#in all seriousness I loved worked there but like. I've read what some of y'all think it's like

[shadowed-dancer]

I hate flower shop aus because as someone who worked in a flower shop it is NOT romantic. 9% of your day is taking, making, and delivering orders, and 90% is cleaning flowers and trying to stay sane because it's Valentine's Day and your boss needs 12 dozen roses cleaned by hand by the end of the day. Also, yes, I said TWELVE DOZEN. As in 144. And that's just the red ones, there's 8 dozen yellow ones and 4 dozen white ones. Do you know how much my hands bled? Despite the fact that I was wearing gloves?

The final 1% of your day is sweeping up the leaves that evaded the garbage can, emptying the garbage can, and then slipping on more leaves because there's never not leaves on the floor

If you want to write an au, at least make it realistic

[giggly-squiggily]

AHHH REQUESTS I cant wait to read everything you come up with!!😭💖Since I can’t get these two out of my mind I’m going to try my luck with satosugu if any of this inspires you, feel free to switch it up in any way you like❤️

Gojo is being beyond arrogant and claims he wouldn’t even need Infinity to win a fight. Geto disagrees with “I bet I can make you activate Infinity in less than 5 minutes”

Hehehehhehhehe Yes! I love satosugu so much y'all don't even KNOW- it's been a hot minute since I've written for the boys! I've gotcha covered, friend!

CW: swearing

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada @sp1racle @happy-trenchcoated-impala

“You’re full of shit.”

“And you’re full of piss.” Gojo replied back automatically, grinning around his soda. “Seriously though- I could absolutely win in a fight against you- even without my limitless ability.”

“Sure- that’s why it’s still on now?” Geto cocked a brow, watching Gojo choke on his drink. “You can’t even release it when you’re around me.”

“That’s cause I don’t want to catch your ugly.” The white haired teen grinned, laughing when Geto punched him in the shoulder. “I’m practicing holding it up for hours on end. Mr. Masamichi told me to do it- said it’d be helpful down the road.”

“That makes sense. Cursed energy is like muscles- the more you work them the stronger they get.” Still- Geto didn’t like how smug Gojo sounded a few moments ago. “I highly doubt you’d beat me without it.”

“Bet?” Gojo grinned. Got em.

“Bet.” Geto stood, getting into a fighting stance. Gojo tossed his can into the nearest recycle bin before doing the same, rolling out his shoulders. “Any last words before I kick your ass?”

“Yeah. I bet I can make you activate infinity in less than five seconds.”

Gojo grinned, a feral expression. “You’re on.”

The time was ticking- Geto and Gojo sized each other up as they crouched like alley cats; ready to fight. Gojo let his invisible aura fade.

Then- Geto struck.

“Whoa- gotcha!” Gojo laughed as he was tackled around the middle, Geto holding on tight. Was he gonna suplex him? Please- he had this in the bag. “Take this!” He raised his arms for a two handed slam when-

“GAH!” Gojo yelped when he was pulled to his feet- suddenly weakened. “No fair! No fahhahahir!”

“Yes fair, you shit!” Geto growled in his face, smirking while his hands prodded up and down Gojo’s sides. “I told you I can make you turn it back on in under five seconds!”

“Ihiiht’s nohohot on yehhehet! Aheahhahaha- yohohoohu cahahhan’t juhuhust gohhoho and tihiihihckle sohoohmeone like thahahaht! Aheahahha Suuhuhuhuguuhuuhru!” The pale haired teen swatted and shoved at Geto’s shoulders, trying his best to knock him away. Somehow in the time he was practicing Infinity, Geto was buffing up. “Whhiihihy ahahahhre yoohohu sohoohoho heheahhahavy?”

“Heavy? Oh hell nah- you did not just call me that!” Geto growled more, mock offended by the comment as he drilled into Gojo’s ribs, earning an arch and a squeal. “I’ll show you what happens when you go around calling people heavy! Take this!”

“Aheahhahahahaha! Gehahahahha nohoohoho! Nohohoht theehehhe rihiihibs! Yohoohhou’re kihihihihling mehehehehe!” Gojo thrashed and writhed like a snake, his arms pressed against his sides as his hands pinched at Geto’s collarbone in hopes of revenge tickles. “Thahahahke thahahaht!”

“Eh-ehehehehe! Iihhit’s gonna tahahke a lot more thahahn a few tihihihickles thehehre to get mehehehhe!” Geto scrunched some at the feeling, doubling his efforts to get Gojo to use his curse technique. He moved to the deadly spot near his lower ribs, pinching rapidly with four fingers.

“AH!” Gojo all but exploded into mirth, arching against him and throwing his head back in mirth. “SUHUHUHUGUHUUURUUHUHU!”

“Yes, Satoru? You know what you have to do.” Geto felt pride swell within. He was gonna get him to use it!

Gojo made a last ditch effort- reaching for Geto’s hips just as the other began drilling two fingers into that terrible spot on his waist. It was a close call, but seconds before he could make contact, Infinity kicked in- properly stopping Geto’s fingers where they were.

“Yes! AHH!” Geto’s whoop of victory was quickly cut short as Gojo squeezed his hips, making him shoot back frantically. The other teen was gasping for air, a hand on his belly and the other over his eyes as he slowly composed himself. “Goohohtcha! I told you I could mahahke you do it!”

“Nohoho..I won.” Gojo sat up, recovering fast. “You said you could make me activate it in five seconds or less. That was way longer.”

Geto didn’t have a response to that, leaving Gojo to whoop in his place. “Take that! Whoo! Why…why are you smiling at me like that.”

“A win is a win.” Geto shrugged, earning an even more confused glare. “Sure- you may have won the bet- but I got to tickle you for way longer than I planned. So thanks for that.”

Gojo blushed- another small win for Geto. “Why you son of a- COME HERE!” Flustered, the white haired teen threw himself at him, tackling him to the ground and going straight for the hips- making Geto shriek and cackle near instantly.

He didn’t regret it one bit.

Thanks for reading!

[lokavisi]

So about two nights ago, I had a really solid conversation with Loki. A friend got some cues from him through their pendulum, we were both very confused, and then my wife (who barely gives a shit about the Guy lol) interprets this message so pristinely. It was like getting slapped upside the head when she gave her explanation. So I started free writing to continue the conversation more directly with Loki. There were a few big points made in this conversation.

First, he expressed frustration that, in spite of working with him for 4 years now, I still don't seem to "get" him. Like I keep coming to him to vent about some bullshit that's winding me up, he offers a suggestion to help me unwind, and then I brush it off or forget or just straight up ignore it. So he was like, "I've been telling you the same shit for 4 years now... It feels like you're just fundamentally ignoring all the parts of me that make me, ME." So...naturally I felt really fucking stupid and shitty.

Then he very lovingly affirmed that "this isn't me being facetious or angry or trying to put you down. I'm frustrated and irritated, yes, but surely you do realize by now that I fucking love you and you're stuck with me." This meant a lot to me more so than it might for others because my ADHD comes with mad rejection sensitivity dysphoria. Any time anyone says something that indicates some level of upset at me, my brain catastrophizes and breaks down because "clearly" it means they hate me. (This is basically never the case.) This leads me to the primary nugget of wisdom that came from this conversation.

I realized this whole time (once my wife interpreted the initial message) I was hearing him more clearly than I had in a long time. It was nearly as if a physical person sat next to me speaking. As the conversation was wrapping up, I made a note of this and asked, "Why do I feel l hear you clearest when you're frustrated with me?" We've had plenty of similar conversations, and when I look back at past moments when I simply couldn't deny the messages were coming from outside myself, he usually had some level of frustration with me. But to answer my question, he said:

"Because that's all you wanna hear. That's all you think you deserve. Even when you seek love or comfort and I provide, you don't always fully receive it. I try to be funny to cheer you up and you won't have it, just calling me stupid. You are terrible at receiving input that doesn't put you down or reinforce any negative thoughts you believe about yourself. So stop it. Seriously. Fucking stop believing bad shit about yourself."

He went on to talk about the rune readings I did for a bunch you on here (thanks again for the practice❤️), and how I should be pumping myself up from all the positive feedback I got from it. And we exchanged some jokes and "I love you"'s before calling it a night.

As per usual, I share my story in a giant block of text to remind everyone of what Loki reminded me: to not just take in the messaging that supports a negative view of yourself. Allow yourself to believe that you are the gods' gift to humanity. (I just heard him say, "Seriously. I do it all the time. It works wonders for your self-esteem." 😂❤️) Maybe that verbage doesn't have the greatest connotations, but the point is to think more highly of yourself. Believe in the power and confidence that you possess. Even if it doesn't feel like you have either of these things, fake it til you make it - until you realize they've been here this whole time.

I'm on this struggle bus, too, y'all. We're gonna find ourselves together. Hail Loki ❤️

[molinaesque]

Cooper Howard and Lucy MacLean's rare and wonderful dynamic (and how it's ultimately alright if they don't become "endgame" or whatever)

First off... I'm saying this as a HUGE ghoulcy shipper btw. I don't wanna hear about some bullshit about how "you just don't like the ship" or something dumb like that (have you SEEN the state of my blog??). I ADORE this ship. These are also ultimately my own thoughts. Do not be affronted if this somehow doesn't apply to your hcs. At the end of the day, this is fiction, nothing more.

Something I have to note on about the wonderful dynamic between Cooper and Lucy. Even if ghoulcy stays platonic, I'm fine with it because this is the closest dynamic to Jack/Liz from 30 Rock that l've seen, and if anyone's seen that show, you KNOW what I'm talking about. Let me explain.

Jack/Liz were two v complex characters that had so much chemistry but the way their "relationship" worked was so unique in that they were never romantic but they're WAY more than just colleagues/ friends, etc. There was literally an article titled like "why you'll never see this kind of relationship in television again" and ghoulcy has the potential to be that again which is still GREAT! It even goes on to talk about how they're COMPLETE AND POLAR OPPOSITES but the dynamic still works and how they feed off of each other in the only way no other characters can. The "dynamic" is THEIRS and theirs only. Seem familiar?

From what we're getting not just in the Fallout show but from interviews with the actors and creatives involved, we're already getting that special dynamic. However, I must stress that many of the comments and those interviews (imo) are sometimes taken TOO literally. The existing text and subtext of the ship is already abundant and ripe so I feel like not EVERYTHING has to be referred to the ship and the ship only. I know it's mostly funsies but I legit wonder if some of this is taken too seriously to the point of misconstruing an actor's words and getting tunnel vision JUST for the sake of the ship and ship only, in turn cheapening what is already there. Kinda like what I've seen with people having to vilify Barb further with unnecessary inferences to scenes that give her more layers (like questioning her genuine love for Janey and Cooper. She can be loving AND a villain y'all. Both things don't have to be mutually exclusive) EVEN THOUGH SHE IS CLEARLY VILIFIED BY THE SHOW BY THE REVEAL SO WHY MAKE UP STUFF? To "punish" her more?? Apologies but this kinda reads as "I need to prop up my ship further so I MUST degrade the other ship" even though it's again... SUPER UNNECESSARY (I must stress I've seen this on ALL sides of shipping/character stanning. Both sides suck when you engage in this behaviour). Have fun and faith in the strength of your ships (ESPECIALLY if they're not "canon" adjacent)!

Anyway, as I was saying...

Going back to 30 Rock, there's literally a scene in the show where they get married due to shenanigans, they get in a big fight the whole episode and in the end sit down and have the most revealing discussion with a councilor about why they're so much more complex than typical relationship. And another scene where they sleep in the same bed together and addressed why they never hooked up with each other and why that's okay. By the way, I was also a HUGE shipper of these two... But I was fine with how they ended up with because the story of their special relationship that makes them uniquely THEM was clear and concise. This did not stop me from reading fics where they make kissy faces. It is possible to do both and I think some ppl tend to forget this.

I'm not saying this for the antis (don't like what you don't like, but if you harass shippers then you can suck eggs and leave. This applies to shippers to non shippers too btw. Be. Nice.), I'm saying all this because I want shippers to not "despair" if the ship that they've become so invested in doesn't come to fruition (and not go overboard into thinking that writers should listen to whatever audiences want all the time, we've been down this road SO many times, it's terrible. Do we REALLY need to talk about how The Rise of Skywalker turned out the way it did due to unnecessary pressure from the loudest antis/asshats in fandom? I think not). Maybe this is also more towards the younger audience members as a cautionary tale because we old ass millenials have seen and been through this but didn't have the immediacy of social media at our finger tips, so it was kinda easier to not be as reactionary. I don't like playing the "you youngins don't know what it was like" card, but at some points it is just a statement of reality. Some of you are/were LITERALLY too young to have experienced this.

Ultimately, what I'm saying is even if ghoulcy doesn't become "romantic", I'm fine with it as long as they stay within the "something more/beyond definition" dynamic which is ALWAYS refreshing to see. Give us more "what are we"! Give us more "it's complicated"! Give us more "we can't be summarized in neat little boxes"!

As long as they don't end up in the pit of "one dimensional interpretation of the Found Family trope which is somehow only just Familial and in this instance Father-Daughter". Please, I BEG. Nothing wrong for people to like this dynamic, but to immediately categorize this into that box is just... Tiresome. You can make the same arguments about "shipping two living beings together on screen all the time" too for sure... But again it leads to my point of if we're going the platonic route how about we NOT just shove it in the same boring dynamic of Father-Daughter that if you want, can find in multitudes of other forms of existing fictional media.

Tldr; have fun but always remember this is all fictional media in the end where we play with dolls in a sandbox. Just remember to BE. NORMAL. and not forget this and start shitting in it and flinging poo at each other. That goes with relationships with creators of said media too. Do NOT become parasocial and expect everything to be catered to you. The creators want to tell a story THEY came up with in the first place.

LET THEM.

[bad268]

Hello my friend! I've recently discovered your work for the frog boys and also saw you have requests open (if this isn't true anymore I'm terribly sorry!) I was wondering if you could write something about Pezzy (and maybe the rest of the frog house included if you want) playing horror games with his s/o? Have a good day!

Scared in Love (Frog Boys X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Miscellaneous

Requested: Clearly (I decided to make this part of [Blank] in Love. I could be read alone though. Thank you my friend <3)

Warnings: Horror games

POV: First Person (I/me)

W.C. 1027 (about 250 each)

Summary: Horror games are scary, who knew?

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

Technically can be read alone, but Part 4 <-

~~

Puffer (At Dead of Night)

“This is stupid! All we’re doing is running from a bald guy,” I laughed as I controlled the movements in the game as we ran between rooms. Puffer had been asked to play At Dead of Night. Despite knowing he did not like horror games, he agreed as long as I was there for it. Neither of us had heard much of this game, and so far it was pretty boring. “Am I supposed to lock this door?”

“Maybe? Isn’t the guy chasing you?” Puffer answered as he leaned closer to the screen. He broke his glasses recently, so he was blind for this stream, and that’s the main reason he asked me to join. “Wait, why is that light flickering?”

“Like I know,” I scoffed as I immediately moved toward it. Nothing happened. “See chat, y'all just be hyping up this game, and it's plain.” I turned around in the game and jumped in my seat as some random person showed up. “Holy shit!”

“Dr. Bose was accused of the worst crime possible,” Puffer joked with mock seriousness. “We need to go to the ground floor now to see the police lights!” He took over the controls, again leaning close to the screen to see.

“Maybe you shouldn’t speed run out of the room,” I advised.

“Nah, we’ll be fine,” And almost like Jimmy was listening, he jumped out from around the corner to kill us. Puffer jumped back in his chair, causing it to fall back.

“What did I fucking say!?”

~~

Pezzy (Doors)

“It’s Roblox. How scary can it possibly be?” were going to be my famous last words. I was sure of it.

“I swear to god if one more of these things pulls me out of the closet again, I will throw my controller at the screen!” I shouted as I died once again. 

“Welcome to the club,” Pezzy laughed, “It only gets worse.”

“I’m going to cry,” I joked as I respawned. “This is literally torture! I did not agree to do this!”

“Yes, you did!” Leave it to Pezzy to pull up the receipts in the form of a text you sent him a while ago. He briefly showed it to the camera before clearing his throat, and imitating my voice, “I doubt it’s even that hard. I bet that I could speed run it faster than you.”

“I don’t remember saying that sober,” I admitted as I ran through the doors, ignoring Pezzy’s laugh. “I really don’t. In fact, I think a certain someone stole my phone and texted someone while we were drunk. I wouldn’t put it past you honestly.”

“I cannot believe you would accuse me of such a thing,” Pezzy gasped as he put a hand to his chest. “I seem to remember you bragging about not being scared of anything. You’re eating your words now, huh?”

“Never,” I said definitively. It didn’t last long as, almost immediately, the red skull thing chased me through the rooms. “I swear! PLEASE!”

~~

Droid (FNAF Help Wanted)

“It’s not even that bad,” I laughed as I glanced at chat while Droid stood behind me playing Five Nights at Freddy’s: Help Wanted. I had played it before since I was practically a FNAF channel, so Droid made it his subgoal to play it when they hit 5,000 subs. Granted, he did not think it would happen that quickly. “Just wait until you get to the third game.”

