#no one was hurt during the making process of this artwork i swear

[nonchante]

i cooked and i served on this one, not gonna lie

(acrilics, glue, and cardboard on canvas)

[chasingpj]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

"My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers?"

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

words: 2,994

warnings: cursing, mentions of genitalia

category: one-shot, soulmate!au

You don’t know who your soulmate is, but when you find out, you know the first thing you’ll do is punch him in his face. You don’t understand why he does this. Why can’t he be romantic like everyone else? You have a few friends who have the same connection you share with your soulmate, through your skin. Your friends rise from their slumbers with beautiful sketches on their arms; Or throughout the day, lines will appear as they’re being drawn, creating the most beautiful artwork you’ve ever seen. However, of course, you don’t get that; instead, you get this.

You stare at yourself in the mirror with pure disbelief, and you can’t decide whether to cry or scream. You’re used to these kinds of drawings in places like your arms, stomach, and legs, so they were easy to hide. But this has never happened before; it's never been in a place so… so visible.

You fill with rage as you observe the sloppily drawn dick on your forehead and your fist clenches as it lays on top of your bathroom sink. You fucking ass. How the hell am I going to hide this? You have to be at work in fifteen minutes, and you have this vulgar drawing on your forehead. You’re sure if you tell your boss your situation, he’d probably dismiss you because this is obviously not appropriate for the workplace. Still, you can’t even imagine trying to explain this to him. It was way too embarrassing.

"What am I going to do?” You whine as you rub your hands on your face. The drawing won’t be removed from your skin unless your soulmate removes it on his, so you had to think of a solution right away.

“Where could he possibly be where this is acceptable?” You try to refrain from sobbing hopelessly as your frantic mind searches for a solution. You think maybe a hat will work, but you discard the idea knowing your boss will tell you to take it off once you’re indoors. Suddenly, like a sign from the heavens, your solution hits you right in the face when you catch sight of your makeup bag lying on the toilet seat. You reach over, grabbing the pouch and unzipping it. Your quivering hands move too fast, causing the products to fall out and scatter into the sink. Your eyes skim over them in search of your thickest foundation and concealer. When you find them, along with your primer, you sigh, saying a silent prayer before getting to work.

***

Leo gasps sharply as the sight of his face in the mirror shocks him out of his fatigue. He touches his forehead, trying to recall the memory of last night while ignoring the pounding headache surging through his skull. He remembers getting to the club with a group of friends and how they took one shot after another until their vision was blurry. He has a faint memory of dancing with some girl, and the chaos of his 4 am Macdonald’s run with his friends. However, he doesn't recall the moment when this picture was drawn on his face. When did this happen? More importantly, who did this? He pauses, gawking at his reflection. His jaw clenches as the culprit comes to mind. He felt foolish for questioning who did this because he lives with, and he went home with one person last night, and that's Percy.

“Percy!” He yells angrily, and in the next room, he hears Percy’s manic laughter getting louder as he runs down the hall and into the bathroom with him. Percy can’t help but laugh even harder at the sight of a distressed Leo, and he silently congratulates himself for pulling such a successful prank. Leo’s expression hardens, and his gaze snaps over to him, “It's not funny!”

Percy snorts and nudges his shoulder, "Come on, loosen up!" Leo laughs sarcastically,

"Come on, loosen up!" He mocks with clear annoyance, making Percy’s laughter ceases. Leo usually takes things like this so well; he's never been angry at him because of a childish prank. The two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since they moved in together, and they would always laugh it out while deviously planning their revenge. Percy tilts his head, now growing annoyed that Leo’s annoyed.

"Why are you so uptight today?" He almost snaps, not understanding his fury. Leo's eyes narrow at him,

"My soulmate is linked to my skin." He speaks slowly and carefully, accentuating his words to make sure Percy understands how bad this is. Percy's mouth drops open, and he stares at the vulgar art on his forehead.

"Oh… shit," is the only thing he can think of saying. “Fuck, I forgot. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes even though he knows it doesn’t help anything. He didn’t share the same connection with his soulmate, so he had forgotten entirely about Leo’s bond with his. He’s now left with regret knowing that there's someone out there going along their day trying to hide this lewd image.

Leo groans as he throws his head back. "I-It'll wash off? Right?"

Leo flips up the sink’s nozzle, dipping his head in the cold tap water to wet his face. He scrubs with his fingers, blindly grasping the soap next to him. He runs it over, spreading the suds and lightly scratching his forehead. He rinses everything off and returns to his original position to check his face now. He yells in panic when he sees the drawing didn't budge at all; it didn't even fade. Percy audibly gasps,

"I used permanent marker."

"BRO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Percy shifts on his feet as the memory of last night comes back to him. Leo fell asleep in the cab ride home, and Percy, somehow without much balance, carried him over his shoulder into their apartment complex. He squints his eyes, and with a vague remembrance, he recalls plopping him down on the couch. Leo was unconscious, and Percy’s drunk mind saw this as a perfect opportunity to prank him. He picked the first marker he saw, and in the middle of a giggling fit, he sloppily drew the phallic item and took a picture.

Leo frantically puts his head back in the sink to scrub again, and Percy stands by the door, watching panic wash over him. Leo continues scrubbing his skin, and though his skin becomes red under the friction of his nails, he persists. Percy shakes his head, walking over to him quickly, and he pats his shoulder.

"Come on, man. It's not working; you’re gonna hurt yourself." If Percy let him, Leo would scrub his skin raw. He disregards his advice and continues to scrub, bringing the soap over the drawing once again before scratching harshly. Percy, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, turns off the tap, and Leo groans, standing straight. He stares at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet, and his skin is red with irritation. I'm so sorry.

***

Your day hasn't gotten any better since this morning. First, you wake with a dick on your forehead; second, you miss your bus because you took so much time layering makeup on your face. Then, you get to work about 15 minutes late because your commute, which usually took about 5 minutes, was delayed due to traffic. You assumed that your day couldn’t get any worse, but you discovered you spoke too soon when the system your job uses to put in orders crashed, making your job even harder than it had to be. Also, you spilled hot coffee on yourself during the morning rush, and that almost sent you straight into tears, but somehow, you prevailed.

By the afternoon, you wanted to rip your hair out when you realized you forgot your wallet, leaving you unfed and cranky. Your boss was no help to your mood either. He picked at everything you did today and held a grudge about you being late this morning. You've never had such a shitty day at work, and there is a sense of relief when you witnessed the clock turn to 4:30 pm. You immediately stood up from your chair, collecting your things before walking straight to the computer to clock out.

The last challenge you're facing is to get home in the slippery aftermath of the pouring rain earlier today. It was colder than usual; the sun’s hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the smell of wet soil is in the air. You shiver, your arms wrapped around your frame in a poor attempt to keep you warm. You don't have an umbrella, and you hope it doesn’t start raining again. You were sure that if your makeup washes away in the rain for everyone to see the mystery under it, you will lose your mind.

You stand in the corner of the waiting shed, resting your head on the side. You take a deep breath, noticing your hands are anxiously chipping away the week-old nail polish. From the corner of your eye, you see someone join you under the shed, and out of usual curiosity, you look over. A tall, slender guy stands in the opposite corner; he wears distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie with a print you can’t see from your view, and a black winter hat. In his hands, he fiddles with a piece of scrap metal. His skin was tan, and his brown curly hair peeks from under his hat. Oblivious to your staring, he looks away from his fiddling and happens to glance over at you. There's a moment of awkward eye contact before you snap your vision away and out to the street.

You cringe at yourself for staring too long, shifting on your feet. You casually lean over the side of the curve, and you swear the light of the heavens was shining on your bus as it drove toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over you. It’s here; you were one step closer to getting home and relaxing.

The excitement was taken away as quickly as it arrived, your bus passing your stop making a mini tsunami in the process. A wave of water splashes directly on you, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You stand there, cold and wet staring blankly at the curve. You felt overwhelmed, not being able to hold back the cries that you’ve been suppressing all day.

"are you-" a sob releases from your lips, stunning the unknown guy next to you. You miserably walk over to the bench, plopping down and resting your elbows on your thighs to lay your head in your hands. You sob freely, not caring about the boy's presence, and he stands in his spot, not sure what to do. He had an innate urge to make you feel better, and he doesn't know why but it pains him to see you like this. He clears his throat and decides to settle in the seat next to you. "Bad day?"

You sniffle, trying to find your breath, "The worst."

You don't look up, your hands doing their part to cover your face and your forehead. "I don't understand why everything is going so wrong.” You didn’t even care that you were pitying yourself, but you felt like you had the right considering how shit your day has been.

"I woke up with an awful drawing from my soulmate. I was late for my bus, which made me late to work; I haven't had lunch either. I'm hungry, cold, and now, soaking wet in street water." You sniffle once more. "My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers? I'd even take a tacky picture of two stick figures falling in love... shit; I’d be satisfied with a grocery list. But of course, with my luck, that doesn't happen. I get stupid drawings of... genitalia."

Leo’s body tenses next to you, and his teeth bite the inside of his lip. Drawings of genitalia? Sounds like him. Now he needed to see this drawing you were talking about, and he feels himself getting anxious at the possibility that you could be his soulmate. You continue to cry, refusing to move from your position.

"Well... it can't be that bad?"

"Oh, it's bad,” you managed to respond in your ragged breathing. Leo hesitantly reaches over, affectionately rubbing his hand across your upper back. Your breath hitches softly at the back of your throat, and there is a surge of warmth that radiates from his hand. You feel your tense shoulders begin to relax, and you furrow your eyebrows as your breath miraculously finds its regular pace. You even have this strange desire to cuddle into his frame to acquire more of his touch.

"Come on, show me. It's probably not as bad as you think." He speaks from his experience this morning. If you aren't his soulmate, he's sure that whatever you have isn't as traumatic as what he and his soulmate have.

"No! You'll laugh," you whine, your head laying firmly on your hands.

"I won't! I promise." You can tell from his voice that he was genuine, and for some reason, you can trust him. You slowly remove your hands from your face, but your head is still in an embarrassed bow. His heart pounds in his chest at the anticipation and leans forward to get a look at your face. You close your eyes, not wanting to see his initial reaction.

There it was. Right under your concealer, there is the familiar drawing faintly present. Leo's mouth drops, and his eyes widen; how is he going to tell you that he has the same picture on his forehead? You sigh shakily,

"It's bad, isn't it?" Your face burns in pure humiliation, and you now regret showing him. Leo is silent for a bit, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes flutter open to look at his guilty expression.

"Why are you sorry?" He doesn't even attempt to explain himself in words. He simply slides off his winter hat, showing you the original drawing on his skin. You inhale sharply, your mind trying to process what is happening in front of you.

He's your soulmate, the person that you ideally would spend your life with. You didn't think you'd find him anytime soon or even at all. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, and your cheeks get warm. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection. You take in the tousled curls on his head, a bit frizzy from his hat and his big brown eyes. Your heart pumps hard in your chest, just as fast as the boy’s heart in front of you.

A few people told you that you’d feel like the world will slow down when you meet your soulmate. You’ll feel complete, and all at once, you’ll fall in love. You thought it was a load of over-romanticized bull, but you found that it was true even with your strange circumstance.

You finally found him…

But he's done this.

Your anger somehow counteracts this "in love" feeling, and you momentarily hate him for starting your day off on a sour note.

"You!" Your arms lift to strike him in the chest, but before you could attack, he grasps your tight fists.

"I'm sorry! I can explain!" He says quickly. Your arms loosen up, and you narrow your eyes at him,

"Explain yourself then." Sheepishly Leo cowers and his hands remain around your fist, just in case.

"Well," he sighs, "I partied a little too hard last night, and um, my roommate, Percy, thought it would be funny to draw this on my forehead."

"Your roommate is an ass."

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he was just as drunk as I was, and he didn't realize that the marker was permanent. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, and how you’d have to walk around with this." He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I tried getting it off, but it won’t go away." You sigh, willing to forgive him since it wasn't his fault.

"So, we're gonna have this for a while?"

"Probably a couple of days or so." You groan and don’t say anything in return. You look down at your lap, still hiding your face from anyone around. "Oh, here, take my sweatshirt. The hoodie can keep it hidden.” He puts his hat back on and pulls his sweatshirt over his body, passing it to you. You smile softly as you take it from him. You pull it over your still soaked and cold frame, slipping your arms in and bringing the hood up. You mutter a small thank you, shoving your hands in the front pocket. He replies with a hum, allowing the sounds of the passing cars to fill your comfortable silence.

"Again, I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, and you turn your head. You smile reassuringly,

"It's okay. I'll forgive you this time,” you say teasingly, and he chuckles. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"Leo." You reach over, taking his hand, and you guys share a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

masterlists

[hello-there]

Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

[buckthegrump]

Church Bells

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 2340

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, character death 

A/n: uhhhhh i got nothing for ya 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“You’re supposed to be here now Steve,” you say into the phone.

“Yes, I’m aware but. . .”

“If you’re about to give me a sob story about some kitten in a tree I swear to god-”

“Ok but consider this,” he says pausing for just a moment, “a little girl no more than three came up and asked for my help. And that’s one of the things you keep saying you love about me. My big heart.”

You know he can’t see you but you give him your unimpressed face.

“I’m getting the face aren’t I?” He asks.

“Yup.”

“Ok I promise I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says, “Besides it’ll give you a few minutes to finish because I know you haven’t yet.”

Before you can correct him he tells you that he loves you and hangs up the phone.

You set your phone down and stare at the papers in front of you, as much as you hated to admit it, he was right you hadn’t finished.

“What did he say?” Natasha asks walking into the room.

“That he’s saving a kitten in a tree because of a three-year-old,” you tell her.

“Ugh, what a saint,” she groans.

“I know.”

“You still haven’t finished your vows?” She asks looking at your paper.

“I can’t figure out how to end them, ya know?” You look at her and she just looks confused. “Like really punctuate them.”

“Well you have a few extra minutes so I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she says standing, “I’m going to go check on the groomsmen, make sure they aren’t causing any trouble.”

“Who’s not dressed yet?” You already know what the answer will be.

“Sam, and apparently he’s never tied a tie in his goddamn life,” she says making a dramatic exit.

You laugh and go back to staring at your vows. You pick up your phone and scroll through some of the photos that you have of you and Steve together hoping to find some inspiration. It wasn’t until you looked at a Facebook memory, you found it. You type out the first few drafts on your phone to make sure that the wording is just right. After you finally get it right you copy it down onto the paper and fold up them up and slide them into your dress pocket.

You get up and look at yourself again in the mirror. You’re absolutely in love with your wedding dress, not only did it look good and make you feel like a princess, but it had pockets. You pace around the room, not nervous just excited to finally marry your best friend. You could hear the sound of the church bells signaling the start of a new hour. After about 10 minutes you start to wonder if Steve was here and just getting ready when you still didn’t hear anything after another 5 you call him. He doesn’t pick up but you tell yourself not to freak out just yet, maybe that kitten is giving him a hard time. After 30 minutes you started calling him more and more leaving him threatening voicemails. Then you stop.

What if he ran? What if he realized he was making a mistake and told everyone to stall you? But he wouldn’t go anywhere without one of his friends.

