#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

[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

[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.

[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!

[stuckonstarker]

It was Peter’s first day in this biochemistry class and he was already having the worst time. The seating arrangement was so that four people would sit at a table. Most of the tables in the room already had at least one person sitting at them.

Peter walked past, avoiding the other students’ perceived glares. He had flashbacks to high school, where most kids avoided him like the plague. 

This was even worse. He didn’t even have Ned to fall back on, since they went to different colleges.

Peter picked a seat in the very back, mostly due to it being the only table with no one at it. 

Optimistically, or more accurately, naively, he hoped that once the Professor started the lecture things would be better. He was dreadfully wrong.

Peter was alone at his table when class officially started. He tried to ignore the sharp sting in his chest as he realized he was the only one sitting alone. 

Even worse, the professor was awful. They spent most of the time going through slides, barely explaining them, and moving on too quickly to take meaningful notes. They droned on and on about the unimportant things.

Peter sighed. Was attendance really mandatory for this? Three hours of a man who had long since checked out going over the textbook word-for-word. Great.

Just then, as Peter was lamenting dropping the class altogether, someone barged into the classroom.

He moved forward confidently and without care. He examined the room briefly before striding over to the empty seat next to Peter. He plopped down and whispered, “I’m Tony.”

“Peter.” He whispered it soft as a mouth. But judging by Tony’s nodding, he heard. Peter was silently thankful that at least someone sat next to him. Even if that someone entered like a drama queen.

The class moved on with the same boring slideshow that did nothing to further Peter’s education. 

“This guy’s a total hack,” Tony whispered.

Peter laughed softly, a breath would more accurately describe it. “I can’t believe I’m paying for this,” he responded.

Tony said, “Shit, you should totally drop the class then. My dad’s paying for mine. It’s mostly for show.”

“Aren’t you lucky.”

“Hey,” Tony said, “if you wanna deal with my dad’s raging bullshit, I’ll call him up right now.”

Peter said, “Wanna trade? I don’t have a dad.”

“Oh, damn, that’s a low blow.”

“And I don’t have a mom.”

“Double whammy,” Tony said, making an over-the-top grimace. “You win,” he said.

Peter smiled, “Didn’t know it was a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition with me.”

“Are you two done?” The Professor called out, putting a spotlight on them. As if they were even teaching in the first place. Everyone’s eyes landed on them in an instant.

Peter’s face went piping hot immediately. He knew, from experience, he must’ve been the shade of strawberries. 

Tony called back, “Just give us another minute, please.”

Students around him either snickered or glared. Tony didn’t seem to mind either way. 

The professor raised their brows, “Mr. Stark, is it? You’re very lucky to have a father who can pay for your education. Not everyone has that opportunity.” The professor gave a pointed look at Peter, “Isn’t that right, Mr. Parker?”

Peter opened his mouth, to apologize probably, but Tony beat him to the punch.

“Taking this class is the furthest thing from luck I’ve ever experienced.” Tony asked, “Do you even know how to teach? Or do you just know how to press the arrows on your keyboard?”

Peter had to admit, Tony was being a raging asshole. But, something about that was charming. Peter kept his mouth shut and his head down, but Tony could afford to be more bold. And that enticed Peter in a very dangerous way.

The professor only shook their head and continued with the lecture. If you could call it a “lecture.”

Tony leaned back in his chair.

“You’re acting like a highschooler,” Peter said.

Tony said, “I should be in high school.”

“What?”

Tony paused, then said, “I’m technically supposed to be a senior in high school but I got high enough scores they let me into college early.”

“That’s awesome!” Peter whispered.

Tony gave Peter a look. Quietly, he said, “Thank you.” 

-

Peter was beyond thankful when that class ended. He was definitely going to try and drop it.

He walked through the campus, looking for his busted up, piece of junk car.

“Peter!”

He stopped. Was someone calling for him? No, he didn’t really know anybody on campus.

“Peter!”

Okay, someone was definitely calling for him. He turned and saw Tony jogging toward him. 

“Hi, Tony,” Peter said with a smile.

Tony gave a breathless laugh, “Hi.” He had his hands on his knees, lurched over. He looked like he might puke.

Peter reached toward him, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tony said, waving his hand and shaking his head. He took a deep breath. He stood up, but staggered a little.

Peter laughed a little, both out of built up nervousness and amusement at Tony’s behavior.

Tony said, “We should go out sometime.”

Peter smiled. He was about to say, Sure! That sounds fun. But, like a train colliding with a bus, Peter wondered if Tony was hitting on him. No, he thought, that’s a very vain thing to think. And asking Tony for clarification would be awkward.

“What do you mean by out?” Peter asked.

Tony said, “You know... you, me, out.”

“How old are you?”

Tony looked up at him with hopeful brown eyes, “Eighteen?”

“You’re not eighteen,” Peter said. It was obvious. 

Tony said, “I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

“Tony, I’m twenty,” Peter said.

Tony said, “Don’t make me beg. Cause I will.”

“Tony-”

“Do you want me to beg?” Tony said, “Fine, I’ll beg.” He got down on his knees and clasped his hands in front of Peter, mimicking a prayer almost. He said, “Peter Parker, please go out with me. Please. I’ll do anything.”

People walking by gave them unusual looks, but Tony wasn’t affected in the slightest. He just continued his pleas.

Peter felt like he was going to combust. So, to end his humiliation, he said, “Fine! Fine, just stand up already.”

Tony popped up easily and smiled, “Here’s my number. I’ll text you the details.” Then, like that, he was gone.

Peter looked at the hastily scribbled number and wondered, What the fuck just happened?

[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!):

[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

[polyamorouspunk]

WE DO LOVE YOU PUNK!!!!!!! ...platonically though why does everyone think we're always flirting with everybody

anyway HELLO I'M NEW HERE AN WANNA SHOW MYSELFF

I formed yesterday because we were really blurry then got in a situation that made us feel very small and vulnerable so I formed as a syskid!!!