“You’re kidding me!” He shouted as he frantically looked around the room. “There’s no way it gets worse than this! You’re capping!”

“Nah, you’re just a baby,” I laughed as a highlighted chat caught my eye.

“You should shove him.” it read. Thankfully, he could not read chat while in the game, so I took this as my opportunity. With a smirk, I stood up and walked around to stand behind Droid. Just as the music picked up in the game, I grabbed his shoulders and he was jumpscared. From me and the game as Bonnie jumped out at him. 

He flung his arms back to try and drab me, but I ducked and ran back to my chair. He pulled the headset off and immediately glared at me. He let go of the joycons as he pointed and slowly approached me. 

“I will murder you,” He joked as he leaned down to be at eye level with me. “I will threaten domestic violence live on Twitch.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I joked back as I raised my eyebrows.

“WOAH! WOAH! WOAH! Nah, don’t even!”

~~

Grizzy (GMod Horror Maps)

“I don’t like the squidward-looking thing or the witches,” I cried as I ran my character through the dark maze. “Why did you mod them in?”

“Because I knew you didn’t like them,” Grizzy laughed as his character followed mine around. “I can remove one of them if you want.”

“Please do,” I laughed as I purposely let myself get killed by Squidward, so I would respawn. Grizzy exited the game to fix the mod as I stayed on the call with him, entertaining his chat. Eventually, he got it changed but did not tell me what he put in. 

“Can I know what was spawned?” I asked as I reloaded the game. I had to update it since the mods changed, and I got stuck on the loading screen for a minute. I thought he would have told me at that point, but no. When I loaded into the game, I saw a hoard of witches immediately. I slowly looked over to Discord to see Grizzy’s face cam, and of course, he’s got that malicious smile. “I will murder you.”

“You always say you could outrun the witches,” Grizzy laughed as his character also loaded it. As soon as he spawned, he threw a bomb at the group. “I’m testing you.”

I screamed as I ran my character the opposite way through the maze, “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“See!? It’s not so easy, huh?” Grizzly laughed as he watched my character run. ”What are you mumbling?”

“California girls were unforgettable,” I said a little louder than before as my voice got higher. “Daisy dukes bikinis on top.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[thegreatwicked]

FicRecs

Enjoy some of my favorite stories I've come across on Tumblr! Seriously, I LOVE these stories and I reread them A LOT!

Please note: Virtually ALL OF THESE STORIES ARE SMUT. That means 18+ content, and you are responsible for managing your internet consumption. Minors DNI.

FicRecs

DC Comics

Dance for Daddy by @matth1w LAWD. I love me some Roman Sionis fics and this one DELIVERS. Sexy, kinky, smutty I give it a solid Chefs Kiss.

Joy Ride and Let Me Make You Feel Good, The Intern by @littleredwing89 More delicious Roman Sionis one shots Joy ride is about teasing Roman as he drives and Let Me Make You Feel Good is about a sweet smutty cure for a hangover. And the Intern, a fuck buddies to lovers story, god yum. Reader inserts. Drool. Go forth read and enjoy.

Bait the Beast by @more-cardigan-than-womanLord help me, I found a new little gem. You cause a bit of a ruckus with Coblepot and Roman thinks you need a lesson.

Yours by @tarrenterror25set in the AO! Verse Roman is having some trouble during the holidays overcoming everything the Joker did to him, good thing he has you. Because he does. You're his now. Melt. Sorry about the mess.

Star Wars

Water and Rock by @split-spectrum I honestly cannot say enough good things about this story It follows Obi-wan/Fem Reader in the classic Master/Padawan troupe and it. is. SPICY. Up to twelve chapters which I have read MULTIPLE TIMES and it hits so hard. Go read this story it is sexy as HELL and gives you the feels. She's so damn good at writing Obi-Wan it hurts, but like in a kinky good way.

The Gift by @ladyinwriting18 I have already spoke at length about the fabulousness that is Lady in Writing and her amazing content. This one is a favorite! Its a Maul/Reader Insert and it is smutty sxy and kinky. Seriously if Maul is your fictional crush (Hi me too!), go read this.

The Three Princes Part One: The Oldest Profession by @thenightmarketofdathomir This writer is freaking legendary. I do not know the collection of words in my own language to describe the eloquence and sophistication this writer possesses. Just go. Go read this and you let me know if you're ever the same again. This gem stars our boy Feral and is a you/reader insert. Oh damn, this story makes me want things...

Birthday Wish, Romancing the Pages, The Write Seduction, To Create Life, by @jedianjakenobi Y'all, this author holds a special place in my writer's heart. She's a published author on Amazon and she's truly amazing. Her works are all Obi-Wan-centered and reader inserts. Birthday Wish is a birthday crush from your sexy neighbor, Romancing the Pages is a fake relationship/summer romance with a reclusive shy librarian (Ben) and a best-selling author, The Write Seduction is a professor Kenobi/writing student story and it is SPICY. And my favorite To Create Life is a Jedi Council green lights a baby-making program and who else is the reader paired with? Their good friend Padawan Kenobi. My darlings, my friends, if you like Obi-Wan smut then you are doing yourselves a disservice by NOT reading these.

Empty Me Out by @221bshrlocked reader insert/DOM Obi-Wan I'm tellin y'all this story NEARLY killed me. I've lost track of how many times I've readit. You're an entertainer and Master Kenobi needs information from you, so you give him what he wants and then he gives you what you want. Where it Wasn't massage therapy reader insert/Obi-Wan, do I need to say more? Pretty sure I melted into the floor with this one.

His Loving Satine by @waterlily707 I love reader insterT and OCs but these two Obi-Wan and Satine are a joy to read. Temporary paralyzed Obi-Wan at the "mercy" of a slightly dom Satine. Juicy, gorgeous, little bit of fluff. Love it.

Room 24 by @murdockussy Little angsty Obi-Wan/reader insert enemies to lovers in an undercover assignment-type situation. Spicy, dom Obi-Wan give. Me. More.

Tea with Lemon, Tea with Honey by @wickedscribbles an established relationship as a reader insert and Obi-Wan. If you want honey then you get to take care of a sick Obi-Wan and kind out you have a new kink, if you want Lemon then Obi-Wan takes advantage of said kink and whisks you away to another planet for some R&R under the guise of "work." Enjoy!

Actors/Characters

Ben Hardy

Hold Me Close, Don't Let Me Go by @stray-kaz God. This one shot is just sxy as hell, it's a Billy/Four fro, 6 Underground/Female Reader. Our boy comes home to one hell of an 'I missed you, I need you right now' welcome. GO read it. Right now.

Such an Experience by @rogermyreligionOk. Guys... FUCK, this is a hot little oneshot Roger Taylor of Queen/Female reader and OMG. Just go read it. I've officially stopped counting how many times I've read this. Smutty/Sexy. I'm dead.

Long Distance by @acciotwinzwinz. Y'ALL. Sit your asses down and read this Roger Taylor/Reader insert/You. It's fluffy, its sexy, its cute and the smut is -chefs kiss- Yes, I read this one a lot too.

For now, these are some of my favorites that I frequently reread because I love them. I'll probably be adding more, it's more than likely I've forgotten some...

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

A/N:  🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶

Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)

I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Finally, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.

But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).

“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.

And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.

But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.

If anything, he’s cared too much.

But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.

This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.

“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.

I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.

He’s too late.

“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.

He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.

You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.

I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.

The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.

“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.

I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.

Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.

Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.

Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?

Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.

I’ll always be alone.

And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.

*

The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.

Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.

He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.

Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”

Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.

“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.

The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.

Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.

“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.

He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.

“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.

“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.

“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.

“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.

Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”

He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”

He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.

“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.

“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.

Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.

“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.

Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.

“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.

Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.

“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”

Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.

“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”

The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.

“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.

She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.

He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:

That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.

“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.

His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.

Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.

“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.

Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

“Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.

"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”

He nods.

“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.

The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.

He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

**

You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.

Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.

You can’t seem to escape him.

You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.

But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.

So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.

You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.

Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.

But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.

I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah

You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.

Damn him and Sandy both.

As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all

You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order

to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.

You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all

You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.

Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no

It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.

But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live

Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.

Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all

Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.

I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing

 At all

The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.

The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.

It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.

His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”

“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

“I need you.”

You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.

Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.

You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”

He’s loved you all along.

All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.

“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.

He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”

Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.

“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.

“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.

Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.

Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. “I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.

“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.

You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.

“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”

Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded.  You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.

“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.

An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”

You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.

“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”

He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.

Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”

“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.

“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”

“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.

“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.

You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.

Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.

When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.

“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.

You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.

“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.

Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.

Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.

Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.

“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.

Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.

Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.

You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.

When it’s time, I’ll know.

**

Four Weeks Later

The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.

The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.

You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.

Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.

Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.

“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.

You’d called her last night.

You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?

It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.

Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.

The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“Y/n.”

The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.

He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.

That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.

He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.

When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.

“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.

“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.

“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.

His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.

“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”

He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.

“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.

You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”

“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.

Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.

“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.

He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.

Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.

“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.

Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.

When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.

His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.

You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.

His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.

Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“On your knees,” you command.

Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.

“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.

A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.

“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.

“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.

With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.

You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.

“Show me,” you command.

He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.

Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.

“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.

“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.

He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Use your words,” you order.

“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.

Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.

“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.

“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.

That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.

Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.

Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.

It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.

No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.

Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.

“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.

“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.

“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.

And he’s all yours.

As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.

You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.

“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.

Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.

In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.

You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.

“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.

And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.

“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.

“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.

“Get on your back,” you demand.

Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.

You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.

“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.

You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.

You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.

“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.

You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.

“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.

You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.

Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.

“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.

“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.

“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.

But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.

“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.

“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.

“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…

“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.

“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.

You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.

He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.

You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.

The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.

“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.

“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.

You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.

Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.

“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.

He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”

Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.

His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.

Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.

“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.

“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.

“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.

You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.

A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.

“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.

“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.

“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.

His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.

“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips. 

“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.

“Completely,” he nods back.

“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.

He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.

You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.

“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.

“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.

“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.

Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.

With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.

Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.

He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.

His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.

Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.

“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.

“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.

He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.

You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.

He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.

So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.

“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.

You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.

“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.

“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.

His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.

He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.

Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…

First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.

He can only manage a whimper in response.

Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.

“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.

You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.

God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.

His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.

“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.

“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.

Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.

“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.

“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.

All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.

The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.

“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.

That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.

“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.

Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.

After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.

You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.

Still sensitive, you think.

His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.

“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.

It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”

“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.

Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.

You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.

His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.

“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.

He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.

Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.

He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.

You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.

He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.

“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.

Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.   

“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.

You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.

For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.

Here, with Elvis.

*

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗

*

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva 

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03

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[quinloki]

Hi Quin <3

I may or may not have gone through your entire catalog haha (^///^) Thank you for feeding us all so well ☆ Such stunning works!!!!! (シ_ _ )シ

I was wondering, I find that I keep on reading the same people a lot. Have you discovered some cool new people to read from recently? any great recs? stuff you keep coming back to?

Anyways, you're awesome!! And I can't wait to read what you come up with next!!!!!

=O Sideblogs and everything?

...

Σ(っ °Д °;)っ

(*/ω＼*)

Goodness. ❤️I'm glad you enjoyed my stuff enough to read all that. I'm a terribly wordy ^^;

Ah! But hmmm... I do tend to read from many of the same folks, especially since I ended up surrounded by impressive writers.

But let's do this:

@swampstew - if you follow me, you know her. I cannot fathom otherwise, and if you don't, start here.

this is @icy-spicy's master list - I'd have that cold shower ready before you start, but there's more than One Piece there.

@mydisenchantedeulogy writes for a lot of fandoms, her words are so good I'm a fan of her stories without even having seen the universes they come from.

@un-shit-yourself is a long time real life friend, and a fantastic writer. Mostly Dragon Age, but the writing pulls you in. We chat, but we don't usually cross post, so you probably don't know about this one even if you do follow me.

@zoros-sheath - if you haven't read Magnets, start there, otherwise go hog wild. I can't imagine you're going to find anything bad.

@standfucker - whew, I look - Zen makes me wonder why I even write because what she writes is just too goddamn hot. Y'all don't need me, you got her. (I say this in jest, I'm going nowhere I promise) White Out and Rotation are two of my favorites, but Stowing Away to Save Yourself is something I specifically requested and gods was I served well.

@writing-yarn-goblin and @lyndsyh24 and @theaceofflamesposts are here, but you're more likely to enjoy the first two on Wattpad and the last on Ao3. Lyn's getting more active here, but her library is full of good stuff - fluffier than my usual work, but just as good imo. Lyn is one of the biggest reasons y'all get to deal with me at all. She was a saint when I stumbled into Wattpad.

I love @heyitsdoe and @/bas-writes stuff - they are both phenomenal writers. Bas has shifted away from OP a little and is more into JJK, but if you're looking for solid fic to read, then you will find tons there and I promise you'll enjoy it =3 Doe is super sweet and her writing is always a full meal, I've commissioned her and it was far and away worth every penny.

Honestly, I'd really recommend checking out my Following page. I leave it public, but everyone on it is either a friend, a writer, an artist, or some combination of all three.

I could go on in this post for like 5,000 more words and not hit everyone who has delighted me. @cyborg-franky @coza-main @lerya-fanfic @leakyweep @leftsidebonfire -- I'm going to hit a damn tag limit again.

@thus-spoke-lo is a little on the darker side, but gods alive I love her work, and I could read it for hours if I had the hours to spare.

@vizkopa writes in a way that helped me loosen up and write more how I wanted to, so thank her for that, and enjoy what she's got - mostly on Wattpad I believe? I know that's where I've read it.

Seriously, just peruse my followers, if you need something new.

But know that like me, they're 18+ and that's a boundary for their comfort as much as anything else. So don't break that.

[vintagelacerosette]

Wednesday tag game

Hiii darling angelpies! I am here on timeish 😆

I was tagged by these dazzling sweethearts Nosho @creepkinginc Mel @gardenerian Evie @energievie Deanna @deedala Kat @ mybrainismelted Julia @blue-disco-lights Al @spookygingerr Jessica @guinguin1984

How did you get into the fandom?

Like a lot of us 😆 I saw a fan edit of Mickey & Ian on YouTube (I can't find it again even when I've searched my history 😭) I was kinda in between fandoms at the time with Malex from Roswell New Mexico but they were broken up at the time & buddie lol.

But then I was shot through the heart when I went through the gallavich tag & it felt like home 🥰

How long have you been here?

I was lurking at the end of 2021 & the first official time I contributed to this darling fandom in Feb 2022 with gallacrafts 💝

What's the first fandom channel you found? (youtube, reddit, tumblr, insta, twitter, FB, other?)

Here on tumblr babeeeyy

What's your favourite now?

Still tumblr but I wish I was better on discord 😅 I get overwhelmed & don't wanna talk over ppl 😔

Which mutual have you known the longest in the fandom?

Oh my goodness I had no idea but my longest mutual is the always spectacular Calli @callivich 🥰🩵💙 woooww!!

Which tumblerinos did you have your first fandom crush(es) on and wanted to get to know?

Y'all have to understand you are all unbelievably swoon worthy & there's only so many ppl I can tag in one post (damn you tagging limit 😣)

Ok, so definitely have a big crush on Deena @suzy-queued & to see smitten feeling is mutual got me

GIF by theresaphoenixinmyboot

Alice @darthvaders-wife Jane @captainjowl Mitch @psychicskulldamage when we became mutuals I squealed bc how much talent??

Jenna @ianrightsonly & Kay @goodkwuestion their fics changed me

Also, Benja @svltburn | Nosho | Vey @look-i-love-u Macy @heymacy Julissa @heymrspatel Jo @jomilky Harvey @mikhailoisbaby Georgia @iansw0rld Molly @deathclassic Stas @messedwithmandy Howl @howlinchickhowl Michelle @michellemisfit | Deanna | LJ @ofalltheginjoints Sam @sam-loves-seb Face @ burninface | Calli | AJ @ clingymickey Mills @gallavichsbitch Leah @whatwouldmickeydo

Also Jay!! You've left but gave me butterflies 🦋

Pls I kind hate this question! I've come to the conclusion I have a crush on you all OK?? 😭

This is why I make y'all Valentine's

First gallavich fan fic you read (or that blew you away that you remember)?

By the magnificent Kay The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Ian Gallagher!!! OH MY GOSH JUST THINKING ABOUT THIS FIC MAKES ME FEEL ELATED & FERAL!!! It's my favourite piece of written work & I need my non gallavich ppl to read it so I can scream into their faces how much I love it 🥰🩷🩷🩷

First fan art that blew your mind?

Seriously, Deena's gallacrafts & art always take my breath away!!! Like the artistry & creativity?? I wanna get to your level 🥰

It's three dimensional & has twinkling lights ✨️ I was astounded & my jaw literally dropped 😍

All of Alice's art especially my commissioned art 🩷

Also, Mitch's comic I stared at it forever like Ian's eyes reflecting Mick's booty 🍑👀

Fanfic trope that you were sure wasn't for you but now you low key (or high key) love?

