#And to make things worse I should be doing an altogether different thing right now but here I am

[fragmentedblade]

They did the narrative threading thing again with going from the Artisanship Commission to the Alchemy Commission. They talk about new lives under new names in old flesh in the Artisanship Commission, and she mentions immediately later the Alchemy Commission, where Bailu is. What a nice lapse

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 12 masterlist

-

A false moon dictates the coming of night. 

You set up a cot in the medical unit again, going to your quarters to grab a spare set of sheets before returning, Gaz shadowing you the way there and back. His presence scratches at the back of your head, reminding you that he’s there at your back. You don’t ask him why he insists on keeping up this charade of monitoring your behaviour—his motives are as unclear to you as ever.  

“This isn’t necessary,” you finally manage to get out on the walk back to the medbay, the door within sight. 

“I know,” Gaz says simply. 

The door slides open and you enter with him still at your back. “Then why are you following me?”

“Those were Graves’ orders, weren’t they?”

“And you what? Follow his orders now?”

It’s difficult to determine who you actually feel betrayed by. Gaz owes you no debt—it wasn’t you that let him into the ship. The focus of your anger should be on Graves and the rest of the crew, but yet—

Your chest twinges when the door slides shut and Gaz leans against it, no different than a guard posted at the door. 

He shrugs, unbothered by the reproach in your voice. “He’s the commander.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“Maybe not.”

“I had nothing to do with Hadir getting sick.”

“I know that.” Your chest deflates when you can’t detect any insincerity behind his words. “But Graves is in charge of the ship and unless you think you could get the others to agree with you, isn’t it better to toe the line for now?”

It would upset you if it were any less true. The hierarchical arrangement of personnel on board has always been clear, and it’s not lost on you that you’ve always hovered near the bottom, falling further from grace with every passing day. Who apart from Gaz and Hadir have been sympathetic towards you in recent weeks anyway? Nikolai’s friendship is an extension of his disposition, an affection easily given and easily taken away. Farah barely even regards you as trustworthy these days, convinced that you’re teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

She might not be wrong. 

Gaz watches you make the bed, settling into your office chair, a mite more comfortable than the stool by the counter. 

“Do you want me to set up a cot for you?” you ask begrudgingly. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t need one.”

“You can sleep comfortably sitting up like that?” 

His smile verges on patronizing. “I don’t need to sleep, love.”

Your skin crawls. You hate when he does that—when he lets you in on your shared secret, the knowledge that he isn’t as human as he appears. Whatever he is still eludes you. Alien or divine. There’s no point in asking though. That knowledge sits beyond your purview. 

You ignore him to the best of your abilities and finish setting up your cot, his words still ringing in your ears. 

Things take a turn for the worse when Hadir stops responding altogether. 

Though his verbal responses have become less and less frequent over the last couple days, the dropoff is significant. As your only patient though, you’ve been monitoring him closely since he was admitted, and you pick up on the change quickly. It’s like an itch under your skin, a sixth sense from working with sick patients for the better part of your adult years. 

Gaz picks up on the change in your mood, sitting up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you respond through stiff lips. “Something changed.”

The base of your spine tingles when the vital signs monitor suddenly beeps, alerting you to a change in Hadir’s condition.

You flip a switch and press a button on the keyboard, speaking directly to the Ship’s AI. “Ship, what’s the patient’s status?” 

Patient's temperature is unusually elevated

Recommendation to increase fluids and decrease external temperature 

You lift his eyelids and find his pupils irregular, one larger than the other, and they don’t respond properly when you shine a light on them. 

“What can I do?” Gaz asks, as serious as you’ve ever seen him.

“We need to cool him down. His fever is spiking. I’ll get the cooling blanket—there are ice packs in the freezer over there—” You point to a refrigerator on the other side of the room. “—get the ice packs and start packing them around his armpits and groin. We need to get his temperature down while I figure out what the fuck is happening.”

Gaz moves quickly, retrieving the ice packs from the freezer and packing them up against Hadir’s pits and in between his legs under the medical gown. Hadir’s lips flutter reflexively at the cold but that’s as much responsiveness as you get out of him. 

You press the button to speak to the AI again. “Ship, is his temperature coming down?”

Negative

Patient temperature currently: 104°

Even his breathing has changed, his breaths similarly irregular and increasingly shallower. You put in the orders for another CT scan, moving quicker and typing faster than you ever have before. The breathing tube gets put in next to secure his airway and you don’t like the way his gag reflex doesn’t kick in when the tube is shoved down his throat. It signals something dangerous. 

The situation before you doesn’t bode well. Dread clings to the wall in the far corner of the room but you ignore its presence to focus on your work, throwing everything at the walls to see what sticks. 

His labs are all over the place. High fever, low platelets, high D-dimer, high FDPs. An hour passes in a blink with you running test after test to no avail—none of his results that come back make any sense—all while his temperature continues to rise. 

Patient temperature currently: 105°

Plastic backliners flutter to the floor when you rip them off the electrodes, pasting the small metal discs around Hadir’s scalp for the EEG, working as quickly and efficiently as possible. 

“Has his temperature come down yet?” you bark, too preoccupied with your work to chance a glance up at the monitor.

“No,” Gaz says curtly. “Still 105°.”

It’s all happening so quickly that you can’t seem to get your bearings. If it were anyone else on the table, you’d at least have Hadir to assist you; you’re on your own now though, Gaz barely any help to you without any real medical knowledge. 

Your heart pounds against your chest when you notice blood coming up Hadir’s ET tube. A few droplets at first, and then a trickle. 

A horrible, prophetic knowledge falls over you, threatening to collapse you. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Gaz asks.

“I don’t know—” Then his nose starts to bleed and your heart stops. The stain on the front of his gown and what you find underneath it when you lift it up confirms your worst suspicions. “He’s going into DIC—”

“DIC?”

“His blood—”

The AI takes that moment to interject, speaking over you: Patient body has used up all of its clotting factors and will begin to bleed out

Sepsis—a severe infection—an autoimmune response—trauma—cancer—so many different possible answers to explain why Hadir would spontaneously go into disseminated intravascular coagulation, but his labs tell you shit. Nothing makes sense. You can’t explain why he might be hemorrhaging because there isn’t anything in his scans or labs to indicate anything wrong with him.

More blood leaks from his face and nethers, staining the light blue of the bed a dark red. Logical objections halt in the face of the tangible, and blood is tangible. Blood is all you see. 

The final moments are harried, frenzied. You bark orders at Gaz, which he follows militarily, and struggle in vain to keep Hadir’s condition from further deteriorating, but it’s nearly impossible without being able to address the root cause. Transfusions of platelets, fresh frozen plasma, and cryoprecipitate only go so far. 

When his brain activity goes flat on the monitor, your mind goes blank. Static noise fills your head. You slump against the wall, staring at Hadir’s bleeding body on the exam table, still leaking blood from all of his orifices, the sound of the monitor blaring like a siren in your ears. 

“He’s dead,” Gaz says blandly, staring at the body nonplussed. 

“Yeah,” you rasp. Your voice is thick in your throat, devastated. 

There’s blood all over the bed, more in one place than you’ve seen in a long time—not since working in trauma units back on Earth. Every inch of your body aches as the adrenaline recedes, having reached its peak in the throes of Hadir’s final moments, jaw so tight you almost can’t unclench it.

“What happened?” he asks, almost quizzically. 

The curious lack of emotion in his voice doesn’t penetrate through the brain fog. “I don’t know—he just…” 

The weight of all that just happened comes over you swiftly. An hour ago, Hadir was fine for all intents and purposes. Stable. Now, blood stains his chin, the underside of his nose, the front of his gown, and the bed underneath him, the sweat caked on his forehead cooling as the life leaches out of his body. 

Your hands shake by your sides, a violent tremble rolling through you. 

“I don’t get it,” you whisper. 

You should’ve quarantined Hadir from the start, from the very second he was admitted into your care. You should’ve ignored the fact that his labs came back fine that first day and just assumed that the nature of his illness was more severe than it appeared. Shame and dread plunge like a dagger through your midsection.

Protocol should’ve dictated that you initiate a quarantine, but since you didn’t—

You stare at the body on the table, the ET tube streaked with blood.

—your duty now is to ensure that no one else gets sick too. 

You’ll need to seal off the medbay until every surface has been properly decontaminated and then quarantine yourself until you’re sure that you aren’t infected as well. Your eyes flick towards Gaz momentarily before you shoot down the thought of testing him as well. 

Mitigate the transmission. That thought sticks out amongst the rest. The body lying on the bed in the middle of the room is no longer a patient that needs tending to but rather hazardous material that needs to be disposed of lest whatever infected it is transmitted to everyone else on board the ship. 

It’s waste. Filth. And it will contaminate everything on board if you don’t remove it. 

Your body moves on autopilot. You wheel the bed to the ejection chute at the back of the medbay. It takes a series of codes in order to open the door to the chute and you key them in quickly and efficiently. When the door slides open, you raise the bed until it’s slightly higher than the chute, tipping the bed forward in order for the body to slide into it. 

Ejection chute engaged

Hadir’s body disappears into the chute, the reinforced metal and glass sliding shut when the sensors register that the chute door is empty. There’s a thunk from behind the wall as his body is shuttled through the pneumatic tubes towards the back of the ship, and it won’t be more than a minute before the body is projected from the ship entirely. 

Your heart skips a beat when the AI pings awake again.

Object ejected 

“I wouldn't have done that if I were you,” Gaz says, and you flinch at the sound of his voice, momentarily forgetting that someone else is in the room with you. 

Your eyes drift over to him, the room murky for a moment, the air hazy like water, like you’re looking through a film and only just starting to settle back down into your body after watching from overhead. He seems bigger somehow.

“We have to quarantine ourselves,” you say, frantically towards one of the cupboards and ripping it open, pulling out rolls of plastic to plaster over the door. “We didn’t put on any PPE, so we might’ve been exposed to whatever Hadir had.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

His lips are turned up at the corners when you look over, frowning, but noise in the hallway keeps you from following up on his remark. 

The announcement over the intercom must have alerted the others, and you hear footsteps from down the hall seconds before they arrive, boots clanking against the metal flooring. When the door slides open and you see Farah standing there with Alex at her back, her face hauntingly vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before, words fail you. 

“What happened?” Farah asks. 

“I don’t know. He was fine just a second ago and then—”

“Where is he?” she demands, scanning the room for him. “Where’s Hadir?”

“I—” The words get tangled up in your throat, terror and shame making it hard enough to breathe, never mind speak. 

Graves barrels in a second later, flushed and out of breath. He must have been in the cockpit when the intercom alerted him to the ejection chute being utilized. Nikolai is fast on his heels, less winded but just as concerned. 

You realize that from the direction Nikolai came, he must’ve been at the back of the spacecraft, and you morbidly wonder if he heard the sound of Hadir’s body ferrying through the pneumatic tube system.

“Doctor, what did you just throw out of the chute?” Graves asks, his tone hard and uncompromising, softened only by the breathless note in his voice from running halfway across the ship. 

You don’t answer.

His eyes lift to the space over your shoulder, where the patient bed is flush to the wall, the head level with the chute leading out of the ship. Blood still saturates the mattress. 

You watch as the knowledge of what you’ve done dawns on them, realization morphing into distress and horror. From behind Farah, Alex goes ashen, a hand clamping down on her shoulder to hold her in place before she realizes what you’ve done and the inevitable happens. You see it play out in your head like a movie. 

“Farah—” he starts, but any effort to steer her out of the room is thwarted by how quickly she comes to the same conclusion. 

“Where’s my brother?” Farah screams, and you wince, your head aching like there’s something else in there listening to her scream too. 

Alex has to hold her back from lunging at you, fighting to keep her in his arms, her body thrashing wildly. You’ve never seen her like this before. Grief and rage strip her of stoicism, and when her screams turn to tears, it rips a hole right through you. 

“You ejected Hadir from the ship?” Graves breathes, stunned. 

Nikolai just stares, at a loss for words. You’ve never seen any of them so obviously affected, so contrary to the image of them that you’ve carried with you in your mind for months. 

“I had to!” you shout, vocal cords tearing under the strain. “We couldn’t keep his body on board! What if it was some hemorrhagic fever—like ebola? Or worse?”

“You don’t even know what killed—” Graves roars before stopping abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut. He presses his fist to his mouth, the skin around his knuckles bone white. 

“We need to quarantine.” Your fingers tremble when you press them to your temples, flinching when you realize that your gloves are still covered in blood. “I was going to seal off the room to keep it from spreading, but now that you’re all here, we’re probably all been infected—”

“Infected by what?” 

“I don’t know.” 

A shade is falling over you. Everything feels raw, livid—a wound being prodded. The light hurts your eyes when you lift them from the floor to meet Graves’ gaze. Even the air feels caustic against your skin. 

Even your impulses don’t feel like your own, like there is some

insidious rot

fruiting under your skin.

“Are you going to say anything to them?” you finally snap at Gaz, desperation loosening your tongue. “You were here—you saw what happened. Why aren’t you telling them what happened?”

The others turn to look at him, orienting like sunflowers towards the sun. It’s the only comparison that comes to mind. And at the centre of them, Gaz stares back at you, an ersatz approximation of confusion. 

He gives a slow blink, eyes glinting with something unknown. “Tell them what? That you tossed Hadir out into space?” 

You should’ve expected that you’d be left hanging, but the reality of it is unbearable. Humiliating. 

You know what you look like to them: dangerous, erratic. Your paranoia on full display. Even Nikolai’s mouth is set in a grim line.

You can hear the accusations flying through their minds—that you caused this somehow. Overdosed him on anti-clotting medication and let him bleed out, then disposed of the body before a proper autopsy could be performed. That maybe you prolonged his illness, knowing it would lead to this.  

It happens swiftly and without word, as if planned ahead of time. Nikolai and Graves lunge towards you suddenly, grabbing you by the undersides of your arms and nearly lifting you off your feet when they haul you forcibly out of the room. Alex still has Farah trapped in his arms in the corner of the room when they drag you past her. 

“Farah, I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” 

You’re not strong enough to break free of Graves’ and Nikolai’s hold though, so you’re carried off before Farah can say anything. There’s only a split second for your eyes to lock and for you to see something broken beyond recognition there, and then the door cuts you off from her.

“You’re all fucking insane—let me go—” you scream, spittle flying from your mouth. The scream that tears out of you is so animalistic and loud that your throat squeezes up in protest, a cough forcing its way out. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Down the hall and towards the back of the ship. Boots echo against the metal floors, the two men on either side of you in sync with each other. Neither says a word nor responds to your screams. Their patience with your increasingly unhinged behaviour has finally crossed a threshold once thought impossible, your reputation alone no longer enough to save you. 

They all but throw you into the brig, the metal door clanging shut behind you when you’re dropped to your hands and knees, peering over your shoulder to find Nikolai punching in the key to lock and arm the door, a wretched, pained look on his face.

“Nikolai, please—” you beg, crawling to the door and curling your hands around the bar. “It wasn’t my fault—I didn’t kill Hadir. I’m sorry! He could’ve made everyone on board sick if we’d kept the body! Please, Nikolai, please—”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears. The last sound you hear is the brig door slamming shut and then their footsteps gradually recede into the distance.

