#i'm not great at drawing horses but i just had to draw this adorable scene!

[britishchick09]

rewrite raoulstine laughing about horsets! (horses in corsets!) :D

[choochooboss]

Introducing your station master & Magma event host!

Since there's already a lot of passengers visiting this station and I haven't spared much time to get to know my fellow submas fans over Tumbrl yet, an introduction would be in place!

I'm Jun, nice to meet you! *offers a hand for for a shake* I am a devoted submas artist & a monthly Magma event host! I go by ChooChooBoss everywhere (Twitter/Bsky/Twitch/Ko-Fi)!

This will be a long post! I will write a short intro as well which you can just skim through but here is a more in depth view how I got into submas, my other interests and life in general, in case you'd wish to know more about your conductor on this silly train!

How did I get into submas in the first place?

PLA. I met this certain mysterious & cool fellow time traveler and got curious! After the cave scene I went to read his Wiki, found out about Emmet, and... yeah. The emotional impact blasted me right out of a miserable cycle I was going through back then and set my soul on fire!! A month later I set up my first art account on Twitter, and the rest is history. They've become my greatest source of strength and inspiration and I enjoy drawing them every single day!

I love both twins very much! I tend to vibe with Ingo a little more than Emmet, but I draw Emmet more. People say I remind of butler Ingo the most, hehe. I certainly don't mind because I'm a big fan of butlermas!! In fact I got into submas & started playing Pokémon Masters EX in April 2022, a week before butler Ingo banner rolled in, so they truly got a special place in my heart ahah! (pssst draw more butlermas for me pls pls pls-)

However I don't draw warden Ingo as much as I would like to. I still get pretty emotional over his fate ahah, I can't draw him without a single tear! This sweet & kind man leading a good life and being an inspiration to others has been torn from literally everything he had for seemingly no reason apart from his name, clothes and the muscle memory and even those are barely intact. It seems like a miracle he's still standing and breathing after put through everything judging by the wear and tear on his uniform and body. Despite all that he carries a positive attitude, assists everyone in need, and does his best to help people and pokémon understand each other, unconditionally... Oh, my face is wet again...

My other interests besides submas?

Monster Hunter! Zelda! Genshin Impact! Super Mario! Trine! Crash Team Racing! And many many more! My favourite genres are platformers, kart racers, and action games, with a side of rhythm games. I'm a big fan of co-op games! I also watch my sis play JRPGs!

Monster Hunter is the dearest to me out of all. I've been hunting for well over a decade starting from MHFU. The games have charmed me with their incredibly satisfying combat system, world building, creature design, great attention to detail, character customisation and the games being nearly fully co-op!!

Other things I do:

Pokémon is practically the only turn-based game I enjoy, mainly because of the characters and collection aspect. However!! I adore Pokémon Colosseum (the first pkmn game I ever played!) and it's double battle focus, so The Indigo Disc has been a delight after the long starvation for double battles, coming up with different combinations makes the battles much more fun to me!!... I sound like Emmet here do I ahahah! We also share the fact we are both left-handed!

Shuffle dancing, daily pull-ups, and expanding my ever growing VGM collection! I also enjoy traveling and taking photos to keep as a diary! I've played piano in a music school for 9 years, and I can also play kalimba. I've done casual boxing, gymnastics, horse riding and medieval swordfighting. I used to read comics/manga and watch movies and anime but nowadays I barely do that, I just rather use that time for drawing instead of just sitting and watching, unless I have company!

I share the apartment with my anxious brother and our two sweet female cats, Laku (11, stubborn and cuddly) and Kalevi (21, demanding and full of love) in a city center. My parents are both entrepreneurs and run a farm in the countryside & I have 4 siblings with me as the middle kid!

Where can you meet me?

I am a game artist by profession, with 4 yrs of studies and roughly 7 years of EXP in the field doing game art, UI design, character/prop design, in mobile games as well as PC titles, 2D and 3D. At the moment I am looking for work; I keep up the motivation and learn new skills by running my art accounts while looking for new opportunities.

I hail from the land of darkness, snow, salmiakki, metalheads and renownly reserved people, Finland! (UTC+2)

Despite having my roots here I am pretty much the opposite of a typical Finn in almost every sense ahah! I'm a small guy who's not afraid talking to strangers and laughs a lot. And I dislike coffee for the contrary, it's very popular amongst finns.

With the inspiration from submas I've finally stepped into the world of cosplay so you can usually meet this small and excitable Ingo in the biggest local conventions, Desucon and Tracon! Come say hi!

About my social battery:

I'm both social and socially anxious ahah! I love making new friends and talking to all sorts of people and writing comments, and gathering together with my mutuals to do cool stuff together! However my social battery is very small... I often struggle with my AD(H)D and anxiety issues, so my replies can be extremely slow. I'm easily overwhelmed when life gets busy and I deal with it by withdrawing to minimise the the stimuli and then sorting my stuff out one by one. This is a frustrating shortcoming, but I'm working hard to find a balance I can maintain without getting exhausted. Please be patient with me! If you don't hear from me in a while, please don't take it personally! In fact, it makes me really happy if you contact me, for any purpose!

Which pronouns do I go with?

I go by they/them! I am also aroace, so if I appear to show any sort of romantic interest, it's definitely not that. I love meeting new people and am quite interested in people in general so I'm excited to get to know you better, but the thing is... I have been confusing people on several occassions for saying things that could be taken as flirting. I am terribly sorry for that, that's just the way I show how I care!

I don't really identify myself by any specific gender either, but rather by my roles or interests (Magma host, submas fan, game artist etc.). Submas encouraged me to enjoy dressing formally even if I'm just sitting at home, because I love formal clothing in general and wearing them makes me feel confident and stand taller! I usually wear collar shirts and black or white slacks.

More about my AD(H)D:

I don't have an official diagnosis but deal with the same problems as AD(H)D people do; poor work memory, dissociation, hyperfocus (drawing and people), sleep deprivation, impulsiveness (juggling too many things and going with the wind), getting sensory/information overloads, and feeling like I don't fit in. I figured it out after I finished school & lost my job for that I am unable to handle big tasks without anyone giving me directions. It has taken a while but I've figured out things that help me manage my daily life as well as have a medication that mainly boosts my capability to get things started which is another great struggle ahah.

How do I manage to keep myself on track?

I use a Pomodoro timer to keep up a good flow and remember to take breaks! This is what I use the most:

I should set it up on my tablet as well. I think it's really cool to see how many hours I have actually put into drawing! Last year I clocked in well over 3k hours, ahaha!

How to catch me?

Right now I have great difficulty managing replies, but usually you can reach me by DMs! I check Discord and Twitter the most often! However I must ask you to respect my current DNI status. It means I am really overwhelmed so I wish nobody comes asking for my attention until it has been lifted, unless it's really necessary. I really love talking to you all but I also have to accept and deal with my own limits strictly like this or it won't work out.

What am I working on at the moment?

Besides the holiday set I have several short comics under works as well as one big comic (100+ pages!). That one is my personal greatest goal! I started working on it in June 2022 and I have currently 40+ pages sketched and 60+ thumbnailed.

I was afraid of starting any comic projects before submas, but the sheer excitement over them carried me over that personal wall ahah!

The story's beginning and end are looking good and somewhat functional but there's still a lot to work to do and holes to fill in the middle before I dare to start fleshing out the pages. I have little experience in writing or comic making so I hope you forgive if some things don't make sense or the dialogue is a little on the nose so to say ahah!

The story will be packed with action with the overall tone being on the darker side, but it sure won't be lacking in humor! The project's main goal is to make it a celebration of all things submas & to prove to myself I can handle a big scale project despite my shortcomings!

This train has reached the terminal!

Thank you for riding my silly submas train!! I adore reading all your tags and comments! They brighten up my day & fuel my passion even more!! I hope to bring many more fun things for you to look forward to!! See you again soon!

ALL ABOARD!!

[celeluwhenfics]

What is it that you find most compelling about Rohan that motivates you to think about it and write stories that take place there? Something specific about the culture or the characters or the setting? (Or the Hot Éomer?👀)

Ooooh what a great question! Where to start?

Ok, let's get it out of the way, Hot Éomer doesn't hurt.

I think that a major factor is that I'm a horse girl at heart. I've been riding since I was a child, and worked a bit in the horse industry as a young adult. I've left that world because of ethical concerns and I chose another career, but I miss the contact with the horses all the time and I always gawp when I see some in the countryside. So I entirely relate to the Rohirrim being obsessed with their horses, and it's a pleasure to write about horsemanship. It kind of fills a horse-shaped hole in my heart. 🥺

I think that the PJ movies also play a role in my fascination for Rohan. They do a fantastic job at making us adore this people (although they only show one facet of what is described in the books). The main vibe we get is a poignant melancholy over a gorgeous, semi-rustic aesthetic, and I must say it makes me weak in the knees. There are many GREAT scenes, including the Ride of the Rohirrim of course, but the part that always gets me is when we see the women and children at Helm's Deep. It made me empathize deeply and want to write their stories!

Culturally the Rohirrim (how Tolkien wrote them and how I headcannon them) scratch multiple itches in my brain. First of them is the Anglo-Saxon inspiration: I just love Old English. Also, before this recent LotR hyperfix was sparked, the last book I read was Ivanhoe. (Yes, that's where Rowena's name comes from!) It's a book I don't necessarily recommend as it's not that good imo, but I loved learning more about the culture and language. It's also a time period that fascinates me, as my other WIP (which should be out in the next decade or so) takes place in the very early Middle Ages in Brittania, so it's a longstanding interest of mine. I could talk also of how I see some elements of Old Norse culture in the Rohirrim, and living close to some 9th century Viking archeological sites it's something that's often at the top of my mind!

But I think I'll end this long personal rambling with the parallel I draw between the riders of Rohan and the horse people of modern Iceland. I had the incredible chance to experience that world ten years ago, sheep herding on horseback in the northern plains (not as a tourist). I know I want to call myself a writer, but what I experienced there is hard to put into words. Writing about the Rohirrim is a way to chip at that in some ways, by attempting to convey images and sensations I remember from that time.

The vast, lonely plains.

The weather.

The birdsongs and hoof taps.

The herd.

The songs.

The fingers in the mane.

[archandshri]

The Lionheart Brothers Bookcover (part - 2) from Shri - 01/03/24

Hi Archie

That sounds like exciting stuff! Absolutely loved seeing the Riso come together colour by colour!

Also, I'm super happy that you're letting your (comfort?) characters marine in your head for a while! There is nothing more fun and relaxing than just imagining your comfort characters interact/go through their story with no pressure of making it a 'good' story.

I constantly have my comfort characters go through self-indulgent story structures e.g. sickfic vibes or hurt/comfort storylines (have I imagined many of those sorts of scenes before? yes. Will I image it again? yes.

Anyway, getting into part 2 now.

When sketching these first few ideas, I was completely free and open, not limiting myself to any boundaries yet.

The only thing I was roughly keeping in mind was the visual cues and elements of the book. These included elements such as the Dove, Cutler (the bag guy), the brothers and the house. I was also really loosely thinking about composition, and how the dynamics of the story/character will affect the composition.

You can see me thinking about the relationship of the characters further here, playing around with this big dark shadowy figure taking up most of the page, Showing how this ominous creature is in control/power.

Elements I considered 

Brothers' closeness (showing that in their physical closeness to each other on the page and their body language)

peaceful with overshadowing danger (either with a shadow figure or maybe the dove being shot?)

Rusky (younger brother) follows/wants to be more like his older brother Jonathan

This is why in a lot of the images I drew I purposely put Rusky below Jonathan/or following him somewhere, this is to show how Rusky isn't where his brother is but is striving to get there. This was quite difficult to get as making them close yet having this relationship dynamic was had to capture.

This is where I had to now put on my critical hat and really ask what sketch serves the book better. Although I absolutely adore the cover with them on the horses and the one what them climbing the mountain together. They didn't quite convey the message/story the book had, so I went with the last one.

My notes I took at the time.

First Image (Brothers on horses)

I love this cover but it really doesn't tell us anything about the bother, except that they have a good relationship. 

Second image (climbing up a mountain)

I think the dynamic feel to the cover, again shows the brother's bravery

There are more journey vibes in this sketch (which might be better to fit with the beginning of the book?)

Third Image (facing of the bad guy with a creature in the back)

I think this is the best image in showing the conflict between the brothers and Tengil while also showing their bravery.

To push the brother's notice aspect in the story I'll need to tweak

I'm pushing the sketch further by simplifying it so I can figure out the overall shapes and silhouettes.

Notes at the time:

Poses of the brothers

Rusky runs behind to catch up with his brother

Rusky still holding hands but behind his brother looking back into the camera

This was to show how Rusky is still trying to catch up to his older brother both physically and metaphorically.

Though having them holding hands shows this closeness between them, so shows this dynamic relationship where Rusky (the younger brother) is trying to be as great as his older brother but also having a wholesome relationship.

I roughly put in the values.

At this point, this is where the trouble strikes.

The image above is just not sitting right. theoretically it makes sense but the whole image just feels weird

so I continued to play around with the existing image (see above), playing around with adding elements and text.

It just continued to not sit right. Although I did consider just colouring it in any way, I went back to the drawing board and relook at this cover.

Thought at the time:

Issues

Redline work looks like a psychological horror

The vibe of cover feels a bit too menacing/sentence for the sweet and quant feel of the book

Too much happening???

Here I'm just going ham and playing with more graphic/competition shapes to see if I feel like I can get anything else

Notes at the time

Likes 

Really like what the border brings, it brings room/space, something to play with (shapes) and it gives the tone of the book a more fairytale/old feel which was something really lacking before.

Dislikes

posing of brothers not really encapsulating abortions

Then I had a whole Slide just ranting about this project and why I can't seem to get the image to fit right.

I am very frustrated because the image is just not working. This is because I believe iced over complicated it and it doesn't have enough space to breathe with is something I appreciate in imagery

At this point, I am truly lost. So when you are in any sense lost in a project, you always go back to one point.

What are you trying to say?

I was to show Rusky's bravery and wanting to be like his brother. I want to show his bravery in helping liberate Wild Rose Village (they live in Cherry Village) and liberate Wild Rose Village.

Character at the bottom (to show weakness and powerless) but Vertical lines to show their energetic and rebellious motions. (Molly Bang)

The dictator guy needs to be at the top of the page because he has total control of Wild Rose Village (not Cherry Valley yet), However, he only has this power because of the horn that controls Cutla, otherwise, he's not that bad.

What do I want to convey:

Vie Text: Lionheart Brothers, Brave and Courageous bothers

Via Image:

I want to convey their wholesome relationship

Shorshadow Cutla 

Duve 

That rusky is becoming braver like his brother

I'll see you in the last part! (it gets better from here :))

Hope you have a lovely week

Shri

[julesthoughts]

Trap of Lies

Chapter 26

This is a dark AU collaboration started by @x3kristax3. You can find the other chapters here.

TW: Torture, violence, detailed scenes of violence, light sexual acts

Phil POV

Completely drained, I stood in my bathroom and reviewed the evening. I looked at my hands, still dirty with dirt and blood from the nasty son of a bitch and his horse. I went to my bathroom and washed my hands and face. I took off the dirty clothes and put on fresh clothes.

I saw the remaining blood residue in my sink that was not washed away by the water. I cleaned up the remaining blood and burned my clothes in my oven as there was no point in trying to clean them.

A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, but they all ended in relief. We were able to save MC in time and the devil of the whole drama is finally dead. Jessy promised to take care of MC because she saw that I still had something to do.

I braced myself with both hands on the sink and lifted my head. I saw myself reflected in my mirror. It still wasn't over. We had to find the devil's father.

"Agnus Barnett," I whispered. "Where are you?"

It was maddening! I asked each of the Whispers if anyone had heard that name before. Nobody knew him, but there had to be someone.

He's got people he bossed around. He did not run this business alone, he had employees. This man knew how to hide himself. He was the master at hiding and running such a big business.

I couldn't do this alone, I needed help from someone I trusted 100%. Dan. I immediately made my way to Dan, although it was the middle of the night, he was always willing to help me. I walked to his house because I didn't want to draw attention to myself.

When I arrived, I knocked firmly on his door and he opened the door a little annoyed. "Can't you even wait until morning?" he asked me grumpily.

"No time," I hissed and immediately I saw regret on Dan's face. Not wanting to contradict me, he let me in.

He tiredly ran his fingers through his hair and got his clothes to change. I looked at him confused and he just raised an eyebrow knowingly. "I know that look, you didn't come here for a tea party."

It's been a while, but with this sentence, Dan actually managed to make me smirk. Dan got dressed and then approached me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You look like you just committed murder."

When he didn't get an answer, his eyes widened. "Shit, who did you kill?"

"Alan, finally. But that's another story. We have to find the devil's father."

I took the blame on myself first, I didn't want to implicate MC even though she ended up being the one who killed him.

Dan suddenly looked at me seriously, "Do you know anything? Did you find out anything?"