I have read some pretty freaky & nasty fic bc of curiosity, so I nothing really gave me icks in tropes, but in writing style, I got turned around with Jen @wehangout with second person POV. You're so talented that I really enjoyed them when I would nope out before 😆

What surprised you most about this fandom?

Everything surprised me about this fandom bc it was my first one!! 😆 I didn't really know how to do tumblr & didn't really get how to interact. So I used tumblr like a sticker book, then came learning tags & so ppl reached out to me which helped me gain confidence haha

This is kinda a golden standard fandom. So welcoming, loving & encouraging!! If I ever dabble in another fandom, imma have a high standard bc I've been spoiled by y'all! ILY

Moment in the show (or YT vids if you're one of those) that you fell in hyperfixation with gallavich?

It was the "I'm fucking gay" scene to the "Guess what we've been doing daddy" The way he humps the car with all that conviction & screaming "he fucking loves it".

Everything clicked & I was like "Damn I love this fictional man." He is my favourite character of all time & this ship is my OTP & GOAT.

Also I love this edit too. It gives me chills

Ian or Mickey?

Mickey, but holy shit I love them both

Which gallagher or milkovich are you?

I took a page from @/guinguin1984 & did some quizzes & I got Fiona Ian Fiona Debbie not of them feel right ahaha

I guess Fiona bc I had her twice 😅

Consider yourself tagged if I have a crush on you or mentioned you. Also tagging these sunshines & if you wanna do it too, have at it 💛🥰

@lingy910y @mickittotheman @doshiart @crossmydna @y0itsbri @7x10mickey @whatthebodygraspsnot @ms-moonlight-inn @mmmichyyy @sickness-health-all-that-shit @kiinard @transmickey @gallawitchxx @sleepyheadgallavich @rereadanon @whaticameherefor @darlingian @andthatisnotfake @ian-galagher @francesrose3

[roseshower]

Who Would've Thought A Crack Pairing

—would have me in a chokehold like this??? Seriously, in what world (this one) would I have ever come across a Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng fanfic and loved it to the point where I'M writing about them??? Dear God.

Alright so. Hey. Shameless call out for a ficlet I'm writing about (okay so I KNOW I haven't been updating my other ones...). Wait before I continue—look. My favorite of all the Batfam is Damian Wayne. He's like. My kid. My child. Sure he stabs the shit out of his family at first but he ain't do nothing wrong bruh he's just misunderstood fr. And then there's Marinette. My favorite character from back when I was in middle school. I thought it would be silly to look up some MLB x Batman Fics and. Jesus Christ. I found MANY. (Not enough.) And then I saw "Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug" and I thought??? No fucking way??? IS THIS REAL

I read the fic. Which fic? I won't gatekeep. "No, Mr. Wayne, You Can't Adopt Me!" by ggomoz (ggomo_springtime) on Ao3 is a FUCKING BANGER I read it for shits and giggles because I was like "hah???? NO WAY" and my god. My GODDDD it was AMAZING. I know I sound like I'm glazing rn but my god y'all have to read it if you guys like Damian x Marinette shit. And also Marinette having great interactions with the BatFam. Primarily Bruce Wayne, as you can see by the title.

But yeah. Holyyyy hell. That was one of the fics that inspired mine. The other was "the reports associated with my existence have been significantly misconstrued" by davidstennant on Ao3 and ANOTHER was "for us to collide" by LadyLiterature on Ao3.

ANYWAY. Enough rambling. The whole reason for this post was to present to you the fic I've been working on...

Help! My Boss Is In Love With Me!

Synopsis:

Rumors say that the youngest son of Bruce Wayne is in love with his assistant. Marinette immediately debunks these rumors—her grouchy boss has no love in his body for anyone, let alone for her. So then, if it's just a rumor, why does she keep catching him staring at her like she's just hung the moon?

Or, Damian Wayne accidentally acquires feelings for his lovely assistant Marinette, much to his frustrations and everyone else's delight.

Now... I know what you're thinking... "Ana what the fuck is this" and to tell you the truth I DONT KNOW??? DAMIAN X MARINETTE IS BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF ME

but yeah if you guys want a lil taste for what you may be reading, I'll throw a crumb rn

Internally, he wilts at the sight of her perfection.

The feelings have grown more over the years he's had the luck of having her working for him, and they came to a head months ago in the middle of a cumbersome night of dealings he wonders how his father dealt with all on his own.

And it's because he saw her run into the damn glass door of his office.

[stoopid-turtle]

made-up thoughts about dd's thoughts

Hi there! I warned y'all that I might post more and I've been watching SDC so I wanted to compile my massive load of DD thoughts. Apparently, I think about dd a lot.

I've struggle with how to organize these thoughts because they're so scattered and there are just a whole bunch of them. So I decided to center them around moments I think about a lot. Not necessarily fun dd moments, though some of them are fun. But just...moments that I feel tell me a lot about dd.

As a disclaimer, I'm making up a bunch of nonsense about dd as a person, but I don't actually know him and you shouldn't take anything I say seriously. I'm very likely to be wrong about most of it. In fact, if dd somehow managed to read this humble post, he would probably roll his eyes. And you know what? It would be an honor for him to have done so.

There'll be a few posts. There are three others in drafts right now, though I may combine two of them. We'll see. But I'm starting out with this one just because it was done first.

I'm at around ep 8 of SDC4, and I think the only way to watch subtitled versions of SDC5 are by downloading an app that Google won't let me download because of region restrictions (and then paying a subscription fee). Needless to say, I probably won't be able to watch SDC5 anytime soon. :(

(those episodes are sooooo looonnngggg)

There's an episode in SDC4 when the captains have picked 4 leaders to start off their teams. They put together a rehearsal battle to show the other contestants the captain's style and help make decisions during the next recruitment segment.

DD picks 4 top dancers as his leaders. These are fantastic dancers, specifically battle dancers. And they do horribly in the rehearsal battle because they're not used to dancing routine, there are no choreographers so while their performance was highly technical, it wasn't really entertaining or meaningful, and the team itself just didn't cohere because these are all people who specialize in battling alone.

DD has a little meltdown while his team loses, and it's kinda uncomfortable to watch. He says in a debrief with his team afterward that he's one of those people that likes winning (which, yeah, duh, DD).

I think a lot about DD's initial strategy. It seems straightforward. Get the best dancers. Have the best team. Work hard. Win.

DD's not a deep thinker. I don't mean he's stupid, because he's actually pretty smart and quick to pick up on things. But he just doesn't see the need to introspect or dwell on things. He strikes me as the type of person who might go through some difficult event and come out the other side wanting to just move on because, "It's in the past. Why bother thinking about it?"

(I think he is getting more introspective as he gets older, as evidenced with his performance of Like the Sunshine. I think that's typical as one ages though)

I'm also struck by the feedback he gives as a captain. He usually makes pretty detailed comments about the technical aspects of the dance, and sometimes, with the more thematic pieces, he'll just outline the story of it. He's pretty literal and straightforward in his thinking.

In any case, dd stands out among the captains for his emphasis on winning. The captains of the other teams cultivate a family atmosphere and often make an effort to emphasize having fun over winning (dd emphasizes fun...as long as his team is winning). The other captains will break down in tears when they have to eliminate dancers, and they'll give nothing but praise to the dancers.

DD is the prototypical "not here to make friends" competitor (though he does actually make friends). One of the most common comments dd gets from dancers or judges is that he works really hard and is a perfectionist with his technical performance. (As a fangirl, I love hearing other people remark on how impressive dd is. I'm all like, "Damn right, that's my bb!"). Dd has high expectations of himself and of the dancers in his team, and he'll criticize the dancers if he feels they fell short.

It's not mean-spirited but it is blunt and is something that the other captains don't do. DD will point out mistakes and be outspoken when he's disappointed with a performance. He also doesn't cry when he has to eliminate someone. He obviously doesn't like doing it, and I do think his style of doing it quickly without the anxiety of drawing it out is kinder. But it also fits in with his decisive, direct way of doing things.

I think about this all in connection with the bts of gg saying he prefers men without makeup. DD gets incredibly defensive, misconstruing what gg's saying as a slight against idols. It's a funny bts, because gg's clearly trying to pay dd a compliment, but dd doesn't even realize this because he's so caught up in defensiveness.

But the defensiveness tells us that dd's felt belittled and looked down on for his idol background, I think especially in some of his hobbies and other activities. Professional dancing, motorcycling racing, skateboarding. His being an idol has made people not take him seriously (I think that's what happened at the beginning of SDC3 when dd got the fewest towels of all the captains from the start).

I think that can be frustrating because dd's initial interest as a teen boy was dancing. I don't know all the decision-making that went into him going off to get trained by Yuehua as an idol, but doing so ironically made it harder for him to get respect from the professional dancers that he admires.

That's why dd works so damn hard, often to the point of overwork. He's demanding of his team just as he's demanding of himself. This is a guy who puts himself into the hospital with how much he works (and then forgets about it afterward). He's wearing himself out in trying to prove himself, and I'm glad that he recently actually took a day off when he was sick. GG's a good influence.

This all takes us to another DD moment, one that is more fun to watch, and that is dd's whole thing with the waacker, Xiao Bao. During a battle, Xiao Bao touches the back of dd's head, and dd immediately stands up and grabs Xiao Bao, keeping a hold of him even as he tries to dance away. Then there's some minor waacking and, um, lip-licking from dd.

When asked at hotpot, dd explains that he was trying to get Xiao Bao to run out his time by keeping a hold of him so he couldn't dance. By touching him, Xiao Bao had challenged dd and dd responded according to street dance rules. DD seems confused by others' confusion because it's self-explanatory to him.

It is just...so very dd to be so single-minded about a thing that he doesn't even realize how incredibly gay it looked. Just, immensely fantastically gay. (I'll get back to this in another post, but I'm focusing elsewhere here)

Honestly, he's sometimes come across as being on the spectrum, though that may well be me overidentifying with some traits. But he has his special interests and while he may be generally quiet, he will start happily rambling if asked about motorbikes or legos or skateboarding (or if plopped down next to gg). He's incredibly fidgety and has a weird thing with stroking tassels.

I know people on the spectrum are more often associated with sensitivity to lights and noise, but there is variation in that. Some folks tend towards the opposite and end up being thrill-seekers.

Some of his mannerisms and social interactions ping me as spectrum-y. During the "JC's fake butt" bts conversation with the rest of the cast, gg characterizes dd as the type to bluntly go up to JC and ask him about the fake butt. He's probably not wrong.

In the bts, dd also has several moments of not being properly romantic by gg's standards or of being a little mean to gg and then apologizing later. This may be more of a young man thing than a spectrum thing, though. IME, guys that age are more prone to that sort of thoughtless behavior than guys who are older.

In any case, dd's reputation as aloof is surface-deep, as seen when he's comfortable with people. He's able to joke and play around with others once he warms up to them. I know gg is often seen as uniquely able to soften dd up, and I do think dd is distinctly more affectionate/playful with gg. But it's a difference in degrees. DD also seems comfortable with the other DDU hosts, with his UNIQ brothers, sometimes with the other SDC captains (though not as often), with certain dancers (like Bouboo and Yang Kai).

Heck, Yang Kai even lampshades this in SDC S4. The captains are recruiting their team members and they send gifts to the dancers to woo them. Even though Yang Kai is a definite joiner on dd's team, dd sends him a framed photo of the two of them from Yang Kai's win the previous season. He also gifts Yang Kai a charm for his newborn son. Yang Kai is touched and he comments that he wouldn't expect these gifts from dd because dd just doesn't express his emotions like this usually. (I wonder if dd had some help in choosing the gifts, because all his gifts are incredibly thoughtful in a very uncharacteristic way (sorry, dd))

So, yeah, I have so many thoughts about how dd shows him feelings. I'm not super-attached to the autism spectrum thing, so don't take it too seriously. Hell, don't take any of this seriously. I've never met the guy. I'm just wildly extrapolating from translated glimpses of him.

[genericpuff]

Winter is Coming - Rekindled schedule adjustment and plans for next year!

So it's that time of year now when conventions, markets, and expos for next year are rolling out their submission periods. So far I've gotten accepted to attend the Atlantic Entertainment Expo again (both venues so two shows), MiraCon, and I'm gonna be attending not one, not two, but THREE tattoo expos ! Which is definitely a lot, but I'm excited, it's gonna be good publicity and good money :' ) I'm also gonna be applying to HalCon, Geekquinox, and Animaritimes again, I didn't get in on HalCon this year and didn't find out about Geekquinox until submissions were done (and I only got in on Animaritimes at the last minute when they were looking for people to fill in) but if I do get into any (or all) of those, I'll have to play the fun game of "make sure none of these events land on the same weekend" LMAO

All that's to say, it's gonna be busy next year! (and all of those are the ones I actually decided to apply to, there are ones I did this past year that I'm not planning on doing again because they just didn't turn out to be as good as I had hoped). Thankfully, none of this is starting up until spring, so I'm gonna enjoy the winter off and get to work on new stuff to sell. I'm really eager to get through the rest of [AFTERBIRTH], it's still got quite some time until it's done but my plan is to pitch Thread of Fate to publishers once [AFTERBIRTH] is finished - and if it's not able to get in with those publishers, then I'm gonna pursue other means in getting it published, either digitally or traditionally. Time Gate is a series I've been working on for well over a decade of my life, and it's not something I want to keep throwing to the wolves of free-to-read platforms like WT. As much as I love being able to offer it for free, I want it to be taken more seriously than being just another free to read comic and that starts with me and how I choose to distribute it.

Right now working on all these things is sort of limiting due to the fact that I'm stuck on my iPad, but I'm making it work as best I can and I'm hoping to have the new PC setup going by the end of the year running with a new tablet (currently shopping around between an XP-pen and Huion, I don't want to get a Kamvas 22 Plus again if it's gonna shit the bed in 2 years like this one did, apparently this is a common problem from what I've seen :/)

So yeah, with all that in mind, I'm planning on adjusting Rekindled's update schedule. While I did initially want to offer a poll for y'all to choose between "shorter updates once a week" and "full updates once every 2 weeks", frankly I'm erring more towards the "every two weeks" one because it'll give me more actual time and room to work on everything else. Not to mention (and I'm sure you've all noticed by now) that I have a very specific way that I structure many of these episodes so making them shorter would sort of ruin that rhythm. I don't want to be sacrificing the comic's quality, pacing, or narrative progression for a schedule adjustment.

This isn't going to be an immediate change, I'm thinking of doing this sometime in December so that y'all can have a decent amount of heads up before the switch. I know it's gonna be a little painful to go to a slower release schedule but ultimately I think it's the best way to go so that I can balance all of the projects I have going on without sacrificing quality. Rekindled may be a free to read non-profit project, but I still hold myself to high standards and I want to do my best to deliver on those standards !

Thank you all so much for your patience and support. It seriously blows me away to see all of the wonderful comments, asks, and support for what I do here every day. I'm gonna do my best as well to respond to asks in my inbox as they come in, but please just know I get a LOT of them on a regular basis, it's sort of a Hydra situation where I respond to 1 or 2 and then get 4 more LOL That said, rest assured that I do read and appreciate each and every one of them <3 That also includes essay posts about LO, with LO returning in November I'll surely have more stuff to say about it so I'm gonna try and keep up as best I can :' )

On a final note, we're coming up to the one year anniversary of when I started posting actual episodes of Rekindled!! I'm so excited for this, I can't believe it's been a year!! And I have so much awesome stuff planned for the story that we're gonna see throughout the next year, I can't wait! Thanks so much for being a part of this project with me, I couldn't have asked for a better audience <3

(P.S. everything I have lined up for next year is lining up with the dry period for FF XIV between Endwalker and Dawntrail so I won't have distractions until the summer LMAOO)

[giggly-squiggily]

I highly feel that Geto is way too stressed and Gojo senses that. I feel that Gojo would totally wreck him to relieve some of that stress. To just slow down and laugh freely.

KERKJER Thank you so much, anon! And AHH! Lee!Geto!!! I need fluff after these past few episodes of JJK, lemme tell you! I've gotcha covered, y'all!

CW: Swearing, Panic Attacks

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps)

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada

Midterms are coming up, I need to study-

My new technique has too many quirks to use-

Why are we doing this? What’s the point of it all-

Did I turn off the stove this morning? Oh god- Gojo couldn’t hear these thoughts, but he knew Geto long enough to read the dread on his friend’s face like a paperback novel. Staring at his friend spiraling, he reached out and flicked him in the forehead.

“Ow! The hell’s wrong with you, Satoru?” Geto flailed, shocked out of his reverie as he glared daggers at him. “What is it?”

“You’re doing it again.”

Geto froze over, eyes going blank and jaw slightly slacked. Then he flushed, ears red as he averted his gaze, slumping. “How bad was it?”

“Like you were witnessing a murder. Or Shoko stealing your rice balls.” Gojo grinned as he reached out, shaking Geto’s shoulder. “Come on, Suguru- breathe! Whatever’s got you freaking out will work itself out. It always does!”

