#like not even that good just good enough to do them decently except sing i feel like my singing isn't that bad and my arts not terrible but
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One more before I go to bed.
Alcohol tolerance headcanons (and how they act) (tiny suggestive warning for one of them)
Peppino: This one I see a lot, but he is definitely a lightweight. Doesn't drink much mostly because he doesn't like the taste. Only takes a few drinks for him to get wasted. He probably had a few drinks in before he was kicking Gus and The Noise in the cover for the OST. He becomes super fun when drunk. Dancing, singing, laughing; you'll see a side of Peppino you never knew existed.
Gustavo: A medium-weight. Doesn't drink often and doesn't drink too much at parties. He gets loose when he's drunk but not to the same degree as Peppino. Cracks a lot of jokes that make no sense. Gets lovey. Wants hugs, tells people how much he loves them and how beautiful they are. Once made Peppino cry after he told him how much he meant to him. The whole "you're my best friend" schpeel.
Mr. Stick: A medium-weight. Prefers wine. Turns into a person instead of a penny pinching seagull. Will open up and have decent conversations. He talks about fun times he had, be it in childhood or college. He'll actually talk your ear off. Talks about why he got into finances. Talks about money, that's inevitable. Not much of a party animal. Enjoys watching the others make themselves look stupid.
Pepperman: HEAVYWEIGHT. He can drink ANYONE under the table except John. Can drink all night and never be TOO drunk. Lets loose. That artsy fartsy narcissist persona disappears. He still talks about art, just not as much. Laughs a lot. Will listen to what you have to say instead of talking over you.
The Vigilante: Somewhere between lightweight and medium-weight. It only takes a few shots of whiskey for him to be off his ass drunk. Trips over his own boots. Laughs a lot, slurs his words. "Sspose to be... Thissws spose to be funn. Whys is, whys is nobody country line dancing? Ss not a party wifout line danssin." His drunk laugh probably sounds like Seth Rogan's.
The Noise: Medium-weight. Can handle most of his liquor. He usually gets giddy and silly. Wants to dance, joke around, probably might light something on fire. Would end up doing drunk karaoke just to be unusually good at it. Doesn't know his limits. Thinks he can handle more than he can, gets blackout drunk and pukes. He likes to run away and be a little shit. He also gets really affectionate when drunk. Wants hugs and kisses and snuggles. Sometimes even gets a little uh... TOO affectionate if you catch my drift. Likes to be dared to do dumb shit. "You guys think I could kick this gas pump hard enough so it'll explode? I'm gonna fuckin do it."
Noisette: Medium-weight. Likes mimosas... Likes mimosas A LOT. Bottomless brunch is her weakness. Gets super bubbly and giggly when drunk. Will laugh at anything. You could point at a pebble, and she'd bust out laughing. As much shit as she gives Noise for getting too drunk, she has also been in his shoes the same amount of times. They take turns on who gets to get drunk and who gets to be the babysitter. Knows her limits. Might suddenly start crying about anything. Would cry because she felt bad for laughing at that pebble earlier. "BUT WHAT IF IT MADE THE PEBBLE SAAAAD."
Fake Peppino: NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK. NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK. NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK. NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK. NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK. NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK. NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK. Took a sip of Pizzahead's wine once. Was an unstoppable force of energy. Got too silly. Many casualties and thousands of dollars worth of damage. All because of ONE sip. NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK.
Pizzaface: Simply doesn't drink. Watches everybody act like idiots. He's the one who pointed at the pebble. "Noisette, look at that pebble." (insert Noisette laughing hysterically)
Pizzahead: HEAVYWEIGHT. Had a drinking contest with Pepperman once; lost. Pouted and didn't talk to Pepperman for like a month. Can drink like 10 drinks before he's actually drunk. Can drink 10 more before he's DRUNK. Turns into even more of a party animal than he already is. Dancing, singing, screaming. When they're both drunk, he and The Noise are BEST FRIENDS. They go hand-in-hand to create the world's craziest party. Probably dances like a whore and gets yelled at for it. Then he dances normal.
Pillar John: Another HEAVYWEIGHT. Can drink more than Pepperman. It takes enough alcohol to kill a small elephant to get John drunk. He doesn't even drink often, he's just like that. Likes to dance and joke around. Usually wins at beer pong. Gets a lot like Gustavo and starts talking about how much he loves everyone except for Pizzahead.
Gerome: Doesn't drink. Sober bro, but still knows how to have a good time. Will stop John from drinking too much or doing something stupid while drunk. He keeps an eye on John, everyone else is on their own.
#pizza tower#the noise#noise#headcanon#pizzahead#shitpost#noisette#peppino#peppino spaghetti#pizza tower gerome#pizza tower gustavo#gustavo#gerome#pillar john#fake peppino#pepperman#the vigilante#mr. stick#pizzaface#suggestive
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notes: so scara's boss theme was leaked and i've been obsessed with it. everytime i listen to it i feel, deep down, that the male voice we hear is scara's (and aether's) cn va. idk what the fuck this is. just. just take it. i'm done. goodnight. not proof-read. brain fart.
word count: 0.3k
so imagine working for the fatui and getting assigned under the balladeer as his little assistant. you're highly aware of how disposable you are in his eyes, but still, you try your best because hey, if you don't displease him, at least you can live longer, right? you're decent. that's enough.
so one late night/early morning, you're bringing him paperwork. you're dead on your feet, and this is the last thing you need to do before finally, finally being dismissed from this nightmare of a day, and your hand is poised to knock on the door of his office when you hear humming. it's a beautiful, solid thing, even muffled, and it makes you pause. listen in.
there's also footsteps inside, indicating there's only one person inside, and no one – except maybe tartaglia – would be insane enough to walk into scaramouche's office alone and uninvited. it takes a few seconds more for your brain to understand that yes, it is indeed the 6th of the fatui harbingers humming, with a timbre so lovely you wonder what he'd sound like actually singing out loud.
it stops as abruptly as the door in front of you swings open. you're too startled and tired to react, and so he knows, with absolute certainty, that you were eavesdropping on him. scaramouche regards you with cold, unreadable eyes.
"well?"
you thrust the files forward, not daring say anything. he doesn't take them, still staring at you. you gulp, anxiety starting to bubble in your heart.
"forgive me, my lord. i didn't mean to—" meekly, you lower your head in submission, hoping he won't be pissed enough to think of a punishment for something as harmless as accidentally listening in to a harbinger humming inside their own office. "here's the paperwork your requested. shall i leave it at your table?"
"look at me."
you do.
"you heard nothing."
you nod, and he takes the files, violet eyes boring into yours through your mask.
"say it."
"i– i heard nothing. sir."
"good. you're dismissed."
you're four steps away from his office's door as he's closing it when, in your stupidity, you speak up.
"permission to speak freely, my lord?"
scaramouche halts his action. smirks.
"if you dare."
you hesitate.
"you have a lovely voice."
you scurry away without risking a glance back.
#scaramouche x y/n#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x you#genshin x y/n#genshin x you#genshin x reader#i just want to hear him sing. please.#—fox writes#—fox writes about: scaramouche
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Shimmer, Plants, and Firelights: Is the Firelights' Tree HQ being Sustained with Shimmer?
One of the most impressive things about Ekko's community, the Firelights, is that they were able to build a real home for one other another against the brutal struggle to survive that the Undercity has been caught in for centuries. Arcane best shows the Firelights' success in community in their ability to build and manage a green community. In the Undercity, a place of Iron and Glass, where plants and clean air are such luxuries that they count as status symbols, the Firelights are practically bathed in it in their Treehouse HQ. But then when I rewatched the series, I remembered Ekko said they FOUND this tree. The Firelights didn't grow it from seed to massive old growth themselves (especially if the timeskip was just 6-7 yrs at most), they certainly cultivated it in a way that allowed the tree to support itself and them too. After finishing Arcane it was so easy to firmly associate successful plant cultivation and the hope it brings for the Undercity with the Firelights, to where I had forgotten that the plants do grow in the Undercity.
The first time we see plant life in the Undercity is at the Crab Palace, better known as the Cannery. Through the cracks in the ground are leafy ferns (I think they're ferns) and generally very healthy looking weeds. At first I'd assumed maybe this area was in a slightly less polluted area in the Undercity, but it's literally by the place Silco was drowned. The place where the river is so toxic it eats muscle tissue. And yet, in the light of day plants grow. In fact, even underwater vegetation seems to be able to grow too. And everytime we see an instance of vegetation growing and surviving in the Undercity, there is always a source of Shimmer and/or Shimmer production nearby.
In the Cannery we can see the literal veins of Shimmer (Void Veins?), act as a medium that allows plant growth.
In the time it took for the sun to set on 2nd episode we can see that even more fern saplings are growing on and around the Void Veins.
In Singed's cave where he is cultivating Rio, the mutation related to Shimmer's production the cave is filled with bioluminescent plant life. I don't know if this a normal plant in League of Legends, but in the real world there are no naturally occurring plants that actively glow in the dark. Not only do they exist in a cave system that's fed with water visibly polluted with visible chemical runoff they manage to grow in decent looking clusters with limited light.
Later in the season, Viktor's experiments with the hexcore show that the Void is capable of stimulating the growth organic life and Shimmer may be the key to maintaining it.
By the end of the season, Shimmer production is shown in a very controlled environment like the factory where plant life would be weeded out to avoid accidents and prevent damage to machinery. When the show reaches the Firelights' HQ, audience members like myself already forgot Shimmer's association with plant life. But looking back, it seems few requirements are needed for Shimmer to make plants grow. All the plants probably needed was light, moisture, and a healthy supply of Shimmer.
It makes sense that the Firelights' treehouse was able to grow so large and grand in a place like the Undercity with the help of Shimmer. Shimmer is a literal magic wonder drug (a super steriod) for humans, and magic doesn't need to understand basics of biochemistry, it's the Void. The real question is where is the source that's feeding the tree? The easiest answer could be that Silco dumps subpar quality Shimmer around the area, maybe the batches aren't strong enough but inadvertently make good fertilizer. The more worrying answer is that the Void Veins over the years have dug deeper into the Undercity than anyone, except maybe Singed thought was possible.
No matter the answer, if it's true the tree was only able to survive before the Firelights reached it would be devastatingly ironic for Ekko and his group. Shimmer, the drug that elevated their enemy and upended their lives also made their home possible. It could be an opportunity to look once again at the nuances of Shimmer's applications once more, especially as previously the Firelights and now Piltover are hellbent on destroying it. But it also makes their home an even bigger target.
Somewhere there is a reserve of Shimmer sustaining the Firelights' tree in a time where production in its industry has been effectively shut down. They are possibly living on an extremely flammable gold mine. The gold mine may or may not be closely psychically conected to other Void-connected transmutated people like Jinx and Viktor. It also doesn't help that Piltover's quick to storm in first and ask questions later in high tension situations.
#arcane#ekko arcane#silco#ekko#singed arcane#viktor arcane#firelights arcane#arcane season 2 speculation#season 2 is gonna be tough on the firelights especially ekko#they all looked a little too happy at the end of the season#also I'm pretty sure we're going to have a flashback of Heimerdinger’s village burning so thatt#that'll be a tough parallel#a bunch if things are gonna go wrong for them#i have more to say#arcane speculation#arcane meta#the firelights
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All Might for the character ask game?
Accidentally called Nana "Mom" once. He doesn't remember because he was pretty out of it but she does.
Genius level of smart... except for emotional intelligence. It was the universe nerfing him so he wouldn't be too powerful.
Has friends but they tend to be oversea, as he only relaxed and was approachable enough only when he wasn't in Japan, which is AFO's stronghold.
Cried when he realized AFO was alive because it meant Izuku had to fight him.
A pretty decent cook but doesn't have the time/the motivation.
Doesn't care about what anyone says about him but really doesn't like people criticizing Izuku.
Used to get in trouble when he was young and thinks it's normal for teenagers to do dumb shit as long as they don't harm anyone.
The ten months during which he trained with Izuku really changed him. He dragged him out of his depression, made him more comfortable with showing his true appearance, and generally made him drop a lot of the Symbol of Peace persona, revealing Toshi. More, he remembered that people would actually like who he really was.
He doesn't complain about events where heroes have to show up like gala and such but at 10 PM, he is thinking very loudly "I am old and I want to go to bed."
Absolutely horrified by Izuku's habit of answering texts and any kind of messages at 2 or 3 AM. All Might is up because he is heroing! Young Midoriya should be sleeping in his bed!
Still stronger than you would assume after losing his quirk. And that's not even talking about his experience in fighting.
Dad jokes. So many dad jokes from the moment he met Izuku.
Keeps buying Izuku food the first chance he gets.
Was a vigilante in his youth.
Still technically does some vigilantism just so he doesn't have to fill out the paperwork.
Pain threshold through the roof UNLESS he hit his little toe on a piece of furniture.
Once waited Izuku in front of his school only for Aldera to call the cops on him. He didn't want to explain who he was so he ran.
Always congratulates heroes who make it to the top 10 and several of them accidentally called him "dad". Every time, he pretends not to hear it to save them the embarrassment.
Young Midoriya hasn't accidentally called him Dad yet but he is waiting for it. He is ready.
Barely talked to Gran Torino from the moment AFO "died" to the moment he gave OFA to Izuku. Now, they are talking once a week.
Can't sing.
Extremely good at barbecues.
Unbeatable at card games.
Used to be slightly uncomfortable with Izuku's quirk rambles but now finds it adorable.
Very high level of denial can be registered every time Izuku does anything that could remind someone of a certain villain.
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100% agree w the other anon talking abt the look at this song. but what really pisses me off the most is that they have the incredible alex brightman doing this character and thats the best they can do for the song he gets? like they couldve easily had him improv something halfway decent & it probably wouldve been infinitely funnier/more entertaining than what we actually got. at least then him & blitzo escaping bc of plot convenience wouldve been tolerable
also why did literally every fucking character make an appearance in this episode. striker AND moxies dad idfk what his name is AND stolas didnt need to be here. literally not even a single girl character in this episode except for like that secretary or whatever. but also if the people moxies dad hires are incompetent dumbasses (as weve seen in the 2 episodes theyre in) then why was he like so intent on testing strikers abilities instead of just hiring him cuz hes like tall and has nice eyebrows or whatever. anyways have a nice day or smth
He most likely will have another song in the next episode since it's a musical with Mammon or something, but yeah, that song was not good as a song and how it fits within the story.
Having Alex improv would fit Fizzarolli's character because he's an entertainer, and it would make a bit more sense as to how the villains got distracted because he would be interacting with them instead of just singing to them.
Crimson and Striker collabed because fanservice, that's really the only reason I believe why. It's weird that Striker has heard of Crimson, but Asmodeus hasn't.
And I don't know why Crimson wants to test out Striker's abilities. None of the goons he has are really smart and is pretty sure he looks for brawn instead of brains.
But I'm not sure if enough brains will even help the stupidity of him and his organization.
Hope you have a good one too ❤️
#helluva boss#vivziepop critical#helluva boss critical#helluva boss criticism#vivziepop criticism#vivziepop#helluva boss critique#helluva critical#vivienne medrano
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What kind of music do they listen to?
Fandom: Call Of Duty.
Characters: Kyle “gaz” Garrick, John “soap” Mactavish, Simon ”ghost” Riley, John ”bravo 0-6” Price.
Genre: Headcanons (random)
☆•°.•.°•.. ☆•°.•.°•.. ☆•°.•.°•.. ☆•°.•.°•..
Kyle “gaz” Garrick
Gaz is ACTUALLY the type of guy who can listen to everything. I totally see him listening to Nirvana in the morning, 2Pac the day, and Adele the night. Mainly into american rap and hip-hop tho, probably a huge Gorillaz fan.
I KNOW he hates phonk, i just do. He really hates it. He surprisely really likes Price's music tastes, and always ask him for new songs recommandations. Vibes with John because they have similar tastes when it comes to pop.
