#this face encompasses his feelings rn

[justblades]

⌕ FLIMSY FEELINGS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : blade x afab! reader WC : 1.4k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, somno, voyeur! blade, oral (fem receiving), sadistic masochistic themes, mutual masturb#tion, cunnilingus

⟢ A/N : we don't have much info abt his character rn but i tried my best with the available provided info as of the moment !! enjoy <3

raven hair ripples from the bitter cold winds blowing, the glint of crisp solferino hues show a reflection of an unknown person - someone the stellaron hunters just happened to pick up as they tread upon weaving the threads of fate, just how the screen play director foretold.

it was just blade and you alone, encompassed by the archaic, gunmetal gray walls. blade watches your slumbering figure as he wears a solemn face, lips pressed into a thin line, not showing any kind of expression at all except for a stoic mask.

is it really a mask? no one could tell. blade just proceeds to stride towards your body, feeling an aching sensation he needed to tend to. it's a feeling he'd come to despise - but it's still a part of his bodily function. even though he abandoned his old way of living and is now in a pursuit of his path to vengeance, there are trivial things he must fulfill at once.

blade slowly descends to your position, vision still not anchoring away from your dozing shape. humans truly are fragile, he thought to himself— to see someone in their vulnerable state, it feels quite intimate. it was an epiphany blade had for a long time ago he forgot when, but all he knows right now is there's just one thing that must be done.

he feels his pants grow tighter by the minute, the flickering light bulb casts a darker shade of monochrome gray on the crotch part. the navy haired doesn't delay any further and proceeds to get it done. blade unbuckles his belt swiftly, letting the item crash against the concrete flooring; followed suit is an act of self pleasure, he gradually wraps his dominant around his throbbing girth, reveling the wamrth he had to offer to himself in dead silence.

the stellaron hunter may not show it but gratification already courses through his system. at a slow pace, he continues to lean more towards your figure, his cock now at its full glory. its head twitches, itching for a sensation for it to be enveloped in; something warm, something tight and something alive. three qualifications that his mere hands could not satisfy.

perhaps that was your sole purpose for you being brought here in the stellaron hunters' temporary hideout. he rips your clothes with one clean cut from the cracked sword he brandishes, one of the many ways he showcases his astonishing swordsmanship. steadily positioning himself from your slit, a hot, rock hard feeling rubs on your lower lips.

blade's heart begins to pulsate against his rib cage, each beat becoming louder and faster in such an irregular manner. the more he got to feel your slippery cunt, the more eager he only got. and with one powerful thrust, he successfully makes his entrance inside you, his cock lavishing the comfort of your velvet walls clamping around his length.

he huffs a deep breath and only realizes it late as he catches a quick whiff of your scent— for some reason, he was drawn on. the male inches forward your neck, his hands tightly clasped on yours to make sure there would be no attempt of escape. presently atop you while you laid on your stomach, you could feel some faint but added pressure on your limbs plus a somewhat familiar presence from above.

blade was only detached from what you were feeling and only carried on with his own intentions. he rams inside you with no forewarnings, his tip fills you all the way up to the very brim. a breathy, whiny moan erupts in the vicinity that undoubtedly came from you but he heeds no mind to it— continuing to pound into your walls, intruding with such an abrupt pace and not in gradual motions.

in anything that he does, he emanates of destruction. a polar opposite of care, tenderness and love; it shows in his rough, vertiginious thrusts, his firm tight touch, and lastly, in his facial expression. you were not one bit shocked, if anything, you just accepted what is happening as of the present. being used as a cocksleeve for a passing feeling, it rips at your heartstrings but you were powerless before him.

you continued to pretend as if you were still dozing off in spite the mewl that you tried so hard to bite back, stifling more noises threatening to slip out. it would be far more awkward if you're awake as you weren't one bit acquainted with blade. not even shared glances, all the information you have is an overheard conversation from the hunters, only knowing his sole name : blade.

the swordsman eventually begins to drop his guard down, becoming more lax at letting his guttural groans come undone from his mouth. his bandaged hand wanders on your naked, exposed skin, traveling to places where he finds the most appealing. aside from the sound of skin slapping, clothes shifting and his jagged breathing were accompanied by the chime of his dangling scarlet earring.

a sharp pang of pain follows from a loud smack sound. it was his slender hand coming into harsh contact against the plush of your ass, leaving darker imprints from your complexion - it was no doubt, his spanking's seal. you could no longer play pretend as you wince from the pain, your eyes shot open and you turn your head.

your vision was then graced by the indigo haired, he took notice that you were awoken but as usual, he's cold as a gelid ice. he did not care.

when suddenly, he withdraws his cock from your pussy and flips your body around— thus making you meet his face, catching you off guard from your current dazed state. you slowly look up to meet his sharp gaze to the point that you could see your own image from his vivid cerise eyes. your very first locked gaze with blade, and mayhaps the last. his hand clasps on yours once again but only to bring it down to your cunt, he proceeds to uncurl your balled up fist.

he guides your fingers to stroke and pleasure yourself, your own digits prodding through your wet entrance. your breathing quickens, a foreign sensation brewing in the pits of your abdomen; meanwhile blade doesn't do anything but to watch on your expressions. "continue." blade commands ; his raspy, deep voice resounds into your ears.

you were struck with both of shock and nervousness, his tone laced with authority and coldness to it yet again. as embarrassing as it is to do it in front of a man you've never met in your lifetime, you obey his order, continuing to pump your fingers in and out of your coiling walls before his predatory naked eyes.

the navy haired pleasures himself at present, along with you - matching your rhythm. your legs spread open in front of him to feast upon that no man has ever tasted, an unfamiliar sensation wells in his heart. he groans and picks up the pace of him stroking his own erection, a feeling of release immediately dawning upon him.

with blurry vision, for a moment, you could see a hint of sadness and regret behind the vermillion windows of his soul. although the actions he's committing currently are lascivious and of lust, you swear to yourself there was something more than what meets the eye.

as quickly time flashes, strings of muddy white spring out from his cock, the liquids spilling into your exposed tits and your panic stricken face. he catches his breath in the midst of it, heavy panting echoes inside the enclosed vicinity. "i didn't order you to stop."

his words pierces your perturbed mind, he pertains to your masturbation ending just as when he reached his climax. the male swiftly gathers all the cum littering your skin with one hand and one movement, cupping the liquids carefully only to insert all of it into your pussy.

a moan bubbles from your throat, feeling his long fingers curl inside your sticky walls. blade, even though a stoic man most of the time, he's also full of surprises. he flicks his tongue over your clit, the pointy tip rubbing viscules and in circular motions on the specific spot.

your back arches, waves of pleasure crashing upon your lethargic self. blade doesn't halt and carries on to suck your walls out, margins of his sticky lips perfectly fitting with your lower ones. his tongue once again skillfully glides over your sensitive parts— earning him your climax as it spills out from your hole, adorning his sharp, masculine features as if your ejaculation was an accessory.

it felt ecstatic, as if your body drifts into the seventh heaven from blade's cold touches. in spite of the overwhelming gratification pooling in your body, hundreds of questions start to flare up in your mind, mainly about blade's identity. naturally, it rolls from your lips, a question he didn't see coming.

"what are you really?"

among the many blank faces blade shows you this night, he finally unravels a different one upon encountering your question. "are you really that fervent to know?" he rhetorically asks as a sneering smile creeps on his lips.

my masterlist !

[ln4bub]

hii i love your five so much omfg i was wondering if you could do 11 and 83 with lando or daniel w a bit of a breeding kink i’ve got major baby fever rn😭🫶

A/N i wasn't planning on writing this one yet, but the dr3 breeding kink was voted for in my last poll and so this one had to be done so i could tag it properly for the anon that requested it <3

DR3 Request

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Lando was always in control; being the deciding voice in what needs to be changed with the McLaren he had to drive week in, week out. So when the MCL-60 wasn't performing, leaving him stranded out in P17 or scraping points in P9, you could see it was starting to get to him. You'd bore the brunt of his frustration, traumatising poor Oscar after every bad result. But it was wearing Lando down, and so when he dragged you back to the hotel after the Canadian GP you were half expecting him to break.

So when his lips greedily meshed with yours you were surprised, you thought for sure this would be the final straw for him. His tongue clashed with yours, tasting the fruity soda you had consumed during the race. The groan he lets out into your mouth makes your body tingle, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck. Lando pulls you on top of him, collapsing on the bed you shared. He pulls his lips away from yours with a smack, heavy breaths now filling the space between you.

"I want you to take control tonight."

Your stomach clenches at his words, images of a flushed and desperate Lando writhing underneath you fill your mind. "Are you sure?" You mutter back, brushing that one loose curl from his forehead. His eyes close at your soft touch before fluttering open, glazed over and wide staring at you. "So sure baby, just don't want to think right now." He practically whispers, voice nervous and slightly shaky.

You press your lips to his forehead, leaving a faint glossy sheen behind. He smiles softly up at you, his tongue poking out to wet his lips in nervousness, waiting for your response. "Whatever you need," you tell him, mirroring his own smile. He leans forward to kiss you, lips hovering over your own before he feels a sharp tug in his hair. His mouth stays parted, eyes closing as you brush your lips gently over his own. You feel the way he tries to capture your lips, the barely there brush leaving behind a thin layer of spit to add to your lip-gloss.

Your tongue peaks out, running over his lower lip before capturing it between your teeth and pulling gently. Lando whimpers at the sting, large hands encompassing your face to pull you towards his own. Your lips move in sync with his, practiced and perfected over time. You adjust your position, straddling him as you continue to kiss. He whines at the weight of you against his cock, straining now against his black jeans.

Your soft hands slide underneath his shirt, pushing it up to expose his tanned skin. Lando takes the hint and removes his team merch, throwing it on the floor with a thud. His large hands slide up your back, kissing along your jaw as your nails begin lightly scratching his back. "Take it off, please, wanna see you baby." Lando whispers against your skin, the movement of his lips against your neck making you moan softly. You heed his request, pulling your dress off and leaving you in your matching set. It was Lando's favourite, all black with custom fluoro yellow piping around the edges.

He groans at the sight of you, leaning back into the pillows when you gently shove his chest. Your lips connect with his own once more, sloppily coating them in the last of your lip gloss. Lando chases your lips as you pull away but you simply smirk at him, dipping your head to suck at the apex of his jaw. A loud moan leaves Lando's mouth at the action, his head tilting back to give you more access to his thick neck; access that you happily utilise.

Your lips are everywhere, overwhelming Lando in every sense, nibbling and sucking before swiping your tongue over the fresh marks left behind. Normally you'd avoid giving him hickeys but the next race wasn't until July so they had time to fade, and Lando loved the feeling of you claiming him in this way. His cock was starting to throb in his jeans with each press of your lips against his skin, especially when you migrated further south.

You kissed every inch of his skin, tracing every mole across his chest and stomach with your lips. His body erupted in goosebumps with each touch, squirming underneath you at the teasing. You slide your pinkies underneath the waistband of his jeans before undoing the button and sliding down the zipper. You hear Lando breathe a sigh of relief at the release of pressure, lifting his hips to allow you to slide his jeans down.

You kiss his length of his underwear, feeling it twitch with the first touch of your lips. "Y/N, babe, come here." Lando mutters, pulling at your arm. You hover over his bulge, the heat from between your legs radiating for Lando to feel. "What is it baby?" You ask, looking into Lando's glossy eyes. His pupils are blown wide, lips red and bitten as a consequence of your teasing. "Just want to feel you, is that okay?" He asks, eyes pleading.

"Of course it is Lan, but you're gonna have to beg for it, can you do that for me?" You question, dragging your nails down his chest as he smiles shyly with a nod. You remove your remaining underwear as Lando does the same before hovering over his hard cock, the tip bumping your clit as you position yourself.

"Please baby, need to feel you." Lando mutters as you glide your pussy over his cock, coating him in your wetness. He stutters out a groan at the feeling of your slick covering him, "Oh god, so fucking wet. Please, god please, let me feel you baby." He continues, hands squeezing your hips in an effort not to buck his hips into you. You slide his tip into your pussy, moaning at the stretch. Lando echoes the same moan, cock twitching at the feeling of your warmth.

"Fuck, feels s'good baby, more, please, give me more please, wanna be buried inside you s'bad." Lando hurries out, voice strained with restraint as he tries not to slam himself inside you. You heed his request, slamming yourself down onto his length before riding him at a wild pace, your legs immediately starting to burn.

"Holy shit, oh my god, love you, love being inside you, so good to me, yes baby, don't stop." Streams of praise and whines leave Lando's mouth, his body falling slack at the pleasure rippling over him. Moans spill out of the both of you, the burning pain of your legs adding to your pleasure as his cock hits you at the perfect angle. "Fuck Lan, made for me weren't you baby?" You mutter, hand resting on the side of his flushed face.

He nods with a whine, "Yeah baby, all yours, no-one else's, fuck yes. Use me just like that, my cock's all for you." His mouth drops open in a loud moan of your name, "So close, wanna feel you cum, please cum, need it." He slurs, hairline beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat. Your hand slips down from his face, your other hand joining it to wrap around his thick neck as you continue to fuck yourself on his dick.

His thumb reaches over from where his hand has sat on your hips, rubbing against your clit with every bounce you make. It sends you flying over the edge, your walls clenching around Lando's cock and pulling his own orgasm from him. He releases with a loud groan, your hands tightening around his neck. His cum fills you, beginning to spill out from where you remained connected. You ease the pressure on his neck, collapsing forward on top of him.

You lift yourself on shaky legs, allowing Lando to slip out of you. You crawl up the bed before swinging your legs over Lando's face, his large hands cupping your ass. "Clean up your mess Lan." You tell him and he wastes no time, pulling you against his face as his tongue delves between your folds. He flicks and swirls like a madman, shaking his face in-between your legs, his nose bumping your clit with each movement as he cleans the combination of your cum that spills out. It doesn't take long for you to cum on his tongue, sensitive from your first orgasm.

Lando lifts you off his face, cuddling himself into you but not before kissing you sweetly, allowing you to taste the both of you on his tongue. "Thank you." He mutters, a sentiment repeated at the next race when Lando gets P4, and the next race when Lando gets his first home podium, and the week after when he secures another P2.

Oscar stands next to you in the garage as Lando gives his interviews after the race, "Whatever you did to him in that hotel room after Canada must have worked miracles, are you a witch?" He asks, laughing at the blush that coats your face. "Shut up pastry, unless you're only asking because you want some help getting those podiums too?" You retort. Oscar blushes fiercely, causing you to laugh this time before Lando joins you both, "What's so funny?"

[amyispxnk]

Silent Night

Summary - You're back from college for the holidays, and you've decided on exactly what you want for Christmas - Joel Miller's cock.

A/N: this was such a last minute fic im ngl rn. wasn't even planning on posting a Christmas fic, let alone my FIRST dbf joel miller smut?? anyway, i hope everyone enjoys. happy Christmas<3

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut, some good ole daddy kink, age gap (20+ years), Joel is pretty pervy in this, alcohol, divorce mentions. Not proofread because I'm tired

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

When you left for college all that time ago, Joel didn't have any strong feelings towards you. You were his best friend's kid, so naturally he saw you often, and got close with you. You were a sweet kid, kind, smart (more than him, he reckoned), and very.. determined when you wanted to be.

Now you're back for Christmas, and as he sees you exiting your dad's car, hurrying over to him, yelling “Joel! Joel! Oh, I missed you so much!” he realises how fucked up his mind might be.

Any normal guy who was reuniting with a girl he'd known since she was a teenager, and a girl he had at least 20 years on, would not be looking at how her tits bounced in her crop top, or how her leggings were tight enough to let him see just how perfect your ass was.

But Joel wasn't normal, he wasn't a good man, so he was looking for all of those things. If he'd actually been looking at your face, maybe he'd have seen you smirking. Maybe he'd have realised you wore those clothes for exactly this reason.

-

Joel, or dad's best buddy, Mr Miller, as you'd known him until you were 16 and couldn't be bothered to pay respect to your elders, had been a part of your life for a while.

Ever since your mom took off, Joel was coming around far more often and, in his own gruff and quiet way, was taking care of you more than your own father was at the time.

Nowadays, you didn't really have any resentment towards your father because of this - he'd just gotten divorced, he was going through a rough time.