"No!" I almost yelled, desperate. "But someone has to know something. I want to keep Jake out of it so he can focus on his new business.

"Amy," Dan suggested. "She might know something, after all she adores Alan and would do anything for him."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Jake told me she said she saved MC. I don't really believe it, but one thing's for sure, she'd die for him. She doesn't have to know Alan's dead, but we can pressure her to do that her answers could save his life."

"I knew you would be of great help to me. Now we just have to find out where she is."

I was glad I turned to Dan, he was always reliable, even if he could be a bit grumpy at times. Now all we had to do was find out where Amy was. I could see that Dan was already brooding.

"Any idea where Amy might be? The prostitutes are all over town, it would take us forever to find her," I paused. "Wait! I have an idea. I'm sure Charlotte can figure something out."

Dan nodded and we made our way to my bar. Once there I found Charlotte at a table with a man. I gave her a knowing look and she said goodbye to the man and walked towards me.

"What do you need to know?" she asked, since she already knew that look from me.

"Find out where Amy is at the moment, nothing else matters for now."

She nodded and got to work. Dan and I went to my office and tried to think if we really didn't know Agnus.

It wasn't long before there was a gentle knock on my door. I opened the door and Charlotte's eyes looked at me proudly. She whispered, "There's some kind of brothel across town, that's where she works."

I thanked Charlotte and nodded for Dan to follow me. I put a staff member in charge of running the bar. As we walked out of the bar, we made plans for how best to get to Amy.

"We register like normal guests and say that we would like to see Amy. Simple and uncomplicated," said Dan.

I hesitated, "It's a good idea per se, but I don't want to be recognized. I don't need rumors."

"Then we'll dress up a bit. A hat and a fake beard will do," Dan said, and we made our way over to his house. After we dressed up, I had to smile a little. A beard didn't suit me at all, but I had to go through with it now.

We took a carriage and made our way to the other side of town. We parked the carriage and got out. We entered the strange building and arrived at some kind of reception. A black-haired woman was sitting at the reception and there were men everywhere, smartly dressed. It must be the pimps.

Dan addressed the lady, "We'd both like to see Amy."

I was expecting everything, but not her next words, "No need to be so formal here. Room 9, she'll do whatever you want."

I grinned internally. Will she also answer our questions?

We both looked for room 9 and found it. We knocked and a gentle voice called us in. As she turned around, she gulped hard. She recognized us.

"You're not here to consider my service and I was about to leave anyway."

Dan chuckled darkly, "The receptionist told us that you do everything for us. I'm sure you'll also answer a few questions for us."

"What do you want? I have a date with Alan!"

I roared laughing, "Oh, I guess this isn't going to work out."

"What does this mean?" she asked in panic.

Dan took a step towards her, "If you want to see your beloved prince, then answer our questions."

She sat on the bed, sighed, and gestured for us to ask."

"Where is Alan's father?" I fell right in with the door, I didn't want to waste any more time.

She looked at us in shock, "How do you know I work for him?" She immediately put her hand to her mouth.

"That's easier than I thought," Dan chuckled. She shook her head in disbelief at her own stupidity.

"So, you know more than we thought. Well, I'm waiting for an answer."

"I don't know. For heaven's sake, I'm just a prostitute. He won't tell anyone where he is, at least that's what Alan always tells me."

"But you know who works for him, give us a name and location of this person."

She hung her head and said nothing more. I was right, she knew who worked for him. Dan sat down in a chair and spread his legs. "Either you answer this question now or you have to satisfy me."

I saw disgust on her face, Dan didn't seem to be her thing at all, and he seemed to have noticed and taken advantage of it. He knew that she would never willingly touch him if he gave her the choice.

She walked up to Dan, putting each hand on his knees and looking deep into his eyes. "I've had to touch more obnoxious guys than you. Come on, take off your pants. I'll satisfy you."

Dan smiled. What was going on in his head? "That's your job, if you're supposed to please me then you're supposed to do all the work."

With that, she winced and made a gagging sound. "Fine! You won. The name is Poke, he sells his wares in a park, behind a shabby shack. I don't know what time he is there though."

"There you go," Dan said as he rose from his chair.

"Are you releasing Alan? I gave you answers!"

This time I chuckled darkly, "Oh he's been free for a long time."

She looked at us confused and so we left her. She was lucky that she was a woman and not a man. No matter how much I detested a woman, I don't hurt a woman's hair.

Dan and I left the building and took the carriage to said park. I felt we had a better chance of finding this poke at night. We pulled our fake beards off our faces and parked the carriage a little further from the park.

We sneaked through the park to the shabby shack. We heard a branch snap behind the shack and immediately I ran behind the shack and there was a stranger to me.

"Poke?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, who told you my name? What do you want to buy?"

"Answers."

As he tried to run away, Dan grabbed his collar and pushed him against the back door of the shack and to our surprise the door swung open. Dan didn't hesitate and shoved him into the cabin where he slammed into the opposite wall. I followed Dan into the shack and locked the door from the inside.

When I turned around, I saw Dan standing behind the man, holding a knife to his neck. He was helpless at our mercy.

"So, Poke, I'll ask you questions and you'll answer them well."

He just nodded and flinched as the blade of the knife digged a bit into his neck from his nod.

"Where's Agnus?"

"I don't know," he said pleadingly.

"Lie!" I roared and looked around the shack. This seemed to be the gardener's hut, since only gardening tools were lying around here. Everyone knows garden tools are the best torture tools.

I took a smaller saw and took Poke's hand and sawed off his pinky. He cried out, but I slapped him, and he just whimpered while blood dripped onto the floor.

"Answer me or all your fingers will be off."

He didn't say anything, and I held the saw to his ring finger. A grinding noise arose as I took an extra long time on his bone. I looked deep into his eyes, but still got no answer, so I cut off his next finger.

The game went on until all his fingers were off and there was a puddle of blood beneath us. Tears streamed down his face, and I saw that he was about to finally answer me.

I put his fingerless hand in front of his eyes and put the saw on his wrist. "Last chance," I threatened him.

I began to rock the saw back and forth slowly, letting him watch as I sawed his wrist. I kept sawing but stopped when I sawed through his bone and left his hand hanging on a piece of skin. He saw his wrist swinging on a thread of skin in front of him.

I took his fingerless hand and yanked with all my might, skinning part of his forearm in the process. His wrist fell to the ground with a loud splash, and he cried out at the top of his lungs.

And he answered.

"Ah shit! He lives in a rather large mansion, he spends all day there and rarely leaves it. The villa is only guarded from the inside. It's very isolated. In the middle of the forest, there is no street and no house number."

"How many guards?"

"Five or six. Two stand right in front of his office. Two stand at the entrance of the house and there are usually two walking around the mansion."

He was getting weak, and I could see Dan using all his muscles to keep holding him up.

"End him," I said to Dan.

Dan dropped him on the ground, leaned over him and slit his throat. Blood spurted out of him and for a brief moment I saw gratitude in his eyes. I didn't really want to go that far, but the thought of Alan getting his drugs from his own father's business infuriated me. And those drugs he used on MC.

MC had never done anything to anyone but Alan, but he deserved it.

We left the cabin, we took the carriage to Dan's house and we planned to find Agnus before dawn. The thought of what Richy and Alan had done to MC brought out the inner beast in me.

We didn't bother to clean up, just thinking how to find this mansion in the vast forests. We decided to stop by Alan's house and see if we could find anything. Once there, we broke down his front door and searched everything. Dan winced when he saw the huge bloodstain on the floor.

I roughly explained to him what had happened, and that MC is now safe.

"Good thing that son of a bitch is finally dead," said Dan.

I just nodded when I found an envelope. Inside the envelope was a painting of a mansion, and Dan gasped. "I know this mansion, how could I forget that! I rode past the mansion."

We each took a horse and rode off, Dan leading the way. It was a long and difficult ride. So many hurdles, detours and strong currents. No wonder no one has found him on such a path. I saw the villa and we brought our horses to a stop and put them in a meadow where no one could see them. We gave them an apple to eat as a reward.

We made our way to the mansion, and as Poke said, it's not patrolled from the outside. Dan pressed something cold metallic into my hand. A pistol and a knife. I hid the gun in my holster and the knife in my belt pouch.

I don't care that we had to kill everyone in there to get to Agnus. We had to shut down the source to end this drug business. And the source was Agnus.

We entered the premises and crept to the large front door. As big as the door is, it was easy to break open.

In the foyer, two muscular men immediately ran toward us, but Dan and I each drew our knives and slit their throats in one motion. We didn't hesitate and went further into the villa, where we met another man. Dan stabbed the blade of his knife into his neck and life drained from him too.

A man attacked me from behind and choked me off, Dan didn't know how to act. No matter how he tried to attack the man behind me now, he would hurt me. I turned the knife over in my hand and just swung it back. I hit the man behind me as his grip on my neck loosened.

My knife was stuck in his stomach, I pulled it out with all my might and immediately slit his throat before he could start screaming. He gurgled and blood spurted out of his mouth.

I coughed and gasped, he had a strong grip on it.

"Son of a bitch," I cursed under my breath.

After my breathing settled, Dan helped me up and we walked up the stairs. At the top we arrived in front of a huge wooden door, it was powerful. Two men stood to the right and left of the door and unfortunately, they noticed us immediately.

"How did you guys get in here?" asked the man on the right.

"With a little help," Dan said, brandishing his bloodied knife in his hand.

He threw the knife and it hit the wall next to the man on the left. He sneered but stopped laughing when Dan aimed his gun at him and shot him in the head. Now we could make some noise, we were busted anyway, and Agnus knew we were here.

I walked a little towards the man on the right when suddenly another shot rang out and I felt a warm liquid splash on my face. The man in front of me sagged and Dan blew smoke from his gun.

I tried to open the door, but it was locked. "Wimp," I whispered to Dan, shooting the lock with my pistol.

The door opened and I saw an older man, but that black hair looked all too familiar. There sat the likeness of Alan.

He looked at us with wide eyes, for a brief moment I saw a flash of fear in them. But immediately I saw pure hatred in his eyes.

I wiped the blood from my mouth with my right hand and gave him a friendly smile like a businessman.

I had to look like a psycho.

"Hello Agnus."

[eggoatt]

Hi! I know I left a comment on my reblog, but I felt the need to send something a little more heartfelt. I'm going to try to be normal about this lol

That picture you drew was the first thing I saw this morning, and it has been sitting on one of my monitors ever since, just so I can glance at it any time I want—which quite honestly has been incredibly frequent.

It might seem like I'm a little too excited about this, but it's a huge deal to me. Before I started putting fics out (just south of a year ago now) I hadn't written anything in nearly a decade, so I didn't really have any expectations for what I put out. Of course, I thought about how cool it'd be if someone drew something directly inspired by something I wrote, but I always considered that a kind of a lofty thing? Would be nice if it happened, but I wasn't expecting it. And if it did happen, it'd probably happen much later on when I'm a little better at writing.

All of that to say this is the first time I've inspired anyone to make art from my material. That means so much to me and I am unbelievably grateful to you for that. Also, WOW, it's from someone who has also drawn one of my absolute most favorite SciSet pics ever too?? I adore the way you draw Sunset, so when I saw this was from you I actually gasped so loud my wife heard me from the other room lol.

I mentioned this briefly in my reblog, but I really love the way this picture is composed. When I write scenes, they tend to play out in my mind in full motion with great detail, so what I envision can be incredibly specific, yet I really feel like you managed to capture details I hadn't really put words to. The color scheme in particular—lots of blues and purples, but with just the right amount of saturation to match the pink. Visual arts are not my forte, so I apologize if that doesn't make the most sense.

Lastly, I would like to ask just a couple things:

Would you be alright with me posting a blog about this on fimfic? This might seem like kind of a weird question, but I always like to make sure I clear this kind of thing with someone first. Naturally your username and links to everything would be prominently featured.

May I put this in the author's note of Chapter 8(b)? Just like before, your username and links will be prominently featured alongside it (also, if you'd like to send me a watermarked version, I'd be alright with putting that up too). I just really love this picture and would love it to be the way people visualize that part of the chapter, but I want to make sure that's alright with you first, and I also want to make sure you get the credit you deserve.

Anyway, I won't ramble any longer than necessary. Sorry for throwing a book in your inbox, but thank you for the picture, and for ensuring that no matter what else happens today, I have something to be happy about 🥰

hi!!

we've actually been mutuals for a little while (you reblogged something of mine, and i liked your taste in horse content) but back in april by complete coincidence i stumbled across your fimfic account as well and kind of fell in love with your work. the way you write sunset, your inner voice for her, speaks to me on an insane level to the point where it's informed some of my personal projects (ocs) a bit. i also really enjoyed seeing how rapidly and drastically your writing had improved over the works you had up at the time-- it made me really excited to see what you would do in the future! i even made a new account and started using the site again just so i could keep up :3 if nothing else, you've touched this creature's heart very deeply

like i said in the original tags, i've been meaning to make fanart of this scene for MONTHS and finally releasing those brainworms felt a bit like an exorcism, lol. i'm so happy i hit the mark and brought you as much joy as you've brought me !!!!

to answer your questions!:

sure!! it is fanart For You after all

same as above, go for it :3 (it is actually watermarked already! i prefer making it difficult to see so it's not distracting. take a closer look at sunset's elbow)

silly bonus trivia about the drawing: i needed a visual reference to help me with the poses, and the best ref i found just so happened to be a picture with obama in it. it's not my fault they look so tender

[rahuratna]

I'm going to write commentary while I read, since this is a longer piece of yours (rubs hands). Firstly, the entry into the saloon is such great homage to those scenes in every western. I love the background you've established here in the opening scene, with that parallel to the way Nanami left his job after Haibara died and came back! Very smoothly woven in. Your descriptions, from the callouses on his hands to the dust on the bar create that powerful imagery, as always.

Oh YEAH. "In a gesture as old as the West ..." I can PICTURE him taking off his hat, and this is just setting the tone for how your Cowboy Nanami will scratch every itch I have. Also, the setup for the yearning and lingering glances is all here, already. The description of the way Reader appears to Nanami is sort of making my knees knock together. Hello.

Again, the descriptions and the world building you're starting to show is something that I always appreciate. And their interactions are SO well written. I can feel a spark between them that's so natural. I don't have to stretch my imagination very far to think of what Nanami finds appealing about this Reader character, because damn, she's fine. She's so fleshed out, witty, charming, sexy and has an effortless warmth that draws you in.

Also, every time Nanami says "ma'am". Oh hell. New kink awoken.

Ugh. God. Your descriptions of him mounting his horse and his uniform. Please. I love how you mention that balance of rugged and gentle in his appearance and demeanour, because this is EXACTLY how I would imagine Cowboy Nanami, and is such a great AU reflection of him in the series. He is genteel and soft-spoken, but an actual powerhouse physically. Also, love how he catches Reader checking him out 🤣.

I LOVE the church scene, because it's so indicative of problems that currently face us, the timeless expectancy of those who are less fortunate to always "pull themselves up by their bootstraps", ignoring the societal constructs that led to those circumstances in the first place. The characters and the plot you're setting up here is so detailed and I appreciate it fully.

The break-in scene was SO well written, with that edge of suspense and danger threaded throughout. Also, I love that THIS is our introduction to the "Robin Hood" activity you foreshadowed in the church scene. I also appreciate how you take the time to walk us through the Reader's background and thoughts. It makes her character all the more relatable and endearing. When she thinks about balancing something in society, even if it's not justice, that's such an effective juxtaposition to Nanami's perspective. He is the representation of justice and fairness itself, and one can't help but wonder at this stage, how their world views will ever reconcile.

Also, quick note, I LOVE your details. The little bit about how she disguises Buttercup's markings with coal just ... I love when writers pay attention to details like this.

Her thoughts and the way she rationalises, but also doubts, her chosen path add so much dimension to her character. Things fall more into place the more I read. So she had never settled in a town, among her chosen targets, for this long! Her loneliness is a symptom of the human condition, and one that's her weakness, but also her greatest strength. It's what anchors her to the people of this town and explains her desire to give back to them.

Oh, my demented laugh right now. Cowboy Nanami, sweaty and disheveled. It's like you've prepared a five course meal here, and every time he appears, my palate is set on fire. They way Reader describes him as a husband. Hmmm. Yes. Also, the way he drops the lasso, LMAOOO. Fucking adorable. And the way he tries to stop her. "Ma'am, this isn't exactly -"

Bless his heart, the sugarplum.

HOLY SMOKE. Okay. Wrangling cattle with Nanami being arousing was not on my reading bingo card today, but THERE IT IS. Also, the scene with Deputy Gojo and teasing him about Geto, 😂😂😂.

HA. "Preferably, after taking a good man for a ride." Girl got that rizz. Your description of him smoking. Ay.

I have to take a moment to tell you here how much I appreciate your characterization of him. It's that slight twist from the norm one expects in an AU, but it's no stretch of the imagination at all to picture that this is what he'd be like in this environment, because you've managed to strike that fine balance of maintaining core characteristics and writing your own spin on how these same aspects would play out against a different setting. Amazingly done!

