another sip of your drink, trying to hide your unexpected nervousness. He shrugs, a cocky smile spreading across his face. "And who do you think I'm trying to attract, Jungkook? You?" You scoff. "Hey, you said it." You blush slightly and look down at your drink, your fingertip running up and down the stem of the glass. He definitely smells like he's been drinking- a lot- but you also catch hints of musk and wood- even burnt cinnamon. Shitty men shouldn't smell this damn good. You glance down at his neck and squint your eyes; is that-? "You're wearing the necklace?" He furrows his brows for a second in confusion before the realization sets in, "Oh- yeah. I look good, don't I?" His lips turn up into a coy smile. You clear your throat and shrug, "I think I'm just good at picking out jewelry." He chuckles and shakes his head, "Your disdain for me is quite amusing." "Almost as amusing as your insistence on flirting with me." "Well, don't get too flattered, you might fall in love." "Ha," You scoff. The bartender sets two shots down in front of Jungkook, who then slides one over to you. "What's this for?" You ask, immediately suspicious. "To celebrate." "Celebrate what?" "Us, of course." "Oh please," You roll your eyes, "Just the other day you were yelling at me and accusing me of attacking you, then you implied that I was some sort of gold digger and was just trying to mooch off of you." He nods thoughtfully, "Yes, that's true, I said some pretty...crass things. I suppose I should apologize for that. As far as the shot, well- I've decided to accept it." "Accept...what?" "The fact that this train is leaving with or without our 'yes', so we may as well enjoy the ride along the way, right?" As he says this, his eyes fall slightly, and only for a moment. You almost wonder if you'd seen it at all. "And what's caused this change of heart?" "Truthfully...this entire arrangement has been hanging over my head all my life. It felt like a noose slowly getting tighter and tighter. But seeing my father so stunned by your demands...it felt like my first deep breath in a while." You're surprised at how genuine Jungkook is being right now, though before you're able to respond to what he's just said, your phone buzzes in your clutch. "Excuse me," You say. It's a text message from Mr.Jeon. You quickly swipe it open and your mouth drops in shock. 𝙼𝚛.𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗: 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘, 𝚈/𝚗- 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚆𝚎'𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚆𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝟷𝟸𝙿𝙼 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝.

You look up back up at Jungkook, who simply picks up the shot and holds it up in the air, "To the ride." Your shocked expression turns into a smile, and all you can think to do is pick your shot up as well. "To the ride."

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love party 5

Teaser Imp

When it came to the natural born native demons of hell, the variety of species was akin to snowflakes with many looking plenty unique and diverse between each other and among themselves especially when it came to the social pecking order. With the figurative bottom rung of course being occupied by imps and hellhounds to name a few though the latter were often valued for their heightened senses and their natural strength and speed but of course Hell wasn't without its own share of distinct hell-beast folk, key among them in this case being Hell-Horses. Unlike the more primal quadrupedal flaming horses, these mares and stallions consist of centaurs and those that can walk on two feet like most, with both breeds highly valued for their natural gifts of good looks and amazing speed which makes them highly valued for fashion show pageants and racing respectively ensuring that Hell-horses as a result prospered very well in terms of financial care of wealthy patrons among Hell's social elite. Now of course being as equine as they were, this lead to the aforementioned clients often engaging in a common practice used especially with race horses in the living world wherein some owners would arrange for their best high quality mares and stallions to mate and breed together, thus ensuring children that would have the best qualities of both parents making for very bright futures for them BUT there was a small wrinkle to the matter.

Hell Stallions you see, like their primal kin in the living world, had very narcissistic, obnoxious personalities being borderline sex pest perverts who in spite of their physiques and endowments were also absolute failures when it came to sexual performance. In other words, "wham, bam thank you ma'am, may I have another?" so of course Hell Mares naturally hated their partners on sight and thus were in need of a means by which they could be coaxed into estrus hence many notable researchers looked into it and found that the equine beauts responded well to the presence and company of other demons who were more pleasant in terms of personality and of course more easier on the eyes than the brawny meathead frat boys that were their own kind. Particularly and especially demons who were the rare few within in Hell that didn't have their general mindset set to the default of being an overall shitty person, the diamonds in the rough as it were, who of course would spend sometime charming the mares to a point that as soon as they were in the mood? The stallions could pounce and do their job and thus this leads to the situation a certain sweet possum of ours finds himself in at this very moment.

Moxxie much to his chagrin and confusion had found a local blueblood had sent an escort entourage to pick him up and bring him on over for a task he'd been hired for, not that Blitzo had bothered to argue or ask questions, soon as he saw the fancypants was loaded, he had Moxxie haul ass and go do what he had to for that fat paycheck!! Of course soon as he arrived at the sort of fancy digs a rich demon outside of an Ars Goetia could enjoy, he was informed of why he'd been brought here which was to be a teaser for the guy's Hell Mares to whom he was introduced to of as they were in the midst of their daily spa treatment and even among Hell Mares, it could be well said that they were absolute beauties. Going by the names of Elaine and Mojita, they were quite the pair of stunners with the former an exotic blue eyed blonde mare with milk chocolate fur and the latter silver haired and having a colour pattern common with red and Snow White fur and lucky little Moxxie had the task of getting them into just the right mood for a couple of Hell stallions’ enjoyment. All Moxxie could think at this moment was two simp,e words to best sum up this predicament. “Ooh crumbs……”

But of course nerves aside, Moxxie managed to muster up a little well, moxxie as he took to doing what he’d been hired for, work his charm on the horse woman duo as much as necessary to get them in the mood for their potential baby daddies. A few rounds of audio relaxation therapy playing guitar or violin here, an hour or so of massaging their firm, strong thicc furry bodies there and a bit of wine and dine with a candlelit dinner and the mares we’re finding their moods improving exceptionally well. To say nothing of how drawn they were feeling towards the little imp but of course their owners figured that was no problem, that was part of his job as the teaser after all. If just having them in the room for him to lay their eyes on could get them good and wet then their designated stallions of choice would be good and ready to do the deed.

But of course their pending breeding date with their designated stallions was the furthest thing from Elaine and Mojita’s minds as they found themselves becoming quite enamoured with their sweetheart of a teaser. Such a poetic romantic and to say nothing of how he made them feel like royalty, it just made them envy his wife for getting so lucky in love, hell why couldn’t he be the baby daddy instead? But of course as if thinking as one as they knew they each bith had the exact same idea, the hellmare duo shared a look as they began to make a simple but effective plan. Ooh they’d see to it their owners would get their money’s worth in their best races having skme optimal future champions, just that it’d be more on their terms and their terms alone, thank you and fuck you so very much!!

When the time had finally arrived, Moxxie found himself sitting shirtless on what was unofficially the cuckold couch in the private love room, awaiting Elaine and Mojita who were no doubt getting prettied up. After all just because they were about to have some obnoxious blowhard stallions go jackrabbit on them didn’t mean they couldn’t look a little fabulous and sexy. Speaking of the stallions, whose names Moxxie didn’t really care enough to learn, they came into the room like overgrown jock frat boys they were, wearing needlessly shameless things designed to highlight and show off those ridiculous dicks of theirs. They reminded him way too much of his ex as they posed and flexed in a way that even Johnny Bravo would think they were being obnoxious, no doubt prepping to show off for the ladies whose worlds they were to set to rock, how these chumps were considered baby daddy material for some champion racing hellmares was beyond him.

But before the dumbasses could even get around to ditching their things and whipping out their worthless dicks, the doors shut and locked behind them. Revealing Elaine and Mojita much to Moxxie’s surprise as they proceed to bash the jock brained stallions over the head with lead pipes, causing them to pass out. Looking at them like they were trash beneath their feet before they looked the imp’s way, their expressions suddenly sensual and seductive as they made their way over to him. Giving him quite an eyeful as their furry, thicc, toned forms were in full display in their sexy, Lacey lingerie before they removed their bras to flash their bare tits to him.

