#i apologize to anyone who thinks this blog is dead

[barcaatthemoon]

party girl || barcelona x reader ||

a night out at the club takes an interesting turn for you.

minors dni, 18+, smut warning.

a huge thank you to everybody who has followed me. 1500 is a lot for a blog i never really thought anyone would pay attention to.

the club was a mess of sweaty bodies grinding against each other just barely to the beat. it was like you were in a bubble with every single person on the dance floor. within your little bubble, life was great. you had a sense of euphoria as the strong hands that had been holding your hips for the past three songs moved up along your sides.

it was always risky to let strangers touch you like this, but you knew that you were in a somewhat safe space. the club had good security, and nearly every patron you had come across was a woman. you felt lips press against your neck and your head fell back against a slender shoulder. your eyes were closed as you turned around, perfectly catching this woman's lips.

you felt your knees grow a bit weak as this woman deepened the kiss. just before your knees did buckle, you felt very familiar hands on your waist. lucy tugged your head back a bit as your eyes opened to see ingrid standing in front of you. immediately, your heart began to race with panic as you started to look around for mapi.

"don't get scared now," lucy teased. you turned around to glare at her, but you stopped when you caught sight of mapi and ona behind her.

"come back with us," ona told you. she reached out and took your hands in hers. you were a bit too shocked to argue as ona led you out of the club. it wasn't until you were in the back of an uber heading towards what you assumed was ona's apartment that you realized what you had done.

"mapi's going to kill me," you groaned helplessly. lucy rolled her eyes as she placed her hand on the back of your neck. "i'm a dead woman, i kissed ingrid."

"ingrid kissed you, first of all. second, she's not going to kill you, trust me. we wouldn't be bringing you over if we thought she'd kill you," lucy promised. you let out a small whimper, and lucy pecked your lips before you could start pouting. "lucy!"

"it's fine," lucy huffed. you were torn between arguing with lucy and apologizing to ona. ona seemed to understand what was going through your mind, and before you could do either, she kissed you. you had never kissed ona before, and you didn't think that you'd ever kiss anyone like that again. you had expected her to be softer, but instead, ona kissed you roughly. your lips were definitely bruised, and you were surprised that she didn't draw blood when she nipped at your lips. "come on, we're here."

"what am i here for, exactly?" you asked as lucy pulled you out of the car.

"we're gonna fuck you, obviously," lucy said. your hands began to sweat a bit as they brought you into the building. everything was moving quickly, but you weren't sure that you would have even considered going home alone if you had the chance to. "you still like this sort of thing, don't you?"

"lucy," you hissed as you swatted at her to be quiet. the blush on your cheeks told lucy everything that she needed to know.

"come on, we wouldn't want to keep our guests waiting." this time, you were surprised by ona being the one to push you forward. you wondered what lucy had told her about you from your days as a lioness. you weren't overly proud of all the things you had done or let people do to you, but there had never been a dull night for you at camp before.

mapi and ingrid stood in the hallway waiting for the three of you. it felt wrong to watch as ingrid greeted ona with a kiss. you found yourself turning away, but also desperately trying to avoid mapi's gaze. you couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow upset with you for kissing ingrid despite both of them being here waiting for you.

"hola chica." mapi greeted you the same way that she did at practice when you tried to keep to yourself. it was hard, but you had finally shaken the "party girl" persona that you had been dubbed with at the beginning of your career. "no kisses for me? i am sure that everybody else got one."

"she's always a little shy at first," lucy said as she unlocked the door. mapi stuck by your side as the group made their way inside. ingrid didn't seem to mind at all, far too preoccupied with ona. "if you don't want to do this, let me know, okay? i know that i sprung this on you, but it's always a little spontaneous isn't it?"

"i'm fine, i promise," you said quietly. lucy nodded and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. she walked off, leaving you alone with mapi on the couch. this time, you couldn't ignore the older spanish defender. "d-did you know that ingrid was going to kiss me?"

"no, but i hoped that she would. one of us had to make a move to get this started, right?" mapi asked. it was stupid, but you felt embarrassed as you nodded. you had never made the first move with anybody before, always the one sought after by teammates and strangers alike. although, you'd never do something like this with a group of people that you didn't trust to take care of you. lucy had hooked up with you both by herself and with others, so she knew all of your rules by now. "can i tell you a secret?"

"sure." you glanced over at mapi, who leaned in close to whisper in your ear.

"ingrid made most of our first moves. other than the ring, that is. i did the big one, and that's what counts," mapi told you. you weren't surprised, having noticed how mapi and ingrid were with each other when nobody else was looking. "i can make this move with you, don't worry."

mapi gently cupped your face in her hands. her thumbs rubbed along your cheekbones as she leaned in. mapi moved much slower than you had expected, but you didn't mind it. the build up made the kiss even better, and you found yourself melting back into the couch as mapi covered her body with yours. her tongue swiped past your lips, giving you a taste of the mint from her drink that expertly masked the bit of alcohol.

"you're being greedy." ona wedged herself behind you. mapi broke the kiss to say something back to ona, who wasn't listening in the slightest. ona cared much more about pawing at your clothes as she kissed you. once again, you could feel your lips begin to bruise from the roughness of ona's mouth against yours. you felt your stomach tighten as you thought about how rough she'd be with you in bed.

"let's go somewhere with more room," lucy suggested. you were led out of the living room with mapi and ona both competing for your attention. lucy and ingrid didn't seem surprised in the slightest by any of this. you could see lucy's hands on ingrid's body as they slid beneath ingrid's top. that was the first article of clothing successfully removed.

you tried to lean towards where ingrid and lucy were, but it was no use. mapi finally managed to get the top of your dress undone, causing it to fall in a pool at your ankles. you didn't even have a chance to step out of it before you were being pulled onto mapi's lap on the bed. ona followed up closely, placing herself in between everything happening.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see lucy splitting her attention between ona and ingrid. you couldn't do much aside from watch as clothing disappeared at breakneck speed while mapi hooked her legs around yours to keep them open.

"lucia has told us a lot about you, but i want to know what you like," mapi said. she ran her fingers through your hair, smirking when your body went lax against hers. "talk to me, chica. what do you want me to do to you?"

"i want you to fuck me so good that your name is the only one i can think to scream," you told her. mapi took it for what it was, an open challenge. "i want you to split me wide fucking open."

"careful what you wish for (y/n)," lucy warned. you shot her a glare before turning your attention back to mapi. the spanish defender captured your lips in another kiss as her hand moved down your body to rest in between your legs. she wasn't doing much other than just letting her hand cup your pussy, but you were still moving your hips to seek out more contact. "she'll break you if you tell her to."

"mapi wouldn't hurt me unless i really wanted it, isn't that right?" your tone was dripping with false innocence and sweetness. mapi bit her lip as she let her hand lay flat against you. you continued to grind your hips, now getting yourself off by rubbing against her fingers. you let out a soft moan, one that prompted mapi to kiss you a little more.

those kisses were interrupted by ona, who pulled your face away from mapi's. you could see ingrid behind her, thrusting harshly, and lucy's body beneath the both of them being the only thing keeping ona from slamming into you. the kiss with her was messy and desperate, like ona had been craving her moment with you all night.

mapi slowly began to pull more of your attention away from everything else in the room. she had two fingers plunging deep inside of you, keeping a steady rhythm as she began to fuck you. next to you, ingrid and lucy were fucking ona harshly, and mapi noticed that your eyes continuously drifted over towards them.

"do you like it rough? i can fuck you like that. i'll bend you over so you can get a better look too," mapi offered. "would you like that? just say the word and it's all yours."

"mapi please, i want it so bad," you told her. you were surprised how quickly you were reduced to whining. lucy had always liked to joke that you were easy to break, that it was why you were so fun to pass around for a night. you could spend an hour getting fucked relentlessly and once you had the energy to would be asking for it all over again.

"bring her over here," ingrid said. mapi moved you over ona and lucy's bodies. ingrid helped to position you once you were close enough. her touch was less gentle now than it had been earlier in the night. she was being less careful with you, like she was no longer afraid of scaring you away. "do you want to taste ona?"

"yes, please." ingrid surprised you by pulling out of ona and guiding your mouth to the tip of her strap. the subtle smirk on her face grew as she watched you swallow up every inch of her strap that she offered to you. mapi eased into you as ingrid pulled out and pushed your face down towards ona's cunt.

you could hear lucy fucking into ona's ass from beneath her as ingrid guided each stroke of your tongue. occasionally, she'd pull your head away from ona to have you suck on her strap or give you a close up as she fucked ona. it was a lot, and the way that mapi roughly thrust in and out of you had your legs shaking quicker than anybody else had in a long time.

mapi kept thrusting into you even after your body had stilled. her pace was relentless, and you could only get her to stop by squirming away. you laid back against the pillows for a moment as you watched the scene in front of you. you got the sense that they had definitely done this together without you. mapi's strap found a home in ona's mouth, guided by lucy's gentle praises and the strong grip of her hand in ona's hair.

their positioning switched, and you found yourself invited onto lucy's face. lucy's tongue was comfortable and familiar, something that you had come to know well. lucy moved the same way that she always did with you, holding your thighs to keep you on her face until she was finished. you had more than enough freedom to wiggle around and position yourself more comfortably on lucy's face. she knew how important control over your own pleasure was for you sometimes, often having her own reservations about giving that sort of thing up, especially in front of a group.

"you look so good on lucy's face." ona's words were just barely strung together as ingrid began to fuck her once again. mapi was beneath ingrid, eating her out like how lucy was eating you out. you wondered if you were in what would normally be ona's spot, and if you were, the small spanish woman didn't seem to mind one bit.

she relished in the harsh thrusts of ingrid's strap moving in and out of her. you wondered what it would have felt like to be in her position, but you were content where you were. lucy's tongue brought you right up to your peak before easing you away from it only to work you up again and again. you weren't to the point of begging. you had never been able to hold out well, but lucy knew how to edge you for explosive orgasms.

you drenched her face as you squirmed and wriggled your hips wildly. ona was leaned over to lick away the cum you had left on lucy's face. you couldn't believe what you were seeing, and if your body didn't feel so spent, you would have re-joined them. lucy seemed to understand your exhaustion as she pulled you away from the bed to the bathroom.

the shower was spacious with a little ledge for you to rest on. lucy took care in helping you clean up, and the two of you soon found yourselves joined by ona, who seemed to be in a similar state to you. lucy took care of both of you with equal amounts of effort. the three of you were nearly finished when ingrid and mapi came into the bathroom. ona wrapped you up in a robe and led you into a different bedroom than the one you had just been in.

"do you want to stay?" ona asked you. you weren't used to having a space to stay. someone was always there with you, usually a roommate or close friend. someone who never judged you or would raise too many questions in the morning. everybody knew what you got up to, but none of them really ever put much thought into whether or not you spent the rest of your night alone.

"the question is do you want to sleep in here with us or do you want to go back to mapi and ingrid's room? it'll be cooler in here and mapi sleeps naked," lucy said as she walked into the room. there was an extra pep in her step, the one you recognized as her pride from making you and ona cum. she was feeling herself, and the confidence was extremely sexy.

"i don't think that-," ona started, only to be cut off by both you and lucy speaking in unison.

"it's different," the two of you said. ona rolled her eyes as she put a sleep shirt on and nothing else. you found yourself in a pair of lucy's boxers and one of your old england shirts that had mysteriously gone missing years ago. lucy got dressed in her own pajamas before she got in bed with the two of you, placing herself in the middle. the three of you fell asleep together, both you and ona laying there comfortably with one of lucy's arms around your shoulders each.

[rboooks]

DC x DP Fic idea: The Royal Consort

Wesley Weston runs a blog after getting over his desire to expose Danny's secret- primarily due to no one believing him- and no one pays attention to it since almost all of Casper high school has one too.

The difference between the hundreds of other blogs is that one of his pictures of Phantom is clear. A perfectly uncorrected image of the famous ghost, whereas nearly all other pictures are blurry due to ghosts disrupting cameras. Even Wes isn't sure how he managed to capture him so well.

Another difference between his blog and others is that one of his followers happens to be John Constantine, who followed the kid a long time ago due to the fanfiction of the Bats and found them hilarious.

John opens his phone app, expecting a new chapter to the Bruce Wayne/Superman fic, and spits out his tea upon seeing the High King of the Dead casually in the human world. Horrified that the King has not been appropriately welcomed- which could lead to a war that the humans would never win- he calls an emergency Justice League and Justice League Dark meeting.

It didn't help that they had allowed a county to pass the anti-ecto laws, which ruined any attempt to appease the Ghost King once the news broke to the public. The League still worried about a declaration of war even after they demolished the laws and the United Nations had the States apologize on humans' behalf.

They quickly discover High King Phantom has been visiting Earth for almost three years. Before his coronation, Phantom had not been outside the Infinite Realms very often though he has appeared throughout history. Cave drawings date back thousands of years before the first ancient Egyptians, but he's visits are few and short.

Life would naturally send him back to the Realms because he had too much power and ectoplasm. After taking the throne, his powers only grew, which meant someone had to summon him as the only way for him to stay on Earth longer than an hour.

Now as King, he appeared only within the small town of Amity Park daily. Why?

John sighs. "He has an anchor. Someone is tying him to this plane. Like the helmet for Nabu, which allows Doctor Fate to exist here without being launched back to the Infinite Releams, Phantom has bonded himself. And I know who that is"

He pulls up a class photo on Weston's blog and points to a boy wearing a particular necklace.

"Danny Fenton is wearing the official Royal Consort of the Infinite Realms symbol and has been since he was fourteen. Phantom's husband may be our only hope to salvage the terrible mess the USA's bloody GIW placed the rest of us in."

Danny loved the necklace he found in Pariah Dark's old haunt. He inherited Pariah's haunt and everything inside once he was crowned and hasn't taken it off since. He didn't think it would be an issue. It's not like it would out his secret to his parents or anyone else since it was in Ghost Speech. Even he didn't know what it said.

Then one morning he comes down for breakfast only to have the most important members of the Justice League sitting in his living room waiting to greet him.

Desperate to keep his halfa status a secret, Danny must convince the entire world watching him, that he's just a human who scandalously eloped at age fourteen with one of the strongest beings in the mulitverse.

Jack's horrified "We were shooting my son-in-law this whole time" became a meme that has trended for months.

( Part 2 )

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Back from the dead...

Hello, everyone! I know its been a loooong while. I'd like to extend an apology to all of you for going MIA for the last few months, as well as a welcome to all the new followers who have found this blog in those few months. As I alluded to way back at the beginning of the year, I got a new job in my real life, and it threw my work-life balance into disarray!

Thankfully, I think I am finally in a place where I can revive this blog (and good thing too, since I've got so many of your requests to fulfill). To those of you who are still following, thanks for sticking around. I'm working on my first regular post right after I post this one, which I should be able to get up tonight. The plan is to go back to AT LEAST one post a week, but aiming more for three or four. Who knows, maybe someday I'll get back up to every-other-day. Anyways, I'd better get to it. I'm happy to be back.

P.S. As a reminder, here's the google doc with links to all of the posts I've done in the past, in case you want to find any particular posts I've done in the past:

P.S.S. Has anyone been playing Pokémon TCG Pocket? I think its pretty neat. Feel free to share friend codes in the comments of this post, if you want. I'd love to see your cool cards!

[lotusarchon]

As I have the app around, I may as well just dive into this before disappearing again. To the people in my post a few days prior and in my dms, I promise I'm not ignoring any of you, but I genuinely can't muster the energy to speak to anyone else currently. I'm only here currently because someone found my unmentioned hetalia account, which I left unmentioned for a reason...you know who you are...you scared me...😭

Ah, okay well. If you're not aware of who I am, hi. I'm a dude that wrote fanfiction for this fandom I got pulled into. A year ago I had a few different accounts but I had to delete every single one just because I kept getting harassed, from one thing to another. I'm hoping I don't have to do it again this time around.

I haven't gone offline as anyone thought. I did attempt to take my life (twice, 2024 is something else) but in the end it didn't work out, so I've been hiding in my secret account to relax in hetalia for a bit. In between that I've also been stalking the account myself since it showed up just to see what it was up to, and...oh wow that's a lot.

This specific account has been on my ass like a tick since..two days ago. Two days of my 'supposed' death.

I've also recently found out that someone else who was pretending to be a friend of my friend's and a concerned citizen happened to be friends with them;

And hence why I chose not to reemerge my head back then yet. It turns out there's a few people who may have been following me who are acquainted with these people and...yeah, I didn't want to take the risk. I'm hoping no one is going to inform them I'm not actually dead―I blocked both accounts to avoid being noticed.

There's a lot of yapping I'm gonna be doing so expect a lot of that, BUT piece of advice to anyone that actually cares: do not engage with either blog. Don't send them hate mail, don't go gloating that I'm not actually dead, and don't fucking yap about anything. These blogs went as far as to harass my friends who have no part in this, and they also wrote nsfw of my adult oc and my friend who is a fucking minor. Do. Not. Engage. With. Them. Please!! Block, block, block. Just block them! They're actively going out of their way to harass and stalk MINORS.

Under the cut, I am rambling more on personal feelings rather than doing this professionally. I'm still pretty moody actually and well yeah...

Trigger Warning for some topics below!

Okay uh. I've never done this before so excuse me while I put this in question format lmfao..

"Why aren't you dead!?"

Joke answer; god doesn't want me.

Long answer: I'm not the type of person who says something like that ...like that. I really was intending to go through with it, but evidently I was too tired from crying and fell asleep. I figured that I couldn't handle people fucking around with me and hid in my secret blog. Hetalia fandom is so nice for a fandom about countries. Point blank sorry to burst many of your bubbles, but I'm not dead yet. Put the birthday canon away, slut. I'll die next season.

"What the fuck did you even do?"

Exist.

No okay, realistically it's a lot. I'm not going to play the victim here's and I'm not going to lie to people and say "oh hey my mental illness/trauma made me do that" because that's bullshit. I'm also not diving too deep into any explanations just because my hands hurt..but also I don't want to remember anything less I have another panic attack.

A year ago I met this girl who became my friend over a fandom. We chatted, but I fucked our friendship up when I lashed out at her and another friend wrongfully because of my own stress. While I did beg one of them to stay, the chick that runs kokomichanstuff, Mariin, I ended the friendship with her just because I knew what I did was bad. There really aren't any excuses for that. I don't think anyone should have to deal with anyone else's bad attitude regardless of mental health or not. I didn't bother to keep Mariin around because I did bad, and no amount of apologies would fix it. She already said she wouldn't forgive me, so I knew it made no sense to keep up a facade. I genuinely had no idea she would've been mad that I begged one person to stay but not her, even though she expressed not wanting to be my friend. I also don't remember truly if what I did was enough to earn THIS type of harassement, but I'll take it as divine punishment. But basically, over and over again Mariin has stalked me and found a way to harass me. According to the posts she made, she's made a new friend I (sadly) hurt who wants..revenge. Hooray.