Ahhhhh. Their conversation is everything. I love the banter you've maintained between them, that knife edge that separates flirtation from something more serious. Also, you always give some the best depictions of sexual tension with Nanami I have ever read in fanfic. I've felt this way about your writing from the first time I read it, and I maintain that now. Your descriptions of him, the way he responds to the reader character, his subtle mannerisms, all serve to highlight the sheer chemistry you are able to weave around him.

I've finally reached the end, and I can sum up with this: I knew any offering from you, or any take on a concept would be amazing if you did it, but you always exceed my expectations by a mile. In our conversation the other day, I mentioned some of the things I loved about Westerns I watched as a child; sweeping settings, forbidden romance, stolen moments between lovers and the perilous nature of their existence against the backdrop of this harsh and unforgiving world. You've encapsulated all of that here, in the minute details of the world you've created, and your attention to detail is such a hallmark of your writing.

I love your Cowboy Nanami (that goes without saying), but your Reader character is also so special to me in terms of her very real moral dilemma, her dynamic presence, her independence of thought and how her presence truly emerges, fleshed out, as a canvas we can paint ourselves upon, but with the added bonus of fully realized dreams, hopes and fears in the world she inhabits. If you wrote an actual original fiction western, with her as the MC, I'd lap it up, just saying.

Thank you, Mystie, for another stellar offering!! Here's a gif representing me: fully willing to be transformed into Cowboy Nanami's horse.

Pairing: Sheriff!Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Summary: You have a system, and it's worked perfectly until now. But in this dusty Western town, Sheriff Nanami Kento is making things...complicated.

By day, you're the town's sweet schoolteacher, loved by all. By night? You're the very secret that drives Nanami to sleepless nights and relentless pursuits.

You're drawn to each other, so it makes keeping your worlds separate a dangerous game that you can't help but play.

Rating/CW: slow burn romance, mild intoxication, brief violence, cowboy activities?, fluff, suggestive content, eventual smut, angst, explicit sexual content (eventually). MDNI!

WC: ~12k (strap in, I guess lol)

Author notes: Hello! It's finally here! I had so much planned for this story that I had no choice but to break it into parts. I struggled a little because there was a lot more world-building than I expected, but I'm proud of the result. This will be a slow burn, so please don't expect any smut right off the jump, lol.

Thank you so much, @pmpmyread @rahuratna, not only for looking this over, but for your advice and support! And thank you all for your motivation as I put this together!!

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

Happy reading!

Header: myself (image from pinterest) | Divider: @anitalenia @saradika @pixelcafe-network

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Part Two

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The saloon door creaks open, letting in a blast of scorching summer air that does little to freshen the stale interior. Nanami steps inside, the cool dimness a refreshing difference from the blazing afternoon sun previously on his back. It smells familiar—scents of whiskey, tobacco, and sweat wrapped around camaraderie like an old, worn blanket.

Tired eyes flicker up from cards and empty glasses, recognition dawning on weather-beaten faces. A chorus of solemn nods greets him, a silent salute to their town’s protector. Nanami returns each nod mechanically, his own gaze carefully schooled to hide the bone-deep weariness that threatens to consume him.

His leather boots, caked with the dust of another fruitless chase, thud heavily against the worn floorboards. Each step feels like a defeat, a reminder of always arriving too late or right before his goal slips through his hands, touching his fingertips like a tease.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles as he plops onto a stool, the wood creaking under his weight. “The bottle, preferably.”

The young bartender—who he knows means well—sends a knowing smirk that sets Nanami’s teeth on edge. How many times has he found himself here, drowning his frustrations in amber liquid? Far too many, he thinks, as a tall glass of whiskey appears before him like a mirage in the desert.

Nanami snatches the Stetson hat from his head, slapping it onto the bar with a force that sends a small cloud of dust into the air. His fingers, calloused from years of handling a gun and reins and rope, curl around the glass, lifting towards the bartender in question. The young man simply shrugs as he cleans a cup with a dirty white towel.

“You drank an entire bottle two days ago, Sheriff. Gotta save some whiskey for the rest of us.”

Nanami doesn’t offer a remark because he has been drinking a lot more lately. While he’s never been one to be too many sheets to the wind, lately, consuming until his vision is fuzzy seems to turn off his thoughts. He takes a generous sip, the whiskey burning a familiar path down his throat but doing little to ease the sting of failure. As he watches the strong alcohol slosh in its glass, he gets lost in its color. The flaxen hue morphs into the fluttering of long lashes and mocking eyes, of a form quick and nimble—always just out of reach.

“You’ll catch ‘em eventually, Sheriff,” the boy offers, more out of habit than conviction. He’s seen Nanami here too many times, that frustrated look etched on his face, chasing something far too fast for him.

Nanami huffs an admonishing chuckle. “Maybe,” he concedes, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “Or maybe I’m chasing the wind.”

He takes another swig, the alcohol doing little to dispel the sour taste of defeat or replace the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of justice served. But it’s all he has right now. As the waning daylight stretches long and hazy into the sky, somewhere out there, a thief laughs at the law’s futile efforts—at his futile efforts.

He downs the rest of his whiskey, slamming the glass on the counter and ignoring the eyes of patrons who dart up to him from the mild disturbance.

“More,” he demands, sliding the glass across the counter to the bartender. As he watches the whiskey pour, he wonders, not for the first time, if he’s lost more than just a criminal in this endless game of cat and mouse. His integrity, his purpose, his peace of mind—all sacrificed on the altar of justice. And for what? A town that still suffers, and a thief who dances just beyond his grasp.

While the whiskey offers no answers, it at least dulls the ache of what he can’t achieve. But that comes at a price. As his mind fades from the present, it ruminates on the past. On how he grew increasingly disillusioned with his responsibility to protect. It broods on that fateful day when a bullet tore through his dear friend’s body, losing momentum enough to strike Nanami’s badge with a dull thud—a cruel reminder of how close he’d come to joining Haibara, and how utterly he’d failed to protect him.

For a time, he disappeared, carving a new life miles away on his family’s ranch. It was quiet there, peaceful and free of the failure he feels now on a daily basis. But eventually…it wasn’t enough. It was one too many desperate souls who stumbled upon his doorstep, knowing that he would be the only one to help, that he finally decided to come back.

Not that it’s made any difference.

Nanami’s reputation precedes him—the best sheriff this side of the state, a lone wolf who gets results. His name alone makes outlaws think twice before darkening his town’s doorstep. Or at least, it used to.

These past few months, a shadow has been making a mockery of him. A bandit, cloaked in night and silence, slips through his fingers like smoke. Jewels, coins, and the like—all vanish under the cover of darkness, present one morning and gone by the time the sun rises again.

The most maddening part? It’s a woman. He’s caught glimpses—the curve of a hip, a mask of charcoal smudged behind alluring eyes, a whisper of a deep laughter on the wind. She’s a riddle wrapped in black leather, a ghost that haunts his waking hours and torments his dreams.

In all his years, he’s never encountered a more elusive creature.

He lifts his glass, ready to down the contents and ask for more when the rays of sun catch, making the amber gleam like a beacon. The flash of light makes him turn to the saloon’s grimy windows, eyes squinting against the sudden blinding glare.

That’s when he sees you.

Framed by the dusty window pane, across the street, you stand in the golden rays, a vision that seems to part the haze of whiskey and self-pity that’s been clouding his mind. Your smile always seems to make his breath catch; it’s warm and genuine and lights up your face when your smooth lips curl at anything you hear. Right now, he sees it as you bid farewell to your students. They swirl around you like an autumn breeze, their laughter permeable through the glass.

The pink-haired boy—Yuji—who loves to follow Nanami around, wobbles from around the schoolhouse, both hands on the reins of your beautiful Palomino Morgan mare, Buttercup, as he yells to you with a toothy smile.

Nanami blinks, realization slicing through his slightly alcoholic haze like a sharp knife. He’s lost track of time, nearly forgetting his daily ritual that you both share. With a muttered curse, he pushes away from the bar, throwing a few coins on the wood and leaving the half-empty glass behind.

The sudden brightness of the outdoors makes him wince, eyes adjusting to the shift, but never leaving your form. With a soft click of his tongue, Nanami’s handsome chestnut stallion, Flint, nickers at his approach on the side of the saloon, nuzzling his master’s cheek as Nanami strokes his mane and grabs his reins. The horse’s hooves kick up small clouds of dust with each step, matching the steady rhythm of Nanami’s spurs. As he crosses the dusty road, he hides his gaze beneath the shadow of his Stetson to take you in fully.

Nanami’s seen many pretty women in his lifetime. Delicate desert flowers that bloom and wither with the changing seasons. And for the sake of not being the hopeless romantic that Deputy Gojo makes him out to be, you are different. From the moment he laid eyes on you, stepping off that dusty stagecoach with determination set in your jaw and hope shining in your eyes, he knew you were something else entirely. It took him weeks to even speak to you.

Your hair, usually neatly pinned back for teaching, has come slightly loose after a long day with energetic children. A few curly strands dance in the hot breeze, catching the sunlight. Your dress, modest but well-fitted, flows down your body in pale blue, the hem slightly dirty from the grass and dirt. You stand with a posture that commands attention—an undeniable grace in the way you move and Nanami is victim to the call of your hips when they sway.

There’s a smudge of chalk on your cheek, dusty white against smooth brown skin that glows in the sun, and the slight furrow in your brow makes the side of his lips flinch to fight a smile. You’re tired—happy to have another day with children, but ready to get home and relax. You’ll probably take a bath, brush Buttercup’s mane, and try a new pie recipe. It’s little details about you that he’s learned over the years since you moved here, the small moments you’ve both shared that seem to make his heart pound faster than what it should when he’s near you.

Your beauty isn’t just the curve of your cheek or the curl of your lashes. It’s the gentle patience in your voice as you help a struggling student. It’s in your laugh, rich and uninhibited, ringing through his ears when he has the blessing to be near you. It’s in the fire that burns in your voice from ranting about yet another student leaving school to help his family’s farm, a passionate frustration that both terrifies and mesmerizes him.

The sun in this small town is unforgiving, but it paints you in hues of amber and gold, careful with its rays so as not to burn you. Nanami realized a long time ago that ‘pretty’ doesn’t begin to cover you. You’re breathtaking, in every sense of the word. A force of nature wrapped in pale blue calico and lace, stealing his breath and his weary heart with each passing day.

You ruffle Yuji's hair, taking the reins from him and nudging his shoulder to move him along, smiling as he takes off down the street towards his home. Sensing his approach, you finally turn to meet his gaze.

For a moment, Nanami feels exposed. Surely you can’t see the slight cloudiness in his irises from the whiskey? Hopefully, you can’t smell the alcohol that carries in the wind from his breath. Your smile only widens, a hint of knowing in your eyes, and his heart skips in his chest, missing a beat.

“Sheriff,” you greet him, a harmonious voice carrying a note of warmth that bubbles like hot oil in his belly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

Nanami clears his throat, fighting the rush of blood to his cheeks. “Never,” he manages, one hand resting on his horse’s flank.

“Still in the whiskey?” you tease, lifting an elegant brow. “My, my Sheriff, I didn’t imagine you to be the man.”

It’s easy for you to slice him open and leave him exposed to the open air, vulnerable. Nanami has never been one to be caught by surprise, but you always have him on his toes. In a gesture as old as the West itself, Nanami reaches up and removes his Stetson, holding it respectfully to his chest.

It’s a mechanical response, born from years of ingrained politeness from parents that have long gone, but it’s also more than that. The removal of his hat is an unspoken apology, a show of respect, and a moment of vulnerability all rolled into one.

He falters, unsure and throat tight as he struggles for something to say. To prove to you that he’s a good man and not the drunkard he feels like the mornings after a failed chase. He’s sure he looks like a schoolboy caught in mischief. But as he opens his mouth to defend himself, you chuckle, a rich timbre that makes the bubbling in his belly drip in thick rivulets down his pelvis.

“I’m only teasin',” you insist, stroking Buttercup’s mane, a mischievous smile doing little to help Nanami’s resolve.

Relief washes over Nanami’s face and he visibly relaxes, still not used to just how much you kid with him when you’re both together. He can’t bring himself to answer you or admit that drinking was exactly what he was doing. So he simply clears his throat, offering a gentle pat to your horse.

“Shall we?” he offers, moving to help you mount.

You nod, holding your breath as Nanami’s strong hands encircle your waist. With seemingly effortless strength, he lifts you onto Buttercup’s back, watching to ensure you’re secure before returning to his own horse. He swings himself up onto the saddle with ease, sliding his Stetson on carefully parted blonde locks. Side by side, you begin the ride home, your horses falling into a comfortable trot.

You never speak much, content to bask in your surroundings as you both walk together, but to him, just being close is everything he could ask for. He wishes he could whisk you up onto his horse and nuzzle his nose into the soft skin of your neck as you recall your day. He wishes he could smell the lavender soap you bathe with and the rosemary oil from your silky strands that he’s seen you buy at the general store. When he’s around you, he wishes for so much—he wants.

But an unmarried woman and man, both of position no less, would only garner gossip that he refuses to make you the center of. And his job is a dangerous one, filled with brutality and misery, of justice that seems to never be fulfilling, and he won’t be a man that leaves you in pain when he’s unable to come home.

As you both walk, the familiar sounds of the town surround them—the distant laughter of children, the creak of wagon wheels that pass them on the dirt road, the rhythmic sounds of hoofbeats and the occasional jingle of Nanami’s spurs, the smell of fresh-baked bread that floats in the cooling breeze, mingling with the earthy scent of dust and grass.

“How were the children today?” Nanami asks, trying to break through the self-inflicting resignation that clouds his mind.

You smile, launching into a story about Yuji's latest escapade with a frog in the classroom. Nanami listens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he imagines the always enthusiastic boy causing a fuss. He marvels at the way your eyes light up when you talk about your students, the passion evident in every word.

As you speak, Nanami can’t help but think of all the times over the years he’s wanted to ask for more. To invite you for dinner, to teach you to shoot on the acres of his ranch, to ask for a dance at the town social when you’re sitting alone, clapping along as Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara scuttle wildly in the lantern-lit barn. The words have been on the tip of his tongue countless times, but he always swallows them back. Content to tell himself he’s doing something noble even as every fiber of his being screams the opposite.

Your laughter pulls him from his thoughts, guttural and melodic in the air, and he realizes he’s missed part of your story. It feels like a crime to not be fully in your presence.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks, feeling the flush return on his cheeks. His mind has only wandered off for moments, but already your house is in view, the front door signaling another end to a conversation with you. Another walk over, another day done. But you’re safe, and for now, that’s enough for him.

“Sheriff, do you actually listen to me when I speak?” you begin, playful in your accusation.

“Of course I—”

“Or you just like hearing me speak?” you interrupt, a smirk growing, mirth sparkling in beautiful eyes that always make his throat dry. “I didn’t realize my voice was so alluring.”

Nanami chuckles softly, dismounting Flint when you reach the gate on the side of your one-story house. “I’m not sure I can answer truthfully, ma’am.”

You hum, pursing your lips as you smooth the invisible wrinkles off your dress. He refrains from tracing the movement of your hands as they ebb and flow generous curves that rest beneath the fabric. “So you just like me then?”

I do.

Is what he wants to answer. Because he wants, and wants, and wants.

Instead, he guides you down from Buttercup, savoring the meat of your waist between his fingers, the warmth of your body in his hands. He waits patiently as you guide her through the gate and inside the stable behind your house. When you return, he can’t help but note the subtle disappointment in your eyes, the way one side of your lip pulls in as you bite into it. He wonders if his own face conveys the same, if you can see the subtle sag in his shoulders of having to leave you so soon.

“Same time tomorrow?” you ask, eyes simmering with what he wants to think is hope.

“Because I like to hear you speak,” he unwittingly teases, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, ma’am.”

As he moves to mount his horse, you’re transfixed by the fluid grace of his movements. He places one scuffed boot in the stirrup, strong corded hands gripping the saddle horn as he swings himself up and onto the Flint’s back like it’s nothing.

Atop his chestnut stallion, Nanami cuts an impressive figure. His sheriff uniform fits him perfectly. A tailored deep blue shirt with long sleeves rolled to his elbows and tucked into denim around a lean waist. A sturdy brown leather vest creased from long days under the sun emphasize his broad shoulders. On one side of his chest rests a gleaming tin star, a symbol of authority and responsibility with a bullet-sized dent beneath the words that signify him. On his left hip, a lasso is coiled neatly, ready for action at a moment’s notice. On his right, his gun rests in its leather holster—a weapon you’ve seen him use a few times—and a constant reminder of the dangers he faces to keep the town safe.

The late amber light casts a warm glow over his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes—a man who’s seen both laughter and hardship. Laughter he gives you when he can, hardship he refuses to indulge. His Stetson sits low on his brow, casting a shadow over umber eyes that make his gaze seem even more intense as he looks down at you.