But teenage you definitely did, and having Joel step in like that definitely left you with mixed feelings.

If things weren't the way they were back then, you'd probably have developed this all-encompassing crush on him even earlier.

When you were leaving for college though, the crush suddenly dived into your life, crashing down and muddling up everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Now, as you returned back home at last, you knew you had to have him, or you feared you might just lose it.

He was everything a girl.. like you, could want right now. Old, brooding, mysterious, and so fucking hot.

So as you hopped over to him where he stood in his front lawn, you made sure to hug him tight and make sure he could really feel that you weren't wearing a bra. You knew he was looking already, so why not let him feel it?

He hesitated for a moment - probably struggling with his boner which you swore you could already feel - before bringing his arms around you and clapping you on the back.

“I missed you so much, Mr Miller.” You hum sweetly, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His own eyes almost flutter shut at the name you chose to use for him, and he manages to choke out a soft missed ya too, darlin’.

That darlin’ would be enough to make you come tonight.

Your dad finally turns around after unloading your luggage and turning the car off, greeting Joel before the two of you head to your house.

-

The next day, it's Christmas Eve. Dinner rolls around, and you check over your makeup one more time. You don't want it to be too much - it would look weird, considering it was only Joel coming over (your dad was a solitary creature) - but you still had to look good for him.

The doorbell rings and you almost trip down the stairs. “I'll get it, dad!” You yell, and he thanks you, completely unaware of your motives.

You open the door, biting back a smirk when Joel immediately looks you up and down, only just managing to tear his eyes away from your chest.

“Hi, Mr Miller. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly.

“Hi, sweetheart… told ya y’dont have ta call me that. Joel's fine.” He says softly, eyes still a little hazy.

You step back to let him inside and immediately take one of the beers he'd brought over once he sets the case down.

“Y’old enough to drink that, honey?” He teases, mind finally out of the gutter for now.

“I'm 21 in like.. a month. It's fineeee.” You smirk, tipping your head back and taking a big swig, showing off the long column of your neck and the swell of your breasts.

His mind is back in the gutter.

Your eyes are off him for now, so he allows him to drink in the sight of you properly. A silly Christmas hat atop your curled, gorgeous hair; red sweater tight around your breasts, little candy-canes dotted around it; your skirt, far too short and he's almost certain you're teasing him now, tights underneath making him want to rip them clean off of you. Your makeup looks perfect, red lips which he knows would look perfect around his cock, mascara which he can picture smudged and ruined from tears and sweat while you fuck-

“Joel, y’made it! Cmon, sit with me.” Your dad grins, and Joel's eyes widen. What the fuck is wrong with him? He cannot be thinking that way about you.

He shakes his head, muttering something to himself before going to sit with your dad.

-

Joel finally thinks he'll have some reprieve from your incessant teasing, letting out a tired sigh as he sits on the couch, your dad on the armchair.

“Tired already, old man?” Your dad teases.

“You're older than me, asshole.” Joel grunts, earning him a chuckle.

Just then, you appear in the doorway. Of course, of-fucking-course, you'd decide to watch TV with them tonight. It's soccer, for Christ's sake, you'd always get bored out of your mind and run upstairs to go on your phone whenever the game was on.

Not today though, much to Joel's dismay.

“What're you watching?” You ask, sitting beside Joel. He tries to mask his discomfort.

“Just soccer hon, I know you don't like-” your dad starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“No, no! It's fine. I'll try watching it tonight.” You smile softly, and settle in to watch.

You clearly get bored after about 5 minutes, sighing softly.

“You really find this interesting?” You murmur to Joel, now having made yourself comfortable on his shoulder. He tried to make himself as stiff as possible when you first lay on him, but you were persistent as always, and he just gave in.

“Ain't nobody forcin’ you to watch it.” He argues, and you keep quiet after that, eventually getting up to go get the food ready.

-

Dinner is yet another trial for Joel. You've gotten just as frustrated and impatient as he is, it seems.

Leaning in front of him when serving the food, giving him a clear view of your tits. Not to mention you never serve food, set the table, but all of a sudden you're acting like little miss helpful today.

‘Accidentally’ dropping a cup and bending over in his eyeshot to pick it up.

Sitting beside him at the table instead of with your dad.

When your hand moves to his thigh, he bolts upright, earning him a look from your dad.

“Bathroom,” is all he can get out before he's rushing upstairs.

“Fucking kid. Thinks she can fuckin’.. pull all this shit with me.. thinks she can act like this in front of her dad.. fuck me.” He mutters to himself, despite undoing his belt and pulling his cock out, barely stifling his groan when he spits on his palm and starts tugging at his length so fast it's almost painful.

His mind conjures up all sorts of unholy images, and he's on the brink of release when- “Mr Miller,” you coo, knocking on the door. “is everything okay? You've been gone for like 10 minutes. Was it something in the food?”

He's so angry, so pent-up, he wants to pull you in here and just fuck that goddamn attitude out of you.

He's deathly silent, flushing, turning on the sink as he pulls his pants up, blue-balled like he'd never been before, and exiting the bathroom.

“Everything is fine.” He grits out, fists clenched as he walks past you. You eye his bulge and smirk before practically skipping down the stairs.

“He said everything's fine, daddy.” You smile to your dad, and he almost collapses. He swears he sees god for a second.

That word coming out of your mouth should absolutely not turn him on like it just did - but it did.

The rest of dinner, he's almost silent, just gulping down beer and chewing on his now cold turkey. You don't try anything with him, actually a little afraid he might just get up and leave.

Instead, you wait until the movie.

Your dad puts Die Hard on, and after a lengthy argument about whether or not it even counts as a Christmas movie, - you insist it's not and will carry that with you to the grave - you settle beside Joel.

Joel thinks he's made it through the worst of the evening, but then you shiver. You shiver again, and then you pout, and he feels obliged to ask.

“Are you cold?”

“Yeah.. can I have some of the blanket?” You whisper. Your dad is practically falling asleep in the armchair.

He goes to hand you the blanket, and you, devious as ever, put it over both of your laps, cuddling up to Joel even more.

He's on full alert right now, stiff as a log, waiting for your next game.

The movie goes on, and then your hand creeps under the sheet. Moving from the side, to your own lap, to his arm, then to his leg-

“What're you-” he grunts, but you just shush him.

“I'm trying to watch the movie, Joel.” You huff, as if your hand isn't on his cock right now.

His eyes are darting between you, the screen, his lap under the blanket, and your dad. Way too much is going on, and as you start palming him, he lets out the most pained groan. He sees you biting your lip and he's so angry, so horny, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Your dad suddenly wakes up, and the bubble pops. You pretend you're asleep on Joel's shoulder, and you know you've won when Joel tells your dad to just go on up, that he'll make sure she gets to bed.

As soon as your dad's bedroom door shuts, Joel grabs your jaw, glaring at you.

“Exactly what the fuck do you think you're doing, little girl?” He spits, and you giggle softly.

“‘m not doing anyth- ow, Joel!” You whimper when he squeezes your cheeks together.

“You gonna tell the truth now? Gonna answer me properly?” He says, tone and eyes cold as the ice on your driveway.

You nod, trying to stifle your whimper. He eases the grip on your jaw, still holding it, before asking you again.

“What do you think you're doing?” He says through clenched teeth, and you know he's not fucking around anymore.

“I.. I just..” Fuck it, you may as well shoot your shot, otherwise what was the point of everything tonight anyway?

“I wanted you to fuck me, Joel.”

Creak goes the step at the top of your staircase, and you squeak, jumping off the couch as Joel pulls the blanket and a pillow over his lap. You rush upstairs past your dad, hurriedly bidding him goodnight before slamming your door.

“Just came to grab my phone. Everythin' alright..?” He asks, brows furrowed at your skittish behaviour.

Joel nods, and your dad leaves him alone.

His cock has been throbbing for hours. So long that it's actually painful. But now he can't do anything. You and your dad are upstairs, you'll be asleep in 5 minutes, and Joel will just have to pretend it's your pussy wrapped around his length when he fucks his fist in the guest bedroom tonight.

-

Guilt gnaws away at him as he cleans his come off of his hand and stomach, tossing the tissues into the bin before changing into some sweats and managing to fall asleep after half an hour of tossing and turning.

The world seems to hate him, since he wakes up at 2am, heading to the bathroom only to walk past your bedroom and hear you moaning. He can't make out what you're moaning - but he has a good idea - and he's thankful your doors are quiet when he opens the one to your room.

You're facing away from the door, legs spread, face in your pillow as your hips buck, fingers working your pussy furiously.

“Joel, Joel, fuck-” you gasp, whimpering as you get close.

Fuck this.

If he didn't get to come for the entire evening, you did not get to come right now.

He walks over to you, morales abandoned, and growls your name.

You squeak, biting your lip as you turn and look at him. You'd been so close, but now you're too petrified to finish.

“Joel, I-”

“Not another word.”

It's the last thing he says before he flips you back onto your stomach, pushing your head down into the pillows.

“You're gonna be a good girl and shut the fuck up while I fuck this needy pussy. You understand me?”

You part your lips to reply, earning a spank to your ass.

“Can't fuckin’ listen, can ya? No talking, baby.”

You nod, whimpering as he pushes your head back down and pulls your soaked panties off, tossing them onto the floor.

“Fuck, look at her. Drippin’ for me, ain't she? Didn't know you were such a slut, babygirl.” He teases, knuckles dragging along your slit, and you cry into the pillow, hips bucking back against his hand.

Another spank, making you moan, trying to stop your hips from bucking once more.

“You take what you're fucking given. Do you understand me?”

You nod, having learnt from your mistakes.

“Good girl. Knew you could listen for me.” He coos, before he's thrusting two of his thick fingers into your dripping heat.

You gasp and whine, moaning his name into the pillow, almost tearing your sheets with how hard you grip them.

“That's right.. moan my name. Fuckin’ slut.” He grunts, head ducking down to tease your clit with his tongue. You almost lose it, starting to clench hard and fast around his fingers. You're right on the edge when he pulls away.

“Joel!” You practically sob, deflating as your orgasm drifts away.

“Shh, shh. You thought you could tease me all night and still get off? Y’thought wrong, honey.” He coos, mocking, pulling down his sweatpants and slicking up his cock with your wetness, giving you no warning as he starts to push in.

“Ohh, fuck. Knew you'd be tight for me, baby. That's it, good girl.” He groans, bottoming out. He allows you to cry his name into the pillow, but when he starts really fucking you, it gets too much.

He pulls out to the tip before slamming back into you, making you almost scream, back arching and hips bucking - unsure if you want him to get out, or fuck you even harder.

He decides for you, starting to pound into you. The only sounds in the room are your broken moans, his heavy breathing, and the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin.

“Joel- Joel- pl-please I'm gonna come- please Daddy-” you moan, and his hips stutter before he's pulling you up by your hair, his back to your chest when he resumes his aggressive thrusts.

“Shut- the fuck- up.” He pants in-between thrusts, and you whimper, brows drawing together as you get close. He starts rubbing your clit and you see stars, unable to stop yourself from coming.

“Fuckfuckfuck yes, yes daddy- oh my god-” you sob, before he's pulling out and manhandling you onto your back, thrusting back inside to the hilt, palm covering your mouth.

“You better shut up right now unless you want your real daddy to wake up, find us here like this-” you curse silently when you clench around him at the thought - what is wrong with you?

“Oh, you like that? Dirty fucking girl. Such a slut for daddy, huh?” You clench tighter at that, and his thrusts speed up, pace irregular. “Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.”

His hand leaves your mouth and you cover it yourself, not wanting to anger him anymore.

“‘s okay, baby.” He murmurs, taking your hand from your mouth and leaning down to kiss you. As he does, his hand goes to your clit, and you moan loudly, muffled slightly by the kiss, as your back arches off the bed and you come so hard you see stars, setting off his own release and making him groan, biting your shoulder as he fills you up.

It's quiet for a moment, save for your shared panting, before he pulls out.

“Fuck, honey..” he murmurs, watching your shared fluids dribble out of your cunt, gathering them up on his fingers and pushing them back into your tight hole.

“Made such a mess, didn't we?” He says softly, brushing your hair away from your eyes as you giggle softly, nodding.

“That was so good.” You whisper, and he nods, gathering you up in your arms.

“Joel, you can't stay in here-” you mutter, confused.

“Just relax, honey. I'll leave in the mornin’. Just let me hold you for now.”

You're utterly perplexed, but you're definitely not complaining, swallowed up by his warmth and drifting off within a minute.

-

The next morning, you're opening presents, and you bite your lip when he reads his card from you. At the bottom, you'd added - come to my room afterwards for the second part of your gift - and when he comes upstairs afterwards, it's safe to say he doesn't leave for a good hour.

Dividers by @adornedwithlight <3

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Have a good Christmas everyone!! ❤️

[loveharlow]

I neeeed a friends to lovers with rafe. like you’ve been friends for ages and always been a bit flirty but he’s get a girlfriend so you back off and he gets annoyed. so he invites you to the gym bc you always went together and he’s touchy and ends with a love confession.

i'm only doing blurbs rn so I had to shorten this a bit but i still feel like it encompasses your idea which is just chef's kiss btw😚 (also, this idea reminds me of that new Lay Bankz song thats been going viral:)

cheating, sexual innuendoes, heavy touching, allusions to sex

"Your ass is getting tighter." Rafe breathed out, setting the barbell down, letting the metal clank against the padded gym floors.

You scoffed, taking one last swig from your water bottle and shifting your weight, letting the now closed cup fall gently to the floor. Your hands were on your hips as you spoke through heavy breaths. "You can't say things like that to me anymore, y'know?".

The boy simply shrugged, standing from the bench and leaning against the metal that supported the equipment. "You never had an issue before."

"You didn't have a girlfriend before." You added, cocking an eyebrow and turning away from him to where the dumbbells were lined up against the wall and adjusting your sports bra. "Or are you just gonna pretend Sophia doesn't exist?"

The wall where the weights were had a large mirror behind it, allowing you to see Rafe creeping up behind you, swiping a hand down his face to reveal a smirk. "Is that why you been dodgin' me? What, she say somethin' to you?" He inquired, sliding a gentle hand around your waist to which you brushed off immediately, sighing and turning on your heels to face him.

"No, Rafe, she didn't. But I wouldn't blame her if she did." You informed, crossing your arms and paying no mind to the little distance between you two. "The flirting, the touching — you can't keep doing this. I'm not a home-wrecker or a side-piece."

"You wouldn't have to be if you had said somethin' first." He said so nonchalantly, reaching around to tap your ass as your jaw dropped.

You struggled to find words, stuttering over your sentences before he cut in once more. "Next time you want advice? Don't ask Top. A little vodka and he's an open book." He basically laughed out.

"...Well, whatever he told you, it's over now." You gained your composure, feigning confidence and carelessness as you pulled your workout shorts higher up on your waist and attempted to turn away once more.

"So, you don't wanna fuck me anymore?"

You couldn't help but laugh, partly out of shock and amusement, throwing your head back as your eyes zoned in on Rafe. "That's what he told you?" You asked incredulously, scoffing. "I've wanted to fuck a lot of people, rich boy. You're not special."

The sweaty male simply jutted out his bottom lip, ruffling his hair. "I didn't think you'd want me to bring up the part where he said you were in love with me." He retorted. "Y'know, since I have a girlfriend 'n all..." He mocked your previous statement, throwing his hands out and turning away from you now.

"That's..." You started, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear, feeling your face heat up. "...completely untrue." You muttered under your breath. The somewhat playful banter had turned into dangerous territory for any conversation to take place.

You'd been trying to keep your distance from Rafe ever since he popped out with Sophia for this exact reason.

You bent down to pick up two ten-pound weights in hopes of ending the conversation there when an all too familiar hand fully grabbed your ass in one hand, squeezing so tightly that you let the weights fall to the floor, whipping around in shock.

"Rafe! Dude, what-"

"I wanna hear it." He whispered, a hand grasping your jaw and directing your gaze up to him.

"Hear what?" You forced out, your speech slightly slurred from the way he was pressing your cheeks together.

"You're too pretty to play dumb." He spoke lowly, eyeing you up and down. "We both know you still want me. So, just admit it and I'll give you what you want."

Your mind fiddled with the idea for a moment. You never considered yourself a homewrecker or anything of the sort but something about Rafe was so tempting at this moment, making your knees shake as you stood.

