#their working name is the grave gang

[mythological-mayhem]

Another poll cause I feel like it!

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.

Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.

Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.

Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.

And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).

Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.

(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)

The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.

Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.

And he kept coming back?

But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.

(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)

(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)

But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.

It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.

So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!

“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”

Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”

And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.

They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.

And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!

But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).

Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.

Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 8 part 2 of 3

masterpost

“I will work with Black Bat?” Robin paused, looking between her and their Batdad. Batdad was still in his slippers and sweatpants.

He nodded at Robin. “That’s correct.”

“Finally,” Robin said. “A professional.” He turned on his heel to dismiss their Batdad from the conversation. “I will go suit up.” He waited a moment for her acknowledgement, not approval.

Cass gave him a double thumbs up. When he was out of sight she made eye contact with her Batdad and waggled her eyebrows at him. He did a big sigh. “Thank you for taking care of your little brother,” he said, because he meant well but he was really very silly about things. Robin did not need taking care of. Robin needed a place to jump and scream and bite.

She just nodded. No point in explaining.

Black Bat took the wait time to read through the most basic details of the ongoing case. The takeaway was: boring mission. Look at mechanic with her eyes. Take footage of his face. Find his name or other biographical information. Look at any ongoing projects to determine if anything required immediate action. Do not engage. Do not reveal self. Do not fight mechanic.

Boring!!!

It took very little time for Robin to ready himself. Damibat was a true professional, despite the sentimental wishes of the old people.

He spoke to her in sotto voce when they had gathered. “I admit relief.” Robin flicked his mask into place. “I am weary of being quashed by the authoritarian impulses of my…betters.” His disgust was clear. His tone and shoulders said: 

I miss Richard. My Father is a fool and Alfred is constraining my artistic soul. The regulations are unending. I do not feel confident of my survival in these conditions. I was forbidden to take home the tiger even though I saw it first. I may wilt.

Poor baby. Her face twisted with empathy. He did deserve the tiger. He would love it very well.

“Wanna drive the Batmobile?” Cass asked.

His sorrow lightened infinitesimally. “I cannot reach the pedals in order to operate it correctly. However, we could take the new cycles.” Robin scrolled to the right inventory item. “I took the liberty of customizing the paint jobs.”

Cass peered over his shoulder. “Ooh,” she said. Shiny. Spiky. “Looks fast. Let’s go.”

“No,” said Brucedad, from a distance. “Take a two person motorcycle and have your sister drive it. You do not have a license, Robin, you are 13.”

Robin made a sound of disgust, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I am beset by enemies,” he muttered. He stomped away towards their limited options.

Black Bat aimed a disapproving look at her Batdad. “You are crushing his artistic soul,” she informed him. 

“That’s a burden I will have to bear,” Batdad said gravely, and put on his reading glasses.

She hissed at him but they took one of the approved models out. 

Robin further debriefed her on a private channel on their ride into town, voices muffled to the outside world by their protective helmets.

“One of the previously uninfluential local gangs has been gaining territory and members in recent months. We have attributed this to an influx of unique tools they have access to, which have so far been unconventional tools.”

“Tools for what?” Cass took a hard left turn at a lean and let her fingertips trail just barely over the pavement.

“Excellent,” Robin said about the turn, and then, “they have been used to commit robberies. However, the designs are concerningly martial.”

He did not sound remotely concerned. He sounded approving. Cass asked for clarification with an upwards lilting “Mmm?”

“There was a bazooka that shot temporary voids,” Robin said, sounding young and excited. “They were used to bypass a bank vault and to intimidate a teller.”

Cass lifted her eyebrows and nodded. She could see why Brucedad would be antsy about bazookas, even if they didn’t hurt people. 

“There was also a device that created a foam which immobilized those it was deployed against by creating a sort of calcification effect. It ended naturally after a period of hours, but no technique we employed before that seemed to have a weakening effect on the substance. We were unable to attain samples.”

Cass hummed, feeling a little depressed about tonight’s mission after all. Science. Evil science. She was a little burnt out on evil science. She felt tired at the thought. This wasn’t fun.

Damibat noticed. He was silent for a few seconds. “After we confirm the location of the workstation, we could go to the docks,” Robin suggested.

She perked up a little bit. 

There was always someone to fight at the docks. Always a drug deal, smuggling big bad things, always something.

“Good plan.” 

“We will inform Batman afterward.”

Black Bat nodded her agreement. He didn’t need all the details of their schedule in live time. 

She felt a lot better driving out into the night with something to look forward to.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Buddy Daddies x Delinquent Teen Reader (1)

You’re home was on the streets 

Practically abandoned by your parents, you relied on one of the local gangs for your family

Working to join them for some semblance of protection against the world

And as it would happen it helped 

Despite your teachers and guardian-having friends warning otherwise

Thanks to them you were eating

A far cry from what you were left to before

But past aside your doing well 

Gaining experience and becoming more of an asset to the gang before your saddled with an unlikely obstacle

“Hi there! My name’s Miri, what’s your name?”

Suddenly this bubbly smiley kid is following you around

Somehow finding you in dark alleyways and shadows of buildings 

This kid just won’t leave you alone 

No matter how much you reprimand, sneer, or blatantly insult this kid 

“Kid! Didn’t I tell you to kick rocks? Now if you don’t leave I’ll steal your shoes.”

“W-what, don’t take my shoes my papas got them for me!”

“Then. Leave. Me. Alone.”

she just won’t leave you alone and it all comes to a head when she approaches you when your with your friends

“Well well look at this little tyke!”

“Oh my gosh, they're so small! (Y/n) I didn’t know you had a baby sister!”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah! My name’s Miri.”

And despite your protests they all invite pressure Miri to join you all on a…midnight stroll

Along a train track

It goes as expected and your crew successfully go along the train track until you hear the dreaded sound of the train

And as it would have it Miri’s shoes get caught

“Is everyone off the tracks?”

“Whooo that was close!”

“Where’s Miri?”

Your group resigns to stand by and watch horrified as she struggles with the track and the oncoming train approaches 

Way too close to the train you’re able to yank Miri from the tracks narrowly missing the train hurling by

“Whoa that was clo–”

“See what happens?”

“What? What are you talk–”

“See what happens when you hang around me?!”

“W-what but I love be–”

“You! Almost died! Can’t you see?! You don’t belong here so GO! Go home before you really get hurt.”

She goes home that day with tears in her eyes

While you wordlessly turn back to your group to head back to base

hoping that you don’t see her ever again

For awhile you don’t and things are back to normal

And while you’re spray painting the gang’s sign on a wall a burly woman knocks you to the ground

“Hey watch it, punk!”

“You wanna go pipsqueak!”

Apparently she was from a rival gang, looking to contest this area

Sending a quick call to your team, you prepare to fight this lady 

Narrowly ducking her first punch 

You throw your own 

Standing victorious as she buckles 

But you too would fall to your knees

after a whopping hit in the back of your head

It was an ambush 

And easily you found yourself at their mercy 

Only being released when you hear the separate thuds and the released grip from your arms

“What the–ooomf!”

Your original attacker is silenced by a guy with blonde hair 

Who punches them into a headlock before pulling a gun with silencer

“H-hey-”

Before you could stop him he pulled the trigger, nonchalantly reaching to the sky in a stretch

“Ah man after so long it seems I’ve still got it!” 

You shakily stand holding your arm that stings in pain

You try to limp away while he continues flexing 

But he notices

“Ah ah! (Y/n) don’t run away!”

You sneered, “How do you know my name?”

“Uh…not important. But look, you need to come home with me! Miri misses-”

“Ugh are you Miri’s daddy or something?”

“Papa actually–” “Look old man, what I said to your kid is true. She needs to stay far away from me and you know what? Maybe you should try watching her better.”

“We did. And we were.”

The tired voice was right above you 

Close enough to your back that you could now register the warmth teeming off them

You jump, despite the pain you back away against the brick wall

The man that spoke had black hair pulled back to reveal a pale guy with a grave look on his face

“Ah-! What he means is: we’ve been watching after you and Mirin. And we’ve decided that we’re going to be the papas you need!”

“What?!”

“Ahem we’ve decided–” “You're coming with us.”

“What?! Huh?!”

“Rei! You can’t just say that they're not going to understand!” 

“They’ll understand better when we get them home.”

“No no but there’s a method for these things and with someone of their age–”

The blonde kept talking to the one identified as Rei seemingly dividing their attention

You took the chance to limp as far as you could away reaching into your pocket to retrieve your last line of defense

“That’s enough of that.”

In a flash of black your pocket knife was out of your hand

Briefly squealing in pain at the pressure point being hit near your neck

Slumping into Rei’s arms he moved to cradle you rolling his eyes at Kazuki’s musings

“Rei!? They obviously weren’t ready!”

“They would’ve never been ready.”

“But we did the whole save-them-be-the-saviors-routine!” 

“Does it really matter now that we have them?”

“...Mmmm….Mmmmm!...I still would’ve preferred my way.”

The sounds of tires screeching and the sound of modded engines coming to halt

Had them both perking up

“Oh! Those bad influences actually came!”

“That was unexpected. The broken brakes should have kept them busy.”

“Now here’s the question: do we handle them now or later?”

“Did you throw your back out yet?”

“Hah! Not yet, yours?”

“...”

“Then I say we give ‘em a show!”

When you next awake 

You’re in a well furnished room

All patched up and nursing a sling for your arm

Immediately you get up finding yourself at the top of the stairs before you spotted them

“Hiii (Y/n)!!!” “Ah, good morning (Y/n) did you sleep well?”

There words don’t reach you as you register the blonde man from before and the little girl who’d been following you around

Why were they acting so calm?

They kidnapped you!

And the little girl was in on it too?

“Welp, we're heading out for preschool.”

 “Yup bye (Y/n) later I can’t wait to cele–mmmf!”

The blonde’s hand goes over her mouth sending her to get her shoes before waving to you

“I’ll be back soon! Breakfast is on the counter!” 

Not long after they disappeared from sight you heard the slam of the door

Good now you can–

“Going to have breakfeast?”

Once again that voice rang from behind you

Turning to see the same man with the grave face but this time with scruffier-relaxed look to him

His eyes were still intense and they held you in place all the way to the kitchen 

While eating some regretfully delicious french toast with Rei watching diligently 

Guess this was your life now…the newest unwilling addition to the family

[mrm0rgansw0man]

no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her

summary:

arthur morgan knew he was the type of man that shouldn’t risk falling in love, but jesus she just made it so hard NOT to

a/n: first fic!! inspired by work song by hozier lol. hope y’all enjoy it Xx 💗

re-uploading this fic on my new account because im planning on making a second part of it! should be out soon :) Xx

‘Arthur Morgan, you fool’ He thought to himself, mentally swearing for catching himself staring at their camps newest member yet again. But he just couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was stupid really, any attempt at love in the past had failed him. All because of this life he chose to live. One that wasn’t easy to leave behind. Though Arthur knew, if you asked him to he’d throw it all away. God this man would do anything for you, he practically worshiped the ground you walked on. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by you, maybe it was your honey sweet voice, or the kindness you showed him right from your first day of knowing him. He couldn’t stop himself from loving every little thing about you, to him you were perfect. A goddamned goddess. He thought you deserved someone better than him. A woman such as yourself deserved to live a good life, one where the law isn’t out to get you. One where people could be out to hurt you because of your husband’s line of work. You deserved to feel safe and secure in your life. Nothing like the chaos you were living through now.