LOOKIE AT ME

my name's Chili, kinda like the original name of Charlie!!!

also the green isn't zombie as in rotting person but zombie as in funky lil dood

I am a girl but it/its sounds fun to me <33

also my favorite minecraft wood is bamboo and I don't like making normal minecraft structures I like building up in the trees with scaffolding and ladders and stairs and things so monsters can't get me as easily

do you play minecraft? oh also I'm 7 but do understand lots of adult concepts but am not exactly comfortable talking about many of them so there's that

also a fun thing about both syskids (me and Duckie) is we both "built" ourselves as in we had no appearance and we found a picrew we liked and started poking at what felt right until we got a picrew that looks like us and therefore we now have a body and a form and stuff also I'm not an age slider like Duckie so yeah

also i wish I had a little buddy on my shoulder but unfortunately we don't have and shoulder-sized little buddies

also an underrated stim is wiggling your butt but you gotta be careful becaues if you do it wrong you'll twerk and it's fine to do that as a stim but you gotta be careful because some people take that to be sexual when it's just a stim

also one of our best friends is getting married tomorrow

also we wanna be closer friends but Charlie says we'll be too weird or that you'll get uncomfortable with our age difference which I don't understand because why is it weird for adults to be Literally Just Friends with even outright kids? I know bad people exist and... what they do but like whenw e were 12 we had only adult friends so i don't get it but I don't want to undermine her authority or your comfort so i'm not gonna do anything

also I hope this isn't too much at once I really like rambling and tumblr's ask box feature lets me do that how i like to

also another thing i just realized about both of our syskids is that we both have yellow eyes HOW COOL IS THAT anyway im running out of WAIT NO

PUNK YOU NEED TO SEE GODZILLA MINUS ONE IT'S SO GOOD

our Goji liked it too!!! we all loved it!!!!

okay now im pretty sure im actually out of things to say bye byeeeee!!!!!!!!!

Yellow eyes are the best

I always wanted a palm-sized pocket dragon like they had in H*rry P*tter when they picked out what dragons they were fighting in the tournament. I’m like they should have let them keep those. But altogether not the worse thing in the plot of those stores though.

I did see Godzilla Minus One already when it came out! I went and saw it in theaters.

Green is certainly funky but I also love quoting DHMIS but the only quote I say is “green is not a creative color”.

I painted a rock today but I was only allowed one rock which kind of sucks.

I don’t own Minecraft so I’ve only played it once.

[winchesterszvonecek]

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

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tagging: @sancochillo

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[fanboytoy]

Of all the fates in this world, you had never considered yours would be so gruesome as this: tied to a pole in the heart of a camp of monsters, alone and terrified. 

Uruks walked by often, sometimes laughing at you, sometimes sniffing at you or poking at you with their weapons, and other times blissfully ignoring you altogether. The smaller ones were the worst, stopping frequently to sniff at your hair or, worse, your neck, saying things about how delicious you smell (whether they meant for eating or for more revolting purposes, you dare not try to solve). The largest ones, the ones that looked like trolls but could still walk in the sunlight… they rarely even looked at you, and never stopped to sniff or laugh or poke you.

Except this one.

“Reckon you wish you were pretty much anywhere else right now, eh Tark?”

The gigantic troll-or leaned against a massive stack of barrels with its arms crossed as it looked at you. With three scratches across its right cheek and large fangs, it looked more intimidating than every other orc you’d seen so far… even the one that had nearly salivated all over you while pinching your arms and thighs. The troll-orc pushed off of the barrels and walked towards you, and in spite of the stories you’d grown up with describing orcs as dull, violent creatures, you couldn’t help but feel like it was… studying you. It stopped a few feet away and crouched, one massive hand cradling his chin in a mocking facsimile of a thinking Man.

“What? Of all the screamin’ humans, did we manage to get the only one that’s mute? Bloody shame, that.. I do like the way you lot scream.”

You can’t help the defiance in your eyes as you glare at it-- prisoner or not, you were brought up with pride and spirit, and you were not going to die like a frightened rabbit in a trap. Unfortunately, it seemed the troll-orc was amused by your show of anger. It chuckled, a sound that you could feel in your own chest at this range. Its breath smelled a different sort of foul than the others, less like fermentation and more like old blood, and up close you were able to see amusement in his eyes. It was cold, and cruel, but it was familiar… almost human.

Almost.

“Name’s Brȗz… you know what a name is, don’tcha? Got one I can use, or do you prefer nicknames?” When you didn’t answer, he rolled his eyes and kept talking: “Tark’s pretty basic… could call you Meat. Or Lunch. Bit late for lunch though…” He watched you as he spoke, like he was looking for a reaction.

“Maybe I should call you Slave. Be the best outcome you could hope for… or maybe the worst. Depends if you think livin’ in all this would be better than if I just popped yer head off now.”

This time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper in the back of your throat. Brȗz-- the troll-orc’s eyes flashed, and its grin widened to show off even more of its sharp, uneven teeth.

“Well now… guess you can make some noise after all, ‘ey? Now that the ghȗl’s outta the sack, maybe you wanna have talk with ol’ Brȗz. Better way to pass the time than just pretendin’ your knees don’t ache.”

You glare up at the troll-orc, refusing to back down or appear any weaker than you already had. Resentment bubbled up in your chest, and you clenched your jaw before speaking.

“I’d rather die than make small talk with Uruk-hai.”

The troll-orc laughed, this time much more of a single sharp sound than the bouncing rumble of before. “Uruk-hai? Nah, mate, I’m not one a’ those shrakhs. I’m an Olog! Better, brighter, bigger all ‘round…” He even had the gall to wink at you on that last part, and you felt the bile rise in your throat. He stood, and at this much closer distance you could tell that he was, in fact, bigger than every other orc you’d seen in this encampment. His hands alone were big enough to hold one of you in each, fingers each as big around as your arms; his legs were like solid trees, his torso thick and wide and covered in small scars. You couldn’t help but notice the way he moved: languid, confident, relaxed-- a predator watching prey go by and knowing that at some later date, he would be well fed. 