You knew what you said next would forever make you the villain in most people's stories but self-control was always something you struggled with.

"...I'm still in love with you."

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"He spoke against your lips, your faces just centimeters apart.

His free hand hooked into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down as your eyes fleeted around the empty gym room. He dropped to his knees in front of you, dragging your bottoms the rest of the way down as he licked his lips.

"Next time, let's not make this so hard on ourselves, yeah?"

©loveharlow.

heads up: i added emoji anons to my blog, so feel free to send an ask to take one if you frequently send in asks!

[onesidedradiostatic]

on alastor hearing "ace" instead of "ays" i keep just thinking about the alastor and angel potential dynamic if angel figured out he was asexual (assuming angel knows the concept) and it aaaall slotting into place

whole other thing but does angel know husk sold his soul to alastor specifically, because I don't think so + my imaginings of the two of them kind of getting along would not be able to encompass the fact that angel would probably want to claw his face off for that (or at least glare a lot)

(reference to this)

I have heard of the angel dust asexual hypersexual hc, I kinda like it. angel dust PROBABLY doesn't know the concept because he is also an old man but he does use a modern phone so. not impossible for him to find out. the ays doubling up as the ays-exuals.

also I kinda figured that angel dust could guess that husk sold his soul to alastor even though only the audience got the visual clue. like. husk is literally forced to work under alastor I don't think it's too hard a conclusion to come to--

Angel Dust: Hey, I have a question. If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can't he just make people stay here? Alastor: Oh, trust me. I can. Husk: Why do you think I'm here? You actually think I'd be cleaning bottles and listening to you fucks bitch and moan all the time if he wasn't forcing me?

— Episode 1, Overture

--he sold his soul to someone, and now he's forced to work here by alastor. naturally, you can come to the conclusion he sold his soul to alastor. so I do think angel knows, but it doesn't seem like he holds visible beef with alastor rn? idk it's a weird case, I mean they've all known from the start alastor's an overlord (or well in angel's case he got told) so naturally he owns souls, it's not like that's recent news to anyone. maybe he's got conflicted feelings about it now since he bonded with husk over being owned by someone? but still

he was definitely one of the people who was happy alastor was back so I don't think he holds particular strong negative feelings towards alastor rn

[roadkillxd]

All I can think of rn is the filthiest fic you can think of with soap and ghost fucking their little boy (ftm) into oblivion and then some with a breeding kink and just rabid soapghost

What has become of me 💀

I used the word cunny I like the word I don't know how people feel about it but this is a warning I guess.

Ghost x Soap x FTM!Reader ↪ 507 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male dominant Soap, cis male dominant Ghost, trans male submissive reader, fem terms used for trans male readers genitalia, crying, breeding kink, dumbification, daddy kink, throat fucking, oral fixation, dirty talk, minor scent kink, piv sex and unsafe sex.

“Don’t hide that pretty cunny from me, sweetheart,” Soap purrs, his tone soft but grip hard as he slams your legs back down, keeping you from squeezing your thighs together.

“Jesus fucking christ, Soap,” you groan at his words, face flushed with embarrassment. You try to hide behind your hands only for a big leather grip to encompass both of your wrists and pull them to the side.

You blink up at Ghost—at the hollow mask staring down at you, head slightly cocked.

“Maybe we should tie ‘im up” he rumbles, staring at you even as he speaks to Soap, “‘know how you love to watch ‘im all cock stupid.”

You keen, feeling Soap’s vicious smile against your skin, where he nips and laves over your nipples.

“Give ‘m a chance, Si,” Johnny smiles, leaning over you to press a chaste kiss over the fabric of Ghost’s mask, simultaneously pulling Ghost’s cock free from it’s confines, guiding the hot pulsing flesh to smear precum across your cheek and slightly parted lips, “see if he can’t be a good boy for daddy, yeah?”

Ghost groans as your tongue peaks out to give tentative little kitten licks to the weeping tip, and you can see how his eyes flutter shut from the small sensation. You keen as Soap presses his own cock to your cunt, dragging the tip from your clit to your hole and down further to tease at your ass, the Scot basking in how you whimper when he gives a teasing push, the furled rim parting ever so slightly before he pulls back.

He rams into your pussy with one brutal thrust, bullying his fat cock into you, your walls struggling to adjust to his girth even with the amount of prep he’s put you through. 

You seek out comfort through your mouth, desperately trying to take Ghost’s cock into your throat, mouth gaping like a fish and neck straining up like a dog after a treat, earning you a low, rumbling laugh from Ghost as he mercifully grips the base of his prick and guides it past the plush ring of your waiting lips.

His mercy ends there, giving you no time to adjust as he thrusts into your throat, holding your head in place as he fucks your face, groaning deep and gravelly as you claw at his wrists, tears and snot and drool decorating your face as you’re violated from both ends, letting the sounds of their voices and the smell of their musk encompass you.

"Gonna let daddy breed yer cunt, baby?" Soap pants, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust of his hips, "you'll look so good all big n' round, won't he, Si?"

Simon curses, hunched over with a hand on your throat as he pumps his seed into your stomach, leaving you a sniveling, gasping mess as his half hard prick finally slips free, your eyes glossy as your body limply rocks up and down the bed with Soap's movements.

"Think we broke 'im..."

[thatdeadaquarius]

Admiiinnn do you write for platonic sagau?

Me wanna request my son (Razor) ue.

Because most of the fics I've read is just the creator falling on Mondstadt but never other places! I want them to fall on Wolvendom and maybe meet the wolf boy 🐨

I imagine he doesn't know/able to describe what he's feeling (not understanding human emotions and stuff because he grows up with wolves and all). But he really likes this feeling of peace and feeling like he belongs! So he'll stay with this random person that just dropped out of nowhere, and teach them how to survive in the wild too!

Unlike the overly-obsessed-head-over-heels acolytes, I think Razor will be like a worrywart bestfriend. You're his lupical now! It's his duty to protect other lupicals!

Days with him will literally be so fluffy ueueueu imagine we teach him how to cook things besides meat and puppy-paw hash browns (and teach him how to season them too! Good food always relies on taste after all). He'll just be like a little sibling that saw a very cool trick for the first time.

Aaaaa I wanna braid his long hair with flowers ue...

a request. A REQUEST. FIRST GENUINE REQUEST!! WOO!!!

AND A PLATONIC ONE?? 🥺 FOR THE BOY??🥺🥺THE MOST BOY IN ALL OF GENSHIN IMPACT???!!💖💖💖 YOU 🤝 ME = OUR LOVE FOR LIL ELECTRO FERAL PUPPY BOY

U get a whole slice of cake for that one. 🤲🍰💜

DUDE i totally thought abt (idk if u read it but its floatin around here smwhere,,) including Razor in the first Sagau idea post i made about Blunt Language reader vs. Teyvat's flowery language

TYSM FOR THE REQUEST!! I WILL DO MY BEST FOR THE BOY 💜✨️🐺

This gif encompasses everything i feel abt razor

Almost a part 2? But more like Bennett ft. Razor

Welp, you could've landed somewhere worse.

Like, accidentally-activated-Andrius-challenge worse.

You vowed to urself that if u ever got isekaied, or magicked away, or whatever else, u would not be those stupid protagonists who acted like they didnt know where they were

Or didnt adjust quickly to their new surroundings, esp if theyre life depended on it

U got this, u know exactly where u are rn. >:)

...

..Well, maybe not the exact location, but Wolvendom was pretty hard to mistake for anything else

The moon is full, and it looks to be about midnight or so,

A wolf howls.

...a little too close for comfort...

But hey, the lamp grass irl was so cute and pretty omg! <3

And it lit the ground nicely when u were nearby :) what a helpful aesthetic plant, so cool

Seeing a hilichurl camp further away, u slowly backed off into the woods away from the path u landed on (woke up on? Its unclear)

And up onto a small flat cliff thingy, filled with small lamp grass

U figured u werent getting anywhere tonight, i mean u rlly can't see jackshit rn, unlike in Genshin where the moon was almost as bright as the sun 💀

So ur just sittin on ur ass, wondering how tf ur gonna build a wolf-proof shelter when a bush shuffles nearby

...On ur little platform, how did u not hear whatever it was before now??

Too late now, bc u saw smth silver, and welp

U knew there were wolves, (its wolvendom)

But since u never saw any in game u kinda assumed they were like Earth wolves and were unlikely to get near a human like u-

Turns out u were probably wrong- the silver flashes in the bush- u get up and brace urself to run screaming and begging on ur knees for Andrius to take u in like-

.

..

...?

...Razor?? 😐😑😐

...

RAZOR!! :D!!!

It's the Best Boy™️!!!!!

The bestest boy ever sticks his head out of the bush

!!!??? His head tilts like a puppy in confusion ur heart💘

"...Lupical??" He says in the most confused ass tone youve ever heard

🥺

"Oh! Yes! Hello," you introduce yourself, "Can you help me? I got kinda lost here, but I don't really have a home to go back to,,"

Razor stands out of the bush, shaking his head back and forth like a dog, his hair nearly whips u in the face lmao

You: "AHH- uh- so, do u know somewhere I can go??"

Razor: "Mhm. Here. Razor like you, feel like Lupical. Stay?"

He asks, his eyes bright and shiny (not the puppy dog eyes)

Well, u figure if he can literally be raised by wolves and still be alive, so can u

(U figure itd be hard to convince Diluc to let u stay w/ him, and u dont have money for an inn in Mondstadt.. u dont even kno abt Springvale... wolf woods it is)

Plus, maybe u can help him out a bit! (it always did irritate u in game that nobody rlly checked on him/helped him live better >:/ )

"Oh! Y-yeah! That sounds great, are u sure ur family's- uh- other Lupical, r ok w/ that?" U hella dont wanna have to wrestle other wolves just for some raw food bc yall gotta share 💀

"Yes, come, I teach!" :D

___

AND SO BEGINS UR ADVENTURES WITH RAZOR

Bbyboy got ur heart in a vice gripe lol

Turns out he lives in a cave, that wasn't rlly available in game

His bed is just kinda,, moss and leaves, maybe one fur pelt

So obv u start gettin chests and get money to buy him better stuff!

Plus monsters drop money too (the slimes just bring u money?? W/o u having to defeat them?? Whos paying all these monsters anyway, where do they get this money-)

.

Also bc i HATE that u r just a regular ass human in other SAGAUs, imma keep it canon and say u can still upgrade Vision Users/Allogenes + all the regular game mechanics besides time manipulation, including quest log and inventory (bc that still exists here fuck regular sagau BS)

(bc how would u prove ur the Creator otherwise? How would u live up to that if u didnt have powers?? Isnt that the whole point of why they think ur the Creator???!! Did I miss smth here-??)

.

So ofc u give the boy the comfiest bed of pillows and furs and handmade quilts (Springvale's very talented and friendly turns out :)

And new clothes!! :D new outfits pop up on his character screen!! (It just kinda,, hovers like a hologram screen in front of him when u click a button u see hovering over his chest at all times)

.

U also teach him how to comb his hair.

(J. F. C. I dont even wanna think. abt how bad it is, a kid raised by wolves, in the woods w/ little human contact?? ill leave that to ur imagination)

He really loves the lamp grass flowercrowns u make him :) <3

.

Also yes.

We have to talk about it.

U got him soap.

And perfume. (That are still scented but not enough that he hates it thank fuck-)

.

Razor seems like he'd react to everything with either worry for ur safety (BEST BOY EVER) bc sm stuff u do is unfamiliar to him,

OR just like u said anon, like a little sibling u showed a magic trick to for the first time <3333

.

Like?? U can?? Use salt?? Pepper??? On food??? That u have cooked???!!!

Omg, his grubby little hands snatch that shit outta ur pan so quick 😭😭

He's literally scarfs down anything u make him

Oh god the wolves.

If u thought Razor loved ur food, the Lupical pack is on a whole different level.

They're such sweet doggos bc ur technically Lupical now too (Razor gave u a tooth necklace like his :] )

!!! PUPPY PILES !!! 🤲🐺💖💜✨️✨️✨️

And theyre never violent, even their play fighting is pretty tame

But the food.

Ur seasoned. New recipe. Food.

The first time u made a new dish with salt alone

It was a fucking free for all. (including Razor😭)

.

So now u have a schedule of who gets what when (as insisted and aided by Andrius himself, it got so out of hand,, paw??)

Congratz u got a pack of little siblings now, w/even the "will be bribed w/any food u give them" feature too

.

Razor loves u sm, he feels so safe around u!!

He usually cant articulate it, but u can tell by how he clings to ur arm whenever yall go into human towns so he wont lose u,

Or how he'll offer u some of his portion of food always (even if u made it)

.

and he's happy to do all these new things w/ u !!

(i sure as fuck know id get bored af if i was just,, in the woods,, all day everyday,,, not even a book to read,,,)

So needless to say he joins u for nearly everything u do

Esp monster hunting/grinding for his artifacts + weapon + stuff

Razor sees it as his job to look out for Lupical, esp if his favorite (besides Andrius) has to leave pack territory

.

Also yes, u DID meet The Andrius.

He was. So much. Bigger. Than you. Expected.

The game doesn't do him justice.

He's literally the size of a fucking school bus.

Also, apparently Razor didnt rlly know what u were, mostly bc he just feels ur comfort and safety, no words needed

But Andrius does, and he immediately explains how Teyvat sees u and even does a wolfy bow with his head lowered onto his front paws (ahdkala Andrius pls ur a gOD GET UP)

He's also surprisingly helpful and nice to u, very polite big doggo, a good leader (alpha??)

.

Lisa is hella grateful for u and all the help/care u give the bestest boy ever

(even tho u did give her the stink eye at first bc,, why didnt she teach him how to take care of himself? And even if he didnt want to join human society at least make sure he's in liveable conditions?? Hes not even an adult???)

But at least she also agrees he's the bestest boy ever, she always brags about how quickly he learns language (both writing reading and speaking) to anyone she knows

Which did endear u to her a little more (plus she apologized for not looking out for him more, or at least asking someone else to/check up on him)

.

U kinda think she (and the rest of Mondstadt) dont really realize ur some kind of Creator god,

Mostly bc u dont really stay in Mondstadt long, just to get essentials and see what it looked like in person (smtimes to visit Bennett and Fischl :D )

(U mostly only know that bc Andrius claims its so, hes very insistent too)

But ur spending most ur days with Razor anyway so it doesnt matter to you two whether ppl know what u can do

.

Razor was practicing his writing one time (bc u also help him out at home/Wolvendom when Lisa isnt)

And he carved "Razor loves Lupical and [You]" into a tree near yalls cave

:')

🎵 JESSSSUSSS CHRISSSSTTT THIS IS TOO LONGGG

BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE EDITINNGGGGG🎵

I didnt know where to end it i got sucked in dont LOOK at me-)

Uh anyway i hope this was adequate!! Sorry this was ungodly long!! I will limit myself in the future 🥲

Tysm again for the request and if u read this far LMAO!!

<3

Cheers,

🌒🌊🌧Aquarius ♒️ 💧🌌🌘

[kachowden]

I got dumped on April fools and im a mess over it and one of the only things keeping me going is Cameron and how comforting he would be over the whole situation.

Like absolutely bristling with rage over who hurt his darling but he'll worry about that later. Rn his darling is here crying and needs him. Bundles them up in his arms and let's them cry into him and be soft and gentle and soothing.

His darling clinging onto him as they cry and cry. Burying their tear stained face into his shirt. Holding him tightly and just muttering to themselves about why this always happens. Cause of course every relationship they ever get ends so so badly. Its like they are cursed!

And of course hes reveling in how close they are, how they are practically clinging to him, need his comfort, needs him. He feels slight guilt finding some sense of joy in their sorrow but its not his fault. They came to him. They sought him out. They need him.

“Oh darling….” His tan fingers cascade along your tear-stained cheeks, tenderly brushing away fresh drops as his arms encompass you so warmly.

Your hands fist at his shirt, an uncommon shade of purple, very out of his typical color scheme. You felt embarrassed, to be held so lovingly by your therapist, despite seeing him as a dear friend.

His cheeks hummed in soft warmth, relishing the shuttered breath on his collar, though he payed mind to soothe your troubled heart.

