#but i had the idea for the flag being like

[siryouarebeingmocked]

I already explained why statistically, much more MAGA cultists are likelier to have a concealed carry permission.

So?

The Democrats do not want to disarm people, that’s still a Right-wing underdog fantasy.

Plenty of Democrats explicitly want laws against "assault weapons" and other gun control. Including Biden.

They just want the minimal amount of gun control required to stop the weekly massacres which, surprise, are not prevented by other gun owners.

Turns out mass shooters often target places where random people are unlikely to be carrying guns. And sometimes that still doesn't work.

Also, America has more guns than people. An estimated third of the country owns guns. 100+ million people.

52 shootings a year is not actually very bad by comparison.

Also, most criminal shooters don't own guns legally anyway.

Also, Hitler passed plenty legislation to gain the favor of everyone who owned arms.

Nice argument, Senator, how about you back it up with a source?

Don’t try to educate a German on Nazi history.

Turns out your nationality doesn't actually keep you from being wrong on Nazis.

Such as forgetting, missing, or ignoring how the Jackboot Jerries loosened gun control, especially for Nazi Party members, but they also screwed over Jews who wanted to own guns.

You know, the people the Nazis wanted to violently oppress and murder.

Stop projecting and read one of the few history books that haven’t been banned by Republicans, dumbass.

Again, you are claiming there's evidence that backs you up, and offering no actual support or sources or even the name of a specific book you're referencing.

It's nobody else's job to support your argument.

I mean, there’s other countries where people can own firearms pretty easily, and they don’t have weekly massacres. The Dems don’t want to take all the guns away, that’s what the Reps are putting in their mouths.

I like how you said "don't want to disarm people", and now it's "take away all the guns". This is a standard motte-and-bailey.

"Disarm people", logically, includes any disarmament, of more than two people.

But when you slide "all" in there, then wanting any amount of disarmament that leaves a single person with a legally owned gun (or other weapon) qualifies.

It's a common strawman. The right is, broadly, opposed to any disarmament.

Speaking of, here's failed Presidental candidate Kamala Harris;

“I feel very strongly that it’s consistent with the second amendment to say we need an assault weapons ban. They’re literally tools of war they were literally designed to kill a lot of people quickly.”

Harris is wrong in several ways.

There are more US civilians with "assault weapons" than there are US soldiers, period. The current 5.56 NATO calibre was chosen for suppressive fire, which is mostly not supposed to kill people.

And even that's currently being phased out in favor of more powerful rounds.

And then we come to actual use. If you combined every rifle homicide in America, they'd be less popular murder weapons than handguns. Or knives.

Or bare hands.

Rifles are rarely used to shoot actual people, even in self-defense.

Also, the term "assault weapon" was made up to make certain guns sound scarier. There is no consistent social or legal definition, and most people who use it, I suspect, have no idea what supposedly makes the guns deadlier, on a factual level.

Also, she supported Red Flag Laws. Which are literally about disarming people.

Come to think, I don't think there's any point in this debate that you describe what actual specific gun control measures you support.

A lot of gun control supporters have that issue, actually.

BTW, last time I checked the numbers for in Germany, y'all had an estimated 20% of the population owning guns, compared to America's 33%. Even if I changed the criteria to just the amount of guns, the gap was even larger.

And Germany's homicide rate and mass shooting rate are still much lower than America's. Even proportionately.

Which actually indicates gun laws and ownership are, at best, not the only issue in play.

Also, I'm from one of many, many countries with a higher gun homicide rate than America, despite less legal ownership and more gun control.

I personally knew at least three people who were murdered with guns in my home country.

One of them was murdered down the block from the school my cousins happened to be attending at the time.

The school I went to.

The school my aunt used to work at.

Here's an Example as to why Donald Trump is fascist

Donald Trump wants Concealed Carry Reciprocity.

What is that?

In the United States, it is not automatically legal to carry a firearm in a concealed manner just because one has a firearms license. One needs to obtain a special additional permission to do so. Like most things in the United States, Concealed Carry is decided on a state-by-state basis, meaning a person's permission for Concealed Carry only applies in the state it in which it was issued.

Concealed Carry Reciprocity is the legal concept that a permission for Concealed Carry, issued in any state, applies in all states. So, if a gun owner was permitted to Concealed Carry in Oklahoma, he can currently only do so in Oklahoma. Doing it in any other state is a crime. Under Concealed Carry Reciprocity, it would not be.

What does Donald Trump intend with this?

Donald Trump knows that his most loyal followers live in deep red states, which also have the highest concentrations of gun owners. Due to the high concentrations and due to Republicans being generally against gun control, it is likelier that more gun owners in red states have Concealed Carry permission. Donald Trump wants to allow people to Concealed Carry in any state if they've received permission in one, because he knows that most people who will take advantage of this will be his most loyal followers.