Mariin's already namedropped them so um, yeah, I hope it's okay to mention them?? . Neveah was someone I also hurt really badly by bullying and lashing out at her out of jealousy over something ridiculously dumb in my old server and account. I confronted her later on apologizing but specifically also adding that she didn't need to forgive me because I messed up. Long story short, she claimed she had forgiven me.... but then went to her friends (Mariin mentioned) Geno, Toga etc to badmouth me, including sharing sensitive information I sent to her. Neveah's friend Geno made a post mocking me which I found and responded poorly too, and then more drama escalated from there because literally every single one of Neveah and Geno's friends came to bombard me, sent me hate mail and surprise, Mariin took the chance to come back. I don't know how the fuck those two (Mariin and Neveah) managed to speak, but sometime later a few accounts appeared that went after people who were once associated with me or used to be associated with me. A few days ago the account made supposedly by Neveah made a post accusing me of being a r*pist, groomer and pedophile and yeah. That went badly.

Uh. Wow this is a mouthful. But. Yeah, I'm...not really a good person, and these things are just embarrassing and..ick. I hate myself for the shit I pull. But, I will say, while I can accept Mariin harassing me like this, the other parties just...genuinely could've handled this better than what they did to me. It really wouldn't have been so hard to ask me instead of listening to one side, but maybe that's me. Regardless, I admit I was wrong. I just..I'm not happy other people are getting involved.

"Why didn't you just say something sooner instead of all that nonsense? Wasn't that too dramatic?"

Sadly it was, but I don't think any of you understand when I say that I CAN'T. I can't say anything because it's just me, me, me. It's just me, and people aren't going to believe me. They never do. When that shitshow happened with Neveah, everyone was blaming me. Even up till recently, someone in my current server told me I was the one who overreacted over getting bullied and harassed. I'm not mentioning them here but holy fuck, that shit hurt. The anons coming in my inboxes telling me "people are offering you advice and you don't want it", it fucking hurts. It genuinely hurts because every single time I try to speak up against anything, or stand up for myself, I'm the one who's in the wrong.

Geno, Neveah, Mariin, fucking Toga and Deja and the entire fucking crew. They're never the ones who get wronged, and they haven't lost anything. Even when Mariin's account gets deleted, she's fine. She has people that actually fucking listens to her, all of them do.

I don't. There's no one aside from the few friends I have who would actually listen to me and not just immediately jump at me, and I'd rather just not have them involved in anymore drama that revolves around me.

Yeah, holy shit, maybe attempting to kill myself from the stress was overbearing but you guys have no fucking idea what it's like. Every time, every time I make a report or say something, I'm the one who's told I'm at fault. It's either, "You're don't look like a child, it's not their fault they want to touch you," or, "You overreacted," or, "Maybe you shouldn't have said anything," or even, "You're so ungrateful, I'm trying to help you."

It. fucking. Sucks. It. SUCKS. Its terrifying that regardless if it's my real life or on the internet, no one listens, no one cares and the one who's left hurting is Ali because who fucking cares. Who gives a shit right?

"....did you try to kill yourself over Nezha?"

Everything started with Nezha, and I'm not even fucking kidding. I don't remember how I met Mariin but I knew for a fact it was something about him. And when we broke our friendship off, I got attacked a LOT about his age. I want to pretend that maybe it was all Mariin, but with how things are, I don't doubt for a second this fucking fandom were jumping me for a character who already has a confirmed age.

I could tell you that I was just stressed about Mariin, but that'd be a lie. Everywhere I go with this fandom, I'm always getting hassled about Nezha's age. From the beginning I was already stressed, because I continuously kept getting anon after anon calling me names and accusations for a fictional fucking character.

I don't deny that Mariin didn't have a part to play. She most definitely made things worst for me with using Nezha to slander me further. It's just my luck that the people in this fandom are idiots that'll listen to anything anyone says.

Think of it this way; the pot was near burning on the stove, it just needed some more fuel.

"Why didn't you just listen to the anons?"

Sighs

Mind you, this was supposedly when I was DEAD. Trust me, I've had far worst flooding my inboxes. Before it was about Nezha's age. Recently, it was to kill myself and the accusations.

I'm not saying the advice was ever bad. But the anons were strangers for all I care who had no idea what the fuck was happening. I've tried blocking anons before, I also went to far lengths to ignore them, but there's only so much I can take. Every day, day in day out on any blog I've made, ever since I started writing for Nezha, I've been receiving dozens and dozens of hate I've had to delete constantly. Not even counting the ones that just randomly told me to die!!

"just ignore them" I'm not a child. I. know. I know, I know, I've been trying, but when people don't respect my boundaries and don't even bother to listen when I say I've done it, how do you think I'm going to feel?

"oh but you should put that as your trigger then it's not their fault" oh yeah, "hey everyone 🥺 when people don't listen to me I cry". How do you think it'll sound? Plus, why should I need to add that when I wasn't expecting anyone to actually act like this on the internet to begin with?!

"Why don't you just move to a different platform then if the hate is that bad?"

Ignoring Mariin for a bit, even if I were to go into another platform to write fanfiction (and I highly doubt there's many I'll feel comfortable in), why should I, and what makes you think the hate will stop there?

AO3 is a place where THE worst people write porn. And you wouldn't believe that I've had to delete quite a number of assholes on there for Nezha's age. Don't mention Twitter where the nonsense started about his age, and don't bring in bluesky because there's a word limit and I'm not limiting myself to that. Even Wattpad has them yelling about Nezha's age. WATTPAD!! Genuinely what makes you think I'll be safe anywhere I go?

I hate Tumblr but this account is my safe space from reality at this point. It used to be the place that made me not want to die. Just because you guys are jerks, why should I need to go?

This also goes back to Mariin and the harassers. Even in my fake death I can't know peace. If I were to move out, wouldn't she get to live her life peacefully while I'm miserable trying to understand a place I don't want to be in?

"Then just leave the LMK fandom!"

Again, why should I? LMK is my comfort show. I genuinely enjoy writing for silly legos, and I also love learning about things I didn't know about before. Why should I have to leave just because the fandom is filled with jerks? Why don't you guys just leave instead if you're butthurt about anyone daring to speak an opinion?

"The accusations-!"

Are lies.

I was r*ped before. Why would I find any pleasure r*ping anyone else? How does one even do that through online?

I was groomed online and assaulted in real life. Why would I think of hurting another human being, most less a child, like that when I still can't even read anything that correlates to it? Why would I find any of those things pleasing?

I turned 18 in 2024. It's not an excuse and I've been doing my best to not interact with minors, or at the very least avoid speaking about topics that are inappropriate for them. Even though I still forget I'm an adult on occasion, I know better than to pull up on my younger friends and start talking about nsfw. I've only ever spoken weirdly to my adult friends.

I recently saw someone comment on the account that I'm Islamphobic/don't support Palestine, so that makes me problematic. I grew up in an Islamic family, I have trauma with that specific religion (inclu. Hinduism and Christianity, long story). I don't interact with anything regarding religion if I can and I also don't judge someone based on their religion. I judge you based on how you speak to me. If you have a weird icon, I don't like you, if you speak weirdly, I don't like you. Additionally, I'm the type of person who feels guilty for making someone upset. I can't support myself, most less for others. No, I don't agree with genocide but it's genuinely too much for me to keep up with.

And finally, how the fuck is liking a character who's an adult make me a proshipper? Jesus Christ again with Nezha. I hate this.

"You have no proof!"

Of course I don't. I don't keep bad memories around. I wouldn't have remembered my own childhood if I didn't get triggered about it. I block bad memories out. Many interactions I've had that are bad, I delete. I don't think about saving, I delete.

Even interactions with friends I usually delete because it's just weird not seeing a blank space. I don't hate them but leaving a spot full feels weird.

I don't have any proof I'm none of the accusations but neither does Mariin, to be frank. So if you chose to believe her because you just genuinely don't like me, good for you, but you look like sheep being led by a drunk shepherd. Either you'll end up in a slaughterhouse and starve, your pick.

I'm not going to say, "Oh ask my minor friends!" Because...they're kids. I feel horrible my friend got roped into this to begin with, the last thing I want is for anyone else be involved when they barely know shit.

Yeah, rambled a bit. I didn't want too but I got carried away, whoops.

This is the only post I want to make about this issue. Don't bring it up, don't uhh, don't mention me to the account, and please just allow me to rest in peace. I just want to write and feel free, not deal with this shit, okay?

Also. Please stop involving my friends into beef you have with me. It's really not their fault they have to deal with someone like me.

Goodbye. I'm deleting the app again until I return. Adios

[dresshistorynerd]

European history is not white

Someone commented this to a post I reblogged, which message is basically "we shouldn't venerate the Dead White Man HistoryTM and we should elevate other history too, but we still need to learn Dead White Man HistoryTM to understand the world today". It's basically a response to the attitude you sometimes come across in the internet that sees learning about those Dead White MenTM as not worth our time. And this person, who seems to be following this blog because they responded to my reblog, takes it as a personal attack against all white Europeans. For some reason. Well I take these comments as a personal attack against historical understanding.

Firstly, the post clearly didn't say you shouldn't venerate any European history, because not all European history is Dead White Man HistoryTM. Obviously this person thinks European history is white, which is not true, but surely, surely, they know it's not all men? Secondly, what is "west culture"? When did it start? There is not one western culture, not one European culture. The first concept of some shared Europeanness was the Christendom in Middle Ages, but it was not exactly the same as we think of Europe today, because it did not include the pagan areas, but it included a lot of Levant and parts of Central Asia, where there were large Christian areas. And Europe was not "very white" nor was the Christendom. The more modern concept of West was cooked in tandem with race and whiteness during colonial era and Enlightenment, around 17th to 18th centuries. And Europe was certainly not very white then. The western world also includes a lot of colonized areas, so that's obviously not white history. Thirdly, implying that asking white people to apologize for European history (which no one did ask) is as ridiculous as asking black people for African history is... a choice. Black people do exist in a lot of other places than Africa, which white people should be the ones apologizing for, and really white people also have a lot to answer for about African history. Lastly, if you think the quote "anyone who thinks those dead white guys are aspirational is a white supremacist" means you as an European are demanded to apologize for your existence, maybe - as we say in Finland - that dog yelps, which the stick clanks. (I'm sorry I think I'm the funniest person in the world when I poorly translate Finnish sayings into English.)

The thing is, there is no point in European history, when Europe was white, for three reasons. 1) Whiteness was invented in 17th century and is an arbitrary concept that has changed it's meaning through time. 2) Whichever standard you use, historical or current, Europe still has never been all or overwhelmingly white, because whiteness is defined as the in-group of colonialists, and there has always been the internal Other too. In fact the racial hierarchy requires an internal Other. 3) People have always moved around a lot. The Eurasian steppe and the Mediterranean Sea have always been very important routes of migration and trade. I've been meaning to make a post proving exactly that to people like this, since as I've gathered my collection of primary images of clothing, I've also gathered quite a lot of European primary images showing non-white people, so I will use this opportunity to write that post.

So let's start from the beginning. Were the original inhabitants of Europe white? Of course not. The original humans had dark skin so obviously first Europeans had dark skin. Whenever new DNA evidence of dark skinned early Europeans come out (like this study), the inevitable right-wing backlash that follows is so interesting to me. Like what did you think? Do you still believe the racist 17th century theories that white people and people of colour are literally different species? I'm sure these people will implode when they learn that studies (e.g. this) suggest in fact only 10 000 years ago Europeans had dark skin, and even just 5 000 years ago, when Egypt (an many others) was already doing it's civilization thing, Europeans had brown skin (another source). According to the widely accepted theory, around that time 5 000 years ago the Proto-Indo-European language developed in the Pontic-Caspian steppe, which extends from Eastern Europe to Central Asia. These Proto-Indo-Europeans first migrated to Anatolia and then to Europe and Asia. Were they white? Well, they were probably not light skinned (probably had brown skin like the other people living in Europe around that time), the Asian branch of Indo-European peoples (Persians, most Afghans, Bengalis, most Indians, etc.) are certainly not considered white today and a lot of the people today living in that area are Turkic and Mongolic people, who are also not considered white. I think this highlights how nonsensical the concept of race is, but I don't think Proto-Indo-Europeans would have been considered white with any standard.

Around Bronze Age light skin became common among the people in Europe, while in East Asia it had become wide spread earlier. This does not however mark the point when "Europe became white". During the Bronze Age there was a lot of migration back and forth in the Eurasian steppe, and the early civilizations around Mediterranean did a lot of trade between Europe, Africa and Asia, which always means also people settling in different places to establish trading posts and intermarrying. There were several imperial powers that also stretched to multiple continents, like the briefly lived Macedonian Empire that stretched from Greece to Himalayas and Phoenicians from Levant, who didn't built an empire but settled in North Africa, Sicily and Iberia. In Iron Age the Carthaginian Empire, descendants of Phoenician settlers in current Tunisia, build an Empire that spanned most of the western Mediterranean coast. Their army occupying that area included among others Italic people, Gauls, Britons, Greeks and Amazigh people.

Iron Age also of course saw the rise of the Roman Republic, and later empire, but it was preceded by Etruscans, who populated Tuscan, and possibly preceded the Indo-European presence. However, weather through trade and migration with other Mediterraneans or the continuing presence of darker skin tones of the early Europeans, their art quite often depicts darker skin tones too, like seen below in first two images. Roman Empire at it's height spanned from Babylonia to the British Isles. They recruited soldiers from all provinces and intentionally used stationed them in different areas so they wouldn't be too sympathetic to possible rebels or neighboring enemies. Historical sources mention black Nubian soldiers in British Isles for example. They also built a lot of infrastructure around the empire to ensure protection and easy transportation through trade routes inside the empire. During this time Jewish groups also migrated from Levant to both North-Africa and Europe. Rome even had non-European emperors, like Septimius Severus who originated from Levant and was Punic (descendants of Phoenicians) from his father's side, and who was depicted with darker skin (third picture below). Various ethnicities with differing skin tones are represented all over Roman art, like in the fourth picture below from hunting lodge in Sicily.

Eurasian steppe continued to be important source of migration and trade between Europe and Asia. Scythians, Iranic nomadic people, were important for facilitating the trade between East Asia and Europe through the silk road during the Iron Age. They controlled large parts of Eastern Europe ruling over Slavic people and later assimilating to the various Slavic groups after loosing their political standing. Other Iranic steppe nomads, connected to Scythian culture also populated the Eurasian steppe during and after Scythia. During the Migration Period, which happened around and after the time of Western Rome, even more different groups migrated to Europe through the steppe. Huns arrived from east to the Volga region by mid-4th century, and they likely came from the eastern parts of the steppe from Mongolian area. Their origins are unclear and they were either Mongolic, Turkic or Iranic origin, possibly some mix of them. Primary descriptions of them suggests facial features common in East Asia. They were possibly the nomadic steppe people known as Xiongnu in China, which was significant in East and Central Asia from 3rd century BCE to 2nd century CE until they moved towards west. Between 4th and 6th centuries they dominated Eastern and Central Europe and raided Roman Empire contributing to the fall of Western Rome.

After disintegration of the Hun Empire, the Huns assimilated likely to the Turkic arrivals of the second wave of the Migration Period. Turkic people originate likely in southern Siberia and in later Migration period they controlled much of the Eurasian steppe and migrated to Eastern Europe too. A Turkic Avar Khagenate (nation led by a khan) controlled much of Eastern Europe from 6th to 8th century until they were assimilated to the conquering Franks and Bulgars (another Turkic people). The Bulgars established the Bulgarian Empire, which lasted from 7th to 11th in the Balkans. The Bulgars eventually adopted the language and culture of the local Southern Slavic people. The second wave of Migration Period also saw the Moor conquest of Iberia and Sicily. Moors were not a single ethnic group but Arab and various Amazigh Muslims. Their presence in the Iberian peninsula lasted from 8th to 15th century and they controlled Sicily from 9th to 11th century until the Norman conquest. During the Norman rule though, the various religious and ethnic groups (which also included Greeks and Italic people) continued to live in relative harmony and the North-African Muslim presence continued till 13th century. Let's be clear that the Northern Europe was also not white. Vikings also got their hands into the second wave migration action and traveled widely to east and west. Viking crews were not exclusively Scandinavians, but recruited along their travels various other people, as DNA evidence proves. They also traded with Byzantium (when they weren't raiding it) and Turkic people, intermarried and bought slaves, some of which were not white or European. A Muslim traveler even wrote one of the most important accounts of Vikings when encountering them in Volga.

By this point it should already be clear that Medieval Europe was neither white, but there's more. Romani people, who originate from India and speak Indo-Aryan language, arrived around 12th century to Balkans. They continued to migrate through Europe, by 14th century they were in Italy, by 15th century in Germany and by 16h century in Britain and Sweden. Another wave of Romani migration from Persia through North-Africa, arrived in Europe around 15th century. Then there's the Mongol Empire. In 13th century they ruled very briefly a massive portion of the whole Eurasian continent, including the Eastern Europe. After reaching it's largest extent, it quickly disintegrated. The Eurasian Steppe became the Golden Horde, but lost most of the Eastern-Europe, except Pontic-Caspian Steppe. They ruled over Slavs, Circissians, Turkic groups and Finno-Ugric groups till early 15th century. The Mongolian rulers assimilated to the Turkic people, who had been the previous rulers in most of the steppe. These Turkic people of the Golden Horde came to be known as Tatars. Golden Horde eventually split into several Tatar khagenates in 15th century, when the khagenates, except the Crimean Khagenate, were conquered by the Tsardom of Moscovy. Crimean Khagenate was annexed by the Russian Empire in 1783. Crusades were a movement from Europe to Levant, but they also meant intermarriage in the the Crusader kingdoms especially between the European and Levant Christians, and some movement back and froth between these kingdoms and Europe, trade and a lot of movement back after the Crusader kingdoms were defeated in 13th century. Generally too trade across the Mediterranean sea was extensive and led to migration and intermarriage.

And here's some example of people of colour in Medieval European art, shown as part of the majority white European societies. First is from a 15th century French manuscript depicting Burgundy court with dark skin courtier and lady in waiting. Second one is from a Flemish manuscript from 15th century of courtiers, including a black courtier, going for a hunt. Third is a 15th century Venetian gondolier with dark skin.

In Renaissance Era Europe was only increasing it's trade and therefore had even more connections outside Europe. The first picture below is Lisbon, which had strong trade relationship with Africa, depicted in late 16th century. People with darker skin tones were part all classes. Second image is an Italian portrait of probably a seamstress from 16th century. Third one is a portrait of one of the personal guards of the Holy Roman Emperor. Fourth image is a portrait of Alessandro de' Medici, duke of Florence, who was noted for his brown complexion, and the modern scholarly theory is that his mother was a (likely brown) Italian peasant woman.

Colonialism begun in the Renaissance Era, but the wide spread colonial extraction and slavery really got going in the 17th century. Racial hierarchy was developed initially to justify the trans-Atlantic slave trade specifically. That's why the early racial essentialism was mostly focused on establishing differences between white Europeans and black Africans. Whiteness was the default, many theories believed humans were originally white and non-whites "degenerated" either through their lives (some believed dark skin was basically a tan or a desease and that everyone was born white) or through history. Originally white people included West-Asians, some Central-Asians, some North-Africans and even sometimes Indigenous Americans in addition to Europeans. The category of white inevitably shrank as more justifications for atrocities of the ever expanding colonial exploitation were required. The colonial exploitation facilitated development of capitalism and the industrial revolution, which led to extreme class inequality and worsening poverty in the European colonial powers. This eventually became an issue for the beneficiaries of colonialism as worker movements and socialism were suddenly very appealing to the working class.