“Don’t waste your tears on them. They do not deserve you. You know that don’t you darling?” He smiles gently at you, eyes soft and sweet, reassuring, as his hand that has not cupped your cheek, rubbed soothingly into your palm.

“But they…”

He hushed you gently, pressing his lips adoringly on your forehead, causing a hot flush in your skin as you tried to not take the gesture romantically.

“You astound me darling. You are truly, one of a kind. A beautiful rarity in this world.” He murmured to you, as if in fear of others hearing, though that couldn’t have been farther from true.

If given the chance he would shout his adoration on the rooftops. He had no shame for his love. No shame for you. Simple devotion, tied in a gorgeous red ribbon. Perhaps silk.

You hiccuped, eyes scrunching tiredly. “I just thought…..I don’t know..”

“They were never right for you.”

You paused, tears rushing to a slow, as you finally glanced into his honey brown eyes, that stared at you so transparently.

“What…?”

He laughed softly, as if your question truly was something amusing, his arms encircling your figure into his lap further. “They didn’t deserve you, my darling. My light. They were a passing shadow, so to speak. They would have faded away when the sun rose again.”

Your brows furrowed, head aching from your tears as you tried to make sense of his words. At times you wondered if he spoke so codedly on purpose. Perhaps to mock you.

A clear glass of water was presented to you, and you were mindful to take slow sips for fear of choking. You and cried quite a bit.

“No one could ever hope to deserve you, Y/n…” he hummed, “the world is terrible. The people…can often be terrible. But you are wonderful. You are beyond life. You are so precious, and dear to me.”

Your heart thudded painfully. What was he blabbering about now? It wasn’t unusual for him to go on his poetic rants, but was now really the best time..?

“Cameron…”

“People come and go. The seasons change and so do people. Relationships, can’t always last.” His words weren’t comforting.

“So I be alone forever?”

He laughed at you, though you could tell it wasn’t meant maliciously, even if it came out that way.

“No my dear. Someone like you, could never truly be alone. You will find the right person. Someone truly, in love with you, devoted to you…maybe even obsessed.”

Your skin crawled at the notion, but you found it hard to deny your own warm heart. The idea of being loved so truly.

“They’ll cherish you. Earnestly. The way you deserve to be cherished.” His finger traced your skin, birthmarks or blemishes, he kissed them with his touch gently, his warm smile so comforting, you nearly found yourself diving into it, head first.

“But….as you may wish to be loved by another. You must first…truly, love yourself.”

“You are wondrous my dear. There is so much to love about you, as many parts as there are stars. So begin small. Become passionate about yourself. You’ll find it easier, from then on.”

————————

I hope that you can take some of Dr. Cameron’s words to heart. Maybe not so much the “world is shit and people are shit, eat shit” stuff, but more of his words at the end. Ending a relationship can be hard, and at times you may wonder why it keeps happening.

But don’t stress yourself over it. You do not need to be part of two, to be truly happy. Love yourself. All of you are wonderful, with so much potential to grow and evolve and change. Give yourself a chance. Take wonder, in the small things.

[vacantgodling]

i have. an oc question. my brain is a bit of a pile of mush right now so i'm gonna leave this as an open question, but for whichever oc ship you have on the brain most right now, i'd love to hear about how they express affection for each other. which one is more open about their affection? which one is perhaps more reserved? do they have any specific ways of showing affection to each other?

you 🤝 me brain being mush

honestly i’ve had lath & ensio on the brain for a bit so i’ll do this about them—HOWEVER—i do want to preface that the two of them aren’t really a “traditional” romantic relationship as how we think of it. tl;dr there’s a long explanation of how love and relationships work in terrae — it’s split into 3 categories: bonds-kinship-pleasure. lath and ensio have a Bond which is essentially the all encompassing spectrum between friendship/romance, and is actually separate from sex (pleasure) or like traditional friendship/marriage etc as we think of it. bonds and all kinds of relationships do overlap (pleasure is a common one but it is wholly separate).

ALL OF THIS TO SAY lath and ensio aren’t romantic in a traditional sense but they are Absolutely bonded—to the point that when lath was made immortal, ensio was made immortal with him to be the literal sword he wields (though he does have a human form he can become). basically. do not separate. tm.

SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO:

EXPRESSING AFFECTION->

the two of them are extremely teasing towards one another and have friendly ribs and goes at each other all the time. one of lath’s favorite things to tease ensio about is the “sorry” state of his beard (it’s not sorry at all; it’s very well taken care of and usually has braids and beads in it) and how it drives away potential sexual partners (ensio loves to pretend he’s more into pleasure than he actually is. he likes to deflect his real feelings by being like ah what i wouldn’t give to have my face buried in some tits rn and like honestly same. BUT he will always choose lath over anything like that bc. do not separate lmao). meanwhile, en’s favorite insult is regarding how lath hardly blinks (he literally doesn’t. he is seriously 👁️👁️ at all times LMAOOOO. lath does also generally forget to blink it’s wild. he is v much an eagle boy and his guardian wings don’t help). however at the same time, because they also have a kinship relationship (tldr lath’s parents died when he was extremely young and ensio/his family took him in) they also take care of each other as a form of affection. doing things for each other, protecting each other (physically especially; they’re both eventually scouts for the king and apart of the king’s guard before argos fell) but also just existing in the same space. the two of them don’t really have to use words with each other that’s how close they are.

i also have a few quotes to provide u of their relationship tm:

“I don’t see what you’re saving me from then.” Lath said, flatly but not unkindly. “Unless you mean boredom. If that’s the case, see yourself back down and fetch me a jester.”

“Oh ha ha.” Ensio rolled his eyes.

-

Ensio was quick to jump up, taking both the spoon and the jar of stew away from him.

“Stars and hills, Lath, be fucking careful!” He hissed, but the irritation in his voice was sharp contrast to way his hands gently came up to cup Lath’s cheeks.

-

(after kissing lath to help his burning lips)

“Must you always be so difficult?” Ensio murmured, but his voice was low in the back of his throat, low like the way his eyes were almost partially lidded. Lath stared at him, as he was prone to, until Ensio complained and Lath let out a bark of a laughter.

“I’m difficult because it’s you.” He declared.

“Lucky me.” Ensio groaned. He sat himself back in the chair, holding open one arm. “Get over here before you catch a cold.” 

-

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Lath said evenly. “Your beard is still awful.”

“And when’s the last time you blinked this week, owlet?” Lath thought a moment. “If you have to think then that’s the issue!”

-

(in talking about how they never really had sex before they’re about to uhhhh DIE lmao)

“It’s not as though either of us would ever know.” Ensio mused, but not unkindly. “Your horrible habit of unblinking deterred so many.”

“Yet your horrible beard drove off more.” Lath quipped back and the rumble of a chuckle that left Ensio, even as he continued to bleed, made a quirk of a smirk tug at Lath’s lips. 

“I would offer to let you experience it on my own chest, as a parting gift,” Ensio started. “But I’m afraid this armor is too hard to remove one handed.”

(that excerpt is actually really bittersweet but y’all get the picture lemme chill)

-

(after they’re finally reunited after death and lath is a guardian)

After a long moment, Lath pushed back. “It would be too much luck to have you taken off my hands for good.” He said finally and he cackled when Ensio snorted and grabbed him in a headlock, the two of them devolving into wrestling, just like old friends do.

OPENNESS ->

ensio is 100% more open about expressing affection. he’s the initiator in most things; bringing lath soup, kissing his lips to stop them from burning, intimating hugs or friendly arm-over-shoulders. it more has to do with being well adjusted, growing up with his family and many siblings. though lath grew up around them, he’s always been standoffish — which is funny when i think about how his legend has morphed in later terranean history; because basically it merged ensio and lath’s personalities (lath: uncompromising, fierce warrior + ensio: charming and honorable). so it’s really funny when people actually MEET lath in book two and find oh wait he’s weird as shit. it’s not that lath isn’t open about caring for ensio, he’s the most open with ensio IN GENERAL, but when it comes to initiating affection that’s all en lol.

i think in a weird winded way i also answered your other questions but it’s always a good day to talk about lath and ensio they make me INSANE.

[faemytho]

I saw that your requests were open and saw the prompts and now I can't restrain myself

May I request Misc#6 "Is it so wrong if I still like you?" OR "I just can't believe you would still want to be around me after everything I did!" With AbyssEel?

word count: 1,559

im absolutely INSANE about these two rn, writing chiaroscuro only does so much to eat the brainrot LOL.

eel uses he/they, abyss monarch uses they/them, and anglerfish uses they/them! there's no gender in the deep sea lmao. this can be read as romantic, queerplatonic, platonic, whatever.

(>AO3<) | (>SqWA<)

-

Before Ink Cloak had come to Wandercrab, the denizens of the deep knew of Abyss Monarch. The one who had conquered the Squid Ink monster without breaking a sweat, they were the most powerful of the deep-sea monsters and thus, their ruler. They had not spoken once to anyone. Rarely ever did one encounter them and live to tell the tale, but those who did spoke of all-encompassing darkness, the gaze of several darkened eyes, of an uncontrollably wild, yawning, hungry chasm.

The title of Abyss Monarch, the ruler of the deep, was bestowed upon them in hushed whispers. It was in the suddenly lowered murmurs of those who were afraid the monster of the deep would hear and come to strike them down, tale after tale passed around from ear to ear.

Electric Eel knew of the Abyss Monarch. He'd never expected to actually meet them. Not if he could help it.

"So, should I call you Abyss Monarch now," he said over a glass of juice, sitting at the dim and damaged remnants of Choco Flounder's bar, "or is Ink Cloak your real name?"

Ink Cloak, the Abyss Monarch, gave him a flat look. They were also seated at the bar, a chipped cup of juice cradled in both their hands. Their spiked tentacles, colored with ethereal green and darkness, writhed slowly around the legs of the stool they sat in.

"I don't care," Ink Cloak said. The spines that flared out from their neck twitched, a rippling movement of skin and fins. They lifted the chipped cup to their mouth, and spoke into it. "Call me what you like."

"Okay," Eel said, feeling as though that wasn't really an answer to the question they'd asked. "I think... I might just call you Ink Cloak, then."

The Abyss Monarch gave a noncommittal hum into their juice. Through the crumbled wall of Choco Flounder's bar, Anglerfish was directing a few of Wandercrab's residents to clear out the trash in the streets. Most of it was crumbled and broken debris from Wandercrab itself, after it had faced the disastrous eruption that the Abyss Monarch had stopped.

"Why did you really ask me to stay?" Ink Cloak said, and Eel looked back at them. Their fingers were tight around the cup they held. They were looking straight down into their juice, as though it might tell them all the answers to all the questions they asked. "Wandercrab is in ruin because of me."

"And?"

Ink Cloak's gaze snapped up, and Eel understood in an instant what the stories meant about the dark, hungry chasm in the Abyss Monarch's gaze. It crawled over his dough, and he shoved down a shiver.

"You saved Wandercrab from being destroyed completely," Eel said, setting their glass of juice down on the bar with a carefree laugh. "And everyone's safe! I'll take a little bit of ruin over complete destruction."

Ink Cloak blinked, and the gaze of the Abyss Monarch was gone. They turned their face down towards the bar again. "A 'little bit'," they murmured, huffing out a dry laugh. "The fact still remains. As does my question. Why did you really ask me to stay?"

Electric Eel stayed silent for a long moment, tail twitching slowly behind him. He knew why he'd asked them to stay, but it was hard to find the words to explain.

"Because," he said after a moment, slow and careful, "I care about you. And I didn't want you to be alone."

Ink Cloak let out a tired, raspy sigh, lifting a hand to pinch their brow. "Anglerfish is right," they muttered after a moment, not looking at Eel as they lifted their cup of juice to their lips once more. "You're going to get yourself killed if you go around acting like that."

"Acting like what?" Eel narrowed their gaze, electricity crackling softly over their knuckles. The dim light bulb in the destroyed bar flared a little brighter. "Like I care about you? Because I do."

The Abyss Monarch growled, and a crack appeared in the chipped cup. Juice trickled down from it, droplet by droplet, and they lowered it to the bar. "I just don't understand why in the Sea you would want to be around me," they hissed, staring down at the bar as if that could crack it as easily as they had the cup, "after everything I've done. Everything I am. I'm a monster, Electric Eel."

"And even knowing all that," Eel argued, "is it really so wrong if I still like you? If I still want to be around you?"

"YES."

The chipped cup shattered, and the Abyss Monarch slammed their hands on the bar as they stood, their stool clattering and falling backwards onto the floor. The light bulb winked out, and a ripple of darkness emanated throughout the bar.

Eel had flinched back, not out of fear, but of surprise. It didn't seem to matter much to the Abyss Monarch, who recoiled into themself at seeing Eel's reaction.

"... Yes," the Abyss Monarch said softly, tentacles curling around their feet, hugging their arms to themself, "it is so wrong. I could hurt you. I could kill you, and I don't understand why that does not bother you."

Electric Eel said nothing for a moment, relaxing back into their seat. He looked up at the light bulb, tapping his fingers against the bar, electricity crackling over his hand. It flickered, and then glowed back to life.

"Do you want to?" he asked, looking at them. The light bulb flickered overhead, but Eel didn't look away.

"What-?" Ink Cloak stammered, distraught and lost for words. "Why would-? No, of course not."

"Then you won't," Eel said simply. He shrugged, grabbing his glass of juice with a smile. "I trust you. So what if you're the Abyss Monarch? You saved my life once. You saved Wandercrab from being completely destroyed. You saved everybody here."

Eel turned halfway in their stool, leaning back against the bar and glancing out at the people of Wandercrab. They worked to clear the trash from the streets, Anglerfish's rough directions and raspy laughter met with shouts and laughter of their own.

"You can be bad," Eel said, looking down at their glass and swirling the juice inside, "or you can be good. You keep insisting that you're bad, but from everything I've seen you do, you've always chosen to be good."

"You don't know everything I've done," the Abyss Monarch said, and their voice cracked, wavering. "You don't know-"

"I don't need to know." Eel looked back at them, eyes flashing, electricity crackling down his arms. He smiled, sharp and easy. "Your past doesn't matter in Wandercrab. The only thing that matters is who you choose to be right now. And you, Ink Cloak, are one of the kindest beings I've ever met. Why do you think Anglerfish turned around about the Abyss Monarch so easily?"

"Fuck if I know," Ink Cloak muttered, but they had relaxed, tension bleeding out of them. "That grumpy old cookie is an enigma to me."

Electric Eel laughed, bright and happy, lifting his glass in a motion like a cheer. "As grumpy as they are," Eel agreed, taking a sip of their juice, "they still know a good cookie from a bad one. Because for every bad thing we all ever heard about the Abyss Monarch, there was something good Ink Cloak had done for us. And that matters more to us than rumors and reputation."

There was silence in the bar for a moment, as Eel looked out at the people of Wandercrab and away from Ink Cloak. Even in the destruction, they still smiled and laughed and joked around with each other. Even in this destruction, Choco Flounder was still willing to set up glasses of juice for anyone who wanted one. Even in all this, Eel could find a reason to smile, and the oppressing presence of darkness slowly disappeared behind him.

"Octopus," Ink Cloak muttered after a long moment, stooping down to grab the stool they'd knocked over and setting it upright. Eel turned to look at them, ear fins flicking, tail twitching. They sat down at the bar again, closer to him, but not looking at him. "That was my name. Octopus Cookie."

"Is it your name now?" Eel asked, turning his gaze on the other cookie, still lounging back in his stool against the bar.

Ink Cloak thought about that for a moment.

"No," they said, before meeting Eel's gaze. "I suppose not."

"Then, if it's okay," Electric Eel said, tail curling and fins twitching, "I think I'd rather call you by the name you chose for yourself."

Ink Cloak gave a small noise that might have been a huff of laughter. "You're too kind for your own good," they muttered, and Eel shrugged, smiling.

"No such thing. And I'll continue to be kind," he said with a happy laugh. "Because I'd rather be kind than be cruel."

The light bulb overhead flickered, but it didn't go out. "... I hope Choco Flounder isn't too upset with me for breaking that cup," Ink Cloak muttered, and Eel burst out laughing.

"You know what?" Electric Eel said, setting his glass of juice down and giving a bright, happy grin. The light bulb flared brighter. "I think we'll be alright."