Always listens to music when he's working out, walking outside or chilling, always has earphones on him. ALWAYS. Definitely has many playlists for every situations.
Used to listen to electro and techno all the time. Was so sure he could rap like Eminem when he was in middle school...
Simon “ghost” Riley
This man has serious anger issues, and that's the only reason why i think he listens to metal. He's a chill metalhead tho, like, he doesn't go to festivals or any event. A Slayer and Cannibal Corpse lover, he likes it fast and hard.
And surprisely, im 100% sure bro loves metalcore and nu metal (he probably listens to Slipknot religeously...) Enjoys jazz and sad rock songs when he's home alone. Radiohead saved his life. Says he hates everyone's music tastes except Price's.
Pretends he doesn't listen to music, and he never does in public. (And he actually doesn't often, only when he's off duty.)
Used to be a Nirvana teenager, the basic Kurt Cobain lover. Probably tried to learn how to play guitar when he was younger, and sucessed to have a decent level.
John “soap” Mactavish
Johnny is a radio music tastes guy. He listens to whatever comes on the radio. Harry Styles? Of course. Mäneskin? Pretty sure he loves them. Even Lady Gaga? HELL YEAH!
But, we all agreed that our Johnny boy is a pround scottish man. And i love to think that he actually listens to that angry scottish music. 100% Sure he loves Imagine Dragons and Ed Sheeran... He thinks Ghost's music tastes are cool as fuck.
He hates earphones and headphones, he needs everyone to listen to his playlist with him. He randomly starts to sing, whistle or hum when he's slightly bored.
He never tried to do anything with music, he knows damn well he can't sing even if he loves to do it as a joke.
John “bravo 0-6” Price
Good old rock. A good Black Sabbath on Spotify while he drinks some whiskey at home is always good. Knows a lot of rock (and some 80's metal) bands, thats why he gets along with Ghost's tastes so well. He's a nostalgic man, he has tones of vinyls at home.
Kyle influenced what he listens to a lot, im sure they made a playlist for eachother. Really likes Gorillaz just because Kyle loves it. Nothing more to say, this man's tastes are perfects.
Usually only listen to music when he's alone, but won't hesitate to give song recommandations if you ask nicely. If you're way younger than him, he'll laugh and tell you won't like any of that because you're not old enough to apreciate best things.
Used to wanna be in a band when he was a teen, but he quickly gave up. Can play the acoustic guitar pretty well and has a nice voice.
☆•°.•.°•.. ☆•°.•.°•.. ☆•°.•.°•.. ☆•°.•.°•..
That's all for now, i hope you enjoyed these silly headcanons :)
-Aslan, your local metalhead.
#callofduty#modern warfare ii#call of duty headcanons#cod mwii#cod mwiii#cod headcanons#call of duty#mwii headcanons#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#john price#kyle gaz garrick
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Bruce trying to parent scruffy!verse reader
Bruce watched the half-feral teenage girl stalk out onto the stage in a bar she wasn't old enough to be in and step up to the mic.
From a distance, she looked enough like her mother that no one asked any questions. Not really.
And from the moment she opened her mouth and the godawful lyrics came out- he was transfixed. Not because the music was good- it wasn't. This wasn't something you'd gotten your hands on to make decent. But he could not look away. You had presence. You took up all the empty space in the room. Singing like your life depended on it.
But when the thought hit him that it did. That this was your rent money on the line. That this was a couple more days of hot meals and heat- it made him feel sick. Because this wasn't you. Not really.
The music. The lyrics. The way you stalked the stage and growled and wailed... It was all bravado and bluff.
He waited. Staying near the back and out of sight. He could see the eyes that followed your every move and it made his skin crawl. Still, he waited until the show was over and you were folding a handful of bills and tucking them into your pocket before he slid out, coming to meet you in the alley behind the bar.
Bruce watched you lean against the wall, shivering in the chill as you watched your breath spiral up to the street light. Watched you look up at the sliver of sky you could see. Like you'd find an answer written there. In the dull yellow glow, you look sick. Even more fragile than usual. Dark bruise like shadows under your eyes look bigger and even more doll like.
"Not her best work," he said, coughing slightly to announce that he was there.
"It's better than when she fronted for Pussy Factory" you snort.
"Y/N-"
"I'm fine," you sigh, "I'm just tired-"
"You look-"
"I always look sick, Bruce."
"How long has she been gone this time?" he asked, frowning.
"A week?"
It comes out as a question. Like even you aren't sure what day it is. One day running into the next. The endless grind of school all day and working at night rendering time meaningless.
"Did you eat anything-"
"I had a snickers? And a sandwhich-"
Bruce cringed, "Get in the car, Y/N."
"I don't want-"
"Either you get in the car and let me take you home or I call the cops and report that you're alone."
"Bruce-"
"Your choice," he said folding his arms. You could brush Jason off, he'd back down when you bared your teeth. But Bruce had bigger teeth and a lot more practice. "The manor or emergency shelter."
And when you scowl at him, slinking forward, Bruce doesn't say a word. He simply opens the passenger door and waits. Gently taking your guitar case and sliding it into the back seat and shutting your door behind you.
"You're an asshole sometimes," you tell him, buckling your seat belt.
That made him smile, just a little. But he knew better than to let you see it. You pride could only take so much bruising in one day. Still, he turned up the heat in the car and handed you a travel mug with hot tea in it. The rasp in your voice wasn't all from the show. You either were very sick or about to be. And Jason was worried.
"Alfred made soup," he said simply, making a mental note to call Dr. Tompkins to come to check you out in the morning.
"He didn't have to-"
"You know you can ask for help, right?"
"And what happens when there's no one to ask?" It's asked almost like you're asking if it might rain. Without a hint of teenage irritation or a trace of bitterness. And he watched you out of the corner of his eye. Not for the first time, wondering how many times a kid your age had had to ask for help and not get it to be this fiercely independent. How many times you'd been left alone and scared to be so certain you couldn't rely on anyone.
"It's not the same-"
"Except it is," you murmur. "No one ever sticks around long. It's just easier to do it myself."
Bruce nodded, "Well. I won't tell if you don't. Can't hurt your street cred if no one knows."
"Deal."
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The Softest of Them All
Summary: Izzy Hands can't believe that somebody like you would get his attention. A member of Bonnet's crew, a disgrace of a pirate, too friendly for your own good. He couldn't be more obvious in his pining. Could you give him a chance?
Life was cruel, this was something Izzy had accepted a long time ago. Life was cruel and laughed in the face of those who thought otherwise.
Izzy was certain that some higher power was laughing at him now. Bringing Stede Bonnet into his life, placing him on the deck of the Revenge, having his captain be seduce by the absolute buffoonery that the crew of the Revenge was.
Barely anyone in Bonnet's crew was a decent pirate, which about two exceptions. Buttons knew everything about how to run a ship and had a near supernatural sense for the sea and weather, and Jim was clearly a skilled fighter, even Izzy wouldn't go up against them without thinking about it first.
The rest were next to useless.
And that was probably the biggest joke, wasn't it? You were not a pirate, you might be aboard a pirate ship but you were not a pirate. Izzy knew pirates, had spend nearly his whole life around them, you were not one. You were...fuck, he didn't even know. And yet, it was you that he found himself drawn too.
It was you that Izzy found himself watching when he was supervising the crew, you that had him biting back smiles when you were around. You were infectious. Your kindness, your sweetness, it was even penetrating Izzy's steel walls.
-
Izzy had ordered you and Frenchie to sew up the spare sail. What he hadn't ordered you to do was to loudly and cheerfully sing some sea shanty while you worked. He had wanted to snap at you both for paying more attention to the song than the task at hand, of course, but when he came closer to inspect your work he found that it was near perfect.
Your sewing was pretty good, you had mentioned something about Wee John having taught you when Izzy had supervised the sewing of the sail and he absolutely hated that he could remember that.
Besides that, you could swab a deck just fine but you really would have to be a new level of useless to mess that up.
Your knots were shit. Though, whenever he told you that, you would frown and ask him to show you how to do it properly. You weren't scoffing at him or rolling your eyes or telling him to do it himself, you wanted to learn and he could appreciate that to an extent.
And when Izzy did pause to show you how to do something properly or more efficiently, you truly listened and gave it your best try. Annoyingly, it was difficult to be angry with you when you were one of the few crew members actually trying to learn. Plus, you certainly seemed the most devoted to learning, evening asking him for lessons on various 'pirate things'. He just closed his eyes and counted to ten when you called it that, he wouldn't snap, not when you were willing to put your best effort in.
So, he taught you some knots, he taught you a little navigation just because you asked (even if you didn't really need to know that in your role aboard the ship), and gave you some sword fighting lessons after you pleaded with him long enough. He couldn't help but find your little lessons refreshing, he would help you in his spare time and it surprisingly helped him unwind.
You weren't a natural but your dedication was admirable, that was enough for Izzy at this point.
-
"Loverboy is at it again," Lucius came up behind you, making you jump a little.
"Huh? What?" you frowned, looking up from the knots you were tying in the rigging.
"Izzy is watching," Lucius said in a sign song voice. You glanced over the deck to see that Izzy was indeed looking over in your direction, turning away when you met his gaze. "You know that he's all soft on you, right? Like, it's really kinda weird," the scribe commented, turning his nose up slightly.
"Yeah, I know," you nodded, turning back to the task at hand.
"So?" Lucius encouraged, leaning into you.
"So?" you repeated, smiling a little to yourself in amusement.
"I mean I'd definitely sketch him if he accepted the offer but he doesn't really seem like relationship material," you weren't sure which direction Lucius was trying to nudge you, or if he was just looking for something to entertain himself. It had been a slow day, in his defence.
"I don't know what I'm going to do about it yet," you admitted.
"What are your options?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"I mean, I'd like to give him a chance but he's so..."
"Izzy?" Lucius finished for you with a nod of understanding.
"Yeah!" you sighed, finishing your final not and leaning back against the railing. "He's so difficult. I know he's interested in me but he's still all weird about it, like...he's not even that friendly? I don't even know if he's trying to be friendly or not. And he's such a dick to the others," you complained.
"So, if he were to pursue you properly, you'd give it a shot?" Lucius questioned.
"Yeah, definitely. There has to be a softer side to him, right?" you looked to the scribe for some sort of back up that you were right.
"You always see the best in people. Even when it doesn't exist," he reminded you, a sympathetic but fond look on his face.
"I think it exists. Come on, I'm a terrible pirate. If he holds any fondness for me, he can't be all that awful," you pointed out, that had to be something!
"...I suppose that makes some sort of sense," Lucius had to agree before reminding you that, "you'll have to make the move though."
"I know that. Just don't want him to get all defensive or anything," you pondered your options, wondering if Lucius would give his input.
"I doubt the stress is worth it," Lucius shrugged, giving your shoulder a small squeeze.
"I dunno...I'll think about it," you smiled, pushing it to the back of your mind for now. You had time to consider what you would do.
-
Eating supper with the crew in the galley wasn't Izzy's favourite way to take his meals but this evening he was enduring. He was perched at the end of the bench, putting a small distance between himself and the others, keeping out of their discussions.
You thanked Roach for your serving and turned to the bench. You were the last to come and get your supper, so the bench was early full. There were two places you could sit. Between Frenchie and the Swede, or beside Izzy.
You had an option, and when Izzy took note of you collecting your rations, he just assumed you would take the seat at the other end of the table. You didn't.
"Hey, Iz," you smiled kindly as you sat down beside him.
He eyed you for a moment, as if suspicious of you, before just nodding his greeting. You didn't push him for anything more, busying yourself with peeling your orange and tearing it in half.
"Here," you got his attention again, holding out one half of your orange for him to take.
"I don't need your leftovers," Izzy muttered, eating a spoonful of stew.
"They're not my leftovers, I haven't even started eating yet," you pointed out. "I just noticed that you don't have an orange. I assume your risking scurvy because we're running low on our citrus rations but we're heading for St Augustine so I don't understand why you're doing that," you observed, and Izzy didn't like that.
"Maybe I just didn't want an orange," Izzy huffed, feeling like you had looked through him too easily. He didn't like feeling that predictable, even if he was.
"I know you're not going to admit you're wrong and get your own, so you can have half of mine," you insisted, still holding the half an orange out.
"Fuck off," he rolled his eyes but he knew he would have to give in soon otherwise risk causing a scene and getting the others involved.
"I insist," you placed it in front of him, not even giving him the choice anymore. "It will be refreshing after your stew," you told him.
"You're insufferable," Izzy conceded, accepting the damn orange.
"But you're still sitting here and you've accepted the orange," you claimed your victory with a smile, while Izzy scowled and blushed down at his supper.
It was after supper that you found Lucius up on the deck, finding some peace and quiet to finish up a sketch he had been working on.
"I'm going to give it a proper try," you announced, looking down at where the man was sitting.
"What? Wait, the Dizzy thing?" Lucius asked, looking up from his sketchbook.
"Don't call him that," you sighed, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the scribe.
"He's a prick," Lucius reminded you with a straight face.
"I know," you groaned. "I don't know, I just feel like I'm getting to see another side of him, a glimpse, just like...the tip of the iceberg, y'know?" you tried to explain.
Lucius watched you sympathetically as you paced, gently closing his sketchbook. "Oh, you're down bad."
"I am not," you denied, rolling your eyes.
"I think you might be," Lucius shrugged and you knew that he was right, even if you didn't really want to admit it.
"Whatever," you sighed, coming to a halt in front of the scribe.
"You got a plan?" he asked.
"...kinda?" you considered for a moment before deciding to share it with him, "we're stopping at port next week, hopefully he'll take some shore leave. You know, spend some time together off of the ship. It could help him relax. Not planning on anything specific, just whatever I can get Izzy to agree too."
"Normally I would warn you to not get stabbed but, weirdly enough, I don't think he would even attempt it," Lucius confessed. "He couldn't be more obvious about his pining," at least it had provided him some amusement over the last few weeks.
"So...if he gives you some chores to do before leaving for the day...just do it, yeah? For me?" you asked with a small pout, batting your lashes at him. "It would be best if he wasn't in a terrible mood."
"I promise nothing," Lucius grumbled.
"Thanks, Lucius. Love you!" you flashed him a thankful smile and blew him a kiss before leaving him to his sketching.
-
The day that the ship stopped at port, you turned down all the offers to go drinking with the crew before they all filed off of the ship. Instead, you waited until you saw Izzy leaving the ship (thankful that he even did).
When you saw him disembarking, you waited a moment so that it wasn't too obvious that you had been waiting for him. Then you left the ship and broke into a light jog to catch up with him.
"Hey, Iz, got any plans?" you asked, coming up by his side and matching his pace.
Izzy looked at you for a moment out the corner of his eye and sighed. "Got some business to take care of," he told you, assuming that would make you groan and hurry off. That's how most of the crew reacted to the idea of work.
"Mind if I tag along?" why did you never react the way he thinks you will?
"Wouldn't you rather be...doing whatever the crew is doing?" Izzy asked, squinting at you.
"Nah, they're probably just spending all their coin on drink. I can do that with them another time," you laughed a little. "So, can I tag along? I'll stay out of the way, I promise."
Izzy looked at you again, like he was assessing you. "Yeah, yeah, alright. Just don't cause any trouble," he gave you a firm nod.
"You have my word," you promised.
You followed Izzy around the port that he obviously seemed familiar with, asking questions between meetings with various people. He told you a little bit about the port, how this was one of the safer ports for pirates and for Blackbeard's flag. He had even told you a story about coming here years ago with Edward and somebody called Jack.
Izzy wasn't a talkative person, at least not when it came to personal matters, so you listened to every word and cherished the slightly more relaxed state he was in.
The two of you came out from another random building after speaking with somebody you didn't know, but somebody Izzy had clearly met before.
"That was my last meeting, you can go drink with the crew now if you like," Izzy informed you. He didn't know why you would want to tag along while he worked but he figured you wouldn't want to hang around him for much longer.