Giggling at the sweet nervous look on his blushing face before they took To picking him him up off of that couch and setting him in the king sized love bed. Sitting in either side of him as they cupped and caressed his cute freckled face, taking turns kissing him deeply and passionately. Hands running along his quite built and toned little shortstack torso and moaning with delight at feeling his crotch up, mesmerised by the length and girth contained within as they removed them to free his cock. Stroking it to get her as the desire and arousal Moxxie built up in them had reached its fever pitch, their bodies yearning to mate and breed and they knew who whose babies they wanted.

Yes Elaine and Mojita had indeed been unable to help themselves from falling in love with Moxxie and really who could blame them? So they agreed to unofficially 86 the wastes of dna and have the imo fuck them and knock them up with his sure to be adorable little babies after all he deserved to be more than just their teaser. After how he made them feel like much more than just a sexy racers who deserved a better class of gentleman, all that romance and suave charm like their own personal love Story hero here to sweep them off their feet, it was small wonder they were now giving him a double team blowjob. Their tandem fellatio coaxing such cute little groans from their chosen baby daddy as they sucked and blew on that cock that clearly put Hell Stallions to shame, even kissing and massaging his balls for good measure as if to encourage the batter within to be plentiful and bountiful.

But the mare duo knew as amazing as the taste and scent of Moxxie’s cock was nothing compared to every inch of that length and girth penetrating them. Their wombs becoming hammered as he thrust and pumped in order to meet their desire to have his buns in their ovens, the private love room filled with sounds of sweet porno music. The slapping of crimson skin on furry skin as Moxxie took to taking Elaine and Mojita one on one whenever one of the mares needed to recover before tag teaming him two on one. No surprise they Especially took to riding him cowgirl style, his little but toned imp form taking their intense figures snd the impact like a champ.

To say nothing of how sexually impressive his stamina and staying power as his cock, much to the mares’ delight, barely ever stopped being stiff and hard and still raring to go. And ooh he knew how to use it, taking them any and every which way possible as their snatches practically moulded to his dick, ensuring they’d never think of wanting or needing another man and they’d damn well like it that way. Doggy style, prone none, missionary, spread eagle, their cute teaser was a walking kama sutra machine and frankly it’d be some cruel joke if they didn’t wind up pregnant after this was over. All the while the stallion pair was still comatose unaware they were getting full on cuckolded.

by the time the morons finally woke up, the mares were freshly showered in bathrobes telling them thanks for stopping by and thst they could leave now with the deed done. Gaslighting the nitwits into thinking they’d actually done it when in fact they’d blown their load within seconds of getting knocked out, go figure typical minute horsemen but Hey ignorance was bliss. Leaving Elaine and Mojita with their sweetheart teaser to kiss him farewell and thank him for a wonderful time, sending him in his way after exchanging contact details of course, missing him already. And you can bet soon as the 9 months had passed, they were going to want to do it all over again.

And yes their owners were none the wiser , thinking the horse studs had done their job as Elaine and Mojita later gave birth to a healthy set of twins, never taking time to notice the distinct hybrid features. With was helped especially by Mojita having the same hair and fur colour pattern that resembled Moxxie’s own, leaving their little teaser in the clearer and those same pair of twins going on to grow up and become record making race champions. This would of course result in Moxxie becoming a very highly recommended and in demand demand HellMare tease which saw quite a population boom and a new generation of racing champions. And yes that would be a story for another time…and how sweet it is…..

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

Casting Couch

Moxxie was still having quite a time processing his current situation, to think that was he really here at Skullfuck Productions of all places, on Mr.Sketch’s personal invitation to boot after having taken the plunge and called the number on that business card. But he was here all the same, walking side by side with the flaming skullheaded enigma himself as they both rocked some Hugh Heffner style robe wear ensembles which the imp hsd to admit made him feel classy as all fuck. The studio head honcho talking with Moxxie casually like he was an old friend while giving him a personal tour of the grounds, including his personal living pad attached to it and what it had on offer to provide should he imp consider coming on board. The sweet possum had to say that for a porn studio, it was quite a sophisticated professional operation they were running here as he continued to follow Mr.Sketch along.

Mr.Sketch:*Bubble pipe in hand as he made chitchat with the imp like he was a longtime old friend rather than potential future employee.*"A lot of people know about the grotto and the game room but few know about the laboratory, the biosphere, the alternative research centre..."*He monologued, gesturing to Moxxie as he showed off the aforementioned lab, demon girls in labcaots worn over playboy bunny and catgirl outfits as the imp nodded in fascination albeit blushing. Really who could blame him when all throughout since he got here, he'd been seeing a lot of naked female skin.*"But anyway where was I? Oh yeah so let me just say again I'm really glad you decided to consider giving this gig a tryout, Moxxie, I can say with certainty that you've got potential...."*The skullheaded enigma remarked as he and the imp paused in their stride, taking a puff of his pipe as he gave Moxxie time to gather his thoughts.*

Moxxie:*Really now the imp had to wonder what he could even say, far as he knew, he felt he was crazy to have ever even called that number in the first place. But Millie had naturally persuaded him as only she could and far as he knew, the potential pay from taking up a sidejob as a porn star would seriously be able to cover some of IMP's debts.*"Listen, Mr.Sketch, Sir? I'm uh certainly flattered you think so highly of me and all but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some reservations about this. Not like the sex or doing it on camera with other women i mean!! I mean well you're....aware of what my wife is into and....admittedly, she's always been a fan of your work so this is like a big deal for her but...I have to ask. Why me? What makes you think anyone would even pay to see me in anything like this?"*Okay sure yes Moxxie had quite a few women in his life especially thanks to Millie's peculiar little kink of course. But surely he wasn't really leading man material for porno now was he?!*

Mr.Sketch:"Moxxie, Moxxie, Moxxie...First off just Sketch is fine, save the sirs, misters and boss for when we work on the Sets. Secondly let me ask you...."*The resident enigma of Hell quipped as he leaned his broad frame to wrap a friendly casual arm around the sweet possum as they resumed their treck, taking him along to an important destination.*"What do you think it is that makes my material sell as well as it does? Who do you think my biggest fanbase is? Now the obvious answers would be the sex because after all, sex sells? Now you might figure maybe it’s the hot sexy guys and girls on the covers and posters but nah nah. See Mox, what makes my work sell is I know my audience and a big chunk of them happen to be women and what those women want is guys like you…..”*The duo paused as they came to a door, greeted by Mr.Sketch’s cute little gofer, the Robo-Fizz Kitty who stood there waiting with that distinct smile of hers and tray of drinks. The flaming skullheaded smut maker picking uo a glass as he had a sip, idly swishing the glass in hand as he resumed his monologue.* “To me, Moxxie, porn is too riddled with cliches, porn down here in Hell more so. You know all the usual cliches, BBC and blacked, netorare, cuckolding, obnoxious humpers and douchebags who think all they needs plot wise is to flash their big dicks and bang some bitches. I tell you the number of hell stallions I’ve had to turn away. But a guy like you Moxxie? That’s where it’s at, that’s what women want, genuine nice guys and sweethearts who’re not only packing but know to really treat a woman in bed…and from what I’ve seen and heard, you’re just that kind of guy….”*Nodding to Kitty as the robo-fizz opened the or, leading him and the imp inside to what Moxxie came to recognise as Skullfuck Productions’ infamous casting couch room and sitting there waiting was a violet furred horned fox girl looking demon, who a Moxxie couldn’t help but feel major vibes off of her that reminded him of Loona.*”But of course formalities are formalities so I just need to see you in action for myself. So what do you say buddy?”