So what did the ruling classes do? Shrink whiteness and give white working classes and middle classes justifications to oppress others. Jews and Roma people had long been common scapegoats and targets of oppression. Their oppression was updated to the modern era and racial categories were built for that purpose. The colonial powers had practiced in their own neighborhoods before starting their colonial projects in earnest and many of those European proto-colonies were developed to the modern colonial model and justified the same way. In 19th century, when racial pseudoscience was reaching it's peak, Slavs, others in Balkan, the Irish (more broadly Celts), Sámi (who had lost their white card very early), Finns, Southern Italians, the Spanish, the Southern French and Greeks all were considered at least not fully white. The Southern Europeans and many Slavs were not even colonized (at least in the modern sense, though with some cases like Greeks it's more complicated than that), but they looked too much and were culturally too similar to other non-white Mediterraneans, and they were generally quite poor. In many of these cases, like Italians, the French and Slavs, it was primarily others belonging in the same group, who were making them into second class citizens. All this is to highlight how very malleable the concept of race is and that it's not at all easy to define the race of historical people.

However, even if we would go with the racial categories of today, Europe was still far from being all white in this period. You had Roma, who certainly are not included in whiteness today, and European Jews, whose whiteness is very conditional, descendants of Moors in Southern Europe and Tatars and Turks in Eastern Europe and Turkey, which today is often not thought of as part of Europe, but historically certainly was. And then colonialism brought even more people into Europe forcibly, in search of work because their home was destroyed or for diplomatic and business reasons. There were then even more people of colour, but they were more segregated from the white society. Black slaves and servants are very much represented in European art from 17th century onward, but these were not the only roles non-white people in Europe were in, which I will use these examples to show. First is a Flemish portrait of Congo's Emissary, Dom Miguel de Castro, 1643. Second is a 1650 portrait of a Moorish Spanish man Juan de Pareja, who was enslaved by the artist as artisanal assistant, but was freed and became a successful artist himself. Third is a 1768 portrait of Ignatius Sancho, a British-African writer and abolitionist, who had escaped slavery as a 20-year-old. Fourth painting is from 1778 of Dido Elizabeth Belle, a British gentlewoman born to a slave mother who was recognized as a legitimate daughter by her father, and her cousin. The fifth portrait is of an unknown woman by (probably) a Swiss painter from late 18th century. Sixth is a 1760s Italian portrait of a young black man.

In late 18th century England abolished slavery in British Isles first, then in early 19th century in the whole British Empire, thanks to the continuous campaign of free Black people and some white allies, notably Quakers. Around the same time slavery was abolished in France (briefly till Napoleon got to power) after the French revolution. This meant there were a lot more free black people in Europe after that. In 18th century the Europeans, British especially, were colonizing Asia as much they could, which meant that in 19th century there started to also be a lot more Asian, especially Indian people in Europe. First picture below is of Thomas Alexander Dumas, who was son of a black slave woman and a white noble French man and became a general in the French revolutionary army. His son was one of the most well-known French authors, Alexander Dumas, who wrote The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. Second portrait is of Jean-Baptiste Belley, a Senegalese former slave, who became French revolutionary politician. Third portrait is from 1810 of Dean Mahomed, an Indian-British entrepreneur, who established the first Indian restaurant in London. Forth is Arab-Javanese Romantic painter Saleh Syarif Bustaman, who spend years in Europe. Fifth is a 1862 photo of Sara Forbes Bonnetta, originally named Aina, princess of Edbago clan of Yoruba, who was captured into slavery as a child, but later freed and made Queen Victoria's ward and goddaughter. She married a Nigerian businessman, naval officer and statesman, James Pinson Labulo Davies (sixth picture).

So any guesses on at what point was that "very white Europe" when the "west culture" begun? It kinda seems to me that it never actually existed.

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 19: Second Time Around

Summary: You and Arthur settle into your new relationship and try to find some more time alone together. 

Warning: 18+ please. Minor - DNI; NSFW

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*This beautiful image comes from @regwishesshehadmagic . I know it's Sadie in the image, but this just captures the tone of this chapter perfectly.

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhiss @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4rx @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

The next morning you wake up early to the faint breeze of someone’s breath dancing across your forehead. Reluctantly opening your heavy eyes just a sliver, you realize that you have your face snuggled up and tucked under Arthur’s chin. You notice the heavy weight of his strong arm draped over your middle, holding you in place close to him, even in his sleep. It is a most comfortable position to find yourself in first thing in the morning. 

A serene calmness settles over you as you take a moment to appreciate where you are and who you are with. Your drowsy eyes roll up to look at Arthur, careful not to move your head too much. You note with affection all of those little red marks scattered across his face from broken capillaries under his skin caused by years of sun exposure. In his sleep, his face doesn’t carry those deep worry lines that seem to constantly decorate his features. His hair is slightly rumpled from his slumber, locks twisted like summer wheat swaying in the wind. His eyelids don’t even twitch with any sort of movement from a possible dream-like state. He is utterly out to the world. And it is with a slight feeling of pride that you acknowledge Arthur is able to rest so peacefully because of you lying by his side. 

You think of the whirlwind of events that have taken place over the last few days. Your mind replays with such fondness the tender moments of the previous evening. While you were not able to be intimate last night, just the closeness and sweet whispers in the darkness mean volumes to you.

Your attention is briefly pulled away from your rough outlaw to the subdued movement outside of the oasis of his tent. There are a few voices muttering softly in the camp, but it’s still early enough where it’s only Mr. Pearson getting food together and Ms. Grimshaw puttering about to help him. The faint hint of fresh-brewing coffee is already carrying through the air to usher you to another day. 

The morning sun isn’t too high yet, not even breaking the treeline, casting the camp in subtle grey and lavender hues as the mist rises off the grass. The songbirds are scattered throughout the trees overhead and softly singing their own little songs to welcome the new dawn. You relish these quiet moments in the morning before the camp is awake. But as much as you’d love to stay here forever, you should probably get back to your own tent before anyone sees you creeping out of Arthur’s. 

With a reluctant sigh, you carefully roll back from the man, gently lifting his arm and setting it back down in your place. Arthur is so tired that he doesn’t even flinch from your movement. You’re not sure if you are thankful or worried about his state of exhaustion, but there’s not much you can do about it now other than leave him be to get some much-needed rest. 

You slowly sit up on the edge of the cot, stretching your arms over your head and cringing at the popping sound from your shoulder. Turning back, your gaze falls to Arthur as he sleeps. He is so handsome. Just looking at him lying there so serenely makes your belly flutter. You are anxious for his hands to be on you again; to feel those large, weathered hands that reached out and touched your heart to be all over you once more. But unfortunately, you are not in a space conducive for love-making whenever you please. With a quiet disappointed sigh, you turn back forward and try to slip away when an arm suddenly snakes around your waist. 

“Where you think you’re goin’?” Arthur gruffs out in a sleep-hazed voice. 

You quietly giggle as you affectionately wrap your hands around the burly forearm. “I should head back to my tent before I’m noticed.” You look over your shoulder again and see his blue eyes now open, thick with sleep, yet still twinkling at the sight of you.  

“I think people have a good idea that we’re together now,” he murmurs as he blinks his eyes to try to keep them open.

“I know. But we should still try to be discreet about it. At least this part, anyway.” Your voice is low and hums in the air, as if trying to keep him all to yourself as you run your fingers over the hair of his arm, drawing lazy circles on his skin.  

“I suppose you’re right.” Arthur doesn’t retract his arm, but reluctantly allows you to escape his hold of you.

You stand up and shiver a bit as the brisk morning air envelops your whole body. It's damp and chilly this morning, a sure sign that colder weather is coming soon. Arthur rolls onto his side, his eyes following you as you rub your hands over your arms as goosebumps begin to decorate your skin, popping up like effervescent bubbles. 

“See? If you’d stay in bed with me you’d be warm,” he smirks smartly.

“I’d also be late,” you reply back with a grin as you begin to finger-comb your hair into submission. “I wouldn’t want to get up.”

“Hmm…that’s the bitch of it, isn’t it?” That impish grin of his forming on his plump lips. “Well, what can you do about it anyhow?” And Arthur leans forward to grab your hand to try to pull you back onto the cot, which you playfully swat away. 

With a slight groan, Arthur moves as if to get up with you, but you are quick to put your hand on his shoulder, halting him in his place. “Ah, ah. You stay right where you are, mister.” He looks at you in confusion.  “You could still get away with another hour or two of sleep. And you need it, too. Go back to sleep.” 

Arthur shifts back down to the canvas of the cot, tucking his arm behind his head like a pillow as he smirks up at you. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Don’t worry, Arthur, you won’t miss anything. I won’t let anything happen while you’re asleep,” you tease, knowing full-well how he has to be up and watchful over everyone at all times. Always the protector. 

You tug at your skirt and blouse, making sure everything is straight and where it should be, running your hands over your hair one more time in check. When you're content that you are presentable again, you turn back to place a simple yet sweet little kiss upon Arthur’s lips, pausing to sweep your thumb over his cheekbone before heading over to the tent opening. You discreetly poke your face out to check to see if anyone is watching and then quietly scuttle back to your tent. 

—-------------------------------------

As the morning progresses, you and Arthur try to be discreet, but the stolen glances and distractions continue. Trying to stay focused on the daily chores becomes difficult. The girls giggle and tease you about it and you shake your head, trying to wave them off at their nonsense, but it doesn’t stop their curiosity and fun. 

With the afternoon sun high in the sky, you are walking with a laundry basket sitting on your hip, picking through the contents, when a hand like a vice grip suddenly clamps down on your arm, pulling you behind a wagon. Your heart jumps up into your throat as the sharp motion causes you to drop your basket and you stumble to keep your footing. A panicked yelp is quickly stifled by someone’s hand over your mouth as you flounder before being spun around and pushed back against the wooden slats of the wagon. When you finally get your bearings, you rapidly blink to see that familiar silhouette in front of you.

“Jesus, Arthur, you scared the hell out of me!” you hiss at him, slapping his chest. He can only reply with a playful, mischievous laugh, those brilliant blue eyes of his dancing back at you. He places his left hand over your head onto the wagon and leans over you, encasing you in towards him. His other large hand comes up around your neck, his thumb pushing your chin up so that your tender lips are easily accessible to him. He leans in and plants his warm mouth onto your own, inhaling as he does as if drawing out your soul.

As your kiss quickly deepens, Arthur pins you against the wooden frame with his own body. His mouth eventually leaves yours and begins nuzzling up on you, leaving a trail over your jawline and down your neck. Your eyes roll back into your head as you submit to his will, quickly getting lost. You slowly bend your leg to rub in between Arthur’s as your arms extend over his shoulders, lacing your fingers behind his head as he leans further down your neck, sucking lightly on your clavicle.

“I want you in the most sinful ways, you know that?” Arthur whispers in your ear. Your only response is a soft little groan. He gently lays his forehead to yours. “When it comes to you, there’s no doubt about it. Just this crazy need to make you mine.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I am yours, then, Arthur.” Your eyes lift to his, giving him that look, an eyebrow arched with all of the permissions and suggestions behind it. It's enough to melt his brain. “I was always yours.” Your fingers slide down from his neck to curl around the open collar of his shirt, the tips of your fingers teasingly grazing across his collarbone underneath. “It just took awhile for you to find me, is all.”

You lean up on your toes to catch his lips again and kiss him heatedly before he dips down once more to your neck to that spot behind your ear. You giggle again as his beard scratches across your sensitive skin and you roll your face into his as you cradle your arms around his head, snuggling him closer to you. 

“Ahem!” 

Suddenly out of nowhere, you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. You and Arthur both freeze before slowly turning to the side to see Ms. Grimshaw standing there with an oh-so annoyed look upon her face. 

You quickly drop your hands to your sides, face turning bright red at being caught, as Arthur drops his head down, looking sheepishly at his feet. Suddenly you feel like kids being caught sneaking out of the barn by your mother. 

“Aren't you supposed to be doing something, Miss Y/L/N?” Ms Grimsahw barks, eyebrows arched expectantly at you. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” you confess, biting your lip nervously.  

She then turns her bubbling temper to your partner in crime. “Arthur, do you need something to do?”

“No, Ma’am.”

Ms. Grimshaw stands in silent judgment for a moment and you can see the gears turning in her sharp head. “Is this going to be a problem?” She huffs, waving her finger at you both before firmly planting her hands on her hips. 

“No, Ma’am”, you both respond in unison, trying not to laugh under her intensifying scrutiny.

This isn’t the first time Ms. Grimshaw has caught people messing about, and frankly she couldn’t care any less who’s diddling who in this camp. As long as it doesn’t interfere with her work, that is. (She has a hard enough time keeping Karen and Sean focused.) But you and Arthur are new at this, acting like a couple of love-dumb teenagers, so she’s trying not to be too harsh about it.  To be honest, it kind of warms her black heart. 

After a few more awkward moments of silence, Ms Grimshaw turns and walks away, shaking her head. But unseen by you and Arthur, a little grin pops up on her stern face. “Idiots”, she mumbles.

When you are in the clear, you and Arthur both exhale with relief to be spared the matron’s wrath any longer.

“Thanks a lot, you got me in trouble,” Arthur jokingly swats your shoulder with the back of his hand. 

‘What?! Me?! You started it!” You smack his chest back.

“You’re a bad influence, you know that?” he smirks. “I mean, really, the nerve of some people. You should be ashamed of yourself, Miss (Y/L/N). Attacking me in broad daylight like that. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.” He plays innocent, placing his hand on his chest and feigning offense.

“Arthur, I swear to God…!” You bend over and snatch up the bar of laundry soap laying in the grass and whip it at him. Arthur hops up on one leg, quickly dodging the projectile to avoid being pelted with it.

“You move pretty good for an old man,” you tease, tucking that always-stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Woman, you have no idea yet. Just you wait.” He flashes those eyes again at you. The taunt alone makes the butterflies in your stomach swirl. Arthur leans in to you with a suggestive grin as his thick fingers trail across your stomach and over your hips. “Now get back to work.”

—------------------------------------------

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Arthur manage to behave yourselves. Now that Ms. Grimshaw is wise to your antics, she has been watching you like a hawk. She doesn’t need another “Karen and Sean” in camp, especially if it’s two of the hardest working people there. Of course the woman isn’t going to be heartless about it. But she does have a camp to run, afterall. 

Currently, you are over by the food wagon. With the autumn vegetables coming into harvest, you are trying your hand at a corn chowder to serve the gang. You’re hoping it will be a welcomed change from Mr Pearson’s usual stew that is served more often than not. Hopefully if it is well received, you’ll be able to can some of the thick soup for the upcoming winter months. 

A plethora of spices and herbs permeates the air as you stir the simmering mixture in the large cast-iron kettle that hangs over the fire. You sing quietly to yourself, watching the golden mixture bubble hypnotically as bits of bright orange carrots and deep brown potato skins dance as they soften to a delightful texture. Satisfied with the state of things for now, you set the ladle aside and walk a few paces back to the work table to cut up the fresh biscuits you baked earlier to go with your dinner. 

As you work, Arthur walks over to you, casually leaning his shoulder into the side of the wagon. He takes the cigarette that dangles precariously from his lips between his thumb and fingers and flicks it into the cool grass. “Hey you.”

“Hey you,” you beam back at him. “What are you up to?” 

Every time. Every damn time, that look of brightness and excitement in your face to see him sets Arthur’s tired soul alight, bringing him back to life just a bit more. 

“Nuthin.” The corners of his mouth tug up into a grin. He folds his arms over his chest, watching your hands for a moment as your delicate fingers sort the fluffy biscuits into a basket and cover them with a white muslin cloth. 

His watchful eyes dart around as he tries to act inconspicuous before he leans in a bit closer to you. 

“So I was thinking, maybe we could get together again tonight?”

You give him a questioning look at first, but when those crystal blue eyes flash at you and the corners of his lips begin to pull up even more, you know exactly what he means.

“Oh! Here in camp?” you ask surprised, your face dusting pink at the thought of it.

“Gonna have to sooner or later, right?” Arthur tilts his head with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders.

You think about it for a moment, contemplating the option. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you say slowly, letting the idea sink in a moment. You’ve waited so long for him, so the thought that you could be together whenever you want now is exciting. Plus, your first time together was just so heavenly, you honestly can’t wait for another go at it. 

“Okay, then.” Your face lights up as the blush of your cheek deepens. You turn to look about as well, sharing in this cute little secret plan of his. “I can come by your tent later tonight? After everyone turns in?” you suggest, an air of hushed eagerness in your voice.

The elated expression on Arthur’s face is priceless. “Alright. Sounds like a plan, then.” Like a little kid waiting for Christmas, you can see him trying to contain his excitement. Arthur didn’t think you’d be quick to spurn him, but he has to admit, he wasn’t so sure if you’d be so readily willing to fall into his arms again so quickly. 

He holds your gaze as if there is something else he wants to say or do, but only simply nods. He runs the back of his forefinger along your upper arm as he pushes himself up and off the wagon and leaves you to finish what you're doing, heading over to the fire. 

You smile brightly and nibble your bottom lip as you watch Arthur stroll over with a swagger in his step as he joins Javier at the nearest fire, his attention keenly refocused on the gun in his friend’s hand. It must be a new one Javier found as Arthur takes the gun and flips it around in his hand, evaluating it. He opens the chamber and squints to look through it, checking the straightness of it. He spins the barrel and evaluates the weight of it in his oversized hand. 

Watching Arhtur handle this gun as if it were a simple kitchen utensil, you are suddenly filled with a bit of apprehension. You have never been afraid to be in Arthur’s presence, but it fills you with a sense of dread to hold him so dear to your heart like this, knowing that any moment could be the last time you set eyes on him. Being with a wanted outlaw, being with Arthur Morgan of all outlaws, is going to come with that level of fear. He warned you of this and it wasn’t until now that you fully comprehend his caution. It makes the fire within you that burns for him all the more intense. As your feelings for Arthur deepen by the very hour, if that’s even possible, this is something that you are going to have to be mindful of. And, take advantage of the time together whenever you have it.

—-----------------------------------------

Night has fallen across the camp, the sounds of chirping crickets and the occasional hooting owl echoing in the background as you stand in your tent. It’s another chilly night yet you are warm with exhilaration. The idea of being with Arthur again tonight has been all you could think about all day since he mentioned it. 

You dress in your newer nightgown for your amorous rendezvous, one that is a simple white cotton with white silky ribbon sewn into the hems. It has wider shoulder straps, leaving you arms exposed and hugs your bustline nicely as it cascades over your chest, creating a white waterfall of textured fabric and falls to mid-calf length. 

You look yourself over in your little mirror, primping and touching-up. Voluminous locks of hair spill over your bare shoulders, but you have pulled the sides back with a white ribbon to match your nightgown. Deft fingers comb through your hair, curling the pieces just so. Slightly trembling fingertips dab a bit of red rouge to the apple of your cheeks, as well as your soft lips. 

Your hands fidget over your body, smoothing everything out, as you wince just a bit in self-consciousness at your curves. You wish you had a more attractive body to offer, but it is what it is. Arthur has already seen you naked, so there should be no surprises, yet you are still thankful to have the modest covering of your nightgown. You grab the green shawl that took you several months to ineptly knit and wrap it around your shoulders as a finishing touch. 

Suddenly, you hear your name softly called out in the darkness outside of the tent. A smile instantly blooms across your face at the sound of your lover’s gravelly southern drawl. You skip over the few paces to the opening and pull back the tent flap to see Arthur standing there. 

