#the mysterious bandit that no one knows

[bulletproofbanditsorbust]

FULL NAME: Robin ???

AGE: ???

HEIGHT: 187 cm

HAIR: dusty pink

EYES: gray

the “Baroness of Death” or the “Black Window”

the most infamous gang leader of Rhinestone City

she saw the bombing happen in front of her eyes

her gang members are the remains of her family (three brothers and one son)

all her rich husbands got killed under “mysterious circumstances”

[misscrazyfangirl321]

I mean

Now's as good a time as any to figure out my D&D character, I guess?

[nataliedecorsair]

I wanted to give you some of Pticenoga's Borderlands AU backstory, how she was raised by Shade and before starting her shenanigans with Vaughn.

Plus a bonus comic about how she decided to set up a meeting for Vaughn and Shade, but didn't tell Vaughn who is supposed to be there x) Mostly because Vaughn has met Shade before in his macabre World of Curiosities museum and thought that Shade is too weird for him. Well, that's the kind of person that would raise a feral harpy siren, gotta deal with it!

When she was very young, nothing bothered her much as she was just a wild baby exploring the world x) And Shade was a good father figure to her. However, as she grew older, she realized that she doesn't really "fit in": yeah, Pandora is a crazy planet, but not every person there is crazy. There are plenty of "regular folk" like Shade or other people from their town - and many others. And she was frequently called a monster, a mutant and many other things by the regular kids and even adults. She was wild though, could bite them or fight with them in a pretty feral manner, and, even though she protected herself, it didn't help the situation much. She wasn't crazy enough (and too small) to fit in with the psychos or bandits, was "too human" for actual monsters living on Pandora, and for a long time she had no idea she was a Siren, as even for Sirens she looked too different. Only when she hit her teens, she was able to confirm that she is one, started using her powers, and in her human form she could see the full extension of the glowing pattern she had on her skin. She still, however, didn't know why she wasn't born "normal", and there were no older Sirens around.

At some point, she decided to become independent and live on her own. Her "wild" upbringing was helping that a lot, and she felt fine being away from people. She'd still visit Shade frequently, of course, and at some point she'd even met Zer0 and could hang out with him for some time. As Zer0 is a mystery himself, they had some common ground between them (though constantly listening to his haiku were exhausting xD). Sadly, Vault Hunters attract attention, not always positive, and that was the reason why she got spotted by a big bandit gang (could be the beginning of Vallory's gang, but before she took over). And local scientists like Tannis already declared that there may be some connection between Sirens and the Vaults. And they noticed that she's a Siren, but also pretty young (and dumb). After the first Vault on Pandora was opened, there was plenty of weird and valuable stuff around, but it wasn't so easy to get it when you're just regular bandits. And when Eridians, the aliens that are guarding the Vault, are everywhere. The Sirens like Lilith were too strong for them, and hiring a Vault Hunter is expensive, so they decided to wriggle into her favor and use her to gain access to the area. She didn't know she was dealing with bandits first, she naively thought it's a rare case of nice fellows just wanting to be friends and such, plus the Vault could have answers about her origin, and the new "friends" confirmed it.

At some point, she realized she was being used, and got into a fight with the bandits - and lost, as there were too many of them, and she had too little experience, and they knew about Shade. She got kidnapped and told that she'd do everything they told her to do, or they'd kill Shade, so she had to obey. She helped them to fight the way to the Vault and get some of the riches, and during the process she felt that she really does have a connection with Eridians - they boosted her powers and helped her to get free, and kill every presenting member of the gang. She was worried about Shade though, so she left immediately to find him before the remaining members found out what happened and could harm him. But she was too late - the water source in their town of Oasis was poisoned, and every single person there died. Except Shade though - he lasted longer, but dehydration made him insane, and he turned corpses into the stuffed dummies he could talk to (though she didn't have much of a problem with this part). As she was gone for at least several months, he didn't believe she's real, and she had to adapt to the new reality.

She never got back to the Vault after that as she felt it was a source of more trouble than anything good (in her view, the price was too much for a bunch of physical stuff).

That lasted for years, and became a bit easier as her powers, enhanced by the Eridians, wasn't only serving the destruction,  but could eventually "heal" some part of Shade's mind, so the moments of clarity became more frequent (she didn't know it's the reason, though). And you still need money, whether you like it or not, so, when Shade decided to use his World of Curiosities as a spot of illegal deals and smuggling, she didn't resist, but would watch over him in the shadows in case something goes wrong.

Eventually, she calmed down and just embraced herself. And, after some time, she met Vaughn, whose personal struggles she could sense right away, as she had to experience "being different" herself.

[creamflix]

the first time sukuna fell in love, he was but a boy of ten. 

he’d been running barefoot by the riverside, clutching a half-eaten apple he’d swiped from a vendor’s stall.

there, among the reeds, he saw you. 

a girl not much older than him, giggling as you played with a pair of bunnies. you smiled as one hopped into your lap, the sunlight catching in your hair like strands of spun gold. 

for the first time, he felt a pang in his chest — an ache so foreign it startled him. he wanted to walk closer, to hear your laughter up close, but the distant shouts of palace guards reminded him of his plight.

with a scowl and a heavy heart, he turned and disappeared into the forest.

the second time sukuna fell in love, he was twenty-nine. 

a hardened king by then, his hands stained with the blood of countless battles. he was unstoppable, a force of nature, until he met you on the battlefield. 

you were the opposing leader, a woman who commanded armies with fire in her veins. your sword clashed against his with unyielding strength, your eyes defiant even as the tides of war turned against you. he admired the way you held your head high, even in defeat. 

when his blade finally struck true, he found no triumph in his victory — only the hollow echo of your last breath and the unshakable image of your bravery.

the third time sukuna fell in love, he was sixty. 

his body had grown stronger, his face lined with the scars of battles and time, yet untouched by age. at a temple celebrating his birthday — his subjects oblivious to his immortality — he spotted you again. 

you knelt at the altar, your hands clasped in prayer, tears streaming down your face. your whispered words were for the departed, a plea for their peace, not for yourself. your unselfishness struck him like lightning. he lingered in the shadows, unable to tear his eyes away. 

but once again, he left without speaking.

decades blurred into centuries, and sukuna continued to see you — again and again. 

once, you were a nurse during a plague, tirelessly tending to the sick, your hands blistered but your resolve unwavering. 

another time, you were a dancer, spinning under the moonlight with a joy so infectious that even his dark soul felt lighter. 

then, you were a bandit, reckless and daring, stealing from the rich to feed the poor, your grin daring the world to challenge you.

each time, he loved you more fiercely, each time more convinced that you were the universe’s cruel joke on him — a fleeting glimpse of something he could never hold.

until today.

he hadn’t expected anything remarkable when he walked into the café, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and the warmth of the afternoon sun. his mind was wandering, memories of his past lives and past loves swirling like a storm, when your voice shattered his reverie.

“welcome in! what can i get for you?”

his heart stopped.

it was you.

this time, there was no battlefield, no temple, no grand act of heroism. you stood behind the counter in a simple apron, your hair tied back, a pen tucked behind your ear.

yet you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“uh, sir?” you tilted your head, offering a polite smile when he didn’t respond right away.

“coffee,” he managed, his voice rough. “black.”

you nodded, punching it into the register. “sure thing. anything else?”

“your name,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

your eyebrows lifted in surprise, but you laughed softly. “it’s y/n. do you need that on the cup?”

he stared at you, stunned by how casual you were, how close he was to everything he’d yearned for across lifetimes. 

“no,” he said, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “i just wanted to know.”

you laughed again, handing him his coffee once it was ready. “well, enjoy, mystery man.”

he lingered by the counter, holding the cup like it was an anchor to this moment. he didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to miss the chance he’d always let slip through his fingers. 

this time, he swore, he wouldn’t run away.

“how long have you worked here?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“a few months. why, thinking of applying?” you teased, wiping down the counter.

“no,” he said, his voice softer now. “just wondering how long it took for the universe to bring me here.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the weight of his words. but before you could reply, the door jingled as another customer entered, pulling your attention away.

sukuna stepped back, letting you go about your work. for now. 

he’d waited centuries to speak to you, to know you. he could wait a little longer. but this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away.

not again.

the concept of the cafe was inspired by my pookie @curtins's recent post on jjk men in cafes, go show her some looveee <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[amourcheol]

the great war | (teaser)

❝Because the greatest war Seungcheol had ever waged was against your heart.❞

historical! au | enemies to lovers! au | smut, fluff | approx. 30k words

s u m m a r y : there was only one thing you hated more than your restricted life, and that was choi seungcheol—the greatest venetian general who has ever lived. when a marriage is arranged between the two of you, you were sure it would end in bloodshed. however, as you and seungcheol are forced to attend balls and share a few hard truths, you realise you have more in common with the mysterious general than you thought.

c o n t e n t : military commander! seungcheol, noblewoman! artist! mc, artist! minghao, artist! soonyoung who are both annoying (affectionate), cheol and mc absolutely hate each other because i need to see proper e2l, cheol is the hottest man who ever lived, he also has a scar on his lip (yes this needs a separate warning), this is set in renaissance venice so there will be artist references, the doge = basically ruler of venice, themes of sexism, constant arguing between mc and cheol, there is fluff, also angst ofc mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out fuelled by hatred, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (only because medieval contraception is vile), cheol says some very vile things during the deed, very slight corruption kink

p l a y l i s t : dangerous woman by ariana grande || war of the hearts by sade || love is stronger than pride by sade || i don’t understand but i luv u by seventeen

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld​ @just-hear-to-read-01 @cherrycheolcoups @jeonwonwooscutie @i-dont-give-a-fok @mystikha @xcynthiaaa @ckline35 @enthralled-bandit @urfavtallgirl222 @swimmingkpopblog @areumyang @geniejunn @itsveronicaxxx @yoongischeeksluv @sojohns @capsiclesworld @hanniehoneyy @belladaises @listxn @cheolsbitch @atinycarat26 @moniece @foxdaisy @seventeensfave @yoozuku @hanicore @ishireads @kkooongie @huiiline @coralderae @deekayownsme @louvyves @writingsbybirdie @myjaeyunn @twogyuu @goldenhoney-cas @jonginstance @lurniere @vanishingboots @jub-jub @jjjzzzz @bee-beyond @ikeostormy @rubywonu @ncteez-replies @appt2235 @claireleem @ningwebs @gyuturn @sikebishes @antiv3nus @tyongff-ff @lxgus @forcoups @woozarts @smoooore @iwuzhere @asteriaskingdom @p-dwiddle @youre-on-your-ownkid @fragmentof-indifference @lilsafsafbooyah @9songbird19 @hibernatinghamster @norassimpingzone @parkchaeyoungsbish @foxinnie8 @idubutily @imatfrontrow @ellr07 @havetaeminforbreakfast @tacolombe @nomnom2001 @highkey-fangirling @nap-of-a-starr @pineartease @hwashiningstar @hybeboy @haoraecane @yestenano

(send an ask to be tagged <33)

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e :  hello everyone i died on this account but i am back and better than ever especially since cheol has the nerve to be the finest man alive. just a warning, this fic is going to be so horrendously self-indulgent </3

SEUNGCHEOL ENTERED THE ROOM, AND YOU STILLED.

He was also wearing his wedding attire, but his cravat had been loosened, revealing a sliver of his neck. His curls were wild, as if he had been raking his hands through them. Even as a groom his sword was strapped at his side, the weapon absent at the actual ritual. You could have laughed at him if you were not so nervous—even on an apparent intimate night, he had only thoughts of murdering you.

His expression, on the other hand, revealed no humour.

You heard him sigh sharply, locking the door. That instantly had your nerves heightening. “Unlock the door,” you commanded, getting up from the bed. “I need to run away if you try to do something.”

“I shall have no drunk cousin or lecherous relative spying on us,” he refuted, stepping closer into the room.

“Spying?” your senses perked up. “Seungcheol, we are not doing anything worth spying on, do you understand?”

“What the hell do you mean?” he demanded, propping his gloved hands on his hips. He made to step closer to you but you raised your hand to stop him.

“I know a man has expectations,” you started, backing away from him, “Everyone expects us to seal the marriage, and I know that is the tradition, but I do not care…” you paused, and even the thought of such an action frightened you.

“If you try to touch me, Seungcheol, I will not hesitate to take your sword and stab myself with it.”

He parted his mouth to sneer, but he caught the look in your gaze. He had never seen such a promise ready to be fulfilled should your worst fears occur.

The man could not help but step back.

“Did you really think I would do that, _____?”

You smiled, albeit without any humour. “Well, first you declare that you would rather die by the hands of a Turk before marrying me, and here you stand as my husband.” You shook your head. “I cannot trust you.”

The accusation on his honour stung. “I stand by what I said. I did not want—do not want to marry you.”

“Then why did you say yes?!” you screamed.

He stood silent for a time, gritting his teeth.

It was the truth. Choi Seungcheol was the last man on earth who wished for your hand.

He, too, wanted to escape as the ceremony progressed. Even as you came into the church, dolled up in the height of fashion, he wished nothing more than to run out of God’s holy building, jump upon a gondola and row away from the city.

Despite his prowess, his popularity, his apparent undeniable power, he was unable to escape this marriage. There were exterior forces, beyond his control.

He said it to you truthfully.  

“I was given no choice. I had to say yes.”

You did not believe him. “King of the Venetian military, the Republic’s favourite man and you could not control your choice of wife?” You almost wanted to laugh at him.

He could tell. “You would not understand,” he muttered, turning away from you. “All you have ever done is be a spoiled Doge’s daughter.”

That really ticked you off. “You have no idea what I have done for myself. You will never know of the burdens I carry for being a woman alone.” You crossed your arms, daring him to face you like a man. “All you have done is go to some foreign land and kill a few poor souls.”

Now that really ticked him off. “You speak of burdens as if I have none.” His voice dropping an octave had you blinking back. “You are not the only person who has struggled.”

You watched him as he finally deigned you a glance. There was something incredibly bleak in his usual stormy eyes. Not that you had never not seen him in a sour countenance, but this was possibly the first time you had seen him so hopeless.

“You are not the only person who has felt alone.”

A great part inside of you wished to cackle the ceiling down.

He should feel alone! You raged inside your mind, looking down at the ends of your wedding gown. He should feel something akin to loneliness so he could understand a fraction of your despair. The man was constantly surrounded by his men, his followers, hundreds of thousands of admirers from all over Europe.

You, on the other hand, had only yourself and your paint.

Even with that bitterness, no laughter spluttered from your lips.

You could only match his cruel stare, and hope he took you seriously.

A few more minutes passed before he sighed, taking off his loosened cravat from his neck, putting his sheathed sword on the set of drawers behind him. “We should sleep,” he said, stepping before the opposite side of the bed.

Watching his every move, you then shifted your gaze to the bed. “Yes…we should…”

His famous brow quirked inquisitively. “What are you thinking now?” he asked, clearly exasperated. He then continued dryly, “If you are still hesitant about the whole consummation, then I can assure you that I, too, would slice my head off if you suggested it.”

“Well, I am not suggesting it,” you muttered. “I am more puzzled about why you are getting into bed.”

His tiredness did not stop his stare turning sharp with sarcasm. “Because that is what a person does if they wish to sleep.”