No matter how many times you are both together, you are always struck by how handsome Nanami is. Rugged and weather-worn, yet with a gentleness in his eyes and kindness in his warm voice that makes your heart flutter. He’s the embodiment of everything a cowboy should be—strong, capable, and undeniably attractive.

As if sensing your admiration, he clears his throat loudly, dramatically, the corners of his lips twitching as you blink back to the present.

You retaliate in the only way you know how. “And stop calling me ma’am, as if we haven’t known each other for a few years.”

You insist on this every single time the title slips past his lips. And like every time before, Nanami smiles softly, reaches up, fingers grasping the brim of his Stetson, and tips his hat to you in a gesture that’s both gallant and a little playful.

“Have a good night, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, mouth pulling into a small smile, heart beating like a drum in your chest, before you huff. “Goodnight, Sheriff.”

He watches you enter your home, waiting until the door closes behind you before clicking his tongue and shifting his weight, setting Flint into motion. The ride back to his office seems longer somehow, the town sounds a little dimmer as he gets closer, and the alluring smell of fresh bread he noted on the way to your house is now replaced with an enticing whisper of more whiskey now that you’re no longer by his side.

The church bells chime softly as you settle into your usual pew, absentmindedly picking lint off your lavender Sunday dress. You nod politely to Mrs. Watson, the baker’s wife, as she shuffles past with a hand on her youngster’s shoulder. Your eyes, soft and inviting to all who meet them, scan the congregation with practiced nonchalance.

Pastor Roberts steps up to the pulpit, black hair slicked with too much pomade, enormous silver rings on too many fingers, his voice booming through the small church. “Before we begin, I’d like to thank everyone who contributed to our new railroad station fund. And I’d like to give a very special mention to Mrs. Thompson, whose generous donation has brought us significantly closer to our goal. Your generosity truly embodies the spirit of our little community.”

The crowd breaks into genuine praise and applause. Mrs. Thompson, always seated in the back pew in her faded but clean dress, ducks her head modestly with a sheepish smile. Your heart clenches in despair, knowing she works grueling shifts at the general store just to make ends meet, her children practically raised by her neighbors. You’re sure that she’s only going above and beyond so her husband, who works many miles away, can come home often. She probably has nothing left—you just know it—and the thought makes your blood boil.

“Now, regarding the final sum we need,” the pastor continues, clearing his throat, “I’m sure we can count on our more…fortunate members to help us reach our goal.”

From the front pew, Mrs. Jones pipes up, her haughty voice carrying over the congregation. “Oh, we’d love to help next time, Pastor! We would’ve contributed more, but we had an unexpected expense with some…essential purchases this past week.”

She adjusts the luxurious new fur draped over her shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the irony of her words. You glare at the offensive garment, boiling blood now thickening with unquestionable anger.

Like so many other wealthy families in this town, the Jones are always eager to flaunt their excess, parading their luxury with heartless disregard for those who sacrifice their last penny for the common good. Content to take what they want, they turn a blind eye to those who truly need help, their indifference as cold as the coins they keep to themselves.

To others like them, poverty is a personal failing. In their minds, if people like Mrs. Thompson would try harder, work longer, or simply stop being sad and hungry out of sheer will, they too could reach the heights of wealth and respect. Preaching a gospel of bootstraps and self-reliance, willfully ignorant of the walls that keep the poor trapped.

Stepping foot in this sweltering church each Sunday is a test of your patience and resolve. But, you push through, hidden behind a mask of piety. As the pastor’s words fade into a monotonous hum, your attention shifts to the whispered gossip around you, ears poised for information that might prove useful. If Mama was still alive, she’d probably scold you if she knew your true intentions.

“Shameful,” Mrs. Clark mutters to her friend, her tone leaking with disdain and disbelief. “The Jones had enough for that fancy social at their house last week and an entire shipment of new furs, but not enough for something that we were all asked to contribute to? Just shameful, I tell you.”

“And here’s Mrs. Thompson giving what little she has just so her man can come home more often.”

You shake your head as you pretend to join in the gossip, your resolve hardening by the second.

Bingo.

After the service, you linger, making small talk with a widow about her new rhubarb pie recipe, when you spot your target.

“Oh, Mrs. Jones,” you call out, your voice dripping with misplaced sweetness. She turns around to face you, regal in cosmetics, a shade too bright, her fur sitting nicely on her neck even as she sweats like a sinner. “I meant to tell you earlier. Your fur is lovely.”

Mrs. Jones preens, her chest puffing like a peacock, basking in the attention. “Why thank you!” she gushes, dripping with false modesty. “Got them fresh last week. I would love for you to see the rest when I’m back in town. Jimmy and I leave for Millbrook and we’ll be gone for a week or two. It’s so refreshing to meet someone who appreciates fine things.”

You offer a small smile, excitement filling your body of your plans unfolding before you. “You’ll surely be missed. I do hope you have a wonderful time.”

She beams again, red lipstick cracking down the middle. “Make sure you stop by when we return, won’t you?”

You do stop by, but it’s a day after the Jones leave, a shadow among shadows. Buttercup leans into your touch when you brush a gloved hand along her glossy mane. You hop on her back, clicking your tongue to urge her into the night.

It’s further out of town, which makes this better for you—the fewer eyes, the better. The Jones estate looms ahead, dark and silent. You leave Buttercup a few yards away, patting her side as she lowers her head to graze. “I’ll be right back, girl. Just wait for my call.”

You circle to the back of the Jones’ house, glaring at the clean paint and beautiful greenery. A flickering light from a first-floor window catches your attention, and you duck down on impulse—the night watchman, no doubt. The Jones have enough money but spend too excessively to afford a maid. While this is a hindrance you can easily deal with, it’s still a thorn in your side. Patience has always been your ally, but tonight, it’s tested.

You know the town’s law enforcement, led by Sheriff Nanami, has been increasing patrols around wealthy homes because of your activities. The thought of him potentially catching you always sends a confusing concoction of thrill and dread through your veins.

Still, you wait, hidden in the shadows and the lush greenery around you, watching the guard’s routine. He leaves every ten minutes to patrol the house, returns, and scratches the sparse hair of his beard before plopping in his chair. His yawns grow more frequent as the night wears on, but he seems to alert himself with each distant noise. It takes a few more patrols and a few deep breaths to soothe your anxiety when you think you hear hoofbeats in the distance, but eventually, he settles one final time, his chin dropping to his chest as he dozes off, and you make your move.

A few windows over, a trellis catches your eye—perfect. Years of practice have taught you to distribute your weight evenly to avoid creaks as you climb the lattice. At the second-story window, you pause, listening. From your vantage point, the only source of light dimly from the living room below is the guard’s open door. The sound of his distant snores sets you back in action.

With ease, you manipulate the window latch, easing it open slowly to avoid any squeaks. You slip inside, your feet silent as they land on a plush carpet. The lavishness is an immediate assault on your senses—the air tinged with rose and peppermint, your eyes widening at the guest bedroom walls covered in paintings and deer heads. You grimace. Extravagant niceties that those less fortunate would give their soul for the value.

You pause at the top of the stairs, eyes scanning the house around you for anyone else, ears straining for any sound from the guard below or, worse, the approach of patrol outside. Satisfied, you ghost through well-decorated hallways towards the master bedroom. Without a moment to waste, you scan the ornate space. You know to secure your exits, and your entrances, and you smirk when you spot a sturdy chair on the other side of the room.

Silently, you wedge the chair under the doorknob, its back legs lifted slightly off the ground. It’s not the best, but it should buy you precious time if needed. You turn back to the master bedroom, eyes narrowed as you move on to your next step.

You’ve seen it all before, and no matter what, they keep their valuables in the same predictable places. A bookshelf with too much space that you can push against to open a second compartment. A floorboard slightly elevated than the rest. But for the Jones, it’s the garish family portrait above their bed—the same one Mrs. Jones boasted about at church weeks ago. Another unexpected but essential expense.

Your fingers work quickly as you carefully remove the painting, revealing the gleaming safe behind it. You press your ear against the cool metal, your fingertips ghosting over the dial. With precision, you begin to turn it, listening intently for the telltale clicks of the tumblers falling into place.

First to the right, slow and steady. Click. Back to the left, past the first number. Click. Right again, slower this time, feeling for the slightest resistance. Click.

Your breath catches as the final tumbler falls into place, heart racing with the promise of success as you slowly turn the handle. The safe door swings open with a satisfying creak, and inside, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight streaming through the window, sits your prize. Stack of crisp bills and glittering jewels, a physical manifestation of the good that they can do in the right hands.

As you transfer the wealth into your satchel, a floorboard creaks downstairs. You freeze, every muscle in your body taut as a bowstring, lungs seizing in your chest. You hear the rustle of clothing—the guard stirring in his chair. It feels like seconds stretch into an eternity as you wait, hand hovering over the gun on your hip. Just as your lungs scream for air, his snoring resumes, and you exhale slowly, your racing heart gradually steadying.

You’re hyper-aware of every sound as you work. The whisper of the bills, the soft clink of jewels—each seems magnified in the stillness of this gigantic house. You’re nearly finished, only two more stacks, when another creak echoes through the house, this one closer, more deliberate. There’s no settling floorboards from a new house or snoring night guard.

Someone’s here.

Suddenly, the doorknob jiggles violently, a voice on the other side booming through the previously silent house. You know the voice anywhere, one that haunts both your waking hours and your dreams.

Your heart picks back up, ice water filling your veins as the hairs on your neck stand up straight, but your hands remain steady as you gather the last of the valuables and ease the safe closed. Even in the face of being caught, you have to remain calm. It’s what’s kept you unnoticed and alive this long.

You replace the painting, your eyes already scanning the room for escape routes. You can easily go back out through the window, but the trellis you came upon is in the guest bedroom a few doors over. The jump from this window won’t be damaging, but it’ll hurt, and you don’t have time to use your rope to help you down.

Banging erupts against the door, the wood jumping from the force of the assault. “Sir! I’m here!” The night guard’s voice joins in beneath the noise, and you hear his hurried gait up the stairs.

You don’t have time for schematics. Time’s up. You throw the satchel around your shoulder and bolt for the window, only seconds before the door frame splinters from the strength of two men, the chair tumbling across the floor.

“Freeze!” A deep baritone barks, harsh and volatile, but you’re already halfway out the window, your leather boots pressed to the paneling, your hands holding you up like a spider monkey. You can’t help but pause, your wide-brimmed hat and black bandana obscuring most of your features. Coal-smudged eyes, their true color blending with the blackness surrounding them, meet the gaze of the man before you. He’s never been able to get a photo or any sort of evidence from you, not in times like these. He’ll never know who you are. But you know exactly who he is.

Sheriff Nanami Kento stands in the moonlit room, his stance wide and authoritative. Protector of the town, your number one purser, and a man who, despite your best efforts, has made a permanent home in your thoughts.

Mysterious mahogany eyes, usually kind and warm when they look at you during the day, now burn with determination and anger. That gun that you’ve seen him use to shoot targets and make Yuji laugh now points directly between your eyes.

As you look at him—the tension in his broad shoulders as they rise and fall beneath his shirt and vest, the dark circles under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights chasing your shadow—a pang of guilt slithers down your chest. Maybe if you take a small break with your escapades, he could get some sleep. You hate it when he’s tired, especially when you’re the cause.

But these thoughts are dangerous. Over the years, you’ve let him get too close, allowed him to see much of the real you, and now you’re beginning to feel the consequences.

But you can think about this another time; you’ve stayed longer than necessary. Right now, you have a job to finish. With a hitch in your breath, you drop to the ground. You land with a thud, your ankles absorbing the impact. A sharp pain shoots up your right leg, but you grit your teeth and push through it. You can’t afford to stop now.

The wild grass is thick as you sprint through the open fields, the satchel of stolen valuables bouncing heavily against your hip. Your breath slices through your lungs in short gasps, the cool night air burning in your chest. Behind you, you hear the chaos of pursuit. Nanami’s commanding voice mixes with the night guard’s confused shouts, and the sound of boots hitting the ground tells you they’ve made it out of the house.

You ignore the ebbing pain in your ankle, pushing yourself harder, faster. The grass gets taller with every inch you gain, whipping at your leather-clad legs as you tear through the field, the darkness both a hindrance and a shelter. You use the moonlight to guide you, your eyes scanning the landscape for the rock face you left Buttercup at on your way here.

A distant whinny in your ear cues you instantly. You whistle for her sharply, praying your faithful steed is close enough to hear. Her thundering hooves answer your prayers, growing louder by the second as she matches your sprint.

She appears like magic, slowing enough for you to leap onto her back and urge her into a gallop with a click of your tongue and a squeeze of your knees. With your view no longer obscured by the tall grass, you turn back to the disappearing estate, your heart dropping when you spot several riders—Nanami’s men, no doubt—headed toward you.

Gunshots pop through the air, the whoosh of silver bullets whizzing past your ears and missing their mark. But they’re getting closer. You hold your breath, absorbing the minute fear that blooms in your chest as you risk another glance behind you. Nanami is now at the front, his face grim and emboldened.

A snort from Buttercup turns your attention ahead. You fold low over her neck, your thighs contracting and relaxing in harmonious sync with her thunderous gallops. You taught yourself how to ride after Mama died, determined to do whatever it took to make it through the world. You found Buttercup then, neglected and forgotten, a mirror of your own lost soul. Now, years later, you both move as one, you anticipating her every move born of trust and time, she responds to the smallest shift of your weight as if reading your very thoughts.

Up ahead, the path narrows, winding through a rocky formation that makes you pull in your shoulders on reflex, as if you’re squeezing to fit. You guide Buttercup with a slight shift of the reins and a coo to her twitching ears.

There’s a fallen tree a few yards away, blocking most of the path and making it almost impassable. But you know what you can do. With a click of your tongue and a minuscule pressure of your knees into her sides, she reads your message immediately, huffing before launching over the thick oak in a magnificent leap. She lands with grace on the other side, hooves kicking up dirt in victory. It buys you the seconds that you need, but it won’t be enough. Nanami and his men will find their way around, and you need this chase to end. Now.

Ahead, a boulder ten times your size, with jagged edges and thick cracks, creates a fork in the path. You form an idea that is risky but will buy you the time you need to get home safely.

You guide Buttercup down the left path, your hand reaching for the pistol on your hip. You wind up the reins in one hand, squeezing the leather to hold you steady as you swiftly turn in your saddle to face the dusty world behind you. With the change in position, your hips work against the momentum of Buttercup’s stride instead of with it, and your tweaked ankle stings with every slap against her side. But you’ve practiced this before, and your balance is perfect, hand steady even as you move at breakneck speed.

Nanami and his men emerge from the curve of the path, eyes locked on you with deadly intent, and in that split second, you take your shot.

You’re not aiming to kill or even injure—your target is the lanterns that hang from each saddle horn. Amidst the bucking of your hips and the wind that whizzes past your ears, you hold your breath—forcing your heart to slow as your vision tunnels, and your finger squeezes the trigger. Before Nanami and his men can even reach for their guns, the air cracks, gunshots from your firearm hitting their mark to make the lanterns explode. It has its desired effect—their horses are startled, bucking onto their back feet as they whine in fright.

Nanami doesn’t want to, you can tell from the look in his eyes, but he has no choice but to look away. His eyes leave you as he tries his best to console his stallion and the rest of his gang. You take advantage of the chaos and twirl back around, relaxing your hand on the reins and exhaling the painful breath that was lodged in your lungs.

“Good girl,” you murmur, patting Buttercup’s neck as you coax her into a more fierce gallop and disappear into the night, the sounds of pursuit fading behind you. The satchel on your hip bucks with your mare’s kicks, reminding you of a job well done.

Even with the adrenaline of success thrumming through you, your mind always wanders back to the ‘why’ of it all.

When the guilt tries to curl in your chest when you least expect it, you remember Mama’s sunken face as she divided a molded loaf of bread between the two of you. You remember the hollow eyes of your neighbors too proud to beg. You remember the day you and Mama stood outside the general store in your hometown, staring at a display of fresh fruit, its price more than your weekly earnings. You remember being shooed away by the store owner, muttering about “ill-bred women,” lowering the tone of his establishment.

That night after Mama finally fell asleep, you stole for the first time. So skinny that you could slip through the gap in Mr. Thornton’s fence of his apple orchard. You took only one—a small, slightly misshapen apple covered in dirt—fear rattling your bones at the thought of being caught. But its sweetness, shared with Mama the next morning, was everything you could have asked for.

The concept of right and wrong has always been blurred for you. You’re certainly not right in the eyes of the law, or perhaps even in the eyes of God that Mama believed in so much. But when you distribute your spoils in the dead of night, slipping money through house doors. When you see the disbelief turn to joy on a widow’s face because she can feed her children another week. When you watch a frail old man cry over a warm coat that will see him through the winter—you sleep a little better.

The world isn’t fair. You learned that lesson far too soon in your life. But in your own way, with these midnight heists and heart-pounding adventures, you’re trying to balance some sort of scale. It’s not justice…but it’s something. Something that lets you look at yourself in the mirror each morning, that calms the angry, helpless, and hungry child still living in your memories.