[pinkmirth]

i love the new theme!! any hcs on our fav vamp having a crush/being jealous? <3

why thank you, nonnie! ❤︎ you’re speaking of that darling angel of a man alucard, i presume? i definitely have a thought or two on jealousy when it comes to him >\\<

this man’s jealousy could burn as fiery-hot as the sun’s raging core, but the one thing he’ll never, ever think to do is show it.

alucard simply isn’t one for disclosing his feelings, and he fears that he’ll come off as childish or insecure if he were to openly admit, so he’d just rather to keep it to himself altogether.

see, he thinks you’re unable to tell; that he appears indifferent. oh, is he wrong. you’re able to read that man of yours like a book with its pages opened flat-out. adrian can keep quiet all he likes, but the tick in his jaw, the grit of his teeth, and the deep grunt coming from his throat is palpable.

this is what he finds to be a completely eye-twitching instance: he takes you, his dear lover, to a nearby pub. it’s just to treat you to something different from the castle’s collection of white whine that the pair of you have emptied down to the very last barrel. this should be nice, he’d thought. a new scenery should be refreshing.

he’d been meaning to enjoy your company, is all. that’s why it takes him by the utmost surprise to see a drunken, grubby man smile at you, hooting your way and staring you down with what disgusts alucard to identify as lust. had he not seen him there, seated right beside you? practically glued to your hip, as he always is? it’s obvious enough to tell; the pair of you are an item. what makes it even worse is that your blatant ‘no’s’ and ‘screw off’s’ don’t even begin to discourage his advances in the slightest.

adrian’s this close to bearing his teeth like a shining dagger. it’d be his silent threat of ripping a throat straight out— but that isn’t of his nature. he conceals it, composes himself well enough for any beer-lapping simpletons not to notice the anger pouring out of him in waves. besides, you’re here, after all, and you’d have his head for inciting unnecessary violence anyway.

it’s happened a good two times now; which is more than enough to make alucard grow red in the face (surely not by the alcohol,) and begin death-glaring any man who ever so thinks to pay you the slightest glance. his quiet promise of pain to them is what buys you a few moments of peace.

“do you wish to leave?” adrian asks expectantly, his lips to your ear as he leans into you, trying his best to sound sweet. you can still make out that strain of distress, the traces of it within his low voice. he tries to play it off as a safety concern, though he knows how well you can handle yourself. it’s simply jealousy, bubbling up and catching in his throat. his pronounced adam’s apple bobs as he dryly swallows, as though trying to gulp the feeling down.

“it’s fine, my love.” you brush it off, bringing your drink to your mouth and taking a generous sip. “we can’t allow a few pigs to ruin our night, now can we?” he lets out a lowly ‘as you wish,’ and settles on keeping his arm looped around your waist for the rest of the night. that’s the most he’ll show of any possessive feelings.

though, you notice; how his grip subconsciously tightens around your waist, bringing you as close as he can get you to be. his fingers, long and lithe, twitch with a cool, silent anger, drumming against the width of your hip as he holds you. it isn’t often that he grows this way, no. it’s just moments such as these that truly cause adrian to lose his fucking wits.

you pressing a kiss to his cheek is always more than enough to soothe him. it’s like you can feel the tension dissipate from his very form. “you’re mine, and i am yours.” you reassure, hand resting at his lap. a little nod is all he gives in reply. though you know, it was just the thing he needed.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

5. Blood Stains

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: HEY GUYS I AM BACK WITH A DOOSIE. okay so my fashion show was fantastic, let me know if y'all wanna see a video of my collection i think it turned out pretty damn good. anyways, wrote this while crocked off my ass on Benadryl bc allergy season is hitting very very hard right now so if it's not perfect we are all going to collectively blame the Benadryl, okay? okay.

Summary: An accident in the laundry causes chaos in the camp, and secrets are revealed sooner than expected. With everyone else acting like the world is caving in, Arthur steps up as usual.

Warnings: misogyny, major gender role tropes, a little bit of personal violation, but very minor. Susan is a bitch in this chapter (we love Susan). Blood plays a lot into this chapter, and so do menstrual cycles, so if you're uncomfortable with those mentions, this may be a skippable chapter for you. There's also like some sexual implications but nothing inherently sexual happens. I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 7.8k

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet.  You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip.  “Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?” 

In the weeks since John’s disappearance, you’ve noticed three things:

One, Dutch hasn’t barely been seen in the camp, and when he makes his presence known, it’s either angry or forlorn. Two, the entire gang has been very quiet, not wanting to set off Dutch, or make anyone else upset with the matter. Three, Arthur has done as he said he would, becoming closer with Abigail, and helping nightly with Jack. 

It shouldn’t break your heart, because you had no right for it to. You shouldn’t be distancing yourself from the both of them, they didn’t do anything to deserve it, but the way your chest tightened by watching them, watching Arthur gently place a hand on her shoulder as he watched Jack squirm in her arms was far too miserable. Abigail won’t speak of it, knowing that everyone has been on edge since her former lover left, but she missed the talks and conversations you held. You understood her, and though she didn’t exactly know the truth as to why, she was still partially in grief over that bond, too. 

Arthur takes immediate notice, but doesn’t say anything. Hosea had mentioned your run in with John the evening he took off. He figured you needed time to cope with the situation, even if you didn’t know John all that well, or even like him for that matter. Everyone in camp was dealing with it differently, so why should he judge the way you handled yourself?

It was only when you stopped talking to him altogether that he became slightly concerned, and he wasn’t the only one. 

When Dutch first brought you into the gang, he knew there was some subtle competition with you and Arthur. The two fastest guns in the west, hell, maybe even the world… but you butted heads often. He didn’t know why it had suddenly stopped, but his concern grew from being in both your presences at the same time, and the icy feeling he got just from standing between you, running over job details in a tent. 

It was like Arthur didn’t exist to you anymore. Everything you said and did was conveyed to the people around him, but never to him. You would even give news to a big group of people to avoid telling Arthur directly. 

Dutch knew there was something wrong, because he could have sworn you both were inches away from getting along, but now it was worse than square one. It was after a successful job that he said something about it. After you had deliberately handed Arthur’s cut to Javier and told him to give it to the next man over. 

You’d ridden back, safe and sound, but Dutch held you back, nodding the others away from the horse troughs.  

“Talk with me for a bit, will ya son?” He tried to approach the situation gently. This couldn’t have been a gradual thing. 

“F’course,” you muttered, hands resting on your gun belt as you followed him into the center of camp. 

“I’ve been noticing some… strange behavior from you towards Arthur. Only lately…” he scratched his head, looking at you expectantly. “You can tell me if he did somethin’ to piss you off, I’ll speak with him about it.”

You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “He didn’t do nothin’ to piss me off… I’ve just always been better off on my own, don’t wanna rely on anyone.”

“I can understand that sentiment, but it doesn’t make any damn sense as to why you’re givin’ him the cold shoulder,” he furthered his point, and you didn’t have any choice but to make something else up. Something that could actually be worth what you were doing to Arthur. Your head told you that the truth of ‘I’m actually a young woman and I’m catching feelings for your gang enforcer’ wouldn’t help you. 

“He’s been tryna hold me back,” you sighed out, as if revealing some huge secret. It was partially true, but you’d grown more relaxed about the protection Arthur had been trying to provide. Still, you kept on the charade, knowing it would get you out of this situation free and clear. “M’tired of him thinkin’ I can’t keep up, tired of feelin’ like a helpless kid next to ‘im.”

Dutch let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “I see… and so you figured it best to keep him out of arm’s reach, is that it?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, leaning against the pole of his big tent. 

And then it seemed that Dutch saw this as a teaching moment, because he nodded for you to sit down on one of the cross latch boxes, across from where he stood. He had a whole spiel oncoming, and you were almost sure you knew what it would contain. Something about the camp being a family, everyone sticking together and more nonsense of the like.

“You don’t understand this now, because you’ve never had a time of need in this gang… but that day will come,” he paused, and you perhaps had it all wrong, listening intently now. He pointed in the direction of Arthur’s camp set up, and you glanced over, not for the first time that day. He was tired, hunched over his cot and leaning in exhaustion, running his hand over his face. “And when you are in that time of need, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan.”

You nodded in understanding, a small frown on your face. You wanted to protect yourself, but if what Dutch says is true, you’re only setting yourself up for failure. 

“He’s been here a long time, and no matter your opinion of him, no matter the things you do or the things you say, he’s loyal. It ain’t up to me what you decide to do, but you should know, he’s the best ally you’re ever gonna have.”

And just like that, you regretted the past weeks. Everything you did to avoid him, getting up early to grab some of the coffee before he came by. Going out and hunting without letting anyone know, just so that he didn’t have a chance to come with you. Even going as far as to mend your own clothing and do your own laundry, knowing he might catch you at one of the girl’s stations while picking up your weekly wears. You felt awful. You remembered at least four times he tried to approach you before he just gave up. At the time you were grateful, because you thought it was making things easier for you, but in actuality, the things Dutch said were true. You needed him in your corner. There would be a time of need, and Arthur was the best ally to have when that time would come, whatever it may be. 

“I think I oughta go set things right, then,” you let out, your ego deflating slightly when your eyes met Dutch again. 

“If you think it’s best,” he nodded, switching places with you and watching you walk over to his favored outlaw, the man he called his son. He called you son, too. You wondered if that would hold up if he ever found out about you. 

Arthur was on the verge of sleep, but you were doing this now. You could apologize later. 

“You look like shit,” you tried to be nonchalant, and not bring any emotion into this. 

When he looked up, he was slightly annoyed, but his face softened once he looked at you for a moment. 

“Feel like shit,” he grumbled, trying to understand what you were doing here. You didn’t exactly give him reason to believe he was important to you anymore. “Did you need something?” 

You kicked the dirt beneath your boot, trying to keep yourself composed, but you weren’t too good at these things, and the amount of shear stiffness in your body wasn’t helping you to relax about it. 

“I think I owe you an apology,” you started, and he tilted his head in slight confusion. Sure, he knew what you were apologizing for, but he didn’t know why. “I’ve been avoidin’ you, n’ I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded in thanks, accepting your words. You stood awkwardly, unsure if you should say more or just leave, but when you turned your boot to walk, he stopped you. 

“Did I piss you off or somethin’?”

Why was everyone asking that? 

“No, ain’t nothing you did. Just my own stupid ass and things that don’t matter,” you told him. You felt even worse now, because you’d made both him and Dutch think that it was something he did wrong. He could rarely do any wrong in your eyes, which made this whole ordeal that much worse. 

“Matters enough, you stopped talking to me. Couldn’t even get you to look my way.”

You didn’t want him to know anything else. With him and Abigail rapidly forming a blossoming relationship, it wasn’t for you to stand in their way. Jack needed a father figure, and Arthur was the perfect candidate. 

“I’m sorry about it. I swear it won’t happen again,” you really wanted to leave this time, unsure of how far it may go in the event of a deep conversation… but he caught your wrist and gently tugged it back towards where he sat as soon as you started turning away again. 

“You gotta give me somethin’, Red. I’ve waited weeks just to ask you,” he pleaded, his tired eyes looking through you and trying to enter your mind. You caved just as soon as you saw how badly this affected him. You hurt him. He might be big, burly, and dangerous… but he bleeds, and his heart can be wounded as easily as anyone else’s. 

“I’ve been going through some things, and you’ve had a lot on your plate with Jack and Abigail. It’s not fair of me to make my burdens your burdens… I was tryna keep you out of it,” you admitted, which was only half true. The partial truths of the night were stacking up, but fortunately he couldn’t tell the difference right now, too tired and unfocused to really study your features and what you were hiding. 

“Red,” he sighed, not yet prying for more information, but giving you one last glance. “You can tell me things. Remember that.”

You nodded, smiling at him for the first time since John left. “Alright.” 

-

You stopped avoiding and ignoring Arthur, but things were still distant. You’d been getting close right after Jack was born, but going into his third month in the world, you two were miles apart. Still, it was better than the stone cold facade you’d been turning to him before. 

“Got any laundry?” Susan asked, breaking you out of your trance as you watched the sun setting. You weren’t really paying much attention, but nodded, reaching behind you into your tent for a sheet full of worn out and dirty clothing. You should have looked it over, but you didn’t, too caught up in your own mind. “You can ask the girls about getting it back tomorrow, they’ve been going stir crazy for things to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded, tipping your hat and leaning back against your small tent’s middle pole. You had half a mind to slide your hat over your eyes for a nap, but that didn’t seem like it would fly, especially if one of the others needed you for something. 

You could definitely use a nap, you were cramping like crazy. You swore if Bill came up to you and asked for any more favors with the damn horses this week you’d kill him, but only because you were feeling grumpy. 

You wanted so badly to confide in Arthur about these things, the troubles of womanhood that you couldn’t share with anyone else but him. You wondered if he would ever tell anyone, since it’s been almost five months of your residence and you have yet to reveal your secrets to everyone else. Maybe you were being paranoid, but the closer he got to Abigail and the further you pushed him away, you thought he might care less about the agreement you both made. After all, spilling your secret to Dutch would gain him loyalty points, and Dutch seemed all too happy to be giving them out since John left. 

It was about an hour later when there was a shriek at the other side of camp, and many ran over to see what the trouble was. 

Tilly had been sitting by her wash bin, but had pulled her hands out on account of one thing. 

“What’s the matter, Tilly?” you heard Sean over your shoulder, and when you finally saw the trouble your eyes widened and you muttered a single word under your breath. 

“Shit.” 

“What’s shit?” Arthur’s voice was also heard beside you now, and you turned to him ever so slightly with a whisper.

“Me, I’m in deep shit.”

Tilly showed everyone the water, with some clothing swirling around, but it was all tinted red. 

“I think someone’s been hurt,” she said, waving over Mrs. Grimshaw to show her the problem. “There’s blood in the water.”

You tried to casually back up slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t get traced back to you, after all, the clothing in the bin was yours, and Mrs. Grimshaw had just picked up the pile from you. You were just stupid enough to leave your monthly attire in with it, and during your monthly time, too. You were only two days into the cycle, meaning there had been a lot of blood.

Grimshaw, being the stern and impatient woman she was, rolled her sleeves up and dug around in the water, looking for clothing with holes to indicate a stab or bullet wound… but she only found:

“A sanitary apron?” She furrowed her brows. She was pretty in tune with the women of the camp, and hadn’t been aware that someone was menstruating right now. 

“You better run, kid,” Arthur caught on, nudging your shoulder. You’d already started getting further away from the scene, but it seemed Grimshaw already came to a conclusion before you could make a break for it. 

“I picked these up from…” she trailed, her brow now seemingly angry and strewn together in a stressful manner. She marched over to you, grabbing your lanky wrist harshly and tugging you away from the scene. “You better not be hidin’ what I think you’re hidin’!”

You held onto your hat as she practically ran you into the nearest tent. It wasn’t hers or yours but that didn’t matter, her urgency was all too apparent. 

“Miss Grimshaw, what’s this all about?” 

“I have had my suspicions about you since you arrived here,” she spoke intensely, pulling you forward by your belt buckle and doing her best to undo it. 

“Hey, hey! What’re ya doin’?!” You tried to protest, but her nimble hands were too persistent, and she finally got your pants loose enough to take a brief peek at what she needed to see. “What the hell, would you stop?!” 

“I knew it!” she yelled, a finger pointed in the air. 

And just like that, you knew you were screwed. 

She quickly ran out of the tent, and you tried to follow her, making a quick attempt at putting your belt back together on the way out. 

Arthur ran a hand over his face when first he saw you, and the state you were in. He knew the jig was up, too. 

“Where is that man when you need him?” Susan was turning every which way, a mess of herself just trying to frantically look for the camp leader. 

“Dutch? He’s in town with Hosea, what’s the problem?” Bill sauntered up, dusting his hands from the work he’d paused. 

