#imself

[missyblogs]

I don't know if Lazytown officially has any jet hangars, but I'd like to think that they would if they intend to entertain world leaders,,

[pdaliceliveblogs]

never make that face again, matt.

[elibeeline]

Els watching billy elliot, how many times are we crying

[theothervonkarmagirl]

@sweptawxy​

“Hehehe~”

Clara tried to force a yakitori skewer into Shiro’s mouth.

[gardenofnoah]

You slide into your regular booth later than usual - a sweating bottle of your tried and true choice saving your spot as you catch the tail end of some heated debate between Katsuki and your best friend.

“Okay, but he’s really nice Bakugou—“

“Nice? Y’need therapy.”

He holds an arm out for you to settle in under, turning his head to kiss your temple in greeting.

“Okay so maybe he’s not nice all the time, but no one is nice all the time.”

You can feel the eye roll from your boyfriend without having to see it. “Is he fuckin’ twelve? There a reason he can’t control ‘imself when he’s grumpy?”

She sticks her tongue out at Katsuki, and you turn to press your smile into his shoulder. It’s endearing, the way he’s fit himself into the lives of your friends. The way he genuinely cares, in his own harsh way - the way he wants your friends to be treated well. He’s a girls’ girl through and through, even if you’d never say it to him. They have this argument every week.

Your friend picks at the label on her bottle, pouting.

“Okay, but isn’t it enough that I love him?”

Katsuki throws his head back and cackles. It’s mean, but the three of you know that he means well.

“That ain’t love.”

She huffs at that, setting her bottle down to cross her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at Katsuki. “You don’t know that.”

You feel him eyeing you then, and you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. He’s warm - the smile is in his eyes as yours pulls at the corners of your lips. He turns his head to take another swig from his drink.

“I know enough,” he says finally, arm around you tightening just a bit.

Your friend gags, and it makes you laugh. Katsuki is stubborn and crass, but he’s right about this.

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter One - The Perfect Gift

Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N (Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.

~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.

"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."

"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."

"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."

"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."

Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"

Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"

"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."

"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."

Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."

"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."

"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."

You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.

It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.

“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”

You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”

“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”

You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”

“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”

Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.

As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.

The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.

You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.

Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.

There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”

You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.

“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”

Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.

You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.

You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”

So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.

“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”

He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.

Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”

You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.

And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.

The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.

You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?

Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d���ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”

“I like my apartment,” you protest.

“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.

You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.

He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”

They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”

“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”

“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.

“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”

“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.

“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.

You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”

“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”

The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”

“Terrified,” you admit.

He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”

You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.

“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.

Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.

He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.

“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”

He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”

You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.

As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.

He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.

Or worse, to play with.

You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.

Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”

So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.

“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”

“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”

“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”

“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”

I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[babyblankyerror]

Stanford is not new to these types of patients, ever since he began working in the psych ward he had gained a guilty pleasure of examining these people- why did their brains work in such a way?

He always had been weird, not only for his hands but for his lack of social skills so it wasn't surprising he'd began studying people...

"I think you'll find this one intresting" Fiddleford had told him, sending him a nervous glance "but 'careful, he was caught attempting hurt 'imself"

Stanford was no stranger to these type of people but do tell him why his brother is what he meets on the other side of the door, bound by a straitjacket and looking just as shocked to see him and Stanford is to see him.

Well...he certainly isn't a stranger to Stanley.

[random-thot-generator]

Reverse Trope Prompt: (see end notes after reading. No peeking!)

Full list here

Ghost x reader

sfw -bit of angst, profanity, a frisky drunk bird but nothing explicit

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

"Looks like LT's pulled 'imself another winner."

Gaz glances over his shoulder, sniffs, then turns back with a cynical curl to his lip. Lifting his pint glass, he slants a knowing look at his fellow sergeant. "He's lost the bloody plot, if ya ask me. Hooks up with every bird he gets his hands on, now." He shakes his head. "'S bloody mental, mate. What the hell is he thinkin'?"

Soap grunts, mouth twisting in disgust as he focuses on his lieutenant and the cackling drunk bird splayed across his lap. "Canna say. Dinnae ken wha's gotten into 'im. Feckin' mad, lettin' a bonnie, good lass go t'chase after sloppy-drunk tarts like tha' one."

"You lads ready for another round?"

Both men flinch at the sound of your voice and glance up at you with guilty expressions. They know you had to have heard what they were saying. Gaz drops his gaze as he nods and pushes his glass across the bar, while Soap tilts his head to study you. You meet his searching blue eyes while you refill Gaz's pint, knowing what's coming. You breathe out a tired sigh.

"What's the matter, Johnny?"

His brows pinch together in a perturbed frown. "Does it no' bother yeh, 'im flauntin' those mingin' slags right in yer face?"

"Jesus, Soap!" Gaz hisses, elbowing him. "Shut ya bloody gob." He then turns his attention back to you, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry, luv. He's got no filter when he drinks too much."

"Oi! I dinnae need yeh t'make excuses fer meh," Soap fusses, still scowling when he looks back to you. "'M sorry, hen. Dinnae mean t'upset yeh. Jus' think it's no' right, 'im scrapin' yeh off the way 'e did, then comin' in 'ere where yeh work, messin' about with other birds, like 'e does. 'S disrespectful."

Your eyes drift to Ghost, grimacing at the way the woman in his lap is pawing at him, before dropping your eyes to glare at the bar top. "It doesn't matter," you mutter, wiping down the bar with more force than is necessary. "We're over, so he can do what he wants with whoever he wants. I think him breaking things off between us was probably for the best, don't you?"

The two sergeants exchange a look.

Soap huffs and slumps on his bar stool, mumbling into his pint, "Yeh're too good fer 'im, anyway." He knocks the last of his stout back with an angry sneer.

Gaz nods in agreement, his eyes sympathetic when he adds, "Ya can do better, luv. Deserve someone who'll treat ya right."

You try to smile, but it's fake, brittle. "Seriously, it's alright. I'm over it. Really."

You can tell that neither of them believes you.

Your call for last orders goes out a few minutes later, and the few customers left in the pub begin to drift towards the door. Gaz and Soap are settling up their tabs when Ghost steps up behind them, the giggling drunk bird tucked under his arm. His dark eyes slide over you, like you're not even there.

"'M headin' out, lads. I'll see the two'uh ya back at base. Gonna take 'er 'ome," he tells the sergeants, nodding down at the bleary-eyed bird glued to his side.

Gaz give a curt nod, avoiding eye contact. Soap makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Aye. Jus' keep rubbin' 'er nose in it," he mutters, then sniffs, shaking his head. "Steamin' Jaysus."

Ghost tenses, eyes narrowing over his face mask. "Ya gotta problem, sergeant?"

Just as Soap's mouth opens to reply, you clear your throat, breaking the tense moment. "How 'bout a bag of crisps to soak up all that alcohol, Johnny? My treat."

His head swivels around to look at you, the scowl slowly melting off his face when he sees your worried expression. He blows out a breath. "Aye. Thanks, bon." He side-eyes Ghost, then looks away. "See ya later, LT," he mumbles.

The drunk bird makes a whining noise, tugging at Ghost's jacket. "C'mon, luv. Leh's gooo. 'M ready t'get home." She then gives him a drunken, lewd grin, pressing up against him. "Ya can help me get these tights off, yeah?" she whispers to him, waggling her eyebrows.

Ghost grunts a laugh, seemingly amused. "Cheeky muppet. Olright. Let's get outta here."

You busy yourself with wiping down the bar as Ghost leads the tottering woman out the door, then toss your towel down once he's gone. Snagging two bags of crisps for the sergeants, you hand one to each of them.

"Here ya go," you murmur. "Need me to call a taxi for ya?"

"No thanks, luv," Gaz replies softly, sliding off his stool. "I already ordered us an Uber. Let's go, Soap."

Soap stands, his crisps clutched in his hand. He's scowling, shaking his head. "'E's a bloody eejit," he mutters.

You finally wave goodbye to the two sergeants, locking up behind them once you usher them out the door. Blowing out a tired breath, you lean back against it and stare down at your trainers.

"God, I'm glad this night is over," you mumble to yourself, then heave another sigh before heading back to the bar, ready to close up for the night and get out of there.

The drive home is short, just a couple blocks away, but it still gives you too much time to think. This is by far the worst break-up you've ever been through. None of your work mates or friends can seem to go a day without mentioning it. Even worse, Simon's mates won't let it go, either.

You appreciate their support, but seriously wish that Soap and Gaz would stop bringing Simon up, altogether. It's hard enough watching the big lug flirting with birds right under your nose. You don't need Soap pointing it out to you, or Gaz giving you those sad, pitying looks all night.

You try to shake off your negative thoughts as you park and walk to your flat. It's sweet that the lads are trying to be there for you, but you hope that they'll just let it go soon. Maybe you should just tell them you're seeing someone else. It might help put their minds at ease, get them to back off a little bit.

Once inside your flat, you toe off your trainers and turn on the lights, then pad into the kitchen. Putting some leftovers in the microwave, you shuffle off to take a quick shower while it's heating, hoping the hot water will soothe away some of your stress.

As you're toweling off, you hear your front door open and then close. Hurrying to get dressed, you open the bathroom door, the smell of yesterday's shepherd's pie hitting your nose. You hear the clatter of plates and utensils coming from the kitchen as you pace down the short hallway and peek around the corner. You stop when you reach the doorway, leaning your shoulder against the jamb and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Took you awhile to get here. Thought you might've decided to stay the night with that bird, after all."

Simon sets the leftover shepherd's pie he just took out of the microwave on the table, smirking. Tossing down the potholders, he comes to you, his big arms wrapping around your body to pull you close before his head dips to give you a kiss.

"Took forever t'get 'er outta the bloody truck an' into 'er flat. 'Ad t'fight 'er off'uh me the whole way there, too, the handsy git." He rumbles out a low chuckle. "She was right pissed when I left without helpin' 'er outta those tights."

You huff, cutting him a snarky look. "Yeah, I bet." You frown, sliding your hands down his chest. "I wish we didn't have to do this, Si. I don't like seeing other women all over my man, and I hate lying to everyone, especially Johnny and Kyle."