[girlbossblackbeard]

don't know if this is significant symbolism or not, but: ed is wearing the cravat, his chains, and the pearl necklace in the storm. he is NOT wearing the cravat or the chains in the fever dream, but he IS still wearing the pearls. the best analysis i can do around that rn is that the cravat symbolizes stede and this journey he's about to go on needs to be about Ed and Ed alone, but also Ed *feeling* and *thinking* he's genuinely alone, which is supported by the conversation he has with hornigold later when he reveals he's worried there's no one waiting for him in the real world. the chains im thinking could symbolize his blackbeard persona in a way - presumably he got the gold chains when plundering and gaining/maintaining his reputation for being ruthless and the chains are a physical reminder of that persona and reputation. in the fever dream, ed is stripped down to his most vulnerable state (which is interesting considering his hair and beard aren't in line with the s1 symbolism of his vulnerability - almost as if his heartbreak over stede has become so all-encompassing he's no longer able to hide it behind a beard or face-shielding long hair) so the chains would disappear just as his blackbeard reputation would disappear in order for him to get to the core of who he really is, which brings us to: the pearl necklace. we could literally talk for hours about the nuances of everything the pearl necklace represents regarding ed's fears, desires, identities, hopes and dreams for the future, childhood trauma, etc. etc. etc. but ultimately it represents the parts of ed he holds the closest to his chest and THAT is why he's still wearing it in the fever dream: because it's a representation of who he truly is, stripped down, at his core. and THAT is the person who needed to go on this journey in order to start to heal, without the influence of anyone or anything else making him feel the need to perform or be anything other than his 100% authentic, vulnerable self

[alicevanderlinde]

Echos of Love: Pt2

TW: Blood, Gore, Self Harm, mentions of death and starvation, Unwanted Affection, If you're easily triggered by any of those topics above, I highly suggest you don't read this.

Additional tags: Angst, Love, Emotional, Dark, Tragedy, Hurt, Pain, Pregnancy, There's more but I'm dumb af.

Author's note: I apologize in advance if this is trash and all over the place but oh well. Like it or don't I tried. Also I stopped deleting the extra spaces between each piece cause my phone hates me rn.

Word count: 9000ish

Alright cowpokes, grab your yeehaw juice and let's get into this!

During the first two arduous weeks of Alice's recovery, she found herself facing a unique set of challenges. Her determination to be self-sufficient clashed with the constant presence of caring individuals who incessantly offered their assistance. Susan would delicately braid her hair just the way she liked it, Dutch engulfed her with affection, Jack delighted in weaving flowers into her locks, the girls diligently mended her clothes, Abigail shared both helpful advice and worrisome thoughts about her growing baby bump, Pearson ensured she never missed a meal, Lenny happily read her favorite books, and Charles made a point to bring her flowers from his hunts as per Arthur's request. Miraculously, even Micah managed to ease up on being a nuisance. However, Arthur struggled more than Alice did, fiercely determined to prevent her from doing anything on her own.

While Alice deeply appreciated the unwavering support from everyone in camp, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Before this happened, Alice couldn't bear to spend more than a few days in camp. Now, she was going stir-crazy from being confined and treated like a child.

She remained unwaveringly insistent that she could handle things independently but also recognized that it would take time to fully recover. She wished that everyone could understand her perspective and grant her the space she craved.

It's almost as if she's still bound like she can feel the weight of the shackles around her wrist from everyone's doting attention.

Lying in their shared tent, Alice gazed up at the makeshift cloth roof, enveloped in the stillness of the night. The sounds of crickets, owls, distant yelps of coyotes, haunting wolf howls, and the gentle snores of Arthur were the only noises disrupting the tranquility of the gang.

Arthur's arm draped lovingly over her swollen belly, he had fallen asleep while tenderly rubbing small circles on her abdomen—a new habit he had developed since they began sharing a cot again.

He would always hold her close, their fingers intertwining as they lovingly discussed their aspirations and dreams of a life beyond the reach of the gang. The gentle tickle of his five o'clock shadow against the soft skin below her ear would make her giggle with delight, an affectionate gesture that she adored. However, the absence of her arm now compelled him to substitute the loss with comforting rubs on her belly. The realization of how much she had taken her arm for granted struck her deeply after it was severed from her body.

With a soft sigh, she carefully extracted herself from under Arthur's arm, determined not to disturb his much-needed sleep. His weary appearance upon her awakening from the coma had been a stark reminder of the toll this ordeal had taken on him. Despite his frequent jolts of wakefulness whenever she stirred, the past few days had granted him the rest he so deserved.

Quietly and skillfully maneuvering his arm, she swung her legs over the edge of the cot and focused her gaze on the darkness encompassing the tent. Rising to her feet, she took a moment to stretch, feeling the pulsating ache of every wound she had sustained. Initially, this discomfort would bring tears to her eyes, but with time, her body had adapted and grown accustomed to the aftermath.

With light, nearly silent footsteps, she slips out of the comforting warmth of the tent, instantly greeted by a biting gust of night air. Uncle lies sprawled beside the flickering fire, completely unconscious. The mere sight of the flames flickering brings a rush of memories she'd rather forget - the searing pain and the acrid scent of her flesh being cauterized. She cannot bear to be near a fire anymore.

Her instincts lead her towards the area where the horses are tethered. The desire to climb onto Artemis and gallop away tugs at her, but the reality sets in. Riding a horse with only one hand would be an immense challenge. The memory, although hazy, lingers on how difficult it was to maintain control with her limited grip.

Gently, her fingers trail along the smooth, well-groomed coat of Artemis, an indication of Kieran's dedicated care. The horse responds, leaning into her touch and nuzzling against her body. It's as if Artemis, too, yearns for the thrill of adventure.

"I understand, my sweet girl." She whispers affectionately, pressing a tender kiss upon the mare's snout. Filled with a mix of hesitation and determination, Alice unhitches the reins, struggling slightly with the task but managing to free them eventually. Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes, feeling the cool air fill her lungs as she places her bare foot into the stirrup. Grasping tightly with her remaining arm and relying on her upper body strength, she pulls herself up onto the horse, embracing the uncertainty that lies ahead.

Secure in the saddle, she gently pulls back on the reins, testing Artemis's response. The loyal mare complies with her owner's guidance, gracefully backing up and smoothly turning as Alice directs her to the left. It's an unfamiliar change in direction for both of them, but they adapt, embarking on a leisurely trot along the path that leads away from camp.

Deep down, she knows she shouldn't venture out without a weapon or proper attire. However, the urgency to avoid alerting Arthur, who would surely awaken if she took the time to change out of her chemise, outweighs her concern. Besides, she's only planning to practice riding down the road, not putting herself in immediate danger. She convinces herself that minimal precautions will suffice.

"Alright, girl, let's go." Alice declares, gently urging Artemis forward with a well-placed dig of her heel into the mare's side. In an instant, they burst into a full gallop, the wind caressing her soft skin and carrying stray strands of her hair. As they race along, she breathes deeply, savoring every ounce of freedom she feels, relishing the liberation like never before.

However, as the inhalation fills her lungs, she detects a distinct change in the surrounding scents. The unmistakable odor of copper and charred flesh taints the air. Her heart plummets into her stomach, instinctively pulls back on the reins to flee, only to realize the cruel twist of fate—the reins are now mercilessly wound tightly around her wrist. Her eyes snap open in sheer horror, revealing not only the unsettling smells but also an entirely different and unfamiliar landscape looming before her.

"I never thought you would've made it, sweetheart." Colm's vile voice oozes as his fingers trail over her belly with a twisted sense of affection.

"NO...NO...NO!" She screams, desperately trying to wrench free from what she thought were leather reins, only to discover the cruel reality that the restraints are the same shackles that have held her captive before, now accompanied by additional shackles on her ankles, compensating for the loss of her arm.

The sound of Colm's sadistic laughter twists her stomach into painful knots, fueling her wild thrashing. With each desperate struggle, the unforgiving metal digs deeper into her flesh, a bitter reminder of past torments that haunt her. The searing pain becomes unbearable as her skin reopens, the agony intensifying instead of subsiding.

Every ounce of her being screams in terror as the realization dawns upon her—the refuge her mind created to withstand the horrors she endured had deceived her. The touches she savored were not Arthur's, but rather Colm's deranged perversions.

"Careful now, sweetheart. Don't want to strain yourself it ain't good for the baby." Colm menacingly taunts, his words dripping with sadistic satisfaction.

"This ain't real! I escaped!" She repeats to herself, desperately hoping to transport herself away from this nightmarish hell.

"Oh, it's all too real, sweetheart. You put up quite the fight and killed a few of my boys in the process. But, fortunately, you didn't get very far." Colm sneers.

"No...this can't be happening! It's some twisted nightmare!" she pleads, attempting to convince herself of a false reality.

Once again, Colm's laughter fills the air as he positions himself on top of her, straddling her and forcefully gripping her jaw. "Look at me." He growls in a bone-chilling tone, his nails digging into the tender flesh of her jaw. Despite the pain, she braves his hold and resists, attempting to pull away.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance and heaving a frustrated sigh, he releases his grasp on her face, only to strike her with a swift, powerful blow, the sickening crack reverberating through the air. Her skin tingles and stings as she struggles to comprehend the brutal assault.

"Look at me." He demands once more, and she lifts her tear-filled eyes to meet his gaze, barely making out his features through her blurred vision. His fingers trace the remnants of her bruised cheek, a wicked smirk playing across his vindictive lips.

"Was that so hard?" He taunts, digging his nail into the tender, swollen flesh. She clenches her teeth, determined not to grant him the satisfaction he seeks from inflicting pain upon her.

"I'm gon' kill you!" She growls, her teeth clenched tightly together, her gaze searing with a ferocity that could melt steel.

"You shouldn't speak that way to the man who is gonna father your bastard child." He retorts.

Her blood turns to ice, and her heart feels as though it's being crushed. "Wha-what do you mean, 'bastard child'?"

"Don't you get it?" He sneers, aware that she is completely in the dark. She looks up at him, her brow furrowed, waiting for him to unravel this bewildering truth.

"They came for you, all of them—Arthur, Dutch, everyone. Even the women joined in. But one by one, they fell. First Dutch, then Arthur, until every last one of them lay lifeless in pools of their blood." He reveals, a disturbing fondness coloring his words as her body begins to tremble uncontrollably.

"Liar!" She cries out, tears streaming relentlessly down her face, adding to the sting of his words.

"It's a hard pill to swallow, but it is the truth. I would never deceive you, especially not after I murdered your friends, your husband, and even your father." When he senses that she still doesn't believe him, he takes a moment to pull out Arthur's revolver from the nightstand beside the bed, the metal crusted with dried blood.

Alice goes to speak but all that comes out of her mouth is a whimper. She closes her eyes as she breaks down, her heart breaking as she envisions seeing the gang lying dead, Arthur, Dutch, Tilly, Charles, Susan- She doesn't want to believe it, a part of her is screaming at her that it's a lie but with the images of everyone laying dead, their bodies riddled with bullets she can't help but believe it's the truth.

"Hush, sweetheart. Let it all out." He coos, twirling her hand around his dirt-stained fingers.

"Get away from me. Now." Her words drip with hatred and venom.

"I'll give you some time alone." He says softly, placing the revolver back on the nightstand, a clear message lingering in the air: 'You have nothing left.'

Hours pass as she remains seated on the bed, clutching herself as tears continue to flow. Just when she believes her tears have run dry, her gaze falls upon the blood-crusted revolver. Reluctantly, she reaches out and takes it into her trembling hand, immediately checking the cylinder for bullets. As she expected, it's empty.

"He fought hard." Colm comments, startling her. She hadn't noticed his return to the room, his presence only becoming apparent now. But she chooses to ignore him, her eyes fixated on the revolver, memories flooding her mind—how she carefully selected its engravings, ensuring the gunsmith carved their initials into the grip as a wedding gift, and how his dreamy oceanic blue-green eyes lit up with joy when she presented it to him.

"I don't get it. You barely cried when we captured you and now you can't stop over those who ain't alive no more." Colm jests, perching himself on the edge of the creaky bed frame.

Colm seems to grasp her unspoken question, and he responds, "Why did I spare you? There are many reasons, but if I'm bein' honest, keeping Dutch's daughter even after his demise brings a certain satisfaction. That bastard is probably rolling in his grave," He pauses to chuckle. "If he had one... I can only imagine the critters are damn near close to picking his bones clean by now."

"Why?" she manages to choke out as her chest tightens, making each breath more agonizing than the last.

"You're better off killin' me now 'cause if you don't... I'm sure as shit gonna find a way to kill you."

"That's just the grief talkin'."

"It's a goddamn promise and daddy taught me never to break one."

"Really? You'd kill the man who would take care of you and our unborn child?"

"Jr is not your child and he will NEVER belong to you." She forcefully spits into his face, determined to make it clear that she will never submit to him.

His face contorts with rage as he wipes away the spit from his face. "I know what you're tryin' to do. It ain't gonna work but do something like that again and I won't hesitate to cut your tongue from your mouth."

Fully aware that he will keep his word if she continues to defy him, she decides to keep her mouth shut.

-

The following weeks pass in a haze for Alice, numbed to everything, even in the presence of Colm. She tried to starve herself, but Colm forcefully shoved food down her throat when she refused to eat. And if she refused to drink, he used his mouth to transfer water into her own, suffocating any resistance.

Though Colm has removed her restraints and granted her freedom within the room, the window remains boarded up and the door is locked from the outside. Every breakable item has been eliminated, even though she had a chance to eliminate Colm once.

Deep down, she longed to kill him at that very moment, fighting the urge with every fiber of her being, but instead, she bides her time, waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to exact her revenge, to make him suffer the way he made her suffer. Arthur always said, "Revenge is a fool's game." but this vile man will pay dearly for taking away everyone she loved.

With a grim determination, she starts unwrapping the dirt and blood-covered gauze from around her mangled nub, wincing as each tear of the gauze reopens the painful scabs beneath.

Alice's desperate desire for her mangled appendage to become infected, potentially leading to her demise, became a distant dream when she refused to give herself medical treatment. Colm ordered one of his lackeys to mend her wound. The incompetence displayed during that torturous ordeal was enough to make her question the intelligence of that man, though she couldn't say that she was surprised by that man's intelligence or lack thereof.

Examining the wound now, she can see patches of red where the gauze had forcibly torn away the delicate scabs. It is a grotesque sight, made even more haunting by the fact that it exists on her own body. Each time she beholds it, it serves as a solemn reminder of her failures, not just once, but twice. The regret of her inability to protect herself lingers, leading to her capture, and the subsequent loss of her loved ones.

She strikes a match, the scent of red phosphorus faintly tickling her senses, invoking memories of Arthur. Tears well in her eyes at the recollection of him, a tumultuous blend of anger, grief, and overwhelming sadness. Suppressing a whimper, she holds the burning match near her wound, feeling the searing heat wash over her, eradicating the haunting memories she once took for granted.

In the past, Alice despised when Dutch would claim that she was still a child, insisting that she lacked the maturity to make decisions. Yet now, she reflects on her actions, realizing that she had indeed acted childish when she ran away from her father's refusal to listen to reason. Watching the match gradually burn down to a mere stub, she can't help but marvel at it...

How. Fucking. Ironic.

With a sigh escaping her lips, she carefully removes the tin lid of the healing ointment, dipping her fingers into the salve and spreading a generous amount on her fingertips. Applying it to the stump, she finds solace in the pain, as if it momentarily shields her from the creeping insanity that lingers within her mind.

Using a piece of gauze held between her teeth, she lifts her arm and tightly wraps the wound, hoping that the pressure will numb the ache and silence the haunting voices of those she has lost, even if just for a brief hour.

Her annoyance flickers across her face. Why couldn't Colm have severed her left arm instead? The cruelty he inflicts on her seems excessive, driven by a desire to make her suffer. But why? Because Dutch took the life of his brother, igniting a vengeful fire that has scorched her existence. Yet, his torment feels disproportionate.

At that moment, a realization strikes her like a lightning bolt. The heartache she has endured, the pain, anger, and deep sadness. He must have felt it too, fueling his thirst for revenge. It was satisfied when he coldly snatched away her mother Annabelle's life right before her eyes. But was that truly enough? Unfortunately, it only ignited this foolish blood feud, a relentless cycle of violence that has plagued them for years.