Pearson and Javier all of a sudden made an appearance, and when you thought nothing could make this worse, the rest of the camp zoned in on the chaos, having had nothing better to do this whole day. It was slow, and there were no jobs to be done, so the boredom consumed minds jumped on the first sign of entertainment they could find, and boy was it something.

“We have an imposter in our midst!” She yelled, her arms waving around wildly. 

“Hold on, now…” You tried to interject, but Arthur shot you a look, shaking his head. Don’t do it, kid. Just shut up.

“What do you mean an imposter?” Pearson crossed his arms. He was never one to give bad news of any kind to, because he had a tendency to blow it out of proportion. “Who?” 

“That,” she pointed at you, her voice raised to the highest decibel count you knew was humanly possible. “Is not an eighteen year old boy! She has been fooling us all. Who even knows where she comes from, what her real name is!”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” 

“The kid?” 

“Ain’t no way…”

The rapid responses coming forward almost eased your mind, except for the fact that Susan did in fact have up close and personal proof from what she saw. 

Arthur stepped forward, and as the murmurs grew louder, and Miss Grimshaw was prepared to go on another rant, he did all he could to calm the situation. 

“Let’s not make any rash judgements right now,” he gave you a look, trying to let you see he was attempting to help, but that you needed to leave. “We’ll just wait until Dutch and Hosea get back.”

You took that as a cue to leave, awkwardly making way for your tent. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Susan tried to chase after you, but Arthur held her back. 

“Wait for Dutch,” he said, his arm blocking her path. Who knows what she’d do in this state? She’d been known to whip some of the boys into compliance before, who knows what she’d do to someone she viewed as an imposter. 

Sitting with the flaps closed, you could still hear everything that was occurring outside, and it nerved you far more than being in the middle of it all. 

“It doesn’t make any sense…” and “Do you think it’s true?” could be heard from separate conversations, and you wished more than anything that you’d just done your own damn laundry. 

Your face fell in your hands, and you started going over all the things that could happen. Dutch could hate you for lying to him, and kick you out, banishing you as far as you could go. Or, since you were a newbie, and didn’t have the trust factor built yet, maybe they would just shoot you dead. That may have been an extreme idea, but with your rapidly beating heart and increasing worry, things like that were bound to spill in. Not like you’d been in a gang before, you didn’t exactly get an etiquette and rule book when you arrived. Who knew what would happen to you. Nothing good, that you knew.

When Arthur finally opened the flap and leaned down inside the small dwelling, you knew it was time to face the music. 

“Dutch is back, Susan’s tellin’ him everything,” he sighed, looking over your face and feeling a sense of guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop all of this. When you first arrived he thought maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but having experienced this much drama in just the past hour has most definitely led him to believe he was wrong. 

When you stayed silent, and didn’t really give him a reaction of any kind, he could tell you were hit hard with the anxiety and shock of it all. He couldn’t ever get you to shut up, and he often didn’t want to, most of all now when you looked like a scared animal. 

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt ya, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shook your head, and against your hardest efforts, tears were backing your eyes, looking for ways to escape. He hadn’t ever seen you like this, and it wasn’t pleasant. 

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted. You liked it here. You weren’t lonely here, and you had a family… or at least you did an hour ago. You didn’t know where you stood with half of these people. 

He couldn’t speak for Dutch or Hosea, or anyone else really, but he could speak for himself. 

“I don’t want you to, either…”

When Arthur heard his name called, he leaned back, looking in the direction of his father figure, looking angrier than a pack of hungry wolves. 

“Yeah?” 

“Tell Brooks to see me, now.”

You didn’t even need the message relayed. You stood up, and followed Arthur out of the tent, your head down as you made the distance to the center tent, the big one you’d been at only a bit ago with council from your leader. You only hoped he’d be so forgiving when he found out you lied to him. 

Arthur got into the tent first, mumbling a few things you were a little distracted to hear. You did catch the small ‘don’t be too hard on her’ fall from his mouth, though. 

You sat down on the box chest, close to the exit of the tent, just in case things went south and you had to run. Not that you were thinking about running, but again, a million scenarios crossed your mind. 

“Arthur, wait outside.”

You grew more tense as soon as those words were uttered, and so did Arthur it would seem. 

“Dutch, I think I should-”

“Wait. Outside.” 

He reluctantly did as he was told, walking far enough away that he wouldn’t be reprimanded, but still in your eye-line so he could keep an eye on you. He trusted Dutch with the gang members, but if he was considering kicking you out, that made you fair game. 

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” he took a long drag of the cigar he held between his fingers, blowing the smoke out when he turned his head to the side. “You know why you’re here.”

“I reckon I do,” you answered quietly, trying to keep an ounce of confidence though your entire body felt like it would start shaking in fear. 

“I could have you stripped for the whole camp to see, but for propriety’s sake I’m only going to ask you this once… is it true?” He asked, his tone less stern but still eager. 

“Yes.”

He sighed, having heard the softness in your voice since you came in, he already knew. You’d never shown this side of yourself to the camp before. You were always confident, sure of yourself, cocky even. To think it was an act boiled his skin… but he wanted to take his time with this. You still had capabilities the likes he’s never seen, and if he wasn’t careful they could one day be used against him. You didn’t know about the O’Driscolls yet, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have you running off and joining them. It would be the death of the Van Der Linde gang, of that he was certain. 

“I’m gonna decide what to do with you, but until then, you stay out of my sight.”

He pointed outside of the tent, and you were honestly surprised that this was the extent of his questioning. Nothing about the lies? About the history? About anything at all?

You gave him a double glance, but scurried away in fears he might change his mind and tear you to shreds on the spot. You walked hastily towards Arthur, your face gaining more color to it once you were out of the line of danger. 

“You alright?” He asked, his furrowed brows reflecting his concern. 

“No,” you let out with a dramatic scoff. Your flare for over exaggeration was sometimes quite amusing to him. He just dropped his head and chuckled. 

“You’re fine,” he patted your shoulder before stepping past you and going to talk to Dutch. What he knows is that Susan Grimshaw spilled every nasty detail of this afternoon to the camp leader, but he also knows that he hasn’t had his say yet, and when it comes down to it, Dutch will side with his loyal enforcer over a disgruntled Miss Grimshaw. 

Dutch was stretching out his arms, sore from the ride in and out of town. It was a scouting trip, really, but it was enough to make him ache when all the stress was added. 

“First John leaving, now this. I can’t seem to catch a break, can I?” Dutch sighed out after his words, the toll they took on his mind caused him to shake his head of so many thoughts. 

“This ain’t so bad,” Arthur began, tilting his head from side to side. 

“How could you possibly think that?”

Arthur shrugged, reasoning with himself a few options before saying them out loud. 

“S’not like she did any harm. Only thing that’s come of it is a bit of surprise to everyone…” he trailed, sitting across from the man he called his father figure and his friend. The tension seemed to ease up the second he neared the man, but there was more to be done to diffuse the situation, and he was all too happy to insert himself as the cause of said diffusion. 

“She lied about who she is, for all we know she could be working with local law, or worse, the pinkertons.” 

Dutch’s raised concerns nearly made Arthur chuckle. When you first got here, facade or not, you were still just lost and looking for somewhere to call home. There were never any motives behind your gang participation other than needing a family.

“We haven’t had them on our trail in ages. Coming here, we finally put a stop to their sniffin’ around. Besides, she’s been the reason for our successful jobs lately… she’s been loyal enough to save my life despite our differences.”

“But she lied to us,” Dutch kept driving his point. A liar’s a liar, and they lie about other things. 

“She’s a scared kid, Dutch. She just wants a place to be,” Arthur defended, his arguments becoming more close and personal, which led Dutch to connect some other dots. 

He sighed, looking at Arthur and coming to an understanding of what he knew were past events. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” 

Arthur dropped his head into a subtle nod, not yet meeting Dutch’s eyes for his fear of a bad reaction. 

“Since the week she got here.”

Dutch had to laugh, because of course he did. Arthur was more in tune with the members of camp than he could ever be, and more than they could be with each other. He was like Hosea that way, his ability to connect and grow relationships with others was just a natural gift. He often thought it stemmed from Arthur’s great love of the unknown, and his endless curiosity. 

“How’d you figure it out?” 

“I didn’t, until I found some uh… rather feminine items in her saddle bag. She fessed up pretty quickly to me,” Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his nerves settling when he knew he wouldn’t be in any trouble. 

“Well,” Dutch started, coming to the edge of his open tent, looking for the troubled recruit among the busy movement of the camp. “We’ve taken in much worse, and it’s always been in our favor. And you’re right… She's just a scared kid. A scared kid with the quickest hands I’ve ever seen.”

There was a moment, and then Arthur smiled.

“So… She’s free n’ clear?” He asked, his tone hopeful, which Dutch noticed. Perhaps Red had made amends after all, and just as Dutch promised, Arthur was in her corner. This wasn’t her time of need, per se, but he knew she would have him when it arrived.

“I suppose so, although… I’m not going to be responsible for the court of public opinion,” he gestured to everyone in the camp, frantically working around just to keep themselves busy. With all the chaos going on, it’s the only thing they can do not to sit and gossip, which they do anyway. 

“I reckon I better keep her away from Susan?” 

“With a ten foot pole, preferably,” Dutch rolled his eyes. That woman was full of determination, and it could be both a great strength, as well as her worst weakness. 

Arthur smiled, ready to go make good on a promise he’d been waiting on for some time. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

-

You didn’t know if Arthur’s conversation with Dutch would benefit you or condemn you, but you didn’t stick around to find out. He’d found you saddling your horse, just in case a hasty escape needed to be made. Yes, perhaps your delusions were getting a bit out of hand. 

“Where you goin’?”

“Depends,” you started, “How mad is he?”

Arthur huffed and grabbed your wrist, stilling your movements. “He ain’t mad.”

“No?” You could hardly believe it. “He seemed riled up to me.”

“I talked to him,” he explained, but gave no further intel. 

“You got magic words or somethin’?” You chuckled, slightly more relaxed since the news came better than you hoped, and Arthur wasn’t dragging you back to be punished or anything. “What’d you tell him?” 

“That you were gonna be loyal… and that you’d been scared.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to play off his last words like they weren’t true. “I ain’t scared.”

“Really? You were about to run, weren’t you?” He pointed to your full saddle bag and stocked up horse, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice. 

You caved. 

“He gave me a little fright is all,” you toed your boot into the dirt as you spoke, looking back up to find him nodding at your horse. 

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet. 

You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip. 

“Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?” 

It was just a joke, but he was getting tired of the overly dramatic interactions. He wasn’t sure what all transpired in your past, albeit knowing more than everyone else… even still, he figured there had to be something that gave you your theatrical touch. 

“Knock it off, would ya?”

“Sorry.”

The ride wasn’t long, but the sun was down when you both tied your horses to the poll in front of the general store. You’d been in here a few times, and the man behind the counter always cowered in fear of Texas Red the unkillable. No matter your manners or gentility, that’s just how it was. 

“What’re we doin’ here?” You adjusted your hat, wiping some sweat off your forehead and following him up the front steps. 

“I remember sayin’ I’d get you a dress a while back, we’re here to make good on it.”

You stopped in your tracks, a wide smile blossoming on your face when you heard him say it. He’d remembered, and been waiting for it since the night he uttered the words. 

He noticed you weren’t close behind him, and turned, catching the sweet expression you wore, but brushing it off with a sideways smile. 

“C’mon now, gotta pick it out.” 

You followed after him, and once inside, the man behind the counter seemed to be nervous, as usual. He didn’t seem to be weary of having you both in, just a bit anxious. Arthur knew his presence held power, but he figured with your reputation in this town, and others around… your presence was bound to hold more. 

“What can I do for you? Need more socks?” The man asked you kindly, and you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. 

“No, we’re uh… we’re here to get a dress for my wife,” Arthur spoke evenly, his confidence showing through when he had to put on a show. 

Your head snapped to him, and though you knew he was intending to buy the dress for you, a thought sprang into your mind. Abigail. She was going to be his wife. 

This sweet little moment, with Arthur keeping his promise, and making a big to-do over your acceptance into camp, was all part of your own little fantasy. It wouldn’t last, and when you returned to camp, he’d be with her again, helping with Jack. You tried to shake the thought from your mind, wanting to enjoy this sliver of time with him. 

“Of course! I’ve got a new selection,” he pulled out the catalog, and opened the pages to a section with different types of skirts, petticoats, chemises, and corsets. All were beautiful, but your eye was drawn to a more simple style. It was a work dress, which would be far more practical for you than any of the other ones. 

“I’m not too good with all this. What do you think, Red? Which one would she like best?” He tossed you a smirk, leaning his elbow on the counter while he let you browse over the pages a bit longer, turning them over with a furrowed brow of focus. 

“What color does this one come in?” You asked the man over the counter, keeping your act up, but letting your hints of excitement show through. 

“That one is a nice pale blue, perfect for spring and summer time,” he spoke firmly, becoming more relaxed the longer you both were in the store. Yes, he’d heard the whispers, and for you, he’d actually seen your acts of a quick trigger. But here, you didn’t seem like a threat, so he stopped acting like you were.

“Blue, huh… Might bring out her eyes a bit, hey Arthur?” Now it was your turn to smirk, and he chuckled, nodding back to you and tapping the page twice with a heavy finger. 

“You’re right it would, make em’ look like crystal,” he played along, making you blush under the brim of your hat, unbeknownst to the man behind the counter. 

“It’s gotta be that one, then.”

Arthur chuckled, counting out the cash that the dress price was listed under, tossing it down on the counter and nodding to the man. 

“You heard the kid, we’ll take that one,” he spoke in a playful tone, ignoring the movements of the man as he scurried to the back rooms, getting your dress pieces together. 

Arthur lifted the brim of your hat, and smiled genuinely at the look on your face. It was excited, sweet, and grateful. He wanted to buy you the entire stock of the store just to ensure that look stayed on your face, no matter the irrationality of it. He’d become quite accustomed to giving you his time and his efforts, and this was no different. The only difference is that now he wanted to, wholeheartedly. The deal you’d struck with him, the one where you were going to teach him your methods of shooting faster, were now null and void. He didn’t want to take anything from you, he just wanted to give.

When the store worker returned with a large box in hand, Arthur thanked him for his time, carrying the thing over his shoulder and heading for the door, which you opened for him. 

Getting outside, you went for the horses, but he stopped you with a swat of your hand away from the reins. 

“Can’t go back yet, gotta see how this looks on ya,” he insisted, nodding for you to follow him yet again. He walked for a bit before coming up on the shed with a small lantern inside. It looked like it only housed tools and ropes and things of the like, but there was space enough to change in. “Came across this when I was out one day. Took a whole nap before someone realized I was in here.” 

“How convenient,” you teased, taking the box from his hands and eagerly walking into the confined space. 

“I’ll be out here,” he mumbled as you shut the door, putting a shovel against it since it didn’t really even close all the way. 

You knew he wasn’t the peeping type, so you began tearing away at your clothes, the ones that had been worn completely through by now and needed replacing anyway. You had more back at camp, but you had always missed dresses. This would be the first of many you would probably buy for yourself, but it was going to remain your favorite, because of who it came from. 

It was just like clock work, muscle memory helping you to remember all the little ties and snaps that needed to be in place, the corset laces that needed to be pulled enough to fit the outer fabrics. You knew you probably needed a good hair brushing and face washing to actually look like a young woman again, but for now, the dress was doing wonders on your self esteem… or at least it did until you realized you couldn’t finish putting it on by yourself. The buttons on the back went up higher than your shoulder blades, and sat in a near impossible spot to reach. If there was a mirror, you could probably just contort yourself enough to get it together, but in a dark, barely lit tool shed, your options were limited. 