Moxxie would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous as he looked at the fox girl who was really burning a figurative hole in him with that deadpan stare, seriously total Loona vibes there. And to do it in the open like this but really with all his experience, he figured he’d be used to a bit of public exhibitionism but he already in deep enough as was. Especially as he reminded him how the money would really help out and the idea of Millie, as well as few of the other notable ladies in his life, watching him in porn was a bit of a turn on. Nodding to Mr.Sketch who rubbed his hands with glee as his likely future employer went over to a tripod mounted camcorder, Kitty standing by his dutiful as ever as the red light blinked indicating recording had started so it was time for the imp to go make some sensual magic….

Getting the hint of course and figuring he might as well get to making a good first impression compared to the second hand accounts and evidence Sketch had been getting as he ditched his robe, now standing clad in just his boxers. The demon fox girl still wearing her deadpan expression yet if one were to look real close, they’d see the small blush on her face or how sensually and eagerly her tail wagged which hinted how aroused she was becoming. But as soon as Moxxie pressed his lips to her muzzle and began to make out with her, she soon found herself giving off soft, deep moans as her bidy began to become quite personally well acquainted with Moxxie and his sensual approach in the art of love making. And oh she was loving every goddamn fucking second of it!!

But if she thought kissing Moxxie was arousing if not borderline orgasmic, ooh soon as he went down on her? She wasn’t so much seeing stars as rather it as like she was seeing god as Moxxie kissed his way down her violet furred torso and removed her thong to begin an oral assault on her pussy. His hot breath and that warm, wet tongue of his working some major sexual magic on her as she felt a surge of orgasmic energy rush through her nerves and along her spine, flooding her brain with sweet ecstasy. Toes curling as she grasped those horns of his snd wrapped her thick furry thighs around his sweet little head, wanting to feel him deeper inside her.

Sketch of course made sure to the camera was getting just the right details at the best angles as he felt any expectations he had about a Moxxie being surpassed. He knew that fox girl he poached from that louse Valentino would be a good measuring bar, so to speak so seeing her cumming just from the imp eating her out was more than a good sign. Soon as he had the sweet little possum signed on, hopefully, this casting couch video would be handy to show off on documenting the rise of his career in Hell’s adult entertainment industry. But for the time being, it was best to be an in the now sort of guy and right now he was witnessing some sexual magic.

Especially once Ms.Foxxxy got the imp’s boxers off and laid eyes on that goddamn slab of meat he somehow managed to keep contained within them. Leading to things starting off intense with her hanging head upside down off the edge of the seat as she had that big imp cock face-fucking her, using her mouth and throat as an oral pussy with those heavy red balls smacking her forehead to being in her hands and knees as she screamed her head off in primal sexual abandon. Taking it doggy style from Moxxie deep and hard as he pounded her like a jackhammer, his gifted little hands grasping her waist for deer park life as he felt her pussy’s embrace around his shaft. Before he shuddered at feeling a hand grasp and squeeze his swaying balls and a set of kiss kiss and lick them, t looking over his shoulder surprised to see Kitty was the one responsible.

Seems the robo-Fizz was getting so turned in watching Foxxxy and the imp go at it that her pleasure circuits went into overdrive, urging and compelling her to join in. Her red eyes twinkling in lust delight as she flashed that pretty grin of hers before soon finding herself pulled into the sexual embrace. The imp now the filling of a threesome sandwich as mr.Sketch found this casting couch become more fun than expected, seems his potential new star had a natural charisma which escalated situations like this, that was something that would make for some fun projects down the line. Grinning in mischief as he continued to film the ongoing scene before him with Kitty riding Moxxie cowgirl style while Foxxxy sat on his face, wanting to enjoy that magic mouth of his again while she and Kitty kissed and out with one another.

A couple of rounds and orgasm later, Foxxy was sleeping on the couch, spooning an equally blissed out Kitty as the pair basked in the afterglow of a heavy assault of orgasms from the imp. As their boss and the imp stood outside the door to talk in private after Moxxie had finished showering, a soda can in hand as he drank to recover some energy and fluids from that wild little casting couch session. The imp was still a little unsure about his choices, on the one hand there was no doubt the money would be great and Millie was sure to approve and yet could he really do such a line of work? Before Mr.Sketch went in for the kill as he handed Moxxie a script, one for a project down the line he knew for sure the imp would be perfect for as he watched him flip through it.

Moxxie had to say, he was certainly impressed by what he was reading, this script was well thought out and there was enough plot snd story but not too much to keep viewer waiting for the sexy scenes. It did remind him that Millie was a huge fan of Skullfuck Production’s works for good reason, the stash she had d stockpiled and collected was proof of that. And as thespian at heart, this did speak to his sense of art and creativity, sure it wasn’t a musical like the phantom or les miserable but all the same. Closing the script shut as he looked at the skullheaded enigma with determination and nervousness, classic Moxxie, got to love him….

Moxxie:”So where do I sign and how soon you want me to start?” *If joy could be harnessed as a power source, Mr.Skech was giving off enough to power all of Canada and the states for eternity. Looking at the imp with pride like the sun he’d never had just fine and told him he was going to run for president of Hell and win as he shook and his hand and began leading the imp back to his office so they could sign his contract. The demon enigma knee for sure, this imp was going to be a real fan favourite, the sooner he got him performing on camera the better. This was going to be the beginning of a very beautiful friendship……*

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

Margot Ménage

Margot Mallard wasn’t happy, no sir she wasn’t happy at all, if anything she was downright fucking pissed off as all Hell and it was all her ex’s damn fault!! Normally she’d be all for shaking what her mama gave her on the dance floor alike right now at this little party being held by one of Perfecto Prep University’s resident frat houses but not tonight. No right now she was busy in her dorm room shredding, burning up and deleting any and all pictures of Danforth Drake, aka the aforementioned ex of this past week. Now you’d likely be wondering what went down to make this quite easy in the eyes duck girl so livid and vindictive?

Well she had been looking to surprise him with a little make out at the football team’s hot tub, only to find Drake gong at it with the goddamn donkey girl from the cheer squad, the cheating bastard!! And he even tried to deny it while he was still balls deep in that whore mule but basically just dug himself deeper, spilling the beans due to the shock and nerves of being caught in the act with details like the fact this wasn’t even the first time and that’d it’d been going on behind her bad for weeks, if not months! So small wonder she slapped him and kicked him in his pissant needle dick and brake it off with him then and there. It’d been a week since of course and she still felt like she had so much spite to vent but what could she do to really stick to Danforth?

Well what was good for the goose wa good for the gander but it wasn’t like any of the other guys on the team were an improvement, hell Perfecto Prep was seriously lacking in the looks department, maybe that duck from Acme Looniversity?! Maybe a little cam session killing herself off in her own personal hot tub on her new OnlyFans page would suffice enough, nothing would be sweeter revenge than posting naughty videos and pics of herself wet and naked for others to see…well, it’d be a start. Only to pause her train if thought as she heard a knock on her door, curious as to who it was though if it was Drake come crawling back to her back together, ooh she would castrate him. Opening the door to find quite the curious little sight before her, blinking a few times as she was wondering if this was for real.

Standing there before her was what seemed to be, she had to say, a quite cute, little red skinned and horned, freckled possum in a pizza deliver boy uniform. Those of us in the know of course know it was none other than our favourite little resident thespian Imp Moxxie, who of course was going a little incognito in the living worldon his first real job as a porn star for Skullfuck productions. Mr.Sketch had given him quite a particular task, a little amateur porno take on that Punk’d show, in this case the flaming skullheaded enigma would have Moxxie go to the living world and have him go to some random hottie posing as one of the most common porn based occupations (delivery guy, pool cleaner, Gardener/custodian, repairman, etc) and if they showed interest, well then go ahead and rock their world like only he could with that big imp cock of his. The sweet possum sneaking a nervous glance to is newfound side gif employer snd the camera girl peeking around the corner, human disguises on as they flashed him a thumbs up to reassure him.

