#IT'S MOLLY AND CLAY OKAY

[littlewoodblack]

Girl’s Night at The Burrow by Me ✨

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Pairings: George Weasley/reader (fem)

I wrote this when I was like 15 and originally posted it on wattpad, then ao3, and now this lovely platform.

FLUFF

My favorite fanfic theme, TENSION ❤️❤️

1.6k words

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Shouts and laughs fill the air of the Weasley’s living room, except they’re all emitted from loud and rowdy boys that should really be in bed right now. The only reason they aren’t is because Arthur persuaded Molly into letting them stay up until midnight seeing as it is summer break and on summer break, the children should be having fun.

“Get ready for bed, boys!” Molly’s voice echoes through the house from the kitchen.

“What? No way! It’s an hour till midnight, mum.” Ron rejected.

“I know dear,” she returned to her calm motherly voice, “It’s just for tonight, pip pip.”

I was handed an excruciatingly hot mug from her which appeared to be cocoa. Bye bye finger prints, now I’m free from the law, I guess. Ginny pushed her seat back with a sigh to excuse herself.

“No, no, Ginny sit back down, you’re staying here. So are you, Y/N.”

Ginny and I exchanged perplexed glances at one another as we mentally analyzed the passing week to discover anything we might have done wrong that we would be in trouble for. Molly walked away to the kitchen, presumably to make another hot chocolate for Ginny or herself.

In her absence, I whispered to Ginny, “did you do anything bad??”

.

“Nothing she knows about.” She whispered back, mirroring my clueless demeanor.

The second hot chocolate was placed on a coaster and slid to Ginny, who soon burnt her tongue.

“Now I know you’re wondering why I put everyone to bed”, a smug smirk appeared on her face and she placed her hand on her hips, “but it’s been ages since I’ve got to have a good girl talk and pampering. I brought a muggle face mask and- oh. Where do you suppose Hermione is at?”

“Did you tell her to stay down?” Ginny asked with an ice cube resting on her tongue.

“Oops.” Molly went to make yet another hot chocolate while I ran up to our room to find her, on the way being stopped in my tracks by George leaving the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped upon his waist and wet hair dripping water everywhere which Ron will probably step on later with socks by accident and throw a fit about. George is not the stoic and mysterious person he thinks he is, especially since the blushy tint of his cheeks was very obvious.

“Why have you not got any pajamas on yet?” He looked me up and down.

“Why’ve you not even got a shirt on?”

“Uh, well, do you like, wear your clothes in the shower or something?”

“Only when I’m feeling spontaneous.” With that sarcasm, I pushed past him in an attempt to hide the blush that I can definitely feel, and that he definitely noticed.

“MIONE!” I frantically knock on the door, internally withering away at the thought of George.

“BLIMEY, WHAT??” Her book falls to the floor when she reaches to hold her heart after being startled.

“Sorry. You’re not supposed to go to bed yet, we’re having a girls night.”

“Oh well okay”, she crawls out of bed, “wish I got the memo earlier, though”

She walks ahead of me with one of her blankets wrapped over her shoulders.

“Ah, good.” Molly waddles over to the table with more mugs and headbands are laid out already, along with a jar of bentonite clay. Hermione takes a seat and grabs the plush bunny headband.

“Y/N do you want the leopard print one or the bear one?” asks Ginny.

“Whatever one you don’t want”

She tosses me the leopard print one. “Damn.”

“If you wanted the bear one, you should have said so when I gave you the chance.” She rolls her eyes.

“No, no, the leopard print one is… nice.”

The hot chocolate is stubborn to cool off, but that’s never stopped me.

“So you fancy George?” Hermione is now applying the clay.

I nearly spat out my drink which would have been better than choking on it as I did. Ginny’s jaw dropped.

“I knew it!” Molly seems overjoyed as she slams her hands on the table.

“Hermione. I love you, but what the hell.”

She seems to be unconcerned- as if what relationship I could potentially have with George is clearly a matter of fact. How a scientist might discuss data.

“Sorry, isn’t that what you’re supposed to talk about at ‘girl time’?”

“Well… yeah, actually. I just wasn't expecting that in the slightest.”

“At least we know you wouldn’t be rejected.” Ginny says, also in a matter-of-fact tone while sipping her cocoa.

“Sorry?”

Molly is doing her best to withhold her glee, “Well it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Oh come on! He never shuts up about you. Everybody knows about his crush on you.”

“Everybody except me, apparently???” I’m flabbergasted, “how do you know?”

“Oh, well I don’t know, maybe cause he shoves our stuff over to sit next to you, or cause he’s always staring at you, or cause he steals your stuff, or cause-”

“I think she gets it, mum.” Ginny interrupts.

“No, no, no keep going, keep going.”

“This is something I think is especially cute,” Molly scrunches her shoulders up, “when he knows you’re coming over, he cleans his room and puts on fresh clothes.”

“He does all the stuff in the book Y/N, honestly, come on” Ginny says.

Hermione adds, “And you eat it up, you just don’t know it.”

I put my face in my hands. “Hermione help me.”

“With what?”

“When I went up to get you I bumped into him after he got out of the shower and he was shirtless and I was a blushing mess and there’s no way he couldn’t have noticed.”

“Oh, so that’s what was wrong with you.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Flirt back.” Ginny shrugged.

“Easy for you to say.”

After Molly takes off her mask, she rips open a bag of what she calls “muggle chips” and pours them into a bowl so tackily decorated, you’d only find it in the china cabinet of a very old lady.

“Where’d you get all the muggle stuff?”

“Mostly Hermione, but the weird things laying around like this, uh…” she pokes at a pocket sized flashlight laid on the side table of the couch, “that’s Arthur.”

I get up and look out the window to see the surrounding field, filled with the chirps of crickets enjoying the summer air. Ginny follows. The moon hangs like a plate in the sky and stars are spattered in all directions around it.

“It’s the prettiest thing in the world”

“Not in George’s opinion.”

“Ginny, drop it!” I shot her a lightheartedly serious look and we went to sit back down.

Footsteps thumped down the stairs, and the room dropped to a dead silence. My back was to the rest of the house and I couldn’t see who approached, but given Ginny and Hermione’s wide-eyed stares into my soul and Molly covering her mouth with her hand, I could assume the worst. I heard water pour from the pitcher behind me.

“Pretty hopping party, huh?” George took a look around. “When I’m with my friends, I like to sit with my back perfectly straight in deafening silence too.”

“George, go to bed.” Molly was stern.

“But I wanna come to girls’ night.”

“You’re lacking some plumbing.” Ginny giggled.

“I can trash talk people just as well as you lot can.” He leaned onto my chair with his hand resting on my shoulder, still sipping water, “did you see Freddie’s outfit today, woof. As if we’re not dealing with enough right now.”

I folded over in my chair snickering. Unbeknownst to me, he looked at Ginny and mouthed a triumphant, “yes!” to her, delighted to make me laugh.

“Go!” Molly swatted him with a headband, which he dodged only with his hips and kept himself in the exact same spot.

“I keep telling him to stay away from yellows since they wash out his features, you know, but he never listens.

“George.”

“Alright, alright”

Once he had left, Hermione squealed, “That was so adorable!”

Ginny cheered, “Aww little Georgie’s in love.”

Again, with my face in my hands I gasped “Okay, you’re right, Mione.”

“About?”

“I like him. He makes my heart drop to my stomach when I see him. He has the cutest smile ever.”

“You should tell him!” Molly is ecstatic.

“Maybe. Maybe one day.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows, “If you put it off too long, then I’m going to tell him myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I gotta pee, I’ll be right back.”

I abruptly left my seat and walked to the bathroom for a second alone to have a reality check. The hallway to the bathroom matches the scrappy but warm vibe of the house with hanging hand-knit tapestries adorning the wall and random shoes shoved to the corners of the floor.

“OH-” I let out a yelp.

“Shh” said George, who apparently was lingering around the corner the whole time.

“You nosy little-”

He cut me off with a kiss. His hands gripped on my cheeks and my hips. If I weren’t as stunned as I am, I might have noticed the warmth and smooth texture of his lips, or his strong frame holding me up, or even the cologne he wears just for me.

“You have a cute smile, too.”

“You’re pathetic, George.” I lay my head into his collarbones.

Into my ear, he whispers, “I love you”, then retreats back to his bedroom, blowing a kiss on the way.

“Good night.”

[hexedwinchester]

Supernatural S02E16 Roadkill

One of those well done horror episodes. The story was good, the jump-scare was good, the moral was good, the final closure was amazing

A fine example of how Sam and Dean perceive everything differently. Dean is all black and white.. he is aloof, sees Molly as just another ghost that needs getting rid off without feeling sorry for her. Sam is clearly dwelling in the gray area. He knows the world is muddled and doesn't really fit into black or white. He is empathetic of Molly's situation and believes he has to do her justice. He is also kind enough to not leave Greeley's wife's dead body hanging in the house.

The Greeley's ghost 'grabbing Molly through the window' is so similar to that scene from Friday the 13th movie (yes, the Jared Padalecki movie) where Jason grabs Clay

The walking encyclopaedia of weirdness 🤣

Okay..hear me out!! David and Molly are Sam and Dean parallels for the entirety of the show.. molly and Dean love David and Sam too much to let go. Coincidentally, both Molly and Dean suffer for 15 years because of this. While Molly is physically dead, we have seen the show portray Dean to be dead inside too. Sam is Dean's unfinished business just as David is Molly's. As Molly relives her nightmare every year, time and again, Dean has been stuck in his own limbo. Molly chases David and Dean does the same but by trying to bring Sam back on various occasions: first the cold oak resurrection, then trying to get Sam's soul back in appointment in Samarra, the Gadreel possession, the almost deal with Billy in Red Meat. Finally Molly realises she is dead and needs to move on just like Dean at the end S15. Both David and Sam go onto live a fulfilling life.. thoughts?