“It’s not that easy. Sure, logically I know things are gonna be fine, but my brain won’t accept that! I can’t get it to shut down and I just-” Caught in a whirlwind of sudden emotion, Geto bowed his head in defeat, slumping forward like a slacked marionette. “I just…”

“Hey, hey- breathe. Seriously.” Dropping his teasing tone, Gojo rested his hand on Geto’s back, rubbing small circles. “Just breathe right now. Nice and slow…”

Geto did so, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he gasped around shaky breaths. He barely heard Gojo’s voice anymore, but that was fine. The hand on his back was more than reassuring. Slowly, he was brought out of his near-panic attack. “Sorry.”

“Pfft- you’re such a sap.” Relieved his friend sounded better, Gojo did what he did best. He began poking Geto. “Next you’re gonna tell me how grateful and appreciative you are of me! Just like a shoujo manga! Come on, confess your love!”

“Ah! Aheahaha, screhehehw yoohohohohu! Sahhahatohohoru!” Geto shot back at the sudden tickle, trying and failing to block out Gojo’s hands. “Cuuhuhuhut it ohohohohut! Aheahhaha, dohohohon’t!”

“Don’t what? Don’t hold back your feelings? It’s okay- let them out! Tell me how much you looooove me!” Gojo sang, bringing one hand to Suguru’s neck as the other wormed beneath his arm. They weren’t nearly his most ticklish spots, but damn if they didn’t get Geto giggling like nobody’s business! “Tell me you think I’m the prettiest boy in the world!”

“Aheahhahaha, lihihihihike hehehheell yoohohohohu ahahahahre! Aheahhahaha, Sahhahatou!” Geto tried to lean away from the other, but Gojo simply followed, climbing on top of him as he pressed into his armpits. “Gehhehhet ohohohoohohohoff!”

“Never! I’m attached to you forever and ever!” Gojo sang, deciding to be bold and going straight for Geto’s hips. “Suguru~ Tell me you love meeeee~”

“AHAHA!” The green haired teen let out a scream, nearly sending the other off with how hard he jerked at the feeling. “SAHHAHTORU!”

“Suguru!” Gojo yelled back, laughing like a hyena as Geto howled and cackled beneath him, feet kicking and torso arching upward in vain attempts to grab the hands massaging his hips. “Look at you, you’re so giggly now! Tickle tickle tickle! A tickle tickle tickle! A tickle tickle tickle, Suguru!”

If he could, Geto would verbally rip his white haired menace of a friend a new one. Alas, Gojo had effectively silenced him- no really; he was going for the dips of his hips that never failed to have him tea-kettle wheezing in place of booming laughter.

With the little strength he had left, he reached out and grabbed Gojo’s sides, squeezing right along the spot he knew his friend was ticklish in. Gojo yelped and jerked, hands coming away from Geto’s hips to grab his wrists. That was the opportunity he needed.

“Whoa!” The world twisted, the ground was suddenly the sky, and above him- a flushed face, heavy breathing Geto glared down at him. “Hey there, gorgeous- how you’ve been?”

“You…huhuhush.” Geto growled without any malice, suddenly too tired to tickle back. Below him, Gojo got comfortable, tucking his arms behind his head and wagging his brows with a small smirk. When Geto met his eye once more, he blew a kiss.

“I hate you.” He groaned as Gojo laughed, falling onto his side and off the other. “You’re so annoying- why are we friends again?”

“Cause we’re the only ones who can stand each other's company.” Gojo winked, earning a light shove. “I don’t mind it if we were the last two on earth; though I bet you’d get bored of me after a while.”

“Never.” The words came automatically and swiftly. Geto blinked- even Gojo seemed taken aback by them. “I’d never get bored of you.” The more he said it, the more real it felt. “I’d be bored to tears without you if I’m being honest.”

“Ehe..you know, I was kidding earlier- about the whole confession thing.” Gojo tried to laugh it off, his cheeks starting to turn pink. “You don’t have to get all sappy with me.”

“No, I mean it. Really.” Geto turned so he was on his side, facing the other. “You’re a real pain in the ass, and half the time I want to strangle you, but you’re also my best friend and one of the coolest guys I’ve ever known. You’re there to keep me from spiraling whenever my headspace gets bad, and you always make me laugh. You find these ridiculous things for us to try whenever you travel, and you always send me pictures of you posing in ridiculous places. You’re important to me. Really, you might be one of the only reasons I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth right about now, so…thanks for that.”

Gojo was quiet as he listened, staring up at the sky as he took in every word. His lips were flat, and he was blinking rather rapidly. “You really are a sap, you know that?” He grinned, his voice somewhat wobbly.

“Oak or maple?” Geto grinned, making Gojo cackle.

“Now kiss me you fool!” Gojo threw himself on top of him, making kissy noises and messing up his hair as Geto laughed beneath him. Soon they were wrestling once more, throwing grass in eachother’s faces and jabbing at tickle spots. It was utterly ridiculous yet special at the same time.

It was just as Gojo said; all of it worked out in the end somehow.

Thanks for reading!

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part V: horseshoe overlook i

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 15.3k

summary: your leg feels better, and everyone's spirits are higher in the new camp. You set out to explore Valentine, and find yourself in dangerous situations more often than not. So much for lying low. You realize that you have a bad habit of lying to yourself.

a/n: we're back bitches! But seriously, can't thank you guys enough for all the love and support this last week. I've been trying to be open to keep you guys in the loop and we seem to be back on the right track now. So sorry that there was no upload last week, but hopefully reader's badassery and the fluff makes up for it <3 They're fools, but they figure it out soon enough, the slow burn is worth the wait, I swear it. And lastly only half of this was beta read and I'm too sleepy to do the rest myself so lets just both pretend that there's no errors, thank you, love y'all

warnings: gore, violence, fighting, harassment, held up at the bar by a creepy guy, tw, nightmares, trauma

SERIES MASTERPOST

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup

Sweat drips down your forehead despite the chilly temperature as you strain, pulling the final piece of canvas over your A-frame tent. Once it’s secured to the ground properly, you sigh, and wipe the sweat from your brow.

About five minutes after the wagons rolled into Horseshoe Overlook, Miss. Grimshaw had started whipping you and the other girls into work. While Grimshaw harassed you and the others, Dutch had given a big, charismatic speech, urging  everyone to lay low and bring in money. Lenny and Micah still aren’t back from scouting, and the whereabouts of Sean and Mac are still unknown, but the spirits are higher than they’ve been in a long while. The new camp is perfect. The sun is warm, the breeze carried down by the mountains is refreshing and god- the nature. You’d missed this spot. Deer and rabbits run through the woods, passing through wildflowers and bushes of berries, surrounded by swaying trees and soothed by the sound of the Dakota River. It's a perfect spot, thanks to you. It’s only a few minutes' ride to Valentine as well, a small, rough town filled with livestock, working girls and drunkards. You haven’t had a chance to leave camp yet, as you’ve been working round the clock to get everyone’s tents set up. You saved yours for last, making sure that all the other gang members are comfortable before you worry about your own living arrangements. You’re just finishing your tent now, but for the past few days you’ve been sleeping on the ground next to Tilly and Marybeth. You’re grateful to have your  tent back, although it’s a bit sad. Your belongings, what little you had, were all abandoned in Blackwater. 

You step into your tent, massaging the tender skin of your thigh a little before sitting on your cot. The wound is healing just fine, but it still gives you some pain every now and again. As much as you’d like to lay back on your cot and rest your eyes, you know there's too much to be done right now. Everyone needs to be working their hardest if the gang is gonna get back on its feet. With a small sigh, you push yourself off the cot, adjusting your black hat before stepping out of the tent. Scanning the new camp, you see everyone busy. Arthur has gone off with Charles to hunt for some Bison, and the remaining gang members are all working. So when the sound of loud snoring reaches your ears, you scowl deeply. With determination in your stride, you walk past your tent, then Arthur’s, to the wagon sitting empty towards the back of camp. 

As you step around it, you’re completely unsurprised to find Uncle, sitting on the ground, leaning against the wagon. He’s snoring loudly, his big belly rising up and down as alcohol scented slobber drips from his lip, down his white beard and lands on his red shirt. You roll your eyes, pissed off before ramming your boot into his leg. 

“Get up, you old bastard, everyone is workin’. Except you of course.” You scowl, as the man jolts awake and springs up in front of you. His face is colored with shock and disbelief at your aggression. 

“I- I have lumbago! Kickin’ an old man like that… didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders? Damnit, I was thinkin’...” Uncle argues, defending himself. 

You only chuckle, leaning back on your heels before resting your hand on Uncle’s shoulder. 

“Well I’ll be damned, Uncle. I didn’t think you were capable.” You chastise, nose wrinkling at the smell of his union suit. Uncle looks even more offended, as his eyebrows pull together and he looks at you with a slack jaw. 

“Oh, hush up, would ya? You’ve been hangin’ out with old Morgan too much. It’s made ya sour. Which is unbecoming of a woman such as yourself.” Uncle bites, gesturing to your body as he says the last part. 

You squint your eyes, head cocking as you take a step towards Uncle, and he steps back. 

“Sorry, what was that, Uncle? You need a reminder of what happened when Micah or Bill upset me?” You threaten, thinking back to their purple bruised cheeks after you’d knocked them out cold. You are not too ladylike to punch an old feller, not if he has it coming, anyway. Uncle puts his hands up in surrender, placating you as he chuckles. 

“Now you wouldn’t go hittin’ an old man, would you? An old man with terminal lumbago…” He adds and your face draws up into a comical look of confusion and disbelief. Uncle is both the biggest fool, and the biggest dumbass you’ve ever met. 

“I- lumbago ain’t terminal, you fool.” You say, tossing your arms up with a squint. It isn’t even worth talking to the lazy man. Your hands grip onto your gun belt, and you shake your head.

“Hey Star! He botherin’ you?” Arthur calls from across camp. You turn to him, seeing he has just come back from hunting with a decent portion of meat for the stewpot tonight. 

“Yes, Arthur. Yes he is.” You joke, partially. Arthur starts walking over, chortling to himself, and Uncle looks between the two of you. 

“Oh come on now! We was just foolin!” Uncle yells out. 

Arthur stands at your side, a cigarette between his lips. He’s cleaned up since Colter, taken a bath and trimmed his beard to a neater state. Coming down from the mountains has done him good, and he seems to be in better spirits since Blackwater. Arthur talks through the side of his mouth, blowing smoke out from his lips as he does. 

“Why don't you make yourself useful for once, come into town with us?” Arthur asks Uncle, who sighs and stretches his back. 

“Suppose I could, well, if you lot need me.” Uncle says, sounding less than enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. 

“Good! Go get the wagon ready then.” Arthur says charismatically.  He slaps Uncle on the back as the older man walks away, mumbling under his breath. 

Karen, Tilly and Marybeth have all been standing around their bedrolls, watching your conversation with bright eyes. Contrary to Uncle, they would do anything to get out of camp. They’ve been cooped up with Grimshaw for too long, and her bitter attitude has started to wear them down. When Uncle leaves, you notice the girls approaching and turn to them with a smile. 

“You’re going to town, can we go?” Karen asks Arthur, smiling brightly before glancing to you with the same warm expression. Arthur hesitates, looking around camp a few times before sighing. He rests back on his heels, as if contemplating her request, and his tongue darts past his lips before he speaks. 

“Can Grimshaw spare you?” Arthur asks, and all three girls’ smiles fall into sarcastic scowls before Karen breaks out into a chuckle. The blonde woman rolls her eyes dramatically, laughing as she pokes Arthur in the chest. 

“What happened to you?! Three young ladies ask to ride with you, and you’re askin’ if we’re allowed ?! And here I thought you were some ladies man back in the day!” Karen argues, amused. Arthur scans the camp again before giving up, shrugging his shoulders and chuckling. 

“Alright, fine, but don’t start no trouble.” He yells after them as they run to the wagon Uncle is getting ready. Then Arthur looks back to you. He takes the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his fingers as his ocean colored eyes search your face. Coming down from the mountains and into the sun has earned him a few freckles, and you trace the constellation-like patterns with your eyes for a moment before schooling yourself.

“Ladies man, huh, Arthur?” You chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest to help with the chill of the air. Arthur only chuckles, shaking his head before diverting your question.

“You uh- You comin’ along?” Arthur asks, scratching the back of his neck before taking a long drag from his smoke. You can’t help but smirk at him, looking up to his face. 

“That a formal invitation?” You kid with him. 

“Well yeah, if you ain’t too busy for us low lives that is.” Arthur jokes, and you shove him in the direction of the wagon. Your little push doesn’t even move the rock solid mass of a man, but he walks with you nonetheless.

“Yeah I'll come along.” You say with a sweet smile. When the girls see you approaching they start to hoot and holler, and you smile at their excitement.

“We finally get to go out and about with you!” Marybeth yells, clapping excitedly. The girls are all sitting in the back of the wagon on the bench seats, and Uncle is just starting to climb up into the passenger seat on the wagon bench. 

“Uncle!” Arthur yells, approaching the wagon with you at his side, “Get in the back!” 

Uncle turns towards you both with another dramatic look of shock. He stutters and groans, placing his foot back on the ground before scoffing. 

“Why?!” 

“If I gotta drive this thing I sure as shit ain’t sittin’ by you.” Arthur responds, running his hand along the side of the wagon as he passes it, climbing into the driver's seat. Uncle scoffs again, and mutters something about ‘disrespectful youngsters’ before climbing into the back with the girls. You’re not exactly sure where to sit, and you hesitate for a moment before Arthur pats the bench beside him. With a crooked smile, you climb up and sit on the wooden bench  next to him. 

Arthur picks up the reins, clicking to the horses for them to pick up speed. Uncle had picked out two suffolk punch horses to drive the wagon, and they make a nice strong pair, pulling it out of Horseshoe. Even though he’s not riding, Arthur keeps a soft hand on the reins, giving the horses leeway to do their job. You’re grateful to be getting out of camp, it's the first time you've been out since you’ve come down from Colter however many days ago. You look up to the sun, inhaling the scent of the woods deeply, and cherishing the songs of the birds. You've always loved nature, and you're glad to be out of that damn cabin.

“Why don’t you girls sing us a song?” Uncle suggests, and immediately Arthur whispers ‘oh, brother.’ You’re not sure why, until the girls giggle loudly and begin singing. You turn in your seat, looking back to them with bright pink cheeks. 

“Oooohh, I got a girl in Berryville, she can't be screwed cause she’s too damn ill! So I don’t go down there no more, there's a blue horse laid outside her dooooor!” They all sing out, cackling and giggling in between breaths. You laugh a breathy chuckle, glancing to Arthur with wide eyes as they continue. 

“Ohhh, I got a girl in Valentine! Likes to drink that fancy wine, the plume in her hat was two feet tall, the crack in her pants paid for it all!” They sing out again, and Tilly has to stop because she starts laughing too hard to continue the lyrics. Uncle is entirely pleased with their crass, though hilarious song, and Arthur has a little smile on his face. 

“Don’t care for this song?” Arthur asks, leaning over towards you with a throaty chuckle. Your cheeks are still red as you respond. 

“If I sang this song, I think my daddy’d roll over in his grave, Arthur. Hell, my pa would have killed me if I sang somethin’ so crass.” You laugh, telling the truth. 

Arthur lightly taps the reins down over the horses, urging them to cross the railroad tracks. Marybeth messes up the chorus, and all three girls erupt into chuckles. But you’re no longer focused on them, instead your eyes are fixated on the stagecoach ahead that seems to be swerving all over the road. Your eyebrows pull together, making a familiar little crease in between your eyebrows as your hand darts over to nudge Arthur. 

“Look at that coach…” You whisper, and Arthur looks up. 

The coach swerves off the side of the road, into a patch of grass just as both shire horses break free from the coach. You gasp, watching on as a man jumps down from the driver's seat. He manages to grab the bay shire horse, but the gray one bolts, rearing up before galloping off towards the rocky hills. Arthur taps the reins again, pushing the horses to catch up to the coach. The singing has stopped completely, and Tilly speaks up from behind you. 

“Someones gotta help him get his horse back!” Tilly gasps, looking between you, Arthur and Uncle. Arthur pulls the wagon off the road, and you start to stand up. 

“I’ll help him.” You say, looking after the poor, scared horse. He could be hurt, and you want more than anything to go help. 

Arthur rests two fingers on your knee, pushing you lightly back into your seat. You draw your brows together before he speaks up. 

“You just rest that leg for now, I got this.” Arthur nods to you, and you sigh, but agree. He hops down off the wagon, and jogs up to speak with the stage driver. 

“You just rest that leg for now, I wanna impress you with my horse taming skills.” Karen mocks, chuckling and poking at you. With wide eyes you turn around. 

“Karen!” You chastise, cheeks bright, “It ain’t- it ain’t like that.” You stutter, eyes moving back to Arthur. He’s approaching the horse now, holding his hands out steady and cooing to the scared animal. 