"Are you stopping for a drink?" you asked.
"No, going back to the ship. Somebody has to make sure it's in decent shape."
"Well, will you come and have a drink with me? Just one drink, to celebrate a job well done. The rest of the crew doesn't have to be there."
Izzy frowned a little as he turned to you fully. Why did you have to be so difficult for him to understand. "...why?"
"Like I said, celebrating a job well done," you repeated, even though you very clearly had ulterior motives. "What? Can I not want to share a drink with you?"
"Fine, whatever. But a different tavern than the crew," Izzy begrudgingly agreed but it made you smile. You knew that he wouldn't give in so easily to another member of the crew.
"Shouldn't be too difficult!" you assured him cheerfully.
The two of you easily found a pub that the crew hadn't gathered in and headed to the bar to get your drinks.
Izzy sat beside you at the bar, his head down and swirling his drink around in his glass.
"Penny for your thoughts," you broke the silence.
"Haven't got any," Izzy mumbled, taking a sip of his dark drink.
"Well that's a bold face lie. I think you've got more thoughts than any of us," you mused. Whenever you looked at that man you could see the thoughts rolling around in his head.
"That's not saying much," Izzy shrugged slightly.
You laughed a little, nudging his shoulder with your own. You didn't think he meant any real harm by it and you appreciated that he was joking with you to some extent.
"I mean it. You always look like...like there's so much going on in your head. It must be tiring," you told him sincerely, not a trace of mockery in your voice. Once again, Izzy just looked at you, clearly in thought. "See, I can practically hear all those thoughts swirling around. It's practically deafening," you teased fondly.
Izzy tore his gaze away, staring back down at his glass. "Bonnet's a shit pirate and a shit captain. He pays a salary with money he inherited, he's not actually making a profit, we don't raid enough. The crew is insane, it's a miracle the ship is still above the waves," he said.
"That's what you're always thinking about?" you asked with a small frown.
"It's part of it," he shrugged, sipping from his glass. "Can't wrap my head around the whole thing, if I'm being honest. Doesn't make any sense," he confessed.
"Stede is...yeah, he doesn't know how to be a pirate, but he's trying to do right by all of us. In a way we're lucky to have signed on with him rather than anyone else," you defended your captain. All of you knew he didn't know how to be a pirate or what to expect once out at sea, but he was doing good by you all.
"You confuse the hell out of me," Izzy finished his drink and ordered another, like that would distract you from what he said.
"Me? Why?" you questioned, eyes widening slightly.
"You're so fucking...I don't even know. Nice?" Izzy's face scrunched up, and you weren't completely sure what that meant.
"Sorry, that must be terrible for you," you joked, playfully rolling your eyes at him.
"I'm an asshole. I know I am. I'm worse with Bonnet's lot because they don't fucking listen but I've always been a prick. Why the fuck do you have to be so polite about it?" he asked, looking to you like he was genuinely struggling to find a sensible answer.
"Nobody who gets into pirating has the easiest of lives. Some of us claw and scratch and kick to make sure we rise above it, don't let it drown us. Some of us let's it harden us, make sure it can't touch us anymore, keep ourselves safe," you said sombrely. "Life is full of cruelty, I refuse to contribute to it," you said it as if it was that simple, as if it were a choice.
Izzy watched you, like he seemed so fond of doing today, with unreadable thoughts rushing behind his eyes. He nodded tightly, knocking back his second drink as you finished your first.
"You want another or are you done?" Izzy asked, some sort of determination on his face.
"Uh, not much of a drinker," you shrugged, pushing your empty glass away.
"Alright. Let's go for a walk," Izzy cleared his throat and stood from the barstool.
"Yeah, that sounds nice," you smiled, standing with him.
Izzy muttered something under his breath, the two of you leaving the pub together. It had gotten dark out now, the moon rising in the sky. The two of you had kept busy all day.
You followed Izzy through the port, closer to his side than you had been earlier.
"What do you know about stars?" Izzy asked you out of nowhere.
"Uh...they're pretty?" your answer actually made Izzy laugh, and that put an idiotic grin on your face.
"Suppose they are," Izzy agreed. "C'mon," he nodded at you, leading you away from town.
You followed him down to the beach, curious but not speaking as he sat down in the sand. You just sat beside him.
Izzy pointed up at the sky, beginning to talk about the way the stars grouped together. And just like that Izzy Hands started giving you a lesson on the stars, how to navigate by them, and occasionally recalling a tale that his mother had told him about them.
He found that he liked the feeling of being listened too.
You would lean in, practically against him, to see which accumulation of stars he was pointing too. You would stare up at the sky with a smile as he explained how to follow the stars. You would watch his face intently when he talked about tales and fables that his mother had told him, the ones he could remember anyway, while he flushed under your undivided attention.
"What was your mother like?" you asked when he came to the end of his last story.
Izzy took a breath and tensed slightly, you just waited. Either he would answer or he wouldn't, you wouldn't push him. "She was...she was a good woman, deserved better than my father," was what he eventually told you.
"Do you remember her well?"
"Not well enough. Got on my first ship when I was about...twelve I think. Was the second youngest in a big family, just had to get out of there after she got sick," Izzy told you. You wondered how many people got to hear even the slightest thing about his mother, you wondered if he had told anyone else the fables she had shared with him.
"I'm sorry," you cautiously reached over and took his hand in yours, the one without a glove. Izzy tensed a little again but then relaxed, allowing it.
"What? You the one responsible for making people sick back in England decades ago?" Izzy asked sarcastically.
"It's just what people say," you huffed, pressing your shoulder against his. "I'm sorry you had to experience that."
Izzy just shrugged, unsure of what to say, and once again you didn't press.
Instead, you rested your head against his shoulder, your hand still in his. As you looked out at the inky water, admiring the way the moon and stars reflected in its surface, you felt Izzy turn his hand slightly so that he could lace his fingers through yours.
The moment of peace could only last a little longer before the sound of laughing and shouting disturbed you both.
"For fucks sake," Izzy cursed as you both turned towards the sound, seeing the crew drunkenly making their way along the beach. Probably planning a night time swim before turning in for the night.
"C'mon," you spoke quietly, tugging on Izzy's hand. "If we move now, they won't even notice we were here," you told him.
Izzy nodded, smiling a little as you both stood up. You led him in the opposite direction of the crew, his hand still in yours. Fingers still laced together.
"Should head back to the ship," Izzy removed his hand from yours as you stepped back into town, you tried not to let it sting a little.
"Yeah, sure, let's head back," you agreed and he just nodded.
The two of you returned to the ship and walked up onto the deck. "You sure you don't want to catch up with the crew?" Izzy asked, almost looking...apologetic? Like you would regret choosing to spend the day with him.
"Nah. I'm going to get some sleep without their snoring," you assured him, making him chuckle a little, reminded of all the reasons he liked having his own cabin.
"Alright," Izzy nodded.
"I had a good time today, we should do it more often," you suggested. Izzy just nodded again, silently agreeing.
You smiled as you stepped up to him, kissing his cheek before wandering off to the bunks.
Izzy found himself frozen to the deck for a moment, stunned by your show of affection. Breaking out of his small trance, he cursed and shook his head at himself before marching down to his cabin.
-
The next day you were checking the storeroom to make sure that the crew got the right amount of supplies, since you were one of the few not nursing a hangover.
The sound of somebody entering the storeroom and closing the door made you turn around, growing suspicious at the sight of a smirking Lucius.
"How did it go?" he questioned.
"Good. Thank you for asking," you smiled sweetly, knowing what you were doing. Honestly, you should have expected the interrogation.
"Going to need more details than that," Lucius huffed impatiently before teasing, "was a little disappointed when we came back and you were asleep in the bunks."
"Lucius!" you laughed, slapping him on the chest before getting back to work.
"But it went well?" Lucius asked, sounding a little less playful this time.
"Yeah. We got some work done, went for a drink, sat on the beach," you told him with a soft smile, thinking back on the night.
"Huh, that's almost romantic," Lucius said approvingly.
"We were stargazing," you added.
"Oh now that is romantic! I'm proud of you," Lucius was grinning now. Fascinated by the thought of Izzy stargazing on a beach, being on a date.
The storeroom door opened again, making you both turn. "What the fuck are you two doing in here?" Izzy demanded, looking between you both.
"Double checking the supplies, like you asked," you answered, knowing he wasn't directing the question at you.
"Uh...helping?" Lucius tried.
"Fuck off, go do something useful," Izzy snapped, stepping out of the way of the door.
Lucius just nodded before slipping out of the storeroom. "That was almost polite for you," you teased as the door closed again.
"Blackbeard wants me to check in with an old contact before we leave. You coming?" Izzy asked dismissively.
You bit back an amused smile. He had come to ask you to join him, that was sweet. "Are you asking me to go with you?" you asked.
The two of you just stared at each other, each of you waiting for the other to surrender.
"Fine, yes," Izzy sighed, conceding first. "I'm asking. Do you want to come with me?"
"Yeah, I'd love too, Iz," you smiled, hoping to put any nerves or frustrations he had at ease.
"Finish up in here, meet me on deck," he nodded, reaching for the door.
"Iz, wait," you stepped forward, gently catching his wrist. Izzy looked back at you curiously, unable to question you before you lent in and pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Thanks for inviting me, I'll be up in a minute," you told him casually.
Izzy nodded dumbly, the corner of his mouth tingling, before he left the storeroom without a word.
You finished up checking the supplies, which were all correctly purchased, with a beaming smile on your face.
#israel hands x reader#izzy hands x reader#izzy hands#ofmd izzy#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd x reader
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Sweeter Than Heaven - Hosea x Reader
Hello Hosea fans!! This ended up WAY longer than I expected, but I've had the main man on my mind and wanted to give him the attention he deserves. Enjoy! It's on ao3 if you prefer.
Summary: Your crush on Hosea renders you incapable of interacting with him. He takes offence and tries to get to the bottom of what your issue is.
Word count: 8,283
Content warnings: Smut, 18+
Hosea Matthews took pride in being a decent man. He’d made his mistakes throughout his life but he was conscientious enough to see, admit, and learn from them. It was something he’d practised with age, his current stature far away from the cocky outlaw he’d been in his youth.
He didn’t chastise himself for it, he’d seen it in all the men of the gang once upon a time. They too, some more than others, learnt and grew even if it was often in a misguided direction which he tried to correct. If he could do something good in this world, he could at least pass on the things he knew so that maybe those he thought highly of didn’t have to learn the hard way as he did.
The fruits of his labour blossomed in recent years; a whole orchard of his legacy as clear as day solely by the pedestal the gang put him on. He was the one who most approached for advice, he was the one they asked when they wanted to learn something new, and he was the one who could provide a new angle on situations and see things often overlooked by others. Yes, Hosea did not struggle to gain the trust of those around him.
However, it seemed his skills as an approachable wise old man (a description that took some time warming to) were being tested in the form of a new recruit to the gang.
Most newbies go down one of two paths; jump in head first and make the loudest impression they can, or quietly watch from the sidelines and allow their actions to speak for them. Except this one did neither, not really.
Honestly, you had him stumped.
You were easy-going and someone everyone appeared to like, joining in on the banter when the drinks flowed but not being afraid to make suggestions where necessary. But you didn’t force your personality on anyone, and the overall opinion of the members of camp was a positive one. Approachable. Friendly. Smart. Even self-assured.
It wasn’t that Hosea disagreed with these statements; it was just that he hadn’t had any chance to experience them himself. From afar, sure. He could see how one could describe you as all those things. But up close, when he tried to strike up a conversation – you had little or nothing to say other than the bare minimum for politeness.
It’d finally happened, he supposed. A decent character who simply didn’t like him all that much. It unnerved him, seeing you laugh along with others only to quieten down when he came over. Was it the authority he held? Was it his age? He couldn’t be sure, but if he couldn’t keep up his reputation, he would at least find out the reason behind it.
The wind was strong on that particular day. Strong enough that it whipped your face and blew your hair into disarray if you dared sit out in it for more than five minutes. So, when Tilly beckoned you into her tent with Karen and Mary-Beth, you didn’t hesitate in heading in and getting comfy beside them.
“You’re sure Grimshaw won’t mind?” you asked, righting your shirt that’d gone askew thanks to the blustery air.
“Grimshaw,” Karen elongated the word with distaste, “minds everything. I’d like to see her sew clothes when they’re being blown across the damn camp, though.”
“No,” Tilly interjected before you could respond, “she won’t mind. Ain’t no way we could work in this, and Grimshaw knows that.”
“Whatever you say,” Karen mumbled, pulling one of the folded blankets over herself.
“You think it’ll last long?” you asked, flicking your gaze upwards.
“Why, girl, you bored of us already?”
“No,” you snickered. “But we could do with a way to pass the time.”
The four of you took to thinking, and you thought maybe you could all sing a few songs –
“I know,” Mary-Beth smiled, highlighting the hint of blush on the apples of her cheeks. “We could share our recent... Fancies.”
“Oh, trust you to suggest romance,” Karen scoffed.
“Come on, it’s the perfect opportunity! Winds so strong our words will stay locked up in this tent, and certainly won’t travel to any unwanted ears.”
“Fine,” Karen acquiesced reluctantly. “Suppose I’ll start. Sean was asking me about this thing the other day, something like –”
“No,” Tilly stopped her flow before it could begin, “I heard enough of you and Sean to last me a lifetime.”
At Mary-Beth’s knowing chuckle, Karen rolled her eyes. “Well, then suit yourself. Actually, I’d like to hear if our newest friend has eyes for anyone.”
Three expectant gazes landed on you, and you straightened up at the sudden attention. You shrugged. “I don’t know, there isn’t really anyone who’s caught my eye.”
“Oh please,” Mary-Beth tutted. “Surely there’s someone you at least find attractive.”
Attractive? Sure. The camp had its fair share of attractive people, but you knew that wasn’t what they were asking, not really. But you were lying, someone had in fact caught your eye. Only it was someone they’d never expect.
It was more than just a pondering thought, too. It was the kind of attraction that made you forget your words, breathing cease, and limbs sit rigid and unnatural in their sockets.
If you were being honest, you’d surprised yourself too. Any of the young, handsome outlaws you’d interacted with would’ve been an understandable choice, that way you could reason why you were drawn to one more than the other. Perhaps you’d even have liked more than one of them, weighing up their various traits to describe the winner.
But none of them interested you at all.
Sure, you could appreciate their looks, their sense of humour, or their work ethic, but there wasn’t that feeling that turned your tummy over and rendered your thoughts entirely theirs. In turn, you’d found it easy to talk to them, not even considering the possibility of dating and so having nothing to be concerned about.
Unfortunately, you hadn’t been spared from the plight of having a crush. It almost made it worse that it was unexpected, you not having the slightest clue how to deal with it and feeling like nothing short of a blundering child every time you got to interact with him.
God damn Hosea Matthews.
You didn’t know what to make of it at first. When your mind went quiet the first time he spoke to you in that voice of his, you spent the rest of the day worrying you were coming down with something. It took a few days, until one evening when a bottle of whisky in hand ignited some more-than inappropriate thoughts about the man. Ever since, you couldn’t even look at him and expected this ridiculous feeling to go away in no time at all.
Alas, weeks passed and there you were; crushing on him more with every day. What were you mean to do? How could you go about something like that? Would it be as easy as initiating a drunken kiss or harmless flirting? This man was as smart as they come and likely much less reckless than the younger men, surely you couldn’t make such an immature advance on him.
You found ignoring him to be the easiest way to deal with it in the end. He scared you, not in an intimidating way but purely the fact that he knew so much whereas you knew so little. No, you supposed you weren’t scared of him; just scared of the fool you’d appear to be if you interacted with him. That wasn’t a problem provided you kept your distance.
It was getting concerning, though you stuck hard with the idea that it would go away at some point. Right?
You shrugged at the girls, concluding that the worse thing to do would be to admit it to them. “Sorry,” you laughed apologetically, “I hate to be such a bore.”