“Even still, my question stands: why would I want to talk with you?”

The troll-orc-- Olog-- grinned. “If memory serves, you never asked me a question… you just said you’d rather die than talk. And even if you had asked, I already gave ya an answer: passin’ time.” He stroked his chin again, and this time you knew he really was thinking. “Then again… could be better things to do with your time, right? Like escapin’... or prayin’. Maybe you could figure out how to bring world peace while you’re sittin’ there on your knees!”

“Fine! What is it you want? I doubt you have any real interest in conversation, so what are you truly after?” 

Perhaps that was the moment you should have realized your mistake. The Olog’s grin widened, going from mild amusement to nearly sickening wicked pleasure.

“Oh, nothin’ much, I get pretty much everythin’ I want ‘round here on account of bein’ the biggest, baddest Olog around! You know what’s a more interestin’ question though?” You could smell its breath again, and it took everything in you not to gag when it leaned down and spoke to you in a low, rumbling tone.

“I wanna know what you want.”

This was the second moment you had to try and steer yourself away from disaster… and this time, it was easy to see. But the temptation was too much, and even if you knew you didn’t have a chance in hell to succeed, you had no reason not to say it… right?

“Simple, Olog… I want my freedom.”

“Oh, simple indeed, innit?” He replied easily, obviously expecting your answer. “I mean, all I’d have to do is go ‘round behind ya, and untie those ropes, and you’d be off on your merry little way across Mordor and back home!” Your stomach dropped as he spoke, you hadn’t realized just how much the idea of escape was going to affect you, even though you knew it was never going to happen. And the way he treated it so casually, like he was telling children a bedtime story, made your heart ache for the fields and forests you knew so well before being dragged kicking and screaming into a world you didn’t know. And the Olog, damn him, he could tell-- you knew he could tell, the way he was looking at you like you were pathetic, like you were an animal, like you were prey.

Like you were his prey.

“Well, well, well… been almost a week since you got grabbed, and at least a day on the ground there, and you know what? Reckon this is the first time I’ve seen you look so down, Slave. As much as I like watching the life fade from you Tarks’ eyes, seein’ it while you’re still breathin’... actually, I kinda like it. But I tell you what, I’m already in a good enough mood without watchin’ ya lose all hope. So how’s about I let ya out?”

The shock must have been evident on your face, had to have been, because his gaze sharpened and his grin widened on one side, and he made a noise at you that you could only describe as some fucked-up kind of purring.

“Bet you’d like that, hey? Ol’ Brȗzie lets ya out, you go free… might even make it home if you’re smart about it. Bet you’d be real grateful if I untied those ropes and watched you run off into the sunset.”

“You’re toying with me, orc… I know your kind are cruel, but if you only came here to torture me, I’m afraid you’ll be getting no more satisfaction from me today.”

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that, Slave… after all, I never said I wouldn’t do it. Just said you’d probably be grateful if I did. Might even wanna give me somethin’ nice for my trouble.”

You grit your teeth, angry now at the Olog’s nonchalance. “Perhaps, if you actually did release me, I would be compelled to give you some kind of reward.” You spit the words like venom, and in the next instant you would finally realize how fucked your situation truly was. 

“Yeah? And what will you do for me, if I loosen those ropes a little?”

Your stomach drops once again as you look at him. He’s grinning. Its grinning. When did it become a he? Why did you get the sense that he wanted something from you that you would regret giving? Why did it seem like it wanted to-- to--

“Anything.”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. There is a moment where you look at the Olog-- Brȗz-- and you can feel regret and shame washing over you. It feels like a dozen lifetimes pass in the less than a second it takes for Brȗz to reply to you, but when he does, your cheeks heat and you swallow back a whimper of fear.

“Then let’s get some slack in those ropes, eh Slave?”

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Stabbed and Salacious [6]

*****Here's your warning. Be on guard.*****

The start to my stream with Ash, Larry, Sally, and Todd tonight has been uncomfortably... serene.

When I imagine any scenario with Sally involved, that's not a feeling I can even think of associating with him. So the simple fact that he's not addressing me too much and that he has a cheery lilt to his voice makes me feel nearly sick with anxiousness.

He must be smug about my obvious loss on Discord earlier. 

Not to mention, after I got caught, everyone dipped out of the chat and I didn't even bother defending myself. How would I even come back from that? But at the same time, I'm filled with this incredible need for a vendetta. I don't know how to save myself from this.

What's worse is my stupid attraction to this godawful Sally Face has only grown. I find myself flinching at every single word he says because it sounds different tonight. Maybe I'm still recovering from his photo, or maybe I'm not even that crazy. Maybe he's making his voice sound so seductive on purpose.

Definitely a possibility.

"Come on out, my little victims," Sally face purrs. His words are purposeful and absolutely vicious. I never should have gotten on tonight. To say that I'm quaking in my seat while I try to get a handle on this game (which is new to me) is the understatement of the century. I can't help but roll my eyes at myself for being so ridiculous.

Earlier, we started our streams with a couple rounds of Among Us and, surprisingly, Minecraft. Now we're all playing the Friday the 13th game and Sally's playing Jason. What fantastic luck.

I'm trying to hide wherever I possibly can with what time and mobility I have. It's my first time playing and I have no idea how to work anything. I don't even quite know how the game works, so I'm open bait to the one man who wants revenge on me most in this world.

Not only am I fighting for my life, I'm fighting for my dignity. My head is just above the water in this sticky situation I've gotten myself roped into and I need a good win to keep my head above water right now. Otherwise, I'll have to pull a y/n and change my name again. It's what I'm good at.