Only Sam Winchester can be this gentle to a haunting ghost. Also after she moves on, you can see Sam feeling at loss. Sam Winchester grieved for a ghost! One of the infinite reasons why I love Sam Winchester the most!!

Hope's kinda the whole point

[acepalindrome]

I think the ideal way for the first season of the Mighty Nein to end would be with the introduction of Caduceus. I was so broken up when Molly died, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to continue watching. I was sticking around to see Taliesin’s new character, but I didn’t want a new character, I wanted Molly back!

And then Caduceus Clay opened his front door and looked out at these broken strangers, did some mental math, and said ‘I only have three cups.’ And it felt like things would be okay after that.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Okay, so continuing my Red Dead Redemption 2/Sons of Anarchy comparison (I’m only up to chapter 3 of RDR2 so this is subject to change):

1) Dutch Van Der Linde is Clay Morrow. They are the leaders who are growing increasingly erratic.

2) By default, Molly O’Shea is Gemma Teller. I guess the one thing they have in common is being a pain in everyone’s ass.

3) John Marston and Abigail Roberts are Jax Teller and Tara Knowles. John and Jax are the protagonists/irresponsible criminals who want to be family men. Abigail and Tara are focused on protecting their children. And since I played the first game, both couples are trying to leave the criminal life.

4) Arthur Morgan is a loose combination of Chibs Telford and Opie Winston. They’re the closest to a brother figure to John/Jax and they’re the second-in-command of the team. Arthur also has Opie’s bad luck with romance. (Hmm…I guess Arthur could also be Bobby Munson as well for these reasons)

5) Hosea Matthews is Piney Winston. They’re the old guys who keep questioning Dutch/Clay’s authority.

6) Micah Bell is sorta kinda Tig Trager. They’re the weird, aggressive guys who seem to get on the rest of the team’s nerve. But I like Tig, whereas Micah is annoying lol.

7) Kieran Duffy is Juice Ortiz. They’re the perpetual outsiders since they went against the team.

8) Sean MacGuire is Kip 'Half-Sack' Epps. They’re the little shits who are trying to prove themselves and the gangs treat as the youngest brother.

9) Leopold Strauss is Bobby Munson. This is solely because both men handle the finances of the gangs. For a comparison that’s closer to the character’s personality…maybe Charles Smith? Or Javier Escuella?

10) Sadie Adler doesn’t have anyone I can really compare to but if I had to choose, she could also be Opie Winston. She has Opie’s burning desire for revenge after losing their spouse.

11) The O’Driscolls are the Mayans MC. They’re the rival gang that isn’t so different from the main gang.

Also, just to emphasize how RDR2 is secretly a Western Sons of Anarchy, here are the lyrics to SOA’s opening:

Riding through this world all alone

God takes your soul, you're on your own

The crow flies straight, a perfect line

On the Devil's Bed until you die

Gotta raise some hell, 'fore they take you down

Gotta live this life

Gotta look this world in the eye

Gotta live this life until you die

[burr-ell]

If you're still doing to the choose violence ask game, 8 and 13 for critical role

choose violence ask game

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Well for one thing, as I alluded to in a previous ask, I don't tend to recommend quite as strongly against watching the Orion Acaba episodes of C1 as a lot of people do, both because I think they've got some really good moments and because I think people sometimes need to get some perspective on what this table being upset with a player actually looks like.

Other than that? I think that—particularly on this side of the fandom—there's a general aversion to even hinting that you don't like Marisha's characters very much. And I completely understand why, but I think it's worth pointing out that it's not 2018 anymore. Campaign 1 has been over for five and a half years. Bowlgate happened before Mollymauk even died, and both of those things happened before many current fans started watching the show in the first place. There is a wide gulf between misogynistic harassment and just not really vibing with someone's narrative choices, and there's an even wider gulf between misogynistic harassment and pointing out a character's flaws to engage with them.

Now of course there is absolutely still misogyny in this fandom and I think we should still be telling people to cut that shit out, but Marisha Ray is an adult woman in her 30's and does not need to be obsessively defended from any and all mildly non-positive commentary. She does not need to be exalted above everyone else and treated like neither she nor her characters can do anything wrong. I honestly don't get how you can do that, even tongue-in-cheek, and not think you're doing her a disservice.

13. worst blorbofication

Ashton. I think a lot of people have really chosen only to pay attention to those moments where Ashton is dispensing wisdom and are ignoring the multiple statements by Taliesin that Ashton's not doing okay, at all. They're not trying to compartmentalize or internalize what they're going through, but just because they're open about what's wrong with them doesn't mean they're not dealing with their issues poorly. Transparency is not the soul of healthiness.

One of the most interesting things to me about Taliesin's characters is that—with the exception of Percy and Molly, apparently, provided you get them both some weed, as well as Kingsley and Caduceus—they'd all hate each other, and all of them probably with legitimate reasons. We see that in Ashton's argument with Percy (where both of them had valid points on the issue no I will not hear otherwise), but I also have to raise my eyebrows at the assertion that Ashton would get along with Caduceus. Because you can't tell me that Caduceus's tendency to treat people like projects wouldn't immediately clash with Ashton's stubborn refusal to be saved, and as others have pointed out, Caduceus "pain doesn't make people" Clay would probably end up seriously pissing off Ashton "there is strength, but there is pain" Greymoore. (They'd also definitely try to pulverize Molly.)

I dunno man, Ashton really gets flattened a lot, and it isn't escaping my notice that fandom opinion of them tends to change purely based on whether or not they're supporting Blorbo or Ship. Which is a damn shame, because Ashton's probably one of the most interesting characters in the party.

[sporadically-writing]

Fear of the Past

Pairing: Kingsley Tealeaf x Reader, Past!Mollymauk Tealeaf x Reader, Good Friend Caduceus Clay

Warnings: Potential spoilers for The Mighty Nein Reunited

Word Count: 1,070

“Caduceus?” you ask, interrupting the firbolg’s gardening.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Caduceus turns, taking in your nervous body language immediately. “Sure,” he says, handing you a small gardening tool, “As long as you don’t mind helping me with these vegetables.”

You take it, happy to help and have something to do with your hands besides twiddling your thumbs. “Sure!”

Caduceus quietly gardens with you for a moment, giving you the time to find the words you want to say.

“Sooooo…”

“So” he says.

“Sooo,” you begin again, “it’s been a while since we’ve all been together.” 

“Yeah,” Caduceus agrees, “It’s nice to see everybody again. Sorry I couldn’t make for the whole-”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him, “You and your family had a lot going on around here. Besides, something told me you wouldn't have been comfortable on a boat again. You had your fair share of that before.”

Caduceus chuckles. “Yeah. I’m sensing this isn’t what you wanted to talk about though.”

Your nervousness returns. It was one thing to battle these feelings in your head by yourself, it was a whole other thing to confide them with someone else, but here you go.

“You’re right,” you sigh, “I- I know you aren’t really the person to ask about this kind of thing but, honestly, you’re the only one I think I can really talk to about this.”

“Why’s that, if you don’t mind me asking” Caduceus says, pulling at a particularly entrenched piece of vegetation. 

“Well, Fjord and Caleb have their own romantic problems to be worried about, Jester and Veth would try to “fix it” by setting up a date, Beau would just make fun of me and I don’t think Yasha would have the sort of answers I’m looking for.”

“There’s a pretty important exclusion in that list” Caduceus notices.

“Yeah…” you respond.

“I see what’s going on now.”

“I just… I don’t know how to tell him how I feel without him worrying about Molly.”

“I see,” Caduceus says, growing a touch more serious. He sets his tools down and turns to face you fully. “I was a bit after Molly’s time, obviously, so I can’t really speak to what your experience was with him but, I can ask you this. Do you feel like your feelings for Kingsley are in any way residual from what you felt for Molly?”

“I used to think so.”

“Okay” Caduceus says, signaling for more.

“But… the more I got to know Kingsley as his own person outside of the other two, I think I feel in love all over again.”

“That’s great” Caduceus says, “Why don’t you just tell him that?”

“Caduceus.”

“What?”

“I can’t just do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I- I’m scared.”

Caduceus smiles softly at you. “I can understand that.” He reaches over and grabs one of your hands and says, “But all things considered, I don’t think you have anything to really be scared of. You took on an entire floating city, brokered peace between two opposing nations, fought a giant sea snake recently and so many other things.”

“I didn’t do any of those things alone, Caduceus.”

“No,” he agrees, “and I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be afraid. Fear touches every living thing. But I don’t think you have anything to be worried about.” Caduceus tilts his head, indicating something behind you. “Because I think he’s scared too.”

Behind you, silently watching this conversation, is Kingsley in all his pirate glory. However, the stance he holds in this particular moment is not one befitting of a swashbuckler. He is trying to seem like he is uninterested but you catch him looking over at the two of you. There’s a fidgety nature to him, like he wants to do two things at the same time.

You do not have the power to read minds, but if you did you would understand that the newest Tealeaf is at war with himself in this moment. His feet and heart long to move toward you while his brain and body refuse to move by the same type of overwhelming fear that you expressed to Caduceus. 

Caduceus leans over to whisper to you, “You’re a hero. Go save him. You can help me with the garden after.”

The joke almost excuses the shove Caduceus bestows upon you but regardless, you’re moving in Kingsley’s direction. 