Moxxie:*A stealth roll of his eyes and silent sigh as Moxxie hit the acceptance stage in his mental process and knew it was best he get in with and get it over with. A nervous smile as held uop the pizza box and began to recite his line as it came to him from memory, personally he’d have actually felt nervous doing a more scripted sort of shoot rather than one of these stealth method amateur acts…but Mr.Sketch loved put his newbies through the ringer when he saw potential.*”G-good evening Miss, Helluva slice at your service…Uhm, You happen to order the Uhm…”*The little sweetheart checked his secret post it chests note on the box to check his next line, in any porno with this sort of set up, it would be cliche as all fuck.*”Meat lovers special?”*His shaken smile was rather endearing and bless him, he was really trying as now he had to wait and see how Margot would react and if she would take the bait, hook, line and sinker….

A few moments later, the frat party below found a sudden interruption to their rowdy keg emptying bachanal as the scene suddenly went from the usual wild frenzy like out of teen movies to sudden silence besides the music from the dj as everyone just paused and stopped, why you might ask? Well might because many suddenly found their phone screens all get the same notification the music found a little something extra added to it in the form of some very deep throated leered moans and cries of pleasure. Because a this moment everyone was catching a livestream of Margot Mallard, the cheer squad captain of Perfecto Prep herself, in the throes of passion as she went at it like a porn star with Moxxie in the hot tub. And from the angle of the camera you could see a good shot of that big red imp dick as she bounced her violet feathered booty on it, her bombshell figured fully naked as her favourite swimsuit laid away discarded off to the side, fully exposing herself and being very vocal about how much she was enjoying her new lover compared to her ex.

Danforth Drake as well as the rest of the football team happened to be among the party crowd and he didn’t even have to look at his phone as it seemed that Margot went and hit a little snafu when setting up the stream. What was intended to be a broadcast to just her onlyfans subscribers had also accidentally been set up to every available device connected to the campus Wi-Fi which meant every one among student and faculty alike was getting a free show. The pencil dick canard looking on with shock and horror akin to witnessing a car crash as some nobody little possum was basically cuckolding him and Margot’s dirty talk was adding more blows to his ego. It certainly wasn’t going to help the fact that a few among the party started sharing this with friends, ensuring this amateur porn show was gojnf to be quite the talk of the town.

Margot:”Aaahn ooh god fuck me harder daddy!, you’re so much bigger and better than my ex!! He’s a little eunuch compared to you!! Fuck me like you want to own me baby!!”*But of course that was all the furthest thing from Margot’s mind because quite frankly her mind was busy drowning in an overdose of ectasy. Raw, pure sexual bliss flooding her brain with every pounding of her womb by that red hot length and girth which relentlessly jackhammered away into her slit. She’d just been expecting a decent lay if not just a quick blowjob to tip this unexpected but oh so cute delivery boy but the second Moxxie’s cock came out rested ion her face with a heavy, meaty thud on her face? Her libido proceeded to flip every switch possible to bitch in heat mode and that was how we came to current events.*

Mr.Sketch and the camera girl of course were still around, literally peeking around the corner as the latter filmed and recorded more intimately and closely to get just the right angles her boss needed. Shots of Margot’s face shifting through a range of expressions that showed how horny and orgasmic she was to the intimate connection of her feathered bouncing on that big Imp cock all to ensure the pleasure was genuine. Voyeuristic as it was, like hell the flaming skullheaded porn baron was going to pass up a chance to see his rookie star in action but hit damn who knew the delivery boy disguise would reel in such a hottie?! And Moxxie was really putting her through the ringer, from the looks of it whoever this limpdick ex was, there was no way she’d give him the time of day ever again once Moxxie was done with her.

The sweet possum of course, as overwhelmed at first as he was by Margot’s intense libido, was soon taking the momentum well as he mustered up his skill and experience to rock her world. From pounding and pumping her pussy with his white hot seed to facefucking her and pounding that feathered booty like she owed him money, thinking if Millie, Loona or Verosika were here, what would they love to see him do? Much to Margot’s delight as pink hearts glowed in her eyes, feeling like she could die happy just from the pleasure alone. But alas all things come to an end one way or another as the stream was cut off, leaving a stunned crowd and Drake feeling like an inadequate eunuch while Margot’s wet,naked body was tucked snug in her bed leaving her to bask in the afterglow and sweet sexy dreams of her mystery lover boy….

About a week after what Acme Acres came to know as One Night in Margot, the duck girl found herself getting e-mail from Skullfuck productions offering her a contract to become one of their stars, with the promise naturally of getting to see her random delivery boy once more, to which she couldn’t have typed a reply fast enough. While the porn company’s new video on their website was making record view numbers from the first it uploaded to hype and tease their new Rookie, known only as Mysterious M. Comments on the video vadied, some from a few female fans who could tell that big imp cock was going to be giving them some very sweet dreams tonight. While in the office of the Hesse honcho of SFP himself, he was on his cellphone speaking to his sure to be favourite little talent..

Sketch:”I’m telling you, haven’t seen views this fact since the first time our streaming site went public in the living world. Just a clip e more of these amateur bits and we can start you off on some legit scripted shoots. Hope you enjoy the present I sent you by the way, little dude….”*The enigma sat in his desk, checking his pc desktop screen while for Moxxie it was a different story, for you see at his and Millie’s love nest apartment, his wife and Verosika were currently sandwiching his sweet little snowball head between their demonic booties. Suffocating him with pleasure as they expressed their opinion of one of his first real pornos as his little amateur style short with Margot played on the tv screen. As a thanks for his above and beyond performance, in addition to his first paycheck Moxxie had been gifted with a dvd of the full uncut shoot compared to the streaming version which was a condensed highlight reel. One that was sure to sell like hot cakes once it saw distribution.*

Moxxie could only squeak out a thanks as Mr.Sketch finished the call wishing him luck as he promised to email and text him their next schedule of event shoots. Leaving him to continue suffering the sweet blissful agony of a boot sandwich which was of course just a preview of what Millie and Verosika had in store for him. How could they not after having watched him in action like that, the raw ahegao Margot made as she had the biggest cock in existence ensure she’d never think of any other men. And this would be just the beginning of what was yet to come in his new career in adult entertainment…..pray for him….

[barbreypilled]

in subway au Drogo is just Dany’s weird gay babysitter that Viserys hired because he kind of had first aid training (he works at the stable where Barb and Domeric’s horses are and he had to get certified if he wanted to become the manager but some. fucking lady came in and put laxatives in his coffee before the interview and usurped the position herself. she doesn’t even have actual first aid training). Every time Dany gets in trouble for setting fires at school Viserys makes him pick her up so he has to haul ass all the way back into the city from the stable and Mirri is like woww I guess you don’t really need this job then. I guess I’ll have to FIRE you but then she can’t find the termination paperwork. JonCon keeps trying to put up flyers for the Golden Company’s production of Little Shop of Horrors and Barb won’t let him because he wouldn’t let her stage her all-native production of Jesus Christ Superstar at his venue back in ‘02 and every single time he gets so worked up because goddamnit Barbrey I thought u were a patron of the arts and she’s like I WAS until my filmmaking career flopped now I’m stuck here forever. Domeric overhears this and is like wowww Barb was so cool back in the day then he watches one of the documentaries she made and that’s how he finds out that she used to lez out with Cat. He tells Bethany and she’s like you are definitely the last to find this out I think even Theon knows. Theon didn’t. Theon gets very upset because he wanted to put the moves on Cat and he tries to poison Barb’s pasta-in-a-can but can’t figure out how to discreetly get it open. JonCon is trying to put up yet another flyer and Barb is prioritizing yelling at him about it over the lunch rush. Even though all the Dothraki characters do work at a stable the subway au stand in for Dothraki horse culture are those fuckass ebikes that every other person in Toronto seems to have nowadays. Rakharo just LOVES to ride his fast as hell on the sidewalk. Jhiqui’s on the back holding on having her little Lana Ride MV moment but she’s on an ebike delivering Ramsay’s Uber eats (from subway) (he likes to order them during the rush because he knows it’ll make Theon sweat) (Roose can hear him moaning on the other side of the door and just prays to god he’s jerking off and not doing weird shit with the sandwich, which he is). also Rodrik Cassel owns the most annoying craft brewery in all of Ontario. Jory wants to work at subway so bad but Barb hates his vibes. Viserys does not have a job. He used to be involved in Illyrio’s pyramid scheme but got fired because he was so bad at it.