He sighs, lifting a hand to cradle your face. "I know, sweet'art, but it won't be f'much longer. Cap says Nik's almost got all of our documents an' passports in order. When it's time, we'll loop Gaz an' Johnny in. My next mission out, Ghost will be reported KIA, an' once he's laid t'rest, it'll finally be over. No more sneakin' around, no more lyin'. We'll 'ave new identities, a new life." He hugs you tighter. "An' I can finally provide my missus wiff a proper 'ome."

"Si..."

His eyes go lazy and warm as he slides his hand down to cover your belly. "Gotta 'ave a proper 'ome, love. 'S why we're doin' this. Wanna be free an' clear a'fore the li'l nipper gets 'ere. Yeah?"

You gaze up into your husband's eyes, a hopeful smile spreading across your face. You plant a kiss on his smirking lips and nod.

"Yeah."

-

End notes - *shrugs* I didn't want to spoil the ending. 😉

reverse trope: Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

[twola]

Devil's Backbone - Owanjila VII

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV 

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila VII: You, Amongst the Lupines

Time passes, and Arthur jumps at the chance to take you out of camp.

CW: References to child loss, violence, and Arthur being a big mean outlaw.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

Mud squelches under his boot. It is everything he is not to scowl at the sound. 

Ain’t no way that Genevieve was going to stay with him now. Not with him sent on this fool’s errand. He was supposed to stay on assignment in Saint Denis, not get his boots covered in mud and horseshit in this backwater town. Genevieve was far too cosmopolitan to be following him around anywhere but Saint Denis. 

Strawberry was just a blip on a map, no matter how the mayor of this town was trying to push it.

Angus Carmody kicks the muck from his boot against the wooden step up to the mail depot. He scowls as the stink of meat from the butcher’s tent wafts his way.  This was a goddamn fool’s errand. He knows that Milton has it out for him. How angry he is about that damned woman being in the wind. He knows also that his trekking around West Elizabeth is a punishment instead of leading the search back in Lemoyne. 

The Pinkerton steps up to the depot’s clerk, standing behind the counter full of mail and other parcels.

“Mornin’.” The man greets, shuffling between boxes and baskets of letters. His full mustache and beard certainly made him blend in with the rough and tumble nature of the town that the mayor was so desperately trying to rid of.

“Mornin’, sir. Agent Carmody with the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

The clerk stops, setting down a pile of papers on the counter. He looks Carmody up and down, eyes lingering on his polished badge, pinned to his breast pocket.

“Hector Barlow. How can I help you, Agent?” He responds, measured and wary. Carmody is used to this. It is often, out in the West, that folk respond to him with caution and wariness rather than respect. Some sort of Western mistrust of government and authority, he always thought.

“You heard talk of a widow from that town that burned down on the Dakota?”

Hector Barlow strokes his mustache, nodding his head, “Heard about the fire, but not about anyone who survived it.”

“I’m tryin’ to find a Missus Shaw. She survived the fire and my employer is tryin’ to locate her to finalize some business items he had ongoin’ with her husband.” Angus responds, annoyed that this also seemed like a dead end. 

Barlow remains quiet for a moment, “I’ll keep an ear out. She supposed to be around here?”

Carmody pulls a stack of papers that he had tucked within his jacket, “Yes - petite woman, blonde hair if she finds herself up this way.”

“These also - a bunch of bounty posters we don’t got time to chase down.  A few thousand for these. Out of Blackwater. Some hillbilly could find ‘imself real rich if he tries hard enough.”  He shoves several crinkled pieces of paper forward on the worn finish of the counter. Hector nods, mumbling something about bringing them up to the sheriff’s office. Angus lifts his chin in response, before leaving the mail depot. The bright sunshine is an assault on his eyes as he steps outside.

Two other Pinkerton agents stand across the street, near the small town’s general store. Smoking cigarettes, the two men clad in bowler hats seem to stand out amongst the rough and tumble mountain men that peruse the muddy street. 

“Anythin’ here?” One pipes up as Carmody approaches, holding out a cigarette that Angus quickly takes. 

“Nothin’,” Carmody grunts, rooting around his pocket for his matchbook, “We’ll head north, to Wallace Station, to see if there is any word around there.”

He knows there won’t be, but alas, Carmody breathes out heavily before striking a match against his boot, he has his orders.

-

The cold mountain waters of the stream that feeds Owanjila are a shock to the system at first, but you figure that the clean, clear stream could do you no harm as you hoist your skirts to bare your calves, stepping ankle deep into the current.

A sob claws its way up from your throat, and you cover your mouth with one hand, one side of your skirts dipping under the stream.

“Ruth, what are you doing up here?” 

You sniff, wiping your eyes quickly, giving up on keeping your skirts dry as both of your hands cover your face. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” Hosea’s pace picks up as he walks closer to you, and he ignores the ache in his knees as steps down into the stream next to you where you stand, uncaring of the water starting to run over his boots.

“I- I just-”  You hiccup, dropping your hands and looking back into the rushing waters at your feet. 

“C’mon, let's get you out of the stream. Are y’still feelin’ ill?” Hosea pulls you, delicately, back to the shore, where the two of you step onto higher, drier ground.

“No- no, it’s just-” You let go of a shuddering breath as you feel his hand rub gently, slowly between your shoulder blades, “It’s…”

“Missin’ your husband?” Hosea offers.

“Y-yes…” You hiccup, closing your eyes again, unable to stop the tears from pouring forth, “And… and-”

Silence falls between you, interrupted only by the sniffles you cannot stifle and the bubbling of the creek waters as they rush down to collect in the lake. Another harrowing exhale, and you turn to look at Hosea, the older man’s silhouette blurred in your vision over your shoulder. 

“I look at Jack and… my…my little-” You sob, voice cracking,  “He came too early. I-in the winter - he… he just- he was so tiny…my boy-” 

Hosea’s hand immediately moves from your back to cup the back of your head, and he pulls you into his chest, you slightly stumble as you have to readjust your bare feet on the ground. The fur trim on his coat smells of the tobacco he smokes in his pipe. It’s something familiar - comforting - and the fight in you - what little you have left, leaves you as you sink into his embrace. You sob, the ache in your chest clawing its way out like a rabid animal. 

He holds you, rubbing your back, murmuring random words of comfort into your hair. 

-

The coffee is strong and bitter this morning. Maybe the off-handed threats he had been making to Pearson about the quality of his coffee finally sunk in. Or someone else had made it.

Arthur blows on the cup before taking another sip, trying to spare his mouth from getting burned.

His gaze floats, unknowingly searching for those soft golden curls amongst the women. He finds himself seeking out the soft-spoken widow. Missus Adler seethed in her grief. Missus Shaw, well, other than the time he certainly deserved her ire, didn’t seem to have a mean bone in her body. 

She’d been sick as of recent, catching whatever poor Jack had. Abigail was apoplectic, the lantern in the sick tent blazing at all hours of the night. It was only in the past few days he had seen her out of the sick tent for longer periods.

This morning, he was hell-bent on finally getting a new horse - the old Walker he had been riding got run down by an angry farmer and his mount when he and Javier had robbed a homestead the other day. Finally, after a few jobs, he had enough money to get a horse that he wouldn’t have to rustle - it was just taking the time to go over to Valentine to get one. 

Herr Strauss cornered him the other day, needing collection from a debtor on a ranch near Valentine. He figured he’d get it all done in one day, maybe swing by Strawberry before crossing the state line. For too long he’d been jumping from job to job - homestead robberies and coaches, even sheep rustling with John. That went swimmingly.

Maybe he’d grab Missus Shaw and take her out on the errands he has to do. He finally finds her, sitting across the way near the women’s lean-to, working on a pile of sewing. Arthur dumps out the last bit of his coffee before stowing his cup back in his satchel. He takes the first step toward the women’s tent before being stopped.

“Arthur.”

Arthur looks back toward the campfire as the occupant stokes it. Hosea looks up at him with that weathered look about him that only comes about when he is serious about something.

“She’s fragile right now.” His brow furrows, jaw set, “Don’t you go upsettin’ her.”

“I ain’t an idiot, Hosea.” Arthur bristles, scowling back at his surrogate father. He also scowled at the thought of being so damn transparent that Hosea was that quickly able to figure out where he was going.

“You sure as hell are sometimes.” Hosea points up at him, “You can be a real ass-”

A cough interrupts his retort, and Hosea turns his head to hack into his bicep. After he clears his throat, he looks back at Arthur with hard eyes, “I’m tellin’ you, Arthur. The poor girl doesn’t deserve any shit from you. She’s gotten enough recently.” 

Arthur shifts, his hand gripping the buckle of his gunbelt in agitation. He scowls again, the lines betraying his age and lifestyle set in on his face. He dismissively waves at Hosea, stepping past the man and continuing on his original journey toward the women’s area.

“Missus Shaw.”

You look up from the sewing that you are doing - one of John’s shirts that he tore the armpit open. You grabbed it from Abigail’s pile the other night as she was scolding him for his carelessness.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to get outta camp for a bit - y’haven’t had much of a chance lately,” Arthur asks, his large hands draped over the buckle of his gun belt.

“Oh, I mean… maybe after I finish this shirt.” You nod down toward the fabric you are holding in your hands.

“Marston’s shirt can wait. Especially because it's his.” Arthur reaches down and yanks the shirt from your hands, surprising you with his speed. He tosses the shirt back in the pile and you scowl up at him, aggravated at his impetuousness.

“I was in the middle of that!” You complain, but nonetheless take the thread and needle you were working with and store it in the tin next to your seat.

“Serves the dumbass right. Not like he ripped his shirt doin’ any work around here.” Arthur chortles, holding his hand out for you to take, “C’mon, I’m sure you’re sick of staring at the same thing every day. I have some errands to do in Strawberry and Valentine.”

-

From the banks of Owanjila, Arthur leads his horse up through the hills to Strawberry, claiming to need to stop by the General Store for something. He was scant on details but shooed you off to check the mail in the freight depot after he had hitched the horse outside the Trackers Hotel.

You check to see if there is any mail under the pseudonyms that Arthur gave you, and upon finding none, set to leave before the clerk calls out to you.

“D’ya mind bringing these down to the Sheriff’s Office, ma’am?”

You nod and feel a slight unease as the clerk’s gaze lingers on you. In the months since Frederick’s death, you have once again become wary of men - the leering and possessive glares that you receive when it is obvious you are untied to a man. Like those leering and possessive gazes you received before you got married. Those gazes your daddy warned you about, all those years ago. 