Tomorrow, you’ll begin distributing this wealth to those who truly need it. Yuji's grandpa will have enough to buy his grandson new clothes. Mrs. Thompson will have enough to make up for the remaining savings she gave to the church. And come Monday, you’ll greet Sheriff Nanami with a warm smile as he walks you home from a day’s work at the school, your secret safe for another day.

The thrill of every heist, the satisfaction of outwitting the law, the knowledge that you’re helping those in need—it all mingles in your veins like the sweetest whiskey you tease the Sheriff for indulging in. As the stars twinkle overhead as you wash the coal from Buttercup’s nose that hides her white markings, you allow yourself a moment of pride. It’s probably not much in the grand scheme of things, but to someone in this town, it’ll mean the world.

“Did you hear about Mrs. Jones’s place?”

“Ma says the bandit struck again, cleaned them out in seconds!”

You keep your face carefully neutral as you pick up on your student’s conversations that dance on the hot air, but you’re filled with pride and guilt. You can’t help but think of Sheriff Nanami, of the frustration you see etched on his handsome face so often. Even yesterday, those determined eyes flickered with hints of shame. For a moment, doubt creeps in, whispers in your ears like a tease, threatening to unearth everything you’ve worked for.

But then you look at Sarah’s new turquoise ribbon that compliments her wheat-colored hair as she twirls in a circle on the dusty road. You remember Tommy’s gait as he said goodbye to you just minutes ago, no longer wobbly now that his toes have room to move in new shoes.

The whispers of your students and how surprised and elated they were to find money under their doorstep make you steel yourself. Despite the risks, despite the growing complexity of your feelings—it’s always worth it.

Your life is a study in contrasts. Mornings are quiet affairs—a cup of coffee, a soothing hand down Buttercup’s mane as she eats her breakfast, the silence of an empty classroom. Afternoons explode with energy—eager questions, laughter, and the occasional disagreement amongst your students. You think of Mama, how she read to you as a child, planting seeds of knowledge that would one day bloom into your passion for teaching. It’s another way you give back—maybe some form of atonement you aren’t ready to address—but to fill another generation’s head with knowledge is a gift you wouldn’t trade.

Coming to this town years ago was an escape—from the pain of Mama’s death, from the constant fear of your life as a thief. You only meant to stay a few months, take what you needed, give it back to those like you, and vanish. But loneliness has a way of anchoring a soul.

Months became years. A solitary existence morphed into friendships with neighbors and an undeniable connection with the stoic sheriff who walks you home, an unspoken affection blossoming between you.

Years of experience have made you attuned to the whispers in town. You know how much Mr. Fletcher has hidden away in his safe. You know what date and time certain shipments come in and who they are going to.

Lately, though, whispers of a different sort have caught your ear. Tales of a hidden treasure in the old mine outside of town. Yuji talks about it almost every day, how his grandfather is convinced the treasure is real. The town’s cobbler rolls his eyes at the rumor, often grumbling about how the citizens should focus on earning revenue through hard work and no shortcuts. The more adventurous of the town have scoped the plains around this town time and time again. But it’s never bore any fruit.

Even you have dismissed it as just another local legend. But the thought nags at you, a persistent itch you can’t quite scratch. While you do not doubt the well-meaning residents of this town, they may not have your experience. They may not know how to scale a rocky mountain or where to look. But you do.

You’ve spent years justifying your actions, convincing yourself that the end justifies the means. That it’s a necessary evil in a world that turns a blind eye to suffering. To walk away now feels like the biggest betrayal of everything you’ve fought for, everything your Mama taught you about standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. Even last night, you went through your routine of reiterating that what you’re doing is for a good cause.

But the twinge in your ankle when you woke up this morning. The bleariness in your eyes from little sleep. The exhaustion weighs heavily on you. The loneliness is more palpable every morning when you roll over to an empty bed. Because you can’t share the darkness of your secrets with anyone. Is it selfish to want a normal life after being exposed to the rotten core of it? To want stability, a future untainted by the shadow of your past, to want love? Or is it more selfish to continue on this path, risking everything—including the hearts of those who’ve come to care for you—for a cause that seems never-ending?

The infinite revolving of these thoughts makes you think twice about those rumors. So…what if the treasure is real? What if there’s enough hidden away to help everyone in town, to right all the wrongs you’ve seen? Enough to let you hang up this hidden life for good, to just be the schoolteacher—no more lies, no more risks, no more seeing the weight of failure in Nanami’s eyes.

Hours later, after your students have long gone, you’re atop Buttercup, having decided an afternoon ride might clear your head. You break through the bustle of town, the sun painting the landscape of open plains. As you crest a small hill, you scan the horizon, absorbing every detail with practiced observation that’s served you well in your double life.

You remember it all from your first few weeks here—a dilapidated shed outside of town, a small lake where wild animals drink from to the north. But with more focus, to the West, you spot unfamiliar rocky terrain. What catches your eye is how the rocks seem to fit together—not stacked with the random chaos of nature, but with an almost deliberate precision. It’s as if the hands of a giant stacked them long ago, their edges now overgrown and softened by wind and time.

If you were to slowly move the rocks over time, you could find an unexplored cave on the other side—not a mine like the rumors claim. Whatever it could be, it’s definitely worth investigating. You make a mental note of its location, your innate sense of direction and topography—honed by years of midnight runs—ensuring you can find it easily again.

As you make one last sweep across the landscape, your ears pick up on the stressed mooing of cows and the yells of men. After riding toward the source for a few minutes, you finally spot the commotion. Mr. Williams’ well-maintained fence is broken with wooden boards sprawled on the plains as a group of cattle amble and run free. They shuffle as fast as their heavy bodies will take them, mooing loudly in distress.

You’ve done some wrangling as a young girl, a grueling job that paid you very little to feed you and Mama, so you immediately hone in on the weak points of the fence and the patterns of the cattle’s movement.

You spring into action, clicking your tongue and squeezing your thighs around Buttercup to make her take off. The wind whips through your hair, loosening curls from your usually neat bun. As you draw closer, your heart leaps in your chest.

There, in the midst of the chaos, is Nanami. He sits on his stallion with an easy grace that makes your mouth go dry. Eyes narrowed with determination, cheekbones glossy with sweat and dirt. His vest is gone, and you note the navy long sleeve that squeezes his thick form, his forearms exposed and veiny. His strong biceps flex as he twirls his lasso, long fingers cinched tight around the base of the noose, wrist twirling in a motion you’ve thought about late at night with your fingers buried deep inside of you.

Gods, he’s handsome. Even that first day when you both met in front of the general store, Nanami reaching down to collect the books you had dropped, you knew then he would be your undoing. He has proven to be the one constant in your mind when you should be thinking about your goal.

He’s the kind of man that you could bring home to Mama, though you’d have to keep a watchful eye on her so she doesn’t flirt herself. He’s the kind of man who can work the fields and protect a town, that can fend off criminals and walk children the school, that can come home after a long day and kiss you until your eyes roll into your skull. That can grunt in appreciation from the fingernails that dig into his back, your legs wrapped around his waist as he buries himself to the hilt and—

“Need a hand, Sheriff?” you call out, shaking yourself back to reality, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. You can think about him later. Right now, that adventurous itch comes to life at the base of your spine. You love being a teacher, but you miss things like this—the thrill of the ride, the tingling sensation of a challenge, and Nanami’s presence all combine to create a heady rush of adrenaline through your veins.

Nanami’s head turns at the sound of your voice, deep brown eyes widening in surprise. The movement of his wrist stops, and his lasso plops on his head, musing perfectly parted blonde locks as the rope smacks the sides of his face. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, yes, but adoration and something more pungent that makes your skin tingle.

“Ma’am, this isn’t exactly—” he starts, but you’re already taking off.

A whistle from your lips springs Buttercup into action, galloping a wide birth around the scattered calves. You free your own rope from your saddle horn, the weight in your hands a comforting reminder of late nights practicing in your stable. You hitch up, bunching your thighs with hidden strength, twirling the lasso once, twice, feeling the perfect balance of it.

Then, with a fluid movement, you send the rope flying towards the calf closest to you. It arcs through the air before finding its mark, settling around the calf’s neck with perfect precision. You ignore the feel of Nanami’s eyes on you as you wrestle to rebellious calf back into Mr. Williams’ yard. The man himself is already releasing the rope and ushering the calf away from the fence that is slowly being repaired by his ranch hands.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Nanami asks when you pace up next to him. The lasso is still haphazard over his head, lips parted in astonishment.

“Are you implyin' that I shouldn’t know how to do that, Sheriff?” you tease, guiding Buttercup in a slow trot around Nanami and his stallion. He fumbles to correct himself, cheeks heating as he pulls at the rope around his neck and shoulders. “Should I only know teachin' and how to care for a home?”

“N-now you know that’s not what I—”

You cut him off with a sharp chuckle, making another rotation around him and his steed, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re so gullible.” He throws you a wary look, finally pulling the lasso off his body in a huff. “Now, are you gonna help me, or not?”

You and Nanami fall into sync, working in tandem to herd the cattle back into Mr. Williams’ enclosed space. It’s perfect choreography—when Nanami moves right, you’re already swinging left.

Before long, you spot a flash of white in your peripheral vision. Deputy Gojo leans against the fence, his shock of white hair practically reflective in the sun. He’s been practically absent up until this point and, unlike you and Nanami, seems in no rush to join the action. He eyes you with a charismatic smile, flirtatious in his gaze, but you’re quick to roll your eyes playfully and get back to the task at hand.

There’s a grace to Nanami’s body as he works. His hips roll with each movement of his horse, the rock back and forth, a rhythm hypnotic and alluring. The muscles in his denim-clad thighs flex as he grips his mount, powerful and thick. His face maintains his usually iron-faced composure, focused on the task, but an undeniable beauty to his concentration. The setting sun enhances his features, the shadows accentuate his strong jaw and cheekbones. A bed of sweat traces a tantalizing path down his neck, disappearing beneath a collar that’s three buttons undone.

As you drive a cow forward, Nanami is there to lasso and guide it home. The way he hands his horse, the quiet commands and clicks, the subtle shifts of his body, and the grunts that leave his form when he throws his lasso—it all speaks of a man completely in control, and you find it mesmerizing…and utterly arousing. There’s something primal and enticing about watching him move, about being in such perfect harmony with him. It’s a blaring reminder of the attraction that’s been simmering between you.

At one point, you end up riding side by side, so close that your legs brush against each other. The contact, even through the layers of your dress, is scalding. You steal a glance at Nanami, darting through the disheveled curls in front of your eyes, only to find him already looking at you. Those dark eyes are smoldering—intense with an emotion that radiates from you both and squeezes your throat tight.

As the last cow meanders through the repaired fence, you both are panting from exhaustion, guiding your horses to a slow stroll. Mr. Williams jogs towards you both, followed closely by Gojo, a lazy saunter and an ever-present mischievous look on his face.

“I had no idea you could wrangle so well,” Mr. Williams exclaims, waving enthusiastically as he reaches up and takes the reins of both your horses to lead them towards a water trough. “That was incredible. I have no idea how to repay you.”

You wave him off, trying not to preen under the praise. Gojo's incredibly rare and well-bred snow-white Quarter Horse saunters up to you, the animal indignant in his strides just as much as its owner.

“Well,” Gojo drawls, crystal blue eyes sweeping appreciatively over your form. “Didn’t think a schoolteacher had fine lasso skills. Any other skills I should know about? You can show me at the town festival in a few weeks.”

It’s undeniably forward, enough to make a dignified man turn beet red in anger and a fragile woman faint. But it’s Deputy Gojo Satoru—uncaring of the world that he feels revolves around him.

“Gojo,” Nanami snaps, harsh and biting with an undercurrent that makes your spine straighten. “For once in your life, stop pestering every woman within a few feet of you.”

You can’t help but chuckle, shrugging dismissively and patting Buttercup’s neck as she drinks. “No harm done, Sheriff. I’m sure Deputy Gojo here was just being friendly, weren’t you?” You ask, voice laden with a double meaning that makes Gojo smile warily, suddenly apprehensive. “Though I’d caution against mistaking friendliness for interest. Wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea and end up disappointed…again.”

Gojo's jaw drops, Mr. Williams chokes on a snort a few yards away, and you hear Nanami stifle a harsh grunt that cracks on the edges.

Gojo sputters, pale white cheeks burning, his usual confidence faltering in the night air as he flaps his gills. “I’ll have you know, I’ve never been disappointed in matters of the heart.”

You hum nonchalantly, pursing your lips in disbelief. “Oh? So that wasn’t you I saw sulking behind the saloon last month? What was it you were muttering? Something about Geto turning you down for the second time?”

At the mention of Geto's name, Gojo's blue eyes widens, a squeak eeping from glossy lips. Nanami, unable to contain himself any longer, lets out a bark of laughter.

“I—that’s not—how did you—” Gojo stammers, looking between you and Nanami with wide, suspicious eyes. You simply shrug, glancing at Nanami. There’s a glimmer of amusement there, a shared moment of mirth at Gojo's expense. At some point, Gojo grows tired of entertaining you both, clicking his mouth in annoyance and taking off towards town. You snort at his retreating form, giggling with the rush of excitement of the evening.

When Mr. Williams sees you both off, the night is a cool blanket around you both. The moon sits high, a silver pendant on the velvet black sky, while the stars twinkle like scattered diamonds. For awhile, you both ride in silence, the rhythmic clop of hooves a soothing melody to your turmoil from earlier in the day. The air carries the scent of grass and wildflowers, mixing with the sweat that lingers on your skin. It’s Nanami who breaks the quiet, his deep voice a relaxing current of electricity down your spine.

“He will only take your wit as a challenge,” he muses, mildly amused.

“Gojo will forget all about me the minute Ms. Foxworth bats her eyelashes at him.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, casting his face in a brief flash of masculine flirtation that makes your heart skip. “And Ms. Foster,” he adds, catching onto your game.

“And Ms. Chamberlain,” you continue, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“And I’m pretty sure Mrs. Jones,” Nanami finishes, snorting to himself because she’s married, and that’s never stopped Gojo before.

Your eyes meet, scandalous realization settling over you both, and in that moment, the ridiculousness of it all bubbles up inside. Laughter erupts from you first, a released cascade of glee as your head tilts to the night sky. The sound of Nanami’s deep chuckles mingles with your giggles, creating a harmony that seems to resonate in your very bones. It feels good to laugh with Nanami. Just like any other time you spend with him. It takes your mind off the thought of leaving this town—of leaving him—forever.

The night is cool against your skin, but your chest blooms with warmth. You’re about to comment on the beauty of the star-studded sky when you notice Nanami reach into his vest pocket. He pulls out a cigarette, lips wrapping around the filter with a firm but gentle grip.

Your heart sinks, a leaden weight pulling it further down your rib cage. You’ve noticed he only smokes when he’s particularly stressed, and the sight of it now, after such a wonderful evening, makes you frown. You know it’s because of his work, the harshness he sees every day, and his relentless pursuit of the bandit—of you—only makes it worse for him. The remorse gnaws at your insides like a rabid animal.

Doing your best to mask the torrent of emotions threatening to consume you, you aim for a teasing approach. “Stressed, Sheriff?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow and hoping he can’t hear the slight shake in your voice.

Nanami pauses, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks at you with a flicker of embarrassment, highlighting the tired lines around his eyes that you wish you could smooth away with your fingertips. “Ah, my apologies,” he says, moving to put it away. “The smell—”

You wave him off. “I don’t mind. Not much of a smoker when I need to relax.”

He hums but doesn’t respond, striking a match and cupping large hands around the flame. The brief light illuminates his face, casting shadows across his face. You find yourself transfixed by the way the flame reflects in his dark eyes, like embers in the night.

He takes a long drag, the tip brightening in burnt orange and gold. Nanami exhales, the smoke curling seductively from his nose and into the air, the sight more enticing than it should be. “So, when do you smoke, ma’am?”

His voice is entirely too low, entirely too deep. You playfully glare at the use of ‘ma’am’ for what feels like the nth time since you’ve known each other. You decide to be mischievous, precariously throwing caution to the wind.

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, looking up at the sky as you try to emit an air of faux innocence. Nanami looks at you cautiously, raising a dark blonde eyebrow expectantly, eyes narrowing as he picks up on the teasing tilt in your voice. “You smoke when you’re stressed. I smoke to unwind from a job well done. Preferably, after taking a good man for a ‘ride’.”

Heat simmers beneath your skin as you speak, low and husky and loaded with suggestive humor that surprises even you.

It’s an immediate effect and more satisfying than you could have ever imagined. Nanami sputters, choking on the smoke. His eyes go wide, and crimson erupts up the glimpse of open chest and neck, visible even in the moonlight, spreading to his cheeks in a way that makes you want to trace its path with your lips.

You can’t help but giggle as he coughs. “You make it too easy sometimes, Sheriff,” you say between laughs.