The girls soon forgot, the discussion turning to one of the others but you couldn’t keep your mind away from him.
―――
Thankfully, the wind died down some days later and allowed you to sit out with a book in the fresh afternoon air once your chores were finished.
Hosea saw his opportunity.
He walked over and stood to the side of you, though a pace behind so you didn’t see him in your peripheral right away. “Afternoon, miss. I need you for a job, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me.”
Silence.
Hosea cleared his throat, watching your unchanged expression and posture for a moment. “Miss?” he asked, a little louder than before.
Your head rose from your book and towards him, brows pulling together in confusion. “Uh, me?”
“Yes,” he smiled easily, “you.”
Blinking owlishly at him, your nerves began to race your chest and you did your best job of not focusing on them. Why did he want you to go? This was all still new to you, you were far less capable than the other, more experienced girls. Perhaps it was a bit of practice? Unless you’d been slacking and he was subtly making you pull your weight? Either way, both options would mean Hosea would be exposed to you in close proximity alone and see your skills first-hand, providing you with ample opportunity to fuck up –
“Miss,” he half-sighed, reminding you he was expecting a response and you realised you’d remained still since he’d clarified. Even when not talking, apparently you could still make a fool of yourself.
“Sorry,” you said instinctively, attempting to relax your shoulders to diffuse the tension your body had accumulated. “Right now?”
“Well, yes,” he pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open. “In about half an hour.”
“Can I ask what the job is?”
Hosea hid the concern from his smile, wondering why on earth you felt as though that wasn’t appropriate knowledge for you to know. “It’s just a bit of investigating, really. I don’t much fancy sitting alone in the saloon while I do so.”
Finally, he’d said the right thing, and that appeared to relax you somewhat. You could do that, right? A couple of hours, the option of a drink to calm your nerves, and just listen to whoever the mark was. A starter job for you to dip your feet in the choppy waters of a life of crime. “Sure,” you shrugged casually, and Hosea accepted that was the best he’d get out of you for now. He told you to meet him by the horses when it was time.
You weren’t proud of how much time you spent picking an outfit, acting like a teenager as though this man would even look twice at you. Wearing one of your favourite shirts and a simple skirt, you initially pinned some of your hair back but promptly returned it to its usual state at the worry that you were trying too hard. So, there you were half an hour later, mounting up on your horse and riding out with Hosea.
On the ride over to the saloon, he’d decided on letting you reach out to him. The more he pushed conversation the more he expected you’d stray from it, and in his experience, many people aren’t comfortable with silence and that can be enough of a motivation in itself for striking up a conversation. Not you, though.
It was your assumption that he was deep in thought, planning for the upcoming job and so you left him to his thoughts; not that you’d know what to say anyway.
There was still time, though, and he didn’t concern himself with it too much. Once the two of you arrived, you got seated at the bar and he bought a bottle of beer for each of you.
As he glanced around the room, it occurred to you that you didn’t have the slightest clue what this job was for and if anything was expected of you. You cleared your throat before quietly asking, “is there anything I’m supposed to do?”
“Just follow my lead,” he said, and you relaxed and tensed simultaneously, happy that he trusted you enough to need no preparation but worried that you’d prove that to not be the case. Something in his tone was enough for you to almost believe him and thus gain confidence in yourself, it was an odd feeling and you briefly puzzled over how he managed to put you at ease with only four words.
It wasn’t long before Hosea made you aware of the man when he entered, leaning up against the bar and that was when he started making conversation with you. Small talk, about the weather, how your horse was, what book you were reading, etc. It made sense, the pair of you could hardly sit there in silence and the knowledge that Hosea was listening more to the man behind him that to you made it much easier to talk to him.
Then Hosea turned, politely apologising that he couldn’t help but overhear the man and your heartrate quickened for a moment at the fear of your cover being blown. But the man was fine with it, engaging in conversation about some fancy repeaters he was selling and Hosea feigned his interest as a gun enthusiast. How he had so much knowledge you’d never know, and it was knowledge you’d never learn since you couldn’t focus on the conversation, instead observing and listening to Hosea as he spoke.
It was a marvel to see him in his element, and you watched on with adoration at his cool persona while his even cooler words gradually eased his victim and gained their trust. When the man turned away for you both to follow, offering to show him the merchandise, Hosea caught your eye and the slightest of smiles quirked over his mouth – enough of a response that didn’t suggest any suspicious motives had the man caught it. Hosea followed him and you followed a few paces behind, trying to squash your smile from growing further; this was rather fun.
You waited outside while the sky turned darker and Hosea went into the small homestead close to town. It was easier this way, you wouldn’t have to linger or stand there awkwardly while they spoke. A rather useless part in the operation if you did say so yourself, but if Hosea wanted anything more from you, he’d have made that known.
He was laughing and joking with the man when they came outside, clapping a hand on his shoulder and you smiled to yourself at how talented he was; it was like he was a different person entirely. You walked beside him once he’d said his goodbyes.
“Get what you need?” you asked.
Hosea nodded, promptly returning to his usual self and noticing how guarded you still were. “Indeed,” he said quietly, “should be a nice clean robbery for the boys.”
You didn’t need to ask more, not wanting to pry into business that didn’t concern you and sighed in relief internally at managing to not ruin anything now that it was over. “Back to camp now, then?”
“Why the rush? I say we go back to that saloon. Their whisky is rather good,” he responded promptly.
Goddamnit. “I suppose.”
Hosea’s smile hid his true feelings, bordering on frustration with your lackadaisical manner. He’d been nice enough, hadn’t he? What more did you want? He wasn’t a fan of resorting to drink to loosen someone's lips, it felt lazy and immoral, but you didn’t leave him with any other choice. The true goal of this job was still yet to be accomplished.
And so there you were, back at the bar and he’d ordered some shots of whiskey with the excuse of celebrating a successful recon. You went along with it, more small talk ensuing and you relaxed once again as the whisky began to take its desired effect.
Of course, Hosea noticed it. The way your brow softened and shoulders dropped to the way they were with seemingly everyone else but him soothed his growing concern with his plan. It was working.
As he was telling you a story, the atmosphere shifted. You were sure it was only felt by you, or perhaps it was the drink, but you began to think there was more to this than he was letting on. He’d specifically chosen you to come out on the job when truthfully you didn’t need to be here, he’d suggested getting a drink once it was finished, and he’d spent the last forty-five minutes asking you questions to get to know you, all the while listening with intent... did he want you? You observed him as he spoke, the way he seemed to be searching your face for something, the brief touches on your arm, and the faint sparkle in his eye.
He stopped mid-sentence, the change on your face distracting him since you’d gone from happy to concerned in a matter of seconds. “Is something the matter, miss?”
Of course. He’d never make a move on you, how could he? If it went wrong that was your trust gone, his image tarnished as the trustworthy leader. You had to be the one to do it, didn’t you?
It was easy, really. You didn’t think when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his and they were soft, and he smelled good -
Hosea pulled away, his hand hovering between your torsos to keep the distance with a confused look on his face. Oh god. Before you could speak, apologising for being such an idiot and more than ready to blame it on alcohol, he relaxed once again.
“Miss,” he said softly. “That isn’t how we do things here.”
You nodded profusely, of course it wasn’t, he was a grown man, charming, charismatic, smart, and you just threw yourself at his feet because he showed you a bit of kindness and interest. How ridiculous you must look. “I’m so sorry, I mustn't have been thinking -”
“Now,” he laughed, at ease and doing his best to keep the panic he saw growing in your eyes from manifesting, “don’t you apologise! I can see why you’d think that was the way of the gang, but truly it is not. You are here on merit alone, and I apologise if I have given any indication that more was expected of you.”
The gang? Merit? Expected? What? Perhaps the drink was a good enough excuse, nothing made sense anymore and you frowned at him. “I -” you started, unsure of how to proceed but the alcohol thinned out your filter for the questions that were on your mind. “I don’t know what the gang has to do with it. I - there are... others, right?”
Now it was Hosea’s turn to be confused. Other what? Were the other girls performing the task of pleasing the men and told you that was the norm? This was getting more serious, that was something he certainly wouldn’t tolerate. “Do you have an example of who?”
“Well, there’s John and Abigail, of course, then Karen with Sean, though I know they’re not -”
The cogs clicked into place, though Hosea still couldn’t make sense of what he thought he was hearing. “Hold on,” he said, placing his hand over yours that rested on the bar and you looked at it for a moment, how nice your hands looked together along with how gentle his touch was. “You... actually want this?”
Hosea dipped his chin, hazel eyes piercing yours and you worked on a swallow. If nothing else had made sense tonight, his touch and gaze more than made up for it. Now that felt right. You didn’t have it in you to lie and you surrendered, offering him a nod in the hope that he would figure out what was going on.
A brief flash of shock washed over him but a small smile tugged on the corners of his lips. He was honoured, and suddenly your behaviour made sense. Now he knew, not that he’d ever have figured it out without the push, it was blindingly obvious. The way you always seemed to be looking away from him, growing more nervous with every step he made closer to you, and clamming up whenever he made conversation. It was a crush, simple as that.
A crush on him, no less. It’d been a while since he’d had to identify one of those aimed his way, but he wasn’t about to let it slip away in a hurry. To top it off, it came from you. He’d thought you beautiful when you joined up, he wasn’t about to deny that, and while he hadn’t had much experience with you, he’d soon grown fond of watching you from a distance.
“I’m flattered,” he began with, searching his mind for how to court a woman and the expectant and worried look in your eye almost made him melt. How sweet. He inched closer, fondly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and suppressing his laugh at how seemed to get even more nervous. As amusing as it was, he didn’t want you to feel that way. “Taken aback, sure. A pretty young thing like you takin’ an interest in an old conman? It’s almost comical.”
You expected it much less than he did, but god both of his hands were on you and he actually looked happy, so you started to laugh. He was right, it was comical but no less true. “Perhaps it is.”
Every inch of Hosea’s face relaxed fondly, your laugh ringing angelically in his ear and there was only one thing he wanted to do now. He leaned in once again but promptly stopped himself, watching your expression grow concerned once more. “I think I’d prefer to do this in a more private setting.”
Reminding yourself not to be too uncool, you nodded calmly in agreement.
“There’s a hotel nearby, we could get to know each other there?” he caught himself quickly, realising how this must all sound. “Not - not like that. Just, whatever you're comfortable with.”
You’d done it. You’d made Hosea Matthews nervous. It seemed like an impossible feat, but he looked positively boyish with that apprehension in his eye and it was downright cute. You might not have his quick way with words, but you clearly had something. You slipped your hand into his, and pushed off the bar, smirking at him and following you out those doors was one of the easiest things he’d ever done.
For all that boost of confidence was, it didn’t want to stick around. Your nerves made themselves known once again as Hosea opened the small room to the homely hotel, but you grasped to them desperately as you walked through the door he held open for you. It clicked shut, and you turned; you were really alone in a hotel room with him.
He was hesitant, restricting himself as though he wasn’t entirely trusting in your desire to be with him. It made you want him even more though, walking the dark alleys of your mind where you wondered what he was like when he didn’t hinder himself. Unfiltered, unbounded Hosea was something you’d been longing to see. You’d waited long enough, anyway.
Hosea was about to say something, make conversation and get to know you when you took a step forward and met his lips once more as though it’d been the only thought in your head since you practically skipped out of the saloon.
His lips were delightfully soft, whisky residue sitting nicely on the plush flesh and it was addicting. You ran your hands around his lean waist until your frame pressed into his.
This truly hadn’t been Hosea’s intention with getting the room, he was a gentleman after all, but you were stealing away all his logical thoughts. Besides, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and gladly returned your affections.
Attempting to keep it slow, for now, you repeatedly kissed each other and once again you guessed he would only do what you were comfortable with. Well, screw that. In your fantasies, he’d taken control and taken what he wanted, while still keeping that desire to feed your pleasure, and you supposed it was down to you to let him know you were okay with it. You didn’t know if this would ever even happen again, but it wasn’t in your jurisdiction to question it. You gently grazed his bottom lip, pulling it between your two rows of teeth and Hosea’s breath stilled in his chest.
He broke the contact, brow narrowing with the tilt of his head as though he was looking at you in a completely new light. A warmth grew in his eyes that you’d never seen before, one not borne from adoration – but lust. He moved his head forward, his lips stopping an inch from your ear until his shallow breaths landed on your skin. It didn’t make you shiver, but his following words that were laced with a dark undertone certainly did.
“I didn’t have you down as such a troublemaker.”
You gulped, an involuntary gasp leaving you as a hand snaked to your flank, gripping you with a firmness you wouldn’t have expected from him, and you looked at him all doe-eyed when he moved his head back to catch your gaze.
“What’s the matter, dearest?” your heart thumped at the sound of the endearment as it purred through his lips, “going all quiet on me, now?”
After a beat in your almost-paralysed state of mind and body, you realised he’d asked you a question and you nodded dumbly. How quickly he’d turned that round, immediately showing you who was in charge and promptly reminding you of the fact. More than anything you wished you could match his silken words, but even you knew better than to try and then subsequently ruin the mood. This was what you’d thought about for weeks, fantasising about his voice in your ear and his hands on your body while your fingers slipped between your wanting folds. He smirked, a brash confidence radiating from him that contrasted the gentle kiss he proceeded to place on your cheekbone.
“That just won’t do,” he murmured against your skin, giving up his fight against his desires. “But the night is young. Plenty of time for me to wrench some noises out of you, yet.”
Your next breath was a quiet whimper, your eyes falling shut as goosebumps grew all over your body. Now it all made sense, this man didn’t just know the right words to say, but he knew exactly how and when to say them. No wonder he’d conned so many people of their precious valuables and cash in his time, you were about ready to turn out your pockets and give him everything you owned.
With your eyes closed, you couldn’t see him pressing his lips together to compose himself at the sight of you unravelling before him. He liked what he saw and what he heard, so Hosea decided he’d be greedy for once. He wanted more. “Hm, yes. That’s what I’m looking for.”
Fluttering your eyes open, you noticed the widening of his pupils as his desire grew from within. “Hosea,” you breathed.
“Hm?” he asked casually, though inside he was thinking of how his name sounded coming out of your mouth like that, more magnificent than any grand symphony.
You just waited for more, and he smiled proudly.
“Tell me what the matter is,” he brushed a hand over your hair and you couldn’t pick out whether he was teasing or comforting you.
“God,” you started, arousal taking over your thoughts, “I want you. I really want you.”
Hosea hadn’t expected you to be quite so bold, but he couldn’t ignore your signs any longer. You’d shown him and told him, and the only thing you seemed to be drunk on was lust. It’d be almost rude of him to turn away your advances. “Very well, then.”
The hand placed loving on your head pulled your face to his, and he kissed you far unlike the way he’d kissed you previously. His lips led yours, firm and unyielding as they moved. You melted into it, glad for his other hand on your form to hold you upright. Sufficiently happy with your pliancy, the hand on your head trailed down your back, urging you even closer until he rested a palm on your behind, not hesitating in squeezing the soft flesh. You gasped, and he took the opportunity of your open mouth to slide his tongue inside.
You promptly mobilised, allowing him in and circling your tongue around his, the taste of his spit something you’d been wanting to indulge in for a while. A faint hint of peppermint passed over once you’d soaked up any leftover taste of whisky he had to offer, and you brought your hands to his chest to grip at the fabric of his waistcoat. A wanting sound left him and his tongue retreated, pressing his forehead to yours while you both caught your breaths.
Breathing wasn’t something you cared for right now, though you reminded yourself not to rush this, but he was right there and you innocently shifted your stance, brushing your thigh against his crotch and oh -
He shook his head at you minimally, pulling away to get a look at the inquisitive desire that’d taken over your features. “One thing you should know,” he stated. “I take my time with my work.”
“So, I’m work now?”
Hosea’s face softened with a fond smile and he chuckled. “A piece of work,” he mused, “yes. That’s exactly what I think you are.”