“Hey you,” you whisper in a hushed tone, careful not to wake anyone. 

Arthur nods to you in greeting, the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling at the sight of you. “Can I come in?” he asks, his gruff voice equally as hushed as yours.

“Of course!” and you step aside, allowing his large frame to slip inside your space unnoticed by the others as you quickly close the opening behind him. 

“Change of - woa!” he exclaims, instantly distracted once he finally turns and gets a good look at you in the lamplight. His eyes dance up and down the length of your whole body, drinking you in from your beautiful hair down to your delicately slippered feet. The golden glow of the oil lamp gives you an even softer look about yourself, the orange flame flickering in your large, sparkling eyes as you look up at him. 

Arthur’s reaction catches you off-guard and you self-consciously look down at yourself, wondering what you missed or could have done to yourself so quickly. “What? What’s wrong?” Your hands immediately start to smooth over the nightgown, searching for the offending item.

“You…you look…amazing!” he stutters in wonderment. Even with his earlier new-found bravado, it still floors Arthur that someone so beautiful, so wonderful, could be waiting for the likes of him. You are a white lily flower standing in your tent, graceful and delicate. And it comes as a stark reminder of just how damn lucky he is. Arthur wonders if you truly have any idea what sort of a man you have invited into your tent. 

Astonished eyes blink back at him, speechless at his response for a moment. Your cheeks flush ruby-red and warm, and you cast your eyes down with a grin, nervously tucking that same lock behind your ear. 

Clearing his throat, Arthur shifts his weight from hip to hip and gives his head a quick shake in an attempt to refocus his train of thought. “Change of plans. Not gonna work in my tent tonight. Dutch and Molly are still awake and fightin’ again. And that usually leads to ‘other things’ as well.” He rolls his eyes. For whatever reason, the last time the gang moved, Arthur’s tent, which he usually likes to be setup away from other people, was placed closer to Dutch. There was alot going on at that time, and it was probably for Dutch’s convenience and easier access to his right-hand man. But now, it is causing a bit of a “logistics problem” for the two of you. 

“Maybe we can stay here?” Arthur poses hopefully, waving his hand towards your cot. 

You bite the inside of your lip at the thought of it. “We’re kinda close to the girls,” you worry, tilting your head in the direction of their shared tent just on the other side of yours.  “Do you think we can be that quiet?”

A laugh huffs out of his nose as a smirk creeps across Arthur’s face.“You forget, I’m used to taken care of myself that way before you came along.” He shifts his weight on his hips again as his thumbs settle confidently onto his belt. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, giving him a humored look. “Right, because only men need that,” you say with that signature hint of sarcasm before the eyeroll comes. The statement causes Arthur to look at you in surprise, not expecting such a thing from a woman. The thought of you touching yourself in the solitude of your tent at night causes a sudden rush of blood to his groin. 

“I can be quiet if you can. But history says otherwise,” he snickers.

“Hey, I’m not the only one who was making noise that night,” you remind him with a look that is equally as smug as you cross your arms over your chest.

God, you are just so fiery. You have a spark in you, a fire about you that Arthur finds so irresistible. He hopes that you never let anyone extinguish that part of yourself. A sense of pride begins to bloom through his chest, knowing that he’s the one that you’ve chosen above all others for yourself. 

Arthur steps up closer to you, placing his large, strong hands on your hips and looking down at you expectantly with that look of escalating desire as your own hands unfold from their place on your chest and float up to grace his forearms. Your fingers wrap around the lower part of his arms, your fingertips barely able to meet due to the bulk of muscle there. The feeling of his skin beneath your fingers is enough to ignite the awaiting heat in your stomach and you have to take a deep, steadying breath to calm the thundering in your chest.

“Okay fine. We can try it here,” you shyly concede. You let go of him and walk a few steps to the large trunk at the foot of your cot that Arthur and Charles had pilfered off of a robbery for you. You quietly open the lid and pull out the large winter comforter that you are saving for colder weather. Shaking it out, the thick material waves in the air, and floats down flat on the ground, making Arthur step back a few paces to make room. 

“What’s this for?” he asks as he watches you pull your blankets off your cot next. “We picnickin’ now?”

“My cot is even squeakier than yours,” you joke as you start to pull any pillows and blankets you have to lay down as well. “Any fooling around we do on that thing is sure to let others know what’s going on in here.”

As Arthur watches you fix your literal “lovenest”, a troubled look suddenly clouds his handsome, chiseled face.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You casually look up at him out of the corner of your eye as you get the make-shift bed ready. 

“What if it's not as good the second time around? I mean, what if the first time was a fluke?”

The hesitation is heavy on his face. That first night together in the hunting shelter was so perfect, so divine. He can’t imagine anything shattering that little slice of heaven that he’s saved for himself in his mind.

As you stand straight again, you offer him such a radiant smile. “That night was amazing, Arthur. Absolutely amazing,” you agree emphatically. “So if we are even half that good this time, it's still going to be pretty damn good.” 

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. You’re right. Nothing is probably ever going to compare to that night. But, he’s certainly up for the challenge. 

With his mind at ease, Arthur opens his arms to you and you stride over and curl up against him. You inhale and sigh deeply, taking in the notes of leather and cigarettes mingled with his own scent. He holds you close and affectionately kisses the top of your head before lowering his chin to reach your lips with his own. His hands gently land on either side of your face, pulling you in closer for the kiss. Your own hands instinctively find their way to Arthur's ribs, fingers splayed around the mass of him to feel as much as possible before tightly fisting up the material of his shirt to pull him closer to you. You can feel the warmth of him through the fabric. You feel safe here. You feel looked-after and cared for in his arms. And this is just what you need. 

What starts as lazy kisses intensifies with that deep breathing and eventual hip pull. Arthur’s lips show no mercy as they begin to work feverishly over yours, desperate for more. And your own body betrays you as you shiver with each kiss, your knees already falling weak. 

The air fills with muffled sounds of wet kisses and quiet moans as you both try to be quiet. Your nimble fingers start to impatiently pull at the buttons of his black shirt, while his own hands are preoccupied with gripping your arms before dropping to cup the supple flesh of your rear. Layers of clothing begin to quickly become unfastened and discarded as the intimacy rapidly escalates. Restless and busy hands fumble over each other, sometimes crossing the other person’s, fighting for access to the other. 

For a second, your mind flashes back to your previous thoughts of how every moment with Arthur could be your last, and how he could be snatched from you at any time. The idea emboldens you now, making you desperate to keep Arthur to you. You reach down and cup his rapidly growing bulge over his trousers, palming it in your hand, gently squeezing and massaging. A guttural groan of yearning rumbles up from his chest as Arthur angles his hips into your hand. With your lips still locked together and panting hotly into each others’ mouths, you move to make quick work of unbuttoning his pants, pushing the fabric back to get your hand underneath.

Your palm finds Arthur’s thick cock, already half-hard from anticipation. You begin to stroke as much as the confines of his pants will allow, causing his member to twitch in your skilled hand. Your thumb rubs over his tip, already becoming wet, and he breathes hotly against your skin.

His rough hands have already tossed aside your shawl and pulled the shoulder strap of your nightgown down for full access to the soft skin of your shoulder where he has already placed hot, wet kisses and slight bite marks. Arthur pulls the fabric further down your bicep to expose your breast which he immediately clamps his mouth onto, his tongue flicking against the pebbling nipple. Your hand reaches and curls tightly into his hair as your head drops back, your mouth gaped open.You are hardly able to contain the moan that is desperate to escape your throat.

The man already has your head spinning. You’d love to see Arthur completely bare again, like you were the first time at the hunting shelter. You want nothing more than to run your hands along his massive, strong chest and arms; to feel those burly thighs of his pressed around your hips. The idea of rolling around together, completely bare and skin to skin, is so tantalizing to you both. But you are in camp this time with nothing between you two and the rest of the gang except a thin layer of canvas. Plus, you had a fire there the last time to stave off the chill air. So your clothing will need to stay on while you are in camp and you’ll have to work around it. Out of sheer impatience and modesty, you manage to get Arthur’s shirt open enough to run your warm hand over his chest and push his pants down to his thick thighs.

Without letting go of each other for a mere second, you both ungracefully lower yourselves to the ground upon the nest of blankets, lips still locked with each clumsy and impatient movement. You manage to win the dominance of the moment and push Arthur down beneath you, his back up against your cot as you twist around and swing your leg over his hip to straddle him. Your hands wrap around his face and neck, pulling him to you as your tongues wrestle over each other’s. Arthur’s hands knead the tender flesh of your sides before running up your back, clutching at the base of your neck and tightly wrapping around your waist. 

The first time you and Arthur made love together was sweet and passionate, carrying that innocent frailty of being unsure and exploratory. But this time, that seal of the unknown has been broken already. This time, it is more hot and carnal, a desperate need to replenish the high that you both have already experienced and know is lingering under the surface and waiting to be unleashed once again. 

You rock back and forth on the outlaw’s lap, rubbing yourself against his ever-hardening cock. Your mouth breathes hotly into his mouth. Arthur feels so amazing beneath you that, like an addict dependent on their drug of choice, you have to have more of him. 

It's probably indecent how much you want him, but you really don’t care. Because you know he certainly doesn’t, and that’s all that matters. And you realize that nothing is indecent as long as you’re with the right person. And that is when you lose all of yourself to the man underneath you, giving in to your desire so completely, trusting that when you fall, Arthur will be there to catch you. You squeeze his face in your hands, pulling him in to you, squishing his cheeks slightly in the process.

Arthur is constantly on your mind. Your need and craving for him, for his hands to touch you, to press yourself up against his strong body, is a persistent ache, especially after that night in the woods. It’s as if his hands left permanent fingerprints scattered across your body. You yearn for Arthur when you are apart, and when you are together, even in the most innocent of circumstances, you just want to breathe him in and convince him that you are his.

Arthur releases the hold around your waist and hastily pulls the bottom of your nightgown up around your hips. He drops his hand between you two, seeking your heat as his wrist rubs against your pelvis with your persistent rocking. With all obstructions out of the way, his thick fingers begin to rake across your folds, basting themselves in the wetness that is quickly emanating from you. 

With your face squished against his, a soft groan ushers out of your mouth as his middle finger pushes up into you. Arthur slowly pumps in and out, waking up that bundle of nerves that are nestled so gently there. When his second finger joins the first, you have to bite your lower lip at the sheer feeling of it. Your breath quickens and your hands grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the meat of his muscles. Your eyes roll closed and you begin to grind down onto his hand as he thrusts upward at the same time, shaking his hand back and forth in stimulation. Arthur’s motions draw impassioned squeaks out of you, eventually pulling his name from your trembling lips to be whispered against his temple. His thick fingers write poetry inside of you, rubbing and curling against that perfect spot. 

Just as before, Arthur watches your face and body as he touches you. He is totally mesmerized by how someone so horrible as himself could inflict such pleasure; how hands that could do such damage could still hold something so precious as yourself. He leans forward and leaves nibbling bites along your jaw, making you even crazier with ecstasy.

Arthur holds you so tightly that all of his own anxiety melts away instantly. And he realizes that you are the key; the key to his sanity, to his well-being. His restless hands hold you like you are the missing piece to his broken soul, as if he is trying to mend you into himself. It is here with you, with you entwined in his arms, that Arthur gets to forget the ugliness of your daily lives. The stealing, the killing, the running, all of it; it's a distant thought in his mind right now. All he can focus on right now is you. 

You pull back from Arthur’s face to look him in the eye as you lift yourself up a bit onto your knees. You push his hand from your heat before wrapping your hand around his cock. You give it a couple of slow pumps, relishing the feeling of the hard, thick muscle in your hand. You line yourself up to him and slowly sink back down, allowing his size to fill you so perfectly.

Your mouth gapes and hisses at the fullness of it and Arthur lets out a faint whimper of ecstasy of his own as the two of you conjoin once again. 

Pausing only long enough to meet and hold his gaze, you begin to move atop of him. You quickly figure out that if you grind your hips in a circular motion, it rubs with the most exquisite friction. Arthur’s eyes become heavy-lidded and he lazily clunks his forehead to yours in a moment of pure weakness at the new sensation. 

You move slowly at first, clenching your muscles around his cock as you pull up and down, but you just simply can’t maintain that pace. You are hungry and burning for him, and selfishly you give in to your own needs. You build up speed, each thrust of your hips gaining more momentum. A sharp huff emanates from him as he falls forward even more to lean his forehead onto your shoulder. There, his lips bury into your soft skin and he tries to muffle his uncontrollable moans and grunts.

Arthur doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sight of you coming completely unraveled before his very eyes. He feels your trembling fingers digging into his skin and watches your face contort with pleasure as you ride him. It's a thing of such beauty, such awesomeness that he has no words to describe it. His head dips lower as his plump lips land to that sweet spot of soft skin on your chest just above your breasts. The sensitive porcelain-smooth skin reddens as his beard stubble scratches delightfully against it, setting your nerves on fire. Arthur clutches you even closer to him as you snap your hips back and forth, chasing that lightning that you know is on the horizon for you.

You begin to moan and pant even faster and louder now.  Your hand desperately grasps at him as your arm encircles his shoulders while the other one reaches behind you and pushes against his thigh to support yourself. A beautiful fog clouds your rational thinking as you get so caught up in the blissful moment.

Too caught up. 

The lines around Arthur’s eyes crinkle a bit in amusement. “You’re gonna have to try to be quieter, sweetheart,” Arthur muses. “You’re gonna get us caught.” His hand comes up to brush a few rogue strands of hair away from your eyes, before cradling your face and smashing his mouth into yours in an attempt to swallow your bewitching little sounds. But being quiet is proving to be easier said than done.

“Do you want…to stop…what we’re doing?” you ask between breaths, slightly annoyed at the light-hearted criticism.

“Hell no.” He pants out matter of factly.

“Then you try to hush it!” And you grind down especially hard to make your point. His stiff cock rams into your back wall; the tightness of your heat clenches unrelentingly around him. Arthur stifles a lustful whimper with your unexpected movement, and his head turns and eyes screw down tightly. It takes a moment for him to regain composure and he slowly opens those majestic sapphire eyes again to stare you down.

“Is that the game you wanna play, little miss?” Arthur growls out, his expression dark and lustful.

Your only response is a suggestive and taunting eyebrow lift as you continue to bop up and down, completely unaware of the beast that you have just unleashed with your salacious behavior.

In an instant, Arthur flips you from his lap to your back, causing a yelp from your throat, and he is quick to roll on top of you. His intense eyes stare you down like a predator. Those eyes alone can fill you with a need and desire like no other, even in the shadows of the night. His firm lips on your body fill you with fire, and the way he works his tongue over yours could easily make you forget your own name. 

Arthur’s grip on you is firm and solid. Not rough, exactly, but not gentle either. He comes up on his knees a bit, and forces his pants down a bit farther on his thighs to give him more flexibility to move. Large hands shove your nightgown up past your ribs. Arthur holds you exactly where he needs you to be, making it clear in unspoken terms that you are not to move. His chest heaves with hunger and you can’t take your wide and shining eyes off of him. He is magnificent. 

One of his hands hooks under one of your tender thighs and Arthur pushes it up to your chest. He holds it there with his broad chest as he leans over you, scissoring you as he wraps his free hand around his cock. When Arthur pushes his solid, heavy member into you once again, it stretches you in a whole different angle, leaving you absolutely breathless. 

He is in total control of your body now as he ruts deep and fast. The new position pulls on the back of your thigh, but it’s nothing compared to the new-found stretch inside of you. Arthur’s massive hand clamps over your mouth in an effort to muffle your moans and whimpers while he supports himself with his other hand set next to your head. Once he gets his bearings, Arthur leans forward even more as his face sinks into the side of your neck, huffing out hot, humid air onto your tingling skin. And you try so, so desperately to be quiet.

You lose all track of your senses as you are completely overwhelmed by them. Arthur is so handsome, so perfect. He is hard as lightning, yet can be as soft as candlelight. His strong, muscled body encompasses your own as he covers you. The very sight of him is enough to make you come undone if you thought about him long enough. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders as you angle your hips upward to meet the pounding of his as your breath races to keep up with his relentless pace.

In a brief window of clarity, Arthur makes a mental note to take you somewhere where you don’t have to be so quiet next time. He took for granted how loud you two could be, briefly forgetting how intense the first time was. He absolutely loves the sounds you make for him and he’s a bit resentful that he has to try to silence you and deny himself that simple pleasure. Your little moans and gasps make him grasp you even tighter; to push that much deeper and to squeeze that much harder as his mind is set afire. The hard ground beneath you digs into your back from his unrelenting force, even with the cushion of the blankets.

Athur relishes the way your body rocks back and forth as he rolls his hips into yours. Like a puppet, you move with each of his administrations. He can’t get over how you respond to his touch. Whether he is soft and caressing or rough and lustful, how can you be so pliable, so accepting to him?

He doesn’t last as long as the first time you were together, being too wound up with anticipation this time. But then again, neither do you with that pinnacle coming hard and fast just as before. Once again, the two of you are in perfect sync. Arthur can tell when you’ve hit your climax first, as your body spasms sharply beneath him and a euphoric yet muffled whimper escapes under his hand that is still clamped over your mouth. He can feel your calf muscle tighten sharply against his shoulder as your toes curl as the orgasm overtakes you. Then, your whole body goes limp with exhaustion, no longer able to maintain the energy to stay with him. This causes Arthur to push even faster to chase his own release. A few more greedy thrusts before he pulls his hips back, releasing his warm seed upon your abdomen with a satisfied grunt. 

When he’s sure you have control of yourself, Arthur releases his hand from your mouth, setting it next to your head, opposite his other. His head hangs exhaustedly between his shoulders as he hovers over your trembling body. Panting heavily, Arthur lowers himself to his elbows, cradling you to himself, but trying not to crush you in the process.

Once again, Arthur worries if he’s been too rough with you in his overzealous excitement. But that is quickly dispelled when you lift up to nuzzle your face into his cheek, your arms still gripping tightly around his shoulders. You pull Arthur down to lay overtop of you, eager to feel his warm skin against yours. He hums contently as he comes down from his rapturous high and his heartbeat tries to slow.

“Not gonna lie, but I could really get used to this” he mutters as he places soft kisses to the cuff of your ear and then over your eyebrow. He rolls over to his back, yet still close enough that his arm lays up against yours. You both lie next to each other panting and trying to catch your breath, staring up at the canvas ceiling of your tent. The slight burn between your legs faintly pulsates, leaving you feeling spent and your legs like jelly.

“You’re right though, we’ll have to work on being more quiet,” you giggle softly, turning your head to smile sheepishly at him. Arthur reaches down to entwine his thick fingers with your soft, delicate ones and lifts your hand to kiss them. After a moment, you reach over and grab one of your hand towels to clean yourself before handing it to Arthur and adjusting your nightgown to cover yourself again.

“I’m up for more practicin’. Just so you know,” he snickers as he wipes himself down and proceeds to pull his trousers back up around his hips. 

Arthur leans over you to toss the towel onto your cot then comes up on his side, head propped up on his hand and elbow so he can look down on you. In return, you roll on your side to face him, your arm comfortably tucked under your head as a pillow. 

“I may never leave the tent, if that’s the case,” you reply seductively.

“You’d get sick of me real quick.” 

“I don’t know, I’d find ways to entertain myself with you.” You roll even closer to him and wrap your hand around the back of his head to pull him to you and begin to playfully nibble on his ear.

