#30's gang

[crescentsandcrossthreads]

Truth be told? It can be a little like a jumpscare.

I'll be 35 next year, and I'd just been stuck in a place where I thought I was going to work until I died or it killed me. Be gone for months and not even be worth talking to for half an hour. Thrown away because I put my foot down over thirty dollars of beer being bought without bothering to ask me.

Got therapy, met someone who actually honors my boundaries, and never gets tired of telling me the smoke alarms going off in my head are just broken. That there's no fire or panic. It's an alien state of being for me, but when I can relax? It is rest. It is relief. I'm looking forward to getting used to it.

“I’m independent and strong, but sometimes…just sometimes, it’s nice to be taken care of.”

— Samantha Towle

[vertigoartgore]

Uma Thurman and Ving Rhames on the set of Pulp Fiction (1994). Source

[the-mayor-of-hatersville]

I'm live and let live for the most part despite appearances, but I have to say the damage fucking,,,, the slytherin skittles as a concept has done to other peripheral characters in the marauders era? Unmatched. Is it bad that y'all are making up headcanons about these characters? Admittedly no, you can do whatever you want forever just like me. HOWEVER Is it really annoying that Every Single Character has to have a knock off marauders friend group now? Yes. Does it annoy me that characters who could be so much more complex than they are keep getting used as fodder for relationship drama with fucking Jegulus of all ships? Undoubtedly. Does it piss me off to see characters, particularly female characters, w being used to prop up death eaters who frankly are not half as interesting? Very Much So.

[downinsomanyfandoms]

Agonizing over Tsubasa and Yuu in the FE AU that I will never public the writing

[ppg-villains-defense-lawyer]

For real though thinking about Ace and the rest of the gang becoming adults is super depressing because it’s like. Even if they wanted to change and get jobs, cars, a place to live, etc. it would be virtually impossible (or at least, very, very difficult) for them to do it. 

None of them have much of an education, if they got one at all. They have no job experience, skills, or connections from people who aren’t villains who could vouch for them. They have a criminal record, and are generally known as a gang of thugs who are only good for causing trouble. 

It seems like Ace at the very least was somehow able to get out and become successful, but we don’t know about the others. I’d like to think that they all got out too and were able to build a life for themselves that makes them happy, but they could very well still be living in the Townsville dump, living the same way they did as teenagers.

[todayisafridaynight]

I listen to Zhao moaning daily. He’s uncontrollably horny and I want to throw him away. Even his regular sounds are horny tinted. Why is there a moaning cat hanging out with humans?

i think RGG was trying to make zhao sound like a snake For Whatever Reason but he just sounds horny. this however should not be taken as a negative and we should instead be thanking RGG for such enlightened voice direction

[sohya]

i'll always be an older man lover but sometimes i spoil myself by imagining myself older than whatever man im thinking of

[apollos-boyfriend]

Hey I've been observing from afar through your reaction blogging, I haven't been in mcyt as much since the dsmp ended but I still care about a lot of the people in the mcyt circle and I'm interested in what goes on - care to give a rundown of what happened at this twitch rivals thing everyone keeps talking about? (no pressure only if you want to) Aside from the fact I'm sure it was terribly run like most twitch rival events are, but it sounds like there was more to it than that

okay so. i am going to be missing quite a few details because i missed a day myself + my streamer could not care less, so i heavily encourage others to add on stuff i missed

this was a multi-day competition, running for 5 days with prize rewards from 1k to 100k. it started with i think 150 players, with select numbers of people getting eliminated each round. day 1-2 are fairly normal, at least for twitch rivals. of all the games that got played through the whole event, i'd say like 1 was actually good, and maybe 2 were decent, at best. most are bad, poorly-executed, poorly thought out, or just boring in terms of both player enjoy-ability and content creation.

DAY 3 EDIT:

now, sapnap's been sapnap for this entire event already. obnoxious, a bad sport, but most notably, playing DMCA'd songs. the event ran on proximity chat, so while he was unmuted, everyone around him would also be subject to said songs, which could mute vods at worst and terminate accounts at best. most people are fed up with him at this point. while everyone's trying to come up with solutions for the glitch, sapnap spams the discord with useless shit. couriway calls him out in the discord, calling him annoying and obnoxious, then later calling him a cunt in twitch chat. sapnap uses couriway and feinberg's name in his stream title for clickbait and talks shit about them + their friends (hbg/house builder gang). he also makes some weird comment asking if couri is homophobic because sap was talking about having skeppy's dick in his mouth?? or something?? i'm unsure exactly how day 3's issue of the glitch resolved.

day 4 is also your average experience with your usual range of average to horribly painful games. sapnap continues to be a bitch and not take responsibility for his stans attacking anyone in sight, but what else is new

day 5 is. bad. the game set for deciding the final competitors can be cheesed (if you let someone else do all the work, you can punch them in the last second and steal their win) and eliminates like 20 people at once. on top of that, a glitch happens that leaves the server on standby for at least 30 minutes while admins decide what to do. firebreathman sends a picture of a bare naked ass in the discord. someone else sends a photo of their debit card. streamers entertain themselves in various ways, including growing a cactus (fulham), playing osu (purpled), collecting other people's streams for their overlay (fruitberries), playing slime rancher (badboyhalo), and building real-life furniture (couriway). tubbo (who was already eliminated at this point) starts jumping between streams and asking in chat for the tea. the game is eventually replayed, deciding the final 4 players, but it's just as broken and at that point, no one wants to be there anymore. it's revealed through multiple streamers (purpled, i believe also feinberg) that twitch rivals games are not tested before being ran. the only testing done was a stress test to see if the server could handle all original 150-some players. this explains why the games are so bad and poorly organized (some games take over an hour, others barely 30 minutes).

the final four are sapnap, shadoune, sneegsnag, and i think feinberg. it's the most anticlimatic game of connect 4 you can imagine. sneeg eliminates sapnap, and shadoune eliminates fein. notably, fein's game glitches during a throw, which despite being obviously a glitch, the coordinators brush off as being "part of the game". fein and multiple other streamers spend time analyzing every pov frame by frame and all agree that yeah, that was a glitch. shadoune and sneeg are left for the finals. they come to an agreement that this is stupid and a horrible event. tired of this bullshit, they purposefully stall the games and run a podcast for approximately 2 hours, forcing the coordinators to bend to their commands hunger games-style. essentially since the first glitch of the day people were begging twitch to just split the money, something that wouldn't be easy according to tubbo, because everything is pre-signed and delegated before the event. sneeg and shadoune give no fucks, and force the coordinators to split the money anyway, winning the day through the power of friendship. i cannot stress enough how no one wanted to fucking be there by the end of all this.

[redcherrykook]

──── ⊱ ☆ ⊰ Evidence of a criminal bond- part one

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

enemies to lovers at the detectives office

Jeon Jungkook has been your annoying coworker at the detective´s office for what feels like ages. What happens when he gets assigned as your partner against crime for seouls´s ongoing case of the masked serial killer? Will a vulcano and a tornado manage to find peace in each others chaos, while trying to catch the person responsible for the horror unleashed upon the nation?

content warning: please keep in mind this au revolves around the job as a criminal detective, therefore dealing with darker topics, including sensitive topics such as SA, m^rder, assault, robbery, blackmail, sex work, trauma, therapy.

A large portion of this work is fiction, while some aspects also have valid foundations in actual crime cases as well as psychologically related crime studies and research

further content: slow burn, angst, misunderstandings, comfort, eventual smut, trying to work it out for each other, a lot of plot/work focus, side characters such as officer Kim Namjoon and criminal psychologist Park Jimin, good ending

no taglist! - sorry for misspellings and typos!!

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

6:53 am

Static buzzing sounds around the entire office, a hasty jog through the chattered people and with a slam of your big leather bag to your slightly decorated desk, finally, you arrive at work.

the ordinary, bustling with people in cool blazers and coffes, couple cops and a large story board cluttered with red marker and pictures, at least that's what the countless shows make it out to be,

it wasn't like that in real life

While, surely, there are an array of different people having serious conversations, while there may the occasional cop visit, this whole, rushed overly analyzed office doesn't come close to your neat workspace.

Days mostly consist of reading through the piles upon piles of boring paperwork left by your superiors and attorneys, or investigating some string of robberies that are operated by biker gangs,

Some prostitution rings disguised as karaoke bars or massage parlors,

Nothing like a serial killer, no nothing even close has hit your very own, very organized desk in the span of your bloomed carreer

In fact, seoul hasn't seen an unpleasant visitor like that in 30 long years, three full decades

Wind rushes through the heated room as a window opens down the hall, most likely in an effort to flush out the stress that spans throughout the people- yesterdays events have left the investigation sleepless, having seen the on scene cops and crime scene investigators while passing through the door,

It was fairly easy to tell who it was,

a souless, empty glaze clouds their colorful irises- dark, deep circles making it clear that these people were there when it happened

"What the fuck did you do Hwang?"

your head shoots up, locking eyes with someone you did not wish to see right when starting your shift- with the entire department working on a serial killer case, irritated and occupied with following a majority baseless leads- the last thing you need is him.

"Thats quite the different tone from yesterday Jeon"

he scoffs, cocking his head while pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his darkwash jeans

"Yeah? Well i called you and-" he sighs, "Explicitly told you not to take the case didn't I?" you nod, irritated at his obvious anger that you knew you had absolutely no business in,

you didn't take the case, hell, you had just arrived at the office

"look, it's too early to blame your issues on me-"

"Blame?" the disbelief in his tone messes with your already risen cortisol, only deepening the wrinkles of your frown, probably prolonging the sprouting of grey hair on your scalp.

"Hwang? Jeon? You already received the order?"

The monotone voice of your superior, also known as chief, makes both of your heads turn to face him in all his pale, 6'2" middle aged glory, the suddeness creating a small Oasis of peace between the two of you, stopping your petty argument for a bit

You had now wished that this blatant, confusing misunderstanding will be easily dissolved,

"There must have been a mix up" he states, his face curling into the typical shit eating grin that is etched into his features, like clockwork, it always appeared whenever he thought he was in the right.

the bubble of hope bursts in a split second, stabbed in full force

"As partners?" you blurt out, eyes practically bulging from your skull, the absurd implication of being Jungkook's partner makes your chief sigh, nodding his head in something you can only label disappointment

"Yes. I deem both of you as highly qualified, young individuals. i'm sure i don't need to remind you how serious this is" the chief explains, the same monotone voice now sounding like a cruel joke, however the lack of sleep and evident annoyance plastered on his face doesn't allow room for further complications

As expected, it earns him a shake from Jungkook's head, looking down and taking a breath to prepare himself to complain,

You were faster,

"We will do it. Thank you chief"

your heartbeat hammers in your chest, almost making you feel sick,

It isn't solely that now, you're being responsible for this huge nation wide case,

As abstract and insignificant as it may sound, alongside that, you're facing the difficult task of working with detective Jeon

"I am relying on your ability to stay professional and not let your personal fuedes get in the way" chief gestures his fingers between the two of you, resting his droopy eyes half lidded on yours, haunted by the Terrors of the previous night as he strides off,

Looking over to you newly aquired partner, he looks back at you with a clenched jaw, meeting your tranquill gaze as he speaks,

"Unbelieveable"

11:23 pm

You find out that working with him is in fact, difficult.

15 long hours had passed since your mangled, conjoined mess of what can be roughly considered as partnership had started,

This would have been hundretfold less hair pulling without the countless complains and microagressions,

"Can you move? I can't read this"

you huff, pushing the rolling chair further to the side of your desk, creating even more of a chasm beetween your two bodies,

This reffering to the monster of a case file that had ben handed to you- consisting of every possible report, witness statement, newspaper, autopsy report, possible subject you name it,

it was there- written somwhere in the horribly unorganized pile of paperwork

It slumps down your heavy shoulders, weight down by the hope and responsibility over the country,

"I can't get a read on this bastard" he utters, shutting his eyes. The same frustration that courses through your veins also shows on him and the way he rubs his forhead with his large hands,

The issue is, surprisingly there is nothing in this everything,

"Me neither. The witness statements all contradict themselves and there isn't anything helpful in the other reports" he watches you erratically reorganize the papers for the hundreth time, humming in agreement,

While you had been sitting at this bitingly cold, empty office for the past 15 hours, analyzing every line- reading between them, speculating upon the relevancy of each syllable, on duty officers are being chased around the city like headless chicken, led by baseless tips that somehow- always end up in sheer nothingness.

Nonetheless, you had read every word, soaked up ever piece of Informationen like a greedy sponge without a filter,

Jungkook is on his third cup of coffee, stratically pacing his caffeine intake to maximise his ability to stay awake,

"The department that had this case before us were nutjobs" he says, making you let out a small laugh, a rare occasion which cuts through tension and inevitable irritation that corresponds with this unexpected partnership

A long sigh of desperation follows as you recall what you have managed to gather in the past 15 hours, recalling the possible profiling there is to make on your killer,

Witnesses all contradict each other apart from stating that the victims had been in contact with an ominous man previous to their deaths caused by the rivers ghost- that man presumably being him

"All we have is his patterns. Women, all dismembered and thrown in the river" you tell him, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest,

he nods, granting you a look,

"Very throughly dismembered it says in the autopsies, clean cuts at the right spots. That sick creep must be a surgeon or something" jungkook adds, swiping through his hair

"Yeah, or a butcher" you agree, retracting your mind to the details of the killings. There had been no traces of dna found any where on the crime scene, no hair, fingerprints even scraps of clothes- something rarely seen in murders no matter how premeditated- even if the perpetrator had worn gloves, leaving without a speck is practically impossible,

how does he do it?