Donald Trump plans to lay the groundwork for his version of Mussolini's Blackshirts and Hitler's Brownshirts, his own paramilitary force of loyal followers who are ready to attack and murder fellow citizens in open daylight for their political positions that oppose their idol. Concealed Carry Reciprocity makes it easier for them to do this.

This is fascism.

[dilf-din]

I Don’t Wanna Get Used to Not Having You Around

Frank Castle X f!reader for @xxdrixx

A gift for you my sweet friend!! Please enjoy a little fake dating Frank fic I cooked up!! Title is from In the Heights by Knox Hamilton

WC: 4100

Warnings: none, fake dating, slight sugar daddy vibes if you squint, no beta if you see a typo no you didn’t

Frank slipped into his usual haunt, black hood up and boot speckled with rain. Incessant drizzles like this one meant a thinner crowd than usual. Of course, he did a quick scan of the room from the wide window before he entered. A group of college aged guys gathered around the pool table, three middle aged men at the far end of the bar watching the giants play, and a girl at the opposite end hunched over a drink he couldn’t make out. Once he deduced there were no threats, he entered quietly, stamping his feet on the crooked mat to rid himself of any larger raindrops and pushing it straight with the toe of his boot before taking a seat on one of the barstools with frayed seams and stuffing spilling out.

Two stars on yelp meant cheap drinks and sparse evenings. Perfect for someone like him.

He flagged down the bartender for a beer and shrugged his hood down. A bruise on his cheek was fading to a sickly green, but he was otherwise free of wounds which was a rarity.

Frank fished a book from his inner jacket pocket and noticed the girl two seats down from him more clearly now. Watery eyes, a pile of disintegrating tissues in her pockets that she had been using to dry the stream of tears. Chipped nail polish that had clearly been picked at and a phone that she incessantly checked for a message that didn’t seem to be coming.

For some reason, he was overcome with pity for this stranger.

He cleared his throat, “If the drink’s that bad, I can buy ya another one.”

You tensed slightly at his voice and looked to see who he was talking to before realizing it was you.

“Oh,” you laughed, a small one but a real one. “No, this is the only thing that’s helping.”

Frank nodded and cracked his book open, unable to parse if he should further the conversation.

He closed his book just as quickly as he had opened it, “Shitty guy?”

“The shittiest,” you instantly responded, turning slightly on the stool to face him.

The bartender set Frank’s beer down and he gave a quiet, “Thank you,” accompanied by a nod.

“My ex is engaged, to a girl I hate,” you drew out the H sound incredulously. “We went to the same college and she was always weirdly competitive with me, going for the same opportunities, stealing my ideas and trying to outdo me. We even applied for the same job at the end, and she got it instead of me. And he fed me some bullshit about us being incompatible. I feel like I got traded in for the better model,” your voice wavered. You picked up your drink and drained the second half in one gulp.

“That’s,” Frank paused, “Profoundly shitty.”

“They invited me to their engagement party,” you scoffed, pushing your phone away from you.

“Yikes,” Frank scratched the back of his head.

“And I’m still at the same shitty job living in the same shitty apartment. No date. Nothing nice to wear, no way to pretend like I’m a fraction as okay as them,” you signaled to the bartender for a refill.

“You might want it straight from the bottle,” Frank whispered, making a slight gesture towards their kitchen and wordlessly grimacing.

“Gross,” you wrinkled your nose, “Thanks for the tip.”

“When’s the party?”

“Tomorrow,” you groaned and laid your head on the cool tile of the bar before quickly retracting from the sticky residue you were met with.

“How did I never notice how bad this place is?” you laughed.

“It’s easy to ignore when you’re trying to forget everything else.”

“Who are you trying to forget?” you asked softly, resting your chin against your hands and really taking him in for the first time.

A strong jaw and nose, broad shoulders, neat hair and square posture. You would’ve guessed ex-military even before you eyed the dog tags around his neck with what looked to be a wedding ring.

“I’m sorry. That was out of line”, you apologized quickly.

He shrugged it off, “Nah, you’re just making conversation with the jackass who hit you up at the bar. I’m the one who didn’t mind my business.”

“Well I don’t think you’re a jackass.”

“You’d be in the minority then,” he scoffed a laugh and took a swig of his beer.

A short silence hung in the air between you. The clack of pool balls, loud complaints from the men watching football, the roar of the heater in the corner. Your head swam a little under the low lights as you stared at the man beside you. Feeling bold, you slid over to another stool until only one sat between you.

“I’m Frank,” he smiled.

Fuck. He was tanked.

While the two of you made further conversation, Frank took in everything about you. The shine of your eyes, the lilt of your laugh, the way your hair fell across your face and how badly he wanted to brush it behind your ear so it no longer obscured his view of you.