As you approach Kingsley reacts immediately, acting as if he had been looking the other way and just noticed you. It was a little silly and made you feel at least a little bit better about your own fears. 

“Oh, uh, hello dear, loving weather this afternoon” Kingsley says, with a thin layer of faux nonchalance.

“Hi Kingsley,” you say, “It’s, uh, it’s really good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.”

“Listen, I've got something I want to tell you.”

“This isn’t about-”

“Please just, just wait. I’ve needed to say this for a long time and I don’t want it to get confused or misconstrued. I-” you take a breath as the tiefling in front of you falls quiet- “I love you Kingsley. And I know how that sounds. I know that a lot of the time you feel like you have this pressure on you to be like Molly and you don’t. I know you’ve read Beau’s journals, I know you know what Molly and I were. It’s taken me a while to figure this out but I didn’t want to talk to you about it until I was sure, but I love you. You as yourself, not you as an echo of Molly.”

You take a moment to breathe and gather your thoughts and continue, “You are your own brand of chaos and fit right into our weird little family and even if you don’t feel the same way, I just- I thought you should know.”

Kingsley is stunned for a moment before he takes a tentative step towards you.

“Love,” he says, the word coming out almost like a question, like he’s testing the word in his mouth, “Can I kiss you?”

And who are you to say no to The Plank King. 

A few feet away, happily working with the plants that surround his family home, Caduceus smiles, with plans to pull the both of you into yard work with him as soon as you’ve had some time to yourselves.

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Request Rules/Character Sheet

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/145894306

Chapter 22

She was back in Antoine’s preparing her station for the day when she spotted some of the women whispering in a tight group. She glided over, curious. They gave her an inscrutable look when she arrived. 

“What’s going on?”

There was a pause, then one of them, Ruth, conceded: “Rachel left.”

Savigne blinked with surprise. “Why?”

Ruth shrugged but her face said she knew well enough. 

Savigne thought on the last time she had seen Rachel. She had looked somewhat glum. But then she had been glum for so long that it was hard to tell if something new had happened. “She didn’t look happy,” she said slowly, almost to herself. “Did she have problems back at home?”

There was an exchange of looks between the women but so quick, she couldn’t read it. 

“Does Chef Ecco know?” Savigne asked suddenly.

This caused an awkward pause which made her uneasy. God, she hated always being in the dark about these things!”

“You obviously know more, why won’t you tell me?”

“Sorry, we have better things to do than gossip,” Myrtle huffed and Savigne gave her a sheepish look. As if they weren’t gossiping a minute ago.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ruth quipped as they glided to their own stations and for whatever reason, this made her even more uneasy. 

She grumbled with annoyance and returned to her station but soon forgot all about it. 

That evening she decided to make Arthur venison stew. She bought some herbs du Provence and vegetables in Saint Denis and headed back to camp. Arthur wasn't there yet, so she got about preparing the clay oven by placing embers in it. 

When she saw Molly saunter over lazily, she knew it was bad news. There was a letter in her hand. She knew Molly didn’t like her even though they had barely spoken and could only assume that it was because of the animosity between herself and Dutch.

"Hi there," Savigne said when she arrived and plastered a smile on her face. "How are you?"

"Good, thank you," the other woman answered and watched Savigne put embers in the oven for a while, flipping the envelope back and forth in her hand.

"Anything I can help you with?" she asked when she was done, wiping hands on her apron. 

Molly held up the envelope. "For Arthur." She stepped closer and held it out. 

Something in her face reminded Savigne of a cat that had lapped up a whole bowl of cream.

"You can leave it on the table." she offered, refusing to take it.

Molly's face fell, but only a bit. She placed the letter with extra care on the table, aligned the corners casually, gave Savigne a long last look, then sauntered back towards the camp. 

Of course she looked, who wouldn’t have? The envelope had Mary's name on it and her face went white. Then it went red. She walked over and took the embers out of the oven.

Not too long after that Arthur arrived as she was carrying her stuff to the boat. He walked over to her. 

"What ya doin'?"

"Getting on a boat," she quipped, throwing in her bag and her book.

"Now?" He glanced at the setting sun and scratched his beard.

"Now."

"Kinda late ain't it?"

"Are you my father?"

That threw him off a bit and he paused for a moment, giving her a more scrutinizing look. "Everythin' okay Savigne?"

"Sure."

He adjusted his hat and stepped closer. "Y’ain’t stayin' for dinner?"

"What dinner?" she asked with dark satisfaction.

She felt his attention on her as she settled in the boat and grabbed the oars, facing him. He had that narrow eyed look that he had when he was trying to figure out what was going on with her.

"By the way, you have a letter." she called as she pushed off. 

She started to row as she watched him walk back to the table. He picked up the envelope and glanced back at her but she quickly looked away, acting as nonchalant as she could. 

He stalked back to the makeshift pier. "Ya gonna be long?" he called.

"Yup," she called back. 

He palmed his beard, annoyed. Good. 

"Don' go far." 

"I go wherever I want."

This frustrated him and she thoroughly enjoyed his frustration, watching him take off his hat, run a hand through his hair and put it back on. 

"Come back. I'm goin' with."

You wish, she thought to herself. Outwardly she shook her head and hitched her shoulders. "I prefer not."

She saw that spark of irritation in his eyes even though they were a good distance apart at this point and it tasted like the best meal she had in weeks. Ever since they had started sharing a tent, he had gotten more and more bold in assuming this bullshit role he had made up in his head. Acting like she needed his permission or approval to do something. Like he was her keeper or her father or her husband. Just a few days ago she had been talking about how she hoped she would soon qualify for the dinner shift because the more complicated dishes were served for dinner. And what had been his first question? That’s right, what time her shift would end.

"I don’t know…” He gave her a dry look. “Course ya know.” "Well the kitchen closes at ten.” A sharp turn of the head. “Scuse me?” "It’s Saint Denis, people eat out late,” she said defensively, somewhat annoyed why she was defensive in the first place. When he kept looking at her with that unblinking gaze: “I’ll have you know, I’m not the only woman working there.” "How many of’em ride to Rhodes after?” She deftly tried to skirt around this. “The dinner shift is very prestigious. Everyone is trying to-” “Ya gonna answer or ya don’ know that either?” The sarcasm was palpable but she ignored it. “It would be an important advancement,” she explained patiently, all the while in the back of her head wondering why she explained at all. “Sure, you could advance yer way real quick to gettin’ robbed or killed.” “I mean realistically, what are the odds…” "High,” he interjected, testy. “Realistically very high.” He straightened in his chair at her huff of disagreement and pushed his drink away. Oh boy, here we go, thought Savigne. Pushing the drink away was always a sign he was getting ready for a sermon. “Ya know how many folks I stuff behind bars 'round here every week?” Jesus was it annoying to watch Arthur actually buy his own bullshit! As if he was actually the sheriff and not hustling as one. “Ya know what these men would do to a lone woman ridin’ around after dark?” “I’m not stupid,” she growled, “I know it’s a little dangerous.” “A little?” was the amazed retort. “Okay, it’s dangerous. But my career…” “Gonna be a short one if ya do this.” She took a deep breath to calm herself and all it did was provide more oxygen for her anger. She opened her mouth to argue but he was faster: “Eeaaaasssyyy!" As if she was a god damn horse! Then, while she was still blinking in disbelief at that, a gruff "Fine." As if she needed his permission! What drove Savigne wild was that she could never tell if he worked her up intentionally or he really was as dense as he was. He loved teasing her into a state and acting all dumb about it. But he also had a big - scratch that - overgrown sense of protectiveness, so either answer was plausible. “I’ll pick ya up. And days I can’t, I’ll find someone who will. John or Charles or Sadie.” "That's your solution?" she managed, dumbfounded. "Asking people to pick me up like picking up a child from school?” He gave her a long look. “Ya know,” he finally said with a hard voice, “I’m happy ya recovered from what happened with them O’Driscolls, I truly am. But seems to me, maybe ya recovered a little too well.” "W-what?!” “I don' like bringin' it up, Savigne, trust me. But yer mad if ya think I’m gonna let ya ride around alone at that hour.” "Let me?” she sputtered, “Let me?” He waved her argument away with that casual ‘it is what it is’ hand wave. The 'I don't make the rules' wave. The 'I'm just looking out for you', or 'it's for your own good' wave. Before she could work herself up further: “Y'ask Luther?” “Why would I ask Luther? He’s not my keeper,” she mumbled, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. He gave her crossed arms a long look. Times like this she hated how easily he read her. “What he say?” She glanced away, working her jaw muscles. Of course she had told Luther and his reaction had been to yell at her that she was an idiot and she better come to her senses real quick so loudly, her startled look had earned her a humiliating grin from Susan. "Luther is not the North Star,” she deflected. He hummed to himself. “Listen here,” he continued. “People ya work with stay in Saint Denis. Y’aint. Ya wanna cook dinner, fine, but yer not riding home alone. Go talk to anyone ya want - talk to Sadie, talk to Abigail, to Hosea. Hell, do a poll in Saint Denis if ya want and see what folks say. I ain’t wrong on this.”

Deep down she knew he wasn’t wrong. But it irked her all the same, to be told she can or can’t do something. Because it came with a whole bunch of other things. Like the fact that he had unilaterally cancelled her agreement with Dutch and shifted her position from an individual to suddenly his own extension, in other words his woman. Then there was the warning look he gave her when she went a little overboard with the cleaning. Also the way he slapped his money down for the Sunday bath week after week and the way Bill accepted it as if she wasn’t standing right fucking there with her own. He was an old fashioned man, she understood that and it required some adjusting on her behalf. Her former partners had all been deferential to her, easily accepting when she had put her foot down on something. This concept was completely foreign to Arthur. Every time she put her foot down he just, proverbially speaking, lifted her and moved her to wherever he thought she should go.