Aditionally, by how meticulously dismembered the body parts were, it transmitts the notion that the killer must be experienced,

"Possibly cumpulsions? He's uncharactaristically clean" your question makes jungkook think for a second, contemplating, "i figured. But that usually implies a history of mental illness"

"Yeah, and that narrows it down if he's on file"

you pause, "We should look into that"

He hums before turning the bright screen of your pc torwards him, guiding the mouse along the pad,

"The only reliable witnisses we have are the on scene cops. Let me write a email for an interview" he whispers, prominently groaning as you pry the mouse away from his hands, rolling your eyes at him

"Let me write it, it's my pc" your voice falls into a lower grumble,

"Oh okay miss, didn't know i couldn't use your pc, partner" jungkooks lips turn into a mocking grin, you lamely tell him to shut up

he pushes himself away from the desk, sliding the rolling chair back as he releases himself from the suffocating shakles of a long shift,

"I'm leaving. Another hour of this and i'm going insane" as he puts on his thick black coat, the dim light above you flickers, without a further note, his presence leaving subsides, resulting to your solitude inside the four walls of the eceptionally empty, staticly buzzing office

Your fingers type away at the keyboard, the blue, bright light eliciting from the screen strains your exhausted eyes with all their might, in the email directed towards your loyal friends and helpers, you´re practically begging them for an interview the following day

As you finally press send, your face crashes down into your hands- fingers rubbing the crumbled remains of what once was your mascara into your skin, highlighting the lack of rest you so clearly suffer from

With the obnoxiously loud sound of heels clicking on the floor and the shutting of the floor hall doors, the department falls entirely empty,

gushes of frosting wind hit your skin upon your exit already inhaling the smoke from your freshly lit cigarette, you attempt to make the trainride home to pass in the blink of an eye by disassociating into thought, thoughts that expectedly, revolve around what you had spend the past hours of existance with,

It felt surreal, that he must be out here right when you are as well,

In the same city, inhaling the same polluted air

"This stupid woman"

Jungkook pulls into his usual spot down at the apartment block, the tall lights shining a oddly comforting, yellow glimmer on his street

His hands slam on the steering wheel, blowing out air from his puckered lips as his head falls back- final relief, while simultaneously, dreading to be back at work in a meer time of 7 hours

Reverting back to the thought of you, he curses underneath his slightly labored breath,

he doesn't hate you- at least that what he tells himself, in all rationality, his unfounded fascination with your patheticly annoying "i can do it all" attitude is precisely that, unfounded

The keys jingle between his rough fingers, revealing his dark apartment, before a very hungry- playful Doberman greets him with a jump and about a million licks to his hands,

"heeyy bam.. you hungry bro?" Bam barks and Jungkook giggles in return, throwing his coat onto the hanger while the dog strides happily torwards the empty food bowl

On the other side of town, a siren blares- red, blue lights reflect on your fogged up kitchen window as the vehicle speeds down the road,

both of you silently prayed that it wouldn't be his fault once again

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The majority of censorship is self-censorship

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!

I know a lot of polymaths, but Ada Palmer takes the cake: brilliant science fiction writer, brilliant historian, brilliant librettist, brilliant singer, and then some:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#terra-ignota

Palmer is a friend and a colleague. In 2018, she, Adrian Johns and I collaborated on "Censorship, Information Control, & Information Revolutions from Printing Press to Internet," a series of grad seminars at the U Chicago History department (where Ada is a tenured prof, specializing in the Inquisition and Renaissance forbidden knowledge):

https://ifk.uchicago.edu/research/faculty-fellow-projects/censorship-information-control-information-revolutions-from-printing-press/

The project had its origins in a party game that Ada and I used to play at SF conventions: Ada would describe a way that the Inquisitions' censors attacked the printing press, and I'd find an extremely parallel maneuver from governments, the entertainment industry or other entities from the much more recent history of internet censorship battles.

With the seminars, we took it to the next level. Each 3h long session featured a roster of speakers from many disciplines, explaining everything from how encryption works to how white nationalists who were radicalized in Vietnam formed an armored-car robbery gang to finance modems and Apple ][+s to link up neo-Nazis across the USA.

We borrowed the structure of these sessions from science fiction conventions, home to a very specific kind of panel that doesn't always work, but when it does, it's fantastic. It was a natural choice: after all, Ada and I know each other through science fiction.

Even if you're not an sf person, you've probably heard of the Hugo Awards, the most prestigious awards in the field, voted on each year by attendees of the annual World Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon). And even if you're not an sf fan, you might have heard about a scandal involving the Hugo Awards, which were held last year in China, a first:

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/science-fiction-authors-excluded-hugo-awards-china-rcna139134

A little background: each year's Worldcon is run by a committee of volunteers. These volunteers put together bids to host the Worldcon, and canvass Worldcon attendees to vote in favor of their bid. For many years, a group of Chinese fans attempted to field a successful bid to host a Worldcon, and, eventually, they won.

At the time, there were many concerns: about traveling to a country with a poor human rights record and a reputation for censorship, and about the logistics of customary Worldcon attendees getting visas. During this debate, many international fans pointed to the poor human rights record in the USA (which has hosted the vast majority of Worldcons since their inception), and the absolute ghastly rigmarole the US government subjects many foreign visitors to when they seek visas to come to the US for conventions.

Whatever side of this debate you came down on, it couldn't be denied that the Chinese Worldcon rang a lot of alarm-bells. Communications were spotty, and then the con was unceremoniously rescheduled for months after the original scheduled date, without any good explanation. Rumors swirled of Chinese petty officials muscling their way into the con's administration.

But the real alarm bells started clanging after the Hugo Award ceremony. Normally, after the Hugos are given out, attendees are given paper handouts tallying the nominations and votes, and those numbers are also simultaneously published online. Technically, the Hugo committee has a grace period of some weeks before this data must be published, but at every Worldcon I've attended over the past 30+ years, I left the Hugos with a data-sheet in my hand.

Then, in early December, at the very last moment, the Hugo committee released its data – and all hell broke loose. Numerous, acclaimed works had been unilaterally "disqualified" from the ballot. Many of these were written by writers from the Chinese diaspora, but some works – like an episode of Neil Gaiman's Sandman – were seemingly unconnected to any national considerations.

Readers and writers erupted in outrage, demanding to know what had happened. The Hugo administrators – Americans and Canadians who'd volunteered in those roles for many years and were widely viewed as being members in good standing of the community – were either silent or responded with rude and insulting remarks. One thing they didn't do was explain themselves.

The absence of facts left a void that rumors and speculation rushed in to fill. Stories of Chinese official censorship swirled online, and along with them, a kind of I-told-you-so: China should never have been home to a Worldcon, the country's authoritarian national politics are fundamentally incompatible with a literary festival.

As the outrage mounted and the scandal breached from the confines of science fiction fans and writers to the wider world, more details kept emerging. A damning set of internal leaks revealed that it was those long-serving American and Canadian volunteers who decided to censor the ballot. They did so out of a vague sense that the Chinese state would visit some unspecified sanction on the con if politically unpalatable works appeared on the Hugo ballot. Incredibly, they even compiled clumsy dossiers on nominees, disqualifying one nominee out of a mistaken belief that he had once visited Tibet (it was actually Nepal).

There's no evidence that the Chinese state asked these people to do this. Likewise, it wasn't pressure from the Chinese state that caused them to throw out hundreds of ballots cast by Chinese fans, whom they believed were voting for a "slate" of works (it's not clear if this is the case, but slate voting is permitted under Hugo rules).

All this has raised many questions about the future of the Hugo Awards, and the status of the awards that were given in China. There's widespread concern that Chinese fans involved with the con may face state retaliation due to the negative press that these shenanigans stirred up.

But there's also a lot of questions about censorship, and the nature of both state and private censorship, and the relationship between the two. These are questions that Ada is extremely well-poised to answer; indeed, they're the subject of her book-in-progress, entitled Why We Censor: from the Inquisition to the Internet.

In a magisterial essay for Reactor, Palmer stakes out her central thesis: "The majority of censorship is self-censorship, but the majority of self-censorship is intentionally cultivated by an outside power":

https://reactormag.com/tools-for-thinking-about-censorship/

States – even very powerful states – that wish to censor lack the resources to accomplish totalizing censorship of the sort depicted in Nineteen Eighty-Four. They can't go from house to house, searching every nook and cranny for copies of forbidden literature. The only way to kill an idea is to stop people from expressing it in the first place. Convincing people to censor themselves is, "dollar for dollar and man-hour for man-hour, much cheaper and more impactful than anything else a censorious regime can do."

Ada invokes examples modern and ancient, including from her own area of specialty, the Inquisition and its treatment of Gailileo. The Inquistions didn't set out to silence Galileo. If that had been its objective, it could have just assassinated him. This was cheap, easy and reliable! Instead, the Inquisition persecuted Galileo, in a very high-profile manner, making him and his ideas far more famous.

But this isn't some early example of Inquisitorial Streisand Effect. The point of persecuting Galileo was to convince Descartes to self-censor, which he did. He took his manuscript back from the publisher and cut the sections the Inquisition was likely to find offensive. It wasn't just Descartes: "thousands of other major thinkers of the time wrote differently, spoke differently, chose different projects, and passed different ideas on to the next century because they self-censored after the Galileo trial."

This is direct self-censorship, where people are frightened into silencing themselves. But there's another form of censorship, which Ada calls "middlemen censorship." That's when someone other than the government censors a work because they fear what the government would do if they didn't. Think of Scholastic's cowardly decision to pull inclusive, LGBTQ books out of its book fair selections even though no one had ordered them to do so:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/06/books/scholastic-book-racism-maggie-tokuda-hall.html

This is a form of censorship outsourcing, and it "multiplies the manpower of a censorship system by the number of individuals within its power." The censoring body doesn't need to hire people to search everyone's houses for offensive books – it can frighten editors, publishers, distributors, booksellers and librarians into suppressing the books in the first place.

This outsourcing blurs the line between state and private surveillance. Think about comics. After a series of high-profile Congressional hearings about the supposed danger of comics to impressionable young minds, the comics industry undertook a regime of self-censorship, through which the private Comics Code Authority would vet comings for "dangerous" content before allowing its seal of approval to appear on the comics' covers. Distributors and retailers refused to carry books without a CCA stamp, so publishers refused to publish books unless they could get a CCA stamp.

The CCA was unaccountable, capricious – and racist. By the 60s and 70s, it became clear that comic about Black characters were subjected to much tighter scrutiny than comics featuring white heroes. The CCA would reject "a drop of sweat on the forehead of a Black astronaut as 'too graphic' since it 'could be mistaken for blood.'" Every comic that got sent back by the CCA meant long, brutal reworkings by writers and illustrators to get them past the censors.

The US government never censored heroes like Black Panther, but the chain of events that created the CCA "middleman censors" made sure that Black Panther appeared in far fewer comics starring Marvel's most prominent Black character. An analysis of censorship that tries to draw a line between private and public censorship would say that the government played no role in Black Panther's banishment to obscurity – but without Congressional action, Black Panther would never have faced censorship.

This is why attempts to cleanly divide public and private censorship always break down. Many people will tell you that when Twitter or Facebook blocks content they disagree with, that's not censorship, since censorship is government action, and these are private actors. What they mean is that Twitter and Facebook censorship doesn't violate the First Amendment, but it's perfectly possible to infringe on free speech without violating the US Constitution. What's more, if the government fails to prevent monopolization of our speech forums – like social media – and also declines to offer its own public speech forums that are bound to respect the First Amendment, we can end up with government choices that produce an environment in which some ideas are suppressed wherever they might find an audience – all without violating the Constitution:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

The great censorious regimes of the past – the USSR, the Inquisition – left behind vast troves of bureaucratic records, and these records are full of complaints about the censors' lack of resources. They didn't have the manpower, the office space, the money or the power to erase the ideas they were ordered to suppress. As Ada notes, "In the period that Spain’s Inquisition was wildly out of Rome’s control, the Roman Inquisition even printed manuals to guide its Inquisitors on how to bluff their way through pretending they were on top of what Spain was doing!"

Censors have always done – and still do – their work not by wielding power, but by projecting it. Even the most powerful state actors are not powerful enough to truly censor, in the sense of confiscating every work expressing an idea and punishing everyone who creates such a work. Instead, when they rely on self-censorship, both by individuals and by intermediaries. When censors act to block one work and not another, or when they punish one transgressor while another is free to speak, it's tempting to think that they are following some arcane ruleset that defines when enforcement is strict and when it's weak. But the truth is, they censor erratically because they are too weak to censor comprehensively.

Spectacular acts of censorship and punishment are a performance, "to change the way people act and think." Censors "seek out actions that can cause the maximum number of people to notice and feel their presence, with a minimum of expense and manpower."

The censor can only succeed by convincing us to do their work for them. That's why drawing a line between state censorship and private censorship is such a misleading exercise. Censorship is, and always has been, a public-private partnership.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

[world0fmadness]

FIRE AND ICE

kimi raikkonen x cky / jackass member! wife! reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughter x ( platonic! ) oc son

faceclaim: assorted but mainly lucy liu

୨୧ okay so the timeline on this one is a little messy but please just deal with it <3 i imagine they met when they were around 21, had their daughter when they were around 28 and married when they were around 30… so their daughter is around 16 years old… is that messy? a lot of this is from the pov of their daughter and fan accounts since social media wasn’t really a thing in the early 2000’s and stuff…

reading music recommendations: lost in a contraption by cky - along comes mary by bloodhound gang

loveuyn: thinking about how in an old interview yn said she was going to keep her first ever car so it can be her future child’s first car and now tilly has it and absolutely loves it 🥹 photos from tilly’s social media

ckylvr: it’s so crazy seeing her drive the car that was featured in SO much of the early cky stuff 💔 every time i see her post it i do the leonardo dicaprio point like “ oh! that’s the car bam jumped off while it sped down a road ”

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

ynlnstomponme: i hope yn cleaned it REALLY good lmao… the amount of times people have been caught on video vomiting in it is genuinely nuts

> loveuyn: not to mention the blood lmao 😭

> ynlnsbackhand: if that car could talk…

> loveuyn: if that car could talk it’d be taking yn to court straight away for pain and suffering

tillyraikkonenln: the best part about being a late 2000’s baby is you get all your parents cool vintage stuff :D

ynraikkonenln ✔️: you’re grounded for a year

> tillyraikkonenln: i’m sorry mom :(

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

> iluvf1: teens calling stuff their parents used when THEY were teens “vintage” just to annoy them is so funny to me

> loveuyn: crying rn, the time tilly was on live and someone commented to ask yn and kimi about AOL “ what the hell is AOL”… and yn immediately giving her a whole history on how she used to flirt with boys in her school over AOL while kimi and tilly just watched her ramble from the side

> oldf1lvr: she needed to educate her baby on the old ways real quick 😭

> kimicelover: kimi had SO MUCH love in his eyes on that livestream… i want what they have

oldf1lvr: tilly, who’s your favourite grid uncle?

> tillyraikkonenln: seb!

> sebastianvettel ✔️: the greatest medal of honour! thank you tilly, come visit soon - sebastian ❤️

> lewishamilton ✔️: what at am i? chopped liver?