"I think I saw a little foot over there," Sally murmurs, more so to himself. The statement makes me stiffen up though and I stand completely still in the wide open spot I'm in on the map. He could be talking about anyone, but under the assumption that he's talking about me, I think my best option is to stop moving altogether.

Still, I bite my lip nervously as I wait, listening to the sound of my rapid heartbeat that only grows stronger as the seconds pass. Not a word is spoken between our group and the ensuing silence only makes my internal panic even worse. 

My heart is screaming at me to keep moving in case Sally sneaks up on me, but my brain is trying to rationalize everything and tell me that I need to relax. 

The thing is that the few sane parts of me know that the odds have been against me since the second I got involved with Sally. In truth, I was fucked from the start.

But I don't hear any footsteps around me. Nothing's happening.

So I follow my heart's rushed commands and start moving slowly, looking for a new spot to run to and hide.

A hum reverberates through my headphones and a rush of air leaves my body. I'm so suddenly tense that my stomach aches as it turns in on itself. My head is filled with waves of thoughts and emotions that just can't grasp at the sound I've heard. And deep on the inside, all of my organs are raging over the thought that I wasn't able to hear that in person, and that I won't be able to hear something as pretty as that again.

It had to have come from Sally-- the pitch and tone matched him perfectly, even the slight rasp to his clear voice. 

I take a deep breath, trying to keep it as quiet as possible as I attempt to dispel my overwhelming thoughts that are doing their best to drown every little bit of my mind. 

"I know you're there, Larry," Sally drawls. "I love a chase. Don't you dare hide from me." A low, short chuckle follows his words before he says, "Run."

I bring a hand to my lips, cussing quietly over my slightly trembling fingers. 

Never in my life have I ever been so spell-bound and wonderstruck by just a few words. There has to be some kind of rhyme, reason, or magic behind the art. Especially since it's Sal. He must know the logistics of the perfect sound, frequency, and longevity of each syllable he speaks in order to make him sound so alluring. 

Paying too close attention to his words is the equivalent to trying to pet a wild tiger. It's beautiful, enchanting even and you feel drawn, but the bite isn't going to be worth it.

But the overwhelming desire to indulge in my desperation and yearning is quite literally incriminating to my heart and mind. I shouldn't get too close to him or his appealing nature. It'll only get me into trouble in the end.

So I cross my legs, gulp down the urge to make bad decisions while recording a live stream, and run off to a new place at the sound of Larry's frantic cackles.

Larry gets killed, of course. It's a fun moment where he runs past me, screaming bloody murder and laughing hysterically in fear the entire way. I watch from the shadows as Sally chases after him, light giggles following his form.

From there on, Ash and Todd get killed too. And then it's just Sally and I alongside a few other counselors who are running for their lives.

But I know he's looking for me.

I've been hiding for an eternity, waiting for Sally to grow tired of looking for me so he'll plow through the other players. Hopefully I can just find my way out of here.

I have a bad habit of treating this game like Dead By Daylight. I have an inkling of a feeling that I can actually survive, but I probably won't be able to.

A quick, anxious glance at my stream shows over seven thousand people watching me. My viewers have gone up significantly and it irks me a bit knowing I can't talk to them while being pursued by Sally.

"Come on out, bitch," Sally lazily says. It's a lot easier to ignore his attractive attributes when he treats me like this, so for once, I don't mind the insult. At least it's not his distractingly charming voice and words.

Still, my eye twitches a bit as I hold my breath, noting the moment he passes by me. I hope I've blended into the shadows well enough, simply waiting for the moment I can get him away then run to victory.

His feet move a bit farther away from me and I close my eyes, not realizing that a rush of adrenaline has spiked because of my near death experience. Crazy how this game gives me such realistic reactions.

"You're around here somewhere and I'm aching to get some blood on my hands," Sally slowly says, an amused sway to his deep voice that sounds as harmonic and entrancing as an electric guitar and bass playing perfectly at the same time.

Fuck this guy.

I don't say a word as I watch him saunter off in the opposite direction from me.

Once I feel that he's far enough away, I bite my tongue and crawl out of my hiding spot. I have a clear shot to victory, I just need to not screw up. And if I snap at Sally due to an unjust stroke of confidence, I'll fuck myself over. It's better to let him have this little victory for now because, overall, I'm leaving Camp Crystal Lake alive, motherfucker.

I turn slightly, setting my sights on a car not too far away from me. I just need to get there and fix it, then I'll be on my way.

My character ambles over and my chest aches with every step out in the open. The ominous darkness and eerie noises as well as the knowledge of a killer close by fills me with unease. Anything could happen and being too imbedded in the game-- like I'm actually walking through a scary forest myself-- is dangerous. 

The last thing I want to do is scream loud enough for my neighbors to hear it or terrorize myself too badly.

I shake my head, trying to remind myself that I won't be hurt. I only need to win.

My neck is cool with sweat and I pinch my lips together, curling my knees up to my chest as I grow more apprehensive upon reaching the car.

But a damn knife flies into my back. An alarmed squeal leaves my lips as I jump in my seat and lean forward, making my character run for its life. Fuck the car, I can hide out for a while longer.

A menacing chortle that quickly grows closer sends chills through my body and I huff out quick breaths, trying to weave in and out of trees. I break into a full sweat and frantically wipe my clammy hands on my skirt, hoping I can actually get away from fucking Sally.

Another knife hits me, and then I'm enveloped in hands, looking into the zombified eyes of Jason Voorhees as he brutally pulls my jaw from the rest of my head. 

I lean back in my chair, listening to Sally's remorseless laughs as he looks down at my lifeless character. I'm filled with a violent fury that's incomparable to any other emotion I've felt in the past few days since working with this monstrosity.

"I think that's the most delicious blood bath I've seen all game," Sally says, a deep chuckle following and increasing the heat in my glare that no one can see. "A vendetta completed."

"Fucking dick," I seethe quietly, knowing he won't hear me anyway right now. He still has other counselors to kill.