Even all that was somewhat acceptable once you made peace with the fact that it was his nature or his weird way of expressing his affection for her. But here was the thing that turned her stomach sour: he was old fashioned when it came to all that, but not so much in receiving letters from a god damn ex flame, was he? The hypocrisy! The memory of Mary's letter sparked another gust of fire in her.

"Savigne..." Arthur had somehow finessed the art of saying her name with a particular tinge of warning and it only spurred her to row faster. 

“Good night!" she yelled, feeling bold with the body of water between them.

He blinked. "What dy'a mean?"

"Don't wait up for me!"

His surprise gave her immense satisfaction and a boost of energy as she worked the oars with a frenzy. 

"Woman!”

She smiled a big smile and gave him an exaggerated wave and then grabbed the oars again. 

When that didn’t deter her either: “Ya light yer lantern so I see it!” She kept rowing. “Ya hear?!”

She brought a hand to her ear to indicate she couldn’t. 

She saw him mutter to himself in frustration. Her exaggerated smile fell from her face and she clenched her jaw and rowed harder. He idled at the edge of the water for a bit longer, then walked back to the tent.

The letter remained on the table.

She was so incensed, she actually managed to row out all the way to the island that she had been watching and wondering about for months and barely noticed until the hull of the boat hit the sandbar. She yelped in surprise and almost lost one of the oars from the impact but managed to hold on to it. Then she climbed out and pushed the boat higher. It was heavier out of the water and she struggled with it for a while but succeeded in the end. She thought on it for a moment and then pushed the boat into some bushes so it wasn’t standing there all obvious for someone to come and take it. After that she looked back at the shore and marveled how small and distant the campfire looked from here. 

Good. 

She retrieved her bag and lantern from the boat and looked around. The sun had set and it was twilight now and for a moment she was afraid. Then she took a deep breath and stalked inland. 

“Please don't let there be men, please don't let there be men,” she mumbled to herself, cautiously walking about. “Or snakes.” Then: “Same god damn thing!”

The island was fairly small and a little raised on the edge that faced the camp and had a gentle incline on the other side which meant that if she built a fire on that side, she would be well hidden from curious folks heading out from the mainland. To her delight, there were no signs of men or snakes. Just a lot of birds and toads which was fine by her. Then she spotted the ruins of a vessel and was immediately excited. An adventure! Maybe there was a treasure!

She wandered towards it, cautious, and watched it from a distance for a while. The moon came out, full and bright. She placed her stuff carefully on the ground, lighted her lantern and slowly walked towards it, an eye on the reeds for snakes and another towards the shadows under the trees for strangers. When she was convinced that she was completely alone, a sense of peace washed over her and she realized she hadn't been really alone anywhere for a long time. It was both unnerving and incredibly euphoric. Sure, she was alone at times on her ride to camp or back, but that wasn't the same - there were always people about, even if at a distance. This was a different kind of alone and she liked it. It was like she could hear herself think clearly out here. 

She climbed around the ship, careful not to step on anything sharp or rotten. To her delight she found an old hat but it was dirty so she just took it with her to wash. Then she found a crate packed with bottles that looked like rum. Most were smashed but two were unharmed and she cackled victoriously when she found the seals unbroken. She took the bottles and the hat over to where her stuff was and thought on what to do. 

She set up her fishing pole, took off her skirt and walked towards the shore on the side of the island that faced away from the mainland. The incline was gentle so she managed to walk in quite a bit until the water got to her thighs, and set to fishing. She knew that this close to the shore she wasn't going to get anything big but that suited her just fine. Savigne was actually very good at fishing, something she didn't disclose to Arthur for obvious reasons and within ten minutes she had a bite. She whooped with joy and started to reel it in. The fish gave her a good fight but she managed to get it to the shore and it was a decent size. The second one took a bit longer but she had all the time in the world and waited patiently, watching the stars and listening to the trees swishing behind her. 

She took both fish back to where her stuff was and left them there, put her skirt back on and stalked around to find dry wood. This proved to be harder than she thought - a lot of the twigs on the ground were wet but she found that some of the lower, finer branches of the trees had dried out better in the breeze, so she chopped them off with her knife and returned. She dug out the sand to make a hole to protect the fire, broke the twigs and placed them in there, then tried to light it. After several unsuccessful attempts, she stalked back and looked for dried grass which was even harder to find. Then she had an idea and went back to her makeshift camp, shaved some of the thicker branches to their dry cores, opened the rum bottle, spilled some of it carefully on the twigs and shavings both and tried again. The fire whooshed up and this time burnt hot enough to take. She patiently fed it more twigs.

When she was satisfied that the fire wouldn’t go out, she took the fish to the shore to clean, took out the guts and peeled off the bones, used the knife to scrap off the scales, then opened them like a butterfly and brought them back to place on the sticks she had placed on top of the hole like a grill. Satisfied, she took a sip of the rum. It was thick and sweet and she smiled in delight. 

She sat there sipping the rum and waiting for the fish to cook, listening to the hooting of passing ships and watching the distant lights of Saint Denis flicker. The breeze was gentle but the nights were chillier now. At least the fire was warm and the rum was buzzing in her. 

She tasted the fish and it was a bit plain without salt, but still rich and delectable because all that rowing had made her hungry and hunger was the best ingredient. 

The Moon was bright but not enough to read by so she lighted her lantern again, pulled out her book and settled on her stomach. Unlike Savigne's current mood, the story had finally taken a happy turn and she was looking forward to reading the long awaited marriage of Jane and Mr Rochester.

Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed to ask, "Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife?" — when a distinct and near voice said — "The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an impediment."

Savigne gasped. "What now?" she muttered and hastily flipped the page.

The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk did the same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had rolled under his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning his head or eyes, he said, "Proceed." Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep but low intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said — "I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has been asserted, and evidence of its truth or falsehood." "The ceremony is quite broken off," subjoined the voice behind us. "I am in a condition to prove my allegation: an insuperable impediment to this marriage exists."

She moaned with disdain and attempted to take another swig from the rum. To her surprise, the bottle was empty. She threw it aside and hastily opened the second one to take a gulp.

"Something fishy going on here,” she muttered, adjusting herself on her stomach. 

Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not: he stood stubborn and rigid, making no movement but to possess himself of my hand. What a hot and strong grasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his pale, firm, massive front at this moment! How his eye shone, still watchful, and yet wild beneath! Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the impediment?" he asked. "Perhaps it may be got over — explained away?" "Hardly," was the answer. "I have called it insuperable, and I speak advisedly." The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued, uttering each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly — "It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr. Rochester has a wife now living."

"Excuse me?!!” she screamed. A moment later: "I knew it! I so knew it!"

She banged the open book face down to the ground and scrambled to sit up, taking another mouthful of rum.

"The man...hicc...is married! Shameless! But whaddaya expect? That’s all they god damn do!” She was disgusted by Mr. Rochester and even more disgusted by the fact that she had been charmed by this mysterious, gloomy, gruff man throughout the entire book. She should have been rooting for poor Jane who had done nothing wrong but was now stood up at the altar, humiliated on her wedding day! “They lead you on and you follow like blind, dumb cattle...hicc...and meanwhile...they aaallllll have a sidepiece!” she babbled to herself. “Snakes, all of them! Every single one-”

"The hell ya doin’ here!?"

She jumped up so fast, she fell right back on her ass and froze, hand on heart, blinking stupidly at Arthur who stood at a distance, wet from the waist down, dripping water and looking sublimely pissed. 

His eyes crawled over her, her camp, the fire, the empty bottle of rum and then to the one in her hand. 

Savigne's heart was thudding like it was going to fly out of her chest. She took a few gulps of air and shrieked "You scared me, god damn it!" And then: "...hicc..."

His face scrunched into deeper anger at that and she tried not to feel intimidated when he started to walk towards her, eyes burning. 

"WOMAN!" he boomed and it made her jump despite herself, "D'ya know the time?!”

“W-why are you here?” she managed and scurried back a little like a crab.

”Take a god damn wild guess!” he roared. She flinched at that. Who knew his voice could get so loud? He stomped closer and gave her an intense glare. “Are ya drunk?” was his incredulous hiss of a question.

The question and the way it was asked immediately reminded her why she was here to begin with. It took some effort and a long moment of focusing, but despite her heart beating so fast that she felt breathless and dizzy, she managed a nonchalant tone: "Did you need something?”

He blinked at her like she had said it in French. "Did I..." he growled and stalked closer, now steps away, looking at her like he meant to strangle her. Savigne at last felt her fear color with anger and thanked the rum. 

"Because if you don't...hicc...you can paddle right back to camp!” she spat. “Goodbye!”

She scrambled to sit up with her back turned to him, book in her lap and rum at hand. She opened the page to continue reading as if he wasn't there, noticed the book was upside down, corrected it, then just sat staring at the swaying letters, trying to calm down the thudding of her heart.

"Listen here,” he growled, the undercurrent of fury palpable.

"I'm...” she managed to swallow the hiccup, “...busy.” 

"Doin' the hell what?" he barked. 

"Reading about you!" she yelled back and gave him a baleful look over her shoulder. 

Arthur took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face, obviously trying to put a lid on his ire. Moments passed as she listened to his attempts to calm down behind her while she pretended to read. For the most part she was pettily amused that he was so worked up. But a dim part of her drunk brain was also stupefied by her boldness. His temper was infamous enough for her to have heard about it before she had even spoken a single word to this man. It was the reason people gossiped behind his back instead of talking to his face. He had never hurt her and she still didn’t think that he would, but at the same time she had never really been the reason and sole target of it, had she? What if he was one of those men who killed their loved ones in a blind rage, oblivious to what they were doing or incapable of controlling it?