> tillyraikkonenln: sorry uncle lew :3

❤️ liked by lewishamilton

> jackass4ever: favourite jackass uncle?

> tillyraikkonenln: CHRIS! definitely chris

❤️ liked by chrispontious

> chrispontious ✔️: thank you very much tilly, always knew you were smarter than your mother

> ynraikkonenln ✔️: get lost 🙄

ckylvr: the amount of HIM and CKY pin badges you can spot in that pile 💔 take me backkkk

jackass4ever: what’s the nastiest thing your mom did on cky? in your opinion…

> tillyraikkonenln: kissed dico and rake 😟

loveuyn: yn’s grid milf fashion highlight ❤️

tillyraikkonenln: i don’t think i’ll ever get used to people calling my mother a milf :(

> iluvf1: lmao poor tilly 😭

oldf1lvr: kimi in the third picture in a boring ass button up and jeans… i hate m*n

> ynlnsbackhand: she’s EVERYTHING, he’s just ken

iluvf1: i miss seeing her interact with fans in the paddock so much, bring our mom back 💔

> tillyraikkonenln: she misses interacting with people in the paddock! they’ll visit soon, her and dad have just been busy with KJ ❤️

> new2f1: KJ? who is that?

> oldf1lvr: it’s their son! they haven’t revealed his name or anything yet since he’s only 5 so they call him KJ because according to yn he’s a double of kimi

> iluvf1: kimi’s genes are incredible because tilly looks EXACTLY like him too 😭

> loveuyn: she’s a double of kimi look wise but has the exact same personality as yn

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

loveuyn: gentle reminder of these adorable pictures yn posted when she was pregnant with KJ ( and the only pictures we have of him so far )

ynlnsbackhand: her comfy mom era was her best era, fight me

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

oldf1lvr: baby KJ 🥹 you can’t even see his face but you can tell he totally IS a copy of kimi

kimicelover: i wonder if KJ will be the future racer, since tilly is more into skateboarding and photography?

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

> iluvf1: maybe! but is the grid really prepared for another iceman 🫣

jackass4ever: i love how whenever she’s in the jackass movies she’s still a total hardass but the second it comes to her babies she just crumbles 🥹

> kimicelover: it’s the same with kimi! he’s still ice cold to most people but the second he sees tilly, KJ or yn he just melts and there’s SO much video evidence of it 💔

ynraikkonenln: my little girl helping me and kimi celebrate our anniversary by cooking dinner for us ❤️

tillyraikkonenln: i burned literally everything… and i’m not a little girl anymore, i’m 16 :(

> kimiraikkonen ✔️: we’re still grateful and you’ll always be our little girl kulta 💙

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and tillyraikkonenln

> tillyraikkonenln: oh and did you have to include that picture of me washing up?

> kimiraikkonen ✔️: yes, she did, it’s pretty unbelievable for a teen so we need people to see photo evidence

loveuyn: yn ln… then and now 🥹

tillyraikkonenln: black and white filter on the first pictures made me think my own mother was dead for a second…

> loveuyn: sorry tilly 😭

iluvf1: goddamn, this woman has aged like fine wine…

ynlnsbackhand: just me who thinks she’s got hotter with age?

> oldf1lvr: definitely not just you…

> kimicelover: kimi too though… they’re both so hot as older people… i want them BOTH so bad 😭

jackass4ever: genuinely HOW is this the woman that let dico pee on her in her sleep and only hit him with a belt after?

> oldf1lvr: sorry WHAT?

> loveuyn: the iceland incident…

> ynlnsbackhand: at least ryan got back at him properly for her

> ynlnslighter: those belt whips she gave dico were fucking crazy what do you mean 😭

> ynlnsbackhand: HE PISSED ON HER

> ckylvr: everyone was pissing on each other in iceland, wtf was in the air over there?

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

her parents are in love… gross

tillyraikkonenln: sigh… my parents are still SO in love even after like… 60 years… nasty

kimiraikkonen ✔️: cheeky girl… thank you for taking these pictures kulta 💙

> tillyraikkonenln: wonder who i get that from… you’re welcome isä <3

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

ynraikkonenln ✔️: 60 YEARS? you’re pushing your luck missy… love you

❤️ liked by kimiraikkonen and tillyraikkonenln

kimiynlover: if i don’t ever have a love like theirs i have failed at life 💔

sebastianvettel ✔️: KJ is getting big! sending my love ❤️ - sebastian

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln, tillyraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

[ak319]

Lovesick A.M x f!reader

--★ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts

(AN: So, a fic idea I have serves as an inspo for this one-shot. The reader is a morally gray character and doesn't like being part of the gang. Anyway, enjoy reading!.) Syno: When her sharp tongue turns on Dutch, Arthur wonders if she’s gone too far, or if he’s fallen too deep. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20's and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff. ✰ -11k.

“Well, wasn’t that easy? Been a long time since I enjoyed a robbery like that,” Hosea chuckled, tugging down his bandana.

Arthur glanced at the bag tied to the horse, heavy with valuables, and gave a small nod. “Definitely.”

The two rode at a leisurely pace, the quiet night stretching around them like a blanket, the stars casting a soft glow over the landscape. Arthur’s eyes drifted as they moved, catching on a patch of bushes nearby.

Roses.

Even in the faint starlight, their delicate shapes stood out, and an idea bloomed in his mind.

“Uh, Hosea,” Arthur started, breaking the calm, “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“An errand? At this time of night?” Hosea raised a brow, his tone lightly scolding. “You oughta rest now, son. You’ve earned it.”

“No, no,” Arthur replied quickly, waving it off. “Just need to head into town for a bit. Won’t be long, don’t you worry.”

Hosea paused for a moment, then gave a knowing smile and nodded. “Alright, if you say so. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself into trouble.”

He handed Hosea the score and with a final farewell, the two parted ways, Arthur veering off towards the town, his thoughts already on the next step of his plan.

Arthur arrived at the shop and dismounted, but instead of heading inside, he lingered by his horse, running a hand over the animal’s neck. Was this even a good idea? Why was it all so damn complicated?

There’s no harm in buying something, right? Just a harmless gesture. He could figure out what to do with it later... later.

For days now, it had been the same cycle.

Don’t think about her. Just don’t.

There’s no harm in it, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t look at her, it’s strange. Keep your distance.

A few stolen glances don’t mean anything when she’s far away, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t buy her a gift. What kind of fool even does that? Who is he to her, anyway?

And here he is, standing outside the shop, heart pounding like a damn fool, a love fool.

“Yes, sir? How may I help you? By the way, there’s a 5% discount on the winter stock. Perhaps you’d like to try the waistcoats?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his eyes drifting around the shop. Was he in the right place? He scanned the shelves and displays until his gaze landed on the wall.

Yes, there it was. The item he’d noticed before.

“Can you show me that hat?”

The shopkeeper immediately retrieved it with a practiced hand and held it out with a smile. “Our latest and most popular piece, sir. Only $22.”

Arthur took the hat, turning it over in his hands. The black leather gleamed, unscathed and pristine, a far cry from his well-worn one. His eyes lingered on the rose corsage affixed to the middle, subtle but striking.

He stepped toward the mirror, setting the hat on his head, and studied his reflection. It was a fine hat

“Goes perfectly with your outfit, sir,” the shopkeeper remarked, his voice warm with flattery.

Arthur’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the shelves. “I saw a scarf, too. The one with the, uh... rose pattern.”

“Oh, the women’s one! Let me fetch it for you.”

The shopkeeper moved swiftly, his hands deftly retrieving the scarf. He prattled on about its fine quality and craftsmanship, but Arthur barely registered the words. They flew past him like horses leaping over a fence.

His thoughts were elsewhere, on you. On how the scarf would look wrapped around your neck, the way it might frame your face. The image was enough to push him to hand over the dollar bills for both items, not even noticing he’d given more than what was asked.

The shopkeeper’s voice called out behind him, but Arthur had already turned, mounting his Irish Draught, Clover, and riding off without a second glance.

He’d be wearing the rose hat, and you’d be wearing the scarf. The thought sat heavy in his chest, a strange mix of warmth and unease. Was he really going to give it to you now?

The wind tugged at his coat, but it couldn’t scatter the doubts and questions circling his mind. Was this... a confession?

Would you, confounding as you were, with your quicksilver moods and quiet distance, accept anything from him? You, who rarely spared him more than a glance, choosing instead to linger with the girls, Molly especially.

It ate at him sometimes, the way you seemed so unreachable. Always just out of his grasp, moving through the camp like a wisp of smoke, untouchable and wholly your own. And yet, he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wanting.

You didn’t belong here, not like him, at least. You carried yourself with an air of defiance, tethered to the camp not by loyalty but necessity. A reluctant, bitter presence that had no reason to look twice at someone as rooted in this life as he was.

He saw the way you didn’t fit, the way you wanted to leave. And maybe that’s why the thought of you wearing the scarf--his scarf now--stirred something fierce inside him. The idea that, for once, he might give you something that tethered you to him, however briefly. Better than being tied to someone else. God, you have made him so selfish.

He clenched the scarf tighter, his jaw set. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He didn’t know much about you, except years ago when one day he came to the camp and discovered that Hosea and Bessie had found somewhere, taken you in, and raised you as their own as they always wanted a child. Nobody in the camp knew where they found you except perhaps Dutch but it was never told properly and he didn't pry much too, no one really did. Everything had been fine-peaceful, even, until Bessie passed.

After that, you’d wanted out. To leave the camp, carve out a life of your own, away from the shadow of the gang. But Hosea couldn’t let you go. He was your father, after all, the one who had protected you, shielding you from the blood and grime of their world just as Bessie had wished for.

And then there was himself whose hands were drenched in blood.

All of this screamed doom. Yet, he was doomed... doomed by his stupid feelings and that desperate longing to have someone to call his own, to have someone waiting for him. A foolish wish, considering the life he’d led, the blood he’d spilled, and the world he was tied to.

He slowed the stallion, the weight of bubbling anxiety and frustration pressing down on him. God, it was all a mess. Even if he could manage to stop thinking for a while, to quiet the storm in his head... when he'd return to the camp and see you again, just going about your business, sulking in some corner after an argument, or throwing those sharp, witty remarks, especially at Pearson as you cooked, that pull, that ache, would come rushing back.

Curiosity was the root of it all. He just wanted to know. Why? Why were you like this? Was it because of Molly, how she’d twisted your heart with her bitterness, making you turn your back on Dutch and the rest of the gang? Or did you simply not care at all about any of them?

He huffed at the thought of the stew you probably made, not out of love, but out of duty, or maybe a touch of malice. If it tasted so good, made with nothing but spite, he couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would be if you made it with love.

❀˖°

With a final pat to Clover’s neck, Arthur made his way back to camp, greeting the men as he passed. But there was something off, a silence hanging heavier than usual. He made his way toward Dutch, figuring he might have some thoughts on the score with Hosea.

"Dutch?"

The older man turned his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on the lake.

"Arthur."

Before Arthur could speak, Dutch continued, his tone slow, almost contemplative. "You know we’re a family, right? That everything we do is for each other, not just for ourselves..."

"Of course, Dutch," Arthur replied, trying to understand where this was coming from.

Dutch chuckled softly, the sound more gravel than humor, before crushing the cigar underfoot with a casual motion. "Some people, immature people, just can't seem to understand that."

With that, Dutch turned and walked back to his tent, leaving Arthur standing there.

"Is... something the matter?" Arthur asked, his voice laced with curiosity and concern.

"Thing? No, someone is the matter." Dutch’s words were sharp, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Arthur.

Arthur gave him an impatient look, silently urging him to get to the point. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the evening. Not at all. He’d been hoping to retreat to his tent, to let his mind drift into thoughts of you, to finally sit and think about the gift he’d picked out for you, wondering if you'd even notice if you'd even like it. He could already picture himself, the soft scarf fabric between his fingers, tracing the rose pattern as his thoughts wandered, imagining what it would feel like to wrap it around your neck... his gift for you.

Dutch exhaled sharply, clearly agitated. "Hosea has let her get away with too much. You know what she did? When Hosea returned to drop off the share from your little endeavour, she-" He cut himself off with a frustrated growl. "She thought I wasn’t here. She came charging out, and started an argument, telling him he was doing the wrong thing--the wrong thing! Can you believe that?"

Dutch shook his head in disbelief. "She actually had the nerve to say that, Arthur. And that instead of doing this--helping us all--he should be out saving for them both and getting away from this life." He paused, his chest rising with each breath. "I swear, Arthur... turning one of my most trusted men, a friend, against me? Over some damn bills? But Hosea... being Hosea...what does he do? Runs out of camp to bring her back."

"So what did you suggest?!" Hosea’s voice cut through the tension as he entered the tent, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Let my daughter go out in the wild alone? At night? How could you do that, say 'get lost' just like that? Knowing she will take it seriously? She grew up right in front of you!"

Dutch’s face tightened at Hosea’s outburst, his anger simmering. "Oh, so it hurt her ego, huh?! Like I care. For me , nothing’s worse than a selfish, disloyal piece of trash that you just had to take in because-"

"Enough! No!" Hosea snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "Don’t you dare bring that up."

With a heavy sigh, Hosea turned on his heel, walking away from the confrontation, leaving Dutch to seethe in silence.

Dutch watched him go, muttering under his breath, "Take those damn dollars you bestowed on us, Hosea, and gift her a house, for all I care! Fine by my ass!"

Arthur’s mind was a tangled mess, unable to process the whirlwind of events. So much had happened, so many emotions he could hardly keep up. Confusion clouded his mind, frustration clawed at his chest, exhaustion weighed down on his bones, and fury burned in his gut. But none of it made sense. He couldn't even figure out who--or what--his anger was really directed at.

Was it you? Was it your reckless, thoughtless actions that set this all in motion? Or was it Dutch's words and how casually he was ready to kick a girl out, kick you out, just like that?

It was at both.

It was both, but more than anything, it was you. Because you’d started it, hadn’t you? You always had a problem with Dutch’s authority, even when you kept your sweet little mouth shut. It was in your eyes, those eyes. The eyes he could never get enough of, the ones he craved to meet his own. If only for a second. A second where the same longing, the same hunger for something more, reflected back at him.

But instead, there you were. Acting like everything was just... nothing. Like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t matter. You went out there, reckless, careless, as if you could just walk away from everything. From him. How fucking could you? What if it had gotten worse and someone just decided to harm you in the camp and even Hosea couldn't do anything-

"Arthur?"