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[oddduckthatgirl]

Title: Seconds Are Welcome

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Lannister!female

Warnings: period typical misogyny, arranged marriage, period typical gender roles

Summary: Everyone talks of girls coming of age. No one speaks of when the girl doesn’t desire to be less than who she is.

A/N: this is slightly AU-ish. For this story, Daemon was named heir, not Rhynera (not hate, just a plot). Changed some Lannister names. It’s just a story, let’s not dissect too much. This story will have multiple parts.

Casterly Rock was the ideal hold for any man to feel like a king in his own keep. Jason Lannister attended to his family home with all the devotion any lord would. He has four children. His two sons, James and Jonathon, are both married, each of them having apartments within the walls with their lady wives. Also within the walls are his two unmarried daughters, Jasline and Jaylon.

Jaylon Lannister wasn’t as she appeared. She looked every part a Lannister. Her eyes were such a light shade of blue that they appeared gray in a certain light. A long flowing mane of pale blonde hair. She had a very lean figure, but muscular. She had been tutored all the ways a proper lady should be. She also could read and write seven languages. She and her sister Jasline received the absolute finest instruction befitting their stations. While her sister had to work for every lesson, Jaylon found academics to be simple. As such she had time to learn other lessons.

She spent some afternoons learning about all things equestrian. After all, horses are what helped her family amass their fortune. She wanted to know everything. From an early age, her father Jason indulged her curiosity. He had even found it quite endearing. However, since she was now eight and ten years old and not married he seemed to be irritated by it.

What raised his ire more was her interest in sparring with her brothers. She often would sneak out with them in the evenings so they could instruct her. Until one evening they had been discovered by their father. He hauled her into his study and told her that was not her place as a future lady of a fine house.

“I’m your youngest child Father and your second daughter. I could only hope for a match so great.”

“You will still have a husband to protect you.”

“What happens if he is killed? Who protects me then? Or if he did save my life, now he’s owed a debt. A Lannister always pays their debts.”

Begrudgingly, he relented but insisted on having her train with her brothers. To give her the same teachings. In truth, she was a far more elegant fighter and understood how to use her femininity to her advantage.

Jasline was far more calm. The eldest daughter who had understood her role. She was the picture of a proper lady. Everything a lord could want in a wife. She didn’t argue, she kept her opinions to herself and she could smile all day while appearing to not have a thought in her head. With her temperament, one would wonder her connection to the Lannister name if not for the blonde hair. Most described her as quite pleasant company.

Dull. Jaylon thought of her sister.

She could never live that life.

Jasline had been married to a nice lord from House Blackwood. They had a longer courtship than usual due to some haggling over the dowry. During that time there had been a small uprising that was beginning to become serious. Eventually, it was decided that Jasline and her lord should be married quickly so he could set out with his lord Father to right their lands.

They were wed in a small ceremony. Jaylon was her attendant while he had his cousin. They didn’t even consummate the union before he had to set out.

Young Lord Blackwood never returned. Jasline was a widow before she even had lost her maidenhead.

It made it difficult to find a match for her. So many questions. During the months after, Jasline had occasion to make acquaintance with Thomas Baratheon. They appeared to have a genuine affection for each other, so Jaylon thought, however it would seem their Father didn’t think the young lord, a second son, worthy of his eldest daughter.

Jaylon almost wished her father had those thoughts for her. Once she came of age, her father had her see every eligible second or third son in all of Westeros. She would do her best to be a proper lady but then they would ask her opinion and she would always answer honestly.

“Jaylon, they are not interested in what a lady thinks.”

“Well Father, perhaps they should be.”

She would tell her father about these young lord’s opinions on battle or horses or wine.

“How am I, a Lannister, to sit there and listen to them be so mistaken? They would make a fool of me and by extension, you.”

Jason Lannister was a proud man. He knew his youngest was correct but he would never give her the satisfaction.

“Why must you insist on such obstinate behavior?”

“I believe it is inherent.”

This would most assuredly have her father avoiding her for days on end. Which was fine by Jaylon, more time to devote to sparring and to horses. More time to think of the many ways to make the next suitor for her recoil in disgust. If it wasn’t their misguided crowing about how honored she should be to be their wife and welp their children it was their leering. She even had the moment to strike a young lord who commented on how strong her thighs were from riding.

It was a quick reaction. Truth be told, it was probably the first broken bone the young lord had ever suffered. Judging by his lewdness, it wouldn’t be the last.

Every day is the same. Until it wasn’t.

There was a new tutor. Some Septa sent to them from King's Landing. He told Jasline and Jaylon they were to have lessons in High Valyrian. The girls exchanged a look and knew what that implied.

A Prince was interested in a Lannister wife.

Lucky for Jasline, even more lucky for Father, Jaylon mused. She was just enthusiastic about another language to learn. More than likely she needed to do her best to master it so she could help Jasline. It wouldn’t do her well to not understand it. Jasline focused all her attention on it, while Jaylon made sure to note her struggles.

Jaylon had heard the rumors as had her sister. She could even see the fear in Jasline’s face when people spoke of Prince Daemon. The girls spent hours at night discussing him, his temperament.

“I hear he’s roguishly handsome,” Jasline sighed.

“He’s a Targaryen. Of course he is. And a prince,” Jaylon collects herself, “I suppose if you’re attracted to that sort of person.”

Jasline smirks, “and he’s a wonderful fighter. Quite a quick wit as well.”

Jaylon nods, “much to the annoyance of the small council I hear.”

Jasline shifts to face her sister, “do you think the other whispers have merit?”

“Did you mean the piece about the street of silk or the piece about him murdering his lady wife?”

“Jaylon Lannister! That is treasonous,” Jasline’s face flush.

“Sweet sister. He is a prince. He does as he chooses. He was commanded into marriage, so the story goes. A young prince who didn’t want such a wife. So he did as he pleased. Perhaps he was simply bored.”

“Jaylon. I would bore him so,” she gasped, “you should put yourself in his way.”

Jaylon laughed loudly, “Father wouldn’t dream of that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not you, Jasline. I’m not the first born. I’m just the spare.”

Jasline sighed, “perhaps marriage to the Prince isn’t what I want.”

“Thomas.”

“I love him, sister.”

“I know you do. But we are just women in this world. We are at the whim of every man,” Jaylon reclines and gazes out the window, “and Father knows best for us.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Jasline settles herself in her bed, “I would suppose it’s easy to be so placid; the eyes of a dragon aren't fixed upon you. But they should be.”

“Oh Jasline, marriage is an arrangement. You smile, you nod, you bear his children. Everything else you will sort out.”

“I have sorted it. He needs to wed you. You are one of the greatest beauties in all of Westeros. You are intelligent, strong, cunning and most importantly you are not easily swayed by the opinions of others.”

Jaylon rolls her eyes, “sleep sister, you’ll need your strength.”

Jasline settles into bed, “yes I will. I need to convince His Highness of all your virtues.”

Jaylon leaves her sister to rest and makes her way to her room for the night. She laughs thinking over her sister’s suggestion that she be put in Prince Daemon’s way. Her father would never allow it. She imagines the look of rage that would take him over. How he would have to obey the command of his Prince, if he did want her instead. That would raise his ire even more.

She couldn’t help the smile at the thought. Fun but a fool’s wish.