Little did Arthur know, you were feeling the exact same way about him. You had deep feelings for Arthur Morgan, you were as sweet like sugar on that man. You loved everything about him, but most of all how he treated you. He made 100% sure you felt safe and were taken care of all the time. You were one of the first people he’d check up on when returning from a job. Or you mentioned something you needed and the next day he would just so happen to need to run to town and what do you know, the exact scarf, seasoning, hair ribbon, you name it would be included in his haul. And if he was around at meal times, he would not so subtly make sure you got your portion. All of this and yet, he rarely said a word to you. It confused you to no end, it felt like he cared about you deeply but he rarely paid any attention to you. You were a lost soul before you started riding with the Van Der Lindes, and because of the Blackwater situation it was hard for the gang to let in a new mouth to feed. But ever since the beginning Arthur made you feel so welcomed. You don’t know what you did do deserve his kindness but it was deeply appreciated. Mary-Beth was CONVINCED Arthur was sweet on you, so we’re Tilly, Molly, Abigail, Karen, goodness even Susan Grimahaw herself made a comment about it you once. You wanted to believe it so badly, but he didn’t talk to you!! He could just be a kind man of little words and you’re reading into the situation all wrong.

‘Oh well…’ You thought with a sigh, flicking your eyes up from the needle work you had long been neglecting because of your thinking. To your surprise, you found a pair of beautiful blue eyes already looking in your direction…

~~~~~~~

“Shit!” Arthur swore under his breath, god dammit you were still as a staute for ages before this why’d you have to look up now?? Arthur begrudgingly tore my eyes away from t and started walking to his horse- where he was supposed to be already. Hosea wanted to take him into town for some reason he had yet to say.

“Arthur!” Hosea said warmly. He then raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”

‘Oh I this is NOT goin’ there.’ Arthur thought.

“Course not.” He said flatly. Hosea smiled a knowing smile, before long they mounted thier horses and were off.

The ride to Valentine was thankfully silent and quick. But Arthur knew that was going to change as soon as Hosea informed him that he was taking Arthur to the saloon to “Chat over a drink” With such a grin on his face that Arthur knew he was nothing short of doomed.

After getting situated at the bar with a neat whiskey and a beer, Hosea start talking to Arthur, though it felt more like he was speaking AT at him. Making little remarks about love and what it does for people. Sharing little stories of “the joys of marriage.” …..very sneaky, Hosea.

“Hosea…. Please get to whatever point it is yer tryin’ to make here.” Arthur said, cutting into his rambling.

“Arthur….” He cooed, sounding like he was talking to some schoolyard boy. “I’ve been watching you pine over (Name) for MONTHS.”

Arthur said nothing. Nothing but a silent prayer that his cheeks weren’t burning a fiery shade of red.

“I know you’re sweet on her, it’s as obvious as a wolf standing in a pack of sheep!”

Arthur ran a hand over my face and let out a tired sigh. Hosea sipped his beer, waiting for him to respond.

“What ‘m I supposed’t say?” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over my chest. ‘God, what a pathetic fool I am.’ Arthur thought. “Not like she’d want an ugly bastard like me ‘nyway.”

“On the contrary! Hosea chuckles. “I was walking by the women’s tent last nigh- couldn’t sleep. Wanted to walk a bit to clear my head- and my boy you should’ve heard the things (Name) was saying about you!”

At that, Arthur sat up a little straighter. “What things…?” He asked, slightly wearily. Hosea smiled.

“Son, she’s fallen for you head first! If only you’d start speaking more then 2 words a week to her! You do so much for that girl Arthur, would it be so hard to do that too?”

He didn’t say anything. Learning that, by some fucking MIRACLE- the woman of his dreams has fallen for him was making his head spin. Could this really be happening?? Could this work?? A stab of pain shot through him as he remembered Mary, and how things ended with her. But this could be different, after all you were with the gang. You didn’t care about his life, you loved him despite it all…Arthur hadn’t dared let himself think that a love with you could possibly work out. The thought made him giddy. He felt dumb as rocks, feeling so strongly for you without ever saying a damn word to you. But he couldn’t let himself get to know you- he couldn’t bare to hear your silky voice say his name more then you already do. With such kindness, such love.He wanted to talk to you, to love you, to cherish you and worship you like you deserved to be, but-

“Hosea, I’m afraid.” Arthur said quietly. “Look at ‘er, I can’t drag this woman down the path I’m on. She doesn’t deserve a man like me.”

Hosea pushed Arthur’s untouched whiskey towards him, Arthur took the glass and downed it all in one go. He listened to Hosea’a next words at the fiery liquid settled in his stomach.

“Are you going to risk making that decision for her?”

~~~~~~~

You sat on the cold ground in front of the dying out campfire, grateful that everyone had fallen into their cots for the night. You loved the solitude of nighttime. It was so nice to be by yourself, enjoying the quiet peace of the stars above you.

Before long, your thoughts (as they always did) turned to Arthur Morgan. Hosea has returned to camp hours ago, telling you that Arthur should be back shortly. It’s been hours and still no sign of him. You knew it was normal, but you couldn’t help but worry while he was out of camp. Which was stupid really, you weren’t his girl. Just because he was kind didn’t mean you had to get your knickers all on a twist over him.

‘Damn your mysterious-ness Arthur Morgan….’

You only know you dozed off when the familiar sound of a horse whining woke you up. And then an even more familiar voice soothing the distressed animal.

“Easy girl…. Y’know I can’t spend all my time with ya’ don’t you?”

You stretched your arms out and listened to the sweet interaction. Despite him being the gang’s toughest enforcer, a wanted dead or alive outlaw, Arthur truly was a sweetheart. He treated all the women of the camp with the utmost respect and was such a help to any soul in need of. If only he knew how badly you needed him.

You from your spot on the ground, drawing the outlaws attention. He approached with a small smile.

“Glad it was jus’ you..” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. You on the other hand were absolutely over the MOON at the fact that Arthur had finally decided to talk to you.

“Oh I hope you’re not too disappointed Mr. Morgan!” You said with a light chuckle. Arthur, not sensing your sarcasm through his nerves, panicked.

“N-no! Not at all, ma’am! I apologize if I came off that way-”

“I’m just teasing ya’ Arthur. It’s quite alright.” You said and smiled. A smile so sweet and bright Arthur could’ve melted on the spot. Your sweet smile, the way his name rolled off your lips. Arthur wasn’t a religious man, but he might as well have been in heaven.

“(Name)….” Arthur said, his sweet southern drawl when he said your name making you blush. “I’d like to apologize. For how I’ve been treatin’ you.”

“Oh Arthur! You’ve been nothin’ but kind to me since I’ve been here- whatever are you sorry for?” You asked him, genuinely shocked at the man’s statement. Were you talking to the same Arthur who took care of your horse for you, bought you ribbons to put in your hair, and watched over you like a protective hawk? Sure he didn’t speak to you much, but you knew he was a man of few words. Even if it hurt sometimes, could live with it. You didn’t need him to love you back for you to love him all the same. You’d almost accepted it. Almost.

Arthur sighed a deep and nervous sigh, his thoughts blurring and the several whiskeys he had in him were NOT helping. Not a bit.

“You see- well it’s, it’s just-” Arthur stammered- god he was making a complete FOOL of himself!

You stepped closer to Arthur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You looked up at him nervously. The two of you had never been close as this. Arthur looked down at you, you had concern laced in your eyes. Concern for him. Your long hair was falling out of its messy braid, the loose strands framing your face beautifully. He could see the nights starts reflected in your eyes.

‘How beautiful..’ Arthur thought. He was completely captivated by you. ‘How could a woman like this be allowed to roam the same earth as someone like me..?’

Without even realizing what he was doing, Arthur pulled you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your chin. His touch was feather light as he stroked his thumb over your face.

“I ain’t never felt like this before Miss…” Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead down to touch your. He didn’t have time to wonder (or thank) whatever divine force gave him to courage to do this. “You got me makin’ a fool outta myself…”

You let out a soft gasp at the a sudden touch from Arthur. You had only ever been like this in your sweetest dreams, was this really happening??

“Arthur…?” You whispered, questioning him. “Wha…What ‘re you d-”

That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with the risks, the past to hell with it all! He had come to love you more than life itself. You were exactly what he needed in his painful and cruel life.

You were such a loving soul, treating everyone and everything around you so kindly it was heartwarming. You give and give and GIVE to everyone around you. You never judged anyone around you for their actions- past or present. You picked up chores from the other women when they needed a break. You sung little Jack to sleep when Abigail was too exhausted to lift her head from her cot. You put braided flowers into your beautiful long hair whenever you had a moment to yourself. You smiled at him every morning when you left your tent to begin your day. You always kept the pink silk scarf he picked up for you and left in your tent with a note in the pocket of your skirt. You picked at nails and hummed when you were nervous. You loved staying up late, gazing at the stars and admiring the universe. He had pages upon pages of you doing exactly that sketched in his journal.

You were heaven sent. You were perfect. The world didn’t fucking deserve you.

Arthur slammed his lips down onto yours without wasting another moment. And he shuddered at the feelings of your lips finally being against his own. You kissed him back just has hard, standing on your tip toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. You felt his tongue slide against his bottom lip, and wasted not a moment opening your mouth to let him in.

Months of longing, tension, were fought out as your tongues pushed against each other. Of course Arthur won, you could barely contain the moan that was building in the back of your throat when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth like a starving man. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would’ve fallen over. The sheer want and desperation of the kiss made your knees go completely weak.

Unfortunately, you both needed air and had to pull away. Arthur rested his forehead against your own. The both of you stood there, panting with closed eyes. Neither wanting the moment to end.

When you eventually opened your eyes, you looked up at Arthur. And couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face. Arthur wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist, and he smiled sweetly back at you. You both stood there for a moment, swaying gently back and forth as you embraced each other. The silence that fell between you both was comfortable and welcome as you gazed into each others eyes, both sharing the same look of love and adoration.

Arthur was the one who finally broke the silence between the two of you, and you will never forget his next words.

“Please darlin’” He whispered. “I’m beggin’ you… I want you to be my girl. I’m sorry I was a fool for such a long time-”

You leaned up on your tip toes and silenced him with a gentle kiss.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Mr. Morgan.”

[mrmorganswoman]

no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her

summary:

arthur morgan knew he was the type of man that shouldn’t risk falling in love, but jesus she just made it so hard NOT to

a/n: first fic!! inspired by work song by hozier lol. hope y’all enjoy it Xx 💗

‘Arthur Morgan, you fool’ He thought to himself, mentally swearing for catching himself staring at their camps newest member yet again. But he just couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was stupid really, any attempt at love in the past had failed him. All because of this life he chose to live. One that wasn’t easy to leave behind. Though Arthur knew, if you asked him to he’d throw it all away. God this man would do anything for you, he practically worshiped the ground you walked on. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by you, maybe it was your honey sweet voice, or the kindness you showed him right from your first day of knowing him. He couldn’t stop himself from loving every little thing about you, to him you were perfect. A goddamned goddess. He thought you deserved someone better than him. A woman such as yourself deserved to live a good life, one where the law isn’t out to get you. One where people could be out to hurt you because of your husband’s line of work. You deserved to feel safe and secure in your life. Nothing like the chaos you were living through now.

Little did Arthur know, you were feeling the exact same way about him. You had deep feelings for Arthur Morgan, you were as sweet like sugar on that man. You loved everything about him, but most of all how he treated you. He made 100% sure you felt safe and were taken care of all the time. You were one of the first people he’d check up on when returning from a job. Or you mentioned something you needed and the next day he would just so happen to need to run to town and what do you know, the exact scarf, seasoning, hair ribbon, you name it would be included in his haul. And if he was around at meal times, he would not so subtly make sure you got your portion. All of this and yet, he rarely said a word to you. It confused you to no end, it felt like he cared about you deeply but he rarely paid any attention to you. You were a lost soul before you started riding with the Van Der Lindes, and because of the Blackwater situation it was hard for the gang to let in a new mouth to feed. But ever since the beginning Arthur made you feel so welcomed. You don’t know what you did do deserve his kindness but it was deeply appreciated. Mary-Beth was CONVINCED Arthur was sweet on you, so we’re Tilly, Molly, Abigail, Karen, goodness even Susan Grimahaw herself made a comment about it you once. You wanted to believe it so badly, but he didn’t talk to you!! He could just be a kind man of little words and you’re reading into the situation all wrong.