Nanami clears his throat repeatedly, desperately trying to regain his composure. But you catch the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile that makes you bite into your bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in deep breaths, and your eyes watch the way his shirt stretches across his wide shoulders with each inhalation.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he finally manages in a rough voice, glaring at you with a mix of exasperation and fondness that warms you from the inside out.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink, reveling in the way his breath catches again at your boldness. He shakes his head with a chuckle, turning back to the open plains in front of him.

You notice that some of the tension has left Nanami’s shoulders, his posture relaxed once more. Your guilt eases a little, knowing that, at least for this moment, you’ve managed to lighten his burden rather than add to it.

“Gojo likes trouble as much as he likes wit. Stay away from him and pick someone else.” He pauses, opening his mouth as he weighs his next words with delicacy. “I imagine you have a line of suitors with far more promise than Gojo hoping to escort you to the festival.”

Nanami’s voice is soft, almost wistful, wrapped around an overwhelming cluster of resignation that makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. His eyes are fixed on the horizon as your horses walk side by side, but you can see a tightness around his mouth, a tension in his jaw that speaks volumes.

“I haven’t really paid much attention, to be honest,” you admit, surprised at his sudden remark. You try to keep your tone light and nonchalant, praying he can’t hear the slight tremor, the silent truth that threatens to spill from your lips—that the only man you truly notice is him. Every day, all the time, from sunup to sundown, it’s always Nanami Kento.

Nanami hums thoughtfully, fingering the sharp cut of his jaw. “That fellow from the saloon a few weeks back? He seemed taken with you.” He pulls in a deep drag, sunset orange ebbing to life at the tip.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. The memory of that particular encounter was both amusing and exasperating. “He was three sheets to the wind, Nanami. Claimed to know my drink of choice and got it wrong when he recommended scotch, of all things.”

Nanami exhales a smoky breath, the wisps ghosting around a smirk that makes him look statuesque with the rolling plains behind him. “You prefer moonshine,” he muses, “The kind Kilmer makes, if I’m not mistaken.”

Your heart skips a beat at his casual observation. Moonshine isn’t exactly legal in town, but when the bartender Kilmer works the saloon on Wednesday nights, most of the residents ask for his prized moonshine if no deputies are around. Of all the things for him to pay attention to, your drink of choice seems like such a small, insignificant detail.

You bite the corner of your lip to keep from breaking into a wide smile, belly warm at the thought.

“Not like I can admit to that,” you tease, digging your teeth harder into your bottom lip as the simmering grows in your stomach. “Aren’t you supposed to be upholdin’ the law?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to snatch them back. You’re aware of how much pressure the sheriff places on himself. How he feels unworthy of the badge on his chest. There has never been a day in your knowing him where you felt he was undeserving. Of the town, of all of its citizens, of you. If you could turn his face to a mirror and stand by his side while you tell him just how deserving he is, you would in a heartbeat.

Nanami’s smile fades slightly, a heavy weariness etching onto his features. He takes another drag and turns his head away as he exhales. “This town is small, and times are hard. Sometimes…moonshine is all someone can afford if they need to get away from the world for a while.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours in the moonlight. “A good lawman knows when to look the other way for the sake of his people.”

It’s times like these when you admire the man Nanami is. He’s rough around the edges and stern with the law, but he’s also empathetic enough to know when some rules should be lax based on those they affect. Maybe he could think the same about you? Maybe he could understand your self-imposed noble acts and forgive you for causing him so much pain.

Nanami clears his throat, seemingly eager to change the subject. “The man at the general store two months ago? He could hardly string two words together around you.”

“He was at least five years younger than me,” you counter, giggling at his persistence. “Hardly appropriate. What will the town think?”

“That you’re incredibly picky—” he starts, but you cut him off with a playful swat to his arm.

“Or maybe,” you chuckle with a playful roll of your eyes, “they’ll think I have standards. Is that so wrong, Sheriff?”

“Not at all. Though, I can’t help but wonder what those standards might be.”

Oh.

You’re immediately aware of how dangerous this conversation has become. You’ve never flirted so blatantly before, never with such clear intention. The banter between you and Nanami has always been a harmonious push and pull, as natural as breathing, even though you both treat it as a forbidden dance. But this shift now—it’s palpable, exciting, and terrifying all at once. But the night air, the lingering adrenaline from the cattle drive, that pump of electric fire that pulses through your veins when you can feel free for a moment, all of it makes you bold.

“Someone kind,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment. “Intelligent also helps, dedicated to his work and cares about the people around him.” You risk a glance, hiding beneath the curtain of your curls. Your heart races, each beat echoing the recklessness that coats your tongue with every word. “Someone who notices the little things…like a lady’s drink preference.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. It’s as if you’ve finally given a voice to the undercurrent that’s been flowing between you, transforming your ocean of subtle flirtation into something more tangible, more precarious.

Nanami’s gaze, usually so controlled, molds before your eyes. In the flickering embers of his cigarette, you see something molten, a desire that slides down your body with liquid arousal. His lips purse around his cigarette, your eyes flickering to the muscle that curls around the filter, watching with rapt attention as he inhales deeply, slowly.

When you slide your eyes up to meet his, your breath catches at the still-burning intensity. Your vision tunnels to the reflective desire in his eyes, the moonlight on his face, the tension that crackles between you like lightning before a storm. It’s almost too much, your chest tightening with still stolen breath in your lungs.

But just as quickly, he looks away, severing the connection and turning to exhale a plume of smoke into the darkness.

“He sounds like a fool.”

The tension breaks like a dam, and you find yourself choking on a surprised laugh, chortling at the full smile he shoots your way as if bashful. He seems like a flirtatious teenager, basking in the attention from his crush, and you hold on to the sight—to the way it’s making you feel.

As your laughter fades and he puts out his cigarette on the heel of his boot, the atmosphere shifts again. The sizzling lust that danced around you both softens into something more intimate, more tender.

The moonlight catches in Nanami’s hair, turning the golden strands liquid silver. No longer the pristine part he maintains, the strands fall in gentle tufts around the tops of his ears and over his eyebrows. Your fingers twitch on the reins of Buttercup, itching to reach out and brush those disheveled strands away, to feel if they’re as soft as they look.

Nanami, soft when he speaks again, almost reverent. “You’d be surprised, you know,” he murmurs, looking at you once more. “Just how many people notice you.”

His words sway in the air, loaded with meaning. You find yourself frozen, caught in the earth of his gaze, the sincerity making your throat dry. Even as your hips move with Buttercup’s trot, it feels like the world narrows to just the two of you, eyes on each other as everything else fades into insignificance.

Suspended in time and bathed in moonlight, you wish you could push a little further, draw out a confession, or make a declaration of your own. You want to stretch this moment into eternity, to live in this space where you only exist as a schoolteacher, and Nanami could put his own happiness first, just for once.

But reality intervenes, as it always does, with a painful wave of guilt that crashes over you. The weight of your secrets, of your double life, of your part in his pain, settles heavily on your shoulders like lead. So, instead of the words you long to say, you offer only a gentle smile, letting the serene silence of the night envelop you both.

As the first glimmers of the town’s lamplights come into view, you allow yourself this moment of peace. You bask in Nanami’s presence beside you, in the rhythm of the horses’ hooves, in the soft ‘plop’ of his Stetson against his back with each step. You breathe in the memory of shared laughter and adventure, storing it away like a precious treasure.

It’s dangerous—this indulgence—you know. Every shared moment, every word, every loaded glance yanks you further into a web of feelings you can’t afford to have. But as you ride side by side through the moonlight, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Not tonight.

Instead, you hold this memory close to your heart, a keepsake against the long, lonely nights ahead. It’s a bittersweet reminder of what could be, in a world where you aren’t who you are—a world that exists only in these fleeting moments under the vast, star-studded sky.

By the time you clamber up to your doorstep, Buttercup is already resting in her stable, and that terrible feeling of guilt and confusion roars to life in your chest. You wrap your hand around your doorknob before turning to look at Nanami. He’s still there, with messy hair and sweaty skin, as he reaches into his vest for another cigarette. Handsome and otherworldly and right there. He catches your stare as he places the filter between his lips, one eyebrow quirking up in concern.

“Everything alright?” he asks, the unlit cigarette dangling as he speaks. “I’m not leaving until you’re safely inside.”

You wish you could relish in his concern, bathe in his care, and savor the warmth that blooms in your chest. But you’re not sure you’ve even earned it.

“I’m goin’, I'm goin',” you joke, cracking the door as you step one foot inside your home, still angled to him.

“Well, hurry along then,” he insists, a gentle demand lingering beneath. He lights the cigarette, cheeks pulled in as he inhales full-chested and exhales a deep plume of smoke. Through the haze that dances around him, you find mischief as he smirks. “Ma’am.”

The laugh leaves you before you can stop it, rolling your eyes at his deliberate use of the title he knows annoys you. With a final wave, you step inside, closing the door behind you.

The laughter dies on your lips as soon as the door clicks closed and you press your forehead against the cool wood, eyes stinging with the promise of tears. The clop of Flint’s hooves slowly fades as Nanami gets further away from you, and the only thing you wish at this moment is to yank open the door and run to him. To run away from your terrifying thoughts and forget everything.

Next week, when Mr. and Mrs. Phillips leave town, you have another heist planned. It should feel promising. Another chance to do good, to make others happy at the expense of your safety. But the thought sits heavy in your stomach, the lightness you felt moments ago with Nanami leaving in a flourish.

That nagging feeling from this morning, the festering loneliness born from your decisions, finally breaks free now that you have nothing else to distract you. It makes everything so much harder now. The thrill that once drove you feels muted now, overshadowed by something else—something warm and achingly intimate that’s taken root in your chest.

You slide down to the floor, back against the door, bottom lip quivering as conflict rages like an inferno within you. Tomorrow, you’ll have to start preparing. But tonight, you can’t help but wonder if your heart is truly in this anymore.

Thanks for reading! I hope to have part two out in a few days!

[shozaii]

Hello! I'm new to your blog and I'd like to ask for a transfer student (gn if its easier on you) from Texas to UA. Like class 1A is told that they're having a new student from Texas and they think to throw a wild west welcome party. Reader doesn't have the heart to tell everyone they're from the city so they just go along with it and maybe them and bakugou end up alone after the party and get to know each other some? Thank you!!!

(a/n):hello anon! thank you so much for the request!! this is really interesting and i hope i did my best!!🥰

p.s- so i read this over and over again and what i understand from here is that reader comes from the city; not from the wild west. i hope i got that right! :’’)

———————————————

texas beaut .

a bakugou katsuki x reader oneshot

“did you hear?! we’re getting a new student!!”

“a new student? cool! i can’t wait to meet them!”

“do you think they would give me their number? now i’m worried...”

“oh my god. shut up you idiots,” bakugou told his friends, having the last few bites of his dinner in the dorms.

“what’s your take on the new kid, man? pretty sure you have something to say,” his red friend said, ignoring the cue for them to quiet down.

“huh? i don’t know. heard they were from... Texas or something. damn deku was talkin’ about it,” he said.

he watched as his friends jump up and down, discussing on even bigger plans. he did hear a few - mainly a welcome party, showing them around school, so many things that he knew he could show interest in. knowing him, he was about to play the “chill guy who’s pretty nonchalant about the new kid thing.”

i mean, they’d probably be an okay person. he thought while zoning out.

“hey, bakugou! we need you for this!”

^^^

“settle down, 1A!” iida said for what seemed like the umpteenth time today, as everyone scurried to their seats. the discussion of the wild west themed party was still going on,and it’s halfway done.

in came aizawa-sensei with his sleeping bag. “now. i’ll make this quick. all of you have heard it - we do have a new student. come in, y/l/n,” he waved his hand to someone outside the door, as the class turned to the door, waiting for someone to enter.

as y/n entered, they received various ‘oohs’ from half of the class. 

bakugou turned to look at the whole scene unfolding, and when he did, he didn’t regret it. 

usually, when it’s someone new, he tends to look away from it as soon as possible. it didn’t seem to buy his time. but right now, it was the total opposite.

his palm which stayed on the jaw now went out of it’s place.

something about y/n pulled him into curiosity. they’re from a different country. they have decided to travel all the way from Texas to UA. of course there could be a reason. but to think that they transferred here - wow.

aizawa-sensei snuggled into his yellow sleeping bag, giving you the floor.

you adjusted your tie, taking in deep breaths. “hello! my name is (y/n) (y/l/n)! i’m so glad to be here! i hope to know much more of your school and also to be friends with everyone here!”

while talking, you took a good look around the classroom.

there was a green-haired boy, eyes gleaming with excitement. a red-haired boy with cute pointy teeth. a girl with pink rosy cheeks. a girl who has earphone jacks on her ears. a dual-color eyed boy.

a spiky blonde haired boy, with ruby red eyes, looking directly at you. something about it was very peculiar.

a few questions in and you noticed your homeroom teacher crawling out of his sleeping bag. “you done? alright. head over to your seat there. the next teacher should be here pretty soon. 1A, you know what to do,” he said, walking out of the door.

you made your way to your assigned seat, and sat down. moments later, a few of your new classmates turned to look at you, introducing themselves. you laughed. it was definitely a new kind of feeling.

especially when you felt the same bright red eyes looking at you.

“um, what’s that boy’s name over there with the blonde hair?”

^^^

“hey.” you heard him say as he approached your desk after a whole day of stealing glances. you weren’t weirded out by that either - considering the fact that you were curious about him too.

everyone talked to you during the school hours, except for him.

it was only the both of you left in the class. the class rep, iida, handed over the key to him. they left, saying sorry a number of times because they had lots of work to complete back in the dorms.

you did need assistance back to the place too. you weren’t used to the school just yet, so having one person as a company would definitely help.

“oh, hello! um, i’m still new to all this, but how do i address you?”

“king explosion murder.”

“woah! really?” you chuckled.

“no,” he snorted at first, but then looked away immediately. “bakugou. look,i’m gonna get straight to the point. i got a pretty tight schedule, ya know? now, put these on.”

“blindfolds? oh, they have cute little eyes on them! are they yours?”

“hah? no way. it’s dunce fa- kaminari’s.”

“okay... wait, but why do i need to put these on?”

“just put them on and....and trust me. hurry up.”

you obliged, sliding them onto your eyes. he then held your arm, indirectly telling you to start walking.

so you did. he was a great company, even though you didn’t get to see his face. he held you back in case you looked like you were about to fall/ hit something nearby. other times, he was quiet.

and it wasn’t like it was awkward silence, either. it was a pristine one, as there were small talks in between. him trying not to snicker with how you stretch your arms out to walk, and him giving you directions.

it was nice.

he then told you to stop, and you heard a large door opening. he brought you in, and you assumed that he closed it behind the two of you.

“alright. take ‘em off,” he mumbled.

the second you did, you saw party streamers flying everywhere, with balloons hanging. you saw the entirety of 1A wearing cowboy hats or boots, and bandanas either tied on their wrists or their necks.the decorative banners had little horses on them, with mini Texas flags, and basically what you would see in the wild west. kaminari was playing the harmonica with so much of passion.

it was cute, but this was all for you?

but how were you supposed to tell them-

“welcome to UA, y/n!” they screamed, rushing over to you, with some engulfing you in warm hugs and high-fives.

“oh my lord! this is amazing, thank you so much!” you smiled widely, clapping your hands. “and the decorations! this is amazing!! i really appreciate your hard work.”

maybe now’s not the time. a cake, self-made. and the decorations. some were handmade, you could tell by the adorable drawings. the setup itself was glorious. so no, you didn’t want to shatter their efforts.

this was still amazing, regardless.

“so, are you ready to cut the cake y/n?! sato and bakugou worked on it,” mina - the pink haired girl - pointed to the both of them.

“of course! i’m pretty sure it tastes so good,” you said, walking towards the wide table with the lovable bunch.

^^^

the common room was cleaned up really quickly. not a lot of mess was made but cleanliness is priority for sure.

“so... you were zoning out quite a lot lately. what’s up with you?”

bakugou looked into your eyes. you gulped a little, setting down your drink. “nah, it’s nothing-,”

“was the cake out of taste?” he raised an eyebrow. “pretty sure i used the right ingredients. sugar boy over there knows his ways with desserts. or was it the food?”

“woah, woah, chill out bakugou! no, the cake was perfect.i loved it a lot. like,i would eat it again.”

he cleared his throat, backing away. “damn it. okay, cool. then what was up with you? no one asked you up to this point, so there.”

“um... okay. you have to promise me not to tell anyone about this then.”

“i knew it.”

“wait! it had nothing to do with the party. absolutely nothing. but keep it a secret. promise me?” you held out a pinky finger, waiting for him to do the same.

he looked at it, hesitated; but gave in anyway. “whatever. i promise. what is it?”

“how do i say it... i’m not, um, from the part of where the wild west is? more like.... i’m not exactly from this part of Texas. yes, i am familiar with this type of culture, but i wasn’t exactly raised with it.”

he blinked a few times, and nodded. “oh.”

“and it’s not like i wasn’t hating it at all! this was already one of the best moments i’ve had so far in the academy; which makes me look forward to more! it just made me sad that i did have to admit it sooner or later. on the other hand, i was so happy.”