Taking the stack of papers, you nod a hushed farewell as you move out of the mail depot and back to the street, sidestepping mud puddles as you lift your skirt above your ankles with one hand to avoid completely ruining the hems.

Your curiosity gets the best of you and as you pass the staircase, you pull the papers back from your chest and look at the contents of the first page.

$5000 Reward!

For the Capture Dead or Alive of 

ARTHUR MORGAN

You bite your lip to keep from gasping. Glancing around, you crush the first poster to your chest for a moment before crumbling it into a little ball that you shove into your skirt. 

You look at the other posters as you quickly duck into an alley next to the hotel, where a large, flowering cherry blossom stands before the cliff face. Shuffling past the gardens, you take a seat on a small bench and warily leaf through the papers.

John Marston. Hosea Matthews. Micah Bell. Javier Escuella. Bill Williamson. Dutch Van der Linde. Each piece of paper that you look at shows fearsome renderings of the men of the gang that you have been living alongside for the last months.

Larceny. Horse Theft. Burglary. Train Robbery. Bank Robbery. Assault. Murder.

The pit in your stomach opens; fear clawing up through your chest into your throat. Hosea, who just this morning dried your tears and held you as you cried? John, who struggled with the pressures of being a young father? Javier, who swears he will get you to dance with him one night around the fire to Dutch’s phonograph, even after your declination, always with a smile. 

Even Dutch, who welcomed you into this motley group when you had nothing but the clothes on your back. 

And Arthur. Arthur, whose cold, angry face stared back at you from the poster, the man who has been teaching you to shoot, who took you out on his errands today - who braved the raging fire at the Adler ranch to save you-

The jingle of spurs makes you look up.

“Arthur-” You hiss as he lopes across the road, moseying as he lights a cigarette.  He gives a grin as he tosses the match to the muddy ground, breathing out a plume of smoke as he comes closer, eyeing the cherry blossoms that wave in the cool mountain breeze. “Get over here!”

You nervously look around you before reaching up handing him the crumpled-up wad of paper you had shoved in your pocket. 

He frowns, then snorts, half a grin as he takes the cigarette from his mouth, dropping it to the ground and mashing it underfoot.

“Five thousand, for little ol’ me?” He looks back to you with a hint of mischief in his eye, “God, that’s one ugly lookin’ drawin’.”

“Arthur-” You scold, completely taken aback at his nonconcern at the situation. 

He shoves the poster into his satchel and holds his hand out for the other ones, curling his fingers in request before you hand the pile to him. He takes them and thrusts them all into that seemingly bottomless satchel of his before turning his gaze back to you.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get. If these are comin’ from Blackwater we should get the whole gang outta West Elizabeth.” He reaches for your hand, almost gallantly, and pulls you up from your seat when you give it to him, “We’re gonna head toward Valentine. I gotta stop by a ranch out there for one of Strauss’s debtors. I’m gonna get a new horse and we’re gonna look for a new place to set up. Get on that side of the state line.”

He walks you out of the alley, back toward where his horse is hitched near the mail depot. He slows to allow you to try and duck the large mud puddles underfoot.

Through the main street of town, Arthur does not let go of your hand.

-

The ride to Valentine is long - long enough to be troublesome. You were able to convince Arthur to give you back the wanted poster of him, and you straighten it out as he guides the old Walker on the path out of the mountains and toward the Dakota.

You read the printed text, fearsome in its lettering, all capitalized, “Wanted for activities such as Larceny. Robbery. Burglary...”

Arthur snorts, interrupting, bemused.

“Gotta get money somehow.”

“Assault.” You reply, upping the ante.

“They usually deserve it.” He drawls in response.

“Murder.” You continue, stressing the severity of the crime.

“You’ve seen that. More than once.” Arthur nonchalantly replies, as if killing were the same as stealing a horse. 

It was true - from the O’Driscolls that he waylaid on the road the first day that you met him, the man threatening you at the campfire after the failed Blackwater job - he kills without hesitation. There is a pregnant pause as the poster crinkles under the tension of your fingers.

 “Have you ever raped a woman?”

Arthur stiffens in the saddle, then turns his entire torso to get the closest to facing you that he can. The easy conversation that you had been having immediately ended.

“No. Why the hell you askin’ that?”

“Seems like you’ve done everything else-” You defend your line of questioning, but immediately with that you hadn’t gone that far.

“Have I ever acted untoward to you?” Arthur interrupts, turning back to face the road. He bristles with agitation, rolling his shoulders as he tightly grasps the reins. The old Walker beneath you notices, and throws his head to the side, whinnying. 

“No….”  You try to push the intruding thoughts of Micah from your mind.

“Ain’t that type of degenerate.” He grumbles, “Sides, it wouldn’t speak highly of your smarts if you was out alone with a man who forces himself on women.”

You can tell he’s offended.

Unfortunately, the rest of the ride to Valentine is long, awkward, and silent.

-

By the time Arthur acquired himself a new horse, a strong and tall Kentucky Saddler mare, buttermilk-hide and blackmaned, his gruff silence makes you wish that you hadn’t come out with him at all. Wordlessly, he lifted you back onto the horse’s rump and mumbled something about a job he had to do on the way back to camp. Not far out of Valentine, Arthur guides the horse toward an old, ramshackle ranch house.

“Just stay here. Herr Strauss said this guy is tryin’ to weasel out of payin’.” 

Arthur approaches a thin, middle-aged man in the garden, “Mr. Thomas Downes…”

The man looks up, a hoe in his hand, and squints at the outlaw as he storms closer, “Yep, that’s me.”

“You owe me money.”

It is as if the floor was pulled out from underneath the man. He turns ghastly white in fear, stumbling backward from Arthur’s encroachment. The anger that radiates off the gunslinger is terrifying, even to yourself as an observer.

Downes holds the hoe in front of him as if to fight off the man twice his size, “Please, sir… I’m… I’ll…”

Arthur laughs cruelly, grabbing the hoe and throwing it across the garden. “Really? Threaten me, would you? How’s that debt looking now? You borrowed money from my business partner Herr Strauss. You owe him. You took the money. He wants it back. What’s not to understand?”

“I don’t have it all!”

You slide down from the horse as Arthur drags the man to the fence, throwing him against the post with frightening force.  You hurry toward the unfurling scene.

“Ruth-” Arthur growls as you push him away. Obviously, you could never move the man without his consent, but for some reason, he allows it.  You stand in front of this miserable man, who gazes up with fear-stricken eyes and a pale, clammy complexion.

“See, look, Mister Downes…. You could do this the easy way and give me the money now that we’re askin’ for it, or my friend over here can get the money from you the way he was gonna before.” You say over-sweetly, holding your hand out to help him up, “I think my way is better for you.”

“I… I don't have a-all of it.” Downes coughs, blood sputtering from his mouth as you recoil in surprise. God, this man was pitiful. 

“Then sell your place.” Arthur barks from behind you, having stepped closer as Downes goes into a coughing fit. 

“W-we already - hrgh - owe more than it’s worth.” The man coughs between words.

You frown, drawing your hand back from where the man wipes his mouth with his sleeve. You can feel Arthur tensing behind you, and one of his hands finds your waist, and you can tell he is about to yank you behind him. You brush away his arm before he has the chance to do so.

“Whatever you have is fine. We’ll give you more time for the rest. I’ll be sure to come - but Mister Downes-” You cross your arms, trying to look as composed as possible, “You do owe us.”

“Thomas-!” A woman rushes out of the house, followed by a teenage boy, and she falls to her knees next to the man, immediately taking a handkerchief and wiping the blood from his mouth.

“Can’t- can’t you see, my husband isn’t well, if we could just have more-”

Arthur does manage to grab you by the waist and maneuver you behind him, and you’re unable to move against his strength. He glares down at the woman and her pleading. “We ain’t nobody’s idea of charity.”

The woman frowns, desperate - “But-...”

“Give it to him.” The stricken man garbles, his breath heaving. With a set jaw, she reaches into her skirt and takes out a small wad of bills, standing up from her husband's side and shoving it into Arthur’s waiting hand. 

Arthur gives you a bemused look after he pockets the money. “Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

The gunslinger places his hand behind your back and pushes you back toward the horse, holding you upright as you stumble on the first step. 

“You’ll do alright, Missus Shaw.” His hands wrap around your waist like they have so many times before as he easily picks you up to place you on the horse’s rump, but you swear you feel his fingers pulse through the layers of fabric. You swear you feel his thumb press against the curve of the bottom of your ribcage.

Arthur swings himself up on the horse and urges it down the path leaving the ranch. With the horse’s jolting first steps, you wrap your arm around his waist to steady yourself before looking back toward the ranch.

You watch as the woman helps her struggling husband to her feet, and the teenage son stares after you with a vicious, hateful glare. You frown, before turning back around and pressing your forehead against Arthur’s back. They could have just as easily been you. These poor folks, already struggling, are now set back even farther.

The wave of guilt through your throat makes you swallow audibly.

Arthur’s large, gloved hand finds your own slung ‘round his waist, covering it with a gentle squeeze. His fingers press between your own, and for a selfish moment, all you can think about is how warm you feel. As Arthur leads the horse down the road to the east, the thoughts of the family whose miserable lives you just made worse flee from your mind.

How is it that all thought of the folk you just left more destitute than they had been left your mind as soon as Arthur touches your hand? How is it that you feel at ease pressed against a man who was just beating another one for money? How is it, that in this moment, with this murderer, you feel safer than you have felt in weeks?

Arthur hums, in a better mood than he had been all day. He holds your hand against the hard slab of muscle of his abdomen, and you lean further against his back to assuage the concern alight in your soul.

-

The ride northward along the Dakota is quiet. You surmise that Arthur doesn’t want to have further conversations about debt-collecting.  It is not until the two of you have ridden across Cumberland Falls and the pine forests of Big Valley have opened out to a large valley that he speaks again.

“C’mon, been riding for a while, let’s stop and stretch our legs.” He gruffly calls back as he leads the Saddler off of the trail and into the meadow, bright and sunny as the creek meanders through it.  The mountain air, cold and clean, burns your lungs slightly as you inhale, closing your eyes against the sun for a moment.