“I am aware of that, thank you.” You put a hand to your chest. “But I wish to sleep as well, and I will be damned before I let you sleep in the same bed as me.”

Now his gaze turned mocking. “My God, you have some nerve saying such a thing.” He set the cravat down on the bedside table. “If you have a problem with me sleeping here, you can sleep somewhere else.”

“Excuse me!” you exclaimed, reaching out to clutch the bedsheets. “This is my bedroom. I have slept here my entire life!” You huffed, sitting on the plush mattress. “Besides, are you soldiers not accustomed to sleeping anywhere? I am sure my bedroom floor is a lavish upgrade from whatever hellsite you rested abroad.”

“Oh, you—” he brought his knee upon the bed, hands further placed as he leaned closer to you. “I care very little whether you have been sleeping here all your life. Your father brought me here, so I have a right to this space.”

You matched his vigour instantly, leaning just as close, sparking a fire in your expression. “And I care none if Papa brought you here—hell, if the Pope carried you to this very room.” His growing rage had no effect on your own. “Sleep. On. The. Floor.”

Mere inches away from each other, the general stared you down. Had the receiver of such a cruel eye been his soldiers, they would have run for the lakes, abandoned the army altogether. Seungcheol’s cold, calculating glares have had enemies shiver in their masses.

It irked him so ardently that his infamous tactics ceased to work on you.

He looked over your features: the manic, determined glint in your pupils, the flared nose, the pursed lips. No one, a woman, no less, had stood up to him like this.

Of course, he should not have been surprised. You had always been a sharp pain in his backside.

God, I cannot let her win, his voice rang, over and over in his head. She cannot have this over me.

But then he saw a glint in your usual mischievous gaze, and he knew you were about to commit a crime.

He was not wrong.

Because you did have an idea, and you smirked, fingers rising to the thin bow on the top of your dress.

Slowly, you began to untie the lace.

Seungcheol watched with no small amount of horror as your rigid wedding gown began to loosen at the top, its flared arms drooping around your shoulders.

You made to untie the second lace when he raised his hands, twisting his lips into a scowl. “What the hell are you doing?!” he demanded, getting off the bed.

“What does it look like?” You untied the string, dress falling further down till you needed your hands to hold it steady.

A single drop, and everything would be revealed.

The greatest general in the peninsula nearly squirmed at the thought.

Your fingers toyed with the last lace.

His eyes darted to your movements. Then, to your face, and you noticed the change of expression—it was as if he was thinking of a military strategy, a last-minute decision on the battlefield.

Once again, you pulled at the string.

But before the knot was fully untied you heard a savage growl escape his mouth.

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

Before you even let the dress fall, he swerved around, grabbing hold of his sword from the drawers. “Fine! Have your room!” The muscles on his back flexed as he raked a hand in his hair. “You are truly ridiculous!”

You could only laugh at the scene of him thundering to the door, vigorously unlocking it and storming out.

The laughter did not stop as you changed into your nightgown, shaking your head.

You did not care if Choi Seungcheol had become your husband.

You were not going to let anything of your life change.

[yanderedrabbles]

THE SINNERS WELCOME YOU

TW: noncon and yanderes ahead

Hi! I'm val and this is where you can find everything I've written. Maybe bring protection? These boys are not nice.

Drabbles, Imagines & Oneshots

Softcore Yandere Boyfriend

A guy who has every yandere urge in the book and is trying very hard to be normal about it.

Yandere Apocalypse Survivor

The world you know is dead and gone. And he's the only reason you're still alive.

Yandere Soldier [noncon]

He knows what he's doing is wrong, but if he closes his eyes, he can convince himself that your muffled cries are moans for him to keep going.

Yandere Cowboy [noncon]

He just wants a roll in the hay. It doesn't matter if he has to hold you down to get it.

Yandere Cop [noncon]

All you want is to get home after a midnight shift and relax. But a State Tropper pulling you over on an isolated stretch of road is more than you bargained for.

Yandere Ganster x Mafia Boss Reader

He's your loyal dog. Now and always.

Yandere Desert Bandit [dubcon]

When planning to cross the desert, all travellers are warned about the bandits. Heartless, they're called. Brutal. Inhuman. So why has one of them fallen in love with you?

Yandere Incubus x Nun Reader [noncon]

A new priest had joined your convent and you can't help the sinful thoughts you have about him.

Yandere Academic Rival

He'll do whatever it takes to be the best.

Misery - a short story [in progress]

Yandere OC x Reader

Based on Misery by Stephen King

Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Upcoming Works

Yandere!Cyberpunk Riot Control Officer

There's nothing he hates more than degenerates and rioters. When he gets his hands on, he's going to pound some law and order into you.

Yandere!Roommates

With your boss mysteriously firing you and your job applications getting lost in the mail, it's no surprise that you can't afford rent this month. Lucky for you, your roommates have a very generous offer.

Yandere!Greek Champion x Priestess!Reader

He was chosen by the Gods to slaughter, to strike down all who stand against him. Your city has fallen at last and he has come to claim his prize.

[batsycline69]

Beneath Some Old Moon

Summary: After a close call with the Two Face Gang, you offer your savior--the mysterious Crusader--some hospitality.

(alternatively, save a horse...)

Pairing: Cowboy!Bruce Wayne x reader

Words: 5.9k

Content/warnings: old west cowboy au, historical inaccuracies probably, threatening scenario, guns, p in v sex, cowgirl (get it?), sort of sub!bruce, unprotected sex, reader is not described, reader's horse is not named

Wind whips across your face as you ride as fast as your horse will take you.

The Two Face gang hoots and hollers behind you. At the front, Harvey ‘Two Face’ Dent, leading his group of men.

You’d stayed in town too long, caught up in the gossip of a stranger riding in. The rumors were he was the same guy who stopped some bandits down in the prairie. Of course, your current predicament doesn’t really seem worth the whispers, because wherever his Crusader stranger is, it’s not here. It’s just you attempting to outrun a gang of five as they quickly gain on you.

Your horse may be well trained, but she isn’t used to this speed the way the gangs’ likely are.

Shots ring out around the ground by your horse’s hooves, drowning the men’s laughter. Dirt kicks up into the air. Before you really know what’s happening, you’re flat on your back, the air knocked from your lungs. Above you, clouds collect over the stars, leaving nothing but the large bright moon.

If you’re killed here tonight, you hope that’s the last thing you see.

The gang circles you on their horses. Yours runs off towards the ranch. You imagine it waiting by the stable for you, only for you to never arrive. You think of your cows, come morning waiting to be fed. You take what little solace you can knowing the widow nearby will notice when the animals begin to get rowdy from their hunger if the neighbor boy’s late to help as he often is.

Hooves trample around you as the men trap you. You feel something damp along your side, and for a moment, you think you might be bleeding. As you raise a trembling hand to your side, it takes you a second to realize it’s not blood at all. One of the jars of canned peaches you picked up in town shattered when you hit the ground. Shards of glass jostle in your satchel as you try to sit back up.

You’re still gasping for air, trying to fill your aching lungs with everything that had been knocked out of you. Thoughts race through your head as you try to think of any good way out of here, but you’re surrounded and unarmed.

A sudden yell snaps you from your oxygen-deprived daze. Dent is now on the ground with you, outside the ring of horses, and being dragged away.

Yelling and hooves trampling deafen you before you can process what’s happening. Shots ring out again, and you flinch, anticipating impact. Instead, powerful legs race by you as the horses charge towards a single man.

A full moon’s light illuminates the fight. You wheeze and stagger back. Two Face wriggles on the ground in the restraints of the lasso around his shoulders.

Though you can’t really be certain, you feel an innate sense of knowledge that this is the stranger people whispered about in town. You’d accidentally met his eyes this morning. They were bluer than the sky on a clear day. Like peering into a stream of crystal clear water.

Now he lures the gang away from you, his horse weaving to avoid their shots. You keep waiting for the moment he pulls his gun out on them, but the moment never comes. The stranger ducks as he guides the men between two boulders. Your vision still swims slightly as you squint to figure out why.

Your questions are answered when the first two men following the stranger hit something and spring back from their horses towards the other two men behind them. Dirt kicks up around them as the horses fall into disarray, bucking and crying out before running in all different directions.

The stranger turns his horse, dismounting before the pile of outlaws sprawled out onto the ground. You watch in stunned silence as he unties a rope from the boulders, wrapping it around the dazed group of men.

When his work is done, the man straightens up and turns towards you. Yet again, you’re stunned by the blue of his eyes. In the moonlight, they look almost ghostly.

He takes his horse and leads it over to you by its reins. He towers above you where you’re still on the ground. Embarrassment creeps up your spine as you think about the fact you should have stood up by now.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stretching out a hand dressed in black leather for you to take. His voice is gruff, the words clipped. In his other hand, he holds his hat. He took it off as soon as he approached you.

After a moment’s hesitation, your hand wraps around his. He pulls you back up to your feet with ease. You nod and manage to breathe a thank you, finally beginning to catch your breath. Your eyes drift towards the gang tied up on the ground. The sound of the stranger’s voice pulls your gaze back up to him.

“Were you out walking at this time of night?” he asks. His voice makes it sound as if he’s accusing you of something.

You huff slightly. “No, I wasn’t walking out here,” you snap. Guilt quickly takes over for your short fuse, but the stranger doesn’t seem startled either way. You imagine he encounters far worse than the likes of you. “My horse ran off when they started chasing us. They were shooting at the ground. She threw me.”

The stranger nods. “Where were you going?” he asks.

You have half a mind to lie. It would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? All you know of this man comes from town gossip, and the incredible feat you’d just seen in front of you, neither of which give complete promise that you’re safe with him. What’s to say he isn’t going to want something in return for helping you? What good would giving this man your address do?

At the same time, however, you realize this really is no place for you to be wandering round at night, even with the moon so full and bright. The silvery light casts shadows over the man’s face, and you catch sight of a scar across his jawline.

“My ranch. Just that way,” you say, eyes flickering towards the small outline of the ranch at the top of the small slope ahead.

Wordlessly, the man mounts his horse again, gloved hand yet again out for you to take. What he expects of you is obvious.

“What about them?” you ask, looking back to the gang.

“Sheriff’ll pick ‘em up,” he replies. He hand still reaches out towards you like he knows you’ll take it.

You do.

He hoists you onto the horse behind him. Up close, he smells like earth and sweat and the smoke of a bonfire. Your arms wrap around his sturdy torso. You get the feeling that the display of skill you’d seen earlier is only a portion of what this strange man is capable of.

You catch yourself wondering what he must look like beneath the dust-coated clothes he wears. For your own sake, you write it off as being flustered from the whole ordeal.

You trot back to the ranch, your grip tight on the man. You realize he might be going slow for your sake. You could get there in half the time if you told him he could ride faster, but you don’t. The slower you go, the more time you have to digest everything that’s happened.

Silence falls between the two of you. You’re thankful he doesn’t ask questions. For a man of his reputation, you can only imagine what he must think of you getting thrown from your horse so easily.

Above head, thunder rolls, filling the lull. People in town talked plenty about the storm that was going to roll through. After the man your arms are wrapped around, that was the hot topic. You won’t admit it out loud, but you’re relieved then to have gotten a ride with him. At least you wouldn’t get caught in the rain.

From a distance, you spot your horse trotting around in front of the stable at home. The man slides off the saddle before holding out his hands to help you off. His gentlemanly charm catches you by surprise. The gruffness of his voice had led you to expect something else.

“Thank you,” you say again.

He regards you carefully with his icy eyes for a moment. “You should be more careful,” he says.

Suddenly, being whisked away by a mysterious stranger loses the allure.

You cross your arms over your chest. “That’s awfully presumptuous for a man who just road in,” you reply. “How do you know I’m not careful?”

“Because I had to scare the Two Face Gang off of you.”

The scowl deepens on your face. “How do you know I’m not usually careful?”

He holds your gaze a second longer than is comfortable. “Two Face isn’t in the business of asking if you’re usually careful,” he replies.

Your eyes narrow to slits at him. His expression has never changed—always a carefully guarded, unreadable frown—but you imagine he’s being smug, or whatever his version of smug is. You don’t appreciate this man you don’t know telling you what to do, and you’re sure as hell not going to let him think otherwise.

You scoff. “You have been here all of a couple of hours. Forgive me if I take whatever it is you think I should or should not do with a grain of salt.”

He stares at you. Already, this man prickles your nerves in a way no one else ever has. You’re not used to silence like this; he’s using it against you, but for what, you’re not quite sure.

“What’s your name, anyway?” you ask. Your weight shifts into one of your hips.

“They call me the Crusader.”

You try not to roll your eyes. “I know that’s what they call you. But what’s your name?”

Silence. Your eyes narrow even more.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

“Nope.”

You curse under your breath. “Fine. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for the ride home. You can leave.”

He doesn’t budge, nor do you. You want to scream in his face and ask him what he wants. If he’s not going to talk, why is he haunting your doorstep? You’re not sure what kind of response to expect from him with that kind of outburst, though, and you’ve pressed your luck enough as it is for the evening.

Finally, he speaks.

“I’m not...good at this sort of thing,” he says. His fist is clenched at his side, yet you’re not sure it’s meant as a threat.

“What sort of thing?”

He scowls at you like you’re supposed to understand someone you just met.

“What, talking to people?” you add when he doesn’t explain himself. “Yeah, I can kind of tell.” And everything starts to click. The silence isn’t that of a grumpy, worn cowboy—at least not exclusively—but of a man who spends so much time on his own, he no longer knows how to connect with anyone.

“What’s your name?” you ask again. This time, there’s more patience in your voice.

“Bruce,” he replies. For what feels like the first time in the very short period you’ve known him, you get a straight answer. You return the favor by giving him your name. He repeats it like he’s savoring a treat.

His loneliness is a ghost, threatening to haunt you if you turn him away.

Thunder cracks in the sky again. A heavy drop falls from the sky, splattering on your shoulder. The stars are blocked out by the heavy clouds that had been collecting all day. “You aren’t thinking about going out in that, are you?” you ask.

“Just some rain. Never hurt anyone.”

You purse your lips together. There isn’t a single reason you should trust this man enough to invite him into your home while you sleep. But you can’t just let him wander off into the storm, can you?

You don’t want him wandering around soaking wet, shirt clinging to his broad chest, pants tight across his thick thighs He’d catch a cold. Plus, the man is lonely. You can imagine the isolation of the prairies are something that could wear on a person. He could use someone to talk to. He saved your life, after all.

“You should stay,” you say.

He looks surprised. Or maybe his face hasn’t moved and it’s just your imagination. But he doesn’t respond right away. His horse shakes its mane. You turn away from him, grabbing your horse’s reins to lead it to it. You’re in awe when Bruce follows.

“Your horse have a name?” you ask, turning back over your shoulder to look at him. It’s a peace offering, of sorts.

He’s tall. You were able to more passively figure that out when you first saw him, but up close, it’s even harder to ignore. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad. You see manual laborers all day, but Bruce is something else. “I call her Bats.”

You laugh softly. “Why’s that?” you ask. Something about the name tempers your nerves. A name isn’t enough to totally give your trust over to Bruce, but you hear the fondness as he speaks of her. A man who has proven himself to be very gruff, with his reclusive nature, has a soft spot for his horse.

