#Sorry not sorry for these utter morons

[solar-nightengale]

Also, maybe 30 or 50 from the touching one for

(Sorry, every time you mention them this is the only thing I think about)

Well hello again 😏😏

THTRHHDBTHRB I was NOT ready for that image but You know what? Yeah LOL

But fools were requested so the fools shall be given, in their full idiotic glory 😌💕💕

putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

“So how long do we plan on sitting here and reading that?”

Pinocchio sighed as he looked up from the book he had on hand. It was late in the evening, the clock above their door was ticking towards the next hour, and the toddler had been put to bed about an hour ago, after they had found her passed out next to Iskra.

Like many days when he had the time, the man had taken to settling down comfortably into bed and reading, Pinocchio taking the grand opportunity that is his lover being at home at the time to snag him and join in on the reading session. Until now the older had done nothing but fidget or lean on his shoulder as the woodcarver read for them both out loud with occasional outbursts.

They started five pages ago.

This was now comment number eleven.

“Until you can learn how to sit quietly and pay attention?” he asked, casting a glance up at Lampwick.

“I've never been more bored in my life, baby.” Lampwick groaned as he dropped his head against the headboard, Pinocchio rolling his eyes at that.

“Oh I'm sure you haven't.”

“Not even in school!”

“Yes because half the time you weren’t even there. And your education speaks for you in that regard,” Pinocchio pointed out, hearing the other scoff. “You’re setting a horrible example for that kid if you’re acting like this.” he continued as he turned his attention back to the book.

“You're so rude to me, you know that?”

No, Pinocchio will not be smiling because of how Lampwick draped himself over him. Nor at the pout that the other was giving him. He will not be giving him that satisfaction, even if it meant biting his lip to stop himself from doing so.

“Am I? I'm just being honest with you.” he stated, tapping the page as Lampwick wrapped his arms around Pinocchio's middle.

“I think that fairy needs to stop giving you such terrible ideas on what you need to do. She's tainting you, my blue-eyed doll,” Lampwick complained as he swayed the two of them around.

“Don't be silly,” Pinocchio claimed, still not looking up, though his grin was unfortunately in place now.

“And yet here you are, trying to get me to read what even is this? Shakespeare? Some other bullshit poetry nonsen-”

“Please stop.” Pinocchio cut him off, a hand over the other’s mouth. Maybe he should have expected nothing else, but most unfortunately for him at this moment, he hadn’t expected his betrothed to lick his hand. As though burned he pulled it back with a grimace. “Gods, you're disgusting! What are you, five?” Pinocchio exclaimed, as he wiped his hand into the covers.

Lampwick, however, wasn't deterred, as he grinned. “Yeah. Five years older than you.”

The snicker had Pinocchio looking up, giving the man a deadpan stare. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh. I'm sure you do.” Lampwick smirked.

“I hate you so much." Pinocchio muttered, as his betrothed snaked his arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

“Oh I feel your hate so much right now, Pinky. Very intensely in my chest actually. So much that I think I can hear a second heart racing.” Lampwick mused quietly into his ear, Pinocchio relenting with a scoff.

“Oh haha, very funny.”

The man paused, looking at the discarded book next to him and the still burning oil lamp. He smirked as he reached along the covers.

“Finally giving up on the read?”

He heard Lampwick ask, as he struggled to grab the book again. Successful in his endeavour, he snuggled back against the taller man, opening up the book once more with a sigh.

“Nope! Now I have you trapped so you've no choice but to sit through it!” Pinocchio proclaimed, hearing the man whine with quiet satisfaction.

[dinodogs]

The rwby post about sexualized designs has significantly damaged my brain tissue. And surprisingly, its not even from weird incels thinking a 16 year old should show her tits on screen or something.

Its from people who just...haven't seen women and what they wear on the regular?? Like I'm sorry but people wear skirts. People wear full body suits, people wear leggings and stockings. That is literally just something women (& people in general) wear to go grocery shopping.

Just because the rwby girls don't wear baggy clothes doesn't mean they are sexualized. They don't even wear like super form fitting, tight clothing. Blake wears a black body suit in her v7 outfit and thats the closest they get, and considering she's in a place thats so cold you will freeze to death in a a couple of hours it makes perfect sense. Attention is never drawn to it. It is never once used to show off her body, if you for some reason think that they are showing her body off you're just really horny im sorry.

Yangs v1 outfit has her showing a fair bit of skin, but again, that is not something they draw any attention too. Girls just living her best life. Monty took not sexualizing the girls extremely seriously, if you don't know he had a skirt rule that would prevent any upskirt shots. He took it seriously and put a lot of thought into it to make sure these 15-17 year old girls weren't being objectified. Showing skin isn't exactly sexual either. Sure, people do show skin with the intent of it being seen sexually but that doesn't mean every instance of a girl exposing her stomach or legs is meant to be seen that way.

This goes for the men too. Sun walks around with his tits out for the world to see and again, thats not inherently a sexual thing. Men walk around shirtless all the time if you're focusing that much on some shirtless dude then you're probably just really horny. I know its not super common in colder areas but I see dudes sitting on their porch, walking their dogs, jogging, biking, or doing literally anything shirtless. Its hot as fuck here! And its hot as fuck where Sun comes from too, makes perfect sense for the guy to just have his abs and his boobs out.

In conclusion: Just cause you can't keep your dick down doesn't mean rwby characters are sexualized. Calm down and maybe go outside and see what regular people wear.

[mymelodyisme]

Me: randomly reappears

Also me: terrorizes the timeline

[villainessbian]

"Don't say something I can replace with something entirely different before making it about me, that is forcing me to be even more irrational. You're forcing me really, I feel bullied. Also after misusing the word 'infantilising' I am now going to talk to you like I am a parent who just got violent"

He's truly living in a different world. You have to follow seven different steps of "intellectual" acrobatics to get there. This entire rant started from me saying that all but one of the butches I know irl were "smol" (as a direct opposite to "tall," which he was in the process of calling bad representation)

1) the "your social experience is about me" roundup

2) the "internet spelling of 'small' is akin to 'soft harmless uwu smol bean babies' actually" triple axel

3) the "if it's about me it's about everyone else too" tight-rope

4) the "being told it's not about me just confirms it's about me" aerial hoop

5) the "being told it's not about me forces me to bitch on the subject of it being about me" hula

6) the "being called out about how that entire act was based on nothing but my own imagination" windup

7) the "anything I decide I wouldn't like thus has a retroactive reason that sounds vaguely social justice-y even if I don't actually mind perpetuating the very thing I'm comparing it to" final somersault

And this beautiful act is named "none of my own aggressive behaviour is ever my fault volume 47" - it's a series of interpretive routines he seems really dedicated to perfect.

[livwritesstuff]

i went on a deep dive of the Steve & Hopper ao3 tag yesterday and and it got me thinking about what would happen if Chief of Police Hopper ran into Steve and Eddie while he was on patrol after pseudo-adopting Steve, and it’s been long enough that Hopper is sort of a safe-person for Steve so Steve goes into full-fledged bitch mode when Hopper tries to pull cop stuff on them, and Eddie (who knew about none of this because Steve is a chronic under-sharer) is so totally baffled.

He’d spent years watching Steve sweet-talk his way out of trouble. Even before they started hooking up it used to drive Eddie goddamn insane, because if (when) Eddie pulled any of this shit Steve gets away with, he’d be totally screwed, but all Steve has to do is flash a sheepish grin and run a hand through his hair once or twice and say, all baleful, “I really didn’t mean any trouble,” and he’s home free.

It has its perks though, or so he's learned during his last few months of hanging around with Steve, so when Steve and Eddie’s make-out session is interrupted by the tell-tale red and blue lights of a cop car pulling up behind where Steve parked the Beemer a few hundred yards down a maintenance road, Eddie’s not all that worried. In fact, he’s got a pretty good amount of faith in Steve’s ability to spin up some story to keep them out of any real trouble, and as Chief Hopper ambles over to them, Eddie prepares himself for a whole show of, “Yes Chief, sorry Chief, it won’t happen again Chief.”

So imagine Eddie's complete and utter surprise when Hopper barks, “Hey, morons! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and Steve only rolls his eyes and says, “What’s it to you?”

Eddie feels his jaw drop.

“Steve,” he mutters through gritted teeth. He tries to elbow Steve into shutting the hell up, but he misses because Steve has already taken several steps forward to meet Hopper, his face turned up in a kind of defiance Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before.

“What’s it to me?” Hopper repeats, glowering at Steve, “It’s midnight. I’m on patrol. You’ve got one of the most recognizable cars in this entire damn town parked in a restricted-access zone with this idiot–” Hopper gestures at Eddie (Eddie didn’t think the pointing or the idiot were necessary, but clearly, clearly, he’s missing something here), “–who’s been dragged into my station more times than I could count.”

“The town line, Hop, is over there,” Steve says, pointing at an indiscriminate spot over Hop’s shoulder that may or may not be part of the Hawkins town line, “We’re not even in Hawkins anymore. You’re totally out of your jurisdiction.”

“You wanna know something about jurisdiction, smart-ass?” Hopper asks, “If my report says shit happened in my jurisdiction, it happened in my jurisdiction.”

“Wow,” Steve deadpans, “Way to not sound totally corrupt. Nice work, Chief.”

Hopper’s jaw twitches for a second, and he’s clearly debating if he wants to keep arguing with Steve who, to Steve’s credit, looks like he’s got debate in him for days. Ultimately though, Hopper decides against it and stalks back over to his squad car.

“If you’re not home by one there’s gonna be hell to pay. You hear me, Harrington?” Hopper yells, “One AM. Hell to pay.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Totally hear you. One AM. Loud and clear or whatever.”

Steve flips the cruiser both birds as it peels away, which Hopper only flashes his high beams at a couple times before he’s gone, kicking up a bunch of dirt and mulch and leaves in his wake, and Steve is wearing an exasperated expression as he turns to face Eddie again.

“God, he’s so annoying. Let’s just go to my house.”

Eddie gapes at him.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Huh?”

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie repeated, gesturing wildly towards where Hopper’s car had just been.

“Wha– you mean with Hop?”

“Uh, yeah?!?”

Steve just brushed him off, “Whatever, just ignore him. He’s basically my dad.”

“What?”

EDIT: read the expanded fic on AO3 :)

[feyascorner]

jealousy looks good on you

summary. Astarion realizes you're jealous after a night out at the tavern where he must gather information from another. And him being him, teasing ensues.

warnings. fluff, idk just two idiots doing idiotic things, Tav here is good oriented, sorry to evil tav players,,,

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. I love morons in love,,

You were not jealous. Especially not of that damned elf practically hanging off from his arm.

You'd encountered devils, walking brains, even the greatest of beasts during your adventures, yet not once have you felt nothing but utter annoyance. Like an obnoxious fly circling your head insistently no matter how much you swatted at it.

You'd never considered yourself possessive of your dearest companion. Sure, you were protective of him at times, but so were you with the rest of your group, especially knowing what each person had gone through in their lives. And while being lovers might've given an extra kick to that boundary, by no means were you excessively watching him like a hawk.

But now here you were, not watching him, but her.

Information, you remind yourself. You'd nearly forgotten why he was even tolerating her behavior in the first place, because even if he was flirtacious by nature, his tendencies narrowed down towards only you after your conversation at Moonrise. You knew he dreaded this as much as you, but the information that woman had was a must—and Astarion had insisted he could help out.

You were sincerely regretting even entertaining the idea now.

She has her chest pressed flush to the toned muscles of his arm, making sure he’s aware of what qualities she has to offer. With a bat of her lashes, she lets out a shrill laughter when he mumbles something, playfully hitting his chest as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

You’ll show her something really fucking funny at this rate—

Patience, you remind yourself. Breathe. In and out. This is unlike the qualities of a hero trying to save the city. Shooting an arrow at the woman would do nothing but cause panic. Why did you even want to get so violent in the first place? A little minor bump in the road shouldn't make you this angry, should it?

You seriously don't want to watch anymore—especially when he leans toward her to whisper something in her ear and she lets out that rage-inducing giggle again—so you down the rest of your alcohol and run a hand down your face.

You don't notice his eyes glancing at you every few moments, too busy calming your nerves.

A few minutes later, you hear the scrape of his chair pushing back and a rush of relief floods you when you see him stand, face content in a way that tells you the mission was successful. You thank the Gods above because any more of this and you certainly would've committed some sort of crime-

The woman takes his hand, shaking her head before giving him a sly smile. The breaths you took earlier seem to have no effect the second she motions towards the door, her fingers still wrapped around his hand like a death sentence.

You should trust him, you think.

He's had more experience in this than anyone else.

You can't see his expression, but the second you see hers drop, you're suddenly moving across the entire tavern. He whips around when he hears your steps and the relief on his face almost calms you. Almost.

“Hello, dear,” you accentuate. And though your eyes are trained on his, you're more focused on the woman from your side view. “Ready to leave? Sorry I had to catch up with a friend earlier.”