You sighed, pulling the shovel away from the door and peaking your head outside. Arthur had nearly gone through an entire cigarette in the time you took to change. 

“Arthur?” You asked timidly. 

“M’here, you alright?” 

“I can’t reach the back,” you admitted, just slightly embarrassed. “Can you give me a hand?” 

He was all too happy to comply, stomping out the cigarette on the ground and taking quick steps to reach you. “Turn around.”

You did as he told you, turning so he had access to the open back of the dress. He couldn’t see you all too well in this light, but even from what he could see, a few words entered his mind from a past conversation you had with him. 

I used to be quite the stunner… and he surely believed it. 

His fingers caressed the exposed skin of your back before buttoning the fabric closed, smoothing it down over your shoulders and watching the way it fit you perfectly. 

“Don’t mention this to Abigail,” you joked, turning back around and trying to keep the mood light. It was beginning to feel too intimate, and you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that way with Arthur anymore. 

“Why?” 

“Well, I might be a bit old fashioned, but isn’t it frowned upon for a taken man to be helping another woman with her dress?” 

It was just another joke, but he seemed to be completely thrown off by the implications. 

“I ain’t a taken man,” he confessed, looking at you with a stare that was all too deep, and all too consuming. He needed to stop that, but you didn’t have the heart to make him. 

“Not yet,” you corrected, but again it was you in the wrong. 

“No,” he shook his head, trying to bring a serious tone to the conversation. “I’m not gonna marry Abigail.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, thinking about all the times when he collapsed in her tent with Jack, just to get up and help him in the night. He was Jack’s new father, wasn’t he? That was the deal he made. 

“Why not? I thought that you were- well since you were helping with Jack and… what about your deal?”

“I said I was gonna do right by this boy, and I am… But Abigail won’t have me,” he shrugged, admitting to the rejection she gave of his offer. “She’s still in love with John, n’ I can understand it.”

It should have made you feel a bit of sadness, to know that even with all that Arthur was, someone would turn him away like that. ‘Abigial won’t have me’ sounded like perhaps he thought himself not good enough, just as he always does. Despite all of this, you didn’t feel sorrow, you felt an abundance of joy. A wide smile spread across your cheeks, and he furrowed his brow. 

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you dropped the smile and shook it off, running a hand up his arm and giving it a sincere squeeze. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you’ve meant well.”

“S’alright. Hosea’s been tellin’ me since Jack was born that I shouldn’t have offered. He doesn’t think we’re right for one another, somethin’ like that.” 

“I agree, you’re not right for each other,” you spoke out loud, though that thought was meant only for your head. 

Arthur seemed to be catching on slightly to your behavior, stepping a bit closer and staring downwards at you. 

“Yeah? And who am I right for?” He teased, watching the redness of your cheeks spread down your neck and shoulders with every breath you took. 

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” you did your best to counter his taunts, stepping away from him and going to collect your old clothes from the shed. Once they were in hand you turned back to the opening of the alley, making way for the horses. “You coming?” 

And of course, he followed, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. 

-

The next day fared better than you thought it would, if you’re being honest. 

You didn’t really know why, if Dutch had said anything, or if Hosea did, but after you returned to camp the previous night, everyone seemed to be acting just fine. They treated you differently for sure, but not badly. In fact, you noticed the men had a certain kind of reverence to you that they never held before. The same they did with the other women. 

Maybe it was just the beautiful dress that Arthur bought for you, the light and pure color of it giving you a sense of being ethereal, having finally exposed the raw feminine beauty that was hiding for so long. You reckon you’d even start growing out your hair again, as the short style coming to your chin was not how you preferred to have it in the first place.

You still went to work doing the same tasks you normally did, but were careful not to rip your dress or over-exert yourself, given you were still in the same physical condition as the day before. 

“Charl- I mean, Miss Brooks?” 

You heard a voice chirp softly from beside you, and you dropped the wagon supplies for now to walk over to the owner of said voice, Tilly.

“Yes, Miss Tilly?” You extended a smile, and she smiled back, albeit a tight and awkward one from where she was sitting. You took a step or two closer, and she had to shake her head after getting a better look at you. 

“I just-” she cut herself short on account of the words already jumbling in her head. “I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”

You furrowed your brow to her, unsure of what she could have possibly meant. 

“Why would there be?” 

“Well, if you can recall,” she started, a nervous chuckle in her speech. “I tried to make some… advances towards you. Back when I thought you were uh… a young man.”

You smiled again and ducked your head, a scoff of laughter and a nod of your head brought about less tension. It was no big deal. 

“Don’t worry yourself, Miss Tilly. I was the one who tricked ya, I oughta be apologizing. Probably should to Abigail, too.”

“Abigail?”

You tilted your head, recalling the scene. About two weeks before Jack was born. You’d done the same thing Arthur did, with not a care of revealing yourself in the future. 

“Before John even left, I offered her to be Jack’s ‘father’ when he was born. I guess I was pretty certain at the time no one was gonna find out,” you explained, leaning against the wagon she sat by, mending a shirt that looked like Arthur’s. You could tell by the wear and tear around the shoulders, where his broadness likely just caused the fabric to break down faster. 

“Could you really have gone on like that?” 

“I don’t know,” you pondered, another small laugh escaping you. “Maybe not, since I had to tell everyone I was eighteen just for them to believe it.”

“You aren’t eighteen?” She seemed surprised. Maybe you just had a young face. 

“No, ma’am. Twenty two nearing twenty three as a matter of fact.”

“I’ll say,” she tutted, throwing down the shirt she was finished with, and picking up a new one. “You had us all convinced. Makes me wonder where you really came from.”

You thought about telling her, but the story was long and today was a busier day than before. There was actual work to be done in preparing for the next job, a few days ahead. 

“Some place I didn’t wanna be,” you chided, stepping away from the wagon, nodding to her in thanks for the small chat. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Alright. I’ll catch you around,” she spoke sweetly, a kind look of relaxation on her face, now that she knew where she stood. 

You went back to work, making sure that neither Dutch nor Hosea saw you with idle hands today. You wanted to make sure that no matter what happened now, you wouldn’t be cast aside. You still had the abilities they needed, but with a skirt on your hips, they saw you differently, and it was up to you to show them you were not going to be ignored when it came to jobs in the future. 

You hated that the rest of the women in camp were just seen as stationary helpers, only capable of mending clothes or cleaning up the camp, or even just laying the groundwork in town for the men to actually pull jobs. You’ve seen Abigail in action, she was smart and cunning and had a great way with words, she could be the difference in things staying civil or having a shoot out during a quiet robbery, but the men overlook her gifts. You know the women in this camp have great potential, and perhaps if they let you continue as you have been, they will open the opportunities for the others as well.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo @hollyskjlap

[mercy-thompson-fanfiction]

Honestly, Leah being the epitome of a mother/woman making one of (possibly) the toughest calls in Wild Sign with her son puts the Dr. Wallace thing in a slightly different perspective.

I say “slightly” because it was always there and just not really talked about.

Imagine either not being asked your opinion at all or (worse) being asked and ignored. You think turning him isn’t going to work out. You say so. It doesn’t matter.

He’s a werewolf now, but it’s not looking good. You point out that he should have been culled already for the safety of everyone and your husband can’t bring himself to do it. Bran is possibly making excuses, blaming her for being paranoid, or just ignoring her altogether because he won’t even entertain the possibility that she’s right. Only to turn around and have to do it.

Hell right that man is sitting front and center at that funeral. It’s his own damn fault. Which like, yeah that’s petty. I probably wouldn’t do that myself but I see how we potentially got there.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Outsiders Prompt Fic #11- "This ain't my first rodeo kid"

This one was requested by @whitemanswh0re3 who requested prompt 10 for Tim Shepard. I had a lot of fun with this one, and got to include some Curly and Angela shenanigans so I hope y'all enjoy!

****************

Tim should have known better.

His first mistake was forgetting to hide ma’s liquor bottles before she woke up that morning. His second was paying more attention to Manuel’s report on their business with the Brumly boys than to his pissed off little sister, and his third was leaving the twins alone for more than five minutes without adequate supervision.

This is his fault, but all Angela’s doing. She’s mad at him so now she's getting even, and shit he’s gonna have a miserable night isn’t he? He should have known better. She’s not one to mess with. He supposes it’s his own fault- he raised her to take no shit, but honestly, she's not supposed to turn his teachings against him. She’d wanted his attention before and he’d ignored her, so now she’d gone and made it impossible for him to ignore her a second longer.

“Timmy!” Ma’s eyes are jewel bright, the booze making her happy before the comedown makes her mad. That’s fine. That’s par for the course. “Carinõ, come sit with us.”

He takes in the scene in front of him. Bottles and powders- familiar evidence of Ma’s debauchery- covering every surface, his baby brother on the floor, half hidden behind the couch, his little sister bleary eyed and all but collapsed into Ma’s side. 

“Come sit with us,” he can hear the deadly disbelief in his voice, “Come sit with us? With you and my seven year old baby siblings you let get drunk with you?”

She scoffs at him. Actually scoffs. 

“They’ve only had a sip or two, they’re fine.”

He should have known something like this would happen the minute Angel started sucking up to Ma. Angela hates Ma. Of course she had ulterior motives. How could he be so stupid?

“They! Are! Seven! Years! Old!” He all but howls, “You shouldn’t have given them any! Jesus Christ woman, I know you decided not to be our mother but you could at least use some goddamn common sense! You don’t give children alcohol for fucks sakes.”

“Angel wanted some.” She’s petulant, like a scolded child, and Tim hates that he’s stuck raising her right along with his siblings. 

“Angel wants a lotta things, and at least half of them will kill her,” he levels a glare at his sister, who doesn’t seem to really hear him before turning back to Ma “she’s gotta learn the meanin’ of no and you bet your ass I’m gonna teach it to her just as soon as I make sure they ain’t gonna die of alcohol poisonin’ because of you.”

Ma doesn’t look ashamed. She never does, never once feels guilty when she should no matter what she’s done or how much she’d hurt them. Nothing is ever her fault, not when she didn't buy enough food to feed them when they were little, not when she forgot they existed and left for a week when she went on a bender, not when her boyfriends beat on him and Curly or got too friendly with Angela. To Maria, nothing is ever her fault. Letting the twins go hog wild on her Jose Cuervo won’t be any different. She’ll blame him or fate or her piece of shit ex husband, if all else fails she’ll call it an accident but she’ll never admit that it’s all her fault. Her fault for never getting to know her children as more than dolls to play with when she's bored, her fault for giving up on mothering when he was four and never trying again, even when she had new babies, her fault for being so pathetically broken she doesn’t know- or worse just doesn’t care- what giving free access to her poison of choice could do to children who are already too used to numbing their pain in any way they can find.

He hates her. He hates her so much. 

Curly is sprawled across the floor by the couch, glassy eyed and babbling to himself. The kid already never shuts up and whatever poison Ma had given him seems to have cut off his filter altogether. It don’t matter that no ones listening to him- Curly’s off in his own little world, entertaining himself. He’s a lonely kid, Tim’s seen it, seen how he’s always a bit too strange, a bit too callous, a bit too wild to every truly fit in- he supposes it’s good the kid has learned to entertain himself. Even still, he hates seeing it like this. 

“What did they have?” he grits through a mask of forced calm. He’ll deal with Ma later. For now, the kids have to come first, and per usual he's the only one around willing to recognize that. “How much did you give them?”

“Really Timmy, I don’t know what you’re all up in arms about, my mama got me started early-”

“-Look how well that turned out for you, huh?” He sneers, glad to see her flinch. “Now I ain’t gonna ask you again: how much did they have and what exactly did you give them?”

“They been sippin’ from my bottle with me,” she holds up her good old Jose Cuervo bottle that Tim wants to smash against the fucking wall, “and I think Angel stole a bite or two of brownie when my back was turned.”

“She got into the grass?”

“It ain’t my fault! They’re devils, both of them. They wouldn’t listen to me when I said it wasn’t for kids, she just wanted sweets!”

“Fuck!” He kicks the beat up coffee table sending empties crashing to the floor, “fuck!”

“If they get proper sick from this,” he whirls on Maria, jabbing a finger in her direction and she cringes back. He knows he looks like Pa when he’s mad like this, it’s why usually he fights so hard to keep his temper under control. RIght now though, he doesn’t much care if he reminds her of him. Let her be scared. He hopes she feels even half the terror he’s feeling right now. “If I gotta take them to the ER or Curly chokes on his own puke or Angel finds she’s got a taste for the good stuff at seven fucking years old- I swear to god I will kill you. So you better pray they’re alright.”

She swallows, suddenly quiet and the only noise in the room is Curly’s incessant babbling, but Tim doesn’t drop eye contact and she must know he means it because without another word she rises from the couch, and stumbles down the hall closing the door of her room behind her with a snap. 

Tim sighs. One problem dealt with, two to go, one of whom is having a conversation with the ceiling and the other of which seems fascinated by the feeling of the couch cushion against her cheek. 

Jesus Christ.

The twins have always been small, wiry and wild as any feral animal, and he fears it’s yet another disadvantage working against them tonight, as the alcohol and the weed is bound to do a lot more damage to their systems than it would to anyone actually old enough to be playing with substances. However, their is one advantage to them being small that Tim learned very early on to use to his advantage, and that’s this: he can still manage to pick them both up at once.

He scoops Angie up first, fixing her nightgown which has gotten twisted around her neck, and she rests her head on his shoulder, but apart from that doesn’t give any indication that she knows who he is or what’s going on. She gets like this sometimes anyway, quits talking and gets real blank looking so he can’t really tell if it’s the weed hitting her hard or not. Curly on the other hand, grins as soon as he sees him and doesn’t stop talking for even a second as Tim settles him on his hip and starts carrying them down the hall to their bedroom. They should’ve been asleep ages ago, and they’ll probably crash soon regardless, but it isn’t gonna offer him any sort of peace now is it, not when he’s gonna have to wake up every hour to check that they’re still breathing. 

“...an’ mama’s friend Mark came over for a bit an’ I think he’s mean but mama said we had to be nice or we’d have to go away again and then Angela stole her brownie and didn’t even share with me e’en though I gave her an easter chocklit and then mama got mad at us for fighting so she said I could have more of her special drink so it was fair but her special drink hurt my mouth but I got in trouble for spittin’ it out an’ Mark belted me a goodun’ so I had to swallow all of it-”

“Curly,” Tim cut him off firmly. That’s how he always has to do stuff with the kid. Firm. Otherwise Curly don’t pay attention long enough to listen to anything, “what do you mean that bastard belted you?”

“He hit me,” Curly told him simply, and Tim hated how matter of fact he sounded. No seven year old should sound so blase about being smacked, “a goodun’ in the back, but I didn’t cry ‘cause I know you wouldn’t an’ I’m tough like you so I just glared at him and called him a motherfucker like you woulda-”

“Curly, let me see your back.”

He eased the kid’s t-shirt over Curly’s scrawny shoulders, feeling a new spike of rage at the hand shaped purple bruise blooming across Curly's shoulder. That asshole. Tim was gonna hunt him down and give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d learn not to mess with a Shepard ever again, and maybe he’d learn a lesson about beating little kids too.

“You did good kid,” Tim told him, fixing Curly’s t-shirt, “that bastard ain’t gonna take a swing at you again, y’hear?”

“I’ll beat him up if he tries. You can help,” Curly offers magnanimously, “you’re real good at beatin’ people up. I bet me’n you could beat up anyone if we tried. Even a football player soc.”