"How's it healin'?" Colm asks softly, taking a seat beside her on the bed. His arm drapes over her shoulder, and he leans in to press a chapped kiss on her cheek. She forces herself to remain stoic, resisting the urge to strike him as her hand finds its place in her lap.

"Alright, I suppose," She answers with a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know what you felt- How you felt."

He raises an eyebrow in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"How much pain you were in..." She explains, her voice soft. "Did killin' my father truly bring you the satisfaction you sought for revenge?"

Colm is taken aback by her words. Truthfully, he hadn't contemplated the aftermath of killing Dutch.

"I guess I understand why you did it." She says softly, shrugging her shoulders. She's already weary of waiting for his response. After all, she knows what he'll say: "Taking your father's life didn't bring my brother back."

She rises to her feet, gathering the supplies she used to mend her wound and placing them back in the nightstand drawer. The drawer proves stubborn, jamming each time she tries to close it. As frustration fills her, Colm comes up from behind, resting his head on top of hers and cradling her swollen belly with his hands.

"It didn't make me feel any better... But look at the opportunity it has given us. We get to build a family together." He murmurs tenderly, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. She's never felt so disgusted in her life.

She rotates, locking her gaze with his, her hand finding purchase on his shoulder. Her fingers fumble with the collar of his shirt, tracing along the fabric.

She eagerly awaits the day when she has fully regained her strength, strong enough to end Colm's life. Killing him won't alter the past, but at least she won't have to endure him in the future.

"I just don't understand why you need me here even after you killed my father." She states softly, her eyes threatening to spill over with tears once more.

"I've had an eye for you for a long while now Alice." He replies as his thumb traces along her cheekbone down to the split in her lip, he had given her the other day for disrespecting him. "You'll understand one day when you're my wife."

-

Weeks have passed since Colm began granting Alice certain freedoms. She now has permission to leave the room and take charge of cleaning the neglected rooms that his men had left in disarray. Despite the challenge of working with only one arm, Alice has persevered. She has scrubbed diligently until the blood stains from the previous owners on the wooden floor have vanished. She keeps the windows and doors open to let in fresh air until evening when she begins preparing dinner.

She knows she must continue playing the role of a dutiful housewife, at least for a little while longer. With each passing day, her growing belly reminds her that time is running out. While she has adapted to the limitations of having only one arm, everyday tasks remain a challenge.

Once a week the men take her into town for a bath or down to Owanjila lake and that's if she behaves herself, if not well then that's a day or two shackled to Colm's bed.

One of Colm's henchmen interrupts her cleaning with a cold statement: "Colm expects you to be clean when he returns." Without warning, he throws a bar of soap at her, and she barely manages to catch it. Determined to maintain some modesty, she takes a step to the side, in an attempt to shield her nude form in the tall grass. However, the man forcefully grabs her arm, disregarding her attempt at privacy.

"Don't be shy, I already know what you're hidin' underneath that blouse." His voice drips with desire, causing her stomach to churn. But she maintains her composure, careful not to reveal her true intentions to him.

She nods softly, her eyes downcast as she delicately begins unbuttoning her blouse. Her fingers momentarily struggle, leading to a heartless chuckle from the man.

"If you need some help, all you have to do is ask." He offers in a seemingly sweet tone, yet his expression betrays the ulterior motives behind his words.

Briefly, Alice's vision turns red, but she quickly regains control. She must remain composed if she wants to seize this opportunity.

"That would be delightful." She responds, her voice akin to honey, fluttering her eyelashes and subtly swaying her body. The man catches on to her not-so-subtle hint and places his hands on her hips, drawing her closer. Fortunately, her baby bump acts as a small barrier between them.

"Come here." He says, his smirk sending a twist through her stomach, yet she maintains a stoic expression. His fingers forcefully grasp the opening of her blouse, causing buttons to fly in every direction. She attempts to shield her exposed breasts with her arm, but he stops her, his grip bruising her.

A warning look from him sends a chilling shiver down her spine, her instincts urging her to act, but she restrains herself. She closes her eyes as his thumb traces her bottom lip, slowly descending from her chin to her neck, trailing over her collarbone and settling on her breasts.

Suppressing her pride, she rises onto her tiptoes, wrapping her arm around his waist. Her tongue glides along the pulsing vein in his neck, detesting the saltiness of his skin while his hands explore the contours of her torso. Occasionally, his nail grazes one of the scars left by Colm on her ribcage, eliciting a whimper against his skin.

Thankfully, the other man has chosen to avert his gaze, providing Alice an opportunity to act.

Her teeth sink into the tender flesh of his neck, her fingers simultaneously securing a firm grip on his revolver. As she tears away a chunk of his flesh, the taste of blood, all too familiar, coats her taste buds while he unleashes a pained howl. In that split second, she extracts the revolver, pulling back the hammer as she aims it at the man positioned just a few feet away.

The gunshot reverberates through the air, scattering birds from the nearby trees, as a crimson mist envelops the space around his head, his body collapsing lifelessly to the ground. Alice would have found tranquility in this moment if the other man's screams didn't pierce the air like that of a terrified child, clutching his wound.

Forcing him down onto the grass, Alice swiftly grabs the knife from his gunbelt. A smirk adorns her face as she straddles him, positioning the blade's tip beneath his chin. A sense of pride fills her being as she leans in, relishing the sight of fear and terror flickering within his brown eyes, as he begins to plead for his life.

"I'll see you in hell." She whispers coldly before pressing the blade against his throat, slicing through the skin effortlessly. A spray of blood gushes forth, splattering her face, her torn blouse, and her exposed bosom.

She rises from him, finding a seat beside her grisly masterpiece, her mind already contemplating her next move. Lost in the scene unfolding before her, she watches the afternoon sun cast its radiant glow upon the water, slowly descending behind the tree line, as if bidding farewell for the day. The melodic symphony of birdsong fills the air as they return to the safety of their branches, preparing to nestle in for the night.

In this moment, uncertainty looms over her. She wonders if this might be her final glimpse at a breathtaking sunset, her last chance to savor the intoxicating fragrance of wildflowers, or her final opportunity to be enchanted by the birdsong. Regardless of the answer, she is determined to seize this moment, cherishing it as if it is indeed her last.

-

The gang had never settled in one place for such an extended period of time, but they are haunted by fear that she would return if they moved. Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur were particularly consumed by this worry. Meanwhile, the other gang members had resigned themselves to the notion that Alice had passed on, finding solace in the belief that she had found freedom from suffering.

Strauss, driven by his desire for debt collection, departed the gang as Arthur's focus shifted towards the search for Alice. It wasn't until he finally delved into her journal that he discovered the depths of her remorse over his cruel treatment of the less fortunate. She had even taken it upon herself to delve into Strauss' debt book, seeking out the very families he had exploited, and providing them with the means to repay their debts.

Arthur didn't realize the gang had begun to stray from the moral path they had forged, while Alice remained steadfastly committed to those values in secret. Under the cover of darkness, she would venture out and sell her prized belongings, using the spoils to alleviate the burdens of the less fortunate. How had he become so blessed to have her by his side?

The pages of Alice's journal invited Arthur into a realm he had never before explored. An initial hesitance was replaced by a longing for closeness with his wife. In doing so, he found himself falling in love with her all over again, questioning why she would choose someone like him. But every entry he read answered his questions with an exquisite level of detail, painting a picture of a love so profound that she deemed him as essential as the very air she breathed or the water that quenched her thirst on scorching summer days. The sketches she had made of him, meticulously capturing every scar and imperfection, served as a testament to her adoration, enhancing his already handsome features in her eyes.

The absence of her presence leaves him bereft with a profound ache that permeates his entire being, as if a vital part of his soul has been lost. He yearns for her, longing for the warmth of her voice whispering sweet compliments about his looks each day or teasing him with tantalizing words that ignite a fire within, only to playfully retreat and gaze innocently, her eyes sparkling with emerald hues, while a tender smile graces her lips.

In her presence, he had never fully grasped the immense fortune he possessed. Cherishing those moments, he now realizes the depth of his luck and the sheer blessing it was to have her by his side.

Dutch finds himself spiraling into despair, overwhelmed by the guilt of failing both his daughter and the memory of her mother, just as he failed long ago. With unwavering determination, he had sworn upon Annabelle's grave that he would stop at nothing to protect Alice, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. Yet, the bitter truth remains, haunting him relentlessly - he is still alive while uncertain of her fate.

His beloved daughter is out there somewhere, carrying with her the precious gift of his unborn grandchild. Though he may never openly admit it, Dutch has always harbored a deep longing for the day Alice would grant him the cherished title of grandfather. Unexpectedly, it was Arthur, who partook in that and truthfully Dutch couldn't be prouder. Clutching a photograph in his weathered hands, he reflects upon the early days of their gang, when Susan, Annabelle, Bessie, Hosea, John, Arthur, himself, and Alice stood united. In the image, Alice perches upon his shoulders, a radiant smile illuminating her face, adorning her hair with delicate flowers, defying societal expectations as she reveled in her individuality alongside the boys.

Deep down, Dutch had always known that Alice was destined for more than the life she was thrust into. Her remarkable talents held the power to carry her far beyond the confines of their world. In the past, he had even ventured to support her dreams, offering financial assistance to nurture her talents and guide her towards success. Nevertheless, Alice consistently declined, asserting that there was no place in the world she would rather be than at her father's side. Time has now revealed that her reluctance to depart was not solely due to loyalty, but a clandestine yearning that led her into the embrace of Arthur's arms.

Dutch gently places the photograph on his cot, tenderly brushing away the tears staining his weathered cheeks. As he tries to regain composure, Hosea enters his tent, offering a weary smile while settling into a chair beside the bed. It is a rare sight for Hosea to witness Dutch in such despair, a level of despair he hasn't witnessed since the loss of Annabelle, and yet this time, Dutch appears even more broken.

"I... I miss her." Dutch mutters, his voice trembling with unending hours of sorrow.

With a sympathetic understanding, Hosea nods, reaching over to hand Dutch a worn and folded piece of paper. Dutch's furrowed brows reflect his confusion as he accepts the fragile paper, his hands tremoring uncontrollably.

"What's this?" Dutch inquires, his gaze fixed on Hosea, searching for answers.

"She gave it to me a while back... Just go ahead and open it." Hosea encourages, his own eyes brimming with tears.

Dutch takes a deep, steadying breath, cautiously unfolding the delicate paper, treating it with the utmost care. His eyes scan the contents, and his breath catches.

"You're not alone in this." the paper reads, the beautiful handwriting unmistakably Alice's, accompanied by her delicate hand-drawn picture of the gang huddled around a campfire below.

After a moment of silence, Hosea's mind drifts back to the time when Bessie, his beloved wife, passed away. The bitterness that consumed him, the incessant drinking to numb the pain of losing her. With a heavy sigh, he recalls those dark days.

"I know this feeling all too well," Hosea admits, his voice tinged with sadness. "I understand that it's tearing you apart, that you're in immense pain. But, Dutch, you can't push away the very people who love and support you. We're here for you... Each and every one of us."

Dutch's eyes widen with the sudden realization that he has been unintentionally neglecting the gang. He spends his days drowning himself in alcohol, secluded within the confines of his tent, lost in the memories captured in old photographs.

"I ain't fit to lead anymore... I couldn't even protect my own daughter." Dutch utters sorrowfully, his head hanging low, his once immaculate hair now falling disheveled across his eyes.

Before Hosea can respond, a distant shout from one of the men on watch echoes through the air, cautioning someone to cease their approach. A sense of urgency fills the space between Dutch and Hosea, their gazes meeting with unspoken agreement as they hastily rise from their seats and rush towards the path leading into camp.

Confusion overtakes Arthur as he surveys the scene before him, his brows furrowing in disbelief. Bill's rifle remains fixed on the woman and her frightened son, but Dutch and Hosea arrive just in time, demanding that Bill lower his weapon.

The woman hesitates, her hand gently caressing her son's hair in an attempt to calm him. "Is there a woman named Alice Morgan here? I need to speak with her urgently." she pleads.

Arthur's voice fills the air, laced with a touch of intimidation. "How do you know that name?" he demands.

The woman takes a tentative breath, reaching into her worn pocket to retrieve a necklace. It is the very same necklace Annabelle had given Alice before her untimely demise. "She gave me this," she begins, her voice trembling. "She came to settle the debt my family owed. Upon learning that my husband fell ill, she gave us this necklace to sell, to purchase medicine for him."

Arthur, intrigued yet cautious, accepts the necklace from the woman, his eyes locked on hers, waiting for further explanation.

Relaying her story, the woman continues, her voice tinged with sadness. "But my husband, stubborn as he was, refused to sell it, believing the medicine wouldn't work. Sadly, he passed away a week ago, and I felt it was only right to return this necklace to its rightful owner."

"I-I appreciate this, Mrs..." Arthur's voice trails off, a mix of gratitude and concern evident on his face.

"Mrs. Downes," She interjects, guiding her son along the path towards the road. Once he's out of earshot, she leans in closer to Arthur. Her voice drops to a hushed tone. "I didn't want to say this in front of my son, but I fear for her safety. The O'Driscolls have been lurkin' around my farm, causin' trouble. They spoke of movin' her to Big Valley, to a place called Hanging Dog Ranch. I apologize for not coming to you sooner, but I just couldn't bear to leave the farm so soon after my husband's passin'."

Arthur's eyes widen with a mix of shock and determination, as he absorbs the weight of the woman's words.

-

"Where is that goddamn bastard? Where is my wife!?" Arthur's voice explodes, his frantic gaze scanning the faces surrounding him. His words drip with rage, sending a chilling wave of fear through the others.

Arthur grips the nameless goon by his shirt, the sole survivor of his slaughtered friends. He raises his fist, ready to unleash another blow, but Dutch intervenes. The man's face is already a horrifying sight: bloodied and battered, with a severely crooked nose, swollen shut eyes, and a canvas of purple and blue hues from Arthur's brutal assault. While Arthur has engaged in numerous fights before, often fueled by alcohol-induced foolishness, this time it's an uncontainable rage. The only way to stop him is to extract the information he seeks.

"P-please," the man stammers, choking on a mouthful of blood, his gums throbbing where his teeth once were. "Cliff and Burke took her... that's all I know!"

"That's not good enough!" Arthur growls.

"You have a chance to walk away with your life," Dutch interjects, calmly circling the pair. "Tell us where my daughter is and disclose Colm's whereabouts, and your life will be spared." The level of composure in Dutch's voice even manages to unsettle him.

"M-mr. Van Der Linde," Kieran speaks up, his voice trembling.

"Not now." Dutch replies, diverting his attention back to Arthur and the last remaining O'Driscoll.

-

Alice tirelessly drafts and revises countless plans, desperate to find a way to eliminate Colm without sacrificing her own life in the process. She knows that even if she succeeds, her time left on this earth may be short-lived. But as long as Colm meets his demise, she can find solace in that. If she were to die, at least it wouldn't be in vain.

It takes her a grueling ten minutes to devise a method of mounting a horse with one arm and a swollen belly. After numerous attempts and errors, she finally manages to mount the horse, embarking on her journey back to Hanging Dog Ranch.

With each step the horse takes, a suffocating cloud of dread washes over Alice, tempting her to turn back and escape, to start afresh somewhere else. However, deep within her heart, she knows that until Colm breathes his last breath, true peace will elude her.

As she draws closer to the ranch, the air becomes plagued with billowing smoke. The thunderous sound of hooves pounding against the earth catches her attention, and then she sees him. Right in her line of sight is the very man she is looking for.

-

"Dutch, Arthur!" Susan's voice pierces the air as she delivers a resounding slap to the side of Dutch's head. "Pay attention!" she insists, gesturing towards the chilling, distant screams that echo through the air.

In that instant, the horrifying wails also reach Arthur's ears, causing him to release his tight grip on the O'Driscoll, urgently racing towards the horses. Hosea swiftly follows suit, their determination evident in their strides. Meanwhile, Dutch calmly observes the man who pleads for his life, standing tall with unwavering composure.