He raises a brow for a moment, and you suspect it’s because you were never supposed to even be in the plan. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze and look away, embarrassed to have let your emotions alter the mission so much—but he seems more than pleased. In fact, the bastard grins.

“Yes, my love,” he snickers, snatching his arm away from the woman and looping the other around the waist. “Let us hurry. I cannot stand another moment being unable to ravage you under such—prying eyes.”

Somehow, your face gets hotter.

Before the woman can respond (though you doubt she even wanted to), he's leading you out the tavern into the cold air of the streets for a much needed breather on your part. You're almost certain you won't be going to that tavern for a while.

“‘My dear’?” he mimics, his lips stretching wider. “I’d believed I was the one with pet names in our relationship. You'd seemed quite adamant on calling me by my given name after all. Had a change of heart?”

Your voice is a mumble as you retort. “Must be the alcohol.”

“Really? Because if I didn't know any better, and I do,” he stops the two of you around the corner of the building in an isolated spot, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I’d think you were jealous back there, darling.”

“I was just worried about you,” you blurt in a hurry. “Otherwise I wouldn't have butt in and—”

“Oh, my sweet sweet love,” he laughs. “I could feel you glaring from across the building. And I'm sure I could've sworn to see you slam your goblet a few times. No need to be ashamed. Jealousy is quite normal, and I'm more than flattered.”

“I’m not—” you begin, but her face flashes in your mind again. The way she'd touched his arms, his chest, and you knew she'd never know him the way you do. But it didn't quell the annoyance flickering in your chest. He raises a brow expectantly for your answer, and you quietly lift your hand to his arm, dusting it off.

Dusting her off.

And finally, you accept it. “I’m going to burn those clothes.”

He snorts. “I’m sure there's more romantic ways of getting me naked, but this’ll have to do for now.”

“I will. Then I’ll bury the ashes somewhere.”

“Charming.”

You look at him, disappointed—not in him, but yourself. Before you can drown in your own thoughts, he lifts his fingers to caress your face, smiling. “There really was no need to be jealous, darling.”

“I know,” you mutter. “I just—seeing her practically begging for your attention pissed me off.”

“And there's the difference between you and her. If it's worth even comparing at all,” he says, planting a peck to your forehead. “She begs a hopeless cause while I beg for you.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You don't need to beg me for attention.”

“I’m aware. I know how much you're fond of me and my gorgeous eyelashes.” You sigh at this. “But I must admit that a selfish part of me is a bit pleased by your reaction to that vile woman.”

“Why? This feels horrible.”

“Well, now you get a taste of what I want to do when I see you with that damned cleric,” he groans at the thought. “Yes, I am aware you two are the giddiest of friends, but whenever she puts her hands all over you for the sake of healing—”

You burst into a fit of laughter. “How else is she supposed to help?”

“I’m sure she can heal you from a safe distance away. Preferably twelve feet. Maybe more.”

Wordlessly, you calm your smile and press your lips to his, your fingers running through white curls. He holds you like you’re made of glass, gently.

The kiss is soft, even as you finally pull away. “Stupid vampire.”

“Silly darling.”

You don't complain when he pulls you closer for one last kiss.

[kuronekobaji]

literally gonna torch this place I GOT A REQUESTTT FROM BAJISDARLING I THINK BUT I CANT FIND THE BLOG ?? ANYWAY. TYYY FOR REQUESTING I LOVE U SO MUCH

warnings: smut from the middle to the end [kind of, it’s left on a cliffhanger he gets ready to eat you out], mentions of foolish animal abuse [feeding chocolates to dogs, outdoor cats], not proofread, sorrryyyyyyyy

synopsis: your husband, keisuke, comes home after a frustrating day at work. what better way to relieve his stress than lose himself in you?

note: this is so fucking short like 700 words MAX i thinkkk idk i didn’t do a wc but yeah… he’s a vet in this because eh . i highkey forgot how to write so this is complete and utter ass but i hope it’s half decent,, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS PLEASE I’LL BEG ON MY KNEES PLE

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!

-𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ᡣ𐭩

keisuke practically slams the door open, anger simmering underneath the surface of his not-so-stoic expression. he had an absolute clusterfuck of a day, and he really wanted nothing more than to melt into you completely; forget about the assholes he had the displeasure of encountering earlier and simply hold you like his own personal teddy bear. in lots of ways, you were.

he hurriedly locks the door and takes a brief moment to just… admire you. naturally, his expression softens at your presence, the sight of you laid up and sitting on the couch doing a bit to calm his boiling blood.

your eyes snap to the sounds at the door, and you brighten at the sight of your husband. although you can tell he’s not in a good mood, you know he’s not going to take it out on you — not violently or verbally, atleast — and you’re aware that he just needs you right now.

“sweetheart,” you murmur as he practically turns into a dreary puddle and stumbles over to you. he’d never get enough of the way your voice sounds, especially when you call out so lovingly to him.

“doll…” he groans, falling into your open arms and suddenly hoisting you up by the hips and outer thigh to pull you into a position where he could comfortably rest on you.

“bad day?”

“tch. understatement of the goddamn century,” he rasps, deep voice muffled by your chest as he lays atop you and in between your legs. “these goddamn owners don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

you hum inquisitively, fingers reaching up to gently stroke his dark locks. he sighs, burrowing further into your warm embrace and taking it as a sign to elaborate.

“some goddamn moron decided to feed their dog chocolate cake and wondered why it fell sick,” he deadpans, irritation already finding its way back to him — until the sensation of you surrounds him once more. “next, an ‘outdoor cat owner’ complained to me ‘cause their cat contracted some diseases. swear to god, there should be some legal form to sign for anyone who decides to adopt these animals. i’m so fuckin’ tired of this bullshit, couldn’t wait to get home to ya.”

an understanding noise comes from your throat. he nuzzles your chest, gratitude bubbling inside his own. there would never be enough words to express how much he loved you, how much you mattered to him — but you, being the damn angel you were, already knew.

“all of it’s pissing me off. woulda socked those motherfuckers in the face but i got the sweetest wife in the world to come to, so…”

you laugh softly, heat rising to your cheeks just like it did when he’d compliment you all those years ago. the sound of your seraphic giggles ebb away at the dread in him, fondness stirring in his russet hues.

“oi. it ain’t damn funny,” he playfully calls out, wanting to hear more of your laughter.

“sorry, sorry, i— ahah— you’re too… good to me. i love you.” your tone flows over with tenderness, making his heart skip a beat for a moment.

“i love you,” he sincerely remarks, kissing the closest part of you he could reach. “more than you realise.”

a loving smile is exchanged between you two, and your digits gently begin to massage his scalp. he gasps, the affectionate nature in your fingertips setting off a blaze in him. a groan of pleasure tears from him him, his body leaning into your touch. it came to you reflexively, like an instinct. you knew exactly how to push his buttons; where to touch, where to bite, where to kiss — there was much more, but it’d take a good few hours to complete that list.

either way, you loved drawing those pleased noises from him, loved hearing his rich and normally flat voice change into something full of affection and weakness for you, and only you.

“goddamn…” he breathes, “shoulders too. please.”

you oblige, hands beginning to work out the tension in his broad shoulders and chiseled shoulderblades.

“fuck. your hands are so damn soft,” he comments, euphoria shooting throughout him at each touch. his eyes then find yours, gazes locking in a shared time of adoration. “you’re… so soft.”

feeling a slight pull in the air, it’s as if the atmosphere itself leads both of your mouths to connect in a short time between two lovers.

however, the kiss deepens, things happen, and before you know it, your hands are desperately pawing at each other. his tongue pushes into your mouth, over and over, and he pulls away every time with spit bridging the tips of your tongues.

he grunts as he shifts, “wait.”

as he kneels, he swiftly strips himself of his shirt. your gaze quickly zeroes in on his muscular physique, scarred and toned body. his half-lidded eyes darken. without your consciousness, your hand reaches out and your fingertips trace a few of his scars. you could count each and every single one, with a blindfold and without.

his breath still falters when you touch him like that. so gently, so reverently — as if he’s some fragile thing that needs to be treated delicately. he didn’t think of himself as so, but it seemed like you did. not that he’d ever disliked it, it was just… unusual. until you came into his life, that is.

inevitably, your irises drift to that patch of curly, dark hair trailing from his stomach, down his v-line and to his crotch. you swallow, trying not to dwell on that topic in fear of turning this intimate moment into something more physical.

it was the easiest thing in the world for keisuke to notice your behaviour, though, and that the way your thighs just clenched.

“c’mere,” he gruffly mumbles, snatching you by your thighs and placing you on his lap before you could react. a smirk pulls at his dry lips. “attagirl. quiet ‘n let me rest on you, yeah?”

flustered at the praise, you nod. his face comes close to your neck, and your breath hitches as he inhales your scent like you’re a drug. he plants a few kisses across the sensitive skin, before his canines sink in and his teeth leave a mark. at the little squeak you let out, his tongue soothes over the bite, and he starts getting bolder.

large hands sneak underneath your shirt, palming one of your breasts without shame. the smirk on his mouth widens just a smidge, an almost sinister gleam in his sharp caramel eyes.

“hmph. bet you’re gettin’ wet too,” he murmurs, wanton voice dropping to a whisper. his other palm drifts to your ass, giving it a ‘smack’, before he proposes something that sends your stomach pooling with butterflies. “why don’t we check?”

in the blink of an eye, his hand is in your panties, already finding your dampness. a bark of laughter erupts from him, he’s almost tempted to coo at your adorable noises of embarrassment.

“keisuke!” you cry out, and he grins, baring those sharp teeth he’d never get tired of marking you up with.

“mm? screaming my name already, huh? we haven’t even begun yet,” he drawls, tone carrying a promise and a threat. “i’ll do a favor for ya and take these off,” he whispers, ripping your panties apart with one hand and shoving you onto your back. he immediately stares at your pussy, muttering, “there’s my girl.”

he brings your legs over the expanse of his wide shoulders, face inching closer between your aching thighs. holding you has always felt so right; the sensation of your softness in his greedy palms.

looking up at you with a blazing hunger, his breath fans over your clit. “keep your hands in my hair. i’m still damn frustrated, so i’m gonna eat this pussy ‘til i’m satisfied. you got that, angel?”

you suck in a breath. “mhm.”

“good girl.”

this was going to be a long night.

[anxresi]

She's already been punished enough...

...By being part of one the worst shows of all time, dufus.

A few points here, in the order of the OP presented their dubious 'case' (though I suspect this isn't actually how they feel and this is a somewhat disingenuous attempt was to provoke a reaction from a lot of others when they sent this to Reddit, in which case... JOB DONE).

1. Bullying, as bad as it can be, is not a jailable offence. especially the relative mild incidences we've seen in the show (up till S4 that is, which we'll get to later) Next.

2. As every right-minded person knows, this is 'New Chloe' e.g Chloe specifically created by Mr Astruc for the S3 finale onwards which bears no relation to 'Old Chloe'. 'Old Chloe' actually had personality, layers, humanity, humour, was a great super-anti-hero, the stirrings of redemption in her.... 'New Chloe' is just an out-and-out psychopath with no depth to her whatsoever apart from to be as ineptly evil as possible and increasingly embarrass herself with every tortuous appearance so Thomas can get his sick jollies, so this doesn't count. Sorry.

3. See: 2. Also, Zoe shouldn't exist... so, there's that. If you want to know why, please see my other posts... as I am saving up all my ire for something far more important as you'll find out below...

4. Now this is the one that REALLY boils my piss. How can I put this politely... Fuck off, you fucking cunt. Chloe's fucking father ENABLED her fucking behavior for fucking years by fucking throwing his money at the fucking problem instead of paying for the fucking psychological help she clearly fucking well needed and fucking IGNORED everything when her fucking mother regularly left Chloe alone, told her she was fucking worthless, didn't bother celebrating her fucking birthdays, forgot her fucking name time and time again...

I could go on. And you're telling me Andre is the FUCKING victim instead of Chloe, this FUCKING corrupt mayor. this FUCKING waste of space, this FUCKING pathetic excuse of a man who as her FUCKING FATHER could've put his FUCKING foot down at any FUCKING time and simply said "No?" What kind of a fucking 'mature' adult is he, anyway?! I suppose the OP also thinks fucking Gabriel deserved his fucking statue as well, in fact they should've hung fucking garlands of flowers from it whilst someone played fucking panpipes and everybody else fucking danced around. Fuck you.

Also worth noting here that Chloe fucking ADORED her father until the exceedingly unwelcome S4 'reboot' where she suddenly saw him as a fucking walking piggy bank (I won't even mention how they purposefully ruined her relations with Adrien, Sabrina, even her own butler... Chloe can't have any happiness in her life. It simply ISN'T ALLOWED).

Then they have the cheek to let his daughter be 'disowned' by him in the S5 finale and banished to London as if he fucking did nothing wrong in facilitating her attitude whilst failing to defend her against her despicable mother's abuse. (Yes, I said ABUSE I know the creator doesn't view it as such, but he's a fucking moron so what can you do?) Bullshit. Complete and utter undiluted diarrhea dripping from a bull's anal sac... that's what this is. I hope I painted an accurate picture for all of you. Sorry if you were eating.