In that gentle, cold breeze, tall purple lupines sway among the grasses, reaching the horse’s knees as it slowly walks into the open plain. This place is so open and bright, its beauty takes you aback as Arthur slows the horse to a stop. Sliding out of the saddle, he immediately reaches up and takes you by the waist, as was customary, and helps you down.

“Nice out ‘here, ain’t it?”

“Beautiful,” you murmur, shielding your eyes from the sun as you survey the large valley.

Arthur pulls out a worn woolen blanket from his horse’s saddlebag. He lays it out upon the ground, nodding up at you to take a seat. You do so, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you as Arthur sits opposite you and fiddles with his satchel, looping the strap over his head and hat, placing the bag next to him before flipping the lid open and searching around in it. 

You turn away and look on as a herd of pronghorn does graze in the distance.

“Saw this out the other day.”

You glance back at the gunslinger, to find him opening his leather-bound journal to a page and taking out a small, dried head of blossoms pressed between its pages. He holds it out to you, and your eyes widen as you gaze upon it - gaze upon the outrageousness of it all, the man with a five-thousand-dollar bounty, beating a debtor not two hours earlier, delicately holding the smallest, most fragile dried blossom between his thumb and trigger finger.

“That’s…” You trail off, incredulously.

“Never did tell me why you was named after a plant.”

You ignore the quip as you reach toward his gloved hand and the dried flower. The soft purple blossom, fragile and delicate, exchanges hands as he gently places it in your palm. His fingers linger for a moment, suspended in time.

The proper name, Latin, printed next to sketches in scientific books.

You smile, snorting lightly through your nose, “My mother… There was a heather bush outside her window on the farm she grew up on. Back in Ireland. She used to tell me seein’ those blossoms made her some kind of happy. Would tell me that when I was born, seeing me made her feel the same way. So, Calluna it was.”

There’s an ache in your chest. An ache of fondness. Not dissimilar to the ache that you felt when Abigail held your hand as you cradled her son to your chest in a feverish haze. Not dissimilar to the ache in your chest when Hosea held you to him when you sobbed on the banks of Owanjila. 

Someone thinking of you. These moments, they hack away at the depth of despair and loneliness that you have been drowning in. Maybe... Just maybe, you weren’t just Calluna Shaw, widow, alone in the world.

You look back up at Arthur, that ache fluttering up like a butterfly in flight.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan. You can be awful sweet.”

You smile, and with the way his battered heart aches in his chest, he knows he’s in trouble. He can feel the blush bloom across his cheeks and he looks away, desperate to save face. Movement in the distance of the meadow draws his attention.

“Look, how’s about we bring back somethin’ for Pearson’s stew, huh?” Arthur looks out past the waving lupines to where the creek meanders back and forth through the valley. In the soft light of sunset, he points about a hundred yards up the valley.

A pronghorn buck drinks from the stream, finally visible to you as you squint and pull a stray curl of hair back, tucking it behind your ear.

“Go on and shoot it.” He nods forward.

“Me?!”

“Yes you, Missus Shaw. Come on, here you go.” Arthur gets up from his seat and steps toward his horse, pulling out a rifle for you to take from his saddlebag. You carefully place the blossom on the blanket before standing up, dusting off your skirts as you step toward Arthur and the buttermilk-hided horse.

The firearm nearly drops from your hand when you grasp it, completely unprepared for the weight of the gun. Arthur snorts under his breath as you grasp the Springfield with both hands, holding it up in front of you, and pointing toward the pronghorn in the distance. You frown, the barrel of the rifle swaying as you try to point it. The gun is much heavier than the repeater that Arthur showed you to shoot with earlier.

“C’mere, little lady.”

Oh.

Before you can move, his arms quickly brace yours as he steadies the rifle, heavy in your grasp. Your back presses against his broad chest. A whole head taller than you, you just reach the curve of his shoulder.

You are positive you are blushing fiercely and extremely thankful that he cannot see your face as he leans over your shoulder to line up the sights of the gun. As he does so, you close your eyes, breathing softly out your nose. The leather of his worn jacket - the tobacco he so often smokes, the musk of horse, the tang of whiskey - they all invade your senses as your head spins.

You want to melt into his embrace - he’s tall and broad and handsome in a rugged way. He’s solid and warm and oh, how swept up you feel to be wrapped up in his arms - even if this is in no way intimate. 

You want. You want to keep your eyes shut, tilt your neck, and give him access to suckle at your skin. You want his arm to leave yours and his large hand to engulf your breast. You want to be covered by him, held and possessed, and smothered and cherished. Everything melts away. The debt earlier, Arthur’s anger and threats, the fearful man and his family. It all just…fades.

You want.

“Both eyes open, darlin’.”

At the term of endearment, you steady your arms, holding the firearm jointly with him. Arthur is warm and solid and oh, with his arms around you, you feel so safe.

The buck raises his head from the stream.

Arthur’s breath tickles your ear as his whiskered jaw brushes your temple.

“Now.”

You pull the trigger.

[sgiandubh]

Just one more question then. T was already a partner/director in two of C's companies, three if you count the Irish one. This movement for the others happened immediately after the end, for good, of the OL recordings. Of course, there are still publicity commitments, but why choose this moment to bring him on board? In fact, two questions then: Is Cait part of any of T's other companies? I imagine that some are still functional, since he keeps them active. Thank you for your time

Dear Two Questions Anon,

Before anything else: there is not one, but two Irish companies. I am formal on this point and I have discussed it before. Well, sort of -lest you would think I am foolish enough to favor cheap bravery and take inconsiderate risks. I don't know if you already figured it out, I am always waiting for the shite to hit the fan across the street: these people are very predictable and it never disappoints, because even if they do have the paperwork (no NASA secrets, either), they have no clue about the proper way to understand and interpret what they read and always get in a vortex of sorts. It is not this blogger's editorial choice to bring these topics forth.

Your first question is a resounding and very rhetorical why. Your guess is as good as mine, Anon and I really do believe it would be wiser not to push your luck. While I do have a point, I feel you are clever enough to think by yourself, too.

Regarding the second question, as per the Companies' House available public documents, there is one Anthony Gerard McGill and one Anthony McGill. Both are, in fact, the same person. I am mercifully not going to discuss Gerard's string of failed entrepreneurial adventures.

The First Siamese Twin, Anthony Gerard McGill currently holds 5 different company officer appointments. If you take away the three companies that are owned in reality by Mrs. CMB only (see my recent posts on the Persons with Significant Control in a company), you will find two more companies. Both are breathing clones of the Business Ghosts of Christmases Past:

Who runs the shop?

Ma:

'Imself:

Da:

Bro (🦷):

Most importantly, perhaps: who really owns the shop?

Surprise 😮?

Family business. I see no trace of C, here. Which really, is perhaps wiser: the Firm is not exactly doing great.

Fair enough. Onwards to...

'Confirmation statement overdue'...oh, the nostalgia...

Who runs the shop (oh, well - 'runs')?

Ma & 'Imself only:

Where on Earth is Caitriona Sandiego? Well, apparently not in Bristol.

Who owns the shop?

'Imself:

Again, nothing to write home about:

The Second Siamese Twin, Anthony McGill is perhaps less active: only one appointment.

Who runs the shop?

Again, Ma and 'Imself:

Who owns the shop?

No C here, either. Not even remotely. That being said, the bulk of his visible, traceable funds is placed here:

Therefore, the answer to your second question is no. Make of it what you wish, Anon. Thank you for your patience and civility.

[gallaghersgal]

DAY EIGHT → autumn leaves, older bf!richie

TAGS & WARNINGS → age gap, swearing and smoking, drinking mention, reader is a grad student. late entry for day eight of bearblr promptober!

WC → 347

having a boyfriend who was so obviously so much older than you attracted a lot of stares from your friends in undergrad. but you never cared. richie was good to you. the sex was good, he never cheaped out on your dates, and he was so much more mature than your other boyfriends. 

well, for the most part. 

it's a chilly october morning when you wrap a cardigan around your frame and step out of your college apartment. you're late. it's not your fault that your boyfriend set your breakfast date for the morning after one of the core four college parties. even as a grad student, you aren't one to miss the yearly bash for the football team paving their way to the playoffs. to put it lightly, you're hungover as fuck. the idea of an omelette and a cold water keeps you going on unsteady feet. 

of course, richie wears his grumpiest look and a sharp suit as you sit down across from him. "why'd you get a table outside," you hiss, rubbing your hands together. richie just shrugs and looks you over. a nearly burnt cig hangs from his lips. you reach out with a pout and he concedes, passing it over to you. 

"wanted a smoke," he replies simply. "we gotta get you a nice old fashioned watch. cause i'm gettin' real tired of looking like the sad old man eating by 'imself."

you peer at him with still-blurry eyes, watching the way the leaves behind him give an effect like a halo. “dunno, y’look pretty good to me,” you mumble. after one more deep drag from his cigarette, you pass it back.

as you extend your hand, a leaf spirals down from the large oak next to the patio. it’s heavy and wet from the rain, and it knocks the cig right out of his hand. “the fuck?” he exclaims, a little louder than he should at a spot this nice. 

you giggle as he shakes the cold water from his hand, pouting at you. “oh, grow up richard,” you tease him.

© gallaghersgal, 2024. inbox. masterlist.

div. © saradika

[eminsunnytoons]

🌞⭐🌞⭐🌞⭐🌞⭐🌞⭐🌞⭐🌞⭐🌞⭐

The crossover gathering stories 1#:

⁉️Not so sneaky Li'l D...⁉️

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

It was a dark night at the 'sunny toons productions' company town, everyone were sleeping peacefully, and everything was quiet... But, except for Li'l D, he wasn't sleeping at all. He wanted to see what a pimp named slickback was trying to hide from everyone, even from Emin, the creator of the town himself...

Li'l D sneakily and quietly, yet quickly ran out of the 'class of 3000: back to the SING!' part of the town, and he looked around from the main part of the fountain where everyone mostly gather around as a crossover... And he then notices "the boondocks" part of the town..

Li'l D, quietly whispering to himself: ah-ha! There it is! *He smirks proudly and smugly, and quietly runs over to that "boondocks" part of the town*

Once he got there, ofcourse, it was quiet and dark... And Li'l D started quietly and sneakily walking around the town to find a pimp named slickback's house, but he had no luck in finding it...

Li'l D: *he slightly furrows his eyebrows and he whispers quietly to himself again* ugh... C'moooon!... Where is his damn House!?...