You open the door, pick up your skirt so you don’t trip and run towards the room that the groom was supposed to be in. You don’t bother knocking and burst right in.

“Whoa, Y/n,” Bucky says grabbing your shoulders.

“Where’s Sam?” You ask.

“I’m over here!” He calls and you turn to see him and Natasha in the corner Natasha tying his tie. “Why what’s wrong?”

“He’s still not here, and he won’t pick up his phone you don’t think he ran do you?”

“Of course he didn’t run,” Bucky turns your head back to face him, “and if he did I will personally kick his ass.”

“Why isn’t he picking up his phone?” You ask just as your phone starts to ring and Steve’s name lights up the screen. “Hello?”

Bucky watches as your face drops.

“Y/n, what is it?”

“It’s Steve,” you whisper, “He’s been in an accident.”

* * *

Bucky was speeding, trying his best not to be a reckless driver but that’s not what he was focused on. Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and you were all sitting in the car still dressed for a wedding.  You were focused on breathing, slow deep breaths, he could still be ok. They said that he was in surgery, that meant that he was alive. It seemed like years before Bucky finally parked the car and the four of you ran into the hospital and up to the front desk.

“Steve Rogers,” you rush, “we’re here for Steve Rogers.�� 

“He’s still in surgery,” the desk attendant, “you can go ahead and wait and we’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you,” you say and plop down into a chair.

You play with the skirt of your dress while you wait for the news. 

* * *

“Hey sorry I’m late,” Steve came into the house and quickly kissed your forehead.

“Next time a text please, I almost called the police and every hospital within a 5-mile radius,” you try to guilt him just a little.

“Well as my fiancée I would’ve guessed that you already knew I am basically late to everything,” he smiles and squeezes your hand.

“And as my future husband, I would’ve guessed that you would know by now that when it comes to you my mind is always going to go to the worst-case scenario.”

“So,” he says placing his head on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist, “What do you think of this one?”

You look around at the house.

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh.

“Good because I already made an offer,” he whispers and kisses your temple.

“Steve,” you sigh heavily.

He was always doing stupid shit like this, surprising you with something big. At least it was just an offer and he could’ve dropped out if you hadn’t liked it. But of course you did, he was almost never wrong when it came to what you liked, and even if he was after a while you grew to love it.

As would luck would have a few months later you were moving into that house and making it your home. During the moving process, Steve would try and sneak some ugly artwork onto the walls, pieces he swore you would grow to love but they were truly ugly.

* * *

“Y/n,” Bucky shook you and woke you from your nap, “The doctor wants to speak with you.”

You stand and walk over to the doctor, you look at her and she glances down at your wedding dress just for a second. If she hadn’t done that you would’ve forgotten you were wearing it.

“What is it?” Your voice shakes.

“There- we’ve been moderating his brain function for a while and -”

“There’s nothing,” you say already seeing where this was going.

“I’m so sorry,” her apology confirms your worst fear.

“You need me to sign papers right? To take him off life support?” You gasp trying not to break down.

“Follow me,” she says.

You briefly look back at your group of friends, they stand to follow but you shake your head and they sit back down knowing that if they came you wouldn’t be able to do what you needed to.

She stops just outside a room and you take a second to sign all the papers you need to.

“You can go in a be with him,” she says and you look at her before walking into the room.

You stop at the sight of him looking all broken and battered with a tube in his mouth. He didn’t resemble the Steve you knew that much. You pull up a chair next to the bed and grab his hand. Someone walks in and slowly starts to remove his life support, he reaches for the tube.

“No!” Your cry stops him and the nurse looks at you.

“But -”

“Just,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “give me a minute.”

The nurse steps back and you gaze at the love of your life one last time.

“Steve,” you speak as if he can hear you, “don’t worry about Bucky, I’ll look after him I promise. And I’ve got Natasha and Sam, we’ll all look out for each other.”

“You ready?” The nurse asks and you look at him.

“Will I ever be?” you scoff lightly, “Go ahead.”

After the tube is removed it isn’t long before Steve’s heart stops completely and you led out of the room. Bucky is still waiting for you in the lobby, apparently, Sam and Natasha left to take care of everything at the church.

“C’mon,” he says reaching out and taking your hand, “let’s go.”

He drives and you look out the window not really registering what’s going on around you. When the car stops Bucky helps you out and you walk through a front door. The light is turned on and you look around at your house, the place that was once your and Steve’s home. With the couch that you two had fought over at the furniture store, the TV that you thought was just a tad too big for the wall it was on, and that stupid ass ugly painting that Steve had insisted go up.

“It doesn’t feel right,” you whisper, Bucky looks at you, “nothing does. Not this house, not the world, and my heart feels like at any moment it’s going to give up.”

Bucky wraps you up in his arms and stands there and rocks with you as you cry into his shoulder, “I know.”

* * *

You stood in front of the grave site. He was there, well not him but the vessel that used to be him. You fumble with the paper that you had pulled out of your pocket.

“Um, I finished them,” you told him, “You were right I didn’t finish them until after you had hung up that day. God, isn’t it crazy that just a few days ago we were going to get married?”

You pause almost waiting for an answer that you would never hear.

“Um anyway, I thought I would read my vows to you since you never got the chance to hear them.”

You took a deep breath and with shaky hands open the papers.

“Steve, I can’t believe I finally get to marry you, I have been looking forward to this day for so long and now that it’s finally here I can’t wait to live out the rest of my life with you. It’s your kindness, patience, and humor that made me fall in love with you; and your good looks didn’t hurt either. I don’t know how but with every day you keep getting better. I could promise to love you no matter what but there are going to be times when I won’t be able to keep that promise so instead, I’ll promise you this- I promise that no matter how bad the fight we have is I will always come back to you. I promise to always stand up for you. I promise that no matter what, you will always have me in your corner, even if you’re not 100% right. I promise that I will limit the number of sweatshirts I steal from you and even if I don’t we live together so you can always steal them back. But most importantly I promise that even on the days it seems like you’ve lost my love you haven’t. My heart is yours, always.”

You fold up the papers and stick them back into your pocket. You turn and see Bucky walking towards you.

“I have something for you, but I don’t know if you want to hear it now or later,” Bucky says and waits for you to answer.

“Now, I want it now,” you answer.

“Y/n, the love of my life, the fact that you said yes to marrying me will never cease to amaze me. You are the most caring and passionate person I have ever met, you’re incredibly smart and I would be lost without you. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on and I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

As Bucky spoke his voice started to morph into Steve’s. And you could almost see it. You could almost imagine standing in front of Steve as he read his vows to you.

“I would promise to love you for every second of every day for the rest of our lives but you made me promise not to do that so here are my promises- I promise that I will always do everything in my power to keep as many promises as I can. I promise that when we fight I won’t say words just to hurt you. I promise that I will listen to every piece of gossip you give me and enjoy it. I promise that I will let you name the dogs because you think my choice of names could use work.”

You half-heartedly laugh at that one.

“I promise that you and I will always be a team. That you will always have someone to go on crazy dumb adventures with even if it’s in the middle of the night and all you want to do is go get chocolate. I promise that you can steal as many sweatshirts as you want from me and that I will steal them back sometimes so they smell like me. I promise that for the rest of my life I will love you even when it seems like I don’t. I love you Y/n.”

In the distance, you could hear the church bells ringing signaling the end of an hour and the start of a new one.

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm (A Funeral) - Chapter 22

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood, pregnancy, Drug Use, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Protective Arthur, Minor John Marston/Abigail Roberts

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big, all of which bring them closer to one another, as well as to their future. But they’ve fallen in love during hard times. With the gang tipping dangerously close to a breaking point in a changing world, Arthur must make a difficult choice. Can he escape the past, as well as the outlaw life and start over, building a family of his own? With Mary Beth by his side, one thing is certain: redemption and second chances finally seem within his grasp.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 22: The Gilded Cage, Pt. 2

Two days earlier, John and Abigail sat drinking big glasses of water out on the balcony of Shady Belle. It was the morning after the storm. The yard in front of Shady Belle was all full of puddles, some of them two inches deep. Jack was out there in his bare feet, splashing and running around with Cain the dog. They had a view of him from where they sat. At one point, Micah walked by and barked something incoherent at the boy. John flinched, but Arthur was standing nearby the commotion and casually grabbed Micah by the collar, yanking him hard and tossing him to the earth with an unforeseen force of derision. Micah laughed while Arthur walked away, but he didn’t fuck with the boy again. John sighed and took a drink of his water and then he looked at Abigail who seemed lost in a dream.

“Babe?” said John, trying to get her attention. “Hey, babe.”

She blinked a bunch of times, looked at him. “What is it?”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, smiling, smoothing her hands over her dress. “Why?”

“You just looked a little dreamy.”

“Oh, please,” she said, blushing. “I don’t get dreamy, John Marston. Now tell me about your fishing trip with Arthur.”

John sighed, looked down at his glass of water. It was rainwater and therefore very cool and delicious. Pearson was enterprising and had put out buckets the night before. “A lot happened, actually.”

“Nothing bad I hope. The two of you need to come to your senses already. You’re like brothers for Christ’s sake.”

“I know,” said John. “I know, Abigail. And we are, I think. It was good actually. We talked about…a lot of stuff.”

“Good,” she said, patting him on the knee. Then she looked back out over the balcony, watching Jack with the dog.

“You know, we discussed one thing in particular that I wanted to…talk to you about.”

“Yeah?” said Abigail. She smiled now in his direction. She was so pretty, in this very pure, natural way. She was like that glass of rainwater.

He took a drink. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s about him and Mary Beth.”

“The two of them fill my heart,” she said. She looked down at her clean, clear water. “It’s about time they found each other, if you ask me.”

“Sure,” said John. “It’s great. I couldn’t agree more.”

“And?”

“And,” he said, straightening up a little in his seat. He kind of leaned toward her. “And they’re leaving.”

She looked up, concerned. “Leaving?” she said. “Leaving where?”

“Leaving the gang.”

“What?”

“Leaving the gang, Abigail.”

“I heard you,” she said. She started to resituate her skirt. It was a long blue and white plaid, an elegant number she’d sewn herself. She was pioneering, Abigail. She knew how to rise perfectly even from one occasion to the next. “Why didn’t Mary Beth mention anything.”

“Well it ain’t in stone,” said John. “No definite plans as of yet. But they’re leaving.”

“Where they gonna go?”

“Up north,” said John. “Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” said Abigail. “What’s up there? Cows?”

“I got no idea,” said John. “But, probably.”

Abigail’s face fell a little bit, but he could tell she was trying to be happy. “Well, that is a surprise.”

“Why you look so glum?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, John. You telling me two of our closest friends are about to up and leave. It kind of kills the conversation.”

“I wasn’t done yet,” said John.

She gave him a look. “Well then, finish,” she said.

He sighed, looking right at her. “Arthur said we should come with them.”

Abigail had been sipping her water. When he said this, she stopped abruptly, swallowed, and then set her water down on the floor. “Go with em? To Wisconsin?”

He nodded. “You, me, and Jack. I guess the dog, too. Though we didn’t discuss the dog.”

“John,” said Abigail. “Are you shitting me?”

“No,” he said. “Why?”

“You wanna go?”

“Maybe,” said John, taking on a defensive posture. They were still at odds in immediate ways. They still did not trust each other the way they should have. “Why not?”

“I ain’t got no reason why not,” said Abigail. “I just—have you thought it through?”

“Thought what through?”

She rolled her eyes. “What are you gonna do, John Marston? You and Arthur gonna rob trains up in Wisconsin?”

“Shit no,” said John. “This ain’t about robbing trains. Hell, I don’t even know if they got trains up in Wisconsin.”

“Of course they do,” said Abigail. “They got trains everywhere.”

“Whatever,” said John. “It ain’t about that. It’s about starting fresh. Who knows what we’ll do. But Arthur seems—he seems confident.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. He thinks we can do anything we want up there. We got a little money, between us. We could put it down on a piece of land, some livestock. Breed horses, herd sheep. You and Mary Beth is friends. It sounds—it sounds like it could work.”

“You’re serious,” said Abigail. A piece of hair had fallen from its rightful place atop her head. He leaned forward to tuck it away for her.

“I am,” he said. “For once, Abigail. I swear.”

She looked away, like she did not believe him.

“Look at me,” he said.

It took her a moment.

“Abbie. Look at me.”

So she did. He didn’t call her Abbie all that much. But when he did, she always seemed to respond. Her eyes were very crisp and very clear that day, like windows. “What?” she said.

“I know I done you wrong,” he said, earnest. “You and Jack. I know.”

“And?”

“And I thought I made it clear, after all that business with Bronte, I’m trying to change.”

“Can you?” she said.

He sighed. He still had his fingers lingering at her ear. She wasn’t pulling away. “Like I said. I’m trying,” he said.

She seemed to soften a little now, in her way. Somewhere, down below in the yard, Cain was barking, and Miss Grimshaw was telling him to shut the fuck up. “So you wanna leave the gang with Arthur and Mary Beth?”

“Maybe,” he said. “That depends on what you wanna do. Do you wanna stay? Keep believin in Dutch? Or do you wanna go? Make our own luck somewhere else? I’m listening, Abigail. Just tell me what you want.”

He could see her chest rising and falling, as she was breathing in a way that suggested she might burst into tears. She did not, however her eyes did glisten some. “I want…I want to get the fuck out of here. You know I do.”

“We could be a family,” said John. “No more of this weird fuckin bullshit, living in a broken down mansion in the middle of the fuck forsaken swamps, bunking with fifteen other people, half of whom are drunk for a living. It ain’t normal, Abbie. It ain’t good. Not for you, not for Jack.”

“What about Dutch?” she said. “What’s he gonna say? You think he’s gonna just let you boys traipse out of here like nothing at all? He’s got a hold on you, both of you.”

“I don’t know,” said John. “Truth be told, I don’t much care at this point. Dutch has gone batty. He’s starting to scare me.”

“But Arthur must care,” she said. “Nothing matters more to Arthur than loyalty.”

“We’re being loyal to what matters,” said John. “That’s just the better choice. Don’t you think?”

She was staring at him, searching, trying to find the lie, the thing that made him weak. She didn’t find it. “I do,” she said.

“Good,” said John. He was feeling assertive. He was feeling fine. He finished off his water and he looked out over the edge of the balcony into the eye of the swamps. “Arthur says they got lily farms up there.”

“Lily farms?” said Abigail, real starry. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Me neither,” said John.

It was like a dream.

Now.

Arthur and Mary Beth arrived fashionably late to the party at Mayor Lamieux’s house, just as Dutch had planned. In the coach on the way over, Mary Beth had had a shot of rye whiskey and Arthur had two. They were welcomed to the house and ushered through by a short sycophant with a thick French accent, and they arrived at their destination just in time to hear Dutch himself beginning his hand at small talk with skinny-legs Angelo Bronte. Bronte was outfitted in what looked like high society pajamas, and though he was very shiny and very fashionable, his distinctly Roman sense of style clashed considerably with the French bigness of the house in which he stood. Mary Beth could not help but notice all of the expensive artwork on the walls. The portraits were stark and seemed to judge her. The decorating in this house was not to her taste, a little too full of trends and arts décoratifs and seeming to scream with ostentation. Mary Beth liked simple objects in simple spaces that made her feel simple. She liked romantic details like patchwork quilts in primary colors and wooden animal menageries and heavy furniture that was judiciously worn. She liked big white bedspreads and pale blue curtains. She liked circle rugs with yellow fringe. She did not like fashion. She did not like pomp.