For hours the two of you chatted and drank. At some point, Frank scooted to the stool next to yours until your shoulders were flush against each other.

He leaned in to whisper to you, observations and wisecracks about the other bar patrons. You could feel the stubble on his cheek against your earlobe and his breath falling on your cheek, clouding your senses and making you forget that you had chosen that bar to be alone and cry tonight.

“I have a stupid idea,” he said, angling his body towards yours and you missed the contact of his shoulder.

“I love stupid ideas,” you grinned.

“Let me take you to that party tomorrow. I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend. We can show them what they’re missing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you laughed, then paused to contemplate.

Frank knew this was a bad idea. That if you said yes, he’d be in too deep. He was already under your spell and you weren’t even trying to be anything but an unguarded, unfiltered version of yourself.

“You don’t have to do that. Keeping me company tonight means I’m already in your debt. I don’t like when the score is that uneven.”

“On the contrary, you kept a lonely guy like me company tonight, so I actually owe you.”

You laughed and looked down, really starting to consider his offer.

“You would do that?”

“If there’s anything I love, it’s giving people hell. Having a beautiful girl on my arm is just a bonus.”

“Yeah. Okay,” you nodded.

The two of you exchanged contact info, when and where he should pick you up, and parted ways, but not before he insisted on walking you home. You could tell he wasn’t a creep, and that his insistence came from a place of concern and protection. You looked at the ring hanging from his neck, and allowed him to accompany you. Something told you he was carrying some regret about not being able to protect someone once. Plus he had already punched your address into the contact in his phone, so it’s not like seeing it in person put you at any greater risk. If anything, you did feel safe walking next to him. You noticed the way his eyes scanned every alley and intersection. Though you weren’t holding hands, you felt the urge to cling to him as he guided you through the rainy night.

“This is me,” you announced at the foot of a staircase leading to a well lit brick building. “I’m that one right there,” you pointed to the corner window on the third floor.

“I’ll uh, see you tomorrow,” he shifted on his heels and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Good night, Frank,” you smiled, casting one last look over your shoulder at the mysterious man before unlocking the door to let yourself in.

Frank lingered on the sidewalk, counting the seconds until he saw the light in your window flip on. He disappeared before you could check the pavement to see him still standing there.

———

You woke the morning to splitting headache and two texts from Frank.

“Good morning. Drink some water before you do anything.”

“Heard you mention you didn’t have anything to wear. Get yourself something nice.”

Attached to the second message was an apple payment for $300.

You responded immediately.

“Frank this is ridiculous. I can’t take this money from you.”

Three dots as he immediately started typing his response.

“Consider it a thank you. Been a long time since I had a night as nice as last night.”

“Well thank you back.”

“See you at 7”

You dropped your phone to your chest and stared at the ceiling. What have you gotten yourself into.

A gurgling growl from your stomach coaxed you out of bed to assemble any kind of breakfast to sop up this hangover, accompanied by a tall glass of water, doctor’s orders.

After breakfast, you showered to get the smell of last night out of your hair. When you gathered your laundry to toss in the washing machine, you caught of whiff of Frank’s cologne on your hoodie, and fished it out. For some reason, you wanted to save that little memory, and laid it across the foot of your bed while you dressed to get ready for your shopping excursion.

It was windy this week, and your eyes stung as you stepped into the brisk air. You drew your scarf a little higher up and trekked into town. There was a department store not too far from where you lived, so you decided to try there and hope for the best.

The store was almost empty, save for a few ladies holding up sweaters to their bodies to check the length of the sleeves before placing them back on the rack.

Nothing stood out to you until you found a black velvet mini dress. It had a high neck and long sleeves, and the fabric slightly sparkled in the right light. On the way to the dressing room, you spotted a pair of knee high boots cut from the same fabric. There was one pair left in your size that you grabbed to try on as well.

It fit like a glove. The expanse of your thigh that peeked out between the boots and the bottom of the dress made you look elongated and sexy.

“Not too bad,” you murmured, doing a spin to admire your figure from every angle. With a few accessories and your hair pulled back into a bun, this would do quite nicely.

On your way to the register, you stopped to pick a pair of dangly gold earrings.

There was still a good bit of daylight left before Frank was supposed to pick you up, and you found yourself feeling antsy.

“Found a dress. Want to see?”

“I’ll wait till tonight. Bet you look beautiful.”

Another wave of butterflies.

“Are you doing anything?”

“Negative.”

“Early dinner?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be there at 5.”

Though it was still early afternoon, at least you shaved a few hours off until you could see him again. You found yourself strangely looking forward to the whole evening.

Popping in your headphones, you decided to clean your apartment. You danced from room to room mopping the floors and dusting the corners. You switched your laundry to the dryer and decided to toss in your sheets while you had the momentum.