‘Oh well…’ You thought with a sigh, flicking your eyes up from the needle work you had long been neglecting because of your thinking. To your surprise, you found a pair of beautiful blue eyes already looking in your direction…

~~~~~~~

“Shit!” Arthur swore under his breath, god dammit you were still as a staute for ages before this why’d you have to look up now?? Arthur begrudgingly tore my eyes away from t and started walking to his horse- where he was supposed to be already. Hosea wanted to take him into town for some reason he had yet to say.

“Arthur!” Hosea said warmly. He then raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”

‘Oh I this is NOT goin’ there.’ Arthur thought.

“Course not.” He said flatly. Hosea smiled a knowing smile, before long they mounted thier horses and were off.

The ride to Valentine was thankfully silent and quick. But Arthur knew that was going to change as soon as Hosea informed him that he was taking Arthur to the saloon to “Chat over a drink” With such a grin on his face that Arthur knew he was nothing short of doomed.

After getting situated at the bar with a neat whiskey and a beer, Hosea start talking to Arthur, though it felt more like he was speaking AT at him. Making little remarks about love and what it does for people. Sharing little stories of “the joys of marriage.” …..very sneaky, Hosea.

“Hosea…. Please get to whatever point it is yer tryin’ to make here.” Arthur said, cutting into his rambling.

“Arthur….” He cooed, sounding like he was talking to some schoolyard boy. “I’ve been watching you pine over (Name) for MONTHS.”

Arthur said nothing. Nothing but a silent prayer that his cheeks weren’t burning a fiery shade of red.

“I know you’re sweet on her, it’s as obvious as a wolf standing in a pack of sheep!”

Arthur ran a hand over my face and let out a tired sigh. Hosea sipped his beer, waiting for him to respond.

“What ‘m I supposed’t say?” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over my chest. ‘God, what a pathetic fool I am.’ Arthur thought. “Not like she’d want an ugly bastard like me ‘nyway.”

“On the contrary! Hosea chuckles. “I was walking by the women’s tent last nigh- couldn’t sleep. Wanted to walk a bit to clear my head- and my boy you should’ve heard the things (Name) was saying about you!”

At that, Arthur sat up a little straighter. “What things…?” He asked, slightly wearily. Hosea smiled.

“Son, she’s fallen for you head first! If only you’d start speaking more then 2 words a week to her! You do so much for that girl Arthur, would it be so hard to do that too?”

He didn’t say anything. Learning that, by some fucking MIRACLE- the woman of his dreams has fallen for him was making his head spin. Could this really be happening?? Could this work?? A stab of pain shot through him as he remembered Mary, and how things ended with her. But this could be different, after all you were with the gang. You didn’t care about his life, you loved him despite it all…Arthur hadn’t dared let himself think that a love with you could possibly work out. The thought made him giddy. He felt dumb as rocks, feeling so strongly for you without ever saying a damn word to you. But he couldn’t let himself get to know you- he couldn’t bare to hear your silky voice say his name more then you already do. With such kindness, such love.He wanted to talk to you, to love you, to cherish you and worship you like you deserved to be, but-

“Hosea, I’m afraid.” Arthur said quietly. “Look at ‘er, I can’t drag this woman down the path I’m on. She doesn’t deserve a man like me.”

Hosea pushed Arthur’s untouched whiskey towards him, Arthur took the glass and downed it all in one go. He listened to Hosea’a next words at the fiery liquid settled in his stomach.

“Are you going to risk making that decision for her?”

~~~~~~~

You sat on the cold ground in front of the dying out campfire, grateful that everyone had fallen into their cots for the night. You loved the solitude of nighttime. It was so nice to be by yourself, enjoying the quiet peace of the stars above you.

Before long, your thoughts (as they always did) turned to Arthur Morgan. Hosea has returned to camp hours ago, telling you that Arthur should be back shortly. It’s been hours and still no sign of him. You knew it was normal, but you couldn’t help but worry while he was out of camp. Which was stupid really, you weren’t his girl. Just because he was kind didn’t mean you had to get your knickers all on a twist over him.

‘Damn your mysterious-ness Arthur Morgan….’

You only know you dozed off when the familiar sound of a horse whining woke you up. And then an even more familiar voice soothing the distressed animal.

“Easy girl…. Y’know I can’t spend all my time with ya’ don’t you?”

You stretched your arms out and listened to the sweet interaction. Despite him being the gang’s toughest enforcer, a wanted dead or alive outlaw, Arthur truly was a sweetheart. He treated all the women of the camp with the utmost respect and was such a help to any soul in need of. If only he knew how badly you needed him.

You from your spot on the ground, drawing the outlaws attention. He approached with a small smile.

“Glad it was jus’ you..” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. You on the other hand were absolutely over the MOON at the fact that Arthur had finally decided to talk to you.

“Oh I hope you’re not too disappointed Mr. Morgan!” You said with a light chuckle. Arthur, not sensing your sarcasm through his nerves, panicked.

“N-no! Not at all, ma’am! I apologize if I came off that way-”

“I’m just teasing ya’ Arthur. It’s quite alright.” You said and smiled. A smile so sweet and bright Arthur could’ve melted on the spot. Your sweet smile, the way his name rolled off your lips. Arthur wasn’t a religious man, but he might as well have been in heaven.

“(Name)….” Arthur said, his sweet southern drawl when he said your name making you blush. “I’d like to apologize. For how I’ve been treatin’ you.”

“Oh Arthur! You’ve been nothin’ but kind to me since I’ve been here- whatever are you sorry for?” You asked him, genuinely shocked at the man’s statement. Were you talking to the same Arthur who took care of your horse for you, bought you ribbons to put in your hair, and watched over you like a protective hawk? Sure he didn’t speak to you much, but you knew he was a man of few words. Even if it hurt sometimes, could live with it. You didn’t need him to love you back for you to love him all the same. You’d almost accepted it. Almost.

Arthur sighed a deep and nervous sigh, his thoughts blurring and the several whiskeys he had in him were NOT helping. Not a bit.

“You see- well it’s, it’s just-” Arthur stammered- god he was making a complete FOOL of himself!

You stepped closer to Arthur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You looked up at him nervously. The two of you had never been close as this. Arthur looked down at you, you had concern laced in your eyes. Concern for him. Your long hair was falling out of its messy braid, the loose strands framing your face beautifully. He could see the nights starts reflected in your eyes.

‘How beautiful..’ Arthur thought. He was completely captivated by you. ‘How could a woman like this be allowed to roam the same earth as someone like me..?’

Without even realizing what he was doing, Arthur pulled you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your chin. His touch was feather light as he stroked his thumb over your face.

“I ain’t never felt like this before Miss…” Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead down to touch your. He didn’t have time to wonder (or thank) whatever divine force gave him to courage to do this. “You got me makin’ a fool outta myself…”

You let out a soft gasp at the a sudden touch from Arthur. You had only ever been like this in your sweetest dreams, was this really happening??

“Arthur…?” You whispered, questioning him. “Wha…What ‘re you d-”

That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with the risks, the past to hell with it all! He had come to love you more than life itself. You were exactly what he needed in his painful and cruel life.

You were such a loving soul, treating everyone and everything around you so kindly it was heartwarming. You give and give and GIVE to everyone around you. You never judged anyone around you for their actions- past or present. You picked up chores from the other women when they needed a break. You sung little Jack to sleep when Abigail was too exhausted to lift her head from her cot. You put braided flowers into your beautiful long hair whenever you had a moment to yourself. You smiled at him every morning when you left your tent to begin your day. You always kept the pink silk scarf he picked up for you and left in your tent with a note in the pocket of your skirt. You picked at nails and hummed when you were nervous. You loved staying up late, gazing at the stars and admiring the universe. He had pages upon pages of you doing exactly that sketched in his journal.

You were heaven sent. You were perfect. The world didn’t fucking deserve you.

Arthur slammed his lips down onto yours without wasting another moment. And he shuddered at the feelings of your lips finally being against his own. You kissed him back just has hard, standing on your tip toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. You felt his tongue slide against his bottom lip, and wasted not a moment opening your mouth to let him in.

Months of longing, tension, were fought out as your tongues pushed against each other. Of course Arthur won, you could barely contain the moan that was building in the back of your throat when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth like a starving man. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would’ve fallen over. The sheer want and desperation of the kiss made your knees go completely weak.

Unfortunately, you both needed air and had to pull away. Arthur rested his forehead against your own. The both of you stood there, panting with closed eyes. Neither wanting the moment to end.

When you eventually opened your eyes, you looked up at Arthur. And couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face. Arthur wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist, and he smiled sweetly back at you. You both stood there for a moment, swaying gently back and forth as you embraced each other. The silence that fell between you both was comfortable and welcome as you gazed into each others eyes, both sharing the same look of love and adoration.

Arthur was the one who finally broke the silence between the two of you, and you will never forget his next words.

“Please darlin’” He whispered. “I’m beggin’ you… I want you to be my girl. I’m sorry I was a fool for such a long time-”

You leaned up on your tip toes and silenced him with a gentle kiss.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Mr. Morgan.”

[cod-dump]

I had seen some other posts about a Cyberpunk 2077 and CoD crossover awhile ago and now I’m randomly thinking about it so-

———

Ghost works for Arasaka, he’s one of their experimental soldiers.

Price served in the war and now he runs with a small Nomad clan he calls 141.

Gaz and Soap is a small time merc running the streets trying to make a name for themselves.

Graves runs a private security company, Shadow Company, and works closely with Arasaka.

Laswell ex-military now fixer, she works with Price often and always asks him first if she needs something done.

Nik is a fixer who isn’t afraid to do his own dirty work, he works closely with Laswell and Price.

Alejandro and Rudy are ex-Valentinos who left and started their own gang, Los Vaqueros.

Valeria is also ex-Valentino and disappeared after a job went south, everyone assumes she died.

This could run the same course as Cyberpunk and ends with a botched job and Gaz and Soap going across Night City trying to find a way to save Soap, Soap being in V’s role and Gaz being in Jackie’s but he doesn’t die.

Ghost could be the engram but still had worked with Arasaka. They wanted to used him later “when the need arises” so they downloaded his personality.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I’m on my knees begging for the Sanzu headcanons! 😭💖

I got some!!!

His katana has a name

Became good friends with Angry, this was mainly due to how much Smiley and Mucho hung out. 

Everytime someone has asked about the scars on his face, he's given a different response as to how they happened.

He also frequently watched Shinichiro working on bikes when he was a kid.

Stole his bike

Has a habit of staring off into space and daydreaming a lot, people always think he's annoyed when he does that

While in tenjiku he kept his hands in his pockets a lot. This was to hide the way he'd clench his fists whenever they mentioned taking Mikey down. 

Didn't feel sad after he killed Mucho but he wasn't happy either. After the adrenaline wore off he felt nothing, just an emptiness. 

When he went to the festival with Senju as kids, they rode the carousel, both pretending to race each other on it.

Wasn't surprised but was also a little hurt when no one came to pick him up from juvie in the first timeline.

Didn't want to join a gang in the good timeline because gangs made him think of Takeomi and he didn't want to be like him.

Visited Shinichiro's grave often, each time promising him that he was looking after Mikey.

While growing up practising his katana was his favourite thing to do since it was one of the only times he got to be free.

During the good timeline he hinted he wanted a pet once. He was thinking like a dog or maybe a cat but Senju got him a hamster. He still ended up loving the little guy

Although he was the first one to teach Senju how to fight, he wasn't the last. After he left Waka and Benkei took over. When he did start teaching her it was only because she wouldn't stop asking him.

Attends all of Mikey's races in the good timeline

Goes to get cheesecake at least once a week with mucho

If he dates someone, one of his favourite things is to take them on bike rides. He doesn't care where they go, he just likes the feeling of them holding onto him.

A part of him was actually regretful after Emma died but he pushed those feelings away, imstead concentrating on Mikey.