While he was looking around, he spotted a big dark purple and golden mansion, it was a four-story mansion, and it even had a big pool, along with a sleeping leopard...

Li'l D: *his eyes widen and he gasps quietly to himself* ah-ha!... There it is!... *He smirks widely and quietly runs over to the mansion, but even sneakily since there was a leopard there..*

Li'l D stops infront of the big gate of the mansion, and he looks over at the leopard who is sleeping beside the gate... And Li'l D raises an eyebrow..

Li'l D: *he whispers quietly to himself again* man... Why does a pimp named slickback need a leopard? Can't he get 'imself a dog?... *He then shrugs his shoulders* welp, oh well, who cares?

He then starts sneakily and quietly walking over to the big double-door of the mansion... It was actually kinda long to get to the double-door, but he was still going sneakily and slowly to there... Until suddenly, he stepped on a stick! And Li'l D immediately stops in his place, his eyes widen... And he's literally standing like a frozen statue...

The leopard which was sleeping, slightly twitched a bit and made a low growl of tiredness as it hears the stick cracking...

Li'l D turned around to look at the leopard and his heart nearly stopped as he sees that the leopard is slowly waking up, and he immediately starts panicking, but quietly!...

Li'l D: *he whispers to himself, but slightly loudly in panic* oh naw!... What do I do, what do I dooo!?....

He was just standing there like a frozen statue, and the leopard has opened it's eyes and it raised it's head up a bit... And it looked around, but couldn't see anything since it's night, but then, it actually surprisingly spotted Li'l D... Just standing like a frozen statue, trying not to move, breathe, or make any movement... The leopard then slowly got up on all fours again, and slowly walked over to Li'l D, and started circling around him....

Li'l D was standing still like a statue, in the same uncomfortable position he was in while sneakily walking, and he was literally trying not to cry from fear as his eyes were widen.... And the leopard was still slowly circling around Li'l D a bit, and then stopped right infront of him... The leopard tilted it's head to the side a bit, and there was a awkward silence between them two... And the leopard slightly shrugged it's shoulders, it thinks that Li'l D was just one of pimp named slickback's statues he has... And the leopard then slowly walks back over to it's sleeping spot, and it was turned away from Li'l D, and the leopard quickly fell asleep again..

Li'l D raises an eyebrow and then slowly got into a normal standing position, and he slowly turned around to look at the leopard, and his eyes slightly narrowed a bit..

Li'l D: *he quietly whispers to himself* man... Did it thought that I was a statue? Phew!... Atleast it didn't try to tear me apart... *He slightly smirked a bit and then looked at the double-door of the mansion, and quietly and sneakily walks over to it again...*

Li'l D luckily now got to the double-door of the mansion, and he quietly tries to open it, but he realized it's locked, obviously. And he furrows his eyebrows and quietly exhales in anger...

Li'l D: *he quietly whispers to himself* damn it!... It's locked... Well, ofcourse it will be. A pimp named slickback ain't really THAT stupid to not lock his door...

Li'l D looks around again while standing beside the double-door of the mansion, and then he realizes that he can go at the back of the mansion! So he quickly yet quietly and sneakily runs to the back of the mansion..

Li'l D is now in the big backyard of the mansion, and there's a big pool in the backyard. And he again looks around and sees another double-door, but it was infact a glass sliding door, and he sneakily walks over to it and tries to open it, but yet again, it doesn't open... And he groans quietly in frustration..

Li'l D: aw, c'mon!... Seriously!?... How do I get in now!?....

He looks around once again and then he looks up, and notices an open window on the second floor... And his eyes widen and he slightly grins a bit..

Li'l D: ah-hah! Bingo! *Then his grin fades away* but wait... How do I get up there now?

Li'l D looks around again and then he notices a pair of ladders in a.... Bush?

Li'l D: *he raises an eyebrow as he sees the ladders in a bush* huh? Why in the damn are ladders in a bush? Oh well, who cares?..

Once again, he sneakily runs over to the bush where the ladders are in, and he quickly takes them. He runs over to the wall which is below the open window on the second floor, he puts the ladders there, and he climbs up them and succesfully gets inside the mansion... He's now in a random room of a pimp named slickback's mansion...

Li'l D: *he gets up and dusts himself and he quietly whispers to himself* phew!... I luckily got in, and I didn't get caught!... *He snickers quietly and smirks*

Li'l D looks around the room a bit and then quietly and sneakily walks over to the door of the room, and he slowly opens it, and walks outside the room and into the hallway... The hallway is quite big, and literally the first floor can be seen and how it looks like when you first enter it. And around the hallway, there were just a lot of pictures and portraits of a pimp named slickback...

Li'l D: *he slightly sneers while looking at the pictures and portraits of a pimp named slickback all over the hallway, and he raises an eyebrow* damn, there's so many pictures and portraits of a pimp named slickback! Man, what a narcissist, like Salieri... *He rolls his eyes in a annoyed way*

He then starts sneakily and slowly walking around the hallway, while trying to find a pimp named slickback's room...

Li'l D: now, hol' on! Slickback's room is on the damn third floor?!.... *He stays silent for a few seconds and then slightly shouts* AAGH!! *his eyes widen and he covers his mouth as he realizes that he literally shouted and he quickly covers his mouth and runs upstairs to the third floor..*

As he got to the third floor, he hid behind a vase that was literally beside a pimp named slickback's room... And a pimp named slickback actually opened the door of his room, and he's wearing a long purple night gown (that looked like it was slightly for women), and he had his hair wet, he was probably drying his hair until he heard the shout, And he was even wearing a face mask, and he had a slight pissed off look on his face...

A pimp named slickback: who in the name of fock shouted, huh!? *He then shouts loudly* WHO'S IN MA DAMN MANSION!?!?

A pimp named slickback's voice echoed through the whole mansion, but nothing was heard, he is obviously living by himself in that mansion (along with the leopard), only the sound of crickets are heard... And that made a pimp named slickback even more irritated, and he lets out a loud groan of annoyance and he rolls his eyes...

A pimp named slickback: oh, whateva!... That's probably just those "westley kids" outside screamin'... I got betta' stuff to do...

A pimp named slickback then gets inside his room again, and he literally SLAMMED the door behind him!... And it caused Li'l D to jump up from behind the vase!

Li'l D: *he quietly whispers to himself* goddamn! What's his problem?!... *He then sighs* but man, how do I get in now? He's inside the room and awake!...

Li'l D leaned against the wall and slowly slid down in a sitting position beside the wall, and he was trying to think of a plan on how to get inside a pimp named slickback's room without getting caught... And then he got an idea, and he snaps his fingers as he grinned!

Li'l D then puts his hand in his middle pocket that's on his overalls, and he starts looking for something... And then he saw an empty can of corn, and then he gets up and gets over to the glass fence and he throws it far into the bottom of the main entrance of the mansion, and it made a loud 'CLANK' noise!... And Li'l D immediately and quickly rushes back behind the vase that was beside the door of a pimp named slickback's room... And a "UGH!" shout was heard inside a pimp named slickback's room..

And the door of a pimp named slickback's room opens with a loud slam! and his mascara on his right eye was ruined!... And he obviously looks frustrated and irritated!

A pimp named slickback: FOCK! WHAT THE FOCK IS IT NOW!? I FRICKING RUINED MY DAMN MASCARA! *he then frustratingly walks over to the glass fence and looks down to the main entrance of his mansion, and he sees the empty can on the bottom and he slightly snarls and slightly growls in frustration..* ugh... Who the fock threw that!? I FRICKING HAVE AN INTRUDER IN MA DAMN MANSION!!

A pimp named slickback then frustratingly stomps downstairs to the first floor to get that empty can, and Li'l D quickly gets inside a pimp named slickback's room, and he closes the door behind him!

Li'l D looks around a pimp named slickback's room, and it has lots of tiger-paterned stuff. for example, his double-bed, his carpet, chandelier... Etc. And his desk had his makeup there, even the hairdryer, and a few magazines were on the desk. And A pimp named slickback's original clothes were on his bed. And Li'l D raises an eyebrow as he doesn't see any... "Secret opening" in a pimp named slickback's room..

Li'l D: hm... There ain't nothin' suspicious here in his room... Maybe I got here for nothin'!? *He furrows his eyebrows and his eyes widen, he then huffs and crosses his arms*

He then slowly walks over to a bookshelf that was beside a pimp named slickback's bed, and he leans back against it with his back, until it suddenly... Got pushed!? And it actually opens as Li'l D leaned his back against it! And Li'l D lets out a quiet yelp and his eyes widen and he falls on his back!

Li'l D: *he sits up and turns around, to see that the bookshelf actually hides a secret room* what the...!?

Li'l D slowly gets up from the floor and looks around the secret room from behind the bookshelf, and the room had lots of shiny things, such as the diamonds, rubies, garnets... Etc. and he then grins a bit and snickers

Li'l D: welp, I guess I didn't came here for nothin'! I gotta hurry tho, cause he's gon' come back!...

Li'l D starts to quickly walk around the room with shiny stuff inside, and then one shiny gem caught his eye... It was the sun gem stone of the 'sunny toons productions' company town! Li'l D's eyes widen and he gasps!

Li'l D: *he loudly whispers to himself* the sun gem stone!! Why does pimp named slickback even have this thang!?

He quickly takes the sun gem stone from it's place throne and he quickly runs out of the secret room behind the bookshelf, and he didn't even close the bookshelf!?...

Li'l D runs out of a pimp named slickback's room, and as he was running, he accidentaly knocks over the vase that was beside a pimp named slickback's room, and it breaks in pieces! And Li'l D's eyes widen and he gasps!

Li'l D: *he whispers to himself* oh... Oh naw!... Oh, who cares!?

He continues running downstairs into the second floor, since he got there at first. And, yet again, he knocks over something else! This time he knocked over a small statue of a pimp named slickback that was in the middle of the hallway, but he keeps running to the room where he got first...

Li'l D finally got to the room where he came from, and he carefully jumped out of the window, and then infront of the mansion, but then he had to sneakily and quietly run outside of the gate of the mansion...