"Please!" the man pleads, his voice dripping with desperation. However, his cries for mercy fall on deaf ears... Dutch unholsters his revolver, pressing it firmly against the man's temple, and without a moment's hesitation, he pulls the trigger. The force of the gunshot propels blood and brain matter, staining the ground below, as the others look on at Dutch with a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

-

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!" Her voice bellows with a terrifying intensity, laced with deep-seated hatred. In response, Colm unleashes a devastating punch, connecting with her cheek in a sickening blow. The force jolts her head to the side, leaving the overpowering metallic taste of blood in her mouth, a chilling stain on the surrounding dirt.

Stunned by the brutal strike, Alice momentarily ceases her struggles, her body throbbing with pain. Yet, as she tries to gather herself, a chilling sensation claws at her senses. The sharp edge of a knife slices into her skin, cutting painfully into her shoulder. With clenched teeth, she fights back the instinctual urge to scream, refusing to grant this monster the satisfaction he craves.

"We could have been a family!" He utters with a twisted semblance of tenderness, maliciously smearing her own blood across her face using the stained knife. He plunges the blade into the dirt beside her head before delivering another punishing blow to her face.

Her eyes lock onto the glint of the knife, realizing the imminent danger of it being thrust into her skull. In a heart-stopping moment, he presses his revolver against her chin, the frigid metal piercing her skin. As she closes her eyes, summoning her last reserves of strength, a surge of determination ignites within her.

Her trembling hand grasps the knife tightly, summoning all her courage to thrust it forward with every ounce of strength she can muster. He emits a choked, garbled noise, desperately grasping at the blade lodged in his throat. Summoning all her resolve, Alice shoves him to the side, straddling him in a defiant act of dominance. Using the very knife that brought her agony, she repeatedly plunges it into his chest, driven by her shattered sobs, her own pain from the shoulder wound searing through her.

As she pushes herself up from his lifeless body, the ground trembles beneath the approaching thunder of hooves. Her instinct tells her that more O'Driscolls are charging toward her, but instead of running, she decides it's time to confront whatever lies ahead.

Summoning her strength, she stands tall, prepared to face the consequences that await her. The riders come into view, and her heart sinks while her mouth goes dry. It can't be true... Alice scolds herself for falling victim to Colm's deceit so easily. Tears mingle with the blood on her cheeks, but a small, triumphant smile escapes her lips.

Among the riders, she recognizes faces she thought were lost forever, galloping towards her with a determination matched only by their love for her. It takes less than a minute before she can distinguish each one. A whole band of people she believed to be gone, riding towards her at breakneck speed.

Before she can fully comprehend the speed at which Arthur dismounts his horse, he is standing before her, brushing her disheveled, blood-smeared hair away from her face. His gaze roams over her wounded body, assessing her injuries and the life burgeoning within her pregnant belly.

"Darlin', are you alright?" He murmurs softly, his eyes filled with a mix of sweetness and sadness that tugs at her heartstrings.

Speechless, she exhales gently, nodding as she lifts a trembling hand to caress his jaw. He mirrors her gesture, cupping her face with both hands, their touch a tender connection that speaks volumes. Standing there, face to face, they both feel the painful yearning that has consumed them for far too long.

Despite the bruises and cuts adorning her face, she remains undeniably beautiful. He wraps his arms around her waist as she rises on her tiptoes, their lips meeting in a tender, electric moment.

This kiss transcends any they have shared before. It becomes an exchange of emotions, a conduit for desire, love, and a profound connection. Their tongues dance in perfect harmony, moving in rhythm and sync, conveying their deepest longings. Lust and a shared vulnerability deepen their bond, fueling every passionate touch of their lips. Their souls ache from the longing, their hearts bursting with a love that has been sorely missed.

As Alice pulls away, her fingertips tenderly brushing away Arthur's tears, she echoes the overwhelming emotions coursing through him. "Save them tears," she begins softly, a mirror to his turmoil. "I ain't worth cryin' over."

Dutch playfully interjects, reminding them they're not alone with a teasing tone. "No love for your old man?" He jests, his voice lighthearted yet full of worry.

"Daddy!" Alice calls out with a joyful giggle, darting into Dutch's waiting embrace. He wastes no time, wrapping his arms around her carefully, mindful of her wound, and placing a tender kiss atop her head.

"Alright, this young lady needs some medical attention. The rest of us can wait," Susan asserts, stepping forward after Hosea to envelop Alice in a warm, meaningful hug.

-

The gang successfully pulled off their final job, a simple bank heist that brought them unimaginable riches. With their newfound wealth, they invested in an old plantation home in Leymone that had been left to decay, making it pristine just in time for Alice to deliver their baby. The anticipation of the birth has filled everyone with excitement, each expressing their joy in their own special ways.

Dutch and Hosea took it upon themselves to decorate the nursery, a responsibility initially meant for the women but one they insisted on doing. Their dedication and enthusiasm for creating a beautiful space for the baby is evident.

Meanwhile, John and Abigail have been supporting Alice through the preparations for the birth and the challenges that lie ahead. Though some of the information they have shared might have been unsettling, Alice couldn't be happier knowing she has their guidance and love.

Jack may not fully grasp the concept of having a baby in the gang, but he is still thrilled that he won't be the youngest member anymore. The idea of having a new addition brings him joy and a sense of growing up.

Lenny eagerly looks forward to sharing his love for reading with baby Morgan, eager to nurture and stimulate their young mind with enchanting stories and knowledge.

Sean entertains hopeful thoughts of mischief as he envisions teaching baby Morgan the art of pranks, just as he and his mother used to indulge in when they were mischievous teenagers. He anticipates a mischievous partnership filled with laughter and playful adventures.

Javier wholeheartedly promises to introduce baby Morgan to the world of music through guitar-playing, igniting a passion for melodies and the ability to express oneself artistically. Additionally, he intends to teach the child the beauty of the Spanish language, fostering a connection to cultural heritage.

Charles, alongside Arthur as his trusted mentor, makes a heartfelt vow to guide baby Morgan in navigating through the intricacies of the woods and honing their hunting skills. Together, they hope to instill an appreciation for the natural world and the skills required to survive.

Kieran eagerly expresses his desire to guide baby Morgan in the proper care and nurturing of horses, envisioning a future filled with bonding and shared love for these majestic creatures.

Uncle, despite his occasional struggles with alcohol, exhibits a level of respect and consideration by willingly sleeping on the porch when he's unable to navigate the stairs. This shows a sense of responsibility and an attempt to avoid any disruptions within the household.

Tilly, Sadie, Mary Beth, and Molly are adamant in their belief that baby Morgan is a girl. They have already taken it upon themselves to choose potential names and even select clothes for her. Although they were disappointed by the missed opportunity to create a nursery for the baby, they remain determined to contribute through fashion choices.

Arthur, beyond thrilled, embraces the chance to have a loving family once again. Aware of his past mistakes with Eliza and Issac and the close call with Alice and baby Morgan, he solemnly promises himself that he will not let this opportunity slip away. The possibility of losing loved ones has taught him to value and cherish every present moment.

Since Alice's return, the bond between her and Arthur has become unbreakable. As she had hoped, Arthur constantly demonstrates his care and support, offering to assist with anything. However, Alice independently chooses to take on most tasks, showcasing her strength and resilience.

"You're goin' to get my shirt dirty." Arthur teases, strolling up to Alice who stands knee-deep in the water, with Jack by her side engaged in a frog-catching mission.

Alice glances up, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazes at Arthur, accompanied by John. A smirk graces her lips as she starts wading through the soft mud towards the shore.

"Uncle Arthur, Daddy!" Jack exclaims, gripping Alice's hand for support in navigating the messy mud. "Aunt Alice was helping me catch frogs!" Once onshore, Jack rushes toward Arthur and John. John squats down, extending his arms, only to be ignored as Jack clings to Arthur's leg.

Arthur playfully musses Jack's hair, chuckling at his enthusiasm. John may have faltered as a father in the past, but lately, he's been giving his all to become the father Jack has always needed.

"Hey, Jack, let's go get cleaned up. Lunchtime is just around the corner." John says, gently gripping Jack's hand and leading him towards the house.

"How's my lovely wife doing?" Arthur inquires, glancing at Alice as she leans against the boathouse, weariness etched across her face.

"Exhausted." She replies, her voice reflecting her fatigue.

"You're supposed to be restin'. Lily Morgan will be here any day now." Arthur reminds her, a lightness in his tone.

"Arthur Jr." She corrects him with a playful giggle.

"If we have another Arthur in here, we're in trouble." He jibes, playfully cupping her swollen belly with his hands.

"There's nothin' wrong with him bein' like his father." She asserts, pushing his hat over his eyes affectionately.

With a lighthearted chuckle, he removes his hat and slicks back his golden locks before playfully placing it on her head. The hat effortlessly falls over her eyes, and she giggles, using her wrist to push it back into place.

"I love it when you wear my hat... and my shirts." He quips, his hands finding their place on her hips.

"Well, good, because I love it too." She responds, leaning in as he leans in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. After a moment, they break apart, and Alice's cheeks turn a rosy shade, as if it's their first shared kiss all over again.

Just then, Jack comes running up to them, clinging onto Arthur's leg once more. "Uncle Arthur, Daddy wants to know if you'll come fishin' with us?" He asks.

Arthur hesitated, his face betraying his reluctance, as he glanced at Alice. "He'd love to go." Alice declared before Arthur had the chance to decline. She understood that Arthur didn't want to leave, especially with her being so close to giving birth, but she reassured herself that a mere hour or two wouldn't do any harm.

"But Alice-" Arthur began.

"Please? I've been craving catfish so much." She pleaded, hoping he would reconsider and leave just long enough for her and the gang to decorate and prepare for a small party - after all, it was Arthur's birthday today.

Arthur appeared as though he was about to protest, but when he saw the desperation etched on Alice's face, he let out a soft chuckle and affectionately rubbed his stubbled chin.

"Alright, alright. But don't expect too much, darlin'. I won't be gone for long."

-

"Hey Alice, are you decent?" Dutch asks with concern, gently tapping on her slightly open door. "The girls said you'd be up here getting ready."

"Yes, daddy. Please come in." She replies, her voice tired, not bothering to sit up. It's been a draining day for Alice, but she knows that if Arthur sees her like this, he won't leave her side. It's tough enough that he forgot his own birthday because he's so focused on Alice and baby Morgan.

As Dutch enters the room, he discovers Alice curled up on the bed, visibly exhausted. It reminds him of how Annabelle looked when she was nearing her due date.

Taking a seat on the bed's edge, Dutch reaches out to touch Alice's forehead with the back of his hand, noticing the slight dampness from her sweat.

"I truly appreciate all your help today, daddy." She says with a relieved sigh, propping her head up with her arm.

"Anything for my not-so-little girl anymore." He teases, his eyes glancing towards her belly.

"Very funny," she replies, rolling her eyes. "Could you lend me a hand to get up?"

Dutch nods, rising from his seat and reaching out to hold her hand as he assists her in getting up from the bed. "You're about to pop."

"No need to remind me. He's been giving me just as much trouble as his father these past few days."

"Alice, maybe you should take a little more rest. You look like you could use it." Dutch suggests, gently guiding her towards the nearest chair.

"Arthur could be back any minute, and I haven't even finished getting ready yet," she remarks pointedly, gesturing towards the muddy overalls lying on the floor beside the bed. Though she's already washed up, she still wants to doll herself up for his return. "Besides, I'll have all the time in the world to rest when I'm gone."

"Let me help you with your hair, at least." He offers, picking up her brush from the vanity. She nods softly, taking a seat in the chair and allowing him to start teasing her curly locks. He fondly remembers the days when Alice was younger and he would always do her hair. Gently gathering a decent amount of hair, he begins to brush through it. As relaxation washes over her, she lets out a content sigh.

-

"John Marston, if you don't let me go into the house I won't hesitate to geld you!" Arthur firmly warns as he attempts to approach the house.

Innocently, young Jack questions, "Uncle Arthur, what does 'geld' mean?"

John sighs with disappointment, muttering, "Well done, Morgan."

Undeterred, Arthur forcefully passes by John, heading straight for the house. To his utter surprise, he walks into an empty room, causing panic to grip him as he fears Alice may have gone into labor.

Whispering from their concealed positions, Tilly asks Alice, "Do you think he's armed?"

Alice gazes at Tilly and simply shrugs, using her fingers to count down. Suddenly, everyone bursts out of hiding, shouting "surprise" simultaneously, catching Arthur off guard.

Arthur's eyes widen, his heart pounding in his chest as the unexpected surprise sends shivers down his spine. Gradually, one by one, everyone gathers around him, holding little gifts they had thoughtfully prepared. Alice, with a mischievous smile, approaches last, her arm concealed behind her back.

"Happy Birthday, my love," she coos sweetly, her voice filled with tenderness, presenting him with a gift she had crafted. It's a personalized satchel, intricately adorned with his initials woven into the fabric. "Go ahead," she encourages, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Open it."

With trembling hands, Arthur unwraps the gift, revealing a pristine journal nestled inside. Carefully, he retrieves the journal, flipping open to the first page. To his astonishment, he finds a heartfelt note accompanied by a beautifully drawn portrait. "I love you more than words can express. I am so proud to be your wife," the page reads, depicting a tender moment of Arthur nestled beside Alice's swollen belly, his peaceful slumber mirroring the joy radiating from his face.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Arthur is rendered speechless, a warmth spreading through his chest. Gratefully, he pulls Alice into a tight embrace, his words a mixture of praise and heartfelt gratitude for the cherished gifts.

-

The ceremony concludes, and the jubilant celebration envelops the atmosphere. The melodic tunes fill the air, intertwining with the infectious laughter reverberating throughout the house. Arthur, unable to contain his excitement, takes Alice's hand, guiding her towards the improvised dance floor.

With synchronized movements, they sway gently to the music, their eyes illuminating with the profound love they share. However, Alice's protruding belly and shorter legs present a graceful challenge that they tackle with unwavering determination.

Chuckling lightly, Alice remarks, "Arthur, it seems like our little one can't resist joinin' in on the festivities." She says with a giggle feeling the fluttering kicks in her belly.

Arthur reciprocates with a playful response, "Seems like he's got quite the moves already." He teases experiencing each gentle kick against his own belly.

Overwhelmed by emotions, Dutch steps forward, a glimmer of adoration reflected in his eyes. "Let me show you how it's done, son."

With practiced elegance, Dutch takes Alice's hand, twirling her effortlessly across the dance floor. The other gang members erupt in cheers and laughter, reveling in the camaraderie and the contagious joy that surrounds them. Alice nestles her head against Dutch's chest as they move harmoniously to the music.

Suddenly, a sharp gasp escapes Alice's lips, her hands instinctively cradling her swelling belly. Dutch, his concern evident in his eyes, places a reassuring hand on Alice's shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

"I... I think so." Alice murmurs, a cold shiver coursing through her body.

Dutch, his voice tinged with urgency, offers, "Should we go-"

Before he can finish his sentence, Alice hunches over, gripping her abdomen tightly as a wave of agony washes over her and a warmth cascades down her legs.

"My water just broke!"

[trickstarbrave]

Hiiii I got tagged by @nocturance for wip weekend.

I’d put this under a read more but. I’m on mobile. It doesn’t work I’ve tried. And I don’t have access to my computer rn sooooo

Here it is a scene from moon and Star I’m cooking up. In light of the new lore drop this may be subject to change but it’s what I got. It’s spicy stuff I have to say.

Spoilers for moon and Star, warning for some violence and gore but I try not to get too into it.

.

.

.

Malacath’s hand touched his chest and pain wracked his body. Nerevar could feel the blade cutting away his skin--cutting through the bone of his sternum and splintering it. It ripped apart and opened his ribcage, before that damn hand was then inside his chest. His anxiety spiked as he could feel phantom touches on his heart, a hand gripping it, long claws digging into the muscle as it continued to beat loud and sturdy. His whole body had gone rigid, nostrils flared and his breathing coming in quick pants desperate to get more air in his lungs.

He was terrified. More than terrified, in fact. It was like being killed in the heart chamber but all the more worse somehow. He was choking now, gagging on blood--thick, black blood that was pouring from his chest, bubbling up in his throat.

And then Nerevar was overcome with the urge to laugh. To laugh besides the terror coursing through him, to laugh even though he was gagging and choking on his own blood. He knew he would die; it had been apart of his plan all along. He hadn’t known what death would be like, but he had anticipated it, at least on his own terms. And yet here Trinimac was, killing him himself. Ripping his heart from his chest.