Even still, the house glittered furiously, she thought, though you couldn’t see where the glitter was coming from. It sort of just hung around suspiciously at the edges of your vision, making you woozy and unclear and full of a bad feeling like you had no business in this chilly palace of foreign dreams. She felt uncomfortable for many reasons. She trusted no one in her immediate view, not even the servants.

Together, they stood at the double doors leading out to the balcony, their feet on the very hard marble. She could smell cigar smoke. They listened to the conversation outside, just a little bit, as Bronte leaned over the railing with Dutch, passing judgment over each and every high status guest of the party at the mayor’s house. There was the mayor himself, there was a dictator, a newspaper man. All of them sounded like awful people, but none of them as awful as Bronte, who seemed to think he was above them all. There was contention between Bronte and Dutch, Mary Beth discerned. Bronte was insulting to the Native contingent, and to the construct of America on the whole, and she knew that this would bring Dutch to a higher temperature. She could see the annoyance grating at Dutch’s insides, fraying him around his fragile edges. She’d known him long enough, and she could see it in his eyes—the veiled but throat-slitting severity of his wrath. It was a sinister flash and very deep, but it was there.

She yanked on Arthur then, pulling him down to her level, wondering if perhaps she was drunk by mistake. “Maybe that shot of rye wasn’t such a good idea,” she said.

Arthur was cool as a cucumber. “You’ll be fine, Mrs. Kilgore.”

“I’m sweating like a goddam pig, and I don’t like it here.”

“Ain’t you got a fan hidden in your bustle or something?”

“Yes,” she said, “but it ain’t my plan to use it right up until the very end of the interaction. I can’t take it out now.”

“What happens at the end of the interaction?”

“Drama,” she said.

Amused, Arthur nodded. He said, “Well, I suppose we should go out.”

“I suppose,” said Mary Beth, studying Dutch still and all that worrisome circumstance happening out on the balcony. “This is a bad scene, Arthur.”

“Which part?”

“Bronte. I robbed fifty assholes like him in Kansas City.”

“I don’t know about that, Mary Beth.”

“What don’t you know?”

Arthur sighed. He looked at her.

“What is it, Arthur.”

“Just don’t underestimate him,” he said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Okay?”

“I ain’t.” She fawned a little, at his touch. He cleaned up real nice. He smelled good, and he had gone to the barber and got his hair combed, pomaded, trimmed. He still had some scruff on his cheeks. The tux pulled him together in golden ways. She’d never seen a man looking so good in her whole life. He made her feel better, just him being there. “Don’t worry.”

When they got outside, they could finally hear the verve and excitement brewing at the party below. Dutch wasted no time. His anger broke. He became gregarious again, and Mary Beth could see the shifting in his demeanor—could feel it. It was palpable.

“Tacitus!” he said, coming right up to them, shaking Arthur’s hand and then escorting him by the arm right out to Bronte. “It’s about time you got here, my boy.”

“This is who, now?” said Bronte.

Mary Beth hung back, a few steps behind, her head dipped, hiding beneath her avian hat. Dutch cleared his throat. “Signor Bronte, let me introduce you to my associate, Tacitus Kilgore. Whether that’s his real name or an alias, I’ll let you decide.” He laughed like a regular believable schmuck.

“Mr. Kilgore,” said Bronte. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Oh you have no idea,” said Arthur, bowing, just a little. He could play a very good blowhard when the occasion called for it. “This is quite a…soiree going on here, if I do say so myself.”

“Yes well, the mayor, he is a glutton for popularity. What can I say.”

“Not much, I expect,” said Arthur.

“And who is this…?” said Bronte, eyeballing Mary Beth. “You brought a woman to our proceedings? Very brave indeed.”

She looked up from beneath the wide, blue brim of her hat. Bronte eyed her like a mystery.

Dutch interjected. “This is Mrs. Kilgore, Signor Bronte. Brand new wife of Tacitus here. She could not bear to be away from him. Not even for the night.”

This brought a great deal of joy and surprise to Bronte. “A wife?” said Bronte. “I was not aware that cowboys took wives.”

“They take a lot more than that,” said Mary Beth, batting her eyelashes. “If you catch my drift.”

“And we aren’t cowboys,” said Dutch, strained. “Though it’s a common misconception, we don’t actually herd cattle.”

Bronte was quiet for a moment, but then he exploded with laugher. Dutch did as well. Bronte found this to be hilarious. The whole exchange was like a circus sideshow, thought Mary Beth. Fuckin idiot men. Bronte looked around at his shifty-eyed entourage. “I like this man,” he said. “You like this man?”

They all nodded and laughed conspicuously.

A fastidious servant came around then, with three cigars laid in parallel on a silver platter. Arthur took one, as did Dutch, as did Bronte. Dutch proceeded with his introduction, waving his cigar about, as a prop. “Mrs. Kilgore here,” he said, “is an oil heiress from Galveston, Texas. Isn’t that right, my sweet?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth.

“Her daddy is an ex-outlaw turned oil tycoon. She is a relatively new addition to our family, joined us only two months ago.” Dutch held out his cigar for the servant, who lit it with prudence. He smoked, looking right at her. “A fine piece of work if you ask me.”

“An oil heiress?” said Bronte. “How…uniquely American.”

“Indeed,” said Arthur. He’d bit the cap straight off his cigar, spat it to the ground. Now the servant lit his, too. “Go on, Marie. Say hi to the nice man.”

Mary Beth smiled. She took a few steps forward, walking in a way that made her big skirt swing from side to side.

Bronte held out his hand. “Madame Kilgore,” he said, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “It is…a pleasure. You are married to the cowboy here?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, demurely.

“Tell me about the…eh…appeal in such dire atrocities.” He laughed.

Mary Beth just smiled. She did not laugh. Instead, she became big with her performance. She liked to use her hands a lot while talking, but this time, she was very composed. She approached him with confidence. She picked up one of his hands in her own. This took him by surprise, but he did not protest. “Well, Mr.—” She looked up at him, feigning confusion. “What was it again?”

Arthur almost choked on the smoke in his own lungs.

Bronte balked. “Eh, Bronte,” he said. “Angelo Bronte.”

“Right, right,” she said. “Mr. Bronte.” She really chewed the r. “You know, in my station,” she continued, focused, “it ain’t hard to come across carefully coiffed men with very soft, small, manicured…hands…and a big old barrel of money, ready to whisk me off my feet!” She studied his hands. “Of course, they’re all a bunch of sissies. When it comes down to it. You know what I mean. They’re afraid of getting dirty, of making a big noise. But a real woman knows that the only way to get her…skirts ruffled…if you will…is to find a man who ain’t afraid of using his hands. Who goes out into the physical world, roughs it up a little, and leaves it different than it was when he got there. Not a sissy, Mr. Bronte, and I’ll tell you money don’t make no man! I mean…a force. You ever seen a real man’s hands?”

Arthur was totally miffed. His cigar was burning but had not been smoked yet. He’d been watching her with relative awe.

“I—uh—” mumbled Bronte, “I suppose I have not.”

Mary Beth turned to Arthur. “Show em, Tacitus.”

He came to, surfacing, shook out his head, realized he was being called upon. He obliged. “My pleasure,” he said. He hitched the stogie to the corner of his mouth, took off one white glove. He held out his right hand. It was like a boulder in comparison to Bronte’s, truly it was. Bronte stood, looking, awkwardly. Then Arthur broke the moment by holding his bare hand out for a hearty shake. Bronte took it, firm at first, but hesitant.

Arthur smiled right at him, lowered his voice to improvise, took the cigar out of his mouth and ashed it directly onto the floor. “Forgive me, Signor Bronte,” he said. “My fair lady Marie is a bit of a firecracker. I can’t even predict her myself.”

Bronte laughed, finally, nervously. “Yes, I can see that, Mr. Kilgore,” he said. “Tell me, where did you say you found her again?”

“Galveston, Texas,” said Arthur, smirking. He withdrew his hand, replaced his glove. “I was robbing a bank. She was there. Came away with a lot more than stacks of cash that day, if you know what I mean.” He laughed. Dutch laughed.

Bronte became nervous, again, with the laughter.

Dutch slowly reentered the conversation then, asserting himself via the smoke from his cigar. Bronte said nothing more. “Well,” said Dutch, looking from Bronte to Arthur to Mary Beth, “now that you’ve made your…impression, Mrs. Kilgore—” He laughed. They all laughed. Except for Bronte, who seemed sweaty. “—Why don’t you and your rough-handed husband head down to the party, mingle a little. I’ll be down soon to…meet you for a drink.”

“Sounds good,” said Arthur, holding out his arm. His voice was warm and deep and it defused the moment all by itself.

Mary Beth took his arm, and then she flipped the fan from her skirts. Very dramatic. “Bye, Mr. Bronte,” she said, smiling. “Don’t forget what I said.”

Arthur patted Mary Beth’s arm and smiled. “Let’s go, darlin.”

“Mmm,” she said.

They left the balcony.

Bronte blinked, several times. He had not yet begun to smoke his cigar. “Who did you say she was again?” he said.

“Marie Kilgore,” said Dutch. “I would give you her maiden name, but in truth, I cannot recall what it was. They didn’t get married in no church, Signor Bronte.”

“I see,” said Bronte, halfway shaken. He leaned out over the balcony rail again, seeming to survey the scene. “An interesting woman.”

“That, she is,” said Dutch, smoking, eyeballing Arthur and Mary Beth who emerged from the long, twisting staircase, stepping into the garden of thieves below. “That, she is.”

When they got downstairs, slipping into the swaths of glamorous humans, Arthur was somewhat speechless. He crossed his arms over his chest. They stopped beneath the cover of a silvery tree.

Mary Beth noticed him staring. “What?” she said, putting away her fan. “Did I do okay?”

“That was very good, Miss Gaskill,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I can rightly say I didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Didn’t have what?” she said.

“Huge cowboy balls.”

She laughed. She laughed really hard.

“I’m serious,” he said, admiring. “You put that man off balance. I’m very impressed.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Kilgore,” she said, curtsying. Then she reached into the pocket of her skirt. “I stole his pocket watch, too.”

Arthur’s eyes got big. He grabbed the watch from her hand and looked around, making sure no one saw. “Jesus,” he said.

“It was right there,” she said. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Mrs. Kilgore, what are we gonna do with you?” A servant walked by with a tray of champagne. When he was looking away, Arthur dropped the watch into the bottom of one of the bubbling flutes.

“Arthur!” she laughed.

“Come on,” he said, hurried, taking her hand. “We must find a way to moderate your addiction to subterfuge. At least for the time being. Champagne perhaps? Or you wanna jump straight to gin.”

“I wonder what the mayor has in his pockets,” said Mary Beth, surveying the party. “Ain’t that him over there? By the fountain.”

Arthur followed after her gaze, squinting against the low, gold light of the garden. The entire affair was full of tasteful ruckus and women wearing huge hats that all looked just like Mary Beth’s, just like birds. “I reckon that is him,” said Arthur.

“That man standing with him looks familiar.”

“Which man?” said Arthur.

“The one with the mutton chops,” she said. “Well, other man with the mutton chops.”

“Familiar how?” He took a drink of his champagne. It was smooth and good and bright.

She studied him for a long time. Arthur watched, could sort of see the gears going on beneath the surface, a slow light emerging. Another servant happened by with another tray of champagne. Arthur took two flutes, one for him and one for Mary Beth. Mary Beth took the flute but did not drink at first. And after a moment, something came together, and she perked up, with wonder.

“It’s Evelyn Miller,” she said, squinting. “That’s right.”

“Evelyn Miller?” said Arthur. “The writer?”

“Yes,” said Mary Beth. “That’s him.”

“No shit,” he said, almost starstruck for a moment. “How do you know what Evelyn Miller looks like?”

“Dutch has read to me from his book—The American Inferno—dozens of times. He’s leant it to me more times than that. It ain’t my cup of tea, but there’s a picture of Evelyn Miller on the last page. That’s him.”

“Damn,” said Arthur. Then he sort of wondered at something. “Mary Beth,” he went on, “is Dutch still sweet on you? I mean I know I seen him hanging around, back at Clemens Point.”

Mary Beth shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, disinterested. “He’s made passes, sure. But trust me, Arthur, it’s nothing unique.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Dutch’s attention with women is fleeting. Just because he’s got his sights on you one day, that don’t mean it’s gonna last. Just ask Molly.”

Arthur sighed. He knew exactly what she meant, and how it had been true. He had a bad feeling. Molly wasn’t doing so good. He wondered why she continued to stick around, if she could truly love him that much. He looked at Evelyn Miller then, who was in some sort of rueful, serious conversation with the Natives. Then he looked back up to the balcony. Dutch was there, still, alone. Watching. He was looking out over the proceedings from beneath the dark brim of his hat. He didn’t see Arthur looking at him. He was leaning on the rail and thinking deeply, tightly wound with a threatening posture. He seemed to suck all the energy out of the affair and right into himself, an endless magnetic pit. Arthur shook out his head, looked back at Mary Beth. She was warm and beautiful in comparison. She seemed to radiate heat, light, energy. She was the opposite of Dutch in every way.

Arthur was not always the quickest man to the uptake. He was smart, but he didn’t trust himself, and that tended to leave him behind. Still, he knew Dutch had been soft for Mary Beth. It was obvious. She was pretty and book-learned. He imagined that she, of all the women in the camp, would be more skilled at entertaining his philosophies than anyone. Molly, she was smart, too, and she could read and write, but she wasn’t as young and quick to the smile as Mary Beth, and now that Mary Beth was no longer nineteen, Dutch had started catching her scent. Arthur wasn’t sure how to deal with this. He wasn’t even sure if it was true, but he knew that Mary Beth, she was canny, but she didn’t always attribute suspicion where suspicion was due. She was not innocent, but even with her father and her mother and her brother dead, she had been protected from true darkness for a long time—whether it be by pure luck or the benevolence of good people, like the madame in Kansas City who taught her pickpocketing rather than whoring. And like Dutch. His head was spinning heavily now as he began to wonder on a whole new level of uncertainty, and all the different ways he couldn’t trust Dutch no more. It was infinite. And it wasn’t even about Mary Beth—it was about so much more. Arthur wasn’t no boy. He didn’t get jealous or threatened by other men. He just wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and this all made him think about the bigger picture. How Dutch was just…he was always hiding something. There was always something going on, something beneath the surface, and this was such a foreign idea to Arthur. Arthur never had any ulterior motivations or secrets. He was not a duplicitous man. He didn’t know how that worked, so it was hard for him to figure out, even if he knew it was there.

He took another drink of his champagne. He glanced casually back to the balcony, and he was startled to notice that Dutch had shifted his attention and was now looking right at him. Dutch smiled. He gave a salute. Arthur saluted him back, and then Dutch spun on his heels and disappeared inside the mansion. Arthur took a deep breath.