Talking of character deaths, he did mourn Baji after he died too. Even visiting his grave often.

When Senju used to cry he used to sing to her to cheer her up.

Is kinda jealous of Baji and how so many animals seem to naturally like him 

Gets headaches a lot (he forgets to drink water)

Got on well with Ryoko (Baji's mum) 

In the good timeline he doen't know how to react to all the fan girls he has from his YouTube career.

Didn't actually hate Kakucho until Kakucho said he always hated him. 

Takemichi and Hina asked him for permission before planning their wedding on his birthday and he said yes. (It was the only day the venue was available for)

Uses an expensive cologne 

When he's cuddling with his partner he likes to stroke their hair

Takes very cold showers

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡Star Girl⋆౨ৎ˚⟡

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖masterlist⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ [fem reader] contains: attempted kidnapping pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: billy meets a star girl author’s note: thank you my darling @phantomamor for talking ab this with me and helping me flesh out this world and the characters! MWAH I'm so excited for you all to read this <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The city was buzzing, breathing life into what had formerly been a word on a map to Billy. Beings of every species imaginable were conversing, haggling over prices and gossiping amongst themselves. It was impossible to stand still without touching anyone.

Billy's pockets were newly lined with the reward of his latest bounty, not as much as he would have liked for his efforts, but something, nonetheless. When he was newer to this line of work, maybe it would have put a spring in his step. Maybe he'd have even whistled, allowing himself a look at the shiny blasters arranged at the nearby table, maybe even considering buying one.

But today his spirits were lowered, melancholy even. His boots trudged along the dusty footprints of those who'd walked before him, hands shoved in his pockets. He ignored the call of surrounding merchants, letting their voices blend into the hum.

It was the same thing over and over again. He'd find some treasure long prized by a pawn dealer, risk his neck to locate it, and accept a measly price in return. Later today he'd fork over a portion to Jesse, the price for using the gang's name to secure better offers. And then the cycle would repeat.

It was a baseless existence. Flying all over the galaxy, getting his hands on things others deemed precious. It was funny- it all looked so important on the pages of a book, but not once when he held it in person did it feel that way. As far as he was concerned, it was terribly unimportant, faint relics destined for a life on the shelf. He almost felt bad removing them from their natural states. Every gem, every weapon...it felt like robbing a grave.

Clumping down the road until he emerged from the mouth of the crowd, Billy stopped for a moment, leaning against the brick of a building close at hand. On a normal night he'd go to the bar, but right now it seemed unappealing. The last thing he needed was a drink. He supposed he could return to his ship and retire early for the night. Goodness knew he didn't get enough sleep as it was.

Standing up straight, Billy was about to make his way back in the direction of his ship when a peculiar sound caught his ear.

"Excuse me sir...I need to get past..."

"Pretty little thing. C'mon sweetheart..."

Immediately Billy turned sharply, searching for the source. He took a step forward, ducking his head around the corner into an alleyway. The sight before him nearly made his blood boil.

A man, clearly heavily intoxicated, grasping the arm of a young woman. Billy couldn't tell what species she was from first glace, but she looked remarkably human from here. In the soft glow of the sunset, he could see the shine of her hair. There was a glow that seemed to brighten her from the inside out, as if her heart was made of light. Her eyes were wide, fear pooling in the centers.

You stared up at your captor, struggling slightly. "Please. Just let me go."

"Ain't lettin' one of your kind slip past," the man spat. Billy winced- he could practically feel his hot, liquor tainted breath from here. "Damn star people."

It hit Billy like a shot to the stomach, his body stiffening as he realized it. Your glow. You weren't human at all.

Star people were rare to see, especially in a place as godless as this. Said to have been born from the heavens themselves, star people were a legend lilted from the lips of bounty hunters far and wide across the galaxy. The blood coursing through their veins wasn't crimson, but golden, and it ran for a price that was enough to set a man up for life. The species made themselves scarce due to this fact.

When Billy was learning the art of the hunt, he'd accompanied a man seasoned on the market, seeking a rare plant with silver berries going for a decent price. It had confused him when they hunted down a man with a golden luster and tied him down instead of scouring the nearby forest. He assumed they were going to question him about the location of the plant, let him go when he'd given up such trusted information.

But instead, his companion drew a knife, turning to Billy with a hungry look in his eyes. "Watch 'n learn Kid. Always seize the opportunity for a better bounty."

Much to Billy's horror, the knife came down on the golden man's skin, drawing forth a spurt of shining liquid. He was paralyzed watching him bleed out, his inside life force collected by someone so overtaken by greed that he failed to realize the awful thing he was doing.

The memory of the star person's face as he died had haunted Billy ever since he witnessed it. It was the reason he'd never collected a living bounty since. And it was the reason his feet were moving forward now, straight into the alleyway. His hands tore the man away from you, shoving him aside. His body hit the ground with a heavy thump, buying you some time. Billy extended a hand to you. "Come with me. Before he gets up."

You shrank back a bit, the sight of another man so close likely terrifying. Billy winced at the swiftness of his actions, but he emphasized his hand. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

In the dim light, Billy could see the golden sheen filling your body with light, the freckles dotting your arms like a sun had kissed them. There were strands of gold woven into your hair, making you appear nearly unreal. And suddenly the notion of you being descended from the stars didn't seem so impossible.

Slowly, you set your fingers in the palm of his hand, your soft touch igniting something in him, a conflagration that reached from his toes to his hairline. When he looked into your eyes, he could have sworn they were glowing.

Carefully, he led you out of the alleyway, back into the streets, which were emptying with each strain of darkness that settled in. Your breathing was slowing down as you followed him, shoes barely making a sound on the cobblestone ground.

There was a loud clatter behind you that sounded suspiciously like a blaster falling from a holster, and Billy squeezed your hand without thinking. "Quick-run!"

Almost akin to a doe, you started sprinting with him, surroundings becoming a blur. Your skirt trailed behind you, the pale color of it making it look like you were being followed by mist. It and your top were of light iridescence, shimmering as you hurried along beside him. It was mesmerizing how gracefully you ran, and it made him feel a hundred pounds heavier as his boots clomped alongside your slippers.

There were string lights swooping over the gap in the streets, twinkling like your eyes. You both came to an abrupt stop once you turned a corner, panting for breath. Your hand was still engulfed in his, and he didn't complain when you kept hold.

Turning his face to you, Billy was expecting distress, tears even. But your expression was elated. Shoulders rising up and down, your eyes caught on his, the sight of your smile making him feel as though he was watching the sunrise. "Do you think he was even chasing us?" A breathy giggle trailed after your words like fairy dust.

Billy couldn't help his own chuckle bubbling from his lips. "Better safe than sorry."

Putting your free hand to your heart, you took in a deep breath, watching him warmly. "Thank you for rescuing me. He's been following me all night and I made a mistake in where I went to try and lose him."

"My pleasure." Billy tipped his hat. It was a product of his upbringing more than anything, but he imagined even the worst of scoundrels would find themselves gentlemen in your presence.

He was endeared when you lifted the sides of your skirt, sweeping a foot delicately behind your ankle and bowing your head. "Twas good of you anyways, sir."

"Billy." He was grinning.

"Billy." You said it so lightly, so curiously, and he wanted to exile his name from everyone else's mouth. In sweet tones, you told him your name too. Your identifying word could have been anything and he would have found it beautiful simply because it was attached to you.

Taking in a breath as fine as spun silk, you said, "I truly do appreciate what you did. Not everyone would have." The luscious curtain of your hair fell over your shoulder as you leaned in, and the ambrosial scent of you filled his nose. Every detail of you was coming to light, enhancing you when he thought he'd already viewed perfection. Billy was no purveyor of the arts, but you were a masterpiece.

You were close enough that he could see every freckle that dotted the smooth plane of your face, and their gold color. The beads of your top kissed your arms like droplets of water. Even as the night settled upon the world, your skin glimmered, every shining strand of hair winking at him like a call to reach out and touch. He was sure that you would melt under his roughened fingers if he did.

Remembering himself, he cleared his throat, nodding once. "Maybe not everyone knows what's right."

Something changed in your eyes, and he saw a flicker, a flame in your irises. Suddenly he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away, like both your hearts were magnets yearning to connect. Pushing your hair over a shoulder, your eyelashes fluttered as you peered up at him. He was unsure if it was your heavenly origins that were drawing him in, or if it was you. "Can I walk you back home?" The sentence slipped from his mouth before he could regulate it, his body's natural instinct to be near you for longer.

Even the littlest hint of your smile was dazzling. Your head bobbed up and down, and you squeezed his hand lightly. "I'd like that."

Oh how he would thank the heavens later.

The cosmos were brimming with eternal wonders that burned at their edges, gathering in the dark side of every moon and hiding in the shadow of the rings of silvery planets. Billy had been far and wide across the space of the galaxy, seen things man could never dream up. But never had he been so captivated by anything as you.

Your coppery aura enveloped him like an aphrodisiac, crashing over him and rebounding like the waters of some lost ocean. He was tethered to even the mere idea of you.

You chattered as he walked with you to your residence, and he felt like he was listening to a song. Your being seemed to not only decorate space, but time, and he'd lose a thousand hours in your presence if he could.

"I haven't lived here for long," you explained when he asked, eager to hear you talk about yourself. "I travel between planets, seek passage wherever I can find it. Travelling is my favorite thing." You smiled, seeming to lift off your feet at the thought. "What brings you around here?"

"For work," he said, tearing his eyes away from you to look ahead. Feathered creatures were flying low between string lights, the buzz from earlier dulled to a quiet hum. "I find things for folks who want 'em. 'n they pay me to do it. The last buyer was here."

"You're a treasure hunter?" you asked, delighted by the idea. He exhaled softly, smile growing. Treasure hunter sounded much better than bounty hunter.

He nodded, looking back at you. "Yeah. 'xactly. I find pretty things that folks wanna have."

"So you get to go all over the place," you mused, swaying slightly as you walked like a willow in the breeze. "It must be so wonderful."

"It's exciting, sure," he commented, scratching the back of his head. It was beguiling how much interest you were taking in him, in what he did. Nobody had ever done that before.

You chewed on your bottom lip, pace slowing as you seemed to think of something. Lifting your eyes to his, you let go of his hand and asked, "Does anyone ever want to have something like me?" The question was delivered quietly, with a sense of dismay Billy wanted to scrub from the air. You didn't deserve to ever have to feel such harrowing emotions.

He held your gaze, the reality of the situation seeming to gamble with his feelings. Would you want to talk to him after learning what he was, what people in his occupation did? "Yeah," he found himself saying. "But I ain't in that kinda business."

"You're not?" Conduct lightening again, you held a spark of hope in the vision of you.

"I don't go after anythin' livin'. It's cruel," he assured you, searching your eyes. "Others do. But not me."

There it was again, that divine smile that Billy wanted burnt into his eyes. You took his hand again, resuming walking, and he felt something warm him on the inside. "I'm glad. I'm glad that you don't."

"Me too," he agreed, enjoying the weight of your hand in his. It was almost like you didn't realize the significance of the gesture, like you were doing it simply because it felt nice. There was nothing but innocence attached.

It was blissful just walking with you, watching you point out different things around. You were enthralled by every facet of your surroundings, enchanted by the littlest things. It was adorable- the way you'd gasp and lift a gold-tinted fingernail, the object of your fascination ranging from bugs to buildings. It only made you more wholly beautiful, and he wished the walk was longer.

When the sky was completely black, you stopped in your tracks, another little gasp of the variety he'd grown to love passing your lips. "There they are!"

He followed your gaze up, to where the stars were blinking in patterns stretching far and wide, limbs that glittered in the same wondrous way you did. You lifted a hand in a wave that melted his heart, beaming up at the glinting little spheres. "They're my family. I wave at them every night to let them know I'm okay."

Your words were anointed with a reverence artfully arranged. Billy watched you for a moment. "Hope they're okay with me takin' you home."