My boiling anger increases a notch or two while watching Sal diligently and slowly take out every other player in the game. 

My tongue runs over the front of my teeth and my jaw is clenched tightly. I want to beat him at this game so badly but I just keep losing. He's hardly even trying to fight me all that much because it's so easy for him to overpower me-- that pisses me off. I'm tired of letting him come out victorious. My turn is long overdo.

I let my hands drop to my table and my eyes languidly wander across the screen as another counselor dies. 

With a groan, I lift a hand to rub my eyes, scrunching up my face in irritation. How is he pinching every single nerve of mine? He's like a crab claw that won't let go of my finger-- a painful fucking burden.

I hold all this anger toward him. I've focused it into one laser beam directed at him and I'm counting down the immeasurable days until I'm able to finally get everything out and beat him down with my words. 

And yet, I still dig my palms into my eyes at the sound of his laugh, readjust my skirt, cross and uncross my legs, talk myself through the endless fluttering in my stomach. I even have to hold back smiles at his clever phrases and slick tongue. 

Wish I had his slick tongue in my mouth, speaking of which, but I'd also genuinely like to punch him in the face.

Battling the desire to have him in any way I can alongside my deep vexation for the asshole is exhausting. I kind of just want to sleep on this entire situation, leave it for me to stress over tomorrow.

Why does he have to be hot, smooth, and an asshole? Why couldn't he have been sweet and kind like he was to Lexi?

By the way, I'm just beginning to accept that he's never going to call or text Lexi. I'm not sure if I'm happy or ticked about that. On the one hand, if he would call Lexi and express some interest, I could fuck this attraction out of my system. On the other hand, him messaging Lexi would out me immediately. He could find out my phone number from Ash, Larry, or Todd and that's some fire that I don't want to mess with.

"That's a win for me," Sally sighs out pridefully, gaining my attention again. The game has ended.

"You're fucking... damn," Larry breathes, seemingly at a loss for words. "You're too good. I don't want you to play a killer ever again."

"Hey, maybe it's just in my genes. Not my fault you can't compete with this skill," Sally boasts, humming contently to himself. Fuck, I wish he'd stop doing that. It feels like his voice circles me and leaves me caged in the memory of that stupid sound.

"I'd hope not," Todd scoffs lightly. "I'm getting off for the night though, so I'll see everyone when we get on again."

We tell Todd goodbye, then Larry goes not too long after him. With the three of us left, we end our streams too, but I stick around while Ash and Sally chat.

Truth be told, I'm not quite sure what I'm waiting for. Maybe a chance to bitch at Sal or maybe it's just to hear his hypnotizing voice for a bit longer.

"Are you going to get off or what?" The sudden snarky tone makes me focus in on Ash and Sally's conversation that had been drowned out by my thoughts for a bit.

Ash is quiet, the only sign of her presence being a muffled groan. That clearly tells me that the dickhead himself is talking to me.

"Oh, shut up," I bite out, squinting my eyes at my computer screen. "I'm not even bothering you."

"Your presence pisses me off. Leave," he simply replies, his delicious voiced tainted with nonchalance and agitation. 

"You're such a dick," I spit out venomously once I can't come up with anything else to say. Knowing that he has an advantage over me yet again is making my chest bubble with barely contained anger.

I glare down at the microphone that Ash was kind enough to send me years ago when she and I used to run around our map in Seven Days to Die. Usually, the device brings me memories of joy, but tonight I can't gain any positive feelings from it.

"And you're a foul-mouthed bitch," Sally Face replies, his voice seemingly more amused than angered. Though, I can definitely detect some aggravation in there.

His response makes me itch. I haven't said more than maybe three words to him tonight-- before we started arguing of course. So where does he find the audacity to call me foul-mouthed?

I snort. "Yea, okay. So what does that make you then? A stuck-up nobody? Your fans only know the idea of you." 

My pickings are slim and I'm just grabbing onto any little option I have. I know I'm practically fighting fire with gasoline considering Sally doesn't show himself for his own personal reason, but I have my own reasons too. I can push his buttons on the topic because hitting me in the same place and on the same level wouldn't be enough to top the damage I did. He's smart and methodic so he at least knows that much.

I suddenly notice that Ash is missing from our group call. She must have left.

Frowning, I lift my phone to send her a text and apologize. I'm even about to just hang up on Sally too. What's the point of arguing? It's only aggravating and it's not like he'll ever explain why he hates me so much.

But Sally Face grunts and the sound makes a flame of irritation light up inside me again. "The same goes for you, you fucking brat," he spits. "No one knows who you are. At least they see me-- I've never even seen anything above your neck."

"You'd be the last person to see me, asshole." My words come out quick and aggressive, I even lean closer to my computer, simmering with audible rage. "I don't know why you have such a problem with me," I continue despite knowing that my attempt to get any reasoning out of him is futile. 

How could I have fucked up twice with him and still not understand how? I've never even met him as y/n and he still can't stand either side of me, with the exception of Lexi, of course. I want to know what I did. Being the target of hate with no explanation maddens me beyond comprehension.

Honestly, he probably doesn't understand why the fuck he hates me either. He just dislikes  things and people out of spite. He hates because he's angry at or about something. He converts hurt feelings into negativity-- that has to be the reason why he's so aggressive and rude. What else could it possibly be?

Obviously, my spit-fire persona doesn't make his resentment toward me any better. I'm on his level and he can't win on command. He's still an open book so I can tell that losing our battles pisses him off too.

"You just show up out of nowhere and become besties with my group," Sally Face scoffs. "Like who the fuck are you? Did you pay Ash to play with you or something? You were nonexistent a week ago. I wish you'd have stayed that way. All you do is fucking bitch and yap like a little chihuahua."

That's a lead, one that I already had my suspicions about, in fact. That still doesn't justify his behavior though.