At the end of your cleaning stint, it was nearing 3:30, and you decided you could start getting ready.

You brushed your teeth, applied simple makeup, and plucked a few stray hairs while an audiobook droned on in the background. Pulling on the dress once again, you were in love with the way it hugged your body, feeling a confidence you had been missing. A small jewelry box sat on your cluttered vanity holding not much besides a few pieces your mother had given you.

Carefully, you fished out the tennis bracelet and matching necklace that would perfectly complement the earrings you had picked up today. The last thing to do was pull your hair into a loose bun at the base of your neck. You pulled a few strands out to frame your face, and heard the buzzer to your apartment.

“You’re early,” you teased.

“Need me to walk around the block and come back?”

Without answering, you buzzed him in.

Suddenly, the butterflies were back. You did a once over in the mirror and sprayed on your perfume right when you heard a gentle knock at your door.

Without looking through the peephole, you unlatched the door to let Frank inside.

He smiled and presented a bouquet of flowers to you.

“Well hello,” you tried to conceal the heat that was rising to your face.

“My ma told me to always bring a lady flowers,” he shrugged as if it wasn’t an incredibly sweet gesture for two near strangers.

“And mine taught me to send thank you notes, so expect one this week,” you smiled turning to get them in a vase before the two of you left for the evening.

Angel, your small white cat mewled pitifully at Frank who bent down to scratch behind her ears.

You filled a vase with water and set the bouquet into it, carefully rearranging a few stems. It was a beautiful palette of whites and oranges.

“Do you still need a minute?”

“I just need my boots and coat,” you replied, rounding the corner out of the kitchen and skidding by him in mismatched ankle socks that he found incredibly endearing.

You sat on the edge of the overstuffed ottoman by the chair at the door and pulled the boots up your long legs, zipping them and brushing a bit of lint off of them. Frank looked away, turning to pretend to admire your wall art instead.

“What do you think?” You asked nervously fidgeting with the hem.

“I think you look like a million bucks,” he said quietly. He held his hand out for you to grab and do a little spin.

“Try three hundred,” you winked and he cracked a nervous laugh. Moving his hand up to run it over his chin and try to conceal his smitten smile.

“I think you look good enough to make that doofus see he’s missing out.”

“You clean up nice yourself,” you pulled your long black coat out of the closet and Frank wordlessly held it open for you to slip your arms into.

Frank was also in all black, sporting a button down and tie with jeans with some chelsea boots that looked new, or like something he only pulled out for special occasions. On top of it all he had a leather jacket that fit him like a glove.

“We’re so in sync we matched. We already have that couple telepathy,” you joked, grabbing your bag and dropping your phone in next to your keys. “Bye, Angel,” you cooed to your cat, leaning down to offer your nose that she gently pressed her own into.

Christ that was cute.

“I got us a table at a place close to the party,” he explained on the way down to his truck.

“You’re quite the planner,” you said sounding impressed.

“Something like that that,” he mumbled, closing your door behind you and making his way to the driver’s seat.

Though old, he kept his truck in perfect condition. There was an air freshener shaped like a tree hanging from the mirror, the windshield was spotless, and the floor mats even looked recently vacuumed. The radio played classic rock low through the speakers as you made light conversation on the way to the restaurant. You kept reminding yourself this wasn’t a real date. This was all just part of the act. You might not even see him after tonight, so why were you so nervous?

Frank turned on the charm over dinner, bantering with the waitstaff and ordering expensive wine for you to share. You started to wonder where he got this seemingly never ending supply of money and why he was spending it on you of all people. He was polite, paid cash, left generous tips. The thought of him being in the mob crossed your mind.

Frank checked the watch on his wrist, “It’s almost showtime. You need another minute?”

You finished off the glass of wine in front of you and exhaled, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Frank helped you into your jacket once more and offered you a firm hand to hold as you stepped over the threshold of the restaurant. His manners also never seemed to be in short supply. You bet to everyone else, you looked like a normal couple on a normal night out, not two strangers on a mission to scorn your ex. It was fun to pretend that this was for real.

You were quiet on the drive to the party, absentmindedly picking at what remained of your nail polish and wishing you had thought to repaint your nails.

Frank could sense your nerves.

“Just say the word and we can go.”

You looked over to meet his intense gaze.

“I can tell this is tearin’ ya up. So if you want to forget this whole thing, we can leave now. I’m sorry I even suggested it.”

“No, no I think this will be good for me. I need to face them. Thank you though,” you smiled sincerely.

Frank parked a few blocks down. He pulled the key from the ignition and exhaled.

“Ready when you are.”

“Let’s get it over with,” you sighed, reaching down for your purse.

Frank rushed out to open your door before you could even think about touching it.

“My lady,” he smiled charmingly as he offered you an arm down.