So, it was supposably a happy ending that Andre got to fucking adopt another man's child without any reprecussions for his past actions, as he embarked on his new career as a fucking film director. What? You think that wasn't ENOUGH punishment for Chloe, OP? You think she should go to fucking jail as well, for DARING to be a child victim of incessant abuse, both in-canon and in-writing? I never thought I'd meet a person who's more radicalised in their blind hatred of Chloe than fucking Mr Astruc, but here we are. I tell you, some people on this exploding planet of ours scare me. Legit.

5. See 2 again. This huge disparity in writing between the two Chloes is getting stupid now, and anyone who can't see the contrast between now and then... I really can't help you. Either take off your Chloe-hating goggles to smell the coffee, or go read someone that agrees with you 100% and won't pop your tiny safe-space bubble with indisputable facts. Goodbye.

6. I think Chloe is more 14... but it doesn't really matter. Still a child, still should be treated as one. Which makes Astruc's obsessive loathing of her even more disturbing... and even more so this dude's.

That's it. This was probably an entirely unnecessary pot-pourri of hot topics I've regurgitated before, but as soon as I saw this article (particularly Pic 4) I just had to jump on my soapbox once more to regale the world about the kind of arrant nonsense I see about Chloe sometimes online, particularly regarding the subject of parental abuse and whether her treatment by the show's narrative was justified (SPOILER: It wasn't, and if you disagree I need you to fuck off RIGHT NOW).

Because if people like me don't defend her and the terrible writing she's been subjected to for the last few seasons (at least she's in good company there though), who will?

Not the person who made her, that's for sure. She may be a fictional character but... I get the feel her situation is similar to a lot of other neglected and mistreated kids out there who lash out at others for obvious reasons. And by handling her arc (if you can even call it that) in this inexcusable way... I don't just think the show has just done her a disservice. I think they've outright destroyed her and the hopes of many others watching.

What a great message to send to every youngster who could relate. I hope the makers are proud of themselves. Fucking idiots.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, medical procedures including dialysis and chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Pete Brenner, short!reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

It's not the treatments themselves but the constancy. This isn't just one day, this is the rest of your life. Several days a week walking through those doors, spending hours with a needle in your arm, only to walk away feeling nauseous and dizzy.

The effects only last a few hours, just until your blood pressure evens out, but it's enough to put you out for the rest of the day. With a bandage on your arm, you fold up your laptop and slide it into your bag. What better way to multitask but work while you have the life drained from you. Well, the alternative is hardly preferable, a grizzly, toxic death of drowning in your own waste. You've always been an optimist.

You take a moment before you leave, trying to steady the hazy lines in your vision. You take a breath and leave the office, bidding a quick farewell to Louise, your attending nurse. Outside of the clinic and work, you don't get out much, and much of the latter you can do from home.

You go down the clanging metal stairs to the lobby. As you cross the floor, a man stands by the index of offices, scratching his flopping hair as he glances over. You give a sheepish arch of your brows and tuck your chin down.

"Hey," he stops you before you reach the door, "er, I'm looking for the Wellness Studio? Er..." He turns to you as you stop with your hand on the front door, "Colson's?"

You furrow your brow. That sounds familiar but you really don't know about anything else in the building. You just come here to get your dialysis.

"Erm, I..." you peek out the window and see the sign across the street, red font on a white background, "is that it?"

You point to the moniker that reds 'Colson's' and the man nears to look over your shoulder. He blows out a huff and tuts, "oh god, I must seem like a moron."

"Uh, no..." you push through the door and he catches it behind you, extending his arm over your head.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he nudges your arm as he follows you outside.

"Mhmm," you turn down the sidewalk, set on your path to the station.

"Hey, wait, can I get a name?" He sprints up next to you, "you've been so helpful--"

You look at him, unused to that level of familiarity. You're not exactly that discernable from the brickwall beside you. Your expression must betray your confusion and surprise.

"Just a name," he says as he puts out his hand, "Pete. So, trade?"

You hide your discomfort and reach to shake his hand, eking out your name. You clear your throat and glance around him, not wanting to be rude. You're not quite sure how to gently mention that your train is due.

"So, you come here often?" He stretches his arm out to lean on the brick facade, hand pushing his jacket back as he grips his hip.

You nod and peer around. He's a stranger even if you know his name. You're not very fond of those.

"Am I keeping you?" He asks coolly.

"I just... gotta catch the train," you utter, "sorry, I--"

You go to step around him and he pushes away from the wall, blocking your way, "alright, alright, can I get a number?"

"Er, oh, no," you blurt out in shock, "no, I mean... I don't know you."

He rolls his eyes and smirks, "yeah you do, I'm Pete."

You shake your head and step sideway again. He moves with you. Your chest boils with frustration and a tint of fear. This is why you shouldn't talk to strange men. Especially men twice your size.

"Woah, woah, don't look so scared, honey, I'm not gonna hurt you," he puts his hands down, "I just think you're a cutie. Forgive me for being so forward." He backs away, "don't let me keep you, you go on and get your train."

You frown, uneasy at his sudden appeasment. You swallow and step past him cautiously. You keep your head straight and march down the sidewalk between the passing pedestrians. Their indifference makes you feel even more uneasy.

As you go to turn the corner towards the station, you look back. The man stands amidst the city rush, unbothered by those around him as he watches you, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his dark red blazer. You shudder and scurry behind the shield of the buildings. You might just ask to go out the back door next time.

[random-writing-panda]

||•~ Growing pains ~•||

(Older)Damian Wayne x Reader

*My GIF

I’m finally getting better at making fic’s longer. As always I hope you guys enjoy it and that my inability to spell doesn’t reflect in my writing to much🙃 

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: little bit angsty

====================================

Damian starts to develop feelings towards his best friend, he doesn't understand what these feelings mean so who better to go to but his big brother Dick?

====================================

Damian hated this class. Out of all the classes he had to waste his day attending, this one was the worst because the one person who made school bearable was on the other side of the room. So, he was stuck sitting next to morons who only wanted to talk to him because he was Damian Wayne.  

He was zoned out not paying any attention to the class, he didn’t need to, he knew more about the subject then the teacher did and that left him to doing the one thing that had seemed to take over his life recently, drawing you. He sat there sketching lines onto his book glancing up to look over to you as you sat with your face resting in your hand looking half asleep. Damian smiled to himself as he looked back down to the sketch. No matter how many times he drew you he could never make it perfect, never fully capture the beauty you hold.

It had been almost two months of Damian drawing you. You had found one of his sketch books and were so shocked at how talented he was, the detail was incredible, so obviously as his best friend you begged him to draw you.  

∞∞

“No.” he sighed  

“C’monnnn Dami please! Just one sketch. It’s just one please!” you grab his arm and he squirms a little.

“Oh sorry... I forgot the touching thing. But seriously please? Just draw me once.” you pull you hand away and give him puppy dog eyes. You were the one person he listened to, not a lot, but more than anyone else.

“Fine. One okay?” he looks over to you and smiles as you start clapping and smiling.

“Thank you Dami!”  

∞∞

He had finished the sketch and just looked at it just wasn’t good enough, it was missing something and he couldn’t make it look perfect but you had seen him stop so you practically ran over to him and sat next to him and ran your fingers over the edge of the paper and you had smiled so much, you seemed so happy.  

As happy as you were with the picture Damian just couldn’t let go of the fact something was missing, so he tried again, using the picture of the two of you that he kept in his room as a reference.

It drove him crazy, whenever he saw you there was something so beautiful that he just couldn’t capture in his drawings and eventually after every day you spent together, he would sit down and draw it.  

Over the two months he had filled up the entire book with memories and whenever he looked through his sketchbook he was filled with happiness and something completely unexplainable.

“Damian since you seem to be paying attention what is the answer to the question?” the teacher asked trying to embarrass him. It backfired quickly when Damian answered correctly without even looking up from his book. The class tried to stifle their laughter as the teacher turned red and tried to continue with the class.

Damian shot his eyes up to look at you again and he heard your laugh after what had occurred and he just smiled back at you. He didn’t know what was happening to him.

How he felt about you confused him which he hated Damian absolutely hated not know what was happening especially when his own feelings are what were confusing him. He needed to know what was happening and he couldn’t work it out on his own... he needed help...  

∞∞

He was never going to let Damian live this down. Damien actually asking for someone else's help.

“I swear Grayson. You will never utter a word of this conversation to anyone is that understood?” Damian scowls at Dick as they sit across from each other.  

“Sure, okay fine what do you need help with Damian?” Dick slouches over resting his elbows on his knees.

“Whenever I’m with Y/n... I feel weird.” Damian says trying to piece together the words.

“Weird? What do you mean weird?”  

“If I knew what I meant I would have said that wouldn't I Grayson? Uh forget it.” Damian goes to stand up.

“No! Hey Damian, I'm sorry come on I want to help.” Dick says standing and gently puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, “Just talk to me try to explain it?”

“Fine... when I’m with her I...I just...I feel like I’m happier... I feel like a better person and I feel...okay I mean actually okay.” Damian sat back down and but his head in his hands. “And... there is just something unexplainable and...I don’t understand... my entire life i have know exactly how to feel and how to respond... how to turn off my feelings...but I can’t and I don’t know how to deal with it... i don’t even know what it is!”

“Heh... sounds like you're in love.” Dick lets out a small almost sad chuckle. “First love...wow”

“Love?-”

“Yeah love it is what happens when people-”  

“I know what love is Grayson!” Damian replies hastily and rolls his eyes, “I just didn’t know it felt like... this...”

“It’s love. It feels like love. You just know!” Dick says almost like he was confused  

“No Grayson. I don’t know that’s why I came to you.” Damian knew people didn’t understand but at this point they didn’t even try to understand that he couldn't process emotion like other people, they just brush it off.

“I’m trying to be supportive but how do you not know what love is like? Any kind of love?”

“Well Dick some of us didn’t grow up perfectly.”

“Perfectly?! Perfectly really?? No one in this house grew up perfectly! Except maybe Alfred, but that’s beside the point!”

“Yeah well you could be less of a dick, Dick.” Damien stood up and walked away without a second thought.

∞∞

“I will never understand the need for a bed the size of a normal room.” You laugh as you fall back onto Damian’s bed and lay there looking up at his ceiling.

“I don’t get it either but its comfortable.”  Damian raises his head and puts his pencil on his desk.

“I agree maximum comfort levels. I should sleep over more.” you smile and watching you on his bed his face heats up and you move around on the bed and walk over to him.

You sit up on his desk and look down at Damian’s sketch book.

“Is that me?” you move to grab the book, but Damian gets to it first and slams it shut.

“Nope.” his eyes meet yours and he smiles, “Not you at all.”  

“Hm I don’t think so, I'm pretttyy sure that was me.”  

He looks down and he tried to stay calm. Did you hate him? Did you think he was creep? Were you going to stop hanging out with him?

“Let me see it!” you laugh and try to grab the book.

“No!”  

“Please?”

“...Fine...”

He hands the book over to you and his hand brushed yours and you smiled.

You open the book to the first page and see a beautiful sketch of your day out at the beach with him, you flip over the pages one by one and are met with an entire book full of drawings of you.

“Damian...”

That was it you thought he was a creep.

“These are so amazing...” you reach the end of the book and find a page with your sketch in a box in the middle of the page.

“Sorry...this is weird...” He looks at the wall and straightens up in his seat.

You reach over and place your hand on his cheek, you run your finger over the side of his face.

“What are you talking about? They are amazing Damian what are you embarrassed about?”

“You don’t think I'm creepy for having a sketch book full of pictures of you?” Damian laughs and leans into your hand.

“No... it's so sweet.” you look down trying to force words pass the lump in your throat. “It’s nice to have the guy you like take that much interest in you...” you mumble to quietly.

“You like me?”

“Yeah...maybe...a little bit...”  

“Good.” Damian stands up and tugs you off the desk and hugs you. “Because... I think I like you too.”

“Damian?”

He pulls back.

“Yeah...?”

“Can I kiss you?”  

He smiles and you lean into him and press your lips against his and you slowly close your eyes,grasping your waist tightly he pulls you closer to him. The moment seems to last for an eternity and once you pull away you rest you head on his chest.

“Just one sketch huh...?” you look up and Damien rolls his eyes at chuckles.

“Just one sketch.”  