“Oh sure it ain’t.” Karen pokes again, but this time you ignore her jokes, focused on the situation at hand. Arthur takes a few slow steps toward the gray horse, and once he gets close enough, he grabs onto the horse’s headstall. The girls behind you clap and hoot, calling after Arthur for being such a gentleman. He brings the horse back, walking and patting the shire the whole way back until he is safe within the hands of his owner. The man thanks Arthur, and tries to give him some money, but Arthur denies it and walks back towards the wagon. 

“No worries mister, I was just tryin’ to impress the ladies!” Arthur hollers over his shoulder to the stage driver before climbing back up next to you.

“You mean the lady!” Karen pokes again. They all giggle, and Arthur looks back to them, and then to you, as you hold the bridge of your nose, jaw set in annoyance. 

“What? Whatchu goin’ on about?” Arthur asks, confused on the situation. You hold your hand up to Karen, signaling her to cut it out, but of course she doesn’t. 

“We ain’t blind, Star. Seeing a whole lot clearer than you two anyhow.” Karen adds before surrendering, her hands up. 

You turn back towards the road, shaking your head and sighing before crossing your legs. 

“Why don’t you just keep singin’?” You ask, a little annoyed with the constant bugging about you and Arthur’s friendship. 

Arthur drives the wagon past a little auction area, and sheep run around inside of various pens in the auction yard. The town reeks like manure, and you whistle, nose filled with the foul smell. 

“Smell those sheep…” Tilly mumbles, scrunching her nose. 

“Or is that Uncle?” Karen jokes. Uncle looks at her with an open jaw, and a dramatic sense of hurt. 

“Very funny.” Uncle says before pointing to a building up ahead. 

“Sheriff on the right, you could pick up some bounties there Arthur. Or you, Star. You seem the type.” Uncle informs you, and you look to the small sheriff's office, thinking over the idea. 

“Heaven forbid you put your head on the line.” Arthur chastises Uncle, exaggerating his annoyance. 

You’ve spent so much time running from the law, you never thought about working for it. Maybe bounty hunting is something you’ll look into… Arthur slows the horses down to a walk as he drives them down the main road. A few people walk about, shoes all covered in mud as they mill around. Valentine is a nice little town, just as you’d remembered it. Everything looks exactly the same, save for a new building going up at the bottom of the road, next to the general store. You pass Smithfield's saloon, and remember going in there with your parents to get some dinner back, oh so many years ago. A bittersweet smile passes over your lips at the memory, but it fades quickly. 

Arthur pulls the wagon down past the general store, parking the horses near the livery. Everyone starts to climb down out of the wagon, and Karen speaks up. 

“We’ll start at the saloon. Star, you're coming with us!” Karen says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you with her. 

“We’re stealing your woman, Arthur!” Tilly jokes, giggling as Arthur chuckles. 

You’re getting a bit irritated with the constant jokes about you and Arthur. It’s getting a little old, and you’re tired of the persistent blush on your cheeks, but it doesn’t matter how much you try to convince the girls, they won't let up. You still try nonetheless.

Tilly leads you past the few little shops until you come up to the saloon doors, which she kindly holds open for you. You step inside, taking in the few drunkards that meander around the place. 

“Y’know… me and Arthur, really we ain’t like that…” You continue to argue, moving towards and then leaning on the bar. 

“Four whiskeys.” You order, tossing a two dollar bill on the bar. The bartender, a lanky man with a handlebar mustache the size of Texas, brings out the bottle and pours four shots on the counter, sliding them your way before taking the bill. Immediately, you take the shot, tossing your head back and swallowing it. The whiskey burns your throat, drowning your anxieties with it as the burn scorches through your veins. Marybeth, standing at the bar to your side, places her hand on your arm. 

“I’m sorry, I mean- we ain’t meaning to pick on ya, but…” Marybeth starts, before Tilly finishes her shot and Marybeth’s sentence. 

“But Arthur ain’t never took to someone like he has with you.” Tilly interjects, and you look down, biting your cheek, ordering another drink. 

“He ain’t taken to a woman in so long, Star. Well, not since he was eng-” Marybeth starts, but Karen elbows her to shut up. You don't even want to ask where she was going with that. Really, you don’t care. Arthur’s habits with women have no impact on you. Karen steps forward, growing serious. 

“He hasn’t been sweet on someone in a long while, Star. I seen him reject many of women in my day, and never seen him pay for a working girl neither.” Karen says, no judgment in her eyes as she looks over your features. 

“Wasn’t it you just sayin’ all of ten minutes ago that he used to be some big ladies man?” You ask, confused and annoyed. Karen chuckles under her breath before she responds. 

“Well I was joking, mostly. Arthur don’t talk about his younger years. Tilly was around for most of it, but he hasn't even told her much, just rumor. He don’t talk to anyone about that time.” Karen explains, a sad look on her face. The other two girls nod, and you wonder why Arthur is so closed off about his past. Marybeth gets a glint in her eye, and she moves forward to whisper a juicy piece of gossip. Her dirty blonde curls bounce as she leans in. 

“Y’know I heard that a few years back he got a waitress p-” 

“Marybeth, enough!” Tilly chastises, an angry look on her face as she scowls down at Marybeth. 

Marybeth bites her tongue, keeping quiet with a sheepish look on her face. Her cheeks are pink with embarrassment, and you’re left catching up with the whole situation. Once again, you don’t even want to know.

“So there you have it then,” You down your second shot, slamming the empty glass back down onto the counter, wishing that you could talk about something other than Arthur for once, “You just told me that he’s never sweet on anyone. I sure as shit ain’t changing that.” You counter. Karen rolls her eyes, tugging on your arm. 

“But you are!” Karen pleads, begging you to see the situation as she does. 

“Look, we’re not trying to bug you. We’ll stop. But Star, the way he looks after you.” Tilly says, and you’re just grateful to hear her admit that they’ll stop picking. The girls love a good piece of gossip, and you have fallen victim to their newest obsession. As much as you love the girls, it's frustrating. Seeing that you’ve had enough, and practically abandoned the conversation, Karen walks behind you, scanning the men in the bar. 

“I'm gonna pick one of these fellers up.” Karen whispers with a devious smile on her lips. Marybeth and Tilly both roll their eyes, sighing.

“You’re gonna what?!” You ask, wondering if Karen has totally lost her mind. Arthur has given strict instructions to not get into any trouble here. Not to mention that none of these fellas seem like particularly good ones to spend a night with. 

“I'm gonna pick one up, take him up to the hotel, then I'm gonna rob him blind.” Karen explains, the same devilish smirk on her lips. 

“Karen, be careful.” You warn, knowing that stealing from men like these ones isn’t particularly easy. Karen only dismisses you with her hand before stalking off towards her prey. She pushes her shoulders back and bats her eyelashes, approaching a drunk man sitting down at the poker table. He’s just won the hand, and is collecting money from the dealer. You don’t like the idea, not one bit, but you’re not about to stop her. Karen’s almost as bullheaded as you. Tilly is looking after Karen with the same worry as you, and as the blonde woman leads the man out of the saloon, into the direction of the hotel, Tilly speaks up. 

“I’ll follow her, make sure she’s okay.” 

You nod to Tilly before she heads out of the saloon too, leaving only you and Marybeth at the bar. Marybeth is looking down at her untouched drink, her eyebrows pulled together in thought. She looks upset, and you lean in to ask about it before she explains.  

“I just… well I’m really sorry if I upset you. It wasn’t my intention to.” Marybeth looks up to you, hoping you won’t be mad with her. You know she never meant to get under your skin. Marybeth is so very young, and she’s tangled up in fantasies of feet sweeping love, ideas that you had to give up a long time ago. Your life has been unkind, you’ve not had time to daydream of silly romances. Pitifully, you realize that the stories are all that Marybeth has. She stays in camp, and only has her books and daydreams to distract herself from everyday life. 

“Marybeth, you didn’t upset me. Really. My skin ain’t so thin.” You smile to reassure her. Marybeth bites her lip, fingers trailing over her still-full shot glass. You rest your elbows on the bar, looking to her drawn up face. There’s something else she wants to say.

“It just-” Marybeth laughs breathily, and looks up to you with sparkling eyes. “It's like one of my novels, It seems so perfect.” Marybeth beams, gripping onto your arm, as if it would help to convince you.

You bite your tongue, knowing that Marybeth is naive. She can’t help it, really. What you and Arthur share is not perfect. Hell, it’s far from perfect. You bonded over the pain of losing so much that the only thing left for you to cling to was him. It’s not conventional, you’re outlaws, killers, and after the things you’ve done? You don’t think you deserve a happy ending, or that you’re even capable of finding one. 

“It ain’t that simple.” You grit, eyes boring into the bar. Marybeth’s hand rests on your forearm gently, grabbing your attention as she offers you a sweet smile. 

“I’m sure it ain’t, and I’m sorry for assuming, but… a word of advice?” 

“Go ahead.” You oblige, sighing and turning to her. Her giggles and chastising tone are gone, replaced with a sheepish smile and a whole lot of intensity. 

“When there’s something good in front of you, an opportunity to be loved and looked after, cared for, don't let it go to waste. I can see you have trouble letting people in, and why that is, I’m sorry for, but… I’ve known Arthur most of my life, he’s been a big brother to us, and Star, he’s a good one.” Marybeth whispers, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before she averts her eyes back to her drink. You’re grateful for it because a blush runs over your cheeks. Is your and Arthur’s… situation that obvious to everyone else?

“I- well it ain’t-” You sigh, trying to find your words, “It ain’t like that Marybeth. He’s my best friend.” And it’s true. Arthur is your best friend, and you won’t allow yourself more than that. You’re not looking for a courtship, you don’t have time for such… trivial things, you’re fighting for your life every goddamn day it seems. With a sigh, you turn around, leaning your back against the bar and glancing out the window to the men and women walking down the muddy road.

“Exactly.” Marybeth laughs, as if this is all so obvious, and you’re the one who doesn’t understand. 

“Marybeth-” You start to quiet her, but as you continue to glance out the window, your eyebrows draw together. Marybeth follows your gaze, and her hand comes up to her mouth in shock. Tilly is across the street, in a small alley being held up by some feller, some feller with Arthur’s cattleman pressed against his temple.

“Shit, I'll go see what's goin’ on… so much for lyin’ low.” You mumble, jogging towards the saloon doors before pushing them open. Your eyes have to adjust to the bright sun as you rest your hand on your holster, walking across the muddy street and joining them. 

“You best get gone, partner. Lay a hand on Miss Tilly again, n I’ll put a bullet in ya.” Arthur growls. You’ve never heard his voice sound so… predatory, and it scares you, even. The man, with a deep scowl on his face backs away from Tilly, who is resting her hands on her knees and taking deep breaths. 

The stranger looks like he wants to argue, but he backs away a few steps before turning around and heading towards his horse. Arthur escorts him there, making sure he gets well and gone, while you rush to Tilly’s side. 

“You okay? Who was that?” You ask, helping her to get her bearings by placing a hand on her arm. She stands up, a disgusted look on her face. The stranger gallops away with a mean scowl, and Arthur holsters his gun, walking back down the alley towards you both. 

“Anthony Foreman. Bastard I used to run with, he thinks he owns me.” Tilly hisses, a long, old wound rearing its ugly head again. There’s history here, and it ain’t good. You glance to Arthur for a moment, worried, before wrapping your arms around Tilly. 

“Well he’s gone now. It’s alright, I don't imagine he'll be back around, not after that.” You whisper, squeezing her lightly before letting go. Arthur lightly squeezes your elbow to get your attention, and you turn to him. His tongue darts out over his lips before he speaks. 

“Where’s Karen?” He asks, glancing across the road to see Marybeth standing outside the general store with Uncle. Karen is the only one not accounted for. You share a glance with Tilly, before backing away from them both slowly, thinking. 

“Shit, I’ll go check on her, she’s in the hotel.” You mutter before jogging around the corner towards the hotel entrance.

Arthur calls after you, but it’s the last of your worries right now. The man she took into the hotel didn’t look right when you’d seen him in the saloon. He’s not someone you would have chosen to steal from for sure. You push the hotel door open with more force than necessary, and a very scared looking clerk cowers a little in fear behind the counter. 

“Blonde girl, young, came in here with a feller not too long ago, which room?” You growl, already making your way to the staircase. The man doesn’t wish to get in your way, he knows you’ll be trouble as he mumbles. 

“Uhh, two- two B!” He yells back, and you take the information and go, rushing up the stairs while skipping two at a time. If Karen was successful in robbing this guy she should have been back by now. You hesitate for a moment once reaching the top of the stairs… she would be back by now unless she wanted to actually lay with this man before robbing him.  It would be awkward as all hell if you busted the door down and interrupted something… 

But you can’t leave Karen if something has gone awry, so you go with your gut and bite your tongue. You step down the hallway, searching for room 2b. It's the very last door, and you walk towards it hesitantly. 

“Uh… Sir? Miss? Everything okay in there?” You ask, posing as a working maid in case Karen is just having fun. You’re just about to knock on the door when you hear glass shatter from inside. 

“Damn!” You curse, turning the knob to no avail. It’s been locked from the inside, and though it's futile, you push against the door with all your might. 

Getting an idea, you grab your journal from your satchel, quickly tearing a paper out before shoving the journal back into your satchel. You’d learned this from your Pa, and used it to get into his shop when he accidentally locked the keys inside. You fold the paper over a few times until it's thicker, push it into the crack in the door and then slide it down as hard and fast as you can. The deadlock slides back into the door and you swing it open. 

Karen is against the wall, holding her cheek where a purple bruise is forming, and the man she’d bribed is dressed down into his long johns, yelling in her face with a tight grip on her arm.

“Get off of her!” You yell at the man, rushing forward and grabbing Karen. You shove her behind you, shielding her from this degenerate. Your blood boils as you shove Karen out of the room. 

“I’m just gettin’ what I paid for.” He growls, stepping towards you as if he’s going to grab Karen back. 

“You ain’t paid to hit her.” You hiss, seething, and when his arm extends to grab onto Karen’s, you knee him, as hard as you can, right in the manhood. He doubles over, gripping in between his legs and yelling. His eyes glaze over with drunken rage, something you're familiar with thanks to your pa. 

“You- you fucking bitch!” He screams, groaning loudly before standing back up. You’re not sure what exactly you’d expected to happen, but as he towers over you, fists at the ready, you realize that he’s probably going to win this fight. Nonetheless you stance yourself, ready for it. Some hair falls down in your face, and you curse as the stray blocks some of your vision.

“I'm going to get help!” Karen yells before running from the room. You might not need it, you probably will. The bastard is big, his fists are scarred, signaling he’s been in many fights before, and he’s at least a head taller than you. 

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, and swing first, using the height difference to your advantage by cutting straight up into the bastard's nose. He yelps, and blood starts trickling from his now deformed nose as he wipes the blood away and swings back. He goes for a left hook, which you dodge. The man’s drunkenness helps you a bit, but as you dodge one punch, you catch another, right in the cheek. It knocks you down to the ground, and you groan as your body absorbs the shock of hitting the floor. Your ribs hurt along with your knee, and you stretch your jaw to make sure it’s not broken. It’s alright, and you can fully move it but damn, it hurts. 

You’re filled with rage, and the metallic taste of blood in your mouth only spurs you further. This fella fights dirty. Well, two can play at that game. Quickly recuperating from the punch, and still on the floor you swing your good leg out. Much like you did to Arthur back in Tumbleweed, you undercut the man’s ankles, knocking him to the ground. 

You’re already tired from the fight, and you cling to your cheek, panting.

“Star?!” a familiar voice hollers from the hallway. It’s Arthur, and you trust him to take care of this guy, so you rest back against the floor to take a breather. 

“In here.” You mumble, raising your hand up from the ground sarcastically even though he can’t see you. 

Arthur rushes in the door just as the man tries to stand up, and with a swift kick Arthur boots him right in the head, knocking him fully unconscious. As soon as the guy hits the floor, Arthur skids down on his knees at your side. His hands are warm on your skin, gently pulling you up into a sitting position. 

“How bad did he get you?” Arthur asks, and his eyes are so concentrated on the forming bruise along your cheek, you almost get lost in them. There's a dark undertone to his gaze, a rage, not directed at you. Despite the anger bubbling up at the pathetic excuse of a man currently out cold on the floor, Arthur’s hands are featherlight on your skin. 

“Not bad, I’m fine Arthur.”

“For the record, I got him warmed up, you just finished him off.” You chuckle, stretching your jaw before spitting some blood onto the wood floor. 

Arthur is relieved to see you smiling as he runs his warm hand along your cheekbone, checking it over. There's some purple bruising coming in along your jaw and cheek, but he reckons you’ll be alright. He’ll never understand how a man could hit a woman, and wishes to do a lot worse to this bastard than knock him out.

“Got you pretty good.” Arthur mumbles, gripping your hand to pull you up to your feet. You take it, standing up with a small groan. 

“Yeah well you shoulda seen it, knocked him flat on his ass, kinda like I did to you in Tumbleweed… Y'know I'm still pissed I didn’t get to see you hit the floor.” You chastise as he holds the door open for you to step into the hallway. 