"U-Um, yes?"

Dutch’s sharp gaze fixed on him, deliberate and piercing. He let the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle, his expression unreadable. "What do you think? Hm?"

"About...what happened? I--it’s... yeah, she shouldn’t have said that," Arthur muttered, the words clumsy and heavy on his tongue.

Dutch hummed, a slow and pointed sound, as though weighing Arthur’s response and finding it just barely acceptable. Arthur didn’t wait for more. He muttered a farewell and slipped out of the tent, the cool air doing little to clear the haze in his mind.

His eyes found Hosea almost immediately. The old man was sitting on his bedroll, his posture stiff and guarded. His eyes screamed of hurt, Dutch's words had affected him deeply. After some seconds his eyes would flicker at your tent. The sight made Arthur’s chest ache. Hosea’s protectiveness was undeniable.

Because no matter how much Hosea wanted to protect you, Arthur wanted something deeper, something more selfish.

What the hell am I even thinking? he chastised himself, shaking his head. She’s not my responsibility. She’s not mine.

He wanted to say something to Hosea, to offer comfort or at least commiseration, but his feet wouldn’t move. Instead, he turned away, retreating to his own tent with a heavy sigh. Once inside, he shut the flaps, placed his hat on the table, and dropped onto the cot with a grunt of annoyance.

Reaching for the scarf, Arthur held it above him, the dim light tracing over its soft, silken material. He let it graze his face, the faint scent of the shop lingering on it, but it was his mind that did the real work. He imagined the fabric tangled in your hair, how it would feel wrapped around you as he held you close. He could almost feel the tickle of those strands against his skin, his breath hot against the side of your neck.

The thought of having you here, in his arms, that close, his hands gripping you, pulling you to him, ignited something fierce inside him. It wasn’t just the touch. It was the idea that you could be his, fully, if only you’d let him. He clenched the scarf tighter, frustration and something darker simmering in his chest.

With that vision playing in his mind, he let the scarf fall, draping it across his face and chest, the weight of it somehow both comforting and unbearable.

Lying there in the dark, his lips brushed over the fabric absently, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. It was maddening, the way you consumed his thoughts without even trying. Even now, with frustration still simmering under his skin, all he wanted was to see you, to watch your expression, even if it meant enduring one of your scowls.

You little menace, I swear one of these days I might just lose my patience.

But you didn’t care, did you? You’d stormed out, reckless and fiery, with no thought of him or anyone, not even yourself. And here he was, lying alone, haunted by the feeling of silk and the ghost of a life he’d never have. With a frustrated grunt, Arthur shifted onto his side, clutching it closer, the tension in his body growing. He couldn't help but think if he had been here earlier, he would have tied you to him, not out of malice, but out of desperate, aching need. The kind of need that he couldn’t push down, no matter how much he tried. The kind that made him crave something from you that you didn’t even know you had to give. Something more. Something that would finally make you stay.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily.

He wanted you to feel it, to bear the same punishment he carried every night. To know what it was like to lie awake, tormented by the thought of someone you couldn’t have, unable to chase the fleeting peace of sleep because they haunted you in ways you couldn’t name. He wanted you to understand how it felt to be unraveled by longing, to have your very being tethered to someone who wouldn’t even look your way.

But then...what was he even saying?

Why did he keep forgetting the truth? That you didn’t deserve his anger, his silent pleas for recognition. That the fault wasn’t yours for not seeing him, no, it was his for daring to want you in the first place. Of course, you wouldn’t ever look at him that way. He was older, too far removed from your world, your interests, your life. And he knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t ever imagine, not in a thousand years, that someone like him could ever be interested in you. Even he could admit it, this was all stupid, unexpected, and nothing more than a fantasy.

And still, knowing this, he couldn’t stop himself. The heart never makes sense, does it? It doesn’t listen to reason or its owner, dragging you where it pleases, no matter the cost. Even he, a man who prided himself on control, had been reduced to a mere servant of its whims.

His fingers curled around the scarf as if it could somehow hold the pieces of him together. As if its softness could soothe the fire that burned inside him, one that you had lit and would never know.

Meanwhile, you lay in bed, staring at the worn canvas of the tent above. You weren’t leaving this tent. Not now. Not later. Not for anyone. They could all be damned for all you cared, it had all been damned ever since your mother died.

She was your anchor, the one thing tethering you to any sense of stability. And the moment she was gone, the world had cracked open, spilling truths you’d long suspected but never wanted confirmed. You weren’t really theirs. You weren’t their daughter.

Hosea refused to tell you why or how you ended up here, tucked into the folds of their chaos. But the truth was, you didn’t care anymore. You were tired. Tired of the games, the blind loyalty to Dutch’s every whim, the endless cycle of running and stealing and pretending any of it had meaning.

All you wanted was a normal life, a roof over your head that didn’t leak when it rained, a place where fear didn’t cling to the walls like smoke. But that dream stayed out of reach, just like everything else. Hosea wouldn’t let you go. He was scared to lose you, to lose something that was never even his.

Pathetic.

That’s what it was. That’s what they all were. And maybe Molly was right, Dutch’s charm was nothing but poison, bleeding into everything and everyone

"Bastard..."

You wanted a job, something stable to call your own. Or, if that wasn’t in the cards, maybe just to find some rich fool to marry so you could finally live in peace. Far from all this chaos. But no, these people couldn’t leave well enough alone, they had to loot every rich soul they came across.

Leave someone for me to marry at least, you scoffed bitterly, lips curling in a faint, humourless smile.

Sigh.

Dream on, (Y/N). Dream on.

Hosea’s familiar voice drifted in from nearby, low and steady as he spoke with Abigail. No doubt she was serving him food since you hadn’t bothered to. The sound grated on you, making you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of your bedroll. It wouldn’t be long, two days, maximum, before Hosea came to lecture you, or worse, dragged you out of this tent himself.

He was always so damn strict when it came to pulling your weight.

But right now?

Screw it. Screw him. Screw all of them.

Let them fend for themselves.

❀˖°

"Why do you do all this?"

Not did that. Do this.

Arthur’s voice was low, almost fragile, but there was a weight to it. A question layered with meanings he couldn’t bring himself to say outright. He just hoped you’d hear it, the real question, underneath the words. His gaze stayed fixed on the worn soles of your shoes, watching as you scrubbed at the dishes with an edge of restrained aggression that didn’t go unnoticed.

The sight would be funny to anyone in the camp right now. He was reduced to barely speaking above a whisper when it came to you, his usual steady tone faltering in a way it never did with anyone else. Whilst you were the only one who wasn't afraid of even him. While others tiptoed around him, wary of the weight his presence carried, you treated him with the same indifference, the same biting sharpness that you spared for everyone else.

Dammit, he fucking loved it.

It wasn’t fear he wanted from you, not respect or even obedience. It was something, anything, that showed he wasn’t just another face in the camp to you. It made him feel like that was all he was. Just another man under Dutch rule.

And it was maddening.

"I could ask the same question to everyone here," you replied, voice steady but sharp, like a blade dulled just enough to wound without cutting too deep.

"But you know the answer," he countered, quieter now, his words almost swallowed by the night air.

"And you do too," you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder, "but here you are. Playing the mediator of sorts."

Arthur exhaled sharply, his gaze falling to the ground as if the weight of your words had struck him in the chest. For someone who claimed to want nothing to do with this place, with these people, you had an uncanny way of stirring up trouble within it.

Perhaps you wanted that. You wanted to get kicked out.

He wanted to throw the thought out into the open, let it snap between you like a taut rope. But the bitterness in your tone, the heaviness in your stance, made him hesitate. Throwing oil on the fire wasn’t going to do either of you any good, not today.

"You’re wasting your breath on someone who isn't listening to whatever you have to say."

"Then I’ll just keep talkin’ until you do," he shot back, his voice low but resolute.

"Do whatever, I don't care. This place is full of people barking orders and trying to be big. Pft. How adorable."

At least spare me a glance. Just one.

"If you don't care about yourself, then at least do it for Hosea." His voice was strained, laced with a desperation he couldn't quite hide.

That made you turn, finally, but the look you gave him was anything but kind. Your gaze was sharp, cutting, laced with a mix of disdain and challenge. "Oh, so now you're worried about me being a bad daughter or something?" you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder if you all think the same way when you're out there making other daughters cry, making women widows and destroying families without a second thought."

This was the longest conversation you both had. Ever. And damn it was a wrecked one.

Your lips curled into a humorless smile as you snorted, mocking. "Tsk, I bet that's an exception, right? Family only exists here." You pitched your voice to mimic Dutch's smooth drawl, the mockery biting. Then, as if dismissing him entirely, you turned back to the washing, your hands moving with renewed fervor, the sound of water splashing filling the silence.

Arthur stood there, jaw tight, the weight of your words sinking into him like stones in a river.

He stood rooted in place, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words lodged themselves somewhere in his throat, refusing to come out. Maybe it was the truth in your words that had him stunned.

Before Arthur could find a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, Hosea stepped into the fray, his tone calm yet firm. “(Y/N)...dear, today or tomorrow, you’ve got to apologize to Dutch and bury this hatchet.”

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, looking off to the side, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His heart thumped unevenly as he anticipated your response.

You turned to Hosea sharply, your expression a volatile mix of shock and simmering fury. “You want me to apologize to him?! For what?” Your voice rose, cutting through the camp’s quiet. “Just for talking to you about something I’ve wanted to for so damn long?!”

Arthur’s head snapped back in your direction. He could see the fire in your eyes now, blazing and relentless, and it struck something in him. That fire, he both loved and hated it, craved it and feared it. It was the very thing that made you impossible to ignore, yet it was also what pushed you farther from him. And still, he couldn’t help but think how maddeningly beautiful you looked right now, even if it tore him apart to watch you lock yourself away further from everyone, including him.

Hosea sighed, his calm facade slipping just slightly. “It’s not about what was said, it’s about how it was said. Dutch... he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. We all are.”

Your laugh was hollow, bitter. “Trying? Trying to keep us all in line like dogs? Sure, that sounds like a real noble effort.” You crossed your arms, your gaze icy as it met Hosea’s. “If you want to grovel to Dutch, go ahead. But don’t drag me into it.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against his holster as if searching for something to ground himself. He knew that your words were not only directed at Hosea but him too.

“You’ve got too much pride,” Hosea muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

“And you’ve got too much blind loyalty,” you shot back, unrelenting.

Hosea held your gaze, his own softening but remaining firm. "Look, let me say this again, this isn’t about the words you said, it’s about the way you said them. You can stand by your beliefs without tearing everyone else down in the process, sweetheart."

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. "So what? Dutch can tear everyone down, but when someone calls him out, it’s suddenly a problem?! That’s rich."

"It doesn't matter!" Hosea’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself, lowering it to a pleading tone. "And quiet down, don’t create a scene, again. Have mercy on your old man, at least. For now, we’re in the camp, and as long as we are, Dutch shouldn’t be disrespected like that. You can be as angry as you want with me, but please, just apologize to him. He’s always been like an uncle to you... (Y/N)."

You let out a bitter scoff, your lips curling in defiance. "And he's the one who clearly doesn't want me here but--fine...fine Papa," your hands slammed the plate down in the basin. "I’ll do whatever you say. Because, apparently, my words are nothing but bullets of disloyalty now. The same words that were once adorable wishes to you."

Your words hit like a lash, leaving Hosea standing frozen as you stormed off toward your tent. Arthur watched the older man, his chest tightening when he saw the same hurt settle in Hosea’s eyes, the kind of pain that only festers in the heart of someone who loves deeply and feels powerless.

"I wish..." Hosea began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of emotions he rarely let show. "I wish I never told her the truth... that she’s not my child. Maybe it messed her up... It broke me more than it broke her."

Arthur stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the dirt as he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. Hosea turned his head slightly, and Arthur's heart clenched when he saw the glint of tears streaking down the older man’s face. It was the second time Arthur had witnessed Hosea cry, the first being after Bessie's death.

"It... it terrified me," Hosea whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I kept thinkin' last night, what if one day I'm not here, and Dutch just turns on her like that? Sure, the women might object, but that’s it. They’re powerless against him. No one would stand up for her... and she'd be all alone..." He sniffed, wiping his eyes, trying to regain control. "And that’s what broke me, Arthur."

It broke me too...

Arthur stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "Jus' don't think about all that happened. Forget it and don't worry Dutch will forget about it. He won’t hold onto it, not like that. And she... she’ll forget too. You’ll see."

Hosea let out a dry chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his weathered cheek. "She? I don’t think so. Not about this. When it comes to this topic, she won’t let it go." He paused, leaning heavily against the wooden counter, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of years pressed harder in that moment. "I want it too, Arthur. The house, the quiet life… I want to give her that. But it’s not easy. It’s not."

He gestured vaguely toward the camp, the flickering lantern light catching in his tired eyes. "Leaving all this behind, all of you, it’d feel like... like a betrayal. Even if I left on a good note, it wouldn’t sit right. Do you get what I mean?"

Arthur nodded, his posture relaxing now that you weren’t there to sharpen the tension in the air. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think we all... kind of want that." His words trailed off, his thoughts unraveling into something more personal. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I do. I want it... with you. Maybe. No...

Only.

Hosea turned his head to study him, an unspoken question hanging in the silence. Arthur caught the look and quickly shrugged it off, letting out a small exhale as if to clear the thought entirely. "Jus’ don’t let Dutch know," he muttered with a faint smirk. Hosea returned the gesture. " 'Course not. Let's go have some coffee, boy." He reached to pat the man's shoulder but Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing Hosea’s with a suddenness that made the older man freeze. His eyes, wide and questioning, met Arthur’s with a flicker of concern, but also an understanding that something serious was coming.

"Um--there’s... something that I want to..." Arthur’s voice faltered as he cleared his throat. His gaze darted to the ground, to the side, anywhere but Hosea’s eyes. The same sheepish, uncertain look Hosea had seen a hundred times, but now it felt different.

Hosea arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Well, go on then. What did you do?"

Arthur’s mind was a mess, his thoughts tangled with nerves and fear. What the hell am I doing? His heart raced as his hand shook slightly. What the hell am I about to do?

His breath caught as he reached into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric of the chest pocket where he’d hidden it. It was a decision that had plagued him for days, one that felt impossible to avoid now.