“You reckon you can charm the mayor, Mary Beth?” he said, growing weary of the party all of a sudden. “Insinuate us into his presence a little bit?”

Mary Beth smiled, shrugged. She took a long drink. “I know a lot about Miller,” she said. “It should be enough to get us into the conversation.”

“Good,” said Arthur. He took her hand, kissed it, though it was gloved. They began moving through the crowd together. The night was long, and it was only just beginning.

Meanwhile, back at camp, Abigail stood in the very dark night, by the edge of the swampy river. It glistened. It was like a nightmare. The moonlight was cool and white though the swamp was viscous and gray. She was holding a glass of whiskey, sipping it judiciously, all alone. Jack was asleep, and John was still in St. Denis. Way out in the water, she could see a shadow moving, sleepily. It was something huge—a bullgator, she thought, looking for a meal, or for a female to breed with. At first, she had been afraid, but now she was just mesmerized, wondering if it would swim any closer, if it could smell her or sense her, if it was afraid, angry, or simply curious. She heard footsteps behind her then, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Micah. He was drunk. He didn’t address her. He stumbled to Strauss’s shack, took a piss on a tree stump and then tipped over into the weeds and passed out. Watching, she thought about how easy it would be. To roll him into the water, bait for the shadow in the river, gone for good. But then she looked away. It wasn’t worth it, she thought, drinking her whiskey. There was too much to lose now. And anyway, she wasn’t that kind of girl.

[hookedonapirate]

To Play the Game (and win your heart)

Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.

Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.

The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire. Heartbreakers AU.

Artwork by: @distant-rose​

Rating: Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.

Content Warnings: This story deals with conning and manipulation and also mentions/includes children with various disabilities, and also . 

Author’s Notes: I was so nervous last week when I posted the first chapter, but you have all blown me away with your lovely words and excitement. Thank you everyone for the feedback!

Thank you @captainswanbigbang​​ and all of the moderators for organizing the event and for all of your help throughout the process.

A huge shout out goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones​​ for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is. 

Thank you @distant-rose​​ for stepping in as my artist. She is so talented and I can’t wait for everyone to see all of the art she has planned for this fic. She even made me a playlist for this story including Emma’s and Milah’s theme song, Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds, and some other great tracks that fit well with the theme of the fic. 

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld​​ for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process. Thank you @teamhook​​ for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.

There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday, so let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up: Ch 1

Also available on: AO3 FFnet

Chapter 2: Finding the Perfect Opponent

~Rule #2: Don’t play against a flawless opponent. Size them up and know just who you're dealing with. Make sure he's ready to handle anything, make sure he's worthy, but if he’s too perfect, too handsome, too young or too smart, then chances are you will lose. If you can't choose the sucker, then you will end up being the sucker. ~

The following day, Emma and Milah take full advantage of their time here, and have breakfast delivered to them via room service, which they enjoy on the balcony under the sun. Afterwards, they change into their bikinis, grabbing their beach necessities and head for the sandy beach, finding a suitable spot to perch.

 Once they’re anchored in their lounge chairs and slathered in suntan lotion, Emma begins scouring the beach for single, male patrons. However, the building they are staying in mostly hosts attractive, young couples, with the exception of the occasional businessmen buried in the electronic devices on their laps.

 “Why don't we just wait to do our research before we start picking out potential candidates?” Milah suggests, putting away the bottle of lotion and laying back into a comfortable position. “I’ve been divorced for approximately seventy-two hours and I’d like to relax for a minute before we start scouting out our next target.”

 Emma sighs, unwilling to give it a rest. They both had acquired plenty of that the day before, spending time at the spa and getting a good night's sleep. She had slipped into her silk pajamas and her warm, comfortable bed last night, looking forward to their next con. She blames Milah, though. She's the one who'd talked her into this years ago. To top it off, they had Mal and Lily as role models. Emma actually regrets the day she signed up for this. It’s quite like heroin; once they began conning and became good at it, they found it difficult to quit.

 Emma lifts her sunglasses to gaze across the ocean. The sun is bright and beaming down as a gentle breeze blows through her hair, the sound of the waves gently slapping at the shore and the scent of the ocean permeating her senses.

 Seeing the various boats gliding through the water, Emma's eyes settle upon one in particular—a rather large yacht. Grabbing the binoculars from her bag, she looks through them, seeing a man walking out on the deck. Emma draws in a sharp gasp of air, taking in the fantastic view before her.

 Jesus. This guy is gorgeous.

 Unruly black hair blowing in the wind, bright blue eyes, and dark scruff on his chin and cheeks. He’s shirtless, only wearing a pair of trunks that hang low at his hips, and Emma takes full advantage of the view, slowly spanning his form through the binoculars.

 She's guessing he's in his late twenties or early thirties. His body is tanned and sculpted like some sort of Greek God, his chest is sprinkled with soft-looking hair that she itches to run her fingers through and there’s a happy trail that leads her eyes over his toned stomach and abs.

 “Milah, you have to check this guy out. He has a yacht; he's gotta be loaded. Plus he's hot, so there's that,” Emma adds with a sly smirk. A heavy sigh is heard as Milah sits up, her eyes following Emma's as she reaches out a hand.

 “Let me see those.”

 Emma transfers her sister the binoculars and Milah raises them to her eyes, peering through them. Emma swears she can hear her sister gasp, “Holy shit.”

 “So you agree, he's our next mark?” Emma smiles wickedly, imagining how much fun it would be to play with her potential toy—how fun it would be to make him throw his sacred marital vows out the window to have his way with her. Even if the vows wouldn't actually be sacred, considering the bride would be using a fake name and wouldn't actually be in love with him.

 Milah lowers the binoculars, returning them to Emma before laying back down in her lounge chair. “Absolutely not.”

 Emma's face falls flat, a mixture of disappointment and bewilderment flaring in her eyes. “And why not?”

 “For one, we don't even know how much he's worth. That boat may not even be his. We haven't even looked at our other options yet. And lastly, he's way too young and handsome,” she says flatly.

 “And why not someone young and handsome this time?”

 “Because, Em, handsome is dangerous,” Milah points out, her words just as poised as her sunbathed figure, “you know that.”

 Emma lifts the binoculars again, gazing at the beautiful man on the yacht. He’s staring out into the vast ocean with an abandoned look in his eyes. It must be lonely for one single man to be on such a large boat by himself, she thinks to herself. Unless he’s hoarding a bunch of women underneath the deck, or a wife.

 Desperately hoping he’s not already married, she tears her view away from him to span the entirety of the yacht. She grows more curious, seeing the elaborate lettering that spells out, Jolly Roger, and wonders why he’d chosen that name; maybe the man is a huge fan of pirates?

 Emma lowers her binoculars, tucking them inside her bag before finally laying back in her chair. Arms resting at her sides, she shifts into a comfortable position and closes her eyes, making a mental note to remember the name of the boat for when they gather intel on their potential marks.

  $*$*$

 “Alright, so this guy, Dr. Victor Whale specializes in family medicine.” Milah turns her MacBook around, showing Emma the photo on the screen as they sit at a booth in Camelot, a bar not far from their apartment. “He has a net worth of five million. He's never been married. No children. And he’s forty years old and not bad to look at. You said you wanted someone younger and cute, so this guy’s perfect.”

 Emma shrugs, her chin resting in the palm of her hand as she stirs her almost-empty chocolate martini. The doctor is a little cute, she will admit, but also kind of creepy looking. Besides, she can't stop thinking about the guy with the yacht, which he named the Jolly Roger, she remembers, mentally patting herself on the back for the small success.

 “Okay, what's wrong, sis?” Milah inquires, her words laced with worry as she pushes the laptop aside.

 “Nothing,” Emma sighs wearily. “Did you find anything about the pirate?”

 A puzzled expression crosses Milah’s face. “The what?”

 “The handsome guy with the boat,” Emma clarifies. It’s been a few days since they saw him at the beach, but the man isn't easily forgettable.

 Milah shakes her head and raises the glass to her lips. “I already told you, he’s too dangerous,” she replies before taking a small sip of her strawberry daiquiri.

 “Why?” Emma whines, not understanding what Milah’s problem is with him.

 “Because, handsome leads to feelings, feelings lead to love and love leads to getting knocked up and ditched in a Walmart parking lot. Haven't you learned anything from Mal?”

 “I'm pretty sure you got the part about getting knocked up and abandoned at Walmart from a movie, not from one of Aunt Mal’s fucked up stories… surprisingly enough,” Emma teases, rolling her eyes. “How can you be so sure one of us will develop feelings for him? The guy could be a complete ass for all we know. Most attractive men are. In my opinion, the cockier the better.”

 “Emma, I'm sorry, but you're not the one who has to marry him, I am. Therefore, I have the final say. And I’m telling you it's too risky,” Milah states firmly before returning her attention to the computer and pulling it in front of her.

 Emma huffs in frustration and stands up, hastily grabbing her empty glass. “I need another drink.” Spinning around, she marches up to the bar counter, setting her glass on the surface. “I'll take another chocolate martini.”

 “Coming right up,” the bartender assures with a wink.

 Emma sighs, leaning her elbows on the countertop and resting her face in her hands.

 In all honesty, she’s not sure she can do this anymore. Maybe it’s because she knows Milah’s going to get her way, and she knows their next mark is going to be some old, wrinkly guy who can barely walk. The only thing Emma really reaps from conning wealthy men with her relentless partner in crime is a cut of the divorce money; there is an empty pit in her stomach that tells her it’s not enough… and not just the monetary value.

 This trip is supposed to be fun, full of possibilities and an endless amount of relaxation, beaches and sun. In reality, three months of watching Milah date a rich guy and waiting for her to get married before Emma has to swoop in and seduce a guy she isn't even remotely interested in is not fun.

 Sometimes she has to take things further than a kiss, depending on the situation and timing. If Milah’s on her way home, or wherever the affair is staged, Emma tries to stall as long as possible, but sometimes the men grow impatient, and she doesn't want to ruin the whole thing by kissing too long when the guy clearly wants more.

 Waiting for the drink to be made, Emma lifts her eyes to the television hanging behind the bar, and sees the ESPN channel showing the PGA golf tournament which is now taking place in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Emma actually enjoys playing golf. Milah’s ex-husband had a son who Emma had been obligated to entertain since she’d worked for Gold, so they’d spent most of their time together playing golf. Emma hadn't cared much for the guy, but when her life revolves around waiting for her sister to tie the knot, Emma gets very bored and has to occupy her time somehow.

 Emma's eyes are fixated on the screen, seeing it's the second round of the Players Championship. She doesn't really ever watch the game on television, but it’s better than going back to the table and arguing with her sister about who their next mark will be. And she knows the basic concepts of golf—the person with the lowest score wins, a par is the average number of strokes at a particular hole, a birdie is one stroke under par and a bogey is one stroke over par—so she can follow along and understand what the commentators are speaking about.

 As the sports reporter spouts off the highlights of the impressive round from one of the star players, a clip appears on the screen of the golfer with a perfect swing, obliterating the ball off the tee.

 Emma gapes at the television, completely perplexed as she realizes who it is. When she’d seen him on the yacht, she had never pictured him stepping out of a sports magazine, more like a supermodel's wet dream. Emma has to blink a couple of times to make sure it's actually him. But, oh yes, it definitely is.

 He’s fully clothed this time, wearing a red polo shirt, black slacks and a baseball cap on his head showing Adidas sponsors him, but Emma would recognize the man anywhere. The name Killian “Hook” Jones flashes at the bottom of the screen as the camera cuts to a blonde journalist with a microphone and the man himself, her Australian intonation carrying through the dull chatter of the bar.

 “The last few weeks have been incredible for you, on and off the golf course. How are you able to keep your mind clear and play the way you've played the last two days?”

 When Hook answers, his cheeks tinged with pink as he scratches behind his ear, Emma almost melts at the sound of the British brogue he speaks with.

 “Well mostly I've been focused on the game, even when I'm not playing, but this week I've spent some time with the children, so that really helped a lot, and also being out on the ocean gets me away from the green. It helps me relax and separate myself from everything else that's going on.”

 Disappointment pulls at her gut when she hears him talking about his children, but perhaps they can still make it work. Gold’s son was thirty years old and he’d been none the wiser. Emma just prays he's not already married; he hadn't mentioned a wife or girlfriend, so perhaps he shares custody of the kids. She listens keenly, hoping to pick up on any more clues, meanwhile getting lost in his eyes and every answer he comes back with, when the bartender’s words pull her attention from the television.

 “Chocolate martini for the beautiful lady. Topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, just the way you like.”

 “Do you know who that is?” she asks, ignoring the drink he’s passing to her.

 “Hook? Of course, doesn't everybody?”

 The scowl she flashes him indicates she does not.

 “He's only the best player on the PGA tour. They call him Hook because he has a flawless left hook shot that's won him many championships,” the bartender boasts proudly.

 “Left hook?”

 “Yeah, he’s a lefty, so when he hits the ball, it curves from left to right, but it's intentional, and he does it perfectly. For most players, it's the result of a mishit,” the bartender explains, his eyes flickering with curiosity. “You play at all?”

 “Not much anymore. I've just seen him around,” she replies casually. “Does he live here in Palm Beach permanently or just visiting for the tour?”

 “He’s one of the locals. I'm surprised you've never heard of him. They say he's the British version of Tiger Woods—you know, minus the philandering and trouble with the law.”

 “Really?” She has to steady herself to keep her fingers from shaking as she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her mouth opens to ask another question, her tone as breezy as she can manage. “So, he's like a celebrity?”

 “Oh, absolutely. Everyone loves him. He even started a foundation for disabled children.”

 Emma arches a brow; to say she's surprised would be an understatement. She wonders if maybe the children Hook had referred to were the disabled children. “So, is that what he meant when he spoke of spending time with the children?”

 The bartender nods. “Sure is. He doesn’t have any of his own. It’s hard to have children when you’re on tour all the time, never settling down. It’s a shame, really. The guy could easily have any woman he wants and yet he's never been married.”

 Emma sighs in relief, but at the same time her heart is clenching in her chest. On one hand, her interest is highly piqued, even more so now that she knows he’s not married and doesn’t have children, and she wants to strangle her sister until she agrees to marry Hook, but on the other hand, she feels a twinge of guilt for wanting to take money from a man who helps disabled children. “So, he’s never been married?” she asks, unable to believe a woman has never wanted to tie the knot with a man like him.

 “Never. He's dated a few women here and there, but they turned out to be gold diggers, only after his money.”

 “So, he’s really worth that much?” she inquires, attempting to seem as nonchalant as possible.

 The bartender snickers in amusement. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

 Emma shakes her head as she takes out her purse. “No, I just drove in last week.”

 “Well, Hook’s only worth seven hundred million dollars,” he replies, his words thick with sarcasm as he wipes down the bar.

 Emma’s eyes almost pop out of her head, her mouth turning dry as it hangs open. “Seven hundred million?”

 “Like I said, the man’s really good at what he does. Plus he inherited a large amount of money from a dead rich uncle.”