You huffed, unaware of your natural growing confidence and comfort with the man in such a short space of time. His hands found your hips, and you thought he was pushing you away until your thighs met the side of the bed and you obediently sat, putting you at a rather nice height and you took full advantage to look at his cock straining through his pants.
A chuckle from above preluded Hosea nudging your legs apart with his foot against yours and you shifted back as he leaned down, his knee planted between your thighs while his other remained on the floor. One hand made its way up your body, expertly avoiding your breast and stopping to grip your chin. He studied you, endless possibilities playing out in his head and it excited him profusely. It was tough to decide on where to start with your waiting body beneath him, but his first goal was to make you come. He needed to know what you sounded like when you released, what you looked like, and most importantly – what you tasted like.
The kiss he placed on your nose was far sweeter than anything else he planned to do to you that night. Then he glanced down, disappointed that you were still clothed, an inconvenient barrier, and you noticed the look grow on his face.
“Everything alright?” you asked timidly, hoping you hadn’t come across too strong or he’d begun to regret pursuing this.
“No,” he said shortly and you pouted. “You’re wearing too many clothes for my liking.”
“Oh,” you smirked, fingers reaching to the buttons on your shirt but he stopped the path by holding your wrists.
“Ah, ah. This is a present I didn’t expect to be opening tonight, and if it’s quite alright with you I’d like to unwrap it myself.”
You blushed, quickly moving your hands away and the pleased, hungry look in his eye made something burn deep in your core as he drank in the sight of you.
Those hands of his were something you’d thought about many times, wondering exactly what other talents his slender fingers were capable of. They made light work of your buttons, your shirt opening to slip to the sides and reveal your breasts to him.
Hosea sighed painfully, his cock twitching in delight at seeing you exposed. “Lord above,” he hummed, conceding that God must exist – how else was something as heavenly as you created? He ran his palm to the underside of one of your breasts, gently kneading it and wanting nothing more than to experience them in all their glory. He moved down an inch and then hesitated, flicking his gaze up to your anticipation-filled expression. “This alright?”
The soft tone counteracted the dark one that’d otherwise taken over his voice, and it was a comfort to know that your enjoyment and happiness were still his top priority. Your nod in response was urgent, rolling your shoulders back into the mattress in a futile attempt to get him closer to your sensitive spot and he couldn’t resist cracking a smile.
“Alright girl,” he chuckled, “I’ve got you.”
With that, his mouth came down onto your nipple, sucking it gently into his mouth and you groaned at the warm wetness on your skin, small jolts of pleasure shooting through you each time he sucked in. His mouth came off and his tongue took over while his other hand fondled your left-out nipple, squeezing and rolling it between his fingers. He ran his tongue around your areola a few times before short flicks of his tongue greeted your bud, now hard and straining to maximise the sensation.
After kissing the flesh of your breast, he moved over to the other side and nuzzled the inner side of it with his nose. A peck on your nipple followed before he sucked that one in, and you expected his fingers to move over to the other side but instead, they trailed downwards, the back of his knuckles softly grazing over your centre.
You whined low in your throat, watching him indulge with closed eyes while continuing to tease you down below. When you rolled your hips into his touch he met your gaze, the sight of you wanting and desperate almost enough to make him finish in his pants right there and then. He held off, unsure exactly how far this would go but knowing he had no plans of ending it any time soon.
“You can,” you took a breath, “unwrap those too if you’d like.”
A breath of a laugh came from his nose as he planted kisses over your breasts before stopping between them. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“Trust me, pleasures all mine,” you responded dreamily and that smile of his made another appearance and he tilted his head at you.
At your quizzical brow, he placed a kiss on your sternum before resting his chin there. “You’re funny,” he complimented adoringly.
You tutted, rolling your hips into his now-still hand and he nodded his recollection of his previous ministrations.
“My apologies,” he hummed, chaste kisses placed in a neat line down your stomach and you admired his multi-tasking ability while he swiftly undid your skirt.
He moved off you to stand and you willingly lifted your hips for him to pull the rest of your clothing off. You were half-tempted to question why he was still fully clothed, but having someone so infatuated with you was a dream you didn’t want to interrupt. Plus, there’d be time for that yet if it was something he was comfortable with.
Speaking of, you realised the view you'd presented to him and he raised his brows while looking lovingly between your thighs, and you instinctively closed them out of embarrassment but he brought a hand to your knee to part them once again, his gaze not leaving your flushed cunt. “So pretty. Why would you want to hide something so pretty?”
You pressed your lips together, basking in the shower of affection that felt so natural coming from him. Like he meant every word, and he wasn’t just trying to make you feel good about yourself so he could have his way.
“Come on, now,” he stroked his hand up your thigh while kneeling on the floor and the image of his face between your legs was instantly burned into your memory as one of the most delightful sights you’d ever seen. “Where’s that wily minx from earlier? This right here -” he gazed back at your most private part, “is one of the most wonderful things on this planet.”
As you sighed gratefully, he brought his index finger into his mouth though you didn’t think it was necessary with how drenched you were. His spit grew cool fast, and you jolted slightly when it met the top of your slit, tracing a line down while he watched the pleasure blossom on your face, peaking when he brushed over your clit and you whined. He smiled to himself. “What a perfect sight.”
Your head that’d dropped back tilted up in time to catch his fond expression before he dropped his attention to what you presented to him. He watched the tip of his finger as it slowly manoeuvred around your entrance to collect your slick, and while he was tempted to lick it off, he held back and decided he’d rather taste you directly from the source.
Hosea watched intently as his finger entered you, appreciating the flutter of your walls as he pushed in up to the knuckle and gently slid back out. At no resistance from you, quite the opposite, in fact, he repeated the motion again, then a third time until his finger was completely sheathed inside you. The thought of him filling you further fleeted over your mind and you moaned softly at the teasing sensation.
“More, Hosea, please,” you begged politely and he allowed himself a last look at the tight expression on your face before moving forward, simultaneously pushing a second finger inside and licking a long stripe up your slit.
A gasp of pleasure accompanied your back arching off the bed, and the temptation to touch himself grew tough to ignore, but he managed. He ran his tongue between your soaked folds while he slowly moved his fingers in and out of your entrance. Twisting them around slightly to ensure you were stretched, should the need for that arise, he revelled in the taste of your pussy that ground up into his mouth. You tasted delightful and he began lapping at your clit, making your toes curl while pleas of his name spilled out of your mouth.
Your dreams and dirty thoughts had done him no favours, this was far better than you imagined and a brief amusement passed over you at the thought of how silver that tongue really was. It proceeded to lick up all the juice you had to offer until Hosea grew greedy and wanted more. He wanted you to come in his mouth, on his fingers and he sucked on your clit, the sensation buzzing through your body as he did a pulsing motion with his lips. Continuing to fuck you with his fingers, you didn’t know which way to move your hips since every direction provided more pleasure, and it built up and you weakly tried to warn him, panting “I’m -” until your breathing paused while your body released over him, thighs tensing around his head and Hosea mused that he could quite happily suffocate here between your thighs.
It felt like it lasted a small eternity, the orgasm flowing out of you in waves as Hosea helped coax it, and you finally relaxed back onto the bed, blinking up at the ceiling at the stars that peppered your vision.
“Goddamn delicious,” you heard Hosea say, not having it in you to respond or even laugh, but you felt his fingers leave you and he crawled up your body.
“Happy?”
“I’m past happy, Hosea. I’m -” you didn’t know what to say, how to describe what you were feeling and you willed him up with your hands gripping his collar so you could kiss him lazily. The taste of yourself on his tongue was enough to ramp you up again but he moved to roll off you. “Where are you going?”
“We don’t need to rush,” he soothed, thumb stroking your stomach.
“But -” you protested, you wanted more and you wanted to feel him. “I want to.”
“Really?” he asked in disbelief. “You don’t need to, dear. I’m happy to wait.”
“Do you want to?” you asked and he laughed, clearly just not trying to pressure you. Plus, his hard cock pressing into your leg was a dead giveaway. “Okay, because I really want to. I need to. I might die if we don’t.”
He barked a laugh, taking your hand in his and kissing at your knuckles, the sheen of your slick passing over to your skin. “No, you won’t die.”
“I will,” you insisted.
“Well,” he shifted to stand between your draped legs hanging off the bed, his hands starting to undo his belt to pull it free and to the floor. The action of him smirking down at you while he did so was enough to drive you insane. “We don’t want that now, do we.”
With that, he pushed his pants down and put a hand on either side of your hips and pulled you towards him, his cock springing up and just inches away from where you needed it. His calloused palms ran up to your knees, gently spreading them while you stared at his cock in disbelief that you were actually seeing it and once again your imagination had failed you.
“Like what you see?” he teased, puffing his chest out slightly in pride.
“Mhm,” you hummed, wishing you could describe him the way he’d described you but you didn’t think they’d invented those words yet. After realising you were in somewhat of an infatuated trance, you sat up and met his gaze, eyes blown wide with lust but still a promise of trust held in them. “This is – indescribable.”
“I’ll take that,” he laughed softly, petting your head and you went to kiss his chest but were met with the fabric of his waistcoat.
“Can I take this off?” you asked, fingertips fiddling with a button in anticipation.
“If you’d like.”
“I would like,” you said decidedly, half of his buttons already undone and you glanced up in questioning when you reached his shirt, making quick work of that too and marvelling at the exposed lean chest presented to you, dusted with light hairs and faint scars.
Hosea shrugged off the garments and your eyes darted over his form, more beautiful than you’d pictured but your attention was soon grabbed by the leaking head of his cock. You debated putting your mouth around it, but with how insistently it stood to attention, you shifted back, patting the bed for him to join you.
He didn’t question it, accommodating your request and you gently manoeuvred his shoulders to persuade him to lie back, not missing the excited glint in his eyes as you straddled him. With his cock sitting comfortably on his abdomen, you rolled your hips over it and coated him with your abundance of wetness. He groaned in bliss, head dropping back to the pillow and hands harshly gripping your thighs to anchor himself. He suspected it would do no good since he was grounding himself to a real-life angel that would only send him further up into the clouds. He didn’t care, either.
The pressure of his shaft against your sensitive clit caused your walls to throb with need, your whole body begging to be filled by what Hosea had to offer. Your palms met the back of his hands, brushing up his forearms and to his shoulders until you could plant your hands on either side of his head. “Shit,” he whispered, lost in a haze of desire and the sight of your face above him, eyes filled with want and lips still plump from earlier while your hair fell down towards him was enough to bring a grown man to his knees, and he thanked the stars he was already laying down. He cupped your jaw and you leaned into it before moving your face to his and kissing his lips.
Hosea kissed you back, soft and tender as he reached a hand between your torsos to find his cock and you met him halfway for his tip to press against your entrance. The kiss broke and the two of you gazed at each other, both wanting to watch the reaction of him finally being inside you. But you both missed it, pure bliss taking over as he pushed in and you had to close your eyes at the delightful stretch. He did too, your walls constricting his length knocking the air clean from his lungs.
The pair of you stilled, once your crotch nestled into his hips, getting used to the feel of each other and committing every sensation to memory. You reopened your eyes to find his still shut as he dragged his mind away from thinking of how good it felt to avoid finishing prematurely. After planting a kiss on each cheek, he hummed in response and met your gaze.
“You feel perfect,” he remarked, hand brushing up your flank, “you are perfect.”
You shook your head, kissing his lips again. “You are.”
He shunted a laugh, deciding now might be the worse time to argue over such a thing. You silently agreed and moved your hips to drag yourself back off his length. His hips twitched while he released a pleasured sigh, and you promptly lowered again to commence your motion of fucking down onto him.
With each roll of your hips, your orgasm climbed back up and you enjoyed altering the pace and feeling him in every possible way. The man himself panted beneath you, fingers now weak where they rested on your hips instead of gripping at the flesh, informing you that whatever you doing was just what he wanted.
“That’s it, that’s it sweetheart,” he praised, and as was the case in normal society, Hosea’s praise was expertly timed to ensure maximum effect and meaning. Seeking his approval was something everyone did, even if it was subconscious, and that was no less the case when in the bedroom.
His forehead shone with a layer of sweat; brows pulled together in concentration as he watched his cock disappear into you every time your hips came down.
The plush spot inside your walls grew, you realised as the head of Hosea’s cock brushing over it with each thrust become more of a heightened sensation. Your limbs grew weak and you sat back, Hosea taking note of your response and deciding it was his turn to make the effort. He fucked up into you, reaching deep within your walls and hitting that spot harder each time. You whined, desperately finding something to cling to and with your head dropped back one of his hands slipped into yours. You squeezed as your abdomen tensed, doing a good job of hovering above him to provide room enough for him to thrust upwards. Your cunt clenched around him, bringing a hand to fondle your breast and Hosea watched the show intently, eyes watering with the effort it took not to come at the sight. But you were close, your high-pitched moans told him that much and briefly hoped the room next door wasn’t occupied.
Your legs tensed and you dropped your head forward, hands splayed on Hosea’s chest as your fingernails dug into his skin, one last thrust from him was all it took for the band in you to snap and you let out a silent moan in relief, no more energy available for anything other than coming right on his cock.
Hosea bit his tongue, waiting until you’d taken a couple of breaths and pulled out. Even in your haze, you know what this meant and you gripped your hand around his cock, soon feeling warm spurts rope across your chest and stomach while a choked-out whimper came from the man underneath you.
Both of you spend a moment suspended before returning to your bodies, and in your exhaustion, you wavered forward slightly but stopped yourself with a hand on the bed. Hosea caught your gaze, a fucked-out expression on his face and pulled you in to lay on his chest. Neither of you cared much about the mix of spend between you, and you lay your head on his chest to hear the thumping of his heart start to return to rest.
He drew light circles on the small of your back, a gentle breath skimming your shoulder with each out-breath he took, each one quieter than the last.
A small piece of clarity returned to you, and the stark realisation of what any of this could mean. What would it be like to date someone in the gang - Hosea, no less? Would you even be dating him, or was this a one-time thing? “Hosea,” you began, sitting up and finding him looking back at you like he was waiting for you to say something. He shook his head, holding your forearms in each hand and tugging you back down to him once again. You obliged, the reminder that you’re safe in his arms being more than enough for you to relax.
“Shh,” Hosea soothed you, brushing his hand down your back. “We can leave all that for the morning. Unless you want to go back to camp now?”
You shook your head fervently. “No, I -”
“Good,” he interrupted with a smug smile. “For now, I just want you to stay here and lay with me.”
So you did.
#omg its a friday too#that wasnt intentional#hosea fucks friday#hosea matthews#hosea matthews x reader#rdr2#fanfiction#writing#my stuff#not dutch
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princes in a pauper grave (ao3: x)
Two Princes, vying for the throne. There's always been a rivalry between them, really; Nightmare with his words and books, and Error with his sword. It should come to no surprise that they've committed to a fight to the death for the crown.
But they are not just Princes. They are brothers too.
OR: Prince!Nightmare and Prince!Error run away, rather than duel each other.
Word count: 3.8k
cw/tw: major character death, minor character death, war as a plot device, implied revolution/coup, kingdom setting, mention of stillbirth
Inspired by My sworn enemy, brother mine by sircantus
“I don't want to die.”
Nightmare couldn’t say anything after that. Error stared at him.
He saw his reflection in his eyes.
-----
Prince Error was conceived on an autumn night. It would be one of the colder autumns, with the winter chill beginning long before its season. Yet the news of a Prince-to be brought new warmth and life into the Palace grounds like its own spring.
But he was born, and he was strange. Not so strange as to have mysteriously disappeared after birth or apparently passed on in a miscarriage, but strange enough that it was noticed.
He was born with strange, mismatched eyes, but not so strange that it was unheard of. His voice was strange, so nearly unintelligible, but not quite. He did not do well with touch. He was often hostile.
For the mistake of his nature, he was named Error. But his name also served as a reminder that he could be corrected, that he was not a lost cause.