He pulled out the scarf--silken, covered in his scent, soft to the touch, but now burning in his hand like a symbol of everything he couldn’t say.

 For her.

It’s for her.

"I- I bought this..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them too real, too vulnerable.

Hosea’s face was unreadable at first, but then he saw the scarf, and a brief chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I thought it was clear I’m a man, Arthur."

The joke hit Arthur like a slap, and he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten. God, this was harder than he’d imagined. His throat went dry, his fingers tightening around the scarf as if it could somehow anchor him, give him the courage to keep going. But he was drowning in hesitation.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his entire body trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. The thought of Hosea’s reaction, the uncertainty of what might follow this moment, made him question if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. Would Hosea kill him? Would he laugh at him? Or worse, would he pity him?

Hosea’s eyes bore into him, patient, yet expectant. "Well, boy?"

Arthur’s mouth went dry, but he forced the words out. "It’s for... (Y/N)."

For a moment, there was a stillness, and then to his shock, Hosea’s expression softened, eyes widening, almost in a kind of jubilant surprise. The older man’s lips curled into a smile, the warmth of it almost disarming.

Hosea took the scarf from Arthur, his hands gentle as he examined the gift. A sense of something unspoken passed between them, something Arthur couldn’t quite name, but it was there in the way Hosea’s gaze softened. "Really?"

Arthur barely had the strength to nod, his eyes avoiding Hosea’s, his face burning with embarrassment and a kind of fear he couldn’t even process. Was this really happening? He was spilling it to him, of all people, your father.

He nodded again, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah..."

Hosea’s hand reached out to pat Arthur’s arm in an almost fatherly gesture, the older man’s voice low and steady. "Well then... I’ll be sure to give it to her." He smiled, a knowing warmth in his eyes that made Arthur’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "Thank you. Y’know... you’re the only one I trust after me."

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in like the heaviest of weights. It felt like he’d won a game, but one he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Arthur’s throat tightened at the thought, his breath catching. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d attached to the simple scarf until now. It was just a piece of fabric, yet the meaning behind it had become so much more than he’d ever expected.

"Just... tell her to, you know... don’t burn it at least," he muttered, his chuckle awkward and thin, as if trying to deflect the intensity of his own feelings. But the words weren’t a joke. They were the truth, and they hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

The image burned in his mind, you, angry, perhaps unaware, throwing it into the campfire or tearing it apart with a pair of scissors. The thought was almost unbearable, each possibility worse than the last. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides showed just how deep the fear ran.

He couldn’t let that happen.

If you did something like that, if you so much as damaged it, he... he didn’t know what he’d do. His thoughts spiraled out of control. Would he lash out? Would he burn the whole camp down if it meant getting you back, getting that thing back, untainted by your disregard? The intensity of his protectiveness shocked him, made his pulse quicken.

He forced himself to exhale, slow and controlled, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Tell her," he repeated softly, though his voice cracked with something that felt more desperate than he'd intended.

"I will, I will. Don't you worry."

❀˖°

You nearly sewed your own finger, but kept going, the needle trembling slightly in your hand as you tried to focus. Jack sure knew how to break his damn button every week. But you never minded of course. That adorable little kid is like your brother. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt calm enough to sit still and stitch something--anything--together without your mind wandering.

"I’m proud of you, y'know. You apologized. Thank you." Hosea’s voice broke through the silence, warm but layered with something else, something like relief, as he sipped his coffee. His words sank into the quiet of the tent, the flickering lamplight casting soft shadows over his face.

"Of course you are."

His response was a low chuckle, tinged with affection. He knew you loved him and valued his advice,. His mind played the memories of the times when you always waited worriedly whenever he went on jobs and made sure he was looked after in the camp. He couldn't be proud to have you as his daughter even if both of you clashed at moments like these.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Even if you’d done it for Hosea, for your own reasons, you couldn't shake the irritation that still lingered beneath your skin. But he was happy, and that was enough for him. His approval always mattered to you, more than you’d ever admit.

The silence stretched out between you as you continued to sew, the rhythmic motion almost comforting. But Hosea’s gaze shifted, the way it always did when something was on his mind. He glanced at the closed flap of the tent, his attention drawn to the world outside. Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Here," Hosea said, holding the item out to you, his expression tight, as if he wasn't entirely sure how you would take it. You eyed the scarf suspiciously before taking it, your fingers brushing against the fabric, your thoughts clouded.

"Wow, thanks...it's so pretty," you muttered, still trying to piece together what was happening. Though genuinely happy to receive a beautiful gift.

Hosea shifted on his feet, averting his gaze, as if the words were stuck in his throat. After a long pause, you saw the truth flicker in his eyes.

"It's...from Arthur."

"Wha---huh? Why?" you asked, the suspicion in your tone now more palpable than ever.

Hosea looked away again, the embarrassment and discomfort evident in his posture, but the message was clear. You felt the shift in the air, a kind of pressure that built between you both.

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn't stop the words that spilled from your lips. "Wha- excuse me??! Did you... did you just sell me or something?!"

The words landed, and Hosea's head snapped back, his face darkening, his jaw tight with frustration.

"What even---Are you out of your mind?" he shot back, his voice low, heated now. "Listen to me. I am not going to be here for you forever, and I worry for you, even if you think I don't! And him, he’s the only one I would trust to-"

"What are you on about?!" you cut him off, your voice rising with anger. "Am I some child that needs to be babysat?! I won’t stay here forever, either, Papa! Hell, I won't! And you’re here finding ways to bind me here?!" You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the frustration turning into something you couldn’t hold in any longer. "I understand everything! Don’t think I’m a fool!"

You couldn’t stop yourself. With a burst of pent-up fury, you threw the scarf on the floor, your hands shaking with the force of your frustration. "Handing me to some old lap dog, you’re out of your mind! I can't believe it, have some shame!."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you both, as Hosea stood there, his hand still frozen in the air where he'd offered you the scarf, his eyes full of something raw, hurt, frustration, confusion. Hosea opened his mouth, but no words came. His gaze softened, his lips parted as if he were trying to find something to say. But the words you had just spoken hung heavy in the air, too loud and too real to take back now.

"You think I want this for you?" he finally whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with frustration. "I just want you safe, damn it. Safe."

"If you want that, then find someone else, someone normal. A proper suitor, maybe? A decent citizen? Like Mama would have wanted!"

"And you think a 'normal citizen,' or the rich kind you dream of marrying, won’t ask about our background? Won’t dig into our truth? You want something built on lies, instead of what’s real? The most honest person you could have is right here, willing to do anything for you. I raised that boy, and I damn well know he will never disappoint me."

You rolled your eyes, fed up with another one of his lectures. "Yeah, because after spending half my life with outlaws, I've definitely lost the chance to be with anyone 'normal,' haven’t I? Then I'd rather die alone! Every man here is raised by you in some way but that doesn't mean that I have to trust them let alone be with THEM! You are being delusional! Whatever--just give it back, for God's sake," you snapped, your voice thick with frustration as you turned away, trying to put distance between yourself and the scarf as if it could somehow erase the conversation.

Hosea didn't move to leave. He just stood there. After a long pause, he shook his head gently, as if reconciling himself with something painful. "No, no I won't. Gifts are not meant to be... given back."

He picked the scarf up, his hands cradling it carefully as if it were something fragile, and for a moment, you could see him lost in thought, his eyes distant, remembering something else.

"I remember... the first time I held you in my arms," he murmured, his voice softer now, the anger and frustration fading into something more vulnerable. "You were my gift, too. You still are."

Your heart stuttered for a moment, the memory of being held like that, cradled in his arms when you were small, a time before all the complexities of your relationship had gotten so tangled. The warmth of his embrace felt distant now, like a fading echo.

Or it's just his way of manipulation.

"Papa, please, why are you even siding with him-"

"Enough, because I know better and I know you better," he interrupted, his voice firm this time, though it cracked slightly with emotion. "Just keep it." His words hung in the air, and he turned to leave the tent but paused just before he stepped outside.

He looked back, his gaze meeting yours for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something deep, filled with regret, but also resolve. "If I couldn't, or am unable to give you the life you want," he said softly, each word deliberate, "my heart says he will."

You shook your head, your voice bitter as it escaped you. "Oh please, wait till you see when he kicks me out one day on your beloved Dutch's orders."

Hosea didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, his expression a mixture of sorrow and a kind of quiet resignation, before he finally turned and walked out of the tent.

He would never be able to make you understand that Arthur would be the last person to do that.

❀˖°

The days that followed felt heavier, like a fog had settled around you. Arthur's presence, once easily ignored, now seemed to infiltrate every corner of your space. He started lingering around more often, always appearing at the most inconvenient times when you and Hosea were sharing a quiet meal or having (tea/coffee). At first, you thought it was just a coincidence, maybe just a shared moment of camaraderie, but the more it happened, the more uncomfortable it made you.

Arthur wasn’t doing anything overtly wrong, of course. He sat quietly, politely joining the conversation when spoken to, sipping coffee, offering a nod here and there.

It bothered you. You loathed it.

Is this some sort of indirect courting? Were you imagining things, or was this his way of trying to ingratiate himself with you? Was he trying to get Hosea's approval? To intimidate you? Or, perhaps, was it something more direct? Was he trying to... what, win you over? Hosea, for all his kindness and wisdom, didn’t mind Arthur’s company, even encouraged it.

The words Hosea had said echoed in your mind, lingering like smoke. "If I couldn’t, or am unable to give you the life you want, my heart says he will."

You scoffed internally, trying to push it away, but the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you. Was that really true? Hosea seemed to believe it, but you weren’t so sure. Arthur? The golden boy of Dutch’s gang? Or was Hosea just trying to soften the blow, making it sound like there was hope when in reality there was none?

You rolled your eyes, staring out into the distance. Why would he go after you? Out of all the people in the camp, why you?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Still, a small part of you wondered... Should you ask him?

But what if you were wrong? What if Hosea was just speaking out of some misplaced hope? You didn’t know. And that uncertainty, it made you uncomfortable. Because you weren’t one to be uncertain. You didn't like it.

He just wants someone young to play with now that he's lonely.

Arthur stared at the journal in his lap, the unfinished sketch of eyes glaring up at him, imperfect and frustrating. He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, his pencil hovering over the page, but he couldn’t seem to get it right. The eyes, those eyes, kept staring back at him, their gaze too empty, too raw. The frown on his face deepened as he bit his lip, his mind spiraling in frustration.

But that frown, that damn cute frown, it wouldn't fade. It never did. The curve of your lips when you were irritated or deep in thought, the way your brows furrowed as you focused on something else... It was almost intoxicating how endearing it was. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it, and worse, he couldn’t stop wanting to be the one to make that frown disappear.

If only you'd look at him once with a smile, he thought bitterly, the words tasting both sweet and impossible.

Because deep down, Arthur knew, he'd do anything. He’d break the sky and bring the world to your feet if you ever gave him that smile. 

He longed for that.

But no, that’s just a dream, Arthur thought with a resigned sigh, closing his journal and resting his hands on his knees. You wouldn’t even notice me that way. I'm just some damn fool in Dutch’s gang.

❀˖°

It was another evening, quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional crackle of the campfire. You were chopping vegetables at the makeshift table, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the wood filling the air. Hosea sat a few feet away on an overturned crate, sipping his coffee with a watchful but calm expression.

Arthur appeared at the edge of the clearing, his hat tilted low and his hands shoved into his pockets. You barely glanced at him, focused on your task, but the tension in his gait was impossible to ignore. Hosea caught it too, his brow raising ever so slightly as Arthur cleared his throat.

“Evenin’,” Arthur mumbled, his voice unusually hesitant.

Hosea nodded in acknowledgment, setting his cup down. “Evening, Arthur.”

Arthur glanced at you, then back at Hosea. His jaw worked for a moment, as though wrestling with what

And then you heard the words. Full of hesitation.

“I was wonderin’... if I could take her out. Just, ya know, get her outta this camp for a bit. I figure... she could use some air.” His words hung in the air, but his eyes seemed distant, almost like he was hoping for a miracle.

You stiffened immediately, your brows furrowing in disbelief. You hadn’t been in the mood for any of this, and you weren’t sure how you felt about Arthur’s proposal. "I am absolutely fine staying here, got it?"

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he stared at your hunched frame, your defiance practically radiating off you. His voice softened, though there was a trace of frustration. “You’re not fine. Not always, and not here.”

You turned sharply, glaring at him with a fire that made his breath hitch for a moment. “What do you know about what I need, huh? You think you can just waltz in here and decide things for me? I said I am not going so I am not!”

Arthur took a step back, but not because he was intimidated. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “Ain’t about me decidin’ nothin’. You don’t even gotta like me. But you deserve better than to keep hiding in this damn camp, snappin' at everyone tryin' to care for you.”

 "You’ve got some nerve asking me that. I don't need anyone taking me anywhere. Just 'cause you brought me a damn scarf doesn’t mean I owe you a thing."

Arthur seemed to bristle at your sharp reaction, but Hosea leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying the both of you with a quiet smile. He wasn’t offended, he understood.

Your glare didn’t falter, but Hosea cleared his throat before you could respond. “He’s got a point, you know.” His tone was calm, measured. “A little ride won’t kill you.”

You crossed your arms. “I said no Papa and that means, NO."

Arthur stepped closer again, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I ain't Dutch. I ain’t gonna force ya into anything. But sometimes, you gotta trust someone’s tryin’ to help, even if it don’t make sense at first.. Just...give me a chance...please.”

Before you could reply, the unmistakable sound of Dutch’s boots approached. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Dutch drawled, stepping into the space with a deliberate slowness that made everyone tense. He looked from Arthur to you, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Arthur, you’re not causin’ any trouble now, are you?”

Arthur’s shoulders squared. “Just talkin’. Nothin’ more.”

Dutch’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile growing sharper. “Talkin’, huh? Always knew you had a soft spot, Arthur. You got that puppy-dog look about you. But...you sure you’re barkin’ up the right tree here?”

The air went cold, and you froze, your grip tightening on the knife in your hand. Dutch’s words stung, a mixture of insult and insinuation that made your face burn with anger and shame.

“Dutch,” Hosea interjected, standing up from his crate, his tone calm but firm. “C'mon...don't say that."

Dutch laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave y’all to it. Just a little friendly advice, Arthur. Watch where you step. You wouldn’t want to trip.” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, his laughter echoing behind him. Hosea shot Arthur a brief look before following after Dutch, likely to smooth things over or ensure the situation didn’t escalate further.