"They're very grateful that you've kept me safe," you insisted, squeezing his hand gently. He was stabilized by you, held to the ground. If you left the planet, his gravity would be gone and he would float out into the sky with nary a worry except that he wouldn't pass you on his way through space.

The effect of you had to be alchemistic, a mercurial drug crafted specifically to wrench him in like prey to predator. But you were in front of him, soft and sweet with no possible hint of danger. And Billy felt as though he'd been knocked over the head, seeing an illusion borne of his own loneliness. Though anything of that manner would have faded by now. You remained in his line of sight, roseate and sparkling as only a descendant of the heavens could.

The two of you had reached the edge of the forest, the cobblestone street fading into rich brown earth. You were glowing ever so slightly, enough to distinguish you as extraordinary, and he felt as though he was in a dream, trailing behind you as a shadow.

Stopping there, you turned to him, a darling smile seeming to brighten your light. "Thank you again. For walking me home. And for helping me out."

"'s no problem, sweet." The term of endearment slipped out, and he cursed himself for the half a second before you smiled.

"It was nice," you started, and he found himself hanging onto every word, every breath you exhaled. "To talk to someone who wasn't wanting something else from me." Your doe eyes were boring a hole into him, and he would have disintegrated into dust.

"I liked talkin' to you too," he said, hearing the awe he'd felt all night with you creep into his words. "D'ya...d'ya think I'll see you 'round here again?"

"If it's written in the stars," you smiled, letting go of his hand. With one last look at him, you disappeared through the trees in the blink of an eye, soft glow visible through the mess of branches, then fading into the distance like a candle burning out.

For a moment, all Billy could do was stand there, grinning like a fool. He hadn't even known he was capable of feeling as strongly as he had when you were around. He'd held the hand of a fallen star. A daughter of celestial magnitude.

Chuckling in disbelief, he only turned around when your glow was swallowed by the forest, never dimming, just hidden like a light under a bushel. His steps were meandering, and he retraced his footsteps, drunk on the memory of you. Oh, wouldn't it be nice if he saw you again?

It wasn't every day a star girl smiled at him.

Next Part

[atthedugouts]

Remember when I said I wanted Iggy to help dig up Monica's grave? No? Anyways, enjoy!

The Gallaghers meet Mickey and Iggy outside the graveyard.

“Are you sure you guys want to do this?” Mickey asks.

“What and have you guys steal the pound of drugs?” Lip asks.

“They’d probably dig up the wrong grave,” Fiona states.

“I think they can handle digging up Monica’s grave,” Ian defends.

“Your boyfriend has your own name spelled wrong,” Fiona says.

Mickey rolls his eyes. After all these years Fiona still takes any opportunity to talk down about him and his family.

“He’d probably dig up a Megan Gilbert or something,” Fiona continued.

“Haha,” Mickey says sarcastically to divert the conversation. “Get the shit Iggy.”

Iggy opens the trunk and reveals a whole collection of shovels.

“Why do you have so many shovels?” Debbie asks.

“For my job,” Iggys says, like she should know.

“Are you a grave robber?” Carl asks.

“No, I work for a non-profit that organizes groups to plant trees and shit all across the city,” Iggy explains.

“That’s what you do?” Mickey asks, surprised.

“You don’t know what your brother’s job is?” Ian asks his boyfriend in disbelief.

“Fuck you,” Mickey responds. “Like you know what everyone in your family does for money?”

“Uh, yeah I do,” Ian answers.

“You really work for an environmental non profit?” Debbie asks as she takes the shovel from Iggy.

“Yeah, when I got out of Juvie, what, like seven years ago? I had to do like 300 hours of community service. My PO hooked me up with this group and I liked all the digging you know. I stayed and somehow made it on to their payroll,” Iggy shrugs. “I lead rich teens around the city and show them how to plant trees and they get something on their stupid resumes which make their lonely pill addicted moms grateful and then I get laid.”

“Yeah that sounds right,” Lip says after a moment of stunned silence from the rest of the group.

“All right gang,” Fiona says, grabbing a shovel from the trunk. “Let’s dig up a dead mom.”

[xmalereader]

Simon Riley X Tall! Male Reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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Authors note: I caved into this request even though I wasn’t accepting any but couldn’t help but get it done. I tried to give it batman and catwomen vibes but failed miserably. (￣∀￣) anyways, enjoy this shot that I didn’t really try my best on but did what I could to get the story going.

Request: Ghost X Tall! Male Reader that can speak Spanish (it's hella sexy) and tries to teach Ghost some too...

Warnings: Fluff, Spanish language, flirting, masked reader, tall reader, missions, hacker, pas memories, learning, ghost falls for reader, mentions of Alejandro’s past, language, semi short shot, code name: rouge.

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: @guardkeywolf

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Laswell had a mission for the a team, fairly simple but also risky. She thought the process would be a lot faster than she thought but instead took notice that the mission she needed to complete was going to be a lot harder than she thought and needed all the help that she could get. She didn’t need strong men but intelligence and the last intelligent person they had was Graves until the betrayal. His skills would’ve come in handy if he didn’t betray them along with Shepard. She instead had to look for an alternate route, one that she felt hesitant to use.

When she arrived in base she was able to get everyone to meet her, standing around a table as the gives everyone a nod of greeting before starting. “Thank you for accepting my offer, I’ve been tracking down Finch for years and had a hard time tracking him until now.” She holds out a folder and sets it in front of everyone, opening and showing them a picture of their target. “Finch operates in Money Laundering. He’s in charge of cleaning the money in order for it to be used and harder to trace.” She explains, setting out the file. “He helps big leaders, gangs, drug dealers, cartels—whoever the hell he can get in contact with, he will work for them. If we can get him then we can get all the intel that we need from people he might know. Target must come back alive.” Her last weird date stern and serious, she couldn’t lose this man nor can she risk getting him killed.

“Very well,” Price is the first to speak up. “How do you want to do this?”

Laswell nods. “Finch will be arriving to a casino in Las Vegas—good place to deal with money when their are so many people around gambling for it. You’ll all need to be undercover, blend in with the crowd and find a way to keep his guards away from him.” She explains, pointing at a few pictures of Finch’s guards that followed him everywhere he went. “Here’s the tricky part, he has total control of surveillance. If he takes notice of anything then it’s over for us.”

“So, how do we get through without getting caught by cameras?” Soap is the one to ask this time, raising a brow at her as she softly grins at the man. “I know someone who can help us.” She digs into her bag and pulls out another folder, showing the boys before sliding it over to Price first, who takes the folder and reads through it.

“He goes by Rouge—slippery bastard but will help us. He’s a hacker, can easily slip in out of anything.” She stands up straight and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched them carefully, passing the folder to each other as they read through the information and background. “He first hacked into the pentagon at the age of twelve, later at the age of fourteen he would hack into many wealthy companies and steal their personal information along with selling it. The kid got 5 companies to file for bankruptcy and nearly a hundred people were arrested for illegal information.”

Ghost takes the file next, eyes scanning the information as they land on a small picture clicked on the corner, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the other man’s features. Before he could hand the folder back to Laswell she speaks up fast. “Ghost, your mission is to keep a close eye on him and to protect him at all costs.” She refers to the hacker.

Ghost grunts, setting the folder down on the table. “Does he know how to use a gun?” He wants to make sure that the kid could at least defend himself or know how to fight. “He can handle a gun.” Laswell smiles back at ghost before she looks at everyone else. “Very well, he will be arriving tomorrow. Be prepared.” She instructed before giving them one last nod and leaving the room, giving them time to get ready for their new mission.

—

Simon wasn’t too happy that he’d have to sit back and take care of a new recruit. He wasn’t one to babysit rookies but Laswell had pulled him aside after their meeting and told him that their hacker was a slippery one and loved to escape their grip. The kid was smart and could easily steal millions without anyone noticing. Simon questioned himself as to why they haven’t arrested the rookie or perhaps kept a close eye on him? He wasn’t given a reason and he’d rather not ask why. Simon stayed back at base to wait for the hackers arrival while the others got ready, it was until Soap came out to join him when he asked. “Think the new guy knows what he’s doing?”

Simon sighs deeply and shrugs. “Not sure, let’s hope he doesn’t mess up our mission.” He wouldn’t want to deal with the rookies mess if he were to create one for himself. Both him and Soap watched as a plane comes down, landing near them as the two stood back and watched, the door slide open. The first thing the two men took notice of their new teammate was his height, he was around the same height as ghost, perhaps slightly taller by a few inches but he didn’t seem too intimidate. In fact, the new rookie wore all black with a case in hand, grinning at the two as he approached them. “Gentleman.” His voice was soft but also filled with a teasing tone, ghost knew he wasn’t going to like him.

Soap was the first to speak up. “Good to see ya! I’m soap, you’re the one they call rouge?” He questions. While the other nods. “Some call me Rouge others call me Fox.” He suddenly says, giving soaps hand a shake and eyeing Ghost up and down before focusing back to soap. “Fox?”

“You’ll know when you see my work.” Rouge answers, hand on his hip as he looks over his shoulder to see the other team members exiting the building. The first thing rouge does when the rest of the group approaches is pull Alejandro into a hug while the other laughs and slaps his hand against his shoulder. “Look at you! Portándote bien?”

“Como no?”

The two laugh at each other before pulling away. Simon glanced at the two, obviously knowing that the two had some sort of connection to each other but what surprised ghost the most was that the rookie spoke Spanish. He didn’t sound like he was learning, more like he was raised with it as a slight accent is hard in his words.

“It’s been too long, causing trouble again?” Alejandro added while Y/n smiles widely at his old friend. “I’m always causing trouble, because of my trouble I’m here to help you boys. Laswell caught me up on everything and thinks I can help with getting your guy.” He waves his case around, showing them his tools. “Good, we need someone like you.” Alejandro chuckles, giving the other a large smile.

“Good, now.” Price speaks up from the group. “Laswell already gave us the plans, let’s get ready and start heading out. Ghost—you and rouge should head down to the casino first, get in and find a safe place to stay hidden while Rouge does his own magic.”

Rouge smirks. “Si, Señor.”

That gets everyone moving, separating into different vehicles that they plan to take to Vegas. Rouge follows ghost towards their own car, getting up front as he sets his case on his lap, smiling softly to himself as ghost sighs deeply. “Let’s get this done quickly.” He states, starting the car up and driving away from base while Rouge opens his case and pulls out his laptop.

He flips it open and tries away, chewing on his lip as he focused on getting through the building and perhaps a map of the building. Ghost would glance over to him every few seconds before asking. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking for a blind spot.” He mutters out, tilting his head to the side. “Hm, the bathroom is one but it’ll be too crowded—too many people will come and go. Perhaps the security room?”

“Too dangerous—we can’t get anyone else involved into our mission.”

“Fine.” He continues to check for any other blind spots, scanning the floor and frowning. “We can do the roof.” He points out. “There’s a skylight on the casino, big enough for us to stay hidden and no cameras up there. If their are guards then we simply take them down and I’ll be able to work on peace. No one will get in our way and I have a clear view of the floor below me.” He explains, showing Ghost his laptop and an image of the skylight.

Ghost only gives it a glance before agreeing to the idea. The other man smiles softly and returns back to typing as he checks for any other alternates in case the skylight doesn’t, jumping softly to himself as he mumbled under his breath. “Todavía no.” He sighs to himself before closing his laptop and slipping it back inside the case. Ghost side eyes him before focusing back on the road, his hand gripping the steering wheel and asks.

“How do you and Alejandro know each other?”

Rouge hums. “Oh? Estas curioso?” He raises a brow.

“No.”

Rouge laughs at his response, throwing his head back and smiling widely. “I helped me with some personal matters, we tend to get in debt with each other.” He doesn’t provide much detail about their relationship, keeping it a secret from him. He didn’t need to tell Ghost further details about his own personal life, it was dangerous and could get him caught if he were to do anything that was considered illegal. He’d rather be safe and not spread too much information about himself which is why his file was so small when Laswell presented it to the boys, only giving his code name along with his skills. The rest was either a mystery to everyone or perhaps a lie in order to keep his identity hidden.