"Savigne..." she took a deft breath of relief at the softer tone. He came to stand in front of her. "Darlin'..." She rolled her eyes at that and made sure he saw it. "It's late."

"And?"

"And..." his voice shook a little with the struggle to remain calm, "…we should go home."

"I'm good here.” She turned a page. 

From the corner of her eye she saw him palming his beard. He sunk down to his haunches in front of her, trying to make eye contact. She took a swig from the rum and turned another page. His chin hit his chest with frustration when he failed and he gave out a long breath through his nose.

"Hey," he pawed at her book to get her attention. She swiped it away. 

"Told you not to...hicc...wait on me!"

He gave her a long look. 

"Was worried," he explained as if he was reasoning with a child. “Couldn’ see yer lantern, thought ya drowned. Been lookin’ for hours, almost didn’ see the boat in the dark…”

How very ‘poor me’, she thought, starting to get incensed again. "Well you found me. I'm fine. You can leave."

To her frustration, he sat down instead, and turned to face the water, elbows resting on his knees. 

"I said-"

"Ain't leavin' without ya,” was the dry response.

When she huffed he looked at her and the anger he was trying to control was dancing in his eyes. What the hell was he angry about? She wasn’t a child on curfew!

A moment later he held out his hand, pointing at the rum. "Give it here."

"Why?" she snapped, suspicious, and held it back. 

"Need it," he grumbled through clenched teeth.

She hesitated, then smacked it into his waiting hand. He took a swig. 

“Where’d you find this?”

Her arm shot out towards the ruins of the ship, her eyes glued to the page. 

They sat quietly for a few minutes and the harsh peaks of his breathing mellowed as he looked about the island and drank the rum. She realized she hadn't turned pages in a while and quickly turned two.   

"Ya caught a fish." he broke the silence at last, sounding a lot calmer.

"Two," she corrected haughtily. 

He hummed, contemplative, and she knew he was thinking of all those weeks she had paddled out to sit on a boat and come back without a single fish. She turned another page and flicked up her eyes to his profile to find him remarkably calmer.

"What ya readin'?"

"A book about a deceptive man."

To her amazement his lips twitched and he idly took another mouthful. 

A long moment passed as she tried to focus on the page but the letters were swaying and blinking about which made her dizzy. 

"What he do?" he asked casually. The nerve!

"He proposed to a woman and then...hicc...wedding day she finds out he's already married!" 

"Hmmm..."

"So he just strung her along," she spat.

He drank again, watching the stars, bizarrely relaxed now.

"Got anything to say to that?"

"No ma'am," he sighed and drank some more. He was starting to look amused which she didn’t like at all.

"Give it back," she reached for the rum and he snatched it away with eerie speed. 

"Think ya had enough."

"Don't..." she hissed, making to get up, "…tell me..." she tilted, shot out an arm to support herself, threw the book away, "…what to...DO!"

She jumped at him to wrestle the rum out of his hand but one moment he was there, the next she was flopping about on the sand like a fish out of water and he was standing out of reach, chuckling. 

That did it for Savigne, she was instantly furious. She lunged at him again and he just stepped away. She almost kissed the ground that time but somehow managed to stay upright. The world spun. He took a long drink from the bottle. "It's mine, give it back!" she yowled. He snickered, outright god damn snickered in response! She ran up to him and he just sidestepped her hands like a butterfly and calmly took another sip as she screamed with outrage.

Then she was dizzy and nauseous and sunk to her knees, crawled a few steps away, moaned and threw up. 

He drank the bottle dry, threw it away with a flick of his wrist and said "‘M takin' ya home."

"Don't you...ugh..." she felt more coming up and gulped it down. "…dare..touch me, you brute!"

Next thing she knew she was lifted through the air and was carried in his arms like a child, his hands locking in her arms and legs tightly so she wouldn't flail about. She screamed with fury and bucked like a horse. 

"Ya don' calm down, I'm puttin’ you on m'shoulder. That’ll make ya more sick."

She bucked harder.

"Ya gonna behave?"

"Fucking no!" she wailed. "Let me go!"

He sighed "Okay then," and changed direction to walk towards the shore she had fished at earlier.

"Stop!" she said with horror.

He walked into the water, boots and all. 

"Stopstopstop!" She bucked wilder.

He continued walking unperturbed.

"LEMMEGO!"

A moment later she was in the water, sputtering in shock. She found the ground and rose up on trembling legs, looking at her wet clothes in disbelief. She lifted the hair from her face and glared up at him, ready for murder. 

“The hell do you think you’re doing??!!”

“Puttin’ out a fire, that’s what,” he said, completely unfazed by her fury. 

“I’m going to kill you!”

He swatted her arms away with casual boredom, said “I warned ya,” and threw her over his left shoulder with humiliating ease to start back towards her camp. 

She screeched like a banshee and bucked but the arm around her legs was like iron. She threw punches on his back but the only reaction she got was a few meaty pats on her butt with a drawl of “Don’ hurt yerself now.” It reignited her zeal to free her legs while he chuckled with dark amusement at the puny fight she was putting up. He shuffled sand into the smoldering hole with a boot as she swayed like a pendulum on his back, moaning with the nausea, bent down to pick up her book with his free hand, added it to her bag with the other articles and proceeded to walk to the shore the boat was on. 

“You son of…hicc…let me down this minute!” she yelped, unable to inflict damage to the hard muscles of his back.

“Ain’t safe here,” was his response. “A wildcat’s loose on this island.”

Unable to grab anything else, she clawed at his pants.

“Ya keep that up, ‘m gonna oblige and take’em off,” he drawled suggestively and she flinched away.

“I’m going to be sick!” she burped in a panic, “I’m going to…throw up on you!”

“Go ahead. Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he said coolly.

She bucked some more but felt herself run out of steam and moaned in frustration.

When they arrived at the shore she saw his beached boat next to hers. It was damaged and had taken in water. He had probably jumped into the first abandoned one he could find at the shore. The world swam ominously as he turned her over to place her gently in the boat and she scrambled to the side to throw up again. By the time she was done, he had transferred his lantern, bucket and balled up dry jacket from the damaged boat and was pushing the vessel she was sitting in back into water. Then he jumped in himself and grabbed the oars, turned it around and started rowing. 

She dipped her hand into the water swishing by and washed her mouth, then just sat there, quietly pouting. All that heaving and retching and bucking had taken the strength out of her. Now she was just sick, wet, dirty and cold and sensed a wave of despondency approaching. She felt his eyes on her and turned to sit with her back to him, eyeing the island. 

A few moments later the boat wobbled and she felt his jacket draped on her. He tapped her shoulders before he returned to the oars. 

The minutes passed in silence and she thought of throwing his jacket into the river. It was his favorite jacket so that would definitely hurt, but she was cold so she just clung to it tighter and felt morose. 

“Ya calm yet?”

She didn’t answer. 

“Gonna ignore me?”

She sniffed and looked out to the retreating island. 

“‘M touched yer jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” she spat. 

She could feel his smugness behind her, proud about his own ingenuity in getting a response.   

“But…” he went on as if she hadn’t said anything, “…I told ya before, me and Mary are done.”

“You’re just penpals now I guess!”

“Can’t keep her from writin’ can I?”

“Why would she write?”

“Guessin’ the usual: she needs something.”

“Guessing?”

“Didn’ read it,” he said dismissively.

She shot him a look over her shoulder to assess his honesty and he stared right back. “How come?” was her skeptical question.

“Spent the evenin’ in a damn boat I had to empty every ten minutes so I can row 'round lookin’ for my mad woman,” he growled.

She huffed and looked ahead again. “Told you not to…”

“Don’ care what ya told, was worried sick.”

Another silence settled between them and she broke it when she couldn't keep the question in any longer: "Will you do it? Whatever favor she needs."

"You want me to?"

"Not my call," she shrugged, tipping up her chin, gazing across the water. 

“Course it’s yer call,” he said, annoyed. "I tell ya what I want all the time. Why can’t you?” She didn’t answer and after a minute of silence he stopped rowing.

She glared at him over her shoulder. “What'd you stop for? I’m freezing.”

“Ya know Savigne,” he sighed, sitting back a little. “Everyone I know wants somethin’ from me.” He jabbed his head towards the camp at the shore. “Folks ask me for somethin' all day, every day. ‘Cept for you.” They swayed on that dark water under the glare of the Moon, looking at each other. She was half angry and half annoyed that he was getting into a chatty mood after he had dunked her in the lake, when she was sitting here wet and cold. “Ya never ask me for anything and, ain’t gonna lie, long time I liked that you didn’.” 

“Okay?” she nudged when he didn’t continue.

“Now I want you to,” he set his jaw.

She blinked at him, confused. “Why?”

“Cause you’re my woman,” he said simply. “So you should.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand these old fashioned-”

“I mean to say, we’re together,” he impatiently circumvented her deflection. “Ain’t we?”

“Sure,” she said, starting to feel uneasy about where this was going. Arthur was intuitive and he had a bloodhound’s nose for her insecurities.

“Then tell me what you want.”

“Why?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“So I can do it,” he explained patiently.

“You should do whatever you want,” she said dismissively.

There was a long moment of silence. "Maybe doin’ what you want is what I want, ya ever think on that?"

“Christ on a cross!” she sighed. “Can we please-”

“No. Tell me what you want.”