“Even a football player soc.” Tim agrees, hating the softness that’s welling in his chest. He’s supposed to be angry at them- they’re big enough to know they aren’t supposed to talk to Ma if he isn’t around and he’s had the talk about not eating or drinking anything Ma gives them more than once- but it’s hard when the booze has made Curly so sweet, and Angel so cuddly, curled into his lap. They’ll be grumpy tomorrow, sick and sore, and hopefully that’ll teach them a lesson, but for now he figures he can afford to be a little extra nice to them. After all, it doesn’t sound like Ma or latest her boyfriend had been earlier.

“Angel’s bein’ real quiet doncha think?” Curly really couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it. Tim just hums, shifting so he’s leaning against the wall, Angela in his lap and Curly leaning into his side. “She says that brownie made her feel all floaty and thet talkings making her sick, but that drink made my head cloudy too and I don’t feel sick so I thought it was maybe an al-er-gic reaction like Saide Thomason had at school except I made her blow on my hand and  could feel the air so I guess she’s still breathing, which is good because I don’t want Angel to stop breathin’.”

He pats her cheek none too gently but Angela doesn’t seem to mind, offering him a dopey smile,far less guarded than her usual one. Yeah, she’s real out of it, but Curly’s assessment seems to ring true, and Tim thinks she’ll be ok.

“Angel’s my best friend, did you know?” Curly informs him, before looking down at his twin sister, “You’re my best friend Angel, even though you are plain old mean sometimes. It’s ok though ‘cause I am too sometimes, and usually you’re just mean ‘cause you're sad, and I figure that’s alright. Ponyboy says you should try not to be mean ever but he also called Dillon an asshole at recesss yesterday so he’s a hyp- hypo-critter or whatever it’s called when you’re a big dirty liar-”

Curly’s mouth was still spilling words at warp speed but his eyes were starting to droop, and Tim figured he’d talk himself to sleep pretty soon. Angel had already nodded off a minute ago, and the even breaths puffing out of her mouth between snores reassured him she was doing alright and wasn’t gonna overdose the way he’d been worried about since Ma let slip she’d got ahold of that brownie. Was he still gonna wait up to make sure? Obviously, but at least there wasn’t panicky tension thrumming under his skin anymore.

Curly dropped off to sleep exactly the way Tim knew he would, cutting himself off mid sentence and slumping against him. Tim sighed, waiting a minute to make sure he was truly out before carefully shifting him so he was curled up beside Angela, head tilted so he wouldn’t choke if he threw up in his sleep. Tim climbed off the bed, making sure not to jostle either of them lest he accidentally wake them up. Angel was blitzed outta her mind, and Curly had drunk himself into a near stupor, but he still wasn’t about to risk it.

He dragged Curly’s mattress across the room so he was right next to them when they inevitably woke up fussy, and quickly fell into a fitful doze.

He jerked awake an hour later, and after checking to make sure both kids were still sound asleep and triple checking they were breathing ok, fell back onto his own mattress.

The next time he wakes it’s to the sound of whimpering. 

Internally cursing and blinking blearily he sits up to see Curly twisted in the blankets, hair flat on one side and eyes welling with unshed tears.

“Tim?” Curly sounds very small, “I don’t feel good.”

“Ok kid,” Tim sighs, swinging Curly into his arms and carrying him down to the bathroom, “it’s alright. This is just what happens when you drink Ma’s special drinks.”

“I don't wanna be sick,” Curly whines, a dangerous wobble in his voice, “I didn’t even like her special drink.”

Tim really, really can’t handle the waterworks right now.

“It’s alright kid, just let yourself throw up and you’ll feel better.”

Curly does, managing to get the whole mess in the bowl and isn’t that a fucking miracle since usually the bathroom looks like a crime scene whenever the twins get sick. Tim rubs his back, pushing his curls out of his face until he’s sure Curly’s done, then wets a corner of the hand towel with water and uses it to wipe his baby brother’s face.

“You’re real good at this,” Curly mumbles, already half asleep as Tim carries him back to bed.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the sleeping kid’s forehead as he lays him next to Angela, “this ain’t my first rodeo kid.”

Curly snuffles a little, loud even in sleep, and  Angela somehow managed to headbut him in the shoulder and toss an arm over his shoulders without waking up.

Tim regards them both a second longer, watches their chests rise and fall- breathing, alive, safe, if only for the moment, and drops back onto his own mattress for the night.

He'll be here when they wake up, but for now he’s gonna get some much needed sleep.

[stranger-things-yapper]

I'm being assaulted by henderhop headcanons in the middle of the night, so here, have A Situation™:

El is very touchy. She likes to physically hold the people she likes - hold their arm, their hand, any part within reach depending on the circumstance.

So, I imagine her getting more and more comfortable touching Dustin as they become closer as friends. Problem is, the only person Dustin has seen her act like this with is Mike, so he doesn't know what to do when it happens. He doesn't want to think there's some romantic implication behind her touches, but he can't control how on edge it makes him since the only one to ever touch him like that was Suzie. So, whenever El grabs his arm while they are walking side by side, Dustin gets really torn about removing her hand and it being seen as a rejection of HER, and leaving it where it is and suffering to act normal throughout their entire interaction.

Unfortunately for him, El starts to have a lot of fun with how he stammers through dialogue when she touches him, how he gets flustered and red. So, she gets bolder. She jumps on his back out of nowhere, she hugs him from behind, she nudges her head against his shoulder, she lays her head on his lap unprompted, she squishes his cheeks with her palms while he's explaining things. And worse of all... She starts caressing his skin when she's bored, juat absentmindedly, because she likes the feeling of it in her hands. Playing with the fingers on his hand, or running her hand slowly up and down his forearm, or even rubbing softy at the skin of his knee when it's exposed.

And all that just makes Dustin confused and wanting to implode, because "she's a friend, she's JUST A FRIEND, he shouldn't be feeling anything towards this, he's a bad friend for thinking anything different could be her reasoning, and he should control himself" but her hands are soft and light and the trails they leave on his skin just make him want her to keep touching him and he's gonna die. This is gonna kill him, he's not making it past high school.

So he goes to Steve for advice. Dustin tells him how he wants El to stop because it makes him feel weird (and he's careful to not specify HOW weird) because he's afraid it makes Mike uncomfortable (Mike does not seem to care at all, but if he tells Steve his real motives, Steve will try and play wingman and that's NOT what he wants right now) because El is still his ex and Dustin is his friend. And Steve has nothing, but Robin does: "return her touches. If she doesn't want to be touched by you like that, she'll see it as 'she sent you the wrong memo', and she'll stop the touches altogether". Which made sense in a weird way, but hey. Girls are weird, so it might work. And it is also the only strategy he has, so he gives it a try.

El grabs his hand during lunch while everyone was conversing around the table, and starts rubbing her thumb slowly over his palm. He then uses his other hand to grab her wrist as gently as possible, rubbing his own thumb back and forth against her skin. He tries to not focus on how soft her skin feels, and looks at El's face trying to catch her reaction. She just looks up at him, smiles and keeps her movements.

Well, that didn't work. Maybe if he initiated the touch, it would work? So he tries again, putting his arm around her shoulders while they are walking to class. Instead of flinching away, or at least tensing up under his arm, she just. Puts her arm around his back, resting her hand on the side of his hip, without missing a step of their walk. And now they are just walking to class while hugging. And her face is way too close when she turns to speak to him. Not good, not good. In his mind, he tells the butterflies in his stomach to shut up and quiet down.

Okay, maybe too friendly, she's seen Eddie do the same move with the guys countless times. Maybe it needs to feel more romantic. So when she's at his house to study, and they have a break to watch TV and eat a snack, he tries one last time. El's eating a bag of chips, sitting on the couch. Dustin sits right by her side, closer than usual, and puts his arm around her once again. Surely she'd be uncomfortable now, right? This is the classic move the lead of a romantic movie pulls on the heroine! She no doubt knows what this means, no ambiguity possible!

And instead of recoiling, she justs huddles closer to him, leaning into his chest and folding her legs up on the couch, practically laying down over him. Dustin's mouth hangs open in barely contained shock, and El just looks up at him (too close, way too close, closer than in the school hallway) and puts a chip in his mouth. The saltiness wakes him up from his shock, and he fully takes in the situation they are in.

They look straight up like a couple, cuddling on the couch, watching TV and with her feeding him chips.

This was a disaster. Dustin would decimate Robin for her stupid, stupid idea. This was the worst plan imaginable.

Steve tries to come to Robin's defense and say that maybe, just maybe, El might actually like him. Dustin does not believe that for a single moment.

Meanwhile, El is just very happy that Dustin seems to be more comfortable with being so close to her. He's even touching her like she touches him! That warms her heart. Maybe he cares about her the same way she cares about him.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Akihiko isn’t surprised that two people were needed to draw blood from. Shinji’s a pretty big guy, especially compared to Mitsuru and Arisato, and he’d lost a lot of blood. He hopes it’s enough. It has to be enough.

The fact that Shinji could still die, even after the single stroke of pure, dumb luck that both Mitsuru and Arisato happened to have the right blood type (just like he doesn’t), makes Akihiko want to scream. 

He couldn’t get there in time to keep Shinji from being shot altogether. He can’t be the one to donate blood to replace what was lost. He couldn’t protect Shinji from the guilt that’s been eating him from the inside out all this time. He couldn’t do anything, and he still can’t. All he can do is sit here uselessly.

Akihiko wants to pace but he isn’t sure his legs would hold him up right now. It’s his thoughts that wander in circles instead, getting strange as they go through their loops.

He finds himself dwelling on a science lecture from months ago, about an old thought experiment with a cat. The hypothetical cat was sealed in a box with a capsule of poison that had an equal chance to break open and kill it or to remain intact and spare it, and no way to tell from the outside which had happened. The idea was that until the box was opened to check, the cat could be considered both alive and dead at the same time. 

Akihiko had thought the whole idea was ridiculous– the cat could only be dead or alive. It didn’t matter whether you knew which one it was, only one of those things could be true. He’d been quietly smug when the teacher had gone on to say that this was exactly the point of the thought experiment to begin with.

He’d been wrong, though, and so had that scientist.

Shinji’s in that in-between state right now, and so is Akihiko. 

And that’s before considering that even if (he’s never hated a word in his life as much as he hates ‘if’ in this moment) Shinji makes it through this– they still can’t know just how long Shinji has before the side-effects of the suppressants come for him. The box would be a little bigger, but they’d still be trapped inside with the specter of death.

He’s not sure how long he’s been going in mental spirals when a different doctor comes out. Akihiko vaguely gathers that the donation went well, that Mitsuru and Arisato are resting in one of the recovery rooms, and that they should be out momentarily. The doctor leaves again before he can gather his wits and ask for more news about Shinji.

Another indeterminate amount of time passes before Mitsuru makes her way out of a nearby room, rolling her sleeve down over the pad of gauze taped to the inside of her elbow. Arisato follows right on her heels. They look a little woozy, but otherwise no worse for wear. 

“I think,” Mitsuru begins, sounding far more weary than Akihiko ever remembers hearing her before. “That we should retire back to the dorms.”

Is she serious? There’s a hot flicker of anger in his chest. How in the world can she even consider leaving Shinji and Amada behind?

“Kirijo-senpai, are you sure?” Takeba asks. Good, at least he doesn’t have to be the one to speak up about it. He’s not sure he could stop himself from saying something he’ll regret. “I mean, I think we all would rather stay.”

“I understand that,” Mitsuru sighs. “But last night’s battle was a difficult affair, and what happened afterward… We’ve endured a long night with no sleep, and we have school in a few hours.”

“Are you for real?” Junpei mutters. “How’m I supposed to concentrate on school when this is going on?”

“I think it would be in our best interests to go home and…collect ourselves,” Mitsuru continues. “We are all depleted in both mind and body.” Akihiko can see where she’s coming from, at least. The bitter feeling that had been kindling behind his ribs flickers out, but he still says nothing. “I’ve asked the doctors to inform me when Amada will be discharged, as well as when Aragaki is out of surgery. We’ll know immediately if and when there are any changes.”

Aigis, of all people, is the one to speak up next. “I agree with Mitsuru-san,” she says. “All of you are exhibiting symptoms of acute exhaustion. Mitsuru-san and Minato-san are quite a few shades paler than before their extraction procedure as well. I detect that they are severely dehydrated.”

They should have at least been given some food and electrolyte drinks to offset that, but Akihiko supposes it wouldn’t really be surprising if they hadn’t been able to stomach any of them. He looks over the two of them again– Arisato’s gaze is unfocused and vague, and Mitsuru has dark circles under her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. He feels like an ass. 

“They needed a lot of blood,” Arisato supplies without inflection. It occurs to Akihiko that this is the first time he’s heard Arisato speak at all since he had called out to Takaya just before–

“Um…” Yamagishi stands up, worrying the edge of her uniform in her small hands. “I-I agree with Kirijo-senpai too. I think getting some rest will help us all. And– I don’t think Aragaki-senpai would be happy if we neglected our health.” 

Junpei sighs heavily. “Still dunno how the hell I’m supposed to deal with school right now…” In spite of his grievances, he stands up too. “But you got a point, Fuuka.”

“I guess if we have to…” Takeba doesn’t look pleased, but reluctantly she stands as well. “I wanna come back right after school though.”

“Of course,” Mitsuru replies with a nod. “However, I understand that all of this is…a lot, and that school might be too much right now. If it’s necessary, I can arrange for doctor’s notes to be provided, so that any absences today won’t be unexcused.”

“Well there you go, Junpei,” Takeba takes a light jab at him, but her heart doesn’t seem to be in it. “Now you don’t have to go to class.”

“Actually... I think I might go after all. I know I’m the one who said it ‘n’ all, but I think stayin’ in the dorm all day’ll just make me go crazy. At least at school, I’ll have other things to think about.”

The juniors eventually all decide in favor of attending class. At least he thinks that’s what they decide. Their voices start to blend together and muddle into meaningless noise. Akihiko’s attention drifts back towards the doors towards the surgical suite.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova's Notes - Dracula Daily - August 6

In which Mina is upset.....

"Another three days, and no news. This suspense is getting dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I should feel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that last letter."

:(((((( it feels like she's clinging to Jonathan's last letter like a lifeline and it's not one she can even trust, since it's so different from how he normally writes. It's so sad!!

"Last night was very threatening, and the fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it and learn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I write is hidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is grey—except the green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock; grey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the grey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey fingers."

I highlight this for two reasons: 1) a storm usually means Dracula is not too far off and 2) while it makes sense everything would look "grey", I wonder if this is also a symbol for how the world looks to her without Jonathan: grey. It's even worse that the very creature who caused her to be without Jonathan is likely causing the change in the weather as well.

"'I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he sat down beside me, he said in a very gentle way:— "'I want to say something to you, miss.' I could see he was not at ease, so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak fully..."

I love how compassionate Mina is for the Mr. Swales here. She immediately sees he's upset (she is very good at reading what others are thinking) and, rather than focus on her troubles, she takes his hand and lets him unburden himself to her. In turn, I commend Mr. Swales for taking the time to talk to Mina about this...

"'I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked things I've been sayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past; but I didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm gone. We aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don't altogether like to think of it, and we don't want to feel scart of it; an' that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer up my own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain't afraid of dyin', not a bit; only I don't want to die if I can help it. My time must be nigh at hand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to expect...'"

Mr. Swales 😭😭😭😭 this is actually such a sweet moment of introspection for him. He realizes he's using humor as a coping mechanism to get over his fear of death, but that doesn't excuse the fact he scared her in the process of doing so. It probably isn't the best apology by today's standards, but for an old curmudgeon, I think it's pretty good.

"'Some day soon the Angel of Death will sound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my deary!'—for he saw that I was crying—'if he should come this very night I'd not refuse to answer his call.'"