“geez, i told them about it,” bakugou placed a hand behind his neck. “gonna have to ask this again - was this whole party thing okay?”

“yes, don’t worry about it!”

“i’m not worried! i just didn’t want to think i wasted my time prepping for this!” he said. 

so he was worried.

“worried or not, this was very eventful. you’ve outdone yourself, bakugou katsuki.”

he smirked. “ha, you don’t seem bad yourself.”

“why, thank you. the same goes to you, good sir,” you bowed.

“hey. multiply that by 10.”

“no fair!” 

the talk went on for quite a while. the bakusquad were bewildered by how bakugou didn’t seem to complain to you about his bedtime, but then again, they loved seeing their friend - usually really worried about his schedule - finally beating it while making friends with the texas beaut.

———————————————

(a/n): beaut ; a fine example of something. it sounded really wholesome to me, so i went with this title. i hope you liked it! <3

[lunarsaga]

Me: I'm not gonna write a fanfic, I'll just do this in snippets My "Snippets": *full fanfic chapter length and only getting longer* Me: ......uh.......

This Episode:

The Band Of Seven, Resurrected

Finally catching sight of their friends again was a bit of a relief for both Luna and Ai. It had been a long couple of days, going all the way home and coming back. Part of Luna hoped they’d get just a little bit of rest before whatever shit hit the fan next, but another part knew the odds on that were pretty low. Still, it was nice to be back.

Kagome was the first to spot them as they flew in. “It’s Luna!”

“Luna’s back!” Shippo proclaimed joyfully.

“Hey, y’all,” Luna greeted as Ai touched down. She hopped off the demon’s back as her friends offered their greetings. “What’d I miss?” She asked.

Miroku was the one to answer. “Quite a lot. It seems that we may encounter a new enemy: the local villagers recently informed us of a group of mercenaries called the Band of Seven. The villagers believe these ruthless killers may have been brought back from the dead.”

With a grin on her face, Luna shrugged at the idea. “Undead mercs, huh? Nothin’ we can’t handle.” She held up her fist for her sister to bump it, and as Ai changed back to her human form, Luna noticed their little group was smaller than it should’ve been. “Where’s Sango?”

Kagome bumped fists with her sister, smiling at Luna’s nonchalant comment. “She went off with Kilala. I sensed a Jewel Shard nearby earlier… so I think she may have gone to look for Kohaku.”

Luna didn’t have time to respond. Off in the distance, she heard the distinctive echo of a sound she was all too familiar with.

“What on Earth was that?” Ai asked, her hand on Luna’s arm.

Kagome glanced at her sister nervously. “Was that…?”

“Gunfire. Definitely.” Luna’s eyes were locked on the trees in the direction the sound had come from. Mere seconds after they heard the shots, there was an overwhelming tang of copper in the air.

“And the smell of human blood…” Miroku said, gravely.

Inuyasha hopped up onto a tree limb, hoping to get a look at what was happening. He couldn’t see it, but he sure as hell could smell it. “And it ain’t from just a handful of people, either.”

So much for a second to rest, Luna chuckled to herself as she tightened the straps on her backpack and immediately kicked into gear. “What’re we waiting for, then?”

And off they were, charging headlong into danger as always. Luna could sense something was up; more so than usual. The stench of blood was never a good sign in the first place, but there was something else setting off warning bells. Something she couldn’t put a finger on.

The smell got stronger and stronger, until… they reached its source. Despite the amount of nasty shit she’d seen in her ten years of hunting supernatural monsters, there were some things that still turned her stomach, and seeing a single human being standing in a veritable ring of blood and gore was definitely one of them. His black hair was pulled into a twist; his lips were painted red, he had blue tattoos like tear tracks under each eye, and one side of his kimono was tucked up under his belt. The dude was just squatting in the middle of the carnage, eyeballing the barrel of a matchlock gun like it was his first time seeing one (which, hell, it might be, she thought to herself; in this time, they would’ve only recently been invented). He seemed completely unbothered by the dozen and a half bodies of freshly murdered warriors and their horses surrounding him.

Inuyasha was the one to get to the scene just ahead of the others, calling back over his shoulder: “Stay back! Don’t come over here!”

Instinctively, Luna remained in front of her sister, her arm out to try and block her view. Her stomach was churning, and her hand was poised to pull her gun if needed. No way this guy could be human… right?

“Did… that one person do all this?” Kagome’s voice was a shocked whisper.

It was then that the guy in the middle noticed them. He stood, his sword over his shoulder and his head cocked slightly to the side.

“Are you the one I’ve been looking for?” He asked, a grin on his face as he shielded his eyes from the sun. “Are you Inuyasha?!”

“Got a bad feeling about this.” Luna mumbled, “That guy isn't a demon, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Kagome uttered back to her, “I don’t sense a demonic aura….”

“How’d you know my name?!” Inuyasha demanded.

He got no answer out of the guy with the sword. Instead, the guy squealed: “You’re adorable!”

A dumbfounded silence fell over the group. Luna glanced around at the others to make sure she didn’t just lose her mind—but no, the general consensus among her friends was along the lines of ‘what the actual fuck?’

“I especially love those fuzzy ears of yours!” The guy continued, licking his lips. “I want them~”

Alright, so this guy was nuts. Luna had had enough of ignoring the bad vibe she was picking up from him. She dropped her bag next to Kagome’s bike and readied herself for a fight: detached the ammo bag and shotgun holster from her pack and slung them over her shoulder, slipped her short sword through one of the belt loops on her jeans, and pulled her shotgun to make sure it was in hand and loaded. She kept her eyes moving back and forth between Inuyasha and the dude with the sword during the next exchange:

“Who are you?” Inuyasha demanded, “What are you after? You don’t smell like a living person, you reek like corpses and graveyard soil!”

No answer.

“Inuyasha,” Miroku said in realization: “Could he be—?”

“Yep,” Inuyasha confirmed, before calling out to the guy with the sword again: “Some villagers were talking! They said some disgusting specter rose up from the grave. That’d be you, I presume!”

Right, zombies, Luna thought to herself; if he really is undead, the Sacred Salt won’t do as much as it would a demon… It’d sting, but what I really need is-… She smirked and holstered her gun again, grabbing a different weapon from the bottom of her bag.

“Are you one of the Band of Seven?!” Miroku asked of the specter as Luna was tuning back in. “Answer me!”

After a long pause as the specter seemed to size the monk up, his response was even worse than before. “Inuyasha really is good looking, but you’re pretty sexy yourself~”

Luna snorted so hard she thought she was gonna eject her brain through her nose. Ai whacked her in the arm as a warning.

“No one minds if I suck him up, do they?” Miroku grumbled.

“No.” Inuyasha said, flatly.

“Hold on!” Kagome said, “He’s got a Sacred Jewel Shard! He must’ve been revived with the power of the Shard!”

“So that was what I was sensing,” Luna mumbled, “but why does it feel off...?”

“Where’d you get the Jewel Shard?!” Inuyasha once again attempted to pose a question to their opponent, only to once again receive a weird, adoring response:

“You know, you’re cute when you’re angry~!”

“Shut up!” Inuyasha shouted, jumping forward and drawing his sword. “Alright, dead man, you’d better start talking to me, and I want real answers!”

The expression on the specter’s face shifted from one of reverence to one more sadistic as he regarded Tetsusaiga. “That’s an interesting sword you have there… let’s see whose is stronger.” He lifted his own sword, making an odd motion around his head and shoulders with it as if he were gearing up for something. “Yours or mine?!”

When he brought his arm down, something that looked almost like a bolt of silver lightning shot from his blade. Inuyasha barely had the chance to block it as it cut an arc through the air toward him.

“Inuyasha!” Kagome called out in surprise.

“Stay back!” Miroku threw his arm out in an attempt to shield the others. “It’s some kind of trick sword!”

“That’s my cue!” Ai shifted into full demon form, jerking her head at the sisters and the little fox. “All aboard!”

Kagome climbed on no issue, but Luna glanced at Miroku, who made no move to follow them. “You coming?”

“I’ll be alright, you keep them safe.” Miroku said, resolute. Not about to argue, Luna climbed on the demon’s back and Ai leapt into the air above the fight.

“You gonna be okay holding all of us after that long flight?” Luna asked her friend.

“I’m fine, it’s the same weight as you with your pack on.” Ai sassed back.

“Yeah well, fuck me for being prepared,” Luna laughed, starting to prep the other weapon she’d brought.

Kagome managed to tear her eyes from the confrontation below to try and see what her sister was doing. “What did you bring, Luna?”

Luna grinned as she clicked the last accessory into place, then turned back to show her sister. “This? This is my baby.” She held up her favorite weapon: it was a fully-customized folding compound crossbow as long as Luna’s arm. She pressed a release on the side, and the arms shot into place, making both Shippo and Kagome jump.

“Whoa!” The fox demon exclaimed, “What kind of a weapon is that?!”

“It’s a crossbow, Shippo,” Kagome explained, “It’s kind of like my bow, but the arrows are smaller and it’s easier to fire.”

“Self-loading, too,” Luna smirked as she strung it up, “The ‘arrows’ are called bolts. This thing can shoot way faster than a longbow, and since we’re dealing with Zombie Harley Quinn down there—” She grabbed a bolt from her ammo bag to show it to them, “—we’re gonna need these. They’re tipped with pure silver. Great for dealing with Vampires, Werewolves, The Undead, and The Unholy.”

Shippo reached out to touch it, but Kagome stopped him, shaking her head rapidly. “It’s safe to assume you shouldn’t touch anything Luna has in her bag, Shippo.”

The kid swallowed nervously. “G-got it...”

Below them, the fight continued. Inuyasha could barely avoid each strike of the snakelike sword, and his opponent only seemed to be having more and more fun.

“What do you think of Jakotsu of the Band of Seven, huh?!” He shouted as he swung the sword once more.

“Not too much!” Inuyasha came back at him with Tetsusaiga, but to no avail.

Kagome gasped. “He needs help!”

“That’s what this baby’s for,” Luna grinned, patting her crossbow. “Ai, can you stay out of reach of the sword but get me close enough to shoot?!”

“It’ll take a miracle!”

“Better start praying, then,” Luna lined up the shot, finger still as stone on the trigger. There was a familiar voice in the back of her head; she could hear her father saying: “Aim for where they’re gonna be, not where they are.”

I know, dad. She tried not to sigh audibly as she managed to get Jakotsu’s head in her crosshairs and pulled the trigger, quick as a viper.

And… almost missed him.

The consecrated silver bolt seemed to burn through the air as it shot just centimeters shy of the specter’s nose and grazing his arm, burning a hole in his kimono. He whipped his attention to the woman who shot it.

“How dare you interfere?!” He snarled, rearing his arm back and whipping his blade toward them.

Luna felt her stomach drop. “Motherf—”

“You idiot!” Ai snapped at her, trying to fly out of range of the sword as Kagome and Shippo both clung, screaming, to Luna’s back. Just as the sword arched toward them, there was a familiar cry of:

“HIRAIKOTSU!”

And Jakotsu’s blade was then tangled around the aforementioned boomerang. All three riding on Ai’s back sighed in relief when they saw Sango swoop in on Kilala. Ai touched down just as Kilala did, transforming into her human form and unceremoniously dumping the sisters on their asses.

“Are you all okay?” Sango called over to them.

“We’re fine!” Shippo answered.

“Perfect timing, Sango!” Kagome said.

“Some weapon, Luna!” Ai huffed in the Hunter’s direction. Luna just stuck her tongue at her.

Jakotsu was practically red in the face, shrieking in frustration: “What is with all you vile women?! Can’t you see I’m trying to battle Inuyasha?!” In the same breath, he whipped his sword again, toward Sango this time. The movement freed the Hiraikotsu, and ended up leaving a small slice on Sango’s arm as Jakotsu pulled it back.

“Stay out of this!” He continued, “None of you will interfere!”

But their “interference” had served Inuyasha well enough: it gave him just the opportunity he needed to rear back and punch the specter in the face.

“Shut up! I’m tired of listening to your pointless babble!” Inuyasha growled.

Jakotsu grunted as he tumbled back, then rubbed his cheek and pouted like a kicked puppy. “That was cruel…”

“Oh, get over it!” Inuyasha snapped, “Now tell me who gave you the Sacred Jewel Shard before I have to seriously hurt you!”

Kagome and Miroku rushed to see if Sango was okay, but she assured them that it was just a graze; she was fine. Her attention was more on the subject at hand.

“I have a feeling that the shard came from Naraku,” She said, somberly. She looked at Kagome. “When you sensed a Jewel Shard earlier… it was Kohaku. I saw the Saimiyosho around him as well.”

“That means that your brother is still under Naraku’s control…” Miroku said. Sango nodded.

Luna had set her weapon down next to her backpack, and came back with a bandage for Sango’s arm. Her mind was going at a million miles an hour, trying to figure out how the hell they were gonna handle this—first an undead band of Ronin, now they have something to do with Naraku. What was Naraku playing at...?

“Gotta wonder what the hell is next…” Luna mumbled sarcastically. Seconds later, she would regret asking. A cloud of black smoke poured over the cliffside, drifting right toward them.

Like he knew what was happening, Jakotsu got up and collected his sword. “Inuyasha! You should get out of here while you can! Bye!” And with that, he was just… gone.

“What the hell—” Inuyasha broke off with a startled yell when the cloud reached him. “Its poison!”

“But where’s it coming from?!” Miroku wondered.

“We need to move.” Luna reassembled her bag in less than thirty seconds—side effect of doing it so often. “We can figure out what the fuck is going on when we’re safely away from here!”

Why do I feel like we stepped into something huge here? Luna thought to herself as the group of friends moved away from the cloud of gas.

[courtofmatchups]

Hello there :D Could I get a match up please?

I would say I'm more of an introvert. I'm usually quiet and reserved around people that I don't know and it takes me a while to open up to someone, however I do feel very comfortable around the friends that I have and it's much easier for me to be myself around people that I trust. I'm also very protective of the people closest to me, especially my family.

I'm usually not a very confrontational person ( and as I mentioned, more of an introvert), but I absolutely despise any form of injustice and will not stand by if someone is treated poorly, even if I don't know that person. I'm also kind of a stickler for rules haha.

Aside from that, I don't like spending much times in crowds or going to places where a lot of people are, but I love being out in nature and could spend hours walking my dog or riding my horse.

Thanks, hope you have a great day!

A just soul I see? Good Sally, after spending enough time getting to know you, he can say without a doubt that he has fallen for you

The Steadfast Soldier

Grayson Hotz!

Both of you are a bit reserved and also falls into friendships slowly. Grayson adores the fact that that you’re so protective of the people you cherish. Also, the fact that you forgo your usually introverted and non-confrontational nature to stick up for anybody being mistreated, regardless of whether you know them, will draw the man in. He also despises injustice and you can count on him sticking up for you when he can, especially as his paramour.

You like to be in nature? The man’s definitely gonna love chilling with you (”Chilling? Should I have brought some ice?”). The fact that you like horseback riding is also a plus so he’d gladly go with you.

~~-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

You’ve been with Sherry a lot lately and the more he observed your interactions, the more he felt fascinated by you. His mistress often spoke of her adventures and misadventures with you to her brother and to him also. One day, when escorting Sherry to one of her classes, he saw you defending someone who was being harassed by a group of fangirls from a distance. It’s no secret that common sense isn’t a commodity among such people, and the sad reality is that most people would have steered clear from such a scene or simply watched. You stepping in to help, despite the fact that you did not know that person took Grayson and Sherry aback.

“I never expected Sally to help that person,” Sherry said. “They were never the type to engage in confrontations.”

Grayson had to agree. He couldn’t help but feel impressed. You were on the receiving end of this harassment a couple of times from his master’s fan club, but you weren’t willing to engage in an argument with them. Despite not really knowing you that well, he still pitied you. He knew from Sherry that you were struggling with magic, and that he knew that couldn’t be easy on you. Sherry praised you for coming to that person’s aid (they seemed to be a little bit dazed from what happened).

After classes had ended, you and your canine familiar decided to go outside and stretch your leg. Your dog had complained about being bored cooped up indoors and, quite frankly, you could use some air too after multiple failed attempts at “the most basic” spells. Aside from the wind rustling the leaves on the trees, the birds chirping, and your familiar happily walking ahead of you, the atmosphere was quiet. After being inside for so long, you wondered if the air tasted sweeter than normal. Or was Saligian air always this sweet? You didn’t really ponder this for long because up ahead was Grayson and a jet black horse.

You told yourself you’d rather be alone with your familiar, but you were willing to strike up a conversation with the taciturn man. Seeing as both of you are rather reserved, the conversation was... kinda rocky. Despite that, you still kinda vibe ya know? You learned quite a bit about each other, like your love for horseback riding and being in nature, and the fact that he cannot use magic. You met each other on a regular basis since then and have been talking and getting to know one another.