He was not what a good Prince should be. But he was the only Prince, and that was its own blessing for many Kingdoms and Empires had fallen to the simple issue of succession conflict. He was not a good Prince, but he was a decent one, and as the years went on he learnt to channel his aggression into combat.
He excelled at combat. He was better than the sons of Generals.
Then the Queen conceived again. This time it was a long labour, and soon they discovered why: the Queen had bourn twins. Or should’ve, for one of them was still-born. Just one twin remained, and he was named Nightmare for the agony that was his birth and the pain of the tragedy that it was.
This wouldn’t have been an issue had Nightmare not been simply exceptional.
As he grew older, it grew apparent. He was— almost, everything a good Prince should be. The opposite of his older brother. He had weaknesses, yes: he couldn’t wield a sword for his life and a shield even less. But he was good with words. He was polite, possibly diplomatic in the right circumstance. He was observant, clever.
He would be a good ruler.
But he was not the eldest. Error was older than him by years, not even months, and for as long as he remained alive he would be the one to take the throne once he came of age. Nightmare could challenge him, but he would need to wait years to come of age too, and by then the Kingdom’s decision might well be made and set on Error.
Nightmare was not a fool. If he wanted to be King, he would need public approval too. He had half of it now: the crowds did speak of his wit, his intellect. But they also spoke of his brother’s fight, his strength.
Some canary in the crowd sings. Or pleads. Or begs. There will be war soon, they whisper. War is coming. War is coming.
Nightmare knew this, of course. He had watched his father sign the declaration through a crack in the door. It should be a bad thing. It would prioritize Error’s strengths.
He knew it to be a bad thing. He could feel it from the sickening squeeze in his stomach and thickening saliva in his throat.
He did not know why, however, he snuck out of his room and quietly tiptoed to Error’s. He did not know why he waited there. He did not know why he quietly whispered, “I need to talk to you.”
Silence. That he could understand.
But he did not understand why the door opened a crack, Error’s yellow pupil looking through the gap; “What do you want, Nightmare?”
He had always been good with words. So why did they fail him this time?
Error’s yellow pupil seemed luminous in the empty hallway. Then, quickly—
“Quiet.” And the door opened just enough for him to enter.
Past him, Error’s eyes flickered back to the hallway. It was thankfully still empty, so the door closed without a sound.
Error’s room was dark. Nightmare’s vision took some time to adjust; he was used to the candlelight of which he wrote by at night or even the dim moonlight spilling through the window when his candles burnt out. There was no candle lit in Error’s room.
“What do you want?” The voice was harsh, but it was still a question. Nightmare didn’t know how to answer. What did he want?
“There’s a war coming.” It slipped out like water through a crack. “Dad signed on it. It’s coming.”
Error looked at his younger brother. There was a pause. “I know.”
Something stuck in Nightmare’s throat. “Oh.”
Then, quite strangely, Nightmare’s eyes moved off to the side. Away from Error. They landed on racks of daggers, stands for swords, armour—
Nightmare, suddenly, felt the threat of danger lodged in his throat blocking his voice from reaching his teeth. Error watched him, silent.
“He talked to the Generals before. That’s why I know.” And he looked at him strangely, as if saying how do you know? and Nightmare could say nothing in his defense. Had he thought his dad’s decision to be on a whim? Surely not.
“Error.”
“What, Nightmare?”
Nightmare didn’t know what.
“I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Then he turned and stepped to the door.
Quietly, “Don’t get caught.”
The door opened. The I won’t stuck in Nightmare’s throat. Then he was gone.
Error’s gaze was on that door for a long time. Then he looked away and went back to sleep.
-----
Error was waiting.
The knock came past midnight, and he had been awake waiting.
He got to the door and opened it. He hadn’t locked it tonight.
His brother was on the other side.
“Error,” He said softly. “Error.”
“Night.”
Error did not beckon him in, but he might as well have.
That was the day the King died. Less than a month after the announcement of war.
That would be the last night Error would be sleeping in the furnished rooms of the Palace, for without the King to lead them, the armies needed the next best thing. His son.
Especially one as excellent in warfare as Error.
By the day after tomorrow, Nightmare would have no family left at home.
But that night, Error held him, and those arms felt warmer than the hearth.
-----
But it could not last.
-----
Nightmare’s oldest memory was being held. Maybe it was memories, not memory. In all of them, in it , the haze of delayed realisation, of transition between dinners and luncheons, his head was buried in someone’s chest. Sometimes he would be crying, but not always.
The day the Queen died, he had crawled into Error’s bed and wept.
That was a long time ago. Long before Error was sent to the borders for the war. Even longer from before he snuck to Error’s room to tell him about the upcoming war.
He had been, what? Four years old? Five?
Error had been so much older.
-----
The days before the King’s death, the brothers had taken to eating meals together. Error had a sweet tooth. Such a sweet tooth. Nightmare wanted to gag everytime he smelled Error’s sweetened, too-sugared tea. Error, in response, said Nightmare was a food masochist. Why insist on spices if you can’t handle them? Perhaps you should start bringing a goblet of milk to each meal.
It was a farce of familial conversation. But it still felt like family.
“I’m sure one of us will be dead by adulthood,” Error had remarked one day over lobster bisque. There was no lie in it. It was a possibility. The same garish, dry humour Error delighted in, his substitute for hostile remarks.
Nightmare did not forget.
-----
Nightmare filled the role of ruler well. He had not come of age yet, so he was ruling in everything but name. His politeness had indeed developed into diplomacy, though using it against his own advisors would’ve been unseemly if he hadn’t done it well.
He was a good Regent, a good to be-ruler, a good Prince. He was incredibly favoured by public approval, and less than half of it was pity for his orphanhood.
It was quietly known that he would be the next King. It was mere days to his turning of age.
In the years of his, much of the public forgot about his brother. When they spoke of the war, it was with hushed cursing and distressed worrying. Of if they would need to ration food soon, of if they needed to worry about their livelihoods. It was not about the Prince-turned-General.
At least, not till Error returned with the war won.
-----
Two Princes, both of age, with different claims to the throne. A rivalry long forgotten by the public thrown back into public debate and gossip. The older Prince, heir by birthright, yet strange. Undiplomatic, blunt; strange eyes, strange voice. A good warrior, though; but a King is not a warrior first.
Then the younger Prince. Younger by years, yet more intelligent. Clear voice, good face, and oh so good with words. A good ruler, too, as one could see from his unofficial reign. Yet he wasn’t the oldest, and the sword was his weakness.
(And, some whispered, the older Prince did win the war. Wasn’t that proof of his ability?)
After all, they were a weakened Kingdom recovering from war. There was always the chance of the neighbouring Kingdoms taking it as an opportunity and launching war once more. It was possible.
In such a scenario Error was most definitely the better choice. A King could be a warrior, but only a warrior could win wars.
But nonetheless it should’ve been Error crowned once he returned from the front lines. Shouldn’t it? He was older after all.
The Princes had different claims to the throne, but each could only have been made King upon the previous ruler’s decision. Claims equal in legitimacy, because the previous King never declared either one of them heir before his untimely death.
So, what did the rules dictate?
It was a primitive tradition, from primitive times so long ago.
In the event there was no ruler to appoint the heir apparent, they would have to battle it out for the throne. True battle, with blood and weapons and everything that ever came of them.
And at this, how the people talked. It distracted them— focusing on the conflicts of the elite, and perhaps the heat of conflict would distract them from the coldness in their homes; winter was coming.
Both brothers were of age, and a date was set for the battle.
-----
Error had forgotten Nightmare’s face, but it was so easy to remember when he saw him again. He hadn’t changed at all.
Error happened to see Nightmare on his second night back. Happened to meet in the hallways, eyes stuck to each other like moths to flame. As if nothing had changed and everything had in those years apart.
Because really, hadn’t the change been when Error returned?
Nightmare, because he was better with his words, spoke first.
“I don’t want to die.”
Nightmare couldn’t say anything after that. Error looked at him.
He saw his reflection in his eyes.
Error said nothing and turned to walk away. Nightmare did not follow him.
-----
“I don’t want to die.”
Just because Error didn’t want the throne did not mean he wanted to die. Nobody wanted that. Nightmare certainly didn’t, so why handicap himself?
Error was not a noble person.
Nightmare would make a better King. Error knew it to be true.
But tradition had put a damper on Nightmare’s chances of survival and increased his. Nightmare would not make a good King if he was never crowned, and he could not be crowned if he was already dead.
Tradition, tradition. He silently thought it primitive, to have them fight to the death for a measly reward that should’ve been their birthright anyway. Was the crown worth the blood? The betrayal? There should have been no betrayal. They should’ve never been family. Nothing to betray but the shared blood in their veins that meant nothing now.
He did not want to kill Nightmare, but he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want the throne either.
He would much rather be— forgotten. Be left alone. Be left in peace. But he was born as a Prince.
Error knew if it came to it, he would have to kill Nightmare.
-----
They did not continue sharing meals. Nor sharing company.
-----
Nightmare began training two weeks before the day.
Since the day he got back, Error never picked up a sword.
-----
Error missed Nightmare more than he could say.
No one else would indulge his dry humour. All the soldiers that got the humour (they were always the good soldiers) had died in the war.
The homesickness that should’ve come for him during the war instead came to him now, in the form of lonely dinners.
-----
Nightmare did not let Error in when he found him outside his door. The anger-grief-pain had long smoothed out at the edges, so he didn’t say anything. He merely waited.
“Do you know how the King died?” Error spoke quietly. The words dug into Nightmare, searching for anything to hook on but they were nothing to him. He still said nothing.
“He died of his allergies.” There was a hint of sardonicism in his words. “Nut allergy, if you would believe that.”
Nightmare looked at Error.
Something in Error smoothed over. Something in Error broke. Something in Error shifted.
“Can I come in?”
If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said his voice sounded hoarse.
Nightmare didn’t know how his dad died. Now that he thought about it, it was really strange. Why had none of his advisors mentioned it to him, if only as a reminder to be cautious? Even if he’d blocked out his father’s death, why would they have allowed it?
“Go away.” The words came before he realised they were in his throat.
Error blinked. Then, he smiled slowly. A slow, sad smile.
“Nightmare.”
“Error,” He said dryly.
Something in Error broke. Something in Error broke. Something in Error broke.
“Night,” He said again. Pleadingly, almost. “Let's pretend? Till the sun rises?”
“Why haven’t you been training?” The question slipped out before he could clack his teeth shut. “Are you that sure? That confident that you’ll kill me and win?”
Error looked at him strangely.
“I don’t want to kill you, Nightmare,” He said honestly.
“But you will.” It should’ve been an accusation. It was a truth.
“On the day, yes,” He said— softly? Quietly? Painfully? Regretfully?
On the day. There would only ever be one day, and that was that.
But it would come to pass soon. There was a terrible joy at that.
Perhaps it was not joy at all.
-----
Nightmare made mistakes in his training. So many mistakes. Approaching his death felt like a slow death in itself. He trained, still; as if preparing an act. As if preparing for the spectacle that that day would become.
He knew the people, in all their whispers and rumours, were growing unruly. Growing frustrated.
He wondered if it was a coincidence the King died so soon after declaring war. He wondered how many of his advisors he could actually trust. He was not stupid. Undoubtedly the neighbouring kingdoms had a hand in stirring dissent in theirs.
Was he really a good ruler? Or was he just a good pawn?
But, in his despondency, he found he could not muster the ability to care.
-----
Error did not want to kill Nightmare.
But now, Error did not think he could kill Nightmare.
Not even as Nightmare snuck into his room, quiet but to Error far too loud to go unnoticed. And he has a knife in hand.
“Hello, brother.”
The words stayed in the air for a long, long time. Nightmare did not flinch. He held the knife like it was a flower.
“Error,” He said softly. Quietly. Painfully. “Error, I need to tell you something.”
“Well,” Error said slowly, as if gauging the risk. “Have you come to kill me?”
Nightmare dropped the knife. He stared at it as it fell. He stared at the knife against the floor before dragging his eyes back to his brother.
“No. I need to tell you something. I— It’s okay, if you kill me.” The words came far too easy, slipping through like breath. “I just don’t want to die in the duel. I don’t want to die being watched by, what? Tens? Hundreds? I want to die alone, or if I can’t, die with you.”
Error let out a breath.
“Nightmare."
“It’s the truth,” He retorted. “I want out of this. I want out. I don’t care anymore. This Kingdom is going down and I’m ready to jump ship and drown. Kill me and fake my suicide.”
Error’s fingers tightened into a half-fist, then he let out a soft chuckle. A painful chuckle. An angry chuckle.
“You’re an idiot. Everyone will suspect me. A knife? Why don’t we use the sword I used in the war? Might as well not waste their time,” he spat, the words escaping through clenched teeth. Childhood hostility returning; no, it had never really left.
“Error, please.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Error, kill me.”
"Fuck off.”
“Error—”
“For fucks sake, if you’re too scared to fight then run away!” Error hissed.
A silence.
“What?” Nightmare was actually bewildered. Error was actually pissed.
“For fucks sake, just go! Sure they’ll blame me, but what can they do? If you don’t want to fight, then leave!”
Nightmare’s mouth was open. “I can do that?”
“Yes?!”
“But I wouldn’t know where to go. I don’t know anything beyond the walls of this Palace. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t know anyone. And—” His face stiffened. “There’s a coup coming.”
Error stiffened. “What?”
“There’s a coup coming and the King’ll be dead in less than a year anyway. I— I thought you knew.”
Suddenly they were back in Nightmare’s room years and years ago when he’d tried to warn Error of the war.
Suddenly they were brothers again.
“Error.” His voice quivered like he was a child again. “What will we do?”
Error’s biting laughter (oh so bitter) cut through the air. “Either way, we’re fucked.”
“We could run away,” Nightmare murmured. “Or— abdicate?”
“We’ll be killed anyway. The people,” He paused. “ Our people, they are angry. I didn’t think there would be enough people high up to constitute a coup, but our people? They want revenge. If we abdicate the throne, there will always be eyes on us. We’ll still be a threat, just powerless. We’ll die the same way father did.”
Nightmare knew, then. Their father did not die of illness. He had been assassinated. It was a stupid thing. Obvious. Nut allergy that got him in the end? It was so— stupid. “So, Nightmare.” Error had a strange look in his eyes. “What do you want?”
Nightmare thought, and thought.
He remembers, then. A long, long, long time ago, they had snuck bites out of their mother’s pastry. It had been a fun game then, seeing how much they could eat without her noticing. The night had ended in feverish heat and bitter medicine.
They had almost died that night, the two of them. It was a bitter night. He had not wanted to remember it, but he remembered all the same now. The pastry had been made with nuts. Just like the birthright of a claim to the throne, they had inherited the deadly allergy from their father.
There, his answer.
“To be free,” He said, oh so softly. “Even if just for a time before they catch us.”
“Maybe they won’t catch us,” Error said carefully. “If we plan.”
He was contradicting his own words from earlier. Yet he was so sure in it.
Nightmare guessed what he was thinking. Perhaps he was right, perhaps not.
And yet, he did not care.
-----
There would be no duel, because the Princes would go missing the night before.
They would not realise till the morning of. And the brothers would have been long gone.
-----
There were stalls along the narrow, winding streets. Nightmare nearly tripped over his feet to make it to one that sold paintings; his gaze was fixed on one in particular, a painting of a yellow bird on a branch of the Hesperides Tree. The vendor noticed him and chuckled. “Can I help you?”
Nightmare flinched and looked up. “Uh— um, no, it’s fine. I’m just— looking.”
“Took a liking to that one?” He prompted. He was not that much older than Nightmare, really; perhaps the same age as Error, who was cautiously watching a few steps back. “It was one of my favourites to paint, you know. All that fancy imagery, you know?”
“Oh, you— painted this?” Nightmare blinked, surprised.
“Mhm! You can see my name in the corner,” He nudged in its direction. “But in case you can’t make out my handwriting, it says Ink. ”
“Ah, I see it. Fitting name.” Nightmare let out a small laugh. It was so small, yet it felt— real.