“Found her over in some canyons by a bunch of bats.” He rustles her dark mane. Your lips quirk up into a smile.

Bruce waits at the front of the stable as you stable your horse. You pretend like you aren’t unnerved by his staring.

“You’re welcome to keep her here,” you offer again.

A bright light flashes behind Bruce’s back. A few seconds later, a loud clap of thunder. Bats lets out a startled whinny.

“Alright,” Bruce says, though he makes no pains to sound happy about it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” you ask. Your knees are pulled to your chest. You watch the flames from your fireplace flicker across Bruce’s face.

He took his hat off when he came inside like a gentleman. Despite his brusque attitude, he has manners. One that seem deeply ingrained in him. You have more questions you’d like to ask, but considering you have to wrestle every piece of information about himself out of him, you decide not to press your luck.

“Nope,” he replies. Flames flicker in his eyes.

“Where are you from?”

The fire crackles. Rain patters against your roof. Thunder rolls in the lull of the storm. Bruce says it’ll come back. You trust him on this.

“Out east.”

You nod. “Did you save people out there, too?”

“No.”

A thin scar runs through his thick, dark brow. He stares into the fireplace like he’s hoping to learn a secret. You feel like you’re interrupting something every time you say something, so this time you don’t.

With how unwilling he is to speak, you worry you’re bothering him. He said he’s not good at talking with people, but you wonder if it’s because he just doesn’t like it. Or maybe he doesn’t like you. So you let the storm and the fire fill the silence.

You don’t mind Bruce’s presence, even if he might mind yours. He’s still a stranger in your home, but you’re becoming more convinced that he isn’t unkind, even if he is maybe unlikable. But unlikable feels like too harsh of a word, even for a harsh person.

“You get lonely out here on your own?” he asks. You hadn’t been expecting for him to ask you anything at all, let alone something so personal. Maybe you are a little lonely; you’d been pondering this man’s loneliness, hadn’t you? You’d guess he was something of an expert.

“I suppose I do.” A beat. “Do you get lonely out there?” You nod towards your rain-speckled window, though you mean the greater world outside of it.

“I’ve got Bats,” he says.

You nod again.

What’s he looking for doing the things he does? Despite your best attempts, he’s still a mystery to you. A hard shell with some sort of kindness buried inside, though what kind and for what reasons, you’re not sure. He helps people. You heard about his reputation in town. He’d helped you. He takes his hat off and helps people down from horses. That has to count for something.

Bruce doesn’t seem like the kind of man to get attached. Beyond that, you shouldn’t be so optimistic or naive to believe he’s the sort of man you want attachments to. A lifestyle like his isn’t one that lends itself to a long life.

“You’re welcome to wash up, if you’d like,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying I smell?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m just offering the accommodations I have.” But, truth be told, you were concerned about the dirt you’re sure he’s picked up traveling around. You’re the one who will have to wash the world out of your sheets once he leaves you behind.

He doesn’t argue with you, but there is a brief hesitation. You wonder how much of this is just who he is, or if it’s at all just a result of the world he navigates through. How many strangers has he encountered who took advantage of his trust. But surely he must recognize up against him, you’re not much of a threat. But maybe your attempts at getting to know him are threat enough.

You were the first to turn in. After tossing and turning for a while, worrying about the unattended stranger in your home, you fell asleep.

Darkness still swallows you room when you next open your eyes. You’re not sure what rouses you. The once violent storm has subsided to just pattering rain on your window. The house is still. For a moment, you think Bruce may be asleep, but the stillness feels more firm than that. It’s not a house asleep; it’s a house emptied.

You get up, and slip your robe on. You carefully avoid the creaky floorboards you know by heart as you creep to your door. You turn the knob slowly, not wanting to alert your strange new friend. But as you sneak about your own home, you realize he’s not here. The bed he’d been laying in is empty, sheets turned over.

Your sleep-addled brain wants you to rummage through the house, make sure he didn’t sneak off with anything while you slept. But an unfamiliar worry knots your stomach for a reason you can’t seem to pinpoint. Almost like you’re disappointed he’s already gone.

As you run out into the rain, you decide you’ll blame this all on waking up in the middle of the night. You’re clearly not fully awake just yet. You stagger through the mist and into the stable, expecting to see an empty spot where Bats should be.

Instead, you see Bruce, back against the gate, chin slumped to his chest. His black hat covers his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh,” you breathe.

As quiet as you’d tried to be, the soft utterance is enough for Bruce’s head to snap up. His muscles tense, and he looks very suddenly ready for a fight.

His eyes land on you, standing in the frame of the stable in your night clothes, and he relaxes some. “Just you,” he says, laughing to himself. He takes off his hat, and his heavy-lidded eyes land on you. You realize he’s expecting you to say something for interrupting his sleep.

“The storm’s passed. I thought you might have…” You trail off. What would it matter if Bruce had gone off? What difference would that make, and why do you you care?

He looks at Bats’ sleeping form in the hay. “She’s not much used to being alone.” His deep voice is rough with sleep. Your mouth feels dry. “Didn’t want her skittish from the storm.”

A nod doesn’t seem to be a sufficient reply, but what are you supposed to say? The kindness of this man sleeping out in your barn when he has a bed inside leaves you speechless.

“Right.” Your gaze follows him as he stands up.

“Everything alright?” he asks. He takes a half step towards you.

You nod again, your feet deciding to move up a step in return. “Yeah. Just…”

Just what, you don’t know. This is another silence with Bruce you don’t know how to fill. You watched this man outride the Two Face Gang. You watched him best Two Face himself when you’ve heard the whole town talk about how fierce he was supposed to be. And he’s sleeping out in your stable because he doesn’t want his horse to be spooked.

He’s a few feet away from you. Too far. Even when you sat beside the fire together, you were still too far away from him. You can’t stand it anymore.

You cross the stable, stopping only a foot away from him. You could reach out and brush your fingertips along his jaw if you had the nerve to raise your hand. He doesn’t step any closer, but right now, his attention is only on you. You feel naked before him, stripped just from his survey. Your breathing grows heavy just from the way he looks at you.

His dark, heavy brows only add to the intensity of focus. His chest rises and falls; you realize now he’s down to his undershirt, the cotton thin and worn. You catch sight of the dark chest hair sprawling across his skin.

Finally, just when you feel like you’re going to explode, you wrap your arms around him, your face angled towards his lips, hovering just before them. He doesn’t look away. His gaze is fixed on you, but he never makes any sign he wants you to stop.

His large palms reach for your waist, keeping you firmly in front of him. Your heart leaps. You want his hands all over you. You want to relish in him, marvel he is. Make this lonely man feel a little less lonely.

His lips are dry as yours brush over them. Riding out in the sun and the cold is tough on the skin; you know that well. You wonder what the last real taste of tenderness this man has experienced is.

If Bruce needs another place to surrender, let your body be it. Let him find peace with you, even if for a fleeting moment.

Finally, you press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips to test the waters. His fingertips curl into your clothes as if that touch alone would reassure you’d kiss him again. He may not have much to say, but even buried beneath all the stoicism, you find he needs touch just as much as anyone else.

You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched someone else with tenderness.

Your drive comes from the eagerness of his response. You like to feel needed, too. Like knowing there’s a purpose you have here. You have a way to thank him for helping you, something more than a roof over his head. Something less temporary, because at least when he rides away, he’ll have something to remember you by.

When you kiss him again, you’re more eager, more confident of your goal. Bruce responds in kind. He kisses you like a man starved. You know almost nothing about him, and yet, you feel as if you understand him. Maybe it’s just the close call with a bad crowd. Maybe it’s just the fact that a man so worn by the weather shouldn’t be that gorgeous, and you just want a reason for wanting him this badly. Whatever it is, you feel like he might understand you, too.

He leans against the stable, holding you to his chest as a hand cups the back of your head. Your fingers fold into his hair, wishing you could wrap yourself around him fully. Wishing there was a way to get rid of all of the space between the two of you.

Your teeth graze his lip, poking the boundaries again. His grip on you tightens even more. You take that as a positive reaction and gently bite down on his lower lip, pulling back some.

By the time you pull away, you’re breathless and dizzy, drunk off his presence.

You grab him by the front of his shirt, tugging him out of the stable, still crowding in his space. If Bruce minds, he certainly isn’t giving any signs. He guides you as you blindly walk backwards through the ranch, his arm hooked around your waist to keep you upright.

The security of his touch has you pulling him back to you, crashing into a kiss yet again as the brim of his hat keeps your lips sheltered from the rain. He keeps the both of you moving. You let him; he’s been inside the house now. You know he knows where he’s going.

And soon, you feel your back hit the door. You reach behind you, not bothering to look as you fumble for the door handle, one hand still gripping onto Bruce like you can’t stand to lose him. He has you pressed onto the door. When you finally find the handle, the door swings open. On a different day, you would have fallen flat on your back. Bruce catches you. Not even that, because he’s holding you, you don’t even begin to fall.

You manage to tear apart long enough for him to pull his shirt off over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his scarred skin. Dipping in some parts, puckering in others. Carefully, you run a hand up the skin, fingertips brushing over the coarse hair on his chest.

There isn’t time for more observation before he’s working your clothes off as well. When you’re clothes are scattered all around the room, he pulls you back to him. Warm skin presses into warm skin. The feeling of him even just like this is intoxicating. You could bury yourself in him and be the most peaceful you’ve ever been in your life.

Bruce doesn’t resist as you turn him around, pushing him down onto the bed. It squeaks with his weight. He looks up at you, sitting off the end of the old mattress. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap.

He holds you against his chest. His lips brush over the skin of your neck. You sigh, fingertips tangling in the ends of his hair yet again. You feel a growing bulge against your thigh that has the corners of your mouth pulling into a smirk.

You grind your hips down, breath hitching at the rise of pleasure. Bruce sighs against your skin. The rush goes to your head; here you have a very skilled man with a reputation for being unstoppable in your bed. He’s surrendered himself to you, and you imagine that’s not something he often does.

Once more, your hips press down into his. Your head falls back as you let out a soft breathy moan. Bruce groans into your skin as his kiss trails down your chest. His calloused hands run up the exposed skin of your legs, gripping onto your hips. When you don’t move, he moves you himself. He grinds against you while rolling your hips towards his.

You let out another pleasured cry. Your nails bite into his shoulder, and his breath picks up. Figures he’s the kind of guy who wants it to hurt at least a little.

Bruce rocks you against him, but it’s just not enough. Not close enough, not full enough. You need more of him. You pull back slightly. The hand that isn’t clawing at his skin pulls his face back from your chest. Your nails drag across his back as you slide off his lap, bending down to undo his pants.

His cock springs up. The outline of it presses up against the thin cotton of his drawers. Warmth pools in the pit of your stomach. Your ache for him comes to a desperate mount.

When it’s nothing but the two of you stripped bare, you rest your hand back on his chest, pushing him down into the mattress. He smirks and goes down willingly, cock twitching as he stares up at you.

The mattress dips as you lean a knee onto the bed, moving to straddle him yet again. His eyes are intense in the dim light. Steely eyes fixed to you with such focus, you’d maybe be unnerved if having all his attention to yourself didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies.

You wrap your hand around his cock as you slowly sink down onto him. The weight of your head tips back yet again as you adjust to how very full he makes you feel. Burying him inside of you alone is enough to have you seeing stars; his cock hits a spot deep inside of you, something blinding you can’t quite reach on your own.

Bruce’s hands dig into your hips again like he wants to take charge, but he holds back.

When you get used to the sensation of him inside you, you pull his hands away from your hips, threading your fingers between his.

“Relax, cowboy,” you whisper, your cunt fluttering around him. You take his hands and pin them next to his head. “Lemme say thank you for saving my life.” You lean down, so slick you slide up his cock with ease. You feel him jerk against your walls as you press a soft kiss just below his ear.

You’re positive it would take no effort for him to flip you over, take you exactly the way he wants to, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even struggle against you. He’s at your mercy, but only because he’s allowing himself to be.

Oddly, you feel honored.

You sit back up, hands sliding down Bruce’s scarred arms, pussy engulfing his cock yet again. A breath catches in your throat as you hit that same spot deep inside. Your palms rest on his chest, fingers splayed out, and you begin to rock your hips against him. He doesn’t protest the weight of your hands. His palms ghost over the skin of your arms, sliding up your back to wrap into your hair. There’s no escaping his gaze except in the moments your eyelids flutter with bliss.

Grinding against him has a sweet warmth building in your stomach. You groan and sigh as you ride him, and he starts to smirk.

“You sound beautiful, darlin’,” he says, pulling you to his lips again. Your cunt is still wrapped around his tip as he cups your jaw with one hand, the other smoothing down the skin of your back. From this angle, you can’t sink back down onto him, and your pussy feels woefully empty,

But Bruce shifts suddenly, legs bent, and begins thrusting into you. His lips don’t dare to leave yours, muffling your gratified cry. He grips your ass, lowering you onto his cock as he thrusts up, getting deeper than even before.

You gasp, knowing you won’t be able to keep back your climax at this rate.

“Let’s see if you can handle some bucking better now than you did earlier,” he growls. You’d feel embarrassed that he’d seen your horse throw you if you weren’t so cock drunk. But it’s just enough to embolden you.

“I told you earlier, Mr. Crusader,” you say, swatting his hands away. “I know how to take care of myself.” You lean back onto your knees again, bouncing on his cock. His hands run over your chest, your ass, whatever he can reach, but he doesn’t seem to be able to get enough.

You can relate.

“Sit up,” you order breathlessly.

“Yes ma’am,” he complies with a playful smirk. The contrast between the gruff man who’d swept you away from danger is staggering. Now, you would even go so far as to say he seems to be enjoying himself.

His chest presses up against yours. You crash your lips against his as you ride him. He winds one arm around your waist again, the other back in your hair. For leverage, you keep your palms onto his shoulders. Your teeth graze over his bottom lip again before biting down. His grip only tightens.

The pleasure is mounting. Your rhythm begins to get sloppier, less steady as you try to chase your orgasm.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme see you take care of yourself,” he teases as you pull away from the kiss, working him deep inside of you.

Your nails dig back into his skin at the words. Your breath catches again. You grind down onto him at just the right angle and everything seems to fall away.

You cry out. If Bruce wasn’t there, you’d fall just like before, but he catches you as you release. Your cunt squeezes around him, and he growls again.

“That’s right. You got one more for me?” he asks. As you ride out the afterglow of your orgasm, Bruce takes your hips again, using his strength to keep you sinking down onto his cock.

“Uh-huh…” you pant, nodding as you give the work over to him.

With his hands on your ass, he moves you up and down onto him. His grip is secure. With what little focus you have at this point, you find yourself fixated by watching the muscles of his arm work your body weight with ease.

Without a break between your first orgasm and the now furious pace at which Bruce fucks himself with your cunt, you feel another climax approaching. Bruce knows. His focus has never waned from your face, infatuated with the details of your expression as you ride him.

Now that he’s doing all the work, you take your hands and cup his cheeks, your lips finding his again in a messy kiss. You’re ravenous for him, wired off of your own bliss. If you don’t ground yourself with him, this seemingly endlessly grounded man, you’d fly away.