“I’m guessing this personal matter was something illegal.” Ghost decides to speak up again, pulling rouge out of his thoughts as he turns to face the other. He shakes his head in response to ghosts statement. “It wasn’t bad, I was simply helping a friend.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Alejandro did teach me a few things—“ he laughs. “His mother taught me Spanish, she’d force me to speak it when I’m around her and I learned to speak it fluently. She’d also get pissed when Alejandro taught me how to swear around her.” It was a fond memory that he treasured. The sound of an elderly women cussing out her son as she waved a wooden spoon while chasing him around. The women may be old in age but she still had some stamina in her when it came towards disciplining her children.

“I’m trying to learn—been getting dragged around a lot in Mexico and had grown to the language.” Ghost admits.

This gets rouges attention. “Really? Perhaps I can teach you along the way.” He offers, sitting up in his seat and thinks. “You can understand it?”

“A little.”

“Perfect, how about I just speak it every once an awhile before switching back to English. I heard that it helps.”

Ghost thinks about the idea before agreeing with the other man. He’s been around the others for awhile that he’s grown to know a few Spanish words that were repeated around frequently. He understands the language but can’t speak it. In truth, he only asked to learn since he enjoyed the sound of the other man’s voice whenever he spoke the language, soft and seductive and it lured ghost to the man.

“Muy bien—“ Rouge checks the watch on his wrist. “En dos horas llegamos a Las Vegas. Once we get there I’ll make sure that we get inside undetected and onto the roof while the others get ready for tonight.” Rouge had seen the others disguise and how they had to blend in with the other guards or as civilians who were coming in to gamble while both he and ghost remained on the roof.

“You don’t wear a vest.” Ghost suddenly points out since he was wearing all black and some leather gloves sticking out of his pocket.

“Don’t need it, el disfraz que yo tengo puesto es suficiente.” Rouge blended well in the shadows, staying hidden from the publics eyes. He could get the job done and escape without leaving a trace of himself behind. He made sure to make no mistakes when on the job.

—

When they arrived to the casino they made sure to park in the back, waiting quietly as they watched the others enter the casino. The streets of Vegas were full, everyone either drinking or spending their money while they gamble. Rouge wasn’t one for parties but he didn’t mind gambling for some money or just taking money from the rich.

Looking through his scope he watched as the group got inside, signaling that it was there turn to move. Rouge puts his scope away and turns to ghost. “Listo?” He asks and gets a nod in response. Rouge grins, slipping on his own face mask to cover up the bottom half of his face, holding his case close as the two step out of the car and into the dark alleyways. The streets were dark and everyone was too intoxicated to take notice of the two of them as they climbed onto the roof top.

Rouge is the first to reach the top, hiding in the dark as he checks for any guards. “Esta seguro.” He whispers to ghost who followed after him. The two moving low and quiet as they reach the skylight, below them is the casino and gives them both a good view of the entire place. He smiles under his own mask and turns to ghost, leaning close to the other man as he whispers near his ear.

“Keep an eye out, yo hago lo demás.”

His words cause a shiver to run down ghosts spine as he watched Rouge sit near the skylight and open his case, pulling out his laptop and hacking into security. “Child’s play.” Rouge scoffs, easily getting into the security and getting access to all cameras and security numbers. “Ya entre.” He shows his laptop to ghost, showing him the surveillance footage.

Ghost raised his brows, impressed by his work. “Didn’t think it would be that easy.”

“no siempre es fácil.”

Ghost holds his gun in hand, ready for anything. “Para ti si es.” His Spanish is a little choppy and with a hint of his accent. His sudden words surprise Rouge who's eyes widen as he chuckles, clapping his hands twice. “Mirate! Ya andas aprendiendo, mi fantasma.”

Ghosts face heats up at his last words. He coughs and clears his throat, focusing back on the mission as Rouge worked on the cameras. He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and focused on the computer in-front of him. “You know—this guy your getting why not get him when he’s alone? He’s been around many places without guards but you pick the casino out of all places.”

“We need to make sure that we catch him in the act when he launders money. Who knows what else he’s doing.”

Rouge frowns deeply under his mask. “Yeah, who knows.” His eyes cast down, staring down at the casino and watched people gamble. He watched the rich gamble away their money that they had no need for. He’s seen the way they’ve handled their money, too much to us that instead of giving it to those in need they become selfish and keep it for themselves. He sighs deeply and turns back to the cameras and takes notice of their target while the boys made a move to get him. Rouge sets his laptop to the side and comes to a stand, getting ghosts attention. “Mi haces un favor?”

“What is it?”

Rouge moves past him, going around the skylight. “Can you stand here and keep an eye from here? I took notice of a few escape routes for our target and in case he takes one I want to make sure that you take notice.”

“Wouldn’t the cameras show you?”

“Their blind spots and I wouldn’t be able to see.” He responds back and watched as ghost walks over to him, standing in a new area while rouge grins under his mask. “Gracias.” He stood close to ghost as he whispered his gratitude to him. Ghost tries to focus on his task while Rouge goes back to his laptop on the other side of the skylight, picking it up and typing away as he listens to the comms.

He looks down below at the casino. “And…lights out.” He pressed a key on his laptop as the lights go dark and the room goes into chaos as everyone panics while the guards grow cautious of the lights going out. Their comms go off while ghost grows confused.

“Soap, do you copy? What’s going on down there!” He shouts into his comm but gets no response, he can hear them but they can’t hear him. “What—?” He looks up to see rouge by the edge of the roof, mask removed as he gives ghost a Cheshire grin. “Adois, mi fantasma.” He gives him a wink and jumps off the building, disappearing into the crowded streets blow a ghost cursed under his breath.

He checks his vest to see that his comm was turned off, he’d thought he had it one this whole time. He’s quick to turn the comms back on and quickly gets in touch with the others.

“Ghost, how copy? Dammit ghost are you there?” He hears Soap call for him.

He turns to his comm and glared, before he can respond back the lights are back on in the casino. He growls in anger. “Copy, rouge escaped.” Laswell had warned him.

“Hijo de puta.” He hears Alejandro sigh out in frustration through the comms. “Did we get finch?” Ghost asks the real important question, wanting to make sure that their target was alive.

“No, he escaped.” Said Soap.

Ghost huffs angrily, making his way towards the edge of the roof and to make his way down. Once he reaches the bottom of the steps he finds the car still in the same place, meaning that rouge had escaped by foot. He walks up to the car and pulls the door open, supposed to see Finch tied up and gagged on the passenger seat. The man is unconscious and with a note stuck to its forehead.

Ghost rounds the car and opens the door, removing the note and reading it to himself.

“Para mi fantasma.” 

Ghost laughs, shaking his head as he comms the others and let’s them know that their target was secure and alive. He ignored their questions of disbelief through the comms and focused back on the note in his gloved hand. “Fucking hell.”

[chaotic-starlight24]

How all the gang went through grief (SPOILERS)

*This is about Johnny and Dally's death, except for them it is about the Curtis Parents* This has been in the works for a while y’all, hope y’all enjoy :D I sure did writing this

Ponyboy We kinda already got a glimpse of this in the book so I won't go super into detail. But as we know he denies it, constantly. He convinces himself that he should be the one that died. Survivor's guilt if you will. He keeps several of their objects, whether he wears them or just keeps them in his room. He was closer to Johnny so he wears his jean jacket a lot and has the note hung up somewhere. He keeps Dally's necklace with him, usually keeping it in his pocket but sometimes wearing it. But that's not until he starts moving on. Him and Two-Bit take the longest in moving on.

Darry When Johnny died, he was badly shaken. He felt horrible because he was supposed to protect him. But something was peaceful inside him that Johnny had died with honor. Died a hero. He still felt bad because Johnny would never live to become an adult, but he still had that. With Dally on the other hand, it was just depressing to see Darry. Rebellious Dallas. Brave Dallas. Young Dally. Dead on the ground, bleeding out. By choice. Darry yelled at the cops and sobbed as he dropped near Dallas' body. No, not Dallas. To the gang, he was Dally. He always told Dally that he was young, always believed he had time to learn from his past. But now he would never have the chance. The young Dally he took care of like a younger brother. The young Dally he talked some sense into after a particularly bad night out. The young Dally who would follow him and Two-Bit around. And Darry had to live with them both like this.

Sodapop He was Johnny's first friend. They were in the same grade. And he was the one to introduce Dally to the gang. So it hurt him deeply. But around the gang he toughed it out. He sobbed with them and everything but he was more stunned if anything. At first he was also more focused on Pony not getting overly sick and making sure Darry had the help he needed. But after a while, he walked to their graves after work. He then kneeled before them and let the weight of the emotions sink in. He sobbed more than he ever had before. He sobbed for the lost memories, for the last encounters. No more talking to Johnny at the DX. No more encouraging Dally at the rodeo. It made it all the worse that he never got to see Johnny again before he died. He never got the peace of “At least I saw him one last time.” The last time he saw Dally was beat-up from the rumble, just giving him a smirk and a laugh and kept on fighting. Soda was convinced everything was gonna be fine. But here he was, sitting at their graves. From that time alone, he was the one who cried the most out of the gang. After a couple months he started sitting at their graves once a week. Updating them on everything. It helped him grieve.

Steve He was mostly in shock the first couple weeks/months. He was in a different kind of denial. He would find himself making an extra sandwich for lunch to bring with him to the DX, only to realize the person he shared it with wasn’t going to be there. He would sit on bridges and watch gangs of socs mess around, wanting to get into the thrill of a skin fight, but remembering his back-up wouldn’t show up. After it really sunk in for him, he began fighting socs at every encounter. The rumble was supposed to be the finish line but now it was only the beginning. He began freezing up at the mentions of the cops and gunshots. One time a group of socs were talking about Johnny being in the papers while at the soda fountain. Steve was listening in a bit once he heard Johnny’s name. They started talking about how it’s a good thing he didn’t survive or else he would’ve gotten a much more painful punishment. Joey had to wrestle a cursing Steve down to make sure he didn’t murder all of them right then and there. Once they left, Steve finally did it. He finally broke down. Things really weren’t ever gonna be the same all because of some socs having fun.

Two-Bit

When they saw Johnny in the hospital, Two-Bit was already barely holding himself together. It was bad enough seeing Johnny in all this pain, but he knew it the most how terrible Johnny’s parents were. So it made it even worse for him knowing that no matter what, Johnny wasn’t going to have a happy ending. When he ran down to grab the book he could feel his eyes getting glassy and when a nurse asked him about it he quickly wiped his eyes and told him it was just some bad news. Seeing Johnny’s mother made it even worse. He recognized the look in Dally’s eyes, the look of rage and sadness. No matter how much Dallas tried to hide it. Once the news came about Johnny, Two-Bit could only stand there. Everything in him wanted to scream and sob and maybe if he just hugged Darry it would be alright. Then the call came in. He was basically tripping over his own feet he was running so fast and he saw Dallas. All he could see was 14 year old Dally as shots rang out in the cold night air. He could only stare as Dally lay still in front of them, red spilling over the wet pavement. Him and Darry were having the same replays. Of young Dally. Except he was also thinking of Johnny. Johnny giving his sassy remarks about things he heard people say. Johnny looking peaceful for the first time in months, resting on his old couch. Johnny before the jumping, with that confident gleam in his eye and shaggy curls. After Pony was taken care of, Two-Bit hugged Darry for most of the night. Soda had also passed out on the couch with exhaustion so it was just him and Darry. Darry had a few tears coming down his face but Two-Bit was straight sobbing into his chest. It made it hit Darry all the harder. Things really weren’t ever going to be the same.