I bite my lip, my fingers quivering under the weight of my fury as I grip onto the edge of my desk. "If you weren't such an asshole, I wouldn't have to bitch and yap. All you do is talk over me." I gulp, licking my lips and trying to shake the fighting response out of my mind. I should just leave this alone for the night. I shouldn't entertain it at all. But I continue anyway. God only knows why. "It feels like you're constantly choking me--"

"You like that though, don't you?"

There's an almost unnoticeable difference in his voice. His tone is just a bit deeper, the connotations a tad darker, and he drags the words out slowly-- like each sound is a melody waiting to be sung. 

But the problem here is that I do notice, and I acknowledge the change. I don't know what to make of it.

I'm struck into silence, my voice dying out as I struggle to catch the breath that's rushed out of my lungs. Did I hear him right? I know I couldn't have heard differently-- his voice was loud and clear-- but it doesn't make sense. Something like that wouldn't come from him and be directed at me. Ever.

Or would it? 

I think back to the day I sent everyone photos of me. When Sally wouldn't answer and got really defensive over Larry's joke about him masturbating to my pictures.

What if Larry wasn't too far off?

...No. There's no way.

Like the intellectual that I am, I force out a breathless, "What?" 

At this point, I'm waiting for some kind of confirmation on whether my internal war is won or lost. His voice alone makes me feel hot with need, but I don't want to chase an impossible daydream just because he's trying to get a reaction out of me. Which, honestly, he probably just wants to dig my grave even deeper by getting me to admit that I'm attracted to him. Why else would he say that I'd like to be choked?

Sally Face hums, the sound making my heart thump against my ribcage. My head feels fuzzy, like my brain is bouncing around on a fuck ton of bean bags. I can't take in as much oxygen as I would like to; my breaths come out rushed and heavy. Worse, my cheeks burn with more fury than a thousand suns colliding all at once. But worst of all is that I'm falling into that fantasy anyway-- a fantasy where I get to have my way with this insolent man-- whether that way be pleasurable or destructive. 

But right now, I'm wondering if he'd like to choke me too.

"You seem like the type of woman who enjoys a hand around your throat. I'm sure you just love the idea of my hand being the one to leave you breathless."

Has he crawled into my head?

Sudden heat pools between my thighs. I shift, crossing my legs as I blink at my screen, unable to get a single word out.

He sounds intrigued, curious, and just a little annoyed. If anything, it seems he's testing the waters and trying to see what he can make out of the tense situation he's dragged us into.

I lick my lips, hoping to lubricate my dry mouth a bit. It feels as though all of the moisture has traveled down to my core despite how badly I wish I wouldn't respond to Sally like this. Fuck, I shouldn't feel this way.

The way he's speaking, so dirty and promiscuous, makes me feel differently about him for the first time in days. Acknowledging attraction is different from chasing dangerous opportunities.

Suddenly, I can see it. Most of all, I wish I could feel it. The way his ring clad fingers would squeeze my throat, leaving me breathless and begging for more. The way he'd ask me to beg-- we all know he would, he loves when people fall at his feet-- the way his cool skin would feel against me. How would he smell? Like cologne and shampoo maybe, musky but sweet. Or maybe he'd smell the same way he did when we first met.

I take a deep breath, choosing to remain silent as my hand inches toward my thigh. 

Hundreds of different thoughts race through my mind. Yea, maybe this is risky. But the way his voice alone has me dripping in an instant is just something I can't pass up. I can't even arouse myself this much, and Sally Face has managed to do it within two seconds. 

I have access to a pleasurably sick and twisted, possibly embarrassing, fantasy that I'll probably never get again. Ever. Because this is me and Sally Face-- two complete opposites.

No. I can't. I won't. I won't give him the satisfaction-- I won't give myself the satisfaction. I can handle up on the burning in my body and my raging pulse below later. 

I know he wants to damage my dignity, maybe even my reputation. He isn't being serious right now, he's just chasing another win in this longterm game we have going on.

"Your silence speaks numbers," Sally Face says, voice deep, raspy, and smooth. This is far different from the high pitched, aggressive voice he normally uses with me.

I keep trying to tell myself that he's just toying with me, trying to get some incriminating evidence of how fucking hot I think he is. But the way he speaks right now alongside his word usage is just dragging me further into the abyss of craving him even more.

He chuckles at my refusal to answer and the sound sends my brain into a frenzy. That's good. He's on top of his game tonight and it pisses me off, but turns me on all at the same time. How can someone do that? Talent like this shouldn't exist. It's incredibly dangerous.

The proof lies in the skirt bunched in my hands and the clenching of my thighs. Good God, how could just a laugh send me over the edge?

A whimper slips past my lips and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that Sally didn't hear. It could have been interpreted as me crying or something, but it sounded far too lewd-- though I'd never admit it to anyone other than myself. More than anything, I want him to skip over whatever this is and let me wallow in my pitiful lust for him in peace.

Sally hums again and his next words make the decision that I couldn't force myself to take action on. 

"What a little slut," he seductively says, and I can feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. My mouth gapes and the insides of my thighs are soaked by now. What a fucking mess.

His voice drips with shameless desire, something I never could have expected, but fuck it sounds so good coming from him. "Are you touching yourself?" 

"No--" I rush to say with a raging blush on my cheeks. How could I do something like that over a call? Not to mention, how could I do it over him? I definitely thought about it, but there's no way I could do that.

But, if this is all real and his unhidden desire isn't a facade... if we're really going to cross a boundary...

"Listen, Vi," he starts darkly. My thighs clench together tightly and my eyes roll into the back of my head. Just his damn voice alone. "Maybe your words don't normally work for me, but in this situation, I need to hear them. Silence is out of the question, so I'll ask you again. Are you touching yourself?"

I shiver at his use of my nickname, my lips parting. Maybe I wasn't doing much touching beforehand, but now I want to be able to tell him yes. He's never called me by name before and hearing it now, during a time of such heightened emotions, makes me yearn for a chance to hear him moan. To know that he'll get some kind of pleasure from just the thought of me, just the sound of my voice. 