“Damn you’re stubborn!” She glared at him over her shoulder. “I don’t like telling people what to do.”

“Good thing I ain’t 'people' then,” he said mildly.

She knew what he wanted - he wanted her to claim him same way he claimed her. To take possession of him as he did of her. Because there were no half measures with Arthur Morgan and he did personal bonds with the same simple, no nonsense attitude that he did everything else. It was hard for her, crossing this invisible barrier, this line that divided an ordinary affair from a relationship; that set apart a partnership where your person made demands of you and you made demands of them. But for him that decision was already made, naturally and easily. He didn’t feel the need to bookmark it with an admission or a special occasion or a gift - somewhere along the way he had accepted her far more intimately and completely than she had accepted him and now he was asking her to cross that border, too.

“Woman, how hard is it to tell yer man what you want?”

“I’m working on it,” she grumbled. "Some of us aren't used to bossing people about, you know."

He gave her a dry look but didn't comment for a while. Then, when she started to shiver:

“This gonna happen tonight, or…?”

“Fine,” she spat. “I don’t want you to do any more favors for her. There.”

She waited for a smug or gloating response from behind her but all he said was “Done,” before he picked up the oars again.

“I don’t get it,” she said as she watched him row over her shoulder, mystified by how pleased he looked. “I thought you were sick of people asking things of you?”

“Y’aint ‘people’,” was his simple counter.

“I hope I don’t get pneumonia because you had to make a point,” she hissed.

When he finally pulled in and tied off the boat, the camp was silent and empty. He picked up her bag and held out his hand. She ignored it but then the boat wobbled and she almost lost her balance and he grabbed her arm to steady her and pull her out. He softened his grip but didn’t let go of her arm as he walked her to the tent. 

He had dropped the outer, thicker canvas and the tent was snug and warm inside and she was glad for it. He sealed the flap before he came over to help her undress. She tried to slap his hands away but he slapped hers in return and unbuttoned her shirt. “‘M tired,” he said. “Ya wanna fight, we do it tomorrow.” He brought towels and dried her off and she wore her chemise and bloomers and sat drying her hair as he discarded his wet clothes and boots and toweled himself dry.  

She brushed her teeth and crawled into bed and he turned off the lantern and joined her, settling behind her. 

“Didn’t say you can put your arm there.”

“Yer freezin’.”

“And?”

“Could get pneumonia," he drawled and defiantly snuggled closer to plaster himself completely against her, his arm around her rib cage tightening.

She scrambled against him to dislodge herself but it was like a bug trying to push off a spiderweb and he treated it as such, with complete indifference. Finally she ran out of steam and clicked her tongue in annoyance. The rum was churning through her and turning her eyelids into lead. 

“Don’ do that again,” he mumbled against her hair. 

“Do what?”

“Run off.” She inhaled to deny it. “Just don’. Ya run off when yer mad. I hate it.”

“Well if you hate it, ‘m just gonna do it more now,” she mumbled. 

He sighed and kissed her neck. She struggled to free herself some more and when she failed again he kissed her neck again.

“I fucking hate you,” she muttered into her pillow and soon fell asleep in his warm embrace.  

In the early hours of the morning she woke up to feel his hand caressing her arm and his lips kissing her neck. His erection pressing into her back felt hard as a rock. Her eyes fluttered open, she could tell it was getting lighter outside but with the heavy maroon canvas let down, the tent was warm and dark. She didn’t move but he knew she was awake like he always did and his caresses became bolder, his hand gliding under her chemise to cup a breast as he rose on his elbow and leaned over to kiss her cheek. He pushed his hips against her and sighed with the friction. 

“Do you ever think of anything else?” she mumbled into her pillow, resigned that her sleeping ruse wasn’t going to fly anymore. 

“Not when yer lookin’ like that,” he whispered, licking her earlobe as his hand glided lower on her abdomen.

She snorted with frustration but it was weak. It was hard not to get aroused waking up to him touching her like this and she felt a stirring between her legs. But she was also tired from the rowing, the puking, the fighting and she had a colossal hangover from the rum. So she just lied there, indecisive if she should tell him off or let him seduce her. 

The fingers gliding down her abdomen went under her bloomers and touched her folds and she let out a long breath through her nose. She should be angry, but Arthur was clever and he aimed for these weak moments – these tired, unguarded times to disarm her and he knew too well how to go about it. Still, she tried:

“I’m still mad at you,” she muttered.

“Gonna fight me, Savigne?" he drawled, rubbing up and down, teasing her, sounding like he hoped she would.

His other arm snaked under her head and nudged her face up towards him as he leaned in to kiss her properly – lazy, long and deep as his fingers started to rub her folds with a slow, delicious pace. She bit back a moan and squirmed and he moaned back into her mouth when she unintentionally rubbed against his hardness. 

“Didn’t say…you can…do…that,” she panted as he glided in a finger, doing that thing that he does – that slow, torturous pumping that she was defenseless against. 

“Didn’ say I couldn’.”

The heat of his naked chest baked her back. How he always managed to be so warm, she didn’t know but it was one of her favorite things about him. His thumb started to massage her clitoris and she curled her toes. He was agonizingly slow about it and by the time he removed his finger from inside her to throw back the cover and push her bloomers off her legs, she was completely drenched. 

“I thought…” she moaned, her hand fisting the sheet as her pleasure built, “…we were going to…fight.”

Her face buried itself into the pillow, her heart thudding with anticipation and he didn’t make her wait, pushed her legs apart, positioned himself and slowly entered her, groaning into her ear with the pleasure of it. 

He turned her face upwards again with the arm under her head and his kiss became firmer and more demanding. “We’ll fight in Valentine,” he mumbled into her lips. "But y'aint..." he moaned in pleasure as he pulled out and slowly pushed back in, "...gonna win."

His hand came up to knead her breast again as he kissed her neck, then her shoulder, then bit her gently as he started to move, slow and steady. She was locked between his arms, unable to budge much, completely at his mercy. "We'll see," she gasped when his cock brushed against her sensitive spot, making her shiver. 

"Just so ya know..." he rumbled as his cowboy hips swayed up against her, practiced in the art from sitting on a saddle all day, every day, “…gonna...punish ya…for that…nonsense...yesterday.”

"What?" she breathed as he slid in and out, rubbing her deliciously from the inside, her inner walls fluttering around him to intensify the friction.

He retrieved his hand from her breast and she jumped when the sharp slap of his open palm seared her butt cheek elevated over his leg. She froze with surprise, momentarily bewildered and confused by the sensation of pain intertwined with the pleasure of the friction as he continued to pump into her.

His large hand fondled the skin that felt on fire as he angled himself and brushed against her sensitive spot and the whimper that dropped from her lips was louder than it should be. She felt him grow harder in her. “Ya like that, Savigne?” was the smiling whisper in her ear as he started bucking harder.

She didn't trust herself to answer and bit her pillow, hot and dazed, as he pulled her leg over his and increased his pace. “Guess we…gonna…have ta…find out…won’ we?” he panted, his movements getting sloppier and bolder. She flailed to move about but she was encased in a steel cocoon and he didn’t allow her much room, seeking to dominate her and doing it so easily. He groaned into her ear and suckled her earlobe, smacking into her with more force and she whimpered and wailed into her pillow, her head swimming. 

Then she felt his fingers on her folds again and her eyes rolled back under her lids. 

She whispered his name in urgency, her left hand gripping his wrist and feeling the muscles move as his fingers glided around her wet clitoris with expertise to wrench the pleasure out of her. 

Peals of “ah”s started to tumble from her lips, in tandem with his strokes and she felt her body getting tauter and tauter like a bowstring about to snap as he groaned encouragements into her ear, licking and gently biting her neck. 

She shuddered and let out a long stuttering moan into her pillow when she came. He whispered his approval as she rode it out, his fingers relentlessly circling her clit to intensify her orgasm. Then his wet fingers gripped her hip bone and he harshly rocked into her a few more times until he grunted his own release, panting and gasping in her ear. She sank back into the mattress, rigid muscles softening as the pleasure sizzled through her like hot fire and consumed her until there was nothing left to consume. Long minutes later he pulled out, shifted to find her discarded bloomers, wiped her off with them and threw them on the ground to be taken in for laundry later. Then he settled behind her again and pulled the cover over them. His hand glided over the fading imprint on her buttocks as he kissed her neck again, then her nape before his arm snaked over her rib cage to pull her flush against him.  

She felt herself drift off to the pulsing heartbeat on her back, warm and content.

[mbirnsings-71]

MADI MADI MADI whos ur fav mighty nein characters/rank them :0!!

*Cracks knuckles* Okay so to preface this, I love all of the Mighty Nein. Absolutely love all of them, it is my comfort D&D Campaign along with other D&D campaigns like Misfits & Magic or Escape from the Bloodkeep like it is the first D&D campaign I finished and it makes me so emotional to think about them. I almost have all their origin comics (I need Caduceus' to arrive in the mail (HE'S ON HIS WAY I GOT THE EMIAL NOW) and then I'm set unless we get an Essek one.)

But like in Terms of my favorites? I am a Strong Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre, and Caduceus Clay enjoyer.

My love for Caleb started because he had a cat man. I love cats, and so of course I was immediately intrigued AND THEN WE GET TO HIS ANGST AND OOOOO- it's also the way his character alignment changes throughout the campaign and how he grows and heals and that concept is what I really love from the Mighty Nein. The way they all grow and become better as the story goes on, especially after Molly like :(

That being said Essek I love because this man committed War Crimes but then is revealed to have no friends and that his favorite food is soup LIKE he's such a good character to show what effect the mighty nein has on people that come into their mists because he was supposed to be an evil NPC, his alignment was/is evil, but the mighty nein (especially Jester) took one look at him and went "you're our friend now!" Like the nein love Essek and are really showing that the power of friendship can in fact be good for you!! Plus his and Caleb's Dynamic is so fun please I love him.