“Ain’t you just a proper lady.” Arthur jokes, leading you down the exterior stairs to avoid running into the hotel clerk. 

“Yeah, and you’re a saint.” You huff.

You rest your hand along the rail as you walk down the staircase with Arthur. Karen is just around the bend, standing near the butcher stand with the others. You’re relieved to see that they’ve regrouped, and no one seems terribly harmed. 

“Karen, you alright?” You ask, jogging down the stairs to meet her. She has a red stinging mark on her face, but it’s fading. She nods, dipping her head to Arthur and you in thanks. 

“I’m okay, don't like being saved, but when I have to be…” Karen leads you towards the others, but her steps are slow and she seems to be in thought. 

“Stupid bastard- Stupid bastard was boasting about the bank.” Karen smiles, proud of the information she’d garnered before it all went downhill. Your eyebrows pull together, and you glance around the town quickly. The bank? Seems like a fool's move to you. Valentine doesn't have much but sheep and shit, you’d probably be better off just robbing a store for your troubles. 

“Karen, unless I’m missing somethin’ this bank ain’t worth riskin’ our necks for. I don’t imagine that a whole lotta money passes through this town, nothin’ amounting to a hill of beans anyway.” You explain, taking note of the fact that most people occupying the town are pretty average, working in small local shops around town or farming. Arthur shakes his head, disagreeing with you. 

“No, Karen’s right. This here’s a livestock town. After the auction?” Arthur whistles lowly, “That bank will be overflowing with cash.” Arthur counters as the three of you make it towards the front of the general store to regroup. You hadn’t even thought of the auctions, but Arthur’s right. In the short time you’ve been here you’ve seen many animals being moved over in the yard. It’ll be full, alright. 

“So we’re gonna work the bank?” You ask, nervously. You’ve never worked a job so big before, and it has your gut sinking. Arthur notices this, and brushes his hand over yours for reassurance. 

“Not for a while yet, and you don’t have to come out if you ain’t comfortable with it.” Arthur whispers to you, stepping up onto the platform where Uncle, Tilly and Marybeth are waiting. Uncle looks as exasperated as ever, arms going up in the air. 

“Well so much for lyin’ low. We’ve been here an hour and half the townsfolk been threatened or knocked out!” Uncle chastises, gesturing towards the hotel. You roll your eyes at his dramatic demeanor. 

“Not like it was our fault, Uncle. And god only knows what you’ve been-” You’re cut short as Marybeth grabs Arthur’s arm and it gets your attention. 

“Hey, who’s that guy over there lookin’ at us?” She asks, and you follow her gaze to a well dressed man sitting on a chestnut morgan. His jaw is slack, he looks… shocked? Or scared? You’re not sure, but he’s piecing something together and it isn’t good. The man's finger comes up, and he points in the direction of you and Arthur. 

“Weren’t you in Blackwater a few weeks back?” The man asks, voice trembling as a cold sweat runs down his forehead. Arthur steps forward, looking around as if oblivious.

“Me? No I wasn’t in-” Arthur begins, and much to his growing annoyance is cut off by the frightened man. You can only stare blankly in a panic as the man points directly to you. 

“No no, you, the lady. I saw you, you were in Blackwater.” The man says, and his worry grows by the second along with Arthur’s irritation. Marybeth and Tilly share a worried glance as you watch on, shocked. 

“No. She ain’t from there.” Arthur grits with no room for argument, his friendly demeanor has disappeared completely at this point. 

“Oh she was! I definitely saw you, with a bunch of fellers!” The man’s voice grows louder, drawing attention to you all. He gets more anxious, and his horse begins to prance and rear up with anxiety as the man breathes heavily. Arthur’s eyes grow downright menacing, and his voice drops an octave. 

“Now that's impossible. She. Weren’t. There.” Arthur bites out every word, emphasizing them.

The man is lost for words, stuttering and pointing. People begin to stop and stare, and Arthur doesn’t like all the wandering eyes. Drawing this much attention to yourselves is bad. In a final attempt to shut this guy up, Arthur attempts to reason with him. 

“Listen buddy, come here for a minute. We can sort this.” Arthur says, voice back to a friendly holler, but it’s too late. The stranger points once more, and his horse rears. 

“She was there! I saw it!” He yells before spurring his horse down the road. 

The eyes on you make you uncomfortable, and you're nervous under the judgmental gazes that question your situation. Arthur turns around with a deep sigh, distaste in his mouth. 

“I don’t like this…” Uncle whispers, shaking his head. You watch Arthur in thought, before moving your gaze to the stranger cantering down the road. 

“Me neither.” Arthur says, biting his cheek before directing his attention to you. 

“Get them home and bring me my horse. Meet me in the saloon,” Arthur nods to you and starts walking towards a hitched horse in front of the store, “I'm gonna go have a word with our friend.” He says, climbing onto the saddle of a buckskin standardbred. 

“Be careful, Arthur!” Tilly yells as Arthur squeezes the horse’s side with his calves. 

“Just a word!” 

You’re still left reeling as Arthur gallops after the stranger. Marybeth takes your arm and starts leading you to where the wagon is parked. You follow along with her, walking at a rushed pace to get out of town before something else goes awry. In just a few moments you reach the wagon, and some of the eyes boring into your back dissipate.

“I can’t believe someone recognized me…” You whisper, feeling nervous and spaced out. You tap the reins against the horses’ backs, urging them into a lope as you get away from the middle of town. 

“I didn’t even think you were supposed to be on the job.” Tilly adds, and the other three nod, agreeing. You drive the horses past the auction yard, almost to the train tracks as you recount that awful day. 

“I was in town with Arthur when I saw the explosion… I had to help and then it- I was right in the middle of it all.” You think back to Charles and Jenny carrying Davey out of the ferry, Dutch’s yelling, Jenny falling from her horse and everyone leaving you and her behind except for Charles. 

Karen notices your glazed over expression, and the way your hands tremble slightly on the reins. 

“It’s okay, you don’t gotta talk about it.”

You nod, pushing it all down as you bring the wagon closer to the camp. The rest of the ride is quiet, save for the birds. You’re all too consumed with worry to talk about it. You’ve just set your tent up this morning and the last thing you want is to be forced into moving because someone recognized you. Dutch would certainly be less than pleased with you then. Arthur’s handling the situation now, hopefully without giving a beating. You’ve not exactly been lying low since arriving and another public battery would do far more harm than good. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve pulled into the woods until you hear John yelling. 

“Who’s there?” He hollers, picking his rifle up against his shoulder, ready to aim.

“Ease off Marston, it’s us.” You reply as he lowers his weapon. You take note of his face, the scar that's beginning to heal now. He still has a hell of a lot of stitches and it’ll leave a nasty scar, but you’re just glad he’s alive. It wasn’t looking so good for John Marson when you and Javier found him up in Colter, but here he stands. 

You pull the horses off to the side near the hitching posts before jumping down from the driver’s seat. Giving the horse nearest to you a pat, you look to the girls and Uncle. 

“Well, thanks for the fun.” You joke, a chuckle escaping your lips. Karen smiles, her cheek has returned back to a cool ivory you notice, faring better than yours, which you’re glad for. 

“And thanks for the drinks!” Karen says, helping Marybeth to climb down from the wagon. Uncle starts heading off towards his bedroll, and you tip your hat to them all before turning and going towards the hitching posts. 

Arthur’s saddle is hung over the post, and you grab it along with his saddle pad. His walker is hitched to the post, and you coo to the stallion as you swing the saddle over his back, making sure to tent the pad to prevent any pinching. Just as you lean down to the ground to grab the cinch and girth, a throat clears behind you. 

“Miss?” 

You startle, turning around to meet the deep voice that you’ve talked to only on a few occasions. Standing before you, tall, dark with a presence is Dutch van der Linde. You’ve only talked to him in Colter, and even then you were barely capable of speaking. 

“Oh-  mornin’ Dutch.” You stutter, nervous, Dutch has given you no reason to fear him, and yet his posture, which demands respect, intimidates you. You’ve read the clips from the newspapers, you know what he’s done, good and bad. But after Blackwater you noticed an edge to him, one that easily loses control, and you make an effort not to get on his bad side. 

“You’ve been running us for some time now. What’s it been, a month?” Dutch asks, bringing a thick expensive cigar up to his lips and inhaling the smoke. 

“Y-yeah, almost… I think, haven't been keeping track of time too well.” You admit, nervously. You’re disappointed that your fearless, tough demeanor has faltered, but something about Dutch does that to you. You don’t know him well enough to trust him, and the last thing you want to do is irritate or disrespect him. You’re feisty, but you’re not dumb, you pick your battles. 

Dutch hums, squinting his eyes while running them over your face, taking note of your black and blue cheek. He doesn’t ask about it, which you’re thankful for. 

“You, my dear, have potential.” Dutch says, nodding his head lightly as if agreeing with himself. Your eyebrows draw together as you wait for him to explain. But he doesn’t. 

“We’ll talk more later. I like to know who I’m running with, on a more… personal level.” Dutch chuckles deeply, the smoke on his breath reaching your face as you nod, feeling so uncomfortable and nervous. Dutch is going to… interview you? Or something of the sort… 

“You have a good day, miss.” Dutch says, tipping his hat to you before backing away a few steps and finally turning around. You release a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding before grabbing the cinch and tightening it in a Texas T. 

You waste no time, going over to your buckskin and repeating the process with a sigh. You really need to get to the stables soon. These two unnamed horses are good but… not what you need for this new life. You don't have enough money for a horse right now, but maybe after a job. You climb into the saddle, whistling for Arthur's walker to follow you. Luckily, he does and you start into a gallop back towards Valentine. You waste no time, as Dutch has already wasted enough, spurring your stallion. If everything has gone according to plan, then Arthur should already be back in town at the saloon. You slip your foot out of your stirrup on the side that’s still healing from Blackwater, letting it hang down to create some relief. It’s a quiet ride, and you take some time to observe around you as you gallop on, occasionally whistling to make sure Arthur’s walker is still with you. 

The sun has dipped behind the shelter of clouds, providing some relief for your eyes. You hum your favorite little song, the same one you sang back in the woods by Tall Trees all that time ago. The birds are chirping, the breeze is nice, and you focus the pleasant senses to quell your nerves. 

Before long you’re trotting over the railroad, tipping your hat to a man in a blue union uniform. Your brows draw together for a moment, realizing that he’s far too young to have served in the war. He’s missing an arm, and the long sleeve of his uniform has been sewed up to his shoulder. You eye him with curiosity as he begs for money on the street. What a peculiar fella. Hell, he may be a better thief than you, posing as a veteran. Seems morally questionable, but you also doubt he’s completely right in the head. You turn back to him with a small smile, wondering of his circumstances. 

You continue trotting forward, almost running over a few hens that scurry across the mud caked road. And with one more whistle you turn the bend up the main drag. It’s only about noon, so not many people are milling about. You scan for Arthur, and pinpoint the standardbred he had borrowed to chase after that man. It’s hitched in front of the new building that's being put up, and eventually you spot him. He’s leaning against a beam in front of the general store, ankles crossed as he focuses intently on the little book in his hands. You can’t help but smile at the sight of his face drawn up in concentration. He’s sketching in his journal, eyes glancing up and down from the leather bound pages to the Valentine Bank. Surely he’s drawing it, and you would do anything for a peek into those pages. 

There's a cigarette poking out from his lips and he pulls from it before blowing the smoke out of his nose, hands too busy to properly pull it away from his mouth. You can't help but stare at the precision of his right hand, expertly drawing the bank. Again, your mouth cracks with a smile, and you pull your gaze down to your reins. 

“C’mon lady, I got places to be!” A man yells from behind you, trying to drive a wagon up the road. Amidst your staring, you had failed to realize that you’re blocking the road. Instead of apologizing, you turn and shoot him a nasty glare. 

“Why don’t you shut your mouth, mister, before I shut it for you.” You hiss, glaring daggers at the middle aged man for interrupting your observations. 

He scowls at you, but doesn’t push any further. When you turn back, riding towards the hitching post in front of Arthur, he looks up at you with an amused smirk. Apparently the bickering had caught his attention, and he’s finally noticed you.

“Who pissed in your coffee this mornin’?” Arthur jokes, tucking his journal back into his satchel, much to your displeasure. You crack a smile, dismounting from your buckskin before hitching it and then Arthur’s walker. 

“How did it go… with that guy?” You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to draw anymore attention to yourselves. Arthur walks you towards the saloon slowly, giving himself time to explain. You glance down to his knuckles and notice they are clean, not bloodied or bruised. 

“Oh I don’t think Jimmy Brooks is gonna be a problem anymore.” Arthur says, resting his hands on his belt, spurs clicking as he walks. Your eyebrows pull together, and your gut flips. 

“Did you…? I mean you didn’t-” You start, trailing off while trying to ask if Arthur killed the guy. You don’t want that. The poor guy, Jimmy Brooks, was in the wrong place at the wrong time, it ain’t his fault, really. You and the people you now run with make poor decisions sometimes, you realize that. Blackwater was one of them. 

“No, nah he’s okay, we came to an agreement. You see, Brooks weren’t even in Blackwater! Just a complete misunderstandin’ on his part, but it's settled now.” Arthur sarcastically explains, that switch flipping once again that makes him charismatic and threatening. You chuckle at Jimmy Brook's sudden compliance as Arthur reaches into his jeans’ pocket.

“And would ya look at this. He even gave me a pen for all the trouble.” Arthur smirks, pulling out a nice fountain pen from his pocket. He hands it over to you, and with piqued interest, you take it. 

“Fancy.” You mumble, looking the nice pen over while stepping over a ledge in the sidewalk. 

“Why don’t you keep it. I’m more of a charcoal and lead type anyways.” Arthur says, pulling a can of dip from his satchel and stuffing a wad in his cheek. With a hum, you stick the pen into your satchel. 

“Thanks.” You smile, pushing the saloon doors open, a hand on each. 

You whistle upon entry, seeing Javier and Charles doting over some working women. With a raised eyebrow, you subtly gesture towards them. 

“Charles? He doesn’t seem the type.” You chuckle as Arthur walks up beside you. 

“You’d be surprised what a drink can do to some of these fellers.” Arthur sighs, heading towards the bar. Javier has his arm wrapped around a blonde woman, her bust barely concealed by her dress, and Charles is eyeing up a brunette at his side. 

You lean on your good leg, shaking yor head with a chuckle. 

“Estrella! Arthur! Come meet our new friends.” Javier’s words are slurred just enough for you to notice. You roll your eyes, unable to shake the shocked smile from your lips. The boys you run with are unbelievable. When you look over to Arthur he is not smiling. Instead he is looking the working girls over, not fondly, but rather as if inspecting them, curiously and angrily? It makes you chuckle even more. The dark haired girl is staring at you, and you meet her gaze head on. 

“He yours? Ain’t so often we come across a tough as teak mountain man.” She says, nodding her head towards Arthur, and your eyes widen, a laugh bubbling up in your throat. Oh, they’re trying to pick up Arthur- this should be good. The blonde girl lightly smacks the other, stepping towards Arthur. 

“Oh you be quiet Anatasia, anyone can tell this one is a pussy cat!”

 Arthur squints his eyes, looking at the girls like they have three heads. Javier steps in between his chosen lady and Arthur. 

“Exactly, yes. He's a pussy…   cat.” Javier jabs, but Arthur doesn’t seem to care or even notice. He leans his hands on his knees, looking at the girls from a different angle as if inspecting a goddamn horse. You bite your tongue, suppressing a laugh. You guess Karen was right, famous ladies man…

“How much you cost anyway?” Arthur asks, stepping back and leaning back on his heels. Javier rolls his eyes, pissed off at this point, while the girls scowl at him like the devil himself. 

“Well ain’t that a nice way to talk to a lady…” Anastasia says, mouth thick with distaste as she looks over Arthur, demeanor completely shifted from thirty seconds ago.

Arthur leans forward, a downright comical expression on his face as he hisses, 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize I was talkin’ to a lady.” 

Your jaw drops and your cheeks turn pink even though you have nothing to do with what he’s just said. Both of the girls stomp off, having had enough. Javier only rolls his eyes, and Charles extends his arm after the women, watching as they file away. 

“Arthur!” You chastise, never seeing him act so… crass. He shrugs, stepping forward to where the girls were just standing before leaning on the bar. He raises a hand towards the bartender, who starts walking over. 

“What?” Arthur says, exasperated. “I’ll be the one at the damn general store gettin’ these dumbasses an ointment after they pay for those ‘women’.” Arthur sighs, and you deduce that he definitely has been in that situation before. Javiers’ a bit less mad, and he sighs, leaning onto the bar on the other side of Arthur. 

“You got a fine way with the women, amigo…” Javier mumbles, rubbing his temples. 

“A regular dandy and charmer.” Arthur says, just as the bartender approaches, “Two beers.” Arthur orders for you, tossing a bill on the table. You turn to him, an eyebrow raised disapprovingly. 