She sat and brushed her hair, staring at her reflection. She wonders what it is about her that these lord’s find appealing. She’s just a young girl, who knows about horses and wine. That reads whatever she can so she wouldn’t be left behind in the conversation of men. Her understanding that information is the greatest and most valuable commodity.

This is how she gathered what she could on the Targaryen prince. She wanted her sister to have every advantage. She also didn’t want to displease the man herself and squander all the work that has gone into this endeavor.

Before she drifted to sleep, she imagined what a conversation with him would be like. Would he be intimidating? Would he be kind? She also hoped for the chance to see his dragon. That isn’t a sight she would soon forget.

[handeaux]

Cincinnati’s Kit Kapp Mapped Uncharted Waters, Popularized Indigenous Art & Was Forgotten By His Hometown

When Amor Smith “Kit” Kapp Jr. died in Florida at the age of 86 in 2013, not a single Cincinnati news outlet carried an obituary or, in fact, any mention at all. The oversight was remarkable since Kit Kapp had been featured in more than 60 Cincinnati news stories between the 1940s and the 1970s.

Almost every day of Kit Kapp’s long life was worthy of a news story somewhere. He was born in 1926 to Loretta and Amor Smith Kapp Sr. in Walnut Hills. His father was a lumber dealer and the marriage was rocky. Loretta sued for divorce twice. The second time, it took. Throughout high school and college, Kit lived with his father.

As a youngster, Kit was bedridden with scarlet fever. He told his father he wanted to build a boat, so Amor Kapp Sr. drove down to the Ohio River and took photos of a towboat. Dad told the Cincinnati Post [18 December 1955]:

“I put those pictures on a drafting board and we started to build. That darn boat took nine months to make, but Kit still has it. It has 144 miniature lights that work and a miniature paddle wheel.”

Inspired by the towboat project, Kit launched his own business, the American Model Company, to sell model boat kits to hobbyists while still a student at Anderson High School.

While living in Mount Washington, Kit walked down to Coney Island and pestered the concessionaires into letting him exercise their ponies and horses. He was just 15 when he signed up to work on a dude ranch in Oklahoma. The next summer found him at a “real” ranch in Arizona. Diving into the cowboy culture, Kit became fascinated by the guns of the Old West and managed to become, at age 17, the youngest person licensed as a firearms dealer by the U.S. government. He boasted that he owned more Smith & Wesson sidearms than any collector in the country.

Kit enrolled at the University of Cincinnati in 1944 but was almost immediately drafted into the Army. He served as a paratrooper in an airborne division based in Japan during the post-war occupation. While overseas, he discovered two new passions: mountain climbing and the Ainu, an indigenous people found in the far northern reaches of the Japanese archipelago. Typically, Kit located every book published on the Ainu – 15 in total, all in Japanese – and hired Japanese students to translate them. He amassed a significant collection of Ainu artifacts and set about connecting Japanese scholars at Hokkaido Imperial University with anthropology faculty at UC.

Returning to UC after his discharge as a sergeant, Kit convinced the Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity to climb Mount Whitney, the highest mountain in the contiguous United States. But, when the time came for the expedition to depart, Kit found himself alone. He told the Cincinnati Post [24 June 1947]:

“A couple of my fraternity brothers were going along, too, but they apparently thought it was just a lot of talk and made other plans for the summer. So I’m going alone.”

On his way west, Kit climbed Signal Peak in Utah and El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. He summited Mount Whitney, hauling a 63-pound pack, and then climbed nearby Mount Muir, not as tall but treacherously steep. According to the Post [29 December 1952]:

“He reached the peak, then gazed down on 1200 feet of sheer precipice. The descent was more a rock-grasping operation than anything else. Kit’s foot slipped and he went tumbling. The whole slope seemed to slide with him. In the best mountain-climbing manner, he stuck out his arms and spread his legs to provide the best brakeage possible.”

Kit ended up with a twisted right leg, a heel pried from one boot, and a determination to find another mountain to climb. Instead, he bought a cheap automobile and drove it through Central America. He blamed it on Burton Holmes.

Almost forgotten today, Burton Holmes was something like a Depression-era globe-trotting Rick Steves. Holmes filmed exotic locales and traveled the country narrating his movies in very popular and remunerative lectures. In April 1946, Holmes presented a filmed tour of Mexico at UC’s Wilson Auditorium, extolling the fine automotive route along the new Pan-American Highway, but warning his audience not to attempt driving further into Central America, because it couldn’t be done.

That sounded like a dare to Kit Kapp. Boasting, as he put it, a bankroll “just thick enough to see through,” Kapp bought a 1929 Model-A Ford for $64 in 1948 and drove it all the way to Costa Rica. As a friend later wrote:

“Claiming to be a journalism student, Kit succeeded in meeting and interviewing the presidents of both Nicaragua and Guatemala during his trip. His car survived the journey back to the US, despite suffering 18 bullet holes passing through a small revolution in Nicaragua.”

Kit changed 51 flat tires and somehow made it back to Cincinnati without the benefit of second gear just in time to enroll for his junior year at UC’s College of Business Administration. Soon after graduation in 1950, Kit sold his model boat company and his firearm collection and bought a 41-foot ketch he named Fairwinds and sailed for the Caribbean. The original Fairwinds was wrecked in a gale, so Kit acquired a 50-foot “bugeye” ketch and christened it Fairwinds II.

With St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands as a base, Kit launched a charter company, hauling tourists around the area, eventually wandering farther and farther afield. Along the way, he met and married his first wife, the former Lois Fatzinger of Palmerton, Pennsylvania. After a decade running charters, that marriage dissolved, and Kit decided that he would rather go exploring than stick to a charter’s set schedule. He told the Post [18 December 1965]:

“I decided to get out of the high rent district. Running a charter boat is like running a sea-going taxi.”

Instead, he offered expeditions to crew members who paid him for the privilege of exploring rarely visited islands and coasts.

“I make plans ahead of time and if anyone wants to go along they pay $200 for two weeks. They work, but not hard. They help clean up, aid in survey work, help carry equipment on the island beaches. We work about five hours a day, then we swim or loaf.”

Many of those expeditions were sponsored officially by the Explorer’s Club of New York. That organization designated Kit as a fellow of the society. Among his regular customers was physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer. Kit’s travels took him into previously uncharted waters near the coast of Panama, and it was here that he generated his most culturally impactful discovery.

Kit’s efforts to survey the San Blas Islands off the north coast of Panama led to a lifelong interest in the Guna tribespeople who lived there. The Guna (or Kuna) produced unique fabric designs known as mola, vibrantly colored and intricately layered fabric pieces worn by the Guna women. The process involved in creating molas is often described as “reverse appliqué,” in which pieces of fabric are cut away to reveal layers underneath. Kit was among the first outsiders to appreciate and study these dynamic artworks and to bring them to the attention of scholars worldwide. His self-published 1972 monograph, “Mola art from the San Blas Islands” remains the definitive introduction to the art form.

During dozens of voyages around the San Blas Islands, Kit’s quest for reliable charts inspired him to seek out, collect, study and sell antique maps. Some of the maps he found were quite valuable. One sold at auction for $34,000. By 1967, Kit had accumulated a substantial inventory, enough to mount an exhibition in Jamaica. During the opening reception for that exhibit, Kit met his second wife, Valerie, born on the Isle of Wight, who helped coordinate his buying and selling trips to England and the Continent.

As Kit and Valerie shared their discoveries in Guna art, their travels brought them to Cincinnati, where they coordinated a landmark exhibition of molas and ritual Guna statuary at the Studio San Guiseppe at the College of Mount St. Joseph in 1972. Enquirer [13 February 1972] art critic Owen Findsen was impressed:

“Leaving the ethnology to Captain Kapp, the Mola can be seen as a pure art form. One must be taken by the intense coloring of many of them which can set up visual vibrations to compete with the Op artists. And the designs are clever in the same way that the pseudo-primitive art of Paul Klee is clever, by its directness and its innocence.”