Jester is because she's quite literally me. If I had to pick two people that I probably am out of the Mighty Nein due to just what people have said and my own analysis, Her and Caleb are me coded. She's an Artist! (which I do have Critical role art on here you would just have to find it on here somewhere I haven't drawn the nein in a hot minute-), she's silly, she loves her friends, she's lonely, she's literally me! PLUS THE FACT SHE DOESN'T LIKE HEALING AS A CLERIC IS THE FUNNIEST THING EVER- but when she does heal she is godly at it!! PLUS HER AND ARTY'S WHOLE DEAL, THE WHOLE BELIEVING IN HIM ENOUGH AND HELPING HIM GAIN ENOUGH SUPPORTERS TO BE ELEVATED INTO A FALSE GODHOOD STATUS LIKE IT'S SOOOOOOO- I know it's because Laura wanted to play a Warlock and Travis yoinked that so she didn't BUT OH IT WAS SO FUN TO SEE THAT UNFOLD-

and then Caduceus is because I love Clerics so much. I love playing Clerics, I love watching people play Clerics, just Clerics are high tier for me. (Then again I just love spell casters in general,,, as you can see from this list) but there is something about this Firbolg who just loves his family and was raised in a graveyard and has dead people tea on hand and is just the silliest. He may not be smart but he is wise and his and Fjord's bond while Fjord was trying to find a new patron and Caduceus was like "I think Melora will like you :3" LIKE god their friendship is so fun. PLUS HE'S CANONICALLY AROACE AND LIKE YOU LOVE TO SEE IT!! just god I love the Mighty Nein so much they are everything to me!!

[renatogpadilla]

Okay, so I've been thinking about the Mighty Nein Animated Show and how they might skip some guest characters like they did in TLoVM.

So far, they've skipped Lyra, Thorbir, Lilith, Gern Blanston, FUCKING KERREK and Shale, and they're probably gonna cut out Arkhan. Chances are Lionel stays, but that's about it.

So regarding the Mighty Nein, I've reached the conclusion that there's only 3 guests they can skip: Calliana, Twiggy and Spurt.

Now here's my reasoning for this, taking into account the beats they've used in TLoVM so far. MIGHTY NEIN SPOILERS AHEAD! (Up to episode 103, which is where I'm at.)

- Shakaste: OTHER than being the single coldest motherfucker to ever set foot upon the surface of Exandria, he's the reason Nott's family makes it to Nicodranas safely, aside from being connected to the Golden Grin, who are either directly or indirectly connected to the conflict between Xhorhas and the Dwendalian Empire. So he stays.

- Calliana: As much as I LOVE HER, the quest to the swamp could be re-structured so the Nein could still find the cave with the religious items, and Caleb and Beau could still pull Bowlgate as a gag without her. Also, her existence leaves the question of "Hey! Are we gonna deal with this tremendously evil, Tiamat-worshipping cult? That sounds important!" and of course, we never do. Lastly, her letter's impact later on ends up being a Wand that Caleb probably never uses...

I LOVE Cali, but considering they cut out KERREK AND SHALE, she seems to be one of the characters that could be cut for time. I would LOVE to be wrong, though!

- Keg: SHE'S THE REASON MOLLY DIES. FULL STOP. SHE HAS TO BE THERE. That and her connection to the Iron Shepherds...

- Nila: She and her Family caring for the Blooming Grove is what gives Caduceus the comfort to leave until the Clays come back. She can't be cut either.

- Twiggy: Look, I LOVE TWIGGY. I'm sure we all do! But realistically, all she does is show up, leave them the Happy Fun Ball™ and leave. This could also be circumvented by finding it among the treasure in the Tide's Breath or one of U'kotoa's Temples. Granted, she kills the Dragon inside it, but... Guests getting the final blow on something seems isn't enough to push the story their way (unless TLoVM S3 changes something DRASTICALLY, but even then, Kerrek's moment already got stolen, so I don't think they will). And again, she leaves the question "Are we ever dealing with the inhumane collector from Port Damali?" and of course the answer again is "no". She can be cut, though having her Cameo might be nice if possible. Again, I hope I'm wrong.

- Spurt: He's 50/50. The ONLY reason he would be here would be for the "Spurt Went Splat" Gag. He probably wouldn't take a full 5 minutes of Screentime. Depends on whether they cut the Kobolds entirely or not.

-Reani: She has to be in. Other than being the reason Beau survived Gelidon, she's also the reason Caduceus's Family makes it back to the Blooming Grove okay.

So that's the likeness with which I think the guests will be able to come back... I hope I'm wrong and Cali and Twiggy (and Trixie!) make it in, but it seems like this might be, realistically, all we get... Thoughts?

Edit: Since posting this I have finished Campaign 2 and Cali's chances SKYROCKETED after Rumblecusp thanks to the Nein-Sided Tower! She has to be there now in SOME way shape or form!

[blorbologist]

Vampire Bashter is everything.

if you have time/spoons for it, I would love a follow up to the last one with Jesters first meal.

HEY! Last Valentines ask, woo - I went a slightly different direction for this one, I hope you don't mind. It started as a little tiny leadup to a first nibble, but was starting to get a touch long for a quick snippet.

Everything after is pretty blurry. Not like she has something in her eye or anything - if anything, a few blinks in everything is sharper. Acute. But blurry as in smeared, as in everything is moving fast and she can hardly keep up, as in she’s moving fast and her head’s still looking a little too far to the left. 

Oh. Oh man. She gets it now. Gets why Yasha’s eyes trail over the aftermath of a fight. Gets to feel her blood, what’s left, sloshing to lazy heartbeats. Gets is really doing work, is what she means.

Caleb’s blurry with blood - Jester skids through it when she throws herself down to help. There’s a second where she licks her lips, runs a finger through the caterpillar crawl, coaxes it onto her finger to admire, before - before it hits her this is Caleb, their Cay-leb, and he’s dead and she’s - 

She casts Revivify. Expects it to hurt. It doesn’t. 

Caleb breathes again, and his wounds give one last gurgle, and Jester gurgles something of her own and pats his head and stumbles away.

The fleshy, weeping walls of Cognouza look juicy.

--

Jester almost forgot about the whole ‘oh yeah I’m a vampire now’ thing. Honest. Really!

(They’d saved the world, and Lucien was dead, and Molly was too, and whoever was here was scared, and she wasn’t scared, she was just tired and hungry. So. Nothing to talk about! It could wait.)

The afternoon sun is drowsy, filtered through clouds like satin sheets. 

It burns.

Yasha throws a wing over. The feathers don’t sear, though her exposed skin does as she gently shuffles Jester into the shade. A shove would have done the job.

“Yasha -”

“It’s fine,” she says, when they’re both under the trees. The rest of the Nein hasten to explain the broad strokes to the Clays, celebratory return (a heroes’ welcome! And she’s missing out!) dampened just a bit. 

She isn’t, she really isn’t. So Jester huffs and - and she has to really lean up on her tippy-toes, so high she thinks she might topple, to take Yasha’s face in her hands and cast Cure Wounds. Just enough to help. 

“Now it’s fine,” she declares. Hesitates  - she can almost hover like this, with Yasha’s jaw as an achor, and feel the muscles pulling there. It’s almost normal, not like it was around the others. Because they’re both vampires, now. 

“Yasha?” 

“Hm?”

Jester bites her lip. Doesn’t think it through - her fangs are more, now, and they draw a nice little gash in red ink. She doesn’t have enough blood for that, anymore. “It - it’ll be fine, right, Yasha?”

Her brows furrow, her wings fold. “I - I mean. I can’t promise that. ‘Cause it wasn’t alright for me.” Jester winces. The honesty is nice, though, even as Yasha stammers. “But! We’ll try. Okay? We’ll try for fine.”

“Thanks, Yasha.” Jester sniffles.

She isn’t crying, even as her eyes burn, desperate for tears. 

They always tell you how vampires get blood from other people. Like how Yasha drinks from Beau, sometimes from bad guys they’re killing anyways. Not that Jester’s seen her do it, but - she’s read a few books, okay? 

No one ever talks about where the tears come from. Apparently because they’ve only got so many, after they turn.

Guess she used all of them on Molly’s body. Haha.

[academiaipromise]

everything i want everyone to know about the return of true tv pt 2 (riverdale season 7 episode 2)

jughead (who of course no longer remembers the present storyline) submitted a story to a comics company and they STOLE it i get it jughead i really do

oh thank god we’re having a sock hop this week 

fun fact about this comic book theft storyline is that every person i know (including me) who works in creative industries has a story like this. i feel like someone in the writers room is taking out some frustration. protect your work!!!! no one else will.

i forgot to say last week but betty and kevin are dating in this timeline...so i’m sure that’s gonna go well. i wrote this comment about kevin famously being a flaming homosexual with no regard for his own safety but i am watching archie and betty dance together and they actually might be the more immediate issue 

ETHEL “WE’RE GONNA BE A SHIP” MUGGS IS BACK (good for shannon purser i guess?) 

“we’ve been dating for months and we’re not even going steady yet...you haven’t even pinned me yet.” i’m in PAIN. 

they introduced clay walker in this episode, who is kevin’s husband in archie comics. eat your heart out mcu film bros i am an easter egg master. 