================

Tag list:

[skylarsblue]

★Sugar Cube★

★Red Dead Redemption★ ★Fem!Reader cause I was having a fem! day, use of Y/N(sorry), fluff, a tiny bit of hurt/comfort at the end, silly drunk Arthur at the start, I don't think there's sexual tension here but I could be wrong. The autism has overtaken me and he is all I think about, the depression wave is only kept at bay by this man.★ ★The border in the story is @fairytopea 's, if you'd like me to remove it I will :3★

The world rocked back and forth, a haze over the rolling fields of grass. Arthur slumped his head down a bit, looking at trees passing by. He had to be running, he was pretty sure walking didn’t make the world move so fast. This speed was extraordinary! Since when could he run so fast? He used to be quick in his youth, but nearing forty, his knees had really aged poorly. But here he was, zipping down a dirt road with agility, wind blowing past his face. With such grace too. Then, suddenly a bump, and he felt himself tilt dramatically to the side.  Two long blinks and horse hooves hitting the ground came to his ears. He looked forward, seeing his trusty steed he’d been bonding with the past week dodging a tree to continue up the path. Arthur groaned a little and pulled himself right, then he leaned forward, weighed down by his own head. It was bumpy, but he rested his cheek on the horse’s neck, humming in a moment of peace when feeling the horse’s fur rubbed against his stubble. It was soft and warm. He always liked that about horses. 

“Heheh, nice horsey.” He slurred, patting the horse’s side. It snorted, slowing down to a prance as the trees became thicker. Arthur continued petting the horse’s fur when it occurred to him that he was saying ‘it’. “Ah you’re not some random horse. Nah nah, I named you, right? Uh…what was it…” He mumbled, looking at the light brown color of the Clydesdale horse. A dusty color. Arthur gasped, a bit choked by his own saliva. “Dusty! That’s what I named ya! Ahh, Dusty you’re the best horse this side o’ the country.” He laid against her again, listening to her snort again, which made him let out a fit of giggles. Deep, short laughs that erupted from his chest. He looked around at the trees, and despite his fuzzy brain, he was able to pick out a landmark. 

“Buh, camp. They're gonna make me go do some…stupid…tedious chore or somethin’.” The honey-brown haired man pouted. He huffed out a breath as Dusty went under a broken, spiky tree, approaching a lantern lit spot full of tents. The sun was setting. Dusty stomped past the horse ties and more toward the middle of the camp, catching the attention of some of the gang. 

“Arthur Morgan, what the hell are you doin’?!” 

Arthur winced at the shrill yell. He blinked slowly, looking in its direction, finding Miss O’Shea stood with her hands situated on her hips and a scowl ever present. He sat up slowly, hands grabbing the saddle so he wouldn’t fall, given how wobbly he was. “Heeyyy, Miss O’Sheaaa. Evenin’.” He nodded, though his head didn’t really come up afterward. The woman scoffed and tossed her hands up in exasperation, falling back to her sides with a smack sound. Lenny snickered from his place at the table. “You have fun at the saloon, Morgan?!” Javiar shouted to him. The man nodded again. The men laughed as O’Shea yelled for him to get down. He almost did until she called him a moron. 

“‘Ey! I ain’t no moron! I’m quite smart, I’ll have you know.” He pointed, only for the loss of a stability point to send him leaning forward again. Dusty brayed as he landed against her neck once more. Arthur heard some more laughs from the picnic table but he didn’t open his eyes again. “Arthur Morgan, get your sorry ass off the horse.” She said again, and Arthur replied with a discontent grunt. “‘er name is Dusty, first o’ all. And two, no. Cause you called me a moron.” He replied defiantly, ending his sentence with a small hiccup. O’Shea blinked in awe at the utter sass as Arthur flipped his head over to keep from looking at her. 

“Dutch, will you get your boy?” She motioned at the horse. Dutch chuckled around his cigar and held up his hands. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me? He’s a brat when he’s drunk.” He shrugged. 

“Who’s drunk?” A sweetened voice asked. Walking around a tent with a bucket of water settled on her hip. “Arthur’s bein’ a brat.” Miss O’Shea huffed. Y/N set the bucket down and looked toward the horse, watching the rough and steely outlaw hum a tune while petting his companion, giggling quietly to himself when Dusty stamped a hoof into the ground and huffed. She laughed quietly behind her hand, watching him hug Dusty and mutter slurred praises. “Ah, I see, he’s drunk.” She nodded. “Drunk and ornery. We need him somewhat put together by tomorrow, so he needs to sleep this off, but the moron won’t get off the damn horse!” O’Shea shouted back at him. “Dusty!” He called back, more concerned about the respect to his horse than himself. Y/N giggled and shook her head. “You’re never gonna get him to listen with all that hollerin’. The way to get a stubborn boy to listen is to sweet talk’im. Lemme try.” She patted O’Shea on the shoulder before walking up to the Clydesdale. 

“Arthur, hun, can ya look at me?” She asked. In an instant, he turned his head to look at her, and a goofy grin appeared across his face. “Heyyy, how’re you?” He asked. Y/N smiled up at him, feeling a sense of fondness bursting in her chest. She’d always been fond of Arthur, perhaps to the point of blatant favoritism. She didn’t really hide it either. While she might’ve been generally kind and helpful to the gang as a whole, it wasn’t hard to see when she gave him special treatment. When washing or fixing clothes, she’d take his without him asking, while she’d put up some resistance with the rest. When a petty argument broke out between him and someone else, she’d only really get onto the other party for saying something untoward, while Arthur’d get something half-heartedly scolding.  “Let’s try to keep the peace, m’kay? Why don’t’cha go sit down and relax?” While someone like Micha got chewed up like a dog with a bone. Though, honestly, Micha probably had it coming most of the time.

She never outright denied her general adoration for the man, though she never explained it either. Maybe it was because he’d been the one to find her, help her out of the mess she’d been in. Or maybe it was because he was so helpful to her, to everyone. Or, perhaps, she just thought he was pretty. Could’ve been all of the above, really. 

“I’m doin’ fine. You look like you could be doin’ better.” Y/N replied. He waved a hand with a light-hearted scoff. “Nah I’m fiiinne.” He went to get off the horse, dismounting with a wobble. He held his hands out in front of him to catch himself, and she readied to catch him if he went backwards instead, even if he was probably too heavy for her to carry. Thankfully, he stood upright, and pivoted with a smile. “See? Fine.” He said, as if he’d actually proven something. Y/N tilted her head and fought off some giggles, unlike the men at the table watching it all. “Sure, Arthur. How bout we get you lied down, hm?” She suggested, gently resting her hand on his arm to help keep him steady. Arthur shook his head and waved his hand dismissively again.

“Naaah nah, y’all got work to finish, I should help.” He said. Y/N sighed, her free hand coming to rest on her hip. O’Shea rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I told you. Ain’t got no sense when he’s drunk.” The woman complained. Y/N held up a hand, silently telling her to settle down and give her a moment. If there was one thing Arthur was, it was a real bitter life. All iron and blood-soaked palms, tarnished leather and black coffee. It was how he’d been raised, and while it wasn’t something he’d grown to dislike, something being familiar didn’t necessarily make it pleasant. Y/N had seen peeks of something softer. 

How tender his voice was when calming a horse, or how careful his lines were when he sketched a landscape, and how gentle his gaze got when left with a moment of peace. All these little moments of softness to help some part of him to stay alive, keep himself from turning into nothing but a selfish, shallow husk. But keeping it alive on his own had to be tough. Y/N had always been the caring type, even when it got her into dangerous situations. She’d grown less naive, but not less sensitive, and that need to let life flourish was something she held onto dearly. Be it a garden or a man who probably hadn’t had a hug in Lord knows how long. 

“I think it’s real nice you wanna help, but ain’t you been doin’ a lot recently?” Y/N asked. Her voice was softer, sweeter, and it caught Arthur’s attention almost immediately. “Uh, well…” He trailed off and leaned into her hand, now giving a gentle squeeze to the tense muscle of his shoulder. “All that runnin’ ‘round, pickin’ up the slack. All kinds of stuff you barely got thanked for. Don’t’cha deserve a little rest? Even just a nap?” She asked. His shoulders loosened the more she spoke, like he was being lulled to sleep with a lullaby. 

The blue eyed man hummed quietly, then began to nod slowly. “Yeah…Yeah I do a lot, don’t I? I guess a lil rest wouldn’t hurt.” He mumbled. Y/N smiled and slid her hand down to his, holding it carefully, despite the rough calluses and scars. With a cautious pull, she began to lead him, stumbling toward his tent. “I think you’re exactly right. So why don’t we get you situated for bed, hm? Maybe I’ll talk Dutch into gettin’ you some extra hours in the mornin’.” She said. With a look over her shoulder, she grinned proudly at the onlookers. That being the boys at the table, Dutch, and Miss O’Shea. All either with smiles of their own or agape mouths. She snickered before turning her attention back to Arthur, helping him duck into his tent and meander up to his cot. 

He sat down with a grunt. “There ya go, ain’t that nicer than standin’?” She asked, reaching to remove his hat from his head. Arthur gave a noncommittal noise back, blinking slowly, trying to remove the haze in his vision. He was very sleepy all of a sudden, and his limbs felt oddly heavy. After dusting some dirt from his hat and setting it down, she pushed the strands of hair that’d fallen in his face out of the way. His hair had grown a bit, starting to reach the lower part of his neck. He let out a shaky exhale when her nails dragged over his scalp, and the sound brought a sorrowful feeling to her heart. It was something so small and quick, and yet it had such an effect. She hesitated to pull her hand back, playing it off as her fixing his hair a bit more as he fought to stay awake. “How bout we get you ready for bed, hm?” Y/N whispered. He peeked up at her, eyelids heavy and barely open to gaze at her features. Even in the dark her face made him feel warm, fuzzy, much like the alcohol he’d imbibed. He gave her a slow nod, yawning as she untied the handkerchief from around his neck. He helped the best he could, using the toe of his right boot to kick off the left one, then repeated the process for the other one. “Think you can manage your belt, hun?” She asked. He looked down at the golden buckle, as if actually considering if he could manage it, before he nodded and gave an affirmative grunt. She laughed under her breath as he struggled for a moment, picking up his boots in order to move them aside, lest he trip over them in the morning. 

He managed, with a mild struggle, to get his belt undone and off. She took it from him and set it aside, being sure to remove his gun. He always kept it beside his bed or under his pillow, and she was going to honor that personal rule. “You need anything else, sweetheart?” Y/N asked, approaching him once again. She stood in front of him, close enough to touch, though his hands remained in his lap. She was dimly lit by a burning lantern in the far corner, running low on oil. His head felt heavy, but he forced his chin upward to look at her more. He opened his mouth, though words didn’t leave it. She smiled so sweetly, tucking his bangs back, watching him melt under it. 

“Poor thing, all rusty steel and splitterin’ wood, ain’t no one takin’ care of you. You gotta be exhausted.” She said, letting his chin fall into her palm, supporting the weight for him, much to his endearment. He closed his eyes as she stroked his cheek with her thumb, undeterred by the roughness of his stubble. “Ain’t ever been rich enough for sugar.” He grumbled, words still a bit garbled, tongue tied from liquor. She clicked her tongue sympathetically. He unintentionally leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on her sternum. She shifted her positioning for him to be more comfortable, hands coming up to the back of his head and neck. He just about groaned when she lightly scratched his scalp, and oh how delighted she felt at it. Though how much he’d been deprived of this hurt her heart, the fact he was letting her make up for it felt all the nicer. She’d take bittersweet as a middle ground. 

“Arthur.” She cooed his name, getting a grunt in response. She moved her hands to help him tilt his head up to look at her, met with a sleepy gaze, black pupils overtaking the blue she’d come to favor. “Tell ya what,” She began. “Whenever you get sick of the bitter world, and you want a little break, you come tell me. You can get all the sugar ya want, ‘kay? Everyone deserves a little sweetness here and there.” She offered. He stared at her, limp in relaxation. He hummed. “Ya sure?” He asked, feeling her gently guide him off of her and down to the bed. She propped his head on the pillow, putting his hands over his torso. “Mhm, absolutely positive.” She affirmed, covering him with the quilt rolled up at the end of the bed. She gave him another scratch to his temple, seeing as he liked it so much. His eyes fluttered closed, sighing. “Mm, alrighty, I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied, words hushed. “Good, now get some rest, cowboy. You’re gonna need it.” She cooed again. He was out quickly, allowing her to admire him for a moment. He was plastered, she doubted he’d remember any of the conversation they’d just had. But she wouldn’t mind repeating it to him anyway, since she meant it wholeheartedly. Perhaps a little selfishly, she pecked his forehead before leaving his tent, not missing the unconscious smile it got from him.

He hadn’t forgotten. Not the core parts of the night, anyway. Even when he’d woken up with a blasting headache thumping behind his eyes, trying to piece together everything. He remembered the majority of her words, and he couldn’t forget the feeling of her warmth, and the delicate way she spoke. And it humiliated him for the entire morning, but even when he was visibly ashamed she was sweet. 

He’d sat up on his cot and put his head in his hands, grumbling to himself about how stupid he was. Flushed across his cheeks and up to his ears. Maybe if he asked John to help him, he could dig a hole and bury himself in it, the man owed him anyway. He called himself a fool, only to hear a giggle that forced his heart to a stop. With a wince, he glanced to the side between his fingers. Of course, there she stood, illuminated by the morning sun, holding a steaming cup of coffee. “A foolish decision doesn’t necessarily make a fool, Mr.Morgan. It’s several foolish decisions that make a pattern, then, that makes a fool.” She said, stepping into the tent. He slid his hands off his face and hesitantly took the cup she held out to him. She was trying to make him feel better, he knew that, and damn it worked.