 Her mind is exploding with all the possibilities; she doesn't even know what she would do with that kind of money. Somehow pulling herself together, she retrieves some cash from her purse, attempting to pay for the drink, but the bartender puts out his hand to stop her.

 “No need. The drink’s on the house.” He winks at her again, a flirty smirk curving his lips as he throws the rag over his shoulder and presses the palm of his hands into the edge of the counter, speaking in a husky tone. “I get out in about an hour if you want to talk some more about golf.”

 Leaning over the counter to grab her drink, she forces out a giggle and graces the bartender with a smile, but inwardly, she’s cringing at his proposal. The guy is cute, with bleach blonde hair and tanned skin like a surfer, but not her type. He looks like he’s barely twenty. No, he is more like a boy, and she is only into men. Men like Hook, to be more specific; someone who has strong arms and facial hair, and someone who is actually skilled with his hands for more useful or pleasurable things.

 Her eyes are locked with his as she takes the martini glass, dips her finger in the whipped cream and scoops some on her fingertip.

 His mouth is hanging open as he stands there watching, practically drooling over the counter as she slides her finger between her lips to suck off the white, creamy sweetness in a slow, seductive manner.

 Catching the guy intensely eyeing her lips as her tongue sweeps off the cream, she leans closer to whisper in his ear, her tone and demeanor dark and alluring, “In your dreams.”

 She pulls away, flashing him one last grin before turning around and heading back to her seat across the table from her sister. Slipping into the booth, she sets her drink down, excitement dancing in her eyes as the brunette’s face is still buried in her laptop.

 “Milah, did you hear that?”

 “You mean that guy shamelessly hitting on you?” Milah asks spitefully as she rolls her eyes, which are still locked on the screen. “I already knew guys swooned over you; no need to rub it in.”

 “What are you talking about? Guys swoon over you all the time,” Emma reminds her. “I bet if you went over there right now, the bartender would buy you a drink, too.”

 “I'm supposed to be the commitment type, remember? Not letting guys drool all over me for sport.”

 Offended, Emma glares at her, but Milah never looks up from the computer. “Anyways… what I meant was, did you hear the part about Captain Hook being worth seven hundred million?”

 Milah’s eyes are blown wide as she finally averts her attention from her MacBook. “Are you kidding me?” She slides the computer over to her sister. “Show me.”

 Emma complies and starts typing his name in the Google search bar, immediately pulling up his bio on Wikipedia. She turns the computer around to show the brunette. “See? He's a professional golfer who inherited a bunch of money from a deceased uncle. You can't tell me you're not interested.”

 “Killian Jones, born on January 26th 1988, better known as Hook, is a British professional golfer who plays most of his golf on the PGA Tour, while keeping his membership on the European Tour. He is the current World Number One in the Official World Golf Ranking, having reached that position with his win at the 2017 Genesis Open in February 2017. As of March 19th, 2018, he has been the number one ranked golfer for sixty consecutive weeks, which is the sixth longest streak in PGA Tour history.”

 Milah reads about his progression and some of his accomplishments before moving on to his personal life. “Hook was born in Brighton, England and moved to London when he was three. He and his brothers, Liam and Dylan, were raised by a great uncle who owned the Royal Wimbledon Golf Club. Hook started playing golf at the age of five.” She continues on to read about his childhood, how his mother died giving birth to the youngest, who was born with Autism, how Hook’s father abandoned his sons in the middle of the night and that the eldest brother died while serving in the Royal Navy.

 Emma’s heart is torn apart from hearing about all of the loved ones he’s lost.

 “Hook inherited his uncle's entire estate and used a good chunk of it to start a charity for disabled children. He is also a golf coach and holds sessions, giving them the opportunity to learn and play golf... that's so sweet,” the brunette comments, her eyes melting a little at that.

 “Yes, but he probably does all that for publicity,” Emma reasons. The guy just seems too good to be true. “For all we know, he’s a self-centered asshole?”

 “Maybe, but we can't be certain of that. Some celebrities are actually genuinely kind.”

 “Either way, we’re talking about seven hundred million,” Emma reminds her, keeping them both focused on the goal. She’s not about to let his tragic backstory or the possibility that he might actually be a decent guy get in their way, no matter how much it pains her.

 “No wife to speak of and no family to get suspicious of our motives,” Milah notes, studying the page a bit longer before lifting her eyes again, her face surprisingly full of doubt. “I don't know, Em. A guy that loaded will see us coming from miles away. He probably has ironclad prenups.”

 “He's never married before, but I've heard that a lot of celebrities have an infidelity clause in their prenups nowadays to keep their spouses faithful. If there is an extramarital affair, the spouse who's been cheated on would receive a financial reward from the other spouse. And even if you ask for a quarter of his worth, and we pull this off successfully, it could be our last con. We can move to Hawaii like we always talk about.”

 “That would be amazing, Em, but won't the infidelity clause give him a really good incentive not to cheat?”

 Emma frowns. “Are you doubting my abilities, Mi? Because it really sounds like you are,” she says, offended by the implications. When it comes to getting the opposite sex to do whatever she wants them to do, she never fails. And she isn't about to start now.

 “No, I'm just saying we’re going to have to bring our A game for this to work. It's not going to be easy. We've never played a guy this wealthy and attractive before,” Milah points out, pursing her lips in contemplation.

 Emma eyes her suspiciously.

 “What?”

 “This isn't about us not being able to pull this off without Hook suspecting anything, is it? We both know we can do this. We’ve done this many times.”

 Milah shakes her head. “I'm not doubting our abilities, Em, but—”

 “But… you're worried you're going to fall for the guy aren’t you? You're worried that you're not going to be able to go through with it?”

 Milah's eyes widen, obviously offended by the accusations. “Of course not.”

 “You said it yourself, handsome leads to feelings, and what if this guy really isn't an ass? I mean he's a well-liked celebrity,” Emma points out. “You've gone soft. That's why you were so upset after you divorced Gold. You developed feelings for him.”

 “That's nonsense! I do not have feelings for him!” Milah counters adamantly. “I told you, it was just exhausting.”

 Emma sighs. She knows Milah is lying, but maybe it’s best not to argue with her. “Fine, you're right. It must be exhausting going through the motions—going on dates and being proposed to, having a nice wedding, breaking the guy's heart and taking his money,” she mutters sarcastically as Milah looks away, trying to avoid her gaze, “so, let me take this.”

 The brunette’s eyes snap to Emma’s, widening in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 Emma smiles eagerly and leans her elbows on the table, crossing her arms and closing the distance between them to keep out prying ears. “I mean, let me be the primary. I'll marry Hook, and you can get him to have an affair.”

 Milah scoffs, amusement besetting her features. “You seriously want to be the primary?”

 “Why not? That way you can take a break for a while. Think about it—the man's a professional golfer and you hate the sport. As his girlfriend and potential wife, you'd have to support him and go to the tournaments with him and listen while he talks about his games. I can do that with no problem. But I know you would be miserable. Wouldn't you rather be free to do what you want—go shopping and live the single life for a while? Maybe even start drawing again?” Emma adds, watching and scrutinizing her sister's reaction.

 Milah’s facial expression transforms, revealing her lack of opposition at the possibility. “That does sound appealing.” She chews on her bottom lip, mulling over the idea. “I don't know, Em. It takes a lot of practice and discipline to get a guy to commit to marriage in three months without falling for him.”

 Emma scowls, not believing what she’s hearing. “Again you're doubting me? I can totally handle this guy. I'll have him eating out of the palm of my hand in no time, believe me.”

 “Of course! I'm not doubting your skills. I'm just looking out for you, that's all. I want you to be sure about this.”

 “I am sure about this,” Emma states tenaciously.

 There’s still a bit of skepticism in Milah's eyes. “Are you absolutely certain you're up for this? Because it’s not going to be easy, and once he sees you for the first time, there's no switching back.”

 Emma's lips slowly expand into a devilish smirk and she speaks in a tone that reeks of devilry. “Are you kidding? You know I love a challenge.” She takes a sip of her drink, licking the chocolate liquor from her lips as she contemplates the idea of gaining even a quarter of Hook's wealth in the divorce. Plus, she’s not opposed to admitting she’s looking forward to bringing a man like Hook to his knees. It’ll be a nice change of pace compared to her usual role and the typical wealthy men they go after.

 Milah sighs in defeat. “Fine, you asked for it. He's all yours, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 Emma’s grin widens as she pulls the MacBook towards her, studying his photo. “Okay Hook, it looks like you're going to be my first husband. Hope you're ready for me.”

 Milah finally smirks along with her, realizing her new task. “He’s about to have his world flipped. Trust me… he’s not ready for that.”

 Emma lifts her martini glass, getting excited about pursuing her first target as primary. “Here's to our next and final mark.”

 Milah nods her head and raises the strawberry daiquiri she’s barely touched, clinking the two glasses together. “Hook, line and sink him, sis.”

 Emma smirks deviously, but on the inside her heart tightens just a little at the thought of crushing his heart. “Gladly,” she assures, bringing the glass to her lips and sealing the promise with a drink.

@mayquita @freakassbuthunter @libbcoxnet-blog @goldengirlschildhood @courtorderedcake @florenzu @marcella2727  @veryverynotgood @i-would-cross-realms-4-her @hooklineandswan @wonderfullycarriedaway @0swald-c0bblep0t @cs-forlife @andiirivera @snotelek @capswantrue @nikkiemms @capswantrue @swansong12 @lg-campbell @lassluna @followbatb @harshini01 @betchesgetshitdone @coliferoncer @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @kinkyhiddlesgirl @teamhook

[peachyfic]

Wonderful Feeling - Jinyoung

January 4th. Mark

January 5th. Jinyoung

After yesterday’s exhausting basketball game with Mark, you felt like a zombie when you got out of bed. Your next date, Jinyoung was waiting for you by an art museum at 10 in the morning so you really had no time to feel sorry for yourself and for your aching body. Since it was an indoor date, you risked wearing the dress that BamBam bought especially as he mentioned it’s Jinyoung’s taste. 

Some people might have freaked out if they hear the date is going to be in a museum, as it can get boring. But you were excited as not a lot of people appreciate history and art, especially not from the people who are around your age. Since you felt so tired from last night and a museum visit also consists of a lot of walking, you decided to take a taxi to the museum. You were a few minutes early and for your surprise, Jinyoung was already there. Thanks to BamBam you already knew how he looked like so you couldn’t miss him, though it would have been hard to miss such a dashing guy. 

Jinyoung for sure looked like a handsome actor right out from a romantic movie. The way he was standing there, leaning to the wall, looking down at his phone, made you think he will probably not be as easy going as the other guys were before him. His outfit was preppy and he was just overall picture perfect. All of these observations made you feel even more nervous, so the way you approached him was kind of like as if you were preparing to meet with a shark, that happened to be really handsome.

You stopped in front of him, clearing your throat, in return he quickly looked up from his phone and as you faced him, he took your breath away even more. 

“Jinyoung?” You asked and when he heard his name, he sweetly smiled at you, resulting in all your worries flying away. His smile was so warm, especially how small wrinkles formed around his large round eyes. 

“Yes, so I guess you are y/n,” he said and he extended his hand which you shook. “The guys were right... you are really pretty. And this dress nicely suits you,” he said and was he was blushing a bit. A guy like him? Blushing? Because of you? You couldn’t believe it. 

“Little birds chirped that this dress might be your style,” you said with a smile. Jinyoung nodded, still smiling. 

“Well I would never wear something like this, but you are right,” he chuckled at his own lame joke. Okay, you were definitely not intimidated by him anymore as he had such a lame sense of humor. 

“Oh well, I thought I might let you know where I got this from if you ever wanted to match with me,” you said sarcastically and he laughed out loud. 

“I think we are going to have a great time today,” he said with a relieved sigh.

The two of you walked through the security check and inside the museum you gave your coats in the cloakroom. You took a map of the museum, but Jinyoung seemed to know already where he is going. There was a special exhibition of Claude Monet’s works that was only displayed for a few weeks. It was on the third floor, so you had to climb up large steps and passing by many great exhibitions that were there on a regular basis.

“After we finished here we can try to look around the whole museum. But since it just opened there won’t be that many people at the Monet exhibition yet,” said Jinyoung as he noticed your gaze looking at different rooms with other great artwork. Monet was an extremely popular painter so you could imagine how a huge crowd would form later that day. 

“Do you often go to museums?” You asked him and he shook his head. 

“My time doesn’t allow it that much, but I do like to go to museums. Especially when I’m in a foreign country because that’s one of the best ways to learn about a country’s history and culture,” he said and you could tell he was intelligent and thoughtful. 

“I would like to go to museums more often but there aren’t that many people who would actually come with me. And alone it’s kind of depressing,” you said. 

“I agree with you, alone it’s not as much fun but you have to bring the right person who will appreciate the time spending on artwork and historical artifacts. And I think I just found my new museum partner,” he said with a cheeky smile as he looked at you. This made you blush and not be able to say anything for the next few seconds.

You finally arrived at the Monet exhibition but despite going so early, there were already a lot of people. You got almost pushed away by a group of people who were listening to a tour guide so you grabbed onto Jinyoung’s arm to not lose him in the crowd. This caught him by surprise but when he realized why you grabbed onto his arm, he properly held your hand with his, guiding you through the crowd. 

“This is amazing,” he gasped as you stopped in front of Monet’s Impression, Sunrise painting. “Did you know that this painting was the start of what we call now Impressionist painters?” He asked and you shook your head. “Well since the title says it, Impression, a French critic used this word to describe the style and since then other painters during this time adopted the word,” he explained and the way he talked about these facts made his eyes shine. He was truly fascinated by it and had much knowledge of the subject. 

“I think it looks great, much better than I expected. But definitely smaller than I thought. Like compared to his Water Lilies series, that is just huge,” you said, looking at those paintings displayed in the room. 

“Definitely smaller. Same thing as with Mona Lisa. Though when I checked it out I already knew what to expect but still the feeling of disappointment was in me,” he said while putting his hand on his heart, acting out how it hurt his feelings. You chuckled at his act and after that, he let out an embarrassed laugh. 

“I can’t believe you saw Mona Lisa in real life,” you noted and he shrugged. 

“My job has some benefits, like going to different countries once in a while,” he replied. 

You moved on to the Water Lillies series, which took you some minute to process it all. The two of you were quietly standing next to each other, thinking about the different things that you noticed in the large painting. People, however, kept on bumping into you, which wasn’t that pleasant. Jinyoung noticed that people started to crowd your spot, so in a protective way, he put his arm around your shoulder so people can’t push you aside. This move looked so natural to him as if it was no big deal, but for you and your heart, it was a big deal. You kept on blushing and you no longer had the ability to focus on the painting. When you were busy collecting yourself, Jinyoung took a quick glance at you and how you were affected by his touch and it made him smile.  

After you finished looking at the Monet paintings, you headed down to the museum’s cafe to get some refreshments. Jinyoung, like the gentleman he is, didn’t let you pay any won. When you sat down across each other by a large window, that’s when you noticed how it was pouring outside. 

“Wow, you had your picnic date with Mark hyung just on the right day,” he noted. 

“For sure, I wouldn’t have like to get all wet, but now it doesn’t matter,” you replied. 