Error stepped in and started to pull him away from the stall.
“Ah, goodbye then, friend!”
Even as they left, Error did not glance back at Ink.
“People are looking, ” He whispered. Nightmare did not have to nod, they both knew it. They both noticed it. The lingering gazes, the whispers, the second glances; they know they were going to be recognised soon. That they didn’t have much time left.
They still had one stall left to patronize, though. They had barely brought any gold with them; just over enough to purchase a few pastries.
-----
It’s a local dessert, made of nuts.
-----
Nightmare realises he’s crying.
Error holds him to his chest the way he did when they were kids. “Quickly now,” Error whispered, softly, as if he was holding a dead thing. Soon he would be.
What if he’s lying? What if he doesn’t eat it too ? It was the way Nightmare was taught, to suspect everyone and everything, his only family left most of all.
He, however, found that he did not care. Let Error take the throne, then.
He was aware, though. Both of them. The next King would die not too long after. The people wanted blood for the blood spilled. An exchange. A justice.
Tomorrow or in many tomorrows, the townsfolk would find two bodies under the bridge, already decaying. If they were lucky, they would be dragged out, or perhaps even carried, to their very own pauper’s grave.
Perhaps that artist, Ink, was it? Would be the one to bury them.
If they were not lucky, they wouldn’t be buried at all and perhaps found by the King’s Guard. But even when the Monarchy fell, even when revolution was brought to the Palace doorstep, there would be nothing that could be done to the two brothers. For they would be long dead.
#utmv#ink sans#error sans#nightmare sans#utmv au#utmv fanfic#utmv fanfiction#prince au#fanfiction#royalty au#kingdom au#mortals au#tragedy#in a way#major character death#character death#prince nightmare sans#prince error sans
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Songs in the Dark
Requested by anonymous: Morpheus x reader where they have broken up and he watches from afar? Reader doesn't notice him until they're singing a heartbreak song and doesn't break eye contact with him to make sure he knows just how much they're hurting
A/N: ... I made myself cry writing this one. Hurt no comfort kind of, mostly pining and longing, feels galore. I try to keep my SFW reader inserts gender ambiguous, so for the song at the end here's Frank Sinatra's version for the masc aligned folks and Bette Midler's version for the femme aligned folks cuz everyone deserves a chance to have Dream pining for them tagging @fangirlmary this is also totally My Kind Of Shit, I'm a musical theater actor so if anyone wants to hear me sing this to morpheus hit me up i'll make a vid xD
~~Requests for Morpheus and the Doctor (9-13) are open!~~
You should have told them no. There was no way you could do this. How in the hell were you supposed to sing when your throat was clenched so tightly around tears and sobs you could barely talk? Either way, ten minutes before your first two songs was too late to pull out.
You drank some water and let out a shuddering breath. The stage manager knocked on the door to the greenroom and murmured, “Y/N, you’re on in five.”
“Thank you five,” you choked back, giving him a nod. You took another sip of water and tossed the bottle back in your bag. A quick glance in the mirror to make sure your face and hair were performance ready- they were, even if your face was a little pale.
You stared your reflection down and took a few more deep breaths. “Okay,” you told yourself, “We’re gonna get through these four songs, give ‘em a good show, then you can go home and cry over ice cream and a sappy movie. You can do this.” The last bit didn’t sound convincing at all.
The stage manager returned. “Y/N, you’re on deck, we’re ready in the wings.”
“Thank you on deck.” One more deep breath and you followed the stage manager up the narrow stairs to stage level. Another singer gave you a quick smile as she passed you on her way back to the greenroom.
A shiver ran down your spine at the change in temperature when you got into the wings, ears filled with piano music and the man currently singing on stage. Your mind slipped into that fuzzy yet focused state you found yourself in when performing. You know the words. Don't think, just do. You heard the audience applaud at the end of the song, sounded like a decent sized crowd. You took another deep breath and shook the numbness out of your fingers.
The man who was just singing gave you a thumbs up as he walked off the stage and the announcer started to introduce you. There was another round of applause when your name was announced; you willed your legs to carry you forward onto the stage.
The heat of the spotlights instantly warmed and half-blinded you. Combined with the dim lights at the back of the room, most of the audience was only visible as shapeless forms in various shades of black You could almost pick out some facial features of the people sitting in the back as you approached the standing mic and gave the pianist a nod.
You took a steadying breath as you heard the first chords of the song. Everything seemed to fall away, there was nothing in the world except for you, the piano, and the microphone. Your eyes softly fell shut for just a moment. You took another breath, pulling air all the way into the bottom of your lungs, supported by your diaphragm. The first words were already half formed in your mouth. Your eyes eased open.
And then you saw him.
At first, he appeared to be a cool black, vaguely person-shaped blob, much like the rest of the audience. He had situated himself against the back wall, dead center stage. The details sharpened as your eyes once again adjusted to the spotlights: the tufts of midnight hair you knew were softer than the finest cashmere; the pale skin that appeared to shimmer with starlight if you looked long and hard enough; the faint, almost imperceptible glow from the flames and stars of his cloak. That glow almost seemed a trick of the spotlights, but you knew better.
It was a testament to your skill that you kept singing as if nothing was amiss, as if your ancient, eldritch former boyfriend wasn’t burning holes into the core of your being with the intensity of his stare. Your knees almost gave out, and you tried to make your death grip on the microphone stand part of the emotion the song was trying to convey.
Also to your credit, you refused to break eye contact, staring down those black pits that would have been utterly soulless if not for the tiniest glimmer of light.
Your mind wandered during the short piano interlude. Why was he here, looking as if he were about to explode into shadows and dissolve into sand at the same time? Why did he seem so… hurt? After all, he was the one who did the breaking up- his version of “it’s not you, it’s me,” Endless and mortals cannot be together, it always ends in ruin. The fact that you were willing to risk ruin, willing to prove the universe and the stories wrong was utterly ignored, never mind how strong and deep your love for each other was. I'm sorry Y/N, my light. My heart. His choked, gruff words echoed in your mind, quickly replaced by the next lyrics.
The song you were singing was playful and flirty, but you knew the next one was much more melancholy, full of longing and empty sadness. You hit the last note and held it perfectly, lips twitching into a small, pride-filled smile as the audience broke into applause. When it died down, you gave the pianist another nod and he started your next song.
When you had first agreed to perform at this cabaret, you had picked this song for no reason other than the vibes; a melancholy, jazzy piece was right at home among the velvet chairs and faint cigarette smoke. The meter of the song was straightforward, but the nature of the lyrics left lots of room for variation.
~I'm gonna love you, like nobody's loved you, come rain or come shine. High as a mountain, deep as a river, come rain or come shine.~
You felt the barely healed cracks in your heart start to fissure. The hurt, the love, the wistful, melancholic longing, the strength of your faith in the two of you together, Morpheus could see it all on your trembling face, in your sparkling, watery eyes. Could hear it in every crooning note, every word you sang.
~I guess when you met me, it was just one of those things. But don't ever bet me, cause I'm gonna be true if you let me.~
Now it was you staring burning holes into him. Dream could feel the stubborn determination in your gaze pierce him through skin and bone, all the way to his heart and soul. He barely breathed, not wanting to disturb a single atom of the room while you poured your heart into the song.
The rest of the world disappeared; to Morpheus it was just you and him in that darkened room, a single spotlight illuminating your form, the accompaniment lightly riding the air. You were singing to him, no one else. Your eyes hadn’t left his for a second.
~You're gonna love me, like nobody's loved me, come rain or come shine. Happy together, unhappy together, and won't it be fine.~
Your gaze turned sad and knowing, even as a quivering smile stretched your lips. Dream knew in the depths of his being that you were right. No matter what the universe did or didn’t do, his heart would always belong to you. And that was why he had to end it. If you perished, surely, so would he.
~Days may be cloudy, or sunny. We're in, or we're out, of the money.~
Again, that love and passion fueled fire filled your eyes. These weren’t Harold Arlen’s lyrics anymore: they were a declaration of your unfading love. You meant every word, and they were for him alone.
~But I'm with you always, I'm with you rain or shine.~
Morpheus was filled with so many emotions swirling like a storm he could barely name them all: shame, love, pride, adoration, longing, the sweetest, deepest hurt.
The piano slowed, gently pulling the chords from the keys, giving you the freedom to sing the last words as your heart dictated, not the sheet music. Faint flashes of silver flickered to life in his eyes when he saw a solitary tear roll down your cheek, heard the shakiness of your breath as you sang the last phrase:
~Rain or shine~
#The Sandman#The Sandman fanfic#Morpheus x reader#dream of the endless x reader#Morpheus fanfic#my stuff
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The Case of Harrison Slytherin
Hello, lovely people.
It came to my attention that it's now been two years since I posted the last chapter of Harrison Slytherin and The Year Sirius Black Was the Star. Making it two years some of you are waiting for the sequel. My sincere apologies.
I've been busy these last two years. I changed work, which included a few months of quite intense training, finally graduated college - all in all, I had precious few moments to work on my fic. I have ideas and I am hoping to work on them in the upcoming weeks. No promises, because when I do make them it usually goes bad, but... I promise Harry is not forgotten and I am working on it.
And because this is why I started this blog originally, I am adding a small taste of the fourth book under the cut. Don't be shy to tell me what you think - it might even make me keep motivated!
Sirius can’t focus on the Wizengamot session with the knowledge that as soon as it will be over, he will be coming over to the Slytherin Castle.
Well, not right after. He and Lord Slytherin agreed on a forty-minute delay in between, so they can refresh and change clothes. One does not want to have a meeting that is technically about family in Wizengamot robes.
Focusing on politics when such an important meeting is in front of him is in itself almost impossible, but when he knows that his godson is sitting just above him? He can feel him, his magic that is almost more powerful than anyone else’s in the room (with the exception of his father and Dumbledore himself), the wildfire that is closely controlled.
“All for.”
Sirius flinches and quickly puts the tip of his wand to the small wall in front of him. Raising the donation that the Ministry gives to St. Mungo’s is a good cause, but he seriously needs to focus on the session.
Luckily, it is not a long session, and it is not even two o’clock when Dumbledore lets them go. Sirius is out of his chair and out of his balcony as soon as he’s able to. He’d completely overlook the simple letter on the table in his anteroom if there wasn’t a magical pull to it. He stops to open it and read it.
Keep your cool – Tom might forgive a lot of Harry's mother, but he won’t be as lenient with you. Good luck, R. C.
Sirius smirks just before the letter bursts into flames. The light flame singes his fingers, but he just smiles.
It’s still a surprise every time he finds these short messages from Rabastan, since as a healer he almost never has the time to join them for their Saturday tea. But somehow, they still managed to start a genuine friendship, through short messages, a few jokes, and adoration for little Rosie.
Sirius doesn’t know how exactly Rabastan knows the whole truth about Harry or even how he knows about their meeting today, but he learned to not question some things, to just go with it by now.
He doesn’t even step out into the hallway. Instead, he goes through the fireplace straight to his study room and from there to his bedroom. He quickly gets out of his Wizengamot robe and puts on a modern one that he selected for this meeting a month ago – he puts on black trousers before pulling a dark blue robe that wraps around him and ends above his knees. Its long sleeves look like they’re part of the robe, but when Sirius raises his arms, it becomes apparent that they have high slits almost to the shoulder. He belts the robe with a thick, silver belt, and uses charms on his hair, so he doesn’t have it up anymore, but still has it in a thick braid. With a quick look to the mirror, he nods at himself before rushing out of his room again.
He still has time, but he doesn’t want to leave Lily waiting.
Lily is pacing the waiting room, biting her lower lip, and twirling her hair around her fingers. Her hair is in a simple braid down her right shoulder, with some forest flowers woven into the braid. Her dark blue dress is long enough to touch the floor and fitted just enough to be flattering on Lily, with decent cleavage that isn’t too revealing and flowy, see-through sleeves in the same colour.
“You look amazing.”
Honestly, Sirius is a little surprised to see her like this. She spent most of her summer with Jack and his pack, so when the two of them met she was usually in jeans and shirts. Werewolves apparently prefer muggle clothes to robes. Not that their women don’t wear dresses or skirts, but Lily, not having to work over summer, spent most of her time running around with the pack’s children, and jeans were just more practical for it.
Lily quickly turns towards him and lets her hand fall to her side. Then she smiles, a little unsure.
“Thank you, Sirius. The children enjoy weaving flowers into my hair,” she adds, amused, as she gestures towards her braid. “You don’t think Lord Slytherin will mind such a relaxed hairstyle, do you?”
Sirius just stands there and looks at her for a long minute. This whole situation is… surreal to him. Lord Slytherin is Voldemort and Voldemort kidnapped their baby. And he would do anything, anything to get their baby back, but… Harry is fourteen now and has a right to have his own agency. And he doesn’t want them. Not the way they want him.
If Sirius thinks about it too long, he gets furious at Lord Slytherin. And he’s in no position to go against him, politically speaking. He might have made some friends lately, but he’s in no illusion that if it came down to it, they would choose him over Lord Slytherin. They wouldn’t and he knows it. So he doesn’t think about it.
What will happen today, however… Sirius is not sure.
“I mean… we’re practically family, right?”
He doesn’t sound nearly as sure as he’d like and Lily gives him a raised eyebrow, before bursting into a laugh.
“What the fuck are we doing, Pads?”
Sirius shrugs his shoulders and sighs.
“I have no idea, Lils. But we have,” he quickly checks the time, “thirty more minutes before Lord Slytherin expects us.”
Lily lets out another unamused laugh before collapsing to an armchair nearby.
“Fuck, I haven’t been this nervous since… you know, I actually don’t remember ever being this nervous. Maybe before I gave birth to the boys?” She frowns as she says that. Sirius smiles softly before sitting down in the armchair close to hers.
“I can’t believe it’s been fourteen years already.”
They’ve both been to Chris’ birthday party. Sirius didn’t really like what a spectacle James made of it, with half of the Ministry including Minister Fudge there as well as most of the Wizengamot. Well, the light families of Wizengamot and most of the elected members were there. The celebration was somewhat bittersweet to Sirius – he wanted to spend the time with Chris, he really did. But Chris had his friends there and the party was more a chance of making political contacts than anything else. He spent most of it with Lily, avoiding Remus. He did enjoy his talk with Madame Bones and a few elected Wizengamot members, but the whole afternoon was ruined for him when Dumbledore tried talking to him. Well, honestly, he mostly talked to Lily. It took all of Sirius’ willpower to not snarl back at him.
Lily sags in her seat, suddenly looking tired.
“So much went wrong. I knew that having children during a war was risky, but… I could have never anticipated that.”
“I don’t think anyone could have seen that coming, Lils.” The silence between them is tense now and Sirius hates everything about it. “Fuck, I could use a shot.”
“Don’t you dare, Sirius! We’re not going to the Slytherin Castle drunk.”
“You mean, like you were the last time we’ve been there?”
Lily groans and hides her blushing face behind her hands. Sirius smiles, but it doesn’t really solve anything. Sirius is still tense and nervous, and he can see that Lily feels the same way.
“It’s a shame there won’t be quidditch this school year,” Sirius tries to lighten up the mood. Lily looks up at him, her cheeks still pink, but her eyes interested. “Harry is one hell of a player. Would love to watch him play.”
“I am just glad he and Chris won’t be able to enter the Tournament,” Lily sighs easily. “I just got him back, I couldn’t watch him be in danger in a freaking Triwizard Tournament.”
“I’d be more worried about Chris entering than Harry,” Sirius says easily. “Harry has a good head on his shoulders, he wouldn’t enter the competition even if he could. Not when it’s spurred on them like that, without him training for it before. Not if he knows the Tournament’s history.”
Which Sirius assumes he does, with his pureblood upbringing.