My teeth clamp down onto my bottom lip as I nervously spread my legs a bit, trailing a hand over the inside of my thigh. The light touch makes goosebumps erupt on my skin, but it fills me with a sense of urgency. I'm ready to chase a high I don't get too often.

My fingers run over my panties, the sensation of my cool digits finally touching my heat after craving some kind of release for the past hour or so is erotic. Compared to every other time I've done this, it feels so much different now. Every light touch has me shaking uncontrollably and I've hardly done anything yet. 

My hand dips into my underwear and the tip of my index finger ghosts over my clit as I test the waters, thinking of all the ways the man on the other side of this call can bring me to the most extravagant climax I'll ever see in this lifetime. If only I just give in and let him.

And I think I'll do just that.

"I am now." I finally answer him, the words coming out as a breathy moan as I apply pressure, beginning to move my index and middle finger in slow circles. 

Pleasure erupts within me like a volcano, sending sweet tingles up my spine and rapturing heat to every part of my body. Fuck, just admitting such a thing makes this ten times hotter and I never would've imagined I'd be into something like this.

Sally and I's current circumstances are insane. I didn't think something like this was possible and I'm absolutely raving over my slow-building movements and the thought of how this is going to play out.

My pussy is dripping, my fingers slick without even having to do much work. Sally Face is something else-- talented in ways that I never thought were possible.

I'm faintly able to hear as Sally sucks in a harsh breath, then the sound of a zipper. 

My heart skips a beat then picks up speed, pounding so powerfully that I can feel it in every inch of my body. My eyes widen as I pause my movements, my body almost jolting from the lack of contact. 

I immediately return my fingers to my clit, using more pressure than I did before. I flinch, tilting my head down embarrassedly as I continue moving my digits, indulging in the addictive feeling of bringing myself pleasure because no one can do it as well as I can, though I think Sally may end up being good competition.

I let out a quiet moan that dies out quickly, but I know he hears it.

"Good," he says breathlessly. "Keep doing that. Touch yourself for me-- and you better only think of me."

My eyes shut in ecstasy and I throw my head back, releasing another soft moan that isn't nearly as nerve-wracking as the first. My hand travels over my soaked pussy and my fingers are working faster, handling the ache that only continues to build up.

Sally groans on the other end of the call, a shuddering breath leaving his lips that I wish I could see-- that I wish I could feel. My fingers quicken their pace, rubbing against my bundle of nerves in the most compelling way.

I imagine his hand taking the place of mine, sending me into an endless wave of pleasure-- taking me to heights of debauchery I could never dream of. If anyone could do it, it would be Sally Face. I have no doubts about that.

"Tell me exactly how it feels," Sally grunts, his voice shaking with the force of what he's undoubtedly doing. Just the thought makes the aching in my lower stomach grow and I yearn to see the look on his face. I long to see his hand working along his member.

I can't believe I got this lucky. What's more unbelievable is the fact that I managed to convince myself to actually cross this line with him.

Still, I feel more than just shy when it comes to finding an answer to his demand. He knows what I'm doing, I wish he didn't want me to say it. I don't... think I can say it. Doing it is one thing, but explaining it is something else entirely.

He lets out a frustrated noise. "Say it or I'll leave the call," he threatens, sending me down an even more fucked up path than the one I was already traveling on. His voice is like melting ice, coated in slick and filthy promises, but the looming threat of ending this for good is hidden underneath.

I might rot in my own mind for the rest of time, but I'll do anything to keep this up.

Biting my lip, I drag my fingers down, slipping them between my wet folds before bringing them back up to my clit to continue the erotic pleasure that I'm combining with just the sound of his voice.

"It feels so damn good. I'm thinking of how you look right now. Wishing it was your hands on my pussy instead of my own," I moan out, shutting my eyes again as I readjust my sitting position.

I spread my legs wider, stretching my shoulders as I go faster, applying more pressure.

"Good girl," he says between the tantalizing sounds of his hand stroking his cock on the other end of the line. His breath hitches with every other intake of air, a grunt or a whimper following soon after. "Tell me how much you hate me."

I laugh softly through my quiet moans, a salacious type of exhilaration taking over me and robbing me of my ability to rationally think. I'm too excited, too deep in the sensation of his voice and the dirty things he's saying to me. The disgusting things he wants me to say and, even more, the appraisal he's given even though he holds such strong disapproval toward me.

My hand slides lower and my fingers slip into my heat, the feeling of being filled up making a strangled groan leave my lips. I curl my fingers, hitting my favorite spot that has me mewling like a kitten. And despite feeling amazing already, I wish he was doing this.

"I hate you so fucking much," I groan, my voice high pitched and purely lustful. "You piss me off and I hate that all I want to do is fuck you lately. You hot, aggravating piece of shit." My voice falls into a sinful giggle again as a smile pulls at my lips.

I'm getting so damn close way too damn quickly.

My body is hot and quakes as I focus in on Sally's filthy words and sounds of pleasure, alongside my own delicious movements. What I wouldn't give to be with him at this exact moment. 

I'm almost shocked by my own thoughts.

Sally moans beautifully, the sounds of his squelching movements picking up speed. "Fuck, that's hot," he seemingly chokes out between the force of his brutal pace and the overwhelming feeling that's taking over his body.

The added image of his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, bringing himself to climax just because of the sound of me-- the idea of me-- brings me one step closer to the edge.

I add a second finger to my dripping cunt, thrusting them into myself even faster than before. I'm almost to the peak, just getting to the edge.

"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much-- you have no idea," He says between gritted teeth before sucking in a strangled breath. "Which is why you're not allowed to cum. If you're so fucking desperate for it, you can wait until I have my hands on you."

A scoff leaves my lips and I only continue what I was previously doing, finding his command hilarious and attractive. Like hell I'll listen to him.

But I stop upon hearing Larry come into the call with an echoing scream.