Bruce bites down on your lip now, a forceful grip that has you moaning.

His hips stutter. You feel it just as you’re teetering over the edge. One hand moves from his cheek, tugging onto his hair. He moans, and the sound alone pushes you until you’re throbbing around him yet again, body shivering with the force of your release.

Bruce marvels at your open mouthed cries, eyes pinched shut. He slams you down onto his cock, his grip almost bruising as you feel him twitch and cum inside of you.

There’s a beat as you both float on your high, still clinging to each other. Your heart hammers against his chest. Bruce breathes against you. It’s still not close enough, but it’s the closest you’d likely get.

You duck your head into his neck, resting your forehead against his sturdy shoulder. Half-moon indents linger on his skin from your nails. You just smile.

“How’s that for a thank you?” you ask when you finally catch your breath.

He chuckles softly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your back. “Well, next time you’re in trouble, just call for me. Me and Bats’ll come running.”

AN: huge shout out to @janybabyy, @fic-over-cannon, and @youknowwhoiamperiod for helping me with brainstorming this 💛 i appreciate it big time

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

John Wayne (Bandit cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader) Part 1

Hiii! Inspired by the song of the same name by lady Gaga, and these two(flash warning for this one) edits of Predo Pascal(🤭) Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, making out, pet names, Miguel being a big ass flirt, slight nsfw but no smut. Mentions of hanging and death Lowkey highkey very cheesy and cliché but in a fun way.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Word count: 2.1k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

Bandits, cowboys, shoot outs, saloon fights, all things you’ve heard rumors about the Wild West while you lived in the city. Your classmates telling you stories they’ve heard from a long distance relative or from a friend of a friend of a friend.

But as you sit down at your fathers office at his new job, you couldn’t help but think that all those stories were nothing more than that. Stories. Lame, boring, make-believe stories. Who would have know that being the sheriff’s daughter in a dum-fuck nowhere town would have been so uneventful, on an exciting day, he’d lock up a drunk. You wish your parents had just stayed on the east coast as you let out an exasperated huff, dropping your pencil on your school workbook, and you lean back in his chair, letting your eyes wander to the ceiling.

“Alright O’Hara,” The muffled sound of your father’s voice was heard from the outside of the door, followed by some clinking. Causing you to sit in the chair properly before he appeared through the door. “Ima need you to sit tight in this cell for a few days ‘til the state sheriff is able to get down here and give me your reward money.”

To your surprise, a man in cuffs came through the door first. Your eyes widened in silent curiosity as you studied the new mystery man. You've never seen him in town before, because you were certain you would have remembered a man as handsome as him.

He’s getting arrested by my father what the fuck is wrong with me?

Your father didn’t acknowledge your presence, but that didn’t stop the other man’s eyes from falling onto you immediately. The definition of tall, dark and handsome, a towering frame, tan skin, semi-permanent wrinkles in between his brows and at the end of his lips, in indication he scowls too much, and his muscles, they could easily snap you in half if he wanted to. Dark worn out blue jeans, dust brown cowboy boots, a black hat, a flannel that emphasizes his arms with ever movement and-fuck he caught you staring. Warmth flared all over your face as you finally tore your gaze from his, barely catching the small smirk and hmph he let out in amusement. How could he not? When his captor’s daughter is checking him out.

It seems your father didn’t catch your wandering eyes, but he sure as hell caught his mischievous look in his, the rage quickly filling his face as he tossed the larger man in the cell quickly after taking off his cuffs. Locking him in before pointing an accusing finger at him with his right hand, while his left gripped the iron bars tight enough for his knuckles to turn white as he spoke. “Don’t speak to my daughter, don’t look at my daughter, don’t even think about my daughter.” He hissed the threat, before turning over to face you, visibly relaxing as his tone softened. “Ima step out of the room to make a few calls. Yell if he causes you any trouble darlin’.” You nodded, your fathers eyes traveled down to your abandoned work, “And finish your school work, you’re lucky to be attending college.” He added before leaving the room, an uncomfortable silence falling on you and the unknown crook. Keeping your eyes glued to your notebook despite your mind being elsewhere.

“So.” He finally spoke after cleaning his throat, moving to lean against the iron bars of his enclosure. “What’s your name preciosa?” He asked, his head tilting and his lips twitched upwards as he watched you. (Sweetie)

“My father told you not to talk to me.” You fumbled out almost too quickly, the words coming out rushed and almost panicked much to your dismay. Your face warmed up once more as you could feel his eyes bore into you, your eyes remained downwards, your hands balled into fist on your lap as you try not to think about him watching you as if you were in a cage and not him. You were certain if you met his gaze your combust into flash hotter than the sun.

He let out an unamused laugh, shifting his head forward as three of his fingers went to grab the rim of his cowboy hat, taking it revealing his disheveled brown locks, slightly wavy from being covered.

“Does it look like I’m the type to listen to authority, sweetheart?” God the nicknames were making you weak in the knees.

“Well, no-“

“Come on gorgeous,” He cooed, “indulge me.”

You bit on your bottom lip as you mentally battled with the idea, your father probably wouldn’t like the idea, but if it’s just your name, then what’s the harm right?

With a small sigh, you finally gain the courage to meet his gaze, almost dropping it immediately when you notice the look in his eyes. It reminded you of the way your kitten looks at a loose mouse. Like he would pounce on you if he wasn't confined.

“It’s…It’s (Y/N).” You finally utter, it came out meek, soft, you hated how it almost made you sound weak. His brow raised as he brought his hand up to cup around his ear, a silent way of asking you to speak up, but you could tell by the way his smirk pulled up he definitely heard you. With a huff and an eye, you repeat your name, with more confidence this time.

He released a low whistle as his hand dropped again, “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to giggle at the compliment or roll your eyes at the cheesiness, his accident drawing out a bit more while emphasizing beautiful both times. You went with both.

“What’s your name?”you asked, getting up from the chair you were sitting in and making your way towards the cell, not too close but close enough for him to reach for your hand and gently raise it towards his lips, placing a gentle kiss on it, it made your whole body tingle as he threw you a quick wink and a playful smirk.

“Names’ Miguel O’Hara, but you can call me Mig.”

—

Your father had informed you that Miguel would be stuck with him for a few weeks, due to the state chief being preoccupied with the bounty on Jesse James’s head, they were close to changing him apparently and he had all his attention on him at the moment. When Miguel was informed he only scoffed and grumbled, seemingly moody that he wasn’t top priority. You found it funny, it’s as if he wanted a bigger prize money attached to him, coming out a few thousand short of the other man.

You would never admit it, not to your friends, not to your mother and especially not to your father, but you couldn’t help but grow a bit fond of the cowboy. It’s cliché you know, the daughter of a cop falling for the outlaw but it’s hard not too when he’s always complimenting you or calling you pet names, and he knew how to hold a good conversation.

You’ve never acted out too much with your parents before, always did good in school, never snuck out, never went out to meet boys that didn’t ask for permission beforehand. So when you caught yourself sneaking at your father’s work keys in the late hours of the night to sneak out of the house and into the station to talk to the man whose mere existence cost more then the pure-breed horse you took from the stall every night to visit, it was invigorating but also utterly terrifying in the chances of you getting caught. Despite your initial fear, it didn’t mean you didn’t start to get sloppy.

Both with sneaking out, and with the cowboy.

—

A yawn escaped Miguel’s chapped lips as he lazily rubbed his face, trying to fight off sleep as he shifted around in his overly small bed, the only light source he had was the beams of pale moonlight that was seeping from his barred window. Heavy eyelids began to close when they suddenly snapped open at the familiar sound of keys jangling and the rattling of the doorknob opening.

“Took you long enough gatita, though you forgot about me.” Miguel spoke as he watched you with once tired eyes that were now filling with a different emotion as he watched you place your hand lamp on your father’s desk before you head over to him, keys in hand. Although the words seem like a joke, his tone was low and anything but humorous. (Kitten)

“Had to make sure my family was asleep.” You attempted to justify yourself as you unlock his door, not even getting a second to put the keys back in your dress pocket before Miguel grabbed you and pulled you into his room, his mouth greeting yours in a hot needy kiss. The keys drop to the wooden floor with a loud clunk as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and your fingers tug at the small curls at the back of his neck, only causing him to let out a groan at the pleasurable pain.

You too have been at it for about a week now, ever since your father informed you that the state sheriff would finally head down to your town to take Miguel of of his hands, he would arrive tomorrow morning, meaning tonight was your last with Miguel. He would be taken back to the state capital to be hung the following week.

“Ima miss these sweet lips darlin’…” He mumbled between peppering kisses down your jawline and towards your collarbone. A whine leaving your swollen lips you felt his large hands undo the buttons that cover your chest, leaving another dark hickey on you , before stopping for a second to admire his work. Seven hickeys, one for each day.

Your hands followed his lead, going under his sleeping shirt, wandering against his toned stomach, before he quickly pulled it off, turning you both around so your back was against the wall.

��Can’t get enough of you...”

“Me either…”

“Don’t forget about me (Y/N).”

“I won’t Miguel.”

Your lips quickly reunited with his as he started to drag the cotton fabric down from around your shoulders when the sound of the door office slamming opened caused you both to jump away from each other, a startled yelp escaped from you as you go to over your exposed breast.

Your eyes quickly darted to see who had opened the door, only to felt a lump build in your throat at the sight of your seething father, red face with anger as his shoulders rise and fell rapidly with each erratic breath he took.

“I thought I told you to stay away from my daughter!” He roared as he started to near the cell, making you quickly exit it, closing the door before standing in front of it so he couldn’t get to Miguel. “And you.” His eyes dropped to meet yours, anger, disappointment, betrayal, emotions you’ve never seen him directly towards you, it only made your throat tighter and your stomach drop. “I expect better from you. Do you know how many trains and banks he’s robbed! How many people he’s killed! I don’t want anyone like that near my daughter-“

“But father, I love him!”

Love. You’ve never once said that about a man in your life, you blurted it out without so much as a second thought. But it felt right.

This only made your father scoff. Not even caring about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You don’t know a thing about love.” He muttered in a low tone that made a shiver run down your back, his eyes narrowing down at you before gripping your forearm as he began to drag you out of his office, despite your best attempts to pull away from him. “It doesn’t matter either way. Tomorrow he’ll be gone, and next week he’ll be dead. You’ll never see him again.” He finished as he dragged you fully out of the building and back towards home, not showing one ounce of pity despite your cries making his heart ache.

—

Once he was alone, Miguel ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He couldn’t even have one last night with you before he’d leave your life forever. A heavy sigh turning into a panic curse when he went to lean against the stall door and to find it not support his body weight as it usually would. Stumbling a bit to regain his balance, it only took him a few seconds to realize that, in your father’s angry rampage, he had forgotten to relock his cell.

—

Taglist: @loser-alert

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Dispater, Lord of those Below

No Kings Beyond Death

A god of riches and horrors beneath the earth, protector and jailer of the departed souls, grim Dispater rules many realms with a stern hand and an iron will. Often cursed and seldom praised by mortals, it is this god's cosmic lot to keep order in the underworld, where the caverns of the mortal plane intersect with the labyrinths of the underdark and the shadowed halls of the dead.

While his worship overlaps with many other gods of death, few pray to Dispater as his heart is thought to be as cold and unmoving as stone, hardened by the grim work of keeping the domains to which psycopomps and other terminal forces deliver souls, ensuring that they neither have the chance to escape nor that they are picked off by fiends or other malign spirits.

Judges and other arbiters sometimes swear by him, especially when handling matters of life and death, as do miners, bankers, and others who work in precious metals or stones, as Dispater has a connection to caverns and other buried places. His clergy collects tribute in the form of those soft, perishable things that cannot be found below the earth: grain and livestock, flowers and wine. Their sacrifices of these things are said to pass on to the dead themselves, after their lord has taken his due tithe.

Adventure Hooks:

A monstrous bat haunts the countryside, endlessly harrying a graverobber who pilfered from a cemetery consecrated in Dispater's name. The exhausted scoundrel just so happens to have taken refuge in the same country inn as the party, passing himself off as a peddler who was shaken down by bandits. When the bat attacks that night (as he knows it will) he hopes to use the chaos to shift some of his plunder into the heroes' packs, diverting the creature and the divine wrath it represents.

Rumour is, if you find a trail of archaic coins scattered along the road, following it will lead you to one of the mysterious grey merchants, traders from the underworld who deal in memories and mementos cast off by the dead. Woe to anyone who attempts to harry or cheat the merchant though, as they travel under the protection of the lord below.

Shortly after a resurrection of a partymember (that may or may not have gone wrong), the heroes are approached by a dour devil in clerk's garb who insists that they need to follow her into the underworld to help clear up some post-mortality paperwork, or else their friend's soul might be held in litigation for a literal eternity. "Clearing up" in this case involves helping to clear out a field office somewhere in the shadowfell overtaken by the unquiet dead, fending off hostile spirits while the devil and the deceased do a lightninground of signatures on the relevant forms.

Behind the scenes: Hades has fascinated me since I started learning a mythology, and that fascination has only grown as I've traced the idea of him through history and popculture.

Like all the other Greek gods, Hades gets a roman makeover in Pluto; god of earth, the underworld, and wealth. One of his titles "Dis Pater" literally means " Father of Riches", as the earth contains both mineral wealth and the wealth of good harvests.

Because of his association with the underworld Pluto/Dis Pater starts to get adapted into emerging Christian Mythology as the devil, as his realm of of Tartarus (and its punishments reserved for the most wicked) likewise becomes Hell (which exists to torture anyone who sins and doesn't believe).

Fast forward about a millennia and a half and you have the creators of d&d making all the different names for the devil into a rogue's gallery of different fiends. With Dispater's connection to greek mythology completely forgotten he gets sectioned off as the extra schemey member of hell's boyband, at once brilliantly adept at making plans and driven mad with his own paranoia. While this makes him a little more interesting than some of the other devils, it just wasn't enough for me in the end, so a revamp had to ensue.

I wanted to take things full circle and use Dispater's name to bring my own Hades analog into my game's mythology, a god not of death but specifically the underworld, fully drawing on the connotations of both afterlife and underground. Playing with motifs of kingship and a "death and taxes" sort of legalism also makes for unique themes when it comes to the subjectmatter of mortality: Dispater as death is owed tribute by natural and divine law, but that relationship also grants protections to the tributary. Imagine a paladin of Dispater saving someone's life from unlawful execution because they are owed a righteous death.

Thanks as always to @5ecardaday for the monster stats

Artsource

[galaxygirl8880]

@nerdpoe I saw ur krs doesn't get instant au and i wrote something short for it 👉👈

There are no thoughts running through Raon miru's head as he stared at the rubble in front of him.

At his human. Cale, who is inhaling raspy, short breaths. There is blood pouring out of his mouth. He looks like he is in pain.

How-

What just happened?

They were at camp. Everything was peaceful. Choi hah was sharing stories of his homeland, everyone was telling jokes and laughing and singing songs. There was- an earthquake? The mountain must have been unstable. The prince said there was an abandoned mine nearby that needed to be sealed off because of rising bandit activity. Cale had only accepted because Raon, Ohn and Hong wanted to go on a vacation-

It was supposed to be an easy, fun trip. Then they noticed the shaking and the falling rocks and not even Choi han could have helped without making it worse. He had panicked. He was relaxed and happy and wasn't thinking properly when the Boulders started falling.