They chat for a while about the upcoming school year. There’s less than two weeks left before it starts, and Lily has already moved back to Hogwarts. She was officially living with Sirius this summer, but Sirius hardly ever saw her. Lily did visit him every once in a while, but Jack, her boyfriend, wouldn’t allow Sirius to visit them yet. And Sirius understands. He did get coffee with both of them at the beginning of summer in the same coffee shop he and Frank met with Jack months ago. Jack straight up told him that he doesn’t want to risk his pack yet and Sirius understands that. Bringing Lily in to introduce her as his girlfriend was already risky enough and Sirius doesn’t want to make their position in the pack even more complicated.
Sirius isn’t sure how he feels about the upcoming school year. Bringing back the Triwizard Tournament seems risky at best, and Sirius isn’t happy about the situation with Peter still being unsolved while that is going on. The investigation is ongoing, but it brought up nothing new, the working theory is still the one where Peter broke out of prison to go after Chris. Of course, with what Sirius now knows, it’s also possible that he’s after Harry. Either version makes Sirius nervous, which is why he agreed to stay around Hogwarts for one more school year.
What role the pupils from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will play in him guarding Hogwarts, Sirius is not sure. But at least he won’t have to deal with Remus while there anymore.
Sirius is still pissed at Chris for letting it slip that Remus is a werewolf. It doesn’t matter that Remus broke Sirius’ heart and that Sirius partially wants Remus to hurt. You do not out werewolves for any reason. The fact that Chris did so accidentally makes it worse, not better as James claims. And the fact that Chris wasn’t even punished for it makes Sirius’ blood boil. How the fuck is Chris supposed to learn from his mistakes when James refuses to admit that they are mistakes?
Finally, Sirius’ wand starts vibrating against his forearm and he quickly stands up before cancelling the alarm spell. He smiles at Lily.
“Well, no time to waste now. You ready?”
Lily breathes in deeply before she stands up and looks straight at Sirius.
“Not really, not nearly. But what the hell. Let’s go meet the father of our boy.”
#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#slytherin harry potter#harry potter au#hp fanfiction#hp fanfic#sirius black and lily evans BFFs#fanfiction#writing#ao3
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this became v long and rambly sorry!
music was decent but unremarkable overall like none of it was particularly memorable. they made the orchestra pit the pool which was kind of cool and the valley of ashes set was nice. other sets were meh imo. the performers were the only reason the entire show wasn't completely flat. esp eva noblezada and the nick i saw (i saw the u/s). they just did not give jeremy jordan much to do except be in love w daisy in their scenes together so his presence just felt kind of awkward on stage. samantha pauly was decent as jordan but the amount of time spent on nick and jordan (mostly them being v In Love and getting engaged) seems to have ended up leaving nick and gatsby on the cutting room floor. like nick and gatsby talk once when gatsby tells him about daisy and asks him to set up a meeting, they interact a bit when gatsby is panicking right before seeing daisy, and then they talk right before gatsby dies. 2/3 are completely about daisy and literally nothing else which is esp irritating given how uninteresting nick and jordan are in their scenes. even the numbers that were meant to be classic splashy broadway dance numbers were really boring (and i say this as someone w a deep fondness for splashy broadway dance numbers) and didn't feel particularly rooted in the time period, which is a missed opportunity imo. i didn't really like much of the choreography either as someone who has no real knowledge about dancing lol - it just wasn't fun to watch. they tried to use wolfsheim as narrator-adjacent in the 2nd act opening which was incredibly boring. they also try and create tension by having wolfsheim threaten gatsby bc he's hasn't been doing his job or w/e and it does not work at all. myrtle and george's separate numbers in the 2nd act were better than most of the rest of the show. esp myrtle's bc she has a come-to-jesus moment about tom right before getting killed which has more impact than the entire rest of the show. they move the beautiful little fool convo (as a song) to the end which was baffling to me bc nick is like "you're just hiding away w your money when gatsby got killed bc he took the blame for you murdering someone" and then daisy sings about hoping her daughter's a beautiful little fool like ?????? girl wtf are you talking about. it just felt so out of place. found the writing for daisy v frustrating bc they did the thing where they try to make a character more likable by dulling or removing their flaws and end up just removing anything that makes them interesting. tom was so flat. even the way any scene w him was directed was flat, esp when he hits myrtle. no impact at all you barely even notice it happen. i was bored throughout most of the show. i get what you said about it being beautiful but empty but even the parts that could get by on that had no entertainment value.
Oh holy shit it’s worse than I thought. I knew they made nick straight, which yeah fine okay I can step outside my Stupid Gay Nick world long enough to accept that straight nick is the norm, whatever, so disappointing but whatever—
But he and jordan are like. Engaged?…really? Mr. I Wont Be Rumored Into Engagement? Getting engaged to a woman in the spotlight? Who he can’t even admit to loving fully? Are you goddamn motherfucking joking with me right now?
And like. I get that there’s no real villain in the great gatsby and that’s the point, it’s the system not the people whatever. But you mean to tell me they looked at tom, that fucking asshole, and then *didn’t use him to colorize the scenes?* You expect me to believe anyone else is ‘good’ in this when TOM BUCHANAN’S greatest sin is being boring? Where’s the fucking bottom line? Where’s the depth of character?
And then…nick and jay don’t even talk but three goddamn times?
Huh?
What?
I’m serious. Even canon nick fucking carraway admitted to hanging out with him often.
And also WOLFSHIEM AS THE NARRATOR??
Like. It’s very important that nick is the narrator. He fits such a very very specific niche of a character that he just cannot be replaced without damaging the integrity of the story as we know it, which is clearly cut and dry the story they aimed to tell. Do you think fitz’s choice in OPENING THE BOOK discussing not jay and daisy but NICK’S ‘GOOD’ CHARACTER was just an accident??? Hello??? Is anyone seeing this?
I can’t even. Like. Huh???
God it makes me SO mad they fumbled daisy too. In a modern gaze we have sooooo much more room to explore her character and they just fucking. They fumbled the goddamn bag. The failed her, and I’ve already talked about how unfair it was to cast Eva in a role defined by its whiteness. God. I just. Oh my god
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just felt like sharing some of my thoughts on recent topics:
- i think nj’s album is objectively decent. if anything my biggest critique is that, similar to indigo, he insists on singing and anyone else that jumps on the record eats him up. i really did like the production and after tuning him out a little i really enjoyed the vibe. i actually think its a lot more refined and grounded than indigo despite being a mess thematically/lyrically but i actually think that thats what he was going for lol, a sort of “emotional clusterfuck”.
as for army’s reception, i think he’s def trying to build his own audience and he’s aware that takes time. he went in a totally different direction than his previous release yet its still very him. armys might not be the target audience but its better for him to build a small but loyal base that will continue to tune in for his solo stuff rather than just expecting armys to like everything every member puts out.
its rich for other kpop stans to drag him when despite doing what he’s done he’s still more successful than most korean artists, so its funny for me to see people think they can drag him for not getting streams in korea which if im not mistaken have the lowest residuals for streams and are the flakiest audience (but maybe thats just me being petty lol)
- nwjns new song not doing that hot on global spotify doesn’t surprise me. they are an aesthetic-leaning group, yes their songs are cute but its because of the aesthetic theyre accompanied with that they feel so grand and trendy every time. the aesthetic for how sweet is minimal and kinda getting old so people dont seem to be buying into that so far (outside of sk) but im sure that as soon as there’s a cute tiktok trend to go with it they’ll end up biting. the song is cute, but i have to admit this trend of “flat”singing is tiring me. open up those vocal chords and SING dammit.
- random, but i wonder if supernova by aespa doing that well is some sort of reaction to the whole mhj-bpd drama. imo drama was a million times better and didn’t do as well as it shouldve
- idk if im over my fixation, but nothing thats come out of the kpop industry this year has been genuinely interesting or exciting. i mostly just tune into female artists and a handful of soloists. there’s been some cute concepts here and there but the music is just meh.
“i really did like the production and after tuning him out a little i really enjoyed the vibe.”
Im sorry this is taking me out. Tuning out the very person whose album you’re listening to is crazy 😭 but I kinda get it lmao.
After watching that minimoni special this morning and how he described rpwp basically as a rant, an “emotional clusterfuck” is aptly named tbh. It’s gonna be really hard for him to get a solid solo fanbase because he doesn’t have personal reach or appeal beyond the armys that already know him and his music and the music he’s been dropping isn’t really attention grabbing either. Like I’m sure there’s people who are out there that know he’s a good rapper and can respect him for that, but it’s still not enough to make them stan him and that’s where the problem will lie for him.
Njws (or mhj) are following a theme that doesn’t allow themselves or their music to evolve, because beyond the different outfits and hairstyles everything is starting to feel repetitive. Real one trick pony-ish cause it seems like this is all mhj knows how to do. Like you already know what to expect from them and I find artists who just stick to one sound kinda boring (though I have my exceptions). I see what you’re saying about the “flat” singing lol but imo not everyone has to like sing sing if you get me? I’m not just talking about belting but just typical singing. Even though it would be a nice switch up from them I feel like they’ve just made that they’re brand.
I actually just listened to supernova after I drafted this and ended up really liking it. It’s a cool song. I listened to drama too, not bad either. It’s a possibility that the whole mhj/bang debacle might’ve had a positive impact for aespa, but sometimes the k gp just likes what they like and blows it up. I know they loved queen card by g-idle but I still do not like that song at all.
I’m a casual listener of a handful a groups and I’ll check out their releases when they drop. Any other song I listen to apart from them is just because I wanted to see what the fuss was about but all in all everything is just so typical. I’ve had releases I’ve enjoyed but everything still has that standard kpop sound to it so I agree nothing has really been exciting.
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more thoughts about Wish:
Chris Pine has the best voice acting in this movie by far. Dude could be a legitimately scary villain if the animation wasn't so goofy
I'm telling you dude, the man is acting his ass off but the script and animation style are just ruining all the emotion he's giving
Alan Tudyk is also putting in the work but the script is not working in his favor
Evan Peters needs more lines. His character is legitimately interesting, a young guy who just gave up his wish and is now weirdly lethargic all the time, but they don't explore it enough
Speaking of the animation, it felt very inconsistent. With the King especially we'd get like... one cool moment (like him stopping the globes during his solo song) but then it's immediately cut by these goofy Nimona-as-Ballister type motions
The facial expressions are generally overblown, past the point of "animation stretching the rules" and into "this just looks goofy"
Like I said before, it feels like a patchwork of a dozen other, better Disney movies. My dad and I were watching this going "Tangled. Brave. Frozen. Peter Pan. Mulan."
The third act is like... Rise of the Guardians meets that one scene in Trolls where they sing True Colors
The music is just inconsistent. I think it mainly comes from the fact that they had a pop singer/songwriter do the music rather than a musical theatre composer, there aren't any consistent themes or leitmotifs and it leaves everything feeling very disjointed.
Some of the songs on their own are decently catchy but they just feel like they're trying way too hard
The dialogue is the same way. It serves a purpose but it doesn't quite feel natural or human. Some characters are worse than others and the VO work plays a role but the script itself is just awkward
I think they've just set up too many characters here. If they took two people out of Asha's friend group it would leave more room to develop the others. As it is, I don't remember their names and I have no idea what they want
Except for Asha since she's the main character and Simon because he's the only one who stands out from the rest (again, really interesting character! drastically underutilized!)
Feels like the talking animals are only a thing because it's a Disney movie. Valentino I understand, animal sidekicks are a classic, but the chickens and squirrels and mice are just too much
As a whole there's just... no substance in it. It feels like they've tried to make The Disney Movie and just started making it without even deciding on the themes or characters' journeys at all
It is a heaping pile of deus ex machinas. Every single problem in this movie is resolved in some cheeky little deus ex machina, solely for the sake of a stupid joke or a cheap reference to another Disney reference
If you're gonna copy Lin-Manuel Miranda's composition style anyway... just hire Lin-Manuel Miranda. At least he knows how rhyme schemes and leitmotifs work
This movie is so fucking trite it makes me legitimately angry
Good points I guess (because I refuse to dish on a movie without pointing out something decent about it):
Some of the songs are kinda catchy
There are a few powerful moments of animation, mostly with the King
There are little gold character moments here and there: the King's desperation for power, Simon's character as a whole, Asha's selflessness sparking the initial wish, etc.
Some of the voice acting is legitimately good!
The concept itself is interesting, a King who hoards wishes to make himself more powerful. It had the grounds to be a much better movie, it just didn't act on them very well
The diversity in this movie is genuinely good! We see various demographics of people - race, gender, physical build, disability, etc. - and there's not much "Disney same face syndrome" like we've gotten in other movies.
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tagged by @kukiyuuri ur so sweet ty for the tag <3
ONE. Are you named after anyone?
*Office stare* whatever gave u that impression? :3c
yea my queer ass swiped Roxas' name as my own. I had a major identity crisis after leaving a cult a decade ago so it kinda felt fitting to pick the name with his own history with cults & identity issues hehe
2. When was the last time you cried?
couple days ago, tho I have a very hard time crying anymore. thaaaat's probs not good ^^;; I used to be a huge crybaby.
3. Do you have kids?
thankfully not. I'm enough work as is tyvm
4. What sports do you play? have you played?
I played street hockey with my neighbors quite a bit growing up, tho it was rather short-lived when they suddenly had a problem with playing with a girl (boy do I have news for them). in high school I joined the tennis team. I wasn't stellar at it but I had a blast. wish there were more opportunities to play but that requires other ppl wanting to play.
these days I've been reconnecting with my childhood love of rollerblading. I'm close to being as good as I used to be which is so exciting cuz there's so much I never mastered! so I'm about to cross over into new territory!
5. Do you use sarcasm?
what's sarcasm? ovo
6. What is the first thing you notice about people?
looking at the world thru an artist's lens, I notice things like posture, expression, body language first. which can tell u a lot about a person in the moment without a word being spoken.
7. What's your eye color?
blue! I think they're turning gray as I get older which is kinda cool but also a little sad.
8. Scary movies or happy endings?
depends on my mood; both are good. so long as the story is told well anything goes really.
9. Any talents?
I suffer from the good at the arts but bad at everything modern society deems useful disease. my main talent is probs drawing, writing coming second (if I ever get the spoons to do it again). I'm also decent at singing with my long history with choir & leading worship services.
10. Where were u born?
the most boring place on earth -- the US Midwest. Siri, play "Sidewalks" by Story of the Year.
11. What are your hobbies?
a lot of my free time lately has been getting back into studying languages. I'm mostly focused on Japanese atm but I'm also at an intermediate level in German & conversational in ASL.
I game quite a bit too, primarily retro games. *screaming crying throwing up that PS2-era is now considered retro* seldom do I play things upon release except of KH.
oh, I'm also a casual fashion doll collector (mostly Barbie & Monster High). old media as well (vhs, retro games, music, etc). lost media & preservation of the arts in general really interests me.
I play guitar a bit too but lol I suck at it.
other hobbies previously touched on in earlier q's include drawing, skating, singing & writing. :3c
12. Do you have any pets?
I have a kitty! she's a dilute calico & a huge diva cuz she knows she's gorgeous. she's loud af just like me & loves talking to her fave humans in the sassiest tone possible.
13. How tall are u?
not tall enough. 165cm
14. Favorite subjects in school?
German (easily my best subject), art & English.
15. Dream job?
I've been thinking a lot about circling back to an old dream job. something utilizing my knack for picking up languages. maybe interpreting or teaching? I'd really like to go back to school so I can maybe have a decent shot at something overseas. where? I'm still deciding. being trans kinda complicates it a bit. with that in mind & having several instances of homelessness this past decade I've concluded the US isn't a viable place for me to continue living. I have a unique opportunity to rebuild rn & I intend to utilize it. even if that means allowing my art to return to being just a hobby.
ahh! sorry I'm totally ending this on a bummer note huh? uhh uhh... puppies! think of puppies!! & kitties!!!
anyway, I'll tag uhh... whoever wants to do this? >w<; u can obvi say I tagged ya.
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