Nooooo Mina!!!! 🥺🥺🥺 Yeah, talking about dying isn't the best thing for her to hear right now.....not that she doesn't feel for the old man, but when you're worrying about your fiancé missing and possibly being dead, it's usually not great to hear about death from someone else....

"'There's something in that wind and in the hoast beyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It's in the air; I feel it comin'.'"

Oooo yep, definitely foreshadowing Dracula. 😬😬😬😬 I don't like that.

"After a few minutes' silence, he got up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and upset me very much."

Awwww, someone needs to comfort Mina about Jonathan and if I could hug her, I would!

"I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time kept looking at a strange ship."

Another person Mina has befriended!!! She's only been in Whitby for two weeks and has already talked to so many people. Love that for her!

"'I can't make her out,' he said; 'she's a Russian, by the look of her; but she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her mind a bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is steered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel; changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her before this time tomorrow.'"

A Russian ship going to Whitby that seems confused...oh no, I think I know what ship this is...looks like by tomorrow we'll know what happened to our last friend on the Demeter (and I don't think it's a good update).

Until the next one, my friends!

[dayseedrawz2]

This is gonna be in my drafts until I at least get out every design for [Ring-Misstress] so Idk how much time I got-

So yeah I decided that I'm gonna write this AU in chapters so that it makes more sense when I make content about it, and yall can ask about it ig-

This all takes place after the events of the real series (that of which we have yet to see, so anything different can just be part of an alternate timeline)

Without further ado... Let's get to it!!

[R-M Chapter 1: The Relaunch]

Dialog guide:

Narration

*Perfoming an action*

"Thinking"

Pomni

•Caine•

°○Bubble○°

◆Ragatha◆

Jax

~Gangle~

Kinger

Zooble

Flinally!! After what felt like forever!!! With help from the others, Pomni and Caine found something groundbreaking!! The Games source code! Mostly, everyone was there to look for the exit, but they ended up finding something else...

*sigh* There's nothing here... can we go back now??

Yeah, honestly, this was a complete waste of time...

◆Come on now, guys! I'm sure they know what they're doing!◆

~Wait, look! They're back out!!~

*Pomni and Caine exit a jumble of One's and Zero's*

It's not much, but I think we found something!! But... I'm just not sure what it is... *She hands a small glitching object to Caine*

•Huh... It's... it's a developer's note! I haven't come across one of these in a while!•

Wait, what!?

Oh dang, that's right, it forgot this was even a video game-

~What's it say??~

*Silence fell as Caine read the text out loud*

•Let's see... "With the noticeable decrease in 'Bugged characters', the game should be ready for relaunch soon!" Oh...•

What... does "Oh" mean..?

•...huh? Oh yes! Uh, you all know how we have a designated place for Abstractions so that they don't destroy the place... and you?? How you have helped prevent some altogether?•

Yes..?

•Well I only implemented it after people stopped working on this game. They still think the game is okay to publish!!•

And? This is great news!! People play the game, realize we are stuck in here, and then we get help!! What are you yapping about??

•That's the thing- If more people, who for one are mostly children, come across this, they won't be able to help, and if worse come to worse, get trapped with us!•

◆oh... oh my, that does sound awful...◆

•Normally I'd be ecstatic, but I don't think it would be good if that many more people got trapped at once... let alone kids...•

Gee, missing kids in a video game. How tragic...

~Hey!~

•Wait, there's something else on here to- a "debugging code??"•

Did someone say something about Bugs??

•No, far from it... hey... this is a copy of the code for my "Ringmaster powers!" Interesting...•

Really? That's what you call em??

•Why yes!! What else could they be?? Anyways... now what do we do about this approaching situation of ours...•

Well, we're not just gonna have a ton more people in here being watched by one incompetent AI!

•... You're absolutely right, Pomni dear! Your little remark had given me an idea that might just work! Now... just how does one copy this...•

To be continued...

[Yippee, finally!! Part 1 done!!]

The second part is right here! (As well as the link to Caine and Pomnis blogs!):

[otissbluebearshirt]

TYSM for doing this Otis deserves more love and attention it’s about time someone takes Proper action ! Not just saying they love Otis but then get “overwhelmed” when people actually request for him.

"CAN WE TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED?" PROMPTS

*  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

•i wish you would just look at me for two seconds.

Otis x fem pls ❤️

Can We Talk About What Happened? - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Prompt: “I wish you would just look at me for two seconds.”

Word Count: 1487

Warnings: female!reader, little angst, fluff

A/N: i feel like i’ve missed something from the first part of your ask but i’m just glad i can help provide other otis fans like me with the content he deserves

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

You’d never felt more embarrassed in your whole life. You’d never done something so stupid before but then again, you’d never been that drunk either. You hadn’t meant to drink so much but when people were handing you shots left right and centre, you just kept downing them… and downing them… until the next thing you knew you’d snuck into the kitchen of Molly’s behind Otis and you kissed him.

You kissed Otis. What the hell had you been thinking, allowing yourself to be so open like that? You always knew you liked him. You liked him a lot. He was cute. Funny. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d dreamt about him, but you never thought you’d ever do anything about it, not when he’d never so much as given you a hint that he liked you back. And to make matters worse, it appeared as though he didn’t as the second your lips touched his, he pushed you away.

The second you felt his hands on your shoulders. The second the words ‘what the hell are you doing?’ left his lips, you knew you’d gone and royally fucked up beyond repair. You couldn’t even look at him. Couldn’t be near him. The entire shift afterwards you’d avoided him. If he was in the bunk room, you went to the common room. If he was in the common room, you went to the bunk room. Hell, at one point you even sat in the bullpen with Connie and helped her do paperwork as a way to get away from him.

You couldn’t believe you’d allowed yourself to be so stupid and ruin what the two of you had. You’d always been close. Best friends really and yet you’d allowed yourself to get so drunk that you couldn’t seem to repress your feelings for him anymore. You tried to act like you didn’t remember it but you did. How could you forget the way he so blatantly shot you down, breaking your heart in the process. No, you felt ridiculed. Disgusted with yourself. Full of regret. And honestly, you were very tempted to hand in a pink slip just so you could transfer out of fifty-one altogether.

You knew there was no getting out of this one. No way to laugh it off and pretend it didn’t mean anything, even though to you it did. Which is why instead of sleeping like everyone else, you were sitting outside on the firehouse apron, wondering whether or not you should hand in that pink slip that you’d hidden away at the back of your locker. As at this point, that seemed like the only answer.

The air outside was crisp and cold. The moonlight shone brightly as you stared up at the cloudless sky, watching the subtle twinkle of the stars above you. You always loved quiet nights at the firehouse, when you were able to just forget all your worries and watch the stars, a lot of the times with Otis as he often joined you. But tonight was different.

Instead of having Otis by your side, he was in your head. His words were rattling around inside your mind, one that was supposed to be empty right now to allow you to enjoy the peace and quiet. But you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of him. No matter how hard you tried to forget what had happened, you couldn’t seem to manage. And each time you thought about it, you were just reminded about the fact that he didn’t like you back.

“I thought I’d find you out here.” Otis’s hushed voice made you tense as you sat against the pillar, wishing you’d chosen a different spot as this was usually the place you’d sit with him.

You didn’t say anything as your neck straightened, your eyes now focusing on the shrubbery in front of you rather than the stars. You could see Otis moving into your peripheral vision but you didn’t dare look at him, not if you wanted to keep the pieces of your heart that were left whole.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Otis said softly, making your stomach churn as you thought you’d been subtle in doing so, but it turns out you hadn’t. Especially not when you walked into the common room, spotted him behind the grill and then slowly backed away before running to the opposite side of the firehouse. Now that you remembered it, you were pretty sure everyone noticed that.

“No I haven’t.” You replied, voice low and full of embarrassment as you wished he’d just leave you alone. You couldn’t bring yourself to have to talk about what happened, not when it was still so fresh.

“Barely looked at me either.” He added, ignoring your pathetic excuse of a defence. “Not since the other night. At Molly’s.”

“Don’t.” Your breath trembled at the thought of him bringing that up right now. Your chest already began to ache over it and if he said anything else, you knew you’d never be able to hold in the tears that fought so furiously to escape. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that okay? Ever. It was a mistake. One that I wished never happened.”

“Was it a mistake? Because I know you and if it had been… You’d have simply laughed it off instead of avoiding me all day.” Otis replied, moving to stand in front of you as he needed you to look at him, but instead you simply turned your head to the side, making him sigh in defeat.

“It was a mistake. A drunken mistake. Okay? I said I wished it never happened, so would you just quit bringing it up.”

“You know what I wish for?” He whispered, crouching down before you. You stayed silent, shuffling a little on the spot as the thought of him so close to you was almost too much to bear. “I wish you would just look at me for two seconds.”

Your breath hitched at his words and you swallowed back the lump that was beginning to rise in your throat. It took you a good few seconds to muster up the courage to look at him, and when you did, you very nearly broke down in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” You said so quietly he just about heard you. You wiped at your eyes, a choked sob escaping your lips, one that tugged on Otis’s heart as all he wanted to do was hug you. “I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

“Didn’t you?” He said softly, tilting your head up to look at him again after it had fallen forwards. “Because the way you’re acting now, makes me seem like you did.” His hand moved to cup your face, which you allowed to linger there for a second before you pushed away from him and got to your feet.

“Don’t.” You exhaled, folding your arms over your chest. “Don’t act as though you feel the same way about me… Not with how you reacted when I kissed you.”

“Y/N, I only reacted that way because you took me by surprise.” Otis chuckled softly, causing you to furrow your brow as you turned back to look at him. “And truthfully, it took me a second to realise it was you who’d kissed me. And once I did, well you’d already run off.”

“What-What are you saying?” You hiccuped, hope slowly filling your aching chest.

“I’m saying…” Otis began, moving cautiously towards you. His hand lifted slowly and when you didn’t back up or swat it away, he set it gently aside your face once again. “If you hadn’t avoided me all day, then I’d have been able to do this much sooner.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly over yours which had your heart racing beneath your chest before they firmly planted against them. You almost couldn’t believe what was happening. Couldn’t believe he was actually kissing you. And the way it felt? The way Otis was so gentle. So loving. The way his lips moved slowly against yours, with so much care that you could barely feel the roughness of his moustache on your skin. It was everything you could have ever dreamed it would be. And more.

His arm slinked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as your own arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers threading themselves through his hair. You’d never had a kiss quite like it before. One that had your stomach flutter so furiously you thought it would fly away. That had your spine tingle and goosebumps erupt all over your skin at the mere touch of his lips. And when he pulled back. When he rested his forehead against yours, staring deeply, lovingly, into your eyes. It was safe to say that you were in a much different daze than you had been all day.

Prompt List

Like this? Apply to my Otis tag list here

tagging: @sancochillo

Like my work? Consider buying me a coffee!

[dr-futbol-blog]

Sanctuary, Pt. 10

McKay and Weir are with Beckett in the lab where he explains to them how very strange it is that Chaya is physically in such perfect health, impossibly so.

But first, look at McKay's face when Beckett mentions cancer:

His mother definitely died of cancer.

McKay is also not happy that, according to Beckett, she's perfect:

Because how do you compete with perfect? How do you compete with perfect when you genuinely believe that you're the most unlovable person in two galaxies? His only hope was demonstrating that she was somehow even worse.

His reaction to the mention of STDs is also curious:

There are two things I know for certain. The mention of sexually transmitted diseases made him think about sex, as is only natural. And there is only one aspect about her sex life that might even remotely interest him. Like, it's good that she doesn't have STDs, all things considered. He wouldn't want the Major catching anything. Also, as someone that had reached his sexual maturity during the 1980s, being reminded of STDs might have given him pause regardless of orientation but especially so if it was during the crisis years that he discovered his interest in guys.

But what ever the reason, it did make him think about them having sex and that thought is painful to him. Why would he care even a little bit unless it was something he wanted for himself? He's not envious that he has found someone, that they could have a connection. He didn't care about Beckett and Perna getting close. It's not general, it's specific to Sheppard.

But as much as he's suppressing that completely normal and heterosexual thought, he's still right on the money about her:

McKay: But she is human? Beckett: Oh, without a doubt. Weir: So how is that possible?

He doubts that she is human. Then Beckett makes a point that is significant toward the resolution of the episode later:

McKay: You make it sound like some sort of a— Beckett: Paradise? Aye, because it is. Weir: And that's a problem because? Beckett: Because human life, quite simply, Dr. Weir, is more fragile than that. I don't care what galaxy we're in. It's unnatural.

Human life is beautiful because it is fragile and transitory. Their shared humanity was what Sheppard had been using to get her to see things their way. But she is not human. She's a whole different species.

It seems like McKay and Weir are starting to get worried for Sheppard. And the music tells the audience they should be worried for him, as well.

If we witnessed Sheppard starting to lead Chaya on at Proculus, she now appears to be leading him on quite expertly. She is basically allowing him to walk her around her old home while using him to learn everything they know about the Ancients and their war with the wraith. He even explicitly makes reference to now (unlike previously) being truthful with her: "I'd be lying if I said we controlled it all".

From the look on her face as he gets Sheppard talking about the shield, she was there during the siege. There are painful things in her past, as well. In this, too, they are alike.

Something odd happens when they enter the control room. First, Sheppard tells her to call him John. Tells her he would prefer it. Not please, call me John. I would be happy if you called me John. He says "I would prefer it" as though he's saying that he would prefer that she not call him Major. Like he insists but not in the usual coquettish way.

I discussed the reasons why McKay calls Sheppard Major and continues doing it for a very long time in connection with The Defiant One (S01E12) but I will make a note of it here that twice, when Sheppard has told people to call him John, he has ended up kissing them (cf. Conversion, S02E08). And that in the first episode in which McKay finally calls him John, it follows from Sheppard himself referring to making out as a way to stop McKay from talking. So I'm just saying. There's a pattern.

But it's not altogether certain that this is what Sheppard actually wants here, her calling him John. That he's actually inviting her for closer acquaintance by the gesture. Because it's followed by this exchange:

Chaya: John… how did you make enemies of the Wraith? Sheppard: That was my fault. Chaya: Yours? Sheppard: I basically woke them up trying to rescue some people they'd captured. They didn't take too kindly to that.

He looks real fucking odd when he's telling her all this. We saw previously that he let Teyla do the explanation related to the wraith while he seemed all kinds of uneasy back on Proculus. This is a thing that is not easy for him. He is carrying such guilt for letting this happen, putting "untold thousands, maybe millions" of people's lives in danger, that it's crushing him at the best of times. And here, he's discussing it breezily, like it's no big deal. He makes odd faces like he can't believe this shit is actually coming out of his mouth, especially in this nonchalant tone.

So, placing a hand over the heart can signify sincerity, to be sure. But he's not being sincere here, he's basically being mind-controlled. Having the hand over his heart can also be a way of subconsciously protecting it from her. It's possible that he tells her to call him John because he doesn't want her calling him Major.

Not because it's so formal and keeps them at a distance. But because she is invading his privacy, his innermost thoughts and beliefs, in a way that leaves him exposed and there are things he doesn't want to share with her. Things that he has only started to want to share with someone else that isn't her. He would rather she call him something else. In addition to being a common designation for a trick for the turning, John is actually also the most impersonal of all of the things you can call him. Because it's not him telling her these things. He would never.

The one time we see him turn his body toward her while walking, which he frequently does with McKay, he covers his heart. He sets up a barrier between them. Even here, as they come to a stop, his head indicates that he would rather not be facing her.