ARCHIEKINS has made its first appearance in the 50s timeline

i somehow missed how toni moved here an episode ago and joined a gang. sorry to those who rely on me paying enough attention to follow this but there’s a lot going on. anyways, she is threatening the sock hop! so cheryl has narrowed in on her enemy (to lover, obviously)! 

archie coming out in his suit that doesn’t fit is very high school musical 3 to me. no further comment. 

“ah jeez mom” AGAIN 50s archie is oddly endearing. 

archie writing a poem for veronica but then giving it to betty to read...i never said the writers weren’t plotting. 

VERONICA INVITED ALL OF THE POTENTIAL DATES OVER AT THE SAME TIME?! perhaps i am anti girlboss i’m sorry to admit this during the week of barbie supremacy 

“what if we went together?” “like...for kicks?” [i am on my 50s jughead canonically ace agenda i don’t have time to get into it here but this made me laugh] 

molly ringwald is kind of chewing her dialogue a bit good for her she really called her son simple (affectionate) 

maedchen amick is also...kind of terrifying in this episode. i support the older riverdale cast just doing whatever the hell they want at this point 

....is the show. implying that hal cooper was also gay in the way kevin is gay. or am i reading too much into that dialogue. anyways, we don’t have time to get into this. 

is ethel still in a cult in this universe or did everyone get a blank slate? perhaps she’s just still creepy 

betty clearly on her way to ask archie to the sock hop now that veronica is no longer taking him only to be stopped by kevin to give her this PIN so that they can GO STEADY genuinely makes me kind of sad like there is no way for this to end well. pinning someone won’t fix your problems kids!

ethel muggs didn’t show up for the detention she got for drawing her illustrations for jughead’s story and hurray! they got the job! take back ownership of your work kids

fangs breaking out into tutti frutti really got my “watched grease/other 50s-setting content as a kid” fight or flight instinct 

damn if my principal singled me out to wax homophobic righteousness i think i would have to resort to something drastic 

well okay cool yeah happy the creepy music following ethel around went somewhere (the sock hop episode ended by implying ethel killed her parents). 

important follow-up: again, the episode ended with ethel, covered in blood, saying “something terrible’s happened.” this was the immediate trailer for the next episode:

anyways. who’s excited for veronica’s make out party??? (my eye twitched writing this)

[tiny-vermin]

ok more this time the rest of the nein (with a few references!)

beau would be an art journalist because i literally cant see her making art as anytjing other than a hobby. she does maybe some scraggly sketches that feel raw and deep but its done on a post it note and u will only see it once in ur life. shes got an extensive knowledge of seasian art because i said so.

jester... i guess she would paint murals but i also think she would make sculptures like xiang jing 向京, particularly those nude sculptures of women and femininity. these are like her rare and not well known pieces but are the most contemplative. the body and womanhood baybe. okay but jester could do anything i feel like her body of work would be so expansive. she would do dadaist work, u can see this. the readymades...

yasha as a still life flower/fruit painter... yes... preserving the flowers forever and ever through her own eyes.... i can see her making works like georgette chen, ahh the normalness of the composition and the occasionally awkward perspective, the dusty colours painted with thick brushstrokes. her earlier work is paintigns of storms with superrr atmospheric colours and space

veth is a curator, or maybe hmm.. veth and beau curating... a collector and a researcher... i will think about this.

oh also caddy. hes def makin vases, bowls, teapots, tea cups. works with caleb in the studio because they r both using the kiln. i can see him being skilled at those huge vases with thin walls and tiny openings, but also just making useful items for his family to use. hes fascinated by the different kinds of clay u can use. see insp: iskandar jalil

yo fjord just fuckign paints boats and seas because hes a pirate yarr (i havent thought about him yet) (i feel like theres so many directions he could go)

i havent decided if kts molly or kingsley here so. dot dot dot

here r my jumbled thoughts abt the Guys (modern au)

ive been thinking abt caleb as a professor a lot. and i want to project my own interest in art on them, so au where caleb is an art professor, essek is some fucker ass contemp artist. i imagine him to make colourfield paintings like mark rothko... or maybe some pretentious ass artwork installations etc. emphasises a lot on technical skill and mastery to create works that are deceptively easy but ofc arent.

caleb uses clay to sculpt expressive things sometimes shapes sometimes figures. portraits of friends?? used to study academic art. now he likes to use his hands to create spontaneously. imagine walking into the studio and he's smothering something in plaster, his hands are basically Covered in it. its gotten on his face and hair. cue inappropriate jester joke.

he teaches art history.omg. he makes little cat figurines to decorate his studio/classroom. cries. please imagine oddly shapes looking cats glazed in funny funky ways. they arent cute. very odd

i think he would be super into raku firing, textures... colours....

iknow teachers dont actually have that much time to do their own stuff but lets imagine 💞💞 and i dont think this lil au is gonna go anywhere but i like to think about it, thanks to the people who left tags in my posts along the lines of wanting to hear more about calebessek thoughts and backstory of modern au, so i was motivated to think about it!! but actually in this... then i dont think essek would wear those kinds of formal clothes. i have a lot of pictures saved though on what i think he would like to wear.

oh and also ive been listening to the song "god turn me into a flower" by weyes blood. very pretty and very essek themed to me. he becomes soft .. because of his friends and his partner.....

anyways if anyone wants to hear more about art wizards. i'll make it a thing

[minerva-is-a-robot]

TALIESIN SAID HE WAS INFLUENCED BY THE WORK OF BRIAN FROUD FOR CLAY AND THAT MEANS I HAVE ANOTHER LABYRINTH AU

[hexblooded]

okay but the fact that it was caduceus, who’s usually the one who argues to let things run their course, who tried and got that successful divine intervention and THEN, going against one of his core beliefs, asked the wildmother to bring Molly back FOR HIS FRIENDS, that was what got me.

[tief-lings]

It lives in my head rent free that Caduceus has not met Kiri

[foreverthemomfriend]

Okay @novemberhush you tagged me in this forever ago and started it and saved it to drafts and forgot it existed, as I tend to do. I'm sorry for the delay friend but here are fifteen things about me:

1) Are you named after anyone? Yes, my middle names come from my great grandmothers and my first name was inspired by a friend of my mom but the swapped the M out of Michelle for an R because my father's name is Ron

2) When was the last time you cried? full on cried? about two weeks ago, a few tears? watching a movie the other night with my sister and my roommate (it was Spirit and I almost always cry at least a little)

3) Do you have kids? No but my friends call me Mom

4) Do you use sarcasm a lot? Yes? depends on who I'm with

5) What’s the first thing you notice about people? Vibe feels like the wrong word, maybe energy is a better way to describe it. What they give off emotionally...

6) What’s your eye colour? Blue-Green, it varies a bit and there is some gold-ish colour mixed in too

7) Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings please, I don't do scary

8) Any special talents? No? not that I can think of anyway, I'm not particularly gifted with anything specific

9) Where were you born? Alberta, Canada

10) What are your hobbies? Reading, Arts/crafts, I don't do much anymore honestly

11) Do you have any pets? A Mini Dachshund (Molly) and a Cat (Milly also affectionately known by me as Satan), but they both live with my Dad

12) What sports do you play/have you played? Didn't do a lot of organized sports as a kid but I did play Volleyball and Basketball fro a little bit in elementary school. I did also used to shoot Sporting Clays competitively.

13) How tall are you? 5ft 8ins (My mom used to tell me I was going to be the tallest of my siblings but she lied, I am the shortest)

14) Favourite subject(s) in school? English and Art, I did always love Social studies and as I got older I really enjoyed classes with Psychology

15) Dream job? A chef or a teacher, I bounced around a lot. still haven't decided, still unrealistically dreaming of opening a little cafe/bakery/bookstore...

And I'll tag: @thegreatvelociraptor @yourfriendfrogs @hiddenbookshop @lirs-main and anyone else who wants to try!

15 Questions

Thanks for tagging me, @imwritesometimes !😘

1) Are you named after anyone? Nope!

2) When was the last time you cried? It wasn’t full-on bawling, but I got a little misty-eyed watching the film Pain and Glory last week.

3) Do you have kids? No.

4) Do you use sarcasm a lot? Not really, although there have been a couple of people who have brought it out in me.

5) What’s the first thing you notice about people? I don’t know. Their attitude, maybe? Like how they treat the people around them.

6) What’s your eye colour? Green.

7) Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings.

8) Any special talents? Not really. Although I have been told by more than one person that I’m really good at getting people to talk about stuff that they had no intention of talking about when the conversation began. A woman who was leading a course I did for work one time said I had a knack for asking just the right questions to get people to open up.

9) Where were you born? Northern Ireland.

10) What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, watching movies/tv shows, that’s about it.

11) Do you have any pets? My family has a dog that I see when I go to visit them. I definitely count him as my pet too.

12) What sports do you play/have you played? I’m not really a sporty person. I played hockey, netball and a little badminton and volleyball in school, but that was many years ago and never to any particular level of excellence. I never made any of the official school teams or anything (and I was fine with that).

13) How tall are you? 5ft 10ins (I always wanted to crack the 6ft mark but never quite made it!)

14) Favourite subject(s) in school? English and History.

15) Dream job? I always wanted to be an archaeologist when I was kid (no, not because of Indiana Jones!), and that still appeals, but I’ve always been interested in psychology and writing too. I like learning things about the past and digging beneath the surface and discovering what makes people the way they are.

I tag @smowkie @all-or-nothing-baby @peaceofficerdiaz @sal-si-puedes @foreverthemomfriend @talespinner230 @elysiumwaits @firstdegreefangirl @fireladybuckley @mistmarauder and anyone else who wants to play. No pressure on anyone who doesn’t!❤️