“How’s your head feelin’, cowboy?” Y/N asked. He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He could feel his heartbeat in the sockets, and the sunlight certainly wasn’t helping. He heard her chuckle as he sipped at the drink. It’s warmth nothing compared to hers, and shamefully, he wished to feel the heat of her palm on his face again, sober this time. “Asked Charles to grab some tea when he and Hosea had into town today, always helped me with headaches when I had it. I’ll make you a lil if it doesn’t settle soon.” She promised. He thanked her quietly, feeling her pat his shoulder. His tongue felt like metal in his mouth, weighing down the words he needed to use. He swallowed as she pivoted to leave, and he felt his chest tighten as she did.

Y/N paused when he coughed a little too poignantly. She looked over her shoulder, finding him fidgety and shy as he looked at the ground. “Yes, Arthur?” She asked, turning to look at him again. How sweet it was when he could only manage a quick glance before his cheeks flushed again. “I uh, ahem, last night…” He started, bouncing his leg slightly. She nodded and motioned for him to continue. He took in a deep breath. “You uh, you offered uhm…” He was so bad at words, it was one of his many faults. Either he spoke before he thought, or he used the wrong word and messed up the entire sentence, or he’d choke on whatever he wanted to say and they’d get sick of waiting, making him lose an opportunity. She had patience though, and let out another breathy laugh. Fond and kind, not mocking.

“I offered you sugar, yes. I said you could ask, whenever ya wanted, and I wouldn’t mind.” Y/N reiterated. He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the coffee in the little mug in his other hand. “So, uh, does that offer-” “It still applies when you’re sober, mister. Don’t worry.” She confirmed. Arthur swallowed. It felt like syrup, thick and encompassing, making him sluggish. He was still aware of the spiking pain in his skull, and while he knew it was his own fault, he would’ve loved relief. Even if he didn’t deserve it, to feel her nails gently pet at his head again sounded like heaven. He was a man of pride, and as mean as he could be, all rough and guarded, he still had a boyish sense of timidness when asking for something so nice.  But she offered, and he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance. He’d been told before he needed to get better at knowing when he waited too long, and when he went too quick. Now, he hoped he was picking right. 

“I uh…this coffee’s kinda harsh.” He held up the cup a little awkwardly. Y/N blinked before her expression softened, and he felt like ice under the heat of a fire as she walked back to him slowly. “That right?” She asked. Arthur cleared his throat and nodded. “Little harsh on the headache ‘s all.” He replied quietly. She tilted her head before her hand rose up, finding its place on his temple. With a little pressure from her thumb, she rubbed small circles, and it helped ease the ache. “So you’d prefer somethin’ a little sweeter, huh?” She asked. His shoulders loosened, and like the night before, his eyelids grew heavy. He nodded slowly, sighing when she lightly scratched at his scalp.  “I got’cha.” She whispered, using both her hands to help combat the headache, even rubbing around his eyes, where it hurt the most. At this rate, he might not even need the tea she’d offered. However long she stood there, he relished all of it, the coffee growing colder by the second. When her hands finally stopped, coming to rest on his shoulders, his headache hadn’t vanished but was far more tolerable. 

“How’re you feelin’?” She asked. Arthur stared up at her sleepily, face lax, and if you’d asked her, she’d say he seemed drunk again. “Better.” He confirmed. Y/N grinned, giving the muscle of his shoulder a light squeeze. Then her name was called. She winced and looked back at him. “I gotta help fix that wagon Micha’s idiotic ass broke.” She huffed, and he snickered. “I’ll be alright. Thank ya.” He replied. Y/N couldn’t stop grinning, and she was certain her expression showed her adoration, not like she was trying to hide it. “Alrighty then. Just lemme know if ya need anythin’.” She rose her hand to his hair, mussing it up this time. He groaned and went to fix it, listening to her giggle as she left the tent. He caught a glimpse of her right before she disappeared from line of sight, sighing when she was gone. He was a little too familiar with the ache he had to follow her.

“Shit.” He sighed, raising the coffee to his lips again. This time, he winced at the taste. Maybe he wasn’t as into bitterness as he thought he was.

From that day on, he progressively got more and more needy for a shot of something full of sucrose. It was subtle most of the time, mostly to avoid all the teasing the rest of the gang would undoubtedly give. But he’d started to ask even when others were around, and oh how it helped, even on the worst day. 

On the third day since he’d arrived drunk off his ass, he’d muttered something about he and his horse missing sugarcubes on hard days. He’d been battered around by mother nature trying to get fish for that night’s dinner, laughed at by Javiar because a trout jumped out the damn river and smacked him in the face. Then Dusty caught sight of a snake in the grass on the way back, turned too quick, and had him slide off the side into the dirt, scraped up his elbow and dent the bill of his hat. 

She’d heard him and paused what she was doing, turning to him with that gaze full of sympathy. She used her foot to pull over a stool beside her, motioning with her head for him to sit. When he did, she carried on with her task, but did her best to keep her hand somewhere on his back, caressing light circles in his shoulders as she recounted how grateful she’d been for what he’d done the past week. Unashamedly inflating his ego, and oh how it helped, having him leaning on the table as he listened to her praises. 

Then a week passed and he’d gotten caught in the rain, without his horse. It’d been his fault for thinking a walk was a good idea when he knew the clouds in the distance spelled out a storm, but he’d been so sure he could’ve made it back in time. Of course, he didn’t, and he arrived back into camp soaking wet and muddied. The rain had turned to a light sprinkle but he was dripping water and scowling. He’d nearly punched Micha’s jaw off when the man took joy in his misery, until he caught sight of Y/N sewing a hole in Karen’s tights under cover. She saw his sorry state, and just like before, gave him a smile. An aura of ‘you poor thing’ that made him want to curl up in her lap. As if he wasn’t a grown man with more than a few bounties to his name. 

He’d trudged over with an expression more akin to a pout than a scowl. She looked up at him as he stood, dripping water. “You know, before the storm hit, I cleaned some of your clothes. Should be dry by now. I even had some of that scented soap left, lavender.” She said. Arthur sighed and nodded, he hadn’t said it, but she knew the ‘thank you’ was in his mind. He went off to his tent, finding the clothes she was talking about laid out and ready for him. The anger that’d built up began to dwindle as he changed into them, hanging them up along with his hat before he made his way back to her. 

She looked up from sewing and smiled. She grabbed the stack of clothes she was tasked with sewing and moved them aside, offering up the space beside her. He sat down close enough, their knees touched, sighing when she patted his leg. “Good job today.” She said. Three words, and it made him sink down, eased and peaceful. He muttered his gratitude and listened to her hum a tune, sound mixing with the sound of water hitting the earth.

By the second week, he’d grown accustomed to asking a little more blatantly. Asking if she had anything sweet after dinner, if she knew how much sugar cost at the shop, if she knew of anything candied to chase down the burn of some whiskey. Each time, she’d reply casually, but sneak in her tender touches and merciful gaze. She’d give him a once over and always knew just how much sugar to pour into his cup. On days where he only needed a little, she’d give him encouraging praise and a pat on the back, enough to keep his chin held high. On worse days, she’d overload it, allowing him to lean his head against her as she distracted him from his day with recountings of her own. Oh, and petting his hair, he always seemed to like that. 

It’d really gotten more obvious to the gang. Leading to some teasing and hushed conversations, mostly the girls asking if they were sweet on one another. Arthur had flushed bright red, though it’d been hidden by a light sunburn, and waved his hand. Talking over them to make it clear he didn’t wanna hear it. While Y/N, mysterious as always, had shrugged with a cheeky grin and sauntered off. Really, it wasn’t hard to realize why they’d ask. Tilly said she’d seen Y/N look at him like he’d helped raise the sun every morning, Mary-Beth replied with Arthur’s pension for drawing her when he thought no one was looking. A whole page spread dedicated to her, she claimed. Though, none of them were quite foolish enough to try and nab his journal to look and confirm. But, Karen did like the sight of it. As brazen as she could be, she’d always loved romance in books, and she wouldn’t lie and say that the interactions weren’t entertaining.

She slipped her theories to Dutch when she overheard he’d be sending Arthur into a town just past Valentine to check around, see if he could find anything useful. He wasn’t sure who to send with the boy, even if Arthur was pretty capable on his own. Dutch wasn’t one for match-making, and he didn’t like meddling in romantic affairs, not when there were important things to look after. But, Arthur had been good to him, and it wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t done well with all the tasks he’d given her. He couldn’t see the harm in getting them a little alone time. Maybe it’d do Arthur some good.

Thing was, getting there was fairly easy, if you ignored the run in with some men that Dutch had pissed off half-way through. Or the mini dust storm that hit them suddenly. All of which culminated in them getting into town as the sun was setting, something that pissed Arthur off immensely, since he had stuff that needed buying. Chances were the shops would be closed by now. 

“Could rob’em.” Y/N whispered as she tethered her horse outside a hotel. Arthur paused the process of rolling his sore neck to look at her, eyebrow raised. “I thought you preferred payin’ shopkeeps.” He replied. “I was kiddin’, Arthur. There are better places to rob and people more deservin’ of losin’ money.” She gently smacked his arm with a snicker. Arthur grumbled, adjusting his hat. “I’ll get the room situation handled, just see if anyone’s open.” She said. “Yes ma’am.” Arthur held up his hands, beginning to walk across the street. “And I mean it! Pay fairly!” She shouted to him whilst she made her way to the hotel door, getting a hand wave in response.

“Good evening, ma’am.” The man behind the counter greeted her. An older man with a thick handlebar mustache. “Evenin’. What’s the price of a room, sir?” She asked. “Two beds is five dollars a night, a single is two dollars.” He replied. Y/N winced and considered her options for a moment. She imagined Arthur wasn’t too picky, but she worried maybe it’d be a little uncomfortable. But, if he really did feel that way, she could simply sleep in a chair. She shook off her worries and nodded. “A single then, please.” She replied, getting a nod. She grabbed her money as he grabbed the key. “Ah, do you have baths? How much do they cost?” 

“About 25 cents, a dollar for a wash girl.” The man replied. She shook her head and slipped him forty cents. “I have a friend I’m stayin’ with. His name’s Arthur. Blue eyes, stubble, black hat, covered in dirt. Can’t miss’im.” She smiled. “If you could tell him I paid for a bath and the room, I’d appreciate it. Lord knows he’s earned it.”

The man nodded and pointed back to the bath rooms. Y/N thanked him again. She didn’t plan on staying in there long, just a quick rinse. She preferred not dragging outside into bed with her, gritty sand and dirt didn’t make for a good bed mate. She was out and set up in the room before Arthur arrived, she figured he’d found an open shop, maybe bargaining. He always said haggling was easiest when someone was tired or drunk, and it was best to strike a deal whenever possible. Just so long as you could be away fast enough before they realized how short the straw they drew was.

Her assumption was correct. Arthur managed to buy what Dutch told him too, had his bag heavier than before, weighing on his shoulder. The man bit back a wince when he raised his arm, rolling his shoulder, hoping it’d loosen the muscle. It only caused a sharp stabbing pain to pulsate from under his shoulder blade. He held his shoulder with his opposite hand and pushed into the hotel, finding the keeper about ready to leave. The man looked him over once and then gave a smile. “Arthur?” He asked, making the cowboy’s brows furrow. “Yes?” He replied suspiciously. “Young lady came in and paid for the room, and a bath. You made it just in time too, was about to close up.” The keeper explained, placing a key on the desk. Arthur picked it up and blinked. “A bath?” He asked. “She said you’d earned it. No wash girl though.” Arthur shook his head at that, mumbling a quick ‘thanks’ before making his way back.

The steam that rose from the water wafted in the air and beckoned him. He would’ve been fine washing up in a river, he’d done that plenty, since warm baths were a luxury. But it never stopped being nice when he could get one. He told himself to thank Y/N when he could, feeling the warm water help ease the tension in his back. That knot in his shoulder hadn’t left though, and relaxing almost made it worse. He hissed through his teeth but tried to set it aside, enjoy what he could. But when it came time to wash his hair, he found it hard to lift his hands that high. 

He had a high pain tolerance, he’d been shot and stabbed plenty of times, but that didn’t mean he liked pain. If he forced himself, he could’ve done it, but it felt like another stone thrown at him when he’d already been in a rock slide. One last little thing to mess with him, make his day a little worse. He grumbled to himself, rubbing at his shoulder again, cursing the air. He glanced up from the bubbles in the tub when he heard light steps down the hall, then a light knock at the door. He frowned and furrowed his brows. He didn’t pay for a wash girl, and given the time, they’d probably all gone anyway. 