Cale stumbles the slightest bit and Raon is the first one to get to him. The dragon lowers him down gently with magic as Ron starts checking his vitals, getting him to breath.

Raon miru is ashamed to say that there was a moment of silence where no one could move. Once Cale is cleared for transport, the dragon gets ready to teleport everyone back home.

It feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton, the only thing in his line of sight being Cale covered in his own blood. Cale does not fall unconscious until he is laid back in bed and a healer is called. But he does not speak. And Raon does not know what to think.

---

The dining hall is dead silent. Cale is sleeping and Jack had been called to keep a close eye on him.

Raon would love to be by his human's side and count the seconds until he woke up again but...

Cale saved them.

(Again.)

And he did it using- well. That's what raon wants to know. And he wants to know so he can ban Cale from using it ever again.

Raon miru would do anything to never hear that sound come from Cale Henituse's throat ever again.

Cale is not one to cry. He is known for his levelheadedness. Even in situations where a normal man would break. Its one of the reasons why he is so dependable, trustworthy, the shield of the roan kingdom. (His human hates that nickname but it doesn't mean it's not true in a way.)

In that moment of weakness, cale opened his mouth, let out the most gutteral scream-

and decimated the entire mountain.

'indescribable. Full of anguish and fury and sorrow.' Is what the people that were with Cale that day agreed on when reporting back to Alberu. A scream that wouldn't belong anywhere but the funeral of your most precious person.

A scream that fuels Raon's drive to be stronger. So that Cale will never be in a situation where using that is the only way out.

Raon hears Choi han make the same promise to himself later that day while at Cal's bedside. While Raon, Ohn, and Hong are trying to distract themselves by drawing together (it's not working). He knows that the other two heard it as well by the determined look they all shared and he knows that they are thinking the same thing.

---

When Cale woke up, (A few people cried. Choi han included.) he was banned from talking by Jack and Ron and Eruhaben and raon and Rosalyn and the kids and-

Cale was not allowed to talk.

Meaning he had to listen to everyone lecture him while being unable to retort. He was given a pen and paper that was mostly filled with apologies and attempting to avoid any questions about the mysterious ability. Cale could only eat soup for the time being because of the internal wounds in his throat. Ron stuck to sweet, room temperature tea for fear of the acidity of his usual blend aggravating his throat more.

Eruhaben and Ron drilled it into his head that he could never use that ability ever again. (Cale privately apologized in his head because he would do so in a heartbeat if necessary. The ancient dragon and assassin pretended as if they didn't also know this.) Hong thinks he heard Ron and Cale have a heart-to-heart. Although it was Ron questioning him and fast responses in the form of writing for Cale.

Alberu did not mention the reports of citizens in the nearby town being scared of the scream that came from the forest. The sadness some felt from the sound. His royal highness feels a bit guilty for being thankful that he did not have to hear Cale's ability.

Rosalyn was quick to create a device so Cale can communicate better, something to play the writing outloud. And if she spent a bit of extra time in Cale's room where she braided his hair, sharing new stories about her siblings when asked, then that's between them.

---

I feel like if roan has a version of sign language then everyone would make the effort to learn it. Even though Cale can still technically speak, no one wants him to strain himself. (Vitality of the heart fixed most of it but they weren't hearing it. He still gets phantom pains sometimes so Cale is quietly grateful for their support.)

[nrhshm]

Hello there! If you don't mind, could you please do Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and Shanks (seperate) reacting to seeing their stoic fem!(s/o) smiling brightly for the first time? Thank you so much if you decide to do this!!

- [💚anon]

Heads up! let's do this ~~ I'll do each two seperately.

Ps. I might've slightly diverted from the original prompt...

This is pt 1:

Luffy and Zoro reacting to y/n, smiling brightly for the first time.

. Reader is gn

. Sfw

. Spoiler free

. Genre: fluff, a bit of gore on zoro's part

Luffy:

Amidst the battle, you trod with a heavy breath across the massive wreck of houses. You've been a hurting witness, seeing that one fishman destroy your hometown without a single shred of mercy. Instead, an evil sickening smirk of ridicule was all he left lingering in your thoughts.

"Y/n L/n" of the strawhats, you were known for your strict loyalty to your captain: the wanted pirate "Monkey D. Luffy". Your train of thoughts drift back to that time he decided you'd join his crew, you were so nonchalant about it! In fact, you barely had anything to do with him IF he didn't passively force you with the biggest smile ever.

"Join my crew!"

"No"

"Why?"

"Because we met five seconds... ago..." You deadpan.

"But you're my friend."

"I-... We've met FIVE SECONDS AGO!!!" You repeat furiously.

"Besides, I know a pirate when I see one, and I'm not planning to involve myself in any shady business you've got."

Luffy's big round eyes stare right dead center into yours, 1 minute, 5 minutes and no response.

"So?" He suddenly blurts out.

"So??"

He takes his hand in yours.

"I like you. Isn't that enough?" He says in with a sneezy smile.

.

.

The flashback cuts off as soon as you catch a glimpse of red and yellow drifting across your peripheral vision. Witnessing Luffy's figure marching up to the edge of the cliff. Bloody and torn to shreds he still insists walking up to your line of vision. He wants you to see the geniune seriousness in his request, the sheer determination that he won't back down till he gets what he wants.

"Y/N!!!" He screams at the upmost top of his vocal cords. You freeze. Eyes fixated on the future pirate king. He stands in all his might and glory.

Luffy's intense glare suddenly melts into the most sincere smile.

"Join my crew."

At this point you couldn't hold it back, the immense relief and the overwhelming goosebumps coursing your veins. You didn't even realise how big you were smiling, till you felt the pinching strain at your cheek, and Luffy's bursting victorious grin.

The future pirate king, jumps from the high roof of the building, landing right infront of your figure.

You regain your composure, wiping your tears away, your expression now turns serious.

.

.

"Yes!"

Zoro:

There it is again. That mesh of mint and green making it's way towards you.

Upon his sight, your hand sneaks around the low cupboards, pulling out a strange teabag. You tighten your hold on the item in an attempt to hide it.

The swordsman lazily seats himself in front of you, signalling his 2 sake bottles and a shot of "the strongest thing you have", as he addresses it.

As a bartender, your acting skills were superlative, essential in situations where drunk bandits try to stir up trouble. You have handled your job effectively for over 5 years, which led to you falling under the eyes of the legendary pirate hero of your town: Doflamingo.

This mission was different from its past predecessors. You were set as a spy back then, setting people in a hopeless stupor to leak out any important information, delivering it back to your -now- master.

This time, you are ordered to kidnap a pirate.

Your hands were shaking again, you were morally doubtful if this was your last day alive. Yet the said man didn't bother to comment anything, as you poured in the mysterious black powder into the mix.

"Here you go sir." You hand him his wine bottles and shot in a false smile, your own heart screaming guilt and reconsideration, but fearing your master pushed all of it away. You are bound to him, a slave imprisoned to do his bidding. You have no way out.

You snap out of your thoughts as he gulps down the whole thing in seconds. And with a loud thud, the green haired swordsman falls into deep sleep.

....

When he does wake up, you stand next to him, sharpening your knife, a couple of guards around you. You looked at the said man with a sneer, which somewhat to Zoro, seemed fake.

He'd already had his concerns about you the moment he had sat at your bar, strangely, in which Zoro usually doesn't pay attention to.

"Here's the Pirate Hunter, as you ordered." You outstretch your hand at the swordsman, showcasing your capture. "Now.."

"Let go of my family."

Zoro's eye widens. Now, it all made sense. He felt that immediate deja vu with a distant memory, where Nami had done the same thing.

Nothing about this is acceptable to him, as Zoro wouldn't allow himself to get captured out of sympathy, but something in his gut feeling kept nudging, insisting to solving this issue.

The mafia boss, turns around, a sign of disinterest is quite evident.

"Really now??" He sneers in disdain. "When did I make such a deal with you?!"

Hearing his sick laugh, your lungs begin to malfunction. Short breaths and wide pupils, the world around you greys out.

"Y-Y- You said... you'd-"

"Kabaji! Did you ever hear me say that?." He points out mockingly, his said assistant laughing in amusement. You barely even notice your knife hitting the rough floor.

"No sir. This woman is spouting nonsense."

You've never felt so helpless. A bartender woman, weak and fragile, with a dull present and an even duller future. The only source of hope and persistence was finding your kidnapped family and escaping this goddamned town.

"LIAR!!" You scream in fury. "YOU PROMISED ME MY FAMILY!!" Heaving cold breaths and bearing your rapid painful heartbeats, your entrapped feelings finally explode.

"You call yourself a leader when your words are nothing but shallow lies!!! And your actions are a testament to your incompetence!" At this point, the whole place was in absolute silence.

It's almost as if you hit a thin nerve in this man, as he immediately shouts for your head to be cut off. Men rush towards you with their glistening swords, and you instantly know: this is it. It's over for you.

Closing your eyes, you anticipate the harsh pain that'll penetrate your neck , but all that was heard were the clash of swords, screams of agony, and the quivering words of men begging for mercy.

Most importantly, you felt a sticky substance on your forearms. The warm texture trailing down to your apron.

You finally look up, and you're mortified by the sight of the bloodshed and corpses. The once powerful mafia leader and his cronies reduced to these headless cadavers.

Most importantly, Zoro stood amidst everything, a bloody sword in hand, and the look of a bloodthirsty berserker.

He turns back to you, and look of sympathy becomes evident. "Are you hurt?"

"No." You immediately answer. You try to cover your trembling hands, but they don't go unnoticed.

"Are they on the island?"

You pause, not fully understanding his inquiry.

"Your family, I mean." He elaborates. You flinch at that.

"I believe so... the mafia headquarters aren't far from here."

"There's no time to waste then." He sheaths his swords, walking past your shaken figure.

"Wait!" You grab his wrist. "Are you seriously helping me, after all that I've done to you?" The last few words coming out as a whisper.

Zoro stands still, his expression becomes unreadable. The weight of silence gets bigger by the passing second.

"I'm just doing what my captain would have done." He states with a confident smirk.

His answer takes you aback. And you find yourself smiling tearfully...

'Maybe, not all hope is gone... I can still do this.'

"Let's go." You nod, a newfound determination surging through your body, you begin feeling estatic about finding your beloved people.

With all that in mind, you fail to notice zoro's unusual look of admiration, as a genuine smile slowly traces his lips.

'Ba-dum!'

[azu1as]

Hi, Tin! I love your writing and I have a prompt for you, if you are interested) what if Tang family is too afraid of Tang Bo leaving permanently and eloping with Cheong Myeong? So they initiate marriage negotiations with Mount Hua. It can be angst (CM is socially isolated and insecure about his position) or romantic comedy (awkward situations and protective Cheong Mun), up to you). Thank you in advance!

It was a well-established fact that the Dark Saint of the Tang Family was one of their generation's best.

So it came as no surprise when an influx of marriage proposals flooded their family's estate—because rumors started flying around that the Dark Saint was in search of a partner.

The Dark Saint held a reputation for being cold and ruthless. To cultivators and martial artists, he was someone they feared making into an enemy due to his sheer battle prowess and poisonous abilities. To normal civilians, he was a genius who wielded the Tang Family's techniques with cool precision and intent; to them, he was just another mysterious cultivator that they would only ever know of through gossip and stories.

However, in recent years, something shifted. His reputation among common folk was slowly altered. It started off with a supposed battle between him and the Plum Blossom Sword Saint which turned into a sudden and unexpected friendship.

Whereas in the past the Dark Saint would only go around Sichuan and closeby villages, he was now found going around different major cities and unknown ones.

He was often in the company of Mount Hua's Plum Blossom Sword Saint, who worked with him side-by-side to eradicate groups from the Demonic Cult and the occasional bandits and thieves.

For supposed Taoists, the two visited different establishments to drink alcohol and talk cheerily. It was during one of these moments that the first rumor began its spark.

"Ahhhh," The Plum Blossom Sword Saint groans in satisfaction. "That sure hits the spot!"

The Dark Saint chuckles as he tosses back his own drink. "If only I could enjoy everyday like this. Alcohol really is the best."

"What would your future wife think?" The Plum Blossom Sword Saint jokingly and dramatically shakes his head in disappointment. "To have a husband who loves alcohol more than his own wife...!"

The Dark Saint wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Trust me, I would make sure that my wife knows full-well just how much I love them."

The two of them share a silent, private conversation with just their eyes alone, that none of the other restaurant's customers could decipher, before they leave a generous tip and went on their way.

It snowballs from there.

All of a sudden gossip went around about the Dark Saint's interest in finding a wife. And so several people came to the same conclusion.

The reason why the Dark Saint is travelling around more than usual is because he's looking for a prospective wife.

Clearly, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint was there to provide moral support. How truly admirable and strong their brotherhood must be!

On the other hand, the head of the Tang Family was fully aware of their Dark Saint's single-minded interest in Mount Hua's Chung Myung.

Seeing all the stacks of letters that ranged from proposing strategic alliances and general marriage offers brought the current head of the Tang Family to a very different conclusion.

Tang Bo was trying to slowly draw himself away from their family by leaving their estate. He might be on the hunt, jumping from village to village, trying to create a dowry befitting for the hand of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint and scouting out all the best locations to settle down in.

It really wouldn't be too surprising of an idea if one day a letter turns up from the man with an intent of permanently moving to Mount Hua or some backwater village.

The Tang Family head shakes the thought of losing one of their best and genius members to one of the Ten Great Sects. If he wanted to maintain their family's reputation, he'll need to strike the first move.

And so he begins to pen a decisive letter to the Sect Leader of Mount Hua.

%%%

Chung Mun's hands tremble as reads the letter sent to him by the Tang Family.

'Who did they think they were?' He would have bit out if he had any less self-restraint. The paper crumples in his grip and he receives a questioning glance from Chung Myung who was sprawled eating mooncakes on the opposite side of his desk.

"What's got you so worked up?" The subject of the letter askswithout a care.

Chung Mun takes a deep breath. "The Tang Family wishes for you to transfer into their estate."

He refuses to say out loud the marriage proposal that came along with this request. His Chung Myung was too young! The man might be a sixty years old, but that round face, cheeks carelessly bulging with mooncakes with crumbs littered on his chin, screamed too young for marriage!

"Oh." Chung Myung nods in understanding.

Chung Mun is glad that Chung Myung agrees that this was nonsensical. To think, they thought that Chung Myung would even leave Mount Hua for—

"After the war is over, Tang Bo and I were planning to be roommates and travel the world a bit."

—?????

"Roommates?" Chung Mun's voices comes out slightly strangled.

"Yup. It's going to be great."

"No."

"'No'?"

Chung Mun tries to run through his previous conversations with Tang Bo. He knew that the man was capable of being underhanded, but he was also well-aware that Tang Bo respected him enough to not blind-side him with something like this. Especially since it concerned Chung Myung.

...

...Oh no.

"Fuck." Chung Mun says, full of feeling as he recalls Tang Bo off-handedly asking permission to live together with Chung Myung in the future.