Arthur lingered awkwardly near the table. His fingers toyed with the brim of his hat, his eyes darting between you and the ground as though he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. He hesitated, his hand lifting slightly as if to reach out to you, his face a mix of guilt and frustration. “Look, I-”

You sighed, stabbing the knife into the cutting board and crossing your arms. "What? Just go away."

Arthur flinched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he muttered, his voice low and almost apologetic. “Just...ignore what he said.”

"But what he said was right."

"No, it wasn't." He looked up then, the defensiveness clear as day in his eyes. “It ain’t like that,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Dutch--he just likes to run his mouth. Don’t mean nothin’.”

“Doesn’t it?” you challenged, your tone sharp. “You didn’t exactly deny it back there.”

Arthur hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he was weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to make your life harder. I thought maybe... I don’t know. Thought you’d wanna get out for a bit. Thought it might help.”

“Help with what, exactly?” You gestured around you, exasperated.

“I just… I thought it’d be nice. Thought maybe you’d... enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” you repeated, incredulous. “Arthur, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do here. Why you’re trying so hard.”

His jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “Maybe I am tryin’,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven. “Don’t know why you think that’s a crime.”

“I didn’t ask for any of it,” you said, your tone quieter now, less biting. “I didn’t ask for you to care.”

He laughed softly, a bitter sound that barely reached his lips. “Yeah. I know. But it ain’t somethin’ I can help. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You’re making it more complicated, you know.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather be here makin’ things complicated than not be here at all.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, suffocating and undeniable. You didn’t know what to do with it, with him, with any of this. So you did what you always did, you deflected.

“I’ve got work to do,” you said, pushing off the crate and brushing past him towards the wagon. As you walked past him, your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and low enough that he almost missed it.

"Why don’t you take all this energy and use it on something worthwhile? Perhaps finding the right tree." You chuckled tauntingly as you went inside the wagon.

He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t say anything else, not wanting to draw too much attention to the scene. With a heavy sigh, he decided to go for a ride.

❀˖°

When he returned later that night, most of the camp was either finishing up their dinner, indulging in late-night games, or sitting quietly by the fire.

He didn’t sense your presence anywhere, and he figured you were probably in your tent, finally savoring some solitude after a long day of work and being surrounded by the others. But he also knew that Dutch’s words from earlier weren’t easy to shake off, especially for you. Your blood was likely still boiling. Worse, you must be hurt too.

Taking advantage of everyone being preoccupied, his steps naturally gravitated toward your tent, your sanctuary. A place he had only ever dared to dream of being close to. What was it like inside? He often wondered. Would the air inside smell faintly of you? Would he ever be someone who belonged in your space? He imagined a future where he could step into it freely, with no hesitation, no uncertainty. A time when he wouldn’t even need to knock when he could enter with a smile on his face and a gift in his hand, your relationship so natural and warm that it felt like home.

But maybe that was the point. You didn’t need anyone in that space, and a part of him liked that. Liked that you existed here, hidden away, out of reach of the world’s harsh gaze. It wasn’t fair or right, but it soothed something deep and primal in him. If he had his way, the world would never touch you. You’d stay tucked away where only he could find you as if this tent was built for the two of you alone. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see you in his world, in his tent, on his bed, wrapped up in everything that was his.

Hidden away, yes, but hidden with him.

He cleared his throat, his eyes too shy to even glance fully inside, though the tent flap hung half-open.

"Who is it now?"

"Me... I--uh...can I?"

A soft, irritated sound followed, then your voice gave reluctant confirmation. “Leave the flap wide open.”

He obeyed, pushing the fabric aside, the cool night air spilling in. Then he stood there like a fool, frozen for several seconds as his eyes found you sitting on the edge of the cot, one leg bouncing with impatience. Enchanting nonetheless.

“Well? What now?”

The sharpness of your tone jolted him back to his senses. For a moment, he still couldn’t believe you’d allowed him inside. Maybe you were too tired to step out yourself, but he couldn’t help feeling grateful anyway.

Taking a cautious step closer, his gaze drifted and landed on the scarf in the corner, dangling from the back of a chair.

At least you kept it.

You kept it.

That was enough for him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped to his knee in front of you, his height aligning perfectly with yours now. The act wasn’t one of submission but of devotion, a silent acknowledgment that your hatred, cold and unyielding, loomed larger than the fire of his love. And yet, he stayed there, resolute.

If he had to kneel to earn even a fragment of your gaze, he would. If being this close meant bearing the weight of your disdain, so be it. Because in this moment, it wasn’t his pride that mattered, it was you.

Your first instinct was shock. His sudden closeness threw you off, but as the silence stretched and his hesitation became almost unbearable, you decided to speak, cutting through the tension.

“I think you’re only acting like this because Dutch reckons it’s the best way to keep me in line. So that you can scare me or something. Y’know, keep me stuck in this camp so Pa’s happy, Dutch is happy, and my life here is just that much more miserable.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed immediately, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “No,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but resolute. “It ain’t like that. It ain’t even close to that.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he searched for the right words. “Do I look like someone who’d think that way? Or...who’d go along with somethin’ like that? Do you really think Hosea would do that to you? Think about you like that?” His voice softened at the edges, but there was an undeniable conviction in it.

“You ain’t some animal we gotta control, alright?” He shook his head, as if shaking off the very thought of it. “You’re...more than that. Always have been."

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know...there’s a whole lotta differences between us. But...I can’t help myself, y’know? I’ve tried. Lord knows I’ve tried.” His words faltered, and he cursed under his breath.

Damn, I forgot half of what I wanted to say.

You tilted your head, watching him struggle, your patience wearing thin.

He took a deep breath and pressed on, his voice quieter but no less earnest. “I don’t deserve this, I know that. Hell, you don’t deserve this, either. But one thing I can promise you, right here, right now...I’ll make this better. I’ll try every damn day to make your life here bearable, to give you somethin’ better. Until...”

He stopped himself, biting back the words he wasn’t sure you were ready to hear. “Until I can give you somethin’ far better than all this.”

He paused, his jaw tightening before he met your eyes again. “And no one, not a damn soul, will have the guts to disrespect you here. Not while I’m around.”

You raised a brow, skepticism clear in your voice. “Not even Dutch?”

Arthur swallowed hard, but he nodded firmly. “Yeah....not even him.”

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped your hands, his touch rough but grounding. He held on like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of trust, of understanding, of...hope.

"But why though? All of a sudden? And me?"

"I...wish I knew. But I am helpless right now. Helpless against these questions and these...feelings."

His eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading, but your words cut through him like a knife.

“If this is all true, then...why didn’t your lover, what was her name? Oh yeah, Mary, who even loved you, stick around?”

Arthur flinched as if you’d struck him. His heart trembled at the weight of your words, your tone unclear, was it innocent? Genuine? Or just plain cruel?

"That...that was different."

Your gaze didn’t waver, and your tongue stayed edged. “Okay but if she didn’t trust you enough to stay, then why should I? We’re not even-”

He moved before you could finish, his jaw tightening as he stood. With a single step, he reached for the scarf draped over the chair. Silent and deliberate, he placed it on the bed beside you, his every motion measured.

You watched him, confused and uncertain, as he pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket. He smoothed them flat and placed them in the middle of the scarf. His hands moved deftly, folding the fabric around the money with a care that felt almost reverent.

Finally, he turned to you, kneeling once more. His rough, calloused hands gently wrapped around yours, closing your fingers firmly over the bundle. His touch was warm, grounding, yet carried the weight of something far greater.

“Here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “This...this is the only proof I can give you. I’ll keep fillin’ it, day by day, until we’ve got enough to leave. And you’ll keep it safe. You’ll keep it with you. It's yours. Only yours."

And I am too.

"I know...that the money is not gonna come from honest ways which you hate of course, but...there's no other way it can be done...but it will be done, alright?"

His breath hitched as he leaned closer, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. The proximity made your heart thrum unevenly, though you’d never admit it.

You stared at the scarf in your hands, his grip firm but trembling ever so slightly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, to meet his eyes. A dozen questions churned in your mind, your heart caught between disbelief and something else you couldn’t name.

Why was he doing this? Why for you? Damn, you never pegged him for such a fool.

It was as if he could sense the weight of your weariness. His voice softened, low and earnest.

“I just want you to greet me every time I come back…and every time I go. With that smile of yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping for a moment, as though the vulnerability of his words was too much. “That’s all I ask of you...that’s all this idiot asks of you.”

And to have you in my arms every night.

The thought came unbidden, a longing too deep and too dangerous to voice aloud. No, he couldn’t say that, not yet. It was too much to ask.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, your lips parting slightly as if to respond. “Um...I don't--” You cleared your throat, but the words still wouldn’t come.

When you finally looked up, he saw it, emotions swirling in your eyes, unguarded for once. Fear, confusion, a flicker of nervousness. But there was something else, something softer, buried beneath it all. His heart, racing only moments ago, steadied as if your gaze alone could calm him.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, closing the space between you. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, one that lingered longer than it should have.

You flinched a little but didn't pull away, and that, to him, was enough. A sign of acceptance, no matter how small.

The scent of your hair, the warmth of your presence, it was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt hope unfurling in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours once more. He didn’t say anything else, not wanting to break the fragile moment, and instead rose to his feet. His shadow stretched across the tent as he turned toward the flap, his steps deliberate and slow.

And just before he stepped out into the night, he glanced over his shoulder. “Goodnight, darlin’.”

Tonight, he might finally be able to sleep.

Arthur lay down on his cot, an idiotic smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the hat resting on the table. It wasn’t just a hat, it was your approval, your silent acknowledgment, your acceptance. For the first time in a long while, he felt...hopeful.

And now, he thought, he’d finally be able to wear it.

❀˖°

The outlaw's gaze drifted to the sketches, one was complete, your softer expression, that innocent curiosity you had when your guard wasn’t up. The other remained unfinished, a portrait of your infamous frown. Not that he hated it, hell, that frown had a charm of its own, sharp and stubborn. But something about leaving it incomplete felt right. He decided it would remain that way. He didn’t want to immortalise that side of you, not in his art or heart.

Arthur reached for the softer sketch, running a thumb over the lines as if touching the paper could bring you closer to him. He studied it, his heart aching with an almost unbearable tenderness.

No, you deserved better. You deserved to keep smiling. And if it took him a lifetime to make that happen, so be it.

Hosea watched from a distance, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Arthur hugged your stiff form, bidding you farewell. He observed the way Arthur's demeanour had softened, the usual rough edges of the man becoming more relaxed in your presence. The smile and the way he tipped his hat to you before mounting the horse were enough to confirm the change that had occurred in him.

Arthur's gaze briefly flicked over to where Hosea stood, his eyes meeting the older man’s. With a small, almost sheepish nod of acknowledgment, Arthur gave a quick tip of his head. It was subtle, but Hosea had known him long enough to recognize the shift in his posture, the lightness in his eyes.

The mentor's smile deepened, though there was a softness to it that spoke of more than just amusement. It was the kind of smile a father would give when he saw something unexpected in a child, something tender, something hopeful.

It was good to see Arthur's content again. What truly surprised him, though, was that it was his daughter who had made it possible after all this time. The last person he imagined to ever do that and that made him chuckle quietly.

A match made in heaven indeed...

(AN: •⩊• u better interact for high honour++)

[paper-mario-wiki]

How invested are you in hip-hop outside of the Drake/Kendrick beef?

i'd say more than the average person but less than someone who's all about it, ya know?

to give an example using that beef as reference, i knew that Drake has always been regarded as green despite his self-proclaimed street cred, and i sorta understood why it was a big deal that DJ Mustard was on Not Like Us, but i was unaware of the incident where one of T.I.'s friends pissed on Drake's leg.

growing up my oldest brother really loved music by wu-tang clan, ludacris, purple ribbons all-stars, sugar hill gang, three 6 mafia, and a few others, so i developed an ear for it young while i listened to it in his car! hip hop still comprises at least a good 30% of the space on my most-listened tracks, although i'm not personally invested in the game to any great extent.

i have written and posted a few verses before tho! very goofy for-fun stuff but i enjoyed it nonetheless.

[theoutcastrogue]

Cartoon depictions of the homeless increasingly reflect the hostility of today’s political leaders toward people on the streets. We’ve gone from images of charming hobos with bindles to zombies taking over cities. If you consume any news at all, you’ve probably noticed that the United States is pathologically cruel to its homeless citizens. This May, the brutal killing of Jordan Neely—who was strangled to death, at the age of 30, simply because he was unhoused and shouting on the Manhattan subway—captured the national spotlight, but it was just one of many such cases of unprovoked violence. In January, two cops reportedly kidnapped a homeless man in Hialeah, Florida, drove him to an “isolated and dark location,” and beat him unconscious. That same month, art dealer Shannon Collier Gwin faced battery charges after he sprayed a homeless woman with a hose outside his San Francisco gallery, barking “Move! Move!” at her. (Predictably, Gwin got a lenient plea deal of just 35 hours of community service.) Elsewhere in the city, homeless San Franciscans have been attacked with chemical bear spray on at least eight occasions. Other assaults have been more impersonal but no less vicious. On July 14, the city of Houston abruptly closed its only public cooling center in the downtown area, potentially condemning anyone without shelter to suffer heatstroke in 90-degree weather. Among the property-owning class, the phenomenon of hostile architecture—sidewalks with spikes that stab anyone who tries to sleep, benches with iron bars, and the like—has become de rigueur. The widespread callousness and lack of compassion are both infuriating and hard to comprehend. How on Earth, we might ask, did things get this bad? [...]