“Arthur? You in there?” Y/N’s voice spoke from the other side. His scowl turned into a mix of shock and shame. “Uh, yeah.” He said, coughing away a voice crack. He sank down a little more in the shield of bubbles when the door cracked a little, just enough for her head to poke in. “You took awhile, I was worried somethin’ happened. How long you been in here?” She asked. He shrugged. “Couple minutes.” He replied. He watched her gaze narrow, as if she was struggling to see, trying to make something out. “You ain’t washed your hair yet?” Her question made him sigh and flush pink. “Got a damn crick in my back, hurts to lift my arm. I’ll be fine, just gotta bare it.” He brushed off casually.

“Wh- Gosh, no. You don’t need to go hurtin’ yourself worse than you already are.” Without a moment of hesitation, she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She’d gotten ready for bed, white night gown flowing around her ankles, hair undone. “I’ll wash your hair, sit up a bit.” She motioned. Arthur’s chest felt tight, like his ribs were bars and a rowdy prisoner banged against them, his heart the criminal. “I can’t ask ya to-” “You ain’t askin’, I’m offerin’, sweetheart. You’ve had a hard day, least I can do is help get all that dust out of your hair.” She cut him off, rolling back her sleeves, settling down on the stool. He swallowed. That heavy syrup sensation had returned to the back of his throat, catching words that threatened to break past the barrier of his teeth. Once she was settled behind him, she caught him staring over his shoulder, and sent him a grin. 

With a motion of her hands, he sighed, lamenting. It’d been a long time since he’d felt so…boyish, immature maybe. So embarrassed by something like this. He’d had baths in rivers in plain sight of the gang, had a few wash girls do this exact job before, all that never bothered him. Why was it because of her that he felt so shy all of a sudden? He wasn’t the shy type, he didn’t think so anyway.  Arthur picked at his nails under the water as she wetted his hair. She used two fingers under his chin, tilting his head back a bit so she didn’t get soap in his eyes. “Relax, Arthur. I ain’t waitin’ to tear your throat out.” She whispered, hushed words sent the hair on his arm standing up. He forced his muscles to loosen as best he could, though forcing didn’t do much good.

He stayed awkwardly stiff until he felt her fingers drag through his hair. Like she’d touched his brain directly, flipped a switch, he eased more into the bath with a sigh, leaning his head back into her palms. She bit back a quiet giggle, scrubbing lightly. “Hair’s gettin’ pretty long, you should let me trim it when we get back.” She said absentmindedly, being sure to drag her nails over his temples and behind his ears. She bit her bottom lip to fight off a laugh again when he let out a little groan from the back of his throat.

“Ya hear me?” She asked. “Huh? Oh uh, yeah, sure sure.” He replied, voice thick and low with tranquility. She kept her loving teases to herself, let him enjoy the moment, she certainly was. Maybe it was because she knew he appreciated it that it felt so fulfilling. Could’ve been that she just liked feeling useful, needed. Whatever the reason, she relished in it, taking her time. Just to make sure she got out all the muck.

Of course, she couldn’t milk it for that long. Eventually, she had to rinse out all the suds, ring out the excess water. He kept quiet but missed the treatment when she stood up. “Need anythin’ else, hun?” She asked, leaning into his line of sight. Like before, he looked up at her lazily, like he’d been floating in the clouds moments before. “Hm…no, I’m alright. Thank ya.” He nodded. She nodded back. Arthur looked back down at the bath, knowing he’d have to get out soon. He heard her step away to leave, glancing up again when she was at the door. “I’ll see you in a bit.” She said before leaving him alone once again. He stared at the door for a while, swearing the room got dimmer when she left, less warm too. He huffed and rubbed his face with his hands, slowly exhaling between his fingers. Cursing to himself.

When he left the bathroom, now in clothes from his bag, hair still damp, he meandered up the steps. His body felt heavy, and if it weren’t for the stabbing throb in his back, he’d be looking forward to dropping on the mattress. He opened the door to the room, met with a lamp on and the quiet humming of a familiar tone. He stepped in and shut the door, finding Y/N with a book in hand whilst sat upon a singular chair. He looked around the room and caught her eye once he was done surveying it. “One bed?” He asked. “It was cheaper. Figured you wouldn’t mind, but if you do, I’ll sleep right here.” She replied. Arthur scoffed. “I ain’t havin’ you sleep in a chair. I’ll sleep there-” “No ya won’t. You’ll take the bed, mister. I’m not negotiating.” 

Her tone was firm and she pointed a finger to get her point across all the more strongly. Arthur let his bag slip to the floor, staring at her in disbelief, before he let out a breathy laugh. “Fine. But I’m still not havin’ you sleep in the chair.” He replied, walking to the bed in order to sit down. She tossed her hands up after marking her place in the story. “Alright, ‘suppose I can agree to that.” She laughed, only for her smile to fall when he grunted in pain. “You okay?”

He looked over at her and nodded. “Fine, just my shoulder ‘s all.” He answered. She stared at him for a moment longer, watching him tug at the collar of his shirt, trying to cool himself down. It was the height of Summer, even the nights were getting humid and uncomfortable. “Hot?” She asked. “It’s this damn shirt. Only one I had clean, but it’s made for Winter. I’d take it off but,” He motioned in her direction, much to her amusement. Crinkling her nose, she snickered and shook her head. “You act like it’s some kinda curse. You can sleep shirtless, I won’t mind. It’s not like skin’s gonna kill me, Arthur.” 

“Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable ‘s all.” He retorted. “Well I ain’t, but you certainly are. Go ‘head. It’s not problem to me, but you dyin’ of heat stroke might be.” Y/N motioned with her hand and he tapped his fingers on his knee for a moment. He muttered something before taking her advice. She did her best to remain respectful, though she caught a couple glances, nothing too distasteful. Her face fell again when he hissed about his back again, and when he tossed the shirt away, a series of pops emanated from the muscles, making her wince in his place. “You sure you’re alright?” She asked, standing up, leaving her book in the seat.

“I’ve had worse. It ain’t pleasant but I’ll live.” The man said with a light cough, rolling his neck, that too popped rather loudly. He felt her hand come up to replace his, exhaling when she applied pressure to a specific point of soreness. It hurt, but in the way a stretch in the morning did. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked at his sorry state. It always made her ache, especially if it was something she couldn’t help fix. 

Arthur wasn’t a good man, she knew that. But it wasn’t like she could judge. He’d never been anything but good to her, did right by the gang as best he could too. Every day she swore he did something else that went either unnoticed or un-thanked, and that killed her. Sure, there were probably men more deserving of kindness, people who didn’t rob and shoot to survive. But she hadn’t fallen for them, hadn’t ever met a man like that of which could compare to Arthur. When God came to judge the man’s soul, she’d gladly plead his case through the bars of the pearly gates. He’d been through enough, and when her mind ran away from her into a place darker than the night, she could sense it wouldn’t be ending any time soon. That hurt to think about. To worry about an unforeseen future likely full of strife of all sorts, things she’d probably have no say in, no ability to save him from.

But she had him safe for a night. In a place with walls and locks on doors, in her sights and close enough to touch. She couldn’t fix every problem he had, but she could make this night a little easier, surely. It was the least she could do.

“You trust me?” She asked. Arthur glanced up at her, a bit confused, but he nodded. She patted his shoulder. “Gonna seem a lil awkward, but just trust me.” She motioned with her head to the mattress. “Lie on your front.” He blinked a few times rapidly, clearly more confused than he was a second prior, perhaps a bit bashful. Y/N snorted and shook her head. “Easy, cowboy. Nothin’ like that.” She reassured. Arthur tilted his head back, tucking his tongue into his cheek as he glanced her up and down. After a short staring contest, he sighed and tossed his hands up a bit, doing as he was told. 

“If this is how you plan on killin’ me, I commend your patience.” He commented, cheek set on a pillow. He heard her laugh, and it helped ease the tension in the room. He knew full well she wasn’t going to hurt him, he was just talking to fill the room with something else to focus on, given how uncomfortable it felt. Mostly because he wasn’t sure what was happening. He jumped when her weight ended up around his waist. “Easy, I told you it’d be awkward, but I need you to trust me here, sweetheart.” Her voice said, patting his arm. Arthur scoffed a little. “Pardon me for bein’ caught off guard, ma’am.” He sassed, getting a light thump to the back of his head, which he complained about. 

“Hush. And keep your arms down, won’t work if you’re puttin’ stress on’em.” Y/N answered. He let his arms fall, grumbling about her being bossy, before he felt the heel of her palm press against his shoulder blade. His mouth curled into a hurt scowl, inhaling between his teeth. She rubbed a slow circle and hushed him quietly, instructing him to breath. It hurt, but the muscle began to loosen. She could feel the knot of tension under the skin, clicking her tongue sympathetically, it had to hurt like hell. “Okay. I need you to follow my instruction, ‘kay? I want you to take a deep breath, all the way until you can’t fill your lungs no more.” She whispered. Arthur did as told, not really sure where it was going, but he wasn’t up for questioning.

“Good, now, exhale it all. Until your chest is completely empty. Go slow.” Her words helped make him sleepier, more relaxed, which she knew good and well. It was why she was whispering. As he pushed out the oxygen until he was straining to keep doing so, with all her weight, she pushed into his back with her palm. A loud pop sound echoed off the walls with the quick following of a loud groan into the pillow he laid on. 

She lessened the pressure and rubbed his shoulder again. “Did I get it?” She asked. Arthur didn’t give words, but let out an affirmative noise, face buried in the pillow. She smiled as he seemed to sink into the mattress the more she worked out the tension. She wasn’t content at just the shoulder though, so she moved over to the other side. Using her knuckles to trace around the bones. Every now and then, she’d stumble across another little knot, working them out with dutiful care. 

“You fallin’ asleep on me, Morgan?” Y/N asked after some silence, pulling at the muscle in his lower back. Once again, he simply gave a noise. She snickered when she caught a yawn he let out. When he let out an appreciative noise when she worked at his waist, she chuckled again. “See, no one realizes how much strain we put on our lower backs until you’re in a position like this.” She commented lazily. “Mhm.” He replied. Y/N couldn’t stop smiling again, her cheeks were starting to hurt. She glanced down when she felt a warm touch on her leg, finding his hand turned toward her, lightly holding her ankle. She melted as his thumb carefully caressed the bone, a silent bit of appreciation. She knew full well she couldn’t left it there, but the moment was so sweet, and not easy to come by.

He blinked slowly when she leaned over him, tapping his temple. Her weight was off of him, something that kept him from dozing off. Arthur lifted his chin, looking at her in his peripheral. “Mind flippin’ over, hun?” She asked. He yawned again, nodding slightly. He moved from his stomach to his back, too relaxed to make a cheeky comment about her sitting back down. He rubbed his eye tiredly as she picked up his opposite hand. “Ya know, if someone asked me if you were drunk right now, I’d say yes. You look like you’re gone, mister.” She teased, pressing her thumbs into his palm before dragging the pressure down his wrist. Arthur let his other hand drop down, his vision a bit hazed over. “Might be.” He mumbled, barely opening his mouth to speak. 

He smiled slightly when she laughed. He felt the pull of his tendons as she pushed his hand back, cautious to not over do it. “Sorry.” He commented unconsciously, the word slipping out without much thought. Y/N looked at his face with her brows furrowed. “What for?” She questioned, moving her hand up to his bicep. He flinched when the soreness became apparent under her touch. “My hands. Ain’t too nice for holdin’ I know.” He said. “Now why would you think that, Arthur?” She asked, squeezing the muscle that connected his neck to his shoulder. He tilted his chin out of the way as he thought of how to word his answer.

“You got dainty hands, all soft and nice. Mine…mine are all scratched up and tough. ‘s gotta feel like gravel at this point.” He explained. Y/N scoffed, taking his other hand in her own to repeat the process. “Oh shush, that ain’t true. They’re a workin’ mans hands, that’s all. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with’em.” She replied. “They ain’t kind like yours either.” Arthur retorted, making her pause for a second. She shook her head with a sigh, working out the tension in his scapulae muscle. She stopped and moved her hand to his jaw instead, prompting him to look at her. 

She looked inviting in the warm lamp light, accentuating the curve of her cheekbones and the color of her eyes. How warm she was, and he could smell the hint of soap. “Robbin’ or not, you’re a good man,  Arthur. Maybe not all the time, but you ain’t a monster either.” She said. His face showed he wasn’t buying it. He eased further when her hand dragged up, pushing his hair back. “No I ain’t.” He whispered back. Y/N clicked her tongue and grabbed his cheeks with both her hands, leaned close and eyes intense with the need to convey her point. “Arthur Morgan, look at me.” She demanded. He listened, even if it felt difficult to do.

“I don’t care bout the law’s definition, and I’m well beyond the words of the Holy Ghost. I don’t care how many men out there hope for you to hang, and I don’t care how much blood stains those hands of yours.” She stroked his cheekbone and up beside his eye, running over the lines that had formed in his skin, brought on by years of expressions. Mainly laughter and grins, things she savored every time she saw them. “The Arthur I know is a loyal man, a workin’ man, a brother and a mentor, a leader and a guard. He fights for what needs to be done and earns his keep, and then some. Your hands might be gun wielding but they’re also caring. When you draw in that journal, or when you pet your horse, pat Jack on the back like he was your own blood.” 