Another soft chuckle bubbles its way out of his broad chest. “Miss (Y/L/N), you're makin’ me blush.” 

You draw back to see his face again. “If everyone else was unkind to you in the past, then I want to make up for that.” And you deliver a delicate kiss upon his nose.

“There’s a reason for that, ya know,” he raises an eyebrow in warning to you.  

“I’m not too worried about it.” You run your fingers through his hair and stare into his eyes, giving him the most loving smile. Arthur quietly stares into your face, his thumb drawing softly against your hip where his hand comfortably rests. 

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes.” He kisses the pad of your thumb as you sweep it across his chapped lips as he speaks.

“I could say the same about you.” Another soft giggle leaves your lips.

“You’ll be disappointed when you find out,” he says flatly. 

It takes a moment, but your face turns into a slight frown of disapproval and your eyes catch an unhappy gleam in them. “You need to stop this, Arthur.” Getting a little exasperated, you reluctantly separate from him and his warmth and slowly sit up, leaning back against the cot. You wrap one of the blankets around yourself, drawing your knee up to your chest.

Arthur’s expression quickly turns to worry, afraid he’s already screwed something up. “I’m sorry, did I make you mad?” 

You look down as your fingers nervously play with the edge of the blanket around your shoulders. “A little. This needs to stop, Arthur. I know you’re not used to being treated kindly, but we really need to change that.” Your chin lifts again as you give him a look of slight admonishment.

His eyebrows pull together in shame. “What’s the point?” he pouts.

“What’s the-?” You rapidly blink back at him, totally flabbergasted. “Because I lo-…!” 

And you stop short in your speech, eyes widened. Your heart beats so fast and hard that you can hear it in your ears. It's too soon for you to say those three simple little words. You just got Arthur to admit he has feelings, period. You don’t want to spook him any more than you already have. So you'll have to reel this topic in for now. 

All in good time. 

“Because it hurts my heart to hear you talk about yourself like that, is all.” You quickly backpedal, tucking loose pieces of your hair behind your ear again as you avert Arthur’s gaze for a moment, hoping he missed your slip-up. Fortunately, he’s so preoccupied with your sad face that he missed the intention of what you were just about to say. 

Arthur gives you a guilty look. He never, ever wants to be the reason for any discomfort to you, even if it means he’s going to have to be kinder to himself. You are going to call Arthur out on his bull-shit; that’s something he’s going to have to get used to.

“‘M sorry.” He sits himself up now as well, set right in front of you. He gently takes your chin in between his thumb and fingers. “I’ll try. I promise.” His blue eyes look deep into your own in earnest to try to instill his words and convince you of his intention. He reaches down and takes your hand again and kisses the back of it before engulfing it with his own two in an attempt of an apology. 

“I want to show you what it’s like to be held the way you should be,” you say softly. Your other hand floats out to rest over his heart, feeling how it flutters beneath your palm. “You are nothing that I expected to find here when I first met you, Arthur. But you are quickly becoming everything that I have ever wanted. I know you think that you’re full of disappointment. But I promise you, there’s a huge part of you in there that is worth keeping.” 

Arthur stares back at you, slightly slack-jawed. His head tilts ever so slightly as if he’s about to say something, but whatever it is catches in his throat. His eyes glisten slightly from the mist gathering in the corners. Even in the golden shadows of your tent’s lamplight, you can see the crimson rise from Arthur's cheeks up to the tips of his ears as a smile slowly creeps across his handsome face before he has to avert his gaze from yours to collect himself. 

He places his hand overtop of yours on his chest, holding it there as if afraid you’ll retract your offer. Your words not only cut into him, but they nest there like a seed about to germinate and flower, blossoming into something beautiful for the whole world to see. Sometimes it’s best not to overthink, not to question too much and wonder why. Arthur just needs to stop and take a deep breath, and, as Dutch says, have faith that all will work out for the best. 

“We’re both broken, Arthur,” you breathe, your voice gentle and angelic in the quiet night. “But I think we just fit together so right. Don’t you?” Your glinting eyes burrow into him so deeply when he lifts his chin again to meet your smile. 

“God, I hope so,” he whispers.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been several days since you and Arthur have “officially” become a couple. And you are quickly settling into a comfortable routine. While you try to be discreet about the relationship and still have that jovial interaction publically, there is definitely a distinctive difference in how the two of you interact with each other. 

The shy and awkward glances and innocent flirting have given way to more assertive touching and possession. You and Arthur have always gotten on well together and everyone else could plainly see the attraction between the two of you, even when you yourselves could not. And now that it is all out in the open and acknowledged, it is as if the two of you have already been together for years. 

There is the unspoken responsibility for the other one that is always present; one that is tinged with love and respect. It’s a familiarity that usually comes with time and experience. But it is as if you and Arthur are old souls, already having been tied together since before you even met. 

They say that love has no bounds:  not time, location or circumstances can dictate how love will present itself. To have rules and restrictions is a losing battle. Like water cutting through the rocky terrain of a mountain canyon, love will cut its way through and carve out a whole new landscape for those blessed with its presence. 

Today, Arthur has just gotten back from a two-day stint out hunting for food and supplies for the gang. You wanted to go out with him, but since he was doing more than hunting, Arthur had taken Charles out instead, leaving you safely behind. It was kind of annoying at the time, but just as Arthur needs to get used to you being so nice to him, you are going to have to get used to Arthur being so protective of you. You are a precious jewel to him and he will stop at nothing to make sure that you are safe. 

Of course, the minute he’s back in camp, Arthur is called into Dutch’s tent for some damn thing. You sit at the table with some of the girls, mending one of Jack’s shirts, as your eyes follow his tired form lumbering over towards Dutch before returning your attention back to your work. Molly is sitting off to the side of you and looks up from her book as she notices Arthur’s return as well. 

“It’s about time they got back,” she mutters out loud. “Let me know when he’s done in there with Dutch. I need him to run into town for me.” She lifts her chin in Arthur’s direction.

You blink your eyes incredulously at her before a hard frown settles on your face. An irritated sigh huffs out of your mouth as you drum your fingers impatiently on the tabletop. You look at Molly and as calmly as you can, you simply utter “No”.

Molly looks at you for a moment, as if confused by your statement. 

“You’re going to have to send someone else, or wait until later when Arthur has rested up a bit.” You try your best to speak calmly yet firmly to her, as this is a subject that you are not going to yield on.

Molly’s green eyes flash at you as the irritation is clearly visible on her beautiful face. “What?!” 

“I’m sorry, what was the confusing part for you?” You tilt your head at her. “The ‘no’ or the ‘you have to wait’ part?” 

“Who the hell are you to decide anything around here?” the red-head snaps at you. “What, are you Arthur’s keeper now?”

“Apparently, because no one else around here is going to look after him. He does everything around here.” Your own voice begins to escalate as you wave your hand at the expanse of the camp. “The least you could do is give him a break between requests!” 

Tilly and Abigail look at each other nervously as they watch the exchange, not sure if they want to get caught in the middle of an impending catfight. 

At this point Arthur emerges out of Dutch’s tent and slowly makes his way through the camp, the exhaustion evident on his body. Giving Molly a quick scowl, you abruptly get up from the table and walk over to Arthur before anyone can approach him about anything else. You stop right in front of him, causing him to halt and lift his chin at you, a faint smile emerging on his face. 

“Hey you”, you say softly, smiling at him. 

“Hey”, Arthur counters. The minute he lays those blue eyes of his on you, the tension immediately begins to subside within his body.

You reach out and gently grab his gloved hand. “Come with me, please.” And you lead Arthur towards his tent. 

“Um, okay,” he replies, a bit confused. For a moment, Arthur thinks you are dragging him to his tent for some “amorous attention”, but he quickly dismisses that idea when he notices the slight irritation in your step.

Once inside his tent, you sit him down on his cot. You stand in front of him with your arms crossed over your chest, assessing his current state. “You look dead tired.” Your eyes are laced with concern.

“Yeah, I feel dead tired, too. Took me ten minutes to get down from my damn horse, I think,” he complains as he drags his hand over his haggard face that is past-due for a shave.

“Okay, then,” you insist definitively. “You stay in here, lay down and get some rest. I’ll go get you something to eat. Don't you move from this tent, understand?” you instruct as you point your finger at him. “I don’t want anyone asking you to do anything for awhile.” 

“Y/N, I appreciate that, but there’s work to be done around here.” He motions towards the camp before his hand falls limply into his lap.

“Don’t care right now,” as you are quick to shut that idea down. “Either someone else can do it for once, or it will have to wait a bit. If I have to, I’ll take care of it myself.” Your eyes are wide, with your eyebrows launched into your hairline and your body rigid.

“Okay, I guess.” Arthur smiles, pursing his lips a bit. He’s not used to someone helping him, let alone putting his needs first. He can tell by the look on your face right now that there is no arguing with you about this, either. Apparently, he’s not the only one in camp that one doesn’t want to piss off. 

Satisfied with his submission to your request, you turn and head out of the tent. Arthur just grins, shaking his head at your nonsense. His eyes cast down to his boots, half tempted to pull them off, but quickly gives up with the thought of the physical exertion of it. He takes a long, deep sigh, leaning out on his knees with his elbows, letting the stiff muscles of his back slowly unwrap themselves. He slowly wiggles his head back and forth, trying to get his neck to “crack” and release the tension sitting there. 

“Where are you going?”

Arthur hears your voice piercing through the air off in the distance and turns his head towards the commotion. He immediately notices that you’ve caught Sean trying to head over to the tent.

“I was just-” Sean sputters, pointing at Arthur’s tent.

“Nope, no. Don’t even think about it!” you snap sharply.

“Yeah, but-” the little man attempts to protest again, but you just are not having any of it. 

“I don’t care! Whatever it is that you need, go find Charles. And you keep your ass away from that tent! Understand?”

“Ugh, fine!” Sean huffs out a pout and stalks off to find Charles.

The sight makes Arthur chuckle in amusement at your protectiveness. “That’s my girl.” He lays back on his cot with a groan and closes his eyes, tossing his hat onto his chair. 

—------------------------------------

As the late afternoon breeze carries through the camp, it gently lifts a few ruby and topaz-colored leaves to skip across the cool grass. You’ve managed to keep everyone away from Arthur upon his return to camp, allowing him to rest a bit for once. After he’d eaten something, you discreetly tugged on his arm and pulled him away, wandering off to find a quiet spot. You both know it's only a matter of time before Arthur is called away from you for one thing or another, so you try to steal whatever quiet moments you can together. 

You sit peacefully under a tree at the edge of camp with Arthur’s head in your lap. Your fingertips absentmindedly curl themselves in that triangle of exposed skin between the top buttons of his union suit and shirt, playing with his chest hair. His hat is pulled over his eyes to shield them from the bright autumn sun, now starting to make its descent for the day. The sun’s rays sprinkle a peppered sunlight across your nose, gently warming your face. You read your book and hum softly to yourself until you hear Arthur’s soft snores in your lap, making you smile down at him. 

Soon, you see Hosea approaching from the side. The crunching of leaves under his worn black boots causes your head to lift in his direction. He instantly halts when he sees Arthur’s hat pulled over his eyes. You put a finger to your lips in a shushing motion. 

“He’s sleeping,” you mouth quietly. 

“Oh,” Hosea silently mouths in return. He stands there a minute, observing the tranquil scene in front of him. A certain sense of pride and even relief settles over Hosea’s chest as he observes you and Arthur together, sitting so untroubled and content. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see his adopted son so happy again. 

“Well, when he wakes up, let him know I need to see him, won’t you?” the older man whispers.

You smile and nod and Hosea quietly turns around to walk back towards the camp. 

After a few moments, Arthur’s voice murmurs “I ain’t sleepin’, you know.” His hat is still lowered, but you can catch a glimpse of his lips curling into a grin under it. 

“Shhh. I just bought you about another twenty minutes of peace and quiet. Don’t ruin it.” You lift the corner of his hat and peer under it. “And, yes you were. You were snoring.” You playfully drop the hat back onto his face resulting in a light laugh to huff out of him.

He gives himself a few more minutes of calm, but eventually, Arthur rolls himself up with a groan. He casually reaches over and grabs your thigh, tickling it and making you giggle and squirm. He’s slow to stand up, reluctant to move, as his knees make a slight popping sound. He brushes the grass off of his butt and leans over to grab your chin to kiss you on the lips and then your forehead. 

“Thanks for the nap, darlin’” He gives you a wink that makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

The smile you return is one of absolute adoration. “Anytime, cowboy.”

[flowerandblood]

I'm back

And I'm back with my oneshot with Michael Gavey. He fucking came back from the dead. Some can call it resurrection.

I needed these 24 hours just for myself to think about why I was writing at all and why I was doing it.

To talk about it with my husband who, as always, knowing me inside out, said that I didn't deserve to have my work and commitment here wasted by people who don't have the courage to write to me under their own nickname.

Just to be clear - it doesn't matter when or if any of you would read my oneshot. When, why or if you will do it is neither something to feel guilty nor proud of, like reading or not anything I wrote or will write.

I remind you that's my space, not yours. Anon asks stays off, because I know who you really are.

Cowards.

From now on, I will be much stricter about what other people "opinion" should and should not be.

I will block anyone, anons, writers or readers, who cannot watch their words - even if it's on your blogs, in your asks, comments, reblogs or statements - I don't want to see any ironic, hurtful bullshit on my wall anymore.

I will block them, but I will never nag them. I just don't need them in my life, in my space. Learn from me, anon haters. I hope me coming back is your stick in the ass and not in the pleasurable way.

I don't care if you think I'm a sweet and innocent author with no flaws - I'm not. I've never been. I don't care about maintaining this image either.

Yes, I can't stand anons who send me and other authors baseless criticism. They were and will remain my enemies. I will never be nice to them, because by hiding they lose the last of my respect.

However, I have never been and will never be unpleasant to people who ask me thoughtful questions with the respect that one person can and should expect from another. Usually it's not about the question itself, but about how it was asked.

Writing anonymously to others that you wish their pets to die, that it's good that they lost their child, or to me that I don't really love my husband and I'm cheating on him because I write fanfics is not the smartest idea.

You are just sad, jealous idiots.

Now.

A few of people here are trying to keep this sticky tape glued fandom from falling apart and I sincerely admire them: @ewanmitchellcrumbs @targaryenrealnessdarling @oneeyedvisenya @theoneeyedprince @valeskafics @black-dread

This fandom doesn't deserve you, but there you are.

+ I wanted to say 'thank you' to all of the writers who just reached me to say that they are sorry, to say that I have a right to write whatever I want. Do what I want without being judged.

Finally, I cannot help but mention the wave of anonymous and non-anonymous messages from my fans, to which I apologize for not responding. I've read them all.

Many of you came out of the shadows and wrote to me for the first time, showing me how much my stories mean to you. Thank you for all the memes, photos, drawings and words of comfort, very long and very short messages.

If it weren't for you, if it weren't for my husband who told me that I needed a break - not to destroy everything I created, I would have deleted this account a few days ago. He said that I should care more about my own mental comfort, which I intend to do.

I deleted my Discord account to withdraw from the fandom a bit and to put what happened behind me. I don't have good emotions right now that I could share with you in these groups, which you deserve. I don't want to be a ghost account there.

If you want to talk to me or explain something, you can reach me in private messages.

So. Karawana jedzie dalej, as we say in Poland. Those who want to be tagged, please let me know here or privately.

I don't know when I will publish my other works, but I will.

Welcome back.

[sleepingdeath-light]

when she’s moved on from chucky hcs ; tiffany valentine

requested by ; anonymous (posted on 14/07/23)

fandom(s) ; slashers / child’s play

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; tiffany valentine

outline ; “Ooh so could you do a Tiffany x gender neutral reader where at the scene when tiff had chucky in his cage, she mentions how she got over him and is now dating reader who Tiff just rabbles about them?

And please take your time on this I don’t wanna seem like one of the impatient readers so do your best!”

note ; this is a repost from a now deleted blog, so apologies if you’ve already read this lol

warning(s) ; allusions to sex, suggestive content

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

she hadn’t thought about her ex in a long time — mourning him for more than long enough when he’d initially passed away before making a point of trying to move on

she’d had plenty of flings over the years — tiffany was incredibly attractive so there was no shortage of men and women ready to hop in bed with her — but nobody ever stayed for long

not until you, that is

you, who was able to make her laugh without any effort

you, who didn’t judge her for her past and helped her take the steps she needed to fully detach herself from chucky

you, who kept a photo of her in your wallet/purse and who would proudly introduce her as your girlfriend to anyone you met

you, who watched all her favourite films with her and who would get wrapped up in the plot without complaining about them being ‘unrealistic’ or ‘silly’

you, who loved her for her mind and her humour and not just her body

you

just you

and yet despite all of that she still couldn’t seem to get away from charles for long because here he was, miraculously not dead and a hell of a lot shorter and more plastic-looking than she remembered

she’d seen his death reported on in the paper

she’d been going to therapy to talk about their relationship and how she was dealing with his loss

she’d moved on and was happy with you — even looking at wedding venues (even if you hadn’t been together very long, but when you know you know)

she’d done everything right and still he’d managed to come back into her life like nothing had happened

it made her angry

it made her sick

so she trapped him in a baby cage and went out for a smoke, ranting with the front door of her trailer open as she made some very pointed gestures and remarks to her ex

how dare he do this to her! how fucking dare he!

who the fuck did he think he was?

why couldn’t he just let her live her life in peace?

couldn’t he see that she was finally — fucking finally — happy after all of the shit he’d put her through?

the sheer audacity had her tonguing the inside of her cheek and reaching for her lighter — she didn’t have enough cigarettes to deal with his shit right now

frankly there weren’t enough cigarettes in the world at all to help her deal with his bullshit, but that was besides the point

she takes a drag from her second cig and now she’s stopped pacing — leaning on the doorframe and facing him head on with more disappointment and sadness that outright animosity

and somehow that scares him more than when she was ranting and raving and screaming at him

she asks why he can’t just let her have one good thing — but it’s not really a question and he knows it and he doesn’t even get to contemplate answering and manipulating her before she continues

she talks about you, about how she’s finally happy for the first time in forever and of course he has to come in and turn it all to shit (she spits the last word like it burns her tongue and continues in a dreamier voice, the ghost of a smile worming its way onto her lips)

‘they’re real sweet, ya know?’ (he doesn’t and she knows it but she continues), ‘they make me happy. we have fun together’

he says that they did too, jumping at the opportunity to reel her back in, but she chokes out a laugh and kicks his baby gate, causing his plastic body to stumble back

she scoffs at him and reaffirms that ‘fun’ doesn’t just mean being an adrenaline junkie — but even then that you don’t put her down or discourage her from doing what she enjoys

you let her have real hobbies, not just ones that benefit you — you even watch cheesy chick flicks with her and, pray tell, when did he ever bother to do the same?

never, that’s when

chucky tries to reel her back in again, recalling the fun they used to have — but he’s already lost

he lost before he even turned up at her front door because tiffany valentine has moved on

she doesn’t just want kinky sex and excitement — she dreams of domesticity and marriage and love

her days of bloodshed and murder are (mostly) over and have been since she settled down

since she fell in love with you

you with your smiles and your gentle touches and your humour that makes her laugh so hard her cheeks and sides ache

you who reaches out first and who doesn’t leave her high and dry and wanting like charles did

you who she loves, really truly loves, and who she’d never even dream of leaving

so she grabs a bottle of wine and tells chucky to keep on talking — because he may not have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning her over, but by god is it cathartic to watch him beg

… maybe she’d even call you up and give him a live show of every single reason, position and sound why you’re a far sight better than he ever was

[lunarubra]

Little update...