“What-?” Arthur asks at your expression before sighing and calling the bartender back over. 

“Sorry partner, make that one beer and a whiskey for the lady.” Arthur corrects himself, and earns a smile for it. 

You glance around the bar as the same tender from earlier grabs your drinks. It's more packed now, closer to the evening and some men have gotten off from work, while some women have just started. A pianist plays Maple Leaf Rag on the piano, probably the only song he knows to be honest, but you don’t mind. It creates a nice ambience anyway. Arthur starts chatting with the boys, and you glance around curiously. You thought Bill would be here too…?

“Hey-” You nudge Arthur’s shoulder, but he’s too caught up in his own conversation to notice yours. Your brows are pulled together tightly as you feel something’s… off.

Ah, your gut is always right. Bill kicks the saloon doors open, stepping in and going straight up to a guy. He’s face to face with him, and you can’t tell if he’s mad or not. 

“He about to kiss that guy or punch him?” Arthur asks, and you glance over your shoulder, noticing that behind you, Arthur has also caught wind of the situation. The bartender sets down a beer bottle and a neat glass of whiskey on the table, and Arthur grabs his bottle by the neck, taking a long swig before setting it down in front of you. 

“Keep the tab goin’ Star.” Arthur says with a wink, rolling up his sleeves just as Bill rams his fist into the other man's gut with a drunken yell. 

“Oh! And we have our answer!” Javier calls out. Arthur squeezes your arm lightly before stepping past you, in three strides he walks out into the center of the bar and all hell breaks loose. Maple Leaf Rag continues playing as if all is well while every man in the center of the saloon starts throwing punches. Arthur walks straight up to a guy, punching him square in the nose with a sickening crack. You lean against the bar, shaking your head as he knocks out two men within a few minutes. 

You watch on for a while, mesmerized at Arthur’s skill in fighting. He's a damn good fighter, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t attractive to watch. His muscles flex as he expertly dodges, landing punches that shatter bones. It’s awful and incredible at the same time. A bunch of degenerates thriving in chaos, adrenaline rushing from the men who are tearing each other apart, civilly, with some good old fashioned fist fighting. It’s so them, you chuckle. Of course this is how they unwind. 

Running your tongue over your bottom lip, you turn back to the bar. As asked, you keep the tab open, watching Arthur’s beer while sipping from your drink. The piano is loud compared to the sound of men beating the hell out of each other, but not as loud as Bill.

“Let's just shoot em!” He yells, right before getting his head slammed against the wall. Javier dodges a punch by jumping backwards, right before knocking a guy out. 

“Oh, come on! We can handle these fools!” Javier replies over the commotion. 

Their voices are farther away, out in the center of the saloon. Everyone is distracted, including you, as you take a swig from your drink. So it surprises you, in fact it scares the hell out of you, when two hands place themselves down onto the bar on either side of you. You gasp, whipping around. A man, a fucking beast of a man is standing over you. He’s way over six feet, and so broad that just by the proximity you can’t see around him. You don’t have much time to think, already buzzed from your drink and it’s throwing your senses off. Typically you would already have a knife in this guy, but your vision is a little fuzzy and things are just a bit slower. 

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doin’ with these people, hmm?” He says, breath reeking of cheap alcohol. The scent is all too familiar, and you nearly choke on it. He presses against your torso, completely trapping you against the bar, so tightly that the wood digs into your back painfully.

“Get off me.” You growl, glaring daggers up at the man. He doesn’t acknowledge your words, instead he brushes a hair away from your face and you rip your head away from his large, grubby hands. 

“Could show you a real fun time. Got some cash on me.” He says, smiling at you like he’s just won some prize. You fume, rage taking over as he pins your wrists down at your sides so you can’t grab any weapons.

“I ain’t for sale.”

The man's eyebrows raise, and he chuckles. Your back aches from the way he's shoving you into the bar, and you glance over to the boys at the center of the room. You can handle this guy.

“So youse free then? Even better, sugar.” He chuckles, deep in his throat and his breath reeks. If he would just release one of your arms you could have him dead on the floor in seconds. 

Just as you form a plan, he lets go of your arm and grabs your chin, harshly. 

“Looks like you got a bruise comin’ in here on this pretty little face. Real shame, it from your cowboy? You got a mister at home? Does he like sharin?”

You slip your hand down to your knife sheath, gripping onto the handle. Just as you reach it, Arthur spots you from across the room. Your small frame is being crushed between this giant bastard and the bar, his hand squeezes your jaw. A boiling rage takes over Arthur as he drops the man he was holding up, straight to the floor. The room spins and he sees nothing but red. Wasting no time, he runs towards you in a few long strides. You pull your knife out, and just as you move to plunge it into the man’s gut, Arthur tears him off of you. 

“You leave her the hell alone!” Arthur roars. Your eyes widen as you take in what’s just happened, your knife is still in your hand as the man grabs Arthur by the collar and throws him over one of the dining tables. 

“Tommy! Tommy, stop it!” The bartender screams, and you gasp as Tommy picks up Arthur again and shoves him through the front window. 

Glass shatters, spilling all over the floor and the street as Arthur rolls onto the muddy road outside. Your jaw is practically on the ground, eyebrows raised in concern as you run out the front doors alongside everyone else in the bar.. 

“Come on, pretty boy!” Tommy grunts, meeting Arthur outside in the street. Anger flashes across Arthur’s face. 

“Pretty boy? Really, Pretty boy?” Arthur growls, standing up and steadying himself to get back into the fight. Your heart pumps loudly in your ears as you stand on the saloon’s deck. Tommy steps forward, punching Arthur in the face and knocking him right back down into the mud. You want, more than anything, to just shoot the bastard and be done but you can’t, not here in the center of town. 

“You need help with this fool?” Javier asks, but Arthur springs back up into action, decking Tommy in the gut, while protecting his face with his other arm.

“Nah I got this one.”

Arthur is covered in mud, barely recognizable as he slips around in the slop, trying to get good footing. Tommy’s fists are downright brutal. He relentlessly swings, shoves and drags Arthur, shoving his head into the mud as Arthur struggles. He’s so much bigger than Arthur, you don’t like the odds. You start down the stairs, needing to help, though you’re not sure what you can even do besides shoot him. As soon as you lift your foot to step down the stairs, Charles grabs your arm, shaking his head. 

“Let it go, he’s got this.” Charles mumbles, voice calm as ever. Your eyebrows draw together as you look between the two men. It doesn’t appear that Arthur can beat this guy. Arthur is pinned to the ground on his side, throwing his elbows up to get Tommy off of him. 

“Charles- please,” You beg, trying to pull away from his large hand. Charles steps in front of you, a voice of reason. His eyes show understanding. 

“I know. But I’ve seen Arthur fight many times. He’ll get the bastard, and if he can’t he’ll ask for help.” Charles explains, and you nod, biting your lip.

Arthur kicks Tommy in the groin, right where it hurts, getting enough time to slip out from underneath him. Arthur shoves Tommy onto the ground, and he splashes in the mud. Immediately Arthur straddles Tommy, beating him senseless. Your jaw drops as he delivers hit after hit. He’s lost in a sort of… frenzy, blood boiling as he thinks about Tommy pushing you against the bar and talking to you like that. He beats, and beats and beats, until the crowd of people watching slowly file away, stomachs turning as Tommy becomes unrecognizable. 

“Arthur, stop!” You holler from the stairs, shaking free from Charles’ grip and jogging down the steps. Arthur doesn’t even hear you, and you recoil at the wet sound of bones cracking against Arthurs fists. Tommy has stopped fighting, his hands were once shielding his face but now they lie at his sides. You’re almost certain he’s dead. 

“Arthur, stop!!” You scream, stepping behind him and pulling on his leather suspenders. Eventually, Arthur is drawn back to the present by your voice. He looks down to his aching fists, torn up and soaked in blood. When he turns to you, the look of fear and unrecognition on your face causes his heart to sink. 

You back away, fear turning to fury as you see what he’s done. Arthur stands up, looking like a monster, caked in mud and blood with purple splotches where bruises are beginning to form along his knuckles. 

“What in the hell, Arthur?!” You yell, louder than intended, and you’re grateful that the townsfolk have gone back indoors. Arthur feels bad that you had to see that, but he doesn’t regret it. Tommy’s breath rasps behind Arthur as he approaches you, and you let out a breath of relief that he’s alive. 

“He was hurtin’ you.” Arthur growls, pointing a finger to you, “Sides, he threw the first punch. Tossed me out the goddamn window.” Arthur hisses, rage still unquelled as he turns back to Tommy. A small, sick looking man with a kind voice helps the beat man to his feet. 

“I had it Arthur!” You yell, shocked that of all the people he was treating you like you needed saving. He knows better, knows you can handle your own. Arthur steps forward with a threatening stance, and an anger not directed at you. 

“Did you have it, Star? Cause how I see it, he was about to bend your wrist to his will.” Arthur huffs, as if you’re being completely unreasonable. Javier whistles lowly, stepping back into the saloon with Charles and Bill.. 

“I didn’t ask for your help, I ain’t a damsel in distress.” You bite, grabbing Arthur by his mud caked shirt and pulling him away from the road to the sidewalk. You lead him down the wooden walkway, leading him away from everyone's eyes. You’re forced to stop, turning around when he stops  in his tracks. 

“What is your problem? I helped you.” 

You sigh, a humorless laugh coming from your lips. 

“No Arthur, you damn near killed a guy in the center of town and for what? Cause he was bothering me?”

Arthur purses his lips, looking into your eyes with an intense amount of emotion. 

“Star, I heard what he said to you. Talkin’ to you like- like you were a goddamn object, somethin’ to pick up from the store.” Arthur says, low.

Something pangs in your heart, realizing that for him it's instinctual, the need to protect the ones he cares about. The little anger you were holding onto melts away, and you nod lightly, reaching out to offer Arthur’s hand a gentle squeeze. When you do, he takes your hand in his, not letting it go. 

“I'm sorry. I know you can handle your own, I do. It’s just, seeing him on you like that it just- I wanted to kill him Star. I wouldn’t have stopped if you didnt pull me away.” Arthur says, voice harboring a threatening edge. You swallow thickly at the implications of his words, trying not to overthink his protectiveness over you.

“We’ll work on it. I think we both have a pretty strong disposition to anger.” You chuckle, thankful for the shift in mood. You don’t like arguing with Arthur, it feels… wrong. 

“Now go on, get. You smell like sheep and mud, go take a bath. I'll bring you some clothes over.” You shoo the smelly man away, chuckling as he smiles back at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Always impressed with your manners, woman.” He chastises. 

“Oh hush up, you love it.” You joke, and he doesn’t deny it. 

You feel a weight lifted off your shoulders as you walk across the road to the general store. Even when you’re upset with each other, Arthur is easy to talk to. You understand his battle, part of him wants to do good, and the other part is overcome with anger and aggression. It’s an inner turmoil that is hard to quiet. You know the feeling.

You’re about to push the general store door open when an unfamiliar accent calls out a familiar name. 

“Where's Arthur?” A man says, with a heavy transatlantic accent, and you turn around to spot the source. A pale man with dark hair and a dark suit is chatting with Javier and Charles on the walkway. With your eyebrows drawn together, you approach them.

“Charles…?” You question, wondering who this too well dressed man is. He seems like a businessman, and him asking for Arthur could certainly be bad news. 

The man turns his attention to you then. 

“Oh and we have a new stray I see! Pleased to meet you. Josiah Trelawny.” He introduces himself, “Might I have your name, dear girl?” 

You squint your eyes, not trusting Josiah. He looks like a snake oil salesman, a fraud. It’s probably why he’s invested in the Van der Linde’s. You don’t trust him enough to tell him your real name, so you go with your newest alias. 

“Star…” You whisper as Josiah takes your hand away from your side, bringing it up to his prickly lips to plant a kiss over your knuckles. You were never one for fancy manners, and pull your hand back quickly once he’s finished. 

“What a peculiar title for a lady such as yourself.” 

You’re not exactly sure what he means by that, but you need to get to the general store lest Arthur come out of the hotel naked as the day he was born or back in those ruined clothes. You’re just about to tip your hat when Trewlny grabs your attention.

“I'm afraid this isn’t just a social call. It would appear that I found young Sean.” He says, exaggerating his words and talking with his hands. Your movements still. 

“Sean?” You breathe out, you thought he was dead. 

“Where is he? Anything on Mac?” Charles crosses his arms over his chest, just as shocked as you are. 

“No, just the Irishman I’m afraid. He’s with Ike Skelding’s boys. They’re bringing him up the Upper Montana River in a few days time. Get Mr. Morgan, and I’ll meet you all there in a few days. In the meantime I have some business to attend to in Strawberry.” 

You look to Charles, shocked. Ike Skelding runs a nasty, big group of bounty hunters. You’re surprised they haven't handed Sean in yet, unless they’re using him as leverage, but whatever the reason, some weight lifts off your shoulders. 

“I’ll tell Arthur.” You nod to the men, heading into the general store. 

“Do give him my best!” Trelawny yells after you. 

You don't spend much time in the general store, picking a few basic items from the catalog. You buy him a jade green shirt and a black pair of jeans along with some new socks. It's a decent outfit that’ll keep him warm and dry, which to your growing embarrassment is something you care about now. With the neat little pile of clothes and your handwritten receipt, you thank the shop owner kindly and go to the hotel. 

This time you creak the door open instead of slamming it, but the hotel clerk still looks a little afraid of you. You can’t help but smirk, reassuring him. 

“Just here to bring these to my friend. He should have come in a bit ago for a bath…?” You ask, not sure where the bathroom is. The clerk loses some of the tension in his shoulders as he points down the hall to his right. 

“Just down the hall, miss, second door. But don’t go causing any trouble now!” He hollers after you as you follow his directions, and you wave him off.

You come up to the wooden door labeled with a little bathtub icon, and from inside you can hear some water sloshing around, alongside some humming. You can’t help the smile that blossoms across your face, and you lean on the door for just a few moments to listen to his low singing. 

“My love for you- hmm hmm hmm,” Arthur seemingly forgets some words, “Im a rabble rouser n’ Dixie’s my home…” Arthur sings and hums along, and for a moment everything seems at peace. You chuckle, not wanting to stand outside the door like a creep for too long, before knocking on the door lightly. 

“You decent?” You ask, interjecting Arthur’s song. He coughs awkwardly, attempting to cover up his little tune. 

“Uh, yeah. Come on in.” Arthur responds from the other side of the oak door and you push it open.

The bath house is nice. There's a fireplace in the corner with a little fire going inside it, casting the room in a low orange light. There’s also some candles sitting around, flickering with the draft you’ve let in from the door. It’s warm in the room, and you notice Arthur in the bath. You almost stop, breath hitching in your throat when you see him. His skin is wet, and the reflection of the candlelight causes it to glisten. The bath bubbles and water cover any indecent bits, but his chest and torso stick out from the water, an arm draped over either side of the bath. You’ve never realized how strong he is. His muscles are toned to perfection, signaling a life of hard work. Wet, glistening, sandy blonde chest hair trickles down his torso, trailing under the bubbles to where you cannot see. He looks… beautiful. He would die of embarrassment if he ever knew you correlated him and the word beautiful together but its true.

“...Cat got your tongue?” Arthur chuckles as you stand in the doorway. There's some bubbles in his hair that have proven to be quite distracting as you pull yourself from your thoughts. 

“Yeah, sorry. Was lost in my head.” You whisper, walking towards a little wooden bath stand beside Arthur and placing his clothes down. 

“Nothin’ fancy but they’ll be comfortable.” You offer Arthur a sweet smile before heading back towards the door. As silly as it sounds, you don’t want to leave. You want to stay in this warm room in the company of Arthur. A bittersweet feeling pulling on your heart as you grab the door handle. 

“Wait.” Arthur breaks the silence, and you crane your neck around to look at him. The look in his eyes, it scares you. Not because you’re frightened, but because his green irises look after you with an emotion so deep that you fear if you gaze into them for too long you may never come back up. 

“Hmm?” You hum, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. 

“Will you c’mere? Just for a minute.” Arthur whispers, and with your eyebrows pulled together, you oblige. You sit on your knees on the wooden floor beside the bathtub, leaning onto the metal tub with your elbow. From the proximity you can smell the soap that Arthur uses, and you find the scent to be intoxicating. 

“What is it Arthur?” You say on a breath, your heart beating quickly. The room is so quiet, all you can hear is his breathing, and the quiet slosh of water as his hand grips onto the side of the tub, merely inches from your own. 

Your eyes flutter down to the juxtaposition of his hand and yours. 

“I’m sorry.” Arthur says, and you can tell by the fall of his shoulders, by the look in his eyes that he’s sincere. 

“I shouldn’t have doubted you. I just-” Arthur’s hand curls into a fist, as a distaste rolls over his tongue, “I saw you there, pressed up against that bar, and after what just happened with Tilly and Karen, with that guy hittin’ you,”' Arthur's wet hand comes up to your face, and he runs his thumb across the purple bruise, leaving a wet trail.