His eyes had widened by now and his throat felt like it was being gripped, a pressure building up and threatening to break like a damn. It was so much to take in, too much, but looking away felt like blasphemy. He might not have been a man of worship, not to God, not anymore. But to sin against her might be what damned him, and he wasn’t ready for that. He never would be. 

“You might be a bad man, but you ain’t been nothin’ but good to me. Whether you like it or not, you will always be a good man to me. And I’ll be damned if I let you go a day not knowin’ it.” Y/N finished, her voice a bit choked by now. She managed to keep her tears down, but her eyes got misty nevertheless. Arthur rolled his jaw and clenched his teeth, at loss for what words to say. She fixed his hair again and sighed. “Am I clear?” She asked. He stared, fidgety, before he sat up suddenly. She felt his arms wrap around her waist tightly, his forehead resting on her shoulder. 

Y/N took a moment to process before she relaxed, bringing her hands to him once again. Her cheek rested on his head, scratching his scalp, the other hand resting on his shoulder. “You haven’t answered me.” She commented. Arthur squeezed her for a moment. “Loud ‘nd clear, ma’am.” He replied, voice a bit hoarse but not any less genuine. She smiled and turned to peck him on the temple. “I’ll keep tellin’ you til it sticks. Mark my words, Arthur Morgan. I’ll keep that bitter man you think you are at bay.” She promised. He managed a choked up chuckle against the fabric of her nightgown. 

“I’ll hold you to that, sugar.” 

[steddieunderdogfics]

Fics that I’ve reread!! Sunflower in the evening

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58793398

sunflower in the evening by happypilot

Rating: Mature

7,636 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season 2, pre-season 3, POV Eddie Munson, Friends With Benefits, Pre-Relationship, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Parental Jim "Chief" Hopper, Protective Jim "Chief" Hopper, Father-Son Relationship, Jim "Chief" Hopper Adopts Steve Harrington, not officially but still, bitchy steve harrington meets grump jim hopper, steve-el sibling relationship my beloved

Summary:

Just as Steve is starting to fiddle with the fly on Eddie’s jeans, a police siren gives one short whine from somewhere close behind them, and Eddie’s eyes fly open to see red and blue lights bouncing off the surrounding trees. “Hey, morons!” someone yells from outside the car, and Eddie immediately recognizes the voice as Chief Hopper’s, “Outta the car – now.” He’s not all that worried, believe it or not. Eddie’s got a pretty good amount of faith in Steve’s ability to spin up some story to keep them out of any real trouble, and as they sheepishly climb out of the car, Eddie prepares himself for a whole show of, “Yes Chief, sorry Chief, it won’t happen again Chief.” So imagine Eddie's complete and utter surprise when Hopper barks, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and Steve only rolls his eyes and says, “What’s it to you?”

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of our Birthday Celebration Challenge Week! The challenge for today was FICS YOU'VE REREAD.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[dannystheone]

more lee deadpool!!!!! i love how u write him and wolverine sm<3

aww thank you so much! It took me a second to think about what I wanted to write lol but here it is!

this is just a little somethin somethin nothing special lel

and sorry this took so long to come out I haven't been feeling motivated to write and I've been taking dress to impress on roblox very seriously LMAO

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FROM THE MOVIE/ Cursing, shenanigans, fourth wall breaks, nastiness, mentions of alcohol, mentions of BDSM

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE!!

A Who Dun' It Mystery! (Lee Deadpool/Ler Wolverine)

Logan wakes up to find all his beer gone from the refrigerator without knowing who took it! Can Logan withstand all of Wade's antics to get a straight answer?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"RAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

Birds flew out of their nesting places and whole houses shook on their foundations from the roar uttered on this peaceful morning. Squirrels, bugs, birds, pretty much the whole cast of Bambi ran for the hills to escape the terrifying beast.

Aside from one simple sleeping man and his adorable companion. That simple sleeping man was none other than Wade Wilson, otherwise known as the Merc with the Mouth, Marvel Jesus, People's Sexiest Man Alive in 2010- although in my opinion he was snubbed for 2008- and his adorable companion was Dogpool, of course.

Now, sleeping soundly, dreaming of Vanessa, Thor, and a certain web-slinger- Deadpool snored contently while the angry footsteps of the terrifying creature stalked to his bedroom. The angry creature better watch where he steps because Wade turned his room into a snow globe last night! And no, not the kind from the gift shop, although I'm sure if you ask politely, the gift shop worker would be more than happy to help you make this kind of snowglobe with a crisp 20 dollar bill-

The door was thrown open with a slam; the terrifying creature was revealed to be The Wolverine! Now is this story the one where the boy gets the monster at the end? Maybe an intermission of some kind-

"Shut the fuck up." Logan stalked toward Wade on his bed, careful not to step in a certain spot of something on the ground, and grabbed the papers Wade was reading aloud. Logan flipped the papers around to see the cover page, 'A Who 'Dun It Mystery!' Written by dannystheone''. Logan growled and threw the papers to the side of the room. Wade put his hands up innocently and looked at Logan.

"Someone's delightful this morning. Did you finally catch the bad kitty you chase in your dreams boy, huh? Or did you find my stash of catnip? Do you have more dog energy or cat energy? Let's ask the audience." Wade turned towards the camera, but Logan grabbed Wade's jaw and forced him to look him in the eye.

"Who the fuck, in this godforsaken household, drank the last of my beer?" Logan asked with a deathly calm. Wade lifted an eyebrow at the suggestive hold Logan had him in and spoke with his cheeks squished in his grip.

"If I answer the question, that'll take up one of your three wishes granted by the great and powerful Genie-Pool! And no, we're not using Robin Williams's rights for this one, but we can use Disney's. Would you like to use the wish to answer that question? Remember, one of my rules is I can't make anyone fall in love with you, even me, pretty boy~" Deadpool blew him a smooch as Wolverine snarled and pointed a finger in his face.

"A real. Fucking. Answer. You fucking moron. Who the hell drank my shit? Or I'll get the answer out of you." Logan threatened. Wade giggled like a girl, fanning his cheeks at the suggestive implications. Well, what Wade interpreted as suggestive anyway.

"Oh, you naughty little honey badger! Now I'm starting to think of what you'll do if I don't tell you~ Do we have a Tek Knight-type setup somewhere in the house? I should really invest in something like that-" Wolverine's temper got the better of him as he unsheathed his claws and thrust them forward. Deadpool jumped as he sacrificed a unicorn plushy to take the brunt of Wolverine's claws. The unicorn's fluff puffed out everywhere as Logan's claws stabbed the plushy.

"Nah ah ah! No claws in the house mister! We can't make all the furniture in the house red to cover up the bloodstains that come from claw-related incidents- although that would certainly be on brand. Could you imagine a couch designed by the guys who made the Deadpool X-Box controller? I might need to patent this million-dollar idea." Wolverine stared at him incredulously as he sheathed his claws. Deadpool looked to the broken unicorn plushy with a sigh and tossed it to the side.

"Jesus Christ, you're a yammering idiot. Your ADHD has ADHD, for God's sake. Will ya just tell me who drank my fucking beer already? I'll only hurt them a little bit..." Wolverine was clearly exasperated, but Deadpool had energy for days when it came to messing with his Wolvie-bear.

"Mmmm, I dunnooo... what do I get if I help you? A gratuitous turn-down service, perhaps? Almost as gratuitous as that lovely callback~ I hope you all at home reading this enjoyed that-" Deadpool said lovingly.

"Alright, that's it," Logan said aloud. Wade was cut off as Logan threw his legs over Wade and straddled him damn near on his ribcage with his arms pinned to his sides, effectively trapping him.

"Woah woah woah big boy! Establish the safe word first before you engage! We went through the BDSM guidelines together! You disregarding everything the BDSM subreddit taught us makes you no better than P-Diddy!" Deadpool looks to the camera. "Too soon, you think? I think it's in good taste."

Wolverine rolled his eyes as he begrudgingly started wriggling his fingers in Deadpool's ribs. Deadpool was currently wearing a white t-shirt with cartoon cats all over it and classic white boxers with red hearts all over them. His usual attire that gave him a little protection from Wolvie's tickle attacks was at the dry cleaners after the last job he had.

Logan realized very early in his 'relationship' with Wade that sometimes Wade needed to be tickled to be cooperative. He had no idea why, he had never met someone like Wade before so he assumed the weirdness and the absurdity of it came with the territory.

Additionally, with the no blood rule in the house and an elderly woman as their other roommate, this was the closest thing to 'violence' that Wolverine could use to take his aggression out on Deadpool. Wolverine had to admit, it felt good sometimes to take it all out on him like this. Logan's fingers scribbled and scratched in Wade's ribs, Wade immediately breaking out into peals of laughter.

"L-Lohohogahahan!! Wahahait wahahait wait!" Deadpool was caught by surprise, and thank GOD he was wearing his mask because he was blushing redder than the material his mask was made of. It always caught Deadpool by surprise when Wolverine randomly tickled him like this, only because it was so out of left field for his character. Almost as if this isn't a regular thing that would occur in the MCU and only occurs in the minds of degenerates on the internet.

"I WIHIHISH thahat wehehere the cahahase!! If ihihihit wehehere, I wohohouldn't behehe gehehetting tihihihickled rihihight nohohow!!" Deadpool yelled at no one in particular. Wolverine sneered as his fingers dotted Deadpool's ribs with an accuracy only experience could give. He wasn't feeling playful this time around, he just wanted an answer to where his beer had gone and he feared this was the only way he could get it.

"You wouldn't be getting ti-... be getting this treatment if you would just tell me who drank my damn beer. You always make it hard on yourself." Logan sighed and continued to tickle the merc. Deadpool swished from side to side on his bed as well as he could with a whole hunk of Hugh Jackman and adamantium skeleton on him.

"Awhahahaha!~ Yohohou stihihihill cahahan't sahahay thehe wohohord?! Yohohou're sohohoho cuhuhuhute!~" Wade teased, causing Logan to bristle and dig his fingers in further as retaliation. Even when Wade was in the throes of being tickled, he still managed to fluster his Ler. It was a superpower at that point.

"I got a different word I can say. Who the hell drank my goddamn beer?" Wolverine snarled, Deadpool still twitching and shuffling from side to side as the tickles came from either side of him.

"Nohohohot a wohohord! Thahahat's ahaha sehehentence! Haharvard DOESN'T wahahant yohohour lohohocation!" Deadpool laughed more genuinely now from his own joke than the tickles he was receiving. Logan growled from not having his question answered again and forced his fingers into the small spaces of Wade's armpits and vibrated his fingers into them. Wade shrieked and started belly laughing now.

"How about you tell me the location of my beer, huh? Think you can do that, Bub? Did Al drink it? Did you? Answer me!" Wolverine shouted over Deadpool's loud laughing. Deadpool tried squeezing the spaces that held Wolverine's fingers, but it just made the fingers tighter and closer to the skin, so either way it sucked.

"I dohohon't drihihink beheheer! I ohohonly drihihink thehehe fihihinest Aviahation Gihin!-" Wolverine's hands were lifted from Deadpool as Deadpool turned to the camera with a bottle of Aviation Gin appearing in his hands. -"Which you can now purchase from any local liquor store near you, including the Limited Deadpool Edition. Thank you for choosing Aviation Gin. Sincerely, Ryan Reynolds." Wade put the bottle back from its mysterious spot where it was before and assumed the exact same position he was in before with Wolverine's hands back in his armpit spaces.

"Then who the hell drank it? This can aaaall be over as soon as you tell me who did it!" Wolverine asked again. You would think he was beginning to lose his patience, but Logan was actually calming down from his previous place of anger now that he had an outlet to take it out. Wade was the unfortunate (or fortunate, whatever floats your boat) recipient of that, however.

"I cahahahan't! I wahahahas swohohorn tohoho sehehecrecy! I swehehehear!!" Deadpool sounded genuine this time, but Wolverine wasn't having it. Logan took it a step further and took his fingers to slide them up Wade's signature mask and started fluffing his fingers over his neck and the bottoms of his ears. He knew this was a secret spot that wasn't touched very often and found it by mistake, so it should be doubly effective here.

"Yeah? Well, I've done plenty of interrogating in my day, breaking down my victims and having them submit. S'aaall a matter of time now..." Logan attempted to sound intimidating but to Wade, this was just silly.

"PFFT! Hahahahaha! Ohohokahahay, whahahatever yohohou sahahay, Fihifty Shahades Of Grehey! Ohoho I'll suhuhubmihit ahahalright! Ihihif thahahat's whahahat yohohou wahahant!~" Deadpool couldn't help but laugh at his own hilarity, which just pissed Wolverine off.

Logan took his fingers from Wade's neck and took them down to his collarbones, to which Wade exploded. Wade was weird in the sense that his ticklish spots were never consistent. One spot would barely get him to laugh in one tickle session, and the next session that same spot would break him. Only ever adding to just how bizarre he was.