She continues prodding:

Chaya: But you saved your people? Sheppard: Most of them.

Again, he says this casually. Like it's not a big deal. The thing that he tells Col. Everett not a night goes by that he doesn't think about it, he just brushes over it. This is not John Sheppard. This is not Sheppard acting casual, not Sheppard pretending everything is fine, not Sheppard putting on a charming persona to game someone. He's clearly not driving this baby. He's not in control.

It's not that he trusts her so much for no reason. It's not because they have some special connection that makes him want to open himself up for her. The faces he keeps making after each one of these comments tells us that he does not want to be saying these things. Even he doesn't know why he's saying these things.

Orlin told Carter that reading someone's mind was an invasion of privacy. This is technically not that. But she's far from innocent. Maybe the Others imprisoned her for a reason. We're asked to sympathize with her due to her loneliness but she is a convict, a prisoner on her planet. Perhaps she was jailed for a reason.

Sheppard leads her through the control room, showing her each and every one of their systems. Note that he doesn't introduce them by saying something like "And these are..." or "And here you can see..." He just lists them out for her.

Sheppard: Main control console, environmental support systems, communications. And this…this is… Grodin: Sorry, Major. We haven't the faintest idea what it—

We are again shown that McKay was right. Earlier on, they had this exchange:

McKay: Maybe I should tag along, in case you have any questions—Sheppard: I think I've got it handled, Rodney. McKay: There are a lot of systems you know absolutely— Sheppard: Got it covered.

He predicted that Sheppard would come across systems he knows nothing about and there would be questions related to them. But the thing is, Sheppard had never intended for this to happen. He dismissed McKay because he was never going to show her any systems, let alone their most central, essential systems. He is the head of security of this operation, he is not stupid but a brilliant tactician and a strategic thinker. She's not the chief inspector of Atlantis, he has no reason to want to show her these things.

She initializes a new piece of Ancient technology only recently discovered. She plays innocent but clearly does it on purpose. But at the same time, we are shown again that her touch has a tangible effect on things. Her touch basically has magical qualities. Her touch made the machine come alive, made it brighter. Her effect on people is something similar.

Grodin sure seems to clock something about their interaction as odd:

Sheppard seems excited about the possibility that she too possesses the ATA gene, and this seems like the first genuine reaction from him ever since she touched him. He had been emphasizing their similarity in an attempt to use her sympathy to get their help, so he may have seen this is as something that might work in their favour.

He seems entirely himself as he tells her: "The Atlantians were good at lots of things, but writing instruction manuals wasn't one of them." He seems happy, he almost smiles, glancing at Grodin fiddling with the machine twice as he does. One might venture a guess that he has watched someone figure out how Ancient technology works up real close more than a little, and might even be quoting said person verbatim here (as a matter of fact, his exact words in Hide and Seek (S01E03) were "Oh, yeah, there were some explicit instructions, which I chose to completely ignore"). He's mostly looking at Grodin while he's telling her this so we can assume that he's thinking about something or someone else. His mind is not on her while he talks about the instruction manuals.

But this is a short respite. The weirdness continues:

Sheppard: We should probably wrap this tour up. I know Dr. Weir is anxious to talk to you. Chaya: Will I see you afterwards? Sheppard: And during!

He almost stutters when he tells her that Dr. Weir is anxious to talk to her. Clearly, she's not the only one that's anxious. But why would he be anxious about that?

Is he expecting Weir to notice that something is wrong? Hoping that she would? Trying to protect someone that might be there?

Whether or not he (or McKay) was supposed to be at this meeting of Weir with Chaya, whether he had been invited or not, Sheppard is making sure that he is going to be there. Again, this might be her influence--she does not want him to leave her alone, so he's forced to tag along. Or, again, he could be inserting himself into the meeting in order to protect the others, whether consciously or subconsciously. But it certainly doesn't seem like he's going to the meeting with her because he wants to be with her so much.

He is clearly starting to internally freak out about what ever this is that's going on. His face here, at the very end:

He gives her another one of his fake smiles. And then, where she doesn't see, he draws in a breath through his teeth. Compare his expression with McKay's at the beginning of this entry, where he's thinking about cancer.

John Sheppard is not alright.

Continued in Pt. 11

[pickalilywrites]

Levi plans to asks out Petra for Valentines day, but Zeke beats him to it. Feeling upset by it, he stays in, but receives a call from Petra herself asking if she could come over after a terrible date with Zeke.

last one. thanks for waiting :)

right here waiting

rivetra. high school au. 2689 words

Once again, Levi misses the entrance to “Wings of Freedom,” a song he and his friends have rehearsed at least a hundred times by now. He knows the song by heart, but he keeps coming in half a beat early because his mind is elsewhere. Mike and Hanji are about to keep going, but Levi makes a rewinding gesture with his finger to signal them to go back to the beginning even though this is the fifth time tonight he’s messed up the beginning. This isn’t even the first song Levi’s messed up. They’ve been at it for an hour already and the entrances that Levi hasn’t missed have been sung with flat notes and were completely void of feeling. At this latest mistake, Mike and Hanji exchange looks.  

Rather than strumming the opening chords once more, Hanji tucks their pick into the strings of their guitar. “Do you want to take a break, Levi? You seem kind of out of it. It’s not like we don’t practice every other day. We could take tonight off,” they suggest.  

“I’m not out of it. I’m fine,” Levi snaps perhaps more harshly than he intended based on the eyebrow that Mike raises. He’ll feel guilty about it later and give Hanji a belated apology once he’s in a better mood. Thankfully, his friend knows about his moods enough not to mind. With a sigh, Levi rubs his face and says more calmly, “It’s fine. Let’s just take it from the top again.”  

Mike has already set his drumsticks aside and stretches his arms above his head. “Nah, let’s take a break. I could use one, and you’re in one of those moods again. Might as well just call it a night so you can spend the night being grumpy about Zeke and Petra without any distractions,” he says as Hanji snickers.  

“There’s no Zeke and Petra,” Levi snaps reflexively even though he should be denying that he’s grumpy about them in the first place.  

The drummer of their band has hit the nail on the head, though. Levi’s been in a horrible mood leading up to today. It’s not that he hates Valentine’s Day. Most years he doesn’t pay any attention to it, but this year is different because he had plans. He had only failed to act upon them fast enough and suddenly Petra had been swept away on a date by someone else. To make things worse, the person who had asked Petra out before Levi could get the question out of his mouth is Zeke Jaeger, the most pretentious asshole in their school. It’s enough to make Levi swear off all subsequent Valentine’s Days altogether. 

“I mean, there’s kind of a Zeke and Petra,” Hanji says. They pull up a chair and sit backwards on it, their arms resting on the back of the chair. “They’re going out tonight. They’ve probably had dinner at a nice, swanky restaurants, the ones that cook the steaks right in front of you. But should you really feel bad? If Petra’s going out with someone like Zeke Jaeger, you have to question her taste in men. Maybe you dodged a bullet.”  

Mike shakes his head. “It’s not her fault. That guy is charming as fuck. He really buttered me up talking about indie bands. Just when I thought we were being great friends, he asked me if I could lend him my history homework because he forgot to do it last night. He knows how to get people to like him. He’s insidious,” Mike says. 

“SAT word,” Hanji says, throwing up a hand to air high-five Mike.  

“Did you give him your homework?” Levi asks Mike. 

“... yes,” Mike admits reluctantly. 

“Tch.” 

“He’s really charismatic!” Mike protests as Hanji cackles.  

“Well, I guess that’s true. It’s hard not to like him when he’s directed his attention towards you. The dude is charming and sociable, pretty much everything you’re not,” Hanji says to Levi who scowls in reply. Hanji should probably stop talking now if they want to avoid Levi’s ire, but somehow they’ve never felt the need to watch Levi’s temper. “I guess it’s not really Petra’s fault in the end. Does she even know you’re interested in her? If you really wanted to pursue her, you should have asked her out before Zeke. She probably went with him because she didn’t think you were interested in dating her.”  

“It’s fine. It’s whatever. It’s over now, so can we just ... practice or whatever?” Levi asks because he doesn’t want to talk about it right now or ever. He’d really like to just play music the entire night, but he knows that his lack of concentration is going to make any rehearsal difficult. He hears Mike and Hanji start up the first few bars of “Wings of Freedom” once more, but they play half-heartedly, their own morale affected by Levi’s bad mood. In the end, Levi lets out a tired sigh and sits on the couch in the corner of the garage and curls up with the notebook he and the others use to scrawl lyrics when they’re brainstorming.  

The walls of the garage reverberate from the drum beats that Mike practices, a low, syncopated rhythm that pulses against Levi’s ear. Hanji is strumming away softly, practicing a different song. As they play, they hum the countermelody to a song that is still in their drafts. The noise is something that would probably distract other people from writing new music, but Levi is used to it by now and filters it out, allowing it to fade into the background of his mind as he fiddles with his pencil and stares at a blank page. He doesn’t write a word on it but he can already see the words “I’m sorry” scribbled over and over the page in his own handwriting.  

He’s not sure why his own hesitation is preventing him from asking Petra out. They’re just words, and the worst thing she can do is say no. At least he believed that was the worst thing that could happen. It turns out that not doing anything and having the worst person in the world ask out the girl he likes instead is the worst thing that can happen. But if Levi is too much of a coward to ask Petra out, does he even deserve to go out with her in the first place? Maybe he should resign himself to being a pathetic loner for the rest of his life. 

Levi is still moping on the couch when his phone vibrates. Without looking at the screen, he picks up. “What is it?” 

There’s a crackle on the other end and the sound of cars passing by. The person on the other side doesn’t speak, just makes a noise like sniffling, and for a moment Levi wonders if he’s being prank called. He has half a mind to just hang up when he suddenly hears Petra’s voice.  

“L-Levi, can you c-come pick me up?” she asks, her voice breaking towards the end.  

He’s already off the couch and grabbing his jacket off, shrugging it on while still keeping the phone to his ear. “Yeah, of course. Let me know where to pick you up. I’ll leave right now,” he says, ignoring the curious looks he’s receiving from his bandmates. He nods as Petra tells him the address and lets her know that he’ll be there soon before hanging up. 

“Was that Petra?” Hanji asks, interest piqued. They’ve stopped strumming on their guitar. They’re too excited to stand still, bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet. It’s obvious from the expression on their face that they want to extract as much information from Levi as possible but they’re withholding questions so as to not hold Levi back from the task at hand. “Levi, go to her!”  

Levi’s hand is on the doorknob already. “I’m going,” he scowls.  

“Go to her, Levi!” Mike echoes with a grin on his face.  

“Go to her! Go to her!” Hanji and Mike call as Levi runs out.  

⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ 

Levi isn’t surprised when he pulls up to the address that Petra has given him. It’s Giovanni’s, one of those steakhouses that people dress up to go to and where the chefs cook the steaks right in front of you. It’s on the other side of town where most of the upscale restaurants and stores are. Levi’s never been in this area except to drive right past it, but it’s a neighborhood that suits the tastes of a rich, privileged, pretentious surgeon’s son like Zeke.  

As he pulls up to the restaurant, he sees Petra waiting outside, shivering in the cold even though she has a perfectly good men’s blazer folded over her arm. She had taken the time to dress up for the dinner. She’s wearing a off-shoulder cocktail dress made of a rich, red satin with matching heels, and her ginger hair has been curled immaculately to frame her face. She must have been wearing makeup earlier, but the only evidence of it is the faint red that still stains her lips. Her eyes are still red from crying, but her expression turns from sadness to relief when she sees Levi’s beat-up car pull into a parking spot.  

She hurries to the car, heels clicking against the pavement, and slips inside. As soon as she gets in, she crumples into the seat. She doesn’t cry, but she’s taking deep breaths as she tries to compose herself. After a while, she says shakily, “I don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Okay” is all Levi says and he pulls out of the parking lot and starts on the long ride home. He should have turned on the radio so Petra wouldn’t feel self-conscious about crying if she needs to, but there’s too high a chance of radio stations marathoning love songs so he decides silence is the best option. Periodically, he glances at Petra, but she keeps her head down so that her hair covers her face. In her lap sits the blazer folded nicely as her fingers pick off invisible lint.  

They’re stopped at a stoplight when something compels Levi to make conversation.  

“You look pretty,” he tells Petra, and he regrets it instantly. It’s not like him to hand out compliments for free.  

“Yeah, pretty fucking pathetic,” Petra says with a self-deprecating laugh. It’s only now that she lifts her head, brushing her hair away from her face. She leans against the side door, one arm resting on the elbow rest while her cheek is pressed against her hand. Even miserable, she looks beautiful. “This isn’t how I imagined the evening was going to turn out.”  

He wonders how she thought the evening was going to turn out. She probably thought Zeke was going to take her home, maybe kiss her on the doorstep, and then make their relationship official by announcing it to the school on Monday morning. God, the thought of it makes him sick.  

“He left me at the restaurant,” Petra continues without any prompting from Levi. She looks more angry than miserable now, her brows furrowed in frustration as she tries to understand why the night had taken a turn for the worse. She glances at Levi from the corner of her eye to gauge his expression as she recounts the night. “We were having a good time, at least I thought so. He took me to such a nice place, and I dressed up for it, too. We both had the steak and the waiter even said we were such a beautiful couple.”  

Here, she doesn’t notice the slight grimace on Levi’s face.  

“And then he got a call from someone. I didn’t think much of it, although looking back now it was really rude of him to pick up someone else’s call while he was on a date with me, especially since it wasn’t an emergency or anything,” Petra says. The more she speaks, the more she fiddles with the blazer sitting on her lap. She rubs the fabric of the sleeve between her fingers anxiously. “He came back after his call — and we had just ordered a dessert to split between us — and told me had to leave for a party. That junior for Paradis University he interviewed with for admissions called him and invited him to a party, said it was good for an incoming freshman to network with people and get a taste of university life outside of just the academics.”  

“Hmm,” Levi hums as he listens. He doesn’t like a single word he hears. Listening to anything regarding Zeke usually annoys him, but everything Petra has just said is making his blood boil over. He tries to keep his voice calm and level as he asks, “He couldn’t have taken you? Or at least driven you home?” 

“I wasn’t invited. He said it would make me uncomfortable if I went because I wouldn’t know anyone. Never mind that he doesn’t know anyone aside from the person who interviewed him,” Petra says bitterly. She rolls up the blazer now and sets it beside her instead of letting it take up space on her lap. “The party was at a house near the campus. It’s the complete opposite direction of where we live, so Zeke asked me to call one of my friends to pick me up so he could just drive there right away. And then he left me there.”  

“Asshole.”  

“I know!” Petra says, and it gives Levi a level of satisfaction that she agrees with him. She turns to Levi now, her hands on the arm rest between them. “He didn’t even wait for the dessert to come either. He just peeled out of there and I had to pay the bill, too.”  

Levi has always known Zeke was terrible, but everything Petra tells him makes Zeke look exponentially worse. It’s like there’s no limit to how awful that asshole can be. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles have turned white. 

“He told me he’d pay me back on Monday and then left me with his stupid jacket,” Petra sighs. She flicks the blazer beside her with a finger and then turns away to look out the window again. “I spent an hour crying in the bathroom before I called you. One of the waitresses felt bad for me and snuck me an extra dessert. God, I’m so pathetic.” 

“It’s not you,” Levi tells her. “Zeke just sucks. You deserve better. You deserve someone who respects you and treats you right. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you blame yourself when he’s the one being a shithead.”  

Petra laughs half-heartedly and Levi’s words, but she does seem in better spirits than she was earlier this evening. “If you ever find a guy like that, let me know. Tell him I’ll be right here waiting.”  