"...Sect Leader?"

Chung Mun had thought that was a joke! He thought Tang Bo wasn't being serious! They were talking with alcohol in their systems!

The alarmed look that crosses Chung Myung's face informed Chung Mun that the way he felt his blood drain from his face was a visible, physical reaction.

"He asked for your hand in marriage." Chung Mun says faintly. "I said yes."

Chung Myung blinked at him. "Yeah? He told me?"

Okay. Tang Bo, to his credit, hasn't been leaving Chung Myung in the dark at least.

If Chung Myung knows and isn't reacting violently that means that he isn't completely against this. Even if Chung Mun was, he had to reorganize his priorties.

And his number one would be to make sure Chung Myung was happy.

((And to make sure that the Tang Family doesn't think they can step on Chung Mun and pull his little brother away.))

"I'll have to recheck the sect's budget and my own savings to make sure we have enough for the wedding preparations..." Chung Mun mutters as he begins drafting a response to the Tang Family with what he thought were better marriage agreement conditions.

But then, a flash of dread causes Chung Mun to pause writing and leave a dark ink blot on the paper. He suspected, but he really wishes that he was wrong—!

"Huh?" Chung Myung gives Chung Mun a confused look. "We already got married though?"

[irisintheafterglow]

One-Shots

Gojo Satoru

You Are In Love - "you're my best friend," and you knew what it was

...Ready For It? - knew he was a killer first time that I saw him

Hits Different - it hits different 'cause it's you (or, struggling in a situationship with gojo satoru)

Never Grow Up - meeting megumi for the first time

The Archer - all of my enemies started out friends, can he hold on to you?

invisible string - the first time megumi uses ten shadows

even in my worst times, you see the best in me - being the strongest has its downsides, but at least you're suffering with him

life's no fun without a good scare - you have the brilliant idea of playing hide and seek in a corn maze against the most powerful sorcerer in the world. should be fun, right?

it's all me, just don't go (meet me in the afterglow) - satoru is jealous but refuses to admit it.

every dead end street led you straight to me - former fuckboy gojo has some things to say at the top of a mountain

i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this! - coworkers to lovers with a healthy amount of teenage eavesdropping

he's the death you chose (you're in terrible danger) - married life with husband!gojo means cleaning up bodies at 2am.

Geto Suguru

The Great War - somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Back to December - you gave him all your love and all he gave you was goodbye

say you'll remember me - you were destined to fail from the start, so why does it hurt so badly when he's gone?

dazzling haze, mysterious way about you, dear - need some fluff after reading all the angst above?

tell me that you love me, love me 'til my lips turn blue - being partnered with suguru on a mission takes an unexpected turn

what if all i need is you? - after failed attempts to find a date to a relative's birthday party, your best friend acts as your fake boyfriend.

Nanami Kento

of daisies and collisions - nanami kento felt a little out of his element, with a small bundle of flowers sitting in his lap and brooding in the dark corner of the jazz bar. yet, you play that song he likes again, and nothing else matters.

Blurbs/Drabbles

the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours - holding satoru and letting him rest, even if it's only for a little bit

it took so long to know someone like you - he doesn't know who he is with you and it scares both of you

bad days and blanket burritos - good ol' satoru bf fluff

Imagines/HCs

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

how gojo and geto react to their partner being obsessed with them (fluffy !!!)

Gojo Satoru

What, like it's hard? -> law student!gojo

general hcs

when he buys a motorcycle

I'm with the band -> rockstar!gojo

rockstar!gojo meet sexyy

the valentine's day show

quiet moments and teaching you guitar

awards show

Falling for you, on and off the ice -> hockey player!gojo

someone steals your usual rink slot

watching a game

living in winter, i am your summer - he's terrible at figure skating

Kachow -> professional racer!gojo

on the radio

smoke his ass! - pro racer!gojo needs some motivation after a newcomer to the track pisses him off

Geto Suguru

oops? - satoru finds out that you've been seeing his best friend

a quiet moment in the aquarium

napping with you :)

scare actor!suguru

Save a horse, ride a cowboy -> gunslinger!suguru

gunslinger!geto au

big iron - he's not the first to go after the crystal-eyed bandit, but something tells you that this one will keep his promise to buy you a drink when the hunting is done.

Theta Phi Fuckhead -> enemy frat!suguru

ancient grudge, new mutiny

move fast, keep quiet

half the things that haven't happened yet

Series Masterlists

End Game (volleyball captain!gojo x you) COMPLETED

Co-Parenting Megumi with Satoru COMPLETED

I Don't Wanna Live Forever (gojo x you during shibuya) COMPLETED

[gliphyartfan]

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

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…Hi :D

(As always, thank you Yandy for the advice. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹)

Okie Dokie! Time to grow this bread into a sandwich!

(HAHAHA! I queued this so i could catch a certain friend off guard with a randomly timed post~ You know who you are missy~! Also imma be sleeping in, i wuv you? 🥹)

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It began as nothing more than idle curiosity.

Whispers of a wanderer, who seemed to appear wherever monsters were slain.

Tales passed from traveler to traveler, trickling into villages like a strange current. At first, the stories were nothing more than entertainment—a young soul battling hordes of beasts sounded like the stuff of fairy tales, and the people, insulated in their small hamlets, hardly gave it a second thought.

“They’ve been seen by the dead forests near the mountains,” a young woman said one day, her voice a little too loud, a little too eager. “They say the bodies of monsters are strewn across the path they walks.”

Another woman chimed in, her voice hushed but with the kind of excitement that comes from having something new to share. “I’ve heard the same. A merchant passed through not long ago and claimed he saw the aftermath—bodies mangled, monsters torn apart, and not a soul in sight but one person who merely walked away.”

An old man sitting nearby scoffed, whittling a piece of wood as he listened to their chatter. “And the merchant just happened to be wandering through such dangerous lands, did he? More likely, he’s spinning stories to lighten your pockets.”

The first woman bristled. “It was near one of the main roads to Castle Town! You know as well as anyone how bad it’s gotten out there, what with all the rising monster attacks!”

The old man spat onto the ground. “So we’re meant to believe a single person has been wandering the wilderness, killing monsters for no reason? at all? Appeared out of nowhere, slaying hundreds, then vanishing to appear somewhere else? What next? Will the gods themselves descending to pat them on the back?”

A few of the villagers glanced toward the argument, but quickly averted their eyes, pretending not to listen. They didn’t want to get involved. Not in this. The rumors had been growing more persistent lately, and with them, something darker—an unease, like a shadow creeping closer.

Despite the arguments to the contrary, the stories refused to fade. In fact, they spread—spreading like wildfire from one village to the next, whispered by travelers passing through, by farmers returning from the markets.

At first, it was always the same—a wanderer with a sword, fighting monsters. But over time, the stories shifted slightly. The monsters were no longer the only ones falling to the mysterious wanderer’s blade.

The rumors became darker.

Now, there were whispers of men slain, bandits cut down as mercilessly as the beasts. Some even claimed it wasn’t simply bandits, but ordinary travelers who had crossed their path. And the wanderer—always just one person, faceless, nameless—never stepped foot in the villages. They never appeared in the markets or by the wells. No one had ever actually seen them properly, or at least, no one wanted to admit they had.

“Such a person’s never come through here,” the villagers would say when a traveler asked. “Not once.”

And yet… as the stories persisted, as the fear crept into their voices, some began to contradict themselves. “I’ve seen them,” one of their own might exclaim in a moment of nervous excitement. “It was at the edge of the village, just for a second. They passed by the old road near the woods.”

But no one wanted to admit the dread that twisted in their stomachs. No one wanted to acknowledge the silent fear that settled in their bones whenever they heard of this wanderer. So they waved it off, forcing laughter, pretending the tale of the slayer didn’t chill them to the core.

“Bah, you saw nothing,” the old man would scoff again, though this time, his hands shook as he whittled. “It’s just travelers talking. You lot are too easily swayed by gossip.”

But even he couldn’t explain why the stories never seemed to stop. Why, even in the most remote corners of the land, the whispers were the same. Villages miles apart, separated by rivers and mountains, somehow all spoke of the same person.

A wanderer no one had ever truly seen upclose.

But one they all slowly grew to fear.

And they feared most of all that one day, he would come to their homes. They feared what would happen if that person came too close—if the stories, after all this time, were not just stories…

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…

…Their stomach growled, sharp and insistent, echoing louder than the wind that howled through the mountains. They gone too long without food, too long without proper rest.

For days, weeks, perhaps, They had survived on scraps found in the wild, gnawing on whatever edible plants they could find, but it wasn’t enough. (There was never enough in these poisoned lands.) Not anymore.

Their supplies had run dry days ago. The bag slung across their back was light, too light for any sensible traveler. Their lips were dry, their limbs heavy, but they kept walking. Always walking. Always wandering towards their next location,

The nearby village was close now, maybe half a day away.

…

…they didn’t want to go there.

Didn’t want to face people, to hear the loudness, the gossip, the looks.

They never did, not anymore. It was easier staying in the wilderness, always on the move. But hunger gnawed at them, dragging them toward the edges of civilization.

The monsters had been thinning out in this area, their numbers dwindling after they swept through the mountains. The monsters would inevitably return. They always did.

They didn’t care about any of that, their mind was set on one thing: food.

(Oh… to be back in the bountiful fields and forests of other times. To gaze into the sea of green and know plentiful food and fresh clean water was bountiful and untainted.)

Their steps quickened as they neared the village. They hated this part, being around people. So they would get what they needed and leave. That was all.

—-

—-

“Today, a wanderer is walking towards town from the north side! Guardsman says it’s a single person in a cloak, carrying a sword on their back.”

The words spread through the village like wildfire. The people had heard that the guard had seen him from a distance, a lone figure making their way toward them from the mountains. Conversations hushed, children were pulled back into their homes.

A few curious villagers lingered by the entrance, pretending to go about their day but keeping a close eye on the road. When the person arrived, they noticed their clothes were heavily travel-worn and stained with dark splotches, their face obscured by a cloak, but the sword strapped to their back gleamed in the sunlight.

No one wanted to be the first to approach.

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They walked with purpose, ignoring the stares, the muttered suspicions. They made their way to the village’s small market, looking for food, something to ease the gnawing hunger in their gut.

Their footsteps were heavy, each one dragging them closer to their destination. The familiar pull of hunger clawed at their insides, twisting their stomach in knots.

As much as they wanted to avoid people, to slip by unnoticed, the ache in their belly wouldn’t let them.

The village was small, unremarkable, the kind they preferred.

They had kept their head down as they entered, walking toward the market stalls that lined the dusty road. No one spoke to the visitor as they passed, but no doubt the visitor could feel the eyes on their back, the whispers barely contained as the visitor passed.

“Do you think that’s the one who killed those travelers near the mountains?”

“I can’t tell…aren’t they a bit too young looking?.”

“I can certainly tell you that sword doesn’t look like it’s simply for show. It’s stained red at the handle.”

The visitor stopped in front of a stall selling bread and dried meats. The man behind the counter was older, his skin weathered from years in the sun.

He barely looked up at first, busy wrapping a loaf of bread for another customer. When he did, he seemed unimpressed by the cloaked figure standing before him, just another traveler passing through.

But then they reached up, pulling back their hood.

The old man froze, his hands stilling over the goods on his counter. The boy’s face was young—far too young (as young as his own grandchild…) to be traveling alone with a mere sword on his back.

For a moment, the man blinked, unsure if he was seeing things correctly. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask where the boy’s parents were, but the words never came out.

It wasn’t the youth that gave him pause. It was the look in the boy’s eyes.

Dark, heavy, burdened by something much older than his years. The kind of look you only saw in soldiers or those who had lived through nightmares. A look that shouldn’t belong to someone so young.

The old man swallowed hard, choosing his next words carefully. “What… what can I get for you?”

The boy’s eyes flickered to the food laid out on the stall. “Bread,” he said, his voice quiet, soft, but firm. “And dried meat, if you have any.”

The old man nodded slowly, still taken aback. Such a young boy.

He slowly reached for a loaf and a strip of dried meat, wrapping them in cloth before handing them over.

The boy reached into his pocket, pulling out a few rupees and placing them on the counter.

His hand was steady, but the old man noticed how thin his fingers were, how the veins stood out beneath his pale skin.

“Are… you’re traveling alone?” the old man asked, unable to help himself.

The boy looked up, his gaze meeting the old man’s for the briefest moment before dropping back to the food in his hands. “Yes.”

The old man hesitated, wanting to ask more, but something stopped him.

That look—he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t know what the boy had seen, what he had been through, but it was clear enough that the boy didn’t want to talk about it. Not to a complete stranger. So he let it go.

“Well,” the old man said, clearing his throat, “safe travels, then.”

The boy gave a nod, pulling his hood back up before turning and walking away, the whispers behind him growing louder as he moved through the market.

As he continued down the road, passing more stalls, a man suddenly stepped forward, blocking his path. He was broad shouldered and rough around the edges, from his state of dress, he was a guard in this village.

His expression hardened with suspicion. The villagers nearby quieted, turning their attention to the scene unfolding before them.

“You there,” the man called out, his voice gruff. His eyes narrowed, scanning the cloaked figure up and down. “You the wanderer everyone’s been talking about? The one slaying beasts… and men around these parts?”

The boy didn’t stop right away, his pace slowing only as he came to a halt just a few feet from the man. His face was half-shadowed beneath the hood he’d just pulled back up, and the weight of his gaze was unreadable as it fell on the man blocking his path.

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. Unconcerned. “Am I who you’re looking for?”

The man’s scowl deepened. “Don’t play coy, boy. People talk of a wanderer who has been leaving bodies behind wherever he walks.”

The young boy blinked, slowly, his expression unreadable beneath the quiet calm that seemed to settle around him like a heavy fog.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t bristle at the accusation. He merely stared at the man for a moment, his voice soft when he spoke again. “And if I am?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd that had begun to gather, villagers shifting uncomfortably as they watched the exchange. The man before him, however, remained rigid.

“Then I’ve heard well about you. The rumors going around that you’ve killed not just monsters, but people. Merchants and travelers. Is that true?”

The boy stopped, his gaze lifting slowly from beneath his hood to meet the man’s eyes. He didn’t answer right away, but the air around him seemed to thicken, the tension palpable. More villagers gathered around, drawn in by the confrontation.

“You…knew someone I killed, then?” the boy asked, his voice quiet but steady.

The man took a step forward, jabbing a finger in Hyrule’s direction. “They say you killed a merchant not far from here.”

Hyrule blinked slowly, his face impassive as he absorbed the man’s words. He didn’t flinch at the accusation, nor did he show any sign of fear or guilt. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and steady. “Was he…someone worth recalling?”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Don’t play dumb with me!” he snapped. “He was a good man. A friend of mine, and I want answers, boy.”

“I killed many.” The boy replied, no change to his soft tone, “So perhaps I am who you seek.”

“So you admit you killed him!” The man exclaimed, “Why? What reason could you possibly have to murder an innocent man?”

“I have no reason to kill an innocent man.” He answered.

The boy remained quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting past the man, as if lost in thought. Then, with the same quiet calm, he spoke again. “He wasn’t innocent.”