Dallas

When the news came about the Curtis parents, Dally was at Buck’s. He was drunk and playing cards when a call came. Buck walked into the room and asked Dallas to come outside real quick. He sighed deeply and took a hold of Dally’s shoulders and Dally just laughed thinking Buck was just horsing around. But then he looked him in the eyes, “Dallas. You ain’t sober and I know it. But Mr. and Mrs. Curtis we-were hit while in their car.” Dally just laughed again until Buck repeated the news. “Buck this isn’t funny y’know.” “Dallas I’m serious, I wouldn’t joke about such..such lovely people.” Buck’s lip started to tremble and that’s when it really hit Dally. He cleared up a bit and that smirk was wiped off his face real quick. He threw on his jacket and sprinted out the door. He barely knew what he was doing but soon enough he was at the Curtis house’s front door, banging on it. And there he saw Pony and Soda, passed out on the couch with dried tears on their face. Darry and Two-Bit were talking in the kitchen and Johnny was sitting in the armchair with Steve staring at the floor next to him, just an absolutely stunned look on their faces. Dally was told the details by Johnny and he just stood there. Dallas Winston was not one for hugs. He was not one for sympathy that hurt more than did well. He was not one for “it’ll be ok”s. So he just stood there. He just looked at Darry, then Soda and Pony, then Steve and Johnny. Then he sprinted out the door. Steve ran out after him but quickly turned back to the house and Dallas just kept on running. No, no, no, no! This couldn’t be happening again! He couldn’t do this again. But it was all coming back to him. His mother dead on the floor. His father standing with the gun. Him sprinted away from the apartment, Henry yelling to him to come back and Elizabeth standing there sobbing. This wasn’t New York City. So he ran back to Buck’s and locked the door to his room. There for the first time in years, Dallas Winston cried. Silent tears streaming down his face as it all sunk in on him. That night Dallas Winston made his heart colder. The world wasn’t going to get to him again. Never again.

Johnny

When the Curtis parents died, Johnny didn’t really know what to do. He wasn’t exactly close to them like the rest of the gang was. They were a lot like Ms. Mathews. Willing to welcome him into their home and give him a warm meal. But he knew how much it meant to everyone else. And that’s really what hurt him. To see Darry harden and become cold like Dallas did when he first came to Tulsa. To see Pony’s usually bright self become angry at his brother and their circumstances. To see Soda’s joyful smile become a tight line. At the time he was more close to Soda than Pony so he was told more than Pony. Soda told him everything. The details he knew, how Soda was trying to help Darry out, Soda deciding between working and school. He felt so stuck. He felt he could do nothing to help them. He had nothing to give to the family that welcomed him so many times. He had no way to try and repay the favor. All he could do was stand and watch it all go down.

[chernabogs]

ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol

so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia

i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭

if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨

Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm

EMPTY CHAIRS

Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow) WC: 4.2k :))) Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time. Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times) Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.  It knows no law, no pity.  It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

Their family may be cursed. 

For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass. 

The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move. 

She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest. 

In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him. 

But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.

“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”

The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery. 

With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend. 

Naturally, it didn’t last. 

The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.

“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.

“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response. 

“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.” 

___________________________________

The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell. 

When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions. 

“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg. 

“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia. 

But the empty seat felt an ill omen. 

___________________________________

The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.

The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well. 

When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose. 

Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had. 

Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all. 

___________________________________

The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.

But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.

For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development. 

Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again. 

There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself. 

First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something. 

Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands. 

Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.

And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more. 

___________________________________

Grandchildren are the best reminders  of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling. 

“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white. 

A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach. 

The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body. 

“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”

Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope. 

She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her. 

But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far. 

___________________________________

In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind. 

She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more. 

When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?” 

Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands. 

“And this is mother?” 

Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble. 

Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?” 

A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.” 

Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.

When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.

She should visit them more often now. 

___________________________________

She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers. 

Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.

She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe. 

The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this. 

She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book. 

“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress. 

They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.

“The gardens look atrocious.”

Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”

“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”

 “Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included. 

Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection. 

She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?” 

“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.” 

She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees. 

Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.” 

Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”

“Oh? And why is that?” 

Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.

“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”

“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.” 

Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”

A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. “Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.” 

Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away. 

“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.

[vivienne-charm]

Bro's the type to... (3)

Here's the part 1 & part 2!

Part 3 because Part 2 reached 200 notes. Tysm!!!♡

Sabo

⋆ bro's the type to be an idiot in love, much like his brothers; except he's more of a gentleman than them

⋆ bro's the type to come crying to you at 3 a.m. just because he remembered some core memories about ace and luffy

⋆ bro's the type to be a soft dom

⋆ bro's the type to be motherly towards you, since he's an overcaring idiot

⋆ bro's the type to accidentally use his devil fruit power on you and burn your hair

⋆ bro's the type to profusely apologize at the time of the burn, but keep laughing about it when he explains what happened to your hair to koala

⋆ bro's the type to keep pouting all day if he's upset at you

⋆ bro's the type to love hugging your back when you're working

⋆ bro's the type to not shut up if someone ever asks about you

⋆ bro's the type to be your type

Buggy

⋆ bro's the type to be sooo bratty

⋆ bro's the type to be whiny and clingy

⋆ bro's the type to be a sub (lmao)

⋆ bro's the type to not understand the concept of romance, he thinks you're his fan and you can't live without him

⋆ bro's the type to realize that he fell sooo hard after he makes a grave blunder of letting you go the first time

⋆ bro's the type to bicker about little things all the time; then when he gets offended and says that he'll leave, he'll keep glancing back at you to see if you'll call him back

⋆ bro's the type to be so stubborn but you're a veteran in idgaf war, he always has to give up

⋆ bro's the type to make insensitive comments about you when he's with his gang to seem cool

⋆ bro's the type to run around an island screaming that he loves you until he drops dead when you find out what comments he made

⋆ bro's the type to get your name tattooed on his chest

⋆ bro's the type to be insecure about himself but when it comes to you, he'll kiss all your insecurities away.

⋆ bro's the type to be your type

Robin

⋆ girl's the type to tease you endlessly

⋆ girl's the type to deliberately try and spook you to get your reactions

⋆ girl's the type to reply "whatever you like" if you ever ask for her choice

⋆ girl's the type to always have your back in a battle

⋆ girl's the type to scream internally whenever you look too cute

⋆ girl's the type to forcefully take you to her poneglyph investigations

⋆ girl's the type to flirt with you so blatantly acting all oblivious

⋆ girl's the type to be the mature one in the relationship

⋆ girl's the type to look after you at all times

⋆ girl's the type to use her devil fruit power to comfort you

⋆ girl's the type to recite you some romantic poetry at midnight

⋆ girl's the type to be your type

[quixoticall]

To Hell I Go

MASTERLIST

Suggested Listening: Anything Zach Bryan but particularly, "Something in the Orange", “Open the Gate”, and "I Remember Everything"

Chapter Warnings: Gun violence, injury, some light death ideation, Billy is here, death of an animal

WC: 2.8K

Author's Note: Hello! It's been a while! Please know I'm working on TCGU! But I've been really inspired by Zach Bryan recently and this concept of the Final Girl of the West which is how this idea was born. I hope you like it!

_______________

“Sheriff Hopper’s after us. Has his new Pretty Boy deputy with him too.” 

The sun is high and bright and bothersome but you’ve been on a job for the last month, which paints everything bothersome,  even Max’s warning. 

“Didn’t know Hopper was working with anyone,” you muse, as you dismount your horse, Calliope, and hand the young girl the reigns. Your muscles are stiff and achy from riding so long and you smell like a manure pit. You desperately want a proper bed—or a shallow grave—to fall into. 

“He’s new. Hops probably needs the help on account of his leg being fucked up since you shot him,” Max responds, admiration tinging her voice. 

You scoff, “I didn’t fuck up his leg, he’s just old and fat.” 

You had barely even grazed him. 

“Pretty Boy, huh?  I’m sure your brother is seething about that.” 

Max glares at you through her lashes, “he’s not my brother,” she warns. 

You know this, of course, you’re just in a bad mood and looking for a bruise to poke. You should probably apologize but Max’ll get her lick back soon enough—it’ll be easy with you, too. You’re all bruise. 

“Billy hates him, already ran into him and the Chief in Amarillo. Came home all black and blue from their scuffle, ended up running him off the trail and he fell off his horse.” 

You whistle lowly, knocking Billy Hargrove off his horse is no easy feat. He must’ve been angry after that.

“He said that they had a list of all the gang’s members. Not our names or nothing, just descriptions, I guess. Apparently, Hopper has you on the list as ‘crack shot girl’. ”

You drink this information up, eyes scanning the horizon, half expecting Billy or Hopper or even Creel to spring out any moment.  Nothing but the wind through the grass, though. 

“What does he have you as?” You probe. 

Max nearly pouts in response, “Red.” 

You’re trying not to laugh, and instead grapple to change the subject. 

“What about the ‘Pretty Boy’ deputy? Does he have a name?” 

You don’t care too much, you want to keep the conversation going, it’s the only real one you’ve had in weeks. 

“Heard it was Harrington or something like that,” Max shrugs, quickly losing interest in favor of brushing Calliope’s mane. 

It has to be “something like that”, you decide, because you knew for a fact there wasn’t a single Harrington west of the Appalachians. There hadn’t been in years. 

_______________

Steve Harrington was the first in his family to leave Wyoming in thirteen generations. It wasn’t by choice. 

Steve’s daddy had been a cattle rancher. He hadn’t owned any land like yours had but he was the best bull rider in all the West. That was, until his fatal fall off the saddle when Steve was barely old enough to ride himself. 

The heartbreak of her true love’s death had made a ghost of Steve’s mama, effectively making him an orphan. 

He was thirteen when he had come to your Daddy’s ranch, threadbare hat clutched tightly in his fists nervously as he asked for work. 

You were twelve then and watched the whole exchange from the top of the stairs with your sisters, the three of you drinking him in with an odd curiosity. He had been all limbs back then, thin and awkward but as tall as a man. His face was uncreased and fearful, giving away his true age. You listened, unseen as the young boy stuttered through an explanation of his pitiful circumstances. 

He wasn’t looking for charity, he made a point to specify, but work. He could ride and wrangle and he knew how to work the land, too, he explained, chest puffing with pride. He would earn his keep, he propositioned. 

The ranch was always in need of hands, and your father was always benevolent to necessary causes and in circumstances that made him seem like a better man than he was, so it was a done deal before night’s end. 

_______________

“Son of a bitch,” you exhale through gritted teeth, desperately trying to reload your goddamn shotgun. 

It was supposed to be an easy enough job—a little stagecoach stick up right outside of Tombstone. You had been scoping the target for days, a miner and his family making their way back East after striking it big in the mines. They were obnoxiously flagrant about their wealth—just like all New Money—and it was obvious that they were traveling with their coffers full of that fine California Gold. The plan was that you, Billy, and Tommy would ambush their stagecoach sometime around twilight before they reached Tombstone proper but then Max had decided to tag along and, while she was your favorite member of the gang by miles, she had no place at an armed robbery.  

The whole operation was slowed down to accommodate the tagalong and suddenly it had become too dark and late to hit them before they arrived in Tombstone, so you had to adjust and hedge your bets on ambushing them when they left the small town the following morning. Someone must have recognized the crew that night and tipped off the sheriff, though, because next thing you know, the four of you are about to run the stagecoach off the trail when you hear gunshots and Hopper’s gruff demands for your surrender.

There goes that easy $800, you sigh to yourself, steadying your aim over your shoulder. You’re a lousy shot at this angle especially while riding a horse, but you’re not hoping for a miracle, only to distract long enough to give Max a chance to get away. She’s the slowest of the four and you refuse to leave her behind. (Even if all of this is kind of her fault.) 

On the opposite side of the road from behind the stagecoach, you see a sharp movement— the deputy, you’re sure. From the corner of your eye you catch fragments of familiar hair, eyes, lips and suddenly your finger slips on the trigger, a stray bullet flies behind you, spooking a horse and causing some commotion. You hope it’s Hopper’s but you can’t bring yourself to check. You can’t bring yourself to do anything. At all. Because there, on the other side of the road, all tan skin and freckled-faced is Steve Harrington, alive and older and looking at you with an expression of shock matching your own. 