First, I want to apologize in advance—this is going to be a bit long, and I’ll be venting about a lot of things. Sorry for that.

So, I realize almost no one noticed this, and that’s partly because I’ve been quiet about it, trying to process everything before doing anything.

I took a few days off from Tumblr to figure out if I was just overreacting or being overly sensitive. I even debated whether I should take down all my stories, delete my blog, or just keep one. To be honest, bullying isn’t new to me; I’ve dealt with it most of my life.

Over the past few days, though, a blog—or possibly a group of blogs—started bullying me and attacking what I’ve published, to the point where they reported my Chapter 7 to Tumblr, which led to it being taken down. That chapter contained smut, and apparently, I didn’t follow the guidelines by not marking it as mature content.

But what really hurts is that these people "discovered" through my stories that I’m Muslim and Arab. Since then, I’ve been bombarded with racist, disgusting messages. Even after blocking them, I kept receiving more, to the point where I had to disable anonymous asks.

I’ve reached out to Tumblr and appealed the removal of Chapter 7. Hopefully, it’ll be restored, but I’ll have to mark it as mature content. Which, let’s be honest, feels a bit ridiculous considering no one else seems to be doing that and they’re getting by just fine—but then again, they’re not being harassed by a group of Zionists.

So, what’s the point of all this? Well, here it is: Are you done? You don’t like that I’m Muslim—what a shocker. You think I’m a terrorist, that the only "good Muslim" is a dead one? Fine. But just ignore me. When I started this blog, I made a rule for myself: stay away from politics. I wanted a space that was mine, where the only thing that mattered was obsessing over our fandom. I needed that. A place where, at least here, I didn’t have to worry about what it’s like to be a Muslim in the Western world.

And yes, I know this situation isn’t the biggest deal in the grand scheme of things. A bunch of insults about why I shouldn’t exist and getting reported for one chapter isn’t earth-shattering. But it’s just another place where I can’t pretend to feel safe. Even here, in my own little corner, playing with my "characters", if my characters aren’t white and Christian, it’s somehow a problem.

I understand what real problems are. My aunt is Palestinian, from Haifa. Do you know what that means for my family? It means every day, we hear news about people we know—or people my mom, my uncle, or my aunt knew—being killed or trying to flee for their lives. I get these updates daily. So forgive me if I wanted at least this space to be free from Zionist insults. Just leave me alone, for fuck's sake.

From now on, anyone who thinks Muslims should die, who labels me a terrorist, or who tries to explain how Israel is just "defending itself" will be blocked.

Sorry for the long post, but I needed to get this off my chest.

[do-you-ship-this-taz-ship]

this only kinda fits the blog theme i apologize, but i have thoughts on which set of the players PCs would function the best as a polycule and you asked for asks. (I am including all the main campaigns and very inconsistently some liveshow/smaller arc PCs if I feel like it.)

I think Justin's characters wouldn't have a lot in common, so that's a major hurdle. Duck and Taako might hook up, or Taako and Sebastian, and maybe Amber and Godwin, but besides them, it's hard to really pair anyone up. Maybe Pepsi Liberty and Opera Man, but it would have to be exclusively while Opera Man is in Opera Man form. And no one would want to fuck Augustus. (He would be into Godwin but it's unreciprocated). Bad polycule. There's no poly here.

Travis's characters would be better! I think Aubrey and Devo would clash a lot initially, but eventually they'd get along pretty well, I could see them dating. Aubrey is into Magnus this is fact, he is canonically her favorite podcast character and I know firsthand that means she would fuck him if given the opportunity. It's debatable if he would reciprocate, I can't decide -- the age gap might make him uncomfortable, but he definitely likes her, at least platonically, they're friends. Magnus Beef and Mutt would def get along. Maybe Shoots also. So at the very least we have one triad+ and one couple, maybe with a connection between them. Decent polycule!

Clint's characters would get along super well I think. Zoox and Argo would be significantly younger than the others, and I don't think either of them would really be into the old guys, but they'd be friends, and maybe they could get together. And by maybe I mean definitely for the purposes of this thought experiment. And then all the old dudes (Merle, Ned, debatably Thacker, Emerich, Phileaux, possibly Benny Gene) are together in whatever combination (Merle/Ned and Thacker/Emerich for sure, and I think Merle might find Phileaux annoying but he'd still hatefuck him) Old man yaoi polycule with two younger guys sitting it out. Pretty good!

Griffin has less characters, which is both an advantage and not. Fitzroy isn't fucking anyone (might be romancing someone, not that theres anyone for him to romance), but Errol Indrid and Montrose could for sure have something. Dell Kraven might be able to get in on that triad, it's debatable. And 48… dunno their pronouns theyre just a cube. Yeah I don't think they're into romance or sex or any sort of human relationship including friendship. 48 and Fitzroy hang out and Fitzroy tries to start up a conversation but 48 always brings it back to Tim McGraw who does not exist in Fitzroy's universe and it's a bad scene. Okay overall, but not great.

So in conclusion Clint's PCs win, Travis's get second place, then Griffin's, with Justin's coming dead last.

This was such a fun read even if I don't know a lot of the characters!! Thank you for sending it :) i'm glad to hear it confirmed, as i suspected, that clint makes the most fuckable PCs 🤍

What do you guys think?

[rea-can-yeet]

Not me casually dropping part two after a long time of me being MIA. Sorry about that! Y'knowzzz life and all hahahaha! I edited my tumblr pinned post where I put my current status there so yeah if you wanna know what's going on with me you can check it out haha anyway here's chapter two of 'mutineer'! Does anyone still remember this?? Or even this blog??? Oh god what if y'all thought this blog was dead??? Or worse- sagau ain't a thing much now? Wait lemme double check after I post this-

_______________________________________

REMINDER: This is gender neutral for all readers. Sagau stands for Self Aware Genshin Alternative Universe, but this is leaning much towards the God/Creator AU where the characters are aware that they’re being controlled but not aware enough to know that they’re in a game. This story is set in God/Creator AU, imposter AU, and lastly villain AU. This contains religious and cult themes, graphic violence, and probably some suggestive scenes (not this chapter yet, but the series will show some) so viewer’s discretion is advised.

______________________________________

🔻

🔻

♦️

𝕄𝕌𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔼𝔼ℝ

"Damn, Y/n. There you are."

A friend, who she met when they were little and still vibe with even when they first became aerospace engineer students, commented while leaning against the old chipped doorframe. Her eyes landed on s/c skin, the arms to be specific, sweating. Her friend was huffing while holding a wooden bat, hair covering e/c eyes from her view.

She looks around at the damage the h/c haired had caused. Broken glass bottles, wrecked armchairs, holes in the blackboard, mirror shards around the floor, some damaged computer screens, and keys from shattered keyboards near the left cracked wall.

If this classroom wasn't abandoned or owner-less, she would have to use her wealth to bail her angry friend from being punished.

She had to witness Y/n being reprimanded for something they didn't do.

Stealing.

Ridiculous, she thought. Just because you hate a student doesn't mean you get to blame them for stealing your stuff just cuz they happen to be the last one to get out of your classroom, stupid petty karen teacher. If her friend wanted something, she knew that her friend wouldn't try stealing. And besides, she was willing to buy whatever Y/n asked, but she knows that idiot wouldn't like to ask for a lot of money from her. Y/n is greedy, but she knows Y/n is not that greedy. And of course, not greedy enough to steal.

And if the Y/n did resort to stealing, Y/n would have never been caught. She would bet her whole wealth on that.

Not only that, her prototype project for Aerospace Design class was dropped on the floor, breaking it. The culprit? One of the rowdy jocks. The man didn't even apologize and proceeded to run to who knows where while being chased by his friends.

And as if two bad things were not enough, Y/n somehow left a very important item back home; lunch.

That must have been their breaking point. So she had to follow Y/n. It took some time to find them, but she somehow found a Primogem keychain and thought 'Ah yes Y/n must have been here', and was led by crashing and banging noises. That was how she found this abandoned school a few streets away from the main road leading to their university and into the woods.

She knew Y/n's side that they rarely show to some extent, knowing her friend's tendency to be a daredevil, but she didn't think that Y/n would actually go destructive if being angered without a proper cause. There's an inkling feeling, of course, just being proven correct was a whole different feeling.

Her friend got a bad record and is being under surveillance and suspicion, hard work was unjustifiably destroyed, and lunch was left at home.

One bad thing after the other.

"Sorry." Uttered her friend, not much making a move of some sort, not even a turn of a head, still catching their breath.

She only sighs and lets out a little chuckle. Y/n is a nice person, loyal, and dependable. She understands that people have their own bursts of anger sometimes. Though, her friend has a little destructive flavor to it.

"You okay?"

"...Yeah." Y/n takes a few more breaths, taking in a deep one, then exhale. "I calmed down a bit." They say as they stood properly and turned to the person leaning on the busted doorframe that Y/n may or may not have also hit a bit. Dropping the bat carelessly, glass clinking from the impact, Y/n dragged up an armchair that miraculously survived their wrath. They sat down and wiped the sweat from their brow, their friend pushing herself from the doorframe and proceeded to sit on the armchair's table.

"Here." She pulls out Y/n's favorite drink. "Got you your bag and some sandwiches too." She hands them and Y/n accepts them with gratitude. Y/n puts the bag beside the chair and opens their drink.

"So question, how'd you find this place?"

"I have an attraction towards signs that have 'do not enter' or 'danger, not safe' on them if you didn't noticed. Or places with rusty barbed wires in the middle of nowhere." They take a swig of their drink. A breath of relief and satisfaction escapes them after. "This place was abandoned because of a strong earthquake years ago. This place will be bulldozed into a new establishment soon. Until then, this has become one of my 'Escape Places'."

She had to ask about this list of places her friend tends to escape to when she gets the chance later today when they play genshin at her mansion.

"How'd you get in the barbed wire fences anyway?" Asked Y/n as they eat their sandwich, e/c eyes turning to her.

She just takes out her assortment of skeleton keys. "I'm not athletic like you who can jump or scale over wired fences. I went through the gate. The padlock was rusty so it took some time."

Y/n hums, impressed. Then the face of amazement turns to surprise when she just drops the key on Y/n's lap. "You can have it."

"Why???"

"I found a shop that sells these in any color you want. I want them pink so you can have these since I'll be buying new ones anyway."

"You gotta stop giving me free stuff, I'm being spoiled rotten." The friend just laughs, picks up the keys, and shoves them into Y/n's bag. "You also gotta stop shoving people stuff when they try to refuse."

"Hush my child, eat and replenish. You have to help me farm soon. Those Regisvines are a pain." She zips Y/n's bag shut and sat back. "So... What are you gonna do now?"

Silence came between the two, though it wasn't uncomfortable. Her eyes scanned the destruction caused by her friend. She knew Y/n was a kind person at heart, and they tried their best to be good. To mind their manners, to be respectful. But she knows Y/n gets these impulsive thoughts sometimes. But she knows Y/n is goodhearted. Y/n knows their limitations and where the line is drawn. A very good friend.

But she knew that if being pushed to a corner, left with no choice, being wronged unfairly... Y/n wouldn't just stand by. And if given an unholy amount of freedom or autonomy, in short, freeing Y/n from any restriction or any 'leash', who knows what Y/n might do.

Y/n's chewing could be heard after some seconds before gulping followed.

"Not to worry," there, she saw it, that smile, that fucking smile that only meant one thing.

Throughout the time they've been friends, practically became soulmates, she knew Y/n had a variety of smiles that indicate different things.

A smile that meant Y/n was not okay.

A smile that meant Y/n's up to something.

A smile that meant Y/n's on their last bit of sanity.

A smile that meant Y/n found something interesting.

A smile that meant Y/n is in trouble.

There were many smiles belonging to Y/n where she knew what they suggest.

And this one... This smile meant only one thing...

"I happen to catch a glimpse of that asshole's ID and locker number, I'll be putting that skeleton key to good use. And I got a receipt at the same time the crime happened. But I won't stop at just proving my innocence. I happen to know how to retrieve deleted CCTV footages."

A smile that meant Y/n had won.

.

.

.

.

.

Bennett walks around the edge of Dragonspine in hopes to find any treasure in his ‘adventure’. It may be uneventful, but his optimistic self continued on his path determined that today may be different.

Of course, he wishes to go on adventures with his creator guiding him again. Adventures with the divine one spreading their warmth upon him has always been the best feeling he has experienced, thrilling adventures brightly shining on his path. But he understands that someone as mighty as his god can also have weeks where they’re busy. In fact, he is already grateful to be one of the lucky people graced with their god’s blessings and guidance. Bennett never once thought that he’d be one of the blessed vessels in his lifetime. As if all his bad luck was meant for this very good one.

So while he waits for their holiness to come back, he embarks on another adventure on his own.

It was getting dark, but the moon was kind enough to illuminate his path to the camp he had set up. As he walks along the trees, he notices something swirling in his chest. The same warmth he feels when his creator was visiting Teyvat. His lips formed a huge happy grin as he jumps excitedly around. He awaits for the dreamlike subconsciousness to seep through.

He waits…

And waits…

He stopped to raise his palms, he was still in control.

That is strange. By now, he should have started running around or scaling high mountains, visiting foreign lands, or even doing simple commissions for others. He puts one hand to his chest, and he takes note that the divine aura felt strange, different even. As if the aura itself was thin and feeble, yet, it was not unnoticeable that’s for sure. As if the aura was swaying along the cold eternal winter wind from the near mountain, unlike the warmth that usually resides within him.

As if the aura feels less like an ‘aura’.

He can’t quite put a finger on it yet, but the change in the usual sensation of being guided by his god was concerning. He was just about to leave when he notices something from afar, much deeper into Dragonspine. He squints his eyes at what seems to look like a leg. Was there a person behind that bush? Worried for someone’s well-being to be threatened by the harsh weather of Dragonspine, he immediately runs to it.

But upon arriving to assist the person, his eyes widened at the sight before him. Laid behind the bush was a figure he frequently see around Mondstadt’s church, little statues of them on altars in households around the city. A face that he sees in paintings and on some Bibles. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, not trusting his eyes as they could be playing tricks on him.

There stood before your unconscious body was Benny, eyes wide with only one thought running in his mind.

Is he actually looking at the Creator right now?

He snaps from his frozen demeanor when he realizes that he was supposed to help you. He can’t leave you laying here in the freezing cold. But Bennett was hesitant, not sure how to approach you. He shakes his head from the nervousness, ready to help regardless of what identity you may have.

He kneels beside you, taking note of the rising and falling of the backpack on top of your chest. You were breathing, which was always a good thing to him while he places his hand on your shoulder to gently shake you awake.

He hears you groan, making him sigh a bit in relief that you were not completely out of it. He backs away on reflex as the person he is currently helping gently pushes the foreign and weird-looking backpack to the side. You inhaled deeply, making Bennett realize that the bag must have been making it hard for you to breathe due to its weight.

“H-Hey! Are you alright!?”

He can see your eyes still hazy and unfocused, but the air in his lungs was stuck to his throat by the sensation he was feeling from your waking presence.

It was undeniable to him now.

No wonder the aura felt less like an ‘aura’. Because it no longer felt like an aura, it felt more like …a presence.

He is kneeling beside his god. They’re there, with him, in the flesh.

His god blinks a few times, e/c eyes that he reads about shine under the moonlight. Glimmering eyes that seem to be glaring angrily towards the sky. Bennett stops his staring to avoid being rude and checked your body for any injuries.

“…That’s some rad Benny cosplay.”

You spoke, and Bennett never felt so stunned to hear the same voice that whispers around him to be murmuring coherently in front of him. And their first words were about… cosplay?

You sat up, with his help of course, and you looked closely at him. He sweats while casting his eyes away from you, unnerved to be narrowly stared at by his god. You looked around and Benny can tell that you were confused.

“Okay, what the… This is not my friend’s garden. And I swear it was summer. Why am I seeing snow?” You said as you looked at him, seemingly looking for an explanation. Of course, he is also as lost as you. But he did manage to find his voice and answered.

“Oh, um, we’re in Dragonspine…?”

And your immediate response was to laugh. “And you sound like him too!! Hahahaha! Oh man, and I’m in Dragonspine? Pff! Funny man.”

Benny only smiled while trying to make sense of your words.

“Man, not only does your voice sound similar to Bennett, your costume is so on point! Like- look at the detail! The shop you buy from is literally doing justice for Mihoyo’s drip marketing.” You looked around again, becoming more concerned. “No seriously, where are we? I don’t see my friend or her mansion or the tree house I fell from.”

You turned to the boy who held a nervous and unsure look on his face. “And what’s your name, exactly?”

“You just said it, your grace…”

“… You’re Bennett?” E/c eyes wide as saucers stared back at his green ones.

“Yes. I am. Your grace.”

You stayed seated, ignoring the cold as you stared into his eyes, looking for any traces of a lie. You trust your instincts in evaluating a person, your survival skills were honed by your parents after all. But it was still so surreal. You? in Genshin? No fucking way.

No fucking way.

You're in Genshin.

You see a flaming flower stamen nearby, and a sweet flower. The familiar sky. Dragonspine from afar, HD and all.

No fucking hell.

"... I'm actually in Teyvat."

You were well aware this isn't a dream. Despite your ability to discern reality and dreams, you tried pinching just in case. Yup, you were in your game alright. And surprisingly... you're not actually losing your shit.

Surprised? Sure.

But you can blame it on your survival reflex behavior to be whelmed in an unbelievable situation. You could release your burst of excitement later, right now there was an important matter at hand.

It'd be nice to chill in Teyvat if only you knew how to get out. Yeah, you weren't just gonna decide to stay forever. Teyvat may be cool, filled with characters you simped for and adventure and magic you could only dream of!

But you have a life.

It may not be perfect, it had downs and failures, but you couldn't just abandon that.

You wanted to become an aerospace engineer! Be close to the stars! Further the studies of astronomy! Help humanity reach the furthest parts of the universe, however small your contribution is!

Animes! Shows! Fics! Games! There were so many on your lists that you haven't checked yet and some are still unfinished and waiting for updates!

And also there were some people you want to get back at too. There's no way you're going to hell without settling some scores. You promised that when you're successful enough, there wouldn't be any reasons for you to stay as a goody-two-shoes anymore. And you would have to show those who wronged you who's boss, directly or indirectly, depending on that person and how they slighted you.

So you can't stay. You want to go home.

"Um..." Let out Benny as you turned to him. He was unsure. Not the unsure of someone so strange suddenly showing up, no, you were not that dumb or oblivious. It was much more. As if he wasn't sure what to tell you, movements showing that he knows what to say but is unsure when is appropriate.

He knows something you don't.

He called you something earlier. Your Grace. Were you some kind of high-status person? Is this a reincarnation scenario? Where you wake up one day as royalty who turns out to be the villainess in a novel for someone's amusement while stuck in class?

Nope, you checked yourself, and still in the same state as you were before you and your friend were falling to the ground. Dang, you hope your friend was okay, it looks like you were the only one who got sent here, which was good in a way. You like your friend's company, but dragging her to a place where she could get plummetted by a wild boar? Yeah, your friend would not survive long enough.