“I hope it will stop by the time we finish... I didn’t bring an umbrella,” he sighed and you thought you will probably just take a taxi. “Oh by the way, now that I got reminded of Mark hyung he told me that he failed to ask for your number because he ran away for some reason, so he wants me to give him your number,” he said with a laugh. You started smiling too as you thought about what happened last night. 

“Yes, he felt embarrassed,” you said and Jinyoung shook his head while still smiling. 

“Though now that I think about it, I might keep your number to myself,” he said cheekily and you laughed. 

“Don’t be so sure that I give it to you, the date is not over yet,” you teased him and he took a deep sigh. 

“Okay I will try my best to earn your phone number,” he said and he put his hand on his heart to swear for it.

After you finished eating and drinking in the cafe, you headed to other exhibitions to see what other great items the museum holds. It was surprising how much Jinyoung knew about so many different historical times. He did admit that this great knowledge came from reading so many books and how he just randomly looked up things on the internet. 

You never had such this level of deep conversation with anyone before, and you could just talk to him or listen to him talking for hours. But then everything needs to come to an end. The museum was closing but Jinyoung quickly disappeared in the gift shop and then he came back with a small bag. 

“This is for you, to remember our date,” he said and you took out the gift from the bag which was a handmade bookmark inspired by Monet’s Water Lillies. 

“Thank you, this is lovely,” you said while you examined the thin but beautiful bookmark. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he said as he patted your head, making your heart skip a beat once again. You could tell he enjoyed making your heart flutter. 

When you got outside, it was still raining heavily. Jinyoung took off his coat and put it above both of you, telling you to get closer to him. As he shielded you from the rain, waiting to catch a taxi, you noticed a Japanese restaurant on the other side of the road.

“Don’t you want to have dinner with me, there?” You asked and a smile appeared on his face.

“I thought you’ll never ask,” he said with a chuckle and you giggled at his response. 

You had sushi while drinking wine and you told him a lot of things about yourself, mainly about your childhood. He seemed to be in a nostalgic mood as he listened closely to your words while he was also excited to share stories from his childhood. 

After that, you took a taxi together. You felt the wine going in your head so you felt a little drowsy. You ended up putting your head on Jinyoung’s broad shoulder and he didn’t mind it at all.

When you arrived at your house, Jinyoung asked for the taxi driver to wait for him. You were standing in the rain but he still asked for your number. 

“Hm, I’m not too sure if I should give it to you..” you said acting hesitant to tease him. 

“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg?” He asked and you shook your head.

“Here, but I hope you are not only asking for it to give it to Mark.”

“Well if I will give it to him... I need to think about that,” he laughed. Then when he realized he made the driver wait too long, he held out his arms to embrace you in a tight hug. You never felt such a warm and sincere hug before. It was truly healing. In the meantime, Jinyoung gave a kiss on the top of your head, then he went back to the taxi. You waved to each other until the car was completely out of sight. 

January 6th. Jaebum

[winterironshieldbang]

MASTERLIST 2017/2018

TITLE: Why Tony Stark is injurious to the heart health of ninety year olds

AUTHOR: makeyamad

ARTIST: chaosdraws

PAIRINGS: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

RATING: Teen and Up

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY:

What if Bucky broke through his programming on December 16, 1991? What if Tony got to grow up with one of his childhood heroes who challenges him on a visceral level, constantly pushing him to change his own destiny and makes his heart beat like a hummingbird? What if Steve woke up to a world too bright and a best friend whose past cast red tinged shadows that threatened to swallow him whole, yet managed to smile for Steve? What would Steve make of Tony, his best friend’s guiding light , who looked at Steve with equal parts admiration and resentment? And who the hell invited Thanos to the party anyway?

LINK TO STORY: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623207/chapters/31280367 LINK TO ART: Click Here

~o~o~o~

TITLE: The path beneath your feet

AUTHOR: Striving-artist 

ARTIST: Eriot (latelierderiot)

PAIRINGS: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

RATING: Teen And Up Audiences

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: 

A Star fell, and in its wake, Soulmarks appeared. Smaller than a person’s palm, centered over their sternum, and a greater risk than when the Stars gave mankind Guilt, the Marks were to be Humanity’s eternal guides. The gift gave the Stars a way to direct their children. The Stars would watch, and wait to see what a person needed in their life. They waited to see what would bring them the greatest joy, then they could give them a token to find that path and keep them true. *** All three share a Mark.

But Steve and Bucky have each other.

And Tony has Iron Man.

LINK TO STORY: HERE

LINK TO ART: HERE

~o~o~o~

Title: If Only Author: Wix Artist: RsCreighton Pairings: Steve/Tony/Bucky, WinterIronShield Rating: T Warnings: References to past torture and mind control. Summary:

The Avengers have tracked down the Winter Soldier and brought him into the fold, but Bucky isn’t really back yet and Steve’s hurting from the distance between him and his first love - and then there’s the whole thing with Tony. It’s okay though, they’ll figure it all out…probably. A/N: Not AOU Compliant, Not fully CA:WS compliant. LINK TO STORY: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13596528 LINK TO ART: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13603791

~o~o~o~

TITLE: The Revenge AUTHOR: Riverlander974 ARTIST: Hazein PAIRINGS: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark RATING: Teen WARNINGS: N/A SUMMARY:

“Hello. My name is Anthony Stark. You killed my family. Prepare to die.” Heroes, Giants, Pirates, Villains, Revenge and True Love. You know this story. Mostly. A ‘Princess Bride’ AU. A/N: New chapters will be posted every other day!! LINK TO STORY: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13543128/chapters/31072041 LINK TO ART:

http://hazeinart.tumblr.com/post/170791391805/art-piece-for-winterironshieldbang-do-you-love

http://hazeinart.tumblr.com/post/170975656077/the-revenge-chapter-3-riverlander974-marvel 

~o~o~o~

TITLE: Scientific Heresy AUTHOR: antigrav_vector ARTIST: Riverlander974 PAIRINGS: one-sided unrequited Margaret “Peggy” Carter/Steve Rogers, James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, Tony Stark/James “Bucky” Barnes, Tony Stark/James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers RATING: M (violence) WARNINGS: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Time Travel, Mission Fic, ignores all MCU canon after IM2, inaccurate history SUMMARY: 

In the process of running the particle accelerator in his basement and save the day, Tony finds himself flung into the past where he has to take on a fight not his own if he wants to get home to stop Vanko. At least he had a chance to replace the old rector that had been killing him with the new one before everything went sideways… But now he has no choice but to face off with family, friends, and old heroes, and none of that sounds remotely appealing. Well, okay, getting to meet them all during their glory days kinda does. But as it turns out, they’re not exactly what he imagined, and his path home is a lot longer than he’d hoped it would be. And a lot more complicated. A/N: Art will be posting piece by piece as the chapters go up, because otherwise there would be some spoilers. It will be embedded in the fic, too, so don’t worry, you won’t miss any. But don’t forget to go reblog and heap some love on the (ridiculously many!) lovely things River drew! LINK TO STORY: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13664655 LINK TO ART: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13602213

~o~o~o~

TITLE: Trying AUTHOR: Somiko_Raven (crystallized-iron) ARTIST: Lasenby_Heathcote (lasenbyphoenix) PAIRINGS: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes, James “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark, James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark RATING: Teen WARNINGS: N/A

SUMMARY:

It had been years since Steve last saw Bucky, and when his old friend suddenly appears back in town, he’s ready to do what he can to help him, even if that means saying yes to a date.

There’s a problem, though.

Steve’s already in a relationship.

LINK TO STORY: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13668645 LINK TO ART: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13668963

~o~o~o~

TITLE: sing (like there’s nobody listening)

AUTHOR: Daecyan_Shikoba

ARTIST: massivespacewren 

PAIRINGS: Steve/Tony/Bucky, established Steve/Bucky

RATING: Teen

WARNINGS: N/A

SUMMARY: 

Steve sends Bucky a link to a song that changes more than either of them could ever expect. Tony, head of a brand new prosthetic research team, meanwhile, has a decision to make: reveal his identity as Iron Man and risk alienating Bucky and Steve, or remain a mystery to Bucky, Steve, and the internet at large. The feelings Tony has for both men doesn’t make the choice any easier. All Steve and Bucky want is to take Tony on a date, if he’ll have them.

LINK TO STORY: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13666332

LINK TO ART: http://massivespacewren.tumblr.com/post/170867864733/here-is-the-art-for-my-stuckony-big-bang-i-got-to

~o~o~o~

TITLE: Imagine You and You (and You) and Me

AUTHOR: RomancebyFaye

ARTISTS: novarain01 and empty-crayon-box

PAIRINGS: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

RATING: Teen (for now)

WARNINGS: N/A

SUMMARY: 

Steve and Bucky both have two soulmates. When Bucky falls, Steve goes into the ice not long after. He wakes up decades in the future and has a rough introduction to his other soulmate, Tony Stark.

Neither man seem too enthused about the revelation, and Steve is slightly surprised when Tony makes no demands of him or even uncovers his soulwords. Turns out, Stark doesn’t think too highly of soulbonds. Still, they manage to work together and Steve comes to realize he might have misjudged Tony.

He’s working up the nerve to try and make this more than a friendship when Bucky turns out to be alive. And not quite alone.

Or, Steve is jealous of cuddles and bed sharing, Tony has no expectations of his soulmates because his soulwords are extra crappy, Bucky is sharing his psyche with the Asset, and all of them are on a converging path to falling in love.

A/N: Possible Smut to be added later. This would change rating to Explicit.

LINK TO STORY: A03 link

LINK TO ART: 

empty-crayon-box piece one and two!

novarain01

~o~o~o~

TITLE: The Best of You

AUTHOR: Menatiera

ARTIST: araydre

PAIRINGS: James “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers, James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

RATING: Teen And Up Audiences

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

SUMMARY:

Tony (genius, billionaire, superhero) and James (former WWII hero, former Winter Soldier, former Bucky Barnes) are figuring out their relationship. No, really, they’re doing great, after all the landmines are behind them. If they survived kidnappings, SHIELD at their backyard, revelations of past and all that jazz, what could possibly stand between them?

Enter Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America. And things, of course, go sideways immediately.

Tony is not entirely ready to face Daddy’s Dearest, his childhood crush. James is not at all ready to have his blond boy from the memories back. They don’t have a choice.

And on top of this, Steve, freshly defrosted and doing his best to adjust to the new century with both loves of his life gone, has his own problems. Including but not limited to an intelligence organization full of overexcited people, an alien army coming from the sky through some magic-bullshit-science portal and a genius chaperoning him around - whom he might be falling for.

A/N: This is a sequel of Still Alive, but rest assured, it can be read as a standalone. Chapters will be posted every day.

LINK TO STORY: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703103/chapters/31475598

LINK TO ART: http://araydre.tumblr.com/post/170948599062/

~o~o~o~

TITLE: The Heist

AUTHOR: @jacarandabanyan

ARTIST: @acastleintheair

PAIRINGS: Bucky/Tony, Bucky/Steve, implied future Bucky/Steve/Tony

RATING: G

WARNINGS: Some swearing

SUMMARY: 

“So you know that one artist who’s a total recluse and never does interviews or anything? Rogers? Well, someone found some of his old artwork that he didn’t want people to see, and it’s going to be showcased in this fancy gala. So for… reasons I have to go and steal the art before the gala.”

“I’ll help.” Tony said immediately.

Bucky twisted around in his lap to get a good look at his face. “What? Really?”

Tony nodded furiously. “I’m with you all the way, what time is this heist going down, I’ll clear my calendar. Though I would like to know how you know Rogers when the man’s so reclusive no one even knows what he looks like.”

Bucky squinted at him. “That was seriously the worst explanation I’ve ever given you, but you’re going to agree just like that?”

“Yep.”

LINK TO STORY: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714221

LINK TO ART: art

~o~o~o~

TITLE: Fight Club

AUTHOR: Reioka

ARTIST: puddingpong and latelierderiot

PAIRINGS: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: 

Tony had always expected that his awful kink would never be brought up to his alphas. It had ended more relationships than it had helped. But when Steve and Bucky find out about it, they’re… supportive? Tony has no idea what he did to deserve these two alphas that are willing to indulge his kink but he’s glad. Of course, they have a few kinks of their own that they’re willing to divulge now too.

A/N: None

LINK TO STORY: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13779012

LINK TO ART:

http://latelierderiot.tumblr.com/post/171216496012/the-second-collab-for-the puddingpong–

http://puddingpong.tumblr.com/post/171216991982/winterironshield-bang-art-full-art-below-of-the

~o~o~o~

TITLE: Fallen Gods and Shooting Stars

AUTHOR: @lunaticalwriter

ARTIST: @chaosdraws

PAIRINGS: Steve/Bucky/Tony endgame

RATING: M (some smut)

WARNINGS: N/A

SUMMARY:

“Thousands of years ago, the First Gods tried to defeat Fate, and were banished from the Olympus.

Ten years ago, Howard Stark, head of the most powerful mob in America, was killed with his wife in a terrible accident, leaving their son Anthony to lead their family.

Three years ago, Obadiah Stane kidnapped Tony Stark and imprisoned him on an island in the middle of the ocean.

Somehow, this all leads to Steve and Bucky’s bedroom.

LINK TO STORY: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13799196/chapters/31724910

LINK TO ART: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802646/chapters/31734486

[gregellner]

Artwork by Tim Seeley, Daniel Leister, Mark Englert, and Chris Crank through Image Comics from “Hack/Slash: My First Maniac” #1. 
(Mild censorship applied to Mortimer Strick’s buttons.)

For October 30 and Halloween of 2018, I did a thorough analysis of “Hack/Slash,” the horror comic epic (in the classical sense of the term) primarily by Tim Seeley. The analysis (viewable here as Part One and Part Two) was deliberately incomplete, as not only did it only intensely cover the first half of the original 2004-2013 run, but doing so involved providing intentionally inaccurate information as to the way in which the world of “Hack/Slash” functions so as to entice incoming readers without giving too many spoilers.

Here, I will be examining one way in which the world of “Hack/Slash” actually seems to function, by way of looking at the creatures that inhabit it so far as can be thoroughly explained.

There are many different kinds of beings in the world of “Hack/Slash,” all of which initially were collapsed under the overall collective name of “slashers.” While the Psychofiles in the earlier volumes (Volumes 1-5, collected in Omnibuses 1 and 2) did label them all as “slashers,” there were enough outliers, especially those who are given their own, unrelated categorization like “Faustian,” that the term itself seemed too generalized. In fact, many of the most famous villains of the slasher genre do not technically qualify under the actual, more precise definition proposed roughly halfway into the epic’s initial run.

As a note, “Hack/Slash” is a mature comic series. As such, there is the possibility of the occasional swear, as well as graphic imagery.

Furthermore, there will be no censorship for spoilers on this article either, so it assumes the reader is comfortable with the epic as a whole.

Some of the information gleaned here is from inference based on the information presented across the epic, while other pieces are from direct questions asked to Tim Seeley himself either online or through in-person conversation at New York Comic-Con 2018.