“He deserved what he got, Star.” Arthur growls, his hand resting back down on the lip of the bath. 

He’s right. Those men all deserved punching, but Arthur shouldn’t be making that decision, especially not now. The gang is hardly back on its feet. 

“I know, but you can make excuses for why each action is worth it, just… Please don’t hurt people, not for me. I ain’t worth it.” You whisper. Arthur’s eyebrows furrow, and his heart aches in his chest. 

“Don’t say that, Star…” Arthur’s hand snakes to rest on top of yours, the other is still pressed against your cheek so gently.

“I know how you feel. I feel it too, that rage, where all you can do is fight.” Your gaze draws downwards, and you focus on your and Arthur’s connected hands, “I felt that with my Pa. And I felt it just about every day till you saved me.” You play with Arthur’s hand to distract yourself from the rough topic. Arthur doesn’t mind, letting you trace stars over his palm as you talk. The words ‘you saved me’ reverberate in his head and he wants nothing more than to laugh, to tell you that you saved him. He curses the tub, wanting nothing more than to envelop you in his arms right now. To hell with his rules, his codes. You’ve broken every wall around his heart. 

“That anger… you gotta control it. Cause you’ll be a different man if you don’t, a bad man, and I don’t think you want that.” You finish, finally looking up into Arthur’s ocean colored eyes. 

“Don’t you think it’s too late for that? I ain’t a good man, Star.” Arthur self deprecates, a habit that he’s all too familiar with. 

“You ain’t a bad man neither, Arthur. Now's the time to start changing the way you do things. I need to, too.”

Arthur sighs, as if thinking over your question. You won’t force him, you can’t, it’s his decision who he wants to be. But you’ve been offered kindness, by him, the girls, by John and Abigail and your heart is beginning to melt, its icy layer of defense begins to slip, and as much as your brain begs you to come to your senses and bottle up, your heart seeks more. 

Arthur’s large, warm hand cups your good cheek, and he leans towards you, resting his forehead on yours, your eyes slip closed as butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“I don’t know if I-” Arthur starts, but you cover his hand with your own on your cheek, leaning into his touch. 

“For me? Please.”

Arthur nods lightly against your forehead. 

“For you.” 

A tear slips down your cheek, as Arthur’s breath swirls around your face, causing your heart to thud loudly. He’s so close, and you watch as his flicker to each of your irises before trailing down to your lips. You gasp quietly, a little breathy noise as you realize what’s about to happen. His hand is still warm against your cheek, anchoring you. Leaning into him, your noses brush against each other, and you tilt your head, lips parted,  just a breath away from his. 

Two loud knocks come against the door, breaking the moment, and you gasp, pulling away from Arthur as clarity bleeds into you. You almost kissed him. You chastise yourself for breaking all your rules, a panic setting over you as you swallow thickly. 

“You want some help in there? A Deluxe bath is only fifty cents.” A bath maid calls from the other side of the door. Arthur clears his throat, eyeing you with worry before responding. 

“No thanks.” He says, curtly. His eyes are wide in shock as he reaches out to you. You wipe at your eyes, standing up from the floor. You hear her footsteps dissipate, and you turn back to Arthur, riddled with anxiety at your loss of self control. 

“I uh- here I’ll just leave your clothes.” You say, patting the pile with blushed cheeks before moving towards the door. Arthur’s head is hung, and he feels like a damn fool. 

“Star– just wait.” He asks, but you only smile, as if nothing has happened. 

“It’s fine Arthur just uh, meet me back at camp, yeah?” You utter, pushing the door open and slipping out. After the door has been pulled back shut, Arthur rests his head in his hands, cursing himself. 

— — — —

The ride back was a quick one. You wasted no time, spurring your horse, using the ride as a distraction from your plaguing thoughts.

 Now, you pace back and forth in front of the campfire, contemplating every decision you’ve ever made. It’s later in the night, and Arthur hasn’t come back yet. The only one awake besides you is Hosea. He’s sitting at the log near the campfire, nose deep in a book, although for the past ten minutes he’s been watching you pace.

All this time, all this damn time you’ve spent building up these walls and he’s gone and crumbled them. You don’t want to hurt him, and you don’t want to get hurt either. You can’t allow yourself relationships like this. Relationships are used against you, love is a weakness. You try to convince yourself, failing miserably. 

“Dear girl, what is it? You’re halfway to a marathon with all that pacing.” Hosea watches you walk back and forth, dropping his book to the ground. Exasperated, you toss your hands up into the air. 

“Boys! Men! Ugh, Hosea, they’re just- UGh!” You groan, rolling the pen from Jimmy Brooks between your fingers to keep them busy.

“Oh don’t I know it. We’re nothing but fools,” Hosea pats the open seat beside him on the log, “What happened? Come sit, let an old man lend an ear.”

You sit down on the log next to Hosea, resting your head in your hands. 

“Arthur got into a fight at the saloon because there was a guy badgerin’ me. He almost killed the guy, but me n Arthur talked about it and- and I almost kissed him, Hosea.” 

Hosea’s eyebrow pops up in surprise, with a question. 

“Almost?” He asks, and you nod. The embers from the fire pop and glow, and you fixate on them with glazed over eyes. 

“I left, I ran away.” You almost cry, but hold in the emotion. 

“Why? You afraid?” Hosea asks, but there is no judgment to his question, he is only curious. You nod, biting your lip so hard that it almost draws blood. 

“Terrified.” You admit, feeling a release of tension from admitting your fear. 

“I understand, kid, I do… Say, Arthur ever told you about my Bessie?” Hosea asks, a little smile cracking onto his lips as he holds his hands over the fire to warm them. You shake your head, never having heard Bessie mentioned before. Hosea smiles, and chuckles at a memory. 

“Bessie was my wife. A lot like you, y’know.” Hosea cracks his knuckles over the fire, warming his bones, “Smart as a whip, a damn good thief, and lovely company. I loved that woman so much.” Hosea smiles, a glint of a tear in his eye that disappears when he blinks.

You wonder what happened to her, what tragedy befell her. 

“What happened…?” You ask, quietly, not wanting to upset the man. 

“She got sick, I’m afraid, real sick.” Hosea thinks over memories of Bessie, cracking a smile again. 

“She was like you, hesitant to love.” Hosea adds, and you roll your eyes. 

“Who said anything about love?” You sigh, standing up from the log. 

“Dear girl, lying to yourself just makes it harder, trust me.” Hosea says as you dip your hat. 

“I’ll keep that in mind…Night Hosea, thanks for the chat.” You say a bit curt, ready to end the conversation and go to bed. 

— — —

Thunder roars, shaking the ground as you toss and turn in your sleep. Lightning strikes in the valley, illuminating the sky in bright light for a portion of a second before a loud boom sounds out. Cold sweat clings to your skin as you tangle and untangle your legs from the sheets, mind far away, caught up in awful nightmares. You’re back in Blackwater, standing in the street. The town is empty, cold and quiet. On one side of the road is a doe, she's beautiful, a fawn colored coat, with some white dapples still, she's young. You call to the doe with a smile, whistling to her. Suddenly, a growl sounds out, and you turn to meet a coyote. The coyote is stalking the doe, creeping up on her in a predatory position. She's oblivious. The coyote is dark and shifty, and the more you call for the doe, the less she seems to hear you. The coyote pounces, and you gasp, turning around to shield your eyes from what has befallen the poor deer. After a moment of quiet, you turn back around to see.

The setting is the same, the atmosphere is different. You’re in Blackwater, but now you’re right back in the middle of the ferry robbery. In your dream you’re not robbing it, you're a passenger. You sit in a seat with the other oblivious passengers, trembling as men board the ferry: Dutch, Javier, Micah. They enter loudly, scaring and confusing people, creating chaos. Dutch comes straight up to you, bandana over his face as he aims his gun right at your temple. You hear it click once, the damning sound of the hammer being pulled back. 

“Do it Dutch.” Micah growls, right in Dutch’s ear, and you hyperventilate. 

BANG! 

You scream, sitting straight up in your cot, waking up. Immediately, you want light, want to be able to see, so you strike a match, lighting a candle on your bedside table before swinging your legs off the bed and heading towards the tent flap, you could use a walk. 

Just as you pull the canvas back, you run smack into Arthur’s chest and you gasp. 

“You scared the shit out of me.” You gasp. Arthur’s hands lightly grip your arms as he runs his eyes over you, checking. 

“You scared the shit out of me, I heard you scream. What’s wrong? You hurt?” Arthur whispers, looking over you before flickering his eyes to your own. You shake your head, avoiding his eyes that seem to be begging for your gaze.

“Why don't you come sit, I kept the fire goin.” He adds, gesturing to the main campfire. You look to the fire, then back to your bed and realize you don't feel like being on your own right now. So with a sheepish nod you follow him. 

Arthur sits down on the ground, his back against one of the large logs around the fire. He’s sitting on a large cattle pelt, and there's plenty of room, so you sit beside him, leaning back against the log. Neither of you mention the almost kiss, you want to apologize, to explain yourself, but now's not the time. Now, you want to distract yourself from your nightmares. Your eyelids are heavy from the poor sleep you’ve gotten, and you sniffle, watching the fire.

“You okay?” Arthur asks, worried about you. 

You only nod, looking up to the cloudy night sky. Arthur’s never seen you so quiet. He wants to mention the bath, wants to apologize for overstepping, but first he wants to make sure you’re alright.

“You can talk to me, y’know.” Arthur whispers, eyes meeting yours. You nod, knowing he’s right. Your fingers prod at a little hole in your jeans as you think over your words.

“I guess I just- well I’ve been havin’ nightmares.” You respond, a little embarrassed to admit, and immediately you try to toughen your resolve, “But I ain’t- I don’t need coddled or nothin.”

Arthur shakes his head, sliding closer to you. 

“I ain’t judgin’ Star. You don’t gotta defend yourself, it’s just me.” Arthur calms you, and you nod. 

“Mostly Blackwater… Everyone else seemed to move on from it so quickly but I just- I can’t shake it.” You admit, squinting your eyes shut for a moment. A pang of guilt strikes Arthur in the chest. 

“I'm sorry I wasn’t there for you, I shouldn’t have left you there.” Arthur curses himself, and you rush to reassure him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“It was my fault. I was supposed to go get Hosea but I saw… I saw the boat go up and I had to help, I couldn’t just leave them.” You mutter, tears welling in your eyes. Arthur places his arm around your shoulders so you’re more comfortable, and your eyes slip shut. 

“I'm sorry you had to see all that..” Arthur whispers, running his thumb up and down your arm. 

“I can handle it.” 

“I know you can, I know- but you shouldn’t have to.” He sighs. 

You’re all too content, nuzzled into the side of Arthur Morgan, his arm draped over you. And even with all this you can’t define what you want, or what the two of you have. It’s all too confusing, but for now this is nice, just allowing yourself to be comforted. 

It isn’t long before Arthur hears your light snores, and he glances down to see you sleeping comfortably, tucked into his side. The fire still burns in front of you both, but even if it weren’t, you would be toasty warm, heated by Arthur. Labels are difficult, relationships are difficult. But whatever you two have right now… this companionship, it’s good. 

“Oh, what am I gonna do with you, Star?” Arthur sighs, running his hand up and down your arm, pulling you tighter into him.

[lexosaurus]

Hey, Lexx! Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜

LEXIE THIS IS SO CUTE!

Okay I couldn't narrow it down so I'm adding a 6th fic akjnsdfksjnd. So here's my top 6 fics with some commentary because I'm extra af:

1: Everything Was White: After being accidentally revealed to the public and taken away by the government, Danny deals with the aftermath of his time with the GIW.

Yeah, this won't come as a surprise to many. This VERY angsty longfic sorta marked a turning point for me where I started taking writing more seriously, really looking at plot structures, doing research, interacting with other writers. I went into this with "I'll just do a twoshot cuz I suck and I'm not capable of writing much more," and seeing how far I've come in skill and confidence has honestly kept me totally enamored with this fic. I love that I can see my improvement as the fic's gone on. I've gone back and cleaned up the early chapters, and I can still see a distinct difference. Makes me very happy!

2: Morge: It was a beautiful day outside. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming...a corpse was found in the woods.

This was my first Invisobang fic and also my first (and only? so far?) Outsider POV fic. I loved exploring the perspectives of Amity Park and Phantom from somewhat regular people who don't know much about ghosts. And, of course, writing Danny slowly losing it as the fic went on was a great bonus!

3: Transformation Troubles: A hit from one of Skulker's weapons leaves Danny temporarily unable to transform out of his ghost form. Unfortunately for him, he still has classes to attend.

This fic is just a vibe, honestly. It's a "guilty pleasure" category of DP fics that are few and far between (glitching powers, still has to go to class) but I absolutely inhale any chance I get to read one. College AU, post-reveal MY BELOVED real tea y'all. This basically came from me wanting a niche thing and going, "Fine, I'll write it myself!!"

4: and then he woke up: In his dreams, he woke up in his cell again.

This oneshot is similar to EWW where it's my take on what a realistic GIW recovery might look like. Aka, Danny Has A Bad Time. It's a very sad hurt/comfort fic, but I think it also represents a "level up" in my descriptions and pacing that I've been trying to employ more in recent fics.

5: Black and White Roses: When he died, he didn't get a memorial service. He didn't get the vigil, the flowers, the headstone. In fact, no one even found his body.

Dude idk man I just really love Valerie and Phantom's dynamic. Also, thought it'd be really interesting to write a full ghost AU fic, which it was, because as I was writing it I realized like hey, he'd have a corpse, and corpses are kinda freaky aren't they? Like how would you react if ur ghost friend was like "Hey yeah my corpse is over there." That'd be fucking nuts.

6: Birthmark: “No, it’s…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyebrows were pinched and he looked almost sick. When he finally spoke, his voice was small. “They’re not tattoos.”

Lichtenberg HC my beloveddddd seriously I love it so much I am SO normal about it. That and Phantom and Valerie becoming friends fics. Literally so fucking normal guys. Just trust me bro.

Yeah 5 and 6 are so similar so I couldn't pick between them hahaha. But this is my current top fave fics!

I'm also REALLY excited to release all the stuff that I've been working on the past year this fall. Not tryna gas myself up here but I've been sitting on so much stuff since last NaNo and I'm just ahhhhh!

[arcanadreams]

alright! so! I just finished my first playthrough of episode eight!! going to put my immediate thoughts in some bullet points here (putting under a read more for spoilers, since it is the latest ep after all):

many people were skeptical about the Nerissa reveal, but honestly I feel like she's become a good narrative device. and yeah, I don't agree with her most of the time, but in this episode she was finally vulnerable and opened up to Traveler and admitted to being stubborn and being in the wrong about some things. which was great, and exactly what I needed from her! I wanted her to be vulnerable, and to show that, and I enjoyed her much more in this chapter.

loving how we can just say live on air that the monarchy should be abolished, that is honestly so slay

Zovack having a sister who died in the Orionite mines...now that was a reveal I was not expecting, and an intriguing one at that

I love KY-L3. Or however you spell it, lmao. he's so fun and he clearly is so fond of Traveler. his protective streak about Nerissa was very sweet.

ZANE INVITING TRAVELER INTO HIS AND ALISA'S BED...BRO. Bro. I almost stuck with the "Don't tempt me" option but telling Zane that I didn't mind if he flirted with me felt icky when I'm on someone's route lol

The "flirty reply" option when your love interest texts you...bro kill me that was so cringe. It's straight up cringe sexting I can't take that shit seriously oh my god...nope never picking that again (jk I need to see how bad it is on the other routes too LMAO)

soft kiss!! at least on Cal's route!! I've said before that one of my main gripes with a6 is that kisses feel like they're softblocked behind the horny options, and that can make it seem like the people who aren't into horniness are being shafted sometimes. for example, you don't get a morning after scene with your love interest unless you have sex. and yeah, I get that it isn't really a morning after scene without the after sex part but like they couldn't just snuggle up in bed with you and stay the night and still be cute in the morning? the texts you get instead on Cal's route are sweet but like if you don't fuck you miss out on an entire scene, which makes it feel a bit like you're punished for not being horny lol. but oh well, that's what fanfic/headcanon is for

WE DID GET A NON HORNY KISS THOUGH FINALLY. after you get the Cal betrayal lore (which I will get into in a moment), on his route he gives you a soft kiss and I LOVED IT.

CAL LORE. WE GOT THE EX'S NAME Y'ALL. It's Selah! She was a singer on Goldis, working for Zovack the whole time. Cal fell for her, but she still couldn't get what she wanted out of him, so she moved on to his childhood best friend, Jasper. They framed Cal for the murder together. Jasper's betrayal hurt Calderon far more than Selah's did. Also, in this scene, we learn that Cal's moms know how to party kjhdslfj

okay so overall, my first impressions are mainly good!! the only things I straight up was like "um" about were the "flirty option" texts...like that was so embarrassing, i'm SORRY i think it's just my asexuality shining through but ough dhsflkj, and the fact that the cute scene at the beginning of the episode is softlocked behind the horny. other than that, I had a blast!!