“Frankie, you’re too good to me,” you leaned against his arm, and he felt his throat tighten at your closeness.

“Their names are Beck and Dawn,” you whispered as you made your way to their stairs.

“Which is which?” He asked in earnest.

You tried to conceal a snicker as you let yourself in.

The halls were crowded with a number of faces you didn’t recognize and a few you did. Old classmates and colleagues, friends of Beck’s.

Less than a minute in and you already felt like you were suffocating.

You fished a card out of your purse and dropped it on a table that seemed to be collecting gifts and well wishes.

“Let’s get this over with,” you turned your head up to whisper to him.

Frank helped you out of your jacket and laid it next to his on a chair, then rested his hand on the small of your back. You tried to not think about the warmth of his skin and the width of his palm as you headed into the kitchen, exchanging a few polite greetings.

“They’re over there, but I want them to come to us,” you leaned up to whisper again.

Frank turned into you and nuzzled his nose against yours in a way that made you dizzy.

“She’s looking at us,” he whispered against your earlobe. His breath was hot on your neck, and for a second you thought about turning around and shoving your tongue down his throat to really sell it.

Frank’s hands lighted on your hips and he leaned in to whisper again, “You look sexy as hell. Don doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Dawn is the girl,” you hissed through a giggle.

“I told you I can’t tell the difference,” he laughed genuinely and both of your faces were lit up as Dawn and Beck made their way to you.

“Hey you!” Beck drew you into an awkward side hug.

“We didn’t think you would show,” Dawn said with a hint of true shock in her voice.

“Oh we were already in the neighborhood so we figured we might as well,” you shrugged. “This is Frank,” you smiled with a hand pressed to his side as the other was wrapped around his back.

Frank gave Beck a firm handshake, firmer than he should have but he couldn’t resist. When Beck drew his hand back and shook it out he asked, “Are you military, Frank?”

“Retired marine.”

“Oh hey, semper fi.”

Frank stared at him blankly. He could tell from everything about this goon that he had never served anything but overpriced coffee.

“Funny how life works out, huh?” Dawn forced a smile as she caressed Beck’s lacking bicep. Frank tried and failed to not feel incredibly superior to both of them.

“Yeah I’d say we both found people who deserve us,” you volleyed back.

Frank’s grip on your waist tightened in a possessive way that flooded you with heat as he and Beck seemed to be in a silent stare down.

Feeling bold you decided to say one more thing, “I hope you drive each other crazy. You truly deserve it.”

Beck started to say something, but you took long strides to the exit, leaving him behind once and for all. Frank shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if he had nothing else to add, following you back to the car.

Tomorrow they would open a card addressed to them congratulating Dawn on once again stealing something that belonged to you.

In your rush to leave, you left your jacket and were met with an unpleasant gust of wind.

Frank followed behind you a moment later, holding your jacket open to step into once again.

“My savior,” you murmured. Your heart was still pounding as nearly a decade of feeling looked over and plotted against settled in your throat. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks before you had a chance to convince them not to.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” Frank said softly, swiping the tears away with rough knuckles.

You stood on the stoop trying to compose yourself, and buried your face in Frank’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation and settled his feet to become a wall against the biting wind.

“Not that I mind holding ya, but do you wanna go somewhere else away from these assholes?”

“Yes please,” you sniffed, following him back to his truck.

Once you had settled into the cab, Frank turned the heat on and adjusted the vents so you could warm your fingers beneath them.

“I’m sorry,” you started.

Frank scoffed as he prepared to chastise you.

“Not for crying, for bringing you here. I have too much baggage with both of them. It wasn’t fair to rope a stranger into all this.”

You met his gaze with a fresh wave of tears crowding your eyes.

“Couple things, sweetheart. One, you didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m not the kind of guy who does things I don’t want to do. And second, you don’t have to apologize. We’ve all got baggage. Some of us carry it with us everywhere,” he cleared his throat. “And third, I know it’s been a weird coupla days, but I’d love to not be strangers when this is all said and done.”

You searched his face and only saw things you had always longed for: patience, sincerity, adoration.

“I can tell you feel broken right now, but it won’t always feel that way. Forget those jokers. They don’t know what they’re missing. I think I walked out with the prize tonight.”

Frank licked his lips nervously and cast his eyes downward. It wasn’t like him to be so bold, but he had learned long ago that hesitating means you lose out on the best stuff life could give you.

You scooted closer to him, leaving a small space like you had in the bar. Frank scooted closer to you and closed the gap. His hands on your neck were rough and warm as he pulled you into a kiss.

He kissed like a man who had known both love and loss, passion and regret. It was tender, holy, all consuming.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that since yesterday,” he laughed against your mouth, stealing another quick kiss.

“I promise I’ll never make you wait 24 hours again,” you laughed back.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he drew his hands back and started pressing buttons on his watch.