"You'll submit it you don't want to die first. Looks like you already got one foot in the grave from how hard you're laughing. Who swore you to secrecy huh?" Logan started gently pinching Wade's collarbones, which drove Wade up the wall. His legs started kicking and his head started whipping back and forth (with Willow Smith just out of frame).

"NOHOHO nohoho no! Okahahay okahahay stahahahap!! Ihihihit wahahas DohohohogPool! Wehehe rahahahan ohohohout of wahahater sohohoho I gahahahave hihihihihim the beheheheer!!" Deadpool spilled his secret, causing Wolverine to stop.

"You did what? You gave my beer to the sock puppet?" Wolverine got off of Deadpool, standing up and off to the side to let the merc breathe. Wade held a hand up to his chest while he caught his breath and turned to Logan.

"FIRST OF ALL- the gorgeous munchkin's name is DogPool, or- alternatively, the Messiah, if you'd like."

"Never calling him that-" Logan interjected.

"-Second of all, I only did it to be the best caregiver I could possibly be, without going to the store or getting any sort of grocery delivery service. Have you seen what a DoorDasher will do to your food if you don't tip? It's enough to make a 4-Channer fall to his knees, and that's saying something." Deadpool hauled himself up into a sitting position at the edge of his bed while Wolverine stood with his hands on his hips.

"You're ridiculous, you know that? Why couldn't you give it water from out of the tap?" Wolverine asked, sounding genuine. Deadpool gave him an incredulous look even through the mask.

"What kind of Fantasy/Disney/Fairytale-Land do you live in where we're rich enough to have drinkable tap water or rich enough to own a Brita? You think any of the money from the movie actually made it into our pockets? Ryan, Hugh, and Shawn pooled all the money the movie made together to fundraise Ryan to get back on his feet after the absolute disaster that was 'IF'. Regular tap water isn't good enough for my ray of sunshine, so I chose the next best option." Deadpool picked up DogPool sleeping right next to his bed and offered him to Wolverine to hold.

"Don't you want the best for the little chicken noodle?" Deadpool asked sweetly. Wolverine quirked an eyebrow at the dog with the tongue sticking out of his mouth. Dammit, it was so ugly and pathetic looking it was somewhat... cute. He didn't know how the dog managed to do it, but whatever his tactics were, they were working. Wolverine rolled his eyes and gave the dog's head a pat. Deadpool squealed at the display.

"Yaaay! My kitty and my puppy making up. Oh, we're all happy, aren't we? And yes Wolvie, your next six-pack is on me when I do eventually go to the store. Those 1000 bottles of baby oil aren't going to buy themselves. Two jokes in one fic folks. How we feeling about that? Go ahead and tell Danny in the comments or reblogs below." Deadpool said, putting DogPool back on his oversized bed.

"You're going to the store immediately if you know what's good for you." Wolverine threatened. Deadpool stood up from his bed and looked at Wolverine sympathetically.

"Oh, honey bear... when have I ever known what's good for me?" Deadpool asked in a loving tone.

Wolverine answered with a deadpan expression and merely unsheathed his claws quickly with a loud SNIKT.

Jumping with a loud yelp, Deadpool hurriedly ran out of his bedroom, hopping over the puddle of mysterious liquid on the floor before leaving the house for the grocery store.

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

May Writing Challenge Day 6!

Pairing: Leon Kennedy(RE2 intended) x Male Reader Summary: Your dorm mate is a dick Words: 341/200 Warnings: none Notes: I was so scared i wouldn't get anything out today, so sorry it's unfinished today was so fucking hectic and draining.

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

✏You felt like utter shit, standing in the dorm building's hallway in your underwear half asleep all because your roommate had decided to bring their girlfriend over. You wrap your blanket tighter around yourself as a few zombie-like students shuffle past you, You figure it's more embarrassing to sleep on the floor so you drag yourself over to your best friend's room praying to whatever god listening that your friend's roommate wouldn't be there,

✏You arrive at 203 and knock on the door. To no one's surprise, Leon answers and looks you up and down like you'd grown three heads right in front of him “What the fuck are you doing?” He sounds annoyed, you had no idea he could sound like that or curse. Leon always struck you as a golden puppy boy, good grades, teacher's pet, and friends with both of your dorm’s RA’s.

✏You gape like an absolute moron trying to find the words to say before fumbling out “Wha- uh… I mean… my roommate brought their girlfriend over…” He looks you over again, squinting at you suspiciously, “Okay? And?” You're left to fumble for words again, heat rising to your cheeks and neck “Can I sleep on your floor?” He looks at you like you’re stupid “Why the hell would I let you do that?” As he talks he crosses his arms over his chest.

✏You open your blanket letting him witness you in all your blue boxer glory “Because I look absolutely pathetic right now and if you leave me out here to fend for myself you’ll feel so bad you’ll cry yourself to sleep.” You rush out all in one breath, his face morphs from hostile suspicion to absolute bewilderment, a matching flush rising to his cheeks and neck. He quickly opens the door and ushers you in all while checking both sides of the hall to make sure no one saw you like this, too embarrassed to think what rumors could spawn from something as stupid as you standing in his doorway nearly naked

[heniareth]

Genres of popular Alienage songs, some specific to Denerim (many of these and especially the last one are courtesy of @bumblewarden ):

We Have To Work Tomorrow, Let's Get Drunk

We Have Finished Working For The Day, Let's Get Drunk

That Bastard Drank Away All The Money, Hope It's Nice To Sleep On The Street You Utter Moron

Love I Am Sorry For Drinking Away All The Money - The Hell You Are! Now Go Away (a soprano-barritone speak and answer duet)

Damn I Hope Work Finishes Soon

I Want To Kill My Boss (with metaphors)

I Want To Kill The Tax Collactor (with metaphors)

I Want To Kill The Local Lord (so many metaphors)

Ailill Got Into A Fight And Escaped The Guard

Ailill Got Into A Fight And Got Hanged For It

Little Lilan Killed A Rat

I Am A Woman And Violence Has Been Done Unto Me

I Am A Woman And Violence Has Been Done Unto Me, So I Am Poisoning Them

My Child Is Leaving For Their Wedding

I Am Leaving For My Wedding And I Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here

I Am Leaving For My Wedding And I Really Really Don't Want To Leave

Aw Fuck I Don't Like My Spouse

Holy Shit I Really Like My Spouse!?

Holy Shit I Really Like My Neighbor's Spouse (with metaphors)

Hey I Saw You Kissing Your Neighbor's Spouse (no metaphors)

Beware The Sea It's Full Of Monsters (in which the monsters are metaphors for slavers)

Garahel Killed The Archdemon

Garahel Killed The Archdemon And Still They Treat Us Like Shit

Hey Loghain We Fought With You Where's Our Reward (with some metaphors)

The Exploits Of The Hero Of Ferelden (with metaphors)

Alidda Killed The Chevaliers (so many metaphors)

The Exploits Of The Dark Wolf (ALL OF THE METAPHORS WHAT ARE YOU A SNITCH!?)

[custardcrazy]

Hi! If ur still taking requests for Ted Logan atm can I ask for super fluffy headcanons or a oneshot where he has a s/o who’s his exact opposite personality-wise (like they’re grumpy, sarcastic, cynical, and just has that “I hate everyone but you” attitude with Ted). Basically the black cat to his golden retriever. Thank u if u decide to do this!!

we've a star

summary: opposites do attract. (gn!reader)

wordcount: 1.2k

A/N: whoops, I think I projected a little. thanks for requesting!!

It was comical, how different you and your adoring boyfriend were. 

It was a comparison that many pointed out, if they didn't know either of you too well. Ted was generally optimistic to the point of obliviousness. He was cheerful, goofy, and was physically incapable of being rude to anybody; it wasn't hard to see that he was an all-around good guy. And the complete and utter truth was that you weren't any of those things. Blunt, pessimistic, always having a hard edge to your words. 

To an outsider, it seemed impossible that people who were completely diametrically opposed in terms of personality and demeanor could be in a relationship in the first place. After all, there was that old saying: "opposites attract", but that usually didn't work outside of the movies. Differences brought conflict, and the more things people had in common, the better. 

However, any of your mutual close friends would know of your insane, ridiculous soft spot for your partner-in-crime. 

Maybe the fact that Ted was so sweet was why you couldn't bring yourself to be truly mean to him. Maybe it was why you were still so incredibly attracted to him. Usually people who weren't so bright just got on your nerves, and you didn't have much patience for morons. But Ted was a special case. Sure, you teased him, but it was never anything more than that. And somehow, every time he screwed up doing something it was just cute. Nothing else. 

At first, it caught you off-guard. And it still did, but you were kinda used to it by now. 

Speaking of now. 

Your legs were propped up in his lap, and he was hunched over somewhat, scribbling on a legal pad that he probably had taken from his dad's office before he and Bill moved in together. His bangs kind of obscured his eyes, and you observed admiringly how now and then he flipped his head back in order to get them out of the way. He always had nice hair. And yes, it was as soft as it looked. 

Bill wasn't in their apartment at the moment, as he had left maybe two hours ago to go hang out with some buddies. He'd asked you and Ted if you wanted to go -- you liked Bill, of course, but the same couldn't be said for that particular group of people. The thing you wanted to do the least right now was talk to people. Or socialize with people at all. 

Ted wasn't people. 

Reclining back on the sort of disheveled green couch, which was probably suffocating under all the pillows, you briefly turned your attention to the TV. But you only got a quick glimpse of whatever cheesy sitcom was on before Ted broke the companionable silence. 

"Babe?" He turned the legal pad towards you, and the page he was using was covered in the chicken scratch otherwise known as his handwriting. Oh, he was brainstorming lyrics again. "Does this phrase in particular come off as too … crazy?" Brow furrowed, he pointed to a sentence. "I know you know that this song is supposed to be most ludicrous, but I don't wanna cross a certain line." 

"Duh, you and Bill decided to call it Trapped In Clown Land," you pointed out.

"It's a metaphor, babe!" He announced cheerfully, unphased by your dry remark. 

Sitting up to squint at the page, you realized that with how fast he'd been writing, his usual scrawl had degraded even further. Normally, you could pick out a couple letters and move from there, but it was impossible this time. 

"Uh, Ted, I can't read that." You poked him in the side with your toe. "Translation, please." 

He smiled, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, babe." Lowering the pad, you noticed that even he had to focus a little to read what he'd written. 

"Shoes too big to fill / Out of fashion, but he's coming in for the kill," he recited slowly. "Something like that. Might reword it later, but I'm usually no good at rhyming stuff." The aura of self-pride radiating from him was palpable, and you reached out to ruffle his hair. He didn't protest, beaming a little. 

"I think it's fine." Shrugging, you leaned backwards again. "The big clown shoes reference is kinda direct, but just enough so it comes off as clever." For a guy who'd almost flunked English, Ted wasn't too bad at songwriting. Well, maybe you were a little biased, but you'd seen your fair share of awkward local bands to know what worked and what didn't. (Suddenly struck by a wave of intense secondhand embarrassment, you tried to suppress the memory of that one time the vocalist screwed up on stage.) 

But, thankfully, Ted intervened. "Your input is totally appreciated, babe." He leaned over, kissing you softly; it was over too soon, and he was right back to work. 

All of your efforts to dispel the cringe-worthy recollections were promptly diverted to trying to preserve your dignity and not melt into a puddle. Which was funny, because usually he was the one blushing and hiding his face. 

"Obviously," you managed to supply, and the TV suddenly looked very interesting. 

It was a little while longer before the legal pad got placed delicately (thrown) onto Ted's bed, and his arm was wound comfortably about your shoulders, his other hand in yours. Even before you started dating, something about his very, very good bear hugs was incredibly tempting. And now that you were, Ted's habit of being a cuddler had increased tenfold. 

You weren't one to break some nice peace and quiet, but this time you had a valid reason. Surprisingly. 

"Thanks for staying with me," you murmured into the crook of his neck, and even though you were used to being honest, you still felt your face heat up ever so slightly. "I know you and Bill always hang out, and you have a lot in common with those guys, too. You could've gone with them." 

" 'S really nothing," came his reply, sounding so easy and genuine. Warm. "I know that you didn't wanna go out today. Especially after you ranted about Jenna being most bothersome at work. It's totally understandable." 

You scoffed, unable to help your natural urges to make at least one venomous comment when prompted. Still, the mushy feelings in your heart didn't dissipate. "Like she always has. Isn't it a requirement for someone who works at Claire's to at least have the capacity to put up with whining tween girls?" 

"It should be," agreed Ted, his thumb running over your knuckles in a slow, gentle motion. "But don't pay too much mind to it, babe. You only gotta deal with her for, like, a couple hours." 

"It's still too long." You softened, tone growing more affectionate rather than irritated. "Not everyone has your patience." 

"But -- " 

He opened his mouth, probably to protest or deflect -- most likely at the same time, but this time you were the one who leaned up to kiss him. Unsurprisingly, it took him a second, but he quickly reciprocated, turning his body to face you more in order to make things more comfortable. 

Satisfyingly, when you parted, he was the flustered one, too distracted to continue his previous statement.