Looking back at older cartoons, one of the things that stands out immediately is the absence of negative attitudes toward the homeless. In fact, during the Golden Age of animation, creators seemed to have had a real affinity for the poor and unhoused, often placing their most iconic characters in that role. There’s a wonderful 1948 Warner Bros. short called “Riff Raffy Daffy,” in which Daffy Duck is looking for a place to sleep—first on a park bench, then a trash can, and finally a furniture display in a shop window—and has to dodge the harassment of the police, as represented by Porky Pig in a little blue uniform. (Literally, the cop is a pig!) Or, in the 1950 cartoon “Homeless Hare,” Bugs Bunny’s rabbit hole is destroyed by a new construction project, leading him to unleash his usual slapstick mayhem against the developers until they put it back. In these cartoons, homelessness is something inflicted on people by outside forces—gentrification and the real estate business, in Bugs’ case—and something which can be successfully resisted. Even Disney cast a homeless dog as a romantic lead in 1955’s Lady and the Tramp, contrasting Lady’s sheltered naivety with Tramp’s superior knowledge of the world. The title invokes the memory of Charlie Chaplin’s “Tramp” films, which similarly brought dignity and humanity to the role of a homeless man. (Bugs Bunny, too, takes inspiration from Chaplin, and multiple Warner animators have drawn him as the Tramp.) In 1961, Hanna-Barbera’s profoundly underrated Top Cat followed the adventures of a gang of wisecracking Manhattan alley cats, who, like Daffy, are always outwitting a meddling policeman. At worst, classic cartoons may trivialize the suffering and danger associated with homelessness—there’s a certain recurring image of the carefree hobo carrying a bindle, which paints the whole subject in a romanticized light—but the homeless themselves are rarely disparaged or made the butt of the joke. Quite the opposite. 

It took a few years, but cartoons caught up to the Reaganite turn. In episodes from the ’90s and early 2000s, there’s a palpable shift in the way homeless characters appear compared to earlier decades. The perspective is different: we’re now seeing them through the eyes of comfortably housed characters, rather than their own. Often they don’t even get proper names. [...] This trajectory leads us, perhaps inevitably, to SpongeBob SquarePants. [..] Squidward gets accused of stealing a dime by his comically greedy boss, Mr. Krabs, and quits his job in a fit of outrage. We then flash forward to see Squidward, now bedraggled and unshaven, living in a cardboard box on the street and begging for change. [...] Mercifully, the ever-cheerful SpongeBob gives Squidward a place to stay—but the moment he’s safely off the street, Squidward turns from a sympathetic victim of circumstance into a lazy, entitled freeloader, straight out of a Reagan speech. He makes no effort to find work and loafs around SpongeBob’s house for ages. [...] Eventually, an exasperated SpongeBob writes “GET A JOB” in his alphabet soup, before shoving him (bed and all) back to work at the Krusty Krab. [...] Worst of all, though, the episode suggests that homelessness can be solved on an individual basis if the people in question simply stop being lazy and “GET A JOB.” This is the biggest myth of all. In 2021, a statistical analysis by the University of Chicago found that 53 percent of people in homeless shelters, and 40.4 percent of unsheltered people, do have jobs. The problem is that their wages are too low, and rents are too high. According to statistics from the same year, it’s impossible for someone working a full-time, minimum-wage job to afford a single-bedroom apartment in 93 percent of U.S. counties, and there are no states in which someone can rent a two-bedroom space on the current federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour. In other words, homelessness has little or nothing to do with personal responsibility, or lack thereof. It’s a consequence of large-scale economic decisions made by landlords and bosses. [...]

— Alex Skopic

[2knightt]

「 you are—unforgettable.」

IN WHICH—you’re them and they’re you!♡ ໋֢ 👒✧

🍵ヾFT. THE GREASERS࿐ྀུ ♡

⌗ 👒 notes !𖥔༌ ᰷ ﹅ people in this fic refer to two-bit as ‘keith.’ who cuz who the FUCK says ‘he got his two-bits in🤓’ NOBODY! but in the descriptive parts he will be two-bit. ALSO IF U DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING LOOK IN THE TAGS!

Ponyboy Curtis ;

his class was gonna watch this movie before reading a book. ‘the outsiders,’ or somethin’.

it was made in the ‘80’s—he didn’t want to even watch it. watching movies in class was the worst!

ponyboy sat at his desk, head in his arms. he heard the music and looked up, chin resting on his arms.

when ponyboy seen you writing down and narrating, he could’ve sworn he died and came back to life. LIKE WHEN HE HEARD YOUR VOICEEE HE GOT A LITTLE BLUSH ON HIS CHEEKS.

his friends beside him noticed, snickering to themselves. they shoved him, asking if that was his future partner. he just pushed them off, quietly telling them to fuck off.

when ponyboy seen you covered in the soot??? phew—he questioned his morals, man. and THEN HE SEEN YOU BEAT UP?? he was getting FED.

ponyboy came out of that school a new man.

his ears were hot, his cheeks were red, and he was already looking up edits of you. ponyboy shoved those almost broken wired apple headphones in his ears and tuned everyone out.

when he got home he ignored any questions darry and soda threw at him and immediately went to his room. ponyboy quietly closed the door before hopping into bed, pulling out his phone, and going on tiktok.

spent like a solid 30 minutes tweaking over edits of you. like full on screaming into his pillow—i’m so serious.

“darry, what the hell is that noise?”

“i dunn—ponyboy?”

“AHHH!!”

when he found out that, outside of the outsiders, you’re decades older than him he was SO HEARTBROKEN.

the gang seen him looking at photos of you and immediately started teasing him. he absolutely tried to back himself up with stutters.

“they’re how much years older than you, bro?”

“NONO HEAR ME OUT, PLEASE! KEITH, BRO, PLEASE.”

reads fanfic. look at me in the eyes and try to tell me that ponyboy motherfucking curtis doesn’t read fanfiction.

you can’t.

like bro he’s so desperate for more content of you to the point where he writes the fics he yearns for—got pretty popular to.

“why the fuck is your phone blowing up?”

“PLEASE don’t ask me any questions about it.”

he’s a freak. he knows everything about you. ponyboy’s even began to watch your interview’s about the movie. and your other movies.

literally a teenage girl.

“THEY’RE SO FINE THOUGH, PLEASE!”

“nuh-uh.”

“FUCK YOU MEAN ‘NUH-UH’?”

Johnny Cade ;

seen you when he was watching random movies at the curtis house. at first he was like, ‘wait!! they’re so me coded😛.’ it never occurred to him that you could be so cute.

he seen you crying and something in him like actually snapped.

“wait….am i getting a crush? they’re kinda…”

when he seen the equivalent of ponyboy in this universe snuggled up to you in the church he was soooo jealous.

yk that one audio where it’s like, “how long is he gon’ be talking to my WIFE.” that’s literally johnny cade when he seen that person kiss the top of your head.

“what the fuck?”

“…what do you mean?”

“nothin’. it’s just kinda bullshit that they swoop in and steal my chance😒.”

“you never had one.”

“okay, pal😐.”

heart broke when he seen you in the hospital bed btw. like was full on gripping onto a pillow with tears in his eyes.

johnny was in such denial when he seen you die😭. ‘bro, no. they literally aren’t dead.’/‘guys!! it’s just a prank!!’

when he got to the scene he was in SHAMBLES. HE WAS INCONSOLABLE. ripping his hair out, screaming, crying, allat.

“stay gold…”

“NOOOOOOO-“

was so pissed when you didn’t come back. was even more pissed when your letter was read out loud.

“HOW COULD THEY KILL THEM OFF?? THEY DIDN’T DESERVE IT!”

“johnny, it’s a movie.”

“this is so unfair. i hate movies.”

gets nervous looking at photos of you. like to the point where he tries to look up your name on pinterest before bailing mid sentence and giggling. like full on throwing his phone across the room, kicking his feet.

will talk for hours about you. thinks your the coolest character ever!! defends you like his life depends on it.

“they killed someone?”

“so?? you’re acting like you wouldn’t do it to🤣🤣 fake ahh friend.”

—

“they legit can’t stand up for themselves. you want someone like that to be out walking them streets?”

“oh, god for bid a person has trauma. and YES I DO🗣️. i hope they walk right into my arms, HO.”

all said online btw. he would never ruin his ego by speaking like this. i am a strong believer johnny cade puts up a strong front online.

johnny literally thinks you’re the cutest person he’s ever seen. like his cheeks get so hot when he thinks about you and he gets a silly little smile on his face.

he looks at photos of you and his friends think he has a little girlfriend.

“who you textin’, johnnycakes?”

“nobody-uh!”

“c’mon—we see that smile!”

and it’s literally just you with blood dripping down your face.

Dallas Winston ;

caught a glimpse of you at some girls house he slept at. literally stopped dead in his tracks as he seen you light a cigarette before mumbling, ‘nothin’ legal, man.’

“i-uh, what movie’s this?”

“huh? oh, the outsiders. pretty good movie.”

he thanked her and threw on his jacket before speed walking to bucks place. he had to watch this movie or he’s actually lose it.

imagine buck’s bar is actually a house, kay? dallas sits his pretty little ass on that couch, flips to whatever streaming service, and turns on ‘the outsiders.’

thought it was all boring until he seen you walk into frame—mocking the main character. at that very moment he was all, ‘wait that’s kinda hot.’

seeing you help the two younger ones run away while still acting tough was so attractive to him. dallas felt like he was losing his mind.

seeing you run in after the two into the church kinda made his knees weak.

“BAE NO!”

“what the hell are you screamin’ ‘bout?”

“nothin’, buck…”

he was so scared that you’d die in the fire. (little did old dallas know am i right fellas!!!!) like i swear to god he was so scared you’d end up like the johnny in this universe.

WHEN HE SEEN YOU FIGHTINGGG. he went feral. dallas was like so flustered. he was trying so hard to hide his blush to the ghosts around him with his hair.

his flush was short lived however. seeing you cry and then literally point a gun at a cashier was lowkey whiplash for him.

“what the fuck is happening?”

dallas figured out what was gonna happen early on and started kinda tearing up. like one tear formed in his eye before he blinked it away. but he was still devastated.

WHEN DALLY HEARD SOMEONE SCREAM “they’re just a kid!” he lost it. like actually. he went limp on the couch and spaced out. like damn…his fiancé, who doesn’t know they’re his fiancé yet, really WAS just a kid.

nobody knows he likes the outsiders OR that he has a crush on you. and they CAN’T know, it’s way too embarrassing. like actually.

when he’s with the gang and he’s just casually scrolling on tiktok and he sees the tags with your name, he immediately favourites it and scrolls. he saved it for later when he’s alone.

also defends you like there’s no tomorrow.

“they were hitting on someone who had a partner??”

“okay?? fucking live a little jesus.”

—

“THEY’RE A FUCKING CRIMINAL?”

“i’m into it tho lmfao”

swears up and down that if you and him were in a room together—you’d have a crush on him. top tier delusion.

like if he gets drunk with keith, he will rant about it.

“no—hear me out. put me in a room with y/n l/n and i swear to god they’re gonna be madly in love with me.”

“no they won’t, dallas.”

“yuh-huh.”

looks at photos of you and probably has you as his pfp on his spam. includes you in every other photo dump.

Sodapop Curtis ;

seen an edit of you on tiktok and audibly gasped. full on went, “WHO IS THATT😜” went to the tags and just scrolled under it for a good long while.

he seen a angst edit of you and made up his mind that he had to watch the movie.

for the while that you weren’t on screen, he was trying to push through. he really was. but deep down—in his head he was screaming, “BORING! SHOW ME THE PRETTY ONE!!”

when sodapop seen you tending to your younger sibling he could’ve sworn he was on cloud 9.

“my turn when :/.”

WHEN SODA SEEN YOU GET OUT OF THE SHOWERRR😭😭. he lost his BREATH like was full on gripping his imaginary pearls.

had to take a breather to walk around the house before unpausing the movie. had a blush across his cheeks, i can’t even lie.

when he learned that you were described as, “movie star attractive,” all he did was nod. like,

“mhm. i always knew my fiancé was good looking.”

SODA WAS APPALLED WHEN HE FOUND OUT THAT YOUR PARTNER CHEATED ON YOU. like jaw was on the FLOOR.

“I COULD TREAT THEM BETTER🗣️🗣️ THEY KNOW WHERE HOME IS!!”

he is so open about his little crush in you—it’s so cute :(

“steve, look at ‘em.”

“i see them—get your fuckin’ phone outta my face.”

“aren’t they so perfect??🤭🤭”

“i guess.”

“well, BACK OFF. we’re already happily married.”

“in your dreams maybe.”

“oh my god.”

soda has you as his pfp on at least two platforms. his name on one platform is “y/n’s boyfriend (REAL!)”

seeing you run out on your siblings after they grouped you into your argument made him just wanna hug you so bad. like he just wanted to tell you it was all gonna be okay.

has a album in his photos where it’s edits of you and photos. giggles and twirls his hair as he looks at it.

Darry Curtis ;

his parents used to watch the movie all the time and you’ve always just been a life long crush of his.

like when younger darry seen you walk into frame, comforting your kid sibling, something in his head snapped.

suddenly everything was in slow motion, there were hearts everywhere, he had rose coloured glasses on, and for some reason—harps play in the background.

as darry grew up it literally never went away. whenever the outsiders comes on when he’s home he always still goes, “woah.😍😍”

like he thinks you’re so fine.

he doesn’t like watch edits, read fanfic—none of that🗣️. but if he gets asked who is celebrity crush is—your name is coming out of his mouth ASAP.

“so, darry, who’s your celebrity cru-“

“y/n l/n.”

“but they’re a character?”

“Y/N L/N.”

he has like ONE printed out photo of you in his room from years ago. he knows exactly where it is and where to hide it, but he still keeps it.

at least once every two months, when everyone’s asleep and he has no work the next day, he’ll stay up just to watch the movie.

he’ll have a budlight in his hand as he watches you absolutely DEMOLISH at the rumble.

“i always knew they’d win.”

“you’ve watch this movie a thousand times.”

“PONYBOY?!”

the gang eventually found out his little crush on you. only light teasing ‘cause they’re so scared they’ll get that darry smoke if they push him further😭😭.

“oh my god! look, darry! you’re little crush is on screen!”

“steve, i will beat some sense into you if you don’t shut up.”

“…okay, bud.”

—

“when’s the weddin’?”

“after your funeral, keith.”

“wow. hater.”

Steve Randle ;

his dad fell asleep on the couch one night with this old movie playing in the background.

steve was about to turn it off before he caught a glimpse of you offering this half naked person some cake. he was all, ‘WAITTTT🙈🙈!!’

like he seen you in that sleeveless jacket and immediately fell in love. literally was on a mission to figure out who you were.

when he did? all he wanted to do was watch the outsiders. WHEN HE SEEN YOU SCOLDING THE MAIN CHARACTER HE SOO KNEW YOU WERE HIS TYPE

“wish they’d scold me like that…damn…😞✊”

was TWEAKING SOO HARD WHEN HE SEEN YOU ALL BLOODY WITH YOUR HEAD THROWN BACK.