He had intended the first death to be slow and simple. A fading ember rather than a bright, all encompassing flame that destroyed everything with it. He had intended to bear the burden as the cause of the first death in their reality where death did not yet exist—was merely a theory. But here Trinimac was, unknowingly mantling that sin himself. A cruel irony he would be the one to blame for this. It was not his fault, but it would be his responsibility and duty.

He’d collapsed at some point, gasping, crying, and choking on blood as Voryn held him close. Voryn shouldn’t see him like this--not his beloved, sobbing and begging. He couldn’t hear his voice over the drumming of his own heart but he tried to speak despite all the gagging he was doing. His gorgeous, sweet lover, his beautiful hawk shouldn’t have to watch him die like this. Not when Nerevar knew this was coming, deep down. Not when he had doomed them both, sacrificed Voryn’s life on the altar just as much as his own. He was regretting it now, if only because he couldn’t apologize; how could he speak when Trinimac had already ripped out his heart? How could he explain he never wanted to hurt Voryn in truth? How would his beloved hawk even react to his death? Oh the fury he could bring down, how he could drown the world in blood and tears if he was pushed to the brink…

And what of Azura, his sister? His poor, vain, vindictive sister… She hadn’t agreed to help him, but he knew she would be in a rage over his death. And even the man killing him was sobbing and crying, apologizing despite his lord--Nerevar’s own brother--ordering his execution. How could he apologize to this man? To tell him he knew he didn’t mean for it, that Nerevar was the villain all along in this story? Would that soothe his grief? Trinimac, Kyne, Azura, all of the others… How would they fair without him? Tears were now spilling from his eyes not from pain but sorrow that he wouldn’t be there to comfort and love them. Ah, if only he could kiss his hawk one last time…

“Nerevar!” Voryn’s voice finally cut through, and a disconnect happened in the vision. He was untethered now, the sensation of falling back into his own body hitting him, and his ears were ringing loudly, a dizziness washing over him. There were no more feathers on Voryn’s face or on his cloak--why would there be? Voryn wasn’t… Voryn wasn’t a hawk, why would he call him that so fondly? There weren’t even tears streaming down his face like he had seen before, but his face was in a grimace, pained watching him writhe and flail choking on imaginary blood.

His hand came up to his chest as he felt around, but there was no gaping wound like he’d expected. Why had he felt it so clearly then? His whole body was still shaking from the terror and pain, unable to calm the trembling.

“Do you remember now, Lorkhan?” Malacath asked, still standing over him. Vivec and Sil were currently being held back by the numerous orcs, though they were swearing up a storm and desperately trying to fight their way closer to defend him. Even Voryn had a spell prepared as he cradled Nerevar close to his chest, posed with the ferocity of a wild animal protecting its young.

“I-I’m not…” Nerevar began, though it felt like a lie on his tongue. He could still taste the metallic black in his mouth, the unnatural blood he was choking on. His body felt hot now, his mouth dry making the metallic taste all the more nauseating. “Lorkhan is dead!” He shouted definitively. Lorkhan was a dead god--long dead before he had ever been born as a lowly half blooded chimer in that ebony mine.

“And yet, here you are, alive and in the flesh.” Malacath responded, his expression unwavering. “I would know that heartbeat anywhere. I would know how you battle more than anyone else.”

“Stop it!” Nerevar shouted, covering his ears, still shaking.

“Why you deny it is my only question for you.”

“I’m not Lorkhan!” Nerevar growled, teeth bared. His whole body felt like it was burning, just like in the heart chamber. That supernatural chanting from his dream came back too, at the edges of his senses, as he fought back the urge to vomit. “I’m not Lorkhan, just shut up, shut up, shut up!!”

The next thing he knew, everything went black, the last thing he heard being his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and Voryn calling his name.

—

Tagging @boethiahspillowbook, @thescrolls-haveforetold, @orfeoarte, @mulberrycafe and anyone else who wants to (or u also don’t have to if you don’t want to cvjhvvjdtfutf)

[proxylynn]

just thinking of Jack Horner making out with Little Lynn 😵‍💫

He’d be the most meanest bf ever and keep teasing her bc of how messy and sloppy her being but she dont care because all she need is his tongue in her mouth rn!!!!

[I still enjoy how I did this scene in chapter 4. Fuck it! Let's enjoy it together.]

How?

How did it end up like this?

They were sitting in relative silence and drinking one moment. The next, they were cracking jokes and telling stories. Then the stories went from tales of wondrous adventures to personal events. Things that were kept secret slipped out. Vulnerability shown. One thing led to another and, without sound judgment or clear concern for what the consequences could be, they cave to the lack of inhibitions.

Whom so ever made the first move is quickly lost to memory. But what came next at least was chaste...For a moment anyway.

She is over his lap, held to his chest in his arms, both leaning in to get their rose-tinted faces close to one another. His eyes searched her half-lidded ones for signs of hesitation or reluctance. When he was sure there was none, he continues to draw near till his lips press against her forehead, brushing them delicately against her soft skin and sending shivers through her that made her whole body tremble. At that, he vaguely expects a small remark or word of protest. But no such things come from her. So, he keeps going, experimenting with what he can get away with. His mouth traces along the frame of her face, like following the path drawn out on a map. His lips grace the hollow of her temple, then the warmth of her cheek, and peppering along her jawline. Each instance of tenderness is accompanied by the sound of her soft sighs and the quickening of her breathing. It was so much. Too much. Like he was dumping kerosene on a small flame. This was something that set a tiny spark into becoming a roaring inferno.

She reaches up and pulls him to her, rendering him stunned against her lips, but not for long. He kisses her back tenderly, his mouth smothering hers and leaving her breathless. Gone was the time to handle each other like fragile porcelain. Being gentle wasn't enough now, not after being deprived of such affection their whole lives. They were starved for so long and now, the hunger was unleashed and it demanded to be fed. She claws her fists into his shirt, pulling him hard against her, the need for contact is strong. He groans softly, low in his throat almost like a growl, and his arms tighten their grip on her. The tameness they began with had ended and the intensity that followed was embraced fully. The kiss grew in the wake of ignited passion. His tongue is forced inside her mouth, strong and demanding, it wrestles with her own. Every inch of her body feels as though it burns for him. Her hands journey upward, feeling their way over his broad shoulders and encircling his neckline, one clutching him for support while the other combs into his hair.

His hands aren't idle either, no longer content with merely holding her. His massive hands could easily palm her head like she could hold a ball, even one of his hands encompasses her waist with no issue. He was so much bigger than her. The size difference certainly made him enjoy this more. There is something so enjoyable about being able to handle her like she were a small toy to play with as he pleases. So he takes to exploring her figure with meticulous skill, roaming over each supple curve as though trying to commit her form to memory. One of his hands slides up into her hair, his fingers running through her fine locks before gripping hard and pulling her head back, eliciting a wimping gasp from her as they lock eyes. Her heart is racing and her breathing is heavy, her cheeks inflamed with blush, her head was swimming in intoxication as well as the effect of his actions. She was putty in his hands...and he knew it.

His eyes fall to the choker around her neck, the first proper thing he ever gifted her with and she seldom takes it off. Something about that stroked his pride. An idea form in his sauced-up mind and he grins mischievously. Still holding her head back, his other hand slowly makes its way up to her neck, his fingers brushing along the edge of the choker and making her squirm. Seems her prolonged wearing it had made her quite sensitive there. The reaction only fueled his idea. With his thumb, he nudges the choker up more to expose her nape then brings his mouth to it. His hot breath makes her shiver before he even does anything, her level of sensitivity is rather tantalizing. His lips pepper the smooth skin and then begin to nibble, her breathing getting shaky. His hand in her hair changes its grip to hold the side of her head, his thumb pressing over her lips. She eyes him in confusion till her breath hitches sharply, muffled by his thumb as his teeth bite into her neck. His thumb presses down more to signal her to keep quiet as his teeth dig lightly into her skin. She tries in vain to fight her whimpers and she clings to him, her nails digging into him as he sucks on the supple skin. After what feels like an eternity, he detaches from her nape with a sickening wet pop, lazily dragging his tongue across the faintly bleeding and already bruising wound making her shudder. He can't help but grin while admiring his work.

With his thumb still on her lips, he traces the outline of her mouth and then takes hold of her jaw. His eyes are glossy but bright. He motions to her and then toward where the guest room is. Her mind is too washed with booze and latent yearning to register what this implies, she merely nods like the good girl she is. With that, his grin widens and he stands up with her held close. No words are spoken as he effortlessly takes her to the room and locks the door behind them.

[toytle]

i’ve gotten some very kind and thought-provoking tags, and i thought i could respond in one big batch here! thank you for playing along in this au of mine ^__^

#very weird thing to say but i like how their faces r softer when they're older (@ceeloilights)

#i looooove the barry transition timeline sm there is so much love in his receding hairline and wrinkles <3 age that beast (@f0rvalaka)

i rly appreciate these tags bc i’ve been on an Aging Romanticization kick, and i’m so glad it shows. i have such a habit of drawing halbarry in their 20s, but they’re 30s-40s in my mind by default. it was a real treat finally getting to draw the wrinkles and softness that they deserve! they’re settling into themselves :”)

#FINALLY... TRANS BARRY TRUTHER #most unremarkable trans man in existence and I respect that #old man. delightful (@malganis)

you have no idea how thrilled these tags made me, it’s the trans experience of turning the mundane into the sublime. while i was adding gender songs to their playlists, i stumbled upon one for barry called man of my dreams by ezra michel that truly encompasses the serenity of post-transition unremarkable living. old man barry watering his house plants and cooking dinner for his loved ones… that’s the dream :”)

#and hal's gender journey! i don't usually see trans hcs with characters who realize a little later in life so this is so refreshing #such a fun glow-up! (@f0rvalaka)

it’s so nice for him too bc he’s matured and gotten more introspective with age. he’s still the most emotionally constipated lantern, but he also becomes a good mentor, a caring uncle, and a better brother, and i feel like this leaves room for him to be better to himself. hal is a rly interesting case study to me bc it’s not often i see characters make peace with their trauma so early on while continuing to struggle with it (as opposed to the trauma being their driving force or active conflict). none of it is linear ofc, but it’s that duality of knowing who he is/not knowing what he wants that makes his identity a playground to explore.

i’ve also just been rly into trans hcs that diverge from canon-current genders lately. it’s the reassurance that it’s never too late, the building on top of what’s already there, the privilege as a viewer to be able to experience their journey alongside them in real time,,, so underrated. i’m getting the best of both worlds with these two (pre-canon transitioning x post-canon transitioning <3)

#barry and hal going thru the same "i rlly just dont have time to cut my hair' and then went opposite directions #barry complains about his hair getting too long and in his face and hals like 'y dont u get a buzzcut' bec he went thru military #in return barry sometimes combs and styles hals hair like his mom used to do w him (@ceeloilights)

you get it! it’s the t4t of it all!! it plays into the halbarry dynamic of being foils (+ making up for each other’s blindspots) by having them bond because of—not despite—their differences. plus, i like pushing the visual contrast in their designs for that opposites attract theme. their journeys go in opposite directions but they’re helping each other find their way (god i love trans love). also, i may or may not have a hairstylist barry in the works… 👀

#nora put barrys hair in a ponytail Once and then found barry with it on his neck while playing scientist so they compromised w hairclips #EKDNDKFNSKSK barry including his earpieces on his suit and everyone thinks its to honor jay and copy hermes #but he also added them bec it reminded him of the clips his mom gave him when she accepted that he may be a little different (@ceeloilights)

this is so close to a future work i have scripted, i’m starting to feel seen rn and perhaps exposed (/lh). tho i would like to add that barry chose the hair clips himself! he wanted to look like his favorite comic book hero so he begged his mom to “get the ones the flash has!” T__T and the connection to his mom is still there bc she’s the one that introduced those comics to him in the first place!

on the topic of acceptance… i’m not sure if barry would have come out or even known he was trans before nora died. i think she could tell smth was up and waited on his terms, but he didn’t start transitioning until high school. she would have accepted him regardless and barry probably felt that unconditional love in his upbringing, but i imagine that he would have a lot of complicated feelings abt becoming someone his mom might not recognize. i try to make my aus generally canon-compliant (additional flavoring if you will), but i think one thing i would change is that barry’s middle name would take after nora instead of henry. and he would keep it ;__; bartholomew nora allen,,,

edit: wait remember how nora thought barry was gay and said she’d love him no matter what. yeahh she definitely knew that boy was trans

last but not least are the various bigender hal appreciation comments! shoutout to everyone that’s having some kind of gender awakening/euphoria bc of her 💚

the first installment of my t4t childhood friends halbarry au! haven’t quite introduced them to each other yet, but a hair journey is worth a thousand words for now 🏳️‍⚧️

hal is m/f bigender (he/her), barry is a trans man (he/him)

close-ups:

[missmeinyourbones]

hello favorite writer !! can u do megumi w 46 in the kisses section ? i hope u r doing well and i love ur works :)

46. angry kisses (M. FUSHIGURO) (wc: 650+)

part of L’s 1K event!

“Megumi?”

He can practically hear the quiver of your lip before he sees it, turning around at the sound of your voice calling out his name. He should be scared, petrified, of the wrath he knows he’s about to face. He should be shaking in fear and anticipation of the anger he knows you hold for him right now, but he isn't.

If anything, in some sick way, he’s relieved. Grateful to even be hearing your voice after the stupid stunt he just pulled on his mission. Even if your voice was laced with fury and resentment, it was still yours. 

When he fully turns and sees you, he can practically feel the heat from the anger radiating off of you. If it was possible, he’s absolutely certain that steam would be coming out of your ears. You wear a livid yet weary expression, one he’s become far too accustomed to these days. And again he finds himself cursing his heart for swooning at the sight of your angered frame, because again, it’s yours. 

Suddenly you’re walking towards him, quickly and motivated as you close the space between the two of you. He expects a light shove, some tears, maybe even a flick on the forehead. He expects your desperate pleas of hurt and betrayal, or even worse, the silent treatment. What he doesn't expect but somehow still receives, is your lips desperately on his, inhaling all of him as if you might never get the chance to taste him again. 

“You’re so stupid,” you whisper between the cracks of his bloodied pout. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“I know,” he agrees, and he means it. He knows how foolish it was to risk his life on a whim like that, without saying goodbye to you or kissing you one last time. He thinks he’d kill you if you did the same to him. 

“I know,” he repeats (more so to himself) into your mouth, lips still feverishly on one another. 

He’s not sure what he did to deserve this kind of reaction, but he’s more than thankful for it. You are mad at him, he can tell from the harsh insults imbedded in your kisses, but you’re still kissing him. So how mad can you really be? 

“How could you do that to me?” 

Kiss. 

“Something could’ve happened to you.” 

Kiss. 

“You’re so selfish.” 

Kiss. 

“I would have never done that to you.” 

Kiss. 

Your hands are clinging and grasping onto any part of him they can reach: his sore arms, disheveled hair, tiresome back. Poking, prodding, feeling him. Making sure he’s alive and here, in your arms and stupid as ever. 

“Not that I’m complaining or anything but,” Megumi decides to try his luck, as he slips his tongue into your mouth for a second before pulling away once more to quietly mumble, “if you’re so mad at me, why are you kissing me?”

And he almost regrets asking, because for the first time since you walked into his embrace, your lips leave his as you pull away to look him in the eyes. 

“Because I need to feel you,” you pine and he feels the love in your voice—it encompasses him like a familiar scent of warmth and home. Your eyes burn into his as you continue, “Make sure you’re still with me, even though you’re an asshole.”

He lets out a soft chuckle at your crude insult and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more loved than he does in this moment. For someone to scream at him, hold him accountable, want more for him, it feels like a blessing which he doesn’t deserve. 

“I’m sorry,” he returns, forehead resting on yours as his large and calloused hand rubs sweet circles on the center of your back. 

“No, you’re not,” you mumble as your lips find his again, needing him close. You feel him smile into the kiss as he grabs your face to deepen his movements.

“Kinda hard to be when you’re kissing me like this,” he admits with a grin. “Not exactly a punishment.”

NOTE: f- favori- favorite writer????? imagine me clutching my chest and blushing bc thats whats happing rn. thank u for all of ur support / reading my works / requesting this for the sweetest stupid boy ever! i hope you are doing amazing and that this makes u smile