Slashers

For convenience, it seems best to list at least part of the first half of the analysis I did on Halloween for this.

What are slashers? Well, imagine your basic slasher movie villain. Revenge driven, extremely durable and at times supernatural. Commonly able to survive and escape if you don’t keep them in your sights. In many cases having additional supernatural abilities, most commonly superhuman strength and at least some level of physical regeneration to come back from death again and again. These villains focus on hurting those who are often guilty of some vice, mostly in terms of sexual activity.

Some of these villains, including many in “Hack/Slash” itself, focus on a specific day or a specific set of circumstances, in particular a holiday or otherwise a single day a year, before returning to their graves. These types of slashers are definitely the most predictable, and so are only very rarely dealt with, but do come up, in particular ones for Groundhog Day, Memorial Day, and Christmas each having some time devoted to fighting them in the story, and some others being mentioned as having been fought off-panel.

[…]

As defined, the slashers in “Hack/Slash” are also known as revenants, an older variation on the zombie archetype from European folklore as early as the Middle Ages, if not earlier. These undead are reanimated corpses that are believed to have revived to haunt the living. In the case of the slashers, as far as Cassie Hack knows from the beginning, they are reanimated by their sheer unstoppable hatred and insanity, their need for revenge, and are drawn to the things that they miss from life, mostly the aforementioned sexual vices. Furthermore, they often (but not always) retain intelligence on some level, enough to remember their past lives in spite of their new (or perhaps not-so-new) murderous obsessions, with their homicidal tendencies geared toward those memories, or even just basic impressions on the moments prior to or directly involved with their deaths in particular.

Additionally, several slashers tend to develop a skill set associated with the method of their death, making for a range of different types of villains. These powers range from someone who can kill others in their dreams, to secreting acids when sexually aroused, to the ability to detach one’s own limbs and move them independently, to transmission through the Internet like an electronic ghost. Each of these powers connects primarily to the manner of death, but also sometimes connect to the users’ personalities, in particular with respect to the acid user and the Internet transmission. The powers eventually tend to evolve over time and with subsequent appearances, developing new means of utilizing skill sets like the acidic secretions or a merger of dream-based powers with general psychic illusions, but on the whole, the power sets stay within set parameters in terms of what kinds of things they can accomplish.

While they do have a variety of powers, there are also some weaknesses that often do not come up in slasher movies. For instance, the most common slashers can be taken down with gunfire if in sufficient amounts, and can also suffer greatly from other forms of damage including blunt trauma or being cut up. In essence, while some slashers may have incredibly high healing abilities, they still can only take so much damage. One especially powerful weakness is fire. Whether or not it is truly the case, fire and explosions seem to do more damage than most other things. Those killed by fire have a tendency to have far more difficulties coming back from the dead again. The weakness is potent enough that Cassie tells others that “fire is your friend” when it comes to slashers. How exactly it works is unclear, but there are a high quantity of stories (which Cassie researched in the process of learning more about slashers) that include fire being used to keep things dead, especially zombies or vampires, so perhaps the same rules of “purifying the unholy” follows, as far as she can initially understand.

Now, all of that is all well and good. But why does fire work so well? Why do only some vengeful beings come back as slashers, while others do not? Not every serial killer Cassie Hack and Vlad face returns as undead, after all, and some of the slashers, like Blackfin the shark, are not even human in the first place.

The answer lies in where they come from, and by whom they were initially created. In fact, the elements stated before are an oversimplification at best.

The two elements at play are best said together at first, then explained separately. Rather than try to tell in general terms, it seems best to go to a certain quote from “Hack/Slash: The Series” #24.

“During his travels, Akakios discovered a small African tribe whom regularly used a plant with many unusual properties. When burned, it created a black flame. When its nectar was injected into a corpse, the body would regain a semblance of life. The plant was used respectfully, and in moderation. Inevitably, the plant’s effects on the brain wore off, leaving only a starving, unliving beast that fed upon living flesh. Akakios destroyed the tribe, taking the secret of the plant, which he called black ambrosia, with him back to Greece. […] Akakios synthesized a chemical from the flower, which he and his followers ingested. Akakios’ alchemy would allow the most devote among the believers to return to life after death, as true paladins of their beliefs. They would live again, stronger than ever before, some with bizarre powers and abilities like the Roman gods of myth, to destroy the Children of Dionysus and save the world. […] [Modern] paladins are those who have the nectar of the black ambrosia running through their veins even after many generations. Those you call slashers.”

First, let’s talk about black ambrosia, and its applications. The flower itself is rarely ever seen, but its nectar is rather prominent. The use of fire seems to burn away the black ambrosia nectar in the slashers’ blood, thereby making reanimation far more difficult (if most of it is removed) or outright impossible without other magical means (if all of it is removed). In the case of fire from lighting up black ambrosia flowers’ oil, the effect is even more potent, first negating the supernatural powers of a slasher, then killing them without the ability for the alchemy to bring them back. Furthermore, every subsequent death seems to result in both heightened powers (if they have specialized abilities) and lessened morals (to the point of attacking those formerly out of their own personal morality either without much care or with deliberate malice, such as in the cases of Bobby Brunswick and Acid Angel). In all, it seems as though a part of the slasher is left behind with each return, replaced with the power that flows through them.

The fluid is not limited to humans, as it has been shown to reanimate and make hostile at least one shark (Blackin) and one car (which will go unnamed intentionally, but appears in “Hack/Slash: Trailers 2”), indicating that ingesting the fluid can also cause one to turn given enough time.

Black ambrosia sees use in two distinct forms: through the bloodline of those who previously been given it, or through direct experimentation to create similar effects artificially.

The ones born into a bloodline with the black ambrosia can be considered “pureblood” slashers. They are the most common of slasher types, seeing as they can crop up at random and are bound to the anti-“sin” mentality originally thought up by Akakios himself, be it intentionally going after such people or unintentionally targeting them. The substance has to be activated, most commonly by the subject’s death, but it can, in theory, be neutralized by certain modern science to at least be rid of the homicidal insanity (or at least the exacerbation of it by the black ambrosia itself), but leave them biologically at the apparent age of their initial death until they are killed by external means. In this case, some of the more famous examples include Jason Voorhees of the Friday the 13th franchise (with his resurrection as a zombie) and, possibly, Michael Myers/The Shape of the Halloween franchise (with his ambiguously supernatural abilities even in continuities that lack the Curse of Thorn). The members of this group that are “Hack/Slash” villains are extremely high, including, but by no means limited to, Doctor Edmund Gross, Angela Cicero/Acid Angel, Ashley Guthrie, both Fathers Wrath, Ian Mattheson/D1aboliq, Matthew Ravenswood/Grinface, Delilah Hack/Lunch Lady, and many, many more.

On the other hand, certain organizations have taken to creating slashers artificially, either intentionally or not, by utilizing black ambrosia-related substances.

On the unintentional side, we have “hate juice” distilled from captive slashers by the pharmaceutical company Ceutotech, Inc., which engaged in “experimental cosmetics” as one of its bases. The goal was to replicate slashers’ ability to heal in order to make better anti-aging creams and presumably other applications to that effect. Of course, the fact that the name was “hate juice,” along with Emily Cristy’s to use it herself, indicates that Ceutotech was aware of its dangerous nature. After ingesting the fluid orally (by drinking it), she began to take on some elements of a slasher, primarily in the form of some limited healing. Cristy, unfortunately, also took on some of the negative side effects as a result, including the “back of your head ‘panic attack’” voice (to quote Cassie from ‘My First Maniac’) and highly violent actions, but managed to keep herself more or less under control aside from some slips until her first death in the explosion of her building. Despite probably not being a hereditary slasher herself, she reanimated, and was far more lucid than many others, even to the point of paying back Cassie and Vlad’s kindness by saving their life once. Her ability to reanimate appeared to be far less potent than most, as being impaled killed her once again, and subsequent reanimations were quickly dealt with.

On the more intentional side, we have the work of Doctor Ezekiel Chase at the Englund Prison in Indigo River (examined in ‘Resurrection’ during its first arc). He seemed to be completely aware of the nature of slashers, to the point of having sought out Vlad to help her, and various “resurrection fluid” formulas (which are directly identified as connected to black ambrosia by Cassie and Vlad both) are able to reanimate subjects in varying levels of cognition, ranging from Vlad having all of his faculties back to Dominique Peacetree being little more than a zombie, as was the case with the “controlled fun-dead” of the prison and the fatally poisoned counselors. While this type does engage in some ritualized behavior in the case of the less aware, as Cassie herself says, “their brains are mostly soup at this point.”

Outside of black ambrosia itself, we have its originator, the mystical alchemist Akakios. Without indulging too heavily in who he actually is, his power over existing slashers, especially those of the pureblood variety, cannot be denied. To explain, it seems best to indulge not only in the events of his life (and apparent unlife) but also what came after his final death. During ‘Final,’ he seemed to have an unparalleled control over slashers as a whole, able to control even the most volatile of his “paladins” such as the first Father Wrath and Grinface with little more than a look and a speech, could control entire hordes of slashers in the averted apocalyptic timeline, and could even “feel their deaths, new and final” when Nef magic annihilated his army at the end of ‘Final.’

As Cassie says in “Hack/Slash vs. Chaos!” #1, “Vlad and I put an end to the slasher bloodline. They don’t come back anymore.” In arcs ranging from ‘Crossroads’ to ‘Final’ (especially those two), the black flame seemed able to resurrect many slashers without any direct input, something that ceased entirely after Akakios was finally executed with extreme prejudice, indicating that the slasher repeated reanimations relied upon his continued life as a mystical tether. This idea is further proven by the fact that Dick Weiner of the final issue of “Hack/Slash: Resurrection” was reanimated in the 1980s, but unlived long into the 2010s until his death by woodchipper being his last demise, as well as the reanimation fluid of Dr. Chase only allowing for one extra life.

Putting together these clues, Akakios seems to, as the “father” of the slashers as a whole, link the slashers’ reanimations to himself through his mystical alchemy to enhance his control over them and render himself indispensible (not to mention heighten his apparent messiah complex as the “murder messiah”). The problem with this is that Akakios renders the entire group vulnerable once he is killed off, but what can you do?

Witches

Some characters can use magic, but only a rare few are so integrated with magic that they can easily learn it. Only directly identified as “witches” in ‘Murder Messiah,’ this kind of magic user is distinct from other ones due to the fact that she (the examples given are both female) is intrinsically tied to magic through her bloodline, rather than being just any random person who can use a spell book.

In the world of “Hack/Slash,” the two primary examples are Laura Lochs and her black sheep sister, Liberty “Libby” Lochs. Magic comes exceptionally easily to these, and likely other, witches, regardless of its form. However, the type of magic used differs depending on the witch’s preferences (in terms of the style of how they use it) and what they come across (in terms of the magical systems themselves) more than anything else. Both of the Lochs sisters were able to learn myriad types of magic about as easily as basic study of a book, rather than needing any real training in many cases.

For Laura, it came in the form of the spell book with which she originally learned magic in her first story, ‘Girls Gone Dead,’ which seemed to consist of verbal magic and blood rituals, but very little, if anything, in the way of direct offensive use of her power. On finding Papa Sugar, she learned the use of certain voodoo magics (in the style of Child’s Play, on account of it being during the ‘Vs. Chucky’ story) such as the creation of certain potions and use of specific incantations, with little apparent effort needed to learn any of the intricate elements. She also appears to have known necromancy, which she taught to her sister Libby. Her own style focused on controlling others and the environment through murder, including creation of voodoo zombies, controlling a slasher’s actions through verbal commands said backwards, and leading her sister to control Julian Gallo the Mosaic Man by linking him intrinsically to the powers of death.

Libby, on the other hand, stuck to a different style. Aside from controlling the Mosaic Man in the name of revenge against Cassie’s hand in Laura’s death, she used necromancy’s control of souls to attempt to help people by manipulation of luck. After abandoning necromancy itself, she took to a more “modern” sorcery, to the point of openly calling herself a witch, focusing in on the use of verbal commands to control those who can hear them, to the general effect of far more offensive use of magic in the name of helping others instead of her sister’s malevolent, more low-key use of spells in general. She also seems to have a very good grasp on Neffish black magick (to be discussed lower down), such that she is capable of using the Neffish guitar for time travel relatively easily (physical illness notwithstanding).

According to Libby, every witch gets a “broom” (hers being a motorcycle) and a “familiar” (hers being flesh-eating bacteria), leaving the possibility that the reason why Laura did not develop either of these things is that she never took the time to do so or did not live long enough to accomplish it, unlike Libby’s several months on her own learning new magic.

Just because witches can have easy access to magic does not mean that they are completely aware of all of the intricacies of the magic that they use, as can be seen from attempts to use necromancy for benevolent purposes without understanding its basic manipulation of souls.

“She ruins everything she touches. She wanted to do ‘good’ with a necromancy book. She tried to make lucky items for the dregs, the luckless losers like her. But necromancy isn't meant to bless items. To do so drags a spirit out of the afterlife and binds it to the object. A slave spirit that doesn't want to be there.”

On account of their mystical nature, some of these beings (in particular Laura) can subvert their own death by latching on to another witch’s consciousness to teach how to use some magic, becoming a kind of ghost in the process, albeit one with very limited connection to the physical world.

Mystic Empowerment

Certain entities were empowered by magical sources, whether through spells they cast or those cast upon them or others connected to them. As these entities are not intrinsically magical in the same way as witches, they seem appropriate to discuss separately.

Insofar as famous examples in fiction go, we have Charles Lee Ray and his transformation into Chucky through voodoo magic of the Heart of Damballa in the Child’s Play franchise (though he might, possibly, be a witch), and the cursed, corporeal ghost of Victor Crowley in the Hatchet films, both of which coincidentally appear in the “Hack/Slash” series themselves.

While slashers can be additionally mystically empowered, such as the case with the Mosaic Man in ‘Sons of Man’ and ‘Foes and Fortunes,’ that power is distinct from that of external spells, and so cannot truly be considered the same type of foe. However, empowering certain beings with additional magic may leave them as servants of said forces instead of their own will, as is the case with the aforementioned slasher.

“When we raised Julian, we bonded him to the powers of death and black magic so that he would be at our beck and call. Julian serves death. He'll free any spirits imprisoned on this plane.”

In general, mystic empowerment is a subset to the doings of witches more than it is a distinct power on its own.

Nef

The creatures of Nef (adjective form “Neffish”) are, by and large, some kind of amalgamation between aliens and demons. They are called demons, and treated as such, but in fact are not in any form of Hell that can be accessed by humans after death. Instead, Nef seems to be some kind of alternate dimension.

The only real method of reproduction for the beings of Nef is impregnating virgin females from the main dimension, regardless of species. The resultant Nef being emerges from the host’s body through their torso akin to an Alien franchise chestburster, killing the mother very violently. Understandably, finding a willing mother is pretty much impossible, hence the use of avatars (see Avatars below).

What type of Nef being emerges depends upon the individual being impregnated. In the case of a dog, the emergent Nef demon will be a “lowbeast,” a kind of hellhound type creature that is what appears to be the lowest form of Nef life, and of which the character Pooch is a member. Others exist, such as the apparent greatest warrior Kuma, a tusked humanoid misidentified as “Bigfoot,” but barring one appearance of hers and some others like minor villain Kumok, there isn’t a lot of emphasis on them as a whole.