The man took a moment to register what he said, eyes widening in shock. “…What?” His face turned red with anger.

“What do you mean he wasn’t innocent?!? He has done so much and I’ve known him for years-“

“He raped a woman.”

That once sentence silenced the entire area.

Many paling, several covering their mouths in horror.

The man’s red face immediately turning white as he registered what was said.

“He dared commit such an atrocity against a woman. Took from her what wasn’t his to take. I killed him for it.”

The boy’s eyes slowly returned to the man’s, his voice still soft, still unwavering.

“Would you still call him innocent now?”

The crowd gasped, whispers rippling through the gathered villagers. The man’s face twisted in disbelief, shaking his head violently. “No… no, you’re lying!” he shouted, his voice rising. “He wouldn’t do something like that! He was a good man!”

The boy’s gaze didn’t waver, the weight of his words settling in the air with finality. “He was a rapist,” he said quietly, everyone who heard him flinching from the declaration. “And I killed him for it.”

The man took a stumbling step back, his face contorted with rage and denial. “You… you can’t just say that! You don’t get to decide who lives and dies, you are a BOY! He was my friend!”

The boy’s expression remained calm, his voice never rising. “I didn’t make the decision. He did. When he forced himself on her. I simply responded as I should.”

For a moment, the man looked as though he might lash out, his fists trembling at his sides. But before he could do anything, a woman’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“Is it true?” Both boy and man looked at her.

“Did that friend of his truly… deflower a lass against her will?” She asked again.

“He did.” He answered, more whispers erupting from the crowd.

“If it’s true,” the woman said, stepping forward from the crowd, “then…then he deserved it!”

“WHAT?!?”

The man turned to her, his face a mask of disbelief. “You… you’re defending this? Defending him?”

“Aren’t you defending a vile man?” The woman said, crossing her arms, her eyes hard as she stared back at him as he stuttered to come up with a response. “If that friend of yours truly defiled a woman like this boy says, then he got what was coming to him.”

More murmurs spread through the crowd, this time in agreement. Some of the women nodded, their expressions grim but resolute. The man looked around, his face twisting as he searched for support, but found none.

“This… this can’t be happening,” he muttered, his voice breaking slightly. “He wouldn’t..we…we was friends…since we was kids…”

Many in the crowd looked at the man in sympathy. Such news was never handled well. Especially when it involved someone you were close to.

The young boy stood there, silent, watching the man’s reaction with the same calm detachment. The man’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he wasn’t ready to give up. “It…doesn’t matter. You still killed him. We’ll have to report this.”

Before he could take step forward, the boy spoke up, “No. You won’t.”

The man froze, turning back to face the boy, disbelief flickering in his eyes. “What?”

The boy didn’t move, his gaze still fixed on the man. “You won’t report this.”

There was no malice in his voice, no threat. Just a calm, quiet certainty that sent a ripple of unease through the gathered crowd.

The villagers shifted uncomfortably, murmurs of confusion spreading like wildfire, but no one dared to step forward.

The man’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The boy’s calm, unhurried tone seemed to strip the anger from him, leaving only the shock and disbelief that he was grappling with. He shook his head, almost as if trying to shake off the weight of the boy’s words. “I— H..How dare you..I have to report this!”

“No,” the boy repeated, his soft-spoken voice steady, unnervingly gentle. “You don’t. You now know what he did, and can now shun him for it. Just as everyone else already has.”

The man faltered, his hands trembling as they hung limply at his sides. His face was flushed, beads of sweat trickling down his temple, but he said nothing. He could find no words to respond, not as the weight of what had been revealed pressed down on him.

The boy’s eyes, still shadowed beneath his hood, locked onto the man’s.

There was no smile on his face, yet there was something unsettling about the way he looked at the man, something that didn’t belong on a face so young. It was a look that was far too old, far too experienced, for the boy it was attached to.

“Leave this matter behind,” the boy said quietly, his voice carrying an eerie finality. “He made his choice. Now you must make yours.”

The man’s breath caught in his throat. He glanced around at the villagers, but once more found no help in their faces. Some nodded slowly, others looked away. It was clear to them now—whether they liked it or not, the truth had been spoken. The boy, this…wanderer…wasn’t lying, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. And the man, deep down, knew it too.

Perhaps that was why he couldn’t accept it.

For a long, agonizing moment, the man stood there, caught between denial and the heavy reality settling over him. Then, slowly, with a pained expression, he backed away.

“He was… my friend,” the man muttered again, but his voice was weak, trembling. He turned away, shoulders sagging as he disappeared into the crowd.

The boy watched him go, his eyes following the hunched figure as it faded from view. For a moment, there was silence.

Then, almost to himself, the boy spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, yet clear enough for those closest to hear.

“…A different choice this time.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering something unseen, his gaze distant. His expression remained calm, though a flicker of something passed through his eyes.

The villagers, still unnerved by the exchange, glanced at one another, puzzled by his words but too hesitant to ask.

The boy smiled once more, soft, faint and fleeting, as he turned away from the villagers. He said nothing more, leaving them to wonder what he meant as he continued down the path, walking back into the now silent marketplace as if the confrontation had never happened at all.

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“She must be beautiful,” whispered a small voice.

“Is she kind?” asked another, their soft, lilting tone drifting through the air like a breeze.

“Warm, too?” A third chimed in, fluttering closer to where the boy sat.

Hyrule, seated in the shallow waters of the fairy fountain, barely stirred at their questions. His thin form leaned back against a moss-covered stone, his cloak discarded beside him, revealing how frail and slight he truly had become.

The waters gently lapped against him, cool and clear, while tiny glowing fairies circled above, their curiosity as constant as their light.

“She is,” he murmured, his voice low and calm, answering their questions with a softness that matched the quiet of the fountain.

In his hand, a cloth moved slowly over the blade of his sword, wiping away the dried blood that clung to the steel. The crimson stains mixed with the water, turning it a faint pink before dispersing into nothing.

“And her eyes?” one of the fairies asked, fluttering down to rest near his shoulder, their wings glittering in the soft light of the fountain. “Are they as kind as yours?”

Hyrule’s lips quirked ever so slightly, a faint smile ghosting over his features. “They are… far more kinder.”

The fairies giggled softly at his response, their voices like tinkling bells as they flitted around him, never straying too far from the boy.

But beneath the peaceful scene, there was an unspoken heaviness that lingered in the air—something that clung to him like the blood on his sword, even as he cleaned it away.

“She must be someone very amazing,” one of the fairies whispered, hovering in front of him, their eyes wide and curious. “For you to feel so happy at the thought of her.”

“She is,” he said again, quieter this time. His eyes remained focused on his blade, his movements slow and methodical, as if the task of cleaning the blood from it was all that mattered in the moment.

The fairies, sensing the weight of his thoughts, quieted for a time, simply fluttering around him as he worked. The fountain’s waters shimmered with their light, casting soft reflections on his face, but nothing could soften the sharpness in his eyes.

A sharpness that didn’t belong on someone so young.

Eventually, one of the fairies drifted closer, their tiny voice softer now, hesitant. “Do you ever… rest?”

Hyrule paused, his hand stilling as the last of the blood was wiped clean from his blade. He set the sword down beside him, resting it against the stone, the cloth now stained with the evidence of his earlier fight.

“I do,” he replied softly, leaning his head back to stare up at the sky above, visible through the break in the canopy. “When I can.”

The fairies fluttered around him again, their delicate wings catching the light as they moved. They didn’t press him further, sensing that, for now, the questions down that path had reached their end.

And as Hyrule sat in the waters of the fairy fountain, his eyes distant and his form thin and tired, the quiet companionship of the fairies was all that filled the stillness around him.

One of the fairies flitted closer, their glow bright as they hovered near his face. "Tell us more about her," they asked softly, their voice full of innocent curiosity. "What is she like?"

Hyrule’s eyes softened, the hand resting on his sword going still as he leaned his head back against the stone. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, reverent, almost worshipful.

“She’s… so incredible,” he began, his tone gentle, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the memory. “Kinder than anyone I’ve ever known. She doesn’t judge, no matter who she meets, or what they’ve been through. There’s this warmth about her—like she carries a light inside, something that draws people in without her even trying.”

The fairies hovered close, their wings slowing as they listened intently, captivated by the way his voice softened when he spoke of her.

“She has this way of smiling,” he continued, eyes drifting closed as he recalled the image of her in his mind. “It’s not just her lips that smile, but her eyes, too. It’s like... she can see through all the darkness and still find something good. She makes you believe in things—hope, love, a future.”

His voice wavered slightly, though his expression remained calm. “She’s very brave, too. So much stronger than she thinks. No matter how hard things get, she never gives up. She keeps going, keeps fighting, even…even when the world feels like it’s falling apart around she…she…”

Hyrule’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes still closed as he let himself remember her—the sound of her laughter, the way her presence alone could make the harshest days feel bearable.

For a moment, it felt like she was there, right beside him.

That the tragedies that had happened ceased to exist.

But when he finally opened his eyes, that smile faltered. The fairies were still there, their soft glow reflecting in the water, but she was not.

The sadness crept into his gaze, and his smile turned hollow as the weight of reality settled in. She wasn’t there. Not in this moment. Not in this place.

“She’s not here,” he murmured, more to himself than to the fairies. His voice was still soft, still gentle, but there was a deep ache hidden beneath those words.

“Oh to be young and in love…”

The Great Fairy glided toward Hyrule, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she observed him resting in the water. Her gaze lingered on his face, soft yet intense as he cleaned his blade, the blood from battle slowly fading away. Her voice, as gentle as a breeze, curled around him like a caress.

“It’s rare, little halfling,” she said, her smile warm, “to see someone so completely in love. Your heart sings for her in a way that most mortals can only dream of.”

Hyrule looked up, his expression calm and peaceful. He paused in his movements, letting the cloth hang loosely in his hand as he met her gaze. “She’s… everything,” he whispered, his tone reverent. “More than anyone could ever be. She’s kind, strong, beautiful. There’s nothing she lacks because even what she considers an flaw is perfect to me.”

The Great Fairy hummed, circling him slowly, her fairies fluttering around him with excitement, their tiny lights dancing in celebration of his devotion. “She sounds like the perfect mate,” the Great Fairy mused, her voice dipping into a playful tone. “Someone worthy of such fierce love and loyalty.”

Hyrule’s smile softened, “She is. And I’ll make sure she knows it every day.” His eyes brightening, I never want to give her a reason to hate me. When we reunite, she’ll be so loved, so cared for, that the thought of leaving won’t even cross her mind.”

The Great Fairy tilted her head, observing him with interest, but not an ounce of concern. Where humans would have been unnerved by his intensity, to the fae, such passion was only natural. The fairies swirled around him in delight, their wings buzzing as they echoed the Great Fairy’s sentiments. “A perfect mate,” they sang in unison, giggling in the air.

They swirled around him, their excitement clear. “Introduce her to us!” one of them chimed, their tiny voices buzzing around him. “We want to meet her!”

Another chimed in, “She must be so lovely! So kind!”

Hyrule’s expression softened, his gaze turning inward as he thought of (y/n). “She is... more than lovely. She’s warm, gentle. She’s strong, even when she doesn’t realize it. When she smiles... it’s like the sun after a storm.”

His voice grew quieter, reverent, as though speaking of her was akin to prayer. The fairies fluttered in close, their excitement building as he continued.

“She doesn’t know how special she is,” he added softly, closing his eyes as if savoring the image of her in his mind. “But I do. I’ll never let her feel unwanted or alone. I’ll always be there, making sure she’s safe. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her by my side.”

The Great Fairy leaned in closer, her tone teasing but gentle. “Such devotion… it’s admirable, little halfling. Perhaps you’ll truly bring her here one day, so we can meet this girl who has captured your heart so completely?”

Hyrule’s smile grew as he closed his eyes, as though he could see (y/n) standing before him in that very moment. “Of course I will,” he said softly, opening his eyes again, though the faint sadness lingered when she wasn’t truly there. “You’ll love her, I know you will. She deserves to meet you, and you deserve to meet someone so… perfect.”

The Great Fairy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her voice coy. “And what of your sword brothers? From what you’ve spoke, their desires are the same as yours. They, too, wish to claim her heart, don’t they?”

Hyrule’s peaceful expression didn’t falter, “They do. And I understand that. I’m willing to share a place in her heart, as long as they’ve learned their lesson. We all want the same thing, after all—her happiness.”

The Great Fairy chuckled, a sound like chiming bells, full of mischief and curiosity. “But, little one, what would you do if they haven’t learned? If they were to stand in your way?”

Hyrule’s eyes gleamed, his smile gentle but his words weren’t, “If they haven’t learned… I’ll slaughter them. Every single one. And I’ll protect her on my own.” He said so easily, so casually, like talking about the weather.

The Great Fairy threw her head back and laughed, her voice exuberant and full of joy. Her fairies mirrored her glee, spinning and fluttering in the air in a celebratory dance, their wings glowing brighter as they reveled in the intensity of their great mother’s happiness. To them, Hyrule’s devotion was nothing but pure, powerful, and natural.

“Ah, such love!” the Great Fairy exclaimed, her eyes alight with delight. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen a love like yours, little halfling. A love that burns with such beautiful, sublime passion.”

The fairies circled around him, their voices giggling and singing as they celebrated his devotion, as though his words were a promise of something sacred. And to the fae, it was.

“Introduce her to us!” they begged, their voices filled with excitement.

Hyrule chuckled softly, his expression serene as he nodded. “I will, little sisters. It’s only natural to introduce someone as incredible as her to my family. One day. You’ll see just like I did…she’s perfect.”

The Great Fairy reached out, her fingers gently brushing against his cheek in a gesture of affection. “We look forward to it, little one. We’ll be waiting eagerly to celebrate your eventual union with such an amazing soul!”

And with that, the fairies continued their joyful flight around him, giggling and cheering louder at the future where they would meet her, while Hyrule sat by the fountain waters at peace, sword forgotten beside him, lost in thoughts of her, his smile soft, though touched by a quiet darkness.

——

——

Hyrule leaned against a tree by the edge of the forest, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

Rain poured down, soaking his clothes and matting his hair to his forehead, droplets of water streaming down his face. His sword hung loosely from his hand, the blade gleaming dully in the gray light, dripping with rain and something darker.

The river rushed nearby, its waters swollen from the storm, roaring in the quiet of the evening.

He glanced down at his soaked clothes, water pooling around his boots, but he paid little attention to the discomfort.

The rain masked everything—his exhaustion, the faint ache in his limbs, even the weight of his thoughts. But it couldn’t wash away the simmering feelings just beneath the surface.

The sound of the rushing river mixed with the steady downpour, the constant hum of the forest alive around him despite the storm.

He tilted his head back, feeling the rain on his face, his eyes half-lidded in thought.

Everything had felt strange since he had woken up in the past, as though he was constantly walking through a dream he could never quite escape.

“I miss them,” he murmured, his voice carrying only as far as the tree he leaned against. “My brothers…the only ones who I felt safe with…for so long... And yet…” His lips curved upward, a smile too soft for the words that followed. “Sometimes, I dream of stealing her away…to punish them… for their failure to keep her safe.”

He laughed lightly, as if the thought were as harmless as the falling rain, warm despite the darkness that laced his words.