“What are you doing?”

“Settin’ a timer,” he smiled, not meeting your eyes as he moved the small dials with his large fingers.

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway. 

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you. 

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it. 

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw. 

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously. 

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge. 

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface. 

 He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you. 

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away. 

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away. 

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows 

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little. 

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever. 

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before. 

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are. 

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out. 

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too. 

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone. 

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you. 

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve. 

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk. 

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances. 

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words. 

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry. 

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face. 

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel. 

 “Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,” 

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to. 

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you. 

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else. 

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind. 

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head. 

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse. 

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you. 

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur. 

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. 

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home. 

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw. 

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be. 

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin. 

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.” 

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

Have you thought about how it would go if Kant didn't tell Style that Fadel was a hitman? Style would still be hiding something from Fadel and maybe he's thrown off how forward Fadel is now that they're dating but he'd regroup and lean into it and would totally be down for a double date with his BFF and if Kant is making a special night for Bison why can't Style do the same for Fadel and then Fadel disappears for a week and Kant is a sad moo who isn't helpful and then Fadel is back and Style is so happy but Fadel gets that call from Bison but Style has no idea.

So I have actually thought about this scenario a lot. It would have been even more fucked up for Style, because he would be even more oblivious and innocent than he is in canon. Because yeah, he started to follow Fadel around for a car (and then for the principle because he got intrigued by the chase) but that is nothing compared to knowing the truth of them being hitmen.

Now, him still being unaware would have changed things a bit. He wouldn't have acted weird or suspicious immediately after Fadel agreed to date him. He would have fully embraced it. Did you see the way he was grabbing Fadel's face at the end of episode 4 when he agreed to be his boyfriend??? Style was so fucking happy about winning him over. That was genuine joy. And if Style has anything going for him, it's that he can't hide his feelings for shit. When he is happy, he lights up and bounces around.

So he would have never acted strangely and Fadel wouldn't have had that moment of WTF is going on here? I think he still would have been hesitant to trust Style, but I don't think any red flags would have been raised like they were in canon. Fadel really took a second to try to figure out why his newly acquired boyfriend would suddenly not want to be touched by him or why he was running away. Without that interaction, Fadel wouldn't have had that thought.

Style still would have gone on the double date because he is still actively talking to Kant. Kant just isn't telling him the truth. Style would have noticed Kant being a little off, but he would be way too obsessed with Fadel and seeing him and getting laid to wonder too much about what is going on with Kant. He'd just go a long with Kant asking him to take Fadel back home because at that point it wouldn't be a strange thing to ask. He'd probably just assume he wanted to do something with Bison, even after the fake out with Babe. He probably would have been like..ok Kant has it handled. You still wanna bang? And of course Fadel would be like...yes. because those two are compatible and kinky AF and would be fucking like rabbits, (i mean honestly. I don't know how Fadel gets anything done anymore with Style trying to touch his titties every five minutes lol)

Now, him not knowing may change some of their conversations, but probably not as much as you'd think. Before he knew the truth, he was already wondering about what Fadel was hiding. He's seen him kick three men's asses without breaking a sweat and has seen that he goes to grief support group regularly, so Style is aware that Fadel is hiding a lot of things and Style is a curious person. He would have 100% still tried to figure him out and find out what his deal was. I think they'd still talk about their parents and have the trust conversation. It just might not have as much layered meaning because Style actually doesn't know, but he WANTS to. He wants to know Fadel.

What would that mean for Fadel thinking he is a snitch later? Well, it would hurt a lot more. Because if Fadel reacts the same way as he did at the end of episode 6...and then slowly tries to find out what he's been lying about, he's not going to come up with a lot because Style wouldn't be lying. he would have no clue that he was being suspected of anything. He'd be totally clueless as to why his boyfriend is acting strange.

Fadel would also probably get frustrated at that because Style wouldn't act like a snitch would act. (He acts strange a few times in canon and Fadel would definitely be looking back on those moments with suspicion after the fact) So, if a confrontation happens, whether violent or not, Style would end up feeling more betrayed than Fadel. and Fadel would come face to face with the fact that Style literally didn't know a damn thing and he's spent all this time treating him with suspicion and anger and maybe even trying to punish him for hurting Fadel, when his feelings were genuine. I think Fadel would then redirect all the anger and frustration he feels at Kant for NOT telling Style who he was and tricking him into this whole thing because Fadel could have killed Style and it would have been the wrong thing to do because he was oblivious the whole time.

It would have definitely been interesting to see that all play out. I think it would have shown even more true concern from Style towards Fadel, and more confusion for Fadel when he'd try to catch him in lies and come up empty.