The colors and patterns of mola fabric art filtered into popular fashions throughout the 1970s. Women around the world wore clothing and carried handbags replicating Guna mola designs, usually with no awareness of the original source.

As a dealer in antique maps, Kit built a reputation as a discerning connoisseur and befriended several other influential collectors. British map dealer Simon Hunter was one such colleague. He recalled:

“Kit was a very astute buyer, but he was also a most entertaining character whose good humor and traveler’s tales made it impossible to resent the large discounts he invariably managed to obtain on his many purchases.”

All the while he was buying and selling maps, Kit earned acclaim as a formidable scholar who also had the expertise to create his own maps. His many academic publications include analyses of maps, inventories of known charts and monographs on native peoples. Worldcat lists more than 40 publications under his name, with at least a dozen publications being maps of previously unfathomed waters.

After 25 years devoted to collecting and selling maps, Kit and Valerie decided that their business, no matter how successful, was detracting from the time available for exploring their beloved Caribbean. They pivoted toward selling by consignment through other dealers, rather than issuing their own catalogs. The sheer volume of their collections necessitated buying a house with a large garage on land, and they settled in Nokomis, Florida.

Over the years, significant honors accrued. In addition to the prestigious Explorers’ Club, Kit was awarded a permanent card for the British Museum Reading Room and memberships in the Royal Geographical Society, the Adventurers' Club of New York, the Archaeological Institute of America and the American Geographical Society.

After Kit’s death in 2013, his widow discovered more than 60 cartons of uncatalogued Guna art that he had packed away since the early 1970s. While itemizing that substantial collection, she discovered a room covered by a false wall in the garage with even more fabrics and statuary. Much of this new inventory is now available through various auction houses.

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep. 105: Moving On and Moving In

With Luigi’s post college career on track, it was time for him to focus on fulfilling his lifelong desire to establish his own homestead in sunny Sulani.

He’d always imagined living right on the water, but none of the available waterfront properties would accommodate a stable. He refused to abandon his promise that Noemi could adopt a horse, so the couple searched further inland for their own personal slice of paradise.

Scouring openings on all the islands, they finally decided on a modest sized ranch on Lani St. Taz. It was quite close to the beach, and the large side yard called out for a sturdy stable. After walking through the lot a couple times, they decided it was perfect.

With the island ranch now officially their  home, it was time to furnish it with everything their little family needed to live comfortably.

Luigi had never worried about simoleons and spared no expense purchasing the best furniture and appliances. In the end they spent almost every penny of his savings as well as the surprisingly large nest egg Noemi and Kiana had set aside by living modestly.

Being two professionals soon to start lucrative careers, Luigi was sure they’d be making more than enough to replenish their bank account quickly.

The final step, of course, was getting all that furniture moved in and setup (not to mention paint and wallpaper!). The house they’d bought had been “move in ready” with a neutral and thoroughly boring beige interior pallet, and according to Luigi that “simply wouldn’t do”.

Noemi was glad they’d taken Dr. Valasquez’s advice to put out a call for help getting them settled. After all the house hunting, she was in absolutely no condition to do much more than lounge around and try to recover from hauling their nearly full-term baby around with them.

Luigi dropped his favorite girl off at the homestead to keep his self proclaimed “lazy” father company while he and a large group of younger family and friends spent the day setting their new home up just right.

While unpacking Luigi had time to catch up on the others lives.

Bonnie sent her husband Leroy’s regrets. He was up against a big deadline in his new job as a freelance writer, but they were doing well. She’d even brought some of the first vegetables harvested from the seeds Luigi had given her at Winterfest as a housewarming gift!

Scott reported that he and Bria had started talking about trying for a baby. His sister practically had her own basketball team, and he figured it was time for him to maybe have at least one of his own! Luigi wished the couple luck while silently shaking his head in disbelief that he’d ended up being one of the first in his friend group to have a child when he’d been so unsure of when he’d even feel ready to get started trying!

Most of his friends may have been doing well, but as soon as they’d arrived Luigi had sensed the tension between Hunter and Tess, who’d just given up their quest for a baby themselves after a string of devastating miscarriages. He’d contemplated not inviting them to help with the move to spare them having to help unpack so much infant gear, but he couldn’t bear the thought that they might feel unwelcome or abandoned.

Hunter was quiet and withdrawn, barely responding to Luigi’s gentle questions. Tess shed more light on their situation, taking advantage of a moment alone with him to confide her fears for her husband’s mental health and the difficulties she was having getting him to communicate with her.

The loss of their babies had taken a heavy toll on their relationship. Luigi told his friend how sorry he was and reminded her he was there for them if he could help in any way. He loved them both and hoped they could bounce back from their troubles without losing each other too.

At the end of the long day Peachy and Noemi arrived with a couple big bags of groceries. Taking her hand Luigi excitedly showed his girl from room to room, basking in the glow of her happy smile.

According to Noemi she’d had her fill of muted tones living with Kiana’s plain tastes in décor, preferring the bold colors and bright patterns that filled their new home. At the end of the tour, she told Luigi that her absolute favorite room was the nursery. A serene blue paradise, she just knew that the little person sleeping peacefully inside her was going to absolutely love it there someday soon.

Gathering everyone in the living room the couple offered their wholehearted thanks and invited them to stick around. It was time to party!

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Fifty-One: Crozier

A reckoning approaches! My most frequent annotation in that chapter has been simply 'nOoOooOOoooOoO' and you'll see why soon enough.

They've arrived at Rescue Camp - about as far south as they can go on KWI before the coast turns north again - and the halt can't come soon enough. There are so many sick now that even the healthiest men are rapidly running out of strength to haul them along, and Goodsir has advised the Captain that no fewer than five men need their feet amputated, including Mr Diggle.

Crozier and Goodsir have also discussed, only among themselves so far, where to go from here and have proposed a gut-wrenching split. Goodsir will remain at Rescue Camp with the ill, while Crozier and the healthiest men carry on in hopes that they'll make it to rescue if they no longer have to haul their fellows behind them. "Crozier knew that the surgeon had voluntarily signed his own death warrant by volunteering to stay behind with the doomed men and Goodsir knew his captain knew it. Neither man spoke of it."

Out in the strait, the ice is in complete turmoil - "agitated and torturing itself" into mountainous peaks and troughs that Crozier believes even the indefatigable Manson to be incapable of hauling through or over.

And speaking of Manson, Crozier's thoughts soon turn again to the mutiny that's continued to foment. He hasn't trusted anyone nor been without the company of his most loyal men since the first mutinous stirrings a month earlier. But with tensions rising once more, Crozier has decided that when the time comes, it will be better to let Hickey et al go their own way and wash his hands of them - "The fewer men left at Rescue Camp the better, especially if it meant getting rid of the rotten apples."

Crozier calls a muster of all the remaining men (poor Mr Diggle dies just moments before this, bleeding out after Goodsir - with wee Tom Hartnell as his new assistant - amputates his foot). :((( Crozier has the bosuns draw in the gravel the outline of their long-lost ships' deck. "This allowed the men to know where to stand during the muster and gave them a sense of familiarity." They've apparently done this every time they've stopped in camp and been called to meet.

With the men assembled, Crozier once more reflects on who is now absent. He goes ship by ship and rank by rank from officers right on down to ship's boys. David Young is still alive in the book, as is George Chambers although he never recovered from the head injury he received at Carnivale and has been unable to care for himself or do anything but the most menial physical tasks ever since. Robert Golding is also still present - he's almost 23 now but is still "gullible in a boy's way" which is an interesting little detail.

On a lighter note, we learn that Mr Honey the carpenter is still clinging onto life in an oddly heartening, Blanky-esque way despite being riddled with scurvy and having just had both his feet amputated - "Incredibly, as of this assembly, the carpenter was still alive and even managed to shout "Present!" from his tent when his name was called at muster."