Li'l D is now infront of the fountain of the 'sunny toons productions' company town, and he holds the sun gem stone of the 'sunny toons productions' company town, and he clearly looks proud of himself as he grins and snickers

Li'l D: *he loudly whispers to himself* hehehehaaah! Tommorow, in da mornin', I'm gon' expose a pimp named slickback's booty to everyone! Even Emin! Heheheheee... *He then quietly and sneakily runs back to the 'class of 3000: back to the SING!' part of the 'sunny toons productions' company town..*

Meanwhile with a pimp named slickback... He was walking upstairs back to his room again in annoyance while having his eyebrows furrowed, and he was grumbling to himself in annoyance.. and he was walking down the hallway of the second floor

A pimp named slickback: ugh... I hope no one will interupt me again in my 'beauty time'...

A pimp named slickback then stopped walking and his eyes widen as he notices that his small statue of himself was broken and on the floor, and he slightly gasps a bit!...

A pimp named slickback: wha—... What the!?—...

He then slightly quickly walks upstairs to the third floor, incase to see if anything else is broken, and ofcourse... He saw the broken vase that was beside the door of his room and he gasps and slightly puts his hand on his chest, and he quickly gets inside his room and he sees that his bookshelf is open, revealing his secret room!...

A pimp named slickback: *he gasps again but now louder this time* what the!? Oh, naw! nawnawnawnawnaw!!!

A pimp named slickback quickly got inside the secret room from behind the book and right infront of him... The sun gem stone was gone!... And a pimp named slickback gasps loudly once again, and his eyes widen a bit more, and he steps back a bit from the secret room... And he sounded like he was trying to say something, but he couldn't...

A pimp named slickback: *he was stuttering slight loudly* I-... I-I-I HA— I... *he then starts shouting VERY loudly at the top of his lungs* I HAVE A FOCKING INTRUDEEEEEEEEEER!!!!!

The screen then shows the entire 'sunny toons productions' company town and the crows and some more birds actually flew away because of a pimp named slickback's loud shout, and even each one of the characters in each 'sunny toons productions' company shows/series or just some cartoons, series, games, movies and shows itselves have turned on their lights of their houses, and every character was heard talking or complaining or shouting after hearing a pimp named slickback's shout!...

The next mornin'...☀️

Li'l D was in Sunny's house (he lives with Sunny in the reboot), and he then opens his eyes and wakes up, and he sits up and stretches in his bed. And he then grins, he was obviously in a good mood today!

Li'l D: haah... What a good day. A good day to expose pimp named slickback's booty to everyone! *He snickers and gets up from his bed, and Li'l D has dressed up in his regular clothes, and he picks up the sun gem stone and runs outside of Sunny's house and he notices that Sunny wasn't in the house, nor was any character in class of 3000 were in the 'class of 3000: back to the SING!' part of the town, but he didn't care and just ran towards the main fountain in the middle of the town*

Li'l D: man, I can't wait to see the reaction on pimp named slickback's face when he gets exposed! Hehehehahaha!

As Li'l D got to the fountain of the town, and surprisingly, everyone were there, even Sunny and the other six... And Sunny was talking with pimp named slickback, who looked frustrated... And Li'l D shouted to them all:

Li'l D: heeey, y'all!

Everyone all looked at Li'l D, some looked at him in annoyance, some in confusion, some were happy to see him... But pimp named And then Sunny speaks up

Sunny: hey, li'l man. We got somethin' to tell ya— *he was cut off by Li'l D*

Li'l D: naw! I got somethin' to tell Y'ALL! Especially about pimp named slickback!

Everyone all have their eyes widen as Li'l D says that, but even pimp named slickback has his eyes widen as Li'l D says that, and he has his hands on his stick that has the ruby on the top... And Li'l D quickly walks over to the main fountain, and he gets up on the top of it and stands on it, and he raises up the sun gem stone!

Li'l D: pimp named slickback! HE STOLE THIS! PIMP NAMED SLICKBACK STOLE THE SUN GEM STONE OF DA TOWN!!!

Everyone all gasp quietly as Li'l D says that, and they have their eyes widen, but pimp named slickback didn't gasp, neither did Sunny...

Sunny: uhm... Li'l man? That... That ain't the sun gem stone of the town... *He slightly snickered a bit, as if he was trying to hold back his laughter, and he crosses his arms*

Tamika: *she has her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised* yeah, Li'l D! And second, pimp named slickback didn't "steal" that sun gem stone.

Li'l D raises an eyebrow as Sunny and Tamika say that and he looks up at the sun gem stone he's now holding and his eyes widen and he looks back down at everyone else

Li'l D: wait... WHAT!?

Everyone all nod a bit, and some snickered at Li'l D's attempt to expose pimp named slickback, and then I (Emin) arrive and I have my arms behind my back

Me (Emin): heya, y'all. What's up?

Everyone all look at me, even Li'l D and he speaks up immediately and he raises down the fake sun gem stone

Li'l D: Emin! Is it true that pimp named slickback didn't steal this sun gem stone!? And that this ain't the real sun gem stone!?

Me (Emin): *I chuckle a bit and shake my head* no, Li'l D... Pimp named slickback didn't steal the sun gem stone, and that ain't the real sun gem stone.

Pimp named slickback then stands beside me and he raises an eyebrow at Li'l D

A pimp named slickback: yuh, Emin gave me that fake one, so that sum' here like you think that ah took the real one.

Me (Emin): *I gently take the fake sun gem stone from Li'l D's hands* yeah, Li'l D.. and you were tryin' to expose pimp named slickback, when you clearly stole that fake one from him!

Fozzie: oh yeah! And you even broke into his mansion! Wocka wockaaa! *He slightly shakes his hands as he said: "wocka wockaaa!"*

Everyone all nod and agree at what I, pimp named slickback, and Fozzie said to Li'l D, and some were looking at Li'l D in either unamusement, dissapointment, or some just chuckle, laugh or giggle at his attempt on exposing pimp named slickback!

Li'l D eyes were widen as he was listening to all of this, and his jaw then drops to the floor with a loud: "CLANK''! sound!

Sunny: *he crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at Li'l D* well, li'l D? You got somethin' to tell pimp named slickback? Y'kno, an apology?

Li'l D closes his mouth and he shakes his head fastly and then he frowns as Sunny says that, and he puts his head down in embarassment as he did something like that...

Li'l D: *he sighs deeply* okay, okay! Fine... Sorry, Slickback... I... *He sighs again* I just thought that you stole that sun gem stone, ya always seemed suspicious to me... *He then looks at pimp named slickback (Li'l D is still on the top of the main fountain)* I'm sorry! I rully am sorry!! Forgive me, puh-leaaaseeeee!

Everyone all then look at pimp named slickback, waiting if he will accept Li'l D's apology, and pimp named slickback has an deadpan or unamused expression on his face as he has his hands on the top ruby of his stick... But then he slowly starts to smirk in a friendly way

A pimp named slickback: a'ight, a'ight... I accept yo apology, li'l dude.

Li'l D: *his eyes lided up a bit as pimp named slickback says that* wait... Really!?

A pimp named slickback: yeah, I forgive ya. *Then he furrows his eyebrows and slightly frowns* but don't do it again, a'ight? *He then picks up Li'l D by the back of his shirt and lifts him up into the air, making Li'l D yelp!*

Li'l D: *his eyes widen as pimp named slickback picks him up from the back of his shirt and he yelps!* WH- AH!

Pimp named slickback: *he gets Li'l D close to his face and he then whispers to him, but loud enough for Li'l D to hear him* ... I'll forgive ya now, ye li'l troublemaker with an attitude... But!... If ya do it again... I'll lock you up inside my intruder jail, and feed you to my leopard.... He likes to eat little troublemaker kids like you.... Got it?...

Li'l D: *his eyes widen a lot at Pimp named slickback's threat and he trembles a bit and nods his head quickly* s-s-ssss- sir, yes sir!

Pimp named slickback: *he slowly smirks and narrows his eyes a bit as he notices Li'l D's fear* hm, good, good. *And then he drops Li'l D to the floor*

Li'l D: *he lets out another yelp as Pimp named slickback just drops him onto the floor and he looks up at pimp named slickback and glares at him as he gets up and dusts himself off* hmph... *He then sticks his tounge out up at pimp named slickback in a sassy way* pfft!

I then stand beside Li'l D and put my hand on his shoulder while I hold the fake sun gem stone

Me (Emin): well, Li'l D, did ya learn a lesson this morning? *I smile warmly*

Li'l D: sure did! Actually, two lessons! First, never, I mean, NEVER, steal something from someone else! Second, never assume that someone's a bad person! *He smirks*

Me (Emin): *I nod and put down the fake sun gem stone on the fountain so I can softly clap my hands* good job, those are the lessons!

Everyone all nod and agree, and some chuckle

Sunny: good job, li'l man. *He pats Li'l D's head*

Li'l D: *he chuckles as Sunny pats his head* hah! That's it! *He crosses his arms* well, what did y'all wanna tell me before I interupted Sunny?

Sunny: *his eyebrows raise up as Li'l D mentions that* oh, yeah! Pimp named slickback? Can you show 'im what ya wanted to show him?

A pimp named slickback: sure can, Sunny. *He smirks and pulls out his phone and he then shows it infront of Li'l D, and it shows all the camera footages of Li'l D going into Pimp named slickback's house, stealing the sun gem stone and breaking two stuffs...*

Li'l D's eyes widen as he watches all those camera footages and his mouth slowly opens in shock and he slightly sweats a bit..

Li'l D: ohhhhhh... So that's how y'all know that I took the sun gem stone.....

Sunny: yyyyup. *He nods and crosses his arms*

Pimp named slickback: uh-huh. *He puts his phone away and raises his hand out to Li'l D* now ya gotta gimme the money for the vase, and my statue.

Li'l D: *he furrows his eyebrows and has his eyes widen as he looks at pimp named slickback's hand and he looks up at him* well, uhhh... How much are they both?

Pimp named slickback: Mmm... 1000$.

Li'l D: *his eyes widen a bit more and his jaw slightly drops* aw, HELL NAW! I ain't got no money for that crap!

Everyone all raise their eyebrows at Li'l D, and even I raise my eyebrow, and Sunny and pimp named slickback raise their eyebrows, and they both look at each other and then back down at Li'l D, and they both slowly smirk at him... And I slowly smile at Li'l D, but in a rather smug way..