[atangledfate]

Of course everyone's eyes went to Vector as he went ridged as a board! Of course they weren't wrong he had been there to get her and the others off the shuttle. But truth was they split up shortly after landing but he had a feeling he was gonna get chewed out! He felt backed into a corner and honestly! alot happened so fast and he wasn't even hired to look after her--- but here he was being glared at by everyone!

" WOAH WOAH hold yer dang horses! I did what i was asked ta do, i got her on the ground! and we did it without crashin' and everything! but then she says to me... i need to get to the command center and buzzes off before i can stop her! i sent Charmy after her but i ain't seen neither one... so i'm just as worried as you! "

Espio sighed and gave a sideways glance as Vector got very defensive at the stares.

" To be fair... with our track record... its a miracle we managed to land without crashing... but Vector is right. Jewel was anxious to get here... and at the time we were moving people to the infirmary. If she didn't make it here... i pray Amy's attacker didn't get to her first..."

Miles was concerned by this information, and the fact Vector said nothing was classic Vector. but in his defense he probably assumed she was here and gone already or off doing something more important. He didn't blame Vector for losing her so much, and he sent Charmy with her. The kid was alot of things but he wouldn't have left Jewel alone...

" Belle has the right idea, we'll check security and see if we can find her. Also check for Charmy i bet the two won't be to far apart... Knowing Jewel it would have had to be real important for her to deviate from her duty as Director... she's always been dedicated to her work..."

he sighed

" All we can do now... is wait... "

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

the teenage Bee struggled against the debris as he pushed himself up from where he'd nearly been crushed. The only thing he could think to do was push Miss Jewel into the Cell with Rough and Tumble and hope she would make it. Looking up at the sky from the hole in the roof it seemed like a piece of the airship had fallen and got snagged on an upper high way. When the airship finally crashed it fell down into the prison.

Ten years ago he'd have been to small and weak to do anything, but he was a teenager now. He and Vector fought alot about the risks he took and, how brazen he could be. Maybe he as right, he was pretty messed up but at least he could fly. Luckily his helmet seemed to have saved his head from being cracked open.

Charmy buzzed up into the air holding his busted shoulder and looking around for help. That's when he saw the green flash of motion and he was sure Vector would call him dumb or foolish for flagging her down! heck she might just laugh at him!

" HEY! HEY! GREENIE! OVER HERE!! oww... my shoulder... "

He winced landing on the street so she could reach him.

" I'm gonna get so grounded for this... i just know it... or worse V will take my drivers license away... maaaaaan this bites! "

"Well, what of Director Jewel? She surely has to be on the base, correct?" If Blaze was being honest she had taken notice to how they had yet to show up to the command center yet. The feline was sure there was a lot happening, though it had been some time since all this started and it would've made sense to have seen Jewel arrive at the command center by this point.

"I can have Belle Bot keep an eye on the camera's for her, though she has to be on the base since she was with The Chaotix and they made it here. Belle Bot, connect to the surveillance and keep a look out for Director Jewel. If you see her then state where she is." The Belle Bot eyes would change to blue and tap into the camera feed, looking for Jewel.

"A lot of unnecessary work when we can simply ask them where Jewel went," Kitsunami said as he looked at the Chaotix. "So, what did she run off to that was more important than trying to help deal with G.U.N?" A rather blunt and harsh way of wording it, though the fennec spoke his mind regardless of how it came off. Besides, he did have a point that her running off to do something else wasn't ideal right now.

"Calm down, everything is going crazy and I wouldn't be surprised if a ton of people are asking her what's going on and what she's doing about it," Rowan said, standing up and stretching a bit. "Though now that I think about it, there is another who's opinion we should get. Which would be the giant momma Wisp flying about the place. I can't imagine she's too happy with all the Wisps that are stressed out right now."

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

"All I said was that I didn't know her." Surge never got around to talking to her, though about the only one's she really made any effort to talk to was the others on the team, and for some odd reason that Belle chick after she patched her up. "I'll still do a run around after I drop you off." The tenrec would grab Lanolin's hand. "Hang on tight I guess." She's never ran with someone in tow before unless she was trying to hurt them. Without anymore delay she sprinted off towards the infirmary.

[pkmnn]

GOOGENDER/SLIMEGENDER/OOZEGENDER/WHATEVERRR

slapped this together real quick bc i couldnt find anything that fit what i was looking for ToT not greatttt quality but like i said. slapped together real quick.

a xenogender relating to oozes, slimes, goos, gunks, etc. colors are traditional slime colors from rpgs (tabletop and otherwise). no particular meanings besides that.