So what's with the title? You seem to have some sort of identity already in Teyvat despite being here for the first time, at least with the memories that have served you so far.

Maybe you could ask right now. But you want to butter him up first, get him comfortable. Of course, you know what kind of person Benny is. But with the off chance that Benny would be different than what Hoyoverse has displayed, you want to play it safe. At least, complete the evaluation to be sure that Bennett is the same Bennett that you knew in the game.

"Hey... I'm also at a loss here. I don't know how I got here. But I do want to find a way back somehow. Do you think you know where I could get help?" You asked, smiling nicely.

"I-I-I-!" You notice that he looks so surprised, there was a linger of disappointment too. Interesting, he wants you to stay a bit longer?

"I w..." There was a pause, you noted, "I could show you to Acting Grandmaster Jean. She should know how to help you!" You smiled happily, showing him you were grateful for the help. He slightly gets flustered and says that he has something to warm you up in his bag as an excuse to hide his face.

As soon as he distracts himself finding the item that might have probably been dropped somewhere with his luck, seeing as he's frantically still looking for it, your smile dropped, and stared at him.

He seems to know you to some degree, but he did not explain further, only saying that you should meet Jean for help. He should have explained something, seeing that he held no suspicion on you when you knew his name, and with the title he used for you, there was something. You heard his hesitation before he suggested Jean. He looked like he wanted to say something else. Of course, you could tell that he doesn't have any ulterior motives, but more so that he chose a different action instead.

Is it out of caution? Was he trying to be careful?

You have no choice but to gauge that out of him later when you get him comfortable enough.

_________________________________________

End of chapter 2: Rhododendron

_________________________________________

[drafthorsemath]

Crosshair’s Redemption

I posted this here in response to an earlier post, but also thought this should just live on its own on my blog, so apologies if you’ve seen it twice. Essentially, here are some thoughts about whether Crosshair should be held accountable for his actions with the Empire. Spoilers for The Bad Batch Season 2.

I’ll start by saying that Crosshair is already holding himself accountable, even if he’s not calling it that. When people say they want redemption for Crosshair, often, from what I’ve seen, they either implicitly or explicitly want him specifically to suffer in some way and many don’t seem to realize that he is already suffering.  They seem to think he deserves that suffering and then some.  In some cases, they flat out want him dead and think that is the only way for him to “pay” and be redeemed.  I won’t even pretend I’m not projecting when I say that as a cult survivor, that hurts me to my core because I relate to him so much and I suppose I’m at the point in all this when I can talk more about what it’s like to be in a cult and why people do what they do.  (If you want to hear what it’s like growing up in a doomsday cult, I’ve been interviewed for two podcasts and can direct you there and my DMs are open.)

No, I didn’t murder anyone, so you might think Crosshair has done worse than I have.  I’m not here to argue about that, but in some ways I think helping to destroy someone’s life or sense of self without killing them can be just as bad, no? I definitely hurt people, even if I didn’t kill them. I hurt them deeply, just as I was hurt, but is that an excuse? No. But also, I was under the influence of many layers of authority in my cult.  Did they put a gun to my head and “make” me do hurtful things? No, but they also constructed the situation so that it very much felt like life or death.  I did what I had to do to survive.  Does that mean I’m not accountable? Also no.  Amazingly, it’s complicated.  I’ve certainly paid for my time in the cult even though I was born into it.  No one else showed up and passed down a punishment, but figuring out how to grieve, make right, help others, and build a life while thoroughly traumatized was pretty damn punishing.

How is my survival in a cult any different than Crosshair trying to survive? Different than Crosshair telling Hunter there is a place for all of them in the Empire? Any different than Crosshair saying he made his choice and the clones that matter will be just fine?  Crosshair may try to play it cool and seem unaffected, but this man is doing what he feels he needs to do in order to survive in circumstances that are not of his choosing.

I think by The Outpost it becomes very clear that Crosshair is changing, even though we see glimpses earlier.  He was literally pushed to the point where he thought his life would end for killing Nolan.  You can argue that he didn’t know for sure if his life would be over, but when he killed that asshole, he could have been shot where he was and he knew it.  He knew by that point that the Empire did not care about him at all and he still pulled the trigger.

Crosshair started holding himself accountable the moment he started making different decisions.  The moment he went from playing along to survive to actively going against the Empire was when he started holding himself accountable.

We should also talk about the chip that was (is?) in his head.  He was very much being controlled at least at the beginning of season 1.  We know that the clones acted the way they did during Order 66 because of the chips.  Should he still be held responsible for what he did under the influence of the chip?  Then what about Cody and Bly and Wolffe and every other clone who killed or tried to kill the Jedi?  Like where do we draw the line?  Is it even our job to draw the line?  Is it the job of the Rebellion to draw the line? I don’t think it is.  I think it’s fine for the Rebellion to say, “if you don’t see what you did as a problem, then we don’t want to work with you,” but I don’t think they should get a firing squad or pass down a punishment.  In Rebels, did the Rebellion not want to work with Rex, Gregor, or Wolffe? Kanan had feelings about it, sure, but ultimately no one made them atone for being clones under the influence of a chip.

It’s always interesting to me that people talk about Crosshair atoning, but not Vader or Sidious or Kylo Ren or any number of lower level cult leaders like Rampart.  Maybe it’s because we already know what will happen to Vader, Kylo, and Sidious.  Maybe it’s because they die and we figure that has to cover all their transgressions, but we don’t know how Crosshair’s story will end and people want to make sure there’s some “justice.”

Throughout season 2, although there’s not a ton of Crosshair shown, we see he’s really miserable. He’s not sleeping, he’s not eating, he was left on the platform for 32 rotations.  He looks like hell and he feels like hell.  He is so expressive and it’s clear he’s miserable by the look on his face.  Isn’t he already paying for his bounded choice? Being in a cult is already awful, it’s really traumatizing, but people seem to love to pile on more guilt and then blame cult members like if they just weren’t so stupid none of this would have happened.  Ultimately, the only people in cults who are irredeemable are the upper cult leaders.  Sidious does not care about anyone but himself. He can’t be redeemed.  Everyone else though?  There’s hope for them.  Don’t we want a better world where people can learn from their mistakes and help others?  Where growing and bettering oneself is an ongoing process that lasts a life time?  How many awful things need to happen to Crosshair before people will say “okay you ticked enough boxes, I forgive you now”? He is a complicated man, but he has empathy and he loves and cares for his family.  Again this doesn’t mean he gets off without paying for what he’s done, but also, he’s already paying for his choices by living in a version of hell.  Being in a cult is terrible and soul-crushing for everyone but the top cult leader.

I also would be remiss if I didn’t mention how Crosshair spent the end of season 2 strapped to a table, able to fight drugs in his system to get far enough to warn his siblings that the Empire is after Omega.  While the full message didn’t get out, he did his utmost to warn them.  He didn’t try to run for himself. He tried to save his family. If that isn’t Crosshair trying to do better and holding himself accountable then I don’t know what is.

Ultimately, I think when people want someone to hold Crosshair accountable, they are missing a part of his humanity and they assume he must want all that has happened.  It’s like they think someone must dish out justice because surely he doesn’t realize how badly he screwed up, but Crosshair knows he messed up and now he has to reckon with it.  Assigning the Rebellion or some person or group the job of holding him accountable only furthers the us versus them that cults instill into their members. It will only push him away further.  Do you want to know what happened between me and the people who felt I needed to be held accountable for my time in a cult (that I was born into, just like the clones)?  I never spoke to them again and I had one less person offering support as I tried to build some semblance of a life.  The few threads of connection that I had were ultimately severed because they felt I hadn’t gone through enough.  

Let Crosshair go on this journey.  Let him try to do what is right, because he’s well on his way.  Let him grieve for all that has happened and all he’s done.  Because I promise, he’s grieving.  He’s lonely and guilting himself to his core.  It’s written all over his face.

[meyerlansky]

sooooo I might have been stalking ur blog a little bit recently and in quite a few posts you’ve mentioned how curt often helps keep a lid on bucky’s problems dealing with the war (or, at the very least, redirects/absorbs them), and it’s only after HIS death that gale is able to fully witness how Badly bucky is handling things.

I’m curious to hear your thoughts on how events, and potentially, dynamics, would have shifted at the stalag if curt hadn’t been shot down as early as he did, and he actually joined the buckies?

apologies if this is something you’ve addressed before! 🫶🏻

ohhhhhh i have got SO many thoughts about this, it’s a little embarrassing /o\ and it’s complex and twisty and weird because my read on the whole “bucky’s in london while gale goes down” thing is that……… bucky was in london because curt’s dead. bucky’s been spiraling for two episodes, getting in fights with their CO, getting more and more reckless, because curt isn’t there to be in his corner anymore, platonically or otherwise. as effusive and social as he is, bucky doesn’t actually have a lot of people in his corner! he hangs out with curt and gale, gets drunk with curt and sings extremely off-key at gale, but beyond that? bucky doesn’t have a steady crew, most of the 100th fawn over gale and seem to stay away from bucky once he starts spiraling [which is imo the opposite of what both of them need: gale is a loner who doesn’t want to be put on a pedestal and bucky’s a pack animal], they BOTH alienated jack with the air-exec stunt, bill veal’s a nonentity past ep 3 for some reason… after curt dies, who does bucky have left? gale. who can’t or won’t sit with bucky through his broken moments, whether because he can’t handle it or because bucky doesn’t feel secure enough with him to let him see the full extent of them or whatever other reason. gale, who bucky doesn’t trust enough with his messy feelings to let him see them until it’s impossible to hide from anyone. gale, who, when bucky DOES let him see his mess, does the exact wrong thing, the opposite of what curt did, and ships bucky off to where gale doesn’t have to see him get wasted and gamble, to where bucky has even LESS of a social support system, and then gets shot down.

if curt’s still there, the whole THING changes.

i can’t imagine bucky doesn’t still spiral to some degree, because he still has to watch guys die for nothing, but i don’t think it’s as bad if curt’s still around and they get their blow-off-steam moments like after Bremen Round One. i also think with a little more time to get less formal with gale the way he is with bucky, curt wouldn’t let gale get away with dodging bucky’s breakdowns so much. the buckies are both too in it to see how they hurt each other with any objectivity: gale isolates and pretends messy things aren’t happening, bucky feels rejected and gets drunker and meaner, gale isolates harder, the ouroboros continues. and neither of them are equipped to realize that that’s what they’re doing, because this is the 1940s and they’re men in the middle of a war. there are some other characters that work as the third perspective-haver to point this stuff out, but imho there aren’t many; marge could swing it post-war, probably, but she’s not in bucky’s corner the same way curt is/was, she’s in gale’s because she’s his wife, and that means she could get through to gale but i don’t think bucky would BELIEVE her advocating on his behalf very readily, and also post-war a lot of the damage is already done. jack and bill are out of the equation, harding’s certainly not gonna get involved in Feelings, and everyone else in the 100th is too starry-eyed about ~*ooh Major Cleven ooh*~ to tell him “hey get your head out of your ass, you’re hurting bucky by withdrawing like this.” you know who DOESN’T fawn over gale, and isn’t afraid to say some shit to him he might not want to hear? curt. you know who gale likes enough to steal apples for and fuck up an entire formation plan for, and who he might actually listen to when they’re calling him out on shit? curt!

even if curt and gale don’t get to have the What Do We Do About Bucky Losing His Shit talk in the interceding months, i think everything would be a lot more stable—or at least heading towards it—before Bremen Round Two. and then Bremen Round Two. and then munster. because bucky absolutely still goes up in full revenga mode, he’s still bucky, he’s still out for blood. i don’t think which of those two missions curt goes down as well makes a HUGE difference, except that bucky’s probably on slightly more of an even keel between munster and getting stalag’d if curt flies munster with him [even if not the same fort; which, they made curt 350th in the show, so he probably wouldn’t be, which means brady’s still stuck with him] and bucky KNOWS curt bailed too. if curt AND gale go down in Bremen Round Two… i mean, it’s not like bucky’s mindset can be much WORSE than it is in canon, i guess.

once they’re all in stalag luft iii [which is not a given; The Moosburg AU lives in my mind forever but i’ll stay on topic] again, i really think curt would be a much more stabilizing influence on bucky than gale manages to be. bucky… doesn’t tell gale anything about what happened to him in canon. not that we see, anyway, and i don’t think that’s a conversation you leave off the page. and bucky doesn’t tell gale because! as discussed! bucky doesn’t trust gale with messy shit. i think if gale asked, bucky’d have told him, at least some of it, and even a heavily-edited relating of rüsselheim and the woods and the cattle car [plus whatever else bucky goes through pre-stalag but my thoughts on that are not canon so 🤫] would HOPEFULLY have made gale a little more sympathetic to how utterly terrified bucky is at the thought of just sitting there and waiting for the germans to decide they’re just as killable as the women and children in that cattle car. but gale isn’t the kind of guy that asks. i don’t necessarily think curt’s the kind of guy that asks MOST people, but MY curt at least is the kind of guy that asks bucky when something’s wrong. and honestly, he doesn’t really even have to be the kind of guy who asks; bucky’s a lot more likely to just TELL HIM things, the same way he cops to being numb on the wing. bucky trusts curt with his real feelings more than he trusts gale with them. and curt’s not above going behind bucky’s back to give gale a better sense of what’s going on with the guy they both care about [not telling him everything, but enough to get the point across] if it means gale will stop treating bucky wanting to escape like it’s a sophomoric pipe dream and not something understandably motivated by having an objectively worse POW experience than gale did. on the other leg of the triangle, as much as i do think independent of bucky curt is more on the escape-or-die-trying end of the stalag spectrum than the sit-and-wait-it-out end, he’s not stupid and he’s [probably] not scared shitless the way bucky is, so i don’t think they’d hare off on their own, but i do think bucky’s also more likely to take “it’s not safe/the timing’s not right” as a understandable rebuff from someone who has otherwise been in his corner, vs someone who’s pining for his fiancee and who’s desperate for things to just be Normal Again.

curt really stabilizes a lot of the worst parts of clegan for me, which i know isn’t exactly a popular opinion, but i have it anyway. there’s no “if x happened, nothing else would’ve gone wrong!” in this entire narrative, but i really do think curt dying is what sends bucky into a tailspin he can’t pull himself out of on his own steam. so if curt’s in the stalag with them, or even just ALIVE, bucky has something to anchor to, and if bucky has something to anchor to, i don’t think he breaks down QUITE to the extent he does in canon.

[fulltacs]

I don’t know where to put this so I’m sorry to drop it in your inbox, but you mentioned ableism in your call out post with all this that’s gone on in the fandom lately. I see people have left the fandom after they’ve been blocked by people they were friends with over which posts they’d reblogged or who else they were friends with. It’s all a huge dumpster fire.

I want to point out to everyone ragging on people that believed codslut and that other one, that there are a lot openly autistic people in this space and one of the big communication problems for people with ASD is that they take things literally. So believing what they’re told at face value is part of their lived experience, it’s how their brains are built, not a conscious choice. It’s a huge cause of a lot of their stress in spaces like this. Everyone who is dumping on those that got sucked in and was sympathetic at the start is adding to the hurt of people who have been bullied for being different their whole lives.

I know block and move on is a thing with people you don’t know, but so is having an actual conversation with someone you’ve built a rapport with before you throw them away without considering the fallout. Especially if those people are saying Madi should have been treated better because of her autism.

Sorry again, I just needed to stick up for people who are hurting for not being the way everyone wants them to be x

again. Madi uses they/them.

man, I hope I’m not taking this the wrong way but I realllllllly resent the line of thinking that brings us from “autistic people believe things at face value” to acting as if we’re all gullible. or as if that excuses us from joining in on a witch-hunt with assholes.

because I’ll admit I believed it for a hot minute. there was, in rare form, actual effort put in to making people believe that Myka died. but “taking things literally” did not force my hand into liking or reblogging anything in her favor—ESPECIALLY since most of those posts would also happen to shit on Madi 😒 (which I doubt was a coincidence!!). I hold no ill will towards those who initially believed it so long as they did not contribute towards bullying Madi or Kelsi or Glossy or anyone else who stood up for them.

please note that I didn’t name anyone from that specific debacle in my callout post. that was my rant about people who were involved in multiple incidents including the Myka/Hannah thing. saying I would block anyone who still believed her story was half-joking, because you’d have to be reallllll malicious to cape for her a week after said “dead” person edited their blog and blocked me.

so if you truly want to stand up for people who are hurting because they’re not acting the way everyone wants them to be, kindly remember that Madi was told multiple times by multiple people that their very eloquently worded apology (one that wasn’t even necessary if we had all just CHILLED THE FUCK OUT) wasn’t good enough.

[ikbitchssss]

Dad!Negan And GN!Kid!Reader Fic

Summary: After nine years of not seeing your father your mind really goes places.

Set in S10 after Ricks “dead”

Notes: I might make a Part 2 but I really struggled with how to write this ending. So I’m leaving it like go I did for a reason! This is a request from @rlking27 I hope I did it justice! (Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes, I am very dyslexic so I tend to make mistakes😞)

Follow my Main account: @idkbishsss

(Also follow a TWD discord server blog I run @theunenjoyabledungeon)

No Ships and Reader is Gender Neutral!

Your POV

Nine years. Nine whole years since you last saw your father, Negan. You weren’t meant to call him that anymore but you couldn’t help it. He was your father to you.

He found you when you were young. 11 or 12 maybe, you didn’t remember the years that well anymore. But he took care of you, treated you like his own kid. Never once did he act like you weren’t his real child. He took care of you, he loved you. 

Michonne made you stay at Hilltop. Told Maggie and the others to never let you go away from Hilltop. To stay there, and away from Negan. Maggie wasn’t here anymore, she went off somewhere. But a few people kept you there. And with Daryl staying at Hilltop, and his small understanding of your situation. He made sure to not let you go out of the walls alone. Always with him or someone else. He, along with everyone else, didn’t want you to go back to Negan.

You didn’t know how to feel about not seeing him, or him just being locked up in general. People had told you about him. His murder, the pain he caused. Hell, some people looked at you as if it was your fault. Others looked at you as if you were a victim, an innocent child wrapped up in lies and hidden from the world. Weak and pathetic. Nearly twisted into him. People acted like you should be thankful for Rick and his people. You didn’t know if you should. Or if you should hate them for ripping you from home.

Were they your heros or the people who tore your father away from you?

You never really believed he was evil. Or at least not as evil as everyone said. He showed you the most amount of kindness anyone ever had in years. Well, the people here tried. But they couldn’t replace him. Ever. 

You believed he could be good, that he’d be better. People would yell at you, others would look at you with a pitiful look. Almost sorry for how hopeful you were.

It was your father though. What were you meant to think? To give up all hope was not an option. Even if you could never see him. Even if the rumors spread of him being weak and probably close to dead.

You knew what happened to Rick, but you had some hope that Michonne and Arron would make sure Negan lived. It was what Rick wanted from the little you knew of the man before his death. You didn’t understand why, but it just added to your hope. If Rick was that kind, to let him live, even though he saw Negan as a villain? You had to hope that others thought the same.

.

3rd Person POV

Negan was tired. Really tired. He didn’t get any sleep last night, and Gabriel forgot to give him a meal. He already gave him a big breakfast and a long apology. 