“Sunshine?” He shouts over the gallop of hooves and in hearing his voice you’ve lost all doubt that this was some sort of joke you managed to play on yourself. 

It’s him. Truly. 

What you say back is lost to the wind as a lone shot rings out and suddenly you’ve lost your balance on your horse and you’re sent tumbling down, fingers fighting for purchase along your reigns. 

Steve’s stunned face and the smoke from his gun are the final things you see before hitting the ground. 

Son of a bitch.

_______________

You and Steve became fast friends, being close in disposition and most importantly, age. 

While you loved your younger sisters they were just that: younger. At six and eight respectively, Hattie and Lottie were far too preoccupied with dress up and tea parties, hobbies that you had also adored at their age, but at the mature age of twelve, no longer stimulated you. In Steve you found a confidant and an accomplice. 

You snuck him extra portions at supper and spent your spare moments following him around reading aloud from one of your many books. He had a penchant for war epics and horror while you liked romance and mystery. Both of you could agree, though that Westerns were the best. 

In exchange for your generosity, Steve taught you how to ride and shoot and lasso.

He was the best teacher truly and would often outdo men of twice his age and size when it came to rearing and riding. He learned everything from his daddy, he had told you.  Steve talked about his father a lot. About what he was like and everything he was exceptional at and how the crowd had gone stone silent when his broken body hit the dusty ground. 

“That’s how I’m going to die too, one day,” he had told you, grim but not sad. “On a bull in Cheyenne. Probably the same one, he’s the only one that could take me out.” 

“How do you know how you’re gonna die?” You awed at him.

“Just a feeling in my gut. Sometimes you just know,” he shrugged sagely. 

You nodded along and tried, desperately so, to will your gut to give you a precognition about the circumstances of your own death.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna die,” you admitted to Steve after a long moment of self-assessment, “but I know you’re gonna be there.“

You had no clue what possessed you to say that other than the fact that you knew it to be categorically true. 

Steve smiled in response, pleased. 

_______________

You wake up under a sky of pinprick stars. Dreams of childhood vows and muddy fields filled with promise fade as you take in your surroundings.

There’s a fire burning next to you and a sharp pain running along your entire body, burning to match. Max suddenly appears by your side, looking equal measures relieved and frazzled. 

“What happened?” You ask weakly. 

“Pretty Boy shot Calliope and you fell into the ravine. Had to fish you out of there and find a place to lay you down.” 

“What about Billy and Tommy?” 

“They left us.” 

Of course. 

“Bastards.” 

“Bastards,” Max agrees. 

“And what about the sheriff… and the deputy?” 

“Sheriff fell off his horse when you shot him and his deputy went after Billy. Didn’t see where though, but I’m sure he didn’t catch him.” 

“Probably not,” you croak before accepting the canteen Max brought to your lips.  Billy was a menace on a horse, agile and quick in ways most men could only dream and he already had too much of a head start. 

You try to stand up now, too fast evidently, since Max rushes to your side to help you along when you waver.  Eventually, you’re on your feet, stumbling forward with only Max keeping you upright, your whole body screaming at you to stop. 

“Come on then, Red, let’s go back home.” 

Your whole body aches so much your vision blurs and there’s a pain along your ribcage that may hint at a broken bone. The ride back to the Creel House on the back of Max’s scrawny horse is utter agony but at least Max has gifted you a mercifully silent journey by not trying to make conversation.

“You know him,” Max murmurs. It’s nearly morning when she finds enough courage to bring it up.

“Pretty Boy called you ‘sunshine’,” she continues, “I heard him.” 

You freeze. 

“You must’ve heard wrong then. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

You leave it at that.

_______________

By the time you were sixteen, you felt like you knew Steve better than you knew yourself. You could read him like a book—every crook of an eyebrow, every sideways glance, and their meaning were neatly categorized in your mind. Part of that was the familiarity bred by endless idle hours together and part of that was the burgeoning ache that had been festering inside of you in the past months; the soft, comforting ember of friendly affection had given way to something hotter, something you couldn’t bring yourself to define yet but singed your skin at the sight of him and made you want to chart his every mood like sailors charted the stars. 

This was exactly why you could tell he was upset even though he denied it. Something about the way he clenched his jaw while he aimed his gun at the row of cans sitting on a broke down fence a little too hard indicated that he had something weighing on his mind. 

“You’re meant to hit the targets, you know,” you goaded after he had missed all of five shots. 

His jaw clenched harder. 

“You can’t be cross just because I’m the better shot than you,” you needled further. 

“I’m not cross,” he argued back, crossly. 

“Yes, you are! You’ve been sullen and cross three weeks now even though you say otherwise and it’s driving me mad so, why don’t you stop being stubborn and tell me what it is that’s making you act like this and we can fix it and be back to normal. I don’t want to spend my last week here watching you pout all over the ranch.”

He sighed a drawn-out, guttural thing, and then suddenly, it hit you. 

“Wait, are you mad I’m leaving?” Your tone wasn’t accusatory as much as it was curious. Truthfully, when your parents had share the news that they were sending you to a finishing school, you had been devastated at the prospect but you tried your best to keep your true feelings from view. Your father had made it known that he had gone to great lengths to secure your spot and your momma got misty eyed when she spoke about how many doors this opportunity would open for you.

“No, I’m not mad you’re leaving,” he argued back and flinched at how unconvincing he sounded. You knew deep in your bones that you'd miss Steve the most when you were gone. No matter how fair you'd go or how'd long you'd be apart, you're sure you'd miss Steve.

“Steve, you know I’d rather be here, shooting cans than anywhere else, even that fancy school,” you cajole. It's a simple, earnest statement but as far as you could trust yourself saying without confessing your devotion.

“You say that now,” he petulantly threw himself down on a tree root and you moved to sit next to him, “but as soon as you make friends and meet new people, I’ll be dust.” 

You laughed at the uncharacteristic display of self-pity. “You really think I’d find someone I would love more than you?” 

The idea of it was so ludicrous you didn’t even realize the carelessness by which you threw out such hefty claims of affection. Of course, you loved Steve and he you, and while you were never scared to voice that to each other before, now the word meant something different—at least to you it did. 

Your eyes shift down to your boots, hoping he didn’t pick up on the change in your heart. 

“Not more, just different.” 

“Different how?” 

“You're going to find someone,” it was his turn to get flustered and glanced at the ground, “... someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.” 

“Well, I want that to be you,” you responded, not thinking and far too quickly. 

“No, I mean, someone you want to marry,” he spits out, exasperation being quickly replaced with embarrassment as his words sank into place.

You stalled at the implication your heartbeat becoming almost deafening. Steve was afraid you were going to go out and find someone else to marry and leave him behind. Was it possible that he was equally consumed by that same burning affection that had been sieging your heart for months?

Out of the two of you, you had always been the braver one. The one that always jumped in first, the one to take a risk on a whim. And, while it terrified you and made your voice small and wavering, you couldn’t help but say right back, “I want that to be with you, too.” 

Steve beamed in response. 

_______________

Tommy and Billy had beaten you and Max back to the Creel house. At least the bastards had the decency to look a little ashamed as they watched Max support your limping form through the threshold. Mostly, though they looked surprised. 

“Thought the deputy had gotten you,” Billy whistles lowly through the toothpick that is perpetually resting in the corner of his mouth. 

“He killed my horse,” you bemoan. “ Max had to fish me out of the ravine on her own, no thanks to you two.” 

The blond man shrugs in response, “We couldn’t go back. Thems the rules, you know that.” 

You do know that but you are miserable and tired and just looking for someone to blame for the life you had fallen into so you glare back. 

Billy is unfazed by your glare and in a rare moment of kindness, offers to acquire a horse for you during his next round through the nearby ranches.  This uncharacteristic show of pity makes you realize you probably look as bad as you feel and for a brief moment wish that Max hadn’t pulled you out of that ravine. 

You manage to stumble onto your cot, body raked with pain and you lay there, unmoved until night comes and it’s not until the dark has truly settled and you are sure that no one could possibly see, that you begin to cry.

Silent tears stream down your face for your companion, your horse, the last thing you called your own. One more thing stolen away--and this time, by a ghost no less. A gift from your daddy when you had turned seventeen, her name plucked from one of your books on Greek mythology she had been your companion when you had felt most alone.

Calliope was the final reminder of a life long gone and now she’s just another thing you’re left mourning.

Next

[dsaf-confessions]

I've been in the dsaf fandom for a year or two by now lol. but like I've only been lurking and...some fans take dsaf TOO seriously. Like, no hate. none at all. but,, I wish people acknowledged more often that Dayshift at freddy's at it's core, is silly. like, all three games are full of jokes (some less than others) and that's the original premise. Yeah, there's the serious lore bits and all.. but what about the SILLY bits? Can we have the silly bits appreciated? Jack can piss for 15 minutes straight, Dave ate an entire ashtray of lit cigarette butts and lost his sense of taste after, ALL the phone guys were programmed to say "darn" and "heckin'!" as a substitute for swearing, and Dee is a tickler (not ticklish, a TICKLER she tickled Dave til his springlocks went off in the premature ending, and she can tickle Jack when in the suit to set it off if you don't wind the box). Henry is the reason why they have cameras in the fazbender's bathrooms.

I love seeing the serious bits too, but I wish people spent as much time with the silly bits as the serious ones. Even when it comes to making your own silly bits!!! Like, yess!!!! Go write that Undertale!DSAF AU. Go write about Dave and Jack as kitchen appliances. Go write about what you headcannon Dee's favorite songs and movies are. Go write about Jack having magical princess half wolf demon powers. EVEN WITH THE PAINTINGS!!! I saw a drawing of Dave and Jack in sailor moon get up and they killed it. absolutely. I know the dsaf artists out here are killing it with their art, it's all amazing and I have lovingly gazed at all of them before. and yes!!!!! Go RP as Peter Kennedy having a deep carnal desire for bird watching, go RP as Harry Fitzergald enjoying himself at an aquarium, go RP as Dave Miller spending hours trying to figure out how air fryers work so he can give it a shot at building one at home.

Please do anything your heart desires!!!!! You can look out the car window with your headphones in and listen to music while imagining sad sfms of the characters and keep it to yourself. But if you wish to share, just now that there's people out there that have been wishing someone would create what they've been imagining too!!! Make your funky spotify character playlists!! Even your youtube music ones!! Because there will be someone out there who thinks the same as you and enjoys them the same as you !!

I live for the serious ones too. Please, go write that heartfelt fic about Dave yearning for his soulless friend's presence in the afterlife. Please, go write about Jack despairing that he doesn't just stop existing after death, and is stuck in a void. Please, go write about Dee speaking to the gang in afterlife about how she wishes she had a longer childhood, and how she is sad that the very few things that made her childhood a childhood is gone and that she can never truly have it back( jack, and all the friends and lovely gifts and animals and all the joy). Please, go write about DaveTrap surviving the fire in the good ending and being miserable because no matter how much he was angry and hateful, he missed Jack, he missed having a quarrel with him, he missed asking just one more time, if Jack wanted to kill kiddins' with him, and then him having to visit Jack's grave and despairing that Jack had never lied when he told him his name. And then DaveTrap sees the other graves, all the other ones, of the kids that died at fazbender's because of fazbender's. And he also sees a grave bearing his own name. His real name. And it was right next to four other graves, of people who's names rang bells in his ears, of people with a last name he recognized, of people he remembered betting on whether or not they'll die with Henry.

AHHH I think this might be too long. i just love ranting about my ideas because as much as i have a love for writing, i can never execute the ideas. they are cursed to forever be just an idea i can share to my friends who don't like dsaf but like hearing my rambles.

So, whoever is reading this, please go enjoy the games as much as you wish!! enjoy the silly AND the serious side !!!!!

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