I fly into a sitting position, my hand leaving its previous position. Harsh pants wrack my body as I shiver, growing aggravated over the pain of losing the climax I was so close to achieving. 

Sally's gone quiet too.

Fuck, did Larry hear us? Does he know what happened?

I'm quivering for an entirely different reason now, my flushed cheeks growing even warmer under the prospect of getting caught in the dirty act I stupidly agreed to. 

I... fuck. Did Sal and I really just do that? We must have. My fingers are soaked and so is my pussy. My heart is racing so quickly that I'm worried I'll flatline. My limbs are tense, slowly growing a bit sore as my orgasm continues to escape me. Not like I'll get that back tonight.

"Are you guys done arguing? Ash just told me you both haven't gone to bed yet and she left like ten minutes ago," Larry grumbles, adding a little giggle.

Oh, thank God. 

I swallow thickly, closing my eyes and leaning against the back of my chair again. I take a few breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. This situation could have turned out much differently, so I'm glad karma hasn't gotten me yet.

Surprisingly, I'm actually thankful that Sally wanted to be a dick in the middle of our erotic moment. It was like a heads-up for Larry's interruption.

I open my eyes, looking over at the discord call and... Sally's gone. He left.

An angry grin pulls at my lips as I chew on the inside of my cheek. That little bastard. 

________________

A/N:::::::::: holy fuck i'm so horrified to post this lmfao. I have never written actual smut in my life so using terms and situations i'm not used to is HARD (like sal's dick) but yeaaaa so i don't know if this is up to par? but hopefully i'll get more comfortable and slowly start to get better at it with time :3

fun fact: i had this smut scene written before i even wrote the first chapters of the story. this entire story is based on this one scene. i had to do some major editing to it since i actually developed a true plot since writing this, but i'm hoping it's improved (which i think it has) since i originally wrote it. 

anyway, i'm asking for feedback tonight! i know i need to improve my smut-writing skills so give me some tricks and tips please <3

as always, i love you all with my entire heart and i'm forever thankful for all the love and support! thank you all for reading <333

[billiejean485]

Okay - a long rant ahead and some explanations.

I would also like to point out that what I'm about to talk about mostly concerns the Christian community and it may not be interesting to anyone else or would just lead to pointless arguments that I don't want to be a part of, so - read at your own discretion after the explanations.

EXPLANATION

Yes, you have probably all noticed that I haven't completely stopped indulging in Miraculous stuff, especially after this post, and the reason is - I am simply enjoying (or have been doing so up till now) the concepts, the fan art and the never used possibilities and lost potential of the show and its characters. Which leads me directly to the second part of this post.

TO THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY WITHIN MIRACULOUS LADYBUG FANDOM

Yesterday, I gave this vid a watch and discovered something I wished I knew from day one of this show.

Among all the good points, something really struck me, and it was this:

.... Look.

I know Thomas Astruc is an atheist (or however he defines himself) and that he's a very anti-religious person - but this is downright offensive.

So, what I wanted to bring to attention.... was that this show really isn't just some goofy fantasy x sci-fi mix that doesn't delve into religion or myths - but that that is far from the truth.

Miraculous goes directly into everything and reshapes it to the viewing pleasure of people who have no religious beliefs whatsoever and are, like it's creator, of a mindset that it's all just nonsense, thus disrespecting culture and faith of humongous groups of religious communities.

As an (Orthodox) Christian, I can't talk much about people of other faith, though I know there were also big problems with the Muslim communities. Because of that, I am just going to stick to what I'm capable of concluding.

... You know, we all have the right to believe whatever we want to believe in. If atheistic people don't want to believe in anything, that's their choice. But spitting in the face of absolutely everyone who is of different opinion, especially through a worldwide known show (and directed at kids, to make matters worse) is definitely not alright. We have the right to choose our faith as much as any other individual and absolutely no one should be allowed to say that we should keep to ourselves as some kind of 'minority' and let the 'majority' take over, because they're right since there's a bigger number of them.

Speaking up about something negative within a certain religious community that affects everyone is one thing - telling them to shut up altogether is another.

If you think I am blowing things out of proportion with this.... do a little research on Astruc's X (formerly Twitter). I kid you not when I tell you that I have practically quoted him in the last line of the paragraph above my previous one. Amanda does the same in her video as well.

But what am I really getting at here with this post?

I wanted to send out a warning to fellow Christians that are watching the show and to boost up the awareness to this problem.

Literally... all the problems I've been having with the show for the past two years come down to this. The way the characters are treated, the direction the show is taking... everything. If I had known about the creators' opinions on this topic I would have seen disappointment a mile away, and it never would have affected me as bad as it did.

I stopped drawing for a whole year for crying out loud! And I've seen during that period that many people are absolutely unaware of what is lurking behind the curtains. The show is meant to take you to a certain point of viewing the world the way its creators believe are right, and it's not going to stop doing that anytime soon. What's more, I believe (and I am talking from experience here, from other disappointments in my past) that things are only going to get worse.

The Love Square is bait. The prolonged plot is there to keep the viewers interested. Heck, Astruc confirmed that publicly - it's needed to exist in order to keep the show successful and running. He thinks he's doing a good job at it, and, to be fair - business-wise, he is. That doesn't speak about the quality of the story though. But that's another topic I'm not going to bring up here...

I just wanted to give a heads-up to peeps, who do have an incorporated belief system in their lives, to not get swindled. It's not innocent fun, and that's going to get more obvious as time passes and the creators get more freedom to express their opinions.

I'm sorry if you've invested yourselves in this show as much as I have. I truly believed there wasn't another system directed against religion somewhere in its shadows and that it was a safe watch - however, it isn't. If you do have a life dedicated to something this show is against, all I can tell you is - re-evaluate what you're watching here.

For all the rest of you.... I suppose I have nothing to say. If you read all the way up to here and still disagree with me... well, feel free to do it. But I have no discussion to be made with you.