Which he was tired of as well. He understood that Gabriel had to do his whole ‘I respect you’ thing, but Negan could just feel the bullshit seeping out of him.

But Negan was also tired of other things. Like not seeing his kid. His child. He loved them. They were his world. He’d take the whole world down for them, he’d protect and love them, and he did. He did all of that. Until it was torn out of his hands like it was nothing.

Y/N was his kid. Hell, still is his kid. His child, his everything. And he missed them like hell. It’s all he thought about. He begged Gabriel to see them but he was always met with a big no.

They didn’t want him to corrupt them. Fill them with murderous thoughts and violent intent. 

He’s heard that they are doing alright. That they are smart and good at working with people. But he missed them, he wanted to see them then just hear about them.

It enraged him. That he couldn’t see his own child. He was so mad that he was just tired. Restless. He couldn’t sleep, ever. His thoughts raced about what could happen to them without him, about if people lied about him, about if they hated him. 

So when Gabriel left the cell door open. He knew where he was off to. Hilltop, immediately. To find his kid.

.

Your POV

You were working in the garden in Hilltop just outside the walls. Making small conversation with Paul, or Jesus, as everyone else called him. You liked calling him Paul. He always made easy easy conversations. Never bugged you about Negan and all that stuff.

You’d looked away for a few seconds when you heard a loud yelp behind you. It came from Paul You glanced behind you and was confused that he was suddenly missing. Almost like, he disappeared into thin air.

“Paul? You alright?” You whispered and walked over to where he once stood. You took your shovel and spinned it around so you could wack someone if needed . You were ready to use it as a weapon if needed. Just as Paul showed you, just as your father showed you at some point.

You heard something behind you but didn’t turn around fast enough before someone hugged you from behind. You screamed and dropped the shovel. You were dragged into the woods, away from the walls.

When your kidnapper let go about 40 minutes later, you spun around, ready to fight them. 

“Dad..” the word left your mouth before you could even understand it. He was okay, he was alive, he was well, healthy, alright. Thoughts ran through your head at a new speed you didn’t know was possible.

He just smiled at you, waiting for you to say something else, anything. 

You jumped into his arms with a hug. “Dad!” You cried out, ugly crying into his neck. “I missed you, you… you’re okay!” You were so happy you didn’t think to ask about Paul, or how Negan got out, or what he was planning to do.

“It’s been long. Too long.” He said as he laid his hand on your head, holding you there. You just felt home in his arms. 

[inkblot22]

The Same As Always

So I can already hear it. If I'm so scared of Rook, why am I always writing about him? That's because fear makes me nut, and I'm horny on side (this is not my main blog lmao) Also I'm so sorry, I cannot remember who made this divider since I downloaded it a few years ago, so if it's yours please let me know and I will credit you! This is kind of a reimagining of events based on that very loose series I have floating around on my page (He Begs Not For Petulance) so I hope it comes across as well as those.

Who is this fic for? I tried to keep it very gender-neutral, so hopefully anyone who can handle it. I apologize, since Rook does use the masculine version of most pet names in this (cheri instead of cherie, etc) but it's less feminizing than him referring to the reader as "ma biche" or "ma coccinelle", so that's just how that goes. It is a shame, but I also stayed away from "mon nounours" because that is also a bit too gendered. Very cute, though.

Anyways, this fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. It's not as dark as my usual stuff, but that's not saying much. TW for noncon (touching and sa), knifeplay, blood, head injuries (accidental), captivity, and yandere. Also rusty, probably incorrect French and Rook Hunt, of course. I don't add translations because I feel like if the reader doesn't know all or any of what he's saying, it adds to the creep factor.

You don’t like it here. You think you don’t, at least. It’s hard to explain.

It’s winter, it has been for far too long. Maybe you’ve been here for a bit too long as well. It’s hard to keep track of time, since the sun seems to never rise wherever you are.

You can’t exactly remember how you got here. You remember the wagon. You’d needed quick travel through the mountains, but you also can’t remember where you were traveling. You remember everything going dark, waking up to see a blood-stained stone before you, feeling the warmth on your forehead and wondering where the wagon had gone. Your first thought was that you were now in a survival situation as it began to snow around you, the snowflakes dancing in the wind that found its way inside your loose clothing. You stood there for a moment, maybe, and then you started walking, and from there it all goes black. 

You can definitely remember the first time you saw him. You were lying in an unfamiliar bed, something snug around your forehead. A candle cast a warm, quiet light into the room, and it burned through your eyelids, your vision a murky orange-pink until you opened your eyes and came face to face with… him.

Flaxen hair, a soft smile as he reached forward to caress your cheek, and most of all, those intense jade eyes. You jumped and immediately felt woozy, but you were confused enough to pay that little mind.

The man shushed you, gently pulling you back into a relaxed position and cooing at you as though you were a small child, “Ah-ah, fear not, mon cheri, you are no longer in death’s grasp. Do you remember your name or how you’ve gotten here?”

You couldn’t answer him at first. His eyes narrowed, the rest of his face still a pleasant mask, and he eased you onto your back, your head against the pillow.

“Fret not, mon petit. How about I tell you my name, and then you can decide if you’d like to tell me yours?” His voice was quiet when he spoke to you, and you noticed that there was a large knife sheath snug on his thigh.

You were still bewildered. You couldn’t connect any of the dots that had led you to this moment, and it was making your heart beat a bit too fast for your liking. The stranger smiled wider and squeezed your trembling hand.

“Je m’appelle Rook Hunt, le chasseur d’amour. I found you wandering aimlessly in this forest, the life pouring from your head like a faucet. You passed out in my arms, and brought you here.”

You didn’t remember wandering around. You could remember getting up, but you didn’t remember wandering around. Your hand comes up to your forehead, the soft bandages rubbing against your fingertips. When you looked back at Rook, you tried to figure out what you should say. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

“I… I’m kinda thirsty.”

Rook smiled ever wider and stood, and you got the chance to look around a bit more. You seemed to be in a small log cabin, the bed in a sort of nook, away from the rest of the cabin. You could see Rook from where you were, his back facing you as he poured you a cup of water. The kitchen area was open, but small, a table with three chairs right next to it, and you could sort of see a pretty ornate looking rug, but as you were looking at it, Rook returned and helped you into a seated position.

He held the cup for you as you drank. When you finished, he placed the cup on the table and stroked your cheek, still smiling. His actions towards you were awfully familiar, as though you were old friends or something.

“Where am I?”

“A little cabin in the woods.” Rook didn’t remove his hand from your cheek. His gloved thumb was so gentle against your cheek. “Why don’t you get some rest? You lost quite a bit of blood, cheri.”

You did feel tired… and even though you were confused, it was almost as though a spell was cast on you, lulling you back to sleep.

You’re almost certain you don’t like it here. Although he never said anything to you about it, it became somewhat clear that you couldn’t leave once you felt well enough to move around again. At least you were moving, though.

It was also at this point that Rook began leaving the cabin often. It left you bored, not that his form of entertainment was a good one, and you started cooking to alleviate that boredom. You couldn’t really recall if you were good at it before, but you were decent enough to make basic stuff, so you did. For some reason, Rook had an icebox, not a refrigerator. You didn’t know what it was at first, and you felt like it was rude to open random cabinets in a strange man’s cabin, so you left it alone until he informed you that there were usually fresh vegetables inside.

You’d sit next to the potbelly stove and sip tea as you stared out the window at the snow. This winter was going on for far too long, and it always seemed to be dark here, but you didn’t know where “here” was.

Rook would stomp back in, snow caked along the feather in his hat and melting off the brim, and he’d cast you a smile before swishing into the basement. When he’d return, he’d guide you back to the bed and sit at the table himself, writing furiously… until recently.

Last night, he’d led you back to the bed after checking your wound and changing the bandage, but instead of taking a seat at the table and writing, he slipped into the bed beside you. You didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the precedent for the rest of your life.

“What are you doing-”

“Shh, shh. Relax, cheri. I will recite a poem for you.” He curled his arms around you, holding your aching head to his chest as he whispered.

“What?” You were fatigued, still recovering from your injury, but you struggled to break out of his hold anyway.

He shushed you again, his deceptively slim arms keeping you immobile, and then he began to speak, quiet and steady, “My darling is silent. Quiet as the night.”

“R-Rook…”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t said anything at all, “Mon orilles sont pauvres faute de sa douce voix.

As I look at that sweet face,

Beautiful as a flower, as the moon, as the blood in our veins,

Je me sens seule dans ma peau.”

You… are not amazing at French. A small English to French dictionary was left on the table whenever Rook left, but reading made your head swim, pangs of pain so bad that you had to rest immediately. But, from what little you understood, the man who had saved you from a cold death outside seemed to have something worse planned for you, if you were in fact this “darling” he spoke of.

You definitely do not like it here. You’d made the mistake of pushing Rook’s increasing affections away every chance you got, resulting in him reading your reluctance to be around him as hostility. You’d gone to cut some vegetables and found that all the knives were replaced with children’s safety cutlery. While you could very well still cause damage with them, you couldn’t do anything life-threatening without a lot of effort and no fighting back. The serrated plastic edges were only good for cutting through the flesh of fruits and tender meats, and the rounded tips meant you couldn’t really pierce anything.You couldn’t even skin a fish that Rook came back with, he did it with his hunting knife after watching you struggle for an irritatingly long time.

And then there’s the cellar. You had taken a nap after trying to read and woken up, the sky dark as usual and a terrifying grinding, clunking noise coming up from the basement. You felt like you needed to hide, so you did. You crawled under the bed and waited, the basement door flying open and a few more candles getting lit echoing as the grinding noise- the sound of something big and heavy being dragged- moved further back towards the area of the cabin that you didn’t go in usually. There wasn’t much over there except for a wardrobe, and you didn’t like opening cabinets here. It stopped being about politeness a while ago, and had turned into the fear of finding something you didn’t like.

When you heard the front door open and close, felt the frigid rush of air that entered the cabin, you felt like you were frozen as well. You couldn’t move as you heard the sound of water being poured, and you worried for a while that you would start to feel the wooden floor beneath you grow cold and wet. Instead of wet floors, however, you saw Rook’s feet- you could only tell because of the freckle that peeps over his sock on his left leg and the fine blond hairs prickling from his skin- in your narrow window of vision from where you were cowering.

“Cheri… come out from under there.” 

You did, but you did so slowly. As soon as you were no longer under the bed, Rook pulled you to your feet and looked at your face. He’d never made such a serious expression before, not that you’d seen, and it made you feel a bit panicked.

“R-Rook, what was all that noise?”

His face smoothed and he let go of you, then he waved towards the dark corner of the cabin.

“I’ve run a bath. The water is warm, lapin, so you’d best get in before it cools.”

You did feel grimy, and since you were okay with standing and walking around for longer periods of time now, as compared to the first few weeks you were here, you jumped at the prospect of getting clean. You quickly undressed, knowing it was dark enough that Rook probably couldn’t see you, and climbed into the warm water. You couldn’t see if there was any soap, but as you were squinting into the darkness, kneeling in the tub as you leaned forward over the side, you felt something brush against your back. When you turned around, you shrieked like an owl and had a very intense internal dilemma.

Rook was seated in the tub behind you, or in front of you now, since you were facing him. He produced a bar of soap and began washing himself, dipping his head under the water so he could wash his hair as well. You couldn’t help but blankly stare at him, eyes wide as he acted so casual. This had been a problem for a while, actually, but never so severe as this. Rook was overly familiar with you, he touched you as though you had been married or were close friends, and apparently now he thought it was fine for you to share a bath. His eyes met yours in the dark corner, and he possibly smirked. You couldn’t quite see, but you could hear it in his voice.

“Ah, mon cher, did you need the soap? But you can’t see very well, can you? Come and let me wash your supple skin.”

A moment before he said that, you were debating if you should get out of the tub or something. You couldn’t tell if it’d be better to be ogled as you dressed or if staying under the water would give you a bit more modesty. After he said that, his arms reaching for you, you began to stand up. Although it was dark, you still saw his eyes flash, saw a slight movement in his wrist, and you were brought to your knees. It felt as though vines were wrapped around you, and you tilted forwards into your captor’s chest as your balance failed you in the dark water of the tub.

This man was a mage. You didn’t think you’d ever met one before, but you couldn’t remember. You wailed and begged for him to let you go as he began to gently wash you, but he simply shushed you and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You absolutely hate it here. As you chopped carrots for the stew you had decided to make, you wondered where you were from or where you were going, and hoped someone knew you had never shown up and was looking for you. You didn’t think that was the case, however.

“That does smell divine, trickster.” Rook said, walking up the stairs from the basement, “Et vous êtes terriblement mignonne, portant ce petit tablier adorable et préparant le dîner…”

“I can’t cut the meat well with this. Can I have an actual knife, please?”

Rook didn’t answer, leaning against the wall and watching as you chopped the carrots with some difficulty. He looked pleased, though whether it was with you or the situation remained to be known. When he finally pushed off of the wall, he wrapped one arm around your front, burying his face in your hair as his other hand slid down your thigh.

“Get off of me!” You tried to slash his arm with the knife, but it barely even scratched his skin, and the hand that was resting on your waist came up to crush your dominant hand so you’d drop the knife.

Panic spiked through your veins as he slipped his hand up your leg so he could slide it in the waistband of the pants you were wearing. His hand that was crushing yours lowered to hold your wrist against the counter.

You’d never tried this before, but when his lips pressed against your neck, you felt your breath hitch and you let out a desperate cry for help. 

Rook laughed in response and nipped your neck, his teeth pinching your skin between them. His hand in your waistband smoothed down your pelvis to gently massage your sex, and you screamed again, thrashing and flailing so he would let you go.

Despite him never quite showing this side of him to you before, Rook was something of a strategist. As far as you could tell, it hadn’t been that long since you’d gotten here, if your head injury was anything to measure time by.  

“Relax, ma crevette. You are still recovering, no? Allow this lowly hunter to take care of your body.”

Your head hurt and you felt dizzy as he stoked your arousal. A disconnect between your mind and body grew into a chasm and you began to bawl as a pressure built up in your core. Your head was spinning, it felt as though your brain was throbbing, and you shuddered and wept as Rook peppered kisses on your cheek. He had you pressed solidly against the counter, his body keeping you more or less still. His breath was hot on your skin, and you felt like you were in hell.

“Come, trickster. The soup can wait. Je dois t'avoir.”

“No!”

Rook paid you little heed as he dragged you backwards towards the bed, and while you were expecting him to just throw you onto it before he assaulted you, he gently swept you off of your feet and laid you down. That was where his mercy ended, however, if it could even be called mercy here. That knife that was pressed to his thigh, still warm from his skin and him doing whatever he did in the basement, was quickly unsheathed and trailed lightly up your sternum.

“Not struggling any longer, mon petit lapin? I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.” His blade slid back down and he used a finger to help hook it under the hem of your shirt, cutting through the fabric as though it was nothing, “And I am sure you must be confused, but a little… exercise is good for your condition.”

You wanted to vomit, but Rook’s gloved hand cupped your chin. His knife felt cold against your now bare skin, and your breath hitched as you sucked in and held it, your eyes looking down at where Rook had his knife.

One of his leather-covered fingers tapped your cheek, and you looked back up at him. He smiled sweetly and sat up a bit, his blade still pressed flat against your stomach, right over your navel. He caught the fingertip of his glove in his teeth and yanked that glove off, tossing it to the side and passing the knife to his now bare hand. As he leaned forward to hover over you once more, his knife pressed under your chin and his gloved hand slipped into your pants, shifting lower than your crotch to prod at your poor ass. You closed your legs tighter in panic, and Rook tutted at you as though you were an unruly child.

“Come now, cheri, you should relax.” He whispered, leaning closer to press a kiss against your forehead, where you’d hit your head and how you’d gotten into this whole mess. “Plus vous êtes tendu, plus la douleur est forte…”

“D-don’t do this, don’t-” Your voice sounded so shaky, and you realized that you were trembling. Every time you made the slightest movement, you could feel the sharp edge of Rook’s hunting knife against your chin.

“Open your legs, Trickster. I’m not touching you for my benefit… although your faces of bewilderment and pleasure are quite sweet.” His finger circled the tight ring of muscle around your anus and you slowly relaxed.

“Wh-why are you d-doing…?”

Rook smiled sweetly and removed his finger from your anus slowly, instead dragging your pants down your legs and relaxing his hand with the knife against your neck. When your lower half was mostly bare above the knee, he pressed two fingers into your ass and slowly massaged you from the inside, tilting his head as his face fell.

“After I graduated from NRC, I did not think I’d see your darling little form again. It was a welcome surprise… but I don’t suppose you know what I’m talking about.” He mused, reaching over your head to grab something. He opened the little bottle with one hand, the slippery liquid cold on your asshole as he resumed his gentle fingering, “You don’t remember me in the least. Do you?”

You felt so woozy and scared, but it explained so much if he knew you… but that didn’t matter. He was still a stranger to you, and one who was currently preparing to do more terrible things to you.

“Heh… I did think so.” Rook quickly unbuckled his pants and tugged them down just enough to free himself. He pulled back away from you to seat your thighs on his own, his cock slowly inching into your poor hole. His knife slid away from your neck but remained in his grip as he slowly slid his hips forward, his opposite hand holding your ass.

Your vision was white for a moment, and when it returned it was blurry. Were you crying? You could hear loud, shuddery breathing, and it took a moment for you to figure out that it was coming from you. Rook sighed peacefully, as though this was a walk in the park for him. 

“Aw… I do not enjoy harming you, trickster.” Rook murmured, his hips slowly beginning their undulating motion. He shushed your pained sounds, “This is my love for you. You’ve only grown more beautiful these past few years.”

You winced and pushed against him, your feet shifting so you could try to kick him away, and his knife came back to rest against your collarbones. His hips rocked a little faster, every pump leaving a burning stretch that only felt like it doubled over onto itself.

“Did you know? How I felt for you, how I longed for your touch all those years ago? These three on my own… they have been l'écrasement de l'âme. I’ve had far too much time to- Putain, tu n'es pas du tout détendu…” Rook wheezed and grunted, dark and low.

You felt a pit in your lower belly, and you grabbed the wrist that had the knife, your watering eyes wide as you looked up at this man who apparently knew you.

“Please, petit, you have to… fuck- you must unclench, or this will not last much longer.”

His demand was probably one of the most ridiculous things you’d heard. You couldn’t relax. He had a knife to your throat, he was rearranging your guts, and he had chosen just now to inform you that he was aware of at least a portion of your past. You made this strange whining shriek noise, and Rook’s hand holding the knife slipped ever so slightly.

It was unclear as to whether or not he did that on purpose, especially since he removed the blade from your skin and lasciviously lapped at the small cut on your collarbone, his lips trailing up to your ear.

“Préparez-vous, car je vais déposer mon amour dans votre estomac en attente.”

The sentence itself was honestly quite jarring, but Rook groaned loudly into your ear and nearly folded you in half as he came inside of your ass. It felt hot and sickly, and the musky smell of Rook’s skin and sex permeated the room. Your head panged, woozy throbs that made your stomach churn. Rook dragged his body up and gently teased your sex with his gloved fingertips, his murky green eyes glued to yours. 

“Wh-”

“Did you truly think I would not give you the same bliss you have given me?” He mumbled, “You really don’t remember me, then.”

As he pulled out of you and stroked you to your own orgasm, he smiled sadly.

"Don't worry, trickster. You will remember in time."