Li'l D: *he looks at me, Sunny and pimp named slickback and his eyes widen a bit more again and he raises an eyebrow* now hol' on! Why're y'all smilin' at me!? *His eyebrows then furrow as he realizes* wait... Naw!... NAAAAAAW! *He puts his hands on his head*

Then the camera shows Li'l D at pimp named slickback's mansion, and he is glueing and fixing the vase and the small statue that he has broke, and Li'l D has a grumpy expression on his face

Li'l D: I should've know that I'll have to do this stupid fixing...

Pimp named slickback: *he was going upstairs on the third floor since Li'l D was fixing the small statue, and he smirks at Li'l D* oh, c'mon, c'mon, li'l troublemaker! Less talk, more work! *He then goes upstairs to the third floor and to his room, and he has his arms behind his back..*

Li'l D: *he rolls his eyes and mumbles quietly* oh, shuddup already... *He continues glueing the small statue of pimp named slickback that he broke*

...

(ye think that's the end? Hah! NOPE! Continue readin', y'all!)

Meanwhile with a pimp named slickback, he was now in his room, with the door locked... and he is smirking to himself while he opens the bookshelf door... And he walks inside the secret room, and he's actually... HOLDING THE REAL SUN GEM STONE OF THE TOWN!? and he puts it on the place where the fake one was...

Pimp named slickback slowly backs away from the throne where the real sun gem stone is, and he's smirking widely and in a evil way to himself and his eyes are narrowed slightly... And he then starts chuckling lowly...

Pimp named slickback: hah, those fools... Now I got the real one, and next time that li'l crap of that troublemaker Li'l D tries to steal it, I'll make sure no one believes me... *He then puts his hands on his hips and he spreads his legs and the camera is showing his backside only and it makes a 'whip' sound as he makes that pose...*

Pimp named slickback: No one will know, and never will know, even "Emin himself".. *he slightly spoke in a mocking tone as he said: "Emin himself"... And then he raises his hands up and throws his head back and then he starts to loudly cackle and laugh!...* AHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!! AHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAH!!!

Then the camera shows the whole entire 'sunny toons productions' company town as pimp named slickback is still laughing and cackling loudly to himself, then he slowly stops... and the screen turns black...

The... end?

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

Since I have decided to create another new series of short stories that is the recycled version of my "crossover world AU" and "crossover friends show", here's a story I have imagined now =^_^=

So, I will explain the story a bit:

After "the boondocks" part of the town was introducted into the town, Li'l D finds A pimp named slickback suspicious, and he thinks that he's trying to steal something. So at night, Li'l D decides to sneakily go into a pimp named slickback's mansion, to try and find something stolen, but he had to go through slickback's leopard and some more difficulties in the mansion. And after Li'l D got into slickback's room, he couldn't find any secret opening, and he thought that he just got there for nothing, but then he accidentaly opened the bookshelf that ended up being a door to a secret room with many shiny gems and stones. And he saw a stone that really looked like the sun gem stone of the town, so he took it and ran out of the mansion, and into the main fountain to be proud of himself. However, after pimp named slickback is going upstairs back to his room after Li'l D threw an empty can, slickback saw his small statue of himself broken, and he immediately went to the third floor and saw his vase broken, and when he got into his room, he saw that the door of the secret room was open and that the sun gem stone was no longer there, so pimp named slickback screamed loudly at the top of his lungs as he thinks he got an intruder, and this caused for everyone in the town to wake up. The next morning, everyone are at the main fountain, except for Li'l D, and as soon as he got there, Sunny and everyone else wanted to tell him something but Li'l D then interupted them and got on the top of the fountain to show that pimp named slickback "stole the sun gem stone". And then Sunny and Tamika tell him that that isn't actually the real sun gem stone and that slickback didn't stole it. And then I (Emin) come over to them all and also tell Li'l D that slickback didn't stole it, even slickback explained that I gave him that fake sun gem stone, and I explain that Li'l D actually infact broke into slickback's mansion that night and stole the fake sun gem stone. And Li'l D apologizes to slickback, and he accepts the apology, but then he threathens Li'l D that if he does that again, he will lock him in his "intruder jail" and feed him to his leopard. And I then ask Li'l D if he learned any lesson that morning, and Li'l D actually said two lessons that he learned, we all chuckled a bit, and Sunny patted Li'l D's head. And Li'l D asks up all what did we wanna talk to him about, and slickback shows him all the camera footages of Li'l D going into his mansion, stealing the fake sun gem stone, and breaking his vase and small statue, which shows that he wasn't so sneaky. And pimp named slickback asks Li'l D for 1000$ so he can fix his vase and small statue, but Li'l D doesn't have money for it, but then pimp named slickback, Sunny and I (Emin) get an idea for Li'l D. And Li'l D now has to actually again glue slickback's vase and small statue, since he doesn't have the money. Welp, karma got 'im good!... ...but maybe Li'l D was right about slickback?....

But anyways, and this is a treat for all my loved ones in my tumblr family @0lemonadefox0 @kxllboii @cheezekennith @aquamarine-dream-queen @dayzsac224 @oscarandgrinchfan @moshywoosh @ilovescaredysquirrel2 @nuggetaubrey @sharkyy599 @nightkit92 @familyoffood @animatronicdoozer @thelazzyblogzz @sugar-miss1 @shrimpathizer @shypeachrunaway @iggyguyy @sayuri-does-skits @peaceforpeople @ben5569 @oxxjustfrankieandmikuloverxxo @ducktopia90264 @artismeyou-12 @blackstar044 @dieguin-san-theartist2009 @nia1sworld @rumplestiltsbear @s4gefr0g @beeware-of-lulu @leafith @bluebird-in-a-cagedrawing @blo0st4r @fancytigercupcake @classywinnerpeace @dackychansworldofhoshino @itzbluecl0udd @moonlightrosebud2000 @avaford2009 @ghostytoasty726 @devillemon085 @untitled14360 @dynastinoble @kornyart and @elizachangreaves that always love me and support me, and even always love my work and projects, and like how I always say, I'll always love them all and support them all with my whole heart =^///////^= ❤️❤️❤️

And this is even a gift for @foreverevanescent since his stories are very interesting along with the two class of 3000 stories he made =^.^= 💙💙🩵🩵

And also! Y'all can tell me what do y'all like about this story, even y'all's favorite scenarios here (since, you picture the story when you read it) and just what do y'all think about this story! I mostly like the part where Pimp named slickback made Li'l D fix his vase and small statue by glueing them together again! >w<

I hope y'all will like this story =^//////^= 💚🥁 💜💎

[ninjapaste]

Fanart of 'obie, 'obie Braun 'imself!!!!

His face shape is so 👌👌👌👌👌 drawable!

A good way to start off sketchbook #10

[redstarwriting]

i think i’ve seen this film before

hobie brown x fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “Can I request a hobie brown x fem! reader who saves his life but almost dies. Like, she’s super protective over him and one day they’re fighting an anomaly.”

requested by: anon​

word count: 2.8k

genre: angst with some fluff

Warnings: language, strangling, mentions of injuries, knives, mentions of stabbing, near-death experiences, murder, death, mentions of stitches, canon event happenings, kraven the hunter (he himself deserves a warning lmao), bruising, cuts, blood

A/N: angst be my favorite lol i hope you enjoy this anon! sorry for the torture hobie and (y/n) go through in this oops ALSO t-swift title bc i enjoy pain

───────────────────────────────────

The minute you came to Spider Society, Hobie became your best friend. Literally, y’all hit it off immediately. The two of you were seemingly inseparable and made the best team out of all of the spiders. He was overly protective of you, and you were overly protective of him. Because of that, it wasn’t surprising to anyone in the slightest when the two of you shared a kiss after a mission. Of course, for the two of you, it was an in the moment thing. Both of you were hurt and needed the other person to be okay and while the two of you were frantically making sure the other was alive and okay Hobie somehow ended up with his lips on yours out of relief you were still here. And then from that moment on you were together all the time romantically on top of being best friends.

Miguel noted this and started to try and send you two on missions without each other, but every time Hobie wouldn’t listen and end up with you anyways. So, he had no choice but to send the two of you together. But he was always worried that one of you wouldn’t be fast enough to save the other. And if that happened… well he’s seen enough Peter’s lose a Gwen to have a guess.

And today his fear nearly came true.

The two of you were on a mission going against a particularly difficult anomaly in his world. Of course, you and Hobie had taken on just as bad before and been fine, so going into it there wasn’t really any concern. But during the fight, things were getting a little hairy. The two of you land on a building to regroup and rethink your methods of attack. “Kravens fucking suck,” you growl, and Hobie nods. “Can always count on the bloody Russian wanker to make shit ‘arder ‘an it should be,” he frowns. “How do all the damn Kravens know how to develop the damn spray to cancel out our senses?” you ask, rolling your shoulder back since he had hit you there earlier after numbing your spider sense. Hobie rubs it without a second thought. “‘ow bad ‘e getcha, love?”

“I’ll be okay. Just pisses me off,” you mumble, and Hobie nods. “Don’t push y’self, (Y/n), it’s not worth it. If Miguel wants to catch ‘is guy so bad ‘e can do it ‘imself,” Hobie says, and you shake your head. “We can do this, just gotta come up with a new strategy.”

“Right, then. We’ll give ‘im hell like we did ‘at one time with Lizard in Miles’ dimension,” he suggests, and you nod. “Sounds like a plan. We can even knock him off the top of the roof of this building. He may be strong but he’s not us.” Hobie nods.

“Stay safe, (Y/n).”

“You too, Hobie.”

With that, the two of you leap off the building, Hobie going directly in front of Kraven and taunting him while you went behind him, getting ready to strike. Unsurprisingly, it worked. The two of you got in quite a few punches, kicks, and hits, but this Kraven just… wasn’t going down. The two of you didn’t know this, but he was actually drugged up on some enhancer from his world, so his durability was even stronger than usual. And getting a few good hits in just pissed him off. The two of you were going in for a similar attack, Hobie going behind him this time to catch him off guard, except that didn’t necessarily happen. Kraven caught him off guard. He turned around, grabbing Hobie by the throat. He gripped Kraven’s hands, trying to get them off, but his strength was too enhanced. Hobie actually felt panicked. He’s been through things like this a lot, but now he had you. And not only that, you were here, with him.

And he’s supposed to be protecting you.