Days of this passed and Grayson felt more and more attached to you. He liked you for being willing to go out of your way to defend others’ honour, and considering the whole charade with his childhood friend, he couldn’t appreciate it more.

Well after the entire debacle, he had asked you to be his paramour. Thrilled, you accepted. Having Grayson as a paramour is an experience you’ll never forget

~~-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

[peakyltd]

Aaaaah Shark, I fucking loved this 😩😍 You created the perfect setting and everything around it was so incredibly well described, it felt as if I was really there to be honest.

So, I love how you used the little part out of the series where Arthur mentions that he 'used to be good at drawing'. It always left me wondering what he'd look like while doing it, what he'd like to draw (besides the horses he already mentioned), how he felt, just everything. You used it so perfectly here, the little frustrations when the pencil broke to getting the drawing actually perfect. It felt very natural and despite the fact we don't see him drawing in the series, it still felt very in character.

"A love deemed obsessive and unhealthy by some others, but which definitely suited both of you." I love how you this is actually a great summary of their relationship, it might seem a bit unhealthy but it works great for both of them, so who are other people to judge.

I LOVED the way you described her, covered in water droplets. It made the whole scene so magical honestly. And again the description was just phenomenal! I also love how that sight of her helped him with his drawing, very cute as well 🥺

The way she scared him made me giggle, I could almost here that booming voice of his. Poor man was just very focused 😂

“You look beautiful like that.” I SWEAR I WAS SWOONING JUST LIKE HEAVEN. That was so incredible sweet and.. omg can't wait to find a man like this lol.

I really like how she KNOWS to get his attention, men are really that easy sometimes, aren't they? Just the way he gave in so quickly and lets not forget about that kiss 😩

"In truth, you had been the reason behind him picking up his old passion after years of using his hands for nothing else but to destroy." I really love this line, it's the contrast between the horrible things he had done to something so innocent as drawing. In my opinion it also shows a deeper layer to his personality.

I'm SO sorry for being so late with this one! Nonetheless, I absolutely ADORE it. It's gives a little peek inside the soft relationship between Heaven and Arthur and I really can't enough of it 🥰

Perfect Lines || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: There are no secrets between Arthur Shelby and his wife. Except what he hides in his sketchbook now that he has started drawing again. One question remains: what is he drawing?

Words: 2.3k

TW: One quick allusion to smut but otherwise it's tooth-rotting fluff.

Notes: This work is a part of Heaven in Your Eyes' universe (an Arthur Shelby x you story), but you can obviously read it as a stand-alone.

✞ Written for @runnning-outof-time 's 3.5k celebration with the following prompts: "You are not listening to me" // "You're beautiful like that"

Of everything you shared together, Arthur’s sketchbook was something he never showed you despite being married and indescribably enamored with you. Each time you tried to look over his shoulder in a desperate attempt to see what he was drawing, Arthur closed the sketchbook and usually called you a "nosey little angel" when it happened.

A faint “Bloody Hell” fell from his thin lips, as soft as a whisper lost in the summer wind, when the lead of his pencil broke amidst a tedious shading work. Arthur blew on the sheet of paper to clear it from the lead crumbles, before stretching one of his long arms to hold the sketchbook in front of his face and get a better view of the overall result. His piercing blue eyes wandered on each line he had drawn, analyzing them with a little frown that made his eyes squint and crowfeet appear. Carefully, he tilted the sketchbook on one side first, then on the other, in a serious attempt to understand what didn’t work, “Nah, that ain’t good enough” He grunted, chewing his pencil nervously before closing the sketchbook and getting up from the sofa to drag his lanky frame outside. Shortly after getting released from prison, Arthur and you decided to move to the forest side and live in the magnificent house you spotted one day when you were taking a walk in nature. Even if he had grown accustomed to Small Heath and its pungent smell, he knew that it wasn’t the case for you. There was something utterly melancholic in the way you looked at the vast and green lands of Arrow House, or the way your thin fingers gently stroked the silhouette of the mountains depicted in Polly’s latest favorite painting. Each of these small details convinced Arthur to buy this house, that stood proudly at the woods’ fringe and nearby an enchanting stream, because what could be more important than your happiness? Nothing.

Keeping his sketchbook under one arm, Arthur walked through the forest for a very short while with the peaceful rustle of the wind shaking the trees’ thick foliage as his sole companion. As he walked, the corner of his lips curled into a small satisfied grin: never in his life he would have thought he would feel that peaceful. In fact, Arthur Shelby had everything he always dreamed of: a beautiful house lost in nature to call his home and the most magnificent angel by his side to call his wife. The world could fall apart he wouldn’t mind as long as you were here, with him. To hell with the gangster’s life and with the family business, he thought. To hell with the paradise Linda had promised him: Why would he want to go to heaven when he could just fall asleep with you all snuggled up in his loving arms? Heaven was you, not someplace up in the skies. With his free hand, Arthur moved a few branches from the way and finally arrived in an enchanting glade in the midst of which a small lake was embellishing the landscape. A little less than one hour ago, you told him you wanted to take a swim there to refresh yourself after one whole morning of gardening, but Arthur grew impatient with waiting: he already missed you with all his soul. In truth, not having you next to him could soon turn into torture — so was the fierce and dependent nature of his love for you. A love deemed obsessive and unhealthy by some others, but which definitely suited both of you. Once he reached the lake, Arthur sat on a flat stone at its very edge, his steel-blue iris scanning the area until they fell on your dainty frame. But as soon as he saw you, his eyes widened, taken aback by the most wonderful sight he had ever seen.

You were standing near the other side of the pond, bathed in the soft light of the sun. A hundred small water droplets were covering your smooth skin, like a veil made of precious diamond beads. One of them, maybe a little too heavy, was slowly running down between your small breasts, whose perky nipples had hardened due to the cold breeze caressing them. The drop ended its way in the water, which was engulfing you from your waist down, after letting a thin glistening trail along your petite body. Unaware of your husband’s presence, you sung a joyful nursery rhyme about a wolf in the forest all the while braiding your long white hair in one single braid. Arthur’s chest tightened with an almost excruciating surge of desire at such a blessed view. At first, he wanted to call you but no sound came out of his mouth. Despite two years of being together, you still managed to make him feel like a flustered schoolboy. Rather than disrupting your peaceful moment, Arthur quickly opened the sketchbook he was carrying with him, took the pencil out of it, and started to draw again. Guided by a sudden burst of creativity, he let the pencil’s lead wander from here and there on the paper, taking quick but numerous glances at you as he did. It had been months since he had started trying to translate your divine pulchritude on paper but each attempt had been a miserable failure. The result never satisfied him enough to show it to you. Fortunately today, surrounded by nature and stealing one lonely and intimate moment, this drawing would be the good one.

Vaguely unsettled by the feeling of being watched, you stopped singing and turned around to sweep your surroundings with your eyes. It didn’t take long for you to notice your husband, sitting near the shore with his sleeves rolled up, a couple of his shirt’s buttons undone to make it looser, and his suspenders hanging from his waist. You tilted your head to the side at how focused he seemed to be, not raising his eyes from his sketchbook anymore. A faint and enamored smile curled the corners of your plump lips at the adorable facial expression that was adorning him. Alongside the awe Arthur’s beauty stirred in you, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was drawing. In fact, while there was no secret between you, he always refused to show you his art. Even the smallest sneak peek was prohibited for some undisclosed reasons — and even untold, you knew that these reasons revolved around his insecurities. Without wasting more time, you took a dive in the cold water and swam to the opposite shore. Once you reached it, you carefully resurfaced until the water reached your nose bridge, and grabbed his ankle with your cold and wet fingers.

“FOOKIN’ HELL!” Arthur cried, his gruff voice so loud that a whole family of birds swarmed from one tree and flew away in terror. Then, he looked at you and grunted, slowly resting one of his hands on his chest where he could feel his heart racing, “Ah. Very funny, love,” He said when he saw you chuckling, “I almost got a heart attack, eh.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you were that easy to kill, Arthur Shelby.” You retorted with a bratty pout, before hauling yourself thanks to a rock until the water reached your hips. Once you did that, you simply crossed your arms on the flat surface of the rock and rested your chin on your folded arms, looking at the tall gangster with a little smirk flattering your full lips.

“I ain’t easy to kill, love. In fact, I was more scared for me drawing than for myself. But,” He left his sentence hanging, looking carefully at his work to make sure water hadn’t splashed on it and erased some parts, “Everything’s fine.” Arthur closed the sketchbook and put it next to him — the temptation to grab it and look at its content was strong, but you managed to resist out of respect for your man’s privacy, even if you’ve been wanting to know what he was drawing for months. After all, he told you he used to be quite good at art so it made you even more curious. Arthur quickly took off his shoes, and moved his body until he sat at the very edge of the lake with his feet in the cold water “It’s fookin’ freezing. How can ye swim in this, angel? Ye gonna catch som’thin.”

“Come on Arthur, it ain’t even that cold.” You laughed, extending one of your arms to softly stroke his thigh. The sensation of your icy fingers sent goosebumps all over his skin despite the thin fabric of his trousers keeping you from having a direct contact with his flesh. Arthur’s gaze fell upon you again, and he drowned in your holy features. “I was wondering… “ You started, biting the juicy flesh of your lower lip as you searched for the right words, “like, I know you’re kinda reluctant when it comes to showing me your art but I really want to see what you’re drawing.” Your fingers traced circles on his thigh — He shivered with desire, “Now, I’m not really good at drawing so there’s no reason for you to be scared of judgment or anything. It’s just that… I’m curious. Yeah that’s it. I wonder what inspires you and what kind of muses you have. I’d really love to know more about your artistic side. What do you think?” You raised your gaze towards Arthur but he didn’t answer. In truth, the gangster was busy observing you with great attention, obliterating everything else. Even your lovely voice.

Your wet hair slicked back.

Your big eyes shining with a child-like gleam.

Your juicy lips, as sweet as fruits ready to be ripped…

Arthur’s artistic senses definitely loved what they saw: not his wife whom he loved to death, but a mischievous and sumptuous nymph. You came from the wild, and it was something no one could tear away from you. Ancient streams were coursing through your veins, pulsing at the rhythm of the mountains’ mystic drums that were making your heartbeat. Moreover, he was sure that your hair was made of the highest peaks’ permanent snow and your skin with the purest frost. The corner of Arthur’s lips twitched, making his mustache briefly move: he was physically and emotionally overwhelmed by your charm. To the extent he had to look away from your eyes, in which he could find fragments from the sky.

“Arthur?” You called him.

“You look beautiful like that.” He stated, the gravel of his voice highlighted by a surprising peaceful tone. His fingers gently reached for yours — that were still resting on his thigh. Blood rushed to your cheeks at the sudden and unexpected compliment. It was not something unusual though. Quite the contrary, Arthur was everything but cheap when it came to praising you, but his spontaneity and the genuine fascination in his eyes made you swoon, “You were not listening to me, right?” You replied, bating your Bambi lashes.

“I wasn’t listenin’, angel.” He admitted, his lips stretching into a soft smile. You could not help but reply to his honesty with a chuckle before slightly splashing him with water to avenge you, “Hey!“ he exclaimed.

“Now you gonna come swim with me if you want to be forgiven for this terrible insult! Not listening to me! I can’t believe it.” You exclaimed, pretending to be outraged.

“Nah, got me clothes on, love.” He straight off replied, trying to find an excuse to avoid the freezing water — only his ankles were soaked and he was already shivering.

“You see the thing with clothes…” You started, getting out of the water all naked, and forcing Arthur — whose jaw could have dropped at the sight of your naked body — to stand up too, “the thing with clothes, Arthur Shelby…” You let your words hanging only to raise yourself on your tiptoes and graze his earlobe with your lips, “is that you can take them off." You punctuated your sentence by unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it on the ground, thus revealing his toned chest sprinkled with hundreds of constellations made of freckles, "Right now."

“Alright, alright…” He grunted, unable to resist your adorable pout — and let’s be honest, the way your palms wandered on him, stripping him from his clothes and grazing his length, had been enough to motivate him. Arthur’s strong hand grabbed you by the back of your neck, the cold metal of his rings sending a shiver of excitement down your spine, and he gently forced you to kiss him. The press of his mouth, eager and hungry, was deepened by his tongue slipping between your lips and dancing with yours, “I’ll swim with ya but..” Another wet stroke — you moaned in his mouth as his body crashed against yours, not minding its wet and cold sensations, “You’d better find a way to warm me up, hmm.”

“Not before you tell me what you’re drawing.” You retorted, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck to lay myriad of kisses here. Arthur slightly threw his head back to give you better access to his throat and groaned.

“You. I’m drawing you. Always.” He finally confessed.

"What? Are-- Are you serious? Me? Why?" You suddenly said, pulling your face away from his neck to look at him with your eyes wide open and an endearing surprised expression on your juvenile face.

"Because you've got perfect lines." He whispered, his fingers lingering over you. In truth, you had been the reason behind him picking up his old passion after years of using his hands for nothing else but to destroy. So, for this life and all the others to come, his muse was and would always be you.

"Yeah, some fookin' perfect lines."

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @shelbydelrey @peakyltd @peakyswritings @brummiereader

[oumakokichi]

hey just a quick question, what were some things really important to Ouma. I'm asking because I plan on doing a drawing of Ouma surrounded by photographs of things that meant a lot to him. It's sort of a hard question sorry but I thought maybe you could help, thanks a lot in advance btw!

No worries anon—it’s a difficult question, but a fun one!There’s only so much we can know for sure from the game per se, but there aredefinitely a few things you can draw, as long as you’re okay with spoilers!

First and most importantly is DICE. There’s no group ofpeople more important to Ouma according to his in-game backstory. They werelike “friends bordering on family” to him and “his most important people in theworld,” so we know for sure they were a group of pranksters who weren’tblood-related to him at all, but were nonetheless extremely close. Drawinganything that has to do with DICE is pretty much a must when it comes to thingsOuma valued!

This could include anything from the checkered scarfs to theclown masks that were part of their outfits. Granted, we know Tsumugi madethose outfits herself as part of her “cosplays” for all the characters, but itdoesn’t change the fact that it’s still something with a lot of value to Oumahimself.

There’s also all the prank materials in his lab. It’s notfor sure whether he actually visited his lab before his death or not (the dooris blasted off its hinges by the time Saihara gets there in Chapter 6, makingit impossible to tell whether it was locked or not), but there are tons ofprank supplies there, including wigs, walkie talkies, moustache glasses, even atoy helicopter. These are all things related to his “Supreme Leader” talent,and we can also assume they’re reminiscent of the kinds of tools DICE probablyused to play their pranks and “heists.”

There’s also the fact that he really likes soft drinks,according to his profile! Panta is an obvious favorite, since it’s in hisofficial artwork, but he’s pretty much a huge kid who likes all kinds of fizzydrinks. I wouldn’t say soft drinks had any particular sentimental value to himor anything, but if you’re looking for something to include that he’s known tolike quite a lot, those are a pretty safe pick!

Something that makes this a little harder to answer is thata lot of the items most associated with Ouma have a pretty negative associationin-game, since he spent much of his time pushing others away and trying tomaintain his distance from the group due to his paranoia. Most of the itemsfound in his room are pretty indicative of this paranoia—his whiteboard, forinstance, is a huge reminder of the fact that he could never entirely trust anyof his classmates, not even Saihara, as well as the fact that he could neverlocate the ringleader. Most of the other items in his room are all evidencefrom previous cases, which is pretty sad when you think about it.

Still, there are a few silly items he kept around, too. Idon’t know if I’d call it “important” to him, but the horse mask on his bed(which has a little crown on it) is both a great hint about the message Oumawrote on the slab in the courtyard, and it’s pretty silly to boot. Picturing himwearing it or goofing off in his room is also pretty adorable.

Actually, the concrete slab in the courtyard might be a goodthing to include in your drawing, too! It’s hard to say whether Ouma “valued”it or not, but it did represent his attempt to steal the game out from underthe ringleader’s nose. His script in Chapter 5 serves pretty much the samepurpose. Both of these items are pretty spoilery, but they’re still heavilytied to Ouma’s character arc and his attempt to grind the killing game to ahalt.

Finally, and this is a lot more headcanon-based thananything else, there are the bandages from his final FTE with Saihara! I’veseen a lot of Japanese fanartists draw either the scene with Saihara bandaginghim up or Ouma examining the bandages after the fact. If you want to includesomething else, those are an option! Those bandages are both a sign of hisattempt to drop Saihara lots of clues and hints throughout his FTEs, as well asthe fact that he could never entirely open up. Those bandages bring to mind alot of his best FTE lines, like how he’s “satisfied” since he “stoleSaihara-chan’s heart,” so you could see it as Ouma really treasuring that lastevent with Saihara! But like I said, that’s pretty much a headcanon rather thancanonical.

I hope this helps, anon! Basically, draw almost anything youthink would be fitting! There are a few things we know for sure Ouma treasured,but a lot of it is still left open to interpretation—like most things aboutOuma, really. If you decide to post it on Tumblr, I can’t wait to see yourartwork once you finish! Thanks for stopping by!