[salt-baby]

at some point in disability you stop wanting to "get better" and this is just really hard for able bodied people to understand for some reason

[arsenicflame]

Izzy Hands can have a little "thinking hes incapable of feeling love" as a treat (for me. the treat is for me)

[volitioncheck]

i think i wouldn’t hate disco elysium’s collage mode nearly as much if it weren’t for 1) the way that it was marketed in such a tasteless, soulless manner, let alone the fact that it was a last ditch distraction from a dead on its feet studio piloted by dumbass thieving execs and released on the day of the court declaration, and 2) those dumbass fucking stickers

like if it had been included with the base game from the start and had been titled something a bit more tasteful and in-line with how i would have liked the feature to be marketed as— something like “exploration mode”, something that perhaps could only be unlocked after completing the game for the first time, AND didn’t have those stupid as hell visually and tonally incongruent with the artstyle stickers, i would have applauded it as a nice little bonus for being able to study and appreciate the 3d models and environments for reference.

[numum]

Any Eda, Raine, or Reada in that beautiful sketchbook of yours? And sorry about the bots stressing you out.

not in my traditional sketchbook, but i do have this raeda piece i never got around to finishing 🥺 plus an owl beast doodle

[zatna]

my zatanna is transfem btw

[findthefandom-orbecomethefandom]

poetry

[stalkiwi]

All my friends are laughing at something, happy about it, joyous. I remain neutral, merely observing the scene.

"Why are you not happy?" one turns to me, noticing my expression.

Because I don't get it, I reply.

"You just don't care about us."

I may not get it, I understand that it's making you happy. And it's what matters - I'm glad to know my friends are happy - I explain.

"You don't show it - you're lying." they blame me.

I struggle to show it. But it doesn't mean that I do not care - I simply cannot express it.

"You're always acting like that around us. Just tell us if you don't like being with us." they growl.

But I don't understand. I am myself around my friends. Isn't it a proof that I am comfortable to be with them?

"You're always silent, you act different, you make no efforts for us, you're not polite, you don't dress well, you don't smile - you really look like we're bothering you."

Should I be someone I am not? Am I being appreciated for who I am? Or for who I am expected to be?

"Don't you know social codes?"

Social codes make no sense to me. No matter how much I am being explained them. I ask nothing to anyone, I expect nothing about anyone, but to be respected, and I respect them in return.

"Respect is about making an effort to be agreeable around us."

To me, respect is to understand everyone is different, and to accept it - to not force them to step out of their comfort for you. That someone refuses to dress in an elegant way or to spray perfume when they visit me is not a message to tell me that they do not like me. It means nothing, in fact, to me.

"Don't you see you're making our lives worse? You're disgusting, you're needy, you're unpleasant."

Then why staying with me? If I am ruining your life by simply existing, then you should not be around me - it's what I say.

"But we care about you!"

I appreciate, but the "me" you care about is not who I am. I'm sorry.

[archengazelle]

i stopped watching toh at “eclipse lake”/“yesterday’s lie” last year; started rewatching a couple days ago, and just caught back up, and—

—literally 30 seconds into s2ep12–

THEY JUST MADE THE CANON AROACE CHARACTER AN ASSISTANT CURATOR OF (SUPER)NATURAL HISTORY?!?!????!?! I SCREAMED

[biblicalhorror]

The most frustrating part of engaging in any of this discourse with pro-Israel people is that they claim there's just something ineffable about "seeing and understanding" how supporting Palestinian liberation is directly calling for the eradication of Jewish people (as if that type of rhetoric isn't exactly how actual antisemitism often manifests in online spaces but that's a topic for another day)

They get through people debunking the "the land belongs to the people of Israel anyway" argument and the "LGBTQ Palestinians are safe in Israel" argument and the "Genocide isn't what's happening here so you should educate yourself" argument and when all of those points are meticulously disproven over and over they still stand with "Well, myself and your Jewish friends see the hate you have in your heart for us" and it truly doesn't matter what you say at that point because even if you yourself are Jewish they will claim that refusing to support the state, government and military of Israel is inherently hateful and bigoted, as if a religious ethnostate is some inherent human right that is being taken away from them. I know many of them are blinded by the relentless propaganda that's been around their whole lives and how hard it is to break free from a belief system that is so tied to your core identity as a human being but it is so frustrating watching people being led straight to the point over and over again and just turning around and refusing to see it.

It's also so frustrating to see people using the momentum of this movement to casually tack on actual antisemitism to these discussions, as if having Jewish people in positions of power is why the US bends over backwards to excuse the actions of Israel and not, yknow, the fact that our government directly benefits from having a military stronghold in the middle east. I've talked to some well-meaning pro-Palestine friends irl who casually use antisemetic talking points because they've ALSO bought into the narrative that Israeli = Jewish and so they blame the actions of Israel and the IDF on Jewish people's "religious values" and ignore the fact that this conflict really has almost nothing to do with religion itself and everything to do with capitalism, imperialism and maintaining the US's status as a so-called "global power".

[callixton]

WEIRD OLDER QUEERS I LOVE YOUUU