“…you think i look tuff?”

“YES BAE!!!”

making his name on like insta or something, “y/n’s HUSBAND.” he puts emphasis on the husband because he believes that you want him so bad.

like actually. he’s fucking delusional.

“guys…they like cake…and I LIKE CAKE! do you see my vision??”

“no??”

“man, fuck you.”

photo dumps on insta of pictures of you with the caption, “from our honeymoon 😍😍😛😛!” his friends are ripping him apart in comments btw.

WOULD GO FOR WAR FOR YOU.

“they’re actually so gross what.”

“YOU’RE GROSS!🗣️ KEEP THEM OUT OF YOUR MOUTH YOU FOOL!!”

—

“they have 0 depth.”

“0 depth to YOU. to ME they’re the love of my life.”

Two-bit Matthews ;

seen the outsiders when he was drunk. he didn’t remember anything that night but the cute lil’ actor who was laughing after flirting with some rich lookin’ kid.

the only thing he remembers saying that night was,

“damn—when is it MY TURN😩😞”

WENT ON A FUCKING HUNT TO FIND THIS MOVIE ISTG. he was looking up shit that didn’t even matter to the plot—so he got different movies each time.

‘cute actor flirting’

‘cute actor in old ass movie’

‘mickey mouse shirt’

‘when was mickey mouse created’

‘who is walt disney’

he got a little distracted but that’s not the point. two-bit found the movie and cried tears of joy. fell to his knees and all😭.

he immediately turned the outsiders on and waited to see you. HE WAS SOO SAD TO FIND OUT YOU HAD LIKE SUCH LITTLE SCREENTIME.

but he worked with it. he was taking SO MUCH PHOTOS OF HIS TV WHEN YOU WERE ON SCREEN LMFAO. they were all so shaky too😭😭.

doesn’t shut the fuck up about you.

“they want me so bad🤣🤣😂😂.”

“they wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, keith.”

“what if i killed myse-”

—

“they’re so find i won’t ‘em.”

“what the fuck are you saying?”

“what are YOU SAYING? back up.”

saves edits of you. he is ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE OF PERSON TO SAY THE MOST OUT OF POCKET SHIT ABOUT YOU IN THE COMMENTS LMFAOOO

‘they could beat the shit out of me and i thank them :3’

‘WHAT?’

‘omg who said that’

you are his profile picture everywhere. and anywhere.

genuinely believe you’re the love of his life. i swear to god he does. KING OF DELUSION ABOVE ALL ELSE!

[punksyeet]

ᰔᩚ Protection ᰔᩚ

Plot: Gianna (OC) is protected by a guy at the gym who, she’d later find out is the man of her dreams.

Warning: S/A, mature language, & hefty flirting!

28!

29!

30!

I set my pair of dumbbells back onto their rack and take a seat on the black bench that's sat in front of me to catch my breath.

Panting heavily, I take a sip from my rose gold Stanley cup and towel dry the numerous beads of sweat rolling down my forehead and chest.

Once I'm cooled off and my breathing returns to normal, I head to the treadmill to do the last 10 minutes of my workout.

The song "Lifestyle" by Rich Gang and Young Thug plays through my headphones, and I mouth the words while doing some light jogging.

About 4 minutes in, I feel a presence behind me, causing me to look back.

An older random man, at least 50 years old, is stood there just watching me.

I pause the machine and hop off, slowly taking my headphones off as well. "Hi. Is there something you needed?"

He lightly chuckles. "Not at all, sweetheart. I'm just enjoying the view."

Oh for fucks sake!

"Yeeaaah," I respond hesitantly, turning back to the treadmill. "I'm not interested, sorry."

He lightly grabs my waist, causing me to stop half-way. "Baby wait! I just wanna ta-"

"Okay first of all," I exclaim, backing out of his grip. "Don't touch me. I don't even know you."

He crosses his arms over his chest and swallows hard. "Well that seems unfai-"

"And secondly," I continue, cutting him off. "I told you I'm not interested. You're making me very uncomfortable. So please, respectfully, walk away from me."

"I don't think I will," he instigates, proceeding to walk even closer to me. "You know exactly what you're doing in these tight little shorts, baby."

He starts inching his hand closer and closer to my ass until another person clears their throat, making him stop in his tracks and turn around.

I look behind him, where the sound came from, and see a much younger looking and, not for nothing, but super attractive guy.

My eyes automatically scan his body, which is filled with what looks like cultural tattoos and sweat that makes his gorgeous caramel-colored skin glisten under the ceiling lights.

"I believe the lady asked to be left alone?" he clarifies, his hands in his pockets.

The man throws his hands up innocently. "I wasn't trying anything man, I swear."

"I see," the attractive guy says, nodding and smoothing out his freshly-trimmed beard. "Then why are you still here, uce?"

Uce? What does that mean?

"Because uce," the man replies, mocking him. "I'm a guy that likes conversation. And I saw a pretty woman so I walked over. What does this have to do with you anyway?"

The attractive guy's nostrils flare in reaction to being mimicked. "It has everything to do with me when I'm witnessing a lame ass dude come up to a female, making her uncomfortable in a place where she should feel safe. Have some shame bruh."

With every word he inches closer and closer to the man, even pointing his finger at him.

The man suddenly turns speechless, and places his hands in his pockets.

"That's exactly what the fuck I thought," the attractive guy continues. "So I suggest you get outta here before things get real ugly."

The man then rolls his eyes, scans my body one more time, and walks away.

The attractive guy watches him leave and comes walking over to me. "Hey. You alright?"

I blink numerous times out of shock. "Y-yeah I'm good. Thank you so much for that."

He gives me a warm smile. "Anytime. It infuriates me seeing dudes disrespecting women that way. I'm glad I saw it before he could do anything else to you."

I return the smile. "Well, thank you again. I appreciate it. More than you know."

"You're very welcome..." his voice trails off, and he tilts his head at me.

"Oh!" I reply, holding out my hand. "I'm Gianna. It's nice to meet you."

He flashes me another gorgeous smile and shakes it. "You too, and that's a real pretty name. I'm Josh."

"Thank you," I reply, lightly blushing, and stick my hands in my pockets once we end the handshake.

He stops for a minute and takes a deep breath before speaking up again. "Say Gianna, I know we met in a kinda unfortunate way, and the timing of all this may be off. But would you like to hang out sometime?"

His gorgeous ass? Wants to hang out with me?

I give him a soft smile, shrugging. "Sure, why not?"

He nods, rubbing his hands together. "Cool, cool. How about tonight? I'll text you my address and we can kick it? Have dinner or something?"

I nod, pull out my phone, open my contact list, and hand it to him. "Sure, that sounds nice."

He enters his number and hands it back to me. "Perfect. I'll see you tonight."

I smile, nodding. "See you then."

He gives me one last smile before walking off, allowing me to finish my set and head home.

—————————————————————————————————

It's now 5pm and I just got out of the shower.

Josh and I are meeting at his place at 5:45 so I gave myself some extra time to get ready and mentally prepare.

He texted me to dress comfy, so I decide to go with a cotton white sweater and pants set, some beige slides, my belly piercing, some silver jewelry, and my LV purse.

I straighten my hair and spray some yummy smelling perfume before heading out.

—————————————————————————————————

You've got this Gi.

Just be yourself and he'll love you.

I take a deep breath before leaving my car and heading up Josh's walkway and to the front door.

Seconds after I ring his doorbell, I hear dogs barking and then shuffling towards the door.

Once it opens, I practically drool at the sight I'm brought with.

He's dressed in a black muscle tee, grey sweatpants with his print visible, Nike socks, hoop earrings in, and a nice gold chain around his muscular neck.

"Hey again," he coos, standing against the door.

I give him a soft smile. "H-Hi. You look nice."

He chuckles. "Thanks, love. You do too. Come on inside."

I do as he says and I'm greeted with three adorable french bulldogs. "Your dogs are adorable."

He closes the door behind me and smiles when he sees me petting them. "Thank you."

He introduces me to Pongo, Mumble, and Jax.

As he's making dinner, I chill on the couch with them.

"They took a liking to you quick," he exclaims, watching us with his arms folded leaning against the wall. "Normally it takes them a while to get used to new people."

I look up at him and smile. "I have a pup of my own. Maybe they can smell her."

He chuckles and sits with us, his arm draped over the top of the couch behind me.

"So," I begin, rubbing Pongo's belly and turning to Josh. "What's on the menu for tonight?"

He smiles, looking back at the stove. "Garlic butter shrimp pasta with some oven roasted veggies on the side."

My stomach growls at the sound of it and faint smells coming from the kitchen. "That sounds amazing. I can't wait."

He smiles and we continue to play with the dogs until dinner is ready.

"Josh holy shit," I say, covering my mouth as I chew a piece of shrimp. "This is amazing!"

He smiles proudly, taking a sip from his wine glass. "I'm so glad you like it. I've been working on the recipe for a while."

"Feels like it's perfected now," I reply, setting my fork down and picking up my wine glass.

He chuckles and we spend the rest of dinner getting to know each other.

From dinner I found out that:

- he's full blown Samoan

- the term "uce" means brother / bro

- he was born in San Francisco, raised in Pensacola, and moved to Atlanta a few years ago

- he has 2 sons named Jeyce and Jaciyah

- he has 6 siblings including a twin brother named Jonathan

"So," he begins. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do?"

I take a sip of wine before answering. "Well, I've been into wrestling for a little bit now. I got signed to NXT a couple weeks ago."

A gorgeous smile appears on his face. "That's awesome Gi! Congrats!"

I giggle. "Thank you! And you said you're already in WWE, right?"

"Yup," he replies, nodding. "I debuted with my brother back in 2010."

I smile, tilting my head. "That's awesome that you guys have been in it together the whole time."

He smiles, folding his arms and leaning on the island. "Yeah it's been one hell of a ride. But I'm grateful for him."

We talk more throughout the night and it's honestly such a good time.

It sounds weird, but I feel safe with him.

Despite me meeting him less than 12 hours ago.

—————————————————————————————————

It's now 9pm, almost 2 hours since we finished dinner, and we're sat in the backyard near his fire pit.

"Nice out tonight, huh?" he asks, looking up at the sky, which is filled with stars and a crescent moon.

I nod, smiling, just watching the fire. "It really is."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him look down at me and kinda just watch me for a while.

After a few moments, I grow the confidence to look back, which causes a shy smile to appear on both of our faces.

"You okay?" I ask, placing my hand on his thigh softly.

"All good," he replies. "You really are gorgeous by the way."

My cheeks turn red hot and I look down shyly, picking the blanket that he brought out for us up to my chin. "Thank you, Josh."

He chuckles and scoots in closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

I get goosebumps at the feeling of his warm and soft hand on my skin.

"Don't get all shy now love," he teases. "You were just touching my thigh a second ago."

I playfully roll my eyes, giggling. "It's not my fault you're fine as hell, sir."

He raises his eyebrows as if he's shocked. "Fine as hell, huh?"

I nod confidently, trying to swallow every last bit of nervousness. "You know you are."

He pretends to have long hair and flicks it off his shoulders.

We share a laugh and he cups my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"You have a real nice smile too," he continues, cupping my face and stroking my cheek with his thumb.

I try to put my head down shyly again, but he lifts my chin before I can, allowing us to lock eyes.

We both slowly lean in and, soon enough, our lips are connected in the sweetest and most romantic kiss I've ever experienced.

With every stroke, our lips move in sync and his hands wander further and further along my sides.

Eventually, we pull away slowly and I bite my bottom lip softly.

"You're a good kisser," I say, just above a whisper, my hands still playing with his dreamy curls.

He chuckles and takes a strand of hair away from my face. "So are you, mama. I could kiss those lips forever."

"What's stopping you?" I tease, brushing my nose against his.

He smirks and connects our lips again, this time far more passionately.

The kiss lasts about 5 minutes - tongue included and everything - and not gonna lie, I was a little bummed when it finally ended.

"This is gonna sound a little upfront and please let me know if you think it's too soon," he begins, stroking my side. "But...I haven't felt this way since I first started dating my ex wife so it must be true."

I tilt my head, rubbing soft circles his back. "What's that?"

He smiles and stares directly into my eyes. "I think I'm in love with you, baby."

I bite my bottom lip gently and take a deep breath before finally speaking up to respond. "I'm in love with you too."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? You are?"

I nod, smiling. "I think so. And I’m willing to find out for sure.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and wraps me into a warm hug, and I immediately hug back.

"I was so nervous that you'd whack me across the face or something," he confesses once we pull away, making me giggle.

"Now why would I look to do damage to a face as handsome as yours?" I tease, playing with his beard.

He chuckles and pulls me in for another kiss.

Our third of the night.

And hopefully the third of many more to come.

After a little while more of hanging out and enjoying each other's company, it gets pitch black outside.

"I should probably start heading home," I exclaim, rubbing the bicep of his arm that's wrapped around my waist.

He sighs. "You sure you can't stay?"

I lay my head on his shoulder and kiss his jaw. "I'd love to, but not tonight."

He kisses my temple and gets up, holding out his hand. "I understand, baby. Come on, I'll walk you out."

I smile and take it, getting up.

I crouch down to his pups and say goodbye with tummy rubs and lots of kisses. "I'll see you guys soon."

They respond with barks and licks to my face.

Josh smiles, watching us before I stand back up and take his hand once more.

We head out to my car, share a couple more kisses, a little more small talk, and I head off.

—————————————————————————————————

I park in my driveway and automatically take notice to a bouquet of pink roses sitting at my front door.

Once I make it to them, I smile, reading the note attached:

Thank you for the best night I've had in a while. I'm so happy we met earlier today, even though it feels like I've known you forever. I hope you enjoy these and I'll see you soon. ❤️

- Love, Josh

I place the note in my pocket and pick up the bouquet, smelling the flowers.

I head inside, set my stuff down, and immediately text him.

Gianna ❤️: You're adorable! 🥹

Josh 🩵: You like them baby?

Gianna ❤️: I love them. They're beautiful. Thank you. 🤍

Josh 🩵: Just like you. You're welcome mama. ❤️

You loved "Just like you. You're welcome mama. ❤️"

It hasn't even been a full 24 hours, and I already love him more than anything.

Liked by uceyjucey, wwenxt, cmpunk, trickwilliams_wwe, and 154.6k others

giannamacri happy 👼🏽🤍

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uceyjucey Gorgeous ma 🩵

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