One thing that is known is that, again much like the Xenomorphs of the Alien franchise, Nef creatures appear to have some form of DNA reflex, an ability to take on certain aspects of the host creature while still being definitely of Nef. This difference accounts for not only the bizarre look of lowbeasts being vaguely similar to a dog or a horse, but also certain abilities of more advanced Nef beings. Mid-level Nef creatures like Kumok have the ability to utilize weapons such as Nef wands to control “black magick,” but instead of being sorcerers on their own, these wands seem accessible to and easily usable by anyone, including Cassie Hack or Vlad, meaning that there isn’t an intrinsic ability more than there is general sapience.

The most prominent example of this reflex giving powers has to be the Stillborn, a creature that was born from the body of the psychic Martha "Muffy" Jaworski possessed by the dream-based killer Ashley Guthrie, the latter of whom had a psychic connection to Cassie Hack that had only been exacerbated by increased powers through the former. As a result, he had an exceptionally strong psychic connection to Cassie, able to have her see through his eyes during his serial killings even aside from his fame-based cannibalistic empowerment, paralysis-inducing “starstruck” abilities, and eventual electrical manipulation, both of which fit in with the “worship through a rock star” attitude of Nef itself.

Avatar

In some cases, individuals play host to an otherworldly, superhuman power. The means of acquiring these powers differ, but the overall effect is that of a need to keep the connection to that power to retain magical (or presumably other) abilities.

On the one hand, we have the classic Faustian bargain, offering something up in exchange for power from demonic entities, ones that entirely relinquish their hold on said abilities until they decide to take them back through one manner or another. Our most prominent example of this kind of power would have to be Jeffrey Brevvard, a.k.a. Six Sixx of the short-lived band Acid Washed. Given access to the Neflords (see Nef above) by their latest recruiter and former avatar (heavily implied but never outright stated to be a certain music King who is presumed to have died in August of 1977), he sacrifices young women to the Neflords in exchange for various powers that his Psychofiles profile identifies as “black magick,” a skill set that includes raising his soulless bandmates from their crates, transforming into a demonic entity with wings, the ability to be seen as very famous and popular in spite of his lackluster music through probability alteration, and access to his black magick Neffish guitar. The latter is not as much a part of his type of creature as it is a consequence of said power, which can be used by others if they can get their hands on it to do things including opening a portal to different dimensions such as Nef and the Dream World or between different areas on Earth, time travel, projection of blasts of energy, hypnosis of virgins, and potentially much more. In all, the power relies upon a steady flow of virgin sacrifices, to which point Six Sixx develops a body count of at least fourteen before the end of his run.

Another example of this kind of power is famous from slasher films, and even comes up under a different name in the ‘Mind Killer’ arc after a brief appearance at the ends of ‘Shout at the Devil’: the Dream Demons that empowered Freddy Krueger of the A Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. Although the Dream Demons are only identified as “Dread Drinkers” by Six Sixx on account of him not knowing their names, their appearance and fear-inducing abilities make their true identities readily apparent to those with the right knowledge, placing Krueger (who had been previously identified by Chucky and also was mentioned without directly stating his name in ‘My First Maniac’) in the role of an avatar to their power, rather than a slasher in and of himself. The fact that he could be depowered through skillful use of time travel in Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash: The Nightmare Warriors adds further credence to him not being a slasher.

The other major type of power is that of a divine influence, as is the case with Fantomah, Mystery Woman of the Jungle, a character in public domain who was involved in events during the ‘Super Sidekick Sleepover Slaughter’ arc and her own one-shot arc ‘Mystery Woman.’ In her case, the powers granted are fantastical to the point of her being seen as a goddess, able to perform ridiculously powerful, often quite over-the-top punishments on those she deems to be worthy of said behavior, including villains associated with her capture and those who would attack her jungle. However, while the powers themselves are quite memorable, their source is less reliable. Fantomah’s power relies upon the continued existence of her jungle, and with her capture for decades in the “Godbox,” she was unable to prevent the quite realistic destruction of said jungle by modern society’s deforestation. As such, while her powers are quite strong shortly after emerging from her captivity, they quickly weaken to nothing more than illusions, and eventually are removed from her altogether in favor of a more suitable host, leaving her to mortality once more.

Monsters

Perhaps the best term to use for the creatures outright called “monsters” in ‘Son of Samhain’ would be “orcs,” in the classic J.R.R. Tolkein scheme. Judging from how the overall tone of ‘Son of Samhain’ is more of a pulpy action story than a horror story, determining their characteristics is a bit more difficult, in no small part due to them only being brought up for a single arc.

What can be determined is that they are an ancient species that dwells deep beneath the Earth in tunnels, and that they have their own hierarchy. They have a variety of subspecies, including the following: insectoid tinier creatures that can possess and enhance bodies of others by crawling into their orifices, forcing their minds into a dream state; humanoid figures in varying degrees of muscle mass that look like prototypical orcs, with green skin and primitive weapons like clubs; and flying beasts described as “gods” of their kind that are, nonetheless, not powerful enough to withstand sufficient human-based explosives. Their numbers are in the thousands at least, but they are weak enough to be taken down with a single swing of Cassie’s bat, to the point that she seems willing to take on an entire wave of their army more or less by herself.

Vampire

Of course, vampires are known throughout fiction as bloodsucking undead, as one of the archetypical creatures of the genre up there with spirits and werebeasts. Given that, an analysis of their nature seems in order, considering some rules may differ depending on the series. In particular, the ones seen are from the ‘Return to Haverhill’ arc of “Hack/Slash: Resurrection.”

Of the typical vampiric traits, several are shown, especially for Chetly, Earl of Chanders. In particular, they have some form of hypnosis through eye contact, cannot cross into a location without being invited, and have superhuman strength and speed. In at least the case of Chet, vampires can be kept from touching particular people by specifying who exactly is allowed to fall under the “invitation,” with others being treated as essentially a restraining order. All vampires under the head of a group will turn back to normal once said vampire is killed. Vulnerabilities include holy water, silver, and staking (with a stake being any long, sharp piece of wood). Furthermore, multiple types of vampire, from the one first shown in ‘Return to Haverhill’ to the recurring crossovers with Vampirella, are afraid of cats.

As said by a head vampire, “The blood contains many magics.” On the one hand, this could mean sharing of abilities across vampiric strains, such as enhancing one vampire’s control over an area of expertise only held by the other. On the other hand, this also allows for transference of command of a group from an ancient vampire to a younger one through a dark ritual that involves “the purest of sacrifices,” which may include, or in fact be, the heart of the older vampire. The fact that the explanation changes slightly between issues of the series makes determining what exactly occurred unclear.

Hybrids

Across the entire series, there are some hybrids between humanity and other creatures, through a variety of means. Some are born as hybridized creatures, others are granted said hybridization through mystical means, and others still artificially hybridize themselves.

“Each generation brings us closer. We move away from humans and toward monsters with every hatching. It won’t be long before Attan-Soolu’s DNA consumes the human’s, giving it the strength to life on its own.”

First, there is the process of using an artificial selection process of breeding (coupled with directly applying nonhuman DNA) to create hybrid creatures. On a lower key level, this technique was seen with the eponymous creatures from the ‘Sons of Man’ arc. The Society of the Black Lamp used inhumane breeding programs to create specialized human breeds, essentially subspecies, including the following: the “Hades,” with innate night vision; the “Poseidon,” able to hold their breath and swim unnaturally well; the “Artemis,” near-animalistic supersoldiers; and the “Venus,” little more than companions and sexual slavery (with the exception of one).

More overt was the process used in the alliance between the degenerated remnants of the Black Lamps and the monsters under Morinto, which merged the DNA of Akakios (still called “Samhain” for whatever reason) and that of the monstrous god Attan-Soolu to create monster-humans. There are some more disturbing examples present, such as an apparently full-grown man with Akakios’ orange hair and a shell on his torso, but the most successful was one of those that they deemed to be the greatest failure known to live, the eight-year-old October “Ocky” Bourne, who had little if any connection to the monsters themselves.

“Her boon was power. The power to take. The power to kill. She made him better. She made him more than a man. Of course, tha’ power came with certain dietary requirements. Tha’ ne’er bothered Sawney. Eventually he decided it’d be selfish to keep all tha’ power to himself, so Sawney took a wife. When he saw his golden daughters, he knew tha’ he had to keep the blood strong. And so the Beanes passed into myth and legend. But the blood did remain strong…”

In the case of the Beane Clan, descended from the infamous Alexander “Sawney” Beane and his 48-member cannibal clan originated in 16th Century Scotland, the influence is more mystical in nature. After Sawney showed no fear in the face of a demoness that had attempted to kill him, she granted him the boon of superhuman strength and durability, powered by his own cannibalism. For his descendants, he decided to “keep it in the family,” resulting in an incestuous clan spanning all the way to the 21stcentury in Chicago. The women who were born of his line were very physically attractive at first, but were liable to transform into a far more hideous, green skinned form once sufficiently agitated. For whatever reason, private military contractors from Moreci Securities seem fit to call those ones vampires, perhaps due to their habit of injecting some kind of poison into victims to make their faces puff up with blood. On the other hand, males of the line were constantly in the monstrous form, with the green skin also working along with a complete inability to grow hair and an overall deformed appearance. The actual dilution of the bloodline as a way of weakening the power is unclear, seeing as Vlad, a member of the clan who had a father outside of it, was able to defeat one of their stronger members.

The downside seems to come with those who refrain from cannibalism. As the power is inherently tied to that food source, those who do not eat human meat, such as Vlad, seem to have a variety of physical ailments, ranging from respiratory problems (such as those that are half of why Vlad wears his signature gas mask) to a progressive bone disease that leaves Vlad bedridden for a several arcs of the latter half of the comic’s original run. While Dr. Vincent Morrow (of Witch Doctor) seemed to create a serum to cure his bone condition from the blood of Vlad’s grandfather, Bronson Beane, it is unclear if this treatment is permanent. However, considering there has been absolutely no mention of his various ailments since, and considering Dr. Morrow’s treatments are pretty comprehensive, it seems fair to say that the negative effects were counteracted until otherwise proven.

“You know as well as I do that this job, hunting like we do, has a way of aging us in some ways, and keeping us young in others.”

What exactly Caraway Cordero, ancestor of Cassie Hack on the side of her mother, actually happens to be is a bit of a mystery to some, but after some discussion with Seeley at New York Comic Con 2018, that question has been answered in regards to Tini Howard’s plans for her. She is still a human being, but mutated through a variety of deliberate, artificial means in a manner not unlike the Witchers of the novel and video game franchise of the same name. How exactly she imbued herself with supernatural properties is not entirely clear, but seems to involve things like drinking the blood of certain beings, injecting other things, and the like to the point of becoming similar to them, but on a lower level in some respects. Caraway is capable of sniffing out Cassie’s relationship to her down to who her mother was on first meeting, limiting or even entirely disrupting her aging process since the 1800s to the point of still appearing to be roughly in her forties in the 2010s, developing enhanced reflexes to the point of being able to take out a vampire coming at her from behind, an ability to scare away other vampires by hissing in a manner not unlike them, and, most impressively, using superhuman speed to a degree that even Vampirella, a vampire herself (albeit an alien one in this continuity), was unable to even see her until she had already struck a fatal blow to the head vampire of Haverhill.

[mari-m-rose]

So I have been feeling horrible ever since I got free.

I worked for a month and it seems the place I was working at (the one I talked about basically a month ago) doesn’t seem to want to keep me unless they pay me less. How much less Idk. I feel that my reaction didn’t please my boss so I’m really doubting that they keep me in the end. They told me to rest this week and probs next one too and then they’ll probably hire me for another 15 days and make me rest again and so on, but yeah I kinda don’t want that because I want a stable job. I feel that I’m being treated like a trainee designer when I already proved them I’m much more than that. So, yes, that’s worrying me. Being unemployed again so soon is stressing me.

Second, my relationship seems to be upgrading, since I graduated and all, I feel bf is getting anxious. We had a big af fight last sunday about a really stupid thing, that lasted until tuesday. It was emotionally draining and I was already hormonal and unstable because my period was coming...we were able to solve it, but lately I feel that he’s harder to reach and harder to understand. Today we finally talked about what’s bothering him and he said a really hurtful thing but thankfully I feel a lot more stable today so I was very calm about it and we managed to talk it out and solve it. I feel we did great today. I feel I could understand him better and that my words finally reached him. I wish things start improving. IF ONLY he would not demand sanity from me when I’m unstable, I seriously can’t, today I explained that and I think he finally understood. Well that turned out fine ofc, but it was hellish while it lasted.

And ofc dearest manga hasn’t been helping, I srsly don’t think that what happened in these last weeks was that bad but I’m running short on patience. It’s hard to enjoy a story that destroys everything you love. Even if it’s a process to goodness, some things that really hurt have been said and done. I’m just hoping dearest manga author fixes things because I know that she’s good at it, but I also can’t fully trust because I’m too emotional. This is why I’m dropping it unless something really good happens. I’m dropping the spin off too. Not because it’s bad and it’s def not hurting me, I think its writing is even superior and I love it but I need a rest >+o. I’m ded. I’m too focused on it and that’s harming me. I give it a month maybe, unless something cool happens first.

Sadly even some people I know have considered me toxic for my opinions on this manga and I developed guilty feelings for expressing my opinions which is so wrong and I’m mad at myself for having them. I will express my opinions, I never insult anyone when I express myself so I don’t think anyone should feel offended about what I have to say.  I srsly just want that everyone has fun and since I’m not I’m doing my own stuff to also have fun. Hence all that indulging, basic and, I admit, boring artwork.  I’m a boring person that draws the same thing over and over again.

Then again, I feel I don’t belong here anymore and that I’m being judged and left behind. It’s sad because once I feel I was someone here (someone part of the fandom I guess) but now I feel like I’m a nuisance. And now I’m even doubting if some friends that I made in this fandom like me anymore. It makes me want to run away and never speak to them again.

On the bright side, because today I feel a lot better, thus I’m writing this to leave these feelings behind, I’ve met a lot of lovely new people and I’m very comfy in our silent secret corner, in which everything is fun and they are so lovely. Telephone otp thing was also a good idea. I suck at socializing but the sight of people talking so lively to each other and having fun definitely cheers me up and encourages me to continue with my projects in this fandom.

Also is it during these kind of bad days that those who are your real friends stand out and just knowing they are there makes everything recover at an amazing speed ♥.  And you my guys if you are reading this long thing and still feel positive about me and what I post. Thank you. I say a lot of bs but I appreciate every single action of support, everything, everything makes me happy: follows, notes, reblogs, comments, asks (even tho I can’t reply immidiately). If you are having fun here despite my latent negativity, then my work here is done. Thanks to everyone that is still here with me. I don’t think many people will read this because it’s too personal, but I’m gonna make sure to make another post thanking everyone soon.

It’s late and I should sleep. Blessings to you all! I may fall but I swear that I will always stand up to step on the corpses of those who like to see me fall.