“It’s strange,” he murmured into the storm, his voice barely louder than the patter of rain on leaves. “How everything’s felt… off.” His words were soft, but they carried an unsettling warmth, as if these thoughts were nothing out of the ordinary.

Hyrule tilted his head back, eyes closing briefly as he let the rain run over his face.

His eyes fluttered open, and there was a softness in his gaze, a calmness that made the words all the more disturbing. “But… I understand now. It’s over. What happened in that time is done, and I can’t change it. All I can do is make up for my failures and create newer memories...”

He pushed himself off the tree and took a few steps toward the riverbank, the rain still pouring down. “And when we’re all together again, it’ll be perfect. We’ll savor our reunion with her.”

There was a pause, as if he was savoring the thought, before he continued, almost as if speaking to the river itself. “But first, I need to clear this land of threats as best as i can. Gather enough wealth…Build a place that’s safe for her. I have to be ready. We all do.”

The rain fell freely from the darkened skies above, the evening air thick with moisture.

His voice, soft and wistful, carried through the trees, but it wasn’t clear who he was speaking to.

“Yet I can’t help but acknowledge how much it’s been quite the experience…walking a similar yet different path..”

Hyrule's voice echoed softly through the night, his tone distant, almost thoughtful.

“Ever since I woke up in the past, everything has felt... off. Like the world’s just a little tilted. Nothing feels right, but I suppose it’s what happens when you’re given another chance.”

He sighed softly, his words warm despite the unsettling nature of his thoughts.

“And still as much as i want to reunite with them, i still wish to hurt them too..”

He shifted his weight slightly, eyes distant as he spoke to the figure before him, “To wrap my hands around the handle go my blade and cut them down as they cry out in pain….To make them pay for failing to protect her, for letting her be taken from us. But, it’s not hate, not really.”

His voice carried a calm warmth that made the words unsettling. He spoke as if discussing a pleasant memory, not something so dark and twisted. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Wanting to hurt them but still loving them. I could never hate them forever. It simply wasn’t entirely their fault, after all.”

Hyrule let out a small sigh, almost wistful. “But I did truly hate them for a while. I hated them for not being strong enough, for not being fast enough... for not being better and keeping her safe.” He chuckled softly, as if the thought amused him. “But now, that time has passed and reversed, erased except the memories I hold… It’s not just their fault we failed. It’s mine as well. And I’ll make up for it.”

He hummed.

“But that’s natural, isn’t it? Wanting to punish them… To punish myself, for failing her.” He chuckled lightly, almost as if he were reminiscing about fond memories. “I hated them for a while. For a long while, actually. But it’s all over now. I know that. I understand that, and I have to atone for my own failures.”

He tilted his head slightly, staring off into the dark, rain-slicked forest as if imagining something far away. “When we find her again, everything will be different. We’ll savor every moment of our reunion, all of us together again. She’ll be safe with us. And it’ll be... perfect.”

Hyrule’s expression darkened, though the gentle smile on his face remained. “But before that, I have to finish things here. I need to clear out every threat in this place, amass enough wealth to give her a safe life, to build something beautiful amidst all this cursed and poisoned land. A place where she can live peacefully. A place where my sword brothers and I can keep her safe.”

He sighed, finally lowering his gaze to the figure at his feet. The rain had formed a pool around the man, blood mixing with the water, his body slumped against the roots of an old tree. His eyes, wide and filled with terror, locked onto Hyrule’s as he listened helplessly.

“I need to make sure that I’m ready for her. Ready for all of us to reunite…”

Hyrule crouched down, his eyes soft, almost regretful as he looked at the man. “Funny, isn’t it? You walked away from me in the market that day, made a different choice than last time. But it seems some things are inevitable… this little scene between us is happening sooner rather than later.”

He shook his head, amused. “Seems some things never change,” Hyrule said softly, almost regretfully. “You made a different choice again. Last time, you tried to burn me alive. Now, you pushed me toward rushing water. It’s a shame… I thought I might have more time before this.”

The man’s eyes flickered, desperate, but no words came. Hyrule’s smile was gentle as he crouched down beside him, the rain dripping from his hair. “I mean… to use you as another way to bond with my sword brothers…but I suppose we can’t always get what we want.”

He reached out, touching the man’s wet cheek in a gesture that seemed almost compassionate. “I can only hope we can bond over another tainted soul.” Hyrule sighed sadly, his voice soft with genuine regret.

“I really was hoping to do this again with the others. It was such a lovely bonding experience that time...”

The man tried to respond, but all that came out was a garbled, pathetic sound—his severed tongue preventing any real words. Hyrule gave him a pitying look, then slowly unsheathed his sword.

With one swift, clean motion, he cut off the man’s head, watching for several moments as his eyes fluttered, his face twitching until there was no movement left.

Hyrule waited for a long moment, staring into the lifeless eyes of the man, almost as if searching for something.

When there was nothing left to see, Hyrule stood up, sheathing his blade once more.

As Hyrule turned to leave, his gaze fell on a crown of flowers lying discarded in the mud, half-crushed by the struggle. The delicate petals were wilted, the once vibrant colors dulled by the rain and dirt.

He had been working on it when the man from the market snuck up on him.

He knelt beside it, picking up the ruined crown with gentle fingers, his eyes softening as a memory stirred.

He could almost see her, in that memory sitting in front of him, laughing as she showed him how to weave the flowers together, her hands guiding his clumsy attempts with infinite patience.

The warmth in her eyes, the sound of her voice—he had cherished every second of it. And now, this small, fragile thing, this crown, had been ruined.

It had been so long since he made one…

He had assumed she would always be there to re-teach him…

A deep sadness filled him, his heart aching as he held the crushed flowers. "She spent so much time teaching me," he whispered softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "And now it’s ruined… he ruined it." His fingers tightened slightly around the crown, but not enough to damage it further.

As Hyrule pocketed the ruined flower crown, his steps slowed, his thoughts swirling with the same intensity as the fairies around him.

The rain drummed a steady rhythm on the leaves overhead, but his mind was elsewhere—drifting back to the quiet afternoons with her, back when things felt simpler. He could almost feel her hands guiding his as he fumbled with the stems, hear the soft way she teased him when he struggled to braid them just right.

His heart clenched at the thought. "I’ll make her another," he thought, trying to push away the sadness creeping in. But the moment was gone, ruined by the man lying lifeless in the mud. "If only he hadn’t tried to stop me," Hyrule mused. "I could’ve remembered everything clearly... made it perfect for her."

His gaze flicked back to the body, the severed tongue, the empty, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

Hyrule sighed, the heaviness in his chest growing. "I wanted to remember every detail, for her." His fingers brushed against the flower crown in his pocket, fragile and ruined, much like the memory it had been tied to. "I’ll make up for it. For everything."

The fairies' laughter danced around him, pulling him from his thoughts, and he straightened. "For her… I'll make it all perfect," he promised silently, his eyes narrowing as he left the body behind.

The fairies flitted around him, their soft glow casting a faint light over his rain-soaked form. They giggled and chimed, but there was no malice in their joy.

He cast one last glance at the man’s lifeless body, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turned and began to walk away, leaving the corpse where it laid as he walked back into the storm.

The fairies’ chimes danced in the air as they continued to follow and swirl around him in delight, their soft laughter filling the air as the rain fell heavier, blending with the sound of the wind, rushing water and rustling leaves.

[gravesdept]

literally banging at the walls of my enclosure at the thought of western au!141 + graves & makarov.

content: headcannons, western au, no proof read, sfw

barkeeper / saloon owner! kyle “gaz” garrick whom owns a tight end bar thats known for the best liquor out west. men travel yards just to taste the taut beers and whiskeys. its something hes truely proud of, owning a business in these days aren’t stable most of the times.

so when a group of bandits come storming in tryin’ to rob him of all of his worth and take his saloon girls, lets just say he ain’t happy. there was nothing he could do cause he’d never been robbed before. it was outright to even consider robbing in this town, so the sudden change had him on his toes.

gaz goes for his last resort and tells the townsmen to try and get reimbursement, but they wont do anything about it, says a man his “color” should be greatful to even own such a business in a town like this. and if that doesn’t get him going its what sparks it, cause the next day hes heading down to the sheriffs office to report the bandits.

the sheriffs man tells him he could be in useful hands to help track and find these bandits so gaz is the first to get recruited into the program/commitee.

cowboy! simon “ghost” riley who owns stable horses, cattle, bull, sheep and piglets. hes locally known for his ridgid nature and the deadly skull mask that makes up his face. some say its to warn off bandits, some say that he was a bandit, neither are confirmed to be true though.

when no one can come up with who he is behind the mask, they start calling him ghost cause’ there always seems to be mystery around him.

simon always keeps stock of his cattle but oddly lately they seem to be goin missing. when the news gets around that theres a group of bandits going around causing chaos, he’s relatively pissed. soon his horses start to go missing, some even killed. at first he dealt with the cattle going missing but now killing his horses? he wanted revenge.

no animal deserved to be harmed in such way. hell he had started to blame himself for not being there to stop the pesky rats.

so when the local sherrifs man price comes around talking all nonsense about getting affected locals to help him on course to find their leader, sure as hell he saddled up his horse and had an ol’ friend laswell to take care of his stables while he was away.

lawman / sheriff! john price who is above all petty crimes and laws. hes kept his town clean for decades, having been passed his job as lawman from his father and his father before that. its all normal until a banker has stolen funds and taken off. it must have been what tripped many wires in the squeaky town. cause bandit after bandit started rolling in stealing and causing utter disaster.

so when locals start to report havoc reeking on an even major scale its no doubt hes pissed. he finds out the bandits started to band together and has made a permanent group.

he cannot possibly track down all of these bandits by himself so he suggests collecting a few affected locals to the lawmakers to form a temporary committee in finding the bandits. and when kyle comes to him about being robbed hes offering him a deal to join him.

blacksmith! johnny “soap” mactavish whose a foreigner to the town, that first gets into making horseshoes for cowboy!simon. when he hears the news about the bandits stealing from businesses and harming locals the first thing he does is message simon to make sure his poor cattle are fine.

its reasonable hes mad once hes informed the bandits had attacked and stolen horses, even harmed them. he feels sympathetic for the animals just as much as simon and when the sheriff calls simon about the committee hes the first one to know.

and the third to join out of sake of sympathy for all and everyone in the town who had been affected. also feels as a foreigner he has to prove himself worthy of becoming known in the town for his hardships.

bounty hunter! phillip graves who runs a large underground outlaw organization. called shadow corp. him and his shadows capture and kill peoples who have bountys placed on them. they travel territories and districts collecting the cash. ultimately they decide to store the money in a bank, so no one knows what their scheming.

a local west district banker named of shepherd allows them to smuggle the money into the banks safe. not without a fee though as they have to commit to doing personal bountys for him along side thir work.

bandit! vladimir makarov whose morals drive him away from his job as a banker. hes caught stealing the savings from the bank, taking off before the lawman can question him. its 2 years later before he comes back, though not alone, having gathered a loyal pack of thieves which he called konni. they caused crime all around town. trampling businesses, stealing cattle, and harming the locals.

and when that wasnt enough they started branching out to other territories.

gaining attention from the lawmakers and eventually the sheriff, he gathers locals who have been affected by these crime dwindles and temporarily has them help in search for these bandits. allowing them to become lawmen. one of simons old stable horses had the number 141 etched into its skin, though it later died fighting off a group of bandits. which is the reasoning behind their lawmaker crews name 141.

along the search for the leader of the infamous konni they travel other towns different districts even to stop the bandits further. 141 comes in contact with a travelling bounty hunter who is in need of help tracking someome whom had recently had a bounty put out on them, says he’ll split the bounty cash, betrays them and before they know, he takes off.

soon they’ll all meet the leader of konni, but not in the way their expecting.

AN: LOLOL WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THAT STUPID MAKAROV FIC BUT I DONT KNOW IF IM GOING TO FINISH IT.

[theoutcastrogue]

[From a 2014 article by John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. He's talking about how a random spam email ended up inspiring a part of his book Wolf in White Van. Later, in 2020, the album Getting Into Knives came out, and I think it inspired its artwork too.]

"It took years for me to be able to just reflexively delete spam, or filter it so that I never see it at all. I blame the spammers for this; the quality of their work took a sharp nosedive at some point. But during whatever period of the internet’s growth you’d call the early 2000s, it seemed like you’d still get some winners: things that had been typed up by a person, sent out to a bunch of email addresses they’d bought or rented for 5 or 10 bucks from the only guy who was ever going to make any money in this particular exchange. Most of them went directly, if manually, into the trash; but once in a while, there’d be one that seemed to earn, at the very least, the minute it’d take me to read it.

The one I’m remembering here was subject-lined SUPPLY OF KNIVES. [...] The subject line opened on an all-caps email that boasted, in ornate, antiquated English appealing to the reader’s more refined sensibilities, about the high quality of the knives on offer at an external website. You shouldn’t click on links in spam email. I live my life on the razor’s edge! I clicked the link.

I want to tell you about these knives: They were beautiful. They were weird. They had elaborate designs in the handles, moons or stars of wolf heads, and special grips, and a variety of points. They were made from metals whose pedigrees were described lovingly, and had been struck — smithed? wrought? — via processes I knew absolutely nothing about, but that sounded fantastic, difficult, arcane. It’s the joy of specialized language: When you’re an outsider to it, it can’t help but sound cool.

Of course this is the whole idea of any operation like this. SUPPLY OF KNIVES could well have been, and probably was, a company in Ohio who’d stumbled across an old warehouse full of knives, and knew enough about sales to describe these things in the most exotic terms they could find. I’m pretty immune to pitches: Who likes to feel like he’s being pitched? But somebody involved with SUPPLY OF KNIVES had had just enough authorial flair — that, or true faith — to caption each knife’s mysterious, blurry accompanying JPEG with a description whose constant recourse to specialized vocabularies seemed to say, “You’re not even reading this unless you already know about this sort of thing. Let us therefore speak like the fellow travelers we are.”

It was like a trade catalog for roadside bandits in need of knives.

I can’t speak for everybody, but I know that when I was a child the life of the roadside bandit seemed like a pretty romantic way to go. I looked at all these knives and read the descriptions and was just generally delighted about the whole thing, so I saved the email in a “memorable spam” folder I used to keep that had maybe two other emails in it. A few years later, Apple came out with this robotic-arm-screen iMac you never see any more, and we were long overdue for a new computer so we got that; and then, after a while, I got myself a laptop, because I was traveling all the time, and eventually both the old iMacs ended up in the basement, and they were both asleep but alive until fairly recently, as far as I knew.

But when I went to check for the email, it was gone. The old blue iMac is dead, bricked, lifeless. Searches on the term “supply of knives” on this laptop and on good old robot-arm-screen find nothing. The backup CD for the blue iMac drive is probably in a drawer around here somewhere, but that’s like saying, “The coin I had in my swim trunks’ pocket is probably somewhere in the ocean.” There is no SUPPLY OF KNIVES. There’s only the memory."

[source]

And this is the wonderful cover art of Getting Into Knives. Back cover and promo material below. Note that "Knives International" and "Knives Wordwide" are not real companies, they appear to be a callback to that elusive spam email.