After a grim prayer, Crozier announces that from this point forward, each man may go his own way. Goodsir will stay with the sick, Crozier and the healthiest men will forge on for Back's River and if anyone else has an alternate plan, they're welcome to pursue it. It is then that Lt. Hodgson steps forward: "The captain just looked at the young officer for a long moment. He knew that Hodgson was a stalking horse [a fun phrase that I can't say I've ever come across before] for Hickey, Aylmore, and a few of the more rebellious sea lawyers who had been stirring up the men with resentment for so many months, but he wondered if young Hodgson knew it."

Hickey, Hodgson et al express once again their intention to return to the ship, and around sixteen men are counted in total when Crozier asks how big this doomed return part is set to be. As with David Young, we see some interesting differences from the show here - Morfin, Charles Best, and Billy Orren are among those sixteen men, and Gibson's mentioned too.

Three other men - Reuben Male, Robert Sinclair, and Samuel Honey step forward also but stress emphatically that they're not associated in any way with Hickey's band. They want to return to the ships also but will try to make it cross-country with only what they can carry on their backs.

Hickey announces - "folding his arms and standing legs-apart in front of his men like a Cockney Napoleon" - their intention to take poor brain-damaged George Chambers along with them, as well as the still-comatose Davey Leys (insisting that they've been taking care of him and want to continue to do so). "The hell you say," said Crozier. "Why would you want to bring two men who can't take care of themselves?"

It is then that Goodsir steps in to the fray (though it's a wonder he's able to do so given the absolute BAMF balls of steel he's got on him in the conversation that follows). "No" said Dr. Goodsir, stepping forward into the tense space between Crozier and Hickey's men, "you haven't been taking care of Mr Leys and you don't want George Chambers and him as fellow travellers. You want them as food."

Hickey is taken aback at that. He urges Manson into violent action but thinks better of it when the last few Marines, scurvy-ridden and barely able to stand, nevertheless raise their weapons. He settles for entreating Goodsir to come with them, insists that it's the only option for survival but Goodsir, preternaturally calm and collected, is having none of it and insists in turn that they don't need him for what they're planning... "Even an amateur can learn dissective anatomy quite quickly" interrupted Goodsir, his voice strong enough to override the caulker's mate's. "When one of these other gentlemen you're bringing along as your private food stock dies - or when you help him die - all you have to do is sharpen a ship's knife to a scalpel's edge and begin cutting." This alone is so SO interesting to me and I might have to write a separate post about it. It reminds me of his confession in the show - "if ever I was a doctor, I am one no longer" - for one thing. And it really does just speak volumes about how he views himself and the situation at hand. He's been self-conscious throughout the story in his skills as a lowly anatomist and his comparative lack of a "true" doctor's knowledge. But now he sees how little any of that matters. He's just chopped the feet right off five different men FFS - how could he not see himself as only a butcher now? How could he not see that butchery is all that's left?

He continues to describe the grisly processes of carving up a body for consumption, completely in control, his voice soft and never rising. Let's end on his gruesome, nightmarish climax, shall we? "...I recommend you put each other's bone marrow into a pot for cooking straightaway and let yourselves simmer before trying to digest your friends." "Fuck you." snarled Cornelius Hickey. Dr Goodsir nodded. "Oh" the surgeon added softly, "when you get around to eating one another's brains, it will be simplicity itself. Simply saw off the lower jaw, throw it away with the lower teeth, and use a knife or spoon to gouge and hack your way up through the soft palate into the cranial vault. If you wish, you may invert the skull and sit around it, scooping out each other's brains like so much Christmas pudding."

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I definitely want to back up that anon who thinks jimin is still in the kitchen! In truth I think all the boys are and will be for a long time. I see chapter two as the introduction of their solo careers meaning "hey we are gonna be bts but also be ourselves sometimes too" I think every solo moment we've seen is the beginning which I'm for one super excited about. Imagine a wave of brilliant solo work one year and then phenomenal group work the next. Chapter two is barely a year in and it's already a visual and musical feast. I think jimin loves quietly preparing so he can wow us when he feels the time is right and while I too get tense with the constant radio silence I know it's cause he'll blow my mind the second he wants too. I hope people who feel as if Jimin didn't get a chance to show his true might feel comforted in that he will never ever stop wanting to gag tf out of us. And I think the sentiment holds the same for bts.

***

Exactly this. Up until a few months ago I thought this was well understood, seeing as how BTS has operated till now, but clearly I was mistaken.

For posterity’s sake, to beat this dead horse one final time:

Would it be nice for each member’s release to not have any of the issues they’ve had? Of course. But it’s possible to inform the company of said issues, address what we can for issues due to various platform errors not due to the company, while not losing sight of the fact this is only 2023. We’re still only in 2023. As in, we’re literally just one year into Chapter 2, none of the guys are older than 30, and they keep saying they’re in this for the long haul. And this is the same group that has shown over a decade that their plans are most often and best executed in multi-year stints.

It’s bizarre to think a member’s solo career is over or even damaged at all in any real way because of one or more problems that happened during their first solo release. It betrays such a myopic, winner-take-all mentality that you have to be in a very specific headspace to fully buy into.

Jimin is clearly happy and working. He’s not blind and is seeing what is working for other members and what isn’t. They’re all checking out each other’s solo endeavours from time to time, cheering each other on and I’d say making notes on what they too could try, what works and what doesn’t.

If there’s one thing that’s become clear to me over the years, and even more so in Chapter 2, it’s that BTS is a team. A real team. I’ve seen a lot of k-pop groups over the years and there is no group today, present or past, that would reach the heights BTS has if any of the members sought to harm or sabotage or lord shit over the rest, with or without help from the company. None of the BTS members would put up with that shit. Their egos are too big, they’re so obviously their own people, very ambitious and so aware of it that I really wonder if people actually listen to these men when they talk. They know exactly what they’re worth, and they trust that all the other members know it too. If BigHit showed any real favouritism, BTS is the last group to allow that if it’s not something they themselves have already agreed to.

They all know what they’re doing. And if they don’t, then they’re the only people with the tools to figure it out. All the angst and anguish over this or that happening in fan spaces, has no real effect on these men sitting somewhere in Seoul planning out everything they’d like to do as solo artists and as part of BTS.

That’s my takeaway after watching them for as long as I have. I could be wrong, but I’ve not seen anything to suggest that yet. I’m not sure how long you’ve been in the fandom Anon, or what you think about other issues, but it’s nice to see you and the other Anon share this perspective. It’s a view that’s widely accepted in the fan spaces I’m in outside of Tumblr, but one that is sorely lacking in this space right now.

For no reason at all, one Jimin that I hope one day shows up in Chapter 2, 3, or 4:

Sidebar - A friend (who isn’t religious) was asking another friend recently about religion, because she’s now desperate enough to seek divine intervention for Jimin to find blonde hair dye, and to love it again.

We all know his best hair colour is black, but it’s just as true that a solid case has been made for him being a natural blonde.

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Okay, that’s it today from my gallery.

That colleague i mentioned the other day, the one that recently got into BTS and now biases Jimin, we’re meeting up this weekend with my other friend, the musician that watched the Grammys with me last year and fell in love with Jimin. That’s an example of two people still finding out about Jimin, falling in love with his music and him as a person, and starting to support him. None of the noise online actually has any real bearing on the impact of real life people still learning about Jimin through his solo music and through BTS, and becoming his fans maybe for life.

If anyone finds themselves feeling overwhelmed in fandom, please zoom out. Please take time away and get some perspective. Everything I’ve said is obvious, none of it is rocket science or gleaned from any special insight. The noise online can suck you in, to prevent that, please detach, go back to their recent and old interviews to hear what they each feel about Chapter 2 and their solo work, listen to all of what Jimin expressed during his promotions, the good and bad. You’d be left with fewer anxieties. At least, that’s the case for me.

Thanks for this, Anon.