His eyes widen as he feels Kraven tighten his grip, cutting off his airflow completely. Now, he was really panicking. He was desperately trying to pry Kraven’s hands off his throat, but nothing seemed to be working. He subconsciously started glancing around, trying to find you. If he was going to die, he wanted you to be the last thing he saw. Not this overly muscled asshole currently murdering him. He heard him muttering some shit in Russian, but he was too preoccupied with his vision starting to get fuzzy and going black. By this point, bitter tears were falling down his face, and all he could think about was you. He’d stopped fighting as hard at this point, mainly because he literally couldn’t fight any harder than he was, weakly trying to get Kraveen off in any way he could think. But it just wasn’t working. Nothing was working.

That is until Kraven got railed with a semi.

He let go of Hobie, and Hobie gasped for air. He fell to the ground, everything was hazy and he was too dizzy to stand up. He coughed, looking up at where the semi came from, and saw you. Kraven was angrily standing up again, and you were laser-focused on him. You charge at him, getting another good hit to his face. Hobie smirks, trying to stand, but realizes after he stumbles back down to that ground that he is nowhere near that point just yet. So he tries his best to take deep breaths and recover from what he just went through. But that leaves you alone fighting this piece of shit. He doesn’t necessarily like that idea very much. His eyes don’t leave you once. He knows how strong you are, but knowing how strong this anomaly is, worries him. So he calls for backup. Jessica answers, and he speaks. His voice is raspy, almost unrecognizable. “Need ‘elp,” he starts, still staring at you,  then he sees something that makes his entire body go numb.

Kraven punches you in the leg, and you suddenly stumble. You fall to the ground, and Kraven makes it a point to punch your other leg. And then both of your arms. Until you can’t move. Hobie’s heart drops as he realizes he’s using his nerve punch against you. He kicks you, hard, punching you in the face this time. Then, he pulls out his bolo knife. Hobie is running before he can even process it, and he learns later on that in his moment Jess heard him scream in a way she’s never heard before. He gets to Kraven and feels a searing pain spread across his chest, but he couldn’t care less about himself in the moment. He reaches out for you, ready to shield you with his body so Kraven can’t cut you again, but before he can grab you, Kraven picks you up by your throat, dangling you off the top of the building. You can’t even fight back, all of your limbs are limp and you just have to endure the choking Hobie went through earlier. Kraven laughs. “Do anything to me, and I drop her.”

“Let ‘er go. Now.”

“Well, if you insist.”

He drops you. He drops you right off of the high rooftop the three of you are on. Hobie screams, but Kraven quickly grabs him, preventing him from saving you. Big mistake on his part. Hobie growls, punching Kraven directly in the face. He doesn’t hold back. Kraven crumples to the ground, and Hobie jumps over the side of the building, trying to get to you as fast as he can. He doesn’t give a fuck about capturing Kraven anymore. You can’t move. You can’t web away from this.

You’re just falling.

You’re happy you have your mask on because you worry that the fear in your eyes would break Hobie. Hobie feels the same about himself as he reaches out for you, but you’re too far away from him. He shoots a web out, connecting to your abdomen as you near the ground, webbing himself against the building so you won’t keep falling. So you’ll be safe. He has to keep you safe.

To Miguel, he’s seen this scene a thousand times. The exact positioning, the panic, the way Spider-Man isn’t rationally thinking in the moment and makes a web mistake that destroys him. Typically, Miguel would stand aside. This is technically a canon event multiple spiders go through. But something in him isn’t accepting the two of you going through the event of losing the other.

 Canon event or not, Miguel wasn’t about to let another spider die today. 

Jess zooms over on her motorcycle, shooting webs out of her gloves to form a web of cushioning underneath of where you are about to hit the ground while Miguel leaps, shooting a web out to connect to your head to lessen the blow since he can’t get to you in time. Luckily, the web below you mixed with Miguel’s precaution quite literally saved your life. Your head did bounce back a bit, yes, enough to give you whiplash, but you were alive. Albeit very injured, but alive. Hobie leaps down immediately, landing on the web and cradling you in his arms. He rips yours and his mask off, bringing his ear down to your lips to hear you breathing. Then he puts his head on your chest to hear your heartbeat. It’s only then that he can calm down slightly. But then he sees the knife wounds all over your body. He looks into your eyes, seeing tears as he wipes them away. Sometimes he wipes away his own tears that dripped down onto your face. “Love? (Y/n)? Can ya ‘ear me?” he asks, but you just slowly blink at him.

You’re too tired to listen. You can’t really hear anything, but it breaks your heart to see Hobie’s face. The way he’s frantically trying to talk to you. You just don’t have the energy to say anything. He’s moving so much faster than you could even imagine moving right now. You can see Hobie mouthing to stay awake to you, but you can’t hear his voice. You wish you could hear his voice. You love his voice. He gently slaps your cheek, pulling your attention back to him. He looks so sad. He starts getting fuzzy, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. You know he’s telling you to stay awake and you know you probably should, but you’re just so tired. And cold. But Hobie will hold you and make you feel warmer. So, a little nap should be fine.

Your losing consciousness scares the shit out of him. He holds you close to him, crying and mumbling that he’s sorry over and over again. He only stops when Miguel approaches him, telling him they have to get you back to Spider Society so they can take you to medical. “But you have to let go of her…” Hobie shakes his head. “No. No, I’ll carry ‘er,” he says, and his voice sounds more like pleading than anything else. Miguel nods. “You can do that. Let’s go.” Hobie stands as Miguel opens a portal, walking through it and holding you as close to him as he can. He frequently checks your pulse, panicking when he realizes it’s fainter than before. As soon as he steps foot back into Spider Society, you’re taken from him. He just has to watch as they take you away. Jessica is holding him back. “You need medical attention too, Hobie. Come on,” she says, staring at the gnarly gash across his chest. He gets stitches, but the entire time he only asks about you. He’s only thinking about you.

“What happened?” Miguel asks him after he’s all fixed up. Hobie shakes his head. “I wasn’t fast enough,” he whispers. His voice is still raspier than usual and Miguel can clearly see bruising around his neck. “She saved you, didn’t she?”

“…I don’t wanna talk abou’ it.”

“Hobie—”

“Yes. Okay? She did. I’m alive cause she ‘elped me and when I needed to ‘elp her, I couldn’t. I ain’t fast enough,” Hobie snaps, and Miguel frowns. “Hobie. This is the job. She’s okay now, but—”

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s the fuckin’ job, Miguel! She got hurt on my watch!… This is my fault…”

“No. It isn’t, it’s that Kraven’s… though I don’t think we’ll need to worry about him anytime soon,” Miguel says, and Hobie glances at him. “Why?”

“You forgot to pack your punches in your panic,” Miguel sighs, and Hobie nods. “Fuckin’ good. Bloody bellend deserved it.”

Miguel shakes his head. “You should be able to go see her now. We needed to stitch her up and give her some blood transfusions so she’ll probably be a little… drowsy if she’s even awake. But you can see her.” Hobie immediately stands. “Where is she?”

Miguel walks him to your room, motioning to Hobie that he can go inside. Hobie walks inside the hospital room and rushes to your bedside. He grabs your hand, rubbing it with his thumb. You’re asleep, and he doesn’t even want to try and wake you up. But he can’t help but notice all the bruises and stitches all over your body. He can’t stop staring at your injuries, but the one that really sticks out is the bruising around your neck. He had the same, but he would have gone through it twenty times if it meant you didn’t have to. He’s crying again, but he doesn’t even make an effort to wipe the tears away. He just keeps staring at the injuries he couldn’t prevent. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

His head snaps to your face. Your voice is as hoarse as his, yet you’re still looking at him with a tiny smile. “’ow d’ya feel?” he asks, quietly. You sigh. “Bad. Head hurts really bad. Body’s sore. But it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you say, and he nods, looking away from you slightly as a new wave of tears comes over him. You bring your other hand up to his face, wiping some of his tears away. “Don’t cry, Hobie, I’m okay,” you say, and he shakes his head no. “You’re not okay. You’re ‘urt. I couldn’t ‘elp you…” he whispers, and you frown. “No. I should have helped you sooner.”

“Don’t you say ‘at.”

“Then don’t you say bad things about yourself,” you say, and he just looks down. “Hobie… look at me.” He raises his head, looking at your face. “I’m alive, okay?”

“But you almost—”

“Who cares what ‘almost happened.’ It didn’t happen, yeah? I’m here, breathing, talking to you,” you urge, and he shakes his head. “I care. Always gonna care, love,” he whispers, placing his hand on yours on his face, holding it there. You rub his cheek with your thumb, and he lets out a shaky breath. “I killed ‘im, y’know?”

“I’m so surprised,” you say sarcastically, and a ghost of a smile graces his face. But it disappears as fast as it came. “Really, though. ‘m sorry, (Y/n). This shouldn’ta ‘appened to ya,” he mumbles. You shake your head. “It’s okay, Hobie. You did your best,” you say, and he sighs. “Ya sound tired.”

“I am… apparently getting stabbed and cut multiple times makes you lose a lot of blood. Who would have thought, right?” you joke, and Hobie shakes his head. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Only if you join me.”

“Ya stable enough for ‘at?” he asks, hesitating just because of your recovery process. “I’ll be a lot less stable if I don’t get to hold you, Hobart,” you say, and he shakes his head. “I’m rubbin’ off on ya too much.”

“Impossible.” You scoot over, and he lays down. You wrap your arms around him as he places his head on your chest. Hearing your heartbeat is soothing to him right now. He gently wraps his arm around your waist, careful not to agitate your wounds. You rub his arm for a few moments before falling asleep. Now that he knows you’re okay(ish) and that you’re alive, he suddenly feels very tired. Maybe it’s just the lull of your heartbeat, but he falls asleep shortly after you.

Jess and Miguel look inside the room. “You interfered with a canon event,” Jess says, and Miguel shrugs. “I don’t like when spiders die.”

“Sure. That’s the only reason,” Jess mutters, softly smiling at the two of you. It was cute how in love the two of you were, even after a near-death experience on both ends. Peter B. Parker appears behind them, looking into the room and covering Mayday’s eyes. “Oh, shit— I mean shoot. Don’t tell your mom. What did I miss, you guys?”

───────────────────────────────────

[ki-kink]

It’s bloody shocking, innit? A lad that young, already such a proper arsehole. Maybe he’d be better off if he swapped them posh handmade shoes for some knackered trainers, got ‘imself a polyester suit, and ditched the tie altogether.