Levi wants to be that guy. He wants to be the guy that’s better. He wants to be the one to take Petra to dinner, the one to never abandon her. He wants to be the one that Petra deserves and the one that deserves her, but he’s not sure if he is. All this time he’s been right here waiting to see if he is the right person, but he’s not sure he wants to sit around waiting anymore.  

“Do you want to get ice cream?” he asks Petra. He sees her look at him in surprise and he shrugs in response. “It’s too shitty to end your night like this. Let’s get ice cream.”  

Petra purses her lips, the corners of her mouth turning upward. “I’d like that a lot,” she tells Levi and then sits back in her seat. Her head is turned toward the window once more, but Levi can see the smile on her face in the reflection. 

He decides he won’t hesitate any longer. He’s tired of being a coward. Once Petra has gotten over Zeke, Levi plans to shoot his shot. Until then, he’ll be right here waiting patiently.  

[claraameliapond]

The Indigenous Voice Referendum Australia 2023

Floored and devastated

repulsed at the racist selfishness of the no voters

It had NOTHING TO DO WITH THEM.

This is NOT who we are

Although it's a comforting narrative that no voters and conservatives are dying out - and will gradually have less and less pull

Firstly - It's too gradual to just wait it out

And Secondly- It's foolish to think that's only where these no votes are coming from

Younger less educated people are part of this too

Ignorant and arrogant - and selfish- that's what less education translates to.

This highlights, more than ever, how important it is to have strict policies in place legally for managing misinformation, fear mongering and propaganda spreading

We need laws about media monopolies and restricting or banning them altogether

Because one agenda from a multimillion dollar media monopoly cannot have majority access to inform a whole country. Especially because they were intentionally running interference with the simplest truth - they threw everything at it - spreading misinformation, blatant repulsive, violent lies - totally made up lies, not even remotely connected to what was being proposed. It's heartbreaking they could invent such lies and then spread those repulsive invented lies so fully and have people believe them.

And less educated people are always more vulnerable to propaganda: they believe hatred without a second thought. They don't fact check. They don't research. They don't make sure. Any excuse to flaunt their selfish racist self interest, against anyone else who might actually be more vulnerable, worse off.

However, That's the thing about this referendum - IT WASNT "US AGAINST THEM"

It was just : do we all agree that indigenous Australians should get to share information and advice with the government about how best to provide the care and facilities we already provide to them. So they work. Because they haven't been. So it would be a good use of money and then we can achieve permanent results and solutions for those issues and then move on, and do different things with that money. To actually move forward with this and not be stuck in stasis with things not improving.

That was literally all it was

It still is an issue now.

Don't loose hope

I'm still proud of all of the Yes voters- there were a good amount of us - and we will continue to turn the tide from ignorance and misinformation to the truth.

We've got to keep going 💪🏻 🙌🏻 👏🏻 🙏🏻

And now we have a more accurate idea of how to do that , and what needs to be fixed with people's understanding of this in our country. We can use this information to succeed

Ironically - doing exactly what the referendum was about : getting more accurate information to better help vulnerable communities of indigenous Australia.

But apparently, we've got to deal with the misinformed tantrum havers first - they make everything an "us against them" even when it literally wasn't. It doesn't affect anyone else. It could only have been positive. They make every issue an "us against them " even when it has literally nothing to do with them, because everything's a tantrum if it's not about them.

We've got accurate information now - just not about the people we were expecting : we know how to combat the racist minformation spreaders, and those who believed them.

What we need is :

Real limits and legal consequences on misinformation spreading, fear mongering and propaganda

Real limits on media monopolies and restrictions from letting them operate the way they do.

AND we do have to continue to combat this misinformation and propaganda whenever it is paraded near us. Respond with the truth, and make sure you ALWAYS RESPOND.

Don't let them think they're right.

Respond simply and calmly with the truth.

I'm sorry we have to do this but we do.

I don't want to be anywhere near those people, but if they identify themselves- we have to respond.

Respond and correct them.

Their idiocy can not and does not rewrite the truth. We are right and the truth of what this is, always was and what we need to do still exists

A few sources to begin to understand this:

A breakdown of who voted what where

Interpreting these results properly - this is well worth a read

I am looking forward to seeing the full count when it's ready. Make sure to look at those things - from Official sources.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED YES

I stand proudly with you on the side of truth. Empathy. Morality. Justice

We have a more accurate idea of what's going on now: let's get to work

Also thank you to MC HAMMER for supporting and encouraging and campaigning for people to vote yes. That was lovely.

It really was a very simple thing - the truth is still the truth and we will succeed

Love and strength to us all

By goodness we need it

Xxxx🤍🖤🧡❤🤍🖤🧡❤💗💖💜💕💕💓💗

My heart was so full when I voted yes - it's an obvious yes

And it still is

Because YES is the truth

It is what is needed.

Still.

And we will achieve it xxxxx

[unofficial-book-of-quotes-tm]

My thoughts on series 10:

Yeah, all right, this series had me cry-laughing more times than I could count. Now, series 10 was the first series that had to deal with the Covid restrictions, which means no audience in the studio (I think the audience reactions were recorded on a different day altogether). Especially the first and second episode feel a bit disconcerting and plainly weird to me with the lack of an audience, and I think everyone there was feeling it as well. I honestly find the Covid era series quite endearing, they’re doing their best with what they’re allowed to do, and I don’t know if I’m the only one thinking this but the Covid series have this kind of charm to them, which I think is similar to how series 1 felt, even though they had an audience. It’s not the exact same, but a very similar vibe, though it could just be because they’re doing something different / for the first time. Yet the absence of an audience gave us multiple camera perspectives, which I think was neat, although it makes the studio look even more deserted. Well, the restrictions robbed us of any physical contact between Greg and Alex, but again, I think they did their best despite that.

So, that’s the main thing out of the way, now on to the competitors. I don’t have too much to say about Richard. I thought he was rather entertaining to watch. He did what was asked of him and seemed to have a good understanding of what the show was about, I mean he won half of the episodes. One thing about Richard that I immensely appreciated was that he stood up for other contestants a couple of times, arguing they should not be disqualified or receive more points than Greg was initially going to award them. Another moment that stood out to me was him learning all five parts for that drama / scene without making any major blunders. In short: I just liked him and I think he was a great contestant and genuinely impressive.

At first I didn’t quite know how to feel about Daisy but she was a tour de force and if the final live task would’ve gone a little differently, she might have won the entire series. Her being her very own cheerleader throughout — as Greg pointed out — and her annoyance at Alex getting gradually worse as the series progressed were so much fun to observe. Daisy could have and perhaps should have won because doing the tasks while being pregnant can’t have been easy and she did so well up until that last task. It was brutal but so much fun. She had so many great moments and hippo-gate will forever be one of my favourites.

Mawaan described himself best when he called himself ‘a sexy badass bitch’ and I have nothing more to add. Actually, I do have a couple of things to add, mainly he was just so upbeat, seemed to have a great time and he committed to every task. Some of his less great decisions I’ll jot down to spur-of-the-moment actions ‘cos I don’t know how else to explain the idea of trying to fill an egg with helium or stopping during a timed task to do a little cabaret. Also, Mawaan getting up and turning his chair upside-down during the whole ‘What is a spider?’ debate, shouting, ‘Look, a cat! It’s a cat!’ never fails to crack me up. Mawaan was simply great and I want to give a special mention to his studio outfits and the fact he colour-coordinated his nails with them.

I adore Johnny. I don’t know how much of this was his persona and I don’t care. He feels like this character in a comedy that bad things always happen to, regardless of how hard he tries (and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t feel that much schadenfreude when observing him) but he seems to be a genuinely nice bloke. Thing is, Johnny felt out of place. When I look at him all I can see is him sitting in his local drinking a couple of pints or wandering around the countryside and I’m not sure whether that’s just because of his outfit.

Katherine Parkinson, you are my queen. I love her to bits. Whenever she opened her mouth to say something I never knew, let alone be prepared, for what she was about to unleash on us. Just like Joe Thomas reminded me of Simon Cooper throughout series 8, Katherine reminded me so much of Jen Barber from IT Crowd, it’s insane. I just unironically love Katherine referring to ‘we’ in almost every task. I think I know what she meant, but still, it’s hilarious, especially when Alex points it out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alex help a competitor as much as he’s helped Katherine. I’m not critiquing that, as ultimately, it didn’t matter and I loved their banter. During that ‘make the biggest object vanish’ task in episode 1 and Katherine going, ‘Is that me? Nope. That sofa is bigger than me.’ I couldn’t help but think of Simon Farnaby as Caligula in Horrible Histories saying, ‘Think you’re bigger than me?’ to a fish on a spear. Sometimes my brain truly astounds me with what it remembers, given that it’s been years since I watched Horrible Histories. But I really like to know what happened before episode 10 that made Greg rip so hard into Katherine. From the moment she revealed the clay masks during the prize task, Greg is on her and doesn’t relent up until the last VT or something. Maybe he was just jealous that she and Alex got on so well, I don’t know.

Once again I like the teams they put together. Richard and Daisy work well enough and have enough chemistry to pull it off despite being shit at a lot of the team tasks. Contrast that with Katherine, Mawaan and Johnny. I don’t even have words to describe them. Mawaan and Katherine were always all over the tasks with Johnny slightly trailing after them (and it didn’t help that they singled Johnny out on at least one occasion and basically removed him from a task). Their dynamic reminded me a little of Paul, Lou and Iain in series 8, minus the toxicity.

You know, if I had a nickel, every time Greg now refers to himself unironically as ‘Daddy’, I’d have almost enough to retire. So I think we should all thank Alex for getting this off the ground. The ‘get the exercise balls into the hoops’ task’s got to be my favourite of this series — or potentially the cocktail one. They’re both brilliant. Maybe I’m wrong about this one but this series had what felt like an exorbitant large amount of food or food-related items for the prize category. Once I started rewatching series 10, I kind of remembered a couple of things about it (even if in my last post on series 9 I said I didn’t even remember who was on), Greg standing up and chastising everyone in the studio for their poor attempt among them, but I thought it happened in, like, the first or second episode, but it was episode 8! And I’m really glad they saved the ‘Am I the spider?’ moment for the final episode. I don’t have much more to say. This series is genuinely one of my favourites, and I think it’s a prime example of a cast that’s so different on an individual level coming together incredibly well. And now that we’ve finished with series 10, it only makes sense to directly jump to Champion of Champions 2!

Noteworthy facts about series 10 (more can be found in my high scores post): This series contains the lowest scoring episode of a full series to date (pre series 19) in episode 1: ‘God’s haemorrhoid.’ with a cumulative of 47 points; Katherine Parkinson is the lowest scoring competitor since the show changed hands from Dave to Channel 4 with a total of 118 points; but it’s also the series in which a single contestant, Richard Herring, has also had the most wins since the change to Channel 4, winning 5 out of 10 episodes.

I wanna leave you with my favourite Greg gif of this series.

[neuship-zone]

A/N: This post uses lolicon, lolisho, and lolishoko interchangeably. I am referring to all people who like 'little girls/boys/children' in fictional settings, unless otherwise specified.

My stance on lolishokos and similar people

Plus other relevant information i guess

Warning: Long yap sesh ahead

No matter what, I will never ever agree that lolicons, pedos and child predators are one in the same. We can argue about morality for all I care, but there is a line between drawing a fictional child, having thoughts about sexually abusing children and ACTUALLY just straight up abusing children.

You cannot abuse or exploit a drawing. (Well, you can technically, but a drawing doesn't have the capacity to say yes OR no because it's essentially just a construct that can be moulded to your whims).

Thought crimes are not real crimes. You are not evil for having morally dubious thoughts.

Life is defined by your actions in the real world. Not by a book, or a show, or by some intrusive thought. And yes those things have the potential to influence your actions in certain ways, but there are limits and conditions which the people who assert that "fiction affects reality" conveniently forget about. (More on this later)

Some other stances I have regarding this topic:

Using "CSEM", "CSAM" or "CP" (and its 'cheese pizza' variants) to describe fictional media is abhorrent. CSEM and CSAM should only be used for content depicting real children, and CP is a term that non-predators should stop using altogether.

"Child-coded" is a meaningless word. "Adults who look like children" is a meaningless phrase. Being innocent does not make you a child. Being short does not make you a child. Being chubby does not make you a child. Having limited knowledge of the world does not make you a child. Spouting stuff like this reinforces biases against short adults, neurodivergent people, people raised in sheltered environments, etc.

Lolicons who are pedos/"NOMAPs" are not any worse than lolicons who are not.

Minors can be lolicons (not fond of them though)

Engaging in content made by/for lolicons does not make you a lolicon. People can have various different reasons for watching a show or reading a book.

Minors should NOT be engaging with lolicon content (I have a grey area for those 16+ but even then, no-one under the age of 18 should be in lolicon communities. Engage with it in private, at least.)

Now, I say all this, but lolishokos do not get my full grace either. Let's just say...I'm conflicted.

Things I don't really like:

Some lolicons are very...self-righteous? They feel like they are morally superior for liking something 'bad' (I hate the use of bad and good here because people interpret it different, but let me elaborate in a minute). I do not like the notion that anti-lolishos are "ruining the fun" or being buzzkills.

Some will just outright deny that the content they like is bad. Like it or not, a child being in a sexual relationship with an adult (or even just being sexualised in the first place) is BAD. Just because it is bad does not mean you can't enjoy it. But, when you say that it is not bad at all (ie that what is being depicted is not morally wrong), you are now contributing to a MUCH greater problem.

The general idea that fiction doesn't affect reality at all. Yes, writing a shota rape fic doesn't make you a child abuser. That does not mean that your shota rape fic cannot be critically analysed to explore the issues of child exploitation and the fetishisation of abuse. And such discussions are important to have, because it's how we learn and practice the media literacy we all love and worship. If we don't do that, we risk taking away biases from that work which (if left unchecked) can start to influence us. And if someone is sheltered and groomed the right way, those biases become propaganda tools. (That doesn't mean you should actively leave hate on every shota rape fic you find btw. "Don't Like Don't Read" still applies here.)

I still think there's a big issue with predators in lolicon communities. I mean yes there's predators in every community, but it's far easier to hide and prey on children in a community that (more or less) likes children.

I'm a minor, so naturally I don't like the idea of minors being sexualised and/or abused (yes, even in fiction)

Misc stuff

Since I mentioned this in my strawpage, and also in various posts, I might as well elaborate now. (This is also going to be put in a separate post because if I wanna make reference to it in the future I don't want people to have to scroll through 50 paragraphs)

I use lolis and shotas to cope. What does that mean?

I am, to an extent, an autoshotaloli (yes, both). I occasionally see myself as a shota/loli - specifically one that has no age. This is almost solely for coping purposes. I don't consider it agere despite it not being sexual because, well, it's specifically a lolishota. Not just a regular child. I don't know why. I didn't choose to cope like this. (I guess I could also say I'm lolishotakin/copinglink but...I don't really want to relate this experience to otherkinity)

Lolis and shotas are also relevant to my gender, but to a lesser degree. It's more so just childlike aesthetics. I guess I also get gender envy from some child characters so there's that.

I don't really ship myself with any characters, but there are a couple of child characters I would consider my "friends" if that makes sense

I don't really talk openly about this because I fear people will find a way to lump me with lolishos no matter what (for example, a lot of autololis are also (auto)lolicons. They are sexually attracted to the idea of them being lolis. They want to be treated how some lolicons want to treat lolis. I am NOT one of those people but most people who identify as autololi or autoshota are, so 🤷). However this is something I don't mind discussing with other people on this blog, PROVIDED